#i too would fold in this situation 🫣

[xxacademy]

i absolutely love the dialogue!! screaming and curling my toes rn 🥵🤍

lips of an angel

pairing: married! leon x marriage counselor! reader

cw: infidelity, p in v, oral, over-usage of 'good girl', regret, leon is an asshole (like, he's really a dick), reader is also not a good person (so, hopefully it's ooc for u lol), not proofread enough

summary: leon is married to ashley (she deserves better) and he cheats on her with reader who is the marriage counselor

a/n: based on a reddit post lol. also, it's time for us to admit that lips of an angel is such a fucking good song and leon would listen to it. (imagining this is id! leon and that song came out around that time so actually it's perfect. anyway, bye)

wc: 2.7k

[edit] taglist

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

@onlyasimp4-2dbitches

@pr3ttyd0llie

It starts like many horror stories do: with a knock at the door. He's tall, dark, and handsome, standing in the doorframe. Except not that dark, not very tall at all, but incredibly handsome and you've come to find over the sessions you've spent together that his looks are your weakness. His weakness is you. And many other women. Including his wife, who usually attends these sessions, but tonight, he comes alone. Maybe it's the rain that's beating down on the windows - thought it should sound like a warning - that makes you feel sympathetic enough to let him in when you know you shouldn't.

You let him sit on your couch, but make him hang up his leather jacket on the coat rack so he doesn't ruin the furniture. So you can see his biceps better. And his forearms when he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. The first two buttons are already undone, but that's how he always dresses. You know this because you spend too much time looking at him. What does his wife wear? Skirts? Dresses? Pantsuits? She could wear a goddamn clown costume to every session and you'd be none the wiser because you're staring at her husband like he's a piece of meat.

"Not that I'm unhappy to see you, but why are you here?" you ask him. "Your appointment isn't until Wednesday."

"I'm having marriage troubles. I thought you might be able to help."

It's in the job title: marriage counselor.

"Where's Ashley?" It's a loaded question, and the gun is pointed at your entire fucking career.

"She couldn't come. Plus, I don't think she'd like to know about these problems I'm having."

You take a deep breath, contemplating absolutely nothing because you've already made your choice. You made your choice months ago when you had your first appointment with the Kennedys.

“Remember when I said I had a history of cheating?”

“I do. Has this become a problem again?”

“Not exactly,” he says with a slight chuckle that you later find is ironic in nature. “But I’ve been having thoughts…”

“Are these thoughts sexual?”

“Very.”

“Have you tried taking care of it yourself?” You make a hand gesture to signal ‘if you know what I mean’ and pray he knows what you mean so you don’t have to say the words ‘jerk off’ explicitly.

“Yes, but it hasn’t worked.” He looks directly into your eyes when he says it.

"Are these thoughts about a specific person?"

"Yes." 

His answers, which are limited to only a few words at a time, make you feel like you're shaking up a magic 8 ball, and the blue goop reveals a die that has little to say beyond 'It is certain', 'My sources say no', and 'Try again later'. 

“Is there a way you could distance yourself from this person so you don’t have any potential ‘slip ups’?” you ask.

“Sure, but I’d have to stop counseling if I did.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Kennedy-”

“Leon.”

“Right. Leon, I’m not trying to be presumptuous, but are you insinuating that these thoughts are about me?”

“That they are.” His smile gives you a golden star-shaped sticker for guessing correctly.

You give him a scowl. "I'll set you up with a new therapist, then."

“Let me ask you something,” he says, leaning forward, staring right into your soul. “Are you attracted to me too?”

“I’m not comfortable answering-”

“That’s not a ‘no’. Is it?”

You try to wipe the look of shock arousal off your face.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it. I remember you asking a lot of questions about my sex life, especially the parts that don’t involve my wife, and getting visibly flustered when I answered them.”

“Of course I asked questions like that. I’m a therapist. It’s what I do. I’m sorry if you-” 

You should ask him to leave, separate yourself before you explode in frustration. Getting defensive is not a healthy way to argue. You know this. You've told him this.

“If I remember correctly you asked me about how I touch myself, when I do it, if I watch anything.” He doesn't wait for a response from you, but it wouldn't have come anyway. “And, the whole time you were sitting there chewing on your pen, pretending not to imagine it. And then writing it down in a hurry, making sure you got down every little detail.” He taps on your pad of paper.

