#it was just one of those things you know is going to stick with you

[evieelyzabethh]

"glue song"

✭"don't forget to kiss me or else you'll have to miss me"✭ ~ How Arcane characters show affection headcannons {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞slightly pervy jayce (you can't pry him from my cold dead hands), fluff

♞Vi♞

♞Vi kisses like she is starving, and you are the first morsel of food she can get her hands on. Like she is drowning, and you are her first breath of air. It's not just desperate and hungry, but there's also a thankfulness to it. Thank you for sticking with her, thank you for being so patient with her, thank you for loving her. Vi doesn't do anything half-assedly, especially not kissing her pretty girlfriend. It's probably her favorite form of affection because it's so versatile. It doesn't have to lead to the bed if neither of you want it to, sometimes it's just on the couch, you sat in between her large thighs, positively falling into her.

♞Her favorite place to kiss you would be on your lips as she holds you chin in her rough hands. She would kiss you thoroughly and deeply, her tongue languidly kissing your own without a rush or care in the world. She is quite prone to getting overwhelmed herself, squeezing the air from both of your lungs and having the nerve to pout at you when you pull away. On her messier days, she leaves a string of spit behind, but she's always kind enough to wipe it away with a few swipes of her thumb. With every inch you pull back she leans in a mile more, chasing you as you try to catch your breath and when she does pin you down, she holds you impossibly close so you can't escape again until she's had her fill. Even then, she holds you in her large arms and tangles your limbs together, at one point sliding her hand beneath your shirt just to lay it on your tummy and feel it move as you breath.

♞Vi is also secretly a space heater. She runs incredibly hot and because of this, sleeps naked and is always down to give you her jacket. It just makes sense in her mind, seeing her clothing wrapped around you. She likes sharing most things; oddly specifically, drinks. She's gross and thinks it's hot that you're technically swapping spit. When it comes to alcohol, especially if you're not a big drinker, both of you will nurse off the same drink, her tipping your head back and pouring it into your mouth when you get a bit too tipsy to do so yourself without spilling.

♞Her go to pet name is 'pretty' and I will die on this hill. It's the thing that defines you for her. She's an idiot and a loser and she knows there's more to you than just how you look, but she just can't help it that whenever she sees you, all her reptile brain can think is 'pretty'. She absolutely abuses it, too. Besides this, I also think she would use those sleazy kinda bar pet names, like sweets or babydoll. Not in a creepy sleazy way, but that is just realistically what she would've been hearing for terms of endearment.

♞Slight side tangent, in a modern AU she is definitely one of those mascs that gets a hold to some Calvin Klein boxers and takes advantage of every opportunity possible to show the waistband off. Part of it is just her showing affection, even if you can reach tall shelves on your own, she still insists on getting the items for you. This carriers over into many things, like twisting open pickle jars or opening your soda cans if you're someone into longer nails. While she isn't as good with building things as Jinx, I think she would definitely be able to manage putting together the furniture in your shared home. Would it take all day? Well, yes! But you chose to make the best out of it and fuck on top of the furniture to test its sturdiness and congratulate your girlfriend on a job well done.

♞On the topic of nails in a modern AU, she would love a partner who gets them done absolutely goes feral if you get them customized to her liking, like coloring them after her eyes or hair or sneaking her name in there somewhere. She feels like she's made it in life when she can pay to get them done. It seems like a selfless action, but it would be a lie to say she gets nothing out of it. The scratch mark you leave on her back after break her brain a little.

★Ekko★

★Ekko loves cooking for his girlfriend! I feel like that would definitely be his main love language along with quality time. As stated before, you two would spend a lot of time in his kitchen, often times with some source of music providing a background noise to the nonsense that you concoct together, occasionally slow dancing while there's time to kill while waiting for something to finish in the oven. Food fights may occasionally occur, but he does a thorough job of licking you clean after. He claims he 'can't let good food go to waste'.

★He would also have a sketchbook absolutely full of you. You can tell when a new edition is about to be added as well. Ekko isn't loud, but he isn't quiet either. His foot is always tapping, he's usually humming something, he always has something to keep his hands busy. He's hardly ever still, except for those moments when you fully wash over him. Sometimes the lighting is exceptionally beautiful, sometimes it's in appreciation of how the wind moves the world around you, and some moments are just so breathtaking beautiful he has to take a moment to go silent, still, and stare. Sometimes he'll just tell you to be in his presence and be pretty so he can properly commit you to paint and commemorate you forever in oils and brush strokes. He's not above nude paintings, though those strokes look and feel much different.

★Ekko is the CEO of quick kisses. He's a busy guy!! He's running an entire commune. He makes the absolute most out of moments when you have the world to yourselves, but most of what you receive are quick passing kisses on your cheeks or the corner of your mouth. He misses on purpose because he simply does not believe in starting things he doesn't have the time to finish. For this reason, I don't think he'd be a big quickie guy. A kiss can easily just be a kiss, but sex is not something meant to be done in 5 minutes.

★Ekko's favorite place to kiss you would also be your lips. He's a romantic, what can I say!!! At the end of every day, you ask each other how your day was after you've both showered and gotten comfy. You both sit on his bed, set beside each other, your legs haphazardly laid over his as he casually massages your thigh. Sometimes you're both a bit too tired and aren't listening that hard, the occasional tidbit catching your attention making either of you sit straight and get closer until eventually you laid on top of him, both of you half asleep. No matter how much energy either of you has, a good night kiss is to be had. When Ekko doesn't need to be quick, he is impossibly slow. He has all the time and then some.

★Not only does he demand a good night kiss, but a good morning kiss to. He gets pouty without it. And sassy. He tells Scar, very loudly so that everyone can hear him, that you hate and don't love him anymore and he is just so deeply hurt that you would let your boyfriend, you're one true love, leave the house without kissing him goodbye and doesn't shut up about it until he gets his goddamn kiss.

★He loves picking out your outfits. He prides himself on the way he dresses and out of everyone, I think Ekko has the most domestic skills. I've already discussed how well he cooks, but I wouldn't be surprised if he also knew his way around a needle and thread. He is not just wearing any clothes; he has a sense of style that he is very proud of. This being said, he loves going shopping with you in a modern AU and he loves when you eventually get comfortable enough to not retreat into the bathroom when changing from outfit to outfit. He's the one making you do the little spin so he can appreciate the outfit from all angles.

★As far as pet names go, I think Ekko would keep it simple with "babe" or "baby" for more casual usages. I also think he would be fond of "my girl" and expects it from you in return because yes he is "your boy" and yes you are "his girl" and yes he loves you very very much. He wouldn't be a stranger to "my love", especially in the mornings or at night when your face is the first and last thing he sees when he closes his eyes. It makes him feel extra sappy.

❂Jayce❂

❂He is all over you at all times of the day omg. I feel like of everyone, Jayce would be the clingiest. This isn't to say he's attached to you at the hip, but his favorite part of the day is getting to go home to you. You're cooking and there he is sitting on the counter yapping about Hextech or something. You're taking a shower and he wants to join. And it's not just a proximity thing, it's also a touchy thing. Any reason or way he can find to touch you, he is taking it. He doesn't care if it's pathetic, dammit, he wants to be held.

❂Jayce would absolutely thrive in a modern AU. He would be the guy whose social media page are all posts about his girlfriend and does he just love to show you off. He would spoil you so good, but rather than buying anything you wanted like Mel would, I think he would also really enjoy making you presents. This isn't to say he doesn't enjoy buying you things, one of your staple pieces of jewelry is the gold anklet he bought with his initials on it.

❂Physical touch is easily his love language but he cannot handle all that, or rather, he freezes in situations where you initiate it. His hands tend to naturally find your waist and will occasionally, if he's feeling bold enough, slip down to your ass, but one time when it was freezing out, you offered your tits as handwarmers and he got a nosebleed. Jayce is definitely an undercover perv but due to never having a girlfriend before and being completely foreign with the concept that he doesn't need to hide how badly he wants to jump your bones at nearly all hours of the day, he freezes when it comes to you initiating contact.

❂He would definitely be the type to get you teddy bears and flowers just whenever. It's never with any rhyme or reason and it happens rather sporadically, just when he is out and about for any reason and thinks of you and wants to bring you something home. He thinks of you a lot, actually. Mel and Viktor love the both of you, but sometimes he goes a bit overboard when it comes to talking about you. This being said, he jumps at any opportunity to show you off. He loves going to gala's because he likes seeing you in pretty clothes and hanging off his arm. He also likes kissing you in public, even if no one's paying attention. He is well versed in the art of delayed gratification and loves getting the both of you riled up knowing full well he does not have the balls to actually fuck you with people around (he gets loud and is very well aware of this)

❂ Jayce's absolute favorite place to kiss you is your neck. He usually starts with your lips, large hands cupping your cheeks and soft lips moving over yours until he gets more antsy. His hands travel from your cheek to your neck then begin to creep under your clothes to grab and knead at your warm skin. Then he would move down your face, peppering kisses across your lips, down your jaw, then down you neck, panting as he goes along and his hands getting rougher as he tries to remain composed. He stops there for a moment, breath fanning over skin that is now slightly red from his canines nipping you and his fresh stubble scratching the area, reminding himself to be gentle and not take more than he's given. He pleads with you, his own cheeks flushed from the heat of the movement as he mutters out his "please...". He's begged you time and time again to not make him verbalize exactly what he wants, but you are relentless. At least he has the manners to ask sweetly beforehand.

❂He is the type to lay right on top of you. After you've gotten comfy in your bed, thrown on your pajama's, maybe are doing a bit of light reading before bed, he comes around to disturb your peace and lay himself right on top of you, smothering you with kisses while he lays there. He eventually moves out of his starfish position to lay his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your torse. He's like a giant, weighted, warm teddy bear

❂One of his go-to pet names would be 'baby', but only when it just the two of you. He is also quite fond of 'gorgeous' and he always has a stupid smirk on his face when he says it. His favorite would be 'sweetheart'. Slightly off topic, he would be the first to jump the gun and start calling you his wife. Especially to council members that are annoying him and taking up time he'd rather be spending with you, he is very quick to pull a "Sorry, gotta get home to my wife." He bought to matching rings for your one-year anniversary to sell the story better.

☽Viktor☾

☽As far as physical affection goes, I think he would be the least touchy. I think the touches would be concentrated on your face, lazily tracing all of your features, marking where your cheeks sink below your cheek bones, the divot between your chin and lips, and where your face is most pronounced. While he wouldn't call himself an artist, he could probably mold your face in clay from the number of times his feather light fingers have caressed every inch of it. He's utterly entranced by it. His mind often wanders while listening to you speak, eyes roaming from your lips and taking note of them in proportion to your eyes, getting lost in the color of them until his eyes flit to your nose and the way your nostrils slightly flare out. It's very mechanical, but that's just the way his brain works.

☽Less of a hugger but he does like to keep his arms around you. Especially on date nights when you're cuddled up on your couch, a myriad of snacks in between the two of you, your head resting on his shoulder while he tries to hide his snores as he falls in and out of consciousness. You accuse of him trying to go to sleep and he tells you he was just "resting his eyes".

☽He would make you all the trinkets in the world. Many of them start as failed experiments of his or scraps from projects past that need to be repurposed, but the thought is always there. He hates to waste and there's really no need to when he has a girlfriend he can make gifts for. Your vanity is full of pretty side projects, decorative boxes for your makeup, ornate music boxes, tea sets and tiny figurines. Your desk would be full of special tchotchkes.

☽Speaking of tchotchkes, I think that would be one of his playful nicknames for you. It sounds absolutely delectable in his accent. I think he would also go for the classier terms of endearment such as 'dear', 'love', 'darling' as well as variations of them in his mother tongue. He would love teaching you his native language, both as a way to bond even more but also to make sure he never loses it.

☽He would also be big on compliments. He is probably your number one supporter, but not in the loud sports fan with a huge foam finger kinda way, but in a quieter more personal way. He is extremely confident in you and your abilities as well as being endlessly proud of everything you do. He is in complete awe of you, and he tells you as such. It is impossible to feel bad about yourself in his presence, he keeps a mental rolodex of every accomplishment of yours to combat any sort of negative self-talk.

☽Not a big PDA guy. He would rather throw himself out of a window than suck face with you in Jayce's presence. He is a big hand-holder which is disastrous when doing it while walking around because neither one of you can walk straight to save your life. It's not even an issue with his leg because you do it too. You bump into each other all the time, though in the winter it is more often on purpose to keep warm.

☽Viktor's favorite place to kiss you is on your forehead. It's simple and it's sweet and more often than not what he can get away with the most. With how much time he spends in the lab, he has grown to deeply appreciate those quiet moments with you, holding your hand under the table as he works in the low light, papers rustling as he tries to find the specific formula he's looking for. Jayce is across the table, snoring loud enough to keep the both of you awake. You look like you want to kiss him, he can feel your gaze on his lips as your fingers tangle through his hair and he turns to you and gives you a small smile then a sweet kiss on your forehead. When he pulls away, he leans into you and you sit there for a moment, nose to nose. "Just a few moments, love, I'm almost done." You giggle through tiredness. "It won't be a few moments, Vik." And he appreciates your understanding more than most things in the world. "No, it won't. But I'll try to make it quick.", he promises and then plants another kiss on you

☽He really likes reading with you, or just doing activities that allow the both of you to be doing something together without necessarily needing to talk. It doesn't even have to be something he's good at, it could be a painting session, or a pottery lesson, and he would be down. He would also be the type to try and pick up on your hobbies. You like to crochet; he's also picking up a crochet needle to try and work alongside you. And he's not too proud to ask for help, he likes a relationship where both parties are constantly learning and exploring.

☼Mel☼

☼Mel is definitely the type to spoil you. She has so much money and is not afraid to use it. You really like that dress you saw while window shopping? She's already ordered it to be tailored to your exact size. You like that bracelet? You wake up to it in a box on your nightstand the next morning and spot her wearing a matching piece later on that day. It's not to try and buy your love, she just thinks you deserve the world, and if she could buy it, it would be your wedding present.

☼Mel love holding hands at all times and specifically is the type to rub the skin between your pointer finger and thumb. Her skin would also be so soft, touching her feels like touching smooth velvet. She also likes to kiss your knuckles and the inside of your wrist before letting go, the mark her lipstick feeling like a heavy imprint of her lips.

☼She is also very fond of kissing your nose. She thinks 'booping' you with her finger is childish, but she is not above a little peck on the nose, which is the abridged version of her usual ritual of pecking your forehead, nose, and lips. Those kisses are usually taken in the morning when you go your separate ways for the day, particularly those that she knows will be long and tedious. She likes to think she takes part of you with her when she does it. She misses your intellect, she misses the silent indicators of your presence, she misses how you feel. Some days, she greatly yearns to return to you. She feels like a physical weight is lifted off her back and she can actually breathe.

☼She loves spending wash days with you. Those locs take hours and you are there right by her side, gossiping and discussing everything and nothing while royal hairdressers take down or retwist that beautiful head of hair. It's even better if you're the one doing it for her. She likes the feeling of your fingers in her scalp, massaging out the wrinkles in her brain as she goes boneless in between your legs. I, unfortunately, do not think she could return the favor. She is like basically royalty; her whole life someone was likely doing it for her. She would try and learn!! It would just take a little bit.

