#just more of a close up than i usually draw

[rootedinrevisions]

The Rough Side of Hangman's Girl

SUMMARY: You’ve always been the quiet one, the kind of girl who prefers soft laughter to loud crowds, and gentle touches over wild passions. But Jake “Hangman” Seresin has a way of drawing out the side of you no one else gets to see. When he steps into your world, he doesn’t just turn your life upside down—he pushes you beyond every boundary you thought you had. Now, with his intense gaze and unyielding hold, you find yourself craving every rough touch, every whispered command.

A/N: Thank you to the person who send me the DM about this request! This one was so fun to write! I really hope you like it and I did your request justice.

Also the way Glen/Jake is biting his lip in this GIF does something to me so I had to include it!

PROMPT: "Don't be gentle with me-I like it when you're rough."

WARNINGS: Unprotected sex, P in V sex, spanking.

WORD COUNT: 2.3k

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

The door shut softly behind you, and you barely had a second to breathe before Jake had you pressed against the wall. His hands were braced on either side of your head, his body so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, grounding you and sending your pulse racing all at once. His mouth met yours, warm and teasing, before his lips trailed down to your neck, peppering kisses along your skin with unhurried confidence.

His lips skimmed over a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, and you felt the heat bloom across your cheeks.

A quiet hum escaped you, and you felt Jake’s lips curve into a smirk against your skin. “Jake…” you whispered, the request barely audible, but he heard it. “Bite me.”

He froze for a second, pulling back just enough to catch your eye, his eyebrows raising in surprise. That trademark smirk spread across his face as he took you in, a low chuckle escaping him.

“Didn’t know you had that in you, sweetheart,” he drawled, the endearment roughened by a hint of mischief. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your eyes met his, emboldened by his reaction. “Don’t be gentle with me,” you murmured, your voice soft but steady. “I like it when you’re…rough.”

Jake’s gaze darkened, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he considered your words, his smile turning wicked. “My sweet girl has a dirty side, hmm?” He teased, pressing closer. His voice dropped to a murmur as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “Well, I can give you exactly what you want.”

His hands moved to your waist, fingers pressing firmly as he lifted you slightly, pressing you tighter against the wall.

He leaned in, his lips grazing yours as his voice softened to a rough whisper. “But remember you asked for this.”

Jake’s hands gripped your waist firmly as he lifted you, carrying you down the hallway to your bedroom, his stride confident and purposeful. You wrapped your arms around his neck, heart pounding with anticipation as you looked up at him. There was a smoldering intensity in his eyes you hadn’t seen before–something darker, an edge to his usual smirk that made your pulse race even faster.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder, guiding you in and setting you down just beside the bed. His fingers were immediately at your waist, slipping under the fabric of your top, pulling it up over your head in one swift motion. There was no hesitation in his movements, no teasing pace–he was stripping away every article of clothing with a sense of urgency, his touch rougher than usual, more intense.

“Turn around for me,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as he pressed a hand against your back, guiding you to face away from him.

You felt a thrill shoot through you as you did what he asked, your breath hitching when his hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, tugging them down with a rough pull, taking everything with them until you were bare under his gaze.

“Get on the bed,” he said, voice gruffer than usual.

His hand rested on your lower back, urging you forward until you were positioned on all fours. The air was thick with anticipation, and just as you settled, you felt his fingers thread into your hair, tugging firmly as he leaned over you, his breath warm against your ear. 

“Head down,” he murmured, the quiet dominance in his tone making you shiver. His grip tightened as he pushed your head down to the comforter, his other hand settling on your hip, holding you firmly in place. “And keep that pretty little ass up for me tonight,” he added, his voice laced with a roughened edge that made warmth spread through you instantly.

The weight of his hand, the way he held you down, his voice steady and unyielding–it was already too much, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, unable to hide the effect he was having on you.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he murmured, catching the subtle movement. “We’ve only just started.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking some relief from the tension that was building faster than you could contain. Jake’s amused chuckle resonated in the quiet, his tone edged with a kind of pride and surprise.

Without hesitation, he placed a knee on the bed, leaning in. His hand rested on your hip as he pushed your legs apart again, his knee pressing gently yet firmly, guiding you until you were as exposed and vulnerable as he wanted.

“Keep them like that,” he ordered, his voice low and rough, sending a thrill down your spine .”Or there’ll be consequences. Understood?”

A breathless nod was all you could manage, your face turned into the comforter, heat spreading over your skin. But before you could prepare yourself, you felt the sharp, sudden sting of his hand landing across you, and a gasp escaped your lips, followed by an involuntary moan that hung in the air. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the thrill mingling with a hint of a surprise that you couldn’t hide.

“Oh, now that’s something, isn’t it?” Jake murmured, his tone dripping with amusement as he ran his hand over the spot where his hand had landed, lingering to savor the reaction he’d pulled from you. “My sweet girl likes being spanked, hmm?”

The words made your breath hitch, and just as you felt your body start to melt into his touch, another sharp smack landed, this time harder. Another moan escaped, unbidden, and you felt his fingers spread possessively over your skin, his touch heavy with control and satisfaction.

He leaned in close, his voice a rough whisper as his hand stayed firmly in place. “Keep that up, and I’ll give you exactly what you’re begging for,” he teased, the promise in his voice making you shiver as you instinctively pressed back into his hand, craving more of the intensity he was unraveling in you.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice a low, raspy drawl. “Didn’t think my sweet girl who blushed when I kissed her would be into this…but you’re loving it, aren’t you?”

He traced his hand slowly down the curve of your back, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake as he took his time, letting every inch of his touch ignite something deeper. As his fingers reached your thighs, you couldn’t stop yourself from pressing them together again, the ache building so intensely that you couldn’t help it.

But Jake was quick, his hand gripping the inside of your thigh, pushing your legs apart once more.

“Oh no, darlin’,” he whispered, the authority in his voice like nothing you’d heard from him before. “You keep those pretty legs open for me, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, breathless, and his lips brushed against your neck, warm and teasing, before he took hold of your hip, his fingers pressing into your skin with a possessive grip. You could feel the firmness of his body behind you, every inch of him taut and ready, the anticipation was overwhelming.

One hand was still on your hip, he let his other hand drift lower, fingers trailing through your folds, which had you quivering, aching for more. His thumb pressed down on your clit, testing you and the faintest pressure was enough to send a jolt through you.

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured with a satisfied chuckle, his tone full of dark promise. “Practically dripping, and I haven’t even gotten inside you yet.”

And then, he took it a step further–he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you back against him, his movements more unrestrained, less careful than usual, his body pressed firmly into yours. His hand slid up to your shoulder, gripping it just tight enough to hold you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. 

“Hope you’re ready for this, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough with both desire and restraining. “Cause I’m not holding back this time.”

With that, he guided his tip against your folds, taking his time as he ran it up and down, letting the anticipation build until you could barely take it anymore. His touch was rough and demanding, and you were more than ready, practically melting into him as he finally, slowly, pushed himself inside you, savoring every reaction, every gasp, as he showed you exactly what you’d been craving.

Jake’s grip tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with a roughness he’d never shown before like he couldn’t help himself. Every thrust was harder than the last, his movements quick and relentless, sending a wave of pleasure through you that left you gasping, clinging to the sheets for support. His rhythm had lost its usual restraint, each motion fueled by something you’d never felt from him before. And it left you breathless, lost in sensation.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his hand came down on you again, a swift, sharp smack that sent a shockwave of heat through you. A moan escaped before you could stop it, louder than before, your body instinctively arching into his touch. 

The sound seemed to fuel him, and he chuckled, low and rough, clearly reveling in how unabashedly you were responding. “God, I love how loud you’re being for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Didn’t know my sweet girl could get so worked up.”

His hand slid along your skin before coming down again with another smack, drawing another moan from you, your voice catching as you felt the sharp warmth spread over your skin.

With each sound you made, he seemed to grow more unrestrained, his hands gripping you together, his pace unrelenting as he moved, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, as though he wanted to pull every last gasp and moan from you.

The pressure of his hands on your hips was almost overwhelming, holding you so firmly that you knew you’d feel his touch lingering on you long after that night.

“You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you?” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing, his breath hot against your skin as he leaned closer, his movements never slowing. “Making me think you were all innocent. But here you are, moaning like you were made for this.”

