#red really has to put up with so much....

[pixelplushies]

So I was recently tasked with a very well loved soft toy Flip the Frog from the 1930s to restore.

He was bought new for my great aunt-in-law when she was 10, and was gifted to her sister's children when they were young. My mother in law has memories of feeding him cornflakes and putting her hands in his mouth, which felt very soft and velvety.

He had been in the attic for a number of years, and had moths get to him. He had lost his eyes. Luckily there are some examples online which show what he was meant to be like!

I approached this project wanting to retain as much of the original plush as I could. I thought about doing a total restoration, but I would end up replacing so much I might as well be making a replica! I wanted to make sure I used fabrics that were sympathetic to the time period, so 100% wool felt and cotton velvet seemed appropriate. The only liberty I took was polyester thread, because that's what I had already.

I researched a lot of plush restorations and best practices. A lot of places recommended only surface washing, but poor Flip was so full of dust and the remains of moths, but his fabric body seemed rather sturdy still, I thought I would take the risk of un-stuffing him to give him a thorough bath. I very gently took him apart and unstuffed him. His stuffing material looked to be kapok. There was lots of moth poop.

I gave Flip a gentle bath with carpet cleaning solution, which is what is recommended for vintage plushies. It's designed to be used on lots of fabrics including natural ones like wool and doesn't leave a residue once it's done cleaning so won't degrade the fabric over time. Loads of grime came out of Flip, as well as some yellow dye from his feet.

Flip then had a good air-dry in the sun. He seemed to enjoy soaking up the sun, he was already looking a lot cleaner.

Flip's eyes (which once upon a time caused my cousin-in-laws nightmares) were particularly gross and moth-eaten underneath. I decided to re-cover the card disks that made up his eyes with velvet cotton instead rather than reuse the old eyes. His original velvet was really bright yellow but had faded over time. I decided to use a fabric that matched his more faded look, I felt the bright yellow would look out of place. I also got some wooden beads and cut them in half and painted them for his pupils, which I glued on.

When it came to restoring his feet, I tried to retain as much of the original material as possible. I enjoyed patching and repairing the felt, I chose a 100% wool yellow felt that was close to his old colour here. Highlights the age of the old parts, I feel like it draws attention to his history and age.

Time to put him back together! I bought some new kapok stuffing because I couldn't reuse the old dusty moth stuff. Luckily you can still get it. I wrapped his metal skeleton in felt so that if it got rusty it wouldn't stain him (he's already a little stained from it rusting). Then I slipped his limbs over the skeleton and sewed them back on!

Ta-daa!! Here's flip looking a lot better, even if I say so myself.

One of the things we noticed when looking at photos of these soft toys is that they seem to have pinkish or white bow-ties and this Flip was missing his! Looking at the character art, I believe they were originally red.

The orientation of the eyes also seems to vary because I think they were prone to falling off and being sewn back on. I chose to orient Flip's eyes close to how they were when I received him, but slightly more vertical to make him appear more friendly.

Flip was a very fun challenge and got me thinking a lot about restoration vs conservation of historical artifacts, he may not be super duper old or rare but I feel like I better understand the dilemmas and judgements that have to be made when working on objects like this!

[classyrbf]

PARTY 4 U! — GOJO SATORU

SYNOPSIS...you see your ex at a party two years after a messy breakup, sparking conversation and reliving memories, you’re met with the harsh truth of reality

INFO...ex bf!gojo x fem!reader, reader and gojo are near their mid 20s, italics indicate readers thoughts and flashbacks, angst angst angst, messy relationship, messy breakup, kinda toxic?, talks of engagement, gojo is in a relationship, talks of arguments, reader is still in love with gojo, no happy ending, read at your own risk

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

You shouldn’t even be here right now, standing in the corner of the crowded kitchen with a red solo cup in your hand filled with a cheap and bitter tasting alcohol. The pop music blares over the speakers, lightly tapping your foot to the beat while you glance at everyone around you. Couples, friends, random strangers who don’t have a care in the world and are having the best time of their life right now. You only came here for your friend, it was her graduation party, her way of celebrating for finally getting her degree. But you weren’t even sure where she was and truthfully you were starting to regret even coming as harsh as it sounds.

A deep sigh left your lips, placing the half empty cup of alcohol on the kitchen island, leaving it stranded. You pulled your phone from your back pocket, noticing the message from your boss asking if you could come in earlier tomorrow to help with deadlines. You bit the inside of your cheek, thumbs hovering over the screen, deciding if you should even respond. It seems like your life now is nothing but work, home, sleep, and repeat. You’ve gotten so used to it unfortunately that this party has thrown you out of your comfort zone, but you only dragged yourself here in hopes to have fun and get away from the depressing reality. No relationship, barely any friends, and not even a pet to come home to and hang out with. You were quite literally alone, cooped up in your studio apartment from beginning to end.

Eventually, you put your phone back in your pocket, leaving your boss on delivered. It wouldn’t be hard to at least try and have fun, talk with people, hell maybe even a one night stand will get you out of the funk you’ve been in. You needed some type of push, but who else to do it besides yourself? You glared at the abandoned cup on the counter, eyes narrowing, contemplating if you should down the disgusting liquid in one shot. Before you could even think, the rim of the cup was at your lips and the alcohol hit the back of your throat, leaving a burning sensation. You winced, letting out a small cough as you put the cup back down on the counter. “Gross,” you muttered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“She said there should be more drinks in the fridge,” a familiar voice spoke.

You looked up to see a man with long silky black hair, and snakebite piercings to complete his look. It was no one other Geto Suguru, your ex boyfriends best friend. Though you never really spoke much to him, you still knew him well enough that seeing him here brought some sense of comfort compared to the strangers you were around. But just as you were about to say hi, behind him is a taller man with snow white hair and gleaming blue eyes, walking in with that charming smile you remembered so clearly. Gojo Satoru.

Two years. It’s been two years since you’ve last seen his face. Since that night when he walked out on you, left you in street with tears on your face. Your heart sunk, all the memories from good to bad came crawling right to the front of your brain, disregarding anything else you were thinking of. You quickly looked away, trying to avoid any contact with him. Retreating back to your corner in the kitchen, you brought up your phone, sticking your face in it and mindlessly clicking and scrolling through any apps in hopes he wouldn’t look your way. Why was it so much hotter all of a sudden? And why did the walls feel like they were closing in? Leave. Leave. Leave. Please, leave. A shadow cast over you, the mixed scent of cologne and alcohol filling your nose.

“Y/n?” And it was like everything around suddenly stopped. The music. The people. Time. And as much as you wanted to walk away, you didn’t. You looked up at him and smiled. Such a fake smile.

“Hey! Gojo!” You cheerfully spoke, tucking your phone back in your pocket. You gulped, your hands clammy, wiping them against your jean skirt. “How’s it been?”

“It’s been great,” he chuckled. “How have you been? I didn’t expect to see you here.” He took a sip of his drink, taking place beside you.

“Oh, yeah. I know the party girl. Her graduation day, so she invited me! Thought it would be good to get out.” You shrugged, a fake smile still turned at the corner of your mouth.

“That’s good, that’s good,” he murmured, nodding his head.

The tension was thick and awkward and you wanted to walk away, maybe even scream at him for leaving you in the street that night, completely ghosting you and blocking you instead of being an actual man and breaking up with you.

“You look great, by the way. I like, uh, your outfit. It’s something different than what I’m used to.” He cheekily smiled.

Your brows furrowed. “And what exactly are you used to?” You asked, turning to face him.

“I don’t know!” He laughed. “I just remember your style being different. Always wearing jeans or something like that.” He pointed at your skirt.

“Well, it’s been two years since you’ve last seen me, I’d like to think I changed at least a little bit.” You looked down at your outfit, fixing your shirt. “You still look the same, though.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, wow! Do I?” He held his arms out. “I didn’t change at least a little bit?” He turned around, giving you a show of his outfit.

Hopefully as a person.

“Nope! Still the same old Gojo!” You shook your head, smiling. Why are you still standing here? Why are smiling? Why is the conversation going so well as if nothing happened?

“Awe, come on don’t be like that.” He playfully nudged you. “You know you don’t have to call me Gojo either, right? I mean we dated for two years, I’m not a stranger.” He smirked.

Yes, you are.

“Oh, I remember. I remember very clearly.” You nod, fidgeting with your hands.

“Remember our late night 7/11 runs? And when the slushee machine broke and it wouldn’t stop coming out? We literally ran out the door while the guy was yelling at us!” He laughed.

“Oh my gosh, yes! It went all over my shirt and my shoes were so sticky! That shit was the worst!” The memory played in your head like a movie, so clearly you could still hear you and Gojo’s childlike laughter as you ran out the store. But you also remember the days when he would act like you didn’t even exist. Not a single call or text from him for days.

“All I’m asking is for you to communicate with me! I get that you’re busy with school but a text would be fine! I never said you had to talk to me twenty four seven!” You shouted at him.

“Sometimes I don’t feel like texting anyone! Is that so damn hard to understand? Not everything is about you, y/n!” He furrowed his brows at you as if what you were saying was bewildering, like you had the most unhinged thought.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? And don’t even lie to me either because I see you with Geto out at parties, drinking and having fun all night! So I know it ain’t just about school. You’re just fucking ignoring me at this point. I’m so sick of fighting for attention from my own boyfriend!” You bite the inside of your cheek, stepping closer towards him.

“Then don’t.”

“We had the best times.” He let out a sigh, obvious he was reminiscing.

No we didn’t.

“Yeah, we did,” you quietly replied. There was a few seconds of silence between you two before gojo spoke up again.

He cleared his throat, his smile now faded, a serious look on his face like he was scared to say something. “I wanted to say sorry as well. That night, where I left you in the street, I should’ve never done that. I’m…I’m really fucking sorry. I was immature for blocking you and ending things that way. It was…I guess I was just so confused and overwhelmed by everything.”

“Yeah, I was too. I think it was probably best that we ended things off that way now that I think about it. It was harsh, but it’s what I needed,” you admitted.

“What do you mean?” Gojo asked.

“Gojo,” you sighed, “no matter how bad the relationship was, I willing to stay regardless and ruin myself. It sounds pathetic to say, but I truly loved you so much I wanted to do anything. I wanted you to try with me, at least show me you still wanted me. So, that might where you left and blocked me was the best thing. No contact, right?” You chuckled, like it was some natural thing to say, like it didn’t make your guts turn to think about how much you cried for months on end wondering where everything went wrong.

Gojo stared at you and it’s like he could see the tears on your face from all those times he made you cry, but now you were just brushing it off. Deep down, he still sees it hurts you, he knows you too well. “I loved you, but you deserved better.”

You looked him in eyes. “I wanted you to be better. It’s too late for that, right?” You weren’t really asking, more of a rhetorical question, but Gojo didn’t take it that way.

“It is…I’m engaged…I have a fiancé,” his words were quiet and his bright blue eyes somehow dimmed.

“Oh.” Suddenly those words seemed to turned your whole world upside down. Those simple words had such an impact on your life. The world felt dizzying, like it was spinning faster than you could keep up. “Congrats.” And those genuine smiles you were giving quickly turned fake again. “Did you propose?”

“Yeah…” He answered, blinking.

“Wow, that’s…how long?” You raised your brows in shock. Your mouth felt dry and that shot of alcohol you took just minutes ago felt like it was ready to come back up.

“It’s been a year and a half,” he plainly spoke.

You truly had no other words to say. While you were sat at home, dealing with the worst heart break of your life, mending yourself together piece by piece, he was having the time of his life with someone else. It took you a year to finally start feeling like yourself, to realize that it was going to be okay. In just a few months, he was willing to give another girl everything he couldn’t give you.

He never truly loved you.

Why couldn’t it have been you? Why were you always the girl before the one? Why were you never someone true love? Fairytale? It always ended in a nightmare. And now the man that you loved so deeply is getting married to someone else soon. “I’m happy for you, Gojo.”

“I’m sorry, y/n.” And gojo could tell you weren’t happy for him, yet you lied to him and to yourself to keep your true feelings from coming out. And he didn’t do a thing to stop you from walking out that kitchen, instead he watched you leave.

“Excuse me, ‘scuse me.” You pushed through the crowd of people, your chest starting to tighten and the music ringing in your ears. Fresh air, you needed fresh air. It felt like you were going to pass out. Why was everything moving in slow motion? You stumbled to your car, unlocking the door and quickly sitting down, slamming the door. The cool air hit your skin, your chest rapidly moving up and down with each shaky breath.

You turned to look towards the party, hoping by some miracle you’d see Gojo coming after you instead of just leaving you like he did before. And with each passing second, tears welled up in your eyes because you knew he wasn’t coming. A sob escaped your throat, hot tears pouring down your cheeks. You sucked in a breath, quickly wiping those tears away, afraid to show any sort of emotion towards him again. He didn’t deserve any more of your tears. But no matter how many tears you wiped and how much you tried to hold it in, it was inevitable. So you sat there, alone in your car, wiping your own tears and mending yourself back together before you had to go back home and restart your routine again tomorrow.

taglist:

@sleepykittyenergy @ravenbc @yharnam-prophet @screechingbasementprincess @avaredava @mxrxlxy @lordchula-thagrandrula @akiyhara @palestrawberrycollection @bijuu-naginata @jeansblit @jabulile @aemyuo @springismss @fmlalexis @gradmacoco @phob1cc @kousweet @saoirses-things

[eraserbread]

satoru's two favorite things: convenience store sweets and his foreign!gf

"know what would be really good right now?" gojo wakes you up in bed, long fingers trailing over your nude back. face-first in the pillows, you thought you'd be able to scrounge at least five hours of sleep in with him next to you. wishful thinking, it seems. "7-eleven taiyaki and nanachiki."

you feel like shit, smell like sex, hair sticky and all over the place -- it's not good timing. you feel gross. "please, not now."