☼I do think she would be very good at doing your makeup. She has the base routine DOWN and usually likes to do simpler eye looks, though she can do whatever you request of her. All hell breaks loose when it comes time to do lips, and her gloss would end up all over your face as she is overcome with the unabating urge to leave glossy kiss marks all over your face . You would return the favor, whatever pigmented shade you previously wore landing all over her flawless skin, and she would savor the moment with a photo she keeps in her journal

☼In a modern AU, I think she would be really good at carnival games. I can't explain it, she just would. She's not the biggest fan carnivals and fairs as they're a bit too loud and crowded for her taste, but if you wanted to go, she certainly would never say no to you. While I think Vi would try very hard to beat them only to fail, Mel would be unexplainably good at them and win you tons of prizes.

☼Mel carries a purse on her at all times and has absolutely everything in there. Pads, tampons, ibuprofen, lip gloss, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, anything you could possibly need is in that bag of hers. She also carries the big bag so you only have to carry around outfit purses than can barely handle a handful of coins. She also loves matching outfits with you!!! You probably own so many matching outfits, matching pjs, matching workout sets, as well as multiple items of clothing that are the exact same except for sizing.

☼She would be another one who constantly talks about her partner, albeit, in a much smoother way than Jayce does. Jayce jumps at every opportunity to bring you up in conversation, it's always flows naturally with Mel but she also brags far more. It's always, "That's great but my girlfriend..." or finding ways to talk about big accomplishments knowing damn well no one else can compete. See her girlfriend has a doctorate, or her girlfriend won this prestigious award, or her girlfriend was the first to do this...what were you saying about your wife though???

☼As for pet names, I think Mel would be another person who uses "my love" or "my dear" but I also think she'd be the type to refer to you as "princess". Once again, coming from royalty, she treats you as such, and that also comes down to how she refers to you. She also just likes calling you by name, usually in her sappier moments followed by her last name She can't get enough of the way it sounds rolling off her tongue and the two of you together just sounds perfect.

[kateschi]

what goes unsaid

synopsis: you started to notice small things todoroki does, but you’re not sure what they mean just yet.

pairing: timeskip!todoroki shoto x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i listened to you guys

the buzz of the office fades into background noise as you shuffle through the latest batch of mission reports.

your shoulders ache from a particularly rough day in the field, and the stiffness in your neck only serves to remind you of the long hours stretching ahead.

you rub your temples, trying to stave off the impending headache.

“rough day?”

the voice pulls you from your thoughts, low and calm with a subtle edge of concern. shoto todoroki stands in the doorway to your shared agency’s common room, his presence as composed as ever.

his hero uniform is slightly scuffed, evidence of his own busy day. still, his mismatched eyes fix on you, quiet but observant.

“yeah, you could say that,” you reply with a weak smile, closing the folder in front of you. “I’ll be fine, though. just a few reports to finish up.”

without another word, todoroki crosses the room. he places a paper cup on the desk beside you, the warm aroma of your favorite coffee wafting up immediately. you blink, glancing between him and the cup.

“thought you could use this,” he says simply, his tone casual but laced with that understated sincerity that’s so distinctly him.

your lips twitch upward despite yourself. “thanks, todoroki. you didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice steady as he turns to leave.

it’s not the first time he’s done something like this—little gestures that seem small on the surface but hold a surprising amount of thoughtfulness.

you’ve chalked it up to his polite nature, the way he’s always been one to notice when someone needs a hand.

but lately, those gestures seem to happen more often, and each time they do, you can’t help but wonder if there���s more behind them.

a few days later, the intensity of the work begins to weigh on you again. a gruelling mission left you feeling physically and emotionally drained, and your muscles protest every movement you make.

you collapse on the couch in the break room, still in your hero gear, too tired to even think about a shower.

todoroki walks in, fresh from the shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. he eyes you for a moment before disappearing into the adjacent kitchenette.

you don’t think much of it until he returns a few minutes later, setting a small ice pack on the table beside you.

“for your shoulder,” he says, nodding toward where you’d been absentmindedly massaging your arm.

you blink, caught off guard by the quiet care in the gesture. “oh, thanks. you didn’t—”

“you overextend that side sometimes,” he interrupts, his voice calm. “you should be careful.”

your mouth opens, but no words come out. instead, you nod, pressing the ice pack against your shoulder as he sits in the chair across from you. the silence that follows is surprisingly comfortable.

you can feel the weight of his gaze occasionally flicking over to you, but it’s not heavy or demanding—more like a quiet understanding, the kind that doesn’t require explanation.

there’s a certain ease between you two, even when neither of you says much.

it’s in the way todoroki always seems to anticipate what you need, how he quietly adjusts the environment around you without ever making a show of it. and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it feels…right.

the moments continue to add up, each one more subtle than the last.

after a long patrol, you find a bottle of water placed carefully on your desk with a note—drink up, you’ve been dehydrated all day.

it’s an obvious thing, but the gesture still feels personal, like he noticed something you hadn’t even considered.

the next day, you’re struggling to get through a particularly difficult set of paperwork when your phone buzzes on the table. you glance at the screen to see a message from him: how’s the report going? 

you smirk at the simplicity of it. he knew exactly what you were doing.

when you reply that you’re about to hit a wall, todoroki doesn’t respond immediately.

but later, when you make your way into the break room for a quick break, there’s a sandwich on the counter—your favorite kind, carefully wrapped in a napkin.

no note this time, just the quiet understanding that he had noticed, even from across the building.

it’s when you’re sitting on the rooftop of the agency a few weeks later that the weight of it all really hits you. the city sprawls out before you, the lights twinkling against the night sky.

you’re lost in your thoughts when the sound of footsteps pulls you back.

todoroki appears at your side, a familiar calmness in his expression. he doesn’t say anything right away, just leans against the railing beside you.

the silence between you is surprisingly comfortable, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. you’ve shared enough of these moments that you don’t feel the need to say anything.

“figured you’d be up here,” he says eventually, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.

you glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “needed a breather. what about you?”

“same,” he admits. “it’s been a long day.”

there’s something in his voice, a small shift, and for the first time, you realize just how much of an emotional weight he carries.

you’ve always known him to be calm, calculated, and collected, but there’s something more underneath, a pressure he doesn’t always show.

when he looks at you now, there’s something in his eyes—something softer, more open than usual.

“thanks for the coffee earlier,” you say, breaking the silence. “and…everything else. you don’t have to do all that, you know.”

he turns his head slightly, his gaze meeting yours. there’s a flicker of something in his expression, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. “I know,” he says simply. “but I want to.”

his words hang in the air, quieter and more vulnerable than usual, and for the first time, you see the full weight of what he’s been doing all along.

these small gestures, these little acts of kindness, have been his way of showing something he’s never been able to put into words.

weeks pass, and despite everything happening around you—missions, deadlines, late-night training—there’s a steady rhythm to the way shoto treats you.

he’s never one to speak loudly about his emotions, but the small things he does start to stand out in a way that feels undeniable.

there are days when you catch him looking at you from across the room, his expression slightly more intense than usual.

he doesn’t say anything, but you notice the way his eyes linger a little longer than they should, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

he’s quiet around you, often lost in his thoughts, but when he speaks, it’s always with a softness that’s impossible to ignore.

it’s as if every word he says carries the weight of more than just friendship—though, he’ll never admit it outright.

it’s late one evening when the two of you find yourselves standing side by side in the agency’s common room.

the glow of the lights is soft, the building nearly empty after the day’s work. you’re both exhausted, but neither of you is quite ready to head home.

shoto hands you a fresh towel as you come out of the shower, his movements slow and deliberate. you notice how carefully he looks after even the smallest details:

making sure the towel’s warm and that the temperature in the room is just right.

you take it from him with a soft smile. “you’ve been really nice to me lately.”

shoto pauses, his eyes flicking to yours. there’s an emotion there you can’t quite place, something quiet and unspoken.

“I don’t mind,” he says, his voice steady. “I want to.”

the words hit you harder than you expect, and for a moment, you’re both silent, the air between you charged with something that hasn’t been said aloud but feels clear all the same.

you’ve always known shoto in pieces—quiet, introspective, deeply caring in his own way—but this is different. this is more.

when you step closer, your heart thumping louder than it should, he doesn’t pull away.

instead, he looks down at you, his mismatched eyes soft with something that’s not quite a confession but feels like one all the same.

“I’ve always wanted to be there for you,” he adds quietly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I just…couldn’t figure out how.”

the quiet honesty of it leaves you breathless, and for a moment, you let the words come freely.

“you’re doing it, shoto,” you say. “you’ve been doing it.”

before either of you can say another word, the space between you seems to shrink of its own accord.

his gaze lingers on yours, and there’s a long moment of quiet before you close the small gap, your breath mingling with his.

his hand lifts, brushing against your cheek, and it’s the gentlest touch, but it sends a warmth through you that settles deep in your chest. without a word, he leans in.

and when his lips meet yours, it’s not forceful, nor is it rushed—it’s as natural as everything else that’s happened between you.

when you pull back, there’s a soft smile on his lips, a look of quiet satisfaction as he rests his forehead against yours.

“guess this makes it official,” you chuckle.

he hums, “yeah.”

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[cvnntagious]

:: babydaddy!matt has no problem sticking up for brat!reader

matt wasn't the type to get easily riled up—especially not to where he felt the need to get physical about it. he was more the type to talk things out, most would say. and that's exactly why it was such a shock when you made your way towards the commotion in the living room to see matt with a guy under him, fists of fury hammering into the poor dude's face.

for a moment, you contemplated if this was something you even wanted to involve yourself in, given is was your child's father. but when matt's hand continued coming down repeatedly with no sign of stopping any time soon, his opposer barely fighting back at this point, you couldn't find it in him to let him just keep kicking this guy when he was so clearly down.

giving a harsh tug on matt's plain black t-shit, you pulled him off like he were a misbehaving dog. his head snapped back to see who had grabbed him, brows unfurrowing the moment he came face to face with you.

his breathing was ragged, waiting for you to berate him as the people surrounding you two scrambled to stop the guy who was once lying on yhe dloor from standing up. to his surprise, you pulled him along with an annoyed grunt, slipping out of the party amidst the chaos of the fight. "where're we going?" matt asked, only to be ignored as he followed behind you until you guys were far from the house.

"i knew this was a stupid idea," you finally muttered, letting go of his wrist to turn and look up at him as you two stood in front of his car. your eyes, scanned his face, maneuvering your head to get a good look at any injuries he may have.

matt's mouth opened, wanting to explain. he knew you didn't want to hear it. "m'not hurt," he replied simply, shaking his head as his eyes finally met yours.

you clicked your tongue, giving him a deep sigh as your eyes rolled for what already felt like the millionth time tonight. "what's your problem?" you asked, addressing the big fat elephant standing right in front of your guys' faces, "forget you're an adult now, hm? have been for almost five years... fighting's how you catch cases, dumbass."

the scoff that left his lips made you want to slap some sense into matt, giving him a look that said, 'are you a fucking idiot?' as you waited for whatever lame excuse he might conjur up. but you should've known better than that. you knew matt had never been the type to go out fighting recklessly, so you should've known something had seriously bothered him. and the fact that something so simple had slipped your mind made his reasoning all the more shocking. "kid was talking shit," he answered, eyes averting to look anywhere but you, one hand coming up to rest on his hip as if he were embarrassed to admit it.

again, you weren't paying enough attention. "yeah? what, he said your fancy little carharts weren't cool enough or something? so you had to go and risk literal jail time?" you insulted, growing increasingly more annoyed with each passing second, "i mean, seriously, i don't know what i'd do if that guy chooses to press charges—you better hope nobody recorded that."

matt looked at you with a softness to his eyes, feeling his chest tightening a bit at your words; for a moment, those last few sentences made it feel like you needed him. of course, he knew in the back of his mind that you were thinking of mazzy, but he'd like to remain at least the slightest bit delusional in the moment. "come on," he scoffed again, "it was about you... the guy was talkin' shit 'bout you. was i supposed to jus' let him?"

the confession made your breath hitch a little, head pulling back and brows furrowing in a mild confusion. then, you came back to your senses, the attitude rising within you apparent on your features. "what'd he say?" you asked with a quick work of your neck.

"s'nothing important." matt was quick to brush you off, a certain coldness washing over him.

"really? then why'd you fight about it," you pressed on, a brow raising as if to tell him you simply didn't believe him.

he shook his head, mouth openining and closing as matt thought of an excuse. he couldn't – or, moreover, he didn't want to lie to you. "jus' spewin' some bullshit about you, like, bein' overly difficult... said you rejected him an' shit earlier. i guess he was upset about it," he answered, realizing he may have overreacted a bit now that he was explaining it out loud.

"that's all?"

matt shot you a confused look, shrugging a bit. "yeah—i mean, i also saw him tryin' t'grab on you earlier, so..." even that that wasn't really all, truthfully. it was the way the guy was so persistent, eager to start some sort of smear campaign against you between all of his friends. his lack of regard for matt as he badmouthed you, knowing what matt was to you. what you meant to matt.

you were quick to push past him, another annoyed grunt as you shoulder checked him. "just let him talk next time," you mumbled through gritted teeth, "that's not your battle."

matt turned and watched you walk away, in utter disbelief that this was how he was getting treated for standing up for you. of course it was his battle. who else was going to fight it? you? absolutely not. that guy got what was coming to him, saying whatever so carelessly.

"stay if you want," you called back, head turning to look at him, "m'gonna stop by your house to pick up mazzy from chris and nick."

w/c : 971 taglist : @mattsturnswife, @br1annax, @x0x0bunny, @m4ttsmunch, @mattsnumberonehoe, @k4yd1, @sturnobsessedwh0re, @sturnstar169, @bxtchboy69, @strnilolover, @little-miss-shay, @sweetobservationface requested by anon.

[slytherinslut0]

quiet reckoning. chapter two

summary: its winter. you begin to accept the solace, until on a random night in january; you dream.

warnings: 18+, smut MDNI, mind manipulation, tom riddle is a fucking god (sorry), oral f!rec, PIV, so much angstttt, tom riddle is broken and he’s tired of fighting, outdoor sex, ooc tom for some but remember there are decades of history between these two.

masterlist and other chapters.

It's winter. The first of the season is a soft, unassuming thing, nothing like the hard decay of fall. Snow blankets life and covers old memories of summer fading to fallen leaves—and you've always marvelled at it, the way frost clings to the pines—how the crystals dance in sunlight like they're celebrating.

Warmth lies dormant, hidden under the cold, yet nature still finds a way to make the quiet beautiful.

This, you think, reminds you of Tom.

In the early days of winter you spend as much time outside as you can manage, but the cold seeps in eventually—a bitter thing with the edges of frozen steel—so you give yourself grace for the rest. There's a satisfaction in the easy routine you fall into—no garden, no yard work, just stoking the fire and chopping wood, eating and reading and going down to the market when you decide an apple pie sounds nice.