“Can I see this for a moment?” He snags it from the table beside you and flips through the pages. Without thinking, you leap forward and try to snatch it from him, falling into his lap.

The embarrassing part is when he lifts you off of him. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“It’s highly confidential!”

“Mr and Mrs. Kennedy,” he begins to read imitating your voice.

“Enough.” You use your sternest voice with him - which is far from stern.

“It says right here that Mr. Kennedy is 'a total dick’ but ‘totally fuckable’.”

“It does not!”

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But you were thinking it. Weren’t you?” He looks up with a smile on his face that’s both charming and cruel.

"I'm not playing whatever game you're trying to play with me right now, Leon."

It's the devil's edition of 20 questions, it seems.

He flips the pad closed, and says, “I’ll leave right now if you answer one question truthfully.”

“Fine," you huff, snatching the pad of paper and stashing it out of his reach.

“Did you go home and touch yourself while thinking about me?”

You shake your head vehemently. "No. Absolutely not."

“You couldn’t even make it home, huh? You did it right here, didn’t you?”

You don't have to answer - the look on your face gives it away.

“Was it on the couch? Right where I was sitting? Where I'm sitting right now."

“Fine. You win, you got it right. Are you happy now?” You concede because you want to end this conversation as quickly as possible, so you can go hide your face and die. 

You want him to fuck you within an inch of your life and then you'll die happily. La petite mort? That's what they call it, right? You want that.

Leon just hums in response, giving you no insight into his thoughts. Though it doesn't take a therapist to guess that he's mentally fucking you. To your surprise, he slaps his hands on his thighs and stands up.

When he gets to the door, you say, “Wait-”

“What?” He asks, nonchalant to such a degree that one might believe the events of the previous few minutes never transpired at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving. Like I said I would.”

“You’re just gonna leave? Do you get off on embarrassing people? Is that it?”

“No. I get off to you, and you know that." He's oddly defensive despite having the upper hand. "I also know that a large part of you despises me, but it’s because there’s a part of you that wants to fuck me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He shrugs. “You’re the therapist, not me.”

“I’m telling your wife.”

“You’re going to tattle on me?" He laughs. “That wouldn’t be very HIPAA-compliant of you, would it?”

“Why are you doing this?" It feels like a nightmare that you can't escape where a terrifying shadowy figure is chasing you while you're screaming out for help and no one's listening. Except, this is more horrific due to the fact that you like it. Your thoughts about the man in front of you are downright depraved. You are both the monster, mirrors of each other. 

"I thought you wanted to fix your marriage," you say.

“My wife wants to fix our marriage. You and I both know it’s doomed. But you’re not allowed to say that, are you?”

You shouldn't be saying half the things you are right now, but it's too late to turn back now. You are the sunk cost. And the ship that was the concept of 'fixing Leon's marriage' has already sailed.

“You want the truth? I’ve known since the moment you opened your mouth that your marriage was done.”

“Then why did you keep having sessions? Was it for the money?” He pauses. “I doubt it. You’re a good therapist. You could get other clients. There was another reason. And, we both know what that reason is, but I won’t make you say it. I’m not that mean.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“And that’s what you like most about me.”

“It is not.”

“Then what is it?”

“Fuck you!”

“Do you want to? I wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Convince me.”

“Haven’t I already?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking me to convince you instead of telling me to fuck off? You just want me to come up with a reason that doesn’t make you feel bad about doing it.”

“And there isn’t one.”

“No, there isn’t," he says with a bit of pity, knowing he's dragging you down into the second circle of Hell with him.

“You have to swear to tell your wife.”

“Is that a yes?”

He did not swear to tell his wife, but Leon is a cheater and a liar already. If he swore to tell his wife, you'd only be an idiot to believe him. 

“Lock the door.”

He turns around and flicks the lock. “Done.”

You stand up and his mouth is on yours. He’s the best kisser. Silver-tongued, you should've known it. You can fucking taste it too. Metallic. No, that's blood. You bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

You’re the one who starts undressing him first but he doesn’t make fun of you. He helps you out of your top instead.

“Goddamn you have perfect tits. It’s a shame you always keep ‘em hidden.”

“It’s a professional environment.”

“Yeah, it’s so professional that you fuck your clients in it.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

"Don't worry. You’re not the first therapist I’ve fucked. I’ll lead.” Leon lays you down on the couch  - roughly, but cradling your head so you don’t knock it on anything. 

You gasp. "Leon, the couch is damp from your wet clothes," you whine.

