#the men I��m thinking of specifically are as follows

[sugarwarachan]

random horny thoughts about bllk men - pt 1

(･ω･)つ andy's notes: still trapped in horny writer block jail!! every single one of them is a menace - mdni

characters: itoshi sae, michael kaiser, isagi yoichi, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, barou shoei

cws: nsfw, smut, all characters 18+, f reader, s/d undertones to some of these but nothing specifically outlined, can sae be his own warning, masturbation, predator/prey kink, dirty talk, consensual filming, breeding kink, creampie, edging, oral m receiving, lingerie kink

when he catches you pleasuring yourself, sae enacts a very specific form of punishment. he pulls you to the edge of the bed, crouches down, and inspects your pussy up close, humming under his breath with stern disappointment that sends a bolt of arousal through your belly. “you couldn’t even wait an hour for me?” he abruptly pushes you away. “go on then if you’re so desperate. let’s see if you can actually get yourself off.”

kaiser likes to chase you down the streets of his hometown. his legs quickly close the distance; he can hear your strained panting, see the flash of fear in your eyes whenever you turn your head to see how close he is to you. he maneuvers you into a corner easily, using his body to cage you in further. your heartbeat races under his palm; he squeezes tight and laughs when you gasp. "told ya I'd find you, sweetheart."

isagi has a hidden album of videos you’ve made together that he revisits whenever he’s away. he’s gotten really good at filming, angling down to his cock sliding in and out while your embarrassed little squeaks sound off camera. “yoichi, it’s too loud,” he hears you say, followed by his own reply, “I know, baby, this slutty fuckin’ pussy of yours always gets so talkative when I film her. wonder why that is?”

shidou has the nastiest breeding kink known to man. he doesn’t think of it in terms of knocking you up—although when he has your legs folded behind your head, he thinks fucking a little brat into you might not be so bad—he just loves stuffng creampie after creampie into you. the milky ring that forms around his cock when he’s plugged inside your cunt makes this man go fucking feral.

he won’t admit to it, but rin loves it when you edge him. it’s the fourth time you’ve brought him close to orgasm with your tongue and fingers alone and he’s panting and whining on the bed. his hands tangle in your hair, mouth open in a mixture of pleasure and pain. he can’t stop his hips from snapping forward, searching out release along the warm column of your throat. every whimper and moan sounds like it's being dragged from his lips until finally, finally, you hear him say, "please let me cum."

barou loves to see you in lingerie, but has a terrible habit of shredding every piece you own the second he sees it on your body. he's a big guy and he's usually considerate with his size and strength around you (until he isn't swoon), but with those tiny little scraps of lace barely covering your nipples, what else do you expect from him? always makes up for it by taking you shopping for new sets, but inevitably ruins each piece.

2025 © all works belong to @sugarwarachan. do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works. reblogs and comments always appreciated my lil bbs <3

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ YOU TURN ME ON! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...what turns the jjk men on? Don’t worry, I’m here to tell you!

INFO...jjk men (geto, gojo, nanami, toji, choso, higuruma, sukuna) x fem!reader, sexual and non sexual turn ons (kinda), whispering, eye contact, tight clothing, shower sex, p in v, hair pulling, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), pheromones (?), mention of glasses (sukuna), facial (sukuna), not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

GOJO

gojo loves when you whisper in his ear. Something about you being so close to him, feeling your breath on his skin just does something to him. He gets immediate chills up his body and a small little smirk on his face. It doesn’t even have to be sexual either, you could whisper the most basic shit and he’d be giggling like a school girl cause he just loves hearing your voice in that tone. Now, when it is sexual…that man will nut inside of you without warning. You’re moaning and whispering in his ear? He’s a goner, quite literally on another planet. Nibble on his ear a little and his eyes will roll back. Sometimes you’ll do it in purpose while you two are out in public and he gives you the biggest pout ever. “Baby, don’t do that to me c’mon,” he whines. He damn near dragged you to the car and fucked you in the backseat…

NANAMI

nanami loves eyes contact a little too much. Sometimes it’s intimidating because he’s such a stoic man and doesn’t show very much emotion in his face, so he will just stare at you. But overtime you’ve grown to be comfortable with making eye contact with him, just staring lovingly while he talks about work or whatever. He stares into your eyes so much that he can tell what you’re thinking and feeling. More specifically, he knows when you’re in the mood, the little glint in your eye while you smile at him, looking at him up and down like he’s a piece of meat. In that case, expect eye contact during sex! Nanami loves missionary just looking at you, forehead pressed against yours, and he can’t get over that pleading look, batting your pretty lashes at him while you moan his name. “Yes, right here, baby. Keep looking at me. There’s my girl,” he softly sighs.

TOJI

toji loves tight clothes (no surprise). He genuinely thinks you look good in anything, but something about seeing the outline of your body makes him a crazed man. He will nonstop be touching you, handing on your ass, waist, titties, thighs…he does not give a damn. You could be wearing your pajamas and he will still find you sexy. You bend over in something tight? He’s now hard and has to fix the problem, not that he minds. He bends you over right there on the couch with your shorts around your ankles. It’s date night? He’s excited because you’re gonna wear that new dress he bought you—the one that hugs your body so well, showing off all your curves. Wandering eyes follow your every movement while you get ready and be chews on his bottom lip while he thinks of everything he wants to do to you. “Yeah, doll, I don’t think we’ll be making it to dinner tonight,” he chuckles.

GETO

geto loves soapy titties. Now I know that’s like very specific…but I just see him getting turned on by soapy tits for some reason (I don’t make the rules). He doesn’t care what size they are, what they look like, just throw some soap and water on them bad boys and he’s a satisfied man. Bonus points if you send him an unexpected photo in the shower while he’s away. He almost drops his phone while waiting in line for food because he can’t believe his eyes—your perky nipples and soap cascading down your entire body. Expect shower sex…a lot of shower sex. He will go out of his way to help you wash up, trying to be all nice and polite but minutes later his hands are groping your chest and playing with your nipples, soap running between his fingers while he fucks you against the shower wall. “They look so pretty in my hands, baby. I love ‘em.” He lazily smiles.

CHOSO

choso loves when his hair gets pulled or when you play with his hair. He only discovered this when you were doing his hair and accidentally pulled it and to his surprise (and yours) he let out a small whimper. Now you go out of your way to tease him, tugging at his hair whenever you walk by, giggling when he huffs in annoyance. He likes laying on your chest and you just run your fingers through his hair, he immediately melts into your touch. Oh but Choso definitely likes it when you tug at his hair when he’s eating you out…why wouldn’t he? It makes him so hard when he feels your fingers entangle in his hair, pulling and tugging at it while you basically ride his face for your pleasure. You only tug harder when you get closer and closer to your orgasm and his dick is throbbing. “Yes, yes, pull on my hair, please, please,” he begs.

HIGURUMA

higuruma gets turned on when you smell good, whether it’s your natural smell or your perfume, conditioner, lotion, whatever you use. You’d walk by him one day in the kitchen, greeting him when came home from work and he stops in his tracks and sniffs the air a couple of times because you smell so good…??? Like really good to the point he just wants to devour you, hold you, do whatever to you. He’ll hold you close and just smell your hair, your skin, kissing you over and over while his hands roam your body. And if you wear a scent that evokes memories of you two, like a first date or something like that…he pounces on you like a tiger. “How do you smell so fucking good? God, I could just eat you up right now…would you let me?”

SUKUNA

sukuna loves glasses. Yes I said it. Modern sukuna more specifically cause yk…But he will see a woman with glasses and think about how cute her face looks, how smart she looks…the innocent thoughts at first, and then his evil, horny ass would think about what they would look like when he’s fucking you. He can never be wholesome. Will they fog up? Will you let him cum on them? Do you even keep them on? Will they break if he fucks you too hard? All questions that need to be answered. So yes, he eventually fucks a woman with glasses and god does he love it. He finds it adorable when you push up your glasses every ten seconds cause he’s pounding into you too hard. He loves it when you look over them while giving him head. And yes, they do fog up. “Gonna let me cum all over your face? Yeah..? No, no, keep them on for me,” he devilishly smirks, licking his lips.

taglist (comment to be added):

@valleydoli @zxnxy @screechingbasementprincess @lexluthorbutnotbald @lynxslokley @briyah0 @levisjinchuriki @maiiluvs @levizonlywife @xllizs @sm8th0p @waterfal-ling @bonneyzsk @ventila98

[akunya]

hello ive always loved your fics since nijien days and now more into love and deepspace, specifically sylus (the pipeline is universal, i’m afraid) so now, i beg for stalker sylus who is obsessed with everything you do, will fuck you in an alleyway please, cnc and mindbreak, thank you 🙏🏻

"window watching."

pairings: sylus x m!reader

summary: sylus can only take so much of your teasing before he breaks. unfortunately for you, his methods aren't so nice.

tw: NONCON, stalking, obsessive behavior, size diff., frottage, sph (if you squint), praise. implied kidnapping, handjobs, choking, coercion, dacryphilia etc.

notes: see how i didnt add stalker to the front of his name? i genuinely think he would stalk the shit out of you and it doesnt need to be an au, lol.

in all seriousness, i hope you enjoy it. i'm getting back into the swing of things... probably a bit ooc and doesnt follow the game lore (too much, that is).

im uploading this while sick, so i apologize for any mispellings/mistakes/etc.

please let me know what you think!

stalker sylus who cannot, at first much to his dismay, keep his eyes off of you.

everywhere you go, every time you think you have a sliver of privacy: he's always watching. whether its mephisto or one of the twins, he needs to know what you're doing at all times. taking note of what stores you visit, what time you usually come home, who you talk to. it becomes an urge he cant quite satisfy.

at first, he only watched out of boredom. yea sure, he needed you alive, so keeping note of your location was just another one of his duties. someone as naive and reckless as yourself was bound to get into trouble.

but gradually it gets worse.

"where are you off to now, kitten?" mumbling to himself, the man swipes across his phone screen, watching surveillance cameras with a bated breath as you walked home. your figure was a bit blurry, but that didn’t stop sylus as he watched intently. it was nothing truly unusual. around this time, you'd be already cozied up in bed, but it seems like work made you stay overtime tonight. "idiots.." sylus's brow furrowed slightly at the thought of you overworking yourself.

before you, he didn't care much for romance. friendship, trivial things: he thought those were what made a person weak.

but now?

every little thing you do drives him mad. the way you carefully fold your clothes after finishing your laundry to make sure your room stays clean. how you always greet the cashier at the nearby convenience store with a smile, thanking them for bagging your items. how long you take a shower for, which coffee shop is your favorite, even down to the type of shampoo and conditioner you use daily: sylus had it all down to a science. he practically knew everything about you.

even then, a question still rang through his mind. why would you waste your time with all of these other men?

he knew about that strange doctor who's gaze lingered on yours a little too long for his liking. sylus felt his fist clench when he would watch you talk to that painter too, jaw clenching in annoyance when he would see you walk home or to work with that blonde boy.

he shook his head, trying to snap out of his own thoughts. this wasn't about them. right now, this was about you.

it was another evening with you winding down after a long day of work. a tired sigh leaves your lips, and sylus’s cock throbs watching you undress as you slowly slip off your shirt. was it normal to be staring at another man like this? watching from cameras could only do so much, so this time, the villain found himself on a roof adjacent to your window. thankfully, you were too stupid a majority of the time to close the blinds, so he had a nice view of your nightly routine.

...which was mostly boring to watch, if he's being honest. you walked around shirtless for a moment, putting away your work gear and leaving your shoes by the door. it was a whole lot of nothing for a good 15 minutes, leaving sylus to rethink his choices for the night.

sitting on the cold bricks of the adjacent roof, he couldn't help feeling just a tinge of shame. "how pathetic, watching afar like some sort of pervert. i should just go in there and.." he scoffed, eyes narrowing in what seemed to be.. annoyance? the leader of onychinus hated chasing his prey like some sort of weakling. he was better than this. he deserved to have you in his arms, no matter what you thought or said.

however, his words abruptly came to a stop when your fingers trailed to the hem of your pants.

dark red eyes stared deeply at your hands as they softly pushed at the fabric of your boxers. languid fingertips played with the fabric, yawning as your thumbs hooked against the waistband and began to pull. further and further, pulling ever so slightly to show off a bit of your happy trail, the base of your cock threatening to peek for unwanted visitors to gawk at. sylus could feel himself leaning closer, the distance between the roof and your window suffocating as more of your skin was exposed.

almost, that is, before an imaginary light bulb in your head went off and you quickly took your hands out of your pants. "shit, i forgot to pick up dinner on my way home. i should do that now before i go to bed," you thought to yourself, whisking away from the window and grabbing a plain shirt to throw on. reaching for your keys and wallet, you opened the door and left your apartment as usual, unbeknownst of the dangerous man watching your every step.

sylus's own hands were nearly trembling. the ache and tent in his pants didn't help either, feverishly getting up and following you as you made your way into linkon city. he didn't have to ask mephisto or the twins to follow you - thankfully, the rooftops gave sylus a clear view of the streets below, and he could spot you out from anywhere. the man didnt bother to speed up either, knowing which store you were going to (you were very predictable, after all).

he also knew that there's a convenient dark alleyway just before you would turn the corner to go to the establishment. unfortunately, this vital piece of information slipped your mind, leaving you completely unaware and unguarded as rough hands yanked you into the darkness.

"mmph-!" you tried to scream, the hand covering your mouth muffling your pleas. even though you worked out and were pretty fit because of your hunter lifestyle, your strength was nothing compared to the man hovering above you, wriggling to no avail.

"shh, kitten. you wouldn't want anyone to hear us, would you?" the older man mocked, relishing in the fear and befuddlement in your eyes. it took a second for you to process that the other man was none other than sylus himself, smirking as you squirmed in his grasp. red eyes bore into yours, filing you with fear that rose every second. why did he have you pinned in some dirty alleyway like a thief? surely it wasn't money he was after.

the leader moved his hand from his mouth to your neck, holding you in place as you gasped for air. "s-sylus? what are you doing here?!" crying out, your body couldn't struggle anymore, so you opted for your hands gripping his wrist and trying to pull it off of your neck. "what does it look like im doing?" he scoffed, leaning in close to your ear.

"im here to see you, of course."

brow furrowing, you looked at him in confusion as you took in your surroundings. "a dark, dingy alleyway?" you thought aloud, looking him up and down. sylus fixed his posture as he looked down at you, your size difference becoming more obvious by the second. "oh, did you want me to come and knock on your door instead? i apologize, sweetie. you should've told me you wanted the big bad leader of onychinus inside your little headquarters." his grin infuriated you as you rolled your eyes.

before you could think of a clever rebuttal, sylus wedged his knee in between your legs, parting them open as his thigh pressed against your crotch. "i-i dont.." you muttered, voice raising in pitch to pair with your nervousness as he kissed your neck. he didn't bother answering your silly questions, simply smiling before biting into your shoulder. you hissed in pain, trying to push him off even more than before.

"you don't what, love?" his voice isn't serious at all for the situation you're in. cold skilled hands fiddled with your zipper, freezing for just a moment before gripping onto your girth. the sensation made you cry out again, unable to hide your face from your attacker, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. sylus coo'ed at your feeble attempts to push him away, unbuttoning and pulling out his own cock to hold against yours.

looking down, the size comparison of his cock against yours made your face feel warm. ""aww, look at you sweetie. you're all bark but no bite." the older man laughed again, fingertip circling the head of your cock as he teased you. you loathed the way you shuddered at his snide remarks, the sound of the bustling city just feet away making you panic again.

you raised your voice, "sylus, this isn't funny anymore, seriously! cut it out!".

the wordless tension spoke volumes.

sylus didn't laugh or comment on your refusal. instead, his grip on your neck only grew tighter, choking you against the wall as his other hand started to make a fist around both of your cocks. "do you see me laughing?" his tone was firm as he squeezed harder on your throat. you couldn't say anything back, choking out a sob as he slowly began to jerk you both off together, a low moan slipping from his lips.

"ive wanted this for so long, kitten. so fucking long." muttering, he continued to grind his hips against yours, the unwanted pleasure making your head spin. "i've had enough watching from afar. i think its finally time i get what i want, right?" he kissed the tip of your ear, toying with the cartilage between his teeth.

unable to believe what was happening, you could only cry out more strings of "please", "stop", "no": all music to sylus's ears. "you don't really want me to stop, right? look at how much your cock is leaking onto mine.." he chuckled lowly again, grabbing the back of your neck to force your gaze downwards.

he wasn't wrong, either - dribbling precum and throbbing the entire session, your dick looked just as eager as sylus's, twitching with every flick of his wrist. it wasn't your fault that sylus was way more experienced compared to you. whining, you shook your head again, trying to close your eyes shut so you wouldn't remember any of this. the outside world was so dangerously close, and anyone could catch you two at any moment. how disgraceful it would be: a well known hunter being caught rubbing cocks with the renowned leader of onychinus. you frowned at the thought, whimpering as sylus went back to kissing your bruised neck.

"you could come with me, yknow. back to the n109 zone, i'd take such good care of you." sylus whispered as he felt himself inch closer to his own release, hand pumping furiously between you two. hot tears streamed down your cheeks, your brain awry with the overwhelming sensations of pleasure and pain. "you could have anything you wanted. you wouldn't have to work another day in your life." he groaned, balls tightening at the thought of his own perverse fantasy, imagining you kept in his bedroom all day just for him to use.

"d-don't, sylus please -" you hiccuped, forehead resting on sylus shoulder as he toyed with you. "im gonna cum," sobbing as you held onto his biceps, not wanting to sink any further against the dirty alleyway wall. with so much teasing and dirty whispers from the other, you couldn't think straight, practically panting in sylus's ear as his hands jerked you both off closer and closer.

growling, sylus slotted his lips against yours, a surprisingly gentle kiss before muttering under his breath. "be a good boy and cum for me then," using your fluids as lube, the squelch of his tight fist jerking off your cock made you spill. moaning loudly, your nails dug into his arm as thick ropes of semen poured out, mixing with his load that came seconds after.

silence filled the space between both of you as you tried to catch your breath. your eyelids felt heavy, leaning onto sylus for full support as he rubbed your back. you couldn't quite process what just happened, brain feeling much too fuzzy for any thinking right now.

perhaps it was a mix of exhaustion from your normal workday and your encounter that made you pass out on the older man's shoulder. nonetheless, he was not going to let this opportunity go to waste. pressing onto the comms headpiece in his ear, sylus spoke as quietly as he could not to disturb you.

"luke, kieran, bring one of the cars to my location. i have a little kitten coming home with me today."

[sluttysnowangel666]

Northern Attitude - cregan stark x reader

Summary: Cregan’s wife feels he is a cold and distant husband, but he finds a way to show her just how much he loves her. he doesn’t mean to be cold it’s just his northern attitude 😏

cw: smutttttyyyyyyy it was almost fluff but i just can’t help myself lol. reader slaps cregan a few times, (not abusively im just a freak😔), size diff, oral (f & m receiving), spanking, porn with little plot

masterlist

Cregan Stark loved and adored his wife. Perhaps he loved her almost too much, as he avoided doing anything that might tarnish her as a lady.

