#no beta we die like man

[nick-writes-stuff]

One-sided Reunion

In-ho/Young-il x gn!reader

Summary: You had been friends with In-ho since you were kids. In the games, there is a man who reminds you of the ghost from your past. In-ho couldn't help but ask you about him, and after the conversation goes poorly, he realizes how dire your situation is.

! warnings: discussing canon-typical violence

a/n: it's finally here! this was so fun to write, and i'm so excited to start writing more for squid game characters. there may be a part two to this one, so keep an eye out if you're interested.

In-ho expected a lot of things when he decided he would go undercover as a player in the newest set of games. He expected Player 456 to try to help the others beat the game with his past experiences. He expected to witness the plans to overthrow the gamemakers in action. He expected the usual danger and chaos and violence. He'd seen his fair share of games before.

He had never expected to see you. He must have skipped over your file during the recruitment process.

This was a pleasant surprise, of course. He always knew that leaving you behind was one of the hardest things he had to do when he left. Sure, leaving his family was another regret as well, but they had definitely become fed up with his behavior before he left for the games. And now, with what happened with Jun-ho, he grew to accept the fact that that bridge had been burned.

He didn't even know how you would have ended up in a place like this anyway. You were never the type to gamble, get caught up in illegal activity, or associate with loan sharks and the like. He figured you must have been there either to help someone or because someone dragged you down with them. He later found this out to be the case, as your father had been having money troubles and used you to try to dig himself out of the hole he made. In-ho had never liked your father.

The first time he saw you, his gaze lingered for a moment to try to make sure it was really you. Luckily, you hadn't noticed him staring, and he averted his gaze to avoid your suspicion. During the preparation process, he did catch you staring at him, however. He pretended not to notice. He didn't change too much appearance-wise since you last saw him, but the years apart were enough to cloud your memory for him to go unnoticed. His demeanor had definitely changed since you saw him as well. He was hardly the same man you knew.

You had definitely changed as well. You were still undeniably you, but there was a bit of that infectious spark gone from you. Your eyes were no like bright and expressive, likely from the struggles you face outside. He wondered how much of those struggles were caused by him. The two of you were very close growing up, and while the bond with his wife and his brother had been stronger, both of those bonds have been permanently severed. Your bond with him may also be severed by this point. He wouldn't know.

When you first started hanging around Gi-hun's group, he realized how much he has really missed you. Your humor, your wit, your compassion. You both worked amazingly together, and it felt like old times. He watched over you in the games as much as he could without suspicion.

After Mingle, Gi-hun had suggested that they start maintaining a look-out schedule to ensure the X's safety during the night. He seemed to anticipate another fight like the one that occurred during his first game. He was entirely correct in this assumption, as the Special Game was scheduled to start the next day after dinner. Dae-ho and himself were given first watch, but the ex-marine tapped out rather quickly. He left to go wake up someone else to continue.

When he heard footsteps, he turned to look but he couldn't make out anything except the red X patch on the jacket.

"Mind if I sit?" He heard your voice.

He shook his head. "No, it's fine."

You sat next to him with a soft yawn. While he and Dae-ho had been sitting in near silence, the two of you couldn't resist quietly chatting. About the games, about the voting situation, about the other players. Once you exhausted those topics, the conversation moved to things more personal.

"You know, you remind me of someone I knew outside of here." You said softly, looking over to the man beside you. You could hardly read the expression on his face in the dark, but you think he raised an eyebrow.

He was conflicted. On one hand he wanted to know how you felt about him—the real him—after he had left, but he didn't know how he would feel about your answer. What if you hated him? He knew how his mother and brother likely felt, and with his wife passing, you were really his only other connection to his life before the games.

Ultimately, he gave into the gnawing curiosity and decided to play along. "Oh really?".

You nodded. "Yeah, you look a lot like him." You started, pausing for a moment as you thought. "Or at least what I remember him looking like."

He acted puzzled by your phrasing, but he knew where this was going. "What do you mean by that?" He asked.

Your expression darkened, looking away from the man inside you. "I haven't seen him in a long time. It's been almost 4 years since he..." You trailed off, not knowing how to put the situation into words.

Young-Il frowned slightly. "Oh... I'm sorry. How did he pass?" He asked.

You shook your head. "No, he isn't dead. At least I don't think he is." You said before sighing. Your gaze lowered to your lap as you began fidgeting with your fingers

"He was a friend of mine since we were kids. I lived a few minutes away from where he and his brother lived. I remember he would always walk me home to my house and then turn around and go to his house. His mom was always annoyed with him because of it but he never stopped." You recalled, chuckling softly.

He forced his expression to remain the same even though he wanted to smile as he, too, recalled this pleasant memory. "He sounds like he is a great man." He said.

"Oh, he's the best." You said with a smile. "He had always been the kind of person that would give you the shirt off his back if you needed it. He even donated his kidney to his younger brother when he had gotten sick."

He had two internal reactions to your description of him. Part of him was beaming with pride as you described him, glad you still thought of him highly after so many years. But there was also a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach as he wondered how you would react if you knew what he had actually been doing in the past few years.

He pressed further, indulging his curiosity about what you thought of him after everything that had happened. "What happened to him?" He asked, pausing before continuing, "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

You shook your head, murmuring a soft. "No, it's fine." before beginning: "Life gave him a bad deal. His wife had gotten sick, and they were struggling to pay for her treatments. He got fired from him job as a police officer. His brother told me he accepted a bribe, but I can't imagine him doing that."

