#i will say if i ever manage to get that far

[devotedlyandrogynousyouth]

Please please please bless me with more baby daddy Jason. I’m so obsessed with it 😭 just thought about if he caught you staring a little too long at him being a good father he would make fun of how sexy you find him and how you still want him

Oh, how this has lifted my mood after getting covid during the holiday season🙏I can totally see him getting cocky like that, too. Just imagine this man letting out a near-silent scoff as he catches your gaze wandering across his muscles as he picks up your daughter

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd Part 2

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who doesn't actually bother you too much after that night you spent together. To your surprise, he doesn't expect much of anything in return. That moment simply turned into an unacknowledged secret that only the two of you would ever know about.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who still tries to show up to every little preschool function or birthday party your daughter has, despite the unspoken tension between you two. Despite what that little voice in your mind was screaming to do, you actually started inviting him to those kind of things. Typically, he would've just shown up unannounced.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who starts acting like your boyfriend or husband at parent-teacher conferences. On the rare occasion that the both of you show up to discuss your daughter with her teachers, they assume that you're together as a couple. Jason, ever the sly bastard, doesn't correct them.

You don't, either.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who actually starts playing into the role as soon as your 'relationship' gets brought up in public. If you happen to be sitting close enough, he'll grab your hand and start tracing invisible circles onto the back of it with his thumb. If you're really close, Jason will absolutely go as far as to sling an arm around your shoulders.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who is the biggest topic around the other single mothers at your daughter's daycare or preschool. Almost every time he makes an appearance, somebody asks for his number or tries to make small talk. He giggles like an idiot every time you have to scold him for giving them all the rejection hotline number.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who, when he does get asked about relationships by other women at your daughter's childcare facilities, will say that you're together in a committed relationship with no hesitation. He isn't really sure why he does it, either. It only really came about after you two slept together a few months ago.

To be fair, you do call Jason your boyfriend when a creepy guy asks you out.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who starts hanging out with you casually when he gets the chance. You've ripped him a new one a few too many times when telling him to keep out of excessive danger. What better way to spend his off time now that he doesn't do huge missions than being with his two favorite girls?

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who somehow manages to blend right back into your life when he puts vigilante work to the side a little. He's there to pick up your daughter from day care or playdates when you need him to. He's cooking dinner for you and the little one on a rough day before you even have to ask.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who knows exactly how you feel about him. He sees the way your eyes linger as he stands in your kitchen cooking or how your gaze drifts to his biceps as he picks up your daughter to bring her to bed. "Eyes are up here, sweetness," is what he teases every time he catches your stares.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who is knocking on your door mere minutes after you've texted or called him having a breakdown when your daughter is at a sleepover. He doesn't even care what you're crying about, you're scooped up into his arms instantly. "Shhh... I have you," is one of the constant reassurances he mutters into your hair, "I'm right here. You're not alone."

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who has you practically sitting on his lap as he holds you, his calloused hands rubbing up and down your back in a soothing motion. You don't even remember when the slipped under the hem of your (his old) shirt to rub gently at your bare skin.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who listens to you talk, no matter how stupid or silly your problems seem whe compared to his own. He knows better than to give advice other than when you ask for it, so he simplu holds you and listens. "I know, I know..." Is all he coos into your slightly mussed hair as his hands rub and massage your skin.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who waits until you're done speaking to move or say anything. "Look, baby..." You hate how much you still love the petname, "I know it's tough. Trust me, I know." You hate how you love him. "But I'm here, alright? I... I'm sorry I have a tendency to walk out on both of you, but... I'm here now. I'm here as whatever you need me to be. If you need me to stay for you and her, I will. If you need me to leave, I'll go without another thought."

"If you want to forget about what happened the other night, then we'll both forget about it. If you don't want to..." You didn't let him finish, instead capturing his slightly parted lips with your own.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who only pulls away when you do, the pupils of his beautiful green eyes dilated as he looks down at you in his lap. His hands never cease their movement caressing the fat and muscles of your back as he lets out a soft huff of amusement. "You're absolutely crazy getting involved with me voluntarily, doll face." Even as he tries to play it off, you can hear the affection and fondness in his voice.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who takes his time with you instead of rutting into you like an uncaged animal. His hands are slow as they roam across your body, relearning every single one of your curves and crevices like it's the first time he's seen your naked body. Each motion is filled with such care and adoration that you question why you ever split up, even if just for a moment.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who takes every single ounce of your stress away without trying. It doesn't matter that he's only slept with you once or twice in the past couple of years, he's drawing out every single orgasm he can from your pretty little pussy.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who says the nastiest things when hooking up with you. He absolutely gets off on the thought of getting you pregnant again, but he knows better after thinking about the situation the two of you are in. "You're fucking milking me for all I've got, ma," he grunts out as he pounds you relentlessly from behind, his large hands almost dwarfing your hips as he holds them for leverage, "I'm gonna fill this pussy up all over again. You'd like that, huh? You want another little me running around this joint?"

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who, surprisingly, stays the morning after. It isn't picture perfect- nothing ever is- but it's still... Calm. Peaceful. Home. Like something you've never gotten with him before. The pair of you are still completely in the nude, your bodies tangled beneath the mess of sheets. But as your eyes flutter open with the first rays of morning light, the sight of Jason with small clumps of black and white hair stuck to his forehead from the previous night feels right.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who starts sticking around for a few days at a time after that. You're not sure just how it happened, but your daughter certainly loves it. She missed her daddy being around more often instead of being told that he was 'on a work trip' when it wasn't safe for Jason to see her.

BabyDaddy! Jason Todd who doesn't miss a beat when your sweet, innocent daughter asks if he's staying this time and if mommy will stay too. "Of course I am, baby girl," Jason, of course, makes direct eye contact with you as he says this before lifting the toddler into his lap. "Promise?" A smile. An actual, genuine smile that only she can get from him. "Promise."

How could you possibly say no to that?

Masterlist

[floralscented]

ㅤ♡ㅤjust a little more, with [ doe!reader ] & [ clark kent ] ㅤ (18+!!)

you always beg him so pretty. tears pouring from your eyes, saliva pooled in the corners of your parted, panting lips, a glossy thin sheen of sweat coating every inch of your soft skin.

clark's thumb traces gingerly over your cheekbone, revenant touches over each part of your face that his large palms can get his fingers on. you've stilled in his lap, legs tired and going numb, pelvis sore.

"c'mon, pretty girl," he mumbles, his thumb trailing its way up to your lip, tracing across the kiss-swollen, pinkened skin. "you can take it," he leans up to nuzzle his cheek against your tearstained one, brushing your hair away from your face with his nose until his lips are against your earlobe.

your head shakes, and you sniffle softly, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder. his free hand finds its way to your thigh, tracing light, mindless shapes on the trembling muscle with his fingernail. "you can, sweet girl," clark insists, tongue tracing along the shell of your ear with his gentle words. "look at me. can you look at me when i'm talkin' to you, angel?"

his fingers trace along your jaw as he guides your head back toward him, forehead to forehead. "there she is," he whispers, just as reverent as his touch is. you're glass to him, even if you don't think it right now. he's terrified to shatter or crack you. "hi," he says with a small, breathless laugh.

"hi," you manage to choke out, your voice gone, your body spent, and clark has the audacity to look at you like he has no intention of stopping, like he'd done nothing at all so far, even though he'd brought you to a violent, trembling orgasm at least four times now. one more, he pressed earlier, when the tears prickling in the corners of your eyes had started to spill, just one more. five's lucky, isn't it?

five didn't feel lucky. five felt like overstimulation, trembling muscles, hot tears sliding down flushed cheeks.

"look how good you're doin' for me, angel," he says, his two fingers taking your chin between them and guiding your head downwards to watch as he shifted his hips, just enough to remind you that he was still buried deep in your swollen pussy. you were sore, and overwhelmed, and the feel of it is just enough to draw a whimper out of your lips. "i know it's a lot, i do, but i also know how strong my pretty girl is."

his praise is enough to relight the fire within you. a second wind, clark'd probably say; a fatal mistake, you'd probably correct.

clark's palm flattens on your thigh when you start to move again on him, slow drawn out circles of your hips, unable to lift yourself too much to properly ride him. still, even just like this, you could feel him stretching you open, even so deep within your wet heat.

his head falls back against the wood of his headboard with a hollow knock, eyes fluttering back open as he watches you through the thick black veil of his eyelashes.

"you're so good to me," he says, his words only slightly slurred through his haze of pleasure, compared to the whimpering, whining mess you were atop him, "jus' a little more, jus' like this, yeah?"

"mhm," you manage through your clenched teeth and pouted lips, letting his hand wrapped around your thigh guide you, support your weight, as your movements become more deliberate.

his lips quirk, dimples punctuating his smile in the soft skin of his cheeks. his hand on your face slips up, up, just enough to press his thumb on your bottom lip and tug it down, slipping the thick digit into your mouth. the pad of it presses ever so slightly down on your tongue, muffling every noise starting back up in the back of your throat.

clark's hips start to lift, meeting each downward grind of your pussy around him with an extra bit of gentleness that he only reserves for you. he could be rougher ─ had been rougher, earlier ─ but he never pushed more than he knew you could take. breaking you in any way was something that he'd never forgive himself for.

except... like this. when even just a couple of deep thrusts into your tight, soaked walls brought those soft sobs out of you again. "shh," he mumbles, his voice roughened with his grunts but still so, so soft for you, "just like this, baby, you're doing so good... just a little more..."

tags. @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @deansbite DO I. HAVE ANY OTHER SMALLVILLE MOOTS IDK PLSSS

doe!reader masterlist found here !

[knnichs]

RISK

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life.

c. kinich x gn!reader

t. childhood friends to lovers, mild violence (abyss attack, but very short,) no use of y/n, cliche tropes YES i know is it really a knnichs work if theres no cliche stuff, wc: 3.4k

merry christmas, @papiliotao !! i was your secret santa 🧑‍🎄 this is a bit lengthy but i do hope you like it 🧡

Kinich certainly isn’t the type to befriend others.

Not unless it was something formed out of a transaction–or a commission. In this case, his friendship with Mualani was only formed because she was looking for a battle advisor to train Kachina against the wilderness, she said. In the end, he had grown rather fond of them, and gained two new acquaintances that day.

Outside of that, Kinich doesn’t exactly recall when he befriended other people. Sometimes a few people would pass by him while he walked around the tribe and greet him, it is quite embarrassing to say that he doesn’t remember half of their names, if they had never become one of his clients.

You, on the other hand, haven't disappeared from his mind a single day ever since middle school.

BEFORE THE NIGHT FALLS

He remembered the exact moment he got to know you. When his parents had left him as a kid, Kinich went to find a place to live and settle down as he did his work. He had just found shelter in the Scions of the Canopy, and under Elder Liek’s guidance, he was to go to school. Even if he hesitated, he was eventually forced to, the Elder wouldn’t let him help out around the tribe without it. There, he learnt about heroes and their morals–I mean, he questioned it: why would they do something when they wouldn’t profit from it?

In those classes, the other kids would make fun of him. Point at his ragged clothing made out of animal-skin, comment on his dirty feet, since he was always barefoot. You, always his knight in shining armor, called out their behavior and told them that they weren’t being nice. 

Truly a reason of all time, he thinks. Those kids would surely quit their teasing simply because they weren’t being nice.

But he appreciated the gesture. You stood in front of him–arms on your hips, you were determined to drive them away so they could stop picking on people smaller than them. He just looked up at you, (with what he hoped it wasn't a blank expression) curious why you decided to defend someone like him. He had nothing to offer you–he had no mora, no luxurious items. So, why? 

He wanted to ask you before the day ended. Following your footsteps until you were in the middle of the bridge. From there, you would learn his name was Kinich, and he would know what yours was (along with the reason why you decided to ‘protect’ him from that group of kids.) From there, you two would grow quite fond of each other over the years.

He knew he had always adored your kindness, even if it was towards people you barely knew–you somehow always managed to bring a smile to their face and a full heart to come home with. Once, he saw you help a crying child find their play sword–you knew nothing of her, aside from her name, of course.  You found that their sword was thrown all the way down to the river below, it was far from saving–the wood was scratched and torn into halves. So, ‘as any normal human being would do’ (in your words,) you spent the next few hours creating a makeshift sword for them, one that had star stickers and a ribbon wrapped around its handle. 

The kid came home happy to their parents, of course. Boasting about how wonderfully made their new wooden sword was and how this was the first step for them to join the pilgrimage. Her parents only shared a look that was saying ‘thank you.’ You simply smiled and waved, leaving them to enter their home as the kid rushed inside. 

That was all you got, simple two words anyone can utter, and you were happy. You didn’t get mora, you didn’t get any sweets, nor did you get any special treatment. Thank you, it was all you’re going to get for something you spent hours on.

It would be a lie not to say Kinich wasn’t puzzled by your behavior. Somehow, even after he had long graduated from Elder Liek’s class he doesn’t understand. Why do you do these things for free? If that were him, he would have charged them an enough amount of mora just because the work took hours already.

Later on, he would realize you did this simply because you think some things in this world are worth doing–no matter how much it would cost you. And a few years after, just before the next pilgrimage, there was an abyss ambush that almost ended with you hurt.

The sky was dark with a purple fog sabotaging your vision. The smell of smoke from a fire slowly starting to grow, its ashes filled your lungs and burned your eyes. You take another shirt and ran—ran from your home, and the tribe. 

Kinich was away at the time, blissfully unaware of the attack until it was already resolved. He doesn’t quite recall what he was doing before it. All he remembers is the feeling of his heart dropping to his stomach as he heard the fellow tribespeople say you were missing. Had a rifthound laid its claws on you? Where were you?

He would grapple across the forest, letting the branches scratch his skin as he travels, his heart rate increasing at the thought of you getting trapped, wounded—or dead, even. He can’t let that happen, not when he hasn’t told you everything.

Thankfully, he found you seeking refuge in a cave nearby. A few saurians found their way in your arms, a baby yumkasaur fast asleep on your lap.

“Are you hurt?” Kinich steps towards you, observing you quite intently for any injuries you may have gotten. You shake your head, petting the yumkasaur on its head. 

He finds a spot beside you, slouching as he can finally relax, at least a little. He still has to help out later with the damages. Fix a few tents that were broken, check up on the other tribespeople—but you were his top priority.

“I’m fine. Are you seeing this little guy? So. Cute.” You say, only sparing him a glance in his direction before focusing on that yumkasaur once again.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Cute.” 

FEAR

His friend group which consisted of only two people (excluding the dragon he carries around,) were only Mualani and Kachina. Those two were the only ones who truly understood Kinich’s method of maneuvering around the battlefield, pricing commissions, haggling–really, a few tricks in the book he has, they know about it. You’re no fighter, nor are you an errand person, you don’t know how to do any of these, so seeing Kinich do it himself may be surprising enough for you–but it’s really something he does normally.