He did not share his chambers with her, even though that was the custom in the North. He rarely touched her, aside from their rather delicate bedding ceremony after their union. And, he rarely spoke to her, as he was too afraid of saying anything that may disrespect her.

His wife found this agonizing.

Their union had, of course, been one out of duty but it didn’t change the fact Cregan had been more interested in her than any other maiden in the North. Her father, Lord Mooton, had offered her hand years ago when Cregan’s father Rickon still ruled the North, but his father felt Cregan should one day make that decision on his own when he became Warden of the North.

Cregan had met her when they were both ten and three, when his father Rickon hosted a feast for all of the Northern lords to come and celebrate the end of a particularly harsh winter.

She was timid and quiet, but they shared a dance and then she had never left Cregan’s mind since.

Now, some odd years later, she was his wife and he was delighted. However, his wife believed to think their union was misery for him.

Their first bedding was ever so gentle, Cregan lightly caressing her hair and cheeks, yet he held his head low into her neck to contain his moans. Her sweet whines and whimpers made him want to go feral, yet he dared not defile his wife.

She was still the quiet girl he fell in love with all those years ago. She sat next to him silently during feasts and trips to other houses, almost like a pet that only acts when called upon. When she did attempt to make conversation with her husband, his words were short and dry. She knew Northern men were often of few words, but she did not expect her union to be that way. If he was so cold, why had he chosen her specifically? The thought frustrated her greatly.

It was not his intention to be this way. It was just how his father was, and he couldn’t help but learn that behavior.

When Cregan learned he would have to make a moon’s trip to the Wall, he wanted to make sure his wife would be in well hands before leaving.

Knock. Knock. Knock

“You may enter.” She said, softly.

She turned as her husband entered her chambers, dressed in his furs and armor. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He closed the door behind him, then stepped a few paces closer inside her chambers.

“Are you leaving?” She asked, trying to hide the frustration in her voice.

“I must go to the Wall; the men there are in dire need of supplies and support. I plan to bring any prisoners of Winterfell to clear up our cells so that they may take the black.” He says, walking to sit across from her in front of the hearth. He admires her soft gray gown. Her hair was in Northern braids, out of her face so that it was revealing her delicate features. Her eyebrows knitted again, something he noticed she did when she was upset.

“Will you be alright to rule in my stead while I am gone?” He asks.

“I will be fine, husband.” She responds, curtly.

“If you feel unsure, I can-“ He asks, wanting to make sure she feels comfortable enough, but she cannot hide her anger anymore.

“I said I will be fine! Just go, and leave me alone as you always do!” She yells, standing and walking away from their seats at the fire place.

“Have I offended?” He asks, following behind her. He rests a hand on her shoulder, but she turns to face him and pushes it away.

“No. You’ve made your point to not offend at all, in fact. We’ve been wed for three moons, you’ve only taken me to your bed once, and you refuse to even acknowledge that I’m here. You avoid me like the plague, Cregan. Have I been the one that has done something to offend?” She asks, her voice thick with anger.

He can’t help but let out a dry laugh, “Apologies, my wife,” He takes her hands in his, and she nearly gasps in shock at his touch. “You must forgive my northern attitude, I was raised on little light.”

“You seem to forget I’m Northern as well, husband.” She says, finally catching his eyes for the first time in their marriage. A small smirk plays on his lips.

“My wife, you are such a beauty, and if I am a distant husband then I apologize for that. It is no fault of your own. I simply do not wish to… treat you any less than a lady deserves, but it seems I have gotten too lost on the way. I apologize for my errors, Lady Stark.” He rubs his fingers gently over her hands. She doesn’t know how to respond, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. All this time, all she wanted was some hint that Cregan Stark had any sort of emotions or feelings, and here was her confirmation. He did, and by the old gods and the new did he have many for her.

“When I return, my dear wife,” His finger traces her jawline. “I promise you that I will treat you with the respect you want and deserve. In the meantime, I do beg for your forgiveness. This is my first union.”

She lets out another dry chuckle. “It’s mine as well.”

He presses a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I will send a raven the moment I reach Castle Black.”

With that he turns to leave…

But she isn’t done with him.

Cregan is almost sure it didn’t happen, he hardly even felt a breeze through his furs, but when he hears the sound of metal on the floor he knows she threw something at him.

He turns to look at the mug on the floor, then to his wife, bewildered. “Did you just throw a chalice at me?”

“Your lady has not given you permission to leave.” She says, “I want the wolf I was promised.” She continues, standing across the room.

“What?” He asks, confused. She throws another mug at him, but he deflects it this time. “Stop, what- What are you doing?!”

He holds his arms up to shield himself as his wife throws more and more objects from him, including her boots, candelabras, books, nearly anything she can get her hands on.

He walks towards her, angry, ready to… he doesn’t even know, perhaps frighten her into stopping.

She places his hand on his chest when he’s finally in her reach. She takes his hand, pressing it to her chest to tear off her gown. He lets his hand go limp, but she makes him do the work anyway. He’s too confused to understand because she was just so angry with him. She lets his hand fall and begins to take off the dress herself. It falls to the floor off her body, and then she is standing naked before him.

“My lady-“ She cuts him off with a harsh slap across his face. He stares back at her, his jaw slack.

She does it again, his head barely even moving at her hand. It wasn’t the pain (there was none), but the act that was pissing him off.

She goes for a third, but he grabs her by the wrist before she can reach him.

“This is your only warning, my dear wife.” He says, holding her small wrist in his hand.

“Or what?” She teases. It was that response; that sultry, lustful, desperate response that makes him realize she was teasing him. She was aching for him, eager for her husband before he left her.

He doesn’t move, staring her down with a fire burning in his gray eyes. Her other hand finds his other cheek again, and his length grows stiff in his leathers.

He lets go of her wrist, only to grab her by the waist and toss her on her bed. She gasps as she lands, giggling shortly after.

He climbs over her, resting his weight on his hands and leaning in to give her a deep and tender kiss. She moans, immediately pulling his head closer and weaving her fingers in his curls. He moans in response, his hand finding its way to her breast.

“I’ll make it up to you, wife.” Cregan says, pressing kisses on her cheek before moving down her body. He kisses every part, before resting between her legs. His hands wrap around her thighs, kissing and licking softly just outside her wetness.

She whines, wiggling around only for him to press a hand on her stomach to keep her still. He pulls her onto his lips, and she lets out a sigh of ecstasy. He’s harsh and unrelenting on her cunt, unlike how she’s ever felt before. Her pleads for him fall upon death ears as Cregan realizes just how hungry he was for her.

He wanted to say fuck the journey, fuck the Wall, fuck the North, fuck everything. He wanted to die here, in this sweet and delightful cunt of his wife’s. Her fingers lace into his brown curls, pulling on them tightly, and he whimpers at the sweet pain.

Her eyes water as she draws closer to her climax, the feeling so foreign and unique that she doesn’t know how to react.

“Husband, oh gods.” She cries. She grinds her hips onto his face, and he lets her lead. He locks his eyes onto hers, but that fiery look in his eyes makes her break first, and she throws her head back as she releases onto his lips.

He kisses her thighs as she comes down, a trembling mess in his strong arms. He kisses his way up her bare body, until he’s face to face with her. Her eyes are closed tight as she attempts to catch her breath.

“Will you stop throwing things at me now until I return, my dear?” He asks, gently.

She opens her eyes to look at him, “Where has my wolf been hiding this whole time?”

“In his den.” He gets off the bed and stands, prepared to take his leave when she grabs his wrist.

“You wish to go before I can return the favor?” She asks.

“You needn’t do such thing.” He says, not wanting to cross too many boundaries.

“You’re too modest.” She says, pulling him back towards her by the band of his leathers. He wants to push her off, but can’t. She unlaces his breeches, then stands from the bed to remove his cloak and furs.

“My men are waiting for me, wife.”

“What’s a few more minutes to the Warden of the North?” She says, lowly. She undresses him, from his armor down to his small clothes.

She kisses down his chest, as he just did to her moments prior. She slowly takes him into her mouth, licking and sucking on his length.

Cregan groans, his hand instinctively finding its grip in her hair. She whimpers at the sudden pull, and he immediately loosens it.

“Don’t stop. I like it.” She whispers against him. He obliges, pushing her head deeper onto him.

“Fuck.” Cregan moans in the air, his voice rising an octave. He’s almost embarrassed at how desperate he sounds. “Please, wife, just like that.”

His hands gently rest on the sides of her head, his fingers woven into her hair as she slobbers onto him.

“My husband is more needy than me.” She whispered, and gods was she right. Cregan had grown to regret being so coy with his wife the past few months.

“The gods have blessed me with you, my wife.” He moans, and she smirks onto him. She finally had him right where she wanted him.

“Then bless me in return.” She says, pulling away and leaning back on the bed, spreading her legs to bare her sweet cunt to him. He moans at the sight alone. He crawls over her, positioning his length along her entrance. She eagerly wiggles her hips, only for him to push her hips down.

“Patience, little wife.” He says.

“I’ve been patient for three months. I fucking want you, Cregan.” She pushes him onto his back beside her. She mounts him, sliding herself down onto him. Cregan moans loudly, and she smirks.

She ignores the aching stretch, immediately grinding her hips against him. His hands grasp her waist, holding them so tightly they’ll bruise by the time he leaves.

She throws her head back in ecstasy as Cregan keeps his attention on her face. She is beautiful, even when she is a whining and sweaty mess. One of his hands cup her cheek, weaving his fingers into her locks. She stares down at him, her mouth agape as she moans.

“You are so beautiful, wife.” He says, rocking his hips below her to meet her thrusts. “But your little tantrum isn’t going to go unpunished.”

He locks her in place with his hands, refusing to let her grind against him any longer.

“Wait, Cre-“

He pushes her off, rising from the bed so that he can push her onto her stomach. He pins her wrist behind her back, her fingers twirling to try to find any support to hold onto.

“Now how many items did you throw at me, lovely wife?” Cregan asks, lost in the lust that he had tried to bury when he married his wife. Now, he had no shame to degrade her.

“I… I can’t remember.” She says, muffled into the furs of the sheets.

“I believe it was 6. Let’s make it fair.” He says, landing a harsh smack to her bottom. She lets out a whine, and he pushes himself back inside her, not giving her a moment to catch her breath. Her breath hitches in her throat, and he lands another smack, intending to leave marks.

“Good luck sitting on that throne while I’m gone, wife.” He says, landing way more than 6 smacks to her red bottom. She moans at the pain and pleasure of the smacks and Cregan’s thrusts. The feelings were overwhelming, yet pure ecstasy. Tears brim her eyes as she screams in pleasure, sure enough so loud that all of Winterfell will hear.

“I hate you.” She moans.

“On the contrary. I think you love me.” He says, pressing his chest to her back and wrapping his hand around her throat, continuing to be in relentless with his thrusts. He drowns in her lascivious moans, feeling her cunt leak all over him and her bed. He reaches his other down to her cunt, gasping at all of the wetness that pools in his hand.

“Gods, wife, I didn’t realize how bad we needed each other. You should have told me sooner. I would have defiled you a long time ago.” He groans into her hair. She whimpers pleads of her need for release, and he grants it to her.

She cries in such pleasure, her hands finally finding a comforting grip against Cregan’s hand around her throat.

She rakes her nails into his hand, and he moans, finally spilling himself into her after three long, aching moons.

He presses a gentle kiss to her temple, then pulls out to lay beside her.

“Are you alright, my wife? Did I hurt you?” He asks, caressing her red bottom and her waist, tinted red from his harsh grasp.

“No, not at all.” She breathes.

“No, I didn’t hurt you or no, you’re not alright?”

She laughs, turning to face him to hold his cheek. “Husband, I am better than ever.”

He kisses the tip of her nose, gently caressing her cheek, not wanting to leave her.

“Must you still go, husband?” She asks, sadness in her voice, “Just when I’ve finally got you?”

“Unfortunately I must go… But, tis’ like you said; They can wait another day for the Warden of the North. I want to be with my wife.”

She smirks, propping herself up to look over him. “Northern attitude indeed, my lord husband.”

[ivymarquis]

I would go nuts if you do something for Ghost! Make it filthy ? based on your f list , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, breath play, breeding, light bondage, orgasm control and heavy aftercare? Or make it light , how about a combo of : chubby with size difference, oral , begging, slow burn, multiple orgasms and ofc heavy aftercare?

I really hope I didn’t go too far with this lmao

Hit all the notes except the slow burn, dealer’s choice on if this is a “no pregnancy, only breed” situation for kink purposes, or if Simon fully intends on following through with getting the reader pregnant 😇

Spoiled

Pairing| Ghost x F!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 3.5k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Breeding kink, orgasm control, breath play, squirting, overstimulation, acknowledgement of (but no use of) safewords, size difference, bondage, oral (f!receiving) possessive/simp!Simon, plus size!Reader, multiple orgasms, Simon is a touch mean at times but it’s all above board, and aftercare (or at least the plans of what the aftercare will be lol). I think that covers everything!

You’re wearing his favorite dress and Ghost is ready to climb out of his own skin.

Any other situation would have him pinning you on your back, the skirt of your dress pulled up while he pounds you into the nearest surface he can lay you out across.

However you work underneath Laswell which means he gets to watch the hem of your skirt dance across the skin of your thighs during a meeting he is rapidly losing all interest in.

He’s also not the only one looking which raises his hackles. The rest of the 141 are minding their business, eyes on Laswell up front. They know who you belong to, and have the self control to not slobber all over themselves like rabid dogs at the sight of a pretty girl.

It’s the other men in the room.

He can’t blame them; You’re bright eyed and sweet, pretty face with a plush body that Ghost loves tying up in whatever position he can think to put you in. And the fucking dress doesn’t help.

It is work appropriate. There’s a part of him that is willing to acknowledge that. It just flatters you perfectly. And the hem bounces enough to give a mouth watering peek at the insides of your thighs when you’re walking away from him.

Whether you’re oblivious to the eyes on you or you simply don’t care enough to acknowledge them, every time Ghost’s gaze settles on you your attention is fixated on him when not pointed at Laswell.

He’s suddenly seized by the thought that the ring on your finger clearly isn’t enough of a deterrent for unwanted gazes. You’re baiting him, heedless of the others drawn to you.

Sure she’s married but is she satisfied? He knows damn good and well some of the men- some of the specific ones in this room- are dogs. He can hear the question as they pace and look for a weak spot to dig under the proverbial fence.

He needs to make sure everyone knows you’re his. Clearly it’s not enough to show you’re taken.

His mind wanders, thoughts of filling you with him until you’re swollen with child. The evidence readily apparent to everyone that you’re kept satisfied by your husband.

The only thing that keeps his mind from spiraling completely is a well timed prompt from Price, forcing Ghost out of his head and back to the meeting he wants over and done with already.

Once home, Simon is able to drop the mantle of Ghost- at least for the time being- and turn his attention to you.

It really is his favorite dress on you, but it looks substantially better on the floor.

He’s got you laid across your bed, hands cuffed short to the headboard.

You always were handsy in bed. Wanting to pet and stroke and touch- it’s cute how you squirm for him once he deprives you.

“Si- Simon!” His name is a plea as his tongue goes to work between your legs.

He should be used to the sight and sounds that accompany having you bare before him. God knows the two of you have been together long enough for that- and yet every time he gets you to drop your panties his blood sings in his veins like the first time.

He’s fucking enthralled with you. Your smile, your laugh, how quick you are with a witty retort- always the smart ass until he reminds you there’s a better use for that pretty mouth. How easy it was to manhandle you in bed (how you fucking love it).

He adores how soft you are. Lush thighs spread over either shoulder as he goes down on you like a man who’s been stranded in the desert. One hand digging into the flesh of your hip, the other banded across your belly to keep you still as you buck in his hold.

He’s being a mean bastard, he knows. The pair of you have your little arrangement.

“Simon- please!” Your body strains against the cuffs uselessly. If your hands were free you’d be scrambling for purchase where you could find it- burying in his hair, fisting the sheets beneath you. Flicking his gaze up to your bound hands, he grins seeing how your fingers open and close in fists- needing to hold and touch and not being able to.

“Gotta wait for me, love,” he reminds you.

Simon controls your orgasms. Where you cum, when you cum, how you cum and most importantly if you cum.

Usually he’s magnanimous about it. Arguably he still is. If he really wanted to be an asshole about it, he’d be stuffing you with two of his fingers- the width of three of your own- and stroking that spot that had your body burning, eyes rolling into the back of your head while you cried and made a mess for him. Forcing you to fight yourself, to show a little impulse control, reveling in how you squeal and buck against him in protest.

Those soft thighs are trembling like leaves atop either one of his shoulders, splayed open enticingly.

“Pleasepleaseplease.”

He struggles to pull himself away, reveling in how tightly you’re wound. Simon could easily spend hours between your legs.

When initially cuffing you to the bed, his plan was to not let you finish until after he’d cum in you. Wanted to be mean about it, could hear you crying for him to finish you off. No point in getting you off, love, until I’ve filled that pretty little cunt to the brim. Whole lot of effort for nothing if I do it before, isn’t that right?

Simon spoils you rotten though and only has himself to blame for it at this point. Any time he manages to get you laid out before him it is a guarantee he’ll finish you off at least twice.

Hell it’s practically a necessity, the only thing stopping him from proceeding with his initial plan. Your body would choke down on him, usually needing to be fucked open with his mouth and fingers before being able to take the length of him without protest.

You’re squirming again. The break from his tongue lashing against your clit allows you to regain some composure but still twitching in anticipation.

Not that your respite lasts for long. Simon trails one of his fingers across the seam of your lower lips, watching how your legs jerk on impulse as his touch ghosts across your swollen clit.

“So sensitive,” he teases as you let out a plaintive whine at the contact.

His middle finger slips past your folds, sliding easily all the way to the 3rd knuckle. Giving a few slow thrusts, his ring finger soon joins.

The room is quiet except for the sound of your breaths and how absolutely wet you are. It’s filthy how his fingers squelch inside your cunt. Your moans pick up as he deliberately drags the pads of his fingers across that spongy spot inside of you.

Your brain seems to only be able to remember two words- “Simon” and “please”, chanting them as he works you closer to the edge.

“Be a good girl for me,” he answers cryptically, biting back a laugh at the tortured look on your face. Be a good girl and cum? Or be a good girl and don’t cum?

The hand not buried in your cunt trails up your body- amusement flickering across his face as you jolt from ticklish spots, his hand roaming up your belly, between your breasts and taking its place wrapped around your throat.

Your brain remembers three more words, the alternating chants broken by your accusatory “You’re being mean,”

He is. He’s done worse to you for sure, but he knows the accusation is also another plea. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back please let me cum and call me a good girl- I want to be good.

