#piss him off and screw up every fucking thing he does

[infiniteglitterfall]

Not to, you know, point out yet again that you Hamas stans don't give a fuck about Palestinians, but....

The chasm between what Gazan activists say about Hamas and October 7, and what Western leftists and Hamas say, is absolutely fucking horrifying.

All of this below is from just one Gazan activist who's been repeatedly tortured, by Hamas, for fighting for his own human rights.

As expected, Hamas began executing Gazans the moment the ceasefire deal was reached, accusing them of "working with the occupation." Just today, they executed 10 Gazans, and they promised to do more in the coming days.

This isn’t a novel tactic; it’s an age-old strategy employed by Hamas to silence critics and instil fear among citizens who oppose their rule. I would greatly welcome a position from the pro-Palestinian movement advocating for pressure on Hamas to end its ongoing oppression of the people in Gaza.

For those who support Hamas and express admiration for the organization in light of the recent ceasefire announcement, it is vital to recognize that in Gaza, tens of thousands of innocent civilians are experiencing profound suffering, while Hamas seems largely unconcerned with their plight. They chose to prioritize sending their terrorists abroad for treatment, insisting that each fighter be accompanied by three family members.

What about the numerous Gazans who were shot and tortured by Hamas throughout the war? Shouldn't they be given the opportunity to receive medical treatment abroad?

You know what would help the Palestinians in Gaza? Condemning Hamas' atrocities. Instead, the protesters routinely chant their desire to "Globalize the Intifada." Apparently they do not realize that the Intifadas were disastrous for both Palestinians and Israelis, just as October 7 has been devastating for the people of Gaza.

They should be speaking up for the innocent victims of Hamas—both Palestinian and Israeli. Instead, they endorse Hamas's ideology with posters announcing resistance "by any means necessary" and chants of "from the river to the sea," effectively glorifying the Al-Qassam brigades, Hamas' military wing, whose ideology is entirely based on the elimination of more than 6 million Israelis from the land.

I really, really try to be polite and explain things most of the time.

But after watching "pro-Palestinians" spend the entire war actively helping silence Gazans and making things worse for them, through pure Hamas-worshipping violent tankie revenge fantasies...

I'm just going to indulge myself in one do better, shithead.

“elon musk did the nazi salute, remember to check on your jewish friends uwu” you all celebrated when jihadi terrorists live-streamed the torture, kidnapping and murdering of israelis on 10/7/2023 but ok

[eph3merall]

dealer!chris x innocent!bff!reader hcs 🦌

dealer!chris . . . who always has a part of his mind thinking about you. what are you up to? classes? work? friends? hangouts? he'll text you and pretend to not care much, but deep down he just doesn't want to admit how much he worries over this girl who is just his friend.

innocent!bff!reader . . . loves and adores all things autumn. her clothes are fall staples that include lots of denim and earthy tones. so whenever she's hanging out with chris and sees something to add to her closet or keep as a trinket or decoration, she'll look up to chris with pretty lil' eyes and how could he deny her? sometimes he'll purposefully look away and shove her away from the store because she keeps burning a hole through his pocket.

dealer!chris . . . despises situations where innocent!bff!reader roped into his 'job'. there are shady people buying some strong shit from him, and he knows matt would also screw him over if innocent!bff!reader got harmed because of him. matt sees you as a best friend, someone he needs to protect because his brother is a little fucking stupid sometimes. dealer!chris always tries avoiding problems when it seems as if you're gonna get involved with any of his deals.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who's had a boyfriend or two before. she's just never had sex, and once she told chris he was laughing at her and giggling with his eyes all red. 'fuckin'... you're jokin', right kid?' and when she tells chris she's dated less than five people he's laughing harder. gosh, what an asshole.

dealer!chris . . . always carries a lighter with a printed cat photo on it that innocent!bff!reader glued/taped onto it. keeps a picture of her in his wallet as well—a polaroid of her awhile back in the winter, running into the horizon as snow fell around her frame. he could hear the giggles she made just by looking at the photo.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who has severe nosebleeds once every few months or so. it'll get so bad to the point she's crying because she thinks she's gonna die—with chris grumbling all annoyed with his hand fisting her hair so it doesnt get caked in blood. sometimes hes high and just stares at times while she yells at him to get her a hairtie or to grab ahold of most of her hair.

dealer!chris . . . who's, again, literally just an asshole to everyone. you're barely an exception. one second he'll be laughing with you and once he's with a buyer or some of his friends, he'll act like you're some dirt on his shoe. plus he's just plain ol' mean. wont take bullshit from anyone, not even his brothers. matt pisses him off more than nick does. but of course, they're his brothers. so he isnt.. that mean.

innocent!bff!reader . . . who grew up sheltered from everything in life. her parents are overprotective and she's their only child—only serving to make them more anxious when she's out. met chris through nick since the two were in a class together. something clicked and they've been hanging out ever since, usually in groups. chris and his friends are nott a good influence on her. but her mother doesn't have to know, does she?

dealer!chris . . . lovess cute coupley things. he just won't ever admit it to anyone he knows, not even his brothers if they ask or jab at him. secretly, he loves it when innocent!bff!reader hugs him tight or brushes her fingers across his skin. but he'll always stick to his go-to response—a scoff and he's pushing her away, muttering some shit like 'god, fuckin'.. annoying as hell always touchin' me.'

innocent!bff!reader . . . tries getting herself off with her fingers for the first time in awhilee since meeting chris because he just makes her feel so weird. all hot and bothered and it's gotten so overwhelming that humping her pillow alone in her dorm room isn't enough, so she's sliding her fingers inside her cunt slowly and mewling all softly in the privacy of her dorm room. she doesn't even realize that she secretly wants chris to see her like this.

dealer!chris . . . fucks with girls left and right. a new chick at each party that he sells some drugs to, and, if they're pretty enough.. he'll let them suck his dick or something. hey, he got to cum down some pretty brunette's throat and got a fat stack of cash? win-win. but when he met innocent!bff! reader... she went to house parties with him sometimes. which resulted in him not getting to fuck a girl's throat-which also resulted in dealer!chris fucking his own fist at night with the thought of you in his head.

—

©eph3merall 2024

[confused-wanderer]

I know we all talk about Jason finding out Dick killed the Joker from Tim or one of the other batfam members, but what if:

One day he’s searching for blackmail material on a member just for fun and knows Damian keeps a list of all of them so he backs into the files and realised the folder with the heaviest inscription to unlock is one labelled “Contingencies”.

He opens it to find every single person in their family is on there and starts surfing through them. When he sees Tim’s he freezes, mentally filing away some horrific details for checking up on him later, Jason’s list is impressive but not much he didn’t expect…still concerned how he got the evidence though.

His fingers hesitate over Batman’s, and after thinking screw it what the hell clicks on it just to realise most of them are psychological, and had to do with Jason. One video showed Bruce as Jason remembered him from his robin days. He was pacing furiously in the Manor, tugging on his pocket square which for him was a high level of distress, before he went upstairs - to Jason’s room when he stayed there - and looked in. The change was sudden, Bruce’s shoulders sagged and his face grew into one of fondness, one he’d rarely seen before.

“I cant help it Alfred.. Scarecrow’s toxin.. I KNOW it isn’t real but.. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if -“ and Jason can’t really believe his ears, that was a fucking quiver in his voice- “What if one day it comes true?” “What was your worst fear Master Bruce?”.

“Jason..” and Jason flinches. “I.. I saw him die, and I was powerless. I cant lose him Alfred. I just cant.”

The recording ends, and it takes a while for Jason to realise he can’t breathe. He sends the file to himself and laughs bitterly, remembering what the fear toxin had shown him. Lucifer. It had shown him falling from Bruce’s grace, being his greatest disappointment. “Guess we both failed each other didnt we old man?”

After what feels like forever, when he can feel his fingers stop shaking his eyes drift over to Dicks.

Damian sure does adore him, wonder what the brats got in store for him.

Most of them were things he was sure Dick could handle, until a glitched file appeared which read “for EXTREME situations only.”

When he heard Joker laugh, Jason could’ve sworn he was in the cave. “Hello there old friend! Aww why the long face?”

Dick wasn’t facing the camera, but the sheer aura of destruction radiating off of him was enough for Jason to know Joker was in danger. Judging by his outfit and well- hair- this must’ve been years ago.

“Didn’t you like my..ah.. gift? It was quite the blast I hear!”

Dicks fists clenched. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a hatred so vile it could’ve rivalled batman’s glare. It was so odd.. seeing him so pissed.

“Well that’s what happens.. when birds get hit. They never see what’s right in front of them and then BAM!”

As his laughter rang out Jason heard Dick whisper something. It was so soft, quieter than he’d ever heard him and he found himself leaning forward.

“What’s that? How long he lasted? Well I counted everytime he screamed when I broke his bones so-“

“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”

Jason stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor himself. Dicks voice was thundering, echoing across the cave.

What the hell had happened? Why was Dick so mad? Why wasn’t he smiling?

“You..killed him.”

And that’s when it hit Jason. Oh. This was after he’d died.

The joker was trying to say something, but Jason couldn’t hear him. All he could focus on was how Dick was behaving, how he was walking upto Joker. Jason had seen that before.

The intent to kill.

SLAM

The fight was brutal, and blood flew everywhere, mixed with the laughter and cries of the Joker while Dick yelled, YELLED so loudly he could’ve sworn the cave was shaking before the sound of a wet snap ricocheted and Dick went limp.

No.. no no no no.

He watched in horror as Dick stood up, drenched in blood and heaving. Dick had gone- no BEATEN- the joker for Jason.

But the longer he looked, the more he felt the Lazarus pit burning inside him.

The joker wasn’t moving.

Dick walked away, and in the shadows, with bloody fists and face of hatred could not see him as the Dick he knew.

“Dead.”

He looked up to hear Dick whisper to the thundering sky outside.

“I killed him Jason. The joker is dead. Rest in peace little wing.”

Jason’s feet gave out under him, and he crashed to the ground gasping for breath.

Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he had been avenged.

Never did he even think that Dick had only killed once… and only for him.

Part two of related series where Jason finds out Bruce nearly killed the Joker:

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting DG for the First Time: Coffee

G/N. Fluffy? Strangers to lovers-ish. Masterlists

"Watch it!" You snap at the pink haired stranger.

Granted the collision wasn't entirely his fault, but he was the one who walked around the corner at breakneck speed, causing you to stumble into him and spill coffee all over yourself.

Not even a single drop landed on him, not even a splatter.

The look of surprise on the guy's face is soon replaced with practised indifference. No apology leaves his lips, he just glances coolly at you before striding off.

"What the hell. So fucking rude!" You snarl at this retreating back, loud enough for him to hear, see a brief pause mid step then he continues on.

Adding one more insult to soothe your temper, you holler, "Stupid pink haired weirdo!"

It does nothing to pacify your ire when you see his shoulders shaking, and a sudden bark of laughter from his direction.

He stops, turns, and grins. Sharp canine on full display and eyes full of mirth.

"Asshole," you mutter, narrowing your eyes and flipping him off.

You continue walking in the opposite direction, not wanting to have him interrupt your day any longer.

That idiot. With the pink hair and the fucking teeth. God how you want to wipe that smile off his stupid face.

.

.

DG is distracted all day.

Seeing your face all scrunched up with righteous anger was frankly adorable. The way there was zero recognition even when you saw him properly, and the viciousness at which you were slinging insults only added to your charm.

If only you thought the same. You spend the rest of your day cursing him.

.

.

Misfortune finds you, and luck finds DG when he sees you again the following week.

He recognises the back of you, your posture, the way you hold yourself.

It's not a surprise to him that he does. After all, he's a genius in many things. There's enemies and his past trying to catch up with him around every corner, it pays dividends to be vigilant. 

What is a surprise though, is the shot of joy at seeing you. The smile he has to hold back.

What should have been a no-nothing encounter has spread like a wildfire, burning his skin and blazing over his entire being.

A brief wrinkle in time - the incident, your insults, your attitude and face screwed up and indignant - has left a mark on him.

Catching up then matching you stride for stride, DG murmurs loud enough for you to hear.

"How's the coffee stains?"

Part of him wonders why he asked that. Why the cold Diego Kang persona is dropped and his old bratty James Lee self has reared its cocky head.

Like being around you has flipped a switch.

You turn to face him, confusion fleeting before you take in his pink hair and the haughty, mischievous expression and your eyes widen in shock and recognition.

The smile that he held back breaks through when he notices your lips pursing, the annoyance painted blatantly on your face as you choose to ignore the question.

"Ruined, I take it?"

"..."

"I'll replace it."

"..."