The combination of his words and his movements left you teetering on the edge, your body completely in sync with his rhythm, every rough touch and commanding word pulling you further under his spell. And as he kept moving, kept pushing you closer and closer, you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t stop yourself fro giving in completely to the way he was taking you apart, thrust by thrust, with no intention of stopping until he’d made you his in every possible way.

Jake could feel you tightening around him, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge. Your body was trembling beneath him, and the way you were clenching told him you were almost there. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He needed to push you over the edge, needed to hear you scream his name.

“Get up on your elbows,” he commanded, his voice harsh but laced with desire. You obeyed without hesitation, your body responding instantly to his words. The new angle was almost too much–his hands gripped your shoulders, pulling you back into him, and suddenly the depth of his thrusts was hitting you in all the right ways. You gasped, your head falling back, and your back arched as his cock slammed into you with an intensity that left you breathless.

“Oh, fuck,” Jake cursed under his breath, his hands moving to your hips to help guide you, pulling you back into him with each stroke. He loved how you felt around him, how responsive you were, how loud you were–everything about this moment sent him spiraling. “God, you’re so fucking loud. I love it. Don’t stop…don’t stop making those noises for me.”

You could barely hold onto the sheets, the overwhelming pleasure radiating through your body, the new angle pushing him right to that spot inside of you that made your entire body seize. His words, his voice, everything about the way he was fucking you–faster, harder–was enough to send you crashing toward the edge.

“Let go for me, baby,” Jake growled, his voice rough with hunger. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

That did it. A shock of pleasure surged through you, your body spasming as you cried out his name, the wave of ecstasy washing over you, pulling you under completely. You felt him jerk inside of you, his breath ragged as he pushed you through it, holding you tight as your body quivered with aftershocks. You moaned his name again, your voice breathless, as the final release hit you both at the same time.

Jake’s grip on your hips tightened as you both finished, your bodies trembling, chest heaving as you collapsed together onto the comforter. 

Neither of you could catch your breath at first, the room heavy with the sound of your labored breathing. His hand brushed a strand of hair from your face as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a grounding force after the intense release.

“That was…goddamn,” Jake murmured, his voice rough, but there was a softness behind it now, a gentleness as he ran his hand over your back. “You okay?”

You nodded, still catching your breath, unable to form words just yet. He smiled, his lips brushing over your forehead as you both laid there, tangled up in each other, feeling the afterglow of everything that had just happened.

“Good,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter, feeling the contentment between you both settle in. “I’m not done with you yet.”

[yanderefarm]

Now I need us “pretending” to forget about Emil, only to actully forget about it him.

Like, as a punishment we lock him in the basement and forget about him as a joke, send a maid down there once a day to feed him, but then we genuinely forget about with him, because we didn’t realize how much work Emil does.

He gets feed once a day from a maid, but that’s the only interaction he has. (Need some more angst before it gets fluffy🙏🙏)

part 3 of this & 2

i don't know why i love this series so much i want to break emil so bad. i have so much fun writing pathetic emil whump.

cw;; domestic abuse, drugging, unsanitary, manipulation, dehumanization

things had been relatively peaceful since starting the divorce process. a process you had paid the information guild to purposely obstruct and delay while also leaking all the information about. at this point you met the guild master more than your own husband, in spite of emil's attempts. every day you would wake up to find some kind of expensive gift and your maids would inform you that emil was there to see you, to which you would dismiss both. but emil kept trying.

he wasn't even being drugged anymore but the effects had clearly taken their toll on his mind. according to the servants of the main house he wasn't doing his work, he would spend all his time wandering or sitting like he was the living dead, and they even heard him crying. your name and even mention of the queen title had been all but banned by his advisors in an attempt to get him to pull himself together. he wasn't.

the first time you saw him in 6 months was shortly after a meeting with the guild master discussing your next steps to take over the kingdom. you had decided with everything squared away you would go out for a walk by the fountain.

the moon was the only light on the usually vibrant garden, casting it in a somber darkness. the air was cold and heavy with the chilling change of seasons on the horizon so you were wrapped in a shawl. it was the perfect night to find him. your husband was standing on the bridge overlooking the fountain, he was staring down into the water longingly. you could see from his reflection in the water his eyes were sunken and there were bags under them, his hair was messy and uncombed, and he was paler than normal. he looked sickly and the cold blank look in his eyes didn't help.

he didn't even seem to notice as you approached when usually he would be on high alert or draw his sword. or he did notice.

"if you're going to kill me please make it quick." he must have thought you were some kind of assassin but more notably his voice was so soft and weak unlike anything you'd ever heard from him.

"i have no intention of killing you." your voice made his head shoot up with all the speed his weakened state could allow.

fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. "(y/n)..? are you... real..?"

he stumbled towards you his feet struggling to carry him. you reached out and caught his surprisingly light body.

"you're re-"

"what's wrong with you? do you think dying will make things better?"

he flinched and his head fell to the ground.

"i thought you would break eventually and just admit you were wrong. but you'd rather die, hm?"

"i- you- i tried-"

"i don't want your excuses, emil."

he swallowed hard as tears began falling freely from his eyes. he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. you couldn't help but take some kind of pity on the poor man, your hand running under his chin and forcing him to look back at your face.

"you're so pathetic... this is what the terrible tyrant becomes?"

you ran your thumb along his bottom lip before you leaned in close enough to feel his ragged breath against your lips.

"give up your pathetic life. give everything to me. everything ends when you give it to me."

he tried to lean forward enough to catch your lips but you kept out of his reach. instead of letting him kiss you, you pulled away from him completely. you stood up straight and pulled your arms away from his body causing the pathetic man to drop onto his knees. his body hit the cobble like you'd dropped a corpse but you decided not to care, choosing to turn away instead.

you started to walk away when you heard scratching and clawing at the stone under your feet.

"-ing please. please!" his voice clearly strained to try get your attention.

you stopped in your tracks waiting for him to speak but instead you heard more clawing and shuffling. eventually you felt his head bump into your leg like a cat greeting its owner. his bloody hands grabbed your leg and he held onto you as tight as he could while rubbing his head against your leg.

"emil. let me go."

"please take it... please take everything..."

"let me go."

"you want everything its yours. please."

"emil."

you finally dared to look down at him. he was so pathetic, his tears and blood were staining your pants. you let out a heavy sigh and reached down, your hand running through his tangled mess of hair.

"if you mean that then tomorrow concede your kingdom to me."

his peachy pink eyes looked up at you.

"do you understand?"

he nodded.

"then let go. you're getting me dirty."

he hesitated but he slowly let go of your leg.

———

of course your husband came through. he did as you ordered him, meaning you ascended to the title of king ahead of your schedule. while it certainly had its benefits it did leave a few things unfinished specifically on the guild master's end. so after everything settled into place you used your new found power to help staple in the final touches.

your husband who had been so happy to have you next to him again the past few months had to resume the drugs just so your hard work wouldn't completely slip away. he was still walking around like a corpse just a better maintained one. but no one seemed to have the time to pay much mind in the chaos of making you king. no one had the time to wonder where he went near the end of the chaos as you took over. and it was only when it was too late did his advisors even notice he wasn't anywhere to be found in the castle. you had to reassure them that he was currently tucked away from the public receiving the utmost medical care for his poor condition.

you ran a hand through your hair as you descended the dungeon steps, you were currently complaining to your maid about all the tedious parts of your job. there was an undeniable smile on your face though, the pride of having the most powerful kingdom in your hands made even the tedium valuable. your smile only widened twisting into a sick smirk as your torch caught onto the dirty form of your caged husband. he was on his knees clinging to the bars of his cell with tearful dead eyes.

"how long has it been, emil...?"

you walked over and crouched in front of him, he immediately went to push his head against your hand.

"your highness it's been 6 months since your last visit." your maid hung the torch nearby.

"really...? it's been over a year since i started this..."

your maid set about preparing emil's food while you pet him gently.

"i didn't mean to forget you down here."

the poor man didn't even seem to realize as he rubbed his head against your hand.

"oh emil... to think it only took a little over a year to break the mad king. to take everything away from you. to trap you in a little cage like you did my family."

the maid returned with some fresh water and a bowl of porridge. you pulled away from emil as she gave him his food. you watched his pathetic eyes look up at you desperately and you cocked your head to the side.