He nodded slightly, making sure his expressions didn't raise any suspicion.

"His wife passed away in the hospital shortly after, and he kind of just disappeared. Packed some stuff and wasn't heard from again." You finished your thought. You took a deep breath to try to keep your composure.

He frowned. "That's awful." He said, shaking his head. Part of him felt awful for prompting you to talk about this when it clearly upset you, but another part selfishly wanted to know what you and his family thought of him now. He felt like a ghost haunting his own funeral, getting to find out what others thought of him when he shouldn't have been able to hear it. "Did anyone ever figure out what happened to him?"

You shook your head. "No. His brother tried to push for an investigation, but the leads ran dry. I know his family is still hoping that he's out there somewhere, but at least his brother is starting to lose that hope." You said.

"What do you think happened?"

The second he asked it, he wished he could take it back. You looked over at him in shock at his eagerness to know.

He felt his heart in his throat as he bowed his head slightly began to speak. "That was out of line, I apologize. I was wondering-"

"No it's fine I just..." You cut him off before pausing. "I just haven't tried to give it too much thought. Sounds too macabre."

Young-il nodded, understanding your hesitation. "That makes sense. I couldn't imagine that being an easy task."

In-ho, however, was somewhat dissatisfied with your answer. He struggled to believe that you hadn't given his disappearance thought until now.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. The pause was much more awkward than he would have preferred. He thought about excusing himself to get out of the conversation, but you began to speak before he could suggest the idea.

"Honestly, it doesn't really matter what happened to him." You said softly.

His expression quickly turned into an almost confused disgust. What do you mean you don't care what happened to him? He was clearly taken aback by your comment.

You also gave him a puzzled look. He quickly remembered that he shouldn't have reacted so strongly to your statement. It definitely seemed strange for someone you had just met to react that way to a situation that didn't involve him.

Luckily, instead of questioning him, you rephrased your statement. "I mean that in the sense that no matter what happened, I just hope he's happy. I don't need an answer about his whereabouts specifically, but I just want to know if he's okay." You said, taking a deep breath to try to maintain your composure.

"How are you content with sitting by and not searching for him? If I were in your shoes, I would find him over anything." Young-il asked, trying to sound as empathetic as possible. Hopefully, you take his statement as him asking for advice rather than an attack on your character.

Your head snapped up to look at him. Your eyes narrowed as your gaze turned to a glare. You definitely didn't take that as a request for advice.

"Excuse me?" You asked, your voice louder than before but not loud enough to cause a commotion during lights out.

He tried to salvage the situation. "That came out the wrong way. What I meant was-"

"I really don't care what you meant. I just don't appreciate you accusing me of not caring about my best friend."

"That was not my intention. I was just..." He trailed off. Wait. Your best friend? You still considered him your best friend even after all these years.

He didn't have a lot of time to ponder your statement as you continued.

"I love him, okay? I've known him since I was seven years old. I would do anything to find him. You have no idea how desperately I searched for him, even longer than the police and his brother."

He couldn't do anything but sit there and take it all in. The whole situation was somewhat poetic. He was both the object of your fury and your admiration. You spat words at him about how much you cared about him.

You paused for a moment to sniffle softly and wipe the tears running down your cheeks. You took a deep breath before continuing. Your voice was quieter and your words were chosen more deliberately, but he could tell you were just as angry as before.

"My acceptance of his disappearance is not because I don't care about him. If he is out there living somewhere else without me in his life, that's fine as long as he's happy. I've only accepted the fact that maybe I wasn't enough for him, okay? Good enough of an answer for you?"

Despite all of the thoughts running through his head, he couldn't manage to say anything in response to you. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. After a moment of waiting, you scoffed and stood up. You headed back toward your bed, intending to wake up Gi-Hun for him to continue watch with Young-il.

In-ho knew he shouldn't have pried any further. How did he think you would be okay with him asking such questions? To you, he was a stranger, so he shouldn't have been so invested in your answers, but he couldn't resist. He really didn't have anything to lose at this point. This time tomorrow, he would be back in his position of the Front Man, and you could very well die in the games.

That realization hit him like a sack of bricks.

You could die in the games.

And he would have to watch it happen.

He felt a pit forming in the bottom of his stomach, finally beginning to comprehend the severity of the situation you both were in. He wasn't sure why it hadn't hit him earlier. Maybe while he was still a player, he thought he would be able to better protect you. But whenever he steps back into his role, he was going to be powerless to save you.

Ironic, considering he was one of, if not the most, influential man in the games.

Wait. He wasn't powerless at all. Quite the opposite, actually. It wouldn't be easy, but he could pull some strings to help increase the odds of your survival. He could do it tactfully in hopes that the staff wouldn't pick up on his intentions. But even if they did, it was highly unlikely any of them would have the gumption to confront him about it.

Even so, it seems like the players may choose to terminate the games after the tied vote anyway. If he played his cards right, he could orchestrate a way for you to come across him in the outside world.

But there was a glaring problem with this plan. If he ever met you in person again, you would likely realize that he was Young-il even if he introduced himself as In-ho. During the games, your constant adrenaline and overall fatigue would cloud your perception for now, but in the outside world, you likely would be able to see through the man's dual identities. Assuming you made it through the games. He had faith that you are capable of doing so, but this group of players is highly chaotic.