"It's the least I could do."

Curiosity gets the best of you. "What? The coffee?

"No, your clothes."

Who even offers to buy people clothes?! You give him an incredulous look and receive a full on grin in return. 

There's that damn canine again. You wonder if it's as sharp as it looks.

"No thanks."

DG shrugs, "Ok just the coffee then."

You pull another face at that. Is this guy for real? Is he trying to ask you out for a coffee? Just as you're about to tell him to piss off, he cuts you off-

His next words surprising even himself-

"...And sorry. For running into you like that."

Huh. You think he's sincere, although his expression seems to be constantly trying to challenge you and he looks very full of himself. But at least, his eyes seem genuine.

Your resolve wavers. You can’t believe you’re even agreeing to this.

"Fine. One coffee."

.

.

DG finds you a little awkward and a lot funny. The way you take your coffee is absolutely disgusting, and your loud slurps are an abomination.

It's endearing as hell.

He watches you watching him. Silence sits well with him. It's a powerplay he has learned to use to his advantage. Whoever breaks first, loses. Useful for media shenanigans and negotiating with idol agents. But he sees you fiddling, your glances when you think he's not looking, feels your unease lingering in the air.

And the silence is broken-

"Do you still keep calling me asshole in your head?"

You choke on your coffee, not expecting such a conversation starter. He's not smiling, face blank, but you hear the playfulness behind the words. 

Still, you grimace because it's true.

"And other things." You confess.

"I see."

Then he leans forward. Gives you a nod as a form of introduction.

"I'm Dieg-" he pauses. Thinks he's always been a good judge of character and makes a split decision that he hopes will come to bear fruit. "James Lee."

"James," You say. Casually. Not knowing the weight of the secret he has let you in on. You gesture to the cup in your hand, "Thanks for the coffee."

It's... nice. It's been so long since anyone has called him by his name without any expectation. Or malice or animosity.

A clean slate.

James Lee nods again in acknowledgement and sips quietly on his own drink.

This really is nice.

Fuck it.

"Can I get your number?" He asks, holding out his phone, and internally cringes although the outside remains a mask of cool, self-assured confidence. 

It's been so long since he's had to do this. He's used to actors and starlets and models throwing themselves at him without having to do any leg work. Do people even ask for numbers anymore or is it social media handles now?

"So I can warn you the next time I'm speeding round the corner, drink in hand."

Ugh, what a line, you think, huffing out a laugh. He really is an asshole.

You reach out for it anyway, and tip tap away, adding in your details before handing it back.

"Y/N," James reads, savouring the syllables.

He likes the sound of your name as much as his own on your lips.

[hey-august]

Stumbling in on Bestfriend!Buggy getting off and he’s embarassed and sure he ruined the relationship and he’s trying not to show that he’s more turned on being caught and offering to help him immmmmmmmmmmmmmm 🫣 I have so many thoughts tonight

Ooooh, yes, anon. I like this. I like this a lot.

wc: ~1.2k (this got out of hand) warnings: nsfw, buggy x gn!reader, profanity, male masturbation, cum, friends to...?, the ending might be a bit awkward

You work together on the ship, so it's only natural that you become close.

To Buggy, that's it. That's all he can expect. You're friends because you work together and there's a closed pool of choices for you to pick from.

He can't tell you that every hug gives him a disgusting fluttery feeling. He can't tell you that he only feels like himself under the spotlight of your eyes.

He definitely can't tell you that he pops a boner whenever you sit on his lap.

And you can't tell Buggy that you sit on his lap so often because you like him too.

Okay, so you need him for something. It's urgent, so you knock and swing Buggy's door open all in the same move. An amateur move, really.

There's Buggy, laying on his bed. His face is red and his cheeks are turning brighter by the second. The blankets look a bit haphazard.

You know. How could you not? This isn't the first time you (nearly) walked in on this exact act, but it is the first time you didn't immediately turn around. You were so caught up in the emergency (what was it again?) that you didn't even hear the tiny voice in your head saying slow the fuck down.

Buggy's a mess. Pissed and embarrassed. Sputtering out excuses, spit flying from his lips. Slamming his fist on the bed. "Give me fucking minute!"

Why did you come in here again? Because all you want to do now is tease your best friend. What a schmuck, getting himself in this position. "Did you seriously forget to lock the door before whacking off?"

"That's not- I wasn't- Get the fuck out!" Buggy throws a pillow at you. A pillow. Terrifying.

You close the door and make a big show of using the lock. Click. Unlock. Lock. Unlock. Lock. "It's not that hard. Maybe you wanted to get caught, you pervert."

He doesn't respond fast enough. Buggy doesn't know what to say. He didn't plan on getting caught, but, fuck - if this isn't turning him on even more. He hopes you can't see his dick twitching under the blankets.

"So you did want to get caught? Hah, I'm going to use this against you!" you goad.

"Just fucking leave, you creep!" Buggy launches another pillow…which does nothing.

You consider it, just for a moment. But the way Buggy is sitting there, clutching his blankets and avoiding your eyes… "Nah, I like watching you squirm."

Eyes wide, he finally looks at you. And watches as you walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. His bed. The bed where he's currently half dressed.

Buggy kicks you through the blankets, trying to shove you away.

Trying not to fall off the bed, you grab the blankets…and yank

And there he is. Your best friend. And his hard dick.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. No. Buggy did not want to be in this position. You should have never seen him like this. You were never going to look at him the same way.

He's flailing. Trying to kick you again, but your ass is planted on that bed and you are not going anywhere. His hand is trying to cover the boner (literally and figuratively), but there's only so much that fits behind his hand.

Buggy's dick is intent on being seen. With all his movements, the thing is swaying and bobbing, practically waving "hi" to you from behind his shitty hand barrier.

"That's not…" You gulp. "That's not how you do it."

You're not even sure if Buggy can hear you over his own screeching. But he quiets down and stares at you, incredulous and…offended.

You mime jacking off. "You're doing it wrong."

"Screw you," he snaps. Another kick. Another shove. A drop of precum peeks out. "Get out."

"I don't think I can leave in good conscience without knowing that y- you'll be okay."

What is it about Buggy that you want to tease him? Is it because you're friends and you know how to push his buttons?

Finally, he relents. "Will you leave if I do this?" Buggy grumbles He wraps a hand around his dick and bites back the hiss that threatens to escape.

You shrug and nod. Selfishly, you wanted to say, 'Only if you want me to.'

Selfishly, Buggy wished you said you wouldn't leave.

He pumps his fist a few times. "There. Go," he practically whispers.

That was…not enough. It was frustrating, for both of you.

"Keep going," you say, almost as quietly.

Buggy listens.

You watch.

You see the tendons in his hands flex when he changes his hold or adjusts the pressure. You watch another bead of precum poke out the slit before Buggy smears it all over the shiny angry head.

Buggy watches your eyes follow the movement of his hand. How you stare at his cock, just like he's imagined. How you lick your lips.

He slows down, lazily dragging his hand up and down the length, letting you get your fill.

Maybe Buggy would have left the door unlocked earlier if he knew you'd look at him like this.

You realize that you've been squeezing his sheets so hard that your hands ache. Out of everything in reach, these damn blankets are not what you want to be holding.

"What do you think about?" Oh. You didn't plan on asking that, but now you have a painful desire to know. What turns him on? What brought Buggy to jack off in front of a friend?

He shakes his head no and rolls his eyes. Absolutely not. He's not going to answer this.

"C'mon, I'm just curious. I'll keep it a secret, promise."

"Just shut up or leave."

Buggy closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He wants to keep looking at you, but this is becoming too much. At least if he cums in front of you, it'll be like all those naughty fantasies he's kept to himself.

"Buggy…"

He cracks an eye open and looks at you. Fuck, you're so cute.

"Can I try?"

He closes his eyes again and clenches his jaw. He'd rather die than bust a nut right now. After a moment, Buggy nods.

You shift closer and touch his hand. Buggy loosens his grip and you take his cock in your hand. It's so warm. So hot.

Buggy wraps his hand around yours and uses your hand to rub himself.

It doesn't take long - far shorter than you wish - before he grunts and pearly ropes shoot across his stomach. A part of you hopes to get some on your hand so you could…what? What would you do?

Once his balls are empty and his breathing returns to normal, Buggy lets you go.

"I go- I gotta clean up… You should probably go now." He keeps his eyes closed.

"Mm, yeah. Okay."

The bed shifts as you get up. Buggy doesn't want to open his eyes and watch you leave him right now. He'd rather stay in the happy space he's concocted in his head. Things won't be the same after this.

Instead of walking to the door, you walk closer to Buggy.

Bringing a hand up, you gently push a few strands of hair from his forehead and give him the smallest, shortest peck. Just long enough for his sweat to stick to your lips.

[kechiwrites]

quick study

miguel o'hara x obsessed lab tech!reader

kinktober countdown, day one (spanking).

synopsis: Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride.

wc: 3.3k

cw: stalker!reader, but like...in a cute way, spanking, (mentions of) drunk sex, oral (male receiving), handjobs, no gendered pronouns, afab!reader, riding, praying, miguel prioritizing getting his nut over his personal safety, reader has a tattoo, my piss poor spanish (used sparingly, i swear, no use of y/n ever.

author's note: i do headcanon miguel as vaguely catholic, and as an ass man, argue with the wall. mdni. special thanks to kitten, kee and ketsl for being my soundboards and spanish tutors.

Miguel’s head is pounding, like he took a brick to the back of the head, twice. 

A fucking heavy brick.

His mouth is dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, the sandpaper sensation making him desperate for water. Light pierces through the parted section of his blackout curtains, forcing the geneticist to screw his eyes shut tight. He turns, ready to slide back into the easy unconsciousness of sleep, when a low moan startles him. Immediately, his entire body tenses, and he shoots an arm out to take hold of the intruder. 

For his troubles, he ends up with a handful of soft, warm skin and an even more drawn out sound of pleasure. It's enough motivation for Miguel to fully open his eyes and take in his surroundings. His wide, scarred hand covers an exposed shoulder, long, powerful fingers pressed to your shoulder blade. He knows that shoulder. Fuck. He knows that fucking tattoo. The spindly, intricate black ink design decorates your back, disappearing under his black blanket. His heart races with panic, thudding in his chest, he doesn't remember a fucking thing, certainly not taking you home to his place after a lab wide staff social with an open bar. Definitely not stripping to his fucking birthday suit and watching you do the same. 

Wait. Okay. Maybe you’re not naked, maybe you’re just topless. 

Miguel shoots a quick prayer to Guadeloupe, lifting and kissing the gold cross that hangs around his neck, before he raises the blanket covering your lower body, praying to see any kind of underwear covering you.

No goddamn dice.

Miguel does not see underwear. Instead, Miguel gets an eyeful of the ass he's been fantasizing about for months. It's perfect, just like he thought it'd be. Soft, perfect and begging to be bitten, spanked, groped. Your tattoo stops right at your tailbone, the pointy arrowhead-esque end tapering off between the twin dimples bracketing your lower back. 

You fucked. There's no way you didn't. There's no way, drunk or sober (and you had both been ridiculously hammered) he would get you to strip down and not sink his teeth into every inch of your body he could get his hands on. He removes his hand from your shoulder, and nearly screams when he unveils a faint half circle decorating the skin where your shoulder becomes your neck. He suspects there's a lot more where those came from. 

You begin to stir, probably jarred from sleep by the sound of Miguel lamenting his own birth. You open your eyes slowly, sleep in the corners of your eyes, squint near identical to Miguel's. You come to a lot slower than Miguel, casting confused glances around the room before your bleary gaze settles on Miguel's face. Your confusion is palpable, like you’re trying to understand where the fuck you are, and why the fuck Miguel is there too. He can almost see when you remember the night before, the social, the drinks, the way you giggled and sighed, drifted after Miguel from room to room in the ritzy hotel bar, where the party had been thrown. 

"Do not say a word." He growls, reaching over the side of his bed to search for a pair of boxers. "This didn't fucking happen. You're gonna wipe this shit from your mind, understand me? Whatever I did, whatever we did? Never happened." He spits. Irritation at his lack of self control heats up his skin, making him want to claw at his face. He can't find his underwear, his fingers only coming across a tiny g-string that you must've shirked. Or maybe Miguel had torn it off you? Or- fuck, he didn't know. He didn't know anything. 

And wasn’t that a trip. 

All that fucking time holding himself back, restraining himself, all for me to blow it over fancy whiskey sours? Nice fucking going, O’Hara. 

