#it's not like any of them were bad though

[niccolites]

febrile (or; input vs output)

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

-

or: Simon is a member of the Night City Police Department and you're a ripper doc. It is his job to catch criminals, but even he can admit, he's taken a different approach for you. CYBERPUNK!AU

TAGS: Dubious Consent, Power Imbalance, Size Kink, Unhealthy Relationships

read here on ao3

Simon’s got a bug in his system that is turning his vision white at the edges when he finally visits you.

Not that he has much of a morality regarding visiting ripperdocs. Sure, they’re criminals and as a member of the NCPD, it is his job to arrest and charge criminal activity, but that was a rigid rule set decades ago. These days, the split between the NCPD and a common gang is that the rules the gang lives by aren’t written into the law. But, allowances are allowed on both sides.

Simon has never cared much to think about it. He sees some other officers have that blank look in their eye after they finish a shift, others who seem to revel in being able to do whatever it is that they want. Simon just does as he’s told. If he’s told to save the woman who survived a cyberpsycho attack then she is tossed over a shoulder and brought to the ambulance. If otherwise, a nod is all he needs to know that there are no witnesses. Finger, gun, trigger. The explosion in the palm of his hand, kicked back and caught. Delivered.

Maybe it has left a screw loose in his head. Not his job to analyse that.

Flouting the law as and when it suits the law is a part of the job. Not one that Simon has much indulged in, he must admit. Any murder, extortion, crime that is involved in the ‘etcetera’ part of his work, has been asked of him. His fellow officers flout the law as and when it suits them. Illegal weapons, killing a perp who gets too mouthy, maybe getting a bit too handsy with a victim. Simon hasn’t been much interested in the ‘benefits’ he can reap with his badge.

However, after a job where the NCPD took down a group of scavengers, Simon’s vision starts getting spotty. He’d had to jack into one of the victims to see if they were still alive. Horrible static, bad channel. They hadn’t been. And seemingly willing to haunt him from the afterlife, leaving a pesky virus in his system.

There are NCPD designated docs that he could go and visit, but the idea of letting one of their starched, freshly pressed hands go worming around in his cyberware makes his skin crawl. Years before his official service, he’d had all his kit installed by a ripperdoc, and he hadn’t had an issue he couldn’t fix himself since.

He spends a few days just trying to deal with it, still able to hit his shots using the noise that all criminals insist on making. He can still mostly see, even a few days in. Maybe not make out features, but people are blurry and morphed shapes that approach him and he puts them down with the same accuracy as before.

It’s not long before his captain pulls him up, though. Forces him to admit the bug, and issues a new command. Sort it out.

Standing in the doorway of your clinic, hidden in his civvies, here he is. Sorting it out.

You’re in the middle of muddling around with some of your equipment, humming to yourself before you must catch sight of him. The blur of your figure jumps, as your face comes into profile. You must be intimidated by the sight of him, something that he registers with a cool type of pleasure. Even not in his uniform and clearly strapped with all of his weapons, he blocks the light coming in from your doorway. You must see the metal of his left arm, nothing human left there. The gas mask that covers half of his face, black and stark against the pale of his skin.

“Hello. How can I help?” you ask, shifting something up your forehead. It distorts ths shape of your head and he realises that they must be massive goggles. Ridiculous, he imagines you must look like the image of the crazy scientist from old stories; you probably have a lab coat on. He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your reputation, known as one of the best ripperdocs in Watson, even if you are as cheap as they say.

Ripperdocs are the gray area in Night City. Criminals, yes, but the hassle of actually taking down ripperdocs is more than it’s worth. Not that Simon tends to give a fuck about the politics, or the give and take of crime vs law. He is a bullet, pointed in a direction and shot out.

“I got a bug in my system,” he says, taking another step into your clinic.

You nod, gesture for him to take a seat on your bench. Something out of a dentist’s nightmare, he imagines, but he takes a seat nonetheless. Despite lying down, everything in him is as tense as a straight line. Gaze landed and caught on you, lazy as he watches you drift around your clinic. His vision is filtering your clinic as starkly white, the outline of your light grey. You both may as well be in void, he can only see the outline of objects as they get close to him.

You swing your chair around and pick up a wire. “You cool if I take a look?” you offer, gesturing with the wire. His forearm is already tense with the instinct to catch your hand before you can plug that into the side of his neck. His metal gasmask covers the slot anyway.

A beat, in which you look back at him. He considers making it awkward, telling you no or something. Settles on nodding and watches the way you flounder for a moment when you realise you can’t reach the slot. You’re paused, flatering in the space between the two of you.

“Can you take off your mask?” you ask. Your voice is deliberately light, but he can hear the catch of annoyance underlying your tone. It makes him want to grin, wonders how you look right now, if you’re frowning at him or trying to hide it with a smile.

“No,” he tells you. A beat. You don’t move or attempt to say anything else. Stalemate, when he can’t see how you look. “There’s a catch on the side, you unlatch that to reach the slot.”

You don’t say anything else, and he’s irritated by that. Relying on noise when the other individual doesn’t want to make any noise just leaves him listeless. You reach up, click open a section of his mask and plug in. You turn away, pull what must be a tray towards yourself. You must have plugged him into your laptop, your figure hunched towards it.

You cluck your tongue, goggles shifting across your brow as you gaze at your screen. “This is a nasty one, how’d you catch this?” He decides that’s not relevant and watches you instead. You give him a quick glance, head tilting his way, but decide to shrug off his strange silence. “I’ll just be a moment while I clear it. Seems to have caught onto a lot of your neural sensors, I’m surprised you can still walk.”

His chest doesn’t puff out with pride, but it’s a close thing. You tinker away at it, finally clearing it from his system. The whites that had clouded his vision clears, and he can see you in high definition finally. Can see the pores next to your nose, the frizz around the strap of your goggles as it disappears into your hair. You’re giving him an evaluating look, your eyes intent even as the rest of your body is deliberately loose. You don’t seem to have much chrome on you, thin lines of metal around your eyes, and a scanner on your right palm. He doubts you have much more.

“There we are, good as new,” you tell him, leaning back in your chair with a pleased huff. You give him another long look, but this time he can see the widen and pinprick of your retina. He wonders how he comes up in the scan that you must’ve pulled up the second he was in your doorway. Cop, ex-army, de-commissioned, KIA but here, in the (mostly) flesh. You don’t give any of it away, just shut your laptop and unplug him.

You hadn’t asked for payment upfront, and he imagines just walking out. Wonders if you would scowl at him, if you would expect it, maybe scowl for once. Drop that calm look on your face in exchange for something a bit uglier.

There is a long beat that he draws out to see what you will do, but you only sit patiently. You turn back to your laptop, tapping away on something else now. It’s not fun if you’re not biting, he sends you what he decides must be your standard fee, watches you tilt your head to the side at the chime of money exchanged.

He doesn’t thank you, just gets up and leaves. You didn’t close the latch on the side of his mask, and he considers marching back and making you do it, but decides to save it for another day. He closes it himself for now, and fancies that he can feel the finger print that you left behind on it, evidence.

-

The first warrant he comes back with is legitimate. Cyberpyschos are going mental over the bridge, and they have a faint enough lead that shows some of the cyberware tracing back to yourself. He knocks on your door and watches your face when he presents it to you.

He expects some kind of betrayal, for you to hiss and snap at him. Image of the NCPD, accepting your cyberware one week and raiding your clinic the other.

Instead you stand to the side and watch with him as the other officers dig through your stuff. They’re a bit too enthusiastic, your tray gets flipped over and your bench kicked over to check underneath and it isn’t righted again.

Simon watches you, uncaring that he should be watching his men. You tilt your head back and look up at him, you aren’t half his size but it’s a close thing. He thinks he likes that, watching the top of your spine disappear into your neck just to look at him, the arch of your throat. Traces his eyes over it, tendons and a vulnerable jugular, pushed out for him.

He imagines reaching over and holding his hand over the soft column of your throat. You’ve left it bare, you’d likely barely have any time to start flailing before he’d squeeze with intent and you’d drop, caught in the palm of his hand. If you can sense his thoughts, you don’t give it away, just watch him in return, blinking like a stray cat. Curious but wary.

“You know, Officer Riley, if you wanted to see me again, you didn’t have to bring the official signed document,” you say, gesturing with the hologram that was on the chip he presented to you. It’s slightly flirty, but cautious, like you’re padding around an interrogation room, but you don’t know what he’s done yet.

He doesn’t say anything. You smile back, as if he had responded, and let it lie. Your eyes are sharp, he imagined he could hear the whir as you scanned each of his men as they came in, but your smile and limbs are loose, like you are unaware of everything. Your teeth are blunt, but he imagines the cut of one against the metal of his forearm.

They don’t find anything, and one of his men huffs, giving you a dirty look. You’re asked what you work as and your smile doesn’t slip. “I help those with addiction, this is a place for them to speak, to be treated,” you answer.

“Treated?” one of his men pushes, giving Simon a look. It’s a terrible lie, so bad that Simon reckons they’ll have a hard time proving it’s not true. This is a shitty area, there’s likely 3 gonks in the alleyway outside lying in the gutter, high. You’re also liked enough that they could grab a random off the street and they’d lie for you easily enough.

“Simple brain dances, meditations,” you explain, rolling your head back to give Simon another look. The smile is gone, eyes gone guileless. He squints at it, suspicious and the corner of your mouth gives the faintest twitch. “Honestly, officers, whatever it is that you’re looking for, I’m sure I would not be of any help.”

One of his men steps forward as if to grab you by the arm but Simon barks at him to step back. You haven’t looked away, but you look analysing again, like you had looked at the virus in his system. “We’re done here,” Simon announces and steps back before you can say anything else. Leaves you with your trashed clinic and his warrant on the chip he gave you.

Simon falls asleep later and dreams of you with a scalpel in your hands, and when you cut into him, there is no blood.

-

Simon sees you again, but this time you’re outside. It bristles him, seeing you standing on an open street. Your sides are bare and before he can think about it too much, he’s cut his eyes around every alleyway around you. Making sure that there is no one on the rooftops. Traffic roars past and he grits his teeth. There's been a spike in drive-by shootings, gangs nipping at each other’s heels in a show of territory.

He’s over to you before he can stop himself, a hulking mass at your back, shielding you from the view of the road. He would tell himself that he is doing his duty as an officer, but he has always been a self-interested man, and never cared much to lie to himself. 

You startle as his shadow swallows you up, turning around to blink up at him. You squint at the sight of him. “Officer,” you greet. He grunts in response, which makes you almost roll your eyes.

You turn back to the stall you were standing at, humming over some mods for sale.

The man at the stall is terrified at the introduction of Simon, pale and nodding mindlessly as you start to barter. Simon imagines if he flashes his holster then you would even get the mod for free, a thought which amuses him. You'd likely get even more annoyed, which he does want to see.

As if you can sense his thoughts, you wrap up the exchange quickly and step away, Simon following at your back. “There something you want from me, officer?” You ask, giving him a look over your shoulder. He stares back at you, unyielding.

He’s unsettled suddenly, imagining how often you must be outside of your clinic. He hadn’t thought of it, had only imagined you were constrained in those four walls. The door had shut behind him and he had left you there, a still picture until he would return eventually. Waiting, like a good girl, sat by the door.

“You going home?” he asks you. Tells you.

You give him another look. He wants the crack of your skull in his palms, like the clean split of a watermelon. Wants to parse through your thoughts, wants to have them before they even fully form on your own.

“Yeah, I got what I needed,” you reply. He grunts, follows you until you tilt towards the side streets that lead back to your clinic. Barely any safer, but at least it’s not the open street, and he has his orders to patrol here. He watches you as you disappear around a corner. His gums itch, his tongue flexes in his mouth. He is a wild dog held back with a tattered leash, but he respects it all the same, heads back to his post, but keeps his ear tilted in the direction you went in.

-

He comes back again, and the warrant isn’t even real. He stares you down, wants you to open it, wants the reaction to his baldfaced lie. You take the chip and step aside to let him in. There’s a cut across your brow, purple bruising around it and he can’t look away from it. White in his vision again, he’s starting to suspect you’ve put another virus in his system, infecting him. He blinks and it clears, but the distrust stays like a rotting in his core.

He wants to dig his teeth into the edge of the metal in your palms and peel it up, wants the imprint of his teeth somewhere on you that you couldn’t replace with technology. He thought about you while he fucked his fist in the shower, and you had been beneath him, teary-eyed as he broke you in on his cock. He wants to fuck you until you drop that questioning look in your eye and bare your throat for him again.

“Look at the warrant,” he tells you. You smile up at him, like he is someone charming. He’s not, and he wants the reaction that he has sought out of you.

“Won’t it just say what all of them say?” you point out, leaning back against your desk. “Something that may have something to do with me, and here you are.” He stays silent, stares you down. “Do you want me to be a criminal?”

“You are one,” Simon rebuttals. That’s why he’s here. You need to be, he needs to catch you. He dreamt of chasing you down a network, jumping between wires and static until he caught your hips in his hands and crushed them. His desire for you is entwined with the dichotomy of your identities. He isn’t much interested in forcing you to become a legal law-abiding citizen, as he is pushing the two of you further into the roles that you are in.

“You know what I mean,” you add, pushing off of your desk and stepping towards him. A step away and he reaches his metal hand out, clamps your jaw in his palm. You let him, like you always seem to do, and it’s like pure heroin, lights something up in him.

“Who did this?” he asks, your chin in his palm, his thumb on your eyebrow. Right on the cut. He thinks if it was him that put it there, he might dig in a little, but he wasn’t. It’s hidden from view like this, with the edge of your eyebrow, disappeared behind his ugly, metal thumb.

“Got jumped by some asshole who thought he was hot shit,” you say, easily. The way you say everything, no pit-stop between your brain and your mouth. He wants to dig his tongue into the back of your throat and catch the words there, drink them down.

“Who?” he asks. You shrug and he shakes your jaw like a bad dog. “Who?” he repeats, tone biting. There’s a twitch in your eye at being roughhoused but you don’t step back.

You give a name, raising an eyebrow at him. He vaguely recognises it, some asshole who’s been causing trouble in Watson. Some wannabe gangbanger. He butts his head against yours, too hard to be truly affectionate before he leaves. His gas mask bumps against your cheek, leaves a red mark on your jaw from where his metal fingers dug in.

He shoots the fucker who jumped you, and dumps his body in the river. He watches it float, knowing it’ll be found. When they see the NCPD bullet extracted from his brain, he’ll be dumped back out again. Simon thinks about allowances, thinks about ropes of wire and how they snap. Rubber ripped, coil exposed.

-

He comes to see you again, this time in the middle of the night, wanting to see what you look like when you’ve just woken up. He imagines you’ll be pliant, let him shift you around as he wishes, sleep in your eye and a dream still dragging on your limbs.

You open the door and rub your eyes. Your hair is a little ruffled from your bed, blinking up at him with thick-cottoned eyes. He smiles with teeth beneath his gas mask at how awareness flickers into your eyes before you force a yawn. You’re so quick, which is why it’s always so satisfying to catch you.

“Something I can help with, officer?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.

“Let me in,” he tells you. Demands it of you. It would be so easy to force his way in, but he likes it when you do as he tells you to.

“You got a warrant for that?” you ask, scrubbing a hand over your jaw. Eye him like he’s your patient again, like you’re finding that virus in his system and cutting it out.

“No,” he replies. Watches your expression, the subtle tick of your brow at his bold-faced honesty.

He wonders if you’ll shut the door on him. Make him peel the metal back to get in anyway. He would, he’s saved up his allowances and he plans on cashing them out on you.

You give him another long look before you step to the side and let him in. The door slides shut with a wheeze and a soft thunk.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Officer Riley,” you say, as if it’s a question but your voice doesn’t lilt at the end. He wants to catalogue every one of your reactions and keep them to himself, squirrelled away, out of the sight of anyone else. That is something beyond liking you, beyond attraction. Simon feels possessive of everything about you, like he might cave someone’s skull in if they saw too much of you.

Simon’s never been too much of a talker, he steps forward and crowds you into the desk that has all of your equipment on it. You blink up at him, perfectly still in the way that prey animals are, when they know they’re caught. The rabbit-like flutter of your heart, caught in the palm of his hand as he cups your neck. Thumb against the soft give just beneath your chin. “Simon,” he tells you, although he knows you already must know. He never told you he was Officer Riley, knows that you must have pried your way into whatever confidential information that you could find on your scan of him.