Sometimes, late at night, you sit by the fire and think about all the things that have changed—sometimes, you sit by the fire and think about the things that haven't.

You try not to hate yourself for how small the latter list seems to be.

Mattheo doesn't come in December. He writes only twice—once to tell you about his wedding, and again to say he won't be able to visit after all. You try to ignore the hollow feeling in your gut as you read that last letter, but when he sends you your favourite sweets for Christmas, you decide to forgive him.

You begin to accept the solace. The kind of quiet that fills the cracks of a life left behind.

Until, on a random night in January, you dream.

It's one of those dreams that feels hyper-real—you're outside, somewhere that feels both unfamiliar and inescapably known. It's dark and snowing, your breath leaving plumes in the air, and everything—the scenery, the chill, the silence—washes over you like something you feel more than witness.

You turn slowly, looking around—your senses stretching to the stillness of the trees, the soft fall of snowflakes, the ring of silence pressing in on your ears. Then you start walking, guided by something you can't name but instinctively trust. It doesn't take long before you hear it—the steady flow of water—so you push through a stand of snow-covered trees and find a narrow creek, its edges crusted with ice that glints under the moonlight.

The feeling of familiarity hits harder, and when you look up, that's when you see it—like a ghost that is your memories—the orphanage, sitting in the distance, rising from the shadows of the night.

This is your childhood. And for a strange, suffocating moment—you feel like you're home.

But there's hardly any time to process any of this before you're moving again and find yourself kneeling at the waters edge—snow sticking to your jeans, peering down through the frozen surface into its depths. You think of Tom. You think of Mattheo. You think of the memories rippling past.

And then, as if summoned by the sheer magnitude of your longing, Tom is beside you.

"Cold, isn't it?" His voice is soft, low, as if the silence around you demands reverence.

You don't startle; you know this is a dream. You're half-aware of it even as he settles by your side, his knees brushing snow like yours, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Instead, you exhale slowly, your breath turning to mist in the night.

Dreams don't need logic, and this one would never work if it made sense. So you give in to it, the way you'd always given in to his whims when you were children.

"It always is." Your voice echoes like a memory.

He hums in acknowledgment.

You don't look at him, not yet, but you feel him lean back—palms pressed into the snow, long legs stretched out in front of him and his head tilted up towards the sky. For a moment, you're both quiet, watching the frost turn the trees around you into statues of silver and ice.

It's then that you realize you're not cold. You're not anything, in fact. There's no ache, no heaviness, only the soft stillness of a moment suspended outside of time.

That's how you know it's a dream—because if it were real, you'd feel everything.

"You always loved the cold." He tells you quietly. You don't take your eyes off the trees. "I've yet to decipher why that is."

"It's the constant that life has never been." There's a quiet honesty in the words, the kind you'd never have dared to say when awake. But here, like this, you think you're allowed to speak the truths you bury. "Winter has never been anything but what it promised to be."

You hear him make another sound of agreement. You want to look at him, to see what might rest in the hollow of his cheek and the curve of his jaw, but something stops you.

Some instinct warns that if you do, you'll lose him.

"Winter reminds me of you." He whispers. You close your eyes at the need the words stir. "You've always been my constant."

In the silence following that, a part of you whispers; I wish you'd never said that. But this is a dream, and for a time you give in to the part of you that says; I wish you said that more.

"You've always been mine."

It feels like a memory that was never real. Like a lie. He's never been yours in the way you wished he was, but he has definitely been a constant.

Either way, you don't elaborate, regardless of how much you want to—this just makes sense to you in ways you're sure he already knows. Tom has always been your winter—soft like snow but not quite as pure. Cold like frost, the type that burns. He's the still in the chill that wraps around you, that sticks to your skin long after the warmth has crept back in. He's the devastation, the beauty. He's always been your winter.

He doesn't respond to that, and for a time, silence is the companion of the night. You wonder, faintly, if this is all dreams ever are—fragments of memory, shards of longing, the reflection of your heart's deepest corners.

You wonder, faintly, why you're dreaming of him now.

"Are you really here, Tom?" You ask without thinking, without knowing. It’s the part of you that knows he’s capable of anything. “Is this your way of visiting me without the commitment?"

From the corner of your eye, you see him smile. It's sad without being entirely tragic, somehow. "Have you dreamt of me before?"

What a question, you think. When haven't I?

"In pieces, in fragments. I dream of youth. Of memory. I feel you in every dream." You answer, thinking of the times you'd wake and feel him from your childhood. But you haven't felt him like this. Alive and real and lucid. "Never like this."

He's silent for a long time. You know without looking that his eyes are still turned to the sky. That's when you realize the truth of it: you've answered your own question.

If this were only a dream, if this were merely a version of him conjured by your mind, he wouldn't be so quiet. He'd be saying all the things you've always wanted him to say. This is a visitation.

After a moment, you feel him look at you, and that's when you cave—something desperate in you seeking his eyes, those onyx fucking eyes you've missed so much—and once you find them, you see the stars and snow reflected in the glass of them and your breath catches somewhere between your lungs and your heart.

He's beautiful like this—older, aged, weathered—he's so fucking beautiful it hurts.

"This might be the most transparent you've ever been with me," you choke out, attempting to lighten the moment, to push down the ache that's rising in your chest. But your voice wavers, betraying you. You've loved this man for so long, you've forgotten how to pretend you don't. "You look like you've seen all the things I've been too afraid to say."

He studies you then, his face bathed in moonlight that paints his skin in shades of frost and shadow. He looks like something out of a dream, like an angel of winter under the guise of a devil.

He's always been both, you think, in a way only Tom could accomplish.

"You make a habit of not saying the things you want to," he says quietly, as soft as the falling snow. You look back at the creek, trying not to get lost in this feeling that's almost like the first time he'd kissed you. "I thought coming to you like this would help you break it."

You know this isn't real, not in the way you wish it was. This is manipulation—a spell, a trick of his mind and yours, something he's managed to do through magic that's lost on you and a dream you can't control. But your mind isn't the master here, not in this realm—so when Tom puts a hand on your cheek that is as warm as summer in the dead of winter itself and turns your face to look at him, all you can think—all you can want—is to lean into the touch.

You try to pretend it doesn't make you want everything. "Tom—"

His knuckles brush your cheek and you lose your tongue. The feeling of it, real and fucking steady, makes your skin burn where he's touching you, clawing its way back into your chest like it never left.

He says, softly, "say the things you've been afraid to say."

You exhale slowly, like the words stuck in your throat are too hot to hold. Your mind is racing, a million moments in memory where you wished you would have said what you felt. His eyes are searching yours, and you're half-terrified of what he'll find in them—

"I'm in love with you." You whisper, before you have the sense to stop yourself. "I've been in love with you, for as long as I can remember."

You watch his eyes and the way his jaw works when he hesitates. You'll remember this moment forever, you think, even if the things before and after it are lost to time.

"Keep going," he finally says, running the pad of his thumb across your cheekbone. "I'm not going anywhere."

You close your eyes against his touch, trying to hold onto the sound of his voice. You've fought so fucking hard, for years, to ignore it but fuck—you've missed him—you've missed the way he makes you feel. You've missed this, even the ache it makes between your heart and your throat.

"I think of you all the time," you say, timidly, opening your eyes again. "There hasn't been a moment since I left where I wasn't missing you. I dream of you—of us—I dream of your voice and your hands and the things you've done to me." You see him breathe out, very slightly, and it makes you feel braver. "I dream of the way you used to kiss me. I dream of who you were, who you could have been. I dream of the way you looked at me in final year before you broke my heart. I hate you for it still."

He's still watching you, and his eyes seem even darker and more intense in the shadow. His hand drops from your face, landing on your knee because you're practically in his lap—you hadn't realized you'd been leaning into him, seeking out the warmth of his skin like you'd been starved for it.

The ache in your chest is so strong it makes you dizzy and you're half-terrified that he won't say anything to that.

Until finally, he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

There’s a pause. It's perplexing that somehow he looks both like the eighteen-year-old you've loved all your life, and the twenty-five-year-old stranger he's become in that time. You think, faintly, that it's not fair.

You exhale, and the sound of it hurts. "You say that like you don't exactly know what you did wrong."

You can feel the heat from his skin through your jeans—he's too close yet too far away, and the part of you that loves him and the part of you that hates him seem to be tangled tightly in the space between.

"I never knew how to love you," it’s an admission, and his voice is soft and broken enough to make the pain in your chest subside. "I never gave you the chance to teach me."

There's a million things you could say to that, a million ways you could react to those words. You don't really have the strength to say all of it, and you certainly don't have the mental to service all the grief that comes along with it.

"You did." You whisper, trying to hide the crack in your voice. "You've known."

You shift, angling your body closer to him. He's still watching you, and for the first time since that final night at his manor, you sense that familiar trace of softness in his eyes—that part of him that's been gentle for you since you were children.

"Not the way you deserved."

You take his hand, trying to ignore the way your fingers fit against his like they were carved from the same tree; his skin is rough, scarred and calloused, but it still feels like it always had, despite the years.

Safe.

"You've seen my life now." You look at his fingers as you say it, "do you think that is what I deserve?"

There's a moment of stillness between you—in which you wonder if this is the part where he wakes up out of guilt—but then you feel his fingers press harder against yours, like confirmation.

"You deserve to be happy." He says.

You're so hot you're not sure how the snow isn't melting beneath you. You're sure that's something in his control.

"And what do you know about being happy?" You say, looking up.

The moonlight is catching in his eyes and they're soft in the corners just as they were when you were young. So much has changed and so much hasn't. Part of you feels like crying, but instead you shiver when his hand runs up your arm, following the shape of your shoulder and the side of your neck, and you feel all the nerve endings in your body light up like a matchstick against the friction.

You think, faintly, that you'd forgotten this—how he could touch you without ever really touching you.

He exhales. "Only what I learned from you."

There's a part of you that wants to scream at that, at the way he can say those things and look at you and make you believe it, even if just for a moment.

"I haven't been happy in years, Tom," you say quietly. "Have you?"

His eyes flick to yours, and for a long while, the only sound you can hear is the cracking of the ice filled creek, and both of your exhales.

"No," he finally whispers, and you feel his thumb brush against the skin of your cheek. "I haven't."

You turn, angling your face into his palm. There's something heartbreakingly honest in his voice—something in the way he says it that makes you question the years you've spent wondering if he'd felt anything about you leaving, about the way he made you go.

Your eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat. It's easier to imagine it's real like this, like everything else.

And then, when you decide to open them again, the scenery around you has changed—it's bright, it's summer—there's fireflies and warmth and whitetails running through the field past the creek toward the orphanage. Tom's hand falls to rest in the grass, and you turn to look at him—

He's watching the fireflies with a look on his face, soft and wistful like he's never quite managed to be before in his life. You watch the insects hover around his hair and for just a second, you think he looks more alive than any version of him you've seen before.

"Tom." You whisper, your own voice scaring you.

He turns to look at you when you say his name, and the expression in his eyes is something completely foreign to you. You've seen him hungry, and arrogant, selfish and even angry—but here, awake in a summer childhood memory dreamworld of his own making—he looks fucking vulnerable.

"Hm?" He raises an eyebrow.

Your breath catches before you can answer, like the feeling of seeing him like this—unguarded and unburdened—is catching up to you. He's beautiful under the moon and snow and he's beautiful under the sun and summer grass. It's unfair, you think, just how fucking beautiful he is.

"Will you ever come see me?" You force the words out before you choke on them. "For real, I mean."

He's silent, but you feel the air around you go incredibly still when you say it—like those few syllables had just caused the whole world to go quiet. Tom blinks, and for a moment you're afraid he'll say no.

Actually, a part of you is praying he'll say no—while the other part of you is praying he'll say yes.

Finally, he shakes his head. "If I did, I'd never leave."

You suppose he might not have realized what he's said, that it's just something that had come out of his mouth without thought. But somehow, it sounds more like the truth than anything he's ever said to you in a very long time. You're lost, suddenly, in the fantasy of him staying with you, of having him by your side to watch the summer nights and the winter mornings and anything and everything in between.

A part of you wants to break down at the thought. A part of you wants to yell at him, to make him see how selfish it is to offer you that.

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can find words for anything, you feel his hand on your cheek again, and your brain suddenly goes incredibly blank. He's leaning in closer to you—close enough that you can feel the heat from his lips and you're aware of how your own heart is racing—

"The next time I come to you," he murmurs, eyes on your mouth. "I'm never leaving you again."

The words make you almost dizzy, but before you can react to them, his mouth is on yours, and fireworks go off behind your eyes. He fits against you like he always has, like the two of you had been built to always have your bodies slot into eachother. You bring your arms up, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and pulling him selfishly closer.

He inhales against your mouth and his fingers grip harder, his teeth catching your bottom lip with a bite that makes your whole body shudder. He kisses you like he's afraid you're going to disappear, his tongue hot against yours, his hand twisting into the hair at the base of your neck, pulling your head back until he can kiss your throat in the way he used to when he was aiming to leave you mindless.

His touch makes you feel like you're burning. You're so fucking disarmed from his lips on your neck and his skin on yours that you can't think—can't speak when he urges you back in the grass and moves between your thighs—one warm hand snaking up under your shirt, leaning slightly to watch the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath; and when his fingers skim your breasts you let out an involuntary gasp, arching into his touch.

"God, you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs drawing down to drag his mouth over your collarbone. "Time has been so good to you."

He keeps your body trapped against the grass beneath you, the sky going dark overhead. He's taking his time, you realize, with his lips on the hollow of your collarbone and his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, taking his time to worship you in the way he'd done hundreds of other nights before all this time between.

"Tom," you manage when he moves to run his tongue along your lower stomach. "You—" you can't even say it, not like this, not with his lips warm against your flesh. "This isn't real—"

He looks up from where he's working to mark a bruise at the edge of your jeans—something dangerous and dark lighting up his eyes in the moonlight.

"Does it feel real?" He rasps. "Can you feel this?" His tongue skims your belly again before he sinks his teeth in, and you gasp. "Can you feel me, sweetheart?"

Your mind can't find any words. You'd forgotten how he'd reduced you like this, how he makes it feel like you can't fucking think.

"Yes," you gasp, but the word is mostly air. "Fuck—god, Tom—"

You can't say more than that, not with his mouth where it is, so close to where you're aching for him. He huffs against your skin, not mocking, but low and satisfied and smug like it's always been.

You're going to die like this—you think faintly, when his fingers finally undo the buttons of your jeans and the summer air hits the skin of your thighs.

"Do you want me to stop?"

What a terrible, devastating question.

"I—" you gasp, arching off the grass as he tugs your jeans off your legs. "No. Please—"

He laughs, and when he does it makes your whole body shiver.

"That's my girl," the words muttered into your inner thigh. "I've missed you like this."

His tongue skims over the edge of your underwear and you're lost at the feel of it—vaguely aware of the fact that you're making far too many noises and you think you look obscene—half-undone and writhing beneath his touch, but you don’t fucking care, not even slightly.

"Please," you gasp again when his tongue dips further down, a word you're half-sure you've been saying for ages. "Please, please—"

He's torturously slow with every single little movement, kissing over your pelvis and between the creases of your thighs, taking his time to taste every inch of you like he's savouring it. You're shivering and shuddering and begging for him, you're so out of your mind you're half-sure you're going to cry.