"I…I guess you aren't very…happy about it huh?" When you do speak, directly against his order, the pain and embarrassment in your voice are glaringly evident, and they cut through Miguel's wallowing almost immediately. He lifts his face from his hands, and claps both of them onto your shoulders, shaking you a bit, watching your head bobble from side to side while you clutch his blanket to your body, attempting and failing to hide your chest from view.

"Look…I don't fucking remember it." He hisses through his teeth. Your mouth parts in surprise, eyes wide as petri dishes, and he removes his hands like he's been scalded, his palms tingling from the contact. He balls his hands together, till his knuckles crack with the strain, trying to suppress both the urge to touch you again and the urge to hit something. 

It isn't fair. 

Miguel is not fucking stupid. Yes, you are crazy, and a stalker and probably more than a little dangerous. It was painfully, excruciatingly obvious you were obsessed with him, even before you’d formally met. 

Alchemax’s lab technicians rarely have reason to linger, they pick up samples, they drop off samples, occasionally they’ll ask for input on a report or two. But you? You always seemed to just be…around. Loitering on his floor long enough to wave a hello, to ask him if he wanted a coffee or a bagel, to show off your new “lab shoes”. Which, sure, isn’t all that odd on its own, definitely not cause for alarm, maybe you were just friendly, or bored. No, what tipped Miguel off was how you acted when you thought he couldn’t see you; the long stares, the bit lips, the quiet little laughs to yourself, like you were picturing things. Then, he’d caught you stealing his lab coat, snatching it from his locker and pressing the stark, white fabric to your face before shoving it into your bag and scurrying back to your lair home. The security camera that recorded you couldn’t lie. 

And, call him an idiot, he hadn’t reported you. And you’d stepped it up. Started speaking to him directly, cornering him when he was alone, “running into him” after work hours, before work hours, on weekends. Soon, he was seeing you everywhere, dodging your attempts at “quality time”, praying to God you’d realize he’s fucking boring and move on to some other unfortunate victim.

Not because he was afraid. He balances lab hours with bench pressing, and you…definitely don’t. He watched you struggle with jostling snacks out of the faulty vending machine on the 13th floor.

Miguel wanted you to move on because he was weak. Because he'd always been aware he was gonna give in to you eventually, always knew you’d wear him down and he'd take that sweet ass of yours for a ride. Just once, then he'd let you down easy, so you didn't get clingy or assign more meaning to the hookup than there was. He also knew that crazy people gave the best fucking head, the kind of shit that'd make a grown man weep, the kind of head Miguel would consider doing time for.

And he was too fucking drunk to remember it happening.

"Oh! That's okay!" You chirp, dejection quickly forgotten in the wake of Miguel's confession. You drop the blanket along with all modesty, exposing the curve of your tits and the soft jut of your stomach. Every inch of your skin looks velvety to the touch, tailor made to make Miguel salivate. You push back the cover, flipping nimbly onto your hands and knees. Slowly, you crawl towards Miguel, prowling towards him with single minded focus. The temperature of the room skyrockets, and the geneticist's breath stutters at the sight of your breasts sandwiched between your arms, your hips and thighs swaying and shifting while you advance. Your eyes almost glow in the lowlight of his bedroom, catching the sun filtering in and casting them in golden light. Your hair falls forward, sticking to the spit slick surface of your bottom lip. You look like temptation sent straight from hell, a succubus created by the devil with the sole purpose to drag Miguel to the fiery depths by his cock. 

"I remember everything." Your hand falls heavy on his thigh, and he can't help the interested thump in his groin. Your nails scratch his skin, the sensation so feather light, he worries he imagined it.

"Uh…" he stumbles for words, eyes dropping to the hand brushing his inner thigh. He needs to shut this down. Has to shut this down. Sex with you was supposed to be a one time thing, even if his recollection of that one time was lost in the haze of intoxication.

"And I can remind you. I can be so good at reminding you."  You’re whispering, but it doesn't fucking matter. Every word spilling from your bee stung lips thud through his mind like the heavy bass at a nightclub, knocking insistently at his ear drum for access to his brain. He begins to pray for strength in his mind.

"I don't think that's-" You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, leering, hungry eyes following his happy trail before they flick back up to meet his eye playfully.

Dios te salve, María; llena eres de gracia, el Señor es contigo. 

"You liked it so much. Said you never fucked anyone without a condom before. Said it felt perfect. Said you couldn't go back." 

Yeah, that fucking sounded like him. 

Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres. Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre: Jesús.

"Look-"

You mouth a kiss at his shoulder, a sweet little gesture that turns into you dragging your tongue over the large vein lining the side of his neck. You puff a hot breath against his skin, crowding close enough for you to crush your chest against his, the hard tips of your nipples making themselves evident.

¿Cómo coño va el resto de la oración?

He's lost in the drugging spiral of your eyes, choking on his own tongue when you wrap a firm hand around his cock, squeezing and stroking with graceful finesse. His hips helplessly jerk to follow the movement, chasing the mindless pleasure you provide. He lets his head fall back, Adam's apple bobbing with each dry, laboured swallow. 

"Fuck." He whimpers, fucking whimpers, trying in vain to resist, but when you lowers your mouth and wrap your lips around the head of his cock, flicking your tongue against the crown, he lets go of it all.

And you, you don't miss a step, cementing your hand around the hilt and forcing the entirety of his dick down your throat in one go. Then instead of bobbing up and down like a goddamn normal person, You swallow. Again. And again. And again. Milking Miguel for all he's worth, never granting him a second of solace. Your tongue sneaks out, easing the path of his cock, dragging the flexing pink muscle against the spot where his shaft meets his balls. All the while humming and giggling as best you can manage around his length, sending vibrations through his legs to the soles of his feet and back again.

Crazy person. Crazy head. He fucking knew it.

He grits his teeth so hard he's worried they'll shatter, knotting his hand in your hair and grinding your face against his pelvis, fucking your face like it was the last thing he'd ever do. 

And with the way you were sucking him off, it just might be.

"Fuck!" He coughs, banging his free hand against his headboard, "I'm gonna-" he tapers off into a drawn out groan, planting his feet in preparation. Unfortunately, You pick that exact moment to pull off, shocking Miguel with cool air on his spit soaked dick. His cock twitches angrily, the tip near purple with need. 

"W-whuh?" He stammers, his mind racing to keep up with the lightning fast developments between the two of you.

“You can’t come yet! That’s not how it happened.” You sing-song, like you’re teasing him, like this was a cute little game you and him were playing. You swing your leg over his hip so you can straddle him. The light from his window illuminates your side, lighting up your silhouette with warm orange sunbeams. “No, no, no.” Your laugh is the tinkling of glass wind chimes in the entryway of a haunted house. “You came right here.” You pat your abdomen, and Miguel has to bite on his knuckle when he catches your meaning. His eyes drift lower and the scientist is blown away by how visibly wet you are. He tries to reach out, to touch, to feel, but You grab his wrists before he can make contact. 

“We gotta get you to remember, Miguel! I’ll show you.” You push his hands back, until both of his arms are bent and his head is resting on his joined hands. 

“You stay just like that,” you murmur, your eyes liquid pools of molten colour, hooded with desire. “I’ll take care of everything.” It’s all Miguel can do to nod like a fucking idiot when you take hold of his cock again, giving it two or three strokes before you notches his head against the already clenching entrance of your cunt. You begin your descent, shuddering with pleasure and keening loudly, letting air whiz through your teeth when Miguel is only half inside. 

“Ah…wanted this so bad. And now I get it again. Couldn’t think of anything else.” You rock your hips, allowing another inch of Miguel to sink inside your pussy. You continue to speak, tone delirious and euphoric, “So deep already!” You press a finger to your stomach, sinking onto his erection and following his place inside you with the tip of a digit. You both follow his path with your eyes, until he’s fully seated inside. He watches as your eyes roll back into your empty little head, watches you palm your chest and swivel your hips, rubbing your clit against Miguel’s pelvis in time with your teasing hand. From the new vantage point Miguel can see the imprints of his own teeth decorating your legs, a trail of his hunger from the night before.

You rise and fall on him, dropping the weight of your mass onto his hips, gripping his shaft like a vice. Every resounding clap throws Miguel’s mind into disarray. 

He wishes his hands were on your hips. 

He likes keeping his hands behind his head. 

He wishes he could watch your ass shake and roll against him. 

He loves watching your tits bounce with every thrust.

He couldn’t decide what would be better, couldn’t decide how he wanted the image of you riding his cock permanently imprinted in his mind. 

Guess he’d just have to do this again. 

Bummer.

“You know,” you pant, fucking up and down on him, never losing your rhythm, even as you feverishly speak to him. You brace your hands on his shins, forcing your own back to arch, showing off your chest even further. “I think I could get addicted to this.” Your voice is breathy and high, and you laugh out loud, giggling non-stop, expression caught between delight and disbelief. “I-I can’t give this up. I can’t forget, Miguel. I won’t.” 

Madre de Dios, you are a psycho.

You circle your hips again, clenching down on him before letting yourself fall forward, squishing your breasts against him, and grabbing at his face, dipping your tongue between his lips until he kisses you back, tangles his tongue with yours. Miguel’s head spins, your scent, the slide of your damp skin on his, your greedy little cunt throbbing around him, all reduce him to rubble. He bites into your shoulder again, in nearly the exact same spot he had the night prior. Miguel wrenches his hands from their relaxed position, bringing both palms down on your ass, hard. You shriek out loud, tongue lolling out of your mouth, the impact shoving you brutally over the edge.

His dick aches for the same release, jolting and twitching as he takes control, planting his feet again and fucking up into your dripping entrance. He pushes your body up, so he can see all of you. Stare with incredulous, hardcoded lust at your swaying form. Miguel spanks you again and again, on your tits, your ass, your thighs, smacks what he can reach of your belly and grunts when you beg for more, raining down blows on every available inch of skin.

“Miguel!” You cry out, pussy fluttering around him. You try to grab at him, try to maintain your hold, wrapping your hand around the cross on his neck. Later, he’ll be grateful for the necklace’s strong chain, otherwise the childhood gift would’ve been long gone. Miguel wrenches your hand off it, letting you lace your trembling fingers with his. 

Even being fucked like a ragdoll doesn’t stop you from being strange. You eyeball your joined hands, a manic, out of control grin smeared like paint over your face. “O-our hands are k-kissing!” You huff out, bringing your joined palms to your lips and sucking on two of Miguel’s fingers, fucking your mouth with them like you did with his cock.

Strange as hell, but fuck if you didn’t make him moan like a bitch. 

Your pussy clings to him, refusing to let him go, every drag in and out tears at the already frayed fabric of Miguel’s control. 

“I’m gonna-” he repeats, and you cut him off again, though this time, mercifully, you don’t pull away. 

“Inside! Come inside” You demand, words slurred around his fingers. You crash down on him even harder, forcing him so deep he swears the tip of his cock breaches your cervix, and by the way you, his little stalker, bucks and screams when he comes inside you, he’d say it's more than a little likely. Heavy gluts of his seed fill you quickly, painting your insides white in waves.

“Ooooh.” You collapse forward, your cheek pressed to his chest, ear directly above his heart. Your shoulders jostle and shake in the aftermath, body shivering with the last remnants of your orgasms. Miguel feels appropriately drained, as though you’d been drinking directly from his life source, draining his vitality through his dick. Your fingers are still intertwined, and Miguel can’t bring himself to break the connection, staring at the union and squeezing your soft hand in his own brutish palm. 

“You are…fucking persistant.” He mutters, shifting you further up his body but not completely pulling out, allowing for your head to find rest in between his neck and shoulder. 

“Mmm.” you murmur, beyond words. “Sorry.” your voice is raspy, well used, and Miguel can’t help the little surge of pride he feels, remembering your screams.

He snorts and reaches down to grope at your ass and thigh. “You aren’t sorry.”

“Well…no. But!” You lift your face to stare at him, “I promise I’ll make it worth your while. You can come in me as many times as you want. You can leave me chained to your bed. Oh! Or you could use my-”

“I get it!” Miguel covers your mouth with his hand, exhaustion settling deep in his bones despite waking from sleep not long ago. “Fuck. Just…shut up for now, okay? Can you do that?” He feels your plush lips open against his palm.

“Aht!” He cuts you off before you can disobey, and relaxes in full when you elect to nod, closing your mouth and settling against him again.

“Good. Let’s just be quiet, hm?”

You linger in silence for a while, you, breathing in the scent of Miguel’s skin and Miguel, brushing his fingertips against your spine.

It’s serene, it’s sweet, he can almost pretend you’re normal.

“I give a really great tit job too.”

Almost.

find the rest of the masterlist here.

whew, squeezed it in under the wire. i promise tomorrow's will come earlier.

support city girls with daddy issues and catholic guilt, reblog what you like.