“Well, that doesn’t feel appropriate, Officer Riley,” you point out. Your calm tone is undermined by the kick of your pulse. His fingers flex, held back with a trained restraint. He likes knowing you’re afraid of him, like that you talk back to him anyway. Like watching a kitten yowl at a beast. Cute.

“Simon,” he repeats, bending his head closer to you, A hunch in his shoulders, and his face still isn’t that close to yours.

A quiet beat. “Simon,” you repeat. Your voice is flat, as if you’re trying to take the enjoyment out of it for him. He huffs with something like amusement. He gets his rocks off here, having his way in your clinic, the feel of your skin against the scar tissue of his human hand. You could be scowling or smiling, and he’d like either once he’s got his fingers in your mouth.

He reaches his other hand up and undoes his gas mask, lets it drop off and sets it on the desk next to your hip. Hoists you up, catches the kick of your leg, steps into the cradle of your thighs. “There we go,” he tells you. Your eyes have taken in the exposed section of his face. Ripped skin, some replaced by chrome, most of it left to heal as is. He knows that he is an ugly sight, a hulking, horrible man, hunched over you. He doesn’t care much what you have to say about it.

He ducks his head and looks you in the eye, even playing ground. You glare back at him and he grins with teeth. He hopes that you bite him, seals his mouth over yours. Your tongue is wet and he tilts your head back, wanting to get into your throat. You bite his tongue and he groans, his other hand pushing your hips into his. He grinds into you, huffing into your mouth. He memorises each point of your teeth, sucks your tongue into his mouth and blinks at you with half-closed eyes.

He pulls back with a wet smack, which leaves your cheeks flushed. “Show me your tits,” he tells you, hands flat on your desk, framing your hips. You don’t move, glaring up at him again. He gives you a lazy look, like you’re boring him now. If anything, the hateful look in your eye has made him even harder, if it were possible. “Now.”

“Such a dick,” you mutter to yourself, reaching for the buttons of your pyjama shirt and slipping it off. There’s a fine tremble in your hands before you still them with a calming breath. He was right on his first impression of you - that you barely have any chrome on you. Your skin is soft looking, no harsh metal on your torso. Restricted to the framing of metal around your eyes, your right palm. 

He smooths his metal hand up your side, watches gooseflesh and vellus hair raise in its wake. Cups one of your breasts in his cold metal palm. Almost coos at the sight of your nipple pebbling as his thumb swipes over it. Restrains himself at the last second, but gives into the urge to give you a mean pinch as retribution for your filthy mouth. You jump, a hitch in your breath. He smirks at you, hopes you can see the chip in his canine. “Behave,” he tells you, reaching for the waistband of your bottoms. Maybe once he’s drunk his fill, he can indulge the bite of your mouth, but his skin feels stretched thin over chrome and bone, and he wants what’s his and he wants it readily.

There’s a jump in your abdomen as his hand dwarves your hip, tugging your pyjama bottoms off and tosses them behind him. He spreads your thighs, peaks at the curls the cover your sex. All of the dolls in Night City are clean shaven. He likes this better, likes that you hadn’t been expecting him, and here he is anyway. He makes a mental reminder to bin all of your razors if he gets a chance.

He parts your sex with two fingers, huffing at the sight. So sweet, even with your strange looks and your filthy mouth. Sweet as sugar down here, your hole fluttering, your clit hidden under its hood like it’s shy. His hands are a cage around the span of your waist, squeezes in warning before he thuds to his knees and flattens his tongue against you. You whimper at the contact, manage to strangle the noise just barely. When he seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, you yowl, thighs kicking out. He squeezes them in place over his shoulders, barely jostled.

He brings one hand down from your waist, lifts his head, a string of saliva connecting him to your clit. It’s out now, throbbing and awake. He spits on it, watches you flinch with it. Spittle drips down, sits on the slick that has gathered at your hole. He feeds you one finger, groans as he watches your flesh part for him, and feels how hot you are inside. You're tight, he can feel muscle clamp down around his index, clinging to him. “Need to relax, sweetheart, or my cock’s gonna break you,” he tells you. It almost feels like a struggle to even feed you one finger, something that leaves a strangled feeling in his chest.

“Do one,” you reply, eloquently. But you don’t kick him off you or anything, so he just gives you another look. He’s being too indulgent with you, he knows. But, it’s better to let a puppy misbehave so they know what’s not tolerated. Training for another day, he lowers his head and licks at the stretch of your pussy around his finger.

He slides his finger in and out of you, gives you another when your panting starts to hitch up, rubbing his thumb over your clit when you whine at the stretch. You start whining out swears, hips jolting forward and then back again as if you want to come, but don’t want him to give it to you.

His third finger is pushing it, he knows because you start clawing at his scalp, sharp little nails. He groans hot onto your clit, which has you shaking. You’re wet with sweat, he can see the shine of it on the curve of your belly, on the strip of skin between your tits.

He slows the pump of his fingers, idly toying your clit with his tongue. He debates if you should be allowed to come. He doesn’t want you knowing that he finds your pissy words amusing, doesn’t want to overly encourage it. However, you haven’t tried to run, or punch him or anything of that ilk. He knows that you can’t help the kick of your hind legs. He pinned you down with teeth at your throat, and he knows that you’re trying so hard to behave. Besides, sinking his cock into you is already going to be a struggle, nevermind if you aren’t loose and pliant for him.

He curls his fingers, sucks your clit, chasing your orgasm like it’s his last meal. A test in his restraint. He thinks that he wants this more than you do. Your lungs stutter, shaking as your hands cradle his head. You’re muttering to yourself, ‘please’ spilling out of you, again and again. Another mean suck and your shriek, back bowing and he feels the clench of your cunt around his fingers.

He fingers you through it, until you are almost sobbing, trying to crawl away from him, but held in place with his metal hand that has slipped to the small of your back. He gives your clit a kiss, mean and hard just to watch it throb before he gets up off his knees with a groan. He;s getting too old to be kneeling on tile like that. He’ll fuck you in a bed next time, if you’re good.

He slides his fingers out of you, unbuttons his trousers. You stare at him, vaguely out of it as you try to catch your breath. Awareness seems to slam back into you as he fishes his cock out. He’s big, he knows this, but the way your eyes widen like he’s pulled a gun on you has him chuckling to himself. “That’s not going to fit,” you tell him, tone dead.

“Enough flirting,” he tells you, catching your legs over his forearms and dragging you to the edge of your counter.

“You’re deranged,” you snark. He’s amused, watching the anger tugging at your scowl, naked beneath him, and your slick caught in the curls between your legs.

He gives the side of your thigh a firm smack, catching the jump of your body. “Watch that mouth, or I’ll put it to use,” he warns you. You glare up at him, but don’t say anything else. A shame, but he does have to have a firm hand with you.

He takes his cock and grinds it against you, parting your curls to get to the hot, wet flesh beneath. He catches the head of his cock against your clit, slicks himself up, knowing that he’ll need it if the greedy suck of your cunt around his fingers is any indication. He pulls back and lines himself up. He understands what you’re saying, the mushroom shaped head dwarves the small hole that flutters as he presses against it lightly. It’s hard to imagine fitting in there, even given that he has tried to prepare you.

You don’t seem to understand how bullheaded Simon is, though. He hasn’t chased anything that he hasn’t caught yet. A tense of his wide bicep and he starts to push into you, metal hand on the base of his cock, the other lightly rubbing your clit in circles to get you to give way.

There’s a moment where he thinks it might not happen, you’re starting to flush, face shining with sweat. Then there’s a shudder and your cunt parts, splits, sweet fruit halving and the head slips inside. You both groan, his head dropping onto your collar as he pushes further into you. You’re slick, he can feel your cunt sucking at him.

You start to whimper as he pushes further into you. His thumb rubs up and down on your clit, insistent even as if you try to cringe away from him. Shallowly thrusts, keeps pushing until you start to give way. You thump your fist against his chest, the impact bouncing off of chrome. He barely acknowledges it, and continues grinding into you.

He bottoms out, groans into your collarbone. “There we go, there we are, sweet girl,” he tells you. The muscles in your back loosen at the praise, feels tense flesh give out into his metal hand.

He pulls fully out and slams into you, and you whine, hands on his shoulders and clinging. “Simon -” you start, but he shifts both his hands onto the back of your knees and pushes them up to your shoulders. He can see the stretch of your cunt around him like this, the spread of your legs for the monstrous size of him. He feels dizzy with it, can’t stop himself from pulling almost all of the way out of you before slamming inside. His eyes almost roll back into his head, and you sob, nails digging into the flesh that he has on his back.

Your knees over his forearms, he braces his hands on your hips and he starts thrusting into you, pleasure zipping up his spine. Breathy sounds are punched out of you each time his thighs slap into yours. There’s a heat rising in him, catching and flaming.

He lifts his torso up, looks down on you. It’s like he thought, the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes, the swollen spread of your pussy around him. He drops one of your legs in favour of flattening his palm against your throat. Your pulse is fat in his palm. He catches it there, feels the ricochet into the meat of his hand.

You clench down on him and he groans, bares his teeth at you. “You like that, huh?” he asks you, flexing his fingers over the tendons of your neck. Your mouth is open, he can see the pink flash of it in your mouth. You try to shake your head but another hard thrust just sends it rocking back instead, another moan gritting through your teeth again.

He digs into you, flexes the metal in his legs to thrust into you hard and fast. Exertion is an old friend, and he takes it into his stride. He is only starting to pant a little, but you’re running hot and have been for a while.

Pleasure is molten hot at his pelvis, and each time his hips meet yours, cock kissing your cervix, his vision whites out at the sides. The virus that you must have planted in him is deteriorating in his system, leaving him almost mindless. He’s chasing you, still, even with you caught between his body and your desk. Breath like steam pouring out of his mouth, saliva pooling under his tongue as he realises that you’re within reach.

You stare up at him, eyes wide. The vision of your head held up by his hand is enough to finish him off. He slams into you a few more times, groaning deep in his chest while you squeak, spills hotly in you, grinds to draw out the spark that glares in his vision until he stills.

A moment of quiet, air thick with sex and sweat. He drops his head against yours with a thunk as your skulls collide. Feels the buzz of your grunt in your throat with his hand still nestled there.

“You got a bed back there?” he asks, temple against yours.

“Not telling you,” you mutter, sounding wrung-out and gutted. He snorts, scoops you up in his arms, stepping back from your desk, holding you up. Still have a smart mouth. But, he has the patience to get that out of you. Not all of it though, but he won’t tell you that.

-

A week later, a missing report for a ripperdoc in Watson hits Simon’s desk. He shreds it, and it sounds like the chime of an allowance, cashed in.

[wileys-russo]

ingrid, “how long was i out?”, living room. thank you! 🫶🫶

squeamish II i.engen

you frowned hearing the commotion, trying to turn and push your way into the pack of players crowded around vicky, only a hand grabbed your bicep and tugged you away.

"ing what-" you looked on confused as your girlfriend practically dragged you off the pitch, the team dispersing slowly as two of the medical team arrived and seemed to shoo them all away, the session done for the afternoon.

"she has a nose bleed, pina kicked her in the face with the ball." the norweigan explained, letting you go and walk of your own accord once she'd deemed the two of you were far enough away.

"so?" you frowned, confused as to why she'd been so determined to pull you away, all you'd wanted to do was make sure the young spaniard was alright. "so?" ingrid mocked with a roll of her eyes.

"you faint at even a drop of blood kjæreste." your girlfriend reminded sternly, holding the door open for you as you wandered through with a scoff.

"i am not that bad ingrid, i can handle a nose bleed!" you argued, the two of you bickering back and forth until ingrid was too tired to continue, leaving you to pack up your belongings as she moved across the room to do the same.

"ay amiga!" you looked up from your bag with a raised eyebrow, cata slinking over with a grin that you should have known meant trouble. "want to see a funny video?" the goalkeeper asked as you shrugged and she darted closer, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

what you failed to see was ona and pina subtly recording from a few feet away, however your eagle eyed girlfriend clocked it straight away as frido nudged her, sensing something was about to happen.

you waited patiently while cata tapped around on her phone for a moment before turning the screen toward you, a tiktok of some sort of surgery shown but all you could focus on was the blood dripping from the open wound.

and then like clockwork, down you went.

the three younger girls roared laughing but this quickly ceased as frido and ingrid arrived, frido shooing them all away with a glare as your girlfriend carefully propped you up into a seated position, a few of the older girls hovering nearby as irene took off to go yell at the culprits.

"what happened?" you asked as you blinked slowly, it normally didn't take you very long to come to after you'd fainted which was something ingrid was grateful for, as well as the fact most of the time you seemed to have a knack for avoiding head knocks as you fell.

a water bottle placed in your hand you pushed away ingrids own which pressed against your forehead, mumbling you were fine in between small sips as the taller girl insisted on fussing over you as if you weren't.

"pide disculpas!" irene returned and ordered, marching cata, ona and pina with her who slouched over with crossed arms like scolded toddlers.

"lo siento." all three murmured in sync, sent to pack up their bags as alexia smacked pina over the head who whined and pointed to cata claiming it was her who was the ring leader in all this.

~

"ingrid. min kjære i am fine!" you chuckled as your girlfriend draped a blanket over you, tucking in the ends as if you were some sick elderly individual with the flu. "hey!" you protested as the can of coke you intended to crack was snatched out of your hand and replaced with a water.

"i don't have a concussion!" you groaned, though you'd been with the raven haired beauty long enough now to know there wasn't a point in arguing as any and all attempts would fall on deaf ears.

"can i have my phone at least? vær så snill?" you begged, knowing it was tucked away in your girlfriends bag where she'd put it a few hours ago, insisting it was bad for your head to stare at a screen after fainting, as always.

"you do not need a phone søtsaker, you have me!" the girl announced happily, gesturing for you to sit up as she slid herself behind you.

ignoring your over dramatic sigh you both wiggled around for a second to get comfortable, your body now wedged between ingrids long legs as your back rested against her front.

"no! since i am apparently the patient, i pick." you were quick to grab the remote out of her hand, flicking on the tv and browsing through a few different streaming services, ignoring ingrids complaining that you always took a million years to choose something.

"vi har sett dette!" your girlfriend groaned in both your native tongues, palm smacking against her forehead as you huffed and exited out of your initial choice.

"maybe you will choose something by kick off tomorrow, no?" the girl faked a yawn and checked an imaginary watch on her rest as you reached up and bonked her lightly on the head with the remote in response.

"not this." ingrid disagreed again as you picked something else and now you groaned. "why? we have not seen it." you argued as she firmly shook her head. "you do not do well with action movies kjæreste, blood?" ingrid prompted causing you to scoff.

"fake blood, is fine!" you insisted as once again your girlfriend was too tired to argue, gesturing for you to click play as you did so and settled down, stretching an arm up to tangle a hand in the taller girls hair, nails scratching against her scalp rhythmically.

bar the odd shared kiss or commentary you seemed fine for the first half hour of the movie, though a lot of that was just build up to the main fight scene which was about to happen.

"hva da?" your girlfriend questioned groggily as you pushed up off of her, readjusting the blanket to drape across her midsection as you stood. "popcorn, keep watching i can hear it." you insisted with a flick of your wrist as you hurried to the kitchen.

tossing the packet into the microwave and getting out a bowl you moved to stand behind the couch, not bothered to sit back down for a whole two and a half minutes while the kernels popped away and all the action kicked off.

ingrid didn't even realise you were there as she watched on, until someone took a chainsaw to someone elses face and blood splattered at the screen, she heard a loud thump.

shooting up and peering over the back of the lounge your girlfriend couldn't help but let out a small snort of laughter, quickly finding her own feet and rushing around to help you.

when you came to it was not in the same place you'd fainted, now laying on something much softer than your living room floor as you blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to your dimly lit bedroom.

"velkommen tilbake." you felt a pair of pillow soft lips press against your forehead with a chuckle as a ring clad hand sweeped a few loose strands of hair out of your face.

"how long was i out?" you questioned tiredly, blinking and rubbing at your eyes with a stretch and an exhale. "long enough for me to carry you to bed." ingrid grinned as you groaned, rolling over and hiding your face in her shoulder.