“You ever consider you’re a spoiled little princess?” He muses to you, lips hovering over your own as he awaits the smart assed retort he just knows-

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” there it is. He grins, giving a chaste peck that is wildly juxtaposed to the sinful things he’s doing to you.

The hand wrapped around your throat tightens. Not enough to damage your delicate wind pipe but enough to put the pressure on the blood vessels in your neck. He adjusts his other hand ever so slightly so his thumb can press against your clit, circling in firm movements in time as his ring and middle fingers work that one spot inside of you.

He gets the desired result- you clenching on his fingers, bucking and squirming uselessly.

“Sorry, what was that?” He asks with a falsely sweet tone, grinning as you hiss.

All the pressure from his hand is placed on the sides of your neck, your pleas and protests turning into mindless babbling.

Simon isn’t entirely without mercy, he just enjoys pushing you as close to the brink as he can.

“Come on then, love- cum for me.” He finally allows, watching with rapt attention as your eyes damn near cross.

His wrist and forearm are wet as you gush around his hand, grinning as your mess is timed with each thrust of his fingers. He doesn’t withdraw until he’s certain he’s wrung every last drop from you, although you’re not left unattended for long.

His grip on your neck lets up, doubly to let you recover from your orgasm as you gasp like a stranded fish as much as it is to have both hands free to position you how he wants.

Mindful that there’s not much slack to pull you down with, Simon holds you steady while he moves to place himself between your legs.

Your flesh is hot, swollen and needy as he lines himself up, one hand on your hip and the other grasping his length. Pliant as you are from your orgasm, it still takes a few thrusts to work you open enough to take the full length of him.

Simon is more than willing to feed you inch by inch of his cock, relishing in the wet suction of your body as you cling and clench around him.

“That feel good, pretty?” He poses the question to you as his hips clap against yours once you’re warmed up and taking him all the way to the base.

“Yes! Simon- yes!”

And what a fucking sight you make. Laid on your back, arms stretching over your head towards the headboard. Those pretty, plush thighs spread wide to accommodate him, giving Simon quite the show- watching as he buries himself in you to the hilt over and over and over again.

He damn near wants to drool watching how your body bounces from the recoil of each snap of his hips. Makes his mouth water- makes him want to turn you into a fucking chew toy, the need to bury his teeth in your soft flesh. His eyes will flick from one part of you to the next, reveling in the soft bounce of your thighs, your belly, your breasts- he couldn’t pry his gaze away, enraptured with the doe eyed, fucked-dumb look on your face when his eyes drift up high enough.

“Whose cunt is this?”

The answer to the question is obvious, and one you know well. It’s not even really the actual question he has- more the lead up than anything else.

“Yours!” He shifts himself slightly, the change in angle working for you based on how you bark out “Oh! Right there!”

Simon grinned, knowing full well what he's doing as he moves to his original position. “You gonna prove it, love?”

Your head must be swimming from the delayed response- frustrated at him for deliberately ignoring your plea and changing the rhythm on purpose.

“Prove it?” Those glassy eyes focus on him, the words sounded out slowly by your cock drunk brain.

“Prove this cunt’s mine,” a sharp thrust elicits a yelp that’s just shy of, but nearing the border of too much. “Oughta fuck a baby into you. Show everyone you belong to me.”

The way you clench down on him draws a grunt deep from his chest, telling him just what you think of that idea.

“Everyone’ll know what a good fucking girl you are,” he’s working himself up, winding tighter and tighter as his mind runs away from him entirely. “Lifting your” he staggers as your clench is timed perfectly with his thrust “-fucking skirt for me,” a few more quick thrusts, “spreading those gorgeous thighs,” his hands are gripping your waist like a lifeline- “letting me have my way with you and not- wasting- a- fucking- drop.” his last words punctuated with strong snaps of his hips.

He’s babbling now, face buried in the crook of your neck as each thrust draws staccato cries from you. “Gonna look so fucking pretty- not gonna be able to take my damn hands off of you,” which was saying something given the current rate he was either bending you over or tying you up.

You clenching around him like a vice wasn’t helping matters either. “Simon please- I want it. Baby I want it. Please cum in me-“ and how was he ever going to ignore a request like that? With you asking so nicely while your cunt works its magic on his cock.

His body dwarfs yours, all broad shoulders and delicious muscling from years of training and physical work that comes with the job. You’re caged under him as he raises his head from your neck and his mouth crashes into yours.

“Mine,” he groans out between kisses. There’s going to be bruises across your body as his grip tightens on you- one hand still fisting the flesh of your hip, the other hooking underneath one of your knees and spreading that leg out to the side, fingers digging into the skin of your thigh as you both grunt at the change in angle.

The noises the two of you are making are absolutely obscene; the slap of his heavy balls against your ass, the wet sound of your cunt taking every last inch of him. Simon’s damn near on the verge of hyperventilating, keyed up as he is between you being as receptive as you’ve been to his dirty talk, reciprocating by pleading him to cum in you. How your thighs are trembling, muscles wound tight as you strain against your binds.

He prides himself on not being a selfish lover. Even as worked up as he is, the forefront thought in his mind chasing his own pleasure so he can be a good husband and fill you up like you’re pleading for so so prettily- there’s still that one part that keys into your reactions. Making sure you’re loving every stroke he gives as he chases his own high, that those yelps don’t take a turn for too much instead of please god don’t stop don’t stop don-

His vision whites out for a second as his orgasm hits him like a bus. The coil that had been twisting tighter and tighter springs free as he buries himself in you one last time with a groan befitting a wounded animal.

The urge to collapse settles on him, but Ghost pushes it aside. You’re tied to the bed, entirely unable to take the brunt of his weight like that and wouldn’t be able to wiggle out from under him with your hands bound.

He grounds himself as he comes down by peppering you in kisses, hands roaming your body. Your face, your neck- anywhere he can reach until he feels his legs are steady enough to comply with what he asks of them.

You’re still keyed up, having been worked close to a second orgasm but not quite getting to cross the threshold before Simon. He can hear you distantly, mewling and pleading for him to finish you off and has every intention of following through.

Moving back down between your legs, a shiver runs up his spine as his over sensitive cock drags across the sheets. Settling with his face between your legs he takes a moment to observe his handwork.

Your cunt’s pretty and swollen- sensitive to, from how you jerk when his breath fans against you. Making soothing motions on your hip with one hand as he shushes you, his eyes focus on the thin line of his spend dribbling out of you.

Well that simply won’t do.

He uses one finger to trace back up your folds, pushing his cum back exactly where it belongs before sliding two fingers into you once again.

It doesn’t escape his notice how much easier it is this time, your fucked open body still soft and pliant for him. He debates teasing you about it for a second but the look on your face has it clear you’re close to crying- tension and anticipation having tears welling up in your eyes.

Spoiled the thought flashes across his head. Course it doesn’t help that he’s utterly whipped. He’ll give you anything you ask for just because you want it.

His head drops, eyes on you while his tongue lashes as your clit and his fingers fuck his cum back into you.

You cry and strain and buck against his hold. Simon knows he won’t have to wait long to feel you clenching around his fingers- it never does when he uses his mouth and fingers at the same time.

But he does wonder how quick he can wring a third out of you once he pushes you over the second time.

He’ll find out shortly- you’re already babbling, knowing the routine and half afraid he’ll make you hold it please let me cum please-

“Go on, pet.” He doesn’t so much pry his face away as he just mouths into your flesh, but got the same result either way.

Your back arches as you clamp tight on his fingers- Simon doesn’t let that get in the way of his ministrations, continuing to mouth at your clit and stroke that spot in you until your cries of pleasure turn into okay okay okay oka-

He doesn’t stop. You try crawling away from him but he puts a stop to that by quickly banding his forearm across your abdomen.

You have a safeword- kettle- if it actually was too much, and unless he hears you say it he’s going to keep a hold of you like a dog being threatened with having his favorite toy taken from him.

You’re being fucking loud, no way the neighbors can’t hear you unless they’re simply not home, and Simon doesn’t give a singular shit as he works you from your second orgasm clear into your third.

His efforts are rewarded with another rush of your cum, soaking his face and dripping down his chin.

Good. He’s still fixated on the idea of you being fat with his child, and the way he sees it the more he gets you to cum the better his chances are of it taking.

Your efforts to squirm out of his grip only increase, futile as they are.

“One more,” he lifts his head to offer you. “Be a good girl and give me one more.”

Those tears that had welled earlier are falling now, and Simon thinks you look absolutely divine with tear tracks down your face, make up smeared to hell.

“Okay,” you nod with a shaky breath- hips still trembling but no longer trying to squirm away from him.

He descends on you once again, intending to make the most of your compliance. What a good little wife he has.

He’s got your fourth orgasm rushing over you in record time, relishing in the way you tense and relax as your body tries to fight the overstimulation before your mind would quiet it. His hand strokes your hip and thigh soothingly, mumbling praises into your skin the entire time.

True to his word, he pulls away once you’ve come down.

You’re watching him with glassy eyes, limbs trembling as you finally catch a reprieve from his mouth.

“I’ll untie you now, okay love?” He’s checking where you are mentally, if he pushed too far-

You nod to him, eyes following as he steps away from the bed to grab the keys off the nightstand.

Your wrists are released from the cuffs only to be encircled by Simon’s hands- so much bigger than your own- as he gently rubs them and checks for any marks. “You alright, love?”

The soft smile you flash him has him ready to melt. “I’m good,” he watches you stretch, the slight wince. “Shoulder’s a bit tight.”

“I’ll run us a bath and we’ll see what I can do about that hm? How about you think about what you want for take out?”

He starts to turn, tethered in place as you reach out for him.

“Don’t go yet.”

He lets you lead him back into bed with a light pull on his hand.

Absolutely spoiled rotten, and yet Simon will gladly give or do anything for you if only you ask for it.

[anli-rambles]

Alright, since I'm seeing this discourse again on my dash, I'm gonna give my two cents even if no one asked.

I think the thing the "Haytham is a colonizer" crowd fundamentally gets wrong about this is that Haytham is a walking contradiction. That's the whole point of his character. His actions are in complete opposition to his actual core beliefs. Let me explain.

I'm not gonna excuse him working with racists and supporting an ideology that would essentially subjucate the entire human race in the name of arbitrary peace, because that's definitely colonizer mentality and that's inexcusable. Whether or not Haytham believes in the shit he says doesn't matter at the end of the day because the result is the same. That much is clear, and this isn't what I'm trying to justify.

The thing is, this same crowd will happily accuse those of us who like Haytham's character of actively sympathizing with colonizers. There are weirdos in every fandom so I'm not gonna deny that some may do that (in which case I do not claim them), but I can tell you that the majority of us don't. After lurking in this circle for over a year I can confidentally say that an overwhelming majority of us hate every Templar working for him except Shay, Weekes and Gist. The reason we like Haytham is, as I said before, because his core beliefs align with Assassin ideology way more than they do with Templar stuff.

The thing that bothers me the most about the "Haytham is a colonizer" crowd is that they have no interest in digging just a little deeper because if they did, they would see how glaringly obvious it is. Haytham hates the Templars. Everytime one of them does anything that follows Templar ideology, he deludes himself into believing they just "went Rogue" and executes them. He did it with Church. He did it with Braddock. He hated Washington's guts and wanted him dead when the guy embodied Templar ideals far more than anyone in his circle did. He did nothing to stop Ratonhnhaké:ton from killing Biddle even if he was on the Aquila with him at the time.

He had no interest in land expansion - in fact, his goal was to prevent it from happening. Unfortunately, he trusted Johnson with the task, and when the man decided mass execution was the way to go and subsequently got killed by Ratonhnhaké:ton, Haytham felt no empathy for him. In his journal, he even said Johnson asked for it by choosing mass murder of the Haudenosaunee chieftains because they refused to sell their land. His endorsement of Charles Lee is also a complete farce. He admits himself that Charles has very little chances of suplanting Washington because he's "too British" to appeal to the American settlers but that he'd rather work with him over Washington.

Hell, Haytham is the one who tells Ratonhnhaké:ton that Washington is a fraud who only cares about the freedom of white men specifically. He calls him out on it and he's furious. That's why he calls Ratonhnhaké:ton 'naive' - it's because Ratonhnhaké:ton fails to see how the people he works for give no shits about him and his people (and he isn't wrong on that, Ratonhnhaké:ton actually does believe supporting the Revolution will save his people up until then). He's not being patronizing here, his whole rant is in response to Ratonhnhaké:ton telling him Washington fights for freedom and that he was chosen by 'the people', when in reality 'the people' were a bunch of his buddies gathering in a room and going 'yup, Washington's our guy lads, case closed'. Ratonhnhaké:ton even admits that it's Haytham who made him realize this in the loading screen after the Sequence is over.

The whole reason Haytham doesn't defect from the Templar order is because the grooming/brainwashing runs too deep, and admitting that becoming a Templar wasn't his choice would be admitting that he failed to do the one thing his father wanted him to do - to choose for himself. So he deludes himself into believing that no, he did choose this way of life, even if he disagrees with pretty much everything the Templars stand for. And that's why he's easier to sympathize with.

I'll also add that I find it very ironic that Haytham critics aren't as willing to call Achilles out on his own bullshit, because what he does with Ratonhnhaké:ton is very reminiscent of what white people did to the First Nations irl. He barely knows this kid and already decides to use him as a surrogate son to process his grief through. He strips him of his Kanien'kehá:ka identity almost as soon as they meet. I'll never forget his "I'm not even gonna try and pronounce that" after Ratonhnhaké:ton tells him his name.

(Duncan is so right when he tells him later when they meet that he should use his real name. He has no reason to, he already immediately gets clocked as a Native whenever he meets people, Achilles' excuse doesn't work.)

I can't explain how pissed off I was when Ratonhnhaké:ton storms out of the homestead because he knows his people are in danger and Achilles has the absolute AUDACITY to tell him that "his struggles are the colonists' struggle". No the fuck it isn't ? How is threat of genocide and loss of their homeland ANY comparable to the British raising taxes on the colonies ? The worst part is that this mentality isn't just shared by Achilles. Samuel Adams also tells Ratonhnhaké:ton a similar thing when he claims the colonists are "no freer than the slaves". Excuse me ?

I've seen people call Adams out for it but Achilles always gets away with it scot-free when he's the one pushing Ratonhnhaké:ton to work with slave owners like Washington when all they want is to expand westward, burning down Native settlements along the way, and then has the audacity to claim it's in Ratonhnhaké:ton and his people's best interests to do so.

I'd take any Haytham critic a lot more seriously if they were also willing to call Achilles out for his undeniably racist behavior towards Ratonhnhaké:ton, but they don't. Because Achilles is supposed to be 'the good guy'. (And I don't mean to assume, but I think this lack of accountability for Achilles comes from a fundamental misunderstanding / ignorance of (and unfortunately indifference to) Native American issues, which we absolutely need to talk about more.)

What we're not gonna talk about, though, is how Achilles also owns a giant homestead on indigenous land that he lets other colonists settle on. Because of course it doesn't count.

Anyway. Those were my two cents. Do with it what you will.

PS. I think the comparison that was made with Edward also being a colonizer is flawed. While it was very similar at the beginning, with him leaving Wales to work as a privateer for the British Navy, he did a complete 180 later on and set out to work with indigenous people and fight for their freedom too. His mansion was also stolen from a colonizer (as opposed to it being built by him) and when he left the Caribbean to go back home, he gave it back to indigenous people instead of selling it to the highest bidder.

[katakaluptastrophy]

Do you have any opinions on the differences between binaries of necro/cav and adept/non-adept?

Specifically, I'm thinking about Abigail and Magnus's relationship: when married they were simply adept and non-adept, and despite the class difference seem to have been operating as equal partners. But once they became necromancer and cavalier, the expectation becomes such that Magnus is expected to sacrifice himself for Abigail if that's necessary.

Now that I think about it, perhaps this is Muir's way of describing the gender binary and marriage when coverture is legally applicable: a necromantic adept is always considered their own person, but a non-adept is only a separate person until becoming a cavalier (i.e. getting married), at which point they become ancillary to the necromancer. Hmm.

This is one of those topics that has me rattling the bars of my cage begging Tamsyn for more details about cavaliership as an institution and about aptitude in society.

Because what does this stuff actually look like?

John says "only" a third of the new Ninth will have aptitude, suggesting that the typical rate is somewhat higher. So let's say a third to half of the population have aptitude, and that seems to be effectively random.

We only see the scions of the ruling families of the Houses and the original Lyctors in the context of cavaliership. Most of the non-aptitude Housers that we meet are cavaliers, and think this can sometimes lead to an elision of non-aptitude and cavalier that may not exist. Does every necromancer have a cavalier? That seems unlikely - in the general population there must be necromancers working in all sorts of mundane jobs for which having someone follow you around with a sword would be impractical. M. Bias mentions 'frontline cavalier units' alongside 'the classic cavalier' paired with a Cohort necromancer, and sets both against 'the social cavalier' attached to the necromantic elites. Perhaps he simply doesn't see Jeff the Health and Safety cav who follows Millicent the necromantically lab grown meat tech around as worthy of the name, or perhaps cavaliership only exists as a formal, marriage-like institution within the Cohort and the leaders of the Houses. Amongst House leadership, there has likely always been a fairly significant overlap with the Cohort (leaving aside the Second, consider Isaac and Jean, or Abigail's admiral grandfather), and cavaliership here may also have been intended to echo the Lyctors who founded the Houses. But presumably amongst civilians, there are plenty of non-adepts who have nothing to do with cavaliership proper (though I'm fascinated by the idea of how the concept might function unofficially or ceremonially).

But even if we assume that most non-adepts aren't cavaliers per se, that still raises questions about the status of non-adepts. The Sermon on Cavaliers and Necromancers gives us a glimpse of some of the theology of the Houses, in which "'one flesh' is the underpinning of our whole Empire" and in which parents go to great lengths to give their baby the chance of developing aptitude. Why? Because "our necromantic characteristics make us more like the Emperor." That is, to have aptitude means one is more in the image of god. I shan't go on a digression about early church debates about whether women are made in the image of God in the same way as men, but as you can imagine, given that the Sermon is basically just Ephesians 5's discussion of gender re-skinned for aptitude, this raises a question about just how non-aptitude Housers sit in society.

There's clearly also an extent to which non-aptitude Housers may find themselves in a state of assumed cavaliership long before they ever swear vows. There are cavalier families, where to be born without aptitude means you are already all but promised to the next adept of the corresponding line. Magnus undertook something that is described as "cavalier training" during his schooldays - is this simply a reference to the education of a young, socially privileged person involving some degree of swordsmanship as a matter of course? His attempt to join the army at 18 seems to have been somewhat anomalous, so he can't just have been planning a glorious Cohort career. (What does education look like for a population where slightly less than half of people are death wizards?). How much choice did someone like Magnus have about his schoolboy cavalier training? How much choice does someone who lacks both aptitude and the kind of privilege that leads to you marrying the scion of the Koniortos Court have about anything that might be described as "cavalier training"? How much of standard education in the Houses is designed to filter large segments of the population towards the Cohort anyway?