If you ever did find out about his position in the games, would you ever be able to forgive him for causing you and countless others so much pain and suffering? Thousands of players have died in the games, and some would argue that, therefore, they died by his hands. Even more than that, their families have to deal with the sudden disappearance of their loved ones. People outside the games would never understand that the positives outweigh the suffering tenfold.

There was one glimmer of hope left for him to ponder. You did say that you would do anything to have him back in your life.

Maybe anything could include setting aside your morals and accepting that the games do have merit to them. All he's doing is trying to better the world. No matter how unpleasant the means.

He made up his mind. He'd do whatever he could to get you out of there. He wouldn't make you win, of course. That would be too far and a clear violation of the rules. It was also wholly unnecessary for his reasoning.

However, getting you out unharmed is doable. That's something they've all done before after Il-nam wanted to become a player. And it was even happening with himself to a lesser extent. There's nothing that could stop him from pulling you out one way or another.

There were a lot of problems that may occur. Would you realize he was himself and not just Young-il? Would you even give him the time of day once learning his role in all of this? Could you even forgive him for leaving in the first place?

No matter. You were really his last shot at having any aspect of his past life back. He has no job to return to. His wife is gone. And he ruined any chance of reuniting with his brother when he put the bullet in his chest. You were it for him.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Ghost Headcanons

TW: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, SA, abuse, canon typical violence. I got tired of seeing ooc Ghost stuff so here are my headcanons. (Yes, I know this is a repost, I'm sorry, but I heavily edited it so I am just gonna repost it) I'm so sorry. Starts off light, gets heavy under the break

All day Jan 1st it’s ‘I haven’t showered since last year’ ‘I haven’t slept since last year’. He may not be a dad, but he is the king of the Worlds Worst Dad Jokes competition. You've debated getting him a trophy a few times.

He prefers a quiet new years, watching the ball drop on T.V. as opposed to fireworks, (He humors you and Johnny though, and will buy a small pack for yall to set off) He's not scared of the sound, but the people and the being outside in dark in the middle of the night is what gets him. You're content with setting firecrackers off in the backyard.

He delights in the fact that his mask scares children, finds it hilarious. He loves Halloween, even if its not widely celebrated where he's at.

Says the oddest shit sometimes, like things that make you question his sanity. (aka you think the wind is ever tryin to tell us something?)

In a relationship he would be unintentionally emotionally abusive. And I say unintentionally because I don’t think he would realize how much he’s hurting you, because ‘it’s just words’. He would never, ever lay a hand on you, but he would 100% berate, belittle, and demean you.  

Don’t get me wrong, he would love you so, so much, but this man has a lot of baggage.(His father, Roba, Tommy, ect.) He has a lot of anger pent-up inside, and it comes out anytime you disagree, which happens a lot. He would be passive-aggressive and knows what to say to hurt you.

 He is so, so good a picking out your insecurities and using them against you. It was a defense mechanism he learned at a very young age, and it's one he's never grown out of.

He used to resource hoard(still does actually). At the beginning of his day with the 141 he would have stashes of food hidden away, bottles of water, articles of clothing. That specific aspect was trained out of him, but he simply moved his focus to people.

I don’t think he would ever have children because he knows he is fundamentally broken, but if he did, he would tolerate 0 disrespect from them. Again, he would never lay a hand on them, but yelling, screaming, breaking things is all fair game. 

He would love them so much, and would do anything for them, but again, he has a lot of trauma. He would love them though. If he’s home, he goes to daddy-daughters dances, talent-shows, plays, swim-meets, anything. If your kids are in it, he’s there. 

He would not be an alcoholic. He saw what drugs and alcohol did to his family, he would never let that happen to him. He hates drugs, and when he’s in the med-bay even morphine is pushing it for him. He never has more than 2 drinks when his squad goes to the bar. He will not be his father. 

Like I said before, he knows he has issues. And he tries. He really does try. He tries to better, he tries to not be so angry. He really, really does. He doesn't apologize, but he'll come home with flowers if he knows he really messed up.

Sometimes you wonder if its worth it, but then you look back and see how far hes come, how far you've both come, and you decide to keep working at it.

He shows his affection in gentle touches, clasping your shoulder, patting your arm, touching knees together. He’s fine with kissing, as long as it’s in private, and he would have sex with you, but he is not some feral beast. 

This man is not a sub. He would need to be in control, I feel that feeling powerless while having sex would trigger him, yk? On that note, he would not be overly sexual, in fact he barely even likes sex. This man was SA’d and tortured, and he def has issues with it. It took years for him to get comfortable enough with you to do anything more than kissing.

And that's all for now, let me know if you want a part 2, or if you want to see hc for any other characters or specific situations :3

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that out-smartassing Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable. 

[bullshxtvixen]

Imagine saying to Zoro you aren’t scared of anything so he decides to put that to the test in the bedroom and pulls out Enma when he’s got you naked on his sheets.

He’ll gently drag the blade down your body, the sharp tip ghosting over your skin in a deadly caress.

Your stiff posture and hitched breaths when he runs the tip of the blade over your throat and down across your nipple make him think you’re ready to admit that maybe you are scared of something.

But you say nothing as you continue to lock eyes with him, almost daring him to do more.

“Tch, stubborn woman.”

Of course he’s also one of the most stubborn men you’ve ever met so he’s not just going to give in that easily.

Keeping his eyes on you, he oh so carefully runs blunt edge through your folds.

You should be terrified. You should be running for the hills, but when Zoro pulls the blade back and finds it dripping in your essence, you can’t keep the smirk off your face.