"pleaseeeee?" he's begging, pressing sticky kisses to your shoulder and across your neck. you're still recovering after two hard rounds, laying limp like gojo's personal cream-filled taiyaki -- leaking everywhere with his essence.

you end up saying yes, and you're standing in the middle of a 7-eleven in the middle of the night, western music blasting, and wrapped in gojo's hoodie.

"lemon creme taiyaki, baby. insane." satoru is a mess, himself. a polite mess with ruffled hair in a baggy t-shirt and sweats. when he doesn't have his blindfold on, he's letting a simple pair of black sunglasses hang from his nose. just like tonight - sunglasses at midnight. he's not so vague.

"there's already three in your hand-

"of course, i have to get the classic, red bean paste, chocolate, and then a new flavor," he's showing off his wrapped selection, holding each taiyaki at attention as he talks. "but this lemon creme looks good. and, I know you'll have some too."

you roll your eyes.

"justification. it always gets you."

"just put it in the basket." you're grumpy, sleepy and ashamed of yourself as you stand, grimacing at the cool cum seeping through your cotton shorts. gojo and his stupid fucking inability to pull out. if you weren't on birth control, you'd have a houseful of white-haired brats by now.

"scary," he deadpans, letting the taiyaki fall into your handle-basket one by one.

you go to walk away from him, drawn in by the cold wall of noodles. "well, hey grumpy. you can just walk home if it's that serious."

you decide on a cold soba, deciding it'd be a cheap lunch for work tomorrow. it'd save you a midday convenience store trip, too. "it's not that serious." you're mumbling, following behind him when he backtracks to the register.

"two nanachiki or four?"

"just totally skipping over one or three?"

satoru laughs, somehow you feel accomplished. "i'm gonna need two at least. just need to know how much you want."

"just get me one."

"so, four?"

"ohmygod."

satoru fed you gentle bites of your nanachiki on the walk home, now he's feeding himself propped between your thighs, red lips kissing at your quivering cunt.

laid out on your bed, nineties anime drowning out your breathless moans, satoru's fucking you lazily on his tongue. the entire walk home, you wouldn't stop complaining about the mess between your legs, calling him lazy and uncaring. even with chicken between your teeth, you still had it in you to bitch him out. he blames it on your ways - your sassy western heritage that bends to domination. so, yes, satoru is lazy because he'd rather just subdue you with lazy tongue-fucking, rather than talking it out like an adult and promising not to do it again.

because, he will be pumping you full of his cum tomorrow. and, the day after. you better get used to it now.

satoru slurps you up his favorite matcha, twisting and twirling his sinful tongue against your velveteen walls. every single drop of his cum he's sucked out like a menace, humming as his taste mingles with your warm slick. the sensation has him digging his thick fingers into the flesh on your thigh, own eyes flipping back into his skull.

it's all so heady -- the room is too hot, the anime too loud. you feel like you're going to pass out when you cum for the third time that night, breath warm with nanachiki, satoru's kisses and lemon creme as your jaw hangs stagnant.

he lets you come to your senses for a second, dry humping against the mattress, too overcome by the expression you're making. as he leans down to kiss your thigh, he whispers against the silky skin.

"serious question: now that you've had nanachiki, whose winning the chicken challenge? 7-eleven or family mart?"

[wonderjanga]

Free Me From These Shackles

The first time the JL met Marvel was during an alien invasion in Metropolis. The hero was new, and quite cheery whenever they interacted with him. He was like Superman 2.0., but more red and somehow more of a Boy Scout. In fact, speaking of Superman, the meshed together like peanut butter and jelly. Anyways, back to the point, when they first met him he was new and seemingly, emphasis on seemingly, naïve and inexperienced.

So, they tried to help him, much to Billy’s hidden annoyance. And he was annoyed! He won’t deny that. They were treating him like a newbie!

Like, the time Superman came to Fawcett and started critiquing every single thing he did in a fight against Captain Nazi.

Marvel and Captain Nazi(CN): *fighting*

Supes: *just hovering to the side*

CN: *throws a car*

Marvel: *catches it and puts it down*

Supes: “You know, you could’ve thrown that back at him?”

Marvel: “What?” *gets distracted and last minute dodges a punch, proceeds to fly far away from Captain Nazi*

Supes: *follows after him* “I’m saying you could’ve thrown the car back at him. Or the lamppost he threw you earlier. Or the hotdog stand.”

Marvel: “Why would I do that?”

CN: *flying after him*

Marvel: “What if he breaks it? That’s someone’s stuff. Or what if he deflects it? Property damage can kick your behind. How do you not know that?”

Supes: “Does your city not pay for it? Then again…”

…he was new, Clark thought. It would make sense for the city not to cover him yet.

Marvel: “What? Why would they? Wouldn’t that mess up taxes?”

Supes: “Now that I think about it, it really should.”

Clark was amazed as to how his taxes or rent never went up, no matter how much destruction happened in Metropolis.

Or the time Batman tried helping him diffuse a bomb even though Billy has had plenty experience already. They were at an alien site and trying to diffuse an alien bomb though so he supposed he could give him the benefit of the doubt.

Even if it was annoying.

Marvel: *squats down and rips off bomb lid*

Batman: “Careful.”

Marvel: “Careful what?” *looking at a bunch of wires*

Batman: *peers over his shoulder* “We don’t have enough informa—”

Marvel: “Uh huh uh huh.” *barely listening and snaps a blue wire with his fingers*

Solomon: *blabbling instructions*

Batman: *startles and jumps back*

Marvel: *gives him a look before snapping another two wires*

Batman: *baffled at how they aren’t literally dead, and wondering if Billy’s run into this tech before*

Marvel: *snaps one more wire and bomb powers off* “Alright.” *stands back up* “Man, I am starving. Your city has his joint called Bat-Burger, right? Is it good?”

Batman: “…Yes.” *somehow had a blank face but still conveying that he thinks Marvel is crazy*

Billy honestly didn’t know why he thought so. Sivana’s had more complicated stuff fit for random Tuesdays instead of long, dastardly plots or invasions.

Free Billy from these shackles of people thinking he’s a newbie as if he hasn’t done this longer than them.

[dexxtrosee]

Overflow

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader. NSFW. Smut. Subish!Robby.

The entire house is suffocating you with silence.

Outside, the city's alive and well. Cars pass and honk, people yell, parties go on. Blissfully unaware of the tense bubble you're in, background noise for whatever is going on inside. 

Water pours into the sink until it fills up the glass Robby put under.  Seconds pass. It starts overflowing, filling the kitchen with soft metallic sounds of droplets, then streams, then it just becomes noise. He just stares at it, and you stare at him.

“That bad, uh?”

His shoulders are tense. You can see the way his hands are gripping onto the bar for dear life, knuckles white from how much strength he’s putting into it. He’s 6’1 of pure frustration, drawn tight like a rope. 

You feel a little guilty when heat spreads all over your body, but you can’t really help it. This Robby doesn’t come out often, the one that is so angry at the system, at the stupid comments he gets at work by his superiors, that he has to close his eyes and take a hundred deep breaths before he can speak coherently and not sound like a caged animal. 

You like it when he’s like this. He’s like a knot you just have to unravel, turn him into dust between your palms.

Slowly, you approach him. He doesn’t move a single inch, but his back seems to tense even more, feeling your body heat radiate into him. He’s burning up with so many things it’s intoxicating, makes your head spin. 

You’re careful when you press your hands against his back, feeling his muscles clench at your touch. He’s a mess, holding back by trying to control his breath. His face is damp, either water or sweat, maybe both. If he turned to look at you, you’re sure his pupils would be blown out. 

“You want to tell me about it?”

It doesn’t surprise you when he shakes his head. He’s barely keeping it together as it is, driven to the brink of insanity all day and worsening every second he feels your touch. You start rubbing your hands up and down, pressing your face to him. It makes him jump slightly, caught off guard by your breath fanning against his skin. 

“I think you should try to relax,” you tell him, pulling away slightly so you can start rubbing his shoulders a little. “It’s over now.”

His breath stutters when you wrap your arms around his waist, letting your hands wander low enough to play with the waistband of his pants without actually doing something about it. Your fingers draw lazy circles over his belly, then his chest. His breathing picks up almost imperceptibly, but you can feel every single change, electricity running between the two of you.

Hurried, he turns off the faucet and lets himself bend lower, pressing lightly against you. You let him, shifting until you’re almost by his side. The tips of his ears are bright red.

If you didn’t know better, you’d say he has a fever. His skin feels scorching hot in every point that’s rubbing against your own, but that may just be your own fire trying to swallow him.

“You’re here with me now,” you whisper at him, smiling slightly when his breath hitches again. “You can let go.”

His hand is shaking when he raises it to cover his face, biting at the meat of his palm to keep some form of composure. It just makes you want to break him to pieces even more, have him all for yourself. The rest of the world can fuck off for a few hours.

“Relax,” you urge, pulling him closer and twisting until you're standing face to face. The bridge of his nose is tinted pink, and he doesn’t dare look up. “Let me take care of you, Robby.”

He’s so sensitive right now that just those few words are his breaking point. He groans, bracing himself against the sink when you press your hips against his and feel how hot and hard he is already. You laugh at him a little, and he turns away to hide his face, flustered by how easy you get him delirious with desire. 

You let him for now, trailing up his neck with your mouth. His pulse is thundering under your lips, you’re so close it’s like being enveloped by him. You’re sure he doesn’t mean to grab your arm, but he does, and he pulls you impossibly closer, going after your touch.

“Please,” he pants, throwing his head back when you bite at his collarbone. “F-fuck, please.”

Warmth grows and spreads from your belly to your entire body. It’s so easy to turn him into a mess with the right words, the right touch. A power trip that gets to your head every single time you have him begging for attention.

“I’ll take care of you, babe, don’t worry.”

When you push yourself away from him, he whines, opening his eyes to stare at you like you just confessed to a crime. 

You were right. You can barely see the pretty brown that’s so characteristic of him, almost completely hidden by how dilated his pupils are. You grin up at him, taking in the sight of such a big, controlled man turned into a whiny mess just for you. 

You decide to give him a chance, pressing your mouth against his. His entire body shivers, grabbing the back of your head and letting you eat him alive, at your complete mercy. His kiss is desperate, full of the frustration you aim to pull out of him. The hunger swallows you both, rids you slowly of oxygen until you have no other choice but to separate.

Instead of talking, you decide to just pull his waistband open and bury your hand inside to grab his length.

He jumps so hard it knocks him back into the counter, but you don’t pay it any mind. It will be a nice reminder if he bruises, of how easy you can break him into this.

“Oh fuck, fuck.”

You rub your thumb over the tip, using the precum he’s already leaking as lube. His moans are so pretty, loud and stuttered in a vain attempt at holding them back. You kiss his cheek, resisting the urge to bite when his cheeks turn pink. 

“Feels good?”

He nods, mouth open and swollen. You stare at it, at the way his lower lip is pushed out and glistening from kissing you. The fucked out look suits him, so different from the composed doctor you’ve seen him be at his job.

You twist your wrist in circles, relishing in the way he squirms and groans. More precum leaks out, dirtying your hand until you’re filling the room with wet sounds. He presses his lips together, unconsciously pulling slightly back from your touch.

“Ta-take it easy,” he begs. You squeeze him harder, giggling when he jumps again. “F-fuck, please, I’m not gonna l-last.”

You tilt your head, speeding up your strokes just to have him gasp and grip your wrist. “What’s wrong with that?”

He lets out a breathy laugh so full of disbelief that it sends molten heat running down your legs. He gives up trying to make you stop, leans back and pulls you with him until the tip of your nose is almost touching his. 

“Y-you drive me fucking n-nuts,” he grits out. His hips start fucking into your fist, getting so much pleasure it’s making him dizzy. “Fuck, please don’t st-stop.”

“I won’t,” you promise him, giving him a quick peck that pulls a tiny gasp from him. “I want you to cum.”

There is no human power that could have kept him from doing what you ask of him. Just as he raises his hand to grab your head and crash his mouth against yours, his cock starts shooting cum all over your hand, getting his clothes dirty too. He pushes his moans into your mouth, and the whiny little breathless sounds that he always tries so hard to hide. His entire face is beet red, you can see it spreading down his neck and to his chest. 

He twitches in your hold as you keep pumping him, gasping and gripping you harder against him. He cums so much, an explosion of frustrations and anger and so much adoration for you. It leaks from his pores and seeps into your very soul. 

You only stop when he gently grabs your wrist, panting so hard it wrecks his entire body. It makes you giddy to see him so utterly destroyed by only your hands and your kisses, so willingly at your mercy after being in control all day.

He leans his forehead against yours, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He interlaces your clean hand with his, kisses it. His body’s still shaking, soft and pliable.

“G-god, holy fuck.”

You laugh against his mouth when he kisses you again.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Running To You

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Sister series to Just What I Needed

Summary: You're rescued by a man who you don't even know is a real hero.

Characters: nomad Steve Rogers

Note: a stressed out steve rogers plus a cutie. it bloomed from the theory of Steve's beard being a symbol of his darker side, or a darker state of mind. In the wat that he would usually pride himself on a neat appearance but lets himself go a bit when he's not at his best.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stumble up over the curb as you check the list on your phone. Oops, you should really look where you're going. You steady yourself and giggle at your own clumsiness. For how precise your inventory is, the rest of you is a bit of a clutter.

You dodge through the onslaught of pedestrians and apologise a deep 'hey, lady' thunders through at you. You quickly dip into the store and shield yourself with the door. You gasp and catch your breath, smiling at the associate nearest to you. The organic shop probably isn't the most exciting place to shop but it has most of the ingredients you need. Raw honey, tallow wax, essential oils...

You greet them with a small wave and 'hi' and turn to look at the shelves along the wall. They don't acknowledge you. Most people don't, not that you mind. You keep to yourself.