[a-twistedheartslonging]

FTM non-human Idia who is scared of everything bc he took testosterone and now as a male spider is terrified of everything

That

Or he cries and says he’s a domesticated spider breed and it’s not fair!!!!!

Leona: (a lion)

Jamil: (a snake)

Vil: (a raptor ((type of predator bird)))

Azul: (an octopus that can and will eat anything)

Idia: *sniffle.* stop bullying me.. (he fucking fumbled while hunting)

(Idia was banished from Carnivore meetups unless invited by other dorm leaders bc he fumbles every hunt bc he glows)

Hmm, female spiders are usually bigger than males so he would be the biggest, not just boy spider, but prob one of the biggest boys around on top of how a lot of people are anxious around or even scared of spiders. Ironic considering spiders are more scared of people than people are of them, though Idia has it bad in particular. The guy doesn't realize someone would piss themself running into him at night, those long legs add to his bigness and a Yuu can comfortably ride on his back at his size. Though he isn't necessarily a giant, the dude has to lean down and depending on the door size might need to twist his body a bit.

Depending on the breed a lot of spiders don't really hunt like mammals do anyway and he would prob be miserable having to join in on a hunt if it was a thing. Ironic considering cobalt blue tarantulas are great at being predators, being the swiftest and quickest among most tarantulas.

Though it's not like the others would know since they prob didn't bother researching the kind of spooder he is. He'll either fumble on purpose or just set up a web and screw off to game and come back later since his glowing would make it necessary to hide in a burrow and he's not fond of the dirt.

For hunting, blue cobalt spiders form an extensive web, which helps to capture prey. When its prey is caught in the web, the tarantula delivers a toxic sting that kills the prey. It then drags the catch back to its burrow. The venom of the tarantula is not enough to kill a human, but it can badly sting them and be extremely painful, but then again that's for a regular-sized one and not a drider...hmm.

The burrow thing is kind of funny. The cobalt blue tarantula is a fossorial species and spends nearly all of its time in deep burrows of its own construction. It makes sense he doesn't want to leave his room, introverted-ness aside, his room is better than a hole in the ground. Domesticated guy, he does use the "I'm an inside spider" thing.

[boynarcing]

And I’m Sick for you, Baby

leon s. kennedy x gn!reader

wc. 1.3k

cw. incest, dad Leon, OOC(duh), implied abuse, alcoholism, puke, forced blowjob, gender neutral reader, Leon’s a POS dad

note. Excuse the poor language🤒 english is annoying to understand… also kind of rushed lol || title is Break by Alex G

Your nose smacks against the wiry hair clustered on Leon’s pelvis, the musky, sweaty smell making your face screw up uncomfortably. You’ve been in this position for hours, your knees pressing hard against the wooden floor, face firmly squashed between your father’s thighs, and hands holding wearily onto his hips.

The dull, aching pain in your knees couldn’t possibly compare to the awful, agonizing stretching going on in your throat, though. Even with the lazy rutting of Leon’s hips against your face, you still couldn’t adjust to the size of his dick. It’s not like it’s massive or anything, you’re just not built for this.

His cock was thick and long; veiny with a dark, meaty shade of red that spread further to his tip whenever he got hard. In terms of appearance, that shit was scary-looking. Not cute and pretty like all the other dicks you see in porn videos or magazines, but intimidating and off putting. Like, the type of stuff random guys send you on social media. It’s always a 50/50.

If you could barely fit it down your throat, how were you ever supposed to fit it inside of you? He’d tear you a new one. Literally.

In your defense, you don’t think anyone could suck dick without fucking up somehow their first try. Not unless they were born for it. And you clearly weren’t. You were born to study your ass off for a degree and work a 9-5 in order to not disappoint your parents, none of which you were succeeding in. Obviously. Look at the position you’re in now.

“Christ,” Leon grumbles from above you, a bored, almost annoyed expression on his face. It’s not your fault he’s got a case of whiskey dick, but you’d admit you don’t know what you’re doing. “you’re bad at this.” He states, taking a swing of the small glass in his freehand, his right one. The left tugs at your hair sternly, guiding you further down his cock. Which isn’t much, considering how your face is already mashed against his pubic hair; you could feel his balls grazing the tip of your chin occasionally.

You can’t do anything like this. The mere laps of your tongue aren’t enough, and the weak suction you give in between gags and sputtering chokes is tickling at best. It’s starting to piss Leon off, to say the least. And the ridiculous face you’re making is turning him off. It’s not as pornstar-looking as you’d wish, and not every man likes the feel of warm snot and drool pooling all over his cock. But then again, maybe it’s just you that lacks sex appeal. He’d put a bag over your face if he could, but he won’t.

As fucked up as he is, he still has the ability to feel at least some sort of pity for you.

Frustrated, Leon bucks his hips forward, ignoring the nasty retch he elicits and groaning when the head of his cock rubs against the back of your throat. That motion alone gets heat pooling in his belly, so he does it again and again. Each time, he rips a throaty gag from you, the desperate clawing and tugging of your hands on his hips doing nothing to stall his movements.

“Fuck,” He huffs, staring through half-lidded eyes at the papers scattered on top his desk, the papers he was supposed to be done and over with hours ago. Some of which included late bills he had forgotten to pay. It’s not like he cares though. He spends his days moping around about the past and failed, lackluster romances with women interested in other women, it’s safe to say he has other things to worry about. Not the kid living under his roof, who has to shower with a bucket of cold water and a bar of soap. It’s not like he has the fucking money to spoil you or something, right?

He’s so busy getting off that he doesn’t notice he’s practically suffocating you with his meat, cramming it into your throat and clogging up your windpipe with each thrust he gives. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re thankful Leon is drunk enough that he’s not putting any thoughtful effort in fucking your face, because if he was, you think you’d be dead. The lack of oxygen starts to make your vision spot with black, and your head feels heavier than usual, a constant throb in your temple making your skull pang as if it were caving in. It’s all too much, far too much.

With a burst of adrenaline, you try to yank and push yourself back, but Leon doubles down and decides that now is when he wants to be cruel. Now is when he wants to tug at your hair and dig his blunt nails into your scalp, holding you in place. He moans, throws his head back and squeezes the back of yours, muffling your pleading whimpers and ragged gasps against the base of his length. You’re so full, so overwhelmed that it feels like you’re going to pass out. Every twitch and pulse of his cock is felt inside your maw, every vein and ridge is felt against your tongue, against your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, your palate. Everything.

Leon gives a particularly hard roll of his hips, and that’s when you feel your stomach churn, your breakfast shooting itself upwards and out your mouth in nasty, hot spews. Breakfast, not even dinner. There’s nothing in this fucking house but Jack Daniel’s and dry ingredients. All the takeout is for dad only.

Leon yelps, and for once he shoves you off his cock faster than you can blink. There’s a first for everything, you suppose.

He stands up straight, gags and covers his mouth with his arm, looking horrified. You’d be too if someone puked on your genitals. The smell isn’t exactly pretty. Is it possible for some of that to slip into his urethra? Is that how that works? You have no idea. But he’s not hard anymore, so any fluid on his dick drips onto the floor instead of back onto him.

“What the fuck!” Leon shouts, fighting back the urge to purge himself. He’s dealt with puke before. Dealt with it his whole life. It’s all he saw whenever he had to take care of his dad throughout nasty hangovers, his mom from overdosing, and himself at bootcamp. But this is different. It’s, dare he think, more traumatizing. It’s his dick, for christ’s sake. The most important part of him.

His eyes flicker around to look for something— anything, but he can’t find a rag or some tissue in the state he’s in, far too hysterical. He’d rather die than let this mess crust over his skin, he’s aware of that much.

Nearly tripping over your fallen form, he curses loudly as he rushes towards the bathroom, moving awkwardly and bumping into things along the way. He’s acting as if he’d just had something shoved up his ass, and the sight might’ve been comical if you weren’t too busy trying to settle your racing heart and catch your breath.

As much as you try, coughing doesn’t clear out the chunks of food and cum stuck somewhere in your throat. Chest heaving, you strain yourself, putting more force into the next cough, only to be humbled when it rips another gag out of you and jerks you forward.

Even with the fuzzy ringing in your ears, you can hear your dad yelling at you in the background, something about beating your ass and something else about how disgusting you were. Yeah, well, what’d he expect? You can’t brush your teeth without gagging, why would this be any easier? He doesn’t need any more ideas. The next thing you know he’s gonna be bothering you about throat training or something.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you hope this incident at least makes you lose some weight.

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

How are the boys when it comes to hookup culture?Who would never fuck unless they're in an actual relationship?Who claims they can ~easily~ do casual except they catch feelings way too fast and end up hurt?Who is walking around able to screw a different person for every day of the month?

Steve Murphy: He’d be absolutely terrible at it if he ever tried, but I suspect he already knows this about himself. He won’t do hookups with strangers period, but man, if he ever got into a situationship?? Even if he tried to keep it casual, he’s catching feelings so fast and ending up pissed off and/or heartbroken. I mean, hell, just look the longing expressions he shoots Javi when he thinks Javi can’t see!

Donald Pierce: I HC that when the urge to get dicked down gets intense enough, he’ll download Grindr or hit up a gay bar and have some quick, dirty, anonymous sex that he feels gross about immediately afterwards. It’s for the best those trysts are one-offs though - he’s absolutely gonna catch feelings fast if he’s seeing someone on a regular (or even semi-regular) basis. I think Pierce generally wants some kind of *commitment*. He’s ~better~ at doing more casual FWB arrangements with women, but even then, it’s still gonna get emotional eventually. (It’s the cuddling! It makes him fall in love! Platonic or romantic, it doesn’t matter – it all kind of blends together for him!)

Cap Hatfield: I can see Cap getting into doing non-sexual impact play and rope scenes with his local kink community, and I think in that situation he wouldn’t necessarily need to have an established relationship with his play partners, although he’d prefers to have some regulars he does scenes with vs different people every time. Cap absolutely does not participate in casual sex though.

Clement Mansell: It’s unpredictable with Clement! If he’s not in a relationship, he’s happily fucking around with an assortment of different people, but he’ll sometimes randomly catch feelings. Clement isn’t shy about telling them when it happens, and I think a lot of the time, historically, it’s been reciprocated (Clement likes being liked! A lot of the people he falls for are the ones giving him sweetness and emotional intimacy), but when he’s not, he’s absolutely heartbroken. Expect a lot of sad songs and acting out in dive bars until he finds someone new to fall in love with.

The Corinthian: The Corinthian’s better at hookups than relationships, and not just because of his tendency to murder his victim- er, lover. The Corinthian loves being able to superficially dazzle someone and then have great sex!! Ideal! I don’t think he really knows what to do beyond those more shallow interactions though - even with Carl, he started getting weird fast when he got asked the pretty basic fucking question: “do you read”.

Eli Klaber: Klaber only has sex in committed relationships! He’ll do the occasional threesome as a treat though.

Danny Maguire: He absolutely fucks around with girls he meets at parties or clubs, and it rarely go great for anyone involved. For starters, he’s sort of a lousy and inconsiderate fuckbuddy (if you wanna manage to have a decent time with Danny, best bet is to just knock him flat on the bed and ride him to your heart’s content!), but also, he’s not really enjoying himself much either! He’s mostly going through the motions of what he thinks a cool mafia heir like him should be doing, and then goes home feeling some type of way he doesn’t understand and immediately hops into the shower.

Ty Shaw: He’s definitely had casual sex; he’s fine with it and conducts himself well, but he prefers relationships, or at least genuinely friendly FWBs. (Hm, you know? I wonder if in some ways he might prefer having a handful of stable, affectionate, long-term FWBs to a more defined relationship. I also don’t think Ty does monogamy super well, but that’s a whole other thing.)

Quinn McKenna: He’s had hookups before. He can do it if it’s clearly stated in advance what this is (he doesn’t like ambiguity!). That being said, I don’t think he usually bothers. It’s just not worth it. He doesn’t exactly have the biggest libido, and hooking up with people is always a lot of work every time.