"i told you the movie was too much min kjære." ingrid hugged you tightly with a smile as you grumbled something inaudible into her jumper. "i have a medical condition don't bully me." you repeated at her request, rolling onto your face with a scowl.

"better it happen in our own home than on the pitch in a final!" ingrid teased as you whined and covered your face with your hands. "you promised to stop bringing that up!" you kicked your girlfriend who laughed and pulled your hands away, peppering a few apologetic kisses to your puckered lips.

"you know this is almost as good as the time you insisted on watching greys anatomy my love." "baby that was not my fault. fridolina told me it was a cooking show!"

[maidenvault]

I wish you'd all just say that you don't think art and media is important. Seriously. I said literally nothing against sharing headcanons or having fun but the responses to this make me want to double down and be the huge fucking snob about this the most bad-faith reactions make me out to be.

Words have meanings. "Interpretation" means explaining the meaning of something. The original definition is literally translating from one language to another. By definition an interpretation is beholden to what's actually there in the text, even if it's a really complex text that might lead to differing ones, and one that misrepresents what's there in canon is a misinterpretation. Interpretation is not just your knee-jerk takeaway from reading/watching something or your preferred way of seeing your blorbo's sexuality and you don't need validation for every thought that crosses your mind about canon.

Most everyone can see why spreading misinformation about history and unquestioningly accepting it when you see it is a problem. If some kind of video game was found to be somehow destroying children's ability to think about math correctly, everybody would get why that's a problem. But you can tell yourself art, especially popular media, doesn't matter the same way because it's for entertainment. When the fact that nearly everyone enjoys these things does make them matter, and the fields of study devoted to analyzing them exist for a reason and aren't less important. The shows you watch reflect the real world whether you care or not, and they affect how you see the world whether you care or not. You don't have to turn fandom into homework, but knowing how to apply the absolute bare-minimum critical thinking skills to anything you watch/read isn't just a way to enrich the experience, it's a kind of basic responsibility for yourself and what you spend hours a day feeding into your brain.

"But I'm just here to have fun" This is what I was talking about, it's always "just for fun" when it's convenient to say that. It's disingenuous to pretend this is only a hobby for everyone. Fandoms don't constantly make a huge stink about queerbaiting, fridging female characters, burying your gays, the harm of bad representation, or even just bad writing in general because this is all just about passively consuming things for fun. You can't get all serious about how something you didn’t like in your show was "character assassination" and then clutch your pearls when someone says "Why though, what's your evidence?"

Yes, most art is for enjoyment, but I can't imagine there are a lot of writers with any pride in their craft who wouldn't be kind of insulted to hear "I love your work, what really makes it hit right is turning my brain off while I enjoy it!" Even if a work is bad and you want to challenge it, it helps to have a good grasp of what the canon is doing and how that doesn't work for you. I'm sorry I don't think your teachers were all just making things up about the curtains and bullshitting you. So sorry that I care. :(

Not “Only my reading of canon is correct” or “Interpretations are subjective and all valid” but a secret third thing, “More than one interpretation can be valid but there’s a reason your English teacher had you cite quotes and examples in your papers, you have to have a strong argument that your interpretation is actually supported by the text or it is just wrong and I’m fine with telling you it’s wrong, actually.”

[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ BSF!CHRIS x INEXPERIENCED!READER

the types of videos bsf!chris sends you when you're away.. (p!link)

˚𝜗𝜚 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬... smut, masturbation (male), pet names (angel, sweetheart, pretty), swearing, recording.

♡ ˖ ࣪ ◟ chris’s slightly trembling hand adjusted the camera a final time, the camera only giving you a look at his chest and lap.. and the very obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

you were out of town for a couple days, apparently family-related, and chris was sure he’d miss you too much. like, way too much for the week you were gone, hence the fact he sat in his gamer chair about to jerk off in front of you.. well, his phone and then send it to you.

it all started because you’d been much too bored, locking yourself in the guest room to send a few pictures to chris. it didn’t take too long or raise any suspicion, just a few pictures up your skirt—chris’s favorite.. and he was instantly hard when he opened them, nearly gaping at the sight.

he let out a groan when his palm came to cup his erection, almost teasingly tugging the fabric away to show his raging hard dick, precum smearing at his slit. it looked painful, and it sure was. the time he’d spent ogling at your pictures and then fiddling with his phone to set up a reasonable angle took away his sweet time, only making the ache unbearable.

“fuck.. looking so pretty and i’m not even there, huh?” he whispered lowly, his voice having a twist of darkness to it, and he wished you could see the wide smirk that settled on his lips out of frame. "bet you wish i was there to touch you, flip that skirt up over your pretty ass,"

carefully, he wrapped his clammy fingers and palm around his cock, emitting a nearly incoherent whine from him, and slowly started to jerk his fist up and down his shaft.

it was a whine of relief, the lack of restraint making a huge weight being taken right off his shoulders. his head looked back against his chair, his eyes drifting shut to picture the photos you’d sent just mere minutes ago.

“o-oh my god.. such an angel,” he sighed, beads of sweat forming across his forehead and his cheeks flushing from just how pent up he was, how he finally got to ease the ache and throb of his dick.

he slowly picks up his pace, occasionally rubbing his thumb over his leaky tip like he’d taught you how to do, the image of you between his legs, on your knees with his cock in your much smaller hand making his hips jerk up to meet his own fist.

“christ.. w-wish you were here to d-do it for me,” he moaned, his eyes still screwed shut but now being pinched closed with pressure, his fingers mercilessly rubbing up and down his hard cock while his hips and thighs stuttered.

he was leaking, bad. beads of precum trickled down the side of his tip, eventually being met with his close to balled up fist, making it easier for his hand to glide up and down, repeating that motion.

groans and whimpers were elicited to his otherwise quiet room, his chest heaving and forehead all sweaty by now, having such a clear image of you and that stupidly hot skirt in his head.

“n-need you so so bad, sweetheart..” he groaned, his hips bucking and legs trembling, twisting his fist to add to the pleasure.

oh, he couldn't wait for you to be back, finally have you to himself like usual, even though it was just for a week. but he was allowed to miss you, right?

his hair was sticking to his forehead, his wrist twisting in any direction he could that would provide him a sense of pleasure—but yet those pictures of you took his focus away from his wrist completely, his imagination running wild while he pressed his thumb to his slit, smearing the slick and sticky substance over his sensitive tip, an almost pitiful moan being ripped from his throat.

he was picturing how cute you’d look, how pretty and pathetic your body would look bent over the edge of the bed with your skirt hunched up around your waist. he thought about how he would clamp his hand to your mouth whenever you got a little too loud, whispering a mix of sweet praise and degrading words while you dumbly moaned into his palm, your eyes stuck to the back of your head while he mercilessly stuffed you full of his cock.

before he knew it his sticky tip was spilling the ropes of cum onto his black t-shirt in stripes, coming off as a stark contrast from both the black shirt and his already dark room. moans and exhausted groans were heard, while he leaned fully back on the chair—spent, sticky, and still tugging on his dick to milk himself completely dry, watching as the few last spurts of cum landed on his dark shirt.

“so beautiful.. aren’t you?” he murmured, before his fingers slipped from his shaft, going to stuff his cock back into his boxers and sweatpants, giving his phone a kiss when he picked it up, before ending the video.

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: soooory this is shitty i feel.. i've been so fucking tired this whole week, i need a 15 liter iced coffee and a fat kiss from chris

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

❛❛ © 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ❜❜

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[winterhowlett]

Honey, I’m home

summary: hugh accidentally uses the honey packs you brought home in his tea

cw: daddy kink, oral f!receiving, finger sucking, squirting, honey packs (do they even work fr?), accidental drug use(?), overstimulation, age gap, reader is mid-twenties because i said so, he talks you though it, aftercare, domestic vibes, i think that’s it

this was a collab piece with @nymphomatique because i was stuck <3

It was a silly spur of the moment purchase. You had stopped to get gas on the way home and wanted something to drink too… but the honey packs sitting atop the protected shelf behind the checkout clerk had caught your eye. You’d heard people talk about them online and how they could make a man last longer in bed, not that your man— Hugh, had ever needed any assistance in that department, but what’s the harm in trying something new? So you had asked for a six count box, only a few, stuffing it into the plastic bag from the cashier along with your water and snacks.

You made it home before Hugh but you were so exhausted that your gas station goods and the idea of unpacking them were unfeasible to you at the moment, so you just set the plastic bag of assorted items on the kitchen counter as you passed on the way to the bedroom, ready to decompress and get into bed.

The next morning, you awoke to an empty bed. Hugh had a habit of waking up before you, for a workout most days if not to surprise you with breakfast, and today seemed to be no different. You had assumed Hugh to take up the former option, considering how quiet it was in your shared penthouse. Groggily, you peeled the plush sheets back from your master bedroom, and padded your way to the connecting ensuite bathroom to get ready for work. The used honey packs on the kitchen table went unnoticed by you as you exited the home.

The day trudged on painfully uneventful much to your dismay, and the late Friday afternoon traffic just only served to add to your boredom.

“I’m home,” you called out when you stepped through the front door, shutting it behind you and shedding your jacket to hang it on the nearby rack. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a m—” you were cut off by Hugh’s lips on your own and his hands pulling you close gripping your waist tightly. The force of the kiss pushed you both back into the door. He kissed you so feverishly, hardly allowing you to catch your own breath. His lips finally detached from yours only to dive straight into the junction between your shoulder and neck biting and sucking the sensitive skin there. Hugh grabbed your thighs lifting them slightly, a silent demand to wrap them around his waist which you did instantly.

“Hugh,” you whined. “I just got back from work, let me shower first,” you protested, laughing a bit at his needy exposition. What had gotten into him? He didn’t say a word to you, letting his heated gaze speak for itself. He carried you from the entryway, lips never leaving your body as he walked you into the kitchen to set you on the table. “Can’t wait,” he said breathlessly. “Need you so fucking bad, sweetheart.”

Hugh’s insatiable behavior and the opened honey packets on the counter beside his mug of tea have you putting two and two together finally. You push back against Hugh trying to get him to look at you and stop marking your neck. You cup his face in your hands, thumbs brushing over his graying beard. “Baby did you use that in your tea,” you ask with a hint of a smile on your face as you try to hold back a laugh. “That’s what you’re focused on right now?” he quirks, squeezing your hips tenderly. ”Yes, silly, those are like liquid viagra!” you giggle, watching him nuzzle his face in the warmth of your palms.

“I wanted to surprise you with them and take them together, but it seems like you beat me to it,” you hum, your hands trailing down from his face down to his chest, clad in a black polo that had your mouth watering. He eyes you quietly and you can feel the heat in his look, beyond the swirling mirth in his eyes. “Naughty, naughty girl. Calling me an old man who can’t keep up?” Hugh tuts, pulling your hips to bring you flush to him, legs wrapping around his back halfheartedly. You roll your eyes at his statement. “You know that’s not what I—” you’re cut off, your sentence trailing into a soft oh! as you’re suddenly picked up again off the counter, Hugh bringing you to your bedroom. “You want a surprise? You got it,” he hums, kissing you deep and hard as he carries you with ease.

Your back meets plush sheets, and from the night becomes a blur, your memory blacking in and out from the intensity of it. You’re stripped bare, left only in your lacy panties. Slotted beneath him, it’s here you’re his and his only. Hugh’s lips wrapped gingerly around your nipple, tweaking the other as he grinds his groin into yours, reducing you to a body of simmering heat and arousal. He toys with you like this until you break, and it has you begging. “P-please, touch- need you to touch me there,” you whine, his beard hair rubbing against your nipple making it hard for you to be coherent. “That’s not how you ask now, is it sweet girl?” he teases, sucking and pinching your chest, grinding into you so deep that you’re sure you’ve soaked his slacks through your panties. “Please, daddy?” you moan, embarrassed it took barely any teasing for you to reach this point. Still, ever the one to oblige in you, Hugh moves from your breasts, now tender with nipples beyond sensitive, trailing hot open mouthed kisses down to your panties.

He places a kiss atop your clothed mound and you squirm a little, ready for some due respite. “Impatient little girl,” he coos, no threat in his tone. His nose finds its way against your panty covered pussy, inhaling you once before licking and sucking your arousal through the fabric. “D-daddy!” you squeal, surprised at this new display of lust, one that’s new to you. I’ve never seen him this worked up. He sucks and licks you through the thin fabric, and it has you bucking your hips up to reach deeper against his face at the sheer lewdness of it. “My naughty girl,” he says, kissing your thigh. “That got you all worked up? And I’m not even touching you?” he laughs softly, fingered hooking into the gusset of your underwear and pulling it to the side. “So wet and ready for me, hm?” he asks, and you nod fervently, anticipating his lips on you where you really want them.

When they finally plant themselves against your clit, it’s like a dam opens and tension leaves your body, flooding with a warm throb in place. He sucks you in the most skilled way, his tongue and nose rubbing and sucking against you in all the ways you like. His tongue licks you up along your slit once and then again before he plunges the appendage into you, making you keen with a breathy moan. Your hands fist his greying locks as he tongue fucks you, his nose and rough beard hair grinding against your clit overwhelmingly good. He licks and sucks until you’re nothing but a babbling mess under his mercy, trapped against his mouth by his thick arms. The pleasure begins to overwhelm you in a way that borders pain and before you can tell him, you’re cumming against his face, trembling softly as he licks you through your orgasm.

Your mind goes fuzzy for a moment, and you barely notice Hugh’s lips leave you, only noticing when he comes back up to kiss you, seemingly undressing himself in the time it took you to come down from your orgasm. “Did so good for me, baby. My good girl, you are,” he coos into your ear softly, sucking at the skin on the juncture of your neck and rubbing the thick head of his dick against your inner thigh and the feeling on his precum smearing against you has you whimpering, grabbing into him with everything you have. “Need it inside now, daddy. Please? Need you now,” you moan, chest heaving.

At your words, Hugh lines his tip up against your wetness, and pushes in slowly. Your breath hitches at the stretch and his head is thrown back with a deep groan. “So wet and warm, fuck baby,” he grits out. You do nothing but whimper at the stretch, gripping his biceps until he reaches the hilt. When he’s fully sheathed inside you, it’s an overwhelming feeling, one you don’t think you’ll fully ever get used to, no matter how many times you find yourself in a moment like this with Hugh. “Feel so full…” you spill out, mind feeling hazy. After a beat, Hugh begins to pull back, then push back forth into your dripping pussy until he finds himself at a steady but bruising pace. With every stroke, it feels like the wind is knocked out of you, the thickness and curve of Hugh’s cock rendering you speechless. In a silent plea— for what, you aren’t sure— you lock your ankles around the juncture of Hugh’s back as he fucks you, looking up at him with half lidded eyes and your lip caught between your teeth. Harder. Faster. Make it hurt. Fuck me deeper. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Fuck, baby. Feeling good cause’a your daddy, yeah? Feel me deep in there?” he asks, pushing on the midsection of your stomach for emphasis and you arch into him and moan deeply. “S’good, please don’t stop daddy. Love it so much,” you heave out, your pussy aching with satisfaction. He fucks into you hard and rough, lips whispering dirty words and leaving wet kisses anywhere he can reach and you take it like the good girl he says you are. Thick fingers poke at your lips for only a fraction of a second before they’re being welcomed into your mouth and sucked on fervently. “Nasty fucking girl,” Hugh groans, and your lips perk up in the corners as you suck on his thick index and middle fingers, bobbing your head up and down on them in blowjob fashion, eliciting a deep groan from Hugh. His fingers swiftly leave your mouth and find their way to your clit, rubbing at the bundle of nerves fervently. The stimulation has your second orgasm peaking around the corner, and you can’t help but sputter and wiggle under Hugh, the pleasure bordering a welcome pain. “Oh my god, I’m gonna-” you manage to speak out, but you’re interrupted by Hugh, increasing the speed of his thrusts and fingers as he chases behind your upcoming crux. “Just let it happen baby, give it to daddy.”

