#there’s just something about him (unhinged and also a little possessed)

[sparrows4bats]

Soft Pycho Jon AU

When Jon Kent came back from being trapped in a volcano. He came back changed. Not only was he older and more traumatised, but he fixated on his family and friends like they were the very reason for living.

He had been tempered from that kind little boy they knew to something a little harder, a little more ruthless.

It's not that big of an issue for a long time. While overprotective and a little possessive, Jon is still reasonable. Until the moment he's not.

Jon Kent is not easy to push to the edge.

He has support, people to turn to, and coping mechanisms.

But, he also has a temper. One that is ignited when his loved ones are in danger.

One Day, his best friend is taken, Jon can't find his heartbeat and no matter how hard his family search they can't find him.

All of the bats are frantic and worried. They tear Gotham apart in their search. All of the rogues know a robin is missing, and they know to stay low until he is found.

Jon is unhinged.

The longer Damian is gone, the longer one of Jons anchors to his humanity is missing the more intense he gets. His eyes are permanently red, and no one who looks at him sees anything but the apex predator he is. The longer Damian is gone, the more humanity he loses.

Clark and Kon try to get him to calm down, but it doesn't work. Lois doesn't bother. She just helps her son search.

Batman watches as Jon deteriorates little by little with apprehension.

It's three weeks before Jon hears Damians heartbeat again. It's faint, but Jon can hear it. Jon is there in less than three seconds.

Damian is crawling, covered in blood, and open wounds out of a bunker in the Siberian wilderness. A knife clutch in his clearly broken hand.

Jon arrives just in time to kill the four men that chase him.

The Son of Superman has no regret or remorse as he leaves their bodies in the snow.

Damian watches him through swollen eyes, voice raspy as he asks Jon, "Are you real?"

Jon picks him up carefully and whispers reassurances as Damian collapses in his arms.

Jon brings him to the hospital in Metropolis first. The Batcave doesn't have the supplies or expertise for the amount of damage Jon is seeing littered across Damians' body.

The Batman sighs in relief when Jon calls from the waiting room to tell him Damian is very injured but alive. Bruce asks what happened, and Jon answers.

He is silent after Jon describes the bunker and how he killed Damians captors before he could get any information.

Jon hangs up before he can say more. He doesn't care.

Hours later, when Damian wakes up, he doesn't believe any of his family is real, that he is safe for a long time.

He grips Jons hand like a lifeline as he cries, begging for it to be real. Begging him to stay.

Jon never leaves Damians' side. He refuses.

Both their fathers try to separate them, but Damian starts to cry and dissociate. It terrifies everyone present because Damian doesn't do that. Ever.

Jon almost physically fights his Dad, heat vision barely restrained as Damians sobs fill his ears like bombs.

The only thing that holds him back is Damians hand in his. So he takes a breath and tells all of them.

"He asked me to stay, I don't care about anything else." His tone of voice is so resolute, and his expression so menacing that even Batman fights a flinch.

Needless to say, they don't try again it for a while.

Jon just lies in bed with Damian, cramped as it is so his Robin can sleep without nightmares.

Damian never tells them exactly what happened, just that he was drugged, and when he woke up, he was on something like fear toxin for much too long. Bruce takes samples of his blood and crafts an antidote that helps calm Damian but doesn't undo all of the damage.

Eventually, Damian is moved from the hospital to the Manor. Jon doesn't protest, just follows.

Jon is almost constantly in physical contact with Damian now, keeping him grounded. They sleep in the same bed every night and are glued together for two months straight.

Clark gave up on trying to get his son to come home. He and Lois call both boys daily instead.

When Damian is ready, he braves the outside world again. He starts to resume his routine from before his time in the bunker. Jon follows.

The Super glares at anyone who gets too close. He growls at the man who walks into Damian by accident. Damian doesn't seem to mind at all.

Everyone expects them to go back to normal, and in some ways, they do. Damian goes back to work at the hospital. Jon works while he is on shift. The son of Superman returns to saving lives.

In a lot of ways, Damian going missing changes things forever. Jon holds Damian closer and guards him like the most precious thing in the world. The need to keep all his precious people safe more apparent than ever.