You do know how Kinich thinks. How the little gears in his brain move, the quick shift in expression before it turns back to his resting face, how he truly feels in each situation–you’ve learnt how to read him. It may just be because you have good observational skills (which he dreads, for multiple reasons) or the two of you have spent enough time with each other to know what the other is feeling with a single glance, either way, Kinich isn’t as comfortable with it.

You can read how he felt, and he’s never felt that vulnerable in his entire life. He felt like no matter how much he tried to run from you, somehow–there's always a somehow with you–he still can’t hide anything from your ‘prying’ gaze. You know what makes him tick, what makes him smile, to the point that he wonders if you know how he truly felt about you. 

If you can read minds (and gods, Kinich hopes you can’t,) he wonders if you’ve already heard of the things he mutters to the moon at night, and the sun at day. Have you heard of the sacred promises he keeps close to his heart? That he would guard you until his dying breath? That under the moonlight, there was nothing he would wish for more than your presence beside him. Grounding the poor boy's heart in the moment only you two share. 

If you somehow have the power to look at someone's past memories, would you see the times he would pick up the guitar collecting dust in the corner of his room, play a cheesy love song from years ago and hum along to the tune thinking of you? There are far too many times he somehow finds a way to make a situation about you. It could be when he’s about to bungee jump, he finds himself tightening the harness a little more because he knows you wouldn’t want to live in a world without him. A few times when he’d go on commissions and look at the flowers, sit on the top of the cliff and watch as the sun set thinking how much more magical the moment would be if you saw this with him. Would you think it was pretty? How would the sun’s rays reflect on your eyes? Will it glow the same bright color that you bring to his monochrome world?

Sa isang munting harana, para sa’yo.

This meager serenade, just for you.

He can’t offer you anything. Nothing but his entire soul—his vow, to protect you, no matter the cost. Even as he bears the name Malipo, just a smile coming from you would already be more than enough for him.

And maybe someday, one day, he would have the courage to tell you the truth he’d been hiding all these years.

‘PRESENT’ TIME

“Kachina, there’s a few stockings on that table over there. Could you get it for me?” Mualani sat atop a chair, trying to hang decorations for your group’s Christmas party. It's not anything big, it wasn't meant to be that extravagant. All of you would just celebrate the holiday as it was, like what you did every year. 

The fireplace burned through the night, its flames becoming the main lighting of the room. It was bright enough for Mualani to see what she was doing exactly, and warm enough that it felt like a normal sunny day in Natlan. It was often cold during the winter, and although it doesn’t snow, the temperature does drop a little colder than usual.

“Here you go!” The girl handed four stockings–all personalized with your names embroidered on them. In green was Kinich’s name, yellow for Kachina, blue for Mualani’s, and yours in purple. With that in mind, you noticed a light green line of thread that resembled half a shape–curved at the top, and straight at the bottom. Kachina had a few sparkles on hers, and Mualani had the shape of a shark. You shake off the detail, deeming it unnecessary anyway.

Mualani gave her thanks and hung up the stockings all in order–her’s, Kachina’s, Kinich’s, and yours.

“This place is definitely starting to look lively. How much time do we have left until midnight?” You asked, sitting down on the world’s comfiest couch. 

“About an hour, we still have time to set up the bonfire outside too.” Kinich looked at the clock–it's frames decorated with reindeer antlers and a small yellow bell. You smiled at him, whispering a small thank you, and looking back at Mualani (who you were quite worried about, since you’re sure she might fall over the chair at any point.) Kachina was also quite occupied, scouring the place to find… something. 

After a bit more adjusting–the stockings were set up, the cookies are almost done, a few dishes have been spread out on the table already, and the marshmallows are just on the table. Perfect, there was just one more thing left.

“Shoot. Hey, uh, can you and Kinich go get the fairy lights? It’s by Altahua’s net.” She climbed down from the chair and faced you, “You know her, right? Yelafath?” 

“Sure do, I’ll just leave my bag here–watch over my stuff!” You say, placing your belongings by the place you sat on the couch. “Kinich, let's go?”

Outside, it was much, much colder than usual. The wind blowing accompanied by the amount of water that was near the tribe was enough to make you shiver. You and the boy made your way to the shop, you’ve only conversed with Yelafath maybe two or three times? But so long as you mention Mualani’s name, you’re sure that it’ll go okay. You rubbed your hands together and brought them to your mouth, huffing it in hopes that it'll magically turn warm. Hearing the sounds of clothes shuffling, you turn to your side and see Kinich already handing his jacket to you. 

“Quick, before Ajaw gets sick of being locked up,” He muttered. 

“Afraid he’ll tease you? Oh, what a softie you’ve become!” 

“Just take it.” He stands behind you, stretching out the fabric to make it easier for you to slip right in. You were getting warm because of the jacket, it definitely wasn’t because of him.

And it all falls back to silence once again. Save for the sounds of waves crashing and the occasional gust of wind. You don’t mind the quiet, actually, and Kinich wasn’t the type to keep on talking all the time either–preferring to be blunt and straightforward. But this is different, it wasn’t because he had ended a conversation too early that you don’t know what to say so it would continue, because you loved hearing his voice, you loved hearing him talk whatever was on his mind. His attitude towards it sometimes made you upset, feeling a little distant with him every time it happened, but you do know it was just the way he does things. The quiet that falls upon the two of you is comfortable.

All of it has to come to an end, eventually finding the shop. You hopped to the counter, calling for the girl who was arranging things in the crates.

“Evening, Yelafath! Mualani mentioned that she had fairy lights with you?” 

“Fairy lights? Oh, I don’t think she gave me any, sorry.” She looks around the shop, looking for something to give you, but shrugs instead. “I wish I could give you something similar, but we have nothing, we’re also closing for the day.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. Thank you, and merry christmas! I’ll just tell her.” You smiled, giving her a wave. Kinich simply nodded, crossing his arms and following you behind. She greeted you back, and you faced the house once more, the lights of the shop behind you dimming before turning off–leaving you and Kinich in the complete darkness of the night. Some stalls were still open, the only few things really illuminating your way were the lamp posts and lanterns scattered across the platforms. 

“Where will we celebrate the next Christmas?” You shuffle with the jacket again, raising the sleeves upwards to bring your hand out. The stars were so bright with the mix of blue and purple from the galaxies above, 

“It’s our turn next year, we’ll be the ones hosting it. I hope you’re not sick of me yet,” He chuckles–albeit quite softly. It’s rare to hear him laugh let alone smile with or to other people. But with you, oh, everything is just so easy with you. He can always let his guard down without any fear of you trying to make fun of him. Even on days when he comes to you battered and bruised from a particularly rough commission, you take the time out of your day to care for him. To treat his wounds, focusing your attention on him that he shies away from your touch, insisting that you were doing too much and it could heal on its own. 

One step after the other, letting the salt air brush against you. 

And it once again, falls into silence. 

Ajaw does come into the picture once more after his 15 minute jail time was lifted, and thankfully fills the air with random and the most unnecessary comments.

You ring the doorbell to the house, tapping your feet impatiently in a not-so-coordinated rhythm while waiting for anyone to answer the door. 

“Mualani, Kachina–” you shout, “HELLO? The lights are on, I know you guys are in there!”  

“Seems like your so-called friends abandoned you two. How long until something goes wrong? Oh, I can already smell it! I, K’uhul Ajaw, will ensure that this world will know exactly what loneliness feels like, starting with you two!”

Your arms lay slack on your sides, breathing a heavy sigh. You knock again, one more, twice–until you just start slamming your fist on the door calling them repeatedly. You shiver from the cold wind and eventually give up. Backing away to face your friend, who was unusually, still quiet. 

“Kinich?” You say his name, ever so soft. His eyes dared not to look at you, in fear of showing exactly what he shoved deep down in his chest for the past few years you two knew each other.

“Ew, that’s gross! Don’t give him those lovey-dovey eyes! You’ll give him ideas, you hear me?! Quit that, you’re both so annoying!” Ajaw says, all while retching, “You know what? You’re both insufferable. I’m leaving!”

Some part of Kinich does wonder what exactly needed to happen for you to fall with him. He deemed it unlikely for three years now, saying that you couldn’t possibly. Not with someone like him–blood stained on his hands for his entire life, not for someone with rough, calloused hands that can expertly wield a claymore. Kinich has never felt something as delicate and gentle as you. The moment you tried to defend him from those immature kids–he knew. You would never hurt him, not once in a million lifetimes. With your gentle soul? You were filled with nothing but kindness and innocent hope. You were that glimmer of light he needed in his darkest time, the feeling he needed in his chest to keep going forward–to keep fighting, all for your smile.

Your eyes dart to where he was looking at, curious enough to ask yourself what exactly has him so speechless at the moment.

Oh.

Oh.

A cheap wreath with that familiar red bow, and the two of you just happen to be standing just right under it.

He never believed in Christmas miracles. But if at this moment right now was his only chance–then he will take it. He will desperately cling onto it as if it was the only thing that mattered in his life, and hold it tightly, sure not to let it go.

Being in his arms was nothing new, he’s done this several times as a way to comfort you when you were down, or vice versa. This, however, is different. As if an orchestra directed a symphony of a familiar and comforting tune–one that he used to hum you to sleep during those restless nights. As if you were brought back to the times you sat with him under the starry sky, pointing at bright white dots. The universe is vast and magical, and somehow, somehow, it gave him you. The only sun he ever needed in his bleary sky, the only drops of rain he needed on a hot day, the gust of wind during humid afternoons, the flower that bloomed through the cracks of the concrete. 

He pulls away. Gently, he repeats in his mind, this was a high-risk situation. 

But for you, he would gladly take it.

Kinich looks at you, worry filling his heart–is this the right choice? Even with this amount of hesitation, he pushes through. No matter the outcome, he will live knowing he had you at least once in his life. Gods, you looked angelic. The lampost from the porch illuminates you in a warm orange–exactly the color you had filled his monochrome world with. He brings a hand to your chin, tilting it upwards, muttering only two simple words.

“Can I?” 

“I told ya it’d work,” Mualani said, proudly huffing as Kachina hides in the corner of the room in embarrassment. “Now, I’ll be taking my mora from the traveller right after this. Not a word, Kachina, got it?”

She only nods in agreement.

@ knnichs 2023 ﹑ do not repost, republish, translate, feed to ai or modify any of my works. doing so can and will result into me blocking you.

HI REI! merry merry MERRY christmas <3 i had so much fun writing this & i hope that u liked it as much as i did ! :D you’re such a kind n awesome person i hope i managed to incorporate some similarities between u and the “y/n” of the fic cause i wanted to make it as self indulgent for u as possible BWAHDHAJHA IF THAT EVEN MAKES SENSE!! im glad i got to be close w u these past few month(s) & i hope we continue to get closer!!

[tennis-kittens]

Vamos, Rafa !

As you get ready to graduate from tennis, I’ve got a few things to share before I maybe get emotional.

Let’s start with the obvious: you beat me – a lot. More than I managed to beat you. You challenged me in ways no one else could.

On clay, it felt like I was stepping into your backyard, and you made me work harder than I ever thought I could just to hold my ground. You made me reimagine my game – even going so far as to change the size of my racquet head, hoping for any edge.

And you know what, Rafa, you made me enjoy the game even more.

OK maybe not at first. After the 2004 Australian Open, I achieved the #1 ranking for the first time. I thought I was on top of the world. And I was – until two months later, when you walked on the court in Miami in your red sleeveless shirt, showing off those biceps, and you beat me convincingly. All that buzz I’d been hearing about you – about this amazing young player from Mallorca, a generational talent, probably going to win a major someday – it wasn’t just hype.

We were both at the start of our journey and it’s one we ended up taking together. Twenty years later, Rafa, I have to say: What an incredible run you’ve had. Including the 14 French Opens – historic! You made Spain proud… you made the whole tennis world proud.

I keep thinking about the memories we’ve shared. Promoting the sport together. Playing that match on half-grass, half clay. Breaking the all-time attendance record by playing in front of more than 50,000 fans in Cape Town, South Africa. Always cracking each other up.

I’m still grateful you invited me to Mallorca to help launch the Rafa Nadal Academy in 2016. Actually, I kind of invited myself. I knew you were too polite to insist on me being there but I didn’t want to miss it.

And then there was London – the Laver Cup in 2022. My final match. It meant everything to me that you were there by my side – not as my rival but as my doubles partner. Sharing the court with you that night, and sharing those tears, will forever be one of the most special moments of my career.

Rafa, I know you’re focused on the last stretch of your epic career. We will take when it’s done. For now, I just want to congratulate your family and team, who all played a massive role in your success. And I want you to know that your old friend is always cheering for you, and will be cheering just as loud for everything you do next.

Rafa that!

Best always, your fan,

Roger Federer

[the-flying-robins]

Am I making a post about UtRH? Yes. Am I also managing to make part of it about Dick Grayson? Yes. Sorry, I'm afraid my condition is irreversible.

Dick is only there for three issues, but his presence bookends the story and haunts several of the final issues.

The final confrontation between Bruce and Jason starts in Batman #649. Before that Jason confronts the Joker. He tells the Joker that it's not about him.

(Batman #649)

This end of this issue and the beginning of the next focus on the destruction of Bludhaven.

(Batman #649 & 650)

Both of them have every reason to believe that Dick is now dead.

But I want to focus on the framing of the images. In the first panel Jason is too far away and shadowed, it's impossible to read any emotions on his face, Bruce's face is well lit, showing his distress. Jason then taunts Bruce saying "one son returns from the grave as another enters it..." The following issue opens on a wider shot, likely slightly before the last issues final page. Jason is once again in the background, but in the second panel (third image) he appears upset, at the very least not experiencing joy like he's trying to portray later. The bottom three panels zoom in on Jason's face but only onto his mask covered eyes, making it near impossible to glean any real information about his thoughts.

Bruce attempts to leave in search of Dick.

(Batman #650)

Jason gets angry and stops him. This fight has been carefully plotted and planned by Jason, he gets only one shot at this. In his eyes Bruce leaving now is Bruce finally confirming that Jason is the second choice. Dick is upstaging Jason again, even if this night ends the way Jason wants it to, the main thing Bruce is going to remember is that this is the night he lost Dick.

There is no nuance to this, the extreme circumstances don't matter, to Jason this is Bruce choosing Dick over him. Just like in life Jason feels he's the second choice, the replacement, only there because Dick Grayson isn't.

Jason and Bruce continue to fight until Bruce gains the upper hand only for Jason to draw a gun on him.

(Batman #650)

"... I thought... I thought killing me - that I'd be the last person you'd ever let him hurt."

Jason felt like the second choice in life, and in his resurrection he's come to believe it.

(Batman #650)

At the end of it all, all of Jason's planning, all of his cunning, all of it was to force this moment. To put Bruce's back against the wall and finally choose Jason first. And he's disappointed. Bruce finds a way around it, but to Jason that is a choice, just not the one he wanted.