A white hot flash of please takes you and your limb go numb, feeling everything and nothing at once as your head tips back and mouth falls open in a silent moan. The pleasure is overwhelming and you’re squirting beneath hugh from it, dampening the sheets beneath you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you hear, and then you feel it, something warm begins to flood your insides and its effect on you is something of a muscle relaxant, making you go limp under him, feeling sated. Hugh doesn’t pull out of you, taking the moment to catch his breath along with you. “You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, lips attacking your face with pepperings of kisses. “Made a bit of a mess didn’t you?” he teases. You giggle and nod, hitting him playfully on the arm. “Mmm, feel really good,” you sigh, looking visibly relaxed. Hugh sits up and pulls your legs up with him, throwing them over his shoulders and your eyes widen in confusion. “Good,” he says, kissing your ankle, “Cause I’m not even close to finished with you yet.”

And he meant it. Hugh was still painfully hard as he thrust back into you slowly in this new position. You grip the sheets in one hand and hold on to the headboard with the other when Hugh picks up the pace slamming into you over and over and over again in a way that has your breath knocked out of you every single time. The room is filled with the sound of skin on skin and breathless moans from the two of you. He pushes your legs back suddenly until your feet are nearly touching the headboard. Practically folded in half Hugh fucks you, relentlessly chasing his high in a borderline animalistic fashion. “That’s it baby, just take it” he says in between breaths. This angle has him hitting you impossibly deep, his tip nudging your cervix with each push. You’re whining beneath him, partly from the stretch of this position, partly from the bordering overstimulation when he releases one of your legs and trails his hand down your body groping your breast along the way. He leans in closer, placing open mouth kisses along your neck, nipping and sucking the skin there in a way that’s sure to leave a mark. His deft fingers travel further down until they’re working over your sensitive bundle of nerves once more. You throw your head back in a loud moan nearly cumminf from the simple touch alone. “C’mon. You can give me one more,” Hugh says huskily. It’s not a suggestion, but a command from him. Hugh’s thrusts speed up again as his peak approaches and you’re just on the edge of yours. His fingers pick up their pace, feeling that tell-tale throbbing beneath them when that flash of overwhelming pleasure overtakes you once more. You clench around Hugh involuntarily and the feeling sends him over the edge next, spilling into you with a shout.

Finally, you come down from your third explosive orgasm of the evening. Both Hugh and you are spent, panting and sweating messes in bed. Hugh is practically collapsed on top of you but he musters up his strength to prop himself up by the arms. He plants a gentle kiss to your forehead, your nose, and then your lips. “Did so good for me, baby,” he praises. His hand comes up to push a sweaty lock of hair out of your face. “Took me so well,” he says with a fond smile. You’re still too blissed out to fully respond yet and just opt to smile and nod. Hugh chuckles at the response and finally pulls himself free of you. “Gonna run us a bath.” Hugh pads off to the ensuite giving you a view of ass on the way out. You let out a low whistle at the view and hear him laugh. You listen to the sound of the faucet running for a while when Hugh returns for you. You still don’t want to move though and lift your arms lazily telling Hugh to carry you. He rolls his eyes but does so anyway, knowing what he put you through tonight. He carries you bridal style into the en-suite and eases you gently into the tub. The water is perfectly warm just as you like it and filled with lavender scented bubbles from the soap he used. Hugh climbs in after making the water rise even higher, nearly threatening to crest. He’s settled behind you with you leaning back against his chest. A comfortable silence fills the room with just the sounds of water sloshing and loofas on skin as Hugh bathes the two of you. “I love you…so much” he whispers in your ear kissing the side of your temple. You turn your head to give him a chaste kiss on the lips before resending “I love you, too.”

As the water starts to cool and your skin begins to prune, you both note it’s time to let the water drain. Hugh steps out first and wraps a towel around his waist. He takes another and wraps it around you next, taking your hand to help you step out of the bath. Once dried off and changed into your usual oversized t-shirt (aka one of Hugh’s global citizen shirts) and a pair of panties you slip under the sheets, Hugh following short in just a pair of boxers. He pulls you close, your head tucked against Hugh’s chest and his arm wrapped protectively around you while his never ending legs slotted between yours. Exhaustion pulls the two of you under embarrassingly quickly.

[captain-bubble-wrap]

HELP ME PLEASE

Your quinn is literally my favorite!!!!!!!!!!! Can you write him and reader!girlfriend on the phone after the stars game? Your sweet/sad quinn is the best!!!!!!!!!

Oh, you're WAY TO KIND TO ME...! 🥹🥹 Let's see what I can do!

All you had texted was, "I love you."

Incoming Call: Quinny

Quinn's broken voice in that post-game interview had killed you. The way he had looked down before answering about how he was feeling, his thoughts on Millsy's trade, and how he was handling the noise of the dressing room as the team's captain -- it was obvious how much it all was affecting him. Unfortunately, you were twenty-two-hundred miles away, and you felt powerless to help him in any form.

"Hey, baby," you said upon answering the call.

Quinn's voice was low, and it was obvious he was beyond exhausted, body and mind, "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course." Your stomach tightened like you were about to receive some bad news. You hadn't heard him sound this way before and given how the day had gone, you knew it wasn't going to be a butterfly-inducing conversation.

"Let me get somewhere a little quieter. I need to hear your voice."

To you, he sounded desperate -- like he was at his breaking point. While you waited for him to walk to wherever he needed to be, you couldn't help but worry about him -- about what had caused him pain during the game, how losing JT and the others was weighing on him, and the stress of the upcoming tournament that was just four games away. You couldn't get the sad look of his face out of your mind. When was the last time he had actually had a good day, that he was happy without nagging stresses?

"Hey Mike, I'm gonna step out for a few minutes," Quinn said, obviously not talking to you. You couldn't hear the other man's reply but it must have been favourable as Quinn would finally start his conversation with you just a few seconds afterwards.

He sighed heavily, "I wish you were here. I-- I feel like everything is out of control and I don't know what to do."

The sound of wind was intertwined with his words. You wondered if he had stepped outside the arena to talk to you, somewhere to speak without listening ears.

"I wish I was there, too," you confessed, a pain growing in your heart. "You're trying to carry too much, baby."

"I have no choice, though."

You knew where he was coming from. The title of Captain meant you wore several hats, and sometimes more than one at a time. You knew he had all of them on at once. This season hadn't been easy, and something had you believing it wasn't going to get any better.

"I know," you mumbled. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he breathed out, feeling guilty for calling you when he was feeling like he was. "I'm sorry to put this on you. I just don't know what to do. Everyone is looking to me for answers and insight, but I don't have any. I don't know how to fix the team, I'm carrying as much as I can every night. I'm asked about what's going on behind closed doors and the temperature of the room and I'm over it. It's like the media just wants to keep stirring the pot instead of letting us just work it out. Now I'm being asked about if the team rebuilds what that means for my future in Vancouver. I-- I just-- I can't-- handle everything right now." Your heart was breaking hearing him on the brink of tears. His voice was cracking and shaky. "I need you."

"I wish I was there, sweetheart. I'd do anything I could to help you."

"I love you," his voice at a whisper.

"I love you, too, Quinn."

The first whimper made you cover your mouth to keep yourself from doing the same. Quinn rarely cried, at least not when you were around. To hear him finally drop that ultra-reserved demeanour of his was crushing.

"Oh honey, you'll be okay," you tried to reassure him, but they were words without certainty, you knew that. "You're doing the best you can, and you need to realise that you need to put yourself first sometimes. You're pushing yourself too much. It's not on you to solely fix the team, Quinn, though I know you're trying. I've never seen you this way before, and I'm scared it's going to break you."

He was silent on the other end, aside from his muffled cries. You didn't need him to say anything, though hearing his voice would have made you feel better, which made you remember what he had said to you earlier: "I need to hear your voice."

Maybe he just needed you to talk to him.

"One day at a time, baby, please. Be happy where you are, and what you have. You're doing all you can, and I need you to know that it's okay to struggle, but it's also okay to be content with how things are. You know there are things out of your control, and you just have to let them work themselves out sometimes. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to put bandaids on everything. I don't want to lose you down that rabbit hole." You'd pause before adding one more thing, "I just want you to be okay."

Quietly you'd sit there and wait for a sign from him, or whatever it might be. A long moment of silence would follow your words, making you pull the phone away from your ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"I miss you," he choked out, breaking the painful silence between the two of you.

"I miss you more, Quinn. I wish you were here."

"Me, too," he said, sharply inhaling, like he was trying to push those emotions back down and get over it. "Thank you for picking up everything -- the call, the pieces...me. I'd be so lost without you."

You'd shake your head, "You never have to thank me, baby. I just want to help you."

"I appreciate that," he sniffled. "I just wish I knew where to start."

"With yourself, Quinn," you said bluntly. "How are you feeling? I saw you take the stick to the head early."

It took him a few seconds to respond but you didn't mind, "I don't know, honestly. Between my hand and whatever is wrong with my leg, everything hurts. I'm tired. I'm drained. I wish I was home with you."

Everything he said carried so much weight and his emotions were so painfully honestly.

That was just Quinn.

He always spoke from his heart; wearing his heart on his sleeve every waking moment of his life. However this had a different air about it -- a nakedness. He was free to share his deepest fears with you, those raw feelings were bleeding from him with no hindrance. You appreciated that he felt so comfortable to open up like he was, and the fact that he was away from you, as well. Quinn didn't give the hint that he shared stuff like this with the guys on the team -- not like he did with you. You were different. He loved you -- you occupied a special piece of his heart like no on else did. That meant something special to him.

"You'll be home soon, baby. Just a little longer, okay?"

Through Quinn's end of line, someone was calling out to him, "C'mon Quinn-- the boy's are packing up, let's go."

You frowned hearing the empty orders, but you knew Quinn would have to end the call with you and head to the airport. There was always a sense of urgency after their games, especially the away ones.

"Yeah-- I'll be right there," he muttered, his voice dropping off at the end while he pretended to have himself together. "I'll call you when we get back to Vancouver."

"Be careful."

"I will," he paused. "Thanks, babe. For all that you do for me."

"Happy to help, Quinny. I love you."

For the first time, you heard his little giggle, "I love you, too."

[luveline]

hiiii was hoping you could write reader tries makeup for the first time and is a bit self-conscious about it with poly! Just something sweet and fluffy. Thank you, love your other fics btw.

The article you read said that this sort of stuff is best to attempt in small amounts. If you aren’t used to foundation, try a liquid concealer and a skin tint —that way you can spread it as thin as you like. It says foundation, skin tints, or any kind of face makeup tends to look ‘cakey’ at first because you aren’t used to it and neither is your skin, but makeup doesn’t have to look perfect up close. Honestly, it’s a friendly, assuring article, and it actually gives you the confidence to buy a skin tint, a concealer, a mascara, and a lip gloss. There’s even a cherry-scented finishing spray that promises to melt everything together. 

You figure you’ll try it all while the boys are out. That way, if it looks too cakey or bad or just plain silly, you can wipe it away and hide the evidence. 

You wet your little sponge as the magazine says. You’ve moisturised and waited for it to dry down. With a breath, you smooth the skin tint into the back of your hand and start to dot it into your face gently, a little all over. Acting fast, you pick up your sponge and dab it across your cheeks. 

It’s nerve-wracking, though it’s not like you can’t fix it if it goes wrong. You feel embarrassingly out of your depth, and you would prefer this goes well. 

The first issue is your nose. It looks a little cakey at the nostrils, the skin tint, so you wipe it with your finger and make it worse. Eyes wide, you dab it again with your sponge and relax when it spreads out. 

Neck, you think. The magazine said don’t forget to smooth it down your neck, or you’ll get a ‘tarty’ line. You dab it down and assess in the mirror. 

… it doesn’t look too bad. 

Smiling gently, you press a little of the lip gloss onto the back of your hand and debate the next tip. It’s a sheer one, and it can give a ‘pop’ of colour to your cheeks if you’re careful. Why not, you think eventually, tapping a little of it into the bell of your cheeks. 

Things are definitely going too well. You look odd, maybe, but the sponge is great. Everything smooths out. 

Mascara is much harder than the skin stuff. Your eyes water as the wand approaches. It takes ages to actually touch the mascara to your eyelashes, and then it looks sort of clumpy, spider-webby, but the article said you can wipe it off and try again. The second time you almost blind yourself, teeth gritted as you realise there’s mascara all under your eye. You take it off with a wet-wipe and dap the skin around your eyes with your sponge to fix the mess. It looks darker, still, but eventually you get the mascara on and your eyelashes look longer and… 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. 

You look really cute. 

You turn your face one way and then another, smile growing wider. Your skin looks even, your eyes look bigger, and— the gloss! You pick it up and squeeze some onto your lips, rubbing them together, cleaning the corners with your pinky finger.  

The door slams open downstairs with a colossal bang, and you jump so hard you send the mirror careening across and off of the bed. With the open door comes a wave of noise, laughter loud and ringing. 

“What have you boys done now?” you murmur to yourself.

You leave your makeup on the bed. For a second, you debate hiding it back in the pink drugstore bag and wiping the makeup off before heading downstairs. You look cute, but what if they don’t like it? None of them have ever told you to wear it before. Sirius wears it more often than you. He might have a laugh when he sees it. 

“Baby!” one of them yells, laughing hard enough to disguise their voice. “You have to come down here!” 

You fret. That’s Sirius calling, his giggling sweet enough to make you wish you were sitting in his lap, but suddenly you’re overthinking things. Just because you think the makeup looks alright doesn’t mean it really does, and the boys are already laughing. You don’t wanna give them another reason. 

“Are you up there?” Sirius calls again. “Sweetheart?” 

“I’m coming!” you call back. 

“I was getting worried you weren’t here! Come on, you have to see this!” 

You go without thinking. At the bottom of the stairs, James and Sirius are crowded together, their laughter beyond reason —there are tears streaming down James’ face from laughing so hard, and Sirius is clutching him as though worried he’s gonna fall over. 

Remus is laughing too, but he’s not so obscene about it. “Hey, Y/N,” he says nicely, “you okay?” 

“What’s so funny?” 

Sirius unfolds a newspaper you hadn’t noticed clutched in his arm. “Every time I look I’m sure I’ll piss myself.” 

You all look down at the newspaper. Immediately, James is whining and laughing so hard you reach out to steady him, laughing yourself as he falls into your shoulder. “Christ,” he squeezes out. “Life is so– so perfect.“

On the front page of the local Daily Argus is a full-colour photo of Lucius Malfoy being arrested, two police officers behind him, his wrists cuffed and his face wane of colour. 

DON'T THINK HIS FATHER WILL BE HEARING ABOUT THIS ONE —Lucius Malfoy, 26, business owner and young entrepreneur arrested for fraud and conspiracy yesterday night at his offices in the Sacred Families building. Malfoy, when asked to give a statement, said his father will be hearing about this, whatever that means. 

“But what’s–”

Sirius points at Lucius’ crotch, pointing out that his trousers are slipping down his thighs, and he’s wearing boxers with his girlfriend Narcissa’s face on them. Narcissa, as in, Sirius’ older cousin. 

“What the fuck,” you say with a giggle of your own. You hate Sirius’ family and anyone related to them, so seeing Lucius down for the count is especially satisfying. “You can see his–”

“I know!” Sirius almost screams, his laugh increasingly high-pitched. 

You giggle and begin wiping the tears off of James’ cheek. “You guys are too much,” you murmur. 

“We came right back to show you,” Sirius says. 

“I’m thrilled.” You tip James’ head up to finish cleaning off his cheeks. “That’s so funny, you’re terrible,” you say, beaming as James finally tears his gaze from the paper. The mirth in his expression settles, but his smile does this strange wobble before he’s holding you by the back of the neck gently.

“Fucking hell,” he says. 

“Don’t–”

“Fucking– You’re lovely,” he blurts out, tipping your head back, all the manner of someone who’s just struck gold. “What have you done?” 

“It’s just makeup.” 

This piques the interest of the other two, Sirius’ laughter finally petering out, and Remus stepping into the light to have a look. “Aw,” Remus says, “you look–”

“Fucking amazing,” Sirius interrupts, his head tipping to the side, his vengeful glee transformed into what can only be described as adoration, “you look fucking amazing, shit–”

“Her cheeks,” James says, which should make you laugh, especially when Sirius and Remus both hum simultaneous agreement, like there really is something special about them. 

“It’s just– I’ve never– it looks silly,” you get out. 

“It does not.” James rubs a hand down your shoulder, as though cleaning you up to better show you off. “Now this is front page material. When did you even learn to do this?” 

“I– today,” you say, heat emanating from your chest to the very tips of your ears. 