"your highness he's asking permission to eat."

your eyes lit up as you looked over at your maid. "oh my goodness!! you're incredible! i remember telling you i wanted to train him but to think you really went the extra mile..."

"thank you, sir. it's an absolute honor to break the man who destroyed my home."

your smile didn't fade as you looked down at the pleading former tyrant. "go ahead. but you can't use your hands."

emil hesitated before he finally shoved his face down into the bowl, eating like a pig with slop. it was a disgusting but amusing site, you and your maid had a good laugh at his expense.

once he was done you decided to give him a reward for good behavior. you crouched down in front of him and gently cleaned the mess off his face with a warm wash cloth. it was the closest thing he'd had to a real bath in the past 6 months. he was sobbing as he leaned into your hands.

it didn't last as long as he'd liked and you pulled away again.

"continue training him. id like to parade him around eventually so we should work with that goal in mind."

"you'll have his complete obedience. he won't even think to breathe without your permission."

"wonderful." you ran a hand down through his tangled mess of hair. "... I'll give you a budget so you can properly turn this area into the perfect training facility and our private friend can help you with the details."

"i look forward to it, your highness."

"i do too. when we're done with you you'll finally tell me you love me. you'll thank me for all of this, emi."

all you got was a whimper in response. you left your precious husband down in the dungeon, a forgotten and disgraced king.

[ennn]

Unpacking the Deals of Ep 8: Why and What They Mean

So episode 8 is... let's say a bit of a mess. I know there's some confusion around why Agatha proposes her terms for the first deal, why Rio flipped into cackling villain mode, why Rio makes another deal, etc.

Here's my read that hopefully helps draw a line from point A to B to C.

Let's consider the context of the first deal: Agatha's not having a good day. Two coven members who Agatha never expected to care about have died trying to protect her – a thing that has never happened before. And Death happens to be a person she can blame.

Death, who is pressing on that bruise ("Your coven is shrinking") and making her shitty day worse because she wants the kid Agatha is hardcore projecting on (and also didn't plan to care about) to die. Just like Nicky.

But Agatha then realises she has leverage on Rio. For the first time in forever, she has an advantage she can exploit. She can be in control.

And it's almost instinctive for Agatha at this point: finding the best buttons to push, the best terms for her given the opportunity.

Agatha: If I deliver Billy, you let me go. Rio: You will eventually die, Agatha. Agatha: But I want you to stop pursuing me. I want you to stop making my life hell. And when I die, a long, long, long, long, long time from now, I don't want to see your face. Rio: ... Okay.

The terms that Agatha sets out seem cruel because they are. She says what she does because she wants it to hurt. Agatha's not only rejecting Rio's continued presence in her life, she's denying all the love that Rio's given her, building on what she's said before ("You gave me nothing.")

From Rio's POV, Agatha's cutting words aside, this entire deal sucks. Because the options are:

(a) Agatha doesn't hold up her end, which Rio knows might happen: Rio knows Agatha cares about Billy ("I know how you feel about him"). Rio's constantly reminding her he's not Nicky. She was already doubting Agatha would deliver her usual number of corpses. She saw how affected Agatha was after Alice's death.

If Agatha doesn't help, she'd be choosing a boy over everything Rio's done again – and this time another woman's.

And if Rio somehow manages to take Billy anyway, Agatha will end up hating her twice forever.

(b) Agatha does hold up her end, which might also happen: Rio knows Agatha's manipulative and smart and capable. More than that, she's well aware Agatha hates her. That Agatha still doesn't see what she's done for her ("No one in history has had special treatment like you").

That she knows Agatha does care about Billy but maybe hates her so much that she's willing to go through with this to cut her out from her life. Billy would be a dear price but one Agatha's maybe willing to pay.

Even if it was a 50:50 chance for these options, I think Rio realises her relationship with Agatha is doomed either way.

Either way she does her job, with or without Agatha's help, she's going to be rejected and lose. One's just a slower path than the other.

I think that's why Rio gives in to her rage and bitterness and spite. Agatha thinks Rio's been making her life hell? She'll show her hell.

And Agatha, well I think there's some merit to the thinking that she didn't expect Rio to fold that quickly and completely.

Now for the context of the second deal, it's not clear whether Rio knows what happened with Tommy. I assume Rio doesn't – not yet anyway – as she doesn't mention it at all and seems focused on squaring that one life Billy stole.

Now here's where it gets a little squirrely, to borrow Schaeffer's language. Because if you don't look too closely, it seems to make sense: Billy stole a life so to maintain the natural balance, Rio needs to take a life, the one Billy has now.

But how does Agatha's life work as a substitute for this imbalance (“This means you’re coming with me”)? Would any other person’s life work? Could Rio have swapped someone else's life to save Nicky then? Agatha would have been all too happy to arrange for that murder.

I doubt the show is ever going to explain this so I offer few possible theories to deal with this weirdness:

Billy Maximoff is a product of chaos magic, so his existence and everything he affects already throws off the natural order, just to different orders of magnitude. Agatha’s life works as a substitute because his life is now intertwined with hers e.g. his hex probably saved her life from the Salem Seven and has the potential for greater imbalance

Rio is aware of Agatha’s tendency towards chaos and defiance of the natural order. Rio bent the rules of the universe only for Agatha. Taking her life would protect the balance in the larger scheme of things – if only so Rio won’t be further tempted to give her special treatment.

When Rio’s torturing Agatha it’s before she presents the second deal. So she’s still intending to go after Billy, she’s just removing Agatha as an obstacle while lashing out in rage and heartbreak.

In this moment Rio probably thinks Billy's in the wind. She saw how upset Billy was with Agatha at the end of episode 5. And Rio knows the reputation Agatha keeps ("Why do you let them believe those things about you?"), Rio probably thinks Agatha deliberately drove him off to keep him safe.

Then Billy pops up and Rio sees that Billy and Agatha care about each other and they're both aware they care about each other.

Fuckin’ great. Rio's not bitter at all.

Looks like you two are finally on the same page. So I'll let you decide. One of you stays with me. The other walks free.

Agatha proposed a deal designed to hurt her? Now it’s her turn.

From Rio's POV, I think here are the possible outcomes:

(a) Agatha sacrifices herself for Billy: Not impossible I think. Rio knows Agatha cares about the boy but she also knows Agatha will do anything to survive. She thinks she's above death. But again, I think Rio also knows Agatha would have sacrificed herself for Nicky if she had that choice.

What did Lorna want from the Road? To save her daughter.

This isn't an ideal outcome for Rio but she’s already resigned herself to losing Agatha I think, one way or another. This way if Agatha wants Billy to live so badly, this is the price she has to pay. The high cost of living.

(b) Billy steps up and sacrifices himself: Very possible given that Billy’s a young heroic sort and already showed up, risking his life to power up Agatha. Rio gets to do her job. Agatha will probably hate her more given the Nicky trauma but Rio’s already resigned to this on some level already, which is why she's raging.

Either way Agatha's going to hurt, and Rio's going to hurt.

It's interesting that when Billy does volunteer himself and Agatha seizes the opportunity to remind Rio of their earlier deal, Rio just shakes her head and looks amused.

You can also see for a brief moment Agatha looking almost remorseful about doing this before slipping her theatrical villainous mask on, overcompensating for her true feelings.

Do you remember pain? It kinda tickles doesn't it?

By the letter (not the spirit or intent) of the first deal, Agatha did ultimately fulfil her part:

I can arrange that. I can get him to the finish line and deliver him to you.

This is an opportunity that's almost impossible to resist for someone as calculating and ruthless and selfish like Agatha. She has power (chaos magic no less), she can have Rio leave her alone forever (she knows Rio honours her word), she knows Billy cares about her but can she really trust him?

But Agatha ultimately decides to take a risk. A calculated one sure, but still a risk.

I think the beauty in the kiss and her sacrifice is how – despite her calculating the odds – Agatha is choosing to give in to what she feels and wants in that moment.

Because she does want to protect the boy in a way no one did for her when she was young. She wants to save Billy like she couldn't with Nicky. And she does want Rio so much despite everything that's happened.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Partners in Crime 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, allusions to abuse including body-shaming, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Lee Bodecker

Summary: you’re left reeling after your divorce but the chaos has only begun. (short!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

“Wakey, wakey,” the voice draws you up from the sludge. You pry your eyelids apart and groan. 