Especially after Jon finds out who ordered Damians capture. The only thing left of them was the blood on Jons suit, which Alfred helped him clean in silence. Jon knows Damians' siblings' suspect, but going by the approving glint in their eyes, they won't bring it up to Bruce.

Not that the World Greatest Dectective could prove much anyway.

It isn't surprising when Jon tells Damian he loves him, nor is it when Damian kisses him while they lay together, trying to fall asleep.

Bruce looks worried when they announce their relationship but is all too aware of the consequences should he try to interfer.

Jon has proven the lengths he will go to.

[spid3r-trans]

why is pspeter kinda……

[iniquitousyearning]

jealousy. | slytherin boy headcanons

author’s note: im completely unhinged, as always. no surprise there. love me some angry snake men🥵 please enjoy.

-your boyfriend sees another guy flirting with you in the hall.

Draco Malfoy.

Sees you from down the hall as he’s walking with his friends.

“You know what, guys, I’ll catch up with you after.”

Would literally ditch his friends to make his way over, collecting himself as saunters up to you and mystery man.

Would instantly grab your ass, no hesitation, grip firm enough to bruise. When you gasp, caught off guard, he’d shift his arm up and around your shoulder, pulling you against him.

“What’re we talking about?” He’d sneer.

His voice would be laced with feign interest, smirking down at you with blaring eyes before shooting daggers at the boy.

He’d simply chuckle at you when you tell him nothing, just school stuff, leaning down to place a possessive kiss on your cheek as he grabbed your hand.

“Wonderful. let’s head to class, yeah?”

He’d pull you away from that dude, shooting him another look meant to kill, a silent warning not to fuck with him.

Finally gets you alone in an empty corridor or bathroom; would waste literally no time at all before pushing you against the wall and grabbing your neck/jaw.

“Who the fuck was that, hm?”, “he was practically eye-fucking you…give me five good reasons why i shouldn’t have him expelled or hexed into bloody Azkaban.”

He’d be furious, but he’d also know that you’d never choose some other guy over him, so he’d soften once he hears the innocence in your tone.

“You’re mine, princess,” he’d loosen his grip, kissing you softly. “Say it.”

Blaise Zabini.

Was listening to music while walking down the hall, instantly rips out his headphones the second he sees you laughing a little too hard with some dude he doesn’t know.

He doesn’t necessarily stop walking, but he’d definitely slow his pace, kind of just watching, not wanting to interfere but also not wanting to look creepy stalking you from a distance.

When the guy doesn’t leave, he’d tired of waiting, saying “fuck it”, before marching over naturally.

This man is so fucking cool calm and collected he’d just saunter right up and join in, making himself at home.

He’d practically take over the conversation because he’s literally just that chill in every situation, seamlessly fitting right in, so fucking charming and loved by everyone.

You’d kind of just end up staring at him, smiling in silent awe, knowing that this was his way of asserting his place, letting the guy know what the fuck was up.

After the dude leaves he’d just causally look at you, smirking that charming smirk, wetting his lips as he hooked an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close, leaning down for a kiss.

“Ain’t no one getting you without getting me too, babygirl.” He’d murmur against your lips. “let that be known, right now, forever, always.”

Lorenzo Berkshire.

Would literally stop everything. The second he’d see you laughing and smiling he’d be completely unable to focus on anything else and would completely zone out of any conversations with his friends.

Would get like super anxious and flustered pretty much immediately.

Wouldn’t want to intrude so he’d just kind of hang back, wait for you against the wall and try not to stare too much.

His adorable little cheeks would flush, and he’d know he seemed utterly ridiculous so he’d try to busy himself with his shoelace or something while he waits.

You’d quickly cut off the conversation and move over to him, instantly being able to tell that he’s overthinking.

He’d smile at you, though you could still see the concern on his features.

“Who was that guy, darling?”

You’d tell him he was just a friend from class, no one special at all, pulling him in for a hug and giving him a quick smoochie on the cheek.

“Don’t worry enz, no one could ever take your place.”

He’d blush, trying to play it off. “Sorry love, I know you’re my girl.”

You’d take his hand, squeezing him hard, never wanting him to doubt that for a second. “Only yours baby, forever.”

Mattheo Riddle.

“Who the fuck-“

Would literally whip his bag at Theo, hastily shoving through the crowded hallway with blazing eyes, tunnel visioned as he tried to figure out where the fuck this dude found the audacity.