"I promise it'll be soaked by the time I leave."

Before you can open your mouth, he’s kissing down your chest, making his way to your panties. His tongue is good at more than just talking. He has you unraveling within minutes, moaning obscenely.

“As much as love your pretty moans, baby, we’ve gotta be quiet. Don’t want you to get fired.”

“I deserve it.”

“No, you don’t. You’re a good therapist, and a good girl.”

“You think I’m a good girl?”

“So good. And you taste amazing.” He places a kiss on your clit and you nearly cry, having forgotten the feeling of his tongue in the mere seconds you spent without it. “I want you to come in my mouth.” He sucks on your clit until you do.

Leon's lips are dark and puffy when they meet yours - the ones on your face. He asks, “How did you imagine us doing it?”.

“Mostly me on top of you.”

“It’s a good idea, isn’t it?” he says, placing featherlight kisses from your jaw down your neck.

You shake your head. “None of this is.”

“I know. You've got morals. You’re a good girl.” He pauses before whispering into the shell of your ear, “That’s why you deserve to have me however you want me.”

His right hand is busy holding you steady so he fingers you with his left. You watch as his wedding band slips in and out of your pussy along with his middle finger, giving a double fuck you to his wife with each movement.

He seems fascinated by the squelching sounds, no longer focused on getting his dick inside you. The heavy rain outside covers up some of the noise but not enough to save you the embarrassment.

"Jesus. Just fuck me already." You try desperately to avoid sounding desperate, praying he takes your irritation at face value.

But you're too obvious, you wear your sick, sick heart on your sleeve. 

"You want my dick that bad and you haven't even seen it yet."

"I hope it's as big as your ego."

"No you don't. That'd be painful, medically concerning probably."

You want to laugh because he manages to be funny and charming as hell despite being an absolute dick, but that fact makes you hate him more. And the blood that courses through you has nowhere to go but south.

All the while, his fingers refuse to leave your aching center. "Leon," you whine, pushing his hand away, "you're gonna make me cum again."

"I know," he purrs. "I wanna make up for all the months you've spent here by yourself, with your fingers inside you instead of mine."

"I was pretending they were yours." There's no point in saving the confession anymore.

"I'm sure you were, but I've got somethin' better for you, baby."

And, abruptly, he removes his fingers. You watch him unbuckle his belt, and despite this being your fantasy, you look at him like he's betrayed you.

"What?" he says, coyly, "I thought you wanted this."

"I do, but I was about to cum, and you just took your fingers away. You're such an asshole!" You pout like a bratty child.

"Yeah, I know I am," he says - his words are muffled by the square packet he tears with his teeth. He slides on the rubber barrier before he picks you up and sits you down on his cock, disregarding the obscene noises you make as he shoves himself inside you all at once.

You're wet but there's a stretch. His dick is big, maybe not as big as his ego, but bigger than any you've taken before. This is how he gets away with it, you think.

"Fuck, you're tight," he groans. His hands have an iron grip on your hips. "You've gotta learn to loosen up and relax. You're too high strung. This is probably good for you."

It's not, you'll find when the orgasm wears off, but right now it feels really fucking good.

His thumb circles your clit while you bounce up and down, working well in tandem. Ironic, as you've made so little progress in your weekly sessions. As expected, the dual stimulation makes you slick with arousal, opening you up for him.

His voice sounds distant, droned out by your own moans which get even louder as his words get filthier. "Bet all your advice didn't work 'cause your brain was all fuzzy thinking about what my cock would feel like inside you. Or maybe you did it on purpose 'cause you wanted me all to yourself."

"No… n-no-" you say, voice trembling just as your thighs do.

"S'okay, baby. Girls with messy pussies like you can't help it. Just need to get some dick in you and then you can go back to being a good girl."

Can you? Maybe you can a 'good girl' in the bedroom, but a morally-upstanding woman? Even in your own eyes, he's corrupted you.

Still, you call out for him, "Leon," you cry, the singular syllable drawn out. You are lucky that the thunder from the storm is louder than your voice could ever be.

"I know," he says, "I'm close too."

The way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. 

You are oddly dissatisfied at the fact that he spills into the condom, not into you. It feels so impersonal. Because it is. It doesn't escape you that he didn't say your name - not even a pet name - just a simple 'fuck' when he came.

You point him in the direction of the trashcan where he can throw away the physical evidence of the mess you've made.