“It looks great!” James says, cupping your cheek. 

“Well don’t mess it up, Prongs!” Sirius says.

“It’s okay, it’s not like it’s for anything,” you say. 

“It’s for my camera,” Sirius says, attempting to slip past James to get upstairs.

Thankfully, Remus prevents him. “Stop,” Remus says. 

“Please,” you second. 

“I need to remember!”

“I’ll do it again,” you promise. 

Three boys melting. “You will?” James asks softly. 

You tip your face forward. “Sure, especially if I look better–”

“Hey, hey, who said that?” Remus asks. 

“Don’t be silly,” James says. 

“I really should have a picture,” Sirius says. “We can blow it up like a poster girl. We’ll have it in the bedroom.” 

“That is not funny,” Remus says. 

“Perfectly chaste!” Sirius denies. “Though how I’m expected to think chaste thoughts when she looks like that is another thing. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s practically obscene.” 

“Sirius.” 

Sirius gives you a smile, “I’m just teasing,” he says, though there’s a little bit of something in his dark eyes that says otherwise, just enough to make you shiver, pleased. 

James goes back to holding your cheek, and it’s much too warm now —you break away from the lot of them and make your way to the kitchen. 

“Where are you going?” Remus asks, to your surprised delight. 

“I need a drink,” you say. 

“Well, I’ll get you one,” Sirius says. 

“That’s okay, I think I can do it myself.” 

“But should you have to?” 

From behind you, you hear the subtle jab of an elbow and the less subtle screech of pain. “Fuck off, Prongs, you know she looks insane.” 

A boyish giggle echoes. “Front page for sure.” 

A more relaxed hum. “And now she’ll never wear it again, ‘cos of all the fuss.” 

You wouldn’t necessarily agree. It’s not like they don’t make you feel beautiful, Sirius stood in the doorway clutching his heart the day before yesterday when you got out of the shower citing a sudden shock from how “otherworldly” you looked while your hair was wet, James calls you beautiful more than he uses your name, and you catch Remus looking at you all pleased and flushed multiple times a week, but it’s still different to have had them all at the same time. So yeah, you’ll wear makeup again. You might even reapply the lip gloss you’ve nibbled off. Just to see what they think. 

[organic-bloodbath]

Hiiiiiiii. Could you do a Salesman fic?

I would love to see one where his usual calm and powerful energy is lost around the reader, as he's just enamoured with her. Like no shame, he is down bad and the reader is just flustered and lowkey confused cause they haven't known each other for long.

Idk if this makes any sense to you (up to you if you make it smut i don't really mind)

Teach Ddakji to me

The Salesman x American!Reader

Summary: You play Ddakji with a man at a subway station, but the game brings you two much closer than either of you were prepared to.

A/N: I'm not sure how well i was able to follow the request of how he behaves around the reader but this is what i got ;-; hope you still like 🫶🏻 (i'm so deep in love with this psycho i've been giggling during every other paragraph)

♡♡

You rushed down the stairs in the subway station, only one minute until your train was going to leave. You weren't going to make it, but you had to try.

The doors were closing right in front of you and you wanted to scream and let out several different curses, but you didn't want to draw attention on yourself. Your day at the college lectures had just ended and all you wanted to do was to get home, have a dinner and rest.

You heard noise behind a corner, as if someone was slamming something on the floor. You went to see what was going on out of curiosity.

Two men were standing there, the other one tall and dressed in a grey suit, the other one a lot shorter and dressed in a simple hoodie and loose jeans, a worn out cap covering his messy black hair. Suddenly, the man in the suit slapped the other so hard on the face that the man's head turned to the right.

They slammed blue and red squares on top of each other over and over again, and it ended in the man in the suit slapping the other almost every time. Once in a while he handed to the man what looked like a bill of money. You had never seen anything like that happen anywhere and were confused.

You got a notification on your phone, a text message from your classmate.

"Join us for studying and then a dinner? A new restaurant opened nearby, we'll go and try it tonight," she messaged.

"Another day, i don't feel like going out tonight," you replied, getting a thumbs up emoji as a respond.

You put your phone in your pocket and turned around, almost having a heart attack and jumping a step back when you saw the man in the suit standing mere inches away from you, looking down at you with a slight smirk.

"Enjoyed the show, i hope?" he asked and your eyes widened. Fuck, he had noticed you stalking the two of them.

"Yea, um, sure," you said awkwardly. "Though i didn't know what it was, really."

Seeing his face now closer and him staring at you with his dark eyes made your heart beating faster and it wasn't only because of him scaring you for appearing out of nowhere. He was extremely handsome and the way he looked at you made you blush.

"You haven't heard of Ddakji?" he asked, but didn't seem surprised since he figured you weren't local by the looks of you. "It's a Korean game, want me to show you?"

"Sure," you said, nothing else to do than wait anyway. The man took the squares in his hands and offered you to choose one. You took the red one.

He explained the rules to you, it was simple. You only had to hit your square on the blue one and make it turn around, the upper side facing the floor.

It sounded simple but you were hesitant if you were actually able to do it. You threw it on the floor, aiming at the blue square, but it didn't move even an inch in any direction. You let out a frustrated groan.

"It's okay, very few people succeed on their first try," he said in a comforting tone and took a step closer to you, standing right in front of you. "But do you know what losing means to you, hm?"

You had a very good guess after seeing him and the other man play just a while ago.

"You're gonna slap me?" you asked with a grimace.

He smiled. Without a word, you felt a painful sting on your left cheek when he slapped you, not going any easier on you just because you were a woman.

"Jesus Christ!" you gasped and held your hand on your cheek which was definitely going to have a red mark later. You had never been slapped on your face and it hurt more than you thought it would hurt.

"My turn then," he said and grabbed his blue square from the floor. He slammed it on top of your red square and it immediately jumped in the air and landed on its other side on the floor.

He looked at you with the same smirk again.

"So what happens when you win?" you asked, crossing your arms. If you continued this game much longer, your face would be completely covered in bruises and you'd have a lot of explaining to do to your classmates.

"I get to use your body again," he said with a confident tone.

You closed your eyes and prepared for another slap, hoping that it would be the other one this time because your left cheek still hurt. When you felt a touch on your left cheek, you automatically winced a little bit.

But it wasn't a slap, it was a tender kiss. You opened your eyes when he had already leaned away and you saw a glimpse of kindness in his eyes this time. You felt your cheeks warming up and tried to avoid eye contact for a moment.

"Your turn," he said.

Your hand was shaking when you lifted the red square from the floor. You wanted to succeed, you had never been good at losing in anything, it was always about to start to piss you off if you didn't start winning too.

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked. You looked at him and soon he was right behind you, keeping an eye contact with you when he put his left hand on your waist and his right one to hold your hand which was holding the square. "Is this okay?"

He didn't put too much pressure on holding you, making sure that you gave him a permission for that. You suddenly couldn't get words out of your mouth, so you just nodded and swallowed the lump in your throat. He held you tighter now and instructed how it was supposed to be done. You had to have more force when you would slam the square down.

"Spread your legs a little bit," he whispered.

"What?" you gasped in shock.

"To get a better and more firm position when you throw it," he explained, his breath hot in your ear.

"Oh," you said, cheeks burning even more. You hadn't realized you were standing almost like a stick. He guided your hand up in the air in a correct position.

"Remember to let go of it at the correct moment, i'm going to aim it for you, okay?" he said and you nodded, now much more nervous than you would have been if you did this alone.

With this help, the blue square flew into the air and landed on its other side easily. You were excited of the victory, even though it was for his help, and a wide smile spread on your face.

To be honest, for a second you wished you would have failed on purpose, just to get his hands on you again - you didn't even care if it was a slap, kiss or something else.

He let go of you and you turned around to face him, already missing his touch.

"There you go," he said with a proud expression on his face. "Now, you can choose what to do to me."

You didn't hesitate for even a second longer, you immediately slapped him on his left cheek as hard as you could. However, you knew you didn't have as much as strength in your body as he did, so the slap must have stinged a lot less. His head didn't move even an inch and he only smiled.

Right then, the train you had been waiting for arrived and you took your bag from the ground. You weren't going to miss this train just because of wanting to have another round of Ddakji with this stranger.

He offered you money, worth of 100 dollars, and put them in your hand, closing your fist around the bill. You were about to refuse but he wasn't having it.

"Treat yourself a nice dinner tonight," he said. When you didn't answer, he nodded towards the train which was about to leave soon, with or without you.

"Thank you," you said. "Um, bye."

You made it into the train just in time and when you looked back at the spot where that man had just been, he was already gone.

♡♡

The salesman didn't want you to leave. He was absolutely mesmerized by you, you were the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on. Your perfume and the smell of your shampoo still lingered in his nose, even after you weren't there anymore.

He would have wanted to ask you to stay, but he couldn't find the correct words and you were in a hurry to catch your train.

He hadn't felt like this of a woman in a long time and he wanted to find you again. To hold you again.

He didn't understand how you could have made this big of an impact on him in only under 10 minutes, but all he knew was that he needed to get to know you better.

♡♡

The next day, you arrived to the class and sat next to your friend.

"Oh my god, what happened to your face?" she gasped in shock.

Yes, there was a visible red mark on your cheek and you didn't have anything at home to cover it. You didn't really use any makeup either except mascara.

"Oh um," you started, trying to find some excuse. "It's my allergies and acne." You didn't have any allergies and hadn't had acne since you were 15. But you couldn't tell her the truth, atleast now that you didn't have time to talk much since the class was about to start.

And what were you going to say to her? A stranger in the subway station slapped you and you enjoyed it?

The teacher arrived and the noise of the door slamming closed interrupted your friend who was about to say something to interview you further.

♡♡

You walked down the subway station stairs again on your way home, just like yesterday. You had your headphones on, listening to random metal songs on Spotify and were texting your mum who catched up with you twice a week how you were doing. You were supposed to have a video call later today but she apparently had to work extra tonight, she was a nurse.

When you had reached the bottom of the stairs, you bumped into something and almost tripped back but managed to keep your balance. You looked up and saw the same man in the suit as yesterday, staring down at you with a smile.

"Hello," he greeted, not moving anywhere.

"Hello," you repeated and lifted your eyebrows, taking of your headphones. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you," he said without thinking.

"Me? Why? How did you know i would be here?"

"I didn't. I only figured you might have the same daily routine and took a chance," he explained.

"Why did you want to see me?" you asked, confused but feeling butterflies in your stomach.

"I didn't have a chance to ask for your phone number yesterday," he said. "And i'd like to take you out."

"Take me out you mean murder or dinner?"

"The second option. I already finished the first task earlier," he said with a smile. Handsome and with a sense of humor.

"Fine, where did you plan to take me?"

"Anywhere you want. Are you hungry?"

"You don't even know my name," you pointed out.

"You can tell me your name and all about you on our date," he smiled.

"Aren't you straightforward," you chuckled. "Are you going to teach me Ddakji again?"

"If you wish so," he said.

You bit your lip, not sure if you should go somewhere with this stranger or not. You hadn't been asked for a dinner at a subway station before, though, so you could write it on your bucketlist and cross it out.

"Okay."

♡♡

He had taken you to a lovely dinner to enjoy local foods you had never eaten before. You rarely tried any new foods, always sticking on the ones you already knew you'd like, but now you had tried something different and loved it.

Now, you were in a park, nobody else in sight. It was already dark and you knew you had to go home soon if you wanted to get enough sleep.

You held the red square in your hand once again and aimed for slamming the blue around finally on your own.

Again, you weren't able to hit it. But you hadn't even tried properly and weren't mad about it.

"Damn it," you mumbled.

"You'll get there," he smirked, stepping closer to you.

He lifted your chin with his finger.

"Close your eyes."

You did as told and waited for the worst option, squeezing your eyes shut tightly.

You felt his lips press on yours, taking you into a slow kiss. He broke the kiss but didn't let go of your chin

"Do i have to play another round of Ddakji to do that again?"

You smiled and stepped on your tiptoes to reach him better, cupped his face and pulled him in a proper, deeper kiss. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist to press your body against him tighter.

"Just so you know, i don't sleep with men on our first date," you said when the kiss was over, his hands wandering around your back they had almost reached your ass.

He moved his left hand to the back of your neck, keeping the right one on your lower back. He pushed his fingers through your hair, softly massaging your scalp.

"What is it about you that makes me so drawn to you?" he whispered, and you didn't know if the question was for you or just for himself. "Only two days and you've managed to make me absolutely addicted to you."

He pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, and you felt blush creeping on its way to your cheeks.

He eventually walked you back home like a gentleman, not allowing you to walk anywhere at this hour. He had to make sure you got back home safely.

"Will i see you again tomorrow?" he asked before you managed to leave, gently holding your wrist.

"I have to study, i've fallen behind in couple of courses so i need to catch up," you said and his face fell a little bit. Surely he had other things to do in his life besides seeing you. "Are you free this weekend?"

His face lighted up again for your suggestion.

"For you, of course," he said and brought your hand towards his face, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "Goodnight, Y/N."

You went inside your apartment and silently closed the door, trying to do everything as quietly as you could, but then the lights were turned on.

"Okay who the HELL is that man, Y/N?!" your roommate shouted at you, making you jump and almost have a heart attack. It was so late you thought she was already sleeping, she was the type to be in bed by 8pm and asleep by 9pm.

"Um, well I-"

"That is the most gorgeous man i've ever seen," she said, still speaking loudly, and stepped closer to you and pointed you with her finger. "How couldn't you tell me you were dating a new man?"

"Well i only met him a while ago," you admitted.

"Still?!" she shouted. "You know i like boy talk and you never talk about your dating life! Oh my god, have you finally downloaded Tinder or something?"

"Ew, no," you shook your head.

"You're right, there's no way men THAT hot would still be on Tinder and not married," she said and then gasped. "Girl, he's not married, is he?"

"I sure hope he's not," you said and for a moment you were afraid he might be married. I mean, how could he still be single? Your friend always talked so much that you started to doubt everything you previously knew.

"Wait a minute, i'll get us some popcorn and then you're gonna spill everything," she said and without another word, she was already in the kitchen.

And you did tell her everything because my god you needed to talk to someone about him.

♡♡

A few days and several text conversations later, you were in his hotel room, and he pressed you against the wall, his right hand leaning on the wall right by your head.

He lifted your head by his forefinger on your chin to make you look straight into your eyes.

"How long are you going to stay in Korea?" he asked.

"What, are you going to ask me to move in with you or something? Plan a summer wedding?" you joked.

"If you want to," he said with a serious face and you truly wasn't sure if he was serious or joking. You hadn't yet found a difference between the two.

"Wait what?"

You hadn't dated any Korean men before so you weren't sure how fast they progressed in the dating life. Would it be normal to propose on the first week or ask to move in? Surely not.

He smiled. "I only ask because i don't want to have you only for a short while," he said and let his fingers wander around your shoulder, sending goosebumps all over your body.

"Well, i'll be here for atleast another 5 months," you told him and then pouted. "So, no summer wedding?"

"I'd have to buy a ring first," he smirked.

"It better be a real diamond too then," you chuckled, having seen the stacks of money he had carried with him, and pulled him into another kiss.

He was soon kissing your neck, leaving a mark on your skin, until your stomach growled and interrupted him.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "I thought you had eaten before you came here."

"Well, it's been a while i suppose," you said, not really remembering anymore when the last time was.

He stepped away from you and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"We're ordering food," he said. "What would you like to eat?"

He ordered Chinese food for you and ate it on the bed while watching some brainless comedy movie.

When the movie had ended, he went to the bathroom, leaving you to lay on the bed and making you to fall in your thoughts alone.

You had been in a relationship twice in your life, and in neither of them your relationship had moved on this fast. I mean, you weren't in an official relationship, you had been just barely hooking up, but the way he talked about you only knowing you for a few days wasn't something you had been used to at all.

In the U.S., it took guys several weeks to make any progress in relationships, atleast what you had seen and gone through.

Maybe you should slow down a little, take a step back and see what he really wants from you.

By the time he came back from the bathroom, you had fallen asleep. You looked so peaceful in your sleep, so beautiful even with your messy hair all over the pillow.

He came closer to you and pulled a blanket over you, the edge almost reaching your jaw. You stirred in your sleep, turning to lay on your side, but didn't show any signs of waking up.