You wouldn’t even have to turn around to know he’s there, you’d be able to literally feel the anger radiating off of him.

You’d already know exactly where this was heading, but you’d also know there was no attempting to stop him because it’s pointless. Everyone in the school knows that.

Matty does what Matty wants, and right now, he wants to fuck up this guys face for even thinking about flirting with you.

You’d simply look up at him, noting his tensed jaw and his dark eyes as he glances between you and the dude, before fixing back on you, wetting his lips before he says,

“Is this fucker bothering you?”

Unable to help it, you’d smirk, shaking your head as you calmly attempted to talk him down.

“No Matty, he just asked if he could borrow my study notes-“

He’d heard more than enough.

“Study notes? Yeah, I don’t fucking think so,”

Without giving the guy a chance to react, he’d reach for his collar, shoving his back against the wall, teeth barred and face contorted in a snarl as he’d hiss:

“Bother my fucking girlfriend again and the only study notes you’ll need are the ones on how to drink out of a fucking straw, understand?”

Not interested in the response, he’d shove the guy away, eyes softening instantly as he moved back over to you, thrusting a hand through your hair as he kissed you like it’d been a hundred years, right in the middle of the hall for everyone to see.

And judging by the intensity in his grip, you’d already know, later that night, he’d be extra fucking sure to ask you who the fuck you belong to while he’s fucking you.

When he finally pulled back, he’d smirk at you. “Some bloody nerve on that guy, huh?”

You’d just shake your head and laugh, taking his hand as the two of you headed for class.

Theodore Nott.

He’d spot you from down the hall, his eyes instantly narrowing, gaze darting around as though he was missing something, as though this was some sort of sick joke.

Surely, this dude is mentally unwell, right? There’s no fucking way that he’s-

Doesn’t bother to think about it for even another fucking second, instantly shoving through the crowd to make his way over.

Proceeds to wrap his arm around your waist, other hand finding your jaw and pulling your lips to his before you could even process it.

Would proceed to full-on make out with you in front of the dude, and I mean tongue and all, his grip on your jaw so tight you’d know exactly what he was trying to do.

His hand around your waist might even slip lower, grazing over your ass, and then that’s when you’d attempt to gather yourself and push him back, completely embarrassed.

He’d just shrug, smirking down at you before he’d finally acknowledge the guys’ presence with literally nothing more than a glare meant to kill.

“Move along,” he’d say to the guy while pulling you away, grip tighter than ever. “This one’s fucking taken.”

As soon as he got you alone he’d be damn sure to remind you that you’re his, and only his, making you beg and whine his name before he fucked you like you deserved the pain.

Tom Riddle.

“AVADA KEDA-“

Lowkey kidding but not really.

No one would even dare because that man would make it clear as fucking day what would happen if they tried.

[vaguely-concerned]

the more I play the more I think lucanis basically knows it's illario who betrayed him right from the beginning (he's had a year in the ossuary to think. not that many people knew where he was going. when you ask him 'did Illario know you'd be on that ship' his only answer is the hardest flattest 'yes' you ever heard). so it's not so much about figuring out who the traitor is (because that's ludicrous. we all know. immediately. they didn't really bother to hide it lmao) as about methodically closing off every single avenue of denial lucanis has clung to that whole time with as much or little gentleness as you might prefer until he has no choice but to admit it. because the moment he has to admit it, he'll have to do something -- feel something -- about it. and that's such a catastrophic event in lucanis' inner landscape (he has had TWO people in this whole entire world up until now and will do anything to hold on to them with a heartbreaking child-like desperation, even at and especially through the detriment of his own self) that he'd rather just. not. what if we quite simply. didn't. what if we just stayed here in the emptiness where we can both pretend you didn't hurt me in a way I should never forgive. I have so much practice in that with caterina already it's always worked out great for everyone so far. (press x to fucking doubt but that's trauma logic for you lol)

after everything illario did, so much of the storm of lucanis' emotions around it is 'what the FUCK did you get yourself tangled up in this time and how do I get you out of this mess safely'. what's worse: the fact that your brother murdered you, or that he put himself in horrible danger doing so and thus exposed you to the risk of losing him forever. lucanis' heart certainly has an opinion here and it's fucking unhinged (affectionate)