His pants are back on in a second while you remain naked on the couch.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he says. "Ashley's making dinner. Don't wanna keep her waiting."

"You're gonna go home to her?" you say, more disappointed than surprised.

"Yeah. What did you think I was going to do?"

Truly, you weren't thinking. If you were, you would not have had sex with Leon. 

"I'm surprised you're not happy. I'm gonna go spend some quality time with my wife. That was your advice - wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But what? You're our marriage counselor. I'm just trying to fix my marriage."

"You're doing an awful job."

"I know," he says, with his hand on the doorknob. "See you on Wednesday."

[solbaby7]

I love the blurb bar idea and I loved the pina colada one, how about a neat gin n tonic with a salt rim?

[ forced proximity: “you can’t seriously be insinuating that i should sit on your lap.” + smut + az ]

guys i got carried away 🫣🤭 but at least it’s finished and has minimal spelling errors 🤍🩷

-> BLURB BAR <-

To put it quite frankly, you and Azriel didn’t really get along.

It seemed almost easy for everyone else in the Inner Circle to latch onto him; to gravitate towards him and all his shadowy mysteriousness—but not you. Between his victim complex, lack of self-control and the inability to properly communicate his feelings like a normal person, you’d lost your patience for him long ago.

Maybe that’s why you laugh right in Rhysand’s face after he lays down the guidelines for your temporary deployment to the Steppes. Everything sounds perfectly normal up until the end when Rhysand’s lips form the words, “—and you’ll be going with Azriel; he’s already been briefed.”

“Very funny,” Shoulders shake through your laughter, tickled from the joke. “But, you don’t have to go to such lengths just to make me laugh Rhys.”

Your grin fades comically fast and the deep frown that takes it place doesn’t falter long after you’ve left the High Lord’s office and scrounged back to your own chambers to pack. Every move is mechanical, clothes being folded and stuffed away a little rougher than necessary as you try not to think about having to spend seven whole days holed up in a creaky cabin with some brooding bat.

To be fair, Azriel seems no happier than you about the situation, his signature brood securely in place when you meet on the balcony at the witching hour with bag in hand. “Come—let’s get this over with.”

You refrain from commenting on his attitude; hold yourself back from snapping when he snatches your duffle from your grasp just to watch it disappear in a puff of sentient shadow. They’d almost be cute—Azriel’s shadows—if they weren’t so fucking useless. Capable of procuring intel and acting as camouflage but can’t manage to hold two fae long enough to get them to the Illyrian mountains.

No, instead you were subjected to this. Close contact and his fucking hands holding onto your body as he flies on a route you’re unfamiliar with. You eye his wings cautiously, trying to be subtle when you peek over the strong line of his shoulder but being this close? He can feel every beat of your heart against your sternum. Every squirm and twitch of a limb as you try to find a more comfortable place to put your arm. “Will you stop moving?”

“I can’t help it,” Hips shift once more, one leg hitching just a little higher on his hip. “Your fucking daggers keep poking me.”

Azriel tenses up, muscles locking and suddenly you’re being moved how he pleases—both legs wrapped around his waist and a firm forearm clasped around the base of your spine. “Stay.” His voice is rougher than your used to, his blunt nails biting into the sliver of skin exposed to the elements. “Don’t move, we’re almost there.”

That was a lie—it would take hours to make it to the Steppes but the gruff command is surprisingly easy to follow. And while you’ll never verbally admit it, the secure bracketing of his arms around your body was more of a comfort than a nuisance. It’s all too easy to ease into his grasp, allowing sleep to take over until the journeys over and you swear you can feel him cradle you in closer, his nose ghosting over the crown of your head.

He makes absolutely no comment on it when you finally arrive with your hair ruffled, clothes crinkled and the imprint of Azriel’s syphon on your cheek other than a chuffed out, “You snore.”

Instinct screams at you to make some snappy comment back but reason doesn’t allow it to be voiced—not here. Here, you and Azriel would have to appear as a united front, for the males raised in this terrain were bred to sniff out any and all weaknesses to exploit. Only here do you allow the hand that permanently glues itself to the dip of your back, pushing you past rabid animals swollen with pride and snarling with hatred.

Slurs are spat from their lips but Azriel doesn’t pay them any mind, so you don’t either.

He walks through the camps as if he owns them, spine straight and shoulders square. Strong wings stand proudly behind him, shadows guarding your flank until the unforgiving chill is replaced by the stuffy warmth of a mess hall. It’s cramped—a little dirty and smells like a mixture of male and tobacco but either way you’re given a warm meal and fresh water to drink.