You’re still nestled against Lee but you can see something past him, a fleshy blur. The man at your side squeezes you and rolls onto his back. He sighs and rubs his eyes. 

“You gonna sleep all day or we gonna get down to it?” Lloyd asks. 

You squeak as you spy his bare chest and stomach, blocking out the rest as you cover your face with your hand. Lee snarls and untangles from you as he sits up. “Goddamn, Hansen, put some fucking clothes on.” 

“Don’t be jealous,” Lloyd snickers. “You like the way it hangs?” 

“Piss off,” the slap of flesh makes you flinch and Lloyd yelps. 

“Damn it, that was too close,” he exclaims. 

“Next time I won’t miss,” Lee’s weight leaves the bed. “Cover up.” 

A huff and a rustle follow and you dare to peek out between your fingers. Lee comes back to you, in a tank and boxers, holding a fluffy pink robe open. “Come on, darling. We gotta get the day started.” 

Lloyd’s behind him in a black silk robe, smoothing his mustache with his fingers. He looks agitated with the bristly hairs. You sit up, quaking, unsure what else to do but what you’re told. You got too used to waking up alone and peaceful. Yet, you can’t say what’s worse, them or your ex. 

“We’ll get ya washed up and dressed, then we’ll sit down and eat,” Lee slings his arm across your shoulders. He seems even bigger than the day before. They both do. “How’s that sound?” 

“Good,” you eke out. What you know is that obedience is safe. Any sign of resistance only got you worse. 

He keeps you wrapped up and Lloyd grumbles as he leads you past, “we really gonna drag this out?” 

“We have a plan,” Lee insists. “You agreed. We wanna take care of her. Give her what she never had. Stop being a jerk.” 

“I’m not. I'm just saying. Rip the bandaid off,” Lloyd turns and follows. 

You look over your shoulder as he crosses his arms, his blue eyes sharp as he squints back at you. Of the two, he makes you more nervous. You know better than to trust in self-control, but Lee it a bit less scary. 

You turn your head straight and take in the hallway. The house is nice. The walls are half-panel, half floral. An old-fashioned sort of domesticity. The white trim is clean and elegant and the runner rug is delicate patterned in a complementary pattern. 

Lee turns you through a door with a crystal knob. You fold your hands together as he ushers you into the bathroom. The porcelain shine and the counter is the same ivory as the trim in the hallway.

There’s an oval mirror over the sink basin, a shelf of neatly folded towels in various sizes mounted on the wall. The bath mat is a blue rose, the walls a lighter shade of the same, and a clawfoot tub stands near the far wall.  

You take it all in. In any other circumstance, you would be in awe. You can only curl into yourself as you try to disappear. This can’t be real. These men can’t be either. 

“You go on, get yourself in,” Lee detaches and steps forward to twist on the faucet. He bends with a grunt to put the stopper in place. “Got everything you need. Soaps, salts, bombs.” 

Your eyes scan the shelf along the tub and all the colourful bottles, jars, and trays. You slowly come forward and peer down into the lapping water. Lee backs up as you sense Lloyd lingering behind. 

“Want me keep an eye on her?” Lloyd slithers. “Don’t want her to fall in.” 

“Go get her something to wear,” Lee commands. 

“No, you,” the other argues. 

“Don’t be ornery,” Lee rebukes. 

“No. You.” Lloyd repeats more tersely than before. 

There’s a sigh, “we’ll both go.” Lee insists. 

You stay as you are. You wait until the door shuts before you move. You look down at the silk night gown and the cool air sets prickles across your skin. There’s a click behind you. They’ve locked you in. As nice as they are trying to be, they don’t trust. You’re still their prisoner. 

You brace your head as you quiver. How could this happen to you? Why? How did they know who you are? How to find you? You don’t quite believe everything they’ve told you. They seem to know more about you than they should. 

Maybe it’s your ex-husband. He can’t torture you so he sent these two to do so. How cruel can he be? 

When the door opens again, you flinch. You rub your arms and shiver.

“Now, don’t let the thing overflow,” Lee chides. “Get in, honey.” 

Lloyd hums in agreement. You glance back at them. You want them to leave but you don’t think they will. You face the tub again and shudder. 

You close your eyes. You're back in the bedroom you once shared with your husband. Alone. You’re in a towel, sifting through your closet, looking for something to wear to his work thing. You unwrap the cotton from around you and hear a scoff. 

“Sixteen,” your husband’s voice crawls across the room as he appears in the doorway. “Sixteen dimples in your ass. Last time I counted, was only twelve.” 

Your eyes snap open as the balmy air roils over the tub. Your nose tingle hotly. The two strange men are going to see all your dimples and marks and scars. You know they did last night but you were too terrified to think about it. And this is different. It’s so bright in here. 

You scrunch the satin in your fists and lift it slowly. You sniffle as you unveil yourself to the room. To them. You tense and swoop the fabric over your head and drop it. You shake as you step forward and angle your leg over the edge of the tub. 

You try to ignore your audience and the gristly noises wafting from them. Are they disgusted by you? Disappointed? You turn and lower yourself into the hot water. Their silhouettes loom beside you. 

“Ain’t that nice?” Lee asks. “You just relax.” 

“Hard to relax fully-cocked,” Lloyd snickers. 

“Shut up,” Lee snaps and slaps his arm. “Get outta here.” 

“Stop telling me what to do.” 

“We’re both gonna leave her be,” Lee insists. You stare at the tiled wall, humiliated. The way they talk about you like you’re not there, like you’re a thing. “Let her get situated then we can get her settled in.” 

“You’re a fucking softie, Bodecker,” Lloyd sneers. 

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he shoves the man back, “stop cussin' and come on.” 

[zippidi-dooda]

Loki would be cozy, cold but cozy

It wouldn't happen instantly, you're just about used to the calculated and practiced courting rituals.

He's still smug, playing tricks when he likes, but eventually you notice a shift. The tricks draw out fewer huffs and rolls of eyes, they start to lead up to things, finding an item previously lost, a trinket you had absentmindedly mentioned wanting before, intricate pieces of metal you later use to decorate the house.

He was fine with being close to you, hugging you when he's after something and holding you close when others are near, but always with a reason.

Now, you find his head on your lap as he flips through some novel, a hand atop yours as you share your meals, a palm on the small of your back as he walks past, a chin nestled on your shoulder as he listens to you explain something or other. All without asking a favor after.

You're accustomed to his chaste pecks and curt nods, the brisque feeling something to cherish. You don't mind it.

But then they become slow and soft with a hand cradling your hair, or quick repetitive puckers, and you're left feeling warm and wide eyed with butterflies churning in your stomach.

You thought it just meant he was finally getting comfortable with you and you couldn't be happier.

That's when his antics start changing.

Some days, you'll round the corner, intending to tidy up, only to find everything neatly away in its place, you'll enter the kitchen ready to prepare a meal and find a warm one waiting at your usual seat, or you'll step into the bathroom to unwind after a long day and see a bubbly tub with essential care items waiting there for you. Loki is no where near, even maneuvering around the topic when you ask about it.

You're not one to ask for or take his stuff, only recieving things he's intended for you. Yet now you find yourself surrounded by his personal belongings, his velvety green cape draped over your shoulders, body enveloped by his thick coats, wrists decorated with his golden bangles.

His touch, once distant and rehearsed, now inviting and on a spur. His words, always smooth and precise, now have a warm lilt in tone. His smirk, ever teasing, reaches the happy creases by his eyes and his confident gaze is glossed with bliss.

You can't remember the exact day it happened, but you're more than glad these subtleties continue to make an appearance

*I have no memory writing this but how sweet^^*

[malk1ns]

november 7 2024 @ hurricanes, 5-1 loss

not a lot to say about this game, sheesh. i WAS told that geno spent a lot of time during breaks in play yapping with kris, there was at least once instance where he was skating around ignoring the world and sid wouldn't stop staring at him, AND during warmups they were basically skating on top of each other in the corners by the net. but. not a lot to work with here, score some goals guys!!!!

so with the absolute bones they gave us to work with....we're taking a soulbond universe break and incorporating one of the asks i got when i requested quick-hit smut prompts last week. almost ALL of them were mustache-related, and there were two specific ones i want to revisit later, but for today....