There's also the few glimpses we get of BoE's perception of the status of non-aptitude Housers, which doesn't seem to be great. Judith and Corona may laugh off their assumption that necromancers have large harems of not-always-entirely-alive non-aptitude House citizens, but you do get the sense that if Magnus had lived to fall into BoE hands, he might have been rather pressed to explain that his relationship with his necromancer/feudal lady/wife was entirely consensual.

I think you're absolutely right about there being a shift in the status of a non-adept who becomes a cavalier. What's not clear is whether making cavalier vows leads to an actual change of legal status, in terms of a diminishment of legal rights as in coverture marriage, or whether it functions only within the realms of social pressure and custom. People often point to Abigail and Magnus' cavaliership as an example of the institution being done 'well' or 'properly', because the institution itself seems to be incidental to their relationship - while we don't know their motivations, you suspect this was simply a convenient way for them to continue collaborating as they did in every other aspect of their life. We don't know whether Magnus in some way forfeited aspects of his legal personhood in becoming Abigail's cavalier. Perhaps they felt it didn't matter because of the way they were inhabiting that relationship. But their attitude didn't change the fact that in the end, Magnus died, sword in hand, having just watched his wife be murdered, because he was her cavalier.

[kroosluvr]

yay!!!!!!!

typo that im too lazy to fix: on the last page, "kasumi was one of the best gymnasts [in japan]"

edit: BRO I IDDNT REALIZE AKIRA ND SUMIRE WERE SHARING A SPOON TO EAT THE CURRY AM I INSANEEEEE <- She literally drew this image

1st 2 pics are genderbent akira+goro as well as sumire, 3rd pic is canon akira and sumire

in my head m!sumire is dedicated to rhythmic gymnastics, but the fact that it's not a popular sport somehow causes a mental block for him: kasumi was a trailblazer in men's rhythmic gymnastics. he was setting the course, but now he's gone. so does sumire live up to that? does he have to fill his brother's shoes? or can he just strive to be the best rhythmic gymnast he himself can be?

he was always solemn and driven growing up, but after the accident, he drove himself further into his practices and routines in an attempt to "recapture the spark" that kasumi had. of course, this is mostly in vain... chasing his shadow doesn't get him anywhere

he slowly develops the cognition of "sumire" being "kasumi's replacement." the younger brother that stepped up to the plate. to attend to his anxiety/depression he goes to dr. maruki (i'd say this takes longer than in canon, because he was always so busy with practice that he didn't really. comprehend 'oh perhaps i need counseling after my brother died' LMAO. and even then it's more "ok im gonna start competing internationally, so i need to make sure my mental is in tiptop shape"

he starts to reveal his insecurities to dr. maruki who. yknow. does all that. i don't think this sumire would specifically say "i wish i was kasumi" but more "i want to continue his legacy the way only he could have done it" which dr. maruki himself takes as "ok so u want to literally be kasumi"

i'd also say his "transformation" into "kasumi" is more jarring than in canon? canon "kasumi" is polite, eager, cheerful and sunny, but i imagine m!"kasumi" to be more boisterous, more outwardly outgoing/extroverted/outspoken, a little bit of a daredevil

on top of that, i think (perhaps) since men's rhythmic gymnastics isn't super popular, maybe not many ppl have heard of "kasumi yoshizawa" to begin with? so maybe ppl accept him as "kasumi" a little easier, which is. um. bad LOL

not sure if this helps his gymnastics at all. i thinkkk it does give him the confidence to execute more complicated routines that sumire himself didn't have the self-confidence to try before. but, of course, this doesn't affect anything in the rhythmic gymnastics world since. erm. everyone knows kasumi died. awkward!!!!

i think the shame would be all-encompassing when he breaks out of the delusion. he never wanted this.... all he wants is to keep competing with his brother, to keep supporting him into the limelight, and he'll never have that again. so i think, like canon, his arc is learning how to support and uplift Himself -- but more like, become more self-sufficient in terms of his own gymnastics instead of always seeing himself as second place to kasumi (and being okay with that)

it's different than canon as kasumi always told sumire they'd take the world stage... TOGETHER! ->

while i think for m!kasumi and m!sumire they worked in tandem, it was never really a dream. kasumi simply decided "i want to do this" and so did sumire. the thing is, kasumi's skills just far outweighed sumire's, and that much was painfully clear to him. kasumi was one who could bring men's rhythmic gymnastics into the international lens, and sumire has no idea if he could ever be strong enough to do that.

there's an interesting sort of dissonance here....... like. big fish small pond (genderbend au) or small fish big pond (canonverse.) i think its interesting.. okay enough rambles from me its 4am sdjsdjfh

edit: last thing i think. in canon it’s heavily implied that kasumi took the reins and pushed sumire to do stuff / pick out clothes for them both / kinda set the stage for both of them but i think in gb au sumire just follows kasumi as a result of kasumi being such a bright light. sumire has ambitions the same way kasumi does but he lacks the self-esteem to back it up…. it’s similar in canon but not 1:1 if that makes sense? i think in canon sumire is still questioning if it’s even her dream to compete in gymnastics so that’s the main diff

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Don't you see that Spare Me Your Mercy was all about love from beginning to end? The only question was what kind of love.

Dr. Kan introduced a love that was wild, indigenous, communal, and, most importantly to the plot, extralegal. Here I discussed my observation about the rural-specific parallels between acceptance of death and acceptance of queerness, and now finished with the series I stand by it firmly. Tew had assimilated into an upstanding individualistic perspective as he left his rural upbringing for the metropolitan world to find acceptance for himself, the kind his mother had for him but few others amongst the male leadership in his hometown. Kan tries to offer him a perspective about connection to the world that would allow him to live in his hometown and withstand the grief and suffering of a queer life.

It struck me watching the finale, and hopefully struck many other viewers, that much of what Kan said about euthanasia's legality in his confession to Tew applies equally to the state of queer love historically: "Is the law wrong?;" "It's legal in other places," "The law never understands the inequality, the lack of resources, the suffering." Its an ethical view that puts others humanity first before society's rules.

The question looming over the series was how Tew would process his mother's death. As your local queer tragedian, I love the artistry with which the show answers the question (without killing off our gay lovers). Tew confesses his love as he drives his paramour to jail in handcuffs. That is the essence of Tew's love. His love is a prison for people to suffer in for his own pride. He's deeply selfish @respectthepetty pointed out in a conversation with @poetry-protest-pornography, and so is his style of love--or style of cathexis, as bell hooks (my rural buddhist scholar crush) might label it, adapting from psychologist M. Scott Peck. Cathexis is the investment of feelings or emotions into someone often confused with love, what's been translated in Buddhist literature as attachment. Acted upon, cathexis is obsessive, controlling, and possessive. Those tendencies might serve an emotional purpose in establishing the early stages of a relationship (puppy love is fun!), but left unchecked they can also lead to things like, you know, tapping your lovers' car and following them. Right, Tew?

That's what intrigued me about the development of the pair's relationship. It integrated the layers of paranoia inflecting Tew's character. His police investigation, his reticence about his own queer expression back in his hometown, and his egotistical approach to relationships all braided together. Kan loses the pen Tew gifted him, for example, and it ignites suspicions for Tew of murder, being outed, and Kan's fidelity all at once. Meanwhile, the doctor, whose demeanor and open flirtation mark him as out and comfortable with his sexuality, knowingly accepts Tew's double-dealings hoping while he's doing it the detective will discover the kind of love and acceptance (of queerness and euthanasia) that Dr. Kan has found.

The genre of BL that SMYM skirts made Kan's perspective seem especially possible, and I, for one, felt riveted by the real mystery of where the show would land between its bleak murder-mystery and romance genres. Personally, I think we BL fans need to become more comfortable with the breadth romance can truly cover rather than simply getting mad at tragic love and ambiguities. Shows like SMYM and Only Friends are delivering masterfully executed series, but our aversions to difficult characters, duplicitous writing, and tragic plot structures have people failing to recognize their skill or purpose, entirely. Let me tell you that having gay tragedies that aren't about people dying because of homophobia is JUST AS RADICAL as gays with happy endings.

SMYM depicts a variety of queer men's lives. They come from different backgrounds in different generations. They've faced different obstacles and led imperfect lives. They've hurt some people and helped others. And they've committed to different approaches to understanding how people are meant to help with the experience of suffering based on their queer experiences but not solely. This is the story of how their views come to a head. It's tragic and an exceptionally well-done detective series that provokes incredible questions if you're willing to let go of the idea that series are here to make you, personally, happy rather than something to engage with.

*Unrelated note to all this, but I'm also appreciating how the song used, Northern Breeze (thanks @thaisongsengsub for translating here), has a lot of relevance about the fleeting nature of love and life, but it's also the same tune as Daisy Bell (A Bicycle Built for Two) which was FAMOUSLY sung by the robot HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey when they euthanize it shut it down.

[olderthannetfic]

I have really mixed feelings about the small proportion of F/F fiction (original or fanfic), because yeah sure, people have their desires, they should write what they want, I get it. It all works out when I hear it from person to person. But somehow the logic only ever applies in one direction? "There are more male protagonists because men only care about male characters! Women also mostly care about male characters, because that's the majority of characters they get!" And then somehow we also yet kvetch when men write female characters (because it's incorrectly or something, nevermind if women are writing male characters correctly). Why don't we expect gay men to feel compelled only by femslash for the same reasons (but gender swapped) as the lesbian slashers/fujoshi? All of those very rational justifications are applied selectively, "for me for not for thee," and it all only leads to "idk I just don't wanna write femslash", for Reasons. Do we get to call them microaggressions yet?

--

No, you don't get to call other people's fantasy life a microaggression.

That is indeed "for me but not for thee" in the sense that you get to want what you want but other people aren't supposed to follow their id.

Do you also police gay men who spend too much time on drag and obsessing over female divas? That's an actual real world behavior that's somewhat equivalent. It frequently goes unchallenged, at least by progressives, because men are allowed to do whatever they want with chick stuff, while women are "stealing" if they dare to stray into dude stuff.

(God, I've seen so much more policing of drag kings being ~problematic~ for acting out stereotypical gender than policing of drag queens for the same. It's nuts!)

Fujoshi are often queer, but it's absurd to think we're mostly lesbians. We tend to be bi or asexual women with gender stuff going on, though there is a mix of everybody, including lesbians. There are also a lot of AFAB non-women who get lumped in with us. On the rare occasions I find a man willing to admit to being a similar demographic, he usually does like gender play in his hobbies and entertainment. It's just that men face even more pressure than women do to fit into tidy categories. Bi women get told we're whores. Bi men are told they don't exist.

Yes, I know plenty of lesbians who write more m/m than f/f, but in the big picture of all of AO3 or all of fanfic or all of media, they aren't the demographic driving these numbers. They're vastly outnumbered by the bi women, the asexual women, and the straight and gnc women.

The men we should be looking at as an equivalent aren't cis gay men but bicurious soy boys and the like.

Do most of us fujoshi object to equivalent men doing an equivalent thing? I've seen it sometimes, and I agree it's hypocritical. I'd like us to afford men the same ability to play and take on identities in their art. I remember enjoying Ranma fandom back in the day and reading quite a lot of f/f that was probably by men. It had some of that same sense of distance and fantasy that I so enjoy in m/m aimed at fujoshi. (I do consume some by-cis-gay, for-cis-gay content, both m/m and f/f, but it's often too literal and too bound up in specific named identities for my taste.)

On average, the people I see complaining most about men producing f/f material are the same people who think that because I have a clit, I should center my life around women exclusively. In other words, people spouting radfem ideology, perhaps on purpose or perhaps without realizing.

I do agree that some of the ways of expressing a lack of desire to write femslash can get pretty douchey. I want us to move away from some of the less accurate ones like "There are no compelling female characters" because of this.

But the reason for all these jerkass explanations is that women and people perceived as women who like m/m are constantly asked to explain ourselves. These aren't usually microaggressions: they're openly hostile. People get defensive and try to answer with important-sounding reasons about identity and pain because society at large won't accept "I like this" as the true explanation.

Pleasure is never enough of a reason for a woman to do something.

[amethystarachnid]

30. Holiday Movie Night with the Avengers (or X-Men) – The Avengers decide to have a Christmas movie marathon for the whole family. Your character is skeptical about the cheesy movies, but what happens when they get caught up in the holiday spirit?

My character is Tony Stark, please, and I'm a female reader ❤️ I was thinking that maybe they are best friends, and seeing how happy the reader is watching those movies, he'll realize he has feelings for her and in the next day he'll invite her to a date inspired in some movie scene and tell her he loves her and ask her to be his girlfriend and she'll say yes because she loves him too, and please, lots of kisses 🤭 ohh, and they can turn "watching movies" into their cute little tradition too 😊

Thank you 😊

MOVIE NIGHT & KISSES

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The living room of the Avengers compound looks like a Christmas card threw up all over it. Tony’s doing, obviously. You step inside, arms loaded with snacks—because you don’t trust Tony not to have stocked up exclusively on the weird gourmet stuff no one likes—and immediately trip over a tiny reindeer statue.

“Why?” you ask the air. Tony’s voice floats down the hallway before his actual appearance.

“Why what? Be more specific, or I’ll assume you’re asking why I’m fabulous.”

You roll your eyes and dump your cargo of chips, popcorn, and candy on the coffee table. “Why is there a deer the size of a toddler lying in wait for my ankles? It’s assault.”

Tony finally enters, grinning like he’s just pulled off a massive heist instead of, you know, redecorating. “You mean Blitzen? He’s festive. And you should really watch where you’re walking. Consider it a training exercise.”

“Blitzen,” you deadpan, already fishing around for scissors to open the snack bags. “You named the little menace Blitzen.”

“Of course, I did. What do you take me for, a savage? Anyway, what’s that—Pringles? Ugh, so pedestrian. Don’t worry, I’ve got foie gras chips in the kitchen.”

“Tony, no,” you say, cutting him off. “No one’s eating foie gras anything during movie night.”

“Fine. Keep your proletariat palate,” he huffs, but there’s no bite to it as he snags a bag of M&Ms and flops onto the couch like it’s claimed him.

The others start trickling in soon after, voices overlapping in that chaotic yet strangely comfortable way you’ve come to expect from these gatherings. Natasha is the first to spot the reindeer and gives you a knowing look.

“You trip over that thing yet?” she asks.

“Blitzen almost ended me,” you confirm, earning a snort.

“Is Tony naming inanimate objects again?” Steve asks, clearly trying and failing to hide a smile as he surveys the chaos.

“Not just naming them,” you say, gesturing at the garlands, twinkling lights, and a giant Santa hat perched on one corner of the TV. “He’s created an entire ecosystem.”

Thor, arriving last but with the biggest entrance, spots the reindeer and scoops it up like it’s an actual living thing. “What a curious creature!” he declares, cradling it as though it might respond. “May I keep it?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony says, looking horrified. “Blitzen is part of the ambiance.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway, and Tony shoots you a mock glare. “This is the respect I get from my so-called best friend? Unbelievable.”

“Your ‘best friend’ just saved movie night from foie gras chips, so I think I’ve earned the right to laugh,” you retort, throwing yourself onto the couch next to him.

The movie selection process devolves into chaos, as usual. Clint tries to sneak in a Christmas horror movie, Natasha threatens to walk out if it’s not something at least tolerable, and Steve insists on something “classic,” which somehow leads to a passionate argument over whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie.

Through it all, Tony leans closer to you, voice low. “If this debate goes on for another five minutes, I say we hijack the remote and put on Iron Man 3. Christmas and a superhero. Win-win.”

You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. “Tempting, but I don’t think your ego could survive the fallout.”

“Oh, please,” he replies, tossing an arm over the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulders, but you don’t mind. “My ego’s indestructible.”

Eventually, the group settles on a compromise: Home Alone, mostly because Thor declares he’s never seen it and everyone agrees watching his reactions will be worth it.

As the opening credits roll, Tony leans closer. “This is cozy,” he says, a bit quieter than usual. His fingers graze yours on the couch, almost hesitant.

It’s a small moment, but it feels like the beginning of something. You glance at him, catching his slight smirk and the way his eyes flick toward the screen—but not before they linger on you just a second too long.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling despite yourself. “It is.”

Kevin McCallister’s family is in full-on holiday chaos, and Thor is already narrating everything happening on screen like it’s the most thrilling battle sequence he’s ever witnessed.

“This small one is quite cunning,” Thor declares as Kevin rigs up a rudimentary alarm system using toy cars and string. “His enemies shall rue the day they underestimated him!”

“Thor, buddy,” Clint says between mouthfuls of popcorn, “we’re ten minutes in. The burglars haven’t even shown up yet.”

“Then they are fools!” Thor retorts, clutching the reindeer statue—Blitzen—to his chest like a comfort object. “He will outwit them with his warrior’s guile.”

Tony leans closer to you, and you can feel the warmth of him even before he murmurs, “You ever feel like we’re babysitting a very excitable golden retriever?”

You laugh, low and quiet. “A golden retriever with lightning powers. No pressure.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where his arm is still casually draped over the back of the couch. You don’t even notice when his fingers start to toy idly with the fabric of your sleeve.

The movie continues, and Thor’s commentary only grows more dramatic. When Kevin sets up his elaborate booby traps, Thor sits up straighter, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“A master tactician!” he declares, and when Kevin’s paint can swings down the stairs to clobber one of the burglars, Thor actually roars with laughter. “A fine blow! Truly, this child deserves to sit at the table of warriors!”

Natasha leans toward you, whispering just loud enough for you and Tony to hear. “We should tell Thor that Kevin’s real superpower is abandonment issues.”

Tony snorts into his drink, and you elbow him lightly. “Be nice,” you say, even though you’re stifling your own laughter.

The movie progresses, and somewhere between Kevin faking a party with mannequins and setting Harry’s head on fire, you start to shift closer to Tony without even realizing it. It’s not a conscious thing—you just naturally lean toward the warmth of him, especially when his arm slides from the back of the couch to drape over your shoulders.

You think it’s just Tony being Tony—he’s always been a tactile kind of guy, quick with a casual touch or a teasing nudge—but you don’t notice the way he freezes for half a second before relaxing again, his fingers brushing lightly against your upper arm.

The truth is, Tony’s barely paying attention to the movie anymore. He’s too busy fighting the sudden, overwhelming realization that he’s completely, undeniably in love with you. It hits him somewhere between Thor’s boisterous laughter and the way your hair catches the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung across the room.

He’s Tony Stark. He’s built suits that fly, survived impossible odds, and traded snark with gods—but the idea of telling you how he feels? That terrifies him.

So, instead, he lets himself have this moment. He lets himself enjoy the way you’re snuggled against his side, your head resting lightly against his shoulder, your laughter bright and unguarded as you watch the movie.

You, of course, are blissfully unaware of the internal crisis unfolding next to you. You’re too busy giggling at Thor’s indignant outrage when one of the burglars steps on a nail.