The door jingles and another customer enters. They pause by the door and look around. They might be lost. It's not unusual for one more person to wander in but usually they don't stay long.

He clears his throat and you do your best to focus on your list. You're going to need a basket. As you go to grab one from the stack, the man faces you. You shy away and stop short of latch onto one of the mesh baskets.

"Excuse me, miss," he holds up a familiar item; a red wallet with white polkadots. It's yours! "I think you dropped this."

"Oh, my, I did," you give a sheepish smile to his chest. He's an awfully big man. "Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem," he hands it over.

You accept it and hold it to your chest. You give a tiny shimmy, "thank you so so much!"

You dare to look up and meet his eyes. They're blue but reticent. He scratches his beard as he nods and backs up.

"I think I'm in your way," he grabs one of the baskets and offers it to you.

"Oh, no, but yes, thank you, I need one," you take it.

"Mm, yeah," he smooths out the tuft in his beard that he was pulling on. The hair is thick and coarse; the locks on his head are just as dense, pushed back away from the face, though his chin-length strands try to droop past his ears.

You put your head down and turn back to the shelves. He lingers, seemingly lost as he looks around. What's the odds that in a city like this someone would do something so nice? You look at the list again then peek over at him. He squints at a jar of sourdough starter.

"What do you use in your beard?" You ask then cover your mouth. "I'm sorry, that's not... polite, is it?"

He shrugs, "hm, I just use shampoo, I guess. Face wash?"

"Right. Well, it's pretty shiny." You scrunch up your face. "I'm sorry." You chew your lip in embarrassment. Your cheeks are ablaze. "I'm working on my beard oil. I make it. Um, sell it. But..."

"Beard oil," he repeats thoughtfully. "I don't... I guess maybe I should."

He touches his beard again, a crease between his brows.

"I don't meant to-- I... I'm not... it's cute. I mean. Suits you. I was just--" you show your teeth nervously. "I don't have a beard so..."

"Yeah," he agrees awkwardly and tucks his hair back behind his ears before it can fall forward.

"I ramble..." you drift off and face the shelves again. "I'll stop bothering you."

He inhales and backs up. He turns to the door then stops. You sense his gaze.

"It's a bit busy. Rush hour," he says. "You don't mind if I hide in here with you?"

You glance over. You shrug. "Um, yeah, sure. It's not my store. Not sure how interesting it is."

You fumble between the basket and your phone. You hum and scour the shelves with your eyes, scrunching your nose in concentration. He comes closer.

"What are you looking for?" He asks.

"Soybean oil."

"Soybean oil," he nods. "For..."

"Soap," you cheep.

"Ah. In my day, ma just used fat and lye."

You give his statement a thought. You've seen some recipes from way back. Like long ago. Almost a hundred years now. A lot of people prefer the gentler ingredients.

"Oh, that's cool that she made her own stuff," you muse as you take a canister and tap your spreadsheet to mark off that item.

"Yeah," you feel him trying to see the screen. "You're really organized."

"Can't forget anything," you say.

"Sure." He lurks and looks around before he focuses on you again. "I'm Steve, by the way."

You look at him. He's just as big as the last time you looked. His blue eyes seem uncertain. He can't be afraid of someone like you. You give your name.

"Nice to meet, you, Steve."

"You too," he agrees. "Can I help?"

"Oh, sure. What do you prefer? Rose or Gardenia?"

"Rose is nice," he says.

"I agree," you say and pluck up the small bottle.

"You said you sell stuff?"

"Sure do," you chime. You tuck the bottle into the basket. "You know, you don't have to pretend to care."

"What? I... I'm curious."

You eye him, "well, Steve, I'll believe you, but there's not much to be curious about."

His brows furrow, not so much in agitation, but intrigue. "The beard oil. How much?"

"Oh, you know, I could get you a sample from my hoard. Since you got me my wallet back. You don't have to do all that."

"I want to. I think you right," he runs his hands over his beard. "Needs a bit of taming."

You laugh, "looks good to me. Oh, you can try coconut oil. It's real easy and you can use it in your hair too."

"Coconut oil," he says. "I'll add it to the list. What about yours?"

"Soy wax," you look at your list. "I can use that for lots of things."

He lifts his heads, shoulders wide and straight, looking around on a mission. He strides around the rack behind him and you watch him search a shelf. He picks up two jars. He comes back to you. "Which do you prefer?" He holds up to two different sellers. You take the one in his left hand.

"Thank you," you grin.

"Next," he looks down at your phone.

"Jeez, you sure are helpful," you check again.

"They sell wicks. I need the long ones. Like this." You hold the basket and phone at a length.

He nods again, "on it."

You point him to the corner where they keep the candlemaking stuff and you go back to your own search. He's too quick for you. He has a hole bunch in hand. You have him put half in your basket and he takes the rest back.

Huh, looks like you made a friend.

🎀

Steve holds the door for you. It's so nice you thank him for what must be the dozenth time since you met. Maybe only even an hour ago.

As you get outside, you turn back to him, certain to keep away from the pedestrians who pay no heed to obstacles. "I can take that bag too."

He looks down as the door shuts behind him. "Pretty heavy," he says.

"Oh, I always do that. I forgot my little rolly bag," you shrug. "I can handle it."

"Wouldn't feel right letting you carry it all. Mrs. Rogers didn't raise a punk."

"Is that your mom? I bet she's nice too," you say. "It's alright, Steve. You've done enough. I owe you. My wallet would've been gone with the wind and I never coulda bought all this."

He stares at you, then once more peeks down at the fabric bag. You always bring the reusable; they're much stronger than the paper ones supplied in-store. He chews his lower lip.

"If you owe me, well, you wanna have a coffee? Together?" He asks.

You blink. That's so nice of him too.

"Coffee?" You press your lips together. You feel bad saying no. Not that you want to. It wouldn't be so bad to have someone to sit with. For once. "I don't drink it."

He nods, "tea? Hot chocolate? Water?"

You laugh.

"I'll have a cookie," you offer. "Um," you look up and down the street. "Where..."

"I saw a place. Never been in. Wanna give it a try?"

"Oh, cool. Yeah. I love new places, even if they're scary," you say.

"Here," he takes the other bag from your hands before you can argue. "It's a block back."

"Wait, Steve! I can carry that."

"Not if I'm around," he insists, "come on."

He rolls his shoulder in a gesture for you to follow. You huff and hop into motion. You walk next to him, wary of the oncoming people along the sidewalk. A man nearly bowls you over and you knock into Steve's elbow.

"Oof, I'm sorry."

"Get on the inside of me, doll," he says. "Used to be that people took their hat off when they passed a lady. Now they don't care if... well... you move."

He stops and lets you step across his path. He keeps you between him and the storefronts as he strides on undaunted. You wish you were as brave as him.

"Ah, there it is." He tilts his chin up.

You look ahead. You see the sign sticking out in the shape of a coffee cup.

"Oh, I see it," you hurdle ahead. "My turn."

You pull open the door as he follows. He stops to let another customer out before he enters. You follow him.

"There's a table," he nods.

You follow his gaze to the wall. You lead the way and he trails you. He puts the bags in one of the chairs.

"How about you sit?" He suggests. "What kind of cookie do you want?"

"Oh, Steve, uh," you pull out your wallet, "if they have oatmeal--"

"My treat." He insists.

"You can't do that," you argue.

"You gonna stop me?" He challenges. You gulp and blink at him. You don't think you could stop him from anything. He's quite the figure.

"I guess not." You murmur.

His expression softens, "hey, I'm kidding. I didn't... scare you, did I?"

"N-no," you force a smile. "I appreciate that. Thank you. Oatmeal. That's all."

"Alright. I'll be back." He turns and you see his shoulders rise and fall with a heavy breath.

You sit and jiggle your leg as you look around. You avoid the coffee shops, even the bakeries. They're always so busy. You are methodical in your ventures but today's seems to have gone off the rails. Not in the worst way. One time, you tried to take the subway and ended up lost in the rain.

There's women who look like they could be on a TV show with their fabulous dresses and perfect waves; a man in a suit with his laptop and a single earbud in, and an older couple near the door. There are many others in the line to get a treat of their own.

You turn in the chair and press your palms to the table. You stare at the wood between your hands. You feel the heat speckling over your scalp, that sense of suffocation burrowing into your chest, the voices swirling around you like a raging wind.

"Here," Steve interrupts your internal panic. He places a large cookie before you and mug. "They had this strawberry cream thing. No coffee."

You look at the pink concoction with a dark red swirl in the middle. "Mmmm," you lean forward to admire it. "Wow. It looks good."

He puts his own coffee down and moves the bags under the table. He sits and unzips his jacket to let the tension out of the fabric. You smile and pick up the cookie. You hide behind it.

"I can't eat this alone. It's as big as my face." You giggle. 

You break it in two and offer him half. He eyes it for a moment then accepts it with a thanks. You take a bite then round your eyes at him. He's staring. Oh no. Is that rude? You chew and swallow quickly.

"What?" You hide your mouth behind your hand.

"Nothing. It's just..." he glances around the shop. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" You make googly eyes and cross them. "Is there something on my nose?"

He snorts. "No. There's not." He sighs. "Just haven't had a nice quiet coffee in a while. It's nice."

Your brows pop up and you smile big. "I'm sorry I'm not a big coffee person. I tried it once and it made my belly gurgle."

"It's fine. Bad habit," he taps the handle of his mug with his index finger. "Are you gonna try that cup of sugar?"

"Not much better, is it?" You pick up the mug and blow over it. You put your lips over the brim and taste it cautiously. You hum. "Mm," you pull it away. "Delicious! This is a tummy ache worth having."

His cheek dimples as he watches you. You fidget against his gaze. He's nice but you never had anyone stare at you so much.

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? — MY MARAUDERS REALITY

this is a brief tour of my bag in my maruaders era hogwarts dr! this bag has been with me though literally everything and she's only holding on due to mending enchantments I put on her when I first started to notice her descent. some of the stuff in her is...probably less than legal. but hey! snitches get stiches, alright? inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!

my trusty messenger bag that i carry literally everywhere with me. you wouldn't catch me dead using just my pockets to carry all my shit. she's basically a staple of my appearance. anyway, let's open her up!

BUT FIRST——THE DECOR!

✦ my pinback buttons! the "kind hearted degenerate" was stolen from Sirius' patch jacket (I think he let me take it), the "cult leader" was a gift from barty because of course it fucking was, and the other two my sister, eden, and I found just outside of diagon alley (we fought over who got to keep them. I won, obviously. so, i display them proudly, she hates it).

✦ i also have my prefect pin stuck onto the strap of my bag because it's so much better to have on there than my robes. no one's gotten mad at me so whatever.

✦ the dice keychain was stolen from eden's room. I thought it was pretty and she hasn't missed it so

✦ the froggy keychain I found in a muggle shop and needed immediately. I may have a secret obsession with froggos, my friends may or may not be very aware of this fact. he also might be cursed, I swear I hear him ribbit when it gets quiet.

✦ the other keychain I found half-buried in a public park. no idea where it came from or how it got there.

ONTO THE POCKETS! my bag has four pockets on the outside, two that close and two that are just slots on the side. they're all full of shit.

LEFT FRONT POCKET

this pocket is entirely full of trash. literal trash. some of it is cute notes from my friends and such, but the other half is actual trash. I say I'm going to use it to junk journal, I don't. It just sits there in the pocket, unused. I refuse to clean it out.

but the notes!

✦ three fortunes from three fortune cookies that I got on three separate occasions at three different restaurants. — the first "you have the ability to see the bright side in things, do not lose that ability" I got on an outing with my family. it was a rough time all around and the whole dinner was tense, but getting that fortune just reaffirmed my belief in aiming for the best, even when it's unrealistic, so I kept it. — the "your love of music will be an important part of your life" I got on one of my first real dates with sirius. I already knew he dreamed of being a musician, so I took it as a sign we were going to work out. and well, it was correct. — finally, the "whatever you want to do, do it. there are only so many tomorrows" fortune found me when I was wrestling with my feelings. I hadn't intended to fall for remus, but I had. I didn't know what to do. but, I took this as a sign to just go for it and be true to my feelings. It worked out. so I kept it as a reminder, like I did with sirius' one.

✦ "I'll let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand" note that sirius passed me one day in the middle of class. like that wouldn't make me insane in public. stupid dog.

✦ "kind of a pretty boy, isn't he?" note that I found dropped on the ground in divination. when I picked it up, some girl turned beet red. amusing, really.

✦ "we are all haunted houses" note that I wrote on the corner of a notepad and tore out. I found it at the bottom of my bag weeks later. I cant for the life of me remember what I was talking about, though I think I was onto something.

✦ "not everything has to make sense. let it go. choose peace." note that was written at the top of one of my papers for divination class. professor was far too done with my constant questioning of why things worked the way they did.

✦ "just make it exist first, you can make it good later" sticky note that I wrote to stick onto my writing desk to try and help ward off my perfectionism. It remained there for years until I accidently knocked it down and it refused to stick up again. so, i shoved it into my bag with the others.

✦ "the memory is unclear but the feelings remain" written on a blank polaroid photo. barty accidently took a picture as he dropped my camera. evan wrote the words on the picture that came out. I think he thought he was being poetic. I kept it regardless.

✦ "I think you're afraid because we get along so well. I think it scares you." one of the notes sirius taunted me with in our rivals phase of our rivals to lovers arc. torn in two and carefully taped back together.

✦ "dear me, don't fall back into old patterns just because they're familiar. love, me." letter written for an assignment. that 'write a letter to your younger self' writing prompt nonsense? I didn't want to do it, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head. still got an O though.

✦ an unopened letter. the front says "open when fate decrees it". that trelawney girl got a cheshire smile when I picked it up. I've had it for five years.