Zhenya absolutely loathes playing in Carolina.

He hates playing the Hurricanes sort of as a general rule; every win against them for the last few seasons feels like more blind luck than an actual earned victory, and Jordy ran through his 2009 Stanley Cup goodwill years ago. But playing in Carolina, with their stupid slushy ice and the ice-cold visitor’s locker room and whatever the fuck a storm surge is, has to be near the top of Zhenya’s least favorite away-game experiences.

And add in the talent discrepancy in their two teams this year? Zhenya isn’t having a good time.

When the horn blares for another goal against, Zhenya winces and squeezes his stick. He knew what he was getting himself into; he and Sid had talked about it extensively over the summer, whenever Zhenya called to check in on how the slow grind of Sid’s extension was going. 

They weren’t going to be a good team this year. If they got into the playoffs, it would be by an unexpected run of luck and health, and there is not a single matchup in the league they’d be favored in even if they get that far. Sid and Zhenya’s job now, essentially, is to work with their young guys, help them develop and insulate them from the worst of the attentions of the opposing teams, and keep pushing for personal milestones.

Zhenya knows that. He’s accepted it, in theory. That doesn’t make blown leads and blowout losses any easier to bear in the moment.

“Hey,” Sid says, leaning toward him. Zhenya instinctively bends down, putting his ear close to Sid’s mouth as Sid holds his glove up just in case the cameras are on them.

Just in case. The cameras are always on them, especially since they’re playing on a line for now. At least that’s working out well, and Zhenya has someone next to him on the bench to nudge when someone fucks up spectacularly.

“Don’t look so crabby,” Sid continues, garbled through his mouthguard. “Keep a happy face for the rest of the game and I’ll make it worth your while tomorrow before the game.”

Zhenya stills, turning his head. Sid’s face is very close, and when he catches Zhenya’s eye he deliberately licks his lips. His mustache makes his jaw look sharp, and his eyes are intent on Zhenya’s face.

“Lunch with Tanger,” Zhenya says, watching Sid’s mouth as Sid draws away from him and drops his hand.

“Cancel,” Sid says casually, like it’s hardly even a consideration.

He’s right. Tanger bitches at Zhenya as they skate around during the next commercial break, but not seriously enough for Zhenya to actually feel bad. They both like the sushi place better for dinner anyway.

Sid and Zhenya go right to sleep when they get to the hotel in DC. As sanguine as they both are about the state of their team these days, a loss that bad is still deflating, and neither of them are even up for their usual debrief as they get ready for bed.

Sid does chivvy Zhenya into the shower, though. They both rinsed off after the game, but rink showers are always suspect, and the hot spray as Zhenya massages shampoo into Sid’s scalp is soothing.

Sid is thorough when he soaps Zhenya off, which makes him flush. Sid only winks at him, though, then busies himself with drying off and getting into his pajamas.

It takes a while for Zhenya to drift off, but eventually the visions of flubbed passes and blocked shots fade, and he falls into sleep to the sound of Sid’s gentle snores.

When he wakes up, it’s not to his alarm.

“C’mon,” Sid says, shoving at Zhenya’s side once Zhenya’s blinked himself to consciousness. “Get off me and get on your stomach.”

It takes Zhenya a second, but once the English penetrates and translates itself, he moves quickly, rolling off where he’d been practically plastering Sid into the mattress all night and spreading out, grabbing a pillow and turning his head to the side.

Sid’s stretched out next to him, eyes flickering over Zhenya’s body, and Zhenya preens, arching his back a little to draw Sid’s eyes down. He’d put in a lot of work over the summer to get his skating back to where he wanted it to be, and it shows in his back and ass, something Sid has been loudly appreciative of since they came back for camp.

“You want it bad,” Sid mutters, and Zhenya would roll his eyes at Sid’s lame dirty talk, but he does want it, so instead he just spreads his legs and shifts, rubbing his hardening dick against the soft sheets.

“Sid,” he says impatiently, and that gets Sid moving down the mattress, settling himself between Zhenya’s legs.

His grip on Zhenya’s ass is firm, and Zhenya clenches, feeling Sid’s fingers dig into his muscles in response. 

The first scrape of Sid’s facial hair against Zhenya’s hole gets him gasping into his pillow.

Zhenya can’t grow facial hair, not really. He dutifully went along with the stupid playoff beard tradition during the back-to-backs, but otherwise any stubble he ends up with is incidental, borne of laziness and skin too sensitive to shave clean on any given day. He doesn’t grow it well anyway, so there’s never been much of a point.

Sid used to not grow very good facial hair either. Zhenya’s life was perhaps more peaceful back then.

The thing with the mustache is it hurts. Sid’s facial hair is bristly and coarse, and it rubs Zhenya raw when they kiss. He’d had a rash all over his groin after they won the cup in 2009 and Sid blew him back behind Mario’s pool house during the party; Flower noticed the next day and brought it up to make fun of them for years. It’s uncomfortable to deal with in gear, even with the ointments and lotions they keep trying, and it stings under the hot water.

Zhenya loves it, though.

Sid’s tongue on his hole is warm and wet and good, but it’s the scratch of his mustache around Zhenya’s rim that makes him cry out and squirm. Sid’s good with his mouth, just as good as all the fans in Philly used to jeer at him and then some, and Zhenya loves when Sid eats him out any day of the year, but in November the added sensation makes him come so fast it would be embarrassing if it didn’t feel so good.

And because Sid is a possessive freak, he likes how Zhenya winces after, the way he shifts in discomfort on the bench and walks funny to avoid friction. He likes marking Zhenya up, likes knowing that Zhenya can still feel him days later.

With the way he’s gripping Zhenya’s ass to hold him open, Zhenya won’t be surprised if he has bruises to go along with the beard burn.

Sid leans back and spits on Zhenya’s hole, loud and wet and filthy in the morning quiet of the room, and Zhenya flinches, hides his face and groans as his dick twitches where it’s trapped between his body and the bed.

“Messy,” Sid says approvingly before he gets his face back into Zhenya’s ass. He pulls on Zhenya’s hips, and Zhenya obligingly cants them back, tensing his thighs to lift his lower back and give Sid the angle he’s looking for.

The burn in his muscles, the scrape of Sid’s mustache, Sid’s tongue in his ass, all of it is sensory overload, and Zhenya barely has to sneak a hand down under himself and squeeze the head of his dick before he’s coming, shoving his ass back into Sid’s face and riding his tongue through his orgasm.

He whines when Sid pulls away, tries to turn onto his back to get at Sid’s dick, but Sid smacks his ass once, so Zhenya stays put, keeps his back arched, and listens as Sid jerks himself off.

“I’m gonna…” Sid trails off, and Zhenya startles when Sid presses down on his back, pushing him flat to the mattress. “Squeeze, baby,” he says, one hand between Zhenya’s shoulder blades as he pushes his dick between Zhenya’s cheeks with the other. “I want it tight.”

Zhenya complies, clenching as Sid thrusts, breath hitching whenever the head of Sid’s dick catches against his rim. Even with all of Sid’s spit it’s a shade too dry, and the friction against his sensitive skin is bordering on unpleasant, but it makes something in Zhenya’s stomach squirm with desire.

When Sid comes, he presses the head of his dick just barely into Zhenya’s hole, grunting as he just-barely thrusts, enough to stretch but not actually penetrate. Zhenya wishes he would, wishes Sid would force his way into Zhenya’s body and come inside him, but it’s a game day, so he holds still instead of humping back onto Sid’s dick.

“Fuuuuck,” Sid groans finally, pulling back and spreading Zhenya’s cheeks wide. Zhenya turns his face into the pillow, sure that his entire back must be flushing red as Sid inspects his work. “Pretty,” he says approvingly, thumbing over where his come is dripping from Zhenya’s hole. “You’re gonna be hurtin’ later, bud.”

Zhenya sighs explosively into his pillow, reaching back and smacking at Sid’s thigh. “Get lotion,” he orders, and Sid laughs at him, clambering off the mattress.

He’s humming smugly to himself as he pokes through their toiletries. Zhenya would roll his eyes, but, well.

Sid’s touch is gentle now, rubbing the cooling ointment over Zhenya’s hole and everywhere his mustache rubbed Zhenya raw. Zhenya drifts a little under Sid’s ministrations, and he’s practically asleep again when Sid drops a kiss on the nape of his neck and curls up next to him.