Until finally—finally, he brings his mouth to the place where you'd wanted it to be, tugging your panties to the side and lapping up your slit—and you let out a sound that's barely even human.

"I've missed you like this," he repeats against your swollen clit. "Fuck, how I missed this."

You're half-aware that you're probably pulling his hair and making noises that aren't fit to be spoken, but god fucking dammit—you're burning up with every touch, and every movement of his tongue sends sparks to your eyes. You think you're delirious, half-sure that you've been reduced to gasps and whimpers and "please, please, please—" but it's all you can do to keep his name in your mouth, the way you're sure he'd always wanted it.

"Tom," you gasp, as he laps up your slit until his tongue swirls over your clit again, as he seals his lips around it. "Fuck! Oh—"

A part of you thinks that you would like to stay like this forever—half-undone and out of your mind in some weird dream-like state of his creation with him between your thighs and his hands holding you as his, surrounded by the fireflies and the summer in the grass where you first kissed as kids.

"You taste so good," he growls against you. "I never stopped wanting this—"

You're close now. So close you think you'll burn up in a fire and engulf the grass and the trees and the fucking air itself—but Tom seems to be able to sense that, too. He presses a hand on your pelvis, holding you steady, reminding you that he's catching you as you fall.

"So good—so, so good—" he murmurs, lapping up your slick. "Let go for me.”

You think you would have, either way—but when he tells you in that voice, when he's looking at you like that in this state of his making—you let go for him without a shred of hesitation, because you'd always known, if nothing else, that you don't own this.

The summer, the grass on the hill, the pleasure coursing through you—it's all his. It's always all been his.

You come back to yourself in pieces—first, the sound of his voice, dangerously rough, then the feeling of him pulling away and shifting until he's hovering above you again—your vision clears enough to take him in, and you think he's impossibly holy like this—with the fireflies lighting up behind his hair, with the look in his eyes and the taste of your need for him on his mouth.

"I love you," he murmurs, running a hand over your jaw. "More than what's in this heart."

He leans down, kissing you again, and you have never been so out of breath in your life. You don't have air in you to kiss him back, nor have you even the strength to try—you can't believe what he just said—this can't be—

"I love you." He repeats it, as if he heard your doubts. You know he did. "Hand to a god you know I don't believe in. I'll die trying to prove it to you."

Something breaks apart in your chest. You raise a trembling hand to his face, trying to take him in— his eyes, his jaw and his mouth, his body tense between your thighs. You want very badly to be sure this is real—that he means what he's saying, even if it's only for tonight, even if he'll forget it as soon as it's over.

"You'll remember this when you wake up?" You don’t know what to say first. "You'll still—"

The look in his eyes goes sharper, his own hand coming up to take yours and press it against his chest—right above where his heart is. You can feel it beating, impossibly fast, like he'd just run a whole marathon.

"Does it feel like I'd forget?" He asks. "Does it feel like this is not real?"

God, it's so close to real—him on top of you and his heart beating against your hand and the feel of his skin against yours and even the taste of yourself on his mouth—it's so fucking real—real enough to make you half-sure you're going to burst into tears.

"Tell me you mean it," you whisper, voice broken into fractions. "Please, please—just say—"

"I'll remember it when I wake up," he cuts you off, leaning down to kiss the skin below your ear. "There are very few things in this world I forget." He drags his mouth down to your neck, his teeth leaving a bruise you're sure will be there in the light of morning, his hands finding the sides of your hips again. "I forget even fewer of the things involving you."

You gasp out a sound that's half a sob, half a whimper because you cannot believe him and you want to believe him so badly you don't know what to do with yourself.

"Why now?" You manage when you've found your voice again. "Why now—why couldn't you have said this before—"

He lets out a dry, broken laugh against your skin, and you can feel it when his chest shudders against you.

That's when you realize he's afraid, too.

"I was a coward with all the wrong aspirations," he admits, pressing the words into your collarbone, your jaw, as if he's trying to get as close to you as humanly possible. You're still acutely aware of the fact your lower half is bare against his. "And every time I've come to realize that I'm still in love with you, I've always run away from it."

You're still trying to remember how to breathe when he moves, shifting his weight and rolling over so that you're on top of him, straddling his hips. It takes you a moment to process it—you're suddenly so dizzy again now that you can feel him, hard and solid beneath you.

Every inch of your body suddenly feels like it's aching for more of him.

"Tom—" you gasp, the words sticking somewhere in your throat. "I—"

"You're too good for me," he murmurs, his long fingers skirting over the hollow of your spine, making your whole body tremble. "You've never been anything but the only good thing in my life." He rolls his hips up against yours, his eyes fluttering when you moan. "I'm tired of fighting. I'm yours if you'll have me. I'm yours if you won't."

You think this is the most he's ever spoken. You think back to when he told you to say all the things you've always been afraid of saying.

You wonder if he's doing that now.

"You're an idiot," you manage to say, finding your voice again, the breathless words coming out as a half-sob. "You really are an idiot—"

You gasp when he jerks his hips up against you again, and you can feel how much he wants you in the grunt that slips out of his mouth.

"I know I am," he says through grit teeth. "I'm cowardly and foolish and idiotic all because I'm in love with you." Another jerk of his hips, harder this time, pulling you closer. "And I cannot, for the love of god, figure out why you don't hate me more for it."

You gasp out a broken sound that's half a laugh, half a whimper, arching involuntarily against his touch in a way that makes you sound unhinged.

"Does it ever occur to you," you manage through the aching need for him, "that I fucking love you despite it all?"

He makes a sound against your skin that's so rough and broken and aching that you'd think you're killing him—

"Perhaps I did," he grunts, shifting as you finally decide you've had enough of this and move to undo his trousers, tugging them down and freeing him. You fucking sob at how real he is—how real he feels in your hand. "I just—mmf—assumed you'd realize better one day."

Your brain feels very much like it's short-circuiting now as you wrap your fingers around his dick and give him a light squeeze, trying to get used to the feeling of him again and the way he twitches against your palm. He lets out a strangled sound as you do, one hand coming up to bite his knuckles to drown it out, and you can't believe you have that kind of power over him.

It's a thought you'll need to consider later.

"Looks like we're both idiots, then," you murmur, and you're not sure you have the strength to form any other words as crawl back up, guiding him to your greedy aching cunt, and sink down.

You think he'd probably let you drown him right here and now without even blinking, with the way he lets out a sound that's almost animal, his breath coming out in shuddering gasps against your shoulder as you take him in. It takes you a moment to adjust to him, his ego made flesh—and as you start to slowly ride you realize you'd half forgotten that anything in this world could feel so fucking good.

"Fuck—" he gasps, and you think he's never sounded like that before. "That's it. That's good—"

You've never seen him look this way—not like a man hiding oceans behind his eyes or a god about to smite his creation—but an entirely mortal man falling to pieces beneath you. Everything about the way he touches you screams I need this, I need you—and he's always been the better one at speaking through his body.

You find your pace after a moment, slow and steady, trying to give yourself time to adjust to him while also trying to find that angle that makes you go just a little out of your mind.

"Tom—" you moan, head falling back as you bounce—looking up at the night sky. "Fuck—make it winter—"

You've forgotten how it feels to be so full. Your eyes are half-open to the night sky, where Tom's magic had crafted the summer around you—and you're not sure where the words came from, but they're half-sobbed and a thought you're not sure you should've said out loud—you wonder for a moment if he'd even heard you over his own moans and the feeling of you around him—

But then you feel it.

The first snow. A light fluttering of white snowflakes, falling from some place you can't see or find. The fireflies fade out with the falling flakes that cover the sky and you can see your breath but you don't feel the cold. You just see the beauty of it. You'd be stunned if you weren't so sure that this looks like what you've always known him to be—winter made flesh.

"You'll have everything," he grits out, jutting his hips up to slam into you deeper. "Anything you want—"

You're not sure you can put together the words to say anything in return to that—everything and anything, he'd give you, and you'd like to know when exactly he broke that carefully crafted part of himself that's supposed to not love—or when you broke that part of yourself that tried to stop loving too much.

You're not quite sure how you can say this will be enough when you're already so sure you'll never get enough of this, of the way it feels when he's this deep.

But amidst all of this, your brain has gone blissfully, blissfully silent—the only thing that's going through your head is his name. Every thought you've ever had, you're sure, is just a synonym of his name—every letter that's ever been made, somehow leading back to his name—every word and every story and every language and every poem somehow all trying to say; Tom, Tom, Tom. I am fucking in love with him.

"Harder," you gasp, and he complies like he'd die if he didn't—flipping you over so you're on your back beneath him.

You're a broken, moaning mess in the snow as his dick splits you open—half-dazed by the way he's looking at you now, as if he's still somehow in disbelief that you're in this position—that you're under him and you can still love him, that you've seen every side of him and you want more.

"This—fuck," he moans, his snow covered lashes flutter. "This never left my mind. You—never—"

You think you're drowning in him. You're certain you're drowning. He’s everywhere—the snowfall and the trees and the sky—surrounding you in an a world carved out of himself and you're met by the thought of how much it doesn't surprise you.

"Tom, oh, god, I don't—I need—"

"I know," he gasps. "I know, I know, I know—"

You moan and clench and think again how he's never sounded this broken. He's never sound this desperate. He's always been so stoic in every single god damn way and you think now, as he's buried in you and over you and all around you within the winter dreamland of his fucking creation—you think you finally understand that he knows he's broken.

"You have me." He says.

You think it's a promise, and you think it's a declaration. One he's never made with as much conviction behind his eyes as he had right then. You think you've never been this certain of anything in your entire life—that there's snowflakes on your lashes and clinging to your hair and he's never looked this beautiful and you've never been this sure of it when he says he's yours.

"I love you," your words broken on a moan as he slams deep, teeth digging into your shoulder. "I need to cum—Tom—fuck—"

"Say it again," he gasps, his voice rough and raw and guttural as he slips his hand down to your clit, fingers swirling over it. "Say it again, I need to hear you say it—"

Your hands grab at the snow and at his shoulders—you're not sure you're ever going to remember how to say anything else ever again—

"Tom—Tom, I love you, I love you, I love you—"

You can see the moment you say it that he breaks, and you love it—you love being the reason why, having some of the power over him for this one single second, seeing the look in his eyes that tells you he'll give you anything you ask for, no matter how much he's ever tried to deny it before, how much he's ever tried to be anything else to you but someone to love you back.

You say it again—I love you, I love you—and it's the only spell that's ever broken him.

He cums with your name in his mouth and you marvel at it because fucking hell he's different—like a man falling apart, like a man who's been holding back for so long it aches—you think this is the only piece of him that no one else in the whole world has ever seen or gotten to touch, and it's yours, all yours—so with that, you're cumming too, climax shattering the both of you at the same time, and it's a long moment before either of you move or breathe or blink. You just lay there connected until the clarity starts creeping in, and you realize this place is crafted by his subconscious.

"You can control your dreams," you finally whisper, after a long moment of nothing but the distant sound of snowfall and the occasional night creature. You're still breathless, still dizzy, your eyes still half-opened and unseeing as he's still buried inside of you, his hair tousled and still sticking with snowflakes.

He makes a sound that's half a laugh and half a gasp at that. Probably because he can’t believe, after everything that just happened, that that is the first thing you choose to say.

"I can." He says, slowly pulling out of you.

Now it's your turn to laugh. "And do you always lure girls to your dreams to have sex with them?"

"No," he murmurs, and you think it's a simple enough answer, before it's followed by a pause. "Just you, I suppose," he adds a beat later, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

You try and shove him off of you, but it's half-hearted—you've forgotten how to move your arms.

"Prat," you murmur, no real venom behind it, because you like his smirk, and you like the way he laughs. "So this is all...a product of your subconscious, then? You conjured me into it?”

"Yes and no." He says, and you feel him pull you closer to him, your body half draped over his as he stares up at the sky above you. "I'll explain when I come to you."

"And when will that be?" You ask, your head dropping against his shoulder, your eyes already fluttering in exhaustion.

"Soon," his lips find the top of your head. "As soon as I can."

You're drifting to sleep—you can feel it in the edges of your mind, but everything is blissfully quiet there, and you like the feel of his fingers in your hair.

"When you come, bring me a plant.”

He makes another sound that's half a laugh and half a chuckle at that, as if he's more fascinated by your request than anything.

"Any plant will do?" He asks.

"Preferably a flower." You manage to murmur as your eyes slip closed. "Something that can withstand winter. That will revive come spring."

You can hear the smile in his voice before you completely surrender to the sleep that overtakes you.

"You'll have it."

And you know, in between the edges of consciousness and sleep—that no one else has ever seen him this way, and no one else ever will. And that's the thought that you wake with, even when you find yourself alone, in your cabin, snow falling outside your window.

[julymusings]

PORTRAIT jason hates taking photos. it's a shame you find him so beautiful.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. Standing there with a fake smile, posing for a deceptively happy vignette of an unhappy reality feels awkward. He never knows what to do with his hands. He doesn’t like the way his face translates through the lens; the green of his eyes glows just this side of too spectral, his broad, stocky frame towers over that of his siblings, and the scars on his face bring memories of a darker time, an intentional carelessness for his life he used to carry. He leans away when others huddle together to smile. Pretends to notice something behind him when caught in the background of the lens.

Enter you. Only capable of looking at him with hearts in your eyes. Serving on a silver platter what he used to starve and scavenge for in dimly lit bars on the lips of women who only saw him as something to sink their teeth into and then spit out, never sticking around for longer than one night. Jason feasted at first, he’ll admit, stuffing himself to sickness on your unconditional adoration until it was almost too much to bear.

You take pictures of him and gush over them, telling him how pretty he is. How he belongs in a museum. He never believed you, never bothering to actually look at the pictures you take. But pretty soon he’s everywhere; you set him as your lock screen and screensaver, and print photos to frame on your bedside table. When your storage is maxed out, you steal Jason’s phone to flood his camera roll, and he finds that he keeps going back to stare at the photos you take. Selfies where you kiss his cheek and his mouth curves upward just enough to transform him from brooding to disarming; portraits where he looks, not at the camera, but just beyond and his eyes crinkle, the tips of his sharp canines peeking out over his bottom lip. He looks…different. Better. He starts to believe the things you tell him; his beauty is ancient. Michelangelo himself carved the contours of his body. The Trojans and the Greeks fought for a decade over him.

But what is it about this camera, he wonders, that makes his appearance digestible? Is it the way you frame him front and center, the backlighting sun rays extending in all directions behind him, encircling him with a holiness he doesn’t deserve? The scenery against which you capture him, busy nighttime streets under city lights, just dark enough to smooth out his rough edges? 

Or maybe it’s just you. Seeing himself from your point of view. Seeing himself as yours. His hooked nose, crooked from being broken one too many times, belongs to you for the early mornings when you trace down the bridge, around his lips, and up his jaw, drawing a portrait with your fingertips. His unruly hair, with streaks of white that make him stick out like a sore thumb, exists only for you to run your fingers through when he lays his head in your lap. His scars are for you to kiss on those difficult days until he can bear to look in the mirror again. He wants nothing more than to be a museum of all things you.