[cheshireliam]

"Wrapped in Wicked Romance" Story Event: Chapter 2

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting

(Now… I wonder what I should talk to Ring about.)

(... Huh?) 

While I was trying to think of a conversation starter, I realised that Ring was already way ahead of me. 

Kate: Ring! Wait up! 

Ring: !? Why are you so far behind…? 

I hurriedly chased after him and he rushed back toward me.

We met halfway and started walking side by side again.

Kate: Perhaps my strides aren’t as long as yours. I’ll try to keep up. 

Ring: No, I should’ve slowed down to match your pace. … My bad. 

Ring: A-anyway, you can hold onto my arm.

Kate: Thank you. 

Ring: Actually… I wanted to have you hold my arm back at the meeting point. 

Kate: Was that during your sudden warm-up session just now?

Ring: Yeah. … I should've let you hold my arm earlier if I knew you were going to be left behind.

Ring: I’m not good at acting like a lover at all. Even if it's Dari’s orders…

Kate: Neither of us are acting the part right now, so don’t let it bother you. 

Kate: Is there anything else you wanted to say but couldn't?

Ring: There is. It’s about… your outfit. 

Ring: “I love your outfit today. It suits the little robin very well���.

Ring: “Where did you get that bracelet? I want to get a matching one”. 

Kate: Huh…? 

Ring: “The design around the collar is fun. It really looks like your kind of thing. Also—”... 

Kate: Um… are those your own words? 

I couldn't help but interrupt when Ring, who had been acting awkward the whole time, suddenly started complimenting me so smoothly that it felt unnatural.

Ring: … Y-you’re sharp. As expected from a member of Crown… you’re dangerous. 

(It’s not that I’m sharp, it’s that Ring’s behaviour is so obviously unnatural…)

Ring: Actually… I had Nica teach me some words to compliment you, so that I can do a better job at pretending to be your lover.

Kate: So that’s what happened…! I’m happy you prepared yourself in advance, but…

Ring: “But”? 

Kate: I’d much rather hear you use your own words, Ring.

Kate: Do you usually compliment your lover using words someone else said?

Ring: N-no, I don't… I-I think. 

Ring: A-anyway, give me a moment while I think of the words to compliment you. 

Kate: … You don't have to force yourself to compliment me if nothing comes to mine, okay?

Ring: No, I really do think your outfit looks nice, it's just… umm… 

He took my comment about wanting to hear him use his own words seriously and struggled to respond. 

I couldn't help but find it endearing that he was trying so hard…

(You can do it…!) 

I silently cheered him on in my heart.

Ring: Your outfit today looks… frilly and soft… I-I think it’s c-cute.

Ring: It reminds me of a purple Hardenbergia flower… the subdued color is comforting to look at. 

The words he finally managed to string together sounded hesitant and awkward, but they struck me deeper than any borrowed praises could ever.

Kate: I never would've thought of comparing the colour of my clothes to Hardenbergia flowers! It makes me so happy to hear that.

Ring: …! I-I see… that's good to know.

Kate: You must know a lot about flowers, don’t you?

Ring: Y-yeah… I probably know more about flowers than most other things. 

Kate: There are some flower beds on the way to The Scala.

Kate: If you don't mind, could you tell me what flowers they are?

Ring: … If I can identify them. 

…

And so, on our way to The Scala, Ring taught me about the flowers blooming along the road… 

Thanks to that, his nervousness seemed to have eased significantly by the time we reached Piccadilly. 

Ring: … It’s about time for the play to start. We made it just in time.

Kate: You’re right! The Scala is right up ahead. Let’s go. 

(... He’s still a little awkward, but I feel that he’s conversing more naturally now as compared to this morning.)

Even Ring was wary of me and said some disturbing things earlier on… 

He was an honest, upright person who was willing to listen to what I had to say. 

That honestly was likely the reason why I could freely interact with him without feeling on edge myself. 

(I’m looking forward to watching the play. I wonder what kind of reactions Ring will have.)

(... Huh?)

Ring: … Why did you suddenly stop? Is something wrong?

Kate: P-pardon me. There’s something I want to verify… you come too, Ring! 

I grabbed Ring’s arm and led him toward an alley in the opposite direction of The Scala. 

…

Ring: … What business do you have in an alley like this?

Kate: There’s been a rise in child abduction cases in the area lately, and I thought I saw someone resembling the suspect on the run… 

Kate: Ah… it’s him! 

I lowered my voice and pointed at a man lurking in the shadows of the alley. 

Kate: There’s a chance I got the wrong person, so I’m going to act casual and try to get information out of him— 

While I was explaining the situation to Ring, a young girl wandered into the alley, perhaps by accident.

At that moment, the man made a move. 

(Ah…!) 

He crept up behind the girl and covered her mouth with a piece of cloth he had in his hand. It seemed to have been laced with some sort of drug. 

The girl fell unconscious, and the man skillfully stuffed her into a bag before attempting to flee the scene.

Kate: Ring, let’s go after him! 

Ring: … No, we need to report this to Dari and have him make a decision first. 

Kate: What…? B-but there's a kidnapping happening right in front of our faces! We must act now! 

Ring: I was ordered to only ensure you return to the castle safely today. Any actions taken beyond that are prohibited.

Ring: Getting involved in strange situations would be going against Dari’s orders.

Ring: I understand that you want to help, but we should only act after reporting to Dari. 

(How can he say such things when a serious crime is being committed right under our noses…?)

Just a couple of minutes ago, I concluded that Ring was an honest and upright person that would never tell a lie.

But it was precisely because of that, I instantly knew that his words right now weren’t lies. 

In other words… Ring had no intention of stopping the crime from happening at all. 

Ring Schwartz, the person I thought I was starting to understand, became a complete stranger to me once more.

Kate: … F-fine. Then I’ll go after that criminal MYSELF!

Ring: H-hey…! 

[yuu-kantokusei]

~The mischievous predator~

Jade Leech x gn!reader

Reader is yuu

Story: one shot

TW: none

Summary: After a magical mishap leaves Yuu transformed into a cat, an evening walk takes an unsettling turn when they cross paths with someone who seems far too amused by their predicament.

The day had been an ordeal, to say the least.

Yuu had accidentally transformed into cat during potionology class, their spell ingredients mixed up while Professor Crewel’s sharp eyes were momentarily distracted. Grim, surprisingly sympathetic (and amused), volunteered to translate their distressed meowing to Ace and Deuce. The trio carried them around from class to class like an unwilling mascot until the day’s lessons finally ended.

Ace and Deuce headed back to Heartslabyul after classes, complaining about the weight of carrying both Yuu and Grim. Grim, now more of a reluctant caretaker, waddled alongside them on the way to Ramshackle Dorm.

"Alright, you can rest up for the night," Grim said, flopping onto the couch as they arrived. "And don’t expect me to babysit you forever. I’m a mage of great renown, not a cat-sitter!"

Yuu meowed back insistently, their tone sharp.

“What? You wanna go for a walk?” Grim translated, squinting. “Sheesh, it’s dark already! Fine, fine—just don’t get into trouble, okay? I don’t have time to rescue you from some stupid tree.”

They pawed at the door until Grim opened it. A chilly evening breeze greeted them as they stepped out into the quiet grounds of Night Raven College.

Yuu padded along the cobblestone path leading away from the dorm. They didn’t intend to go far; the cool night air was refreshing after an exhausting day of meowing and being carried around. Their thoughts drifted to the potion class debacle, wondering how they'd explain the incident to Crewel when they returned to human form.

Just as they considered turning back, they heard the soft crunch of footsteps behind them. Before they could react, a low, amused voice reached their ears.

“My, my… what do we have here? A little stray?”

Yuu’s fur bristled as they backed away from Jade, their tiny body trembling with both fear and anger. They let out a low, warning growl, their tail lashing behind them. But their attempt at intimidation only seemed to amuse him further.

“Oh, don’t look so upset,” Jade said smoothly, his voice like silk laced with thorns. “You’ve always been the curious type, haven’t you? Wandering out here all alone, so vulnerable… Surely, you knew someone might come across you?”

They hissed, their eyes narrowing. If they could speak, they’d have had plenty of colorful words for him, none of them polite.

Jade knelt down to their level, his mismatched eyes gleaming in the moonlight. His smile widened as he reached out, his long fingers brushing gently under their chin. “Now, now. Is that any way to greet a friend? I’m hurt, truly.”

Yuu swatted his hand with their paw, claws extended. They managed to scratch his glove, leaving faint marks across the leather. A small, victorious feeling bubbled up in their chest—until they saw his reaction.

Instead of being annoyed, Jade’s grin only grew sharper. “Oh my, such sharp claws. Feisty as ever, I see. How charming.”

Before they could dart away, his hand shot out, and in one swift motion, he scooped them up into his arms. Yuu yowled in protest, their paws batting at his chest, but he held them firmly.

“My, my,” he said, his voice laced with mock concern. “You’re heavier than I expected. Have you been indulging a bit too much, Prefect? Not that I mind, of course. You’re quite… soft.”

They froze for a moment, utterly mortified. Then, with renewed vigor, they wriggled and kicked, trying to free themselves. But Jade only chuckled, adjusting his grip so they couldn’t escape.

“Relax,” he murmured, stroking their back with an unsettling tenderness. “You’re rather adorable like this, you know. It’s a rare opportunity to see such a side of you. I’d be a fool not to enjoy it.”

Yuu let out a furious growl, their ears flattening against their head. If Grim were here, they’d demand he claw Jade’s smug face for them.

“Oh, don’t be so angry,” Jade teased, his thumb trailing along the top of their head in a gesture that was almost affectionate. “You should consider this a valuable learning experience. It’s not every day you get to view the world from such a unique perspective.”

They swiped at him again, their claws catching on his uniform this time. He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, studying them with that same predatory smile.

“Hmm, still so full of spirit. I wonder… how much fight do you have left, little cat?”

Yuu twisted and turned in his arms, trying to escape, but Jade’s grip was unyielding. Their frantic meowing filled the quiet night, but no one came to their rescue.

“Shh,” Jade said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “There’s no need to make such a fuss. No one’s going to hear you out here. It’s just you and me.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down their spine, and they stopped struggling for a moment. Jade noticed, of course, and his smile became almost triumphant.

“There now,” he said, stroking their head again. “That’s better. See? I’m not so bad, am I?”

Yuu growled low in their throat, but the sound came out more like a pitiful rumble. Jade’s fingers trailed down their back, and they couldn’t suppress the involuntary purr that escaped them. They immediately regretted it.

“Oh?” Jade’s expression lit up with amusement. “Enjoying yourself now? How delightful. I suppose even you have your weaknesses.”

Their ears flattened, and they glared up at him, their green eyes blazing with indignation. If looks could kill, Jade would have been long gone. But he simply chuckled, clearly enjoying their frustration.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, his tone almost scolding. “You’re the one who decided to wander out here all alone. Surely you knew the risks?”

They meowed sharply in response, their tone accusatory.

“Ah, blaming me, are you?” he said, his smile widening. “How cruel. I’m simply taking advantage of the situation you created. It’s not every day I get to see the Prefect in such a… vulnerable state.”

Yuu’s tail lashed furiously, but their efforts to escape were futile. Jade’s grip was too strong, his touch too deliberate. He was toying with them, and they both knew it.

As they continued their strange standoff, Jade suddenly shifted his grip, cradling them in one arm while reaching into his pocket with the other. Yuu froze, their instincts screaming that whatever he was planning couldn’t be good.

“Now, let’s see…” he murmured, pulling out a small, shimmering object. It was a thin, silver ribbon, its surface catching the moonlight.

Yuu’s eyes widened in alarm. They meowed frantically, struggling harder than ever.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jade said, his tone soothing but entirely insincere. “It’s just a little accessory. Something to make you look even more adorable.”

Before they could react, he looped the ribbon around their neck, tying it into a neat bow. He held them up, examining his handiwork with a satisfied smile

“There. Perfect,” he said. “You’re quite the picture, Prefect. Perhaps I should take a photo to commemorate this moment?”

Yuu growled, their tail whipping back and forth like a metronome of fury. Jade’s laughter echoed through the quiet night as he set them down, finally releasing them. They bolted a few steps away, turning to glare at him with all the venom they could muster.

“Oh, don’t run off just yet,” he said, his voice teasing. “You’ll miss all the fun.”

Yuu hissed at him, their fur bristling, but Jade didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He leaned casually against a nearby tree, his mismatched eyes gleaming with amusement.

“Go on,” he said, gesturing with a lazy wave. “Run back to your dorm if you like. But do remember, Prefect… I’ll always find you.”

Their heart raced as they turned and fled, his laughter following them into the night. The ribbon around their neck felt heavy, a constant reminder of his lingering presence.

Yuu didn’t stop running until they were safely inside Ramshackle Dorm, their chest heaving as they tried to calm down. Grim looked up from his spot on the couch, his eyes narrowing as he saw the ribbon.

“What the heck happened to you?” he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Yuu meowed weakly, too exhausted to explain. They curled up in a corner, their tail wrapped tightly around their body. The sound of Jade’s laughter still echoed in their mind, sending a shiver down their spine.

They couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over.

[thepixelelf]

frat president seungcheol x reader x one night romance chan warnings: slight and I mean slight suggestiveness. coarse language, alcohol, possessive (derogatory) cheol; he's toxic and doesn't know it. implications of sex and sexual acts. idk how frats work. wc: 1.8k

love triangle au requests (this one is also for @hey-blondie <3)

read part 1 first

[what's holding you back? 2] Every time his brothers decide to throw another house party, Seungcheol considers quitting altogether. He's always the one who ends up having to clean the house (with the help of an ever-nagging neatfreak Mingyu by his side, at least), always the one who has to arrange the keg delivery (with Soonyoung and his connections getting them life-saving discounts, thankfully), and always the one whose room gets miraculously broken into by some horny party-goers.

(Joshua is still scrubbing every tile in the bathrooms bi-weekly for that last incident.)

((Why he couldn't use his own damn room is still a mystery to Seungcheol.))

Despite all that, every time the boys arrange a new headache -- party, whatever -- and Seungcheol thinks about sitting this one out, they always manage to do the one thing that makes these stupid shindigs irresistible to Seungcheol.

They invite you.

And even though your course load can only be described as mountainous, your part-time job starts early tomorrow morning, and you far prefer getting at least half of a good night's sleep...

You're here. You're here while music blasts and people dance like the rent's due and something breaks every two and a half minutes, laughing at something Jeonghan said. Just within and out of reach.

You lean into the cushion behind you, your shoulders brushing his arm where it rests on the back of the couch. Seungcheol lets the warmth from your back seep through his skin like honey -- because why wouldn't he? You're comfortable where you are, and it's his job to be that "where".