He laid himself on the bed next to you and just looked at your sleeping figure for several minutes. He was afraid of getting attached to a woman so fast, in so little time, but he couldn't help it.

To him you were perfect, and he wanted to know everything about you that there was to know.

♡♡

A/N: If you want a part 2, please leave any requests you might have, i'm not sure where to go with this 🫶🏻❤️💙

[yandere-wishes]

Okay just Tim’s cat!darling having absolute orange cat energy, like the most feral thing ever, like she has actually bitten him before and hissed at him, like she absolutely doesn’t like him

Or like one time Tim was tracking her after a heist they think she or Catwoman committed and she sees him spying through the window, it’s three in the morning and she got up to get fruit snacks and she gives him a back the hell off look before just going back to bed.

Like these videos are her

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJmwbL/

And just replace this one with her and Tim

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJnV4w/

OMG I did not know orange cat energy was a thing 🤣🤣I always thought stereotypical orange cat was just Garfield that's it lol!!

I can totally see reader getting more and more aggressive with Tim/Red Robin as time goes on. Sure she may still have a crush on him and thank him for her obsession with masked vigilantes and cat burglars.

But the more Tim forcefully steals kisses and hovers by her window at the most unholiest of hours. The more aggressive Reader becomes. She's not above just opening that window and trying to claw his eyes out!!

Worst is when she actually pieces together who he is, simply from the fact that he's liked all her videos and posts.

He's even left comments on her fics like 'Maybe Red Robin isn't that bad of a guy and he's just doing all these things 'cause he loves you.'

or

'my friend was saved by Red Robin once and they say he's absolutely the coolest and would be so gentle and kind to his lover.'

Reader has to bite herself to stop from writing the most graphic profanities in the reply!!

Your claws are raking over his muscles, digging into the curves and veins. Suffer, suffer, suffer. But the pain won't deter him, he still has your lips between his teeth, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other leaves bruises on your hips. Tim deepens the kiss swallowing your screams and pushing his bittersweet love down your throat.

Your knee finally finds an opening going to kick him in the stomach. But Tim only throws his head back and laughs, relishing in the pain. You scramble to crawl away, only for Tim to grab your leg and pull you back.

Your teeth are biting into his neck trying to bleed him, while he buries his face in your hair, high off your ethereal fragrance. In a swift motion, Tim straddles you using his knee to pin your hand to the hard ground. He picks up your other hand, admiring the glimmer of your claws under the moon's pale rays.

"You know kitty, it's not fair that you keep getting my blood under your claws." you stiffen, fear gleaming in your big doe eyes.

"I think it's time I get a taste of yours too, what do you say." "HELL NO" you scream, but it's too late, he drags your claws across your abdomen, moving his head to lick the stream of blood that blooms.

You utterly despise the all too pure look of satisfaction on his face. How your blood trickles from his lips. He offers you his golden boy smile and you wish you could impale yourself thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina are watching from a higher rooftop. Having the most awkward and rage-filled conversation.

Batman: So, thinking of adopting any more kids? Catwoman: Only if your Robins stop driving them insane!!

Not to mention reader wakes up every day to a random present left in her room. How the hell does he keep getting in here?? Your mentor just paid for new locks and the best security system. Although you will admit you do kinda like the new perfume he got you and those strawberry chocolates were divine.

And ever since word got out that THE Tim Drake adopted son of Bruce Wayne, follows your accounts, your subscriber count has doubled! So maybe there are -unfortunately- some benefits to Tim's obsession with you. Even though you'll never admit it.

[nozo-muu]

Hello Zero, Could you do a hot David Corenswet scene? the new Superman Something like him feeling jealous of the male reader.By the way, I would like to know if you write for DC too

Thank you so much for the ask! To be honest, I'm not the biggest DC watcher/reader so this might be ooc, but I tried my best. Also, I don't really write for DC since, again, I'm kinda out of the loop, but you can always ask!

YOU'VE CONVINCED ME, SUPERMAN

Pairing: Top!Superman/Clark Kent X Bottom!male reader

CW: Sex, Jealousy, Oral (reader giving), Ass eating (reader receiving), creampie?

Author's note: I don't know how to feel about this...

Metropolis was sunny as always. The sun beamed through the windows of the redaction office. Clark was working on a news article about a mysterious figure spotted multiple times over the last few weeks whenever chaos struck the city. 

He knew who that was, a vigilante he had “worked” with a couple of times to fight off some bad guys. He had to admit, he was talented, his energy manipulation magic was impressive. And the way he fought hand to hand… Gosh, it was a sight for sore eyes. 

“Breaking news!” He turned to watch the TV they had in the office. “An attack has been perpetrated on the intersection between Rowan and Mains Street. The attacker has already destroyed multiple police units.” 

Upon hearing that, Clark made his way towards the stairs that led to the rooftop. He needed to do something. Once he got undressed, revealing his suit, he leaped off the edge of the building and flew towards the place of the incident. 

The area was surrounded by police cars, trying to contain the danger, which honestly wasn't going to accomplish much. 

He flew down, landing on his feet. There wasn't that much mayhem… some upside-down cars, cracks on the ground, and some nearby stores with shattered windows. 

There was a figure though, a big silhouette, almost animal-like. It had shards of some kind of crystal all over its back.

“I would be careful if I was you” 

He looked around, seeing you levitating off to the side. 

“The bastard's got some strength. And those shards… Kryptonite maybe? I wouldn’t touch them if I were you.” You say, approaching the broad man beside you.

“Kryptonite? How is that possible?” 

“Beats me.” You shrugged. “As long as you don't attack his back, we should be good.”

He nodded understandingly, preparing his attack while you immobilized that thing with your magic. You could have gotten rid of the threat on your own perfectly, but you wanted to see him. He was so fine, it was like skipping dessert if you didn't look him up and down after a fight. 

The threat now being eliminated, you walked over to the police cars where a head of police approached you two. 

“That thing shouldn't cause any problems anymore. I've gotten rid of its body. There shouldn't be any more issues, officer.” 

Clark stood silent behind you.

“Thank you, thank you. I don't know what we would have done without you.” 

“You probably could have handled it too, I'm sure of that.” You replied smiling. 

There you were again, making small talk with some random guy. He didn't know why, but he hated it when you did that, always having flirty remarks and comments, and smiling at strangers. 

Some passers-by were shouting your names, and of course, you went and took pictures with them, smiling and being friendly. 

He hated it. 

Once everyone had started to dissipate, you went back to his side. He was silent…

“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nothing, I just need to go get my clothes.”

“I'll come with you. We can go watch the sunset later or something.”

He grunted. He didn't want that, he wanted to fuck you then and there. To show you you were not about to go around flirting with everyone. You weren't together or anything, but he wanted you to be only his. 

When you landed on the rooftop of the building, he took his clothes and made his way towards a broom closet where he had been putting his discarded clothes to go pick up at a later date. 

That's when an idea crossed his mind. He quickly took your wrist and locked you both inside the broom closet. 

“What are you -” you get cut off by his lips on yours. He was a surprisingly good kisser. 

“Let me fuck you.”

“What?”

“Let me claim you.” He keeps kissing your neck. 

You moan at the sensation, and seeing that you're not pushing him away, he takes that as a yes.

He starts getting rid of his and your clothes, leaving you as naked as the day you were born in that dark room. 

He starts planting kisses all over your torso and neck, leaving some marks here and there to show that you are his. 

He slightly pushes your shoulders down, enticing you to get on your knees. 

You oblige and kneel in front of him, instinctively taking his member into your mouth. You started licking around the tip, slowly making your way down the shaft. The sensation made him tremble and groan…

You kept sucking his cock until you felt him push you away slightly. It was now all wet and ready, but your hole still needed some prep.

“Turn around for me.” 

You did as he asked, now facing the door separating you from the outside world. Clark got on his knees and spread your cheeks apart. He spat on your hole, slowly massaging the liquid around your entrance. He approached his face and started eating you out. Once he felt you were ready to take him, he got up, embracing you from behind and whispering in your ear.

“Can I fuck you now?” 

“Yes.”

He kissed you one final time before lining himself up with your entrance. He slowly pushed in, making sure to not hurt you. You moan at the feeling of it stretching your hole. He paused for a little so you could get used to the feeling of it.   

“Can I move?”

“Mmhmm” You nod, not being able to form a coherent sentence. 

He started moving slowly, but then sped up, remembering all those fuckers you had flirted with. In a way, fucking you was a win against those nobodies who thought they had a chance with you. 

The pace was perfect, rough but gentle enough to not hurt you. He kept hitting your spot, your cock leaking from the pleasure. For an alien, he sure knew how to fuck a man’s ass well. 

He then pulled away a little, turning you around.

“I want you to face me.”

You nodded, and he took you in his strong arms, pressing you against his muscular torso. You straddled him while being suspended in the air, his member lining up with your hole. He inserted it again, this time hitting deeper because of the position. He started kissing you while you bounced on him. 

He took your cock in his hand, and using the precum he rubbed your tip, before starting to stroke you while fucking you. 

“Clark…” You moaned in his ear.

“I’m also getting close, pretty boy.”

You kept that position until you both hit your climax. You came first, your cum coating his hand and your abs. 

“Can I cum inside?” He asked sultrily. 

You hummed, still kissing his neck and leaving the occasional bite mark from pleasure on his neck and collarbone. 

That’s when you felt it, the warm liquid filling your hole. He pulled out his thick member and rested you on a table as he kissed your forehead. 

“You okay?” He asked. 

“Yeah. You fuck like a pornstar…Damn.” 

He chuckled softly at the compliment. 

“That means you’ll only flirt with me from now on then? “

“Fine, you've convinced me, Superman.” 

He smiled. He officially had you for himself now. And if you ever started your little games again, he’d jealous fuck you again and again until you understood. 

[ghostlychaosfoil]

KIRBY QUESTIONS!!!

may be repetitive.. some questions refer to similar things

also it is mostly unnecessary to read the questions above, you can just read my responses

kirby fs has to grow on people. He instinctively puts up a intimidating persona when meeting new people, due to his old job as a repo man. Hes pretty annoying at first, but he will lower that persona eventually.

kirby is very used to being alone so he feels pretty comfortable and calm with being alone. He was homeschooled for most of his life and his only past social experiences were at jobs where he had to be serious with the exception of his dad, whom he spend most of his time with. His social personality is always an attempt at a serious person (since he was never that good at acting like that) it is pretty easy to see through him at his mix of anxiety, suspicion and despairity to be likeable. over time he gives ul the act.

the emotion that is the hardest for kirby to deal with is fear

kirby is more physically affectionate than emotionally affectionate, though he needs to recieve both. he used to be more emotionally affectionate with leatherhead, when helping him through his occasional depressive episodes concerning his divorced partner.

kirby good at keeping secrets from everyone but one select person (raph or leatherhead, depending on the time) which must hear ALL the secrets

He speak in hints and riddle when it come to his past or other sensitive topics otherwise he is regrettably blunt.

Kirby is a decent liar until you pick up on subtle habits of his. Kirby will cover or hide his shoulder marks when he lies because when he was young, leatherhead told him that everyone could see his shoulder marks glow (parenting hack he found online). Kirby will lie to prove his point, or to get out of a uncomfortable situation.

Kirby is not very open about his true feelings positive and negative verbally but hes is pretty bad at controlling his body language and facial expressions.

Kirbys main love language is acts of service with minor quality time and physical touch.

Kirby does not fall in love very quickly because he will have manyyy contradicting toughts and feelings

some small things that make kirby happy are butter, small animals, mountain dew, sunsets, and when his rollerblades are clean

His self esteem plummeted after his krangification, due to his lack of support system and different appearance.

When kirbys sense of humor is mainly observational. If someone says or does something he will lightheartedly use it as a tool to make a joke. He doesnt make puns though, he more repeats the action with his own humorous spin on it (ex pointing out the irony of something or repeating what someone said in a weird voice). His laugh is also very contagious, so he can make people laugh fairly easily if he wants to. There is also the aspect of him unintentionally being funny in awkward situations, in which case he gets defensive or tries to play it off like it was a joke all along.

its not hard to make kirby laugh, he will laugh at any stupid pun or slightly ironic situation. he is not very good at suppressing his laughs (he does get mad if the laugh breaks his serious act). Kirby has a mainly wheeze laugh or a snicker, depending on how funny it was.

Kirby does not hide it very well when he doesnt like someone. he will often either not talk to them or try to refute or disprove their every word.

Kirby easily relies on others to help him out but he later learned to be more independent when he lived alone.

His biggest struggle that no one around is able to understand or believe is learning how to interact with his peers in a “kind” way. or his nerve disfunction that other deem veeeery convinient.

Oh boy does he have to hide his identity! After he is dekrangified, his marks are stained pink, still giving him a krangy look, not to mention his increase in size. That mixed with him already being mutant, he keeps to the alleys and tops of buildings and tries to keep a low profile and wears his hood when in public.

If he could change one thing in the past it would have been to not have been so embarrassed of his dad, and instead had appreciated it while he could.

When kirby is sad or upset he would prefer company but is scared/embarrassed to ask for it or admit it. it would go something like “kirby do you want a hug?” “nahh”(WHY DID I SAY THAT I DO WANT A HUG I SHOULD ASK FOR A HUG AGAIN SAY NEVERMIND SAY NEVERMIND) “wait actually uhh”

when kirby is sick he would prefer not to be seen.

kirby sure does have nightmares! and sleep paralysis. They are usually about the krang invesion or being krangified, or something starting with a happy scenario like his old life in his house, restaurant, junk yard, rollerblading, and then it twists into something scary. And thats when his dreams arent being manipulated by venus. his venus dreams are very vivid yet muffled. Venus is trying to reconnect with kirby and trying to find him through his dreams, kirby not understanding this one bit. He later has dreams about venus even when she isnt trying to be in them, stemming from kirby constantly worrying about the venus dreams.

The darkest period of kirby’s life was the months after being unkrangified, before meeting raph. This is because he is fully cut off from everyone he once knew, and has massive amounts of ptsd and anxiety, and injury from being krangified.

its very easy for kirby’s emotions to cloud his judgement.

kirby does have fears and phobias, lots of them. his willingness to open up depends on the likelyhood that it will change someones view of him (this is mainly after krangification, he was an open book w his dad and repo)

Physical injuries post krang: ocular migranes cause by blood vessel spasms (temporary blindness), sensory and motor nerve damage in areas where the krang was most populated (crush injury in arm due to compression), some areas of skin just ripped up and cut, just so much fatigue (the krang had his body working nonstop for months). Mental illness oh boy he got that anxiety and ptsd (lets just say hes in the special classes iykwim /ij)

Kirby does have scars, the most prominent being the pink stained marks on his face arms and legs (his face mostly), and he HATESS them, kirby cant stand to look in a mirror for a long time. The sight of the scary pink on his face send him in a spiral. He also has a scars on his hands from a butter knife (the super noticeable one on his left hand, its very embarrassing when he admits what actually caused it and that it wasnt from a shark fight) and smaller ones on both hands (he tried both hands🫣) from pizza cutters. the hand cuts he doesnt mind as much, though he forgets about them as his hands are usually wrapped nowadays, they sometimes make him sad but only sometimes!

something that kirby will never forgive is something that kirby doesnt know yet… BUT in the meantime its the harm he caused as a krang

kirby deals with loss, stress, and anger in a sort of neutral way if its not that severe. He goes out of his way to avoid all things that would even slightly trigger a thought about the thing causing the distress (this could possibly mess with his sleep or safety🤔). He will try to distract himself with tasks such as cleaning or fixing things in his home, listening to the radio, going out and just walking around doing whatever he ends up doing. (if its severe them somebody go check on kirby)

best coping mechanisms above ⬆️ worst coping mechanism would be “try not to sleep ever challenge!!!” (somebody put him down)

It is super hard for kirby to own up to his mistakes and wrongdoings because he thinks admitting to them means hes a horrible person.

heheheh….. maybeeee

kirby’s fondest and most treasured memories would be cooking or watching tv with his dad.

some vices Kirby has are lying, stealing, and being easily agitated

Kirby doesnt not like his appearance, if he could change it he would at least change his marks back to normal shape and color.