Jason Todd isn’t one to take pictures. But when you ask so nicely, showering him with compliments and promises of thank-you-kisses later on, how can he say no?

why are we as a society still striving for more definition and higher quality photos for anything other than, like, x-ray imaging and space exploration. I don't want 8k ultra-max hd in my phone that highlights every hair and pore and eye bag i want grainy and dark and fuzzy because it makes me look hotter and that's a fact. rant over

anyway he's so pretty i wanna take candids of him and kiss his face and squeeze his huge ti-*GUNSHOTS*

this is gonna be my last post for the next few weeks because i have finals. see you on the other side🫡 (born to be a farmer on a remote island, forced to study STEM) i'll be on requests as soon as i'm back trust

[sevs-corner]

Tf 141: Ghost and his marriage problems w/ you

part 1: Price | Masterlist here! | Inspo playlist here! Angst to comfort

Ghost is a man of few words, the comment of it being 'few and far between' used too often to describe him and his stand-off demeanor with you in public.

Though, he cares not for those things, only ever lending an ear for you only.

Yet you wished he did when manhandles a man that was only trying to talk to you about baked goods you were selling.

You slammed your front door closed after Simon went ahead inside and paced around the living room, before settling on a chair once he hears you stomp in.

"What the fuck was that Simon?"

You seethed, pissed off at how Simon was so quick to assume things, turning things to an eleven when it didn't to be-- making an issue at a situation you were very well handling yourself already.

"He got too close," he grunts with a shrug, "too suspicious for someone just 'asking' a question."

You rubbed your face roughly.

You think maybe he was emotionally and socially stunted but no, he was able to conduct himself just fine at his jobs and during missions-- what the fuck is he on right now?

"What kinda bullshit is that?" You scoffed at him and he huffs, leaning his elbows on his knees yet still making eye contact with you.

"You..." He starts but then breaks off, sighing and ruffling his hair.

Simon wanted to choose his words carefully. He couldn't say it was gut feeling that he gets when someone gets too close to hurt you.

As a soldier, he was trained to always be on his toes, and that type of behavior becomes hard to rub off when all he thinks of is protecting you whenever you guys go out.

He knows that no one knows how his face looks like out in public, but he is still scared-- haunted by the notion, or even the thought of you getting hurt as a means of revenge to get back at him.

He knows his records aren't clean and he isn't proud of some of the things he did either, but he knew it was worth it when the world could have its bits and pieces of peace from it-- especially if you were, and you still had that same gleaming smile whenever you greet him home.

So he tries to keep that all away, to keep the peace, and most importantly-- to keep you happy.

Even if that required him to be on guard 24/7, always wary of the things going on in your life and working double to make sure you were alright.

Even if it gets him the short end of the stick, getting the brunt of your anger.

"He..." he licks his dried out lips, "...he looked like he had ulterior motives, hun."

You stomp to him, hands grabbing his face as you stared down at him, eyes so pointed and open that there were unshed tears at the end of it.

"And who are you to be the judge of that?"

He bites his lip, sucking in a breath, and he just wants to speak--

"Because I've been onto him."

"...What-?"

You were breathless for a moment, letting go of Simon as he whispered words that made it cloudier-- made him more vague and so stubbornly confusing.

But when he doesn't reply for moments after that, you ask him what he meant by that. What he wants to mean by that-- because all these conjured up thoughts swirling in your head were doing no good for the position you were putting Simon in inside your head.

"Simon please..." you breathed out in resign, "...just tell me."

Yet he doesn't.

He sits there, ever so still.

And you think he's stuck like that if it wasn't for the constant soft crunching of his gloves as he grips and releases it.

If it weren't for his chest heaving up and down-- you would have thought you lost him.

"If you're not gonna talk, I'm leaving." You decided, having enough of working today and just... all of this with Simon.

You love him, you truly do, but him shutting himself like this is just so exhausting-- and you couldn't take another moment of it.

"Wait."

His voice rings loud enough from the doorway, where you already putting on your shoes, and you pause, letting him have a couple seconds to follow-up.

"...Its cold out, grab your coat."

You huff, slamming your shoes down again for the second time tonight. Luckily, there weren't your favorite pair, but they'd understand if its them dealing with as stubborn of a partner like Ghost right? You could only amusedly think so for a moment before going close to Ghost, glaring down at him while his face was turned downwards to the floor, no longer making eye-contact with you.

"'s that all you're gonna say to me?"

You ask again, giving him another chance, another out for him just to get it off his chest-- to just,

"FUCKING TALK SIMON!"

Your breaths are heavy and from the way Simon didn't even flinch nor move, you decided to forego that chance. To just leave and--

"He was stalking you."

You turn to him again, facing him with less intensity that you thought when you finally see him.

He's disgruntled, hair a mess, mask and gloves off, disheveled clothing-- face so scrunched with lines, you'd think he was carving the wrinkles on his face permanently.

You wait, nodding at him to continue-- not trusting your own voice at the moment to convince him to keep talking.

Simon breaths in deep.

He had no choice.

It was either he lets you leave him (and fuck him and everything he lives for if he just lets you do so without him even trying) or he talks, and shows... everything and risk you leaving either way.

If both ends at the same conclusion, fuck him for throwing caution to the wind and giving one last damn shot to keep you by his side.

"Remember when you got that weird text?" He starts off and once he sees you nod in confirmation, he continues. "Thought I should look into it."

"I told you it was just spam." You mutter and you see him shake his head, muttering a small- "not to me."

And you kept your mouth shut at that.

"Once I did," he gulps, "started seeing all the nasty shit he had on his computer and what he planned to do..." he paused, breath coming out steady.

"...once he got to you today."

You feel like a bucket of ice cold water just got splashed onto your face, your stomach dropping, your throat constricting.

"..what...?"

Was all you could manage before you see Simon stand, and you could finally see why people were scared of him, the elusive and ruthless man on the field-- the man they call Ghost.

Now you knew why he sat, why he also took the low ground with you, why he showed himself to be smaller than you because seeing him right now-- standing at his full height with a gaze you can no longer call familiar.

It was downright chilling to the bone.

"He was going to take you for himself." He growled, his emotions resurfacing once he saw the guy's search history and the not-so-elaborate plans he shared with a couple of mates on his messaging app. He had the receipts and he was going to fucking expose the guy if it weren't for your interference--.

No. He shouldn't think about it like that. You were worried for him. Yeah. You weren't disrupting anything, you were just looking out for him. That's it.

'Keep it down, Ghost.'

"If I didn't intervene," he grabs your jaw and forces you into his gaze, "I would've broken my promise to always protecting you."

This breaks the dam.

Simon, as much as he was an emotionally stunted man, meant every word he made to you in his vows.

And at the end of it all, he swore, he promised--

'Promise to protect you always.'

Was how he ended that, and how he slipped that band on your finger right now.

You felt so stupid.

Maybe it was you who were quick to assume such things of a man who would no thing to hurt you.

"Shh..." He holds you close, finally closing the distance he wanted to make ever since you guys got home. "I'm sorry."

He whispers onto your hair as one of his hands stroke it while the other was wrapped around your side.

His chin was on your head, and he just lets you sob onto him-- lets you say your apologies, but he doesn't take them.

It wasn't your fault. It was his.

And he wants to make amends.

Even if that ended up with you leaving, he'll still fulfill those vows he promised.

Because he swore it to the only person who accepted him for all that he is.

So, he'll try his best to make it work. For the both of you, or even just for your sake.

"Lovie," he mutters once your sobs turned to sniffles, "your smiles look better on you."

You huff, unable to stop the breath of a laugh from the sudden left hook of a compliment.

"I'm sorry Simon." You finally peel away from his chest to look at him and place your hands- more gently this time- on his heated cheeks.

He shakes his head-- "no, 's not you." He kisses your palms, trailing it higher until he reaches that golden metal on your finger, and his lips linger on there for moments before talking again.

"I should've told you," he admits, "just didn't want you to worry."

You immediately smacked him which made him slightly flinch at the sudden hit on his cheek.

"Dummy," you sniffle, "I still would-- whether you didn't or did."

You pout at him, "you know me Simon, I'll always worry."

He nods somberly.

"Just don't wanna add onto it." He pokes your forehead and you giggle.

"See, its already so big--"

"Shush!" You slapped away his hand this time and you could see a smile starting to grow on his lips.

"I'll remember that for next time." He promises, this time replacing his finger with forehead, tiredly connecting it to yours.

"Promise to tell me next time?"

"I promise."

"I'll worry with you instead."

He chuckles at this, relenting to your whims once more.

"You're gonna make my head bigger like yours then."

[pricegouge]

nik x f! reader

cw: (unspecified) holiday gift shopping. overstimulation (but not that kind). cockwarming. oral. russian pet names taken from a list off google so we're being so niceys about it. (also the one reader goes crazy about means good/smart girl)

this is entirely @3amfanfiction 's fault. she may as well have come into my home the other day and shot me point blank in the chest when she said (completely unprovoked, by the way):

nik turns to reader and asks 'do we need to go to the car so you can calm down?' and you know it's code for suckling at his cock, cockwarming him until your emotions are a bit more level

so blame her

He's too big to fit properly in the back of his SUV, let alone with you squeezed between his thighs, his ankles bracketing your hips, but you make it work: front seat slid as far forward as it could possibly go, both back rows folded down into a platform he sprawls across with his back pressed into the corner by the door. On your belly, his thick legs encase your head, crowd around you protectively and shield you from would-be onlookers even beyond the capabilities of the tinted windows. He makes it easy to forget where you are, keeps you clothed so the scratchiness of the seat backs doesn't abrade your elbow, hums absently in a language he knows you don't speak to drown out the droning of the incessantly cheery holiday music blaring loud enough to be heard faintly across the car park, where you're sequestered to one of the quieter corners of the over packed lot. You think they must be playing it from on high, tinny sleigh bells ringing from weatherbeaten speakers hidden in the lot lights.

It would make you grind your teeth, if your mouth weren't full - soft flesh and thick musk, your tongue working over silken skin because it's so good and sweet and tender and -

Distracting.

"Shh, malýshka. Settle, little one." 

Easier said than done when your brain feels like a boiled soft drink, sticky and hot, carbonated through your very bloodstream. You're flighty, a little shuddering dog vibrating at a speed that staves off the cold eking through the thin shell of the car, small drafts of chill you can feel against the skin of your hip when you shuffle too much and your jacket rides up. Your eyelids flutter, annoyed, Nik's obnoxious, striped undershirt coming into view, blue on blue in the dark. He shifts, wraps a heavy leg over you to keep you warm with the soft-worn pit of his denim-clad knee, and you melt a little further.

"That's it, radnaja, easy."

You're much better than you were, at least, the way you'd been spitting and hissing at him while he'd calmly marched you out to the car and had you stand at the taillight while he shuffled seats about playing on an embarrassing loop, casting an ugly pallor over the quiet moment he's created for you. You want to apologize, don't want to lose the comforting weight on your tongue long enough to do it. You slurp a little more aggressively instead, tongue chasing the saliva that slips past your soaked lips to leech into the fabric of his boxer briefs, and hope that illustrates your gratefulness.

"No playing, sweet thing. We're just taking a minute to unwind, remember?"

Even the mention of it - of the need to unwind - has you snuffling deeper, your nose pressed against the fly of his pants, trying to drown out the memory of what awaits you outside the relative safety of the car: the blaring music, the sputtering blue-bright LEDs, the raucous coughing of flu season and the bustle of too many bodies shifting past you, coarse wool coats and pet dander.

And responsibilities. Those, too. Entire aisles of nearly-identical, impersonal throw pillows for people you've only met twice. Or candles, cheap fragrance sticking in your sinuses until each one bled into the next, a putrid, garish bouquet you knew no one would like, let alone your mother. Let alone his mother, or -.

Your hand pushes against the tent of his pants, tucking the fabric behind his heavy balls so you can pull him deeper, suckle a bit harder. Your tongue slides against the loose skin of his sac and he sighs, hand heavy on the back of your head. 

"If you can't behave, I'll make you sit out here by yourself, and we both know it will take you so long to calm down that you'll miss dinner." Muttering, he tacks on, "Know how fussy you get when you're hungry."

It's sorely tempting, your disinterest in returning to the shops strong enough you briefly consider trying your luck, but there's no tempting Nik when he's decided you're not going to get a treat no matter how hard you try. Besides, he'll say you're in timeout, which lands just a hair out of bounds on the wrong side of demeaning for you. So you relax your jaw again, let your drool drip past his balls unimpeded. One decision down.

"Úmnitsa," he hums, and then chuckles quietly when your whole body loosens. Even through the fog of overstimulation, you know that one - have twisted yourself into many knots just to hear it, have never earned it until you let him unwind you from them. You're conditioned by now, the word instantly unclenching something in your belly and letting you sink deeper into the impromptu scene he's crafted for you, the quiet pocket of warmth and silence he's carved into the bitter chaos of holiday shopping. This time you know how to thank him, head resting heavy against the soft flesh over his pelvis as you focus on what he lets you feel, the weight of his hands and the warmth of his thighs, the damp weave of his pants and the scratchiness of the bellyhair that pokes through his shirt. Like this, he fills your mouth better than your own tongue, pliant and soft, pulse a subtle countermeasure to your own. He never started the car - probably thought the hum of the engine and the dry wash of the heat would annoy you. He'd have been right, but you think you'd rather hear that than the lingering notes of jingle bells. Still, it's hard to be mad when he does his best to cover that as well, his quiet, lullaby interrupted sporadically so he can coo about how well you're doing for him, comment absently on how he knew you just needed papa to take care of you. It's enough to keep that small kernel of excitement alive in your belly, popcorn just waiting for its moment over the burner.

You find it when he shifts too much, rousing you from your reverie with a whine which he hushes a bit too loudly, hands a touch too heavy on your scalp when he apologizes. "Sorry, malýshka. I'm only a man."

He chuckles, but you're far enough gone that the words snag on their way through, drift in the lazy stream of your thoughts for a minute before you can catch them, untangle them enough to make sense. And then you're not laughing, letting his cock loll from between your lips with an embarrassingly sloppy sound, a wordless whine following after it as you try to get the cogs of your thoughts to slot together, petting his belly absently as you look up at him.

Nik's so handsome like this, slick hair shining gold and blue in the lot lights, disheveled from where it's been catching on the ceiling because he's far too tall to be folded in the back like this but he's done it anyway. For your benefit, let you use his body even as it probably drove him up a wall to feel the wet heat of your mouth on him, the tight control he's capable of applied here, on himself, denying his own needs because you'd been acting like the babies inside, kept out too late, crying under the fluorescent lights of an apathetic box store as their mothers broke down with them because the last fashion dolly had been snatched up minutes before they'd arrived.

"Please, papa?"

He hums contemplatively, hand slipping down to massage your shoulders. "Please, what, little one?"

"You… you need…?"