"No, I'm serious!" you defend yourself against Jeonghan's teasing. A likely thing for him to be doing. "He's a total scaredy cat. That's why he always makes you guys run the yearly haunted house."

Soonyoung waves his hand dismissively. "No way. His family celebrates Halloween every year-- that's why he never runs it with us."

"As if!" With a sly smirk, you bump your shoulder into Seungcheol's side. "He hides out at my place every year, and we don't even watch scary movies, either."

Seungcheol rubs the spot you bumped even though it doesn't hurt at all. "We watch scary movies," he argues.

"Halloweentown doesn't count, Seungcheol."

"Now you're just trying to embarrass me--"

Someone calls out your name, and you turn your head, eyes widening,

"Oh shit," you breathe out.

Some guy strides up to the couch with the confidence and determination of a soldier, and every muscle in Seungcheol's body tenses.

You? After the initial surprise, your eyes brighten in that special way Seungcheol likes when you're looking at him.

And can't stand when it's anyone else.

Lifting yourself off the cushions and subsequently away from Seungcheol's arm, you approach the guy before he makes it all the way over to the couch. You touch a hand to his arm, lightly, familiar, a smile on your lips as you chuckle and say, "How the hell did you find me?"

Seungcheol's jaw clenches. He turns to Jeonghan. "Who is that?"

For once, Jeonghan was minding his own business, and he turns away from his conversation to see whom Seungcheol nodded at. "Ah," he says, all-knowing when it comes to who's who. "That's one of Seungkwan's friends. Chan. Lee Chan."

Seungcheol scrunches his nose. Chan, he mocks in his mind as he watches you lead the guy off somewhere. Lee Chan sure isn't holding back in the up-and-down glances. It's like he can't even believe you're there in front of him.

The thing is, you shouldn't be. Seungcheol grinds his teeth. The couch is where you should be, where you're comfortable and you're honey and you're next to him.

He stands.

Even though he knows the answer now, Seungcheol settles next to you, slings his arm over your shoulder, and interrupts whatever the loser was saying with, "Hey, Cherry. Who's your friend?" He lifts his chin a bit, peering down his nose at him with the closest he can get to a polite smile.

There. Lee Chan should get the message with that.

But instead of scurrying off with his tail between his legs like so many of your pursuers had before him, Chan barely acknowledges Seungcheol and just blinks at you. "Cherry?" he asks.

"Oh." You fluster a bit at the nickname, and Seungcheol grows hotter knowing Chan gets to see another one of his favourite expressions on you. "Um, the first of this guy's frat parties I went to, I drank way too much cherry vodka and did some...things. I can't even smell anything cherry-flavoured now without getting queasy." Using one arm to bashfully rub the back of your neck, you chuckle, the movement causing Seungcheol's arm to slip off your shoulders.

He looks for your eyes, which don't meet his. You didn't do that on purpose.

Did you?

"Anyway." You clear your throat and use one hand to gesture at your admirer. "This is Chan. Chan, this is Seungcheol. He's my, um..."

You look at him then, and the lack of answer hits him somewhere within his rib cage. He crosses his arms and turns to Chan. "How do you two know each other?"

He isn't used to having to ask questions like this, his reputation usually enough to deter any unwanted interactions. If this Chan guy is still standing here, though, it must mean he really, really wants to talk to you.

Chan opens his mouth, but you're faster. "Remember the destination wedding my mom's friends went to?"

Seungcheol nods. "The one where they brought you so you could watch their children?"

"Yeah." You glance at Chan, and it's almost like you're telling him something Seungcheol can't hear. "We met there."

Seungcheol's right hand grips harder onto his own arm. "I see."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Chan says, ignoring Seungcheol once again. He sends you what must be a charming smile. "Especially not here."

"Funny." But you don't laugh. "I didn't think I'd see you here either."

Alright. Enough.

Seungcheol makes a show of grabbing your plastic cup and looking inside. "Let's go get you something to drink," he says, noting your confusion but having none of it. "Nothing cherry, I promise."

Because Seungcheol is the one who knows you. Knows your likes and dislikes, your favourite colours, how you prefer your eggs, the smell of your shampoo...

The face you make when he touches your bare skin. The way desire flickers in your eyes like the hot coals of a campfire.

You shake your head, pulling your cup back and holding it close to your chest. "I'm okay. Thank you."

Seungcheol's brow furrows. "I really think we should go to the kitchen."

"I'm fine, Cheol."

Lifting his hand, he places it on your forearm. "Cherry--"

At the same time as you step away from his touch, Chan steps between you and Seungcheol. "How about you go get yourself a drink?" he says, chest almost imperceptibly puffed out. "I wanted to ask Cherry something in private, anyway."

The nickname Seungcheol gave you coming off of this little shit's tongue makes him seethe. "Ask them what, exactly?" he says through his teeth.

Chan doesn't falter. "I'm sure you don't want to know."

"I'm sure I do," Seungcheol grits out.

"Guys..." you try to cut in quietly, but both boys are too caught up in each other to notice.

Scoffing in amusement, Chan shakes his head before meeting Seungcheol's glare. "Then if you need to know: I wanted to ask if they enjoyed it."

Seungcheol's jaw clenches. "'Enjoyed it'?" he echoes.

"Hey," you try again, somewhere beyond the red fog closing in on him.

"Yes," Chan answers confidently, crossing his own arms now. "If the sounds they made for me are anything to go by, I bet they really enjoyed it -- enough for a repeat performance."

Surging forward, Seungcheol clutches the collar of Chan's shirt in his fist. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Chan smirks, taking delight in setting him off. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Seungcheol growls, pulling his other arm back to give this guy exactly the beating he deserves, but he's half a second too late.

You shove your foot into his stomach, and he stumbles back, fingers loosening from Chan's shirt. You push Chan back by the shoulder for good measure, and when you turn back again, the anger on your face turns Seungcheol's chest inside out.

This fire in your eyes is different than he's ever seen before. Your anger is no stranger to him, from the frustrations of life and all the shit you've had to go through, but you haven't been this mad at him since...

Fuck.

Since he didn't kiss you that night.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Seungcheol?" Your shoulders rise and fall with the anger coursing through you. It's like a wall has finally fallen, the way you look at him. "You're not some rom-com bad boy. Get a hold of yourself."

Seungcheol takes a breath, holding his stomach. "Cherry..."

"What?!" You throw your hands in the air and let them fall. The hints of the brawl that almost broke out had caught the attention of some people around already, but your exasperated voice turns even more heads. "What, Seungcheol? You decided you don't want to fuck me, and after that, you decided no one else can either?"

"I... That's not..."

You huff. "I don't care. I actually just don't care anymore. You know why I didn't tell you about this? Do you know why I never talk to you about this kind of shit?"

He doesn't want to know. But he has a feeling he needs to. "Cherry..."

"Because I knew you'd react like this," you tell him, eyes cold. "Why is it that just because you won't have me, I'm not allowed to have anyone?"

When Seungcheol has no response, Chan returns himself to the picture, standing beside you and putting his hand at the small of your back.

You spin. "And you." An accusatory finger gets thrust in Chan's face, settling under his widened eyes. "If you think you're getting a" --you spit the words-- "'repeat performance' after airing out my shit like that for some dumbfuck pissing contest, you're obviously not the same Chan I met before."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish on the chopping block, Chan sputters for a few seconds before you seemingly decide you don't care about what he would have to say.

You storm off, straight to Soonyoung, whom you grab by the arm and ask to take you home. He spares one glance in Seungcheol's direction, then nods at you with concern on his face.

He knows something Seungcheol doesn't, and it makes Seungcheol want to throw up.

With you gone, the party resumes its usual chaos and volume, although Seungcheol can feel the stares from every direction. Chan disappears somewhere. He doesn't care.

Somehow, Seungcheol finds himself back on the couch. It's a lot less comfortable without you next to him.

Jeonghan sits down with a sigh. "You fucked up, didn't you?"

Sunken into the cushions, Seungcheol shuts his eyes. "I've been fucking up."

"What are you going to do about it?"

Seungcheol brings his hands up to his face, and he digs his palms into his eye sockets. "I don't know. Fuck. I don't know."

[highonmarvel]

Heyy love your work. I wanted to make a request for Bucky Barne was thinking something like reader goes to his house for Christmas but then he forcefully drugs her with a syringe and she's held captive. But he's overal nice enough. He'd let her kick or scream or fight back. But then one day he lets her out of the basement or wherever he keeps her and she tries to escape and succeeds to some degree He manages to catch her and he snaps, gets angry and punishes her and she's scared cuz he snapped.

Winter

i love this! i’m sorry this isn’t proofread—i’m late as is and needed to get this out into the world so at least some people can read this as they lie in bed and have it be relevant. also, i’m so sorry, i left out the syringe bit because i got too into the plot i conjured up with the food coma here, sorry, sweetheart, but please, send another request if you really want to see it get done. let me know your thoughts, also to my sister @thehydraethereal. with that out of the way:

Bucky Barnes: A Christmas dinner opens your eyes to a new type of Winter.

additional content warnings here!

CONTENT WARNING, PLEASE READ: This piece includes graphic depictions of torture. Seriously, this is really dark; do not proceed if you are not comfortable with explicit descriptions of physical violence. This is your warning. This is fucking dark. I can not stress this enough. I am fucked up.

It wasn’t that you were technically averse to relationships or had commitment issues, you just feel like at this point in your life a solid relationship wasn’t really going to work. You had been travelling to the other side of the country quite a bit to take care of your sister, but this Christmas, your parents went down, so you didn’t really have an excuse to bail when Bucky invited you to dinner.

You don’t think you’re technically dating him–you don’t ever recall you or him asking the other to be their partner–but you’ve at least been going out with him for a few months. Guess you’d have to face him at some point; it’s been nearly three weeks since he had suggested you live together, which had caught you completely off-guard. You had managed to side-step the conversation at the time before making up some bullshit excuse to leave, and you haven’t had the courage to face him since.

Pulling into Bucky’s driveway always makes you feel a little uneasy; he doesn’t live like a hermit or overly secluded, but for some reason the houses in this suburb seem just a little too far apart for comfort–no one really has ‘neighbours.’

The scent of a very well-cooked meal carries right up to the front door, making you take a deep whiff before knocking.

“Hi, honey,” Bucky answers the door, leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

“God, I’m practically drooling out here,” you say, and Bucky laughs as he steps out of the way and allows you in. “How long have you been standing?”

“Ah, a few hours,” he admits, sheepishly, watching you hang your coat up and rubbing the back of his neck when you raise your eyebrows at him.

“But it’s just the two of us, no?” you question as you lead him into the kitchen (maybe you being so casual in his home gave him the impression you’d like to move in with him).

“Yeah,” he replies, tailing you. “But I realised I don’t really know what you like and I panicked a bit.”

You giggle and that seems to ease his apparent embarrassment, allowing him to let out a breathless laugh as he moves into the kitchen, standing on the other side of the island as you settle on a stool.

“How have you been?” he inquires as he pours you a glass of wine, not making eye contact.

“Alright,” you reply, watching the red liquid slosh into the glass. “Glad to have some time off.”

“How’s your sister?”

You sigh and mouth a thank you to him as he slides the glass towards you. After a sip, you look up at him. “Better, I think, and she’s only allowed two visitors at a time–my parents really wanted to see her so I let them for Christmas, they don’t really get a chance otherwise.”

He hums in understanding as he puts on pink oven mitts and crouches down.

“Are you disappointed?” he asks loudly as he pulls a dish out of the oven.

You shrug. “I’d have liked to go, but I’m not all that sad about it. I don’t have much going for me in New York, so I was worried I’d be bored, but I’m having a good time.

“You just got here!” He laughs as he rises with a turkey.

“I know, but wine.” You raise your glass to him and peer into the ceramic dish. “Turkey?” you ask, which he responds to with a hum of affirmation.

“I don’t really like it, not sure if you do.”

“I like it. I would have thought you patriots like Thanksgiving stuff, though.”

You help him set up a few dishes across a small dining table and sit down.

“This was really sweet, Bucky.” You smile, tone sincere and nearly sappy as he cuts you a large leg of turkey. “Doesn’t this stuff make you sleepy?” you joke, and it takes him just a beat too long to chuckle.

“I think that’s a myth, actually,” he responds as he sits back down across from you.

“Really?” you raise your eyebrows as you dig your knife and fork into the leg. “I could have sworn...”

“Is it good?” he asks, watching you carefully, and with a kind of interest that makes you slightly uneasy, but you can’t deny it’s heavenly. You nod enthusiastically and point to the meat.

“God, this is great! You’d swear there was cocaine in here or something.”

Something lights in his eyes for a second, a spark you mistake for happiness. Bucky has always loved nothing more than to see you happy and relaxed: one of the reasons you were so drawn to him was his genuine desire to not only make you as happy as possible, but to appreciate that joy. Sometimes you got the impression making you happy pleased him almost as much as it pleased you, if not more. And it was times like these you felt bad you weren’t really able to make a commitment to him. He never seemed to mind it all too much, but you can tell it’s something he wants, and you almost feel like you’re taking advantage of his affection–but he knows, and you know, and if he isn’t happy with this arrangement, surely he’d say something.

But Bucky has to bite back the retort, “Well, not that drug.”

After a hearty meal you only put down when you feel you’re genuinely on the verge of passing out, you push away your plate. “Woo! I don’t know how I’m ever gonna work that off. I think I’ve gained, like, 10.”

“You're perfect the way you are,” Bucky says, leaning down to press his lips to your cheek as he clears the table.

You close your eyes and hum in delight, but you find it a little hard to open them again. When you manage to pry your eyes open again, it’s not much, still looking at the table through droopy lids. You stand and sway, rattling your chair as you grapple the table for support.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks as he reappears in your line of sight, brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut and ripping them open again. “But I really should get going.”

“Get going?” he repeats, moving to your side for support as you stumble forward. “I don’t think you should drive right now.”

But you dismiss him with a wave of your hand, pushing off of him to stand up straight. You think you say, “I’m fine. I’ll call you.” but you can’t really make out the words through the slight slurring.

“Lie down,” he offers gently, taking a step towards his bedroom.

“No…” you tear your arm free of his grasp. You had spent the night with him before, but for a reason you can’t figure out, this time, something is screaming at you to decline.

“Really, darling, you need to,” he insists, his voice having dropped to a low murmur. He takes a step forward and you instinctively take a step back, feeling a little guilty when he stops dead in his tracks and something like hurt flashes across his features. You know something that makes Bucky wince is when he feels someone is afraid of him, and you can only imagine how he must feel now if you’re the one displaying apprehension.

You shake your head and turn away from him to the doorway.

“Hey...” You startle as you feel his grip on your forearm, gentle, but firm. “You’re not leaving.” The words are said in a sincerely concerned way, but the fact the statement came off as more of a command than a suggestion really triggers something in you.