His favorite blanket hold emotional value because it reminds him of the one he used to have. Its a giant fluffy brown blanket that he stole😳 through someones window( saw it, stuck his arm through to window, starts pulling it out and is struggling because he underestimated its size, its owner, who was IN THE ROOM, starts pulling it back and yelling, kirby had already gotten too deep he gotta commit, so he eventually wins the tug o war and scurries off w it). his butterfly knives later hold emotional value when one of the turtles etches Anata wa hitori ja nai when kirby is accepted into the fam.

Kirby would spend a lazy day to go on walk, rollerblade, just be outside. But if theres someone around, he will just try to join in on whatever they are doing, if nothing to di w them, he shall suggest a movie or crafts of some kind.

When kirby needs to feel comfortable, he would prefer to be in a quiet place or go with someone he trusts (ex raph, the other turtles too as time goes on). Another comfort is his blanket specifically or any blanket in general, he likes being warm.

Kirby’s sleeping habits are BAD due to his fear of dreaming that he has developed. His favorite sleeping position is on his back but most surfaces arent squishy enough for him to lay on his back due to his shell shape, his second favorite is fetal position. Kirby twitches and moves a LOT in his sleep unless its a super deep sleep, then hes totally still. If he’s sleeping with someone then he will often gravitate towards the warmth of the person, if not clinging to, hes at least touching them.

Oh kirby is picky with his food alright. He grew up in his dad’s restaurant (minotaurs pizza) and he expects everything he eats to be of that “high” quality (hes alwayss disappointed).Also ironically he mostly snacks on very not high quality food throughout the day instead if eating meals. he will at least try whatever you give him but he will complain the whole time. He has a borderline addiction to butter and buttery foods.

Their usual morning routine is not very set in stome for kirby, it fluxuates from day to day and where he is.

Their idea of a perfect hangout would be to go skate around somewhere not too busy or loud (maybe in naturee🤔) and then go get the “butter safe then sorry”(lmao) pizza from minotaurs pizza and then go to someones house and watch a movie

he dodsnt know what that is

At a party you would find kirby smuggling food in his pockets, either being really good or horribly bad at a party game, or scaring the hoes😔

for an event he would dress slightly different than he normally does and think its dressed up

Kirby dresses for comfort rather than style (his one rule for dressing is just NO PINK)

NO NONO NOnot like leo LMAOO

i dont knowww

some things people assume he doesnt know or can do: knows how to to churn butter so thats a thing that he can do. He is pretty good at fighting though his form is shit. he is knowledgeable on agriculture and earth stuff. Some things people assume he does know but he doesnt: this guy CANNOT spell and does not know what a lot of the words he uses mean. he cant ica skate (it is NOT the same as rollerblading) or skateboard.

He is really good at rollerblanding and negotiating, he is really bad at reading and writing

Kirby is good with money, hes very cheap and also very reluctant to spend it, so, he ends up saving lots of it.

kirby is NOT bilingual (I know I know sorry to disappoint the fans). He stuggled to learn his first language he couldnt speak another if he tried.

Kirby does like to sing but he is so bad at it. He is not confident in it. He will sing super loud if he knows hes alone (he WILL swear off singing if caught).

Kirby doesnt like the shopping aspect of gift giving (online shopping HAYES to see him coming but he doesnt have a credit card soo) but he LOVES seeing the person glow when they see what he got them. Kirby is actually a phenomenal gift giver.

Kirby can take a liking to a place so fast, but it will take a while for his perspective to shift from the old home to the new one. If he comes back to a place more than once than its a contender for a home.

Kirby would react to a dirty joke by immediately shifting to a blank expression and slowly turning to stare at the person whi said it.

The most stupid and dangerous thing hes ever done is either try to tame repos cat or stay awake for a long period of time alone in the city with a fucked up body

In the situation where he had to choose, he would rather stay loyal to the people he loves

Kirby would want to be remembered for being right.

If they were to commit a crime(he has commit it already) I would be theft alll the theft. or poisoning someone (he REALLY had to fight the urge when he was working at minotaurs).

OC questions

60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)

___

[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?

[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?

[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?

[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?

[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?

[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?

[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?

[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?

[9] What is their love language?

[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?

[11] What are small things that make them happy?

[12] How high is their self-esteem?

[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?

[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?

[15] How do they act around people they don't like?

[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?

___

[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?

[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?

[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?

[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?

[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?

[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?

[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?

[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?

[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?

[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?

[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?

[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?

[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?

[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?

[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?

[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?

[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?

___

[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?

[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?

[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?

[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?

[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?

[39] What is their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?

[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?

[41] What’s their usual morning routine?

[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?

[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?

[44] On a party, where would you find them?

[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?

[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?

[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?

[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?

___

[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?

[50] What are they really good and really bad at?

[51] How good are they with money?

[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?

[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?

[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?

[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?

[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?

[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?

[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?

[59] What would they want to be remembered for?

[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?

---

some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post

[downbad4sylus]

“Spare me, Doctor Buzzkill”

synopsis: While Sylus is away on a business deal, you miraculously get Zayne and Greyson to go on a night out with Tara, except you get very drunk and you miss your boyfriend a lot.

content: sylus x afab!reader; reader is MC; use of Y/N; established relationship; zayne/greyson/tara cameos; excessive drinking; mentions of throwing up; god-awful amount of fluff; mostly proofread

word count: ~2.4k

a/n: the people cast their votes and so here is the fluff fic requested by the masses~~ can you guys tell zayne is my second favorite or no? this is sort of? a continuation of the last fic where zayne and sylus first met (tagged anyone who replied or liked the poll from earlier this week)

You couldn’t believe you’d convinced Zayne to come out with you and your Hunter friends. Tara—who had accompanied you a handful of times to Akso Hospital for your check ups—had been flirting with Doctor Greyson at any opportunity she could. So you both hatched a plan to invite Greyson on a night out and, by some miracle, got Zayne not only to play along but to join you as well. He’d agreed that Greyson would be more comfortable going as long as he had a familiar face there with him.

And so here you all were, at a club many Hunters frequented, having the time of your lives.

Well, you and Tara were.

Zayne and Greyson, not ones for partying, mostly stayed at the bar nursing their (non-alcoholic) drinks. You and Tara managed to get them on the dance floor at one point, and once Tara and Greyson’s attentions were locked on each other, you and Zayne made a swift exit.

“Do you think Greyson will ask Tara out?” you asked Zayne as you ordered another drink. Admittedly you were a bit drunk, but you were having too much fun to quit now.

“I’m not sure,” Zayne replied. “He seems quite fond of her, though.”

You nodded your assent, too busy sipping from a straw to speak aloud.

“How many drinks have you had tonight?” Zayne asked.

“Don’t go all doctor on me right now,” you said. “I’m fine.”

He arched a brow. “I’m not sure your boyfriend will be pleased with me if I bring you home drunk out of your mind.”

You gaped at him. “Drunk out of my mind?” you repeated, incredulous. “That’s a little dramatic, Zayne. And besides, Skye is away on business right now anyway, so you’re safe.”

Talking about Sylus sent a pang of longing through your chest. He’d been away for three days already, handling a rather important business deal involving modified Protocores. He wasn’t supposed to come back for another two days, and you missed him terribly. It was probably why you were pounding drinks, insisting you were fine and not at all drunk. You wished he was here too, to have fun and enjoy the night with you and your friends.

“I feel like him being away means I’m far from safe,” Zayne grumbled. “I am your primary care physician, I’m responsible for making sure you remain healthy.”

You rolled your eyes at your primary care physician. “Spare me, Doctor Buzzkill.” You drained the rest of your drink and slapped the glass onto the bar. “I’m going to dance, you coming?”

Zayne shook his head. “Go on.”

Throwing him a little wave, you rejoined Tara and Greyson on the dance floor.

—

“I’m not drunk!” you yelled, your words blatantly slurred. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“Y/N, you can’t walk straight and your eyes are barely open,” Zayne admonished, tugging a stumbling you toward the exit.

Tara and Greyson trailed behind you, their hands grazing with every other step, bright pink blushes staining their cheeks. Too bad you were too drunk to notice the exciting progress they had made, but Tara would be sure to fill you in once you were sober.

“Mmm’not drunk,” you repeated so quietly no one even heard you.

You wished Sylus was here. You missed him so much. You missed his snowy hair, his striking red eyes. The slope of his nose and the curve of his lips. The way those lips felt on yours, on your bare skin.

“Zayne I’m really hot,” you declared.

Zayne turned and placed the back of his cool hand on your forehead. “You feel a little warm but nothing to be concerned with. Would you feel better if I carried you on my back?”

You nodded, your bottom lip sticking out as you pouted.

Zayne smiled softly at the sight before turning again and dropping into a crouch. You clambered onto his back, Greyson and Tara needing to rush forward to steady you when it looked like you were going to fall off. With your arms securely around Zayne’s neck (to the point where you were almost choking him) he straightened with ease.

Greyson looked at Tara. “Were you going to call a taxi because I can drive you home, you know, if you wanted.”

Tara’s face lit up. “Are you sure?” she asked. “You didn’t drink too much?”

Greyson chuckled. “Doctor Zayne and I didn’t actually have any alcohol, I’m perfectly sober.”

“Okay!” Tara agreed excitedly.

Greyson smiled. “My car is at the hospital, but it’s not that far of a walk.”

“I don’t mind,” Tara said. “It’s a nice night out.”

“Zayne,” you whispered in his ear. “Zayne, do you—hic—think Greyson will ask her out tonight?”

Zayne chuckled. “It’s possible.”

“How are we getting home?” you asked.

“Your apartment isn’t far, I’ll take you there then grab a taxi back to my place,” he explained.

“Mmmkay.”

“Looks like we’ll be going our separate ways then,” Greyson declared.

You perked up and began waving excessively. “Goodbye Doctor Greyson! Bye Tara! Call me tomorrow!”

They both laughed at your obvious drunken state and offered their goodbyes before heading off in the opposite direction.

Zayne started the walk to your apartment, adjusting you on his back.

Your thoughts returned to your boyfriend.

“Zayne,” you mumbled. “I miss Sylus.”

His steps faltered. “Who?”

You huffed, not realizing the mistake you made in not using Sylus’s alias. “I said I miss Sylus, you know, my—hic—my boyfriend. I don’t like it when he leaves for his stupid business trips.”

Still slightly confused, Zayne said, “Why don’t you call him?”

“Call him?” you echoed. “Oh! You’re right! I can call him.” You started tapping Zayne’s cheek. “Let me down, let me down.”

Zayne carefully lowered you to your feet, keeping a hand hovering close by in case you started to sway. You pulled out your phone from your pocket, but no matter how many times you pressed the power button, it never turned on.

Tears pooled in your eyes as you stared at the black screen. “It’s dead,” you mumbled. “I’ll never talk to Sylus again!”

Zayne swallowed a laugh. “When we get to your apartment, you can plug your phone in and call him once it’s charged.”

Your tear-filled eyes looked up at Zayne. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

—

You threw up once, in a random bush, on your way to your apartment. You almost threw up all over Zayne, whose back you had climbed onto once more, but managed to get him to put you down in time to avoid covering him in vomit.

You walk-stumbled the rest of the way, just in case you had to throw up again.

When you reached your apartment door, it took you three tries to remember the code to unlock it, despite needing only your fingerprint.

The second you walked through the door, another sudden wave of nausea hit you. You bolted for the bathroom, leaving a concerned Zayne in the entryway.

After closing and locking the door, Zayne made his way to the bathroom and found you hunched over the toilet, puking your guts up. He held your hair and rubbed your back as you retched.

“I told you you had too much to drink,” he teased.

“Shut up!” you cried.

You gagged and spit a few more times before collapsing onto the floor. Zayne carefully observed your condition—clammy and pale—and rose to his feet.

“Stay there, I’m going to get you some water,” he said.

You nodded, having zero intention of getting up anytime soon.

Zayne hurried to the kitchen. He had to search through a few cabinets before finding your glasses, then went to the water dispenser in your fridge. As he waited for the glass to fill, he heard a noise from the entryway, like someone was trying to unlock the door.

He moved quickly, depositing the half full glass on the counter and going to the entryway. He didn’t know who had the code to your apartment but he certainly didn’t think you were expecting visitors, especially when your phone had been dead this whole time.

Zayne decided it was best to catch whoever was trying to come in off guard. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

“Doctor Zayne, what a pleasant surprise. Did you help my drunk girlfriend home?”

Skye—no, Sylus? Whatever his name was, stood on the other side of the door, giving Zayne an assessing once over.

Sylus and Zayne—in the little time they had spent together since Sylus became your boyfriend—had gained an unspoken, mutual respect for each other. They both acknowledged the importance of the other in your life, and as long as you were happy and taken care of, that was all that mattered.

So Sylus wasn’t upset that the doctor was currently in your apartment when he was supposed to be away on business. In fact, he was rather relieved that you had someone looking after you while he wasn’t there, especially when you were drunk. But he was here now, and he fully planned on assuming the role of your caretaker.

“Skye, I thought you were on a business trip,” said Zayne, stepping aside for the snowy-haired man. He wasn’t going to ask about the name thing, he honestly didn’t want to know.

Sylus held up his phone, the screen open on a myriad of texts you had drunkenly sent him throughout the night. “How could I not come home early when Y/N was practically begging me to?”

Zayne snorted. “Her phone died by the time we left the club, she was very upset she couldn’t call you.”

Sylus huffed, taking off his shoes. “Poor thing. Where is she—”

“Sy?”

Both men’s heads snapped up to where you stood in the living room, disheveled as all hell. But to Sylus (and Zayne) you were still the most beautiful treasure he’d ever laid his eyes on.

“Hi sweetie,” he drawled. “Miss me?”

You cried out a strangled laugh and ran for him, launching yourself into his waiting arms so hard he nearly fell backward.

“I missed you,” you whispered in his ear, relishing in the way his warmth enveloped you.

“Oh I know, you made that abundantly clear,” he teased.

You drew back, your brow furrowed. “When?”

Sylus raised a brow. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Very,” answered Zayne.

You pouted, craning your neck to look at your doctor. “I feel better now.”

“Because you threw up everything you drank,” said Zayne. He looked at Sylus. “She needs water to rehydrate, but don’t let her chug it. Slow sips only. Have her take some painkillers before bed so she doesn’t end up waking up with as bad of a hangover and don’t let her sleep on her back. If she still isn’t feeling well tomorrow, give me a call and I’ll bring over some medicine. I trust you can take over from here?”

Sylus nodded. “Thank you for taking care of her for me.”

Zayne smiled slightly. “Of course, I’m her primary care physician after all.”

You shoved your face into Sylus’s neck. “He’s Doctor Buzzkill,” you muttered into his skin.

Sylus barked a laugh. “Okay, kitten,” he said, patting your back, “let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Sylus and Zayne exchanged a curt nod as Sylus finally walked out of the entryway. You waved weakly at your doctor over Sylus’s shoulder as he carried you to the bathroom.

“Don’t forget to charge your phone,” Zayne said by way of goodbye.

“I’m so glad you came home early,” you told Sylus as he sat you on the lip of the sink.

Sylus pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “‘Sy come home, I miss you.’ ‘I miss you, Sy, when are you coming home?’ ‘It’s not as fun going out without you, Sy.’ And many, many more messages like that, all throughout the night. I don’t think you gave me any other choice, sweetie.”

You grinned, not feeling even the slightest bit guilty for being the reason he cut his trip short. “I really did miss you,” you said, reaching for his hand and twining your fingers. “Though I think I said your real name in front of Zayne.”

Sylus shrugged. “I don’t think it’ll be a big deal, plus we could always blame it on your drunken state.” He frowned as he looked you over. “You really shouldn’t drink that much, kitten.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “It’s like Zayne said, I threw it all up.”

Sylus scoffed. “Yeah and your doctor gave me specific orders for me to follow so how about we get you in the shower so I can do that?”

You didn’t move, instead your expression softened as you stared at your boyfriend. “I think you and Zayne could be good friends, if you both gave it a chance.”

Surprise flitted across Sylus’s face. “I don’t need friends, sweetie. I only need you.”

“What about Luke and Kieran?”

“They’re my subordinates.”

“Mephisto?”

“He’s a mechanical bird.”

“Okay, next time we go out, you’re coming with us so we can make you some friends.”

Sylus laughed. “Sure, whatever you say, kitten.”

—

Bonus:

*the next morning*

You squealed into the phone, effectively startling Sylus awake.