“Alarm?” Zhenya mutters as Sid slings an arm and a leg over him.

“We’ve got forty-five minutes.” Sid says, voice already sliding to drowsiness. “Go back to sleep. We gotta play better tonight.”

Zhenya’s going to be sore later, but he’s never let that stop him from playing better when Sid asks him to. He’s got a good feeling about tonight’s game.

[kiwriteswords]

Hii I love your writing!! I just wanted to ask if you could write a little Hotch x BAU!reader oneshot where the reader is on her period and Hotch takes care of her!! I need that right now

A Quiet Kind of Care

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: I could have used an Aaron Hotchner last week when this was me! Thanks so much for sending this one in, Anon. It was a fun one to write on my day off today!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: >1k

Tags/Warnings: Secret Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Tender Moments, Reader who gets a period, Soft!Hotch

Sypnosis: After a long, grueling day on a case, you push through your discomfort to keep up with the team, all while secretly dating Aaron Hotchner. When you finally retreat to the privacy of your hotel room, Hotch’s quiet attentiveness and subtle gestures of care remind you just how much he understands your needs, offering a moment of solace and connection away from prying eyes.

Aaron's keen observation skills were not just a professional asset but a personal one, too. His years of marriage to Haley had honed his awareness of the women in his life, including you. He could discern the subtle signs of discomfort and weariness that often remained unspoken, understanding that even the strongest women needed a little extra care at times.

He’d caught on gradually—the way you’d press a hand to your lower back or shift uncomfortably in your chair during long briefings, the slight furrow in your brow that signaled more than just stress. There were times he noticed you reach instinctively toward your abdomen, only to lower your hand quickly, as if not wanting anyone to see. He saw these little signs, things the rest of the team might overlook but which he couldn’t ignore.

As he watched you navigate the case with more determination than usual, Aaron didn’t need to ask what was wrong. Instead, he offered a steadfast presence, quietly supporting you in small ways throughout the day—taking on more physical tasks, and giving you brief respites, all while keeping a watchful eye on you.

When the day finally wrapped, he made his way to your room, ready to be there for you in the way he knew you’d never ask but that he was more than willing to offer. One of the things he loved most about you was your strength and resilience. And yet, as much as he admired it, he wanted you to know that you didn’t always have to be strong with him.

The hotel hallway was quiet; the sounds of the bustling day long faded into stillness. It had been a grueling day on the case, with too many close calls and endless hours spent in the field. You were exhausted, your entire body aching, and the discomfort of your period only worsened your fatigue. Despite the pain, you’d managed to keep it all under wraps, not wanting the team to notice or, worse, worry. But Aaron—Aaron always knew.

As you leaned against the doorframe, waiting for Aaron, a wave of relief washed over you at the thought of being alone with him. The quiet knock on the door signaled his arrival, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of calm and anticipation.

A quiet knock on the door pulled you from your thoughts. You opened it to find Aaron standing there, his gaze gentle, softened with concern.

“Come in,” you whispered, letting him in quickly and quietly.

Once inside, he closed the door softly, turning back to you with a small, knowing smile that held all the warmth and reassurance you needed. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle, steady embrace. His hand settled at the middle of your back, his fingers spreading wide, grounding you as he held you close.

Slowly, he began to run his hand up and down your spine, a soothing rhythm that seemed to melt away the tension you’d been carrying all day. His other arm tightened around your shoulders, drawing you even closer as if shielding you from the day’s lingering stress. You rested your cheek against his chest, listening to his heart's steady, calming beat, letting it lull you into a place of warmth and safety. His chin came to rest lightly atop your head, and he exhaled as if he, too, had needed this moment just as much.

You felt the day's weight slip away in his arms, replaced by a quiet sense of peace that only Aaron could give. For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, the world outside the door forgotten.

“You’ve been pushing yourself all day,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with concern. “You could’ve let me help sooner, you know.”

​​You sighed, leaning into his shoulder with a small smile. “It’s just part of the job. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He looked at you, the hint of a smile on his lips. “You don’t have to hide with me. Here—sit down.”

Aaron guided you over to the bed, settling you comfortably. He’d brought a small bag with him, and you watched as he pulled out a few items: a water bottle, some painkillers, and a small heating pad. You raised an eyebrow in surprise, touched by the thoughtfulness.

“When did you even get those?” you asked softly, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the heating pad.

He chuckled, settling beside you, reaching to plug the heating pad into the outlet beside the bed.

“I have my ways.” He placed the heating pad gently against your stomach, and the warmth was an immediate relief, easing the cramps that had been gnawing at you all day. “You don’t think I’d let you suffer alone, do you?”

You leaned more fully against his shoulder, feeling the tension start to slip away as he wrapped an arm around you. His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips tracing gentle, soothing lines across your stomach, each movement easing the ache a little more. He stayed quiet, his steady breathing a calming rhythm, grounding you as you let yourself relax into him.

“You know,” he whispered after a while, “it wouldn’t hurt to tell me these things sooner. You don’t have to act tough with me.”

You looked up at him, catching the glint of tenderness in his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a bother.”

He gently kissed your forehead, his lips warm and soft. “You could never be a bother.”

You stayed wrapped in his arms, the silence between you filled with the quiet understanding that was so uniquely yours. Moments like this, hidden from the rest of the world, were precious—just you and Aaron, no titles, no cases, just two people caring for each other in the simplest, truest way.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[anomaly-076]

Alan Mido x fem!reader - Late night at the Pit (18+)

♦ My first full fic in this fandom ^^ I'm probably gonna write fem!readers at first so I can get comfortable with the characters, but I'm not against writing gn! or masc! down the line ^^ ♦

!!! Adult content ahead - MDNI !!!

  ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The Vagastrom dorm is generally silent this time at night but now even more so as most of its occupants are away, spending their fall break at home or on some trip.

Human students that is. Sadly, the ghoul students weren't allowed to leave the school's campus for the break due to yet another house arrest thanks to none other than Vagastrom's very own vice-captain picking fights with other students.

None of the ghouls seemed to care, including you, though. It was nice to have the dorm only to yourselves without the rowdy and loud student body.

Take the Pit for example: it would be rare to find the room fully empty. There would always be someone, even at the oddest of hours.

And now the usually busy room was quiet and empty, save for the sounds of you and Alan grunting as you practiced some new fighting techniques.

"Okay, I'm gonna show you another move, but I'll have to land the hit so you understand how it affects the opponent. Do you think you could take it?" Alan gets into a starting stance and waits for your answer.

"Oh don't worry, I could take it from you anytime." you respond with a wink. The double meaning of your words is purposeful as the two of you have been playfully flirting on the down-low since you joined the school, few months prior.

At first your flirty remarks made Alan freeze, unsure how to respond, but over time he's learned to enjoy the tension that it created between the two of you. Sometimes even flirting back in his own way.

"Well then don't say I didn't warn you." he chuckles and with a set of movements knocks you down with a force, only lessened by his hands catching you in time and carefully lowering you down onto the ground.

With your body safely underneath him without any harm, Alan can't help but tease: "Couldn't take it, huh?"

He's so close, kneeling above you with his hands under your back. So close you could raise your head and kiss him then and there, but what's the fun in that?

"Hm? Oh, no - no I could if I wanted to-" your hands teasingly slide up his sides and finally rest on his back. Lifting up your head you lean to whisper into his ear, "- but now I'm where I really want to be."

Alan above you visibly stiffens. This is the most straight-forward you've ever been with your flirting. The air feels heavier all of sudden and he's unsure what to do next. A choice stands before him and he's not even sure what either choice would lead to.

His wide grey eyes look down onto you to see the mischievous smirk. You're happy with yourself for bringing out this almost flustered side of him.

The tension between you two has been only getting stronger that it had to eventually come to this, right?

When Alan doesn't respond nor move for a second too long, one of your hands starts to draw random shapes and lines on the smooth fabric of his yellow vest.

'Ah, fuck it' he decides and his head drops slightly with a sigh. The new angle he's looking at you tells you everything. His eyes almost beg you to move further to prove you really want this.

And you do.

By lifting up your head again, you bury your neck into the crook of his neck to take in the smell of his cologne mixed with the fumes from his car's exhaust pipe and motor oil. Leaving a few lovebites because you just can't help yourself.