“Bucky...” you groan as you uselessly try to pull away, feeling weaker than you otherwise would, even against him.

He doesn’t have to give too sharp of a tug to make you stumble into his arms, his hold on you steady, and, at any other time, safe, but now it feels more certain, somehow, almost possessive. You try to protest but you’re practically babbling incoherently under him, head lolled to the side as he adjusts his grip from under your arms to pick you up bridal style.

“Just lie down for a second...”

And you’re too out of it to notice he’s passed his bedroom door.

***

It’s difficult to open your eyes again, your lashes stuck together as you turn your head over. When vision slowly comes back to you, you’re met with a midcentury wooden bedside table you don’t recognise. You prop yourself up on your forearm and squint into the room, looking for any signs of familiarity, and the only thing you recognise is the thing you dread.

“What…” you begin to mutter, and Bucky looks up from the book he’s reading with a smile.

“You’re up.” He stands from the chair positioned by ‘your’ (this isn’t your bed) beside and moves to sit on the edge, placing a hand to your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You weakly slap his hand away as you start to really wake up and realise what’s going on.

“I’m not… this isn’t… what…” you can’t really find the words to ask the questions you need answers to.

“It’s your Christmas present!” he says with a grin, standing to make a grand gesture with his arms, out to the room. I’ve got your favourite books here, I remember you telling me you used to want a four poster princess bed.” He points to the ceiling and sure enough, pretty curtains hang over your head. “But if you don’t like it I can change it.” He shrugs and stands somewhat nervously as he waits for you to react.

“What… the fuck.”

He tsks and swings his arms back and forth, rocking on his heels.

“I set it up for you a few weeks ago, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable sleeping with me every night, I know you like your space.”

“Are you out of your mind!?” You throw the sheets off of you and manage to stand, even though your head feels a little heavy.

He sighs and steps forward. “I know it feels like–”

“Oh, you know what it feels like? You know what it feels like to be ostensibly kidnapped by your boyfriend?”

He blushes. “So I am your boyfriend.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” You throw a pillow at him (ineffective but it was the nearest thing) which he catches with ease and turns over to reveal an embroidered flower. “I made this,” he says, proudly.

“What the fuck!?” you shriek as you throw another pillow at him, this one he dodges easily.

You’ve never seen him like this, nearly giddy and, in this context, borderline delusional. It makes you grip onto your hair and bunch your fingers into the locks. “Oh, my god, you’re insane!”

“I’m not the one yelling and throwing things,” he mutters, and your eyes snap up to his.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you begin, exasperated. “I’m so fucking sorry I don’t react well to crimes committed against me.”

“You came into my house.”

“Yes, but I didn’t come into this room! Do you really expect me to believe I can just leave anytime? That that door isn’t locked. You think I’m fucking stupid?”

He gently tosses the pillow back onto the bed and winces. “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

“Bucky,” you begin, carefully, voice dangerously low as you step up to him. “I don’t know what in god’s name has gotten into you, but I’m not having it. I’m leaving.”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t intimidate me.” And the way he says it with such sincere pity makes you shove at his chest. He doesn’t stumble, but he takes a step back for your benefit.

You match his step and poke your finger in his chest, glaring up at him with more fury than you thought you had and trying your hardest not to wrap your hand around his throat. What really pisses you off is his patronising speech; you can tell he genuinely thinks he’s doing good, and that he honestly feels bad that you can’t appreciate it, that you’re weaker than him, and it boils your blood. Apathy or even mockery would be better than this condescending way he’s deluded himself into believing this is for your benefit.

“Don’t call me sweetheart, you piece of shit. If that door is locked, you’re gonna unlock it, and you’re going to leave me the fuck alone.” You practically spit the words at him through gritted teeth, seething to the point you can feel heat radiating from your body and wouldn’t be surprised if there was literal steam coming out of your ears.

“Sit down, angel.”

“Talk to me like that again and there will be nothing angelic about what I do to you.”

“Your mother called.”

That gets your attention and your anger dissipates for a moment. “Really? What did she say?”

When he guides you to sit down, you’re not really in the space to fight him off, waiting to hear any news from your family.

“They’re coming down in a few days, for New Year’s, and, they’re bringing your sister–they say she’s stable enough for travel.”

You feel your eyes begin to water at the thought of your sister being that strong, of being able to talk to her like you used to, before she got sick. But you snap out of it, and that swelling in your heart turns to something close to anxiety, but closer to suspicion. “Why are you telling me this?”

He scoffs as if you’re asking him if the sky is blue. “Because I know you want to see them. I told them they could stay with us for a few days.”

“With us?”

He just blinks. “Yes, with us.”

“You must be out of your fucking mind if you think…” And the next few hours are spent with you screaming in his face, swinging punches which he easily dodges, but sometimes he humours you and allows you a hit–not like it hurts anyway. His calm demeanour and ‘care’ makes you infuriated beyond belief, and by the end of the night the room has been trashed, there are scratches on the door from your desperate clawing and pounding, your voice is hoarse from all the yelling, and you’re exhausted while Bucky is no more beaten than when you first woke up.

Eventually, you’ve physically exhausted yourself so much you can’t even push him away when he climbs into bed next to you and holds you in his arms, placing your head against his chest and caressing your hair, which he knows always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep.

***

You only know it’s morning when you wake up because Bucky greets you with it, but it doesn’t take long for your attention to fall to the walls, noticing there aren’t any windows.

“We’re in the basement, you know.” Bucky comments, watching your eyes dart around the room and catching on to what you’re doing. “I don’t have a spare room, you know that.”

You’re nearly tired of glaring daggers at him seeing as he doesn’t really feel it–if anything, it seems to spur him on, like he doesn’t really care what you do as long as he gets some kind of reaction out of you. If you remained as stoic as he did, maybe that would give him pause for thought, but you really can’t resist the urge to attack him, and he somehow sees it as endearing, like any attention you give him makes his heart swell.

Initially, you refuse his invitation for breakfast upstairs, but when that morning grumpiness subsides, you let your stubbornness fall away in favour of opportunity. This really solidifies in your mind Bucky is so convinced you’ll stay that he doesn’t really worry about turning his back on you as he flips an egg.

“Where’re you going?”

You stop dead in your tracks, shocked he had heard you get up when you were practically sneaking like a cartoonish villain.

“To the bathroom,” you lie, to which he responds with a simple, “Okay.”

It’s too easy, but you’d rather take your chances than wonder if this is some kind of setup. You have to get out of here as soon as possible, so you don’t have time to look for your car keys, but you hesitate at the door. It’s beginning to snow, and you’re not dressed anywhere near enough to make it to a neighbour–the only thing that had kept you warm before coming up to see him was that nice coat, but it’s not on the rack anymore.

There’re only a few locks you have to turn to quietly open the door, your teeth chattering as a cold breeze hits you so hard it’s painful, like your skin is literally freezing onto your bones. You’re barefoot, no less. You can’t kid yourself into thinking you won’t lose a toe or some extremities in the process, but you can not stay. It really has only been one night, but something you’ve never liked in your life is being trapped, makes your skin crawl to the point you’d rather shed it than be deprived of freedom, especially when you’ve got the chance to see your family soon. And besides, it’s really not that long of a walk to the next house, you won’t die out there, but you can only vaguely make it out through the snow, and if you scream, it’ll surely be drowned by the harsh winds. With one last glance behind you, you step into the snow, and instantly regret it, your feet set close to frozen in just a few seconds, and goosebumps rising so quickly across your skin it feels like you’ve suddenly broken out in hives. And just as you consider turning back, you’re shoved forward, and you shriek as you land face first in the snow, afraid of crying at the impact lest your tears turn to ice right on your cheeks.

You’re gripped by the arm and pulled upright, before being again pushed further away from the house you can feel radiating warmth just through the open door. You gasp for air as you manage to bring yourself to your hands and knees, fingers curling into the snow and slowly becoming numb. A harsh gust blows, nearly knocking you off balance, and you squint to look up at the door, Bucky standing before you in little more than a long-sleeved t-shirt (he’s more underdressed than you) and sweatpants, hair still a little messy with sleep, but the look in his eyes, it’s a look you’ve never been on the receiving end of–in fact, you’ve never even seen it, but you can recognise it immediately.

“You forget I’m the Winter Soldier.” You’re not sure how his deep growl manages to carry across the howling of the winds, but you don’t have time to figure it out before a metal hand grips a fistful of your hair and you’re dragged through the snow, instinctively trying to plant your feet in the ground to stop him but even if you could match his strength, the cold is unbearable, and your legs are starting to feel numb, yet still stiff.

You don’t have time to be grateful that you’ve been thrown back into warmth as you slide across the floor and Bucky kicks the door shut behind him. From a hallway table, he pulls out a wrench, and you struggle to get your arms and legs to move away from him as he approaches you, menacingly.

You don’t know how such slow and heavy footsteps manage to catch up to you so quickly, but soon he’s got his boot pressing down on your ankle, preventing you from doing more than thrashing around. He leans down and grips your face roughly, forcibly pulling you up to meet him, and his eyes are so void of emotion he nearly looks dead. He doesn’t look angry, he looks like he just can’t feel.

“I do all this for you, and you can’t even offer me a pretty little smile.” His large fingers reach into your mouth, pulling your lips and teeth apart wide, wide enough for him to shove the wrench into your mouth and attach it to one of your teeth. “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone. Maybe you’ll appreciate it more if it just wasn’t the same.” You feel your gum twist and let out a cry, gurgling through your throat. Your frail fingers grasp onto his wrist as you desperately try to shake your head, but his strong hold prevents you from it. He twists a little more and you squeeze your eyes shut, holding your breath, before he eventually pulls out and you gasp for dear life, tears stinging your vision.

He roughly tugs you up and practically throws you into a nearby chair, before taking your hand with surprising gentleness, caressing your hurting fingers with the back of his for a moment before adjusting his grip to bring the wrench back forward.

“Now this is no good…” he remarks, moving his head to see more of your frostbitten marks you’re sure will leave scars. “You know what happens to these?” The wrench attacks itself to your index finger and Bucky adjusts its width so it’s threatening to chop your finger right off.

You scream at him to let go, kicking at his legs gets no reaction out of him, but don’t dare to move the hand he’s still holding.

“What if I just…” He twists only slightly and your skin breaks, blood seeping down from your frayed skin and dripping onto your thigh.

Just as you’re about to let out an unstoppable shriek of pain, Bucky’s metal hand presses to your mouth, stopping the sound going any further than echoing off his palm for only you to hear again. He twists more and you move your wrist with it, trying anything to stop him from twisting your finger off. He notices this and removes his other hand from your mouth to hold your wrist firmly in place.

“Bucky, please–”

“Shut up!” he shouts, his hold on you tightening even further. He lowers his face to yours with wide eyes, jaw clenched impossibly tight, and speaks in a dangerously low register, his voice trembling with fury as he tries to hold it together, at least in demeanour if not in action. “You really fucked up, and if you don’t have any fingers, you won’t be able to open my door ever again.”

✪

[my beloved taglist: @cowboysnbugs, @keito-123, @vogueprincess, @cjand10, @mybabygirllove]

[lulublack90]

Prompt 26 - Champagne

@wolfstarmicrofic December 26, word count 944

Remus readjusted his bow tie for the tenth time. He hated the bloody things, but they were a requirement for these types of events, and the money was too good to say no to because of a slight discomfort. 

Usually, he was tasked with refilling empty trays with the delicate canapés, but tonight, they were short-staffed, and he’d been given a tray laden with tall, narrow glasses of champagne. He’d questioned the manager’s thinking as he’d never served from a tray, and giving him the hardest job on his first go hardly seemed like a good idea. The man had just glowered at him and told him either he could get on with it, or he would go home without pay. Remus had wanted to tear the guy a new one, but he needed the money, so he plastered his widest fake smile on his face and picked up the heavy tray. 

So far he was doing alright. It took some skill to keep the tray level when people grabbed the glasses from it. Sometimes they waited until he’d nearly walked past them before they took them and the tray had threatened to topple off his hand a few times, but he’d managed to rebalance it and carried on serving the guests. 

He was low on glasses now, he realised and made to loop back around to go reload when he spotted the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. He was all long, dark, curly hair, high cheekbones, skin that rivalled a porcelain doll and eyes so blue they froze him to the spot. He gasped before he could stop himself, and the man looked over. A cheeky, lopsided smile spread across his face and mischief played in those vibrant blue eyes. He stood up and sauntered towards Remus. Remus stood completely still. The man reached up and took the last glass of champagne off his tray and brought it to his lips, tipping the glass until the liquid spilt into his mouth. Remus watched in awe as the man's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. 

The man finished the glass and carefully placed it back on Remus’s empty tray. 

“Thanks,” He purred. “I needed that,” The man left, his hand brushing against Remus’s backside as he crossed behind him. Remus shuddered and blinked a few times before he came back to his senses and returned to the bar. 

“I hope you weren’t annoying Mr Black,” Karl the manager grunted at him as he filled more glasses with champagne for Remus to distribute. 

“Who?” Remus asked. He had no idea who Karl was talking about. 

“Sirius Black, the son of the people throwing this party. Heir to the Black family empire,” Karl continued when Remus looked at him blankly. Karl shook his head. “Whatever. Get back to work and don’t go near him again,” Remus rolled his eyes and set off around the room again, but he didn’t see Sirius again for the rest of the party.  

After the party, all the staff had to help clean up. By the end, Remus’s arms were killing him. The trays he’d been carrying all night had been heavy. He walked out of the back door into the alleyway behind the hotel where the bins were kept, rolling his sore shoulder, feeling the joint pop and crack beneath his hand. He let out a groan as he felt a bit of relief. He’d have to soak it in a bath. It was going to be agony tomorrow. He reached up and yanked the stupis bow tie from around his neck and stuffed it into his pocket. Glad he no longer had to wear it. 

He’d nearly got to the end of the alleyway and out onto the street when a voice in his ear made him jump. He spun around ready to defend himself, but dropped his fists when he saw who it was. 

“Oh, sorry, Mr Black, I didn’t realise it was you,” Sirius’s face fell. Had he said something wrong? “Sorry, did you need something? I can go back inside and get you another drink or some food?” Sirius’s face fell even further, and Remus had no idea what to do. “Mr Black?”

“Stop calling me that!” Sirius snapped. Remus flinched. “Sorry,” Sirius winced. “I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just… Well, it doesn’t matter. Please call me Sirius,” Remus nodded and smiled shyly at him. 

“Sirius, is there something I can do for you?” He didn’t have to ask. His shift was over, and he wasn’t getting paid, but something about Sirius made him want to do anything to please him. 

“A drink?” Sirius asked. Remus immediately started walking back to the door he’d just come out of. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant,” Sirius chucked as he sped down the alley after him. “I meant, would you like to come out for a drink with me?” Remus was stunned. This was the last thing he’d expected. When Sirius had brushed his arse he’d thought it was all teasing. A rich guy trying to get a reaction. It wouldn’t be the first time, but here he was asking Remus out. 