The vulgar comments grow more frequent, mutterings of their unwanted appreciation towards your body so sickening that your appetite threatens to scurry away. “They’re disgusting.” You scoff, setting down your tray of food, one hand curled around the chair.

It doesn’t give. Azriel’s boot curled around the leg holds it in place. Arched brows furrow at him, nose scrunching under the effort it takes not to kick him in his shin but there’s something about his body language that make you stop. “They’ll keep doing that shit if they think you’re free game.” Every syllable is clipped; laced with a wildness you’re unfamiliar with—almost as if he’s insinuating that it’s your fault that such brutish males were salivating at the sight of you. Darkness cloaks the hazel tones of his eyes when he meets your own and you nearly miss the gesture he makes.

One hand patting twice at his lap.

“Absolutely not.” Azriel’s boot shoves the seat away completely when you make a move to sit down on it once more. He settles deeper in his own, thick thighs manspreading as deft hands adjust the positioning of his holsters, guiding sharpened weapons away from the area of space he frees up for you. “You can’t seriously be insinuating that I should sit on your lap?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, this is me telling you—sit down.”

You pray he doesn’t see the blush that burns against your cheeks when you take a seat in his lap, his hands resting along the sides of your hips. He keeps eating as if nothing is new. As if he doesn’t realize the way his touch has you squirming against solid muscle through thick leathers, legs subconsciously parting to make more room for the wandering fingers that slide down your thighs, digging into sensitive inner thighs. “What are you doing?” You ask, barely able to grab at the food before you with the way your hands shake.

“I’m sending a message.”

Breath catches when you feel Azriel’s thigh flex between your legs, pressing against your sex in such a way that you’re certain it’s impossible that he hadn’t felt the way you clench in response. “What kind of message?”

“The kind that says someone already owns you.” People are looking, that much you know—can feel their eyes tracking every move. Azriel’s hand splayed over your stomach, his head tucked in the curve of your shoulder as his free hand spies its way through your breeches. There’s a pause, one where you’re time to push him away, to declare that this was entirely too far and smack him clear across his face.

That doesn’t happen. Your legs only part further, making more room for needy fingers to shove past your panties.

It’s a foolish decision, you can feel it the second you make it. As if you’d just unconsciously confirmed the ridiculous notion that you were one of Azriel’s possessions. To do as he pleased. To sit there splayed out across his lap like some puppet and allow him to take the reins and show off all your tricks until you’re boneless and drooling.

He’s too good with his hands. Too slick with the sly filth he mutters into your ear as he fondles at your clit under the table, pressing firm circles into the bundle of nerves until you’re panting like a bitch in heat.

You barely remember how much you hate him when he touches you like this. Until the orgasm fades and your consciousness clears and even though the way you lean into the dip of his neck appears like some typical lovers embrace—bystanders fail to hear the sharp way you sneer, “Tell anyone about this ever and I’ll fucking kill you.”

[superiorsturgeon]

The Burden of Fame

Jaune: *sips his drink*…and then Weiss said “Stardust, away!” and left both Yang and Ruby stuck in the ice!

Pyrrha: *wearing a disguise of fake glasses, a beanie, and her hair in a bun* Oh, I wish I could’ve seen that! We were all so silly back in our first year! 🤣 *quickly finishes her beer*

Jaune: Hey, better not drink too fast! Don’t want anyone to see the Invincible Girl get drunk in public!

Pyrrha: *fixes her fake glasses* Oh, don’t worry so much! I’m wearing a clever disguise after all! 🥸

Jaune: Sorry! Sometimes the ol’ anxiety acts up…

Pyrrha: *leans against him* Well mister, good thing your Invincible Girlfriend is here to chase the anxiety away!

Jaune: 😘 Well, how could I ever-

Paparazzo: Pyrrha Nikos! If I could just ask a few questions!

Pyrrha: …oh great…so much for my clever disguise…

Jaune: Uh, do you mind? We’re kind of on a date here-

Paparazzo: *interrupting and talking quickly* Miss Nikos, is it true that you’re sneaking around with this mystery man and keeping your relationship secret from your fans?

Jaune: Hey! That’s kinda rude to ask-

Pyrrha: *trying to tune out the questions* 😑

Paparazzo: Are you in disguise because you’re ashamed to be seen with your current boyfriend, or is it possible that there is another person involved?