✦ also a train ticket from my very first year of hogwarts

✦ other trash in this pocket includes: a to-do list that says "1. ace your o.w.ls, 2. take over the world", at least four salazar slytherin trading cards, a receipt from the record shop in hogsmede, a punch card from the three broomsticks with ten punches in it (I probably should use it at some point), a scrawled list of hexes that barty copied from the restricted section of the library, and a note I passed to reggie that says "do me a favor, kill your brother" that he threw back at me with a scrawled "NO." underneath.

RIGHT FRONT POCKET

the snack pouch, basically. if I'm hungry, this is where I'm reaching.

✦ a chocolate frog that's probably melted slightly with how long it's been in there. I think barty gave it to me on the train ride. it's probably still good, right?

✦ raven chocolates that are literally better than any wizarding candy, trust.

✦ jelly slugs because gummies are the superior form of candy

✦ also chai teabags because you never know when you might need it (also because I'm picky about my chai)

SIDE POCKETS

LEFT SIDE POCKET

✦ my round sunglasses that are basically my staple.

✦ the swiss army knife that eden has a matching one of. i enchanted it so that the blade doesn't grow dull. honestly, much better than a wand half the time, but don't tell anyone I said that.

✦ vampire pill box that has enchanted ibuprofen. thank you dorcas my love. one of these does 10x the effect as a regular without the damage to your internal organs or risk of an overdose.

RIGHT SIDE POCKET

✦ a crocheted chanel rose made for me by evan's sister, pandora. it's hella impressive actually.

✦ my trusty vivienne westwood lighter. used to be my mom's, I took it from her purse as a well rebellious thirteen year old. it also has a matching cigarette case that I also stole. i was having my kleptomaniac era. there is also skull bandages tucked inside the case.

INTERIOR POCKET

where i keep all the loose things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag otherwise.

✦ tiny bottles of banned potions that dorcas made for me. I make sure to keep the corks on very tightly.

✦ a jar of human teeth. no, I will not explain where I got them.

✦ jars of bones. not human (yet).

✦ intricate jar, full of enchanted, basically holy, water. for all your banishing needs. never summon anything you don't know how to get rid of.

✦ a jar of salt. for the same reason. also salt.

✦ tin of tiny candles for on-the-go spellwork because you never know when you might need it.

✦ tiny clay charms of tarot cards also made by pandora. she passed them to me in divination. she never did tell me why. they are pretty cute though.

MAIN POCKET

✦ a leatherbound journal full of all my secrets. jinxed, obviously. possibly with some that I would get in trouble for casting. their fault really for trying to snoop. includes detailed plans of world domination, lists of hexes and curses ordered by their usefulness, recounts of possibly prophetic dreams, and lists of very good numbers

✦ poetry journal for my midnight poetic ramblings. not jinxed, not yet. also includes my casebook recounts of strange romantic feelings, complete with red string.

✦ my trusty wand. black walnut and dragon heartstring, 12"

✦ a lace fan for when it gets far too hot to be legal. because I can't be sweating not in style

✦ a very illegal time-turner hidden inside a matchbox. I probably shouldn't have told you that I have that.

✦ a vintage comb that I call my tactical comb.

✦ my leather bat-wing wallet. one of the most important things in this bag

✦ my black makeup pouch that mary poppins would envy.

✦ my heavily annotated copy of "scottish fairy tales" that I've had with me since my first year of hogwarts. I think there's more notes and highlights than actual text. and the notes are more journal entries than actual annotations.

✦ tiny bird scissors I stole from madame pomfrey. they're for sewing. I don't do much sewing. but I can chase sirius around with them, threatening to cut the stitches on his patches. it's very amusing.

✦ an extra lighter, clipped onto the inside of my bag, just in case my trusty one ever breaks. so far, it hasn't.

✦ a special edition of the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, my favorite book of all time. this edition was a gift from reggie, who knows my love of it.

✦ a fountain pen for my sudden bursts of inspirational musing. enchanted to never dry of ink and never need to dip it. I stole it from my older brother, alastair. I can't help it, he makes such good enchantments.

✦ a fancy flask. yes, of course there's alcohol in it. what did you take me for, a lightweight?

✦ vivienne westwood gloves for the colder months, an enchanted lining to keep your hands at the perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold.

✦ the box of my trusty tarot cards. they always seem to call me out. they also have a bit of an attitude. typical.

✦ a coin that's engraved with "one more chapter" on one side and "go to bed" on the other. for very important dilemmas regarding my sleep schedule. do I ever listen to it when it lands on "go to bed"? no, of course not. don't tell me what to do.

WALLET

✦ my galleons. the wallet is linked to my vault at gringotts so I don't run out of money, because that would be embarrassing.

✦ photos of my friends and I. i know, I know, very sentimental of me. — photo of dorcas and eden from one of the slytherin common room parties — a photo of me, barty, and dorcas with a mall santa. he looks like he's being held hostage. — photo of me playing chess with dorcas (off camera) while barty lounges across the bed, pouting because he lost to me minutes ago. — photo of evan, me and reggie at one of our families' stupid summer galas. having friends makes them more bearable. — photo of evan and me from one of the royals' summer outings — photo of me and barty on a late-night hogsmede outing — photo i took of dorcas at one of the slytherin common room parties as we dared her to chug her drink

✦ an id, so people know who I am. as if they didn't already, pfft. it is also fake.

✦ spare condoms. enough said.

MAKEUP POUCH

✦ my signature black lipstick. can't go anywhere without that beauty. enchanted for long-lasting wear. the touch-ups are hardly necessary, but it does make people look at my lips~ also enchanted with love magic so when he kisses me he thinks I'm god. (I think that might make it illegal, but who's gonna snitch anyway?)

✦ tinted chapstick for dry lips.

✦ a spare eyeliner pen, because none of my looks would be complete without eyeliner.

✦ a knife inside a lipstick tube. just incase one knife wasn't enough. also great to scare the shit out of your friends with

✦ extra mascara, also for touchups.

✦ a black nail polish. also for touch ups. though, usually not my own. barty can never seem to keep his nail polish from chipping for longer than a day.

✦ cannabis and rose roller perfume. in case my aura isn't addicting enough. enchanted by dorcas with glamour magic, obviously. she's literally a goddess.

✦ my chanel compact mirror that also answers most of my questions. "mirror mirror in my hand, what's the answer to question #6?"

✦ a vivienne westwood claw clip that I stole from my older sister, morgaine. she's so damn uptight all the time and she's still freaking about about losing this clip. it's all I can do not to laugh aloud.

✦ a shit ton of hair ties and bobby pins just strewn throughout the pouch. I'll lose all of them eventually.

[moesthoughts]

gonna sound a littleeee crazy but i can't stop thinking about s3 nat coming back to your shared hut after a frustrating day and just wanting to use you to let off some steam, but she uses her knife handle because she doesn't have a strap 🙈

Nat using a knife as a strap on

pairing ⛧ natalie scatorccio x fem! reader

warnings ⛧ knife as a strap on, degradation into praise, spanking but not that much

summary . . Nat has a hard day of being the antler queen, and she can’t wait to take her anger out on you.

➛ Thinking about how Nat bottling up her anger for the whole day, everyone was so aggravating. People yelling at her, grudges still held against her. She’s tired of taking shit from people, yelling at them.

➛ It would be the end of the day, her hands balled into fists, fingers gripping at the fabric of her clothes. She had an important job of leading, her role weighing heavy on her mind. She’s been busy all day, stressed, frustrated, she needs something to take her anger out on.

➛ She’s all riled up, all that’s on her mind is you. It’s you moaning her name, fucking you till your legs are weak. She shook her head, dragging her hand down her face as it turns a soft red at her persistent thoughts.

➛ You would be in your shared hut already, sharpening her knife like she requested you to do earlier. The leather you use to cover the blade of the knife lays next to you, trying your best to sharpen her weapon with a rock.

➛ The second she entered the hut you knew something was up, her eyebrows are knitted and her breath was heavy. She quickly grabbed the blade from your hands, putting the cover back on it.

“What’s the matter?” Of course you were confused, that only fueled her desire.

➛ Before you could react she was on top of you, her lips crashing onto yours with hunger. You could practically feel the anger through your lips, and you liked it.

➛ Her hands worked off your clothes, while swatting away yours when you tried to touch her. You whined, gripping at the dirt under you, not having her hips to grip like you always do. This was new, this was hot.

➛ Nat’s lips kissed your neck roughly, biting down on your sensitive spots, definitely leaving marks. All you could do was tilt your head to give her more access, just wishing you were able to tangle your fingers in her brunette roots.

➛ Once she was able to unbutton your shorts, she flipped you over. A gasp left your lips, your eyes focus on the dirt underneath you, while you desperately try to catch your breath.

➛ You bit your lip as she slid down your panties, Nat scoffed at how soaked you were already.

“So fucking wet for me already, is this really turning you on?” She sounded mean, using the tone she uses when directing the group.

➛ Your breath hitched once you felt something teasing your entrance, though it wasn’t her fingers. You glanced over your shoulder curiously, she was using her knife handle as a strap on. You quickly averted your gaze, excitement filling you.

“C’mon.. beg” You could hear the smirk on Nat’s face, you whimpered while she teased your slit. Were you really about to get fucked with a knife?

“Please, Nat.” You start, arching your back into the knife. A groan came from Nat, her eyes staring at your bare body.

“Please, what?” Nat smacked your ass, causing you to gasp. You were feeling so many emotions, this was all so new to you. Usually she was so gentle. Though, here she was, tapping your clit trying to force the answer out of you. But you can’t deny how much this turned you on.

“Fuck me with your knife, Nat. Please. Oh my god.” You didn’t mean to sound so needy, but it worked in your favor. You moan a little too loudly as the knife handle entered you, you quickly slapped your hand over your mouth. Nat whined behind you, watching you take it so well.

➛ Her pace would be extremely slow at first, wanting to pull any sound out of you, to hear you plea for her to go faster. Her free hand caresses your thigh, whispering degradation which you swear made you more wet.

“You’re so dirty, wanting to be fucked by a knife. Do you know how insane that is?” You could tell she was bluffing, after all it was her idea in the first place. Your fingers dug deep in the dirt, your eyes welling up with tears of pleasure.

➛ Once she was satisfied with being mean, she’d focus on actually giving you the pleasure you seek. Her thumb rubbing your bundle of nerves, her knife pumping in and out of you with a pace you couldn’t keep up with.

➛ Once that knot in your stomach unraveled, she rode out your high. Nat pulled out the knife, watching you roll over to look her in the eye. Her fingers smoothed across your stomach, before she leaned down and gave you a sweet kiss.

“You did so well for me, pretty girl.” All she could muster were praises, that same old Nat you’re used to finally coming back. She helped you clean yourself up and get dressed.

➛ From that night on, you purposefully tried ticking her off during the day. Or you watched the others do it for you.

➛ You would tease her by fidgeting with her knife while she was speaking, noticing how her sentences would break up ever so slightly, a stutter interrupting her words.

➛ You would do anything to see that side of her again.

Natalie scatorccio save me… save me.. I’ve been seeing this with so many other characters, with Nat it hits different

req me!

masterlist

[namelessgakusei]

EP. 2.1 Lead us not into temptation

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. It's hard to find gifs so have a pic instead.

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (prev.)

Synopsis: Mercenaries are hired, and a bounty was put over your heads. Enzo still insists on being your Dad despite it being untrue.

"My God. It's worse that I imagined."

Inside a certain conference room in DARKCOM HQ gathered various kinds of mercenaries, from rugged and scarred to spotless newbies, all waiting for orders about their target. On the other side of the room stood the five members of the DARKCOM Elite Ops, watching guard as they practically sneered at the group of people in front of them.

"An entire horde of—"

"Monsters." A fight broke out between the mercenaries, making one of the Ops members sigh, commenting if this is really the species they are trying to save. Thankfully, the appearance of the Vice President shut the commotion down, leaving the mercs gaping as to why an important person in power is standing in front of them. But as the room dimmed, Baines disregarded their shock, opting to go straight to the point and reveal the primary objective.

A red shard serving as a pendant.

"It is an item of critical importance to our national security." All the mercenaries fell back to their chairs, focused on the briefing of their mission. "However, seeing as this item officially does not exist, we need it retrieved off the books." Baines' expression hardened. After providing the amulet's location, he too revealed the current owner, showing the estimation of his abilities. "He's a man the US government considers a top-level threat."

"He is extremely volatile and prodigiously gifted in combat. Engage him only with the full brunt of your firepower."

Baines' eyeglasses reflected the light from the dim room, and after a pause, raised his head up, showing his grim expression. "His name is Dante."

The sight of Dante's grin all over the screen made the mercenaries guffaw at his ridiculous portraits, clearly underestimating him, saying that this much number of hired men is an overkill. However, a burly man that sat at the farthest corner of the room spoke up, his body littered with metal prosthetics as he looked at his comrades in pity. "Laugh while you can... You won't be much longer."

"I met Dante once. Worked with him on a protection job." This mercenary recounted the events of his previous jobs, confirming that Dante indeed is on a whole another level from the usual men for hire, and that if it wasn't for Dante, he would've been long dead. "And you'll all be dead soon enough if you go after him. No... You won't even be able to take a step within a hundred foot radius if you have the intent to harm him, not when he has that monster with him at all times."

The Vice President's eyes narrowed, and another set of pictures appeared on the screen behind him, showing another hunter that's comparatively calmer in their photos.

You.

"You meant (Y/N)." The sound of your name made the mercenary wince, the memory of your meeting still fresh in his mind. That uncanny smile of yours that did nothing but unsettle seasoned men like him, those that are all too familiar about the underworld, whenever you look their way. You fight well, like you've mapped out every single possibility that could happen, and it creeps him out. You're too prepared.