“That would never pierce true Asgardian steel!” Thor exclaims, pounding the arm of the couch for emphasis. “These mortal feet are most fragile.”

“It’s a movie, big guy,” Clint says, tossing a popcorn kernel in Thor’s direction. “You’re supposed to suspend disbelief.”

Thor catches the kernel mid-air with surprising grace and pops it into his mouth. “A strange custom,” he mutters, but he settles back down, still cradling Blitzen.

As the movie nears its climax, you shift slightly, tucking your legs up onto the couch. Without thinking, you rest your head more firmly against Tony’s shoulder, and his arm tightens around you just a fraction.

“This is nice,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, his voice softer than you’re used to hearing. “It is.”

He doesn’t look at the screen. He doesn’t need to. The way you fit against him, the way your laughter feels like the warmest part of the room—that’s all he cares about. But he’s Tony Stark, so he masks it with a quip. “Although I’m starting to feel personally attacked by how much Kevin loves duct tape.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest lightly. “If the suit fits…”

“I’ll have you know duct tape is a versatile and invaluable tool,” he says, grinning down at you. “It’s like me—underappreciated but indispensable.”

Natasha, who’s apparently been paying more attention to you two than the movie, leans over again. “You two gonna make it through the night without bickering like an old married couple, or should we set up counseling now?”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make an excellent husband, for the record.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm inexplicably. “Good to know, Tony. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his expression, something almost vulnerable, before he masks it with his usual bravado.

By the time the movie ends and Kevin’s family finally comes home, Thor is on his feet, applauding like he’s just witnessed the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time.

“A truly glorious tale!” he declares. “The boy is a hero of the highest caliber. I must share this story with the warriors of Asgard.”

Steve claps Thor on the back, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m sure they’ll love it, big guy.”

The group starts to disperse after that, everyone gathering up their plates and drinks and muttering goodnights. Tony’s still sitting with you on the couch, his arm loose around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You staying?” he asks casually, but there’s a note of something more in his voice.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He grins, and for a moment, you think there’s something different in his eyes—something softer, warmer—but then he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about stealing the good spot on the couch.

Neither of you moves, though. The others leave, the credits roll, and the room quiets, but you and Tony stay there, comfortably tangled together under the glow of the Christmas lights.

You sit at the small kitchen table in your apartment, cradling a mug of coffee and scrolling through your phone. The morning sunlight streams through the window, catching on the tiny particles of dust floating lazily in the air. It’s quiet, peaceful, a welcome contrast to the loud, boisterous chaos of movie night at the compound. You’re mid-sip when your phone buzzes with a message, and you glance down to see the sender: “Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️.”

Tony. Of course.

You smirk to yourself—he hates that nickname, which makes it all the more satisfying that it’s what you’ve saved him as. Opening the message, you find it’s short and to the point.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Hey, you free tonight?

Your eyebrows raise. Not a “good morning” or even a “hope you survived Blitzen.” Classic Tony, straight to the point. You type back quickly.

You: What’s it to you, Stark?

The response comes almost immediately.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Just answer the question, smartass.

You laugh into your coffee, shaking your head. It’s too early for this.

You: Yeah, I’m free. Why?

This time, there’s a slight pause before his next message comes through.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Good. I’m picking you up at 7. Wear something nice.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

You: Excuse me? What is this?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: It’s called dinner. People eat it.

You: Are you bribing me with food?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: No, I’m taking you to a restaurant.

You: Is this a date, Stark?

You’re joking—mostly—but the reply that pops up a moment later makes you freeze.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah.

You blink at the screen, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less earth-shattering. They don’t.

You: Seriously?

Three dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. Somewhere across town, you know Tony is staring at his phone with the same level of panic you’re feeling.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah. Seriously.

Your heart stumbles into a gallop, and you stare at the phone, the words it’s a date looping in your mind like a broken record. You’re equal parts thrilled and terrified, your stomach doing flips like it’s auditioning for the circus. You’ve always known Tony flirts with anything that moves, but this… this feels different.

You: Okay. I’ll be ready.

You don’t know how you manage to type it without your hands shaking. On the other side of the city, Tony is probably sweating bullets, wondering if he’s just ruined everything. But as you set your phone down and glance at the clock, the only thing you can think is, Oh, God. I have nothing to wear.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, you’re mentally cataloging your closet and deciding nothing in it will do. You know Tony well enough to know that when he says “wear something nice,” he doesn’t mean a cute sweater and jeans. No, he’ll have picked some ridiculously fancy place where the appetizers cost more than your electric bill.

The afternoon turns into a whirlwind of trying on every remotely elegant outfit you own. The black dress? Too basic. The navy one? No, that’s what you wore to Natasha’s birthday last year. The red one? It’s a showstopper, sure, but is it too much?

You eventually settle on a dress you haven’t worn in ages—a deep emerald green number that fits like it was tailored just for you. Pairing it with heels and some understated jewelry, you give yourself one last critical look in the mirror.

“Not bad,” you mutter to your reflection, though the butterflies in your stomach are anything but calm.

By the time 7 o’clock rolls around, you’re pacing your apartment, trying not to overthink every detail. You’ve spent the entire day replaying Tony’s text messages, dissecting every word, and now you’re a bundle of nerves.

The buzz of your phone breaks the silence, and you check it to see another message from Tin Can Man.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: I’m downstairs.

Grabbing your coat and bag, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. When you step outside, there he is, leaning casually against a sleek black car that looks like it costs more than your apartment building. He’s dressed impeccably, of course—dark suit, crisp shirt, no tie, but the top button undone just enough to scream effortless charm.

“You clean up well,” you say, trying to sound more composed than you feel.

Tony’s gaze sweeps over you, and for a moment, he doesn’t reply. His usual smirk softens into something you can’t quite place, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You look… wow,” he says finally, and it’s so un-Tony-like that you can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stark.”

He grins, holding the car door open for you with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

As you slide into the car, you wonder if Tony’s as nervous as you are. If he is, he hides it well. But when he gets behind the wheel, you notice his grip on the steering wheel is just a little tighter than usual.

Neither of you says much during the drive, but the air is charged with something unspoken. When you arrive at the restaurant—a place so fancy it doesn’t even have a sign—you turn to Tony, arching an eyebrow.

“Subtle,” you tease, gesturing at the valet waiting to park the car.

Tony shrugs, smirking. “What can I say? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Inside, the restaurant is even more extravagant than you expected. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the soft hum of a piano drifts through the air. You’re suddenly very aware of how out of your element you feel, but Tony, ever the smooth talker, leads you to a table like he owns the place.

The evening unfolds in a blur of good food, light banter, and moments where you catch Tony looking at you with an expression that makes your cheeks warm. By the time dessert arrives, you’re no longer nervous—you’re just happy.

And maybe falling for your best friend wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

The restaurant is a swirl of elegance and opulence. You sit at a cozy, candlelit table near a window that offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The warm glow of the chandeliers dances off the pristine silverware, and the soft murmur of conversations fills the air like a melody. Across from you, Tony looks uncharacteristically calm—at least on the surface.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Stark,” you say, gesturing to the impeccably arranged plate in front of you. It’s some kind of artistically deconstructed dish that looks almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

“Outdoing myself is my specialty,” he replies with a wink, swirling the wine in his glass. But there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of nervousness he’s trying hard to hide.

The conversation flows easily as the courses arrive one by one. You talk about everything and nothing—the latest Avengers antics, your recent binge of terrible reality TV, and Tony’s latest tech project, which involves an overly ambitious plan to automate coffee-making robots.

“And how’s that working out?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, grinning. “Let’s just say I’ve destroyed two espresso machines and one microwave. But progress is progress.”

You laugh, the sound filling the small bubble the two of you have created. There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that feels comfortable and loaded at the same time. Tony’s gaze lingers on you, and you suddenly feel warm, the candlelight only adding to the effect.

“What?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Just… you look happy. I like it.”

You blink, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Tony Stark doesn’t do sentimental—not usually. But tonight, there’s something different about him, something almost vulnerable.

When dessert is served—a rich chocolate creation that looks like it belongs in a museum—Tony leans back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, “you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you reply, taking a bite of the dessert. “This is probably the fanciest dinner I’ve ever had.”

His smirk widens. “Good. Because the date hasn’t even started yet.”

You freeze mid-bite, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you mean, hasn’t started? Tony, we’re literally on a date right now.”

He stands, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover the check—because of course he doesn’t wait for the server. Extending a hand to you, he says, “Trust me, sweetheart. This was just the warm-up.”

Curiosity and excitement war in your chest as you let him lead you out of the restaurant and back to the car. Once you’re settled in, he glances at you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“Just… keep an open mind, okay?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Tony Stark, what are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, his usual confidence tinged with something you can’t quite place.

The car ride is a blur, and when he finally pulls up to your next destination, your jaw drops.

The scene before you looks like something straight out of a movie—your favorite movie, to be exact. It’s an outdoor setting, lit by dozens of string lights and lanterns. A small, charming gazebo sits in the center, surrounded by fairy lights that twinkle like stars. There’s a vintage record player set up, softly playing the theme from the movie you’ve watched more times than you can count.

“Tony…” you whisper, stepping out of the car. “How did you—”

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his posture. “You mentioned it once. Something about how you thought this was the perfect date, so… I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You turn to him, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst. “You did this for me?”

“Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted it to be… special.”

“Tony,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxes at your words, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Taking your hand, he leads you toward the gazebo, where a small table is set with two glasses of champagne.

The two of you sit, the city’s bustle far away, the moment feeling almost surreal. You’re about to tease him about being a closet romantic when he stands suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning to face you.

“Okay,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I had this whole speech planned, but it’s probably terrible, and I’m gonna screw it up, but—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, standing and moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says, his words rushing out in a way that makes your heart ache for him. “And I know I’m not exactly the easiest guy to deal with, and I probably don’t deserve you, but… I love you.”

Your breath catches.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “And I want to know if you’ll—if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, the world spinning and standing still all at once. He looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable, his usual bravado stripped away, and it’s the most honest, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yes,” you say finally, your voice soft but sure.

His eyes widen. “Yes?”

“Yes, Tony,” you repeat, stepping closer and cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Relief floods his features, and then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that,” he murmurs against your hair.

You laugh, the sound full of joy. “You should’ve said something sooner, you idiot.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his grin finally returning. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always gotta make a scene.”

And as he leans down to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the twinkling lights around you, and the overwhelming feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The night sky stretches above you in all its vast, glittering glory, each star twinkling like tiny diamonds. The air is crisp but not too cold, the kind of chill that makes snuggling up feel like the best idea ever. You and Tony are still in the gazebo, but now you’re lying on a soft blanket, tucked close together, the twinkling lights overhead mixing with the stars.

Tony’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you into his side like he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers trace light patterns along your arm, the sensation sending little shivers up your spine, though it’s not cold. It’s just him—his touch, his presence, everything about him.

You’re trying to focus on the sky, trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into how impossibly perfect this feels. The night is still, save for the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees around you, and the soft strains of the music drifting from the record player. The atmosphere feels like something out of a dream. This is a dream, right? Or maybe the best kind of reality.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice warm and full of that familiar teasing tone, “I had a whole speech planned for tonight. Thought I’d sound all suave, you know? But the second I saw you… I kinda forgot it all.”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smile. “You were going to give a speech?”

“Of course. I was gonna be all, ‘From the moment I met you, I knew you were destined to be mine,’ or something equally charming,” he replies, pretending to sound dramatic and smooth. He exaggerates the ‘destined’ part, earning a small laugh from you.

“And why didn’t you?”

Tony shrugs, giving you an exaggerated, almost childlike look. “Well, I got distracted by how ridiculously beautiful you look tonight. Didn’t really need the speech after all.”

You snort, glancing over at him. “Oh, so now you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

“I never forget,” he says, sounding more like a proud peacock than anything else. He shifts so he’s leaning over you just a little more, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I just use actions to back up my words, princess.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the teasing tone in your voice, but your heart is already doing little somersaults in your chest.

Before you can finish your thought, Tony leans in, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. It’s quick, playful, but there’s something in it—something that sends warmth spreading through you from your cheeks all the way down to your toes. You giggle, brushing your nose.

“That’s how you back up your words? With nose kisses?”

“Nope.” His lips hover just above your skin, and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

You grin, feeling giddy. “Well, you’re doing a good job of that, Stark.”

You tilt your head back, letting your hair spill out behind you like a waterfall, and your lips brush against his cheek in return. His breath hitches just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it. He turns his face toward you, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly sweet. It’s a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

He pulls back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. You stay like that for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of him being so close. There’s no rush, no need for words—just the soft rhythm of breathing, the beating of two hearts that finally seem in sync.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “What? Because I’m capable of giving you a kiss on the cheek?”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart,” Tony says, his voice suddenly softer, more vulnerable. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, and when he speaks again, there’s a tenderness in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “I’m talking about how you make me feel. How lucky I am to have you here. With me.”

You blink, heart flipping. “Tony…”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing under his breath. “I know I’m Tony Stark, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s got me totally wrapped around your finger.” He gives you a playful wink, but there’s something more genuine behind it.

“Look at you being all sentimental,” you tease, trying to hide the growing warmth in your chest.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I’m sentimental for you, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I think I could get used to it.”

You lean up to kiss him again, a little slower this time, but just as sweet. His hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get close enough. You’re pressed so tightly together that there’s no space left, no room for any doubts or anything that isn’t him. His lips move against yours, warm and eager, but he pulls back after a moment, his nose brushing against your cheek as he lets out a deep sigh.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice low and just a little breathless, “I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time, but none of them made me feel like this.”

You smile softly, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

“Oh, believe me,” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss, “you’re definitely the exception.”

This kiss is different—deeper, more hungry, like he can’t quite get enough. His hands move from your waist, sliding up your back to cradle your head, pulling you even closer. You respond eagerly, feeling the heat between you growing, but Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly serious.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?” He grins, his trademark cocky smirk returning.

“Very good overwhelmed,” you reply, laughing softly. “But you have a habit of kissing me senseless, Stark. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

He chuckles, his lips hovering near yours. “Sorry, can’t help it. You just make me so… damn happy. And I haven’t even told you how amazing you look tonight. Like, I’m seriously getting distracted just looking at you.”

You blush at the compliment, but Tony doesn’t give you much time to respond before he leans down and kisses you again, this time slower, gentler, with a lingering tenderness that makes your heart race in a different way. His lips are soft and warm, and when he pulls back, you’re both breathless, eyes fluttering open to meet each other.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” you say, your voice teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper in it now.

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m pretty sure you just made my night. I’m never letting you go, you know.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think I might be the one who’s going to keep you.”

Tony presses another kiss to your lips, this one playful, with a promise of more to come. He can’t stop himself now. He wants you—he wants you in a way that feels almost primal, like he’s not willing to let go of you, ever. You feel the same.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

As the night continues, you both stay there, tangled together on the blanket, lost in the sweetness of the moment, kissing, laughing, and just enjoying the quiet joy of being with each other. There’s no rush, no expectation—just the two of you, finally figuring out that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t need anything else. Just Tony. And maybe a few more kisses.

The Avengers Tower’s common room is buzzing with excitement as movie night rolls around again, but this time, there’s a palpable change in the air. It's been a few weeks since you and Tony officially became a couple, and everyone can feel the shift. The usual dynamic is the same—loud chatter, snacks being passed around, and the occasional argument over what movie to watch—but there's something different now, something that makes every glance between you and Tony feel a little more charged. And you know exactly what it is.

As you walk into the room, hand in hand with Tony, the team falls silent for a brief moment before an uproar of teasing starts. Steve looks up from his phone and winks. Natasha smirks. Thor chuckles, and Clint just shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. You and Tony sit down on the couch, the atmosphere now a mix of curiosity and playful mockery.

"So," Steve begins with that too-innocent expression on his face, "what are we watching tonight? Another Christmas classic?"

"Well, it is still December," Tony replies, his hand slipping to the back of your chair. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he adds in a low, teasing voice, "But we can make it even more special, you know. I was thinking of a Christmas movie marathon… just the two of us."

You glance over at him, surprised at the suggestion. It’s not like Tony to offer a quiet, cozy evening without any extra flair, but for some reason, the idea of spending the night with him like that, away from everyone else, feels… comforting. You smile, leaning toward him and resting your head on his shoulder. "I like that idea," you murmur, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

The team watches you both, exchanging amused looks, and it only takes a second for Clint to speak up.

"Guys, seriously? Are we watching a Christmas movie or just watching you two get all… lovey-dovey for two hours?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "It's like all you do now."

"Hey," Tony says, lifting an eyebrow as he shoots Clint a look. "We are on a date."

"Yeah, a date with a group of people who are very interested in your every move." Natasha’s voice is dry, but there's a playful sparkle in her eyes.

"Ugh, gross," Clint mutters, pretending to gag, but the smirk on his face betrays the fact that he's more entertained than anything else.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face at their teasing. Tony, meanwhile, seems to thrive on the attention, leaning back a little too dramatically and pulling you closer to his side.

“I’m just a lucky guy,” Tony says with that smug smile of his, squeezing your shoulder. "Do you all see what I have to deal with? She’s perfect."

"Sure, Stark, you’re the lucky one," Clint mutters, dramatically pulling out a bag of chips from the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.

“You know,” Thor says from the armchair where he’s lounging, “when a mortal finds true love, it should be celebrated. It is a noble thing, indeed!” He raises his mug of beer as if toasting you both. "May you two share many winters together in joy."

"Aw, thanks, Thor." You smile at the god of thunder, and Tony gives you a mock bow.

"Let’s just try to survive the night without any more of that emotional stuff, okay?" Steve says, giving you a wink. "We’re here to watch a movie, not get too intense."

You lean into Tony with a smile, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. But, of course, Tony has to make it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.

“Hey, don’t act like we’re not entertaining you guys. Who else is going to give you this much material to work with, huh?” He shrugs and adjusts his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Besides, we love a little public display of affection.”

“Oh, we know,” Clint says with a mock groan, covering his eyes dramatically. "We’ve seen enough PDA to last a lifetime."

"Yeah, but have you seen this?" Tony asks, his eyes glinting mischievously as he pulls you closer. Without warning, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another on the top of your head.

The room falls into an exaggerated silence as everyone stares.

“Really, Tony?” Steve raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Come on, Cap. It’s just a kiss,” you reply, though your voice is full of suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, a thousand kisses,” Clint quips from across the room, rolling his eyes. “At least they’re not making out in front of us—that would be too much.”

“Oh, don’t tempt us, Clint,” Tony smirks, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours for a beat. It’s sweet and intimate, but just teasing enough to make everyone squirm.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha finally says, throwing her hands up. “We get it. You’re in love. Just pick a movie already, or we’re going to have to find some other way to get the room’s attention.”

You both laugh, and Tony gives her a playful wink before leaning back into the couch, pulling you with him. You settle against him, your head resting on his chest, the warmth of his body comforting. It’s nice like this—cozy, familiar, and surrounded by people who you know are teasing just because they’re happy for you.