[willowser-but-nsfw]

have u ever thought of human dragon bakugo with a muzzle on .. and poor him hjs love language is biting OMFAO

omg...have not considered this...anon your brain is so ✨️✨️✨️

PLEASE he's so upset. something happens — maybe some guards try to get him back and a scuffle ensues and you're caught in a crossfire, and while he's so concerned with making sure you're okay, he doesn't realize someone is coming up behind him with a muzzle, and they manage to get it on him before he can fight them off.

okay. scene set. act ii.

and you...have no idea how to get the thing off LOL like with the first muzzle on his big dragon head, it was easier !! screws were bigger !! but this is so much more complicated akfjakfbja and you probably spend like. hours, sitting behind him trying to figure out how to undo the latch or pull it from his mouth, and it doesn't help when he's furiously sticking his fingers through the cage and YANKING. LIKE WE'RE GETTING NOWHERE SIR.

he has to deal with it for a few days. and he's PISSED. BEYOND grumpy. BEYOND grouchy. he spends every night trying to get comfortable, constantly bumping you in the back of the head with the metal. he wants to nuzzle into your hair and give you little bites under your jaw, even on your cheeks, wants to kiss you when you eat little biscuits in the morning and have dollops of honey clinging to your bottom lip.

IT DRIVES HIM CRAZY !!! HE'S SO PISSED !!!! he's tearing at this thing all the time, wedging his fingers between the strap and his head trying to make it loose, probably hurting himself in the process. one night you sit with him in the bathtub and he just WHINES. like full on whine coming from his throat, you've never heard it sound so desperate.

but. oh man. oh me oh my. when he finally does get the damn thing off...you two probably don't leave your little room at the inn for a few days LOL and you come out with a few more bruises than usual, little teeth marks everywhere.

omg. can you imagine like. feeling so bad for him that he can't indulge in his biggest source of affection, and so you try to get him off just to relieve some of the tension and he's just like. leaned back on his elbows, watching you with his little lidded eyes, thrusting into your hand with the fucking muzzle on !!!! brain short-circuiting. bye. probably got tears in his eyes, because it's scratching one itch but not the other aldnskdbaoajsj. BYE BYE GOODBYE.

[thedeviltohisangel]

Blurb idea of Cass bringing John a gift back after her overseas trip?

All The Things I Did (Interlude): All I Brought Back With Me

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 INTERLUDE 1 CHAPTER 3

INTERLUDE 2 INTERLUDE 3 interlude 4

a/n: this got a little out of hand. cass and john have a mind of their own. i took the prompt in a bit of an evil direction but am i sorry? you be the judge. interlude ideas still open/come scream thoughts and questions at me. esp curious if you guys think cass should visit more? what does she do when she notices bucky's decline? does seeing her help or hurt? interested in your thoughts. love you all, enjoy !

When she landed at Thorpe Abbotts, her trip to rescue John failed, Colonel Harding was waiting for her on the runway. He looked like her father did when he caught her sneaking back into the house after night swimming with friends back in South Carolina. Hands on his hips and jaw twitching. 

“You look like hell, Lieutenant.” Cass had spent the flight back biting her lip so hard it drew blood in an attempt to keep it from trembling. The tears had fallen silently but she was doing her best to keep them at bay. She couldn’t waste time crying over the current situation. Emotion would distract her from the task at hand. Prevent her from focusing the way she would need to do to break him out of the camp. She wasn’t going to sleep until he was back with her and safe.

“That’s where I came from, Colonel.” Her ribs were hurting with each breath, the bottle of whiskey the pilots had given her not numbing the pain at all. 

“We’ve got to get you in front of an interrogator.” Cass nodded. She knew the drill. Knew they would want to know about the layout of the camp, the susceptibility of the guards, the process of transferring pilots. “For what it’s worth, Cassandra, I’m sorry about Egan. He was one of our best.”

“Is. He is one of the best. He’s at that godforsaken camp and I’m going to get him out.” She grimaced and reached for her side. 

“I think your supervisors at the OSS have an opinion on that. They’re waiting for you inside.” Fuck. Now she was screwed. They had kept out of her business the entire time she was in the field. Had sent her instructions by classified mail or cable and praised all of her reports. For them to show up in person, she must have pissed someone off all the way up the ladder.

“Well, Colonel, I guess this is goodbye.”  Harding removed his aviators and looked at her with sadness behind his eyes. He reached out and tenderly touched the bruise on her cheek before his hand dropped back to his side. “Cassandra-”

“Colonel, you already declared your love for me once. Don’t do it again.” Every professional wall she had built would break. She turned before he could change his mind and take the risk and walked into the building where she was sure her career was going to end. In there was a table with a man in a suit sitting behind it, a thick file open in front of him. All the chairs for her to sit in had been removed and she would’ve taken a deep breath if she thought it wouldn’t have killed her.

“Lieutenant Cassandra Ann Egan. Ink barely dry on the marriage certificate before your husband goes down over Germany and you recklessly insert yourself  behind enemy lines. I might add, also in defiance of orders from your local, cover consistent chain of command, in direct violation of your training. Any comment so far, agent?”

“No, sir.” 

“You’re lucky you were successful in Berlin last month. If you weren’t the only officer to ever accomplish that operational objective, I’d be here to escort you back to the states in handcuffs.” Cass gulped but maintained eye contact as best she could. “Instead, I’m here to promote you.”

“Sir, that doesn’t seem-” She caught the new rank he threw her way as best she could with one hand. 

“Captain, you’re being sent on mandatory R&R back to the states until DC decides where to place you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Do I get to choose my location for leave?” 

“I presumed South Carolina-”

“Wisconsin. There’s some people I need to meet.” He looked at her pensively but nodded. 

“Very well. Now, let’s get a doctor in here and start the interrogation, shall we?”

----

When Cass finally made it back to her room, breathing was easier and the moon was illuminating a giant trunk that was now at the foot of her bed. She froze in the doorway. It was John’s. And now it was hers. She kicked her shoes off and padded over to her desk, his large sheepskin resting over the back of the chair. It still smelled like him when she put it on and it shattered her last will to stay strong. She dropped to her knees and wrapped his jacket around herself tighter, the sheepskin catching her tears like she imagined John would himself if he were here.

“You were right, Johnny. We should have never left London.” It had been the happiest two days of her life. It had been normal. Just like she imagined falling in love with a boy might be. They had gone to dinner and danced and danced and danced until her feet hurt. He had kissed her and ran his hands down her body and whispered in her ear how he needed her. They had gone to bed and claimed each other over and over until she forgot where she was and how awful the world around them was. Until she forgot how dangerous it would be to tell him she loved him and said it anyways. Had married him the next morning because neither of them could shake the feeling something bad was going to happen. That they needed to be each other’s fully in this life to guarantee they would find each other in the next.

Cass crawled over to the trunk and opened it shakily. There were the items she was expecting. Books, gum, cigarettes. A photo of his family back home and Yankees baseball cards. There was a pile of letters from home and then at the very bottom, an envelope with her name on it. And then she found another one and another one until there was a stack of letters he had written to her on the floor. 

The first one dated the night she found the nerve to claim him in public. He wrote that he was going to tell her he loved her. That he couldn’t keep it in any longer so he wrote it down. That he knew she would be the one to get his trunk if anything happened to him because he had known she was it for him all along. She held that one close to her chest and felt the words seep into her skin and soothe the ache in her chest. 

The rest of them followed similar themes of John pouring out emotions he was too afraid to say out loud. They all made her giggle because almost immediately after the letter was dated, he had said those words to her in person. He was never good at restraining himself when it came to her. The last one made her heart ache. It was the morning of the last mission, his handwriting rushed and sloppy. He poured out his love for her, how he was fighting for a future with her and hoped at least one of the men who owned the bullets she collected was down there today.

And as soon as I get back, we are going to celebrate our wedding and plan our trips to South Carolina and Wisconsin and practice our baby making. Cass smiled. The version of her that had met John that first night at the social club would have never guessed how broody he was. Now that she knew, it made her tingle. My sun. My moon. My stars. My wife. My precious Spook. I love you, Cass, and am eternally yours. She wiped the tears from her eyes and gently placed the letter back in its envelope. Sitting at her desk, her pen hovering over the blank paper, she looked up at the moon. Whenever her dad spent the nights camped with the farmhands in the field and Cass missed him, her mother would tell her to look at the moon and remember he was looking at the same one. John was looking at the same moon as her tonight. As she whispered her love into the moonlight and wrote the first of the daily letters she had promised him, she hoped the moon did her a favor and carried the message to Germany.

----

She spent the first day or two of her leave building up the courage to knock on the door of the Egan family. Her and John had discussed the eventuality of meeting his family. It felt odd to do it without him but she felt in her heart they deserved to know where he was and how he was doing. Selfishly, it was like getting a piece of him back. 

After knocking on the door, she hoped for a moment it didn’t answer. Maybe this wasn’t going to make her or them feel any better. Maybe it would just break her heart all over again.

And then, the door opened.

----

A few weeks later she was pacing outside that wretched chain link fence. She had managed to make it without any broken ribs this time and she was thankful her contact hadn’t confiscated her canvas bag. In it were hats and gloves for John and Gale and the other men, enough chocolate to hopefully bring them some happiness and some mementos from Wisconsin his mother had sent with her. Cass wasn’t even sure how many of her letters had made it to him yet. If he even knew of the trip she had taken. 

“There’s my beautiful, beautiful girl.” Her smile split her face, surging to meet his lips through a gap in the fence. “I’ve missed you.” Seeing her soothed the ache within him only incrementally. There was still something endlessly aggravating about the fence in between them but John knew he was lucky to even be able to see her like this. Counted her as his chief blessing before he tried to find sleep at night.

“I’ve missed you too but your face looks better than the last time I saw you.” John scoffed.

“Worried I wasn’t handsome enough for you anymore?” 

“Worried you weren’t going to take care of yourself more like it.” 

“Buck’s got me covered.” He pressed as close to her as the fence would allow. “I’ve gotten a few of your letters. Wrote you one back.” She smiled at how sheepish he seemed. Nervous that maybe she hadn’t liked what he had written.

“It hasn’t made its way to me but I’m sure it's lovely if the letters to me in your trunk are any indication.”

“You found those?” he asked while rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was waiting for me when I got back from here the last time. You loved me a lot earlier than you said it, John Egan.”

“Loved you from the moment I saw you.” He smiled, he thinks he only smiled when he read her letters or the one time she had visited, took any opportunity to escape into their solar system that he was allowed. “Your last letter said you got in trouble at work.” 

“Colonel Harding ratted me out for not obeying his orders.” John’s jaw clenched at the mention of the man. The man who had used his rank to take Cass to dinners and dances and promised her the life of a General’s wife if she wanted it. “But you’ll be happy to know after I got my ass thoroughly chewed, I got promoted.”

“Promoted?” 

“You are now the lucky husband to one Captain Cassandra Ann Egan.” He whistled, heart stuttering at the reminder she was his wife, as she did a little twirl and took a bow. 

“Congratulations, Captain. You certainly earned the hell out of it.”

“You’ll have to feign surprise when the letter telling you all of this gets to you.” John watched as her face fell and grew concerned. “You’ll also see some letters from me that are postmarked from Wisconsin.”

“Wisconsin?” Then realization settled on his face. “Cass, did you…did you…” He was struggling to formulate the question.

“Please don’t be upset with me,” she breathed desperately. “When they mandated stateside leave it just slipped out. It was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I should’ve just gone to South Carolina and left it alone.”

“I haven’t been to Manitowoc in years,” he spoke wistfully. Had wanted to go back with her on his arm when all this was over. “My sisters give you a hard time?”

“I brought some fabric from my last trip to Paris to butter them up.” John laughed. Only his Spook would be able to tame his two older sisters. “I spent most of the time promising you were okay. They thought you injured your head when I told them we’d been married, something about you not seeming like the type.”

“Just had to find the right girl.” 

“Your mom misses you. A lot. Wanted me to give you this.” Cass reached into her bag and pulled out a slightly tarnished silver watch with a date engraved on the back. 

“My dad’s watch.” It was hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. “His dad gave it to him on my parents' wedding day. That’s what the date on the back is. Told me when I got married, it would be mine.”

“I can get it cleaned and upgrade the engraving and bring it back if you’d like.” John coughed and shook the fog from his head.

“No. It’s perfect. We’ll get the engraving done together when I’m out of here.” He tucked the watch into his shirt pocket. 

“She also gave me this. Was horrified I wasn’t already wearing it.” Cass handed him a small ring box and he knew it was his grandmother’s engagement ring before he even opened it. “I told her it would be wrong to put it on my own finger. One more thing for us to do when we get you out of here.” 

“Yeah but you best keep it safe while we wait to get the chance.” He removed the cross from around his neck, slipping the small diamond ring onto it and passing through the fence. She took the chain but slid the cross charm off and handed it back to him with a look. “I’d rather use it to protect you.” 

“It’s not up for debate.” He took it and slipped it onto the same chain as his pendant. “Here comes our friend. Catch.” Cass launched the canvas over the side of the fence, John gathering it with ease.