"Fuck..." Alan breathes out and only now pulls his hands from underneath you to pin your own to the floor. His sudden boldness surprises you, but you try your best to not give him the same satisfaction of getting startled by his bold advances.

While you're unable to move, Alan kisses you so deeply and with so much force, it steals all the breath from your lungs.

After your lips sadly part, you're both out of breath, but Alan doesn't waste any time and immediately starts planting kisses down your neck. His hands leave your wrists to travel down your body and explore all the curves along the way.

They stop at the bottom of your t-shirt, his fingers only dipping under the edge. Looking back at you, his chest still slightly heaving, "How far do you want to take this?"

Your body reacts to his mere inquiry for consent and your walls clench onto nothing. "F-fuck... Fuck me..."

In a second, your top is pushed up to expose your sports bra. Mentally you're happy with yourself that you've picked your nicest one to wear today. Coincidentally though, from the amount of movement and your position on the ground, it slightly rode up, giving Alan a teasing sight of your underboob.

Alan wets his lips from the sight and starts trailing kisses up your torso, using his nose to push your bra further up until your tits spill out and around his face.

You moan out from the strange stimulation of fabric slowly sliding up and slightly arch your back. Just enough for Alan to again slide his hands under you and press you as close to himself as he can without hurting you.

Alan looks back up at you from the valley of your breasts, "How do you want this?"

With cockiness at his continuous consideration of your wants, you can't help but to chuckle and run your hand through his hair to push some of it out of his face, "Fuck me hard... Make me unable to walk for the rest of the week."

Your wish makes Alan freeze again, "Y/N, I-"

He feared this. There seems to be a very thin line between pleasurable pain and pain of genuinely getting hurt, and Alan doesn't even want to approach that line. The things that have happened in his past made him fear his own power and if he hurt yet another person, he doesn't think he'd be able to live with himself anymore.

"Alan, I can take it. I'm extremely durable, remember?" you interrupt Alan to remind him about the fact that for you, becoming a ghoul came with more benefits than merely a stigma or bigger strength. It was actually on a mission with Alan, where you'd discovered your extreme durability while a building collapsed on you. "Besides, If you were really hurting me, I'd let you know..."

"Promise?"

"Pinky promise." you kiss Alan reassuringly and move to undo all the buttons on his shirt that you have access to.

He sets you back on the ground and stops you. Sitting up he quickly undoes all the remaining buttons on his vest as well as his shirt and tosses the vest to the side.

You can't wait anymore and so your hands start unzipping your shorts and eagerly reaching out to undo Alan's pants.

By the time you're both undressed enough, you're more than eager to feel him inside you and so is he.

"H-hurry up already! You know how much Leo likes to catch you with your pants down!" you laugh a bit at your pun, mostly out of impatience.

Alan doesn't even answer, but instead chooses to tease your hole with his tip. With one last look, he asks for the third time for your consent and as you nod, finally pushes himself inside you.

A sigh of relief leaves your lips and you reach out for Alan to bring him back down to your level as he starts moving and slowly picking up speed.

Your hands quickly find themselves in Alan's hair, bringing his head up to yours to kiss him again, this time more in a more heated way.

The sound of your flesh meeting and your wet kiss sounds much louder in the empty and quiet room, that sparks a bit of anxiety inside your chest. What if one of the two remaining ghouls happen to hear you?

You're interrupted from your brief thoughts by Alan letting out few erotic grunts, which unintentionally make you clench around him.

"If you're worried they'll hear us, don't. Last time I checked he was taking a bath and bandana was doing something around his truck."

It's almost like he could read your thoughts.

"Ah.. Good~... Fuck!" is all you can muster up as your breath is repeatedly knocked out by Alan's now-powerful thrusts.

"Hah... You getting close?" Alan asks, clearly getting close to his own orgasm.

"Y-yeah... Just ne-need a bit more... Nngh!"

You both hate to admit it, but it's been too long since each one of you got to enjoy the closeness of another person, which only helped fuel the tension and heat between the two of you.

Alan tries to hold off as much as he can, but he still finishes a few seconds before you. Not that you mind it that much.

After riding out both of your orgasms, he pulls out and collapses next to you. Not out of tiredness, but more out of habit. Only now it dawns on you how hard the surface underneath you is. Well, that's gonna hurt once you decide to get up.

"So..."

"So...?"

"Where do we go from this?"

"Hm... Let me think-" you're interrupted from your another flirting by the sound of your ringtone.

With some struggle you get on your all fours and crawl towards your stuff on the other side of the Pit. Unlocking your phone, you find out it's Leo calling you.

"Congrats on the relationship, but the next time can you fuck more quiet? I'm trying to listen in on Sho's call with the honor student."

[smol-bean-of-the-smols]

im holding back posting a wip of a kajii drawing rn becauase im so excited about how its turning out and how hot he looks in it but i dont really like posting unfinished stuff that will end up getting finished

trust me im being abnormal about this

feel like im gonna explode if i dont at least vaguely mention it

this is what i get for drawing the guy im down nefariously for

[canisalbus]

I love the shape language for Machete and Vasco, how angular and pointy the former is VS how round and soft the other... It's so GOOD I adore that

Thank you! I like the contrast as well, it makes them very fun to draw together. I try to keep them visually distinct while still making sure that they look harmonious and complementary next to each other.

[the-ace-of-fools]

[cuteniaarts]

The weight of the world is a heavy burden

Especially for a child

(Or, in slightly less dramatic terms – I imagine that the first of her past lives that Avatar Suiren [who is the Avatar after Aang instead of Korra in my AU, and also Ghazan and Ming-Hua’s daughter] gets to talk to is Yangchen, because she is too plagued by memories not her own [including Jetsun’s death, fun fact]. And Yangchen wouldn’t want another child to go through what she did on their own)

(Or maybe someone just needed an excuse to draw @katkastrofa’s latest obsession in a context that interests them as well, just in time to maybe cheer her up a little? You can’t prove anything)

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 6!!!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Ok I’m glad I found the actual ask box instead of the EMBARASSING thing I did earlier, aside from that

How long does it usually take you to make a drawing? :3 I know it’s different depending on the caliber of the drawing but for an example let’s say just Barnaby and Wally doing whatever in a scene

I’m very curious about your process!! ^w^

i just saw what you mean and for your sake i'll Pretend I Did Not See lol. its ok tho it happens, Tumblr's a tough cookie to wrangle

hm. it Does vary wildly, both depending on quality, how used to scribbling a thing i am, and how well the art-mojo is flowing! on a bad night, a simple sketch could take an hour while the same sketch on a good night could take 15 minutes

and it's also hard to say since i don't really keep track! for example, The First One in this collage is a more involved sketch and i suspect it took thirty minutes maybe? i remember having some Difficulties so maybe longer? trying to get size differences between multiple characters in the same sketch adds a Lot of time, as does making sure they interact properly. while the last one in the collage (the Nom) probably took closer to ten minutes

i know the Laughingstock in Aziracrow's outfits i belted out in, oh... an hour or three? it's really hard to say! i think it was several bc i was watching gomens at the time, and i think it got through a couple of episodes... clothes add a lot of time! but certain things that i thought i did Quickly took hours in reality, and i only notice when i look up and see the clock has Changed Drastically! i have a very loose perception of time!

it really just depends on my motivation & how used to drawing something i am. like scribbling Eddie takes a while, lots of guidelines and erasing and redrawing. but scribbling Barnaby? easy. takes me seconds in comparison. way less guidelines - i know where everything is and where it goes! drawing dragons takes even less time - This One was done in a Blink, and the only guides i used were head circle / snout circle / jawline.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Professional Indiscretion

Inspired by this post

Warnings: non/dubcon, degradation, demeaning behaviour, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Summary: a colleague returns from a recent vacation but is less than relaxed.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’ve honed the skill of indifference long ago. The voices that carry from down the hall meld together in a dull buzz as you push them to the back of your mind. You’re less concerned with the latest water cooler gossip as your deadline bears down on you. 

You hate when a project comes down to the line. It couldn’t be helped. What should have been a two-person assignment was dropped solely in your lap. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Your colleagues are less than reliable. 