"So," Tony says, looking around the room and clearing his throat. "We decided on a Christmas movie marathon, but only if everyone can behave. If we end up with more sarcastic commentary and eye-rolls, we might have to take it to the bedroom and really make it a private affair.”

“Ugh, no, no,” Clint says, holding his hands up in mock horror. "We’ll behave. Promise."

Tony grins, clearly enjoying every second of this, before pressing the play button on the remote. The opening credits of Love Actually start to roll, and everyone immediately starts making playful comments. You can’t help but chuckle as Tony holds you a little tighter, clearly amused by the bickering happening around you.

As the movie continues, you get wrapped up in the warmth of the scene, the silly moments, and the subtle sweetness of the holiday cheer. You settle deeper into Tony’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped comfortably over your waist. His fingers gently stroke your arm as the two of you share quiet conversations during the more emotional parts of the movie. Every so often, he presses soft kisses to the top of your head, as if reminding you—and everyone else—that you belong to each other.

The teasing continues from the others, but there’s an undeniable affection in it all. They’re all happy for you both, even if it’s a little strange for them to see Tony—Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed playboy billionaire—acting like a lovesick puppy in front of the entire team.

“Man, you really went all out,” Clint says after a particularly emotional scene, turning to Tony with a raised eyebrow. “You even went for Love Actually. What’s next? A romantic comedy marathon?”

“Anything for my girl,” Tony responds easily, and the way he says it, so casually but so full of affection, makes your heart swell.

“I can’t wait to see you two try to top this next year,” Natasha says, her tone playful, though there’s a softness to it as well.

“I don’t even want to know,” Steve chimes in, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m guessing this is only the beginning, huh?”

“Hey, if I’m going all in, I’m going all in,” Tony replies, glancing down at you with that loving look that makes your heart skip. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

You smile up at him, and his expression softens just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. There’s no doubting how much he means it. And for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear as you’re surrounded by the people who feel like family—your family.

The movie goes on, the mood light and easy, and Tony’s kisses come more frequently, not because he has to, but because he simply can’t seem to stop himself. And you don’t mind one bit.

By the time the movie ends, the Avengers are sprawled around the room in varying degrees of comfort. Tony gives you one last lingering kiss before pulling away just enough to look at you with a grin.

“I think we’ve officially made movie night our tradition now,” he says with a satisfied nod.

“Definitely,” you agree, your fingers gently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “Just us… and the team watching us get all cheesy.”

“Hey, it’s our tradition,” Tony replies with a wink. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder again, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his kisses lingering on your lips, and the comforting certainty that, despite the teasing, you and Tony are exactly where you’re meant to be.

And as the Avengers disperse, still chuckling under their breaths, you know you’ve found a tradition that will be cherished for years to come—just you, Tony, and an endless amount of Christmas movies.

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Let them hear (Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader)

synopsis: Daemon had never shied away from teasing you in public. No matter the setting. Today you feel up for revenge.

warnings: PWP, smut, public sex, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal sex, spanking, afab reader

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ajthefujoshi @schniiipsel

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom/series or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: @bl4ckph0enix, @happilyhertale and I came up with the idea of sucking Daemon off during a council meeting on discord and we decided to each write a story for it to see what comes out of it with each of us. You two are so sick for this idea and I love you so much for it!❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

When a match had been made between you and the rogue prince, the romance between the two of you burned bright and very passionate. He was rarely seen without you by his side and the other way around as well. You always hung onto his arm, holding him tight to your body as you walked and talked. Hanging onto every single word that left his beautiful lips. Those lips that you never ever wished to leave yours when you are kissing in your chambers at night. Yet every night was followed by a morning in which your ways would need to part for at least a couple of hours so you could attend the important matters that your station postulated. All of it left little time for the two of you to spend together. Less than you would have wished for at least. In truth you still took most of the day for yourselves and when you fell asleep at night you would never have to wait to crawl into each other’s tight embrace. In truth all the time in the world spent together could not be enough for the two of you.

Though there was a time during those duties that did allow you to spend some time near each other. The small council meetings were boring as anything, making them very hard to listen too already. However when your aforementioned husband dedicated most of his time to additionally tease you under the table, staying focused got so much more harder. All that you could pay attention to was the way his large, rough hand ran over the inside of your thighs, teasing the seam of your small cloths. Even going as far as to push his fingers inside of you. Slowly pumping them in and out as he stretches you out. Without fail it would get you worked up and flustered every single time. Pulling him to the next free, hidden enough space to ride him into oblivion.

You play along with his games willingly like the good, little wife he knows you to be and if it is just for the knowing and unamused looks Otto Hightower shoots at the two of you. He was just a cunt. You understood why your husband lived to irritate the man. Until one day, Daemon gets what was coming for him the second he started this game.

Once more his hand finds his hand under your skirts, but this time instead of flushing and lowering your head, you catch his wrist and push it away. A challenging look in your eyes as his confused lilac ones meet yours. Using the moment of the other men being distracted with their conversation about only the gods know what, you swiftly slide down the chair to your knees and hide away under the table, between his legs.

“What do you think you are doing?” He bows down to whisper to you, but you only hush him with a finger to your lips and a mischievous smirk, telling him to lean back again.

With that action alone the dynamic between you changed. You could see in his barely contained face you are in charge now. A warm feeling spreads deep in your chest at the look of his reddened cheeks. Immediately you put that changed dynamic to good use, by feathering touches all over his thighs. Though he takes most of that foreplay off your hands as the predicament you are in makes him incredibly hard already. So you don´t waste any more time, but free his hardened length, lick the palm of your hand and pump him a couple of times. Across the table Otto Hightower was eyeing Daemon critically already. Proving once more, that even if no one else is paying attention, he is.

Watching Daemon´s head fall against the back of the chair and his lips parting to make way for his staggering breaths. Settling your hand at the base of his cock, you place a few kisses to his tip until you hear a tiny whimper from above. Biting back a smile you finally take him into your mouth. Only a little at first and then more and more with every time you moved your head down. Setting an almost torturingly slow pace, you add a rhythm to your head bobbing, that has your husbands hips meeting your lips. Your mouth feels so good around him. So warm and wet, your cunt is still better, but this is as close to heaven as he can get. Your breathing grows ragged now as well, wishing for nothing more than to be alone with Daemon in this moments. You get pulled from your thoughts by Daemons cock hitting the back of your throat. Trying your best not to make any gagging sounds to give you away you swallow heavily, barely managing to keep yourself together. Daemon on the other hand is a lot more careless. Groaning quietly as he pleases and as if you two where the only two people in the room. Letting him pop out of your mouth for a moment to calm your breathing, your hands keep stroking his length. One at the base, playing with his stones and the other teasing the tip. The conversation around you begins to quieten down as the meeting wraps up, meaning you needed to be even more careful.

“Shh. You need to be quiet or they will hear.” You whisper up at Daemon.

“So, let them.” He murmurs his answer back at you. Almost a low growl really. He knows it sends a shock of desire through your body whenever he does. He sounds so primal, you can´t help it and so your lips wrap around his cock again. His fingers thread into your hair, a dull pain driving through your skull as he pulls at the tresses. You hold back another whimper, yet his sounds of pleasure become more obvious by the second. Pulling a look or two towards him, but none of the council members say anything. They know better than to cross the rogue prince.

Daemon pulls you in closer by your hair, attempting to get back his control over you, but you pull away your head once more. Lightly slapping his inner thigh a couple of times. You both know it doesn´t hurt him, but it gets your point across. You were the one in control, at least for now.

Coming up from your hiding place again you sit back down just in time to grab his cock again in your hand to ward off his disappointed gaze and for the meeting to wrap up. One after another the lords at the big table say there farewells Until it is only the two of you, the hand and Viserys left.

“Are you not going to join us?” Your husbands older brother asks, none the wiser to the situation mere inches away from you.

“We will be with you soon, brother. My dear lady wife and I have something important to discuss first.” Daemon gives you a stern look. Signaling that your time in charge was coming to a close.

The king nods and then pulls lord Hightower with him, but not before he can make one of his remarks.

“I am sure you and your wife have pressing matters to discuss. I do hope everything is fine between the two of you. It would be a shame to see such a young marriage fail so soon.”

“I thank you for your concern, your lordship. Though I can assure you that nothing of the sort will be happening any time soon.” You mime the ever dutiful wife. Glad to see the two men leave, letting the heavy door fall close with a thud as they resume their conversation.

Once you are all alone in the big council room, Daemon is quick to bend you over the table. Opening his trousers and pulling them down along with his small clothes. Then he bunches your skirts around your hips. Almost ripping your small clothes in the process of getting them out of the way. A desperate whimper leaves your lips as he delivers a few generous spanks to your behind.

“You are such a naughty girl.” He growls into your ear. “Cannot even keep your fingers off me for a whole council meeting, can you? You are that needy?”

“I just did what you always do to me.” Your voice is weak from the force behind the impact of his rough hands against your jiggling flesh.

“Ah, that´s how it is. I am sure you can handle the consequences for such a behavior too then.” Daemon delivers another set of slaps to the reddened skin of your ass. Grabbing your hips in a bruising grip, he enters your already dripping core in one swift push. The movement so slow, that you can feel every inch dragging against your walls as he enters you. When he bottoms out, his large frame presses you into the edge of the table. The pain of the edge of the hard wood and the stretch of your inner walls mixing with the arousal of the moment, swirling in the depths of your stomach to send a fire of need through your veins and setting every nerve ending alight with it.

“Daemon!” You cry out, wanting him to start moving already. The attempt to move your hips against his yourself is futile as your body is entirely trapped in its position.

“Not my name, love. You know how to address me if you want something.” You can practically hear the smug smirk in his voice.

“My king, please. I need you to fuck me.” Your breathy plea reaches his ears.

“Anything my queen wishes.” Daemon barely finishes the sentence before he sets a fast paced rhythm with his thrusts. His hips rolling perfectly to create a slapping sound every time your skin meets. One of your husbands hands loosens from your hips and wanders up to the middle of your back to push you onto the table further, securing you on place even more as he leans over you. This simple action alone elicits the most desperate moans from your lungs. His breath fans over your ear as he presses hot, wet kisses to your skin.

“Fuck, you feel so good inside of me.” Leaning your upper body up, you stretch your neck back, overcome by the desire to feel his lips on yours. Knowing what you want, Daemon immediately leans down to give you what you need. His warm lips take yours in a confident, almost aggressive touch, that makes your chest glow with a familiar warmth. Pulling yet a louder moan from you as one of his hand grab at your breasts over your dress. Leaning up further, your tongue meets his in a dance for dominance.

Right in that moment you feel a gust of air hit your chest. Daemon had pulled down and almost ripped the front of your dress. His hands now squeezing and lightly slapping your tits, before parting from the kiss and pushing you down with the same hand to the back once more. The pace with which he thrusts into you becomes faster and sloppier. You know he is close and you are too. Sneaking one of your hands down to rub tight circles into your pearl, you make sure to bring yourself there the rest of the way. The edge of your climax rapidly comes closer under his and your own ministrations. Flicking at your sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three more times, your velvety walls start to flutter around Daemon's cock.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." Whole body shaking from the pleasurable contractions, loud and uncontrollable moans forcing their way out of your lungs, you pull your husband over the cliff with you.

His hips stutter in their fast thrusts, the swiftness of their rolling motion becoming rougher until he buried himself as deep inside of you as he possibly can. The tip of his length is kissing your cervix as he spills his hot seed directly into your womb with one last groan of your name. It takes a while to recover from that intense encounter.

After you have finally calmed your breaths and fixed your clothing, you give your husband the most admiring look he has ever seen on any person.

"Do you believe anyone suspected anything? Aside from the hand?" You ask as you wrap your arms around Daemon's middle and look up at him. Waiting for another one of his kisses.

He gives in almost instantly. Pressing his lips to yours. This kiss is much more languid and loving compared to the last one, which was pure lust and passion.

"I am sure they did. Yet again a dragon does not concern himself with the opinions of sheep." He murmurs against your slightly swollen lips. Laying an arm around you, to lead you out of the room.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

GIVE ME THAT M!READER FIC. I'M A MALE MYSELF AND I NEED JAMES HETFIELD FICS. I'm not thaaat gay but I would definitely suck his dick.

A/n: this is part one bc I have plans 😈

Warnings: homophobia, degradation, oral (m receiving), cumming untouched, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

Rock was your whole life, you played guitar to drum, piano, anything and everything. You played in your own band but you weren’t very big so you looked for other jobs that still kept you in the scene.

You’d been a roadie for a long time and managed to get a gig with Metallica. You were excited, you loved Metallica as any metalhead does, getting paid to see them was a dream, but you quickly grew to regret it.

James Hetfield, he was known to be a dick but you hadn’t expected this. You’d be doing your job at soundcheck, tuning guitars and making sure everything was set up right, James would find you and ask you questions. Really personal and invasive questions about your love life, more specifically your sex life.

You were crouched down and fidgeting with an amp, making sure to get the right sound out of it, when James came over. He leaned against a nearby wall, cigar between his lips before he took it in his fingers and breathed out the smoke. “Is that what you look like with your boyfriend?” He asked with a smirk on his face.

Your hands paused and you did your best not to look at him. “My what?” You muttered, though you knew you should’ve kept your mouth shut.

“Your boyfriend, you know? Or, do you not have one?” He asked with light laughter. You inhaled deeply and exhaled heavily. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” He was just teasing, teasing to get under your skin. “Just need some big strong man to come fill you up, uh? Bet you have a bucket of dicks in your bus for when you get lonely.” You got up, needing a break from him before you got back to work.

He didn’t follow you but you heard his laughter floating through the air, finding your ears like missiles in the wind. “Run along, gay boy.” You shot him a look at that.

“I’m not fucking gay, James!” His laughter got louder as you stormed off. You weren’t gay, you never liked men, you told him as much. There was no reason for the jokes other than to piss you off and, as much as you tried not to let them get to you, they did.

The shows went on, you did your best to avoid James but he went out of his way to find you. The questions got worse, “what porn do you watch to get off?” “Dick gets hard every time you see me, right? That’s why you always walk away.”

One night it just went too far, Metallica was supposed to be going on stage soon and you were hiding backstage. Of course James found you, he always finds you. You were in a small room with an old couch, hiding behind your phone. “Even found us a little hideout this time? How thoughtful.”

You glared at him, watching as he approached slowly, standing over you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Do you want me to suck your dick?” You asked, a bite to your voice.

James’s eyes widened slightly. “What?” He asked.

“You always talk about it, me being gay, wanting some old man to fuck me right.” You spoke, standing up yourself to even the heights a little. “Maybe it’s just projection, huh? Maybe you’re the gay one who wants to fuck me.”

James stared at you for a long moment, questioning if you’d really just said that to him. He grabbed you by your collar, old as he was he wasn’t weak by any means. You thought he was gonna fight you, instead he pulled you close and crashed his lips down on yours.

You took a step back, stumbling slightly but he didn’t let go of you, tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring it. You had your hands on his shoulders, pushing him off but he didn’t budge.

James spun you around and forced you onto your knees, falling onto the couch in front of you. “You wanna talk a big talk for a fucking faggot.” He had you right where he wanted you, on your knees and defenceless. “It ain’t gonna suck itself, sweetheart.” He mused, sitting back. If you tried you might be able to make a run for it…

James was working on his jeans, undoing his belt. He knew exactly what you were thinking, how easy it would be to get to the door, he wouldn’t chase after you with his pants down. He moved his boot between your legs, adding pressure to your cock through your own jeans. You winced, hands instinctively grabbing his calf.

“Stay down, you’re not getting out of this one that easily.” He assured, pressing his toes down on you. Your hips bucked involuntarily and your face heated up a deep shade of red. “You love this, don’t you?” He asked, lifting his hips to get his jeans down. “Love being treated like a fucking dog. Get up and strip for me.” He ordered, bringing his hands behind his head as he relaxed further into the couch.

You hesitated, however, with no safe way out of this you had to do as he commanded. You stood up and pulled your jacket off before getting your shirt over your head, James whistled at the sight, only making your cheeks hotter. You got to work on your jeans, kicking your boots off while James watched eagerly as you stripped for him.

Your pants fell to the ground, pooling around your ankles. Your boxers followed and James’s laughter echoed throughout the room. “So fucking tiny! You really thought you were gonna fuck women with that thing? Jesus, you’d be better off with a pussy, least that has a use.” He gave his thought a pat, getting you back on your knees in front of him. “Go on, see what a real cock looks like.”

You didn’t dare look him in the eye as you pulled his boxers down, just enough to let his cock spring free, hitting his abdomen. He was rock hard, easily eight, maybe even nine inches. He was thick and veiny with an angry red tip, aching for some attention. At the base was thick white hair leading up his stomach, you wanted to make jokes about his age but you were choking on your words.

“Not gay, huh? You got stars in your eyes.” He said with a grin, reaching for the back of your head, tangling in your hair. He brought you closer to his cock, using his other hand to press his tip to your lips, smearing pre all over like makeup. “Go on, you know exactly what to do, don’t you?” Your gaze flickered up to his, head tilting to get away from him but he held you in place. You shook your head and he chuckled lowly. “Open your mouth and down fucking close it or I’ll tie you up in my bus, alright?” With a threat like that you had no choice, opening your mouth wide and letting him push himself down your throat, waiting for you to gag.

You pushed your face into his pubes and held you there while you squirmed, hands flying to his thighs to push off of him but it was no use. “Breathe through your nose.” He said, but the words barely made it to your ears. He pulled your head back, a firm grip on your hair close to the roots.

He had you bobbing your head on his cock, you gagged and choked on him, tears coming to your eyes as drool dribbled out the corners of your mouth. Low groans started leaving him, your mouth starting to feel really good. His hips thrusting up, small snaps at first but soon he was holding your head in place and fucking your throat roughly, spitting degrading words. “Look at you, taking my cock real good for someone who’s not gay, huh? No, you were just waiting for this, weren’t you? Needing me to fuck you back into your place, fucking queer.”

All of it felt weird all over, your throat was hoarse and hurt, your eyes stung from tears that now streamed down your cheeks. Your jaw hurt from holding it open for him but you knew you’d be punished bad if you shut your mouth. You clawed are his thighs, it only seemed to spur him on; your own thighs burned and your gut felt weirdly hot.

James was close, his pulsing down your throat had the pieces clicking together you and realized what that feeling was. Your eyes widened slightly, you whined around his cock and it made James groan, deep and guttural. It was too late, there was no stopping it, only moaning around him as you came untouched, a puddle of your cum pooling on the floor in front of you.

Your throat constricted around James, who was still pounding your mouth like his own personal fucktoy. “Oh, fuck, you can be useful, huh?” He said through grunts, teeth grinding together from the pleasure. “Swallow it all, not a single drop slips out, understood?” You didn’t want to nod, he gave your cheek a harsh smack when you didn’t. “Good boy.”