Pyrrha: 😤

Jaune: I’m RIGHT HERE! And Pyrrha would never-

Paparazzo: And is it true that you have yet to meet this mystery man’s family? Is it because you plan to break up soon?

Jaune: Hey! That’s very rude and very personal!

Pyrrha: *thinking* Oh, I’d hoped Jaune and I could have a regular night out together without being bothered like this! Stupid celebrity gossip!!

Pyrrha: I’ve always tried to be polite to these interviews, but this man is ruining my evening! It’s time I put a stop to this once and for all!

Pyrrha: What would my friends do in this situation? 🤔

Jaune: …Pyrrha, are you okay?

Pyrrha: *calmly reaches for her beer bottle*

Pyrrha: *flips her hand over and grips the bottle neck like a club*

———————————————————————

Jaune: …and then I used my one phone call to call you.

Mama Arc: *arms folded, looking through the bars of holding cell* 🤨

Pyrrha: *absolutely mortified, face in her hands*🫣 I’m never taking advice from Yang or Nora ever again!

Mama Arc: *sighs* This is not how I pictured meeting my son’s girlfriend…

[infiniteeight8]

Ironstrange 🩷

What if Tony and Stephen get into an argument but the cloak is completely on Tony's side and refuses to go near Stephen or listen to him? Tony is obviously very smug about it 🫣

This doesn’t 100% fit because I did want to resolve the argument, and I couldn't do that if they weren’t speaking to each other. 

- 

“Are you ready to come home yet?” Stephen asked. He tried for stern, but despite his efforts, a plaintive note crept into the question.

Hovering behind Tony’s shoulder, the Cloak shook its collar.

“Why not?” Stephen asked helplessly. “It’s been three days!” They’d never been separated that long before. 

The Cloak jabbed a fold in Tony’s direction.

Stephen frowned. “Tony and I have made up,” he said, glancing at his partner for confirmation.

“We have,” Tony confirmed.

The Cloak repeated the gesture and added an approximation of a thumbs up. 

Grinning slowly, Tony chuckled. “I think that means Cloak thinks I was right.”

Stephen glared at him. They had made up, but neither of them had conceded their point. They’d just agreed they didn’t want to be angry about it anymore. “Being smug isn’t helping the situation.”

The Cloak imitated crossed arms and turned its back on him.

Stephen huffed. “Look, I know you—both of you—worry about me, but I’m not going to be any safer going into these things without you.”

Whipping around to face him again, the Cloak gestured furiously, the movements more or less adding up to You’re not going anywhere without me.

Stephen couldn’t argue with that. There had been an incident just the day before that he would have handled in other circumstances, and his falling out with the Cloak was the exact reason he hadn’t gone. But— “I can’t sit out of every incident you—either of you—thinks is too dangerous,” he said, frustrated.

Tony’s expression eased from smug into serious. “We’re not saying you can’t help,” he said. “We’re saying, call for backup first. Take the time to make a plan. Put some effort into coming home in one piece.” 

The Cloak nodded vigorously.

Stephen sighed softly. “I’m not trying to get myself killed, I’m really not.”

“We know,” Tony said gently. “But we need you to trust that we aren’t worrying irrationally. We’re worrying about situations in which you really could end up dead. Maybe we’re not sorcerers, but we do have enough experience to know those situations when we see them. We just want you to listen when we raise concerns.”

“I can’t promise I’ll always be able to take your advice,” Stephen said. “But I will try to listen.”

Tony pursed his lips. “It’s a start,” he eventually allowed. Looking at the Cloak, he raised his eyebrows. The Cloak shrugged. It didn’t settle itself on Stephen’s shoulders, not yet, but it did pull the two of them into a hug.

It’s a start.

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

tell me about your ocs 🫣🫣 i liste

thank you for unlocking my side quest. this is probably definitely going to be a very long post

okay, so i've got five time lord ocs, but the main one is Fox (short for foxilquinn, because of course i had to give him a weird time lord name)

so he kind of started out as the kid in a doctor/master child au type story, and hes not not that anymore, but also he's got much more lore than just that now

to start off at the beginning he was born (or loomed i should say) on earth during the third doctor's era. i still haven't figured out why or how they had a loom, but they had one. the unfortunate thing for fox is that this loom was mildly broken so that leads to some problems for him (mainly his hair color will stay the same across all regenerations (which isn't really a problem but whatever, and its also where he got his name since the hair color is about the same as the color of a red fox's coat), he doesn't have a typical injury/stress threshold for regeneration, he has to literally be dying or he can't regenerate (this ends up with him losing a leg and an eye during his first regeneration, but it doesn't kill him so he doesn't regenerate from it), and he's really time sensitive to the point that being near anything paradoxical or too out of sync with the time line just kind of makes him pass out)