“Thanks, baby. I’m sure all the guys will be very grateful.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Moscow is my new station.” She had asked for London but was turned down. Told she had earned more of a challenge than London presented. “I have to get the lay of the land and keep my head down for a little bit.”

“I’m sure you’ll win them over in no time, Spook.” She rolled her eyes and reached for a kiss. “I love you, Cass. Now and forever. I promise.”

“I love you, too, Johnny. I’ll see you soon.” Cass stayed until he was walked out of sight, the chain heavy against her chest once he disappeared from her view. 

Soon was never soon enough.

[carnalhaus]

american tradition: forge of the cyclops

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It was rare that Sledge ever knew what he was crying about. He kept a mental checklist when he was sober enough. Enid’s red hair was growing back in. The cat rubbed on his leg. He realized he didn’t know how to braid. Now is one of those rare times where his pupils are the size they’re supposed to be, not too big or too small. Praline made a habit of checking. Speaking of which, there she was. 

The two of them are on the floor of the kitchen. That’s to say, the kitchenette of the single-wide trailer they holed up in after the previous owner died. They shouldn’t have made a habit of it, but they did. Finding obituaries is getting pretty easy nowadays, thanks to the internet. The overhead light flickers, but they’re lucky the lights are still on in this place at all. They’re all very lucky people, because Sledge is lucky his crying isn’t waking up the whole damn house. 

This time, he’s crying about guilt. He makes sure to catalogue that while he cries. That ugly thing that eats at his heart once a month, whenever the lights turn low and the girls count sheep. Truth be told, he’s the only one who thinks about those years anymore. Praline is always too busy asking what’s for dinner, and Enid only cares about sneaking the smokes from his jean pockets. They whine and laugh just like they always did, kicking the back of his seat in the car and flinging food at him while Stat goes to grab another beer. The world has moved on without him, and he’s still there, bowing and scraping in the mud for forgiveness. 

Most people say you should feel guilty for the rest of your life. Some people say it’s more selfish to keep groveling after you’re already forgiven.

Maso-fucking-chistic. 

Sledge is doing some stupid babbling like usual when he cries. Same old wash and rinse of ‘I love you and I’m sorry’ that went on for an hour at a time every full moon. Praline was never very savvy on human connection, so her face is contorted into an angry frown, the closest thing to sadness and concern she can muster. She looks pissed, even through the blur of his tears. The dull acrylics digging into his shoulders aren’t helping much. 

She presses her forehead to his, clumsy and rough like she’s trying to give him a concussion, and through his tears she’s now a cyclops. Two eyes fashioned into one big watery mirror. He can barely see his reflection, the curve of his sunken cheekbones blacked out in ink. The untamed hair on the nape of his neck is tangled in her fist, holding him there like she’s got a handle on some mustang’s mane. And just like one, he’s wild and afraid. Whale-eyed. 

“I am the only thing you care about,” she says it like a mantra, and in a way it’s true. “So quit it. Quit killing yourself because you think I should be doing it for you. You are so self-fucking-righteous.” 

It feels like she’s talking him off a ledge. He knows better than anyone else that a curse from her mouth is a beg and a plead. Gone and did it again, he did. Spooked so bad she’s trying to tug on his lead rope and control his head. That’s all she knows how to do. Control, control, control. Praline’s scared, even if she wont admit it. She’s holding her breath.

His hand can’t reach her neck to feel her pulse and he’s not sure he wants it to. He doesn’t want to risk scraping her collarbone or her shoulder, those were the worst parts. The ones he had the worst memories of having to hold so hard he thought they’d crumble. So he reaches up to feel it on her wrist, wrapping around the bones and feeling over the veins. Touching her feels too similar to pulling apart a warm rotisserie chicken. Really, it does. Bones and all. That’s why he always hated it, ever since he met her. He has to hold back some bile.

“Screw your head back on,” she says. It’s through her teeth, eyes wide, and her head presses harder into his. Sledge is gonna have a headache later, whether it’s from all the crying or Praline trying to give him the iron claw. He can’t blame her. He’s being fucking annoying and being rough is all she knows. He counts the beats from her radial artery, blood rushing in his ears to drown everything else out. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, zero, zero, nine, nine, zero, nine, nine, zero, nine, nine.

“I’m screwed,” he finally chokes out. Dumb, but he says it, and he finally gasps in a shaky breath. For a second, she doesn’t believe him. Nobody really would. But that pressure eases off his cranium and her claws snake out of his hair. He’s breathing alright, a little hiccup here and there, but it usually doesn’t get any better than that anyway. Praline sits back on her knees, and Sledge stays hunched over with awkward limbs like some marionette. Feels like he just got punched in the nose, pain radiating from his forehead down to his eye sockets. 

It’s only now that he sees the flakes of mascara under her eyes, the kind that said it was waterproof on the package when she picked it up. No longer a cyclops, just some girl sitting with him on the linoleum. She’s got her Betty Boop pajama pants on, seam busted at the thigh, inseams too short on her ankles, and it makes him wanna cry even harder seeing her look like such a kid. Sledge keeps a loose hand on her wrist and she lets him, holding her arm out like she’s waiting for an IV. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, zero, zero, nine, nine, zero, nine, nine, zero, nine, nine. 

“Don’t do that no more,” and her voice is a little more wobbly this time when she speaks to him. “I hate when you do that, when you go and cry. I don’t know what to do, Sledge.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” is the first thing that tumbles out of his mouth in a while, instinctual and pathetic. Sounded like the little bleat of a lamb, it did. Praline doesn’t like that answer, so her eyes harden up and she cocks her head into his line of vision. 

“You don’t have to do anything,” she repeats. The way she throws his words back in his face is probably the nicest slap she’ll ever give him, and it makes him choke out a little sob. “But you’re still here anyway, cause you don’t know when to fuckin’ quit, n’ maybe I don’t either.”

They go quiet after that. Not much else to say, and neither of them were ever very book smart. Lini got held back cause she couldn’t read a damn thing when she was real little. A few sniffles fill the prolonged silence, and he’s not sure how much time passes. Praline’s dull nails run over his forearm. Not gentle, not soothing, just tracing over the sharp curves of his tattoo like a toddler cutting with safety scissors. Bored and unpracticed. The time for being sentimental has passed. She scrunches up her nose and tugs at a few blonde arm hairs, and Sledge thinks it’s the Cain instinct when he wants to hit her in the jaw. Eventually he settles for smacking her hand away, and she does the same damn thing. Couple of idiots they were, always acting like they grew up in a chicken coop together. 

“Ice cream?” Is all Praline says. Sledge has to blink at her like an idiot a few times before it clicks in his brain. That’s what he always asks her about when she gets upset. Ever since her and Enid were younger, he’d always ask about some stupid ice cream when they’d cry, like it would fix everything. Maybe it did, if she’s asking now. 

They only had a half eaten pint, so she put a scoop each into two pebbled plastic cups they stole from a diner, and topped it off with some coke. A little warm still, they only popped the cans in the fridge an hour ago. Sledge took up residency on the couch and he watched her the whole time, cooing about how sweet she was and trying not cry again. He tells her she’s so fancy-schmancy making a coke float for him and she tells him to shut up cuz it’s gonna foam up if she can’t concentrate.

When she joins him on the couch, he puts his legs in her lap and she locks them in with her elbows. It’s times like these where he doesn’t feel like the oldest kid. Praline isn’t sixteen anymore. There’s no baby fat cushioning her sharp cheekbones, and she hasn’t gotten that stubborn pimple on her chin in years. But when he looks at her too long, he still sees a kid breaking her ankles in her mom’s clubbing heels.  Clumsy and unpracticed, like a baby deer learning how to walk. He’d seen her walk miles in those stupid shoes, though. Maybe she was getting older. 

Coke floats damn good. Not quite rootbeer, but this is how they did it in the good ol’ days. That’s what his father always said. Floats came from Philly, in his humble home state of Pennsylvania. He didn’t know what the hell his dad was talking about half the time with that Philly bullshit, cause he was from Pittsburgh. It’s dead quiet, and this is the point where he starts feeling embarrassed. How old is he now? Thirty, almost? But Praline doesn’t look twice at him. Doesn’t curl her lip or shrug him off. She’s too focused on licking the ice cream foam off her top lip. Speaking of which, she drank that thing quick. She burps and he knees her in the ribs, just enough to make her hit him on the shin. Like always, she gives him that laugh, something between a giggle and a snort. 

That bunny smile she gives him is refreshing, and it gives him the courage to crack one too. Endorphins were finally hitting, better than any heroin he tried. Usually that euphoria just ended with vomiting on her shirt. 

“Your face is gon’ get all puffed in the morning from bawling your damn eyes out,” she starts, and she’s already swinging his legs off of her lap to go scramble over to the freezer again. “Gotta ice it.”

Sledge doubts it’ll help, cause nothing she tries ever really does. But he lets her, and he can’t help but scrunch his face up and squeal a little from how cold it is. Like a girl, she says, and he tells her to stop being mean. That only does so much, cause then she drops the rest of the ice cube down the front of his shirt.

[acescorazon]

Title: Buggy's guide to bagging boyfriends

Chapter: 2/?

Word count: 2200

Rating: T (bc Crocodile has a potty mouth, asjdlaksjda like always.)

Chapter Excerpt:

“Please?” Buggy pleads, and it seems like he has a lot more courage now that he realizes that Crocodile isn’t going to kick his ass. “Please, please, pleaseee?” He begs and then that clown, actually has the nerve, the gall, the audacity to… Grab Crocodile’s hand with his own two, still begging him to give him what he wants, “Please, it won’t be that long. I promise.” 

Crocodile glances down at their hands, and his mind is screaming at him now: Yank your hand back, you fool. Punch him, yell at him, do something, don’t just let him touch you… He’s an annoying, pathetic, worthless little clown, remember? And yet...

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Crocodile replies flatly, now avoiding both Buggy’s gaze and the sight of their hands pressed together. “Just don’t screw around, got it, Bug-... Clown?” Oh, good god. He almost called him by his actual name. What is wrong with him? Is he sick? Did that clown poison him somehow? What the hell is this?!

[Previous Chapter]

As soon as the alarm at his bedside goes off, Crocodile groggily hits the snooze button and then feels around his nightstand for his hook. Instead of touching cold metal though, his hand touches the cool wooden surface of his nightstand, and he opens one of his eyes, confused for a moment. Did it fall on the floor? He groans, not sure how the damn thing managed to fall on the floor, but annoyed nonetheless. He finally sits up and then looks down at the ground. What the hell? It’s not there either...

Now there’s no way in hell that it could have fallen off his nightstand and rolled under the bed, it’s just too damn heavy, yet what other choice does Crocodile have but to look? He gets out of bed and crouches down, feeling under the bed for his hook…

Nothing. 

Where the hell is his hand? 

Crocodile turns on the light on his nightstand and uses it to check under his bed and, sure as shit, there’s no hook under there. He frowns and takes a moment to think back to last night. He ate dinner, took a freezing shower, and then went to bed… Hmm, he wouldn’t take his hand off during dinner, and he wouldn’t just leave it in the bathroom either... Still, he retraces his steps, checking the bathroom to see if it’s in there, and when he still can’t find his hook, he starts getting really pissed. Where the fuck could it be? 

Did someone steal it?

Who would be stupid enough to steal his hook?! 

The answer to that question pops up in his mind a moment later, “Fucking, clown.” He mutters under his breath. He bets Buggy did it. Why? He has absolutely no idea why he would decide to steal his hook. Maybe he did it as a ‘cute’ little prank, or maybe he did it to finally get back at Crocodile for all the times he’s been a dick to him, either way, Crocodile’s gut is telling him that Buggy stole it. 

Crocodile gets himself dressed, and it’s the tiniest things that start to piss him off now that he doesn’t have his hand, like how he struggles to put on his belt or get his shirt buttoned, and he just keeps muttering to himself how he’s going to catch that damn clown and beat him senseless throughout the entire process. Seriously, what a pain in the ass! Eventually, he does get himself all nice and tidy even with one hand, and then rushes out of his tent (Christ, he sleeps in a fucking circus tent!) and then looks for that annoying clown. 

The first place he checks is Buggy’s own bedroom, and he’s even more annoyed when he doesn’t find him there. He moves on to checking each and every one of Buggy’s hang-out places afterwards, ready to knock his lights out for taking his hook, and yet...Buggy’s nowhere to be found? Where the hell is he and where is Crocodile’s hand???

Tsk. Annoying.