With a few final thrusts he came, loud groans filling the room. He made sure you really did swallow it all before pulling out. “Open.” He ordered, tilting your head back. You stuck your tongue out, letting him see it was all gone. He gave you head a few good pats. “Good boy.” You hoped he wouldn’t see your cock twitching at the name.

James fixed himself up, getting himself back into his jeans and he stood up, laughing when he saw your mess. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He blurted. “I didn’t even do anything for you, sucking me off made you that fucking horny? You fucking whore, you gay fucking whore.” You couldn’t do anything, say anything. Your throat was raw and all you wanted to do was deny it, but you couldn’t. James didn’t do anything but use you and step on your cock, he made you cum so fucking hard your legs felt numb.

You watched him walk out of the room like nothing happened at all, his head held high as he went while you were stuck on your knees with a puddle of cum and a full belly, but not nearly full enough.

[la2yn0va]

I need to pour my sahsrau ideas here. So I WAAAAS gonna write a full Wattpad story about this… but I decided FUCK that. So imma write it hear and I’d like to hear what yall think of it.

CW: Cannibalism, Animals as Food, Slavery, Abuse, Cult like topics, violence, Gender Inequality. Etc

——

1. Readers (GODS) backstory.

So before the universe of HSR there was 1 universe that existed. I’m gonna call this Universe 0 (cause it sounds cool) in this universe there was one specific planet called… um… planet Celerian.

The planet is a technologically advanced civilization with it being a haven place — the capital ‘Aetheria’ being where GOD lives—a man who’s worshiped by the people of Celerian.

But there’s another side of the planet — the entire section is called Noxhollow. A crime undercity of the haven city that is Aetheria. Here, survival and crime is noticeable by blind and deaf people.

Here ‘the boy with no name’ is born. The boy is viewed as a mistake, a disgusting disgrace of humanity itself, even among the depraved people of Noxhollow. The boy grows up despising everyone and thing. Why was he hated? Why did he have no name? Even the kids who were born into slavery had names, yet he had none.

Woman were seen as nothing but birthing machines. If the woman gave birth to a girl, she was thrown into a camp forcing them to learn how to cook and clean. If it was a boy, he was either thrown into the gladiator ring for their sick joy to watch the boys fight and kill each other, or they were forced into slavery becoming a human pet to who ever takes the boy.

Where were his parents? Did he even have any? He was forced to live alone, forced to sell himself in anyway to survive, forced to… eat… others and more due to the utterly depraved nature of noxhollow.

The boy gave himself a name. M/n. No one could love him. It was impossible, so he’ll have to love himself, starting by giving himself a name—the first act of love given by a parent of which he had none. Even the woman born to only clean and cook were shown more love then him.

But then, he came across a cat. A black cat who looked staved and on deaths edge. It wouldn’t survive a minute longer without some food. Seeing himself in this cat M/n gave it his food, and walked away not noticing the cats eyes shine at this mercy.

The cat followed him, interested in why someone would show mercy to an animal that was damned by god to be considered food. It watched as this ‘Demon’ showed kindness to those who’d spit on him and beat him down.

It watched as the boy didn’t fight back. Why? What is the reason for his benevolence? Such kindness didn’t exist in Noxhollow. Only Aetheria were those… ‘People’ lived.

Eventually, it made itself known to m/n, offering it apples and other food it would successfully steal to repay his kindness. But he.. denied it… why?!

The cat was determined, it wouldn’t allow this boy to suffer. No. He didn’t deserve it. So, it kept following it, stubbornly ignoring the boys pleas to leave him alone and offering him food.

Eventually, m/n agreed and grew to appreciate the cats presence as the cat would also grow to love the humans presence and m/n would gift the cat with a name: Elio.

The two grew up with each other. Elio managing to sneak past the guards who kept the depraved humans in Noxhollow and stealing books and scrolls from Aetheria, bringing it to m/n.

M/n grew to be a very capable fighter. No longer selling himself for others peoples acts, but making others bow to HIS will. HIS demands. Yet one thing still itched M/N. Love. He never actually felt it.

Despite gaslighting himself into thinking he knew what it was.. he didn’t, love was—IS a foreign concept to him. Despite sleeping with women and men, he still didn’t know what LOVE was.

So, he believed one Two things would lead him to understanding what love was. killing the so called ‘GOD’ in Aetheria. He rallied EVERYONE in Noxhollow, convincing them to rise up and fight the much more pathetic people of Aetheria.. and they LOVED the idea.

The people who once discriminated m/n now viewed him as THEIR GOD. He’s the voice they’ve been waiting for, he’s the motivation they needed. M/n and Elio were disgusted at their change of heart towards him, but they hid their hate, keeping they needed them in order to take on ‘GOD’

So. War began. Noxhollow’s versus the Aetherias. The Noxhollow’s relied on their Peak Superhuman Physicality and the forbidden magic M/n taught them to combat against the Technological Aetherians. Whilst the common folk fought against each other, m/n and Elio snuck to wear ‘GOD’ was.

In her tyrannical throne she sat watching the war below fight. The woman who was ‘GOD’ stared at M/n in disgust. Noting how she should’ve killed him when he was a kid. Reveling his true story—how he was a child of experimentation. Born through…. Depraved means.

They’re were others like him who were born in this project of hers, yet they didn’t survive like he did. She then reveled he only survived because a percentage of HER holy DNA was in him, making her his technical only mother through one percent of DNA.

It changed nothing though. The two still battled and fought. Surprisingly, m/n was managing to beat GOD, his rage and determination grew every millisecond she was in his eye sight. His ambition for her death surpassing her EGO.

After a long battle, and the outright extinction of everything on the planet besides them, m/n won. Before killing her, her last words were one of malice. “you demonic worthless waste of human ORGANS!! A ant like you.. who never knew or will EVER understand love.. beat ME!!? PREPOSTEROUS!!!!! You worthless dog!!! You should’ve died with your—”

Tired of her existence, m/n ripped off her jaw and knocked her unconscious before preforming an act the people of Noxhollow would perform to the losers of a duel. Cannibalism. He ate every part of her, making sure not a scrap of dna was left on the ground.

Gaining her powers he eventually became GOD, a new GOD, one with much more powerful abilities and capabilities then his ‘mother’ he made a new universe, erasing the entirety of his own universe and starting a new one.

Eons upon eons passed with m/n and Elio living in the paradise they deserved. While the people of his new universe worshiped him, any nonbelievers were… swiftly dealt with. M/n made cosmic peace with each visit, stopping any and ALL conflict by any beings, such as humans, animals, and even plants.

However, he STILL couldn’t feel love. He was empty, he couldn’t reciprocate the feelings Elio and his followers gave him. So, he was gonna learn.

One day, he awoke and decided to create more universes to live another live AGAIN without his previous memories or powers. He left Elio with a human form, allowing him to transform into a human and speak in his cat form whilst giving him the ability to see the future. Although Elio begged him to stay, he didn’t, Elio even tried to fight him to stay but it was for nothing.

M/n left, leaving the universe to progress naturally, and eventually go mad without their god. More eons passed. Billions of trillions of years passed until elio’s carefully crafted plan begun. He will bring back his dear old ‘friend’ as m/n told him to before he left. M/n had a script he wished for them to partake in, and Elio would follow it down to its Periods.

The universe itself died down slowly from the chaos when M/n first left, as some of them found themselves being controlled by a warm presence and doing quest whilst the most calm and warm presence wrapped around them.

———

And that’s what I had to rant about. I know it’s kinda all over the place but that’s because I was just pouring the idea I had for self aware-hsr onto this post.

Sorry for the dark topics but I think it made the story more compelling..? Anyway, what do you guys think of this?

[mizzcap]

anya x reader pretty please with a cherry on top??? she deserved better -m-

ofc my lovely!❤️

Synopsis: the Tuplar is saved! Expect they crash landed on- Aeaea?

ANYA × CIRCE!READER

TW: Jizzard (gets killed in part 2), slight gore mentioned, post crash curly appearance mentioned, possible allusion to rape

Reader is implied to be Female! However I will keep the pronouns vague as too allow for anyone to place themselves in the role!!

A bit of a song fic

-Anya was woken up the moment she felt a jolt rush through the ship

- tired eyes instinctively trailing off to Curly, almost wincing on instinct upon seeing the state of her captain. She will never be used to that sight

-jimmy was the first to find the hole in the ship, they crash landed on some kids of Island. Where they back home?

-no

-earth didn't have these weird.. cloud things

-Anya would later learn they were called Winions

-she was instructed to go first, despite Swansea insistence that the "Captain who carries all of the power should carry the burden of being first"

-the others trailed behind Anya (Swansea holding Curly) as she approached a tall set of palace door

A beautiful person in what seemed like a loose greyish toga that hung over their chest. Their waist was secured with a golden belt and they wore no shoes, though their ankles and wrists were adorned with golden bangles

Long pointed ears twitched upon seeing the group, More specifically when their eyes zoned in on Anya

A smile found its way onto their face as they hopped back a few steps, opening their arms as they allowed for the group to enter

"Come inside!"

"damn" Jimmy whispered and whistled, making Anya Cringe a bit as she hesitantly continued

"welcome to the best part of your lives" their hands ghosted down Swansea's shoulders

"go ahead and rest wherever you like!" Fingers ghosted over Curly's bandaged head as they slipped open a large door before they spun, facing Anya as the men walked into the room

"I've got you .. (Y/N)'s got you now"

Something about that felt more... reassuring- calming even. Anya blinked away tears she didn't realize we're forming as the witch-..

(Y/N)

Turned away as walked into the room, Anya following close by.

The room was lavish. Magenta and gold decorations covered the otherwise white walls. Giving it a sort of mythical or unreal light

"take a seat!" They insisted, handing pressing on Daisuke's shoulders as he plopped down on a cushioned seat.

Magenta wisps of light swirled as what looked to be trays of snacks and drinks were manifested, all with the words "Let me bring you all something to eat!"

"I bet you're tired from the time spent on your feet" they took place next to Jimmy, positioning their torso as their hands found his shoulders, hot breath in his ear "think of your past.. and your mistakes. They'll be the last mistakes you make..." They muttered lowly in his ears as he stuffed his face with the breads Infront of him

Squealing

Horrifying- horrible squealing broken through as she pulled away from Jimmy.

Jimmy fell to his knees, clawing at his neck in a panic as he tried peeling off the pig snout that once had been over where his mouth and nose was

Anya gasped and slapped hands over her ears, shutting her eyes. Tears welled up as more squeals followed soon after, turning into a trio of painful swine cries.

"stop! You're hurting them!" Anya pleaded.

Daisuke and Swansea. Honestly, fuck Jimmy.

"this is the price we pay to live" the being gently cupped their hands over Anya's ears, blocking her view of the Swines as they painfully transformed. Despite the two pairs of hands blocking the sound, Anya could still hear the witch as bold as day

Yellow cat-like eyes fixed on Anya's dark and downsloped ones. The yellow pair almost going softer as they stared into Anya's.

They slowly led Anya back out of the room "no one will find their way between my nymph's and I- their loving queen"

Fingers ghosted down Anya's cheek, pushing back loose hair that stuck to her face- the girl sweating from stress and anxiety.

"this is the price we pay to love" the queen frowned as they tried reassuring the nurse. Wide yet dark eyes darting behind the queen to try and see her friends. Worry welling in her chest for Daisuke, Swansea, and Curly..

Once again fuck Jimmy

"we draw the line and watch from above"

"you're playing with my friends and hurting them!" Anya protested, tears peaking from the corners of her eyes

"I don't play, I puppeteer" the queen's words were harsh a bit hurt as magenta wisps shut the door, blocking off the swines from Anya and (Y/N)

(I WILL MAKE A PART 2 SOON DW ❤️)

[sirenscradle]

♰𖣐♰ Devil's catch | iii (m)

[chapter iii. a warm body for the night and i sing the body electric.]

pairings: exorcist!hongjoong x psychic!reader (ATEEZ ot8 x reader but heavily focused on hongjoong)

genres: 18+!! paranormal, religious horror, fantasy, smut, stupid-yet-gifted exorcists lol

chapter specific warnings: oral (f receiving), breath play, spit...as always, bloody imagery, soft dom! hj, obedient reader, nicotine and alcohol consumption, insane sexual tension, bisexuals (had to type this because it's so funny to put this down as a chapter warning as a queer myself), reader takes a leap of faith, and cannibalistic metaphors in an intimate setting (lol) foreplay.

summary: “the order” is a secret organization of exorcists blessed with special abilities dedicated to expelling higher class demons—located in an ancient crypt hidden beneath the vatican. when an exceptionally gifted child is followed by prophetic omens and falls into possession of an unclassified s-class demon—kim hongjoong, considered one of the greatest exorcists of the 21st century, is dispatched under the mysterious order of convincing an enigmatic psychic hiding away in a metropolis to accompany he and his team in what might be their most daunting exorcism yet. taglist: @cypherluv

series spotify playlist and pinterest. p.s be prepared because this part of the plot will come from left field since i wanted it to be a surprise lolhehehehe this chapter is currently unedited

previous chapter masterlist next chapter

[Chapter iii. A warm body for the night and I sing the body electric.]

“Why are most of us men?” Mingi scowls, gazing longingly across the street at a nearby parish as pretty sisters from its clergy smile elegantly, chatting amongst themselves before making their way in. Yeosang sits on the sidewalk, ignoring the strange looks passersby send him as he chews on a chunk of stale bread, feeling wrung dry and halfway to pruning. You sat next to him, mirroring his exact stance–the only difference was instead of stale bread, you held a half finished cigarette still fuming in your tilted hand. The sun had barely risen about a half hour ago and you’re sure you look a little like death. 

The lot of you look like absolute dog shit.

Mingi’s cuff was stained with dried blood and mothers who’d taken their children to mass ushered them away in haste at the sight of his concerning appearance. He was too exhausted to even be offended. 

The five of your group consisted of Mingi, Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Jongho as you all sat outside of the chapel shivering lightly in the frigid autumn air as you waited for the remaining few to wrap things up. 

Seonghwa eyes Mingi from his peripheral, crossing his arms over his chest in usual form. “Because of the Patriarchy, Mingi. Our Order is still functioning on the parasocial beliefs of the 17th century. The only reason why Strega’s standing here is because they couldn’t find another reason to not let her in other than her being a woman.” Seonghwa dryly replies, already having that conversation with himself around five years ago. He joins Mingi in his scowling, wishing most ardently that he could remind himself the bliss of touching a woman.

His hair bristles as Jongho sleepily leans his head on his shoulder, stiff as cement despite the fact that he said nothing to tear the boy off himself. 

My god, he wanted to sleep in a bed he didn’t have to share.

You couldn’t believe it. Just forty eight hours ago you were living a well earned quiet life. Sitting there on the pavement while spiraling in social and physical exhaustion, you wistfully think to yourself about how you’re already desperately missing the hand of a married woman.

A little girl wearing a sundress decorated with tiny daisy prints nearly falls on her face after not seeing a large divot in the sidewalk until a translucent shield with a tinge of green forms like an ellipsis under her form. She partially bounces back up in equal amounts of confusion and amazement, unsure of how exactly she avoided knocking her chin onto the cobblestone with a questioning glance around. Yeosang chokes on a piece of bread before coughing harshly, mumbling a quick “aw fuck” before Seonghwa hits the back of his head

“Nice one, dipshit.” Seonghwa sneers, eying the little girl as she continues to run down the street. Yeosang mumbles “I didn’t mean to, it just happened” a little sadly and you felt sorry for the guy. You look at him with amusement dancing in your eyes “...force fields?” 

“Gravity manipulation, actually.” He muses back with a proud half smile. A little “ah~” of understanding leaves you and the two of you chuckle tiredly, before getting up at the sight of the rest returning.

You’re back at the Order for an indefinite amount of time. After the whole fiasco last night, you’d reunited with the council of High Priests—thankfully, many of them weren’t at the crypt upon your arrival. For now, you had to leave Dorian in the chapel you’d stayed in for a majority of your childhood after promising that you’ll be back to visit him soon and are waiting for the Order’s next assignments for you now that you’ve returned. The climactic night had surprisingly ended a little bit lackluster. The next three weeks are spent observing your new life in passing.

There was an interesting distinction between two halves of the Order of the Gifted. While they did function as an entire entity, their day to day lives were a bit different from one another. Faction one, which you also dubbed as Hongjoong’s minions, consisted of Hongjoong (of course), Seonghwa, Yunho, and San. Their day-to-day schedules were often filled to the brim with small tasks for the Order and are dispatched as a unit. Faction two is what you endearingly referred to as the three stooges. Consisting of Yeosang, Mingi, and Wooyoung–Jongho would often drift between these two factions, depending on if his abilities, the ones you still aren’t too sure of as of yet–were needed. 

A day in the life with the three stooges often contained severe amounts of boredom with Mingi lounging on couches while picking at his teeth with a blade of wheat, pure jack-ass-ery, contemplating the end of the world and how they didn’t know if they wanted it to come sooner or later because they might just die of boredom before it even came,  or journeying on strange side quests that had nothing to do with the Order and everything to do with the desire to wreak havoc on the general public and sheer mischief.

 In your days of being left on your lonesome in the lowest level of The Order’s headquarters, you’d thought the clergy consisted of pious priests who spent their days blessing citizens in need, but here they were in front of you doing everything but that. Faction one is probably beating demons bloody, kicking comically at them as we speak.

 You imagine Yunho kicking at someone sadly possessed by a demon as an act of pure sadism, laughing happily as he zaps them a bit to keep his joy going before finally exorcising the demon and leaving the poor victim limp on the floor, still alive–unsure if they were thankful or not. Hongjoong probably watches with mild concern but opts to do nothing but stare at him with a disturbed face, San might shake his head and offer a small plead to stop, while Seonghwa waits for him to finish with a spiritual portion of his spine in hand, bored out of his mind, waiting to strike when necessary. 

With the Order still being preoccupied with Dorian’s fiasco and their thinly covered heinous plans at world(s) (haha!) domination, this allotted you a lot more extra time than what you’d been accustomed to during your previous time in the Order. 

Hongjoong was able to deflect The Order’s original plan of having you return to your previous lonely quarters at The Order and convinced them that it’d be more counter intuitive to have you stay at the other side of the hallway at their dormitory, as it was hardly an actual boy’s dormitory and more of a building housing those who worked at the Order who, probably due to sexism and archaic beliefs, seemed to be the ruling majority of men. It’d make more sense to have the top dogs of their clergy guard the doors of one of their most confidential… weapons and the top two floors were exclusively for their use. 

As such, all of this boils down to why you’re lounging around the large living room on the eighth floor, scattered asymmetrically with the three stooges as they whined and played card games you knew nothing of. You lay back completely on the olive-green velvet couch that was much too firm for your liking, and your gait’s a little drowsy as you stare half-lidded at the ceiling. A lit cigarette draped your fingers with a window left ajar, so you didn’t fumigate the others, while Wooyoung snatched your pack off the table to take one for himself, wagging his tongue at you in playful teasing. 