You do, however, nearly come on the spot when he brings the blade to his lips and licks it clean.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dick (enthusiastically, catching a whiff): Alfred, what did you cook? It smells great!

Alfred (holding up a wine glass, with a sly smile): I didn’t, Master Bruce did.

Dick (confused, looking between them): Like he ordered it?

Bruce (sitting at the table, a forkful of pasta in hand): I made it! Why do people assume I can’t cook? I’m Batman!

Dick (raising an eyebrow, teasing): That’s not— Actually, that might be a good reason since nothing is on fire.

Alfred nodded, swishing his wine around in his glass with a knowing smile.

Alfred (impressed): I’m shocked too. He made creamy spaghetti with pesto.

Bruce (sheepishly, glancing away): I may have gotten the idea from a Pinterest video.

Alfred (smirking): That’s literally where you got it from. I’m genuinely surprised you didn’t mess up, and also proud of you.

Bruce (with a hint of defensiveness): I’m not Dick or Tim or Cass… or Stephanie when she made that cake.

Dick (nodding, a bit rueful): I wish he wasn’t right. I try to cook, I do, but sometimes I get distracted.

Bruce (still enjoying his meal, scoffing): And you think you could be Batman?

Dick (rolling his eyes): Good for you at least. I still know stuff you’re bad at.

Bruce (sarcastically): When you tell me, I’ll pay you.

[holnnetd]

Omg omg omg, how does Konig react when he sees a bunny hybrid in comparison???

Now that got me thinking.

How would König react to Hare!Reader next to a bunny hybrid?

(To be absolutely honest, I don't know. So this is badly written, sorry not sorry😊 please make specific requests or I will disappear for 5 months with no other idea about what to write 😞)

"Sht." He held his hand up to silence any noise you might have made. You both stood before the old, wooden door, his hand clutching onto the rifle, tightening his grip before checking the handle, confirming that the metal is twistable.

With a deafening silence, he pushed the handle and charged in, rifle at eye level, making sure no one was hidden in the room in the complete darkness. In case there stood someone with a knife, ready to plunge it into his very biteable neck. Good for him, no one threatening was there. You followed, covering his back in case of any surprise attack.

Not that you'd want him to stay unscarred, but your pay would be cut if he went and started complaining to the commander about you not doing your job "correctly".

...

A breathless whimper comes out from the dark corner and you avert your eyes to look at the source of fear. Ah. The hostage. God, the whole objective of this mission was a hostage rescue. Some rich assholes kid got taken as blackmail.

"Found the hostage." He murmured, talking into his radio. "The threat is neutralised. No known threats nearby." His voice rings out, ensuring we are safe for the time being. Really, it wasn't hard to find this hideout. The guys were just broke blokes, probably working for some mafia.

You glance at the not so kid like kid.

... That's a young adult, not that much of a kid.

It's a... ah... it's hard to pinpoint their gender.

The rich bastard said something about daughter and money. And some thing else, you are sure. But what it was? That's the better question.

König stares at the hybrid with light confusion. Ah yes, not only has he never met a bunny hybrid but he doesn't know what an androgynous person is.

Fucking old school. Keep up with the times my man. Its the 21st century, guys wear dresses and women peg their boyfriends with 10 inch straps. A girlish-boy or boyish-girl should be least of his concerns.

"Jesus." You huffed out, freeing your hands from any weapon and walked closer to the hostage. A rabbit hybrid. Short black ears, large beaded eyes and fairly frail with a decent amount of squish. That's a cute face though.

"Hello." You greet them, smiling. They seem to be quite confused, as one is. To be honest the kidnappers must have been so shit even their hostage wasn't scared, rather confused. "We're here to rescue." You add, glancing back at the overly silent behemoth behind you for confirmation.

He seems to be deep in thought, staring between the hostage and teammate. "... That's what?" He blurts out offhandedly, not knowing any manners.

"That's... the hostage. A person. Which is addressed by who, not what."

"Ah, yes, yes. Of course. I mean the breed." Bitch, really? Did wolfs raise you? Scratch that, even they have more respect.

"..."

It's still an ongoing discussion as to what hybrid types should be called. Breeds or races. It's... subjective, but damn... Read the room.

"They are a rabbit." You clarify. But he doesn't seem satisfied with that answer.

"...But you don't look the same." He retorts gruffly, GENUINELY confused why a rabbit isn't the same as a hare.

Of fucking course. He never learns, does he?

Ahem. Right. Lets pretend the hostage never saw the abuse you unleashed upon the huge man after that stupid comment.

"Can... can we go?" They ask slowly, staring at the huge man trying to shield himself from the fists flying his way.

"Ah, yes." He gruffs, feeling that the hits you laid on him might end up with a bruise on his already scarred skin.

"So, you two are related? Do your 'periods' sync up?" A humourless joke came out of his mouth and I'm pretty sure that might be the last joke he has ever voiced.

"Okay, now you crossed the line." Is all he hears before his nose was broken. Once more.

He has only himself to blame.

[keiru-the-worm]

guys I'm sane and normal about him...swear

[lifes-eternal-ghoul]

Just some phantom doodles and stuff.... Nom num nummy?

[starker-raving-mads]

For You: Part I

This is for @spiderlinging who decided this level of angst needed to exist.

Have thoughts on a follow up, unsure if I'll do it.

Edit: decided to make this multi-parted.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX

›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹›‹

It had been a week since the last battle with Thanos. A week since the Blipped had returned everyone, a week since Peter awoke to Dr. Strange leading him through a portal straight into battle.