the themes of dissociation in lucanis' character in general makes me feel nuts. allllll these contradictory messy things he needs to cut off from each other because they can't coexist or be easily reconciled inside him. but all remain stubbornly true separately anyway and will have their due one day. love and resentment. tenderness and fear and rage. terror and longing. love and freedom don't coexist. the burned out golden child anthem is playing in the background. he was always caterina's favourite and he has to keep striving to deserve that dubious honour with every breath he takes and then, presumably, mercifully, some day he will die and be excused and can rest. and until now he's suppressed all the -- natural, healthy, protective! -- negative feelings that threaten the few attachment relationships he actually has, at the cost of ever actually having his needs for connection and safety met and leaving his core self imprisoned and compromised. and spite goes 'what. no. that's dumb fuck that' (*spite voice* I do not understand that and even if I did I would not respect it) and does not allow him to fall back into that, which I think is what saves his life, ultimately. it took being possessed by a demon for lucanis to even contemplate telling anyone he loves 'no' in any way, but hey. whatever gets you there right lol

lucanis is dealing with the freeze response allll the way down baby. and he was even before the ossuary, that just turbo powered it and brought it to a breaking point way before it could happen naturally. but something was going to break eventually no matter what, and I'm just glad that in the end, through the power of friendship and also pure spite, it doesn't have to be him

[maskedbyghost]

Possessive reader has had partners before Simon, yeah? Don't suppose any of them are the same flavor of 'mine mine mine' regarding her? Cuz if so, Simon's gonna need to clean up those loose ends. Can't have them thinking they can try and object at the inevitable wedding like some kind of Hallmark movie!

Omg YES. The reader definitely has an ex or two still a little hung up on her, because let’s be honest, someone that obsessed, that intense, that ride-or-die? She’s not exactly forgettable.

You didn’t even react when the text came in. You barely glanced at your phone, just rolled your eyes, and went right back to folding laundry like it wasn’t worth your energy.

But Simon saw it. You knew he saw it because he stopped what he was doing, leaned over, and picked your phone up off the bed without even asking.

“Who’s that?” he asked, even though he was already reading it.

You shrugged. “Some guy I used to fuck around with before I met you. He’s been blocked since last year, so I guess he found a new number.”

Simon didn’t answer. Just stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the message.

You still with that guy? You deserve someone who actually sees how good you are. You know where to find me.

You didn’t even try to explain. What was there to say? You’d deleted that man like an app you forgot existed. Gone. Done. But Simon wasn’t looking at you—he was still staring at your phone, his jaw tight.

You sat back on your knees, watching him. “Don’t get quiet. You know I don’t give a shit about him.”

“I know,” he muttered, his tone calm. “But he doesn’t.”

That’s when he tapped a few things. Deleted the message, blocked the number again. Same way you would have. Except he held your phone for another minute after that, just looking at it. Not saying a word.

Then he handed it back and stood up like nothing happened. “I’ll take the trash out,” he said, heading toward the kitchen. Which was weird, because there was no trash. Not in the actual bin, anyway.

You tilted your head. “You mean metaphorically or—?”

“Both,” he called back.

And that was that. You didn’t ask, you didn’t need to.

You knew Simon wouldn’t do anything stupid, but you also knew he had a way of handling shit when it pissed him off enough. Not like you—loud, mouthy, dramatic, always saying shit like mine mine mine until he groans and tells you you’re a menace while literally pulling you closer.

But him? He didn’t need to scream. Didn’t need to threaten. All he had to do was decide something—and then it was done.

Still, later that night, you were sprawled across his lap, phone in hand, scrolling for something to watch, when you decided to poke the bear a little.

“Y’know,” you said casually, “if some idiot tried to object at our wedding, I’d probably laugh in his face and then throw my shoe at him.”

Simon didn’t even look up from where he was rubbing slow circles into your hip. “Wouldn’t get the chance.”

You smirked. “Why? ‘Cause you’d handle it?”

“No,” he said, finally glancing up at you. “Because anyone that stupid won’t make it to the wedding.”

You stared at him for a second.

Then you leaned in real close, grinning like the psycho you are. “God, I fucking love you.”