He still remembers how your eyes bore to him, scrutinizing his worth in mere seconds, like he's nothing but an item for you to appraise. It's like you know too much but chose to keep quiet, waiting for the right time to use your cards, a bona fide information broker within the world of Devil Hunters. "I'm not risking my life by hunting the two crazy bastards." He grunts as he stands up, a look of resignation on his face as he meet eyes with Baines. "Ain't no amount of money you could offer that'd be worth—"

"Five hundred thousand." That much made the mercenary stop himself from opening the door. "The bounty is 500,000 for whoever brings in Dante with the amulet." Baines' expression is unreadable, the light from the screen casting shadows on his face. "An additional 250,000 you also bring in (Y/N)." He fixes his glasses as he continues to negotiate, already knowing how to piqued in their interests. "And a bonus if they're both alive for questioning."

That enough made everyone grin and behave, even the mercenary from earlier became enthusiastic at the amount.

"We will be deploying a civilian asset to keep them distracted as you move in." The screen changes from your face to Enzo's. But the elephant in the room wasn't about the bounty on your heads, it's about the presence of DARKCOM's operatives at the side of the room, barely moving nor reacting to anything. One of the hired men even questioned their use if they'll be doing the all work anyways, having the gall to ridicule them as the rest laughed. The lone hooded soldier narrows her eyes at one of the mercenaries, before breaking into a knowing smile.

"These soldiers will be in the field, overseeing the operation. You'll deliver the package to them." Baines explained while running his eyes around the room, giving one last look at the number of cannon fodder for this mission. "The contract opens as of midnight tonight."

"That's all." The light returned to the room and one by one, the mercenaries stood up to leave. There was shuffling just outside the door, leaving many irritated grunts and huffs from the passing men, the source is the overly eager soldier wearing a DARKCOM Special Ops uniform. It's Anders, having fully recovered from his previous injuries and is now the newest member of the unit despite their Lieutenant's skepticism. He brought along with him the asset that shall be used to aid the extraction mission, a noisy Enzo, who complains about not getting a decent food during his stay.

The broker immediately shut up when he saw the people inside the room he was ushered in, laughing nervously while asking for a clarification about what he should be doing later tonight.

The air was tense around the building that night. Inside your shared apartment was the unnerving stillness, devoid of the sound of the TV or Dante's arrogant claims that has something to do with pizza and arcade while you lounge on the couch, unimpressed. It was too dark and quiet, a sight that only happened whenever the two of you are away on long term missions, usually in another city or so. But Enzo knows that he didn't give you anything after the set-up job, so it's a surprise for him when he opens the door, only to be met with nothing.

"(Y/N)? Dante? You here?" Nothing. The weight of the briefcase felt foreign to him, even if it just houses the usual monetary reward for the job. "(Y/N)...! It's your Pa! I've go—" A gun was shoved to his temple, with an annoyed voice breaking the otherwise stillness. "You are not my Dad."

You sneered at him with faux-disgust as he stumbled backwards in surprise, chuckling nervously while trying to keep you calm, only for another barrel to hit the back of his head as Dante smirks at Enzo's predicament. "Y-you are here! Thank God!" Your "Pa" sputters while raising his hands in surrender, saying that it's a relief since he thought he missed you. But your obvious suspicion remains on your face, before lowering your gun and sighing, Dante didn't, however.

"Hey, Enzo. How've you been?" His sing-song tone betrays his own doubts about the broker's sudden appearance, one that didn't got missed by the latter as he spun towards the young man and tried to get him to lower his weapon with humor.

Dante didn't.

"Wish I could help you out there." Your calm stance greatly contrasts the uneasy atmosphere. Seated on the couch with your legs crossed and an arm lazily draped over the back, you smiled brightly at your mentor. "But see, I've heard something funny from the walls. About his last job."

"Our last job." Dante corrects you without looking, leaning closer to Enzo as he keeps the gun on the man.

"Of course." You chuckled lightly, instead of the usual smugness known to only by close confidants, before returning your gaze to Enzo. "It turned out to be a setup so a shapeshifting demon baby could try to steal my necklace." Dante finished your words, closing in and jamming the barrel of his gun to the older man's neck. The broker turned to you for help but all he saw was your knowing, closed-eyed, smile. "It's the most curious thing, isn't it? You know how possessive he gets with that pendant."

Enzo laughs nervously, finally confessing that he might have set Dante up. But that it wasn't really his fault, no! He's just a middleman, a nobody, he swears! "It was the guy who gave me the job! The White Rabbit!"

The White what? Your face scrunched in confusion as you cocked your head to the side. "Like Alice's?" There are demons with animal-like creatures, but most of them opted to learn to try to pass off as human, so for Enzo to use the word the, it means that this isn't some common demon. Your question made him nod furiously. "He's the one who set the whole thing up!"

"See, he comes into my office, talking all smooth, a-and I'm mesmerized!" Of course, you sighed in exasperation. With how sweating your adoptive father is, you're fairly certain that he's telling the truth. "So you're saying you only sent me into a trap because a demon that looks like a giant rabbit tricked you into doing it?" Dante emphasizes by pushing the gun to Enzo's mouth, despite the broker practically begging the two of you to believe him.

"Dante." You sighed and stood from your seat, going over to them with a disappointed look for Enzo. In response to your words, Dante's previously furrowed brows relaxed as he pulled his gun away and stands up. "All right, that checks out."

"What are you doing here?"

The older man nearly sagged to the floor in relief, before pushing the briefcase to the table, saying that it's the second half of the fee for the setup job. "Just 'cause the job was fake don't mean you don't get paid, right?" Enzo shrugged and beamed at the sight of the wads or cash inside the briefcase after he opened it, caressing the money with such gentleness. "Pure, uncut, American green. And all you have to do was fight a baby for it." He beams at the scowling Dante.

"And my brother." Dante's jaw squared as he frowned. "The shapeshifter showed up again later disguised as him." Meanwhile, you inspected the money the moment Enzo got distracted, closing the lid upon confirming the legitimacy before noticing something off. "Nothing like how he'd actually look now, but still, it was a good effort." There was a blinking device at the bottom of the suitcase. A transmitter or a tracker, you don't know, but you went over to the window to throw it away, catching glimpses of people moving around the rooftops. Typical. And as expected.

Enzo tried comforting Dante by reaching out for his arm but the younger man pulled away. "I keep telling you. What's my only rule?" He looked at the broker with annoyance as he rummaged behind his desk. You walked back to the couch while stretching, donning your coat and grabbing your own briefcase, equipped with weapons you made on your own. "I'll take any job that pays, especially if it involves killing demons. Just long as I can do it with (Y/N), and not care about anything else." Enzo heard it too many times that he parroted it back. "I know, I know. But I have you the job, not them." Dante lifted his head from the table with a deadpan, making the other shrug and drop the argument. "So you and me, we're all good now, yeah?"

"You know I look at you two as my own children." Enzo turned around to beam at you, faltering upon seeing you drawing the curtains close. "Not my dad." You replied with a flat tone, making him slump his shoulders. "I would take a bullet for you two! ...Maybe not a bullet but a blade, like a little jab." He nods and turns back to Dante with such... conviction. "Point is, I would never set you up like that on purpose."

"So there aren't multiple teams of mercenaries outside, closing in around us right now?" You cocked your gun and raised a brow to your adoptive father.

Dante grinned.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie

[alexanderlightweight]

Can I suggest a fic where Alec slowly realizes that Magnus has vaguely catlike behaviors and can talk to cats?

it has been a bit but I had a lot of fun with this so thank you for sending it to me. I hope you are doing well and enjoy this!

<3 lumine

the way life flows

Magnus stretches out, limbs and muscles pulling and shifting and Alec watches, mouth suddenly achingly dry.

“Do you even have a spine?” He asks, trying to distract himself from the way Magnus’ shoulder blades arch and the bulging of his arms. Alec is supposed to be heading to the Institute, not completely distracted and thinking of calling in because his husband moves like molten adamas.

Magnus looks at him with confusion but clearly Alec’s face says more than enough about where his brain is, because then he’s laughing.

Loud and unrestrained, the way Magnus is in the morning before he puts on his tiger stripes — which is confusing because Magnus is a tiger, a predator, even without his stripes.

“Perhaps not, Alexander. Would you like to check and see?” 

Alec nearly walks into the dresser, the only reason he doesn’t is because Magnus’ magic helpfully stops him from hitting his hip on the sharp corner.

“I have a meeting. In half an hour.”

“And I have a portal?”

Magnus winks and Alec gives up being on time or even remotely looking put together when he shows up, inevitably late.

It’s his own fault as it is and really, the more time goes by the more Magnus reminds Alec of a cat.  Especially when his golden eyes go wide, the pupils large and encompassing and Alec always knows Magnus is going to get his way when he does that.

Magnus knows too.

He gets smug about it, pleased and proud too. A little jaunty pop of his heel as he walks that thrills Alec.

Because Magnus is happy to get his way and it's so very easy for Alec to give him that. Especially when he benefits just as much from things going how Magnus wants them to go. Magnus also understands the benefits of ignoring society and being selfish, in a way that Alec’s had beaten out of him.

Magnus has spent years learning his own worth.  The confidence that carries him throughout life is innate, that much is true, but Magnus has never let himself stagnate.  Magnus grows and consumes and creates and does it again and again without ever letting the core of himself change even as he adapts and the world tiredly rolls past him.

It’s mesmerizing, the entirety of Magnus and how incomprehensible it is to truly try and perceive him.

—-

“What did you think of the meeting?” 

Alec almost ignores Andrew, but that is a  horrifically stupid question to ask and Andrew isn’t completely useless so he turns to him with a sigh.

“If you could tell Lorenzo Rey that he doesn’t need to keep making up excuses to come to the Institute just to see you, and could in fact just ask you out rather than make useless appointments with me that just waste everyone's time. I would be thrilled.”

The room goes silent around them and then at least four bouts of laughter are quickly being stifled and Alec catches sight of a series of hand signs that let him know bets have been placed.

He ignores it because if Mirai allows it, he won’t interfere.  She knows what bonds his hunters together better than he.

“Sir?”

Andrew looks mortified, all red mottled skin and sad, limp curls and Alec really wishes he didn’t have to deal with this.

At least if Magnus were around Alec would have someone reasonable to talk with and someone gorgeous to look at.

“He’s not even the High Warlock anymore, Andrew. He forcibly retired after the third rift opened while Magnus and I were eloping, remember?” Andrew better remember because he’s the one who called Alec, interrupting said elopement. 

Andrew cuts off a sad, traumatized little whimper and Alec feels for him, he really does.  But at least when Magnus stops by to stare at Alec, he typically does so with actual purpose.  Or at least in a way that doesn’t waste time and resources.

Unlike Lorenzo Rey who decided to book three full hours of Alec’s time just so he could talk about art that Alec doesn’t like and drinks he doesn’t enjoy while looking longingly at Alec’s chief security officer the whole time.

This is the fifth meeting Alec’s had with him in two months and he is tired.

Of meetings and Lorenzo Rey and dealing with Andrew and Rey being very unsubtle to everyone but each other.

“Andrew, I had to get up four hours early to make this meeting. I have back to back patrols, a video-call with Idris and a counseling session with Mirai and her newest trainee.” Andrew winces, as does every other shadowhunter in the command center, “he talked about baroque paintings half of the Edom damned time, Andrew. The only paintings I’m interested in — baroque or otherwise, are ones of Magnus, ones Magnus painted, or ones of Magnus and I.  Do you see the problem here?”

Apparently Andrew did see the problem, or perhaps the sudden threat to either his or Rey’s continued wellbeing.  After all, if Andrew is the solution then he’s also the problem.

And problems can be solved rather easily.

—

“Darling, why do I have several fire messages from Lorenzo Rey asking me what kind of outfits shadowhunters are partial to? If shadowhunters are allergic to any kind of food or place?”

Magnus is perched — all elegant limbs and strong muscles — on the rail of the balcony.

He looks weightless, as if the wind goes around him rather than through or against him.

“He was my first meeting today.”

“Again?” Magnus eyes narrow, gold glinting as he glides off the rail and then stalks over to Alec.  His every movement looks like a threat made motion and Alec swallows in delight.

“I told Andrew to deal with it.” Which is a bit of an understatement, but Magnus doesn’t need to suffer to the same degree that Alec currently is.  

Magnus blinks slowly at him and then a smirk slowly spreads across his face.  Alec barely has time to brace himself before he’s pushed to sit on the nearby lounge chair and Magnus is in his lap.

Constantly Alec is reminded of the magic throughout the entirety of the loft, even on the balcony as the chair softens to ease his fall and widens to accommodate the stretch of his thighs as Magnus makes a space for himself on Alec.

“Then, it shouldn’t come up again.” Magnus nuzzles Alec’s jaw and Alec nods in agreement, eyes closing so he can enjoy the moment.

—-

 Alec isn’t quite sure what happened but he knows to stay put.

That’s the last thing Magnus had told him before the portal rippled around Alec.

He’d been firm, panic obvious in the flair of his magic yet he’d still managed to give Alec instructions.

Ones that Alec is going to follow because he does not want a repeat of that portal and he still doesn’t know what set it off.

It’s nearly an hour before he hears something, a little inquisitive chirp and he mimics the noise back instinctively.

It happens again and again and then there is a soft, tiny and warm body pressing up against his knee and then climbing — little paws dainty and somehow managing to find every bruise.

It settles against his chest and Alec blinks down at the small orange and white cat that has found him and apparently will be keeping him company. 

Time wobbles after that.

The shattered portal shards warp in a dramatic fashion as they ripple, invisible pebbles thrown into the chasm of their abyss.

The tracking magick that Magnus has on Alec is still working, that much he knows but Magnus must be having trouble pinpointing him.

It’s what makes the most sense and follows the logic of Magnus telling him to stay put.

The protection magick Magnus keeps on him has also activated, keeping the portal shards from interacting with him and also keeping Alec from being found by anyone other than Magnus.