(also side note, fox is trans, it isn't like a big part of anything but i just like making my characters trans)

anyway when he's like six the cia show up and are like 'hey we're going to take your kid and put him in the academy on gallifrey' and then basically kidnap him. and since he's still got two years before he's initiated into the academy they stick him in the care or brax because a) he's the doctor's brother and therefore closest available family member on gallifrey and b) i thought it would be funny to stick brax with a child, he does not seem qualified for that

fast forward a bit and he's at the academy doing academy stuff. this is mostly uneventful, he does some mischief, but nothing big happens here. he does end up being in like the same year/class as romana though because this is my story and i like romana so she can be in it if i want her to.

after graduating fox steals a tardis and runs away because hes seen what gallifreyan society is like compared to the rest of the universe and he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life in that society not being able to do what he wants.

anyway he kind of just travels around for a while until he one day runs into the doctor and romana and him and romana have a fun little reunion and he travels with them for a while.

after romana returns to gallifrey fox starts sneaking in and out of gallifrey to see romana. this gets a cia agent assigned to his case because he's now a threat to security (he isn't really all that much, his main goals other than seeing romana are to not get arrested and being annoying to gallifreyan government officials that aren't romana). of course this cia agent is narvin because he's one of my favorite time lords so he goes in the story as well

anyway things happen, romana gets captured by the daleks and imprisoned on etra prime. fox goes looking for her, does not succeed but does get blown up and has a building fall on him, resulting in him losing most of his right leg and left eye (also he builds himself a futuristic prosthetic leg and also uses forearm crutches that can fold up really small (like fit in your pocket small) because that's something i desperately want to exist so i'm giving them to him and just calling it time lord technology instead of finding a way for it to make sense) (forearm crutches are so inconvenient to bring anywhere if you're not actively using them and also sometimes when you are)

after romana gets back she gets a bit concerned about fox just running around the universe and getting into dangerous situations because of the events mentioned in the previous paragraph and basically goes 'why don't you teach a class at the academy' so she can make sure hes not out there somewhere getting himself killed

he agrees and ends up teaching a small class of students that (maybe they know this through like matrix prediction or something idk) are all probably going to be renegades. the goal of this class is basically him teaching them how to not die out in the universe (the high council also make the rule that if he's going to be employed on gallifrey he needs to stay there and try to take his tardis from him, but he basically tries to fight them about it (i like to think he tries to bite one of them) and they let him keep his tardis as long as he doesn't go on any unplanned trips)

(there's other stuff about him, like he survives the time war because i don't want to kill him off and theres a few regenerations here and there, but i've already said so much about fox so i'm going to talk about my other ocs now)

the other four are all fox's students who i actually just made up to be placeholder characters for like a scene then i got attatched. they're Azdran, Ensil, Jerex, and Maxin

Az is probably the one i have the most stuff for, they're from the house of oakdown and their parents really want them to be like some kind of politician, but they just want to get off of gallifrey and live a normal life without the expectations of their house behind all their actions. they're nonverbal and use a data pad that they modified as an aac device, this data pad is pretty old and it's a miracle that it still works, but az manages to keep it functioning somehow. they're also the only one of the students that survives the time war, they fall through a rift in time and space opened by the war and end up on earth (something something that rift in cardif)

I honestly don't have much for ensil, hes arcalian (the others are all prydonian) and finds the whole time lord society thing stifling and wants to not deal with that for the rest of his life

Jerex was raised by tardis engineers and likes tardises more than people. he already is bonded to a tardis by the time he enters fox's class and would prefer to spend his days working on upgrading and fixing it rather than having to do classes. if it weren't for the time war getting in the way of things he probably would have just settled himself on a quiet planet with his tardis and helped with repairs on the tardises of renegades who stopped by. i think he still ends up as a tardis engineer/repairer during the war because its what he's good at, but he'd rather not be involved in the war