He kissed you hard, like he was trying to remind you he was just as gone for you as you were for him.

“Yeah?” he muttered, breath hot against your lips. “Then quit stressin’ about shit that’s already handled.”

And you did. Because you knew—anyone who still thought they had a shot with you? They didn’t anymore. Simon made sure of that.

Not because he was jealous. But because you were his just as loudly and unshakably as he was yours. And anyone who didn’t get the memo?

They’d be lucky to walk away with a warning.

--------------------------------------------

this was the last request i had sitting in my inbox for these two, so if y’all want more unhinged possessive nonsense, you’re gonna have to ask, i’m always down to write more of them, just need ideas to work with. you know where to find me <333

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[mintyys-blog]

Hello! 💕 Can I request semi-public sex with Mohawk Mark? You make him unhinged like he actually is and I love that. (And I know this is very specific but.. can you include the doggy position? I feel like he’d be very into it, and the reader’s ass in general.)

BENT FOR A KING — mohawk! mark grayson x reader

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: smut, semi public sex, swearing, slight degrading, getting caught.

It starts with his hand around your throat.

Not hard. Not yet. Just enough to make you breathe a little differently, feel the weight of who he is. Mohawk Mark—unhinged, dangerous, and untouchable—rules this world with blood-stained hands and a half-smirk that never quite reaches his eyes. You’re lucky he hasn’t crushed you under his boot like the rest of them.

No, he’s chosen you.

And tonight, on the rooftop of a crumbling building overlooking his broken kingdom, you’re reminded exactly what that means.

“Stay quiet,” he murmurs into your ear, voice low and hot. “Or don’t. Either way, I’ll still fuck you like you’re mine.”

His hand slides down the curve of your back, and the moment it reaches the small of your spine, you know exactly what he wants. You always do. He’s a man of habit, of power, and of instinct. His fingers grip the flesh of your hips, tugging you into position, pulling you closer to him as though you’re the only thing that matters in this world—this world he rules with fire and blood.

You can feel his gaze on you even before he speaks, his eyes burning with an intensity that both excites and terrifies you. It’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the most precious thing, but also the most breakable. It’s not just that he wants you—he needs you. The kind of need that consumes everything in its path.

His obsession isn’t just about your body, though that’s a large part of it. He’s consumed by the way you respond to him—how you give in to him, how you arch for him when he demands it, how every inch of your body fits into his hands like it was made just for him. He sees something in you that no one else does—a rawness, a vulnerability, a surrender that he can’t find in anyone else. The power he exudes comes with a deadly confidence, but with you, it’s different. There’s a tenderness hidden beneath that twisted exterior, a need to control, but also to keep you, to protect what’s his.

You drop to your hands and knees, the gravel biting into your skin as you do, the roughness of it grounding you in the reality of your situation. The city sprawls beneath you, its flickering lights barely reaching your high perch, but there’s a strange sense of thrill that makes your heart race. The risk—the fact that someone might look up and see you like this, used, wrecked by him, the king of this crumbled world, it ignites a fire in your chest.

But what feels even more dangerous is how you don’t care. Not even a little bit.

You’re here with him, in the most vulnerable way possible, but it’s an honor. It’s more than just sex, more than just being his favorite. It’s a privilege that you can’t find anywhere else in the world.

There’s no one else who would ever claim you like this—no one else who could. He owns you, yes, but in a way that’s deeper than possession. You are the only one who gets to see the cracks in his armor, the only one who gets to feel the raw, unhinged version of him—the one who could tear down everything for you, or burn it all to the ground if anyone ever tried to touch what’s his. You’re his, and he makes sure everyone knows it.

And there’s a twisted satisfaction in knowing that the world watches him rule with bloodshed and fire, but only you get to experience the darker parts of him—the parts that are soft and broken, the parts that see you not as a trophy, but as the one person who can hold him together when the rest of the world wants to tear him apart.

Being with him isn’t about just giving your body. It’s about surrendering to him completely, trusting that no one else could ever hold the same power over you, the same hold on your heart. When he calls you his, it means something. It means you’re the one person who can shatter him, who can make him feel something real in this warped world. It’s an honor to have that kind of access—to be his addiction, his salvation, and his destruction all in one.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you toward him, and the thrill of being seen as his breaks through your every thought. You close your eyes for a second, feeling the weight of his presence, the honor of being the one to witness it. You know that, as broken and twisted as he may be, you’re the only one who gets to call him yours.