“I didn’t know Priests smoke, Wooyoung.” You say tiredly, teasing lethargically with the back of your arm hanging over your eyes in attempts to shield them away from the strong streams of sunlight emitting from the large windows decorating the expansive room. 

“I’m hardly a Priest, Strega.” He smugly replies, tilting his head up rebelliously. 

“Is that so?” You drawl out, your raised eyebrow still hidden under your arm, but Wooyoung sees the small quirk of your lip and lets out a small laugh, opting to say nothing at your clear disinterest. 

You hear Yeosang groan in frustration at Mingi’s card reveal, bitingly accusing him of rigging the game somehow and you lift your arm slightly to entertain yourself with the commotion. To your amusement, Mingi touches Yeosang’s arm for a small second before his entire form morphs into a carbon copy of Yeosang, mocking Yeosang’s statement in his exact voice. A small ‘boom!’ floods through the air as you witness Mingi fly backwards as the glimmering and green residue of Yeosang’s small force field fizzles out, and Mingi lands on the loveseat next to you with an ‘oomf’, cackling maniacally as he crouched to massage his back. Shifting back into his own form. 

Yeosang pouts a bit before saying “Sorry, but you were being an ass.” Mingi only laughs harder when Yeosang pins him with a glare. 

The large double doors of the living room burst open and an exhausted Hongjoong (followed closely by his minions) strides in as he rolls off his cassock and throws it onto a seat near you before plopping down in exhaustion. You hear the others ask about what the loud sound was, but it’s all muffled nonsense to you, as your eyes fix themselves at the junction of Hongjoong’s collarbone. A small bead of sweat catches itself there and you feel his eyes meet yours with an almost knowing smile. “See something you like, Y/N?”  

Feeling bold in your lethargy you find yourself saying “I see something good enough to eat, Hongjoong.” His form runs still as a stiff smile painted at his lips, surprised at being on the other side of teasing. You take a long drag at your cigarette, smiling small at him. At the sight of your relaxed expression, Hongjoong clenches his fist tightly– a few veins protruding from his arms and neck before he dons that same, unreadable expression. He quickly masks it with his usual cheshire laxness, before slumping down his seat. His shoulders rise at level with his neck, and you laugh a bit at the visual. “God, this is going to be horrendously tiring. Playing charades at being the lapdog of the Order’s no easy feat.” 

Your eyes soften in understanding, having been there yourself once before. You opt to stay quiet and intently leaning to listen to him if he had anything more to say. He looks at you from his side profile, breathing out a small laugh “Going soft on me now, Strega?” an attractive brow raising. 

“I was never hard on you to begin with, Exorcist.” You were a grown woman. It didn’t take long for you to accept the fact that you were dangerously attracted to Hongjoong. All of the men were attractive, in fact– and you’d never been one to shy away from your appetites after learning about pleasure once you’d left the order. Though, you tend to warm the beds of women a lot more often than you did men. Married women, that is. 

The only uncomfortable fact of the matter was that you knew it was entirely possible that the lines would easily blur with him. Call it a woman’s intuition, but you feared that a part of you knew that you’d fall in love with Hongjoong. He had that way about him.

Dangerously charming and seemingly lax about all things, never shaken–confident. There’s no denying that Hongjoong snuck up on people and they’d find him sitting in the largest room within the confines of their heart to completely claim the space. As if suddenly the awoke one morning with the understanding that they’d go to war with and for Hongjoong without question. 

You wonder what he’d look like on his knees.

You wanted him to break under you for the sake of sheer curiosity, but was it a good idea to invite him in willingly under the guise of a brief delight? Should you get it over with since it felt practically inevitable?

An apparition that sat perched by the window giggled at you girlishly. ‘Oh, he’s cute.’

Her features were a bit distorted but not entirely erased as of yet. She was in the process of forgetting but clung tightly to what still remained. She was in her early twenties, a little younger than you, and wore an antiquated version of a nun's robes. ‘Strega, won’t you warm him for the night? I would if I could, so I have to live vicariously through you.’

You laugh lightly at her words but don’t reply. Hongjoong eyes you curiously, knowing that there was probably a spirit around talking to you. “Care to share?” 

Chuckling, you say “Not really” before lighting another cigarette.

Seems like today’s a chainsmoking day.

Hongjoong reaches a broad hand out, silently asking for a drag. You pass him the cigarette with interest, as you stare at his lips encasing its filter. His eyes meet yours, unflinching. 

“Do all Priests smoke?” you pipe

“We all need at least one vice, don’t we?” he offers

There’s a warmth in the air that you both leave untouched. A small unacknowledged comfort permeating and you bask in its warmth. Hongjoong takes another drag and shifts his eyes to look at his brothers. A small smile gracing his face as he takes in the sight of their laughter, though all reasons are unknown to him. 

Jongho stands up to announce that he had a very gracious idea and that he’d be back shortly. The boys are scattered around in conversation, some fiddle with their little hobbies, and you send an accidental incredulous eye at Seonghwa at the sight of him building a lego starship. He feels it and practically hisses at you with his expression, skittering to tuck away some of his remaining pieces closer to his side, as if desperately trying to communicate with you that he doesn’t want to build it with you or talk about it. 

You most certainly didn’t want to build it with him either. Seems like you learn something new every day living with strange men. 

Yunho’s perched against a heavy and slick desk while reading a book that had no title on its spine, and he ducked his head in different directions with a completely still expression as Yeosang and Wooyoung pelted small candies and peanuts at each other to see if they could catch it. Yeosang asks if you’d want to try one, before Hongjoong intercepted with saying that you were allergic to tree nuts– you don’t remember telling him that and you stare at him for a moment in confusion, trying to your hardest to recall. Man, was this guy that good at reading people? Maybe he was the psychic. Your curiosity about his ability only grew.

San and Mingi were fiddling with an old record player near the window, amidst the chaos ensuing from all sides before an old swing tune started playing from its golden flower shaped speaker.

The energy in the room was lively as the men played as men do amongst each other. Wooyoung pulls Yunho away from his book to dance and you fleetingly hear Mingi say that he wishes there were girls to dance with. Seonghwa sends a mild “Well, we have Strega” and Mingi gazes at you with surprise

“I doubt that Strega would want to dance–” He fumbles boyishly as you rise from your seat, dusting at the sides of your long skirt “What gave you the impression that I don’t dance Mingi?” and proceed to swing him around in a circle, laughing as you do it. 

The lot of you are red with joy as you began to dance to an old tune you don’t know the name of, and you’re thrown into San’s arms as the rest make sure to give him enough space to dance. You guide his form and warm at the sight of his light laughter, the blue of his eyes disappearing into shapes of small moons. 

You feel Hongjoong’s eyes on you, watching with a small laugh in his throat as he sips at his water. There’s a spark swaying in his irises just below his lash-line and you wish that you had the ability to read minds, but maybe you didn’t really need it. 

Somehow you knew he thought you were beautiful.

You could feel Raziel’s presence as you all dance and bubbles at the new experience. 

You send him a small thought. “Are you happy Raziel?”

“I don’t know what I’m experiencing right now but is this what it’s like to live amongst people?”

“I imagine so. This is what a good day looks like.” You thoughtfully reply.

“Then I understand why fighting to survive is all the more worth it.” Raziel goes silent after this, hovering just above the surface of your psyche to savor this moment, learning about human joys for the first time in his endless eternity. 

Just as you were surprisingly about to dance with an uncommonly relaxed Seonghwa, Jongho flies into the room with two bottles of rum. “I COME BEARING GIFTS!” He bellows and the boys break out into collective cheers. 

You lean to adjust a few logs burning in the fireplace with a metallic stick, everyone’s half drunk on the remaining waves of earliers excitement and rum. Wooyoung drunkenly sings an indiscernable tune that’s equal parts sorrowful and lovely. Yeosang stumbles out of the room holding his gut while mumbling a small “This is why I shouldn’t drink dark liquor.” before breaking out into a small run, after saying he was gonna hurl.

Slowly but surely, everyone hobbled their way out of the room, mumbling small goodnights and a “fuck, we’re going to regret this in the morning.”

Hongjoong laid against a small bookcase by the door, and you sat in comfortable silence, not wanting to leave but also not wanting to disturb the stillness of the moment. You return to our earlier position of sprawling on the velvet couch, one leg dangling off of it. Your head hangs off the arm rest and you take in his strangely flipped figure, as you gaze at him from an upside-down position.

There’s a strange glistening to Hongjoong’s eyes as the both of you wane off your warm highs. The fire crackling to your immediate left as you sprawled onto the old green couch casted shadows on his face that made you feel queasy inside. He was beautiful. Scarily so.

You tilt your head further back to gaze up at him as he approached the area you hung loosely from. Hongjoong stops and stands right in front of you and the arm rest, peering down at you silently. You laugh faintly at the strange angle and the blood rushing to your head.

When his finger lands softly to drag itself down your cheek and painting upwards to your throat, you close your eyes in complete acceptance. There wasn’t a single nervous bone in your body, and you didn’t really know why his hands on you felt almost familiar, like he’d touched you for most of your life. Nothing needed to be said or acknowledged, and when Hongjoong leaned down to kiss you with his nose meeting your chin from the strange, reversed angle as the crucifix from his necklace draped itself onto your cheek– you still couldn’t shake off the feeling. 

It was almost uncanny when he kissed you the way you often kissed people. The slow lick against another tongue, massaging at the lips to part with a resounding click. The first kiss was brief and when he pulled away. Your heart hovered at the contrastingly foreign familiarity and your eyebrows furrow in momentary confusion, yet the question struggled to leave you. He watched your expressions closely before breaking the silence.

“Do I unnerve you, Y/N?” There’s something soft and secret in how he breathed your name out with an alarming vulnerability you’d never seen on him before, melting away like he’d been waiting for this moment and you’re unsure why.

“Sometimes.”  You whisper in reply

“Why is that?” He questions almost immediately

You pause for a moment

“Because you look at me like you know something that I don’t–that you think you know me more than I did myself.” You confess.

“And what if I did?” The question hung in the air and you weren’t entirely sure how to respond. 

“I’d ask you why.” The air is thickening with some sort of premonition, and your voice is strangely light. Your body knowing something that you didn’t somehow. 

“And what if I didn’t know how to tell you? That it’s something I’ve never explained to anyone before, because I don’t know how to let the words leave me without an inch of doubt?” His tone is bold and teetering away from his usual calm control, clearly straining to keep an age old want far away. He waits for your reply, body electric. 

“Then I’d ask you to show me instead.” 

There’s a deafening beat of silence before Hongjoong sits next to you in order to grab a wrist to pull you flushed against him. A sharp intake of breath hollows though the air and you’re not sure whose it was, but your heart flings itself against your throat when he kisses you like he’s always known you. 

When he pulls you onto him as your lips began to clash more fervently and traces his fingertips on the strangely sensitive spot on your spine that you’ve never told anyone about before, he’s telling you again without words

I know you.

A kiss to the hidden mole on the back of your ear.

I know you

His hands drift to a scar near your pelvis at the base of your stomach– the one you’d gotten when you were first placed to guard the gates on your own after training until you were fifteen. You were scared and bleeding but patched yourself up after the night ended. You weren’t good at it, and it scarred horribly. It was the first of many. 

It was the first. Again, his drifting touch sings I know you.

Your bodies on fire, like something’s clicking back into place. He’s rocking up into you, rolling against your hips and he eats the sound that leaves you like he’s tasted it before– like he’s missed it terribly. 

I’ve known you.

The buttons of your gloves release with a ‘click’ as he slips them off to kiss at your palms, licking at the scarred lines. His pupils dilate as they run along your form in disbelief, in awe that you’re there in his arms. When his lips meet your neck, you push his head deeper into your form, arching your back in your best attempts at melting into him. There’s something primal that begun to burn its way through you and images of Hongjoong offering his heart to you are pulled from the depths of your subconscious desires.

You wanted to hold it in your hands and watch him smile at you as you inhaled it into yourself.

Hongjoong’s left hand drags itself up your thighs, your skirt lifting and draping over his lap when he made his way to your throat. “Look at me.” He grabbed at your throat, applying pressure onto its sides. His dark eyes searchingly gazed at you, tightening his grip whenever you blinked as if to say, ‘Don’t look away.’

 “Open your mouth.” Your body feels like warm milk, dripping onto his lap– dazed and possessed by something reuniting with you. Parting your lips as you unconsciously slip your tongue out. Hongjoong brings you closer to him with a tug at your throat, licking up your tongue with his own before watching his spit drip slowly down his hanging tongue onto yours. Red marks bloom on your skin from his tightening grip, and you feel euphoric. 

He kisses your open mouth one more time before slowly pushing you up to stand while still staying seated on the couch. “Strega, can you undress for me?” 

And you do. Without question or hesitation. 

Stepping back from him to stand in front of the fireplace, your skirt falls to your feet with your sweater quickly following it. He doesn’t blink as he watches you slide off the straps of your bra and hug the cups against your body, suddenly a little shy. His gaze softens a bit 

“Let me see you, my love.” and you let him see you, because if Hongjoong asks for something in that voice of his, he’ll get it. 

“I think you’re the closest thing to God I will ever lay my eyes on.” His voice is a small whisper and just as you lifted your hands to try and tug at your underwear, he stops you. “I’ll take care of that one” is all he says before he kneels at your feet, pulling the fabric down excruciatingly slow. 

His eyes meet your nudity with an almost reverent expression.

This is exactly what you wanted to see earlier and the pit of desire in your stomach feels unending. Hongjoong sticks a tongue out to lightly lick between your creases as you stood before him, jaw falling open in surprise. He slides into your slick with the flat of his tongue, prodding at the bud, causing your body to jolt forward as he steadies your hands by placing them onto his shoulders. His middle finger slides to enter you slowly, pumping its way in and he groans into your sensitivity at the feeling of you clenching around it. 

Your body feels electric–so hot it’s almost shockingly cold. Hongjoong pulls your body down to lay on the rug situated by the fire, pressing the flat of his palm onto your stomach as his other hand reaches to spread your legs and push them closer to your chest by pressing the backs of your knees. He’s smacking his lips against you and the entirety of your body is flushed. Doused in rose red shades as heat emanates from all sides and from his hot tongue prodding inside of you again and again. A long string of slick drags itself along his tongue as he pulls away looking absolutely fucked out– a bulge threatening to break free from his slacks. 

You reach a hand forward, wanting to touch him just as much before he stops you again with a gentle hand and a kiss to your temple. “Today, I just want to touch you.” Despite your bewilderment, you respect his choices and nod your head in understanding. “Okay” you say, a small smile playing at your lips.

His gentleness shifts at the flip of a switch as his hands return to spreading you obscenely wide and you watch in absolute fascination as his red hair disappears between your legs yet again. When the sound of his sucking at you reaches your ears accompanied by the jingle of his silver earrings, you come undone. For good measure, he sneaks two fingers inside just to see what the feel of you throbbing around him was like.

He presses kisses along your legs and stomach, leading his way back into your kiss. When he tries to lift you up and into his arms to carry you into your room, you tug him down back onto the rug with you. “Stay here and lay with me.” Crawling towards a stray lounge blanket, you tug it towards you and pull two throw pillows from the couch onto the floor. He watches you for a moment, before slipping out of his loose blouse and tucking himself in next to you. Your breaths begin to slow as you relax more, and you finally find the courage to ask 

“Hongjoong, why does it feel like you know me?” You’re staring wide eyed at the ceiling, despite the casual air your tone carries.

“Because I’ve always known you, Strega.” He tugs your body to lay on his chest as he tries to explain.

“I… by the laws of my ability, can’t explain everything to you. It’ll mess everything up. Did you ever overhear what the council refers to me as?” He starts with, cradling your body closer to his chest as he gazes at the ceiling. You shake your head “No, never actually.”

He nods before continuing “They call me the Marionette. I have the ability to step inside a person and see their memories. At times it can almost take the form of something similar to a possession, ironically enough. I can step inside of a body and control it for an undetermined amount of time– that’s at least one of the abilities I’m allowed to share with you, alongside that, I also have premonitions. Visions, really but they’re always subject to change depending on our choices.”

You move you head a little to gaze at him in fascination “That’s actually pretty cool, yanno?” He smiles down to where you laid on his chest. He sighs out after a moment

“When I was six years old, I started having vivid dreams about being in someone’s body, experiencing their everyday life. It was different than when I’d have to step into another person's body for training. This wasn’t intentional and I don’t know how or why it truly started. I felt every emotion as if it were my own, that’s how entangled these... dreams would get. “A deep breath.

“Strega, I haven’t been honest with you in the slightest upon our meeting. I have known you for most of my life and have dreamt of the horrors and loneliness of your own for as long as I can clearly remember my childhood.  And I have loved you for as long as I can remember during my time of living inside of you whenever I’d drift off into a realm of sleep.”

 You rise to hold your weight on your hands, hovering above his languid form as the blanket slips off and exposes your nude form.  “Is that how you knew all of those things? Like the tree nuts and my scars.” He smiles at you with restrained adoration 

“It’s important to note that time isn’t linear just as Dorian said. Because of the nature of my abilities, I have a heightened sensitivity to... timelines, but I can’t get into that in detail. Anyways, I was with you when you got your first scar and when you had a bad allergic reaction after you ate a cake a High Priest gave you without thinking on your 12th birthday. When I met you for the first time when we were sent to find you, I didn’t know what to do or how to react. I’ve had many visions of our entwined futures but none of them ever showed me how we’d met or what would happen when we did, and so when the demon came and you tried protecting us– I reacted on the instinct of not wanting to see you fight for me rather than not knowing your abilities.” He explains, looking as if he’s shocked, he’s even telling you all of this before he abruptly stops. 

“ –but my dearest, I can’t tell you any more than this. The same way I wasn’t allowed to seek you out for myself before we met on our own time, I can’t spoil too much this time either.” 

You maintain a composed expression despite the jarring realization that someone had been with you during the loneliest memories of your life, other than Raziel– but Raziel was on a different realm of existence. You try to fight the sleep tugging at your eyes, and you’re astounded that you even had the capacity to sleep during a time of such shocking revelation.  

You trace the lines on Hongjoong’s abdomen mindlessly under the blanket, memorizing the ways in which his body rises and falls, tenses and releases under the light touch of your finger. His hand tangles themselves into your hair, as he hushes you and urges you to sleep. 

The two of you drift off, leaving the worries of your naked bodies being found for the morning.

attention: this series will be going on a mini-hiatus as i focus on completing other works. it shouldn’t be on hold for more than a month and a half! it could also be significantly less than that, but it’s all depending on my workload lol

I hope this made sense lol but details will be provided over time. I was originally going to stretch this out way longer but then saw the timeline of the story itself and thought it wouldn't be bad to introduce this backstory now. I'll probably edit this later! :)

Back to the spooky stuff next chapter but I thought it'd be a good idea to have a nice chapter without a palpable sense of impending doom every once in a while.