Last there's Maxin. she's the daughter of maxil and i honestly can't remember if she started out that way or if i made her design and then named her and went 'yeah that could make sense'. anyway because of that she often disregards a lot of rules because her father has like some power and can get her out of things. she also definitely breaks into his office and looks through things she shouldn't be. after the academy she ends up joining the military and pretty quickly climbs the ranks (all of them graduate pretty close to the start of the time war so the gallifreyan military is actually like a relevant thing that does stuff at this point). once the war actually starts though it doesn't take her long to figure out that she a) kind of hates rassilon and thinks he's just making everything worse in some sort of power play against the daleks and b) she can't actually do all that much of what she wants or thinks is best in the military both because of it's structure and because, even despite her rank, she isn't often taken seriously since shes pretty fresh out of the academy, so she defects and starts helping the resistance

[andvys]

I read ch 10. And the comments, and i still disagree with those comments. Reader and steve are both grown ass adults. Eddies a grown ass adult and of course hes gunna be hurt and tell reader he wants her to stop seeing steve. If this was a real life situation i wouldnt even entertain the idea of being with eddie But since its ST eddie and this is a fanfic im down bad for him. Lol. Also we know their going to end up together so just enjoy the ride. Andy has never let us down and i dont think she plans to this time. Ok back to the fic omg! That last lil bit where eddies seducing the reader holy shit i thought she was gunna fold cuz goodness only knows i would have been on my knees, gagging and swallowing. 🫣🫣 perfect ch as always.

😈

Exactly! Thank you! I will never let you down, Eddie will always get a happy ending in my story and he always gets the girl hehe

Oh I’m glad you liked the ending 🤭 You’re gonna get more of that in the next chapter 👀 (I would fold too tho bestie 😂)

[biteofcherry]

Does Steve ever punish the reader in front of others when she’s being bratty? Or does he wait it out and let her have her fun and then once everyone has left and she’s washed all the dishes he pounces 😍🫣

Steve's too possessive of the reader to allow anyone to see her in an intimate situation and his punishments are of the stripping kind. It doesn't mean it happens only in the safety of the house, after all he spanked her in her own office in a clinic full of people. He will give her a fair warning that she's on thin ice, but if she keeps pushing the punishment will come right that moment, only in a more secluded place.

Also, let's not forget Steve can be creative, so the punishments aren't limited to spankings only... 😏

"How about we get some fresh air?" Steve proposed, pressing his hand against your back with a little force.

He guided you to the terrace which was fairly empty compared to the main floor where people were starting their second wave of dancing after the band's short break.

You were quite surprised Steve didn't drag you out of there much earlier after the little mouthing off incident.

As the night continued, he stayed perfectly calm and charming, as if you didn't notice his eyes darkening in a warning. The fact he didn't react immediately got you worried for your ass once you get home.

The air outside wass a soft caress of a chill. It raised goosebumps on your bare arms and you instinctively leaned closer to Steve.

He led you to the edge, where the top of the railing was overflowing with blooming flowers and garlands of lights twisted between them. There were a few tall bar tables standing around.

"It's lovely," you admitted in awe as you braced your hands on the railing, blooms tickling your skin.

"Mhmm," Steve hummed.

He slid right behind you, pressing his chest to your back. He placed his drink on the table right next to you.

"You got pretty heated up earlier this evening," he said and you knew he meant your outburst.

"Listen, Steve-"

"Shh," he didn't let you explain. "We'll do the talking later. At home."

"For now," Steve swirled a finger in his drink then fished out one of the ice cubes- "I think you need some cooling down."

Before you had a chance to ask what he meant, Steve pulled the back of your dress up and kicked your legs apart with his foot.

"Wha-" your question transformed into a squeal when the ice cold touched the folds of your pussy.

Steve pushed the cube inside of you; with his free hand gripping your hips and holding you in place.

It was shock. Discomfort. And a trigger to an almost painful arousal.

But Steve gave you no time to adjust, no time for the pleasure to slowly melt into your bones along with the ice.

The ice clinked in the glass and less then a second later another cube was pushed inside.

He pressed the third one into your ass.

You pressed your own hand over your mouth to cover the noises, knowing Steve wouldn't be happy if the two of you drew unwanted attention.

"Hold it in, sweet brat," Steve ordered, his tone a harsh whisper against your ear.

He draped himself over you, making it look to any watching eyes as if the two of you were snuggled close watching the view of city at night.

No one would notice your naked ass (the skirt of your dress trapped rolled up between your bodies), or Steve's fingers tracing the trickles of wetness on your skin.

"If your mouth gets spicy again, I'll cool it too, before I use it." He growled.