“So you’re going on a date?” you asked. You waited for the person on the line to reply, then squealed again. “Tara this is so exciting! Our plan actually worked!”

Sylus stared up at you, wondering if you were even human to have drank so much the night previous yet seemed to have woken up perfectly fine. So fine that you found it appropriate to scream into your phone at whatever unholy hour of the morning it was.

“Okay, so I already have our next mission planned,” you said excitedly. “Operation Make Skye Some Friends.”

Sylus groaned loudly and covered his head with his pillow. He did not want to hear what you had to say next.

tags: @bookfreakk @blorbohunter @randomgurl2326 @worldly-fluster @athanasia-day

[heliosunny]

thank you for feeding us with your yan content please continuing writing for more (no pressure btw)

also more yan phainon pls ): my life is yours

Yandere!Demon King Phainon x Reader

Your sibling was dying. The sickness had come like a curse, your younger brother’s body growing weaker each day. You had gone to healers, priests, alchemists—each shaking their heads, saying there was nothing to be done. His once bright laughter had faded into weak, pained whimpers. You had sat by his side, clutching his frail hand, praying for a miracle that never came.

Until the summons arrived.

"The Demon King Phainon has called for you."

The words alone sent a chill through you. The Demon King? The ruthless conqueror of the underworld? You had heard the stories of how he razed kingdoms, how his power was beyond comprehension. Why would someone like him want you?

You almost refused. But then you looked at your sibling, their chest barely rising, and knew you had no choice.

The demon realm was unlike anything you had ever seen: vast, dark, otherworldly. The sky churned with violet and crimson hues, casting an eerie glow over jagged mountains and blackened trees. The air thrummed with power, with something ancient and dangerous. And at the heart of it all sat Phainon.

He was unlike any demon you had imagined—tall, regal, with hair white as snow. His blue, a piercing, glacial blue, colder than the heart of winter gleamed under the golden crown. He sat lazily on his throne, watching you approach as though he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

"You care for your sibling deeply, don’t you?" he mused, his voice smooth, yet carrying an underlying menace.

You fell to your knees. "Please… if there’s anything you can do…"

He leaned forward, resting his chin against his knuckles. "Anything?"

The weight of his gaze made your skin prickle.

"Yes."

His smirk was slow. "Then you are mine."

You hesitated for only a second. then nodded. If it meant saving your sibling, you would endure anything.

Phainon kept his promise.

Your sibling’s illness vanished overnight. You had sobbed in relief when you heard their laughter again, clutching them close. But you never got the chance to say goodbye.

Because by then, Phainon had already taken you away.

You had expected chains, dungeons, cruelty. But instead, he placed you in a grand palace, one crafted of obsidian and lined with glowing runes. Servants bowed at your feet, offering silken robes, jewels, exotic foods you had never seen before.

He never forced you to stay by his side, not physically.

Yet, his presence was inescapable. He was always near, watching.

At first, you had kept your distance. You had no illusions about your situation, Phainon was the Demon King, and you were a mere human caught in his grasp.

But time had a strange way of softening walls.

It started with small things.

One night, you were wandering the halls when you heard movement from his chamber. The doors were slightly open, and inside, you saw him seated on the edge of his bed, shoulders tense, breathing uneven. His usually composed face was shadowed by something dark.

A nightmare?

You hesitated. Then, against your better judgment, you stepped inside.

"Your majesty?" you called softly.

His eyes snapped to you, sharp as a blade. But the moment he registered your presence, his expression softened ever so slightly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, voice rough from sleep.

"I was getting some water and heard you. You looked… troubled."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

"I do not dream" he murmured. "But sometimes… memories return in ways I do not like."

You weren’t sure why, but your feet moved closer on their own.

"Bad memories?"

His fingers clenched around the sheets.

"Assassins. Betrayal." A bitter smile. "You wouldn’t understand."

Maybe not. But you understood pain. So you did something you never thought you would—you reached out, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. He tensed immediately, as if startled by the touch. But he didn’t pull away.

"You’re safe now" you said softly.

Phainon’s gaze locked onto yours, unreadable. His breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxing under your touch.

"…Stay" he whispered.

One evening, he asked you to accompany him on a walk.

"You enjoy nature, don’t you?" Phainon asked.

You looked up from the book in your hands, arching an eyebrow. "I do, but there isn't much of it around here."

"Then let's take a walk."

You were surprised by the offer, but you didn’t refuse.

The forest he led you to was nothing like the gardens of your homeland. You expected a garden filled with roses, maybe a balcony with a scenic view. Instead, it was dark, ancient, and filled with creatures that shouldn’t exist. The ground pulsed faintly beneath your feet, as if the earth itself was alive.

"Why here?" you asked, glancing warily at a tree whose bark seemed to shift.

"It’s cooler" Phainon said simply. . "And I find the creatures here... fascinating."

He wasn’t wrong. You had never seen insects with glowing wings or mist that moved as if it had a will of its own.

But then something massive stirred in the shadows. A creature with glistening black scales slithered forward, its multiple eyes locking onto you. It let out a low, threatening growl.

Before you could even think, you stepped behind Phainon, gripping the back of his cloak.

His laughter was soft but unmistakable.

"Oh? Seeking protection from me now?"

"Shut up and kill it!" you muttered.

With a flick of his wrist, the beast was instantly reduced to a pile of ash.

Phainon tilted his head at the remains, his amusement fading slightly. "Strange. Normally, they obey me."

You gave him a look. "Yet, you took me here."

His gaze flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression.

"Would you rather I let them come to the palace?"

You frowned. "That’s not what I meant."

Phainon only smiled. "Then let’s continue."

He reached for your hand. And though you hesitated, you let him take it.

"Maybe visit places like... demon market next time." You suggested

"And why is that?"

"I'll buy something to cook for you, the food at the palace didn't suit my taste."

He smiled and nodded. "Sure."

Phainon’s palace had an army of servants consists of demons who prepared extravagant feasts daily. Yet, one evening, as you were passing the kitchens, you saw the Demon King himself standing over a pot of something that smelled… absolutely foul.

You froze.

"Are you… cooking?"

Phainon glanced at you, stirring the pot with a lazy expression. "Trying to."

You hesitated, peering into the pot.

It was black.

"What… is that supposed to be?"

"Something edible." He scooped a bit onto a spoon, lifting it to taste.

You watched in horror as he swallowed without flinching.

"How did you survive before I was here?" you blurted.

He smirked. "I’m a Demon King. I can eat pretty much anything."

"That doesn’t mean you should." You sighed and rolled up your sleeves. "Move. I’ll cook."

He blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me. Or would you prefer to poison yourself?"

Phainon chuckled but stepped aside, watching with genuine curiosity as you worked. You cooked the way you had at home- simple but warm, flavors balanced with care. When you finally served him a plate, he took a bite and paused.

You shifted nervously. "What? Is it bad?" He shook his head slowly.

"No."

You were startled to see something unfamiliar in his expression. Softness.

"It’s warm," he said. "Like you."

Your heart stuttered. "Shut up and eat" you muttered, flustered.

He smiled—but this time, it wasn’t mocking.

You had been holding it in for so long. But one night, when Phainon was away, one of his subordinates, one who clearly resented a human in the palace—cornered you.

"You don’t belong here" they sneered. "You think because the King favors you, you are one of us?"

You didn’t argue. What would be the point?

But when they tripped you, making you stumble against the stone floor, pain flaring in your ankle, the dam broke.

You curled up in a quiet corner, hugging your knees.

You missed your family.

You missed your home.

For all Phainon’s kindness, you still felt alone.

And then—he found you.

"You’re hurt."

You looked up to see Phainon staring at your ankle, his expression dark.

"Who did this?"

You shook your head, not wanting to make things worse. But Phainon wasn’t an idiot. He knelt beside you, gently lifting you onto his back.

"What are you—?"

"You need treatment" he said simply. "And I’m not letting you walk."

So you let him carry you. As his warmth surrounded you, you realized something. For all his power, for all his cruelty, Phainon wanted to be cared for, too.

This was a mistake.

Because when the truth came out, when you realized everything had been a lie, you weren’t just betrayed.

You were heartbroken.

You had grown close to him, despite everything. Then you overheard the truth.

"It was all a lie. She was never here out of love."

The words hit you like a dagger to the chest. You stood frozen as the demons gossiped, unaware of your presence.

"He manipulated everything. She was always meant to break the seal for him."

Everything.. the kindness, the protection, the gentle moments—it had all been a carefully woven deception. That night, you locked yourself in your room.

Phainon found you.

He smashed the door open, eyes wild with panic when he saw the blood dripping from your palm. You had cut yourself, trying to undo whatever magic bound you to him.

"I don’t speak to people who lie" you said, voice shaking.

For the first time, Phainon looked truly afraid.

"I never lied about loving you."

At first, he endured your silence.

But when a subordinate attempted to brain wash you in his absence, Phainon intervened violently, slaughtering them in an instant.

You saw the horror in his eyes, not at what he had done, but at the thought of losing you for good. In that moment, you understood, his love was selfish, consuming. But it was real. And in the end, you let him in once more.

But Phainon was not one to leave things to chance.

That night, while you slept, he branded you with a sigil, a binding mark ensuring you could never leave him again.

"Who knows how long you'll stay?" he murmured, tracing the mark on your skin.

"I can't risk losing you again."

[avelera]

I mentioned this on Twitter but I feel like there needs to be more acknowledgement in the whole, “Jayce/Caitlyn/Mel are bad for making/using/promoting Hextech weapons” argument about the fact that Viktor very much made Hextech weapons too!

Like, to see his cultist robots in S2 or even his own evolved form with the Hexclaw laser beam and not say, “Hey wait, those are ALSO Hextech weapons!” Is borderline willfully obtuse. Though, to be fair, it’s obtuse in a way that I think Viktor is in the moment when he makes them, so I kind of excuse people who like Viktor don’t realize they’re weapons but let’s be clear: Viktor’s cult bots are VERY MUCH Hextech weapons that are just as deadly as any created throughout the course of the show, and arguably they are the most sophisticated Hextech weapons we ever see. (“No beast is more savage than man.”)

I’m sure Viktor would argue that his Hexbots are not made to be weapons, that they’re made to capture, incapacitate, and assimilate enemies in order to stop conflict. I’m sure he’d argue his Hexclaw was only used to cut opening in walls and ceilings during his fight with Jayce and not, say, intentionally used to intimidate or threaten Jayce by blasting it right next to Jayce’s face.

But that’s because I think the whole point of Viktor’s villain arc is how much he’s LYING to himself, or the Hexcore is lying to him, depending on how much you subscribe the mind control theory. But saying the Hexbots forcefully assimilating people isn’t a weapon is ludicrous. Saying the Hexclaw laser beam isn’t a weapon has been ludicrous ever since Viktor first invented it! It put his naïveté on full display when he was shocked that anyone would use it as a weapon instead of as a tool for artisans omg it’s a fucking DEATH LASER!

And the reason I think it’s important to pull into the debate that Viktor very much made Hextech weapons too is because it stops the debate from being about who is right and who is wrong, who should be put on a pedestal and who should be damned.

Because Arcane isn’t about who is right or wrong it’s about how humans act and react during times of stress, and because of love, and because their loved ones come under attack.

Caitlyn is AGAINST Hextech weapons UNTIL the Memorial Attack pushes her over the edge, just as it was meant to when Ambessa orchestrated it.

Mel was IN FAVOR of Hextech weapons UNTIL she realized the true cost and that it was all a play by her mother to get them for herself.

Jayce was AGAINST Hextech weapons UNTIL his beloved city came under attack. Between Jinx’s terrorist attacks, Silco’s pressure campaign, and Marcus as the insider traitor whispering poison in his ear, and finally Ambessa’s expert manipulation, Jayce was at the center of a paranoia campaign pushing him to a single conclusion that they were needed. UNTIL the Shimmer factory and the death of Renni’s son when he realized the true cost of war when he once again was against them.

But, I’d argue, like with Caitlyn, Jayce’s switch to being against Hextech weapons again gets outmaneuvered by Ambessa orchestrating the Memorial Attack. Tensions are just too high to not do anything so I personally see the strike team’s personal Hextech weapons as an attempt to make the best of an impossible situation because there IS in fact an arms race going on between Piltover and Zaun and Shimmer DOES make Zaun more powerful than normal humans in a ways that seems to demand an escalation only Hextech can answer. The show doesn’t say it’s right it just says this is an imperfect decision made in desperate times by those who are otherwise against Hextech weapons. I’d argue make a half dozen weapons for an elite strike team is VASTLY different than arming an entire invasion, BUT the show doesn’t excuse it. It asks if this is ok and leave the answer deliberately gray (haha no pun intended)

But I digress.

The point is, EVERYONE has a shifting view of the merits of Hextech weaponry, and not even Viktor is exempt. Viktor tries to be a pacifist, until HE TOO faces a violent situation that destroys his faith in humanity, just like Caitlyn did at the Memorial Attack and from there he’s angry and hurt and doesn’t see any way forward except to meet wrath with wrath, ally with Ambessa, forcibly convert those who refuse to convert willingly to his vision, and remake the world in his own image using the power of Hextech and Shimmer as weapons in this cause.

And lest we forget, Viktor’s vision would lead to more widespread death and destruction through Hextech than any other character is shown to be capable of in the whole series!

Arcane is about human choices and emotions, actions and unintended consequences, not humans competing to win the Morality Olympics. Refusing to acknowledge that every character is capable of making violent decisions and turn on their own dearly held principles during moments of stress, terror, pain, and disillusionment, in favor of arguing about Who Is Better is just such a flat and unnuanced way of looking at the nuances of this story.

Viktor made Hextech weapons too. No one in power is ever innocent.

[maxisodenoth]

Oops, forgot to block.

But anyways, it seems like you don't understand.

Let me put it like this for you.

You have been provided links with proof [that I'm sure you didn't even touch.] And instead of bringing up any point related to them you stick to your same arguments.

I asked you a simple yes or no question, and you seem to have taken it personally. It doesn't matter to me what you think the answer is, because the answer is always no. An infertile woman is just as much of a woman as any other. We are what we want to be. Your words mean nothing to me, and other peoples identity. [which let me remind you *again* that you've been provided links in the comments which explain this stuff better than I ever could]

[And let me tell you something. Just because we can't have kids right now doesn't mean it'll remain that way in the future. I believe that something will be figured out later in the future that will allow trans-people to be able to reproduce with their new reproductive apparatuses. Whether that takes years or decades doesn't matter. It'll happen.]

You used word meanings as "arguments". May I remind you that, words were created far before any research was done on this matter? [Not exaclty sure when or how much words change but I'm almost sure it's a pretty slow process, so they might be a bit or alot outdated. Not sure though.] And that maybe instead of etymology, you should be looking at psychology, and biology? [Links in the comments~] Trying to use words meanings as arguments doesn't really work out that well when we're not talking about words but people.

[And by the way. Where is your evidence? You've been provided links explaining this stuff, yet when pressed, you only choose to go to ... a dictionary? Really?]

[Also, since you've stooped into insults let me get in on that action.]

Why do you care so much? Like really. Why does this matter that much to you? Are you that miserable that the only joy you get is by hating on other people being themselves and happy?

Look, I know it's hard to find a purpose in life, or a job, but it'd be alot easier if you stopped being a prick and just let people be themselves. There's no reason to hate people who literally don't affect you in any shape or form. They're just being themselves. Cope. [Your final reminder that there are links in the comments!~]

Or do you just refuse to grow up and understand that it doesn't matter what you say. People will be themselves and happier than you will ever be?

I am not a debator. I'm just some angry penguin on the internet. I have left my piece here. And I won't forget to block this time. May this be the last time I see your miserable blog on my feed.

And for everyone else who comes across this post, trans or otherwise. Your identity is Valid. You know yourselves better than some stranger on the internet. Or anyone who's not you. Because it's Your Identity. Not these peoples.

Do not let the hateful words of bigots make you feel bad about youself. You are the only one who can choose your identity. Not some idiots on the internet. You. And let me say this again Your identity is always valid. No matter what others say. ❤️

Goodbye. 👋

[Even if you reply to this, I'm not wasting anymore of my time on you John. You've been given links, read them. The same goes for any asshole who wants to start another argument. I do not care for you. Find someone else to deal with your bullshit.]

Facts matter. #VoteBlue