That’s the honor. And it makes every part of you ache to keep giving more.

Mark pulls your hips back into him, hands rough, greedy. His nails bite into your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he groans, one hand gripping your ass hard, spreading you open so he can stare. “Made for me.”

You whimper when he slides in—slow just to tease, but you know he doesn’t have patience. Not really. Not when he’s like this.

He slams forward, and your breath escapes in a gasp. His thrusts are brutal, rhythmic, like he’s trying to fuck the shape of his cock into your body, so no one else could ever forget who you belong to.

“Say it,” he growls, fucking into you hard enough that your palms scrape against the gravel. “Say who you’re for.”

“You, Mark—only you,” you gasp out, voice broken and sweet.

He growls like an animal. One hand snakes up to tangle in your hair, yanking your head back so he can lean over your trembling body.

“Damn right. The whole world bows for me. And you—” he punctuates the next thrust with a sharp slap to your ass, making you moan helplessly, “—you bend over for me. Perfect little thing. My perfect fucktoy.”

The way he says it—it doesn’t feel demeaning. Not from him. Not from the man who’s torn empires apart with his bare hands, who’s crushed entire rebellions for daring to even look at you the wrong way.

You know what you are to him. Not just a toy. Not just a body to fuck.

You’re the center of his madness. His favorite obsession. His only softness in a world he rules through fear and fire.

And when he calls you his perfect fucktoy in that low, hungry voice, it doesn’t make you feel small. It makes you feel chosen. Desired so completely that it borders on worship—twisted and dark, but real in a way nothing else in his world is.

He shows it with every punishing snap of his hips. With every brutal thrust that steals your breath and leaves you gasping for more. With the way his hands clutch at you like he’s trying to mold your body to fit him—like no other shape exists but the one you make together.

“You’re mine,” he growls again, more animal than man now. His hips slam into you with a desperate rhythm, frantic and raw. “You don’t breathe without me. You don’t come unless I say.”

Your moans are soft, broken things, muffled by the way your cheek presses against the rooftop, but he hears every single one. Lives for them. You can feel how deep it runs—this need to own you, brand you, bury himself so far inside you that even death wouldn’t tear you apart.

His grip on your waist tightens. One hand drifts back to your ass, squeezing it, spreading you wider like he wants to see the way you swallow him whole. He groans—low, filthy, reverent.

“Look at that,” he murmurs darkly. “Even your body knows you’re mine. Takes me so well.”

You can’t speak. Your voice is lost in the pleasure, in the way his cock keeps hitting that spot over and over, making your toes curl, making your thoughts go white. But you feel it—how much he needs this. Needs you.

And underneath all that violence, all that terrifying strength, there’s something else. A desperation. A fear of losing you.

Because in a world he could destroy in a heartbeat, you’re the only thing that matters enough to keep. And he’s going to fuck that truth into you until it’s carved into your bones

You lose track of time—of everything but the sounds of him. The raw rasp of his breath, deep and grating, almost primal as he fucks you with relentless force. Every exhale he takes is a promise of something darker, something more savage that you need him to give. The rhythm of his hips becomes your only anchor in a world spinning faster and faster, leaving you gasping for something, anything, to hold onto.

The sting of his hands on your skin is electric—each touch searing, a claim. His fingers grip your body like he’s afraid someone might take you from him, like this—this very moment—is something he can’t afford to lose. His nails scrape over your flesh, marking you, and the pain only drives you higher, deepens the hunger coiling inside you. It’s as if your body is made for this, for him, for the way he owns every inch of you with just a touch.

And then there’s the heat building deep in your core, growing impossibly hotter with every thrust, every roll of his hips. It’s frantic, it’s all-consuming, a molten fire flooding through your veins, turning your mind to mush. Your body can’t take it much longer, but you don’t want it to stop. Not now. Not when you feel so alive, so completely his.

Your voice starts to waver, climbing higher and higher, until it’s a desperate cry. It’s not just the pleasure anymore—it’s the way he’s tearing apart everything you’ve ever known about yourself. The way he’s filling you up in every sense of the word. Your voice gets breathless, broken, like you’re drowning in him, in his touch, in the heat he’s flooding you with. And Mark? Mark lives for it.