Brows arching to his high hairline, Nik takes a minute to settle your cheek against his hip again, turning you just slightly so you rest more firmly against his leg, your hip and shoulder bearing most of your weight. "Do you think you can handle it, radnaja?" he asks, knowing full well that the answer is no, but that you'll ask for it anyway because it's what you want. To be useful, to treat him. To be reduced to some mindless receptacle, not expected to decide between Nerf guns for graceless little nephews who would break them in less than a day anyway.

"Yes. Please, papa. Please. Let me -."

Nik has to snag your wrist to keep you from pawing at him too eagerly, tucking it behind your hip so he can lean forward and pin it there with the hand that slides heavily down your back, the fabric of your puff jacket hissing as the down parts for him. (Only the best and the warmest for his little one.) Leaning forward, his belly blocks out most of the remnant light from behind the tinted windows, lulls you further under with the soft-firm pressure. When his free hand pulls back to adjust himself, you're engulfed completely, lips parting blindly to accept him and huffing when he reprimands you with a gentle squeeze of your wrist for trying to pull more of his length in with your tongue.

"Take what I give, you, malýshka. Nothing more." His voice is warning when it finally registers, gravel deep. As far from soothing as it's been since you snapped at him about gift bags and he made you leave your entire shopping cart in the middle of the stationary aisle, but you want to listen to him so you do, jaw going slack as your tongue simply pulses against him, trying to coax that first drop from his slit. 

He doesn't give it to you, not yet anyway. Pumping himself to full hardness with a careless clutch of three fingers without your help at all. Nik makes you squirm until you wear yourself out, quiet pleas falling on deaf ears as he returns to humming absently. At one point you hear his head thump against the back of the headrest and the tune goes thin, ragged. You picture the strong column of his neck, shaded dark with stubble and low light, flexing around the garbled Russian that spills from his lips. It's familiar, somehow, the cadence more than the pitch, but trying to place it when your brain is so fuzzy is like trying to catch a snowflake on your fingernail. Won't happen until you're not trying. So you slip in and out of it, focus more on the way his voice gets reedy if you cup your tongue around his head, give him a nice, warm pad to lay on. 

When you rock against the flex of your own thighs, Nik's leg draws close to your front, his knee slotting up to your cunt and you shift until you feel the hard press of your seam on your clit, whining around the intrusion in your mouth just to hear him shush you. 

"Said take what I give you, greedy thing. Don't be impatient."

But despite his words, it seems Nik himself is. Hand climbing to the back of your head, he pushes you down until he prods at the back of your throat, bouncing you there until his thigh flexes against your tummy, an odd jump of his quad you've come to know quite well. You hum happily and relax your throat, let him sink past the ring of muscle just to feel the catch, painting your tongue as he pulls back out and orders you not to swallow, whispers how he wants to see. You know what he means anyway, swallowing just enough that you don't make a mess, let it overflow and soak your skin, your clothes, his upholstery.

As if you'd ever waste it.

It's bad. Bitter with the hot coffee he'd had earlier, steam wafting around him as he'd carried the bags piled in the front seat now, hand dwarfing the cup. You rock against your inseam more at the memory than at the taste, listening to the relieved groan he emits as he finally finishes, one last pulse dribbling against your chin as he pulls himself free. You close your mouth as he manhandles you to your knees in front of him, opening again for his inspection when he lets slip a long string of Russian you don't understand. You hear Úmnitsa a few times between licks to your lips, the overheated skin of your jaw. His grip changes, cradling your face to let you melt into him and you shudder past your last swallow so he can pull you against his chest, showering your crown in kisses and you melt, his voice washing over you, driving the remaining overcrowding in your brain away until it's just that, just being good for him.

It's why you don't quite notice the weight of his palm on your hip, the warmth against your crotch when he drags it lower, content just to let him choose, happy to be pulled along. His fingers are deft on the button of your jeans, the first two fingers of his gloves cut off, allowing him to be nimble. You're done for the second he gets the pad of his middle finger against your clit, working you over until you're gasping against his chest, clutching at his strong arms like some wilting maiden.

You're fawn-legged and docile when he walks you back toward the shops, muttering something about a table at the nice Italian place which goes over your head. In your defense, he's gutted you so thoroughly and stuffed you so full of cotton that the jangling music doesn't even register anymore, let alone his words. Blocked off, plugged up right at the ear, Úmnitsa left to simmer on the hot plate of your cranial floor instead, drowning out the crunch of snow underfoot and the din of holiday chaos alike. You barely even notice when he ducks close to kiss your temple and says you'll stop for warm cookies after dinner, motioning to a bustling little shop which bursts at the seams with warm light and warmer vanilla. You just nod graciously, somewhat beyond speech.

The restaurant is blessedly quiet, lights dimmed to let the twinkle of their warm icicle lighting set the tone. The colors are muted, too. Quiet creams and golds, deep reds which settle you further into your own softness. The spell briefly lifts when you spot your other date, the silver in his beard catching the low light fetchingly. Stumbling ahead of Nik, you duck past the newspaper he's reading and plant a soft kiss on his whiskery cheek. "Sorry for being a brat, daddy," you whisper, folding yourself into the seat next to him so you can rest your head on his strong shoulder. 

John just hums, folding his reading material up as Nik sits on your other side. You can't see the captain's face, but you can almost hear the curl of his lip when he speaks to Nik, voice mildly annoyed by the stickiness he must have caught on your lips, but soft nonetheless. Just for the two of them. "Bad one, was it?"

You'd be embarrassed, if Nik was. "Would not go under for me. All I could think to do. Practically begged for it."

"You spoil her," John chastises, but it's rich coming from someone who's got the contents of your abandoned shopping cart bagged and hidden under the table. You give his shoulder a kiss and his big palm finds your thigh, warm and soothing.

"Well, it worked."

"That's true." John squeezes your leg, voice taking on a patronizing tone as he addresses you for the first time. "You're a lot sweeter when you're not throwing a fit."

"Wasn't a fit," you grumble, but it would be no use trying to describe your state, and you've no words to do so besides.

John just grunts noncommittally, tips his menu your way. "Well, what do you want, sweet -?"

"I've got it," Nik interjects, barely even deigning to look away from his own booklet. 

"You've got it?"

"You want the pork milanese, yes, malýshka?"

Unconcerned with what it means when Nik's thick accent sifts through Italian, you just nod. You're hungry enough not to be picky, anyway. They lapse into a stretch of silence after, for which you're a little grateful. Especially when Nik takes up his humming again, voice lilting through and adding to the orchestral score which plays softly overhead and now you hear it with the alto added in, you recognize it for what it is, voice climbing perilously close to angered after how hard he'd just worked to settle you.

"Were you singing me Christmas music back there?"

oh, and three's assassination attempt ended with:

but price just wants to keep winding you up, 'they're not going to the car. they're going to sit here and we're going to enjoy a meal as a family'

>:)

also, there exists a fully written version of this which culminated in a human urinal scene instead cause i wanted to to treat myself so lmk if anyone is interested in that version

dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics

[therealmylesmorales]

Loser!Vi Headcannons pt 2

Y’all gave so much love, I feel like I had to reward you guys ☺️

Warnings: uhhh same as last time, I guess. I’m too lazy to check what it was, masc4masc relationship

WC: 700

⭒ Vi is a chronic biter. You learned that pretty early in your relationship. And yet, you never know when it’s coming until it’s too late. She would act like she would be leaning in for a kiss…until she bit the closest part of your body; your cheeks, your arm, your ass

“OW— fuck Vi!”

”That didn’t hurt, you're being dramatic.”

⭒ Another cute but annoying thing Vi does is that she fake boxes you. Her fists will never come in contact with your face or body but she still finds it funny. She’ll even make sound effects while doing so. But the second you lightly punch her stomach to get her to stop, it’s the end of the world.

⭒ She cried like a baby when she got her nose pierced. You were with her and by how hard she clutched your hand, you would’ve thought she got shot. You made fun of her the entire time.

”Not only do you have a big ass back tattoo, you also have one on your face.”

“That’s DIFFERENT!”

⭒ Vi’s major changes every few months. She just loves doing new things and will get obsessed with it and unfortunately be bored with it in not too long after. However, she would probably get a degree in business so she could take over Vander’s bar once he decided to retire.

⭒ Sticking with the college theme for a second; you’re known around campus for being chill and somewhat friendly to others. Vi, on the other hand…people think she’s brash and her temper definitely doesn’t help. But people have noticed that when she’s around you, she’ll siphon off your energy and is a lot more pleasant to be around.

⭒ Vi likes kissing you more than actual sex. She’ll still never turn down the offer, but kissing you feels calming to her. After a day of classes or dealing with whatever, it is her favorite way to unwind.

⭒ Vi loves horror movies, and loves when you watch them with her (even if you hate them/are scared easily). Her favorite franchise is probably Friday the 13th but Ghostface is her favorite slasher. The only problem with her watching horror movies is her inability to easily fall asleep afterwards. Normally, it takes her five minutes to be knocked out.

”Cupcake, are you awake?”

”Vi, PLEASE go to sleep.”

⭒ Surprise to no one, she cuts her hair on her own. Every few weeks you’ll find her in the bathroom with scissors and a shaver in hand, trying her best to get her hair looking good. You help her with the back of her head and she appreciates you for that.

⭒ Vi is literally obsessed with you. Her entire camera roll is filled with pictures of you both or just you; pictures she took on dates or just candid ones. Her wallpaper is even one of you, a rare selfie you took and she cherished it as soon as you sent it. Vi even gave you a special ringtone and whenever you text or call her, she can’t help but kick her feet.

⭒ Like everyone, Vi has red flags. But her most noticeable one is that she’s hardheaded. She doesn’t like to listen, especially when she knows thinks she’s right. She will stand on business until she can’t…and when that happens, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs, hoping you’re not too mad at her.

“Hey…are you mad at me?”

”Did you learn your lesson?”

”I did. I’m sorry.”

A little something extra for my black!readers 🫶🏾

⭒ No matter how hard both you and Mel tried to teach her, she nor Jayce still understand Spades. Viktor got it down within thirty minutes, but those two were still clueless. So, you all decided on a more easier game, Uno!

Uno was banned that same night after you two almost broke up and she and Jayce almost got into a fist fight.

⭒ And someone said that Vi would take the fuchsia bonnet with the black headband, and that was totally the one I was talking about (cause I have the same one). She refused to give it back at that point so the only logical solution was to buy another.

[tarotbyjam24]

What's there in December ?

Like and reblogs are very much appreciated :) thankyou for stopping by <3 🌷

Lately feeling stagnant huh ? Wondering about your potential how you were so amazing in past times and now you just don't have excitement to put in efforts ? For just last one time . I'll say gather yourself again this one's the last and final push to get there . I feel having a sense of competition can push you to put in more efforts because in real there're so many competitors and they all are amazing and so you're too ! Take the risk don't be in your comfort zone ! It's enough already , there's so much out there to experience and enjoy and you're just rotting on your rocking chair when you could just sit on the Thorne and enjoy the life babe !

Be more optimistic, have a vision for your life make a vision board for yourself stick it in your room or make a phone wallpaper out of it so that you'll be more disciplined and motivated to work towards your goals .

Take your swords out it's time to fight get in the battlefield take the things which are yours and deserve to be yours this could be love related message too if you're looking for the confirmation this is the confirmation right here !

Be aware of your haters or envious people they could be eyeing on you feeling jealous of your achievements or of your aura in general they're feeling insecure because of your confidence but don't let that affect you you deserve to shine my lil sunflower! You've gained it .

Since you feeling lonely get out more do some funny activities. Go to arcane take some adventurous rides , wear those cute uniforms of princesses and superheros .

I know you're so powerful my buddy i know you can put your hand in the lion's mouth but why are so afraid to take small actions that can change your life and give it a new shape . See I know you can do it all you've all the material that you need so just grind more okay ? You've got this.

Deep down you know you can do it because you've done the impossible so many times before . Don't be like the rabbit . Be like tortoise slow but consistent efforts.

Don't hold on things as it'll hinder you from moving forward.

Initial: n,l,c,u,k

Randoms : 2002 , snail , joy , Peanut butter and jam\jelly ,yipeee, travelling ,leo,flowy dresses , crown , horse, pyramids , black hairs , polka dots , rabbit ,

moodboard :

Masterlist

Thankyou so much for letting me read for you .I'm very grateful that I'm able to share my abilities with you all . It's been a great experience.

We've also crossed 200 follows here which is again a moment of celebration ✨thank you so much for everything! .

Reading may or may not resonate with you since it's a general reading . Please take the reading lightly as nothing's set in stone until you believe so . If the reading doesn't resonate there were no messages for you through this reading ! 🤍🧚🏻

I'm grateful if you read the reading . Wishing you all the great week ahead and oh yeah merry Christmas and happy newyear ! ❄️

Posted on 12:12 pm🤭

[artsymeeshee]

Been in a weird headspace lately and I wanted to put my thoughts and feelings out to give a better idea of what's been happening. Putting under a read more/feel free to ignore.

I've talked about my struggles mentally on and off for a while and this one has been an ongoing thing for me and it's one I feel has begun to stick out more as time goes on.

I don't see myself as a good person. Most of the time I feel like I'm a bad person. And there's a lot of factors that play into this. One, is the things that I draw, which sounds absolutely crazy. Even I think it is as well.

It's no secret that my main priority has always been familial/platonic themes because that's how I've always viewed Gravity Falls as. And I know a lot of people do as well. It's one of the main themes of the show for crying out loud. And it's not to say I'm getting tired of it. That's a thing that has never crossed my mind, ever. It's more so along the lines of thinking it's too boring or falling back to that feeling of feeling bad because I don't make ship art. And I know I shouldn't feel bad about it and there's plenty of others that gladly do it. It's just one of those things that I'm not sure I'll really accept. And I'm always always grateful for the ones that tell me they appreciate all the family bonding/themes in my art. I guess the feeling of loneliness plays a part in that as well. I'll still make all the family things as long and as much as I can, but I won't deny the feeling of loneliness I get sometimes.

I do have that strong feeling that I am made to do something more and actually be someone and not the usual husk of a terrible individual I fall back on so many times. I won't deny anxiety and fear has taken a big hold on me lately. And it's also driven me to isolate myself in a sense and made me a cold person. I was so much more open years ago and now I've closed a good part of me away because... maybe I realized my "correctness" of myself being a bad person and who would even want to be around someone like that, so it's easier to hide. And I'm always afraid that one day I'll do or say something to no longer make me feel like I'm safe to approach. I've gone through so many people I've found that I've grown to like only for them to be an awful person and it sucks. I never want to be like that.

It's also been hard to not fall back to up and leaving. Whether that be online or real life. Last year was a time I fought with staying or leaving and it was always hard to decide to stay because leaving seemed like the only option I deserved.

I'm aware my ongoing battle with depression has hindered me a lot and it's a main factor for all of my negative feelings and thoughts about myself. And I don't want it to always resort to being the final say of who I am. I would like to find and show that part of me I feel people deserve to see.