“Er, yeah, sure, sounds great,” He stammered. Sirius’s crooked grin spread across his face again, and he held his arm out to Remus. Remus didn’t let himself think and took the proffered arm. Sirius drew him in close, and they walked out onto the street. Remus had no idea where Sirius was taking him, but the man had enchanted him, and he felt oddly safe even though he knew nothing about him, that, and he had no intentions of going home just yet. 

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Drops this and runs with a tentative promise of a part two

Right Trap, Wrong Prey [NSFW Vox x Reader] - Part 1

Read on Ao3

You were going to kill Alastor.

“A simple errand, just a little favor,” he had said. Yeah right. Turns out a simple little favor was getting thrust face-first into yet another trap Alastor’s nemesis had planted in an attempt to kidnap and do lord knows what to the annoying deer that used you.

Now here you were, trapped in a room without any idea of where you had been teleported to and tied head to toe in thick cables that tightened around you like a modern mummy every time you struggled.

“Ahahaha, get absolutely fucked, Alastor!” Vox boasts as he steps into the room with bravado up the ass. “I can’t believe it took you this long to-”

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of you. You give a stiff wave with your hand sticking out of the wires and a deadpan smirk. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He asks flatly, not moving an inch.

You wince, blurting out your name before you can stop yourself.

“Right, right,” he nods as he mimics pinching where his brow would be. A habit in his past life, perhaps. “And where is Alastor?”

“Probably back at the hotel laughing his ass off at both of our expense,” you grumble.

“Mhmm, of course,” Vox nods again, closing his eyes. “Excuse me just a moment,” he says, shooting you the prize-winning grin you saw plastered across the better half of hell. 

You watch as he promptly spins on his heel, marches out of the room, and lets the door slide shut behind him. You wince as you hear a series of loud crashing sounds and angry screaming coming from an incredibly obvious source.

The door slides open, and he waltzes right back in, dusting off his suit and giving it a tug for good measure. “Right then, so you’ve given me your name. I’m assuming you’re associated with that hotel. Mind telling me how?”

You sweat internally as he asks the question. You had hoped he’d lose interest in you, maybe rough you up a bit at worst and send you on your way. Questions were dangerous. They’d been dangerous ever since you got cursed with the inability to lie.

“Actually, I mind a lot,” you huff. At least you didn’t mind being truthful for that one. You didn’t need an overlord poking around your head. It was bad enough when Alastor had discovered your unfortunate quirk. Charlie had to intervene to keep him from abusing the power trip, finding your forced honesty incredibly hilarious. 

Vox rolls his eyes. “You know, I’m not sure why I asked like that!” He grins before waving his hand to the side. “Considering, I d̷o̴n̵'̷t̷ ̵c̶a̵r̵e̷ what you want.” 

As his smile drops, so do you. The cocoon of cables around your body suddenly loosens. A few cables barely catch you before your face smacks against the ground. You yelp as the wires tighten around your limbs and yank you back into the air, leaving you face-to-face with an angry Vox. 

“Now then, let’s try this again,” he says with a tense yet chipper tone. “What do you know about Alastor?”

You struggle against your bindings with a grunt, spilling the information you know with far less resistance than you liked. “He’s the hotel manager. He wants to use Charlie for something. It’s obvious to everyone but her. I don’t know what.”

Vox scoffs, “Oh, come on. Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know?”

“Vaggie confided in me that he made a deal with Charlie.”

Shit.

You and Vox stare at each other, both shocked that such crucial information just slipped from your lips so easily. He was expecting to have to torture and interrogate you for hours before sending your mangled pieces back to the hotel as a gift. Alastor was elusive and discreet. But you had just gone and given away confidential information like an unwrapped gift with the tag still on it.

“No… fucking way,” he breathes as his face breaks out into a huge, awestruck grin.

You blanch as he puts a hand to his head and starts laughing uncontrollably. “Y-You did not just fucking tell me that! Seriously? Are you for real?”

Your face heats with a mix of shame for betraying Vaggie’s trust like that and embarrassment at his amusement. “S-Shut the fuck up! I didn’t…”

Vox snorted as he calmed down. “Didn’t what? Mean to cave within five seconds of being in front of an overlord? I thought all you idiots at the hotel were stupidly brave. Guess the princess’s shiny ideals finally started bringing in the cowardly types.”

“I’m not a fucking coward,” you snarl as you try to grab him. Your bindings only yank back, restraining you further. A snap is your only warning before the cables burst to life with electricity. You barely process your own scream, too lost in the blaring pain searing through your body.

You gasp as he snaps again, holding his poised fingers before you to prove a point. The shocks wracking your body cease and the message is clear.

”You know… you’re quite feisty,” he hums. “Most people would beg for mercy or grovel at my feet, saying that they’ll do anything for me to let them go.”

He stepped closer again as his eyes kept their gaze on you.

”You could stand to learn a thing or two from them.”

You smirk with false bravado, free to speak your mind without him prompting you like before. “I've lived with an egocentric prick like you for months now," you say, spitting at his cheek defiantly. "I know begging wouldn't change a thing.’

“Ohoho, not so cowardly after all,” Vox grins sharply with a twitching eye as he wipes his face. He snaps, and sure enough, your screams fill the room once more. He lets it go on for longer this time before giving you relief with another snap.

“Now then,” Vox begins, holding up his fingers again. “What deal did Charlie make with Alastor?”

Your eyes widen, and you clamp your mouth shut this time. With enough warning, you could at least try to resist the urge. However, it didn’t take long for the strain of resisting the magic to take its toll.

Vox watched curiously, quirking a brow as you seemed to struggle, almost like you were holding your breath. He’s just about to snap his fingers when you suddenly gasp and blurt out, “She owes him a favor.”

For a moment, he just stares at you. Your head is dropped, your face burning with frustration and shame. You hated this. This stupid curse had always been a pain, but now it was actively hurting and endangering the people you cared about. All because Alastor couldn’t be damned to clean up his own messes.

Vox’s brows furrow as he examines you. You didn’t look afraid, not like you were trying to give the information in exchange for avoiding pain. The timing was off, and the panic in your expression wasn’t quite right.

He looked at you like he was trying to unravel a tangled necklace. He didn’t need to solve a whole puzzle; he just needed to find the right loop and it would all unravel for him easily. 

“Why did you answer my question just now?” He asks.

Your eyes widen as fear courses through your veins. “Nononono,”  you thought to yourself as you struggle to keep your mouth shut. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, willing yourself not to speak.

This time, Vox makes no threats. He simply watches as it gets harder for you to breathe. He watches as your face flushes and sweat beads above your brow. You pant heavily as your head begins to pound. A tickle in your throat grows into a clawing pain until it feels like you need to cough, gasp, and scream all at once. 

You whine, trembling under the strain until finally, you gasp, “I’m afflicted with a curse that forces me to speak the truth.”

Vox’s eyes widen as you look down at the floor in a dazed shock, catching your breath. He processes the information as a small grin spreads on his lips. “Interesting,” he hums.

He suddenly unbuttons his jacket and grabs a chair, pulling it up before you. He drapes his coat over the chair, thinking to himself as he sits in front of you.

He rests his chin on his hands, elbows on his thighs as he makes you wait in tense silence. No one had ever reacted like this before and the quiet unnerved you.

“Do you have any other information about Alastor that would prove useful to me?” Vox asks with an unreadable tone.

“No,” you say quietly, knowing it was pointless to resist now that he knew. You dangled from the cables that suspended you like a broken doll. Tears fell from your eyes, dirtying the ground with your guilt. You’d completely betrayed the hotel. The friends that you considered family, the ones who took you in. You failed them.

Vox hums, catching one of the tears as it falls, observing it as the light glistens through the drop reflecting on his metallic claw.

“Are you afraid of Alastor?” He asks, catching you off-guard. 

“Of course I am,” you answer bluntly. 

“Mm,” Vox nods noncommittally. “Good.” 

The cables shift slowly, lowering you to your knees. It’s surprisingly gentle, unlike before. A cable wraps around your neck as your wrists are shifted to cross behind your back.

Vox lowers a hand, looking down at you as he lifts your chin. The cable around your neck gradually tightens, making it uncomfortable but not impossible to breathe. At least not yet.

“Another question for you,” he smirks as the tip of his clawed finger drags under your chin, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “A̴r̵e̶ ̶y̶o̸u̸ ̴a̸f̸r̷a̸i̶d̸ ̷o̷f̷ ̵m̴e̸?̶”

Your breaths are coming in quicker now. There's not enough air. You're on the verge of hyperventilation as the cable constricts around your neck like a snake.

“Y-Yes,” you gasp as you strain against your binds. You could only imagine the bruises blooming around your limbs and how a matching necklace of blue and purple was about to follow suit. 

Vox’s eyes flashed as he grinned, dead pixels spilling from his lips as he eyed you like a shark drawn to blood in the water. 

“Oh, good girl,” he teases as he flicks your chin. The cable around your neck loosens enough to catch your breath, and you gasp. Your head drops, only for it to snap back up as you look at him in shock. Did he just?!

“I’ve decided,” he smirks as he pulls up an electric blue hologram and commands the cables around your dominant arm to loosen until you can pull it free. “You’re going to make a deal with me.”

You scoff, “Like hell, I w- mmph!”

You’re suddenly cut off as Vox’s hand shoots out and grabs you by the face. His palm covers your mouth as his claws dig into the sides of your face, just below your temples. You can feel blood trickle down your jawline as he tilts his head and smiles pleasantly.

“Careful dollface,” he smiles with sharp eyes. “You wouldn’t want to upset me. Not when I’m about to change the fate of your wasted potential.”

You whimper as tears spring to the corners of your eyes. More dead pixels spill from his lips as his grin grows hungrier at the sight.

“You’re going to work for me as one of my… assistants. You’ve shot your friends in the back, and we both know they have no reason to take you back after this. Let’s face it: if they actually cared about you, you wouldn’t even be here right now!”

He lifts you with ease single-handedly off of the ground. “I'll handle your basic needs and you'll tend to mine… A fair trade, don't you think?”

Your eyes widen as you start to struggle. An overlord's needs were a dangerous thing. Sketchy deals, brazen violence, pure debauchery. Nothing good.  You smack at him with your free hand, yelling muffled profanities at him for even implying you’d agree.

He expected this but sighed with a roll of his eyes. “I’d say you’re making me do things the hard way,” he says like it’s a big chore before his eye suddenly flashes with a spiral. “But this is honestly quite easy,” he grins.

Your arm drops as your body goes lax underneath his control. A pleasant hum fills your ears, your eyes drooping as you relax unwillingly with a soft sigh. He smirks, gladly soaking up the power trip of controlling you so easily. “Now then, let’s try that again, shall we?”

He summons a pen and puts it in your hand, lifting your arm to sign the contract. “Sign here and here,” he says in a chipper voice as if you were just some customer getting a warranty instead of a prisoner signing away your soul. 

The second the contract flashes under the deal’s completion, he drops the hypnotic spell over you. You sob as you're dropped to the ground. You’re too wrapped up in losing your freedom to care as the cable from before resecuring your arm behind your back again.

“See, that wasn't so bad,” Vox smugly taunts you as he waves the contract away.

You grit your teeth, torn between wanting to cry and wanting to kill the man before you. “Don’t patronize me…”

Vox smirked as he saw the look in your eyes, knowing he was starting to piss you off. Good. That’s not a fire he sees in someone’s eye often anymore. Everyone is either below him and scared or just another annoying overlord. This was different, and he loved every second of it. He walked closer, standing right before you as he spoke condescendingly.

"Aww, what's the matter, dollface? Don't like being on your knees for me?" He taunts.

You growl, lunging forward and straining against your binds, “I said don’t patronize me!”

Slap!

You blink, completely dazed as you feel the hot sting of the strike on the side of your face. 

Vox frowns at you as he sits up and shakes his hand out. “If I were you, I wouldn't try that again,” he warns.

He knew you would eventually. And he couldn't wait to punish you when the time came.

“Go to Hell,” you growl as you tug against your bindings.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs as he snaps his fingers. You barely have a chance to realize he's only doing that to train you to expect pain as a large cable snakes up out of nowhere and wraps around your neck.

You make the horrible mistake of crying out when the cable squeezes your throat, giving him the exact opening he wanted. Your cries turn into garbled, muffled noises as the rounded end of the cable shoves itself into your mouth, stretching your jaw open impossibly wide.

Vox leans back in his chair with a smirk, watching you as the cable starts to thrust back and forth in a lazy, precise rhythm. The cable pushed just far enough down your throat to make you gag a little each time. 

Drool quickly began to run down your chin as you choked and cried around the fat cable that fucked your throat just a little deeper every time you started to get used to the excruciating pressure. Your eyes roll back as your vision begins to blur. Little black dots dance before your eyes as the foreign sounds of your own garbled moans fill your ears. 

“Hm,” Vox tuts as he looks you over. “Now, that won't do. You’re almost perfect, but…”

Vox waves a hand, and the wires binding you slither across your body and under your clothes. You panic and start to twist and squirm as the cables wrap around your clothes and pull on them until they're yanked off of you with a terrible rip.

Your muffled scream only makes Vox laugh cruelly as your throat bulges against the thick cable around your throat. Just as you feel like you're going to break, the cable finally slithers out of your mouth. You gasp loudly, sucking in air so quickly that you choke on it and descend into a coughing fit.

“That's much better,” Vox smirks as drool pools on top of your exposed tits, dripping down onto your stomach. 

“Now tell me,” he grins as he presses his sleek dress shoe against your crotch. “Do you want to hurt me?” 

You don't expect him to ask that. “Yes,” you gasp between scratchy breaths. 

He grins wider, pressing down on your clit with the tip of his shoe. You jolt with a moan as he rubs against your clit with purpose.

“So fucking easy,” he chuckles. “So defiant, yet completely helpless and so honest. Tell me, brat. Do you want me to do more?”

Your face burned with shame. Your eyes burned with rage. Your throat was sore and abused, your limbs ached, and you had every reason to hate him.

Even so… “Yes,” you admit begrudgingly, adding another sin to weigh upon your back.

“Good girl,” Vox praised as he started to undo his belt buckle. A small wire crept up as he lifted his shoe, zapping your clit. You cry out and jolt, making him groan at the sight of your body.

“Mm, fuck,” he moans as he pulls himself out of his boxers and strokes himself a few times. “Gonna have to thank Alastor for the present. You have no idea what I've got in mind for you, doll. Just wait until I show you to Val.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach at the mention of Valentino. You'd heard the rumors and knew how dangerous the overlord was. His many reputations proceeded him… All of them did. Including the one that made your core heat at the very thought.