Just to be careful, Alec also activated his anti-tracking rune along with a handful of others to prioritize healing and safety as he waited. Still, despite how calm and protected he feels — how can he feel unsafe with Magnus magic around him?

It is a bit lonely, especially since Alec’s fingers had finally known the joy of Magnus’ own hand holding his after a long night of work. The cat turns out to be welcome company, a trusted little companion who kneads Alec’s stomach, headbutts his chest and rubs his chin on Alec’s fingers.

Time passes slowly and it feels as if between one blink and the next he can see Magnus, tall and bold and brilliantly relieved as he kneels beside Alec.

“Hi— stayed like you said. Made a friend.” That’s about all Alec can manage with his head still swirling from the portal and all he feels is relief as Magnus finally pulls him close.

The whole thing is worth it, just to be able to cuddle with Magnus like this in the open, not having to wait until home.

“Oh yes, pure luxury.  Snuggling up the High Warlock in a Manhattan sewer. Completely risque behavior for a shadowhunter Commander.”

It takes a moment for Alec to realize that he must have said his thoughts aloud and he scowls against Magnus’ shoulder.

It’s hardly his fault that the best place to rest is Magnus’ arms.

Alec can make do with what they have and despite being a sewer, Magnus’ magic has kept the smells to a minimum and the climate stable.

“I’m taking you home, darling. But on foot. No more portals for you, not until you stop saying what you’re thinking.”

Alec starts to get up but then stops, looking at the little cat still purring away on his lap. 

“I asked him to find you. Apparently he liked how you smell and forgot to come get me in return for the fish.” Magnus bends down and gives a soft chirr before he hands over a piece of the mentioned fish. “But he did what he needed to do, in the end. I also attached a tracker to him.”

Because he had found Alec and Alec is happy to have had the company and there’s a moment where he even contemplates asking if they can take the cat home.

Except Magnus is eyeing the cat still in Alec’s lap with an increasingly annoyed look.  The same kind of look he gets anytime the balcony cats stay or cuddle up to Alec a little too long.  They’ve never overstayed their welcome in terms of food and shelter but Magnus can be a little territorial with Alec’s time, lap and attention.

Which actually, makes sense considering how similar Magnus can be to cats. Alec wasn’t aware that Magnus could talk to them, but it makes sense and is simply one more thing that makes Magnus incredible. 

Because Alec is perfectly happy to indulge Magnus as much as he in turn is indulged, he shoos the cat away. Then he offers Magnus his hand, lets himself be pulled up in a strong motion so fluid that it makes him feel as though gravity no longer exists.

“Wow.”

“You’re very cute like this.” Magnus is laughing at him, Alec can tell by the way his eyes have crinkled in the corner, his cheeks are flushed with life and he looks happy.

And that’s more than enough for Alec.

-

[misteria247]

Frank could admit to his supposed flaws. Out of all the neighbors, he was the one who was the most prickly, so to speak. He went with logic rather than feelings and was the polar opposite of his best friend Julie. He could admit that his snippy personality could make him difficult to be around. That it could make him unapproachable to some. Yet he wasn't an unreasonable man or puppet. But at the moment.....

'I'm gonna start killing people.'

The grey puppet thought briefly as he grounded his teeth to not get into an argument. Praying to any deity out there to give him some patience. To spare his last nerve that was on its last leg. Across from him was Barnaby, the large blue dog puppet looking just as annoyed despite his easy-going grin.

"I just don't think it's a good idea exposing us."

The larger male said his tone lazy but firm. Frank took a deep breath, reminding himself that Barnaby was only thinking about the others. Just like himself.

"We can't keep this hidden forever. Sooner or later (Y/N) is gonna find out about us. And I think it'd be wise if we eased them into this rather than spring it on them."

Frank explained, trying to get Barnaby to see what he was saying. Just as he'd been trying to in vain to get him to see for the past two days.

"And what makes you think that we can trust (Y/N)?"

Howdy piped up, ever the question asker as much as a salesman. His eyes were narrowed a bit, staring Frank down. The smaller puppet wasn't phased, but he didn't respond. He didn't know how to convey that just from watching you for these past few weeks, he'd just got this gut feeling that you were trustworthy. Not in a way that was the logical manner that he was known for.

"Because they've been fixing us up! Despite all the bumps and road blocks, (Y/N) has done nothing but put us first! If they're willing to fix us old puppets, then I'm sure they're trustworthy!"

Julie chimed in, speaking Frank's thoughts exactly.

"I mean, look at my dress! My hair! Eddie's mailbag and Poppy's feathers! For goodness sake, they'd cleaned you up Howdy! And they just finished Frank's vest!"

The chipper puppet explained, holding the end of her red dress to show your handy work. The tears and holes that once littered the skirt were now patched up with adorable flower styled patches that were sewed on and ironed on. Some of them looked a bit bad, but they were stable enough to stay in place until you could figure out how to make them look better. Yet it was clear that they were done with care. And you'd gotten quite a few burns and pricks from trying to fix it. Poppy, who'd been quiet, jumped a bit, her feathers looking much better since their arrival to your home.

'Countless hours spent preening and fixing those feathers.'

Frank noted remembering how long it'd taken you to get the worst ones out.

"Julie darling....just because they fixed us doesn't mean that they're trustworthy with this."

Sally replied, sounding like she was exhausted and uninterested. The actor was next to Poppy, looking rather unimpressed with Julie's arguments.

"Now, now, let's not fight, please. This is a discussion, not an argument."

Poppy said, ever, the motherly one, as she sensed the possibility of an argument brewing. Julie, who had opened her mouth to reply, closed it, and Sally just sighed, not commenting.

"Well.....I don't know about you and Ms. Starlet, but I agree with Mr. Frankly and Ms. Joyful. (L/N) has been nothing but thoughtful. I think if we just explained, they'd understand."

Eddie, who hadn't really given his stance, put in. Frank looked at the larger mailman, who was nervous but steady in his words. Not wanting to stare too long, he quickly looked away.

"This could end badly if we tell them, you three realize this, right??"

Howdy asked his tone, judging.

"Howdy is onto something, pal. I'm not saying that (Y/N) is a bad person, but they're not him. Humans aren't always nice."

Barnaby threw in, looking a bit regretful at Julie and Eddie's expressions falling. Poppy and Sally didn't say anything else, but by their expressions, they were taking Barnaby and Howdy's words into consideration. Frank wanted to tear his hair out because he understood where they were coming from. He knew humans sometimes were not kind, especially to people or things who were different. But he couldn't give up. Something within him just couldn't let himself completely agree.

Not after watching you fix and clean them. Not after having you talk to him, always friendly save for when you were tired from work and other things. Not after watching you burn, cut, and prick your fingers and hands so much just to make them look better. Everything you did, it just screamed kindness. He wanted to give you a chance to be eased into this, not be taken by surprise.

You deserved that much, at least.

Frank steeled himself to again argue his, Julie, and Eddie's case on trusting you when a voice spoke up.

"No, they're not him. (Y/N) won't ever be him, but........they have his kindness. They've spoken to us and treated us like living beings. I think.....that they can be trusted."

Wally, who had been silent the entire time, had caused them all to quiet down and look at him. The smaller yellow puppet was calmly sitting on your armchair, a thoughtful expression on his face. Frank could see the others' expressions becoming resigned despite their displeasure. While Julie and Eddie perked up immediately at another one of their group agreeing.

"Wally buddy...."

Barnaby started to say, but Wally looking at him with a head tilt, quietly listening to his best friend, made him stop. The dog puppet just gave a sigh, knowing that Wally wasn't one to put his opinion in unless he was sure. And trying to change his mind was futile.

"I don't like this. You better think of a plan on how to do this, Frank..."

Barnaby said, gaze boring into him. Frank just thinned his mouth, meeting it head on.

"I always have a plan, Barnaby. I'm a bit offended you'd think otherwise."

[ooooo-mcyt]

The scene where Martyn and Ren kill Scott actually plays on my mind so much.

Well, first they killed Joel, and Scott lunged at them in retribution, so they kill him too, put him down to his red life. Scott tries to come back, to see if he can get any of his things, and he's spotted. Scott doesn't come close, but Martyn and Ren see him watching nearby, and they know he can't do anything, they already took his stuff, he can't fight them off, and he can't run. "Should we take him out of the series?" Ren asks, because it's not a matter of if they can. They know Scott is an easy kill. So they chase him, into the forest.

Martyn taunting Scott, "I wanna cuddle before you die", which is a terrifying thing to say. And then he brings up Jimmy, says he didn't want him to die? Whether this is a sincere sentiment is up for debate, but regardless, is such a thing to say while hunting Jimmy's grieving widow like prey. And something about the imagery of how Martyn just hovered around Scott and joked while waiting for Ren to kill him really felt like a mockery. And they slaughter Scott like an animal while he had no real means to fight back, because he would never have won and he would never have gotten away from them.

And Martyn doesn't sound remorseful. He doesn't sound as happy as he could, but he continues on with business and makes a joking comment about how Ren's "working". Ren, on the other hand, has a bit of a breakdown; "The blood is dripping into these eyes! I can't see, I've been blinded by my violence! ...We've become stone cold killers!". Martyn comforts him, briefly, but is quick to distance himself with "Well, you have (become a killer), I haven't really done that much. So, should we burn this stuff?" and then it's back to business.

And it gnaws at me how little Scott's death was about Scott. He was hunted and slaughtered for just being there, just because he was an easy mark. Martyn is pretty much remorseless. Ren shows remorse, but it's important to note that his guilt seems less focused around the actual person they just killed but rather is more for himself and the fact that he's "a killer" now. And then back to business. They burn Scott's stuff and don't think about him anymore.

Now, obviously, Ren and Martyn weren't obligated to feel bad for killing someone in a death game (although i think each final death meant more in a lot of ways in third life than any other series), I'm not saying it reflects poorly on them per say. But it is chilling to me how much of a non entity Scott was in this, how (other than martyn's personalized taunting while he was chasing scott which were just kinda cruel on their own) they barely seemed to think about the human person they were killing at all.

Scott easily could have been switched out for a literal actual deer in that scene and very little about the scene would need to be changed.

And I feel like that probably has something to do with Scott's fixation on personal agency (especially over how he dies), right?

[iamthatonefangirl]

Please please please make NSFW alphabet or headcanons with the winter soldier it's for my mental health ofc

anon you are literally a genius. how have I never thought about this before. this is a brilliant idea

here you can find my backstory/context for my version of the winter soldier. I wrote the nsfw alphabet based directly off this.

~~~

aftercare: this man sucks at aftercare, but he will always eat you out afterwards, no matter what.

more importantly, he stays. he doesn’t get up and walk away and leave you to feel abandoned. he’s not actively aware of it, but he's got his own abandonment issues, and he won't put you through that.

body part: total ass man, probably because he’s always fucking you from behind. he loves the view, loves grabbing your plush skin, giving you it a little smack to see it jiggle. 

on him, he's not picky. but whenever you try to touch his metal arm, or the scarring around it, he flinches away. he just doesn’t like it.

there was one time, though, when you were both laying in bed trying to fall asleep. you lightly traced your fingers over the outline of the red star on his bicep, and he just... let you. now that’s about the extent to which he’ll let you touch it (excluding when you’re having sex. he could give a fuck then.) 

cum: oh god it’s everywhere. he’s a fucking super soldier, he makes a mess all over the place. he’ll be jacking himself between your legs, coming all over your cunt, and somehow it’ll get in your hair. how? just,,, how??? you’ll never know.

in terms of making you cum, he’s still working on getting you to squirt. it’s like a challenge for him. and of course you’re not allowed to come without his permission. he loves knowing he controls your orgasms cuz he's a little shit.

dirty secret: he’ll never tell.

(he wants to get you pregnant just for the satisfaction of knowing he did. not to actually have a child. that’s his worst nightmare, so kind of a double-edged sword. (thank god for your birth control.))

experience: he’s not crazy experienced but he knows what he’s doing. he’s insanely observant, so in the beginning, he would watch you super intently for every single moan and reaction you’d give to his actions. he's pretty much got it down to a science now to make your body do exactly what he wants.

favorite position: he loves taking you from behind. it fills some deep primal urge within him that’s just about taking what he wants and making you take it. especially when he gets you on your hands and knees, and he gets to push your head into the pillow, making your arms give out… he could come on the spot. 

goofy: have you seen this man. not a goofy bone in his body. sad.

hair: he’s a hairy motherfucker. entirely unkempt. does not give a flying fuck about hair on you, either (he throws away your razor every time you buy a new one.) and of course he’s got the prettiest happy trail you ever did see. 

intimacy: he’s not really intimate by nature, more focused on getting you both off when he's fucking you, but every once in a while he'll give it to you soft and take his time to savor it.

there's little things, though, that he'll do, just the small actions like burying his face in your hair; brushing his nose with yours; running his hands over your scars, stretch marks, etc., that give you some semblance of closeness/intimacy even when he's fucking you within an inch of your life.

jack-off: he has an insanely high libido, which you can keep up with most of the time. when he’s gone on a job, he does what he has to do, but normally, there’s no time for that. so if he does jack off, it’s pretty rare. he’ll do it over your tits, though. 

kink: bondage, obviously. he loves to feel like he's in control, so most of the time, he's just tying your wrists together and pushing your hands out of his way so he can do his thing.

again with the control thing, he loves to choke you. the look of his hand around your pretty little throat does things to him. he's trying to decide if a collar would look as good as his hand.

location: anywhere in the house is fair game. and he means anywhere. there’s not a surface in the place that hasn’t been christened. 

motivation: his big thing is fucking you when he gets back from a job. he’s pent up, and tired, and needs to feel you the second he steps inside. there’s something about killing that makes his dick hard.

no: he’s all for being rough and giving you a few slaps when you ask for it, but he won’t ever do anything to legitimately hurt you. you’re still his and he doesn't damage his things. 

oral: doesn’t really care about receiving. if he wants to get his dick wet, it’s gonna be between your legs. he TOTALLY gets off on eating you out, though. when he's gone, alone, and missing you (he'll never admit to missing you) he thinks about the next time he gets to make out with your pussy.

pace: rough. fast. hard. he loves shoving himself into you and just letting loose without a care in the world. it's over in a heartbeat. but of course, that means you've got a few more rounds upcoming.

quickie: he’s gone about 85% of the time, meaning when he gets home and he fucks you, he’s going to do it rough and hard. you could argue that you mostly only have quickies, if you think about it hard enough.

risk: in terms of fucking anywhere else outside the house, it won’t happen. he honestly just can’t risk being seen in daylight. he also doesn't really see much as risky, given that he's a human weapon, but he's not really into doing anything risky anyways.

stamina: this goes without saying. he’s a super soldier. this man can and will fuck for HOURS at a time. at that point, you’re so tired and worn out, he slows his pace to softly fuck you to sleep. he’ll just keep going for hours and hours while you're knocked out. you’re more than happy to let him. 

toys: he sees toys as a threat, not a friend. he knows you have them and use them when he’s gone, but it pisses him off. he’s constantly trying to one-up himself from the last time he fucked you to prove to you that the real thing is better. 

unfair: have you seen him. every single thing he does is unfair, constantly teasing you to make you beg for him to fuck you. he loves bringing you to climax and then telling you no when you ask permission. if it was anyone else, you'd tell them to fuck off, but he makes it worth your while.

volume: he’s very quiet. he’s uber-focused on the feeling of you and would rather pay attention to the way you sound than himself, some part of him always trying to learn new things that make you moan.

he can’t help but hiss whenever he pushes past the stretch of how tight you are, and eventually lets out a few rough groans when he comes. 

he does let himself go when he’s using his mouth on you; it’s his fucking favorite thing, and he can’t help but whine and moan when he tastes you. one time you commented on it and he just grunted and kissed you to shut you up. 

wild card: the talking stage you had before him? yeah he killed that guy. (he doesn’t know you know.) 

oh, and the guy you said catcalled you on the block near your place. 

oh, and…

x-ray: for a man with that much aura, it’s a given that he’s highkey packing. dresses left and lovessss coming up behind you just to grind against your ass when he feels like it. you try to unbutton your pants to let him fuck you and he grunts no so you have to just let him do his thing until he's coming on your lower back.

yearning: you’re both horny motherfuckers who can’t keep it in your pants for a second. he’s on you all the goddamn time when he’s not off working. 

zzz: he doesn’t sleep much anyways, so it takes him a while to decompress and finally get to sleep afterwards. sometimes he’ll just lay there and watch you sleep, making sure your heart is still beating and your lungs are still breathing. he's so used to seeing people's bodies just... stop. and go cold. you’re the one person he actually cares to protect and make sure that never happens to. he'd probably burn down all of new york if that happened.