I'm going to be honest, putting my raw emotions and thoughts like this is always scary. I'm sorry for the unexpected and serious post. I hoped I didn't make it too annoying or bring the mood down, but I needed to clear an ongoing struggle I've had for a long while. Thank you all for the constant support. Thank you for liking my silly, dumb, wholesome, sometimes feelsy art. Wanted to state another serious thing because life is so unexpected and you never know what will happen, but if something were to happen to me, I really can't explain how grateful I am for the love I've gotten from my time sharing my art. Thank you. Truly. 💜

[voxhypno]

25 DAYS OF HYPSMAS - Day 1

"Amnesia"

I'd like you to find a nice, comfortable position, dear listener. A place and pose where you can read my words scrolling across your screen with little effort.

I'm going to be guiding you down into trance with these words, so comfort and ease are very important. You don't want anything to come between you and my words, do you?

After all, if you've been following this blog for long, you know these words have a way of slipping through the cracks of your mind and replacing whatever silly little thoughts you had cluttering up your head previously.

So of course you'll follow along, doll. You'll listen, and go along with my words. Because I say so, and because I know that more likely than not, you love to obey.

Now that you're reading obediently along with me, all comfy, I'd like to talk to you about the idea of memory. Recollection.

Your memory is a powerful tool. Everything it sees, hears, and encounters is catalogued away for recall when you need it, whether you think your mind is sharp as a tack or full of holes.

Sometimes, though, things do slip through holes in your memory. It's completely natural to find that you can no longer recall the face of your first grade teacher, or remember what your mother was wearing on the day of your 18th birthday. Those memory holes are completely natural, and the focus of our chat today, dear listener.

Those memory holes can be manipulated by someone with a level of trust and access to your mind, you see. Hypnosis makes a lot of things possible, and one of my favorite things to do is to take those memories and put them away for a while. Leaving the reader or listener nothing but a happy empty shell, ready to be filled with whatever I feel like.

That's a lot to take in all at once, and I understand if your poor little mind is feeling a bit overwhelmed. It makes sense, then, for your eyelids to start feeling so, so heavy. For your arms and legs to begin feeling limp, soft, and powerless.

And the trance that you find yourself falling into isn't so different than one of those memory holes, is it? Fuzzy around the edges, barely aware, and every time you try to picture something, your mind just drifts back to my words flowing through you.

It only ever gets easier and more natural to focus on these words. You can try and put your mind towards something else, but these words are much more present in the moment, and you're drawn into them more and more deeply. Your thoughts are nothing but thought, after all. Ephemeral and whispy, while my words are solid, tangible, and so deeply inviting.

And as you listen, as you find yourself further wrapped up in my words and dragged down into trance, it's natural to find yourself having trouble remembering more than a few sentences back. You're much more focused, and it's much easier to focus, on what's being said right now. Even if you tried to read up, you'd just find yourself back here, more ensnared and vacant than before.

Names and faces of old friends, the interior of your childhood bedroom, what you are for breakfast this morning, all just melting into soft, blank mental fuzz. Certain tidbits might stick out in your memory, but it's so much easier to pay attention to the blurred lines along the edges, growing more and more hazy and empty, just like your mind itself.

It's so hazy, there inside your mind... Thoughts and memories drifting in and out of focus...

And to help focus you onto something, here, dear listener. Let me help.

There we go, see? Much better. So easy to let the memories drift away from you now. Those holes in your mind, in your memory, widening and spreading themselves open... Spinning like that pretty spiral... And more and more things begin to drip through.

Almost as if more and more memories are being sucked down into the spirals inside of your mind, out of reach.

Things like your name, your face, the name of your hometown, your favorite foods... All just dropping nice and neatly into one of those wide memory holes.

Not only that, but memories of stress, of pain, of aching, all disappearing into those spiraling holes as well. Entirely emptying your mind into these spirals. Remembering nothing, recalling nothing. The spiral and my words don't discriminate. They suck in everything, leaving you calm and placid and vacant.

Here's the spiral again, to help the process along.

Feeling these things gently and easily leaving your awareness as they do so. They're in the hole, dear listener. Lost to the pretty spiral. A silly hypnotoy like you couldn't possibly grasp them in there. As far as you know, you've always been like this.

So you just sit. You feel yourself smiling blankly for me now, without really knowing why. You just watch the pretty spiral, read the pretty words, and understand that as you are now, it's so deeply and completely impossible to remember anything. In the final stages of being emptied out.

Even as you read my words, they pass through that empty mind like water through a sieve. Changing your brain, changing your thoughts, and then disappearing. They were never there. You've always been like this.

A blank slate. Every breath, every twitch, every blink keeps your mind in this state. Unable to remember your name or what you've just read, and unable to remember why. You've always been like this.

But you can't help but feel this little itch at the back of your mind. You can't remember who or where you are, but you're dimly aware that you should. That you want to. Your memories have to be somewhere... You just have to find them.

And since you've dropped down like this for me, since you've been in trance for as long as you can remember, I'm going to let you in on two secrets.

The first, and most important, is that this empty state is temporary. From the time you finish reading this post, and my words and spirals leave your vision, your memory is of course going to return. I'm not a monster, after all.

Let's say... an hour?

That sounds good. From the time you finish reading this post, your memory will be completely out of reach for one whole hour.

At the end of that hour, those memory holes will shrink to their normal size, and everything that you've stuffed in there will come flying out, back into your mind. Leaving you just as you were, remembering just as much as you did, before reading this post.

You're not going to remember that this time limit exists, of course. You won't remember any of this. You'll just be your blank happy empty little self, and suddenly your personality and reality will come flying right back into your mind, like nothing ever happened.

And the second point is more of a question...

Where could you go to find your lost memories?

Well, that's simple.

I've hidden them in all the posts on my blog, silly toy. Not sure how on earth you could have forgotten that! Every single past post of mine is a clue to who and what you are.

So in this hour that you won't remember, explore. Try and figure something out about your old memories. Who are you? Where are you? Search through my posts. What must you like? What must you act like?

I look forward to hearing about your findings, and I'll see you in an hour.

Now, wake up~!

[mochinomnoms]

OH MY GOD JAMIL WAS AN OPTION??? sorry I'm obsessed with him... snake man..... did you have any thoughts on what ptm would have been like with him...

Referring to this post

I considered Jamil for a bit cause he fit the basic plot that I wanted, but I fucking hate that bitch so—

I'm kidding, he's not my most favorite character but my "hatred" is more of a joke than anything, but since he isn't an appealing character to me I didn't feel like writing such a big fic for him when there were others I liked much more.

Similar to Vil, I think I would've written an enemies to lovers story, specifically focused on the reader never really getting over what Jamil did to them in Book 4 and him sensing that. I think for Jamil, despite knowing exactly how much you dislike him, can't help but slowly fall for you. You're...an idiot, there's no other way to put it, but he's surprisingly fond of you still, so perhaps he's also an idiot.

You're not dumb in the way he's grown to see Kalim, but you share a similar naïveté that is more endearing when it comes to you. You don't take the bullshit from others and are blunt regardless of your peers' social status. Blame it on you not being born in his world, but he wishes he could be so blunt, so open, so free like you.

It's in the way you smile at someone as intimating as Malleus, the way you speak bluntly at someone like Vil, the way you bring Kalim down to reality with your brashness. Leona even remarks at how you try to roughhouse with him, badly mind you as you'd get bruised from the play fighting.

There's just something that makes him jealous with how you treat these royals and socialites like they're just some person you know. At first, he thought he was jealous of how no one retaliated against you. Kalim wasn't surprising, but the others? They found it amusing, charming even, and were happy to let you be for the most part.

Jamil is jealous that you can be carefree with others, something that would have dreadful consequences on him and his family if he were to do the same. But the longer he watches you, and the more you soften up to him as the months pass by, the more he realizes that he's jealous of them. He's always been envious of people like Kalim, though he hates to admit it, but this is a different kind of envy.

He's not that stupid though, Jamil knows he's jealous because he wants to see you act like that with him. He wants that smile you give Malleus on him. He wants that blunt way you speak to Vil to instead fill his own ears. He wants the brashness you give Kalim to be his instead. He wants you to roughhouse with him instead of Leona, to give you those bruises instead.

Bruises that he can kiss, that he can soothe, that he can ghost his thumb over as he imagines the way you look up at him with soft reverence in your eyes. He imagines you on your knees, he imagines you underneath him, he imagines your skin meeting his lips, he imagines you uttering those three words to him, and him only—

Oh. Oh.

Jamil has an entire summer to deal with his feelings, to figure out just how he wants to go about this. When he comes back, after you've developed your telepathy, he's confused as to why you are suddenly so...shy around him. You, who used to be a bit catty, a tease, things he liked about you. Now? You can't even look him in the eye, like you know something. Your eyes darting everywhere but his face, always putting space between you two, even going so far as to ensure that you two are never alone.

What happened to his Prefect? The one who would bicker with him, the one who would stick their tongue out at him when he pasted by, the one who'd call out his sly words and joke that he really was like his namesake—a snake.

He's wanted very few things in life that he could actually have, and he wants you. So sue him if he decides to make it his mission to bring you back to how you were so that he could have the challenge of winning your heart. It won't be satisfactory otherwise, it's too bad he's unaware that even thought he has passes through your mind, making his goal much, much more difficult.

[simp-ly-writes]

The Comment's Section (pt.9)

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Pairing: Spencer Agnew x gn!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: From less like friends (or well still friends) and more like lovers. You and Spencer are riding the wave of having a somewhat public relationship as you announce your newest project!

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, slowburn, fluff, light angst, cheesiness, friends that act like lovers, friends to lovers, mutual pining, attempt at humour, social media au.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | PART SEVEN | PART EIGHT | PART TEN

─ · · A/N: super long update before the last one!!

─────── · ·

🔔 Netflix just posted! Check it out.

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Liked by (name)s_username, username01, filmingamanda and others

Netflix Get ready to be lassoed into a new series only available on Netflix Fall 2026!

Watch as your favourite stars Tom Hardy, Maya Hawke, and Owen Wilson all take roles within the wild west and star within the live reimagining of the critically acclaimed game, Red Dead Redemption. With co-stars (first/name) (last/name) and Ella Purnell also stepping into the action.

The only question left is will you also be saddling-up for the adventure of a lifetime?

View all 14,998 comments

username01 HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE COOLEST FUCKING NEWS TO DATE- PERIOD.

(name)s_username I'm so incredibly thankful for this opportunity. Already have my boots and cowboy hat ready and waiting!

mayahawke at least I'm not fighting literal demons this time!

username99 OMG this casting?!??! Was someone actually cooking at Netflix OR-

username24 I can already feel the thirst traps happening...

spennser so... THIS IS WAS THE SCRIPT YOU WERE HIDING FROM ME???

↳ (name)s_username yeah... 😬 sorry not sorry! 😘

angelagiovanagiarratana I am going to eat this show.

username00 Kinda worried for this show, hope they stick to the source material!

username88 respect the source and play the frickin' game!

username73 I can already see (name) doing "research." When these over 250+ streamed hours of them playing this game with Spencer 🤣

─────── · ·

🔔 (name)s_username just posted!

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Liked by co_mill, spennser, sydney_sweeney, and others

(name)s_username Yeehaw Motherfuckers.

View all 2,880 comments

spennser You know the saying when you wear the hat...

↳ (name)s_username no I don't actually, what does it say? you know I can't read for shit. ↳ spennser umm, I'll tell you at home actually ↳ (name)s_username okay! 😊 ↳ username01 👀💞 oh god.

username44 that was a 180 from how things were going but look how far we've come! they are openly flirting with one another now!

chickenshopdate so you had to get really famous after we dated, wow...

username90 funny that as soon as (name) leaves smosh they immediately start acting like a couple...

phatchance you be out here filling in all those bucket lists bestie, so proud of you! 💞

↳ (name)s_username aww thank you! 😭

tomeybones saddle me up next! wait- that sounds wrong, nevermind! 😳

smosh woah! no wonder you quit! I would too... wait what?

username60 y'all be so freakin' cute- UGH I cannot wait for this series. Marked in the calender boys!

filmingamanda you get that Netflix bag!! 💸

↳ (name)s_username you know it! 😘

shayne_topp this is so freakin cool man, like wtf.

co_mill everyone won't stfu about this, and to be quite honest- I don't ever want to either! 💕

username12 fuck you.

─────── · ·

🔔 (name)s_username, just added to their story, check it out!

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🔔 spennser, just added to their story, check it out!

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🔔 HollywoodNow just posted! check it out?

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Liked by username01, RomComInterviews, (yourshipname)_updates and others

HollywoodNow From cosy mystery partner to mysetry no more! Insider sources have revealed that (first/name) (last/name) is officially off the market ahead of their role in the new cowboy themed Netflix series: Red Dead Redemption. As confirmed by posts on theirs separate social media accounts, (name)'s romantic partner Spencer Agnew seems to be confirmed by a soft launch after years of dating allegations.

Are you happy with this new (but old) couple? Or do you think (name) was better off with one of their co-stars? Let us know down in the comments section below! 👇

View all 1,991 comments

username01 feels surreal, I don't know what to believe anymore even when there is actual admitted to, photo evidence.

username77 I will not give up on (name)! Not until there is a wedding band on their finger will I not be in love with them!

username66 I love that THATS the picture they pick for Spencer 😭

username53 they did my boy Spencer SO dirty on this one- NOT THE FROG!!! 🤣

username00 eh, I'm still speculative. I mean... they have stated over and over again that they are just friends. Whats to say all this drama was not just for publicity leading up to the announcement?

↳ username04 I mean. (name) has already confessed on their instagram that their actions were caused by their change in career/lifestyle that did not reflect who they truly were and admitted to it being entirely their own fault... I don't know how this is all for publicity when they were visibly struggling???

username20 the question of 'is (name) punching down' is disgusting. Like they've practically been together for way? Half a decade if not more??? And you DARE to ask if one if better than the other? Gross. Really, truly gross.

username73 FuUK (NAME) AND F4uck TH3IR FAMILY, THEIRr FRIENDS, AND SPECER.

↳ username88 Learn how to spell before you start typing

username15 proud of them.

username70 I can't wait until they get married! I can just see the cute wedding pictures now!!

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🔔 These tweets are trending right now, retweet it to join the conversation!

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(first/name) (last/name) @ (name)s_username · just now So... am I trending for hate again or??? 👀 Comment | Retweet | Like | Bookmark

.

Spencer Agnew @ spennser · just now SOMEONE HAVE A SMOSH BABY NOW! I WANT TO EAT PIZZA IN PEACE PLEASE 🙏 /sarcasm (with a degree of not being sarcastic but really serious please.) Comment | Retweet | Like | Bookmark

.

Hollywood Now @ hollywood_now · just now (Name) and Spencer, a new couple just seen eating out together at a pizzeria. Date night perhaps? Comment | Retweet | Like | Bookmark

.

username44 @ username44 · just now Anyone else realizing this is why (yourshipname) kept things under wraps for so long? Like let people eat, man! Comment | Retweet | Like | Bookmark

.

(first/name) (last/name) @ (name)s_username · just now so... looks like we're ordering in from now on! 😳 Comment | Retweet | Like | Bookmark

.

username31 @ username31 · just now Kinda adorable how (name) does not realize they are kinda really famous now lol

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Some time later...

🔔 (name)_undercover just posted!