As their voices glaze over each other, you shrug of your resent. They all have their obligations; golf rounds or the windfall of courtside tickets. You’ve never been afforded the luxury of a half-day to go play. You are the dependable one; as far as your coworkers are concerned, you have nothing going on besides picking up their slack. 

Work is work. You don’t linger on it; you just get it done. A peel of laughter jars you from your focus. You should close your door but that’s just an invitation. The last time, they simply moved in front of your door and spoke even louder. It’s like a game to them. 

Caroline’s bubbly laughter trills down the hall. She’s joined the rabble. One of the young temps the men love to flirt with. ‘Oh it makes me feel young again.’ Ugh, you couldn’t imagine turning the clock back twenty years. You’re happy that era of your life is over. 

You squint at the monitor and review your work. There’s a subtle tap on your doorframe. Your flicks up and back down. Loki. 

“Yes, how can I help you?” You ask as your fingers flutter over the keyboard. 

“Good afternoon to you too,” he drawls as he breaks the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” you continue to type. You try not to think of how this was meant to be his project. 

“I’m only doing my rounds. As you know, I was recently abroad and I brought back some sweets,” he crosses your office and sets a blurry object down in your peripheral. 

“That’s generous, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” You say. 

“You’re welcome,” he overrides your protest. 

You sniff, “thanks.” 

He’s quiet as he stands across from you. His gaze hangs over you like a dark cloud. You check the auto-save and retract your hands. You push your shoulders back and look at him. 

“You were the only who didn’t come out to congratulate me,” he muses. 

You sit straight. You are not unkind or inconsiderate. You just don’t come to work to socialize. You signed the card they sent with the flowers. 

“Congratulations on your wedding. It seems it was a success,” you say. 

He doesn’t react right away. He just stares at you. His green eyes are sharp and his lips a thin line. It isn’t the ego stroking he was looking for. You’re not quite sure what more to say. You’re not very familiar. 

He scoffs, “I see.” 

You blink, confused by the derision in his tone. You look at him past your monitor as he slowly pivots on his heel. It scuffs loudly and he marches to the door. He stops right before it then delicate grabs the handle and draws it shut. 

You tilt your head curiously, “I’m just finishing up a project, so I don’t have very much time--” 

“You’ve always been a dry old spinster, haven’t you?” He slithers as he faces you again. 

“Pardon?” You’re genuinely stunned by his accusation. It’s not the first time you’ve met with that sort of spite. There is a contempt reserved only for older women. 

“Yes, you strut around here as if you are a queen. Above us all, and I come to you with a token of good will, a souvenir from my honeymoon, and it only reminds you of how utterly pathetically alone you truly are,” he sneers. “So you offer me that trite look and your empty tiding.” 

You scrunch your lips in surprise and cup your hand in confusion, “nothing of the like. I’m sorry, I am rather busy with my work--” 

“Oh but this isn’t just today. It’s how it’s always been. You cannot be happy for anyone for your own misery,” he tuts. 

“If that’s what you think,” you sit back calmly. “I think you should go.” 

He lingers on the other side of your desk, “it’s because she’s young, I know it.” 

“What?” 

“My new wife. I see how it makes you bristle to know a man of your peerage couldn’t be bothered with you. You see, women age differently. They become bitter.” He snarls. 

“I hardly see how this is appropriate. I am asking you to go--” 

He sets his stance and lowers himself into the chair across from you. He smirks and pushes back his dark curls. Your spine locks up. That look in his eye, you’ve seen that in men before. 

“I know what the matter is,” he pushes his feet wide and grips his thighs. He postures so his shoulders are wide and high. “How long has it been?” 

You refuse to acknowledge his jeer. You shift to your monitor and go back to your editing. He clucks. 

“Months, years?” He suggests. 

“I’m busy,” you insist, keeping your eyes averted. 

“What the wife doesn’t know...” he growls. 

You flinch, appalled by his suggestion. 

“Leave,” you say. 

He snickers. “Are you so resigned to your feeble existence? Those lonely nights? In your condo, drinking your chardonnay, reclining on your chaise and reading the latest lascivious rag written for pruny old divorcees?” 

You freeze then slowly look at him. It could be a cruel assumption, though it isn’t untrue. In fact, it is far too accurate to be a coincidence. Down to the chaise and the chardonnay. 

“And that toy you keep in your jewelry box,” he curls a finger to mimic the curved shape. “Do you even feel it anymore?” 

“Get out,” you hiss. 

He smirks and arches a brow, “come.” 

He beckons with two fingers. You clutch the armrests of your chair and your nose flairs. You glare back at him, horrified. A newly married man and he’s here propositioning you. What’s more, he’s been watching you. 

“You’re disgusting--” 

“Get up,” he rubs his thigh. “And come here.” 

“HR--” 

“Oh, I know Bradon well. I will be happy enough to explain how you’ve grown so jealous of my young wife. You’re overworked so of course you couldn’t control yourself--” 

“He wouldn’t believe you--” 

“Wouldn’t he? We play squash on Sundays. He knows my character well. An upstanding member of the country club--” 

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say? Hm? Congratulations on your pretty young wife. Now, you should go home to her,” you snip. 

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he taunts as his eyes narrow snakishly. “I want you to come sit in my lap so I can show you how useless that toy truly is.” 

“You are--” 

“I am your villain,” he undercuts you. “And you have two choices. You can finish that project and submit it and have it tossed out for your indiscretions or you can do what I tell you and still have a job to support you wined-up erotica sessions.” 

You curl your lip, repulsed. There’s no point in asking why. Men do not operate on logic. 

“What’s it going to be?” 

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath. You push yourself to your feet and steady yourself. You move stiffly around the desk, eyes on the wall as you near him. As you get close, he grabs your hip and turn you. He forces you down so roughly that your ankles bend. 

You catch yourself on him, grabbing his hands as he grips you tight, and you writhe against his obvious arousal. A man like him can only get off on his own ego. You shudder and grasp his wrists. 

He pulls you back against his and rests his chin on your shoulder. You squirm as he untangles his arm from your hold. He hooks his arm around your stomach as his other tugs at your skirt. You huff and claw at his sleeves. 

“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point--” 

He shoves his hand against your panties, pushing the satin between your folds. You gasp and twitch. You push your thighs together and crush his fingers. It only adds pressure. 

“You remember the day I started,” he turns to nuzzle your neck as he speaks, “and you had to make it known that you weren’t an assistant advisor, you were a senior.” He moves his fingers between the clutch of your tensed thighs. “That you were above me?” 

“No, I--” you gulp slap at his wrist. 

“Oh, and look at you now. Still above me, eh? Right there... on top of me,” he buries his hand against you and nips at your neck meanly. “You will be on your knees soon enough,” he flicks his fingers harshly and you spasm. “Right where you belong.” 

[swordmaid]

having shri’iia thoughts as one does bc GUESS who’s save file completely died when the new patch came out nooo we have to replay her again 🤭 alas. just stewing on the thought of how she never got to fuck her Mistress even though she wanted to…!!!! like she was out there getting psychologically tortured and mind broken but she was just like WHY won’t you fuck me im literally doing everything for you. which is so bad for her, woman who already has an excruciatingly low self worth because she missed the mark on the standard for lolth’s children (and that’s worse than not fitting in the standard at all) by something out of her own control btw (not being born in a noble house) but she’s been recognised and blessed by her goddess, and she’s been invited to join a drow house so everything should be good right?? she should be desirable right?? finally everything is correct and well and good and the way it should be right????? but no..!! it’s not..!! and so she’s doing everything for this woman, no dignity left, literally doing anything to get her approval, to be told that she’s finally enough, and she’s finally fitting in - and she gets it sometimes, she gets ignored most times tbh and it’s just this painful excruciating stew of self loathing and insecurity that she’s in, and she’s in there for a century but the thing is she can’t even give up. it’s not in her nature to. and she’s done too much to just give up , and she’s been doing this for a long time that she can’t give up and lolth didn’t raise no quitters so she sticks by it, trying to achieve that hopeless praise. but then one day she gets dropped like nothing, everything she’s done and suffered and worked towards and sacrificed gets thrown out bc her goddess isn’t pleased with her and good luck going home btw you’re not welcome here anymore bc ur pathetic. the rug gets pulled under her feet and she’s left in this strange world that she can barely navigate in let alone speak the language and u expect her to b fine with that…?