~~~

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[sparklystarrrr]

Just saw your RiddlexKing of Hearts Reader. It’s so adorable and I love seeing Riddle be smothered in affection. But I had an idea… (this is post overblot) Riddle leaves for a minute and our sweet lil reader turns to the group and says that she knows about the overblot. She knows about all the chaos SOME of the freshman *cough Adeuce cough* cause, and she knows how stressed Riddle can get. Then, with a warm smile on her face, she threatens to come back and take care of the guys if anything close to the overblot happens again. She may not be able to do anything about Riddle’s mother (yet) but her family has enough status and power to help take care of some misbehaving boys. When Riddle returns he’s confused why all of his dorm seems on edge but his lovely fiancé is just smiling and compliments the sweets served at the party. Maybe she even says they should think about having Trey bake their wedding cake.

Sorry, went off a bit there. You don’t have to write it but the idea was just stuck in my head. I just really love when the sunshine character can be all scary and intimidating with a smile.

THATS MY FAV TROPE EVERRRRR

Queen of My Heart Pt. 2

Synopsis: Sunshine can turn into a storm very quick…

Contains: Riddle R. x Fem! King of Hearts! Reader, continuation of pt.1, kinda short sorry!

The Unbirthday party was going swimmingly. Everyone was full of joy and laughter, there was no Tyrant ordering people around, the food was delicious, and the air was shining and light. "Dear, I'm heading to the restroom for just a moment. I'll be right back." Riddle said to (y/n) who sat prettily in her King's chair. "Of course darling, be quick!" she spoke with a warm voice like the sweet honey Riddle enjoyed putting in his tea. He then pressed a small kiss upon her forehead and made his way inside the dorm house.

Little did the students of Heartslabyul know, their sweet and kind (y/n)’s attitude would sour the second her red-headed fiancé was out of her sight. Once Riddle was completely hidden from view, her aura darkened. It was like a pitch black storm cloud completely blocked out the sun in just seconds. Her warm smile became strained and her posture tightened. She gripped the end of her pleated skirt,”So boys, I got many letters from Riddle these past few weeks...” Trey, Cater and the Adeuce duo turned to her at the sound of her voice. They felt uneasy. Before they could ask if she was alright, she continued.”Care to tell me why and how Riddle Overblotted..?”

Suddenly and without any warning, the girl became dark and ominous. The air was heavy; pressing down on every single Heartslabyul boy. "U-uh, Miss (y/n), it really was an accident-" "No yeah uh, we totally didn't piss him off at all..." "Bro why would you expose us like that??" "He's perfectly fine now (n/n) and I think that's all that matters... I hope." The four boys sat at the same table as her stammered endlessly. As much as they tried to figure out a way to excuse themselves, (y/n) came back harder and stronger making them shrink back in fear.

"Oh, you don't need to make up excuses... I know everything..." She said in an eerie whisper while snapping her head to the first year boys who were sweating their butts off in fear and practically shaking under her piercing (e/c) gaze. Her chaste smile was nothing but terrifying. They'd never seen a woman flip the switch on her warm and soft demeanor while still smiling happily. The whole yard of boys went silent. "You all truly have nothing else to say? My my..." She trailed in her sweet voice. "You do this again... and it'll be off with your head on my accord, got it?"

The boys nearly fainted. Every single one of them hurried out of their chairs and made it a point to bow in deep fear. "Y-yes Ma'am!" She laughed bitterly. "Very good, let the party resume!" She clapped. Suddenly, that gummy smile was plastered back onto her face while she cut herself a few slices of various cakes and tarts and other desserts. The students nodded hastily and wearily went back to eating and conversing.

(y/n)'s eyes sparkled as her red haired fiance made his way back to the party. He felt the strained feelings in the air and looked around at his fearful students who were much quieter than before. As he walked closer to his designated table with his five favorite people, he saw that his sweet little angel (y/n) was sitting and eating desserts with an adorable smile on her pink lips. Around her? Terrified Adeuce and a scarred Trey and Cater.

He sat down next to his fiance hesitantly and she began going on her sweet little rants"Oh Riddle dear, Trey really did make the desserts so well! I remember you took me to his bakery for our anniversaries, we should totally have him make our wedding cake shouldn't we?" They girl spoke happily while chomping down another bite of the creamy cheesecake.

He smiled at her, then hesitated to speak,"Absolutely my dear, but I have a question... Why are the students in shell shock..? Did something happen whilst I was away?" Riddle questioned in deep concern. "Nothing happened! I just had a quick chit chat with them. Right boys?" She looked at the four boys next to them. They quickly muttered "yes" and "yeah"s under their breath and looking down at the food in their plates.

Riddle sighed then let out an airy chuckle. He gently brought the young lady's delicate hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on it, trying to calm her nerves. The boy found it easy to read his fiance. Knowing that she'd scared all of Heartslabyul into having nightmares of her tonight? It's safe to say he was a proud future husband.

[ihni]