At some point, he runs into Mihawk, who looks just as pissed off as he is, “Have you seen that coward?” He asks as he approaches him, “My sword’s missing and I know he’s behind it.” Ah, so this has to be something like revenge, right? Chairman Buggy is tired of being picked on and so he’s finally getting his revenge, and the first step is disarming both him and Hawkeye, right? Pathetic, Crocodile doesn’t need his hook to kick Buggy’s ass. “Don’t know if you could tell or not,” Crocodile replies, and there’s a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “But my damn hook is missing, and i’m pretty damn sure that the clown’s behind that too.” 

Mihawk clicks his tongue, looking almost as if he’s annoyed for both of them now. How sweet. “I looked all over for him, but i honestly don’t know where he is.” Ain’t that the truth? Crocodile’s spent all morning looking for that damn clown, but he still can’t find him. 

They decide to join up and hunt the clown down together after that, asking various wimps and overly devout followers of Buggy’s where their beloved Captain, or Chairman, (or whatever the fuck title he’s going by this week.) is, but no one seems to know where the clown is, and Crocodile isn’t sure if it’s because they’re covering up for him or if they’re all idiots around here.

It’s probably both. 

By the time they finally run into someone of use, it’s about eight in the morning, and the follower says he doesn’t know where Buggy could be, but thinks he saw him heading towards the direction of their workshop earlier, and Crocodile asks why Buggy would even be in such a place because it’s not like he does much work anyways, to which, his subordinate simply replies, “I don’t know, really.” 

Of course. Everyone around this island is so fucking useless, they couldn’t even plan a funeral.

Still, Crocodile and Mihawk take the tip seriously and head over to the workshop, and Crocodile swears that if that little shit is in there, he’s going to kill him. He’s actually going to kill him because there is absolutely no excuse for taking Crocodile’s damn hand so early in the morning or at all, really! 

“Hey, Clown, you in there?” Crocodile calls out as they approach the entrance, voice filled with irritation. If he’s in there, he better hope that he can outrun Crocodile because that twerp is as good as dead. 

As soon as Crocodile steps foot into the tent and sees blue in front of him, he wants to lunge forward and attack that clown, but then he notices something…strange.

They find him sitting on a stool, polishing Hawkeye’s sword, but Crocodile doesn’t give a shit about Hawkeye’s sword, he wants to know where his hand is. “Where’s my damn hook?” He asks, with a frown, ready to beat the shit out of Buggy at any moment, until he sees Buggy look up with soft eyes and pick his hand up from beside him on the table. Crocodile notices that it’s glittering brightly and that the damn thing looks better than the day he got it, and he’s so confused.

He watches as Buggy stands up and then willingly gives him back his hook, “I know i shouldn’t have taken your stuff,” He admits “But i just suddenly thought to myself: ‘Wow, these guys would look so cool if their weapons were all clean and shiny… and i was hoping that i could get everything polished before you even noticed your things were gone, but obviously that didn’t happen…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his head, “But, yeah, i wasn’t trying to make you guys mad or anything, just wanted you to look cool.”

He…what?

Cool? He took their things in the early hours of the morning to polish them and make them look cool… that’s it…? There’s no revenge plot or anything like that…? No pranks? No wanting to piss Crocodile and Mihawk off, he just wanted to do something nice for the two of them… He just wanted them to look, ‘cool’? 

What the fuck?

There's no way he's telling the truth, right? Crocodile stares at Buggy for a moment and then turns his attention to his hook, twisting and turning it, and checking to make sure there's nothing wrong, and… 

All is as it should be? 

Crocodile isn't sure how to respond. He's mad that Buggy took his hook…but, at the same time, it's perfectly fine. In fact, it looks better than it has in years… He looks back at that clown again, and it’s kind of annoying, but he can feel his anger dissolving on the spot, "Whatever…just don't do it again," he tells him before he rushes out of the room, no longer in the mood to kick his ass. 

Huh, ain’t that a first?

What was that clown thinking? He wonders as he puts his hand on, and he's honestly so relieved to have it back, he feels weird without it. He heads to their meeting room because, honestly, it’s the only place that he can relax in this damn circus, everywhere else he’s hounded by Buggy’s men who always ask him annoying questions and try to be his pal. Ugh. 

As the day drags by and he tries to get some work done, He continues to look at his hook, and the more he thinks about what Buggy's done for him, the more he grows confused. Who cares if Crocodile's hook looks cool or not? It's not supposed to look cool, it's…it's his hand and his weapon, at the very least it's just supposed to be there and provide him some aid… It doesn't have to be cool or anything like that. 

But, maybe it does look better now… only a little better though, because before Buggy shined it, Crocodile's hook was already beautiful and intimidating…but now, it’s both those things, and it's cool…? 

Hm… Maybe he shouldn’t be too mad about this whole thing, maybe he should just put everything behind him…his hook does look really nice now… Just as he’s having those thoughts, he hears a soft voice call out to him from behind, “Um, Croccy?” Oh, what now? Crocodile thinks, glancing over at that clown as he peeks his head into the meeting room. “I’m sorry.”

What is he sorry for? Did he mess something up again? What was it this time? He waits for Buggy to tell him that he accidentally lost something or ruined something, or that he did some other thing that will undoubtedly annoy the hell out of Crocodile, but instead, he quietly adds, “Please, don’t be mad at me. I know I shouldn't have stolen your hook…” Huh? That’s what this is all about… ? he thinks and suddenly Crocodile feels strangely…

Soft?... Wait...Huh?! What the hell is this emotion he’s feeling?

“Let me make it up to you!” Buggy says, now slowly, cautiously creeping his way into the room, and it’s weird, usually by now Crocodile would be heated and ready to yell at his ‘boss’, but that’s not how he feels right now. He calmly watches Buggy and waits for his next move instead. “Please! I really want to be your friend!” He tells him. Crocodile doesn’t need friends... he never has and he never will, but… 

He continues to hear Buggy out regardless?

“I know stealing your hand was wrong!” Buggy repeats, “I get that. I messed up big time, so let me make up for it!” And how exactly does he plan on making things up to Crocodile? “Uh, but first i have to ask for a tiny little favor, okay?” He says, clapping his hands together, “I need…like… a week off?” 

“Okay.” Crocodile simply replies, and afterwards both he and Buggy are shocked by his nonchalant attitude. Wait, what? This is definitely not how he would normally handle a situation like this. Normally he would tell Buggy he’s out of his mind and to go back to work, but he just… wow, he really just agreed to that the first time around, didn’t he? What the hell is wrong with him? “Uh…You aren’t going to ask why?” Buggy asks, chuckling nervously. Yeah, perhaps he should have at least done that. 

God, what is wrong with him?

“Why do you need a week off, clown?” Crocodile asks, leaning back in his chair and sighing, but honestly… he still doesn’t feel annoyed like he usually does whenever Buggy comes around. Buggy smiles at him, bright…and…prettily? “I just want to go into town and pick something nice up for you and Hawkeye!” He announces, still smiling, “It’s a surprise though, so you can’t know what i’m going to get you.. But, uh, can I borrow Daz and Galdino?” 

Crocodile doesn’t give a shit about Galdino, but Daz is another story… “Please?” Buggy pleads, and it seems like he has a lot more courage now that he realizes that Crocodile isn’t going to kick his ass. “Please, please, pleaseee?” He begs and then that clown, actually has the nerve, the gall, the audacity to… Grab Crocodile’s hand with his own two, still begging him to give him what he wants, “Please, it won’t be that long. I promise.” 

Crocodile glances down at their hands, and his mind is screaming at him now: Yank your hand back, you fool. Punch him, yell at him, do something, don’t just let him touch you… He’s an annoying, pathetic, worthless little clown, remember? And yet...

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Crocodile replies flatly, now avoiding both Buggy’s gaze and the sight of their hands pressed together. “Just don’t screw around, got it, Bug-... Clown?” Oh, good god. He almost called him by his actual name. What is wrong with him? Is he sick? Did that clown poison him somehow? What the hell is this?!

“Thank you, thank you!” Buggy exclaims happily, squeezing his hand tightly, “You won’t regret this, Croccy!” He says before letting his hand go and leaving the meeting room happily, leaving Crocodile to stare down at both his hands, confused. 

What the hell, man?!

[anakinsgirlfriendreal]

Parts Of The Truth

Masterlist

Chapter Two

Warnings: 18+ unprotected sex, mentions of sex, controlling behavior,cheating, foul language, jealous Anakin, slight degradation, slight daddy kink because I think he'd have one, a child, my terrible writing.

Your head tipped back, soft moans leaving your lips, as you rode him, one his hands gripping the back of your neck the other around your back, helping you bounce on top of him, trying to stay as quiet as possible so as to not wake Darcy in the other room. He grips on to you tightly angling his hips so he can fuck up into you, your head drops against his shouder, as he hits your sweet spot, you bite into your lip to hold back moan.

"that's it baby, that's my good girl" he coaxes, kissing you, biting your neck. "So tight baby" he nips at your neck, his hand pulling your hair, your moans hoarse and breathing shallow.

"da- Ani" you cried out, not able to form a word, your fucked out mind thinking of nothing but the sweet pleasure his cock was bringing you as it bullied your aching cunt. He grunts when you clench around him a deep moan leaving his lips. Your knees start to hurt and when you slow down he slaps your ass. "You used to have a lot more in you than this baby" he flips you over, pushing our head into the cushion, he stands proud behind you, giving your ass a good spank before burying himself into your welcoming heat, you squirm at his brutal pace, the flesh of your ass, slapping against his hips with each thrust. He pulls you back up to his chest, his fingers tangle in your hair. "Take it baby. Take it like the good whore you are" he bites your neck and you can't fight the filthy sound that leaves your lips. "No one does it like daddy hmm, no one" his thrusts get sloppy when he feels you clench around him, signaling you were close.

So how'd you end up here? Well it started like this. You had accepted a date, with Henry. He worked at the company maybe in IT, you weren't too sure, your main goal was catching a dick. Padme had visited Anakin's office a week earlier, spent an hour in there and then left with a smile on her face, his blinds were closed and you knew what that meant. Later that same week, Anakin left early after some woman called the office asking for him, you knew, he was screwing you enough to have a child behind his wife's back, why wouldn't he be screwing other women too. So when Henry asked you out, you excitedly accepted. He was handsome, tall, his brown hair luscious and a nice contrast to his green eyes. He was no Anakin but you sure hoped he fucked like him.

When the date was over, Henry drove back to your house, you scowled when you saw Anakin's black Mercedes already in the driveway. Reluctantly you apologized to Henry and made your way inside the house, once he drove off.

Anakin was sitting in the living room, Darcy's toys scattered on the foor, which meant he must've picked her up from her sleepover at your mom's house good luck explaining that one to her when she inevitably calls to stick her nose in your business. He was watching tv with his feet on the table like every thing was okay. You slammed your bag down on the entrance table, kicking off your heels. "Are you fucking kidding" you fight the urge to yell.

He smirks, standing up, taking in your figure, he steps close to you, his hand reaching out to fiddle with the hem of your black dress. "Who'd you dress up for?" He asks. You don't answer, he pulls you close to him, his hand firm on the back of your neck, the sudden force surprised you but this was how he usually was when you'd pissed him off, or in this case made him jealous. "You think I'd let you bring another man into the house I paid for, where my daughter sleeps" his kisses you roughly and funny enough you desperately reciprocate. That's how you ended up in this situation,split on his cock and begging for release. This was how your relationship was now. He'd changed immensely once he had you,once you had gotten pregnant and you decided to keep it. He did whatever whenever and if you attempted same he made sure you knew your place.

Once he climaxed, your body fell limp on the couch, he leaned down kissing your back. "So fucking beautiful" he lays near you pulling you onto his chest, kissing your head, whispering about how you were his world and how he only loved you, how only you could carry his children.

After what felt like seconds, he stood up again,throwing the ruined fabric that used to be your dress at you. "Cover up before Darcy sees you like this" he spits. He dresses himself and heads to your door, he stops turning back to you, "Remind me to fire Henry."

The next day you'd called in sick, choosing to not be there when Anakin fired Henry all because of you.

Sitting in the park, you watched Darcy play in the sandbox, your mom sat beside you very clearly prepared to pass judgement.

"what you're doing is stupid y/n. You really think that man's wife won't find out" she scolds you.

"Mom please, she won't find out. Anakin won't let that happen because-"

"Because what? He loves you? I raised you better than that" she chastises. "You have dug yourself a hole y/n you better hope you can climb out of it"

Sighing you look back at Darcy, and her new found friends playing on the swing set, Padme wouldn't find out, and my life wouldn't blow up you told yourself. She hadn't found out for three years how could she now? You pushed the thought to the back of your mind, deciding to ignore it, chalking up the ache in your stomach that your mom was right to simple paranoia.

A/N: always listen your mother.