A week since Tony died.

It's all Peter can think about. The only thing he can think about. Not how traumatizing two battles back to back was, not the chaos and insanity of war, not even of how happy he should be that May and Ned and MJ are actually okay.

Instead, it's Tony, Tony, Tony. His thoughts had revolved around the older man for years now, so it wasn't new. But normally it was excitement, arousal, anticipation, joy. Now, though, it's hugging him as he felt like he was being ripped apart by the Blip. The joy of finding him and being dragged to him in a fierce hug, mid-battle, the billionaire's hands running through his hair. His voice, soft and full of this sort of grieving happiness.

"Peter," he'd said, "oh god, Peter."

And finally it was Mr. Stark's face as he sat dazed against a piece of wreckage amidst the chaos. How blank his eyes were, how little of the man was left, barely hanging on.

That face haunted his dreams, the emptiness filling up his nightmares.

And now here he was, at a lake house he could've never seen Tony living in, with people around him crying and mournful. Like they'd lost a friend when Peter felt like he'd lost a limb. Like his whole heart was being shoved out onto that lake with the last part of Tony Stark he'd ever get to see. Behind him, Happy was talking quietly to Morgan, Tony's kid - Peter's goddaughter, apparently.

He never knew you could make a dead person a godparent before, but there's a lot of things Peter never knew.

Like the thing is - Peter thought he knew grief, knew loss. His parents when he was a kid, Uncle Ben just after he'd gotten his powers. These were huge, space-taking people in his soul but losing Tony? Losing Tony was worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. He felt bad about it, sometimes. Because shouldn't his family have been the ones that meant the most, hurt the most? But then again, Tony had been everything. He'd always sort of thought he loved Tony in the way someone might love an idol, like his feelings were somehow offset by hero worship and being a teenager but it was so much more than that.

It might've started off that way, but after years of knowing him, being his friend through tough times and glad ones - it morphed along the way without him really noticing it. Got deeper, got more meaningful with every lab session and every time Tony said, "Just stay the night kid, you know where your room is. Aunt Hottie doesn't need to be woken up at 3AM with you coming home anyway."

The teen thought he'd cried every ounce of pain from him in the week since the battle, but as his eyes misted up again, he turned and headed around the back of the cabin. It was empty of people on this side and he slid down in the corner where the porch extruded out of the building. Hands covering his face, barely aware of the rotting, damp leaves under him. He just needed a minute to get it together. Just one minute and he'd -

A sound of footsteps approaching, light ones, made him stand back up again and wipe his face free of tears. He knew from experience that his eyes would be a horrible red against how pale his skin was, but there was nothing to be done about it.

Around the corner came Pepper in her funeral clothes, looking at him blankly. It was clear she'd been looking for him but he couldn't figure out why. They just stared at each other for a second, neither moving, and as the moments ticked on he got increasingly uncomfortable and awkward around this powerhouse of a woman he'd never really spent time with.

"Sorry, I just needed to step away for a - "

"He did it because of you, you know," she said, voice as neutral as her face. He blinked at her.

"I'm sorry, what - ?"

"He did it for you." And there was the anger. Her face transformed with it, skin flushing a red that clashed with her hair in a way that was still, somehow, beautiful. It was easy to see why Tony picked her out of everyone. Before he could say anything, she continued. "He told me," she said, tears clouding her voice, nose stuffing up with emotion, "that he'd figured it out. Figured out how to save everyone."

She laughed and it was the most hateful sound he'd ever heard. Shaking her head, smiling in a way that said 'fed up', she said, "But I knew. I knew he didn't do it to be the savior of humanity. His ego was always big, and he was always willing to sacrifice if he thought the price was worth it." She stopped again and stared at him, face contorting.

"He saved a lot of people," Peter agreed, spidey-sense screaming at him and he didn't know why. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he felt like he was being bombarded. It was nauseating.

"He didn't save people, Peter," she screeched, stomping toward him, hand fisted around a cloth handkerchief, finger pointing at his face. "Tony's ego was always enough to think he could save the world," she continued, voice as mad as a wolf's growl, "but he didn't do it for them. He did it for you." She hissed out, "He kept your picture in the kitchen and just stared at it - all the time! Stared at it like you were some missing part of him and if he just looked long enough you'd reappear." She laughed again, rolling her eyes.

Behind her, a crowd was appearing. Sam and Bucky first, eyes scoping out the situation like the heroes they were. Then Happy, peaking around. The other teenager - Harley, Peter remembered - was further back, near the trees, watching with a ducked face, riveted.

"Tony saved the universe," she agreed, voice even more watery. "But he didn't do it for them - he did it for you." She had moved forward enough now to jab her finger into his chest. "He could've killed everyone with his stupid time travel bullshit," she spat, jabbing harder. "He could've undone reality with it, he could've made it to where Morgan never existed." She sobbed and the anger started to drain from her, head bending. "But it didn't matter as long as he got you back." She sobbed again and as much as his heart was rending itself atom by atom by what she was saying, he couldn't fault her anger, her rage, her sadness.

He stepped forward and she dropped onto him, letting him hold her weight up as she continued to sob.

"He did it for you."

And Peter had never heard anything worse in his entire, fucked up existence.

How was he ever going to live with himself now, knowing this.

How?

[aurae-rori]

CSM AVENTIO AU short snippet

"Doctor," Aventurine says, as they stand there on their apartment balcony together. "What is your opinions on humans?"