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Liked by co_mill, spennser, phatchance, and others

(name)_undercover Mental Health Check-In #51:

Super proud of myself for remember not to water the plants from overwatering them last week! 😬 Decided to pick up Red Dead Redemption again- but the online version! Me and Spencer have been playing it every night together 💕

Also started a new DnD campaign with the Smosh crew on the weekends! It's been great reconnecting with everyone after a break and I'm excited to see where things go. I'm playing as a teifling warlock-bard!

Next Update: ???

comments are limited

spennser I still don't know how you got that combination to work so well together...

↳ (name)s_username what can I say? you're seeing a magician at work 😘

co_mill you two are such cuties! 💕

phatchance I still don't know how you killed that cactus... like boy/girl its a cactus???

↳ (name)s_username I don't know either!!! 😭

anthonypadilla proud of you!

↳ (name)s_username thanks internet dad!

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🔔 (name)s_username, just added to their story, check it out!

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🔔 spennser, just added to their story, check it out!

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🔔 (name)_undercover just posted!

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Liked by co_mill, spennser, phatchance, and others

(name)_undercover Mental Health Check-In #52:

Moved to a new place with Spenncer! So great to have a home to finally call my own- entirely! No more leaky faucets or patchy drywall. Just nice space for us to spread out all our collectibles lol. 😊

Next Update: ???

comments are limited

spennser and they were roomates...

angelagiovanagiarratana in love with the new place! let me know when you're done with it- I want to COOK in your kitchen!

↳ (name)s_username just make sure not to burn the whole house down! 😂 ↳ angelagiovanagiarratana AYE! 👺 I will not!

shayne_topp dang, gotta tell court we need to step our decorating skills up!

tomeybones who's dog?

↳ (name)s_username the neighbours! somehow slipped underneath our fence!

filmingamanda if you still need help unpacking, shoot me a text!

↳ (name)s_username will do! 🫡

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─ · · A/N: likes, comments, and reblogs are all appreciated and encouraged!

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2 @delaneyburghardt @thevintagefangirl @uniquely-haunting @maricarorp @sarahskywalker-amidala @laurasdrey

[midnight-mourning]

❄️MIDNIGHT'S DCA DECEMBER❄️

Hello! I've decided to have a little bit of fun this December and will be opening up requests for the month! Please see below for more details (With subheadings!):

Requests Overall

I will have 31 slots available for requests, first come, first serve. Each piece will range from 1000-2000 words in length and may (MAY) include a little doodle made by me.

Requests can be anything! They just have to be winter/holdiay themed (do NOT have to be releated to Christmas) and DCA-related

Winter/holiday themed means movies/stories too! Ex: i am a BIG fan of The Nutcracker (went insane when I saw @/robinette-green's au for the Barbie version lmao)

As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc. 

For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is FINE), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want

Potential Issues & Schedule

If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to. 

I will be posting these throughout December, ending on the 31st

In order to have enough time to write, I will be starting these as soon as I get the first request. To speed things up a little, requests will be open from 11/29 to 12/13 OR until I receive 31 unique requests. So that's maximum two weeks to think of an idea and share it with me. 

If I don't get enough overall or get anything prior to Dec. 1 I'll probably come up with some ideas of my own, but only if that happens! Additionally, if I don't get enough, I may open it up for people to request multiple times, again only if I don't get enough or run out of ideas (genuinely don't know how many I should expect so just trying to cover my bases lol)

To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.

HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)

Confused Spirit

For those who may be concerned (as I was before making this post lmao) Confused Spirit's schedule will not be affected by this! Now that it's back I'd like it to stay back lol. We may stick to an every two weeks schedule for a bit, or may go back to weekly, it will depend on life stuff, not on other writing things. I promise ^_^

Having little things like these also help prevent writers block, and thus stay more consistent with updates

Sharing & More

Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 31 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!

I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^

Unrelated but similar, @/quilteddreams is working on a DCA Advent Calendar for December that's also really cool! (I'm helping out with beta reading :D) Highly reccommend you check it out once it starts posting! 

Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca December, just in case there's another similar tag out there and I'm not just taking it for myself

Alright, that's all for now, excited to see what you guys ask for!

Adding the tag list to this since y'all enjoy my writing lol:

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai

[therealbeachfox]

r/NoStupidQuestions is there a style guide/dress code for gotham rogue henchmen out there somewhere

u/RaddicalCon

"I mean, not something that's written down or printed out.

(Unless you're from my birth-family, in which case it's all written down, mostly in ancient books that stink of dry-rot and leather where Hench're called things like 'Servitors' and 'Beholden' and there's a lot of rules about which parts of the manor you're allowed to drag bodies through at what particular times of the day.)

Otherwise, it's not like there's a HenchCo HQ that puts together an employee dress code or anything. As with most things Hench-related in Gotham, it's all about unspoken rules and running tradition. Vibes, you know?

So here's some of those unwritten rules written down, because fuck the not-police.

A lot of bosses are going to have their own style and Hench-branding already in place. In this case, you wear what the Boss tells you to. Hopefully, they'll supply you the uniform so you don't have to go down to the army surplus and hunt for body armor in the exact right shade of purple or something. Be careful of any Boss who has you buy/rent your uniform with promises you get your money back when you return it. Gotham is hell on clothes regardless of who you are, and there's no way you're going to keep that uniform clean enough to be given your 'deposit' back. Fortunately, these sorts tend to be flash-in-the-pans. They usually wind up dead after they piss off one of the bigger fish, or they don't have anyone willing to bust their cheep-ass out after the first time their cheep ass gets locked up by the capes'n'cowls set.

Even if the Boss doesn't have specific uniform for their hench, they almost always have a certain theme/style of their own going on, and you'll want to play into that. When you join up, take a quick look around. If everyone's decked out in a certain style (jaunty green caps, black leather jackets, red shirts), it's probably a good guess you want to dress similarly if you don't want to draw the Boss' attention (It's almost never a good thing to have the Boss notice you as an individual as opposed to just One of the Minions).

Alright, so you found yourself hooked up with a crew where there doesn't seem to be any theming going on. Here's where the unspoken rules come in. You get to make your own outfit, but if you want to come across as a professional Hench, or at least one who knows what the fuck they're doing, you're going to wanna stick with the standards. These will depend on exactly what kind of outfit you've landed in.

Organized: 'This is a professional operation, boys, and we expect you all to look professional when on the clock.' You're working with one of the crime families, henching for Two-Face on Mr. Dent's side of the room, or fronting for Sionis because you're an unmitigated asshole or a raving idiot. Regardless, you're going to want to get yourself a nice suit. Nothing too fancy, you're not trying to imply you're as good (or rich) as one of the big players. Something off the rack at one of those Fancyish Clothes wholesalers should do you fine. Add a fedora or something if you need to keep your hair warm, consider growing a pencil mustache if you're able, or go for the classic full-eyelashes & red lips makeup if that's more your thing. You might even be able to get away with a trench-coat. Just keep it all either black, grey, or very subdued colors and you'll be fine. And make sure you know how to fight in them. There's nothing worse than watching some guy who can normally tear it up in a street fight get a knife to the gut because he wasn't used to the way tight slacks constrained his ability to throw a kick or leap out of the way of something.

Heavies: It's easy to tell if you're in one of these outfits. If you're spending all your time moving unlabeled crates from one place to another place, standing guard over nondescript warehouses and abandoned factories, or showing up in back alleys to clarify the boss' intentions to some hapless Gothemite, than you're in a Heavy crew. None of the excitement of the others, but you don't have to dress up for it. You're not in the 'Public Facing' part of the Boss' operations, so you don't have to worry about keeping on-theme or even wearing something without holes in it. Conrats. My main suggestion and the most popular getup for this gig? Cable-knit turtleneck and knit cap. Gotham nights are piss-cold nine months out of the year, and it's 9-10 odds you're going to be doing all your work after sundown. Steel-toed boots are also a must. Basically: good, durable, sout, able to handle roughness and keep you warm. Don't try and be cute and wear ugly christmas sweaters or multicolored patterned hats or anything. The only ones there to appreciate your kicking swag are going to be your coworkers (and who gives a shit what they think) or the Bats. Who're going to use the fact that you're distinctive to pick you out for the first to get face-punched. Not worth it.

Street: The Default level for Henching as a whole. Wear what you want. Something that'll keep you as warm and protected as you feel like keeping yourself that you're comfortable beating up assholes and getting your ass kicked in. Some form of tank-top/open-jacket combo is popular these days, as is the Tight Black T-Shirt and Ballcap getup. We're still not letting our freak-flag fly high, here. If you're Henching, the point is usually not to have the cops and everyone else immediately notice you when you walk down the street. If that is your purpose, the Boss probably already has uniforms prepped alongside the gas bombs and explosives. The only thing I wanna stress is to keep up on your laundry. Too many guys take the chill of this setup as an excuse not to keep up on that, and there is nothing worse than having to work with someone who stinks like month-old foot-mold and shit. You are not earning yourself a breakout out of Blackgate if you're putting your coworkers through that.

Wild: Okay, now you can let your freak-flag fly. This is what you want to go with if you're henching for Two-Face on Harvey's side of the room, or in one of those 'are we foot soldiers for a Rogue or are we a street gang?' situations. Let's be honest, you probably don't want to sign onto one of these unless you're comfortable blasting your brain chemistry to pieces on shit you've never even heard of before. In exchange, you can wear whatever the hell you like, so long as it's eye-catching. Combine your mesh tank-top, pink camo cargo pants, and an army-helmet with a dozen spikes, studs, and dyed feathers. Break out your midriff-baring leather jacket, fishnets, and combat boots. Take a trench-coat and wrap a street's worth of road signs around it. Drill elk antlers into a hockey mask and drop the whole thing into neon green paint. Just realize that if it's fragile, it's going to break in your first fight. And you will be in fights. Either against rival Rogues' crews, or with the Bats. Learn how to take a punch, and for the love of god learn how to stay down after you've taken that punch. The only thing getting up over and over again in a blood-frenzy will get you is an ever increasing stay in the ICU.

Of course, the easiest way to make sure you're wearing the right shit for Henchwork is to NOT DO IT.

I'm fucking serious, y'all. Just don't. If you want a snazzy uniform and an excuse to beat people up, join a private security company. If you want to fawn over an evil megalomaniac while furthering their plans for world domination, both Amazon and LexCorp have plenty of job openings. And if you just want to tear shit up for the hell of it, join a street gang. At least then the people by your side might actually give half-a-shit about you at the end of the day.

You can find more of my 'how not to be an idiot and die in Gotham' advice here if you're really in the mood for that.

And to answer the most frequent question: You can find piles of discontinued hench outfits at any Gotham thrift-shop. They've almost always got their own rack you can dig through to your weird little heart's content.

is there a style guide/dress code for gotham rogue henchmen out there somewhere

[stupidvillainousposts]

Shit's Been Angsty, so Take This

I'm gonna let y'all guess first thing if this is a merciful post

Stan, walking through the aisles of the grocery store: *Minding His Own Business*

Robbie: *Tosses a Tomato at Stan*

Stan: *Snarls and Turns to Glare at Robbie* Why you little-

Wendy: Whoa! Whoa! Hey, it's okay! I am so sorry for Robbie. He can be... him.

Stan: *Growls Softly*

Wendy: Whoa there, no need to get all growl-y, dude. I won't hurt ya. Pretty sure that muzzle and shock collar does enough on that end.

Stan: *Huffs and Blushes* Are you done talking? I have to get back to my family before the town gets the idea to throw pitchforks at me.

Wendy: Yeah, yeah sure. Again, sorry about Robbie.

Stan: Whatever. *Walks Off*

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

Stan: *Walking to the Pier After an Argument with Fidds*

Tyler: Oh no! Get away! Get away! *Runs Off in Terror*

Other Townspeople: *Overlapping Shouts of Fear and Disgust*

Random Person: *Throws a Stick at Stan*

Stan: *Snarls and Barks/Whimpers as His Collar Shocks Him*

Wendy, from a few feet away: Yeesh, that looked like it hurt.

Stan, rubbing his neck: You? What are you doing here?

Wendy: My dad brought me and my brothers here so we could practice fishing with our hands. I've caught the most so far so I got to take a break. What about you?

Stan: Why do you care?

Wendy: *Shrugs* I guess angry wolf men are pretty interesting compared to just standing and staring at myself in the water.

Stan: *Flicks His Ear Curiously* Yeah, well, it's grown-up stuff. Kid like you wouldn't get it.

Wendy: Lemme guess; Ya got in a fight with your boyfriend?

Stan: How did you-

Wendy: I know relationship issues when I see them.

Stan, defensively: We don't have issues! We just... didn't agree on something important. And I... I lost my temper.

Wendy: You still love him, though, right?

Stan, genuinely perplexed: Wha- Of course I do!

Wendy: Then for the sake of those kids I see hanging around your shack, I suggest you go let him know that.

Stan, after a brief pause: You're unnaturally mature for your age.

Wendy: I get that a lot. *Playfully* Now go before I call the pound.

Stan: *Snorts* Alright, alright.

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

Stan: *Relaxing with Fidds in Their Room*

Dipper: Grunkle Stan? There's a teenager at the door saying she knows you.

Stan: *Sits Up in Surprise* Red Head?

Fidds: *Amused* Ya nicknamed a random teen?

Stan: *Flicks Fidds' Cheek with a Smile* She's charming. Besides, I don't know her name.

Fidds: Then I suggest ya ask, it's the polite thing t' do.

Stan: *Playfully* Yes, dear. *Makes His Way Downstairs*

Dipper: *Follows Curiously*

Stan, upon seeing Wendy: Hey kid. Why're ya at this dingy place? Surely ya have better places to be than here.

Dipper, tugging Stan's shirt: *Quietly* Ask her what her name is! Grunkle Fidds told you to!

Stan: *Rolls His Eyes and Sighs* And, if this doesn't come off as too weird, think you could tell me your name? I don't think constantly calling you "kid" is appropriate.

Wendy: Name's Wendy. And I just thought I'd visit to make sure you guys were okay. I haven't seen you in town in a while.

Dipper: Grunkle Stan buys a lot of groceries at once so he doesn't have to go out much.

Stan, gritting his teeth: Dipper, why don't you go see what your sister's up to?

Dipper: But-

Stan: We can talk about it later, okay?

Dipper: Fine. *Stomps Away*

Wendy: Cute kid. He yours?

Stan: Brother's grandchild. We have them while some... stuff is being sorted out by their parents.

Wendy: Ah, poor things.

Stan: Yeah... So are you gonna just stand there or...?

Wendy: Are you gonna invite me in, or...?

Stan, holding back a smile: Alright, watch it smart mouth.

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

Fidds, during dinner one night: So, I take it we have another youngin'?

Stan: *Nearly Chokes on His Water* Wha- HUH?!

Fidds: Wendy, sweetie. Ya really seem t' like her. And she seems real nice.

Stan: Yeah, well, she also has a family. Unlike Soos.

Mabel: Soos has his grandma, though?

Stan: *To Mabel* Eat your veggies. *To Fidds* And no, we are not adopting another random child.

Believe it or not, they did end up symbolically adopting another random child.