(On AO3 here)

~~~

Billy absolutely refuses to accept gifts.

This is annoying for several reasons, the main one being that giving little gifts to his boyfriend is one of Steve’s greatest joys in life. Or rather it would be, if said boyfriend would only shut up and take them. But oh no.

“What’s this shit, Harrington?”

Strange how Steve is always ‘Harrington’ when Billy is pissed.

Taking a deep breath, Steve prepares himself for the upcoming battle.

“It’s a shirt,” he says, simply, as if it’s obvious. Which it is.

“I can see that,” Billy says with disdain and holds the offending item out in front of him. “Why did I find it on my car seat?”

Here we go, Steve thinks. “Because I bought it for you,” he says, keeping his voice light. Before Billy can speak he adds, to make his intentions perfectly clear; “It’s a gift.”

Billy’s face twists into a grimace and the red fabric crinkles as he grips it in his fist. “I don’t need your charity, Harrington.”

“It’s not –“

“I can buy my own shirts.”

“I know, but –“

Billy pushes the shirt into Steve’s chest. “And anyway, I don’t want it.”

That is a blatant lie, and they both know it. Steve was with Billy at the mall and saw the way he looked at that shirt. Watched as he ran his fingers over the fabric, took the hanger off the rack, and then finally put it back, wincing, once he’d glanced at the price tag. Steve knows with one hundred percent certainty that this particular shirt is right up Billy’s alley and he knows that his boyfriend would love it, and wear it, and would have bought it himself if it had been cheaper.

But of course now, since Steve was the one who bought it, suddenly Billy doesn’t want it anymore. Because god forbid he accepts a goddamn gift from his boyfriend. Who can very well afford it by the way, thank you very much.

But while Steve thinks all of this, he doesn’t say any of it out loud. Because he knows that he’s not going to win this one. “Fine,” he says instead with a sigh, giving in. “I’ll return it.”

(He won’t. He’ll keep it, and then after long enough time has passed he’ll try to sneak it in among Billy’s belongings like it was always there, and hope it goes unnoticed. He’s succeeded before, twice, and that accomplishment may or may not have gone to his head. The back of his closet is now full of things meant for Billy.)

Anyway, this whole refusing-gifts thing. It’s annoying, is what it is, and it’s getting to be a problem. Spoiling the people closest to him has always been Steve’s way of showing that they’re important to him. And Billy is important – perhaps the most important.

Robin says that it’s a pride thing, and that Billy wants to prove that he’s independent – which is crazy, because he doesn’t have anything to prove to Steve. The guy moved out the same day he graduated, for fuck’s sake, into the shittiest little apartment Hawkins had to offer that he had somehow arranged to rent beforehand without telling anyone, and he’s currently working two jobs to be able to provide for himself and to save up for the future. He cleans his apartment when it’s needed, unashamedly goes to the laundromat once a week, and pays his own bills. No one with working eyes or ears can ever say that Billy Hargrove is not independent.

(Meanwhile, Steve is still living at home – but he’ll argue that his parents are so rarely there, so it’s almost like he’s living on his own – and is lucky enough that he doesn’t have to pay his own way. Which is just as well, really, because Family Video doesn’t actually pay that much. But that’s neither here nor there.)

Independence is, objectively, a good trait, but of course Billy doesn’t do anything in moderation. His stance on gifts has forced Steve to get … creative.

Once, when Steve had found the perfect present – a silver dagger earring with a tiny blue stone the exact color of Billy’s eyes – he didn’t even try to give it to him. He simply poked it through the hole in his pocket so that it fell to the asphalt when he walked ahead of Billy across the parking lot outside the dinner, and let Billy “find” it. Pretended to be disgusted as Billy excitedly picked it up from the ground and everything, even though on the inside, he was preening at Billy’s delight over his “find”.

See? Steve can be sneaky, when he wants to or when the situation demands it. And when it comes to showering his boyfriend with gifts, the situation definitely demands it.

Luckily, there is one thing that Billy will grudgingly accept even if he hasn’t bought it himself – one thing in the world that Steve can give him, that Billy won’t reject outright or start a fight about – and that thing is chocolate.

Expensive, luxury chocolate, to be specific. The kind that comes in golden paper boxes, or wrapped in cellophane, or packed in high-end tin containers with etched pictures of cities on the lid.

Billy won’t say no to a cheap chocolate bar bought at the gas station either, but that isn’t quite enough for Steve, who by now has a burning need to spoil Billy somehow. So, luxury chocolate it is.

It was an accident, when Steve first discovered this exception. Billy was spending the night – like he so often does when Steve’s parents aren’t home, because while he has his own place now, Steve’s bed is both more comfortable and big enough for the two of them – and they’d been bickering about what to make for dinner. Billy was cooking, because of course he was, and he’d been rifling through the cupboards looking for the fancy pasta when he’d emerged with a crinkled plastic bag that he’d apparently unearthed from the very back.

“What’s this?” he’d asked, frowning at the little brown lumps inside the bag.

Steve had taken one look at it and made a face. “Oh, chocolate biscotti. Mom bought them from Italy last year. Give me that, I’ll throw it out.”

Billy had looked positively offended at that, and cradled the bag to his chest. “Throw them out? Why?”

“Uh, because she bought them last year?”

That hadn’t seemed to deter Billy though, as he’d snuck one out of the bag and bit into it. Steve grimaced at the dry crunch of it, and took the opportunity to yank the bag out of his boyfriend’s hand while Billy was busy chewing and looking thoughtful.

“Disgusting,” Steve said as he threw the bag of stale old cookies into the trash can. “You’re gonna get sick.”

Billy had just grinned at him and thrown the last piece of biscotti into his mouth, eating that one too. Had even licked his lips, after, and eyed the trash can like he maybe wanted to try raiding it for more of the stale cookies. Steve was a good boyfriend though and hadn’t let him – had, in fact, distracted him quite competently – but he’d already seen the way Billy’s eyes lit up at the taste, and the next time he spoke with his mother, he asked if she would bring another bag home with her.

(She had been in France at the time, but she’d been happy to call the hotel she’d stayed at in Venice the last time she was there and arrange for a couple of bags of biscotti from the ‘cute little bakery down the street’ to be delivered halfway across the world, as well as bring back a veritable smorgasbord of baked treats from Paris.)

It was a game of trial and error for some time, while Steve tested his theory. Baked goods worked, although Billy seemed to favor cookies over buns and flaky things like croissants. Sweet flavors went over better than savory in general, which were hit and miss. But the real winner was the chocolate. All kinds, all flavors.

The first time Steve had brought out a box of chocolates (Swiss chocolate, purchased in France), he’d put it on the table during a Party movie night, for everyone to enjoy. (Billy rarely refused food when it was obviously meant to be shared, although he never ate anything until someone else had done so first.) It worked like a charm – under the cover of the dark and in the low light from the TV, Steve saw Billy reach for no less than five pieces of chocolate.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Steve had gotten two identical boxes of chocolate. Over the next couple of days, he sneakily filled up the first box with pieces from the second box, and made sure to leave it out on the table whenever Billy was over. And as it had been established to be a communal box of chocolates, Billy didn’t have any qualms about eating from it, which meant that Steve was repeatedly treated to the sight of Billy closing his eyes and smiling around a piece of chocolate, visibly enjoying each bite. It was a win-win; Billy got his sweets, and Steve got to provide for his impossible boyfriend.

Since then, Steve has made a point to ask his mother to bring home chocolate from all the places she visits, as well as ordered from several specialty shops outside Indiana. His mother is happy to provide, as she has always enjoyed shopping for the finer things in life. She no doubt thinks that Steve is using it to woo some girl.

Well, she is half right.

Steve thanks her every time she brings something home, and then he puts it away until his parents leave again, at which point he will come up with increasingly convoluted ways of making sure Billy gets to enjoy it.

“Oh, that? Yeah, mom brought it back from New York. I don’t really care for it, to be honest. It’s too sweet for me” and “My aunt gave this to me – her boss gave it to her for her birthday but like, she’s diabetic so she can’t eat it. You want it?” and “I don’t know why mom insists on buying sweets, she should know by now that I’m not big on them … But I don’t want to hurt her feelings, you know? So I just smile and accept them” and “I think I’m allergic. It’d be a shame to throw it out, though. You’d honestly be doing me a favor if you just took it with you.”

Billy, who is ordinarily too smart to fall for schemes like this, miraculously hasn’t caught on yet. (Or maybe he has, but plays along because deep down, he wants what Steve gives him. Steve prefers that theory.)

Of course, Steve has to continue his attempts of gifting his boyfriend with non-chocolate items as well, even though it’s mostly for show, because a) he doesn’t want Billy to catch on his strategy and also b) one of these days, he’ll get Billy to say yes.

He’ll wear him down soon, Steve is sure.

Until then, he’ll just feed Billy fancy treats and fill up the back of his wardrobe – maybe Billy will get a pretty red shirt for Christmas. It’d be rude, even for Billy, to refuse gifts on Christmas.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Pent Up 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.

Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You peer around awkwardly, unsure of the fine silvery cutlery and which of the forks to use. You can’t help but feel out of place as you’re the youngest at the table; by decades. It’s surreal, like when your mom left you with your great grandparents as a child. She said it would be a few days but it turned out to be a month. They never had you back. 

You fidget and play with the frill along your left shoulder. The asymmetrical cut isn’t your favourite. You’re not sure what high school you was thinking, even if it was only a few years ago. 

“That colour is gorgeous on you,” Frigga preens, forcing you out of your anxious trance. 

You smile sheepishly. “Thanks. I... love your hair pin.” 

She touches the pearl barrette in her hair. “Oh, thank you, dear.” 

He uses the smaller fork, you think, to poke at her salad. You’re not into kale, you find it dense, but you know better to complain or decline. Just like with her son. You gulp and grab your fork. It’s like when your great grandmother made you that olive and cottage cheese delicacy you vomited into her garden. The salad is more palatable. 

You taste it, hoping the task of chewing can save you from talking. They all are exceedingly skilled at that and you don’t have much to offer. If you try, that screaming inside your head might escape to the outside. 

You wince as Thor rests his large hand on the back of your chair. 

“She’s a very clever woman. She works with electronics. Oh, and is she attending classes.” 

You swallow and nearly choke. He’s bragging about the lamest things in your life. Your job is boring and you don’t really do anything with the computers yourself. And classes... you’re just trying to pad your resume. 

“It’s very important to get an education,” Odin intones. “What’s more important is what you do with it. I spent a fortune on two engineering degrees for this one...” he shakes his head. “And look where he ended up.” 

You’re even more confounded by that revelation. Thor? An engineer? What on earth got him put in prison? You try not to delve too far into that riddle. It’s probably best to ignore that. How many red flags did you already ignore? What’s another. 

“It’s nothing special. Just... business admin. Basic stuff,” you shrug.  

Frigga’s eyes narrow and Odin tilts his head. They aren’t impressed and they shouldn’t be. That might be something. If they don’t approve of you... 

“And... I’m stuck with my parents still so... you know...” You add. 

“She is saving money. For us,” Thor assures. “You know things are difficult these days and father always said there is value in hard work.” 

“Mm, so I said,” Odin drawls. “Certainly, I hear your brother took that to heart. I hear he’s hired help.” 

“Oh?” Thor sniffs. “And still he could not come see me?” 

“He has not come to see all of us. Your mother only chanced upon him herself. Hasn’t even the time to pick up the phone for her--” 

“He is busy,” Frigga assures Odin as she pets his hand. “He will be here for your father’s birthday. That is what matters. And his assistant, she was darling. Though he was in a state. You know how he can be. Perhaps you might ask his advice, Thor. He could help you find some work.” 

“Hm, I suppose I could try asking,” Thor shifts, retracting his hand from the back of your chair. “I am not helpless. I have plans...” 

“Yes, son, you have told us the same many times. I believe the day before your sentencing,” Odin scoffs. “A bit old now to be falling back into bad habits.” 

“Father. I’ve turned myself around and she,” he reaches over to take your hand, your fork scraping your plate, “will keep me straight.” 

“Right,” Odin crosses his arms and leans back. “Don’t tell me so, show me.” 

“Father, I--” Thor clears his throat.  

Silence rises with a rippling tension. You look between his parents. You piece together the few clues you have. You can’t really begrudge them their doubt. You have your own. 

“Well, I have one in particular,” Thor pushes his chair back and keeps hold of your hand.  

He slides your fork free and puts it on the table. You peek up at him, confused. He kicks his chair back and he turns, lowering himself to one knee with a grunt. He digs in his pocket with his other hand and pulls out a band with a large diamond sparkling in the light. 

Frigga gasps and you gurgle. Odin sighs. 

“My queen, how I’ve waited so long for us to be together and now I can’t hardly wait for it to be. Please, will you make me your king?” He holds up the ring. You could fold over and evaporate into the floor. Sweat glazes over your face and your scalp itches. What do you say? 

“Um,” you sniff and blink. Your options are many. You really don’t have any. You’re too afraid of even saying no to him. Even with witnesses. “Yes?” 

He squeezes your hand and you let out a fluttery noise. Your heart is thumping, deafening you as the world pinpoints to his grip on you. He opens his hand and slides the ring onto your finger. You stare at the large rectangle diamond framed in smaller diamonds on a gold band. It must be expensive. 

A chair scrapes and you wince. You look over as Odin clucks and turns on his heel. He swipes up his can from against the table and marches out. Not a word, not a look. You look at Frigga as she gives a gentle smile. 

“He’s in shock, I think,” she says. 

You glance at Thor as he stares after his father. His face falls. He lets go of you and gets up, another groan as he does. He sits in his chair and frowns. 

“I thought he’d be happy,” Thor mutters. 

“Oh, of course he’s happy for you, son,” she affirms and reaches across to her son. He takes her hand. “I am. Don’t you worry.” 

“He didn’t say anything,” Thor sneers. 

“Thor, it’s been a lot. You’ve been away from us for so long and now this... it’s all very sudden. We’ve just met this lovely woman.” She looks at you kindly. “What are your plans? For the wedding?” 

“I have my trust,” Thor recoils and crosses his arms, almost petulant. At his size, the bratty demeanour is almost laughable. “I was not entirely unproductive in prison. I only ever did what needs to be done. Mother, you know I am not a cruel person. I’ve made mistakes, I admitted them. And you all hold it against me.” 

“No, we don’t, darling--” 

“You do! But only my diamond forgive me. She is so kind and--” he huffs. “He couldn’t even stay and face me. Congratulate me. Worse, he’s disrespected my future wife.” 

Wife? You could faint. You brace the sides of the chair to keep from doing just that. 

“Dear,” Frigga’s eyes meet yours. “Are you unwell?” 

You shake your head. You lean forward and catch yourself against the table. You reach for the tall glass by your plate. 

“I only need water,” you assure her. 

“Mm, yes, we shouldn’t let all this go to waste,” she tuts. “You know, your father just needs time. He is like you and your brother. You only need simmer in your thoughts then you come to sense. Eventually.” 

🩷

Leaving brings both relief and dread. You are glad to be free of the repressive exuberance of Thor’s family estate but uneasy at the prospect of being alone with him. Again. 

You sit in the passenger seat and stare at your hand. The large stone is as heavy as a boulder. You are not Sisyphus. You’re not sure how much further you can get it up the hill. 

“I am so happy. Are you?” He asks. 

You sit up and suck in a thick breath. You are many things. Afraid, lost, almost mourning. You regret being so stupid. Those idiotic emails were only meant to be... well, an ego boost. You are so pathetic, you wanted desperate men to tell you lies. And you told your own. 

“Thor,” you utter cautiously. “It’s a very nice ring and a very nice gesture but... I’m still very young and I don’t have much. I think maybe--” You pause and weigh your words; does the boulder roll back to the bottom of the hill? “Maybe that’s why your dad wasn’t happy. Because I’m not—not the right person for you right now--” 

He slams on the brakes. You squeal as the seat belt keeps you from hitting the dash. A car honks and serves around him. He ignores them. 

“Not right for me? You are the only one for me,” he insists. “My queen, you said yes to me.” 

“I did. I—I didn’t want to have this conversation there. It’s not that... It’s... I’m... I have to finish school and right now isn’t good for me--” 

“You don’t need school. I will take care of you--” 

“Thor, I can take care of myself--” 

“It is my job to take of you,” he snarls. 

You lean away from him, startled by his deeper tone. In the cabin of the truck, he is even bigger. You wipe your sweaty hand on your skirt. 

“It’s very sweet of you but--” 

“You said yes,” he growls. 

You blink, eyes tinging with moisture. You wet your lips. Your throat is scratchy. 

“Yes,” you nod. “Thor... My parents... you know, I think maybe before we decide anything I need to talk to them.” 

“Oh, I will be speaking with this man, this stepfather of yours. I will not be asking anything of him either. I will be telling him,” he says. 

You gulp. While the idea of him intimidating Andy is on the surface amusing, it’s deeply troubling too. You don’t want your family to know anything about Thor. 

“Well, let me talk to them first.”  

Another car honks and you look out the back window. Thor is unbothered by the roadblock he’s caused. You are about to melt into a puddle. 

“Can I be honest?” You ask. 

He stares and nods. The lines in his face trace his displeasure. Your eyes wander to his rounded muscular silhouette and his thick hands. The intrusive thought of them around your neck make you squirm. What if he killed someone? 

“I didn’t tell them yet,” you blurt out. It’s true but still a lie because it isn’t the truth you kept from him. “My family. I never mentioned you. I... never told them about anyone so I think they might be surprised and, so, er, can’t you let me... tell them first?” 

He looks at you. His forehead wrinkles. He exhales through his nose. Another car lays on their horn. He shakes his head and sits straight. 

“I suppose...” he mutters as he hangs his head. The horn continues to blare. 

He grips the wheel and he face twists in agitation. He peels his fingers off and balls his hands to fists. He hits the steering wheel and snarls. 

Before you can react, he taps the button on his seat belt and it retracts. He swings open the door, mindless to oncoming traffic, and gets out of the car. He lands heavy on his feet and marches along the side of the truck. 

You panic and scramble to untangle yourself from your seat belt. You fall out of the truck as you hear him hollering. 

“You honking at me?” Thor barks as he approaches the other car. “You’re messing with the wrong man.” You sprint around the truck bed as he gets to the driver’s window. He bends to snarl through, “why don’t you open up and face me, eh? Coward!” 

“Thor, please, get back in the car,” you scurry over. “Please, we’re in the way--” 

“No, he has no patience!” He hits the top of the car and leaves a dent. You gasp. It looks as if it took him no effort at all. 

The man in the car is frightened. He curls over his wheel and revs in a futile effort to scare away the raging giant. You grab Thor’s hand and pet his forearm. 

“Thor...” you peek once more at the scared driver. It’s your fault. All of this is your fault. “My king.” You coo at him shakily. “Please get back in the truck and take me home.” 

“He is disturbing us! He could go around--” 

“Thor!” You nearly shriek. “How can I marry you if you are so angry? If you do not listen to me?” 

His eyes round and he twitches as if he’s been struck. He looks at you and his face turns grim. “Marry me?” 

“I didn’t-- I wasn’t saying no. I was just saying—asking for some time,” you look him in the eye, caressing him, calming him like a riled dog. “But I can’t marry someone who does these things.” 

He lowers his head. He actually looks guilty. He nods and turns. He bends and taps gently on the window. He waves his hand. 

“Sorry about that. Bad day,” he gives a sheepish grin. “Here.” He lets you go and takes out his wallet. He takes out a couple of bills; each at least a hundred dollars. “For the roof.” 

He tucks the money under the wiper and stands straight. He latches onto you again and drags you away. He sighs out the tension. 

“You are right, my queen.” He says. “This is why I need you. To keep me in my right mind.”