"Where is this coming from?" Ratio scoffs, leaning on the railings. His irises widen, almost like a cat's, adjusting to the dark. His horns peak slightly out of his hair. He yawns, and with the light that Aventurine's lighter casts on their balcony, he can catch the way Ratio's fangs glint.

"Curiosity," Aventurine replies, and pulls out his next cigarette, placing it in front of the awaiting flame. It comes to life immediately, and he inhales it, then exhales, watching the smoke from his cigarette fade away into the dying night's sky.

"If you wish to know what I have already stated multiple times," Ratio says, "I think most humans are mediocre. They do not think for themselves. Their critical thinking skills.. gone." He glances at Aventurine's cigarettes. "Stop smoking. It'll kill you, eventually."

"Ah-ah-ah," Aventurine laughs, tilting his head back when he does. He then takes another drag. "That's the point, Doc."

"You are destroying yourself," Ratio observes, his gaze analytical.

The devil hunter grins.

The fiend stares back.

"Of course I'm destroying myself," he says. "It's a key human trait."

"I take back my observation from earlier," Ratio says instead, perfectly impassive, and yet, Aventurine can see the way his teeth grind together in the dim lighting. "Most humans are mediocre, but you are a self-sacrificial idiot."

"You've got me all figured out, don't you?" Aventurine asks with a wide, wide smile. It feels fake. It's like molten plastic on his face.

"No," Ratio replies. "I will figure you out, though."

"Good luck, fiend." It feels like a challenge. This is Aventurine's bet. He is a man of good luck - his contract to the Devil of Fortune deems it so, after all. He's been doomed since he was born, a lucky, lucky child despite the fact that Misfortune was brought to everyone around him.

Ratio will be the next to fall.

He doesn't seem bothered, though.

He grins back, all sharp teeth and inhuman eyes.

"In the pursuit of knowledge," the fiend of knowledge says, "I thank you for your luck. I won't need it."

Aventurine had known that this fiend - the fiend of knoweldge, the representation of human's fear of knowledge - would be interesting. In the way that he seemed to 'propagate' his own fear by teaching others, from the way that he enjoyed giving his knowledge to others, studying things - he was much more different then what Aventurine had in mind when it had been announced that the fiend of knowledge wanted to work with Public Safety.

However, for some reason, he was also... the perfect embodiment of knowledge. He knew too much. Inspired fear with the way he stared at people.

But not Aventurine.

Aventurine was never afraid of knowledge.

It seems that Dr. Ratio isn't afraid of misfortune, either. Maybe he believes that his knowledge will allow him to navigate the situation.

However the dice rolls..

It will be interesting.

"Here's to our new partnership," the gambler says, instead, holding up another cigarette for the fiend.

Doctor Ratio rolls his eyes, and pushes Aventurine's cigarette back towards him. His hands are warm. Almost... human.

"Keep your cigarette, gambler," he says. "I'm not intent on destroying myself in my own pursuit for knowledge, or the future. I also won't bet everything when I'm trying to achieve my goals." And then, without another word, he leaves the balcony, door sliding shut behind him as he pads back into the apartment.

Aventurine stands out there, in the cold, smoke tumbling from his lit cigarette, and the unlit one still in his other hand.

This will be interesting.

[whisperinggbreeze]

"Has anyone here heard of a god known as the Crown Prince of Xianle?"

Silence.

"Where did you hear that name?" A voice asked sharply. It belonged to General Xuan Zhen.

"I read it in a scroll, and I was curious why I'd never heard of such an interesting figure," Hua Cheng replied smoothly. "It seems like everyone is in the know except me."

General Xuan Zhen scoffed. "If by 'interesting figure,' you mean 'pain in the ass,' then sure. Be glad you've never heard of him. Don't mention him again."

[thebookbutterfly]

🦋 Chocolate Chips — John Wick x Reader

Summary: Every year you and John celebrate Helen’s birthday. This year would have been her 40th, so you decide to do something special.

Tags: #so much domestic fluff, #a teensy bit of angst, #sometimes babygirl is a 50 year old hit man, #he may kill people for a living but he is SOFT and I will not be taking any arguments about this, #slightly self indulgent

Warnings: Gender Neutral, but reader is suggested to have long hair, no use of Y/N, mentions of death obviously, no beta and no ‘ragrets’

- — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — - • - — -

John’s occupation put a lot of things in life into perspective. Getting into silly fights was simply not worth it. Not when every time he walked out the door the stakes were so high. That’s not to say that you never had disagreements. Just that neither of you were willing to partake in petty lack of communication.

You had known about Helen from the very day you and John had begun dating. It was hard not to. The man loved her so much it was written on every piece of him. Strangely though you didn’t mind. How could you? When that wonderful woman had brought him through so much shit and out to the the other side. To you.

Simply to say that Helen was a part of what made the love of your life himself. And so you didn’t mind his love for her at all. Especially now that his love for you was written all over him too.

It was Helen’s birthday today. You saved the date and had been sneakily preparing everything for weeks now. It would have been her 40th birthday, so you wanted to make it extra special this year. John had been out on a contract all day yesterday and so you weren’t too worried about him waking up as you crept downstairs and into the kitchen.

You removed the cake you had baked from the fridge where you had hidden it and placed it on the counter. Chocolate caramel. Her favourite flavour. The big silver four and zero candles were perfect. Along side the cake you placed a large vase full of daisies. It was perfect. All that was left to do was breakfast.