[phoenixtakaramono]

K, U, D with butchlander pls! loveee your writing

(This Ask is regarding this.) Thank you very much! Writing these lil HCs are very cathartic (lowkey, some of my HCs are actually things I’d legit write in a threadfic or an AO3 fic.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I’d discussed, in a previous Ask, Billy’s both of their creampie breeding kink here, as well as a brief cameo of Homelander’s milk lactation and oral fixation kinks. So I’ll offer another one:

Roleplaying.

With Homelander, it’s fairly obvious with any lover, he’d roleplay as the valiant hero saving the damsel/ citizen in distress. He’d very likely milk it for all it’s worth if he can pester Billy into playing the role of some hapless citizen of Manhattan getting mugged, whom Homelander swoops down from the skies and rescues from peril. Cheekily asks for a kiss when Billy, very dryly, recites by rote: “my hero, how can I ever repay you?” He’s subjected Billy to Marvel/ DCU VCU flicks, especially Homelander’s own filmography, for a reason—so Billy knows all the cringey love interest lines (imagine things Lois Lane or Mary Jane would say). If he’s been really good lately and Billy’s in an indulgent mood, he can probably wheedle Billy into roleplaying his PA (personal assistant)/ secretary or an investor or a sidekick or a grateful lovestruck fan.

If he’s feeling particularly frisky, he’d switch things up and expect Billy to play the role of a Supe terrorist, an evil British mastermind, a supervillain, what have you whom he, as The Homelander, has been “sent by Vought” to “put an end to.” Now, we open up new possibilities.

Now with both scenarios, I expect there is some hapless third party, whether it be an actual criminal or some sorry Supe whom Billy has had his eye on, who serves as the cannon fodder to the couple’s PDA. Remember the scene in S2 where Homelander crushes the skull of a crook whilst he makes out with Stormfront? Yeah, we’re talking about that level of unhinged PDA between himself and Billy. If it’s not behind closed doors, their roleplaying almost always involves some kinda casualty. They’re both psychopaths (although one is arguably more of a sociopath). Violence and adrenaline gets them hot and heavy; it gets their blood pumping, accelerates their heart rate. But with the first scenario, Billy’s more so acting as the indulgent lover catering to Homelander’s whims—however batshit insane or risky some of his fantasies can be (we’re talking a revenge quickie in a conference room fucking in the seat of whichever member of Vought’s board of directors has recently pissed Homelander off or Billy literally being dressed to the nines having to saunter into a Vought charity gala like some kinda sexy James Bond-esque honeytrap agent whose mission is to rizz Homelander up and “seduce the hero”). Billy’s often the backseat driver in those cases, and more often than not he has to be convinced. But with the second scenario, this presents Billy a challenge; he’s in his element. Now he’s an active participant, doing what he does best; screwing Homelander over comes automatically to him. He cannot get rid of this side to him, even after he’s entered a relationship with his former enemy. Also, William “Billy” Butcher is very hot and sexy as an evil villain—and him being “evil” is very much one of Homelander’s turn-ons. Because this lowkey also plays into his egotistical powertrip fantasy of being the one to save someone so undeniably evil/ who undeniably hates him and being the catalyst of “turning them good”. It’s every superhero’s white savior complex.

Have you seen Miike Snow’s Genghis Khan music video?

The supervillain/hero to domestic family love story is literally what gets Homelander hot and bothered, with him playing the role as the hero whom Billy, as the villain who’s obsessed with him, has knocked unconscious and has strapped down to a gurney with a death ray seconds from blasting him to smithereens. But the villain, after having long last overpowered his foe, is faced with the conundrum of pushing the KILL or RELEASE button—and in the end cannot bear with the thought of killing the other side of his same coin and lets him go. And, obviously, with Billy having chosen the correct moral decision, Homelander has to reward him. If either Homelander or Billy are feeling particularly kinky and Homelander’s given his consent (I think this freak in the sheets rarely says “no” to a romantic partner and he’s been so conditioned that he thinks he can tank anything—so Billy, as the more conscientious one between the two of them, would normally be looking for any subtle indicators of Homelander’s discomfort…unless Billy’s in a particularly foul mood and wants a little revenge this is a safe enough outlet for him to vent out his frustrations, such as blinding Homelander with a zinc-lined blindfold and tying his wrists and ankles down tightly, and ordering him to come with nothing but the electric stimulation to his nipples and his dick, and a fuck machine pumping into him for the next three hours while Billy watches him squirm, gyrate his hips like a wh0re, with Homelander near tears from his fifth consecutive orgasm shooting through him, and him moaning/snarling for Billy to “stop being such a fucking prick and touch me right now or, so help me God, I will rip out your fucking spleen!”—but Billy’s not having that bratty attitude because Homelander’s got five more hands-free orgasms to go since a certain someone had bragged he’s made someone come seven times on his lap and Billy’s feeling extra vicious tonight with his “surely ten is a walk in the park for you, hero?”) Homelander’s usually game to see what “evil dastardly plot” Billy wants to do to him this time. It’s usually very, very, very fun and exciting, new and interesting. Homelander can be a bit of a bossy, high maintenance, needy control freak but ceding Billy the reins spices up their bedroom activities because now we’re talking spanking, riding crops, sensory deprivation, mayhap a cage, some sadomasochistic BDSM play, some kinky humiliation/ verbal or physical degradation (to an extent; we’re talking something as tame as forced feminization, with Billy making Homelander wear lacy lingerie or training him with chastity cages—until the Supe’s able to use the smallest cage size, with Homelander red-faced and embarrassed as Billy deliberately insults his leaking cock despite it being big or a decent-size irl and calls it “a waste of a reproductive organ”/ “a clit” and his anus “a pussy”/ “warm hole” if Billy’s feeling extra nice, although they both know it’s biologically impossible, he’ll toy with his hole and croon he’ll “wife him up” and impregnate him until he’s “showing and round with their babies, just you wait” (don’t tell me Homelander’s dick wouldn’t jolt and start leaking precum crazily the moment he heard that; this is the kind of dirty talk that gay legends speak of)—to something on the more extreme end that Homelander’s willing to tolerate), erotic asphyxiation, overstimulation, hot wax, ice play, etcetera. When it comes to Homelander, Billy Butcher can be very, very creative.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Yes. Both of them do. They like to be a tease and sexually frustrate the other person as much as possible—even at the most inconvenient of times. Both men are the type of cheeky bastard who would deliberately get the other person hot and bothered, and then stop just before the partner achieves climax, bat their lashes, and sweetly tell them they’re tired so they can just finish themself off, sweetheart. It’s both hilarious and/or sexy to them, especially when the other partner attempts to grab them, breathing hard, but they slip away and has the nerve to tell them to take an ice bath or finish off themself by hand.

They both know what turns the other person on. Imagine Billy’s meeting with The Boys, and Billy suddenly gets a notification from one of those secret disguised apps with an encrypted text message for him to open the photo attachment or short video clip with a warning to put it on mute if he’s not by himself. You can pretty much be able to guess what Billy sees the moment he opens what Homelander sent him; it’s very spicy and not PG friendly. Likewise in a very important superhero function, whilst Homelander is probably talking to a senator or politician, Billy will deliberately lower his voice and whisper “Pet (or “love” or or whatever endearment Homelander seems very partial to), wouldn’t it blow that sod’s mind knowing how close I am to hiking those pretty legs of yours up and making you cum all over that champagne tower?” It’s something very inappropriate and explicit, but my god does it make Homelander choke on his tongue and make his face burn. Of course Homelander plays it off when the concerned party asks if everything’s alright. But Billy’s not done yet. The more Billy starts riling him up from afar, with Homelander being the only one able to hear him and him surrounded by old fossils whom neither of them could give a toss about, Homelander will inevitably start scheming on how to sneak a quick shag in without tipping anyone off.

Pretty much both men know how to lead the other person on—until they almost can’t stand it. And. They. Need. Them. Now. It leads to quite frequent, impatient but passionate sexy times.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

This is a very broad wild card question that is open to interpretation. A dirty secret of theirs, that I think could apply to them, is both men, however possessive or obsessive they are, have cheating inclinations (gee, thanks, S4 for making it show canon (sarcasm)). Now, yes, in an ideal world, they’re both obsessed with each other so much that they only have eyes for each other. But I’m writing this HC as a challenge. Now, okay, let’s go with the premise that they were once straight men and sometimes they can’t help missing the joy of a woman’s pussy when the whim hits. However, Billy would do it to hurt Homelander. Like, unless he’s intentionally trying to keep it a secret for whatever reason (whether it’s because he has some conscience or he’s on a honeytrap mission to collect important blackmail material), he’s not exactly subtle about it. Even in a happy relationship, this man has a very real problem of self-sabotage. But in this scenario he’s most likely 1) he’s fucking to get over the craving of missing the touch of a woman and 2) that person was probably pre-selected by him to serve as a means to an end. He wants Homelander to know. To hurt badly. This would obviously lead to Homelander finding out—and lashing out. Quite violently. That wo/man whom Billy had an affair with would meet a violent end. You can expect Homelander menacingly sitting in the dark, fuming, and when Billy enters through the door and flicks the lights on, he tosses their decapitated head at Billy’s feet—spinal cord and sinews still attached at the stump. And this is precisely what Billy had planned to happen. Because now he has killed two birds with one stone, and he has Homelander’s attention.

On the other end, I can see Homelander “cheating” more so accidentally. While I can also envision him going to find someone else if he’s engaged in a Cold War with Billy, with Billy freezing all bedroom activities—and Homelander feels wronged by it—and fucking the third party out of pent-up sexual frustration, I think Homelander would surprisingly be the one in the relationship trying to stay faithful and monogamous. His hand would have to be his companion during these trying times—until whatever fit Billy’s throwing finally passes. He just has to weather the storm in the interim. So when I mean accidentally, I mean wo/men deliberately approaching him to seduce America’s No.1 Hero or Vought telling him he has to enter a one year showmance contract with an up-and-coming heroine to boost sales or whatever publicity stunt. Now, obviously, when Billy finds out, especially if Homelander hides it from him or the Supe doesn’t yet realize the other party’s ulterior motive because he’s too blinded by the rose-tinted glasses of love he has for Billy, Billy’s the type of guy who tails the suspected adulterer or hussy suspected of trying to put the moves on his prey. And he would quietly make the person disappear. Funny enough, the next day, Homelander would be scratching his head and saying the person’s submitted their resignation, been sent “overseas on a top secret mission,” had their dirty laundry exposed, or whatever it is. After a pause, he’d glance at Billy with a knowing look and murmur, “You had something to do with it, didn’t you? …I don’t know what you did, but your heart cannot lie.” (Because he can hear Billy’s BPM, which serves as his lie-detector machine.) Very rarely would he openly and publicly confront Homelander if caught in the act but if so, it’d be deliberate with Billy timing it so that he catches Homelander balls deep inside another woman, and the adulterers noticing him in the background before Billy gives a scoundrel-like smirk and calmly utters “There you are…y’know, I’m quite angry with you” (or something equally terrifying) before detonating the office level with the C4 bombs he’d planted. (Of course both he and Homelander will be fine in the aftermath, but the same cannot be said about the third party. Homelander’s not exactly altruistic.)

At the end of the day, it serves as a test. It’s a gaslighting, manipulative power struggle. Because even if the other person cheated, they themself cannot let go of that toxic partner; at the end of the day, they are unwilling to let the other person go. They’re trapped in an ouroboros cycle of love and hate and obsession.

[booksrbetterthanpeople]

A headcanon of mine for Malice Anciel is that he’s super buff under that hoodie

I mean… You’re not wrong

Marc: *Doing pull-ups at the gym* Screw! You! Mari! Nette! Screw! You! Mari! Nette!

Jean: This exercising to things you don’t like is fun! *Starts doing lunges* Corduroy! Jackets! Austin’s! Snake! Corduroy! Jackets! Austin’s! Snake!

Marc is actually strong enough to carry Kim and Ivan

He’s punched several massive dents into walls before after “loving conversations” with Marinette

The moment his friends see him without his hoodie on, they all had various reactions

Marc: That girl spilled her fucking smoothie on my damn hoodie! *Starts taking it off*

Lila: Well, maybe we can- Oh, damn.

Nathaniel: Uh… I- you… Abs.

Félix: Bloody hell, he could crack walnuts with those biceps.

Marc: What?

Chloé: You’re fucking shredded!

Marc: Yeah, I’ve started working out every time Marinette does something to piss me off.

Nathaniel: *Blushes* And it fucking shows.

Marc: … Guys? My eyes are up here?

Lila: *Still staring at his biceps* Yeah, yeah, yeah, they’re gorgeous.