Vox noticed the shift in your body and chuckled darkly. He sits up and cups your face as he pulls your face close to his.

“Oh? Did that turn you on, dollface?”

You whimper, squeezing your thighs together as your mind gets cloudier with shameful desire building in your gut. Another zap to your puffy clit made you cry out and whine pathetically.

“O-Okay, fine! Yes, it did! Happy now?” You confess as your face burns.

“Oh, darling,” he purrs as he leans forward, catches your lower lip between his dangerously sharp teeth and tugs. You mewl at the blissfully sharp pain as he releases your lip and smirks. “You have no idea.”

With that, he crashes his lips against yours, hungrily swiping his tongue across your lips, demanding entry. Your entire body comes alive with electricity as you melt underneath the force of his ministrations.

He reaches up and grabs your chest with both hands, kneading tender flesh with dangerous claws. You arch into his touch, trembling from the sharp pricks that make you twitch and whimper as his plasma tongue pushes into your mouth.

He groans, bucking his twitching cock uselessly again the air. “God, you're so fucking hot,” he murmurs against your lips as he pulls back from the kiss.

“Who do you belong to?” He asks roughly against your ear. 

“I belong to you, Vox,” you whimper with tears in your eyes.

“Ohh, fuck that's it, baby,” he groans, licking the trail of tears off your cheek as he jerks himself off. “Say it again. Who owns you, doll?”

“You own me, Vox,” you sob as your head drops.

Vox clicks his tongue and pulls back to loosely grab your face, looking at you with a small frown.

“Call me Sir.”

You moan, shuddering from the command. The entire evening had tilted you off your axis. Up was down and vice versa. You couldn't help but get swept away by the fearful pleasure building in you from the whirlwind of events.

You'd blame it on the stress. The fear. The shock of signing your soul away. That's what made you give in. That's why your body was so desperate for a release. That's why you said, “Yes… Sir.”

Something hot flashed across Vox's eyes as you obeyed him shyly like you were dipping your toes in the water and admitting to yourself that you wanted this. And dear Satan, if he hadn't wanted to teach you to fulfill your potential before, he sure as Hell did now.

“Do you want to serve me?”

No!

“Yes…”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

No! Not like this! Please! 

“Y-Yes, I do,” you whimper as your body burns with shame. This was ticking so many boxes for you, but it was still mortifying to say how much you craved something like this for a very long time.

“Tell me what you want,” Vox orders directly. “What do you want, Doll?”

You sob as the last of your willpower escapes you. “I w-want you to… To use me,” you whimper.

That was exactly what he wanted to hear.

Vox stood, pumping himself again as he manifested a plasma chain connected to a collar around your neck. He pulled on the chain, making you stumble forward on your knees, your face smacking into his pelvis right next to his throbbing cock.

Your eyes go wide and you feel yourself salivate as you look at it. Vox's eye flashes with a hypnotic spiral in his excitement.

“Suck. Now.”

You were far enough gone that you didn't even need to be hypnotized to obey, already completely enthralled by the sleek cock before you. He was long and thick. Not as girthy as the cable from earlier, but big enough that you'd feel him down your throat for sure. The underside of his length had six glowing cyan ridges, three on each side, and the tip of him was cyan, leaking with clear precum that made you drool.

You lean back, your hands still bound behind your back as you open your mouth and carefully take the head of his cock between your lips. You moan as you swirl your tongue around the tip of him, licking up the salty precum and pressing your tongue against the small slit of his cockhead for more.

Vox groaned lowly as he tangled his claws in your hair. You happily moaned in turn as he shallowly thrust into your mouth, encouraging you to open up and take more of him. You flatten your tongue underneath his length, sucking dutifully as you look up at him with your freshly teary eyes.

Vox throws his head back and moans. “Mm, fuck dollface, you look so good crying on Daddy’s cock like that. Hope you like being on your knees because I've got a spot under my desk and a chain with your name on it.”

Vox's grip suddenly tightens on your head, making your eyes widen as he starts thrusting fast and hard down into your mouth like a fleshlight. You choke and garble on his cock, tears flowing down your face as your eyes roll back in your head.

Vox groans, panting and growling as he loses himself in the pleasure before ripping you off of him, forcing you to look up as you gasp for air.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you? Be a good girl and tell me,” he commands.

You pant heavily, feeling like a complete and utter mess with drool and tears soaking your face, shame and desire soaking your cunt. 

“Y-Yes, Sir,” you gasp, face burning hot with shame. “I'd like that very much.”

“Good little cocksleeve,” he cooes sweely in stark contrast to the way he tightens his grasp on your head and starts facefucking you again. Your garbled moans and cries were music to his ears as he used your wet, sloppy, smartass mouth to please himself. 

“Ohh fuck, you're going to be such a good little stress relief toy when Val's too busy playing with Angel Dust. He gets his toy; it's time I have my own,” he monologues between grunts as he pounds your throat like a pussy.

“Delivered to me right from Alastor himself,” he cackles, twisting the tale to fuel his own fantasies. That one earns him a particularly pleased moan as he starts to thrust into your mouth sloppier. 

Your eyes widen when you realize he's close. You start to desperately thrash against your bindings as you choke on his cock. It only backfires and makes dead pixels spill from his lip as he bucks into you, his balls slapping your chin as he grinds into your face.

“Oh f-fuck,” he groans as he grabs your head and curls in, fucking you deeper and harder, making stars dance across your vision. “You're mine now, you hear me? All fucking m̷i̶n̴e̵!”

You let out a garbled scream as he cums hard down your throat. Your lungs burn as hot ropes of electrifying cum spurt past your lips and down your throat. You choke and sputter as he twitches and moans, grinding his hips against your face like you're a toy and he's in heat. 

“That's it, darling. Take every last drop. Fucking take it.”

Once his cock stops twitching, he pulls out, giving you a much-needed chance to breathe again. He smirks as you cough and hack. The cables around your body loosen and slither away, letting your arms finally drop to your thighs as you catch your breath.

“Tell me, Doll. Did you like that?”

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cuss him out and damn him for playing with your head. But you also wanted more.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, completely humiliated by the truth.

He salivates. Dead pixels betray his excitement from the conflict between your mind, heart, and body. It was sweet torture that fueled his ego in ways that already had his dick getting hard again.

“Be a good girl and tell me…” he hums as he drags his claws through your hair as he pets your head condescendingly. “What do you want?”

You wanted to kill him.

“I w-want you to fuck me,” you sob, trembling with shame as your body's desire spoke for you and took away your bite.

“Good girl,” he cooes with a smug grin that only grows wider when you glare up at him. “ So honest for me… Now tell me where,” he commands as he squeezes your cheek and gives a little teasing shake. “Come on, use your words. We both know you have it in you.”

You growl, smacking his hand away. You try to bite down your words, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Oh, playing this game again, are we?” He grins as he sits down again and watches you struggle. “By all means, go ahead, dollface. I do love to watch you suffer.”

Your fury keeps you grounded as the pressure looms over you. Your fingers claw against the cool, smooth floor as you pant heavily under the growing pain in your head. But it's inevitable. You can't hold out.

“I want you to fuck me,” you gasp through pained tears. “Please…”

Vox's dick twitches hard at the extra little word. “Oh, please, she says,” he grins. “I didn't order you to do that. Look at you, naturally falling into the role you were meant to play.”

Vox stands, looming over you with a predatory aura, like he was about to go in for the kill. 

“Let's make sure you really learn your place.”

You moan as he flips you around roughly. He moves you so you're on your hands and knees again, only to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back. 

“We'll have to see if you're as good at taking orders during work as you are when you're desperate for my cock,” Vox chuckles.

Before you can argue or have the chance to regard the audacity of his treatment, he pulls you back and presses his cock into you slowly. You both groan as he takes his time thrusting shallowly into you, pushing a little further in each time.

“B-Bastard,” you gasp despite the way your body rocks back against his. “I'll fucking kill you for this…”

“Oho, by all means, I'd love to see you try,” he chuckles darkly. He lets go of your hair to grab your hips, giving your ass a firm smack that makes you yelp before he digs his claws into your flesh. You cry out as he suddenly fucks the rest of his cock into you with three sharp thrusts accompanied by low growls that make your core clench.

“You know I'm curious,” he hums nonchalantly, like he wasn't knocking the wind out of you with every brutal snap of his hips. “I wonder how you do with multiple questions…”

He stills for a moment, dragging a single claw lazily down your sweat-sheened back as he asks in rapid succession.

"Do you really not want more, dollface? Or do you want me to push you even further? Do more... humiliating... embarrassing things instead? You are completely helpless, aren't you?”

"No," you whimper the first answer as hot shame flooded your system.

"Yes," you gasp the second answer as he slowly trails around your hip, tantalizingly heading straight for your clit.

"Yes," you whimper again as he presses down the tip of his finger against your lower stomach, just above where you were aching.

"Y-Yes," you admit finally with a mix of fear, guilt, and arousal. 

He smirked at your answers, enjoying how you first denied him... and how he managed to break you and make you admit it completely. He loved that shame. He loved the humiliation. He loved the fear you were feeling. Oh, you were just so... perfect like this.

"Aww, good girl... that wasn't so hard now, was it?” He cooes as his finger starts to rub little circles around your puffy clit. “Say it again, dollface. What do you want?”

"It was incredibly hard," you complain with a long whine as your hips buck against his finger and back onto his cock. He didn't even have to move with how your body jolted from the focused stimulation. You were sloppily fucking yourself on his cock all on your own.

Your face was burning at this point. You look away shamefully as you mutter the answer as quietly as possible. "I want more," you sob.

He smirks, tilting your head to look at him, not letting you look away.

"Look at me when you answer. Don't you dare say it too quietly. I want to hear that shame, dollface. Tell me, what do you want so badly? Where do you want me to touch you?" he asks as he puts more pressure on your clit and stops rubbing.

You whimper, curling in on yourself as much as you're able. "I w-want you to touch... my chest... between my legs... everywhere... please," you gasp as the tears finally roll down your face.

"Good girl,” cooes with genuine praise this time. “That's what I wanted to hear. Very good girl..."

He pats your clit as if to say he'd be right back. You jolt as he drags a claw up your stomach, only to suddenly grab one of your breasts tightly. You yelp as he pinches your sensitive flesh and tugs on your hardening nipple. 

"Do you want me to touch you here, dollface?" He asks softly as he reaches around with his other hand, hovering over your heart for a moment before grabbing your other tit.

"Y-Yes," you gasp, whimpering as his thumb rolls your poor nipple cruelly.

He loved watching you jolt. He loved how vulnerable you looked in his hands. And he especially loved the way you answered. And that answer?

"Good girl, oh, I like you like this,” he teases. “Such an adorable little thing in my control. How does it feel, dollface? Do you like it?”

You gasp, your eyes rolling back as he takes both your breasts and lights his claws with electricity. Your back arches, and you scream as he sends wave after wave of voltage straight to your chest.

"Y-Yes!" You sob through your forced shame. “I fucking love it!” You hated this. Hated how humiliating it was. Being forced to admit your body's desires despite never wanting to be in this position in the first place.

"Fffffuck, Vox!" You moan before shooting him a heated glare. "I'll k-kill you! I'll- AAH!" you cry out as he zaps your chest again.

"You'll kill me? You're still saying that, darling?” He chuckled as he zapped you again. 

“I must admit, I’m hurt,” he sighs dramatically over your cries. “I gave you what you wanted, and this is the thanks I get?”

You choke on a moan as he starts thrusting into you again steadily. He gives your tits a good smack before he reaches and squeezes your ass with both hands.

“Apologize, or the next thing I electrocute you with is my dick,” he orders with a savage grin.

Your eyes widen as you shake your head and try to crawl away. His claws dig into your ass, a silent warning that makes you whimper as you stop in place and accept your fate.

“I-I'm sorry,” you sob begrudgingly.

Vox smirks with a pleased hum. "That wasn't so hard, now was it, dollface? Look on the bright side. Good girls get what they want,” he laughs breathily as he fucks you like a bitch in heat.

Your limbs threaten to buckle underneath you as you moan from the sheer pleasure of it all, collapsing against the cool tiles beneath you.

“What do good girls say?” He asks as he slaps your ass hard.

“Fuck!” you cry out from the pain, sobbing as he smacks your ass again.

“Mm, wrong answer. Try again,” he chastises you casually as he strikes you again and again.

“T-Thank you, sir!” You cry out as tears roll down your ruined face. “T-thank you! Thank you! Fuck! Thank you!”

“Thaaaat's it,” he growls as he fucks into you faster. “Fucking Satan, a brat who can't lie? Happy fucking holidays to me,” he laughs cruelly as he moves over you, pulling your hips up so he can plow you properly.

You can't respond, too lost in the pleasure as his cock rams into you over and over. All you can do is babble and moan as your body eagerly sucks him in. Your spirit was defiant, your heart was terrified, but your pussy was thriving as he reshaped it to the will of his relentless cock.

“I hope you're ready for your new life,” he grins as he feels you both approaching the pinnacle that would forever redefine your life's purpose. “Because after this, you're not going anywhere.”

Your eyes roll back, hot tears streaming down your face as you let out a long, guttural moan. His words are the final point that tips the scale in your body's favor, making you cum hard as your mind leaks away through your spasming cunt.

Vox growls, shouting as he slams his hips into yours again and again. Ropes of white hot cum are fucked into you as he pushes himself through the orgasm. He wanted you to remember this night for a long, long time.

You whimper as he finally collapses against you, shoving his cock snugly against your womb.

He lazily pets your hair as you cry quietly, shushing you and kissing your tear-stained cheek.

“Don't worry darling,” he cooes. “You're going to love it here.”

You cry harder as your old life fades from view. You cry because as your body twitches with the aftershocks of his use, you know that he's right. Pride be damned, honor be damned. 

You were going to love your new life.

[superbfirnacho]

UTMV Pirate questions for you~!

we've seen how Nightmare would react to finding a siren hidden in his crew (sense of betrayal, disgust), how would Dream react to the same scenario?

have any of Killer's pranks ever backfired/gotten out of hand?

now that he has access to a range of foods (as much as is possible on a boat), is there anything Horror likes to make as a comfort meal? or does he focus on nutrition and making as much use from available food stuffs as possible?

what could potentially happen in a 3-way fight between Dream, Nightmare and Error's crew? would there be anyone willing to pair up to take out the third before focusing on each other?

thank you for making this AU it's really fun! - @limey-self-inserts

Dream would probably feel very hurt. Although he would understand that sirens need to keep their identity hidden, he would be confused why you felt you had to hide it from him. Do you not trust him? Are you scared? How can he help you? He thought he made it clear he sees everyone as equals, but if not, he’ll do better for you.

One time he tried to scare horror, and caught him on a bad day. Let’s say Horror nearly sunk the ship from the holes of all the missed punches he threw at killer.