You set to work, cutting up fruit and frying bacon and eggs. You knew John would be starving when he woke up, he always was after a hit. You supposed hunting someone down burned a serious amount of calories. Lastly, you set to work on the pancakes. You knew they were Johns favourite and you were more than happy to indulge him, especially today. He always asked for heaps of chocolate chips in his. You rolled your eyes affectionately at the thought. He was a chocolate fiend but when he stared at you with those big brown eyes. Ugh. Who were you to say no to such a gentle, beautiful man?

You were just plating up the last of the pancakes when you heard soft footsteps padding down the stairs, followed by the excited skitter of Boy as he raced his dad down to the kitchen. John was silent as death so you knew the fact that you could hear him approach was deliberate and more for you than anything else.

Boy entered the room a minute before John did; tail wagging like crazy. You laughed at his enthusiasm and leaned down to ruffle his ears affectionately. John’s sleepy form shuffled in just as Boy managed to land a lick to your cheek. He smiled at the sight of his little family. Boy: seemingly very proud of himself and you: wiping the drool off your face as you stood to greet him.

It was unfair, you thought, for the boogeyman to be someone as cute as him. John was wearing a soft long sleeve shirt and his favourite pair of flannel pyjama pants. As usual he had stolen one of your scrunchies to pull back his long hair— a green one with ducks on it, this time.

You had offered to buy him some of his own. Cool ones to fit his bad-boy assassin image; you had teased. But he had somewhat sheepishly declared that he liked yours better. You didn’t mind. After all you stole a fair share of his clothes too. So you had compromised and bought a few extra for yourself, that way he could be a thief and you wouldn’t run out.

Johns eyes drifted to the cake and the vase of flowers on the counter, and he froze. You watched as the memories hit him one after the other. Boy, sensing his dad’s distress, waddled over to his side and plopped himself down on John’s foot. The contact jolted him back to reality and he lifted his watery eyes to yours. “You did all this?” he finally choked out.

You stepped over boy and slipped your arms around his waist.

“It would be her 40th. I wanted to do something special for her this year,” you replied before a bit of hesitancy creeped into your voice. “Is it okay?”

John wrapped his arms around you, tugging you right against his chest. It took him a minute to reply and your heart thundered as you waited for him to say something. He buried his head into your neck and you cradled him there with the palm of your hand on his nape. Keeping him safe— holding him together as he answered with tears in his voice.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Reaching with your unoccupied hand you began to trace constellations on his back. It was a habit you had gotten from him, actually, but it had stuck with you. He had spent years with nothing but violence for company, so you relished touching him gently.

Slowly, you pulled him to face you. You pressed a kiss to his forehead and swiped away his tears with your thumbs.

“I love you,” you said softly. You held him firmly willing him to really hear it.

“I love you too, so much.”

You stood there for a second, just holding his face in your hands. Enjoying the warmth of his skin. Boy sensed the shift in mood and slowly his tail began to thump against your legs.

“You had a long night last night,” you broke the silence. “Let’s get some food in you. Then after that we can light the candles and you can tell me about some of your favourite memories of Helen. Yeah?”

John nodded, straightening, but kept his grip on your waist as he surveyed all the food you had made.

“I’d love that. Do you mind if we have a look at the photos too?” He asked softly.

“I already put the photo albums out on the coffee table,” you replied with a cheeky grin.

His chest rumbled as he laughed, “Am I that predictable?”

You beamed at the sound, poking him in the ribs as he snuck Boy a piece of bacon. Big softie.

“I think I just happen to know you quite well. You’re much less mysterious than you think,” you teased him and tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear.

“Alright, I’ll accept that,” he said with one last peck on your lips. “Now, let’s eat before this goes cold.”

[hyperfixiation-station]

Ex-soldier!reader who nannies Ghosts kidd while he's away on missions. Who notice people who have never been on theirhis street before out and about. Who gets his kid out of the house just before it blows up. Who goes on the run with the kid while Ghosts enemies hunt them down. Who is injured and solely focused on keeping the kid alive. Who makes it to the safe house Ghost gave them "just in case". Who pistol-whips Soap when he shows up. Who almsot cries when the kid screams daddy as Ghost walks in behind Soap. Who resists the urge to run unto his arms just like his kid did. Who end up in them anyways when they collapse from exhaustion and stress.

Who finally gets a kiss when they wake up in the medbay.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

Congrats on 100 followers!!!! and since ur taking requests to celebrate, maybe something with a sub!viktor x afab!reader? u usually write him more dom coded so i'd love to see your take on that!!

bless you for requesting this. i had the nicest little writing session working on it. i should write more sub!viktor for sure. cw: viktor is finally getting punished for being a fucking tease. unbeliavable. word count: 600~

He sharply exhales into the curve of your neck, eyes two sad watercolor spots devouring you from under their half-lidded cover. The angle is rather inconvenient for one small pleasure you still didn’t rid him of — for the past few days Viktor has been surviving purely on staring, and by now he’d become absolutely miserable — you turned the man into a shamefully perverted suitor, stealing glances at your cleavage whenever it appeared in his visual field. He’s rarely that touchy at work — which means that your once-sweet gentleman is now at the peak of his desperation; arms wrapped around your waist, lips a warm tender pout against your shoulder, kisses hot enough to be palpable through the fabric of your blouse. Has you gasping, hands gripping the edge of his desk for support. 

“Are you feeling merciful today, by any chance?” he quietly inquires into your ear, eager to deliver a sloppy stroke on that one spot with his nimble tongue. Poor thing hasn’t been taken care of in days — cock a painful swell in his unbearably tight pants. He tries not to act too invasive, but it presses into your hip nonetheless — heavy, hot, and asking for your touch.

“That depends,” you huff out a laugh, effortlessly escaping the cage of his embrace. He swallows a groan of frustration, fingers squeeze the cane so hard he might as well just bend its sturdy handle. 

“Why must you persecute me with those vague answers?” he sighs, bright head pleadingly tilted to the side. It’s a refreshing turnover — once a tease and a smartmouth now pitifully obedient. Oh just what a few cruel sexless days do to charming brats. 

“Plainly because you haven’t earned a clear one yet,” you’re all but laughing into his face, but he doesn’t protest your mockery — oh the things he’d sacrifice to sprawl you out on his desk, tongue an agile little swirl inside your cunt — use me, fuck me, let me please you. But he prefers to address this in his own way. 

He responds by setting his cane aside, limping leg a trembling unstable thing without its support. You arch a confused eyebrow, but he doesn’t let you stay puzzled for much longer, blessing you with a pleasure of watching him sink down to his knees — a little clumsy and rather uncoordinated, yet still beautiful, and you gawk at the devotion of copper eyes looking into yours with promising yielding. 

“Viktor, what are you doing?” you hiss, evidently worried about the not exactly private setting of his workshop. But it doesn’t bother him in the slightest — the possibility of getting caught with his face buried under your skirt is certainly not something he’s fearful of. Cold hand directs the back of your palm closer to his lips, and he lingers there — mouth hovered about your knuckles before a kiss.

“I’ve grown so desperate for you,” he whispers — oh the mouthy bastard — and a chaste peck caresses your hand, forcing your breath to hitch. 

“I understand, but-“

“I’m begging you to reconsider the punishment,” he utters, meaning every word — and you’d gladly ride his face until he’s a breathless mess for the pure way he’s staring up, seeking your pity. “The lines I’d cross for your touch — if only you would have me. Please.”

He doesn’t dare to snake his other hand up your legs — he’s waiting for permission, and it might just be the death of you — your sweet, sweet man, who is definitely going to deservedly cum tonight. 

But that's your entertainment for later. 

Your fingers caress the line of his chin, and he leans into your little clemency with a thankful whimper. 

“And you promise not to get us caught?”

“Consider this whim fulfilled. As well as whatever other whims you might have in store for me.” 

[iguessigotta]

y'all know the rules with BTD stuff: 18+ ONLY, no exceptions Strade x transmale reader (nothing specific tho) we getting self indulgent tonight gonna fuck the greasy man fuck yeah here we goooooo

first off this man is GROSS. NASTY. HORRIBLE.

don't expect him to smell nice you'll just be disappointed lmao

he drinks so much beer you're sure his mouth permanently tastes like the stuff

as horrified as you are by the idea, you think you might be becoming addicted to it

Strade is ROUGH in bed

i'm talking wrenching your arms backwards while his other hand presses into the back of your neck, leaning his weight onto you and forcing your face into the bed, leaving you to struggle for tiny breaths through one nostril

he will straight up fold your ass in half (you didn't even know your body could do that)

and one time he fucking threw you across the room-

no one can deny that Strade loves marking you up - just look at what he's done to Ren!

bruises, hickeys, perfect imprints of his teeth, scabbed over and sure to leave a scar

and the toys he brings into the bedroom?

ropes, handcuffs, gags, knives, lighters, duct tape and a plastic bag over your head, suffocating you and keeping you trapped on the verge of passing out as Strade ruts into you like a feral beast

the lewd groan he lets out when you clench around him nearly makes you cum right then and there

half the time Strade isn't fucking you, not really

he's simply using your body to get off. like some kind of living fucktoy

what's worse is he tends to fall asleep afterwards with alarming speed

sometimes right there on top of you, leaving you to rut desperately against him, crushed under his weight and still fully impaled on his slowly softening dick

sometimes you wake up to him fucking himself into you - seemingly still asleep himself

you're too delirious in your own half-asleep state to stop yourself from rolling your hips against his, whining softly when he presses himself in deeper. your eyes roll back as you spread your legs, allowing Strade's sleeping body to chase its own pleasure within yours. greedily you clench again, spurring his body to fuck a bit harder into you. you use his sleeping body just as he's used yours. and as you fall asleep, Strade's body still awkwardly moving against yours, seeking the friction you'd cruelly stopped giving him, you can't help the small smile that creeps its way onto your face

and this isn't even mentioning when Strade decides to include Ren, who's face makes a great seat

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman, Barbara and her father, Jim were hanging out much to Batman's chagrin when his car's police scanner went off.

Police Scanner: There’s like three grown men, one child, two women, and a black man fighting in colorful hero suits at this weird riot at the mall... I have no idea what code to give for this, so whoever wants it can go.

Batman (groaning, rubbing his temples): Those are my stupid kids, aren’t they?

Barbara (casually munching on a coney dog in the Batmobile): You already know the answer to that. Dad, you mind if we go there?

Jim (sitting in the back, flipping through a newspaper): I’m confused as to why you’re not driving there already.

Batman (resting his head on the steering wheel, sighing heavily): I need a... moment... Why was Signal just called a black man?

Barbara and Jim (in unison, with a teasing lilt): Bruce, you know most of the cops are corrupt in Gotham.

Batman (sitting up, annoyed): Hero name—call me by my hero name!