Horrors comfort meal is lemon and garlic cod with a side of steamed potatoes and tomatoes. It reminds him of home. He doesn’t care about what he eats because he manages to get plenty of exercise during raids.

absolute utter chaos, possibly ending in an explosion of multiple ships, specifically Nightmares, as ink and dreams combined abilities could probably hold Error back better then Nightmares crew. Either way all three ships are leaving broken and battered. The sea around them filled with debris.

and your welcome!!!! I’ve been working on this au and I’m glad people actually like it, it means a lot because I never thought I would make it this far :3

[makoredeyes]

This request came from outside of tumblr: Lord Saladin/Lady Jolder

#27 - as a suggestion

Saladin Forge thought she was as lovely as as the sun. Even on their down day, out on the training grounds sparring for fun, she's in her best armor, polished to a mirror shine, and she's in full warpaint, dark kohl under her eyes so that their dazzling blue flashes ferociously every time they make eye contact. Her lips are red, too, but only because he's split them with a punch, blood brightening rosy skin. If he'd pulled the strike, he knows she would have killed him for holding back.

He adores her for it.

He thinks she is lovely and brilliant and ferocious and she was hurtling through the air right at him and he barely managed to block her responding strike, staggering backwards several steps from the force of her.

She laughs, melodic and bright, and kicks him in the shins because he is too busy looking at her eyes.

"Focus, you daft old oak!" She giggled, launching at him with a shoulder charge he dodges much more gracefully. "And fight me like you mean it!" "We're training, my Lady!" Saladin countered. Lady Jolder laughed again, brighter than ever, and chucked her shield at him. It crashed against his axe with a horrible clang.

"Do the enemies we train to fight expect you to take it easy as well?" She teased, dancing from side to side, taunting him. She even did a little pirouette, her armor glittering dazzling fractals of white and blue from snow and sky. She bounded forward, into his personal space, and pressed up against him. "Do they too know that you will stay your hand if they wear pretty eye-makeup?"  "I- what?!" He sputtered, skin darkening as he went hot, but she only batted her eyelashes at him...and then grabbed him by the collar and threw him down hard to the ground, winding him. She pounced on him, throwing her weight onto his chest, making him wheeze, and sat astride him grinning.

"You heard me, Lord Saladin!" She leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with him. "You. Are. Distracted!" She sang. "And I have watched you spar with poor Silimar enough to know that you usually do not have this problem."

Saladin scowled and tried to sit up but she bounced her weight, slamming him back down before he could get very far.  Saladin sputtered, struggling with what to say cornered as he was. Jolder looked utterly delighted by the results of her bullying. She tipped her head, looking him over. "Don't worry. Next time I'm sure you'll get the pin," she cooed. With that, she flattened out and paid him a good, hungry kiss.

She kept kissing him until he started to lean into it, responding, and then she gave his lip a gentle bite and leapt away, panting and rubbing her bloodied, swollen lips around a crooked smile. "Better catch me, if you want the rest," she purred, dancing away. Saladin jumped, scrambling to his feet.

[star-farer]

white lies and dear laughter

Summary: Naive little clones will ever be teased by fond fathers. AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @groguandthebadbatch @sskim-milkk @leapingbadger

Author's Note: A Merry Christmas to each and every one of you! Apologies for how late this has been released, but I did want to write one as a Christmas present all the same! Hope you all had a wonderful and blessed Christmas!

Wrecker, munching on his third ration bar of the hour (courtesy of Crosshair having pilfered extras from the mess hall), found himself under the squinty-eyed scrutiny of their youngest one quiet evening on Tipoca City. Or as quiet as a forever-storming planet could get, at least.

“Buir,” said Omega, standing on her tiptoes with one little hand holding his shoulder for balance, gently poking the side of his face, “Wha’ happen’ to your ear?”

The sounds of Tech’s tinkering came to a halt; Hunter’s mug of tea paused halfway to his mouth; Crosshair pulled the red paintbrush away from the pauldron with tense shoulders. The fabric of time pinched in a grimace, hanging suspended for what seemed like one very long moment. A silence spanned the distance between the brothers across the barracks, thick enough to be cut into neat cubes and given to keep Clone Force 99 (hungry daughter included) full for an entire week.

But Wrecker had been waiting for this question for a very long time.

And by that, he meant ever since he'd first held her.

“Oh,” he said, swallowing his bite of ration bar and laughter. It took a significant amount of willpower not to grin, but he managed it all the same, ducking his head just in case his face betrayed him.

“You ate it, tracyn.”

Hunter choked on his tea.

One of Tech’s fingers lifted with his fisted hand in that way it always did before a lecture, but a paintbrush struck his goggled face before he could say anything else.

Crosshair glared at him to shut up unless you want more red paint across your cheeks.

Frowning, Tech took the hint.

“What?!” Omega squeaked, drawing back a little to search his face

“Wrecker,” Hunter reprimanded weakly, shaking with coughs.

Wrecker only looked back at her with what he hoped was a convincing show of sincerity. “Uh-huh! You were real hungry one night, so you snuck up to my bunk and chewed my ear right off.”

Little mouth agape, she turned back to poke at the scarred shell of his ear once more. He didn’t register much feeling there anyways, but she was still very careful when she touched the area.

“An’ wha’ ‘bout this one?” she demanded, her eyebrows knitting together. He heard more than felt her finger tapping the atrophied skin close beside his ear, the soft and muted little thuds of her fingertip against his bone like the way a heart beat against a sternum.

He shrugged. “You screamed so loud one night it made my skin fall off.”

That made her go very quiet as she stared at the side of his head. The barracks fell into yet another bout of heavy silence, all four of the clones giving their whole attention to the girl by Wrecker’s side. The rain outside was loud and insistent, muffled though it was by the thick transparisteel. It felt like a collective breath was being held, the anticipation of Omega’s reaction simply too great to bear.

For a second, he wondered if he’d gone too far.

Her finger trailed along his scars, ever so tender in the way it traced out crooked shapes and patterns. “Hurts?”

Well, hurt isn’t the exact word a clone commando would use, least of all a 99 enhanced for strength. Itchy, yes. Sensitive, maybe a little. Sometimes there was a dull ache around the region, other times it felt like he was standing right next to a star going supernova.

But he’d given Omega enough to think about for one rotation, he decided, so he settled on simplicity. “A little, ya know? Sometimes.”

A small, sad noise erupted from the back of her throat, and she looked into his mismatched eyes earnestly, her brown gaze sparkling. “Can I kiss it better?”

He blinked, startled.

Then smiled, warm and true, affection melting his heart.

“’Lek Om’ika,” he laughed fondly, “You can kiss it better.”

And like the sun piercing through Kamino’s storms, her face lit up bright, her mouth spreading in a wide and toothy grin.

Once more pushing up to her tiptoes, even though he bent for her sake, she reached up and pecked, ever so kindly and sweetly, first his temple and then his ear.

“All better,” she declared triumphantly, leaning back and patting the scars.

Past her happy face and over her bouncing curls, his brothers were all watching with a soft joy that was common in her presence. He wondered if he looked anything like them when he gazed at her, then quickly dismissed that thought as stupid because of course he did.

With yet another hearty laugh — something else that was common in her presence — he hooked an arm around her little form, drew her close, and pressed a lingering kiss to one round cheek, smiling when she squealed and giggled.

“Everything’s always better with you, ner ik’aad.”

[housewarningparty]

💘 Amy/Faith; Bonus Prompt word; settle. (If you want to indulge me on my agenda)

I come baring a variety of prompts for you hope some of these click and get you juiced.

all your prompts were so good. writing this one as an alternate ending to your excellent fic A Prison of Their Own Making

Also, a bit of a swerve on the meaning of mutual pining lmao

-

“That feels good, Willow,” Amy husks and Faith, with her lips on Amy’s throat, feels the way her breath hitches the moment before Faith shoves her off.

She lands with a shriek and a thud on the shabby motel carpet, looking scared and shocked, but otherwise unharmed. Faith’s glad, because there was definitely a second of hangtime there, just a little too much unregulated slayer strength and for a moment she felt her heart lurch, sick, at what she could have done.

“What the hell, Faith?” Amy shoots back up to her feet, backing away with a sneer, looking at Faith like she’s a dog about to snap. “You fucking psycho!”

“I’m sorry,” the apology slips out before Faith can get her thoughts in order. “I didn’t…”

Faith feels herself flushing, oily embarrassment and sick guilt and more than a little anger of her own roiling in her belly. She hates the way Amy’s looking at her, like that crazy bitch has any right to judge. If anything, she’s even more pathetic than Faith is. This fucked up roleplay thing was her idea, anyway. Faith had just got caught up for a second.

“I’m leaving,” Amy huffs, turning away and Faith should let herself fall back on the bed in relief, should say ‘good fucking riddance’ and start work on forgetting this entire miserable, embarrassing night ever happened.

Instead she says, “Wait,” and bounces to her feet, reaching out to grab Amy by the wrist before she can make it to the motel door.

Amy freezes, struggles for a second, but then stops when Faith steps in closer, pressing her front to Amy’s back, settling her lips on the side of Amy’s neck and offering a tentative kiss. No tongue, no teeth, just her lips, searching.

“Let’s just knock it off with the game, okay, I didn’t like that,” Faith says, hating the slight shake in her own voice, hoping Amy chalks it up to her being horny. “You don’t have to go yet. We can still help each other out.”

Amy hasn’t spoken yet, but Faith can feel her body relaxing in Faith’s grip. Boldly, Faith lets her hands drift from Amy’s wrist, the curve of her hip, up her abdomen, under her shirt. Her fingertips graze the underside of Amy’s bra, and Faith closes her eyes, starts working a bruise into the tender spot just under the curve of Amy’s jaw, pulling needy little whimpers out of her.

“Are you sure you don’t want…?” Amy’s voice trails off and Faith opens her eyes to a flash of honey blonde hair, familiar features. Her lips tingle, remembering Buffy’s name passing through them earlier, that fucked up moment of weakness.

She manages not to shove Amy this time. Just slams her eyes shut, forces her body still despite the hammering of her heart, the slightly nauseous, slightly horny swoop in her belly. “No,” Faith grits out, teeth clenched tight. She slips her hands up under Amy’s bra, grabs her tits hard enough to make Amy wince and try jerking away. Faith doesn’t let her get far, but eases up on her grip, lets her fingertips search out Amy’s hard nipple under the cup, twisting and rubbing more gently until her body relaxes again.

“Why?” Amy asks, and arches into Faith’s hands.

It takes Faith a moment to figure out what to say. It feels important somehow, to just fucking do this. She’ll still feel like shit about all of this in the end, but that seems inevitable. At least this way she can get off. And she hasn’t been with a girl in a minute. 

Plus, she feels a little bad for Amy. And maybe that makes her feel a little better about herself — it’s so rare Faith gets the opportunity to pity someone who has it worse than her. And Amy, no doubt, has it worse than she does. Buffy may go home with tall dark and celibate, but at least she spends some of her nights with Faith. Faith has been floating around on the edge of Buffy’s friend group for weeks and hasn’t heard any of them say Amy’s name not even once. 

And, well, maybe it’s a good deed, breaking Amy in herself. Faith prefers to sleep with people who are experienced, who know what they want, has already had the virgin thing blow up in her face before, but maybe she can teach Amy a thing or two, maybe if she ever actually gets a chance to get up under Willow’s hideous patterned skirts she’ll actually be able to impress her.

“‘Cause I’m here with you,” Faith says, eventually, when Amy finally pulls away, turning in her arms to look at Faith’s face. 

Something ripples across Amy’s face, an expression Faith doesn’t know her well enough to decipher. Maybe she’s glad to hear it — Faith hopes she is. Maybe she picked up on the underlying whether either of us likes it or not of the sentiment. Maybe she thinks Faith is a coward for deflecting.

It doesn’t matter in the end, because Amy loops her arms around Faith’s neck and leans in. All enthusiasm, no finesse. Faith doesn’t mind — it’s better than talking. Too much tongue, but Faith can teach her. She settles her palms on Amy’s ass, squeezes hard, hoists her up so she wraps her legs around Faith’s waist and then she’s stumble-walking them back to the bed, laying Amy down, pulling off her own shirt while Amy pants and blinks up at her, lips swollen and mascara smudged.

Faith drapes her body over Amy’s again, presses her down into the mattress, kisses her hard, then soft, then hard again. She closes her eyes. Imagines honey blonde hair. Just try it out, I know it’ll feel good, Amy’s voice rings in her head but Faith won’t make that mistake again. She knows it’s not that much less pathetic, just thinking it instead, holding the name under her tongue like a pill, but a girl’s got to have some standards.

Faith stops kissing Amy long enough to help her pull her own shirt off, to unclasp the bra she’s wearing, tits heaving in the dingy glow of the bedside table. Faith leans over the bed, stretching and twisting until she can grasp the knob and turn the light off, pouring darkness over them both.

“Will…” Amy breathes again, so quiet Faith might not have heard it if she wasn’t a slayer.

She falls over Amy’s body again, kissing her harder, rougher, to shut her up.

[indigo-flowers09]

Here have some mama roba doodles for me to rant under :]

big fat RANT under the cut. just wanted an excuse to post it by posting doodles

its about why i haven’t been posting as much and a bit about the c!overtale comic ( >vo) ~*

So. i have not been posting as much as i used to. and i definitely have not been updating c!overtale as much as i want to.

I get that as i get further and further into the school year i’m gonna have more work and it gonna get harder, but i’m still making good grades so i just haven’t had as much time or energy to work on c!overtale or digital art as i want.

First off, i’ve been drawing traditionally a lot more. i don’t post it often because it just doesn’t do as well on here compared to digital art. it’s what’s accessible to me at school and just. easier. right now.

i’m not the only person who gets into a cycle of (good at digital > bad at digital > good at traditional > bad at traditional > good at digital) right??? i’m just in a bad at digital swing right now

Second, C!overtale. I’ve REALLY been wanting to talk about it. just another reason i haven’t been posting as much.

so far, of what i haven’t posted, i have 2 pages completely finished, five more inked, and at LEAST 30 to 40 more thumbnailed. i’m planning on having the next update be seven pages total, and i’ve been working on them little by little for over a month now.

this is really taking a lot longer than i wanted but i know the quality of work i’m capable of producing and i want to achieve it. i don’t want to half ass something i’m so passionate about just for the likes or to satisfy my social anxiety telling me people already forgot about it.

Expect that update by the end of the month. i’m gonna try to wrap it up over thanksgiving break. i really am sorry it’s taking so long, i’ve been working on that and school and, shivers, self care ewww like healthier habits and all the doodling in the world. i doodle when life gets uncontrollably political. i hate politics.

if you actually read all the way through this, thank you and why????? have some more mama roba for your inconvenience. she’s giving clover a bubble bath :3

Also im working on a drawing that’s shaping up to be pretty good. hope y’all like yuri 😼