His grin stretches wider, lips pulling back over clenched teeth. His eyes gleam, almost predatory, like he’s watching you break, like he wants to see you shatter completely under him. It thrills him, that power. That control. And every strained, breathless sound you make only pushes him further, encourages him to go harder, faster. He wants to hear your voice crack, wants to taste every shred of desperation in the air between you.

His hands grip you tighter, pulling you deeper into him as if your body was a tool meant for his pleasure. But you know, deep down, it’s not just about that. He wants you—wants to claim every inch of you, and the dangerous part is that you’re more than willing to let him. Your submission isn’t out of fear, but out of respect. Respect for the man who could crush the world beneath his boot, yet chooses to keep you close, tangled in his every whim.

His voice cuts through the air, dark and rough, just as commanding as his actions. “You like this, don’t you? Knowing that no one else could ever have you the way I do. No one else gets to see you like this. Not like me.” His breath hitches as he thrusts into you, his fingers digging into your hips.

You bite your lip, barely able to suppress the moan that threatens to escape. You can feel the rawness in his voice, the possessiveness, and you can’t help but smile, your body betraying you with its eager response. “Yes, Mark,” you breathe out, voice trembling. “Only you. I’m yours, all yours.”

His growl sends a shiver through your spine. “Damn right you are.” His hand comes down sharply on your ass, the sound of it echoing across the empty rooftop. You gasp, but it’s not from pain—it’s from the satisfaction of knowing that each strike is his mark, his claim.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters, the words nearly lost in the raggedness of his breath. “You arch for me like you were made to. Every part of you… made for me.”

His words are like fire, igniting something deep inside of you. You feel his grip tighten as he begins to push deeper, harder, faster—his rhythm wild, untamed. You can hear his breath grow more frantic, like he’s losing himself in you, like he can’t control the force of his desire.

“You’ve got to be mine, don’t you?” he growls, his voice rough, hungry. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

You arch your back more, meeting his thrusts, every inch of you burning with need. “I’m yours, Mark,” you gasp, your words shaking. “I belong to you. Only you. I’ll always be yours.”

He growls, low and pleased. “Good girl.” The praise is a rare gift from him, and it makes you shiver. His hands move to your hair, tugging it back so he can lean down, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine, and no one else gets to have you like I do. Not now, not ever.”

A dark thrill pulses through your veins at the thought. The idea that you’re the only one who gets to feel this—the only one who knows what it’s like to be held by him, controlled by him, taken by him.

His pace doesn’t slow. If anything, it picks up—faster, harder, until the world around you disappears. The only thing that exists is him, the hard press of his body against yours, the raw intensity of his thrusts, the sound of his voice demanding your complete submission.

“Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he grits out, his hand tightening around your throat again, not enough to choke you, but enough to remind you of his dominance. “I’ll make sure you remember. Every time I fuck you, you’ll remember who owns this body.”

You gasp again, your voice shaking with need. “I’ll always remember, Mark. I belong to you. Only you.”

His lips curl into a dark smile against your skin, and for a moment, his pace falters as if he’s savoring the sound of your words. “That’s right,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You’re mine. And you’ll never forget it.”

“That’s it,” he murmurs through a wicked grin, his hand clutching your hip, forcing you back against him as he slams into you with unrelenting force. “Let me hear you scream. Let me hear how badly you want me, how fucked up you are for me.”

You can barely form words anymore. You’re so close—so close to the edge, your body trembling with anticipation, but still, there’s something inside you, something twisted and desperate, that wants to drag this moment out. You want him to keep breaking you, keep pushing you, to keep using you until there’s nothing left but his name on your lips and the raw burn of his hands on your skin.

His laugh comes out in short, jagged bursts, almost cruel in its delight as he watches your body tremble, your breath hitching with each deep, punishing thrust. He can feel it, too—that delicious tension, that impending explosion.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low, almost mocking. “Let go. I’m right here, baby. I’m right fucking here.” And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

The heat inside you bursts wide open. Your body goes rigid, muscles locking as you lose yourself completely in him. The cry that rips from your throat is nothing but a raw, guttural thing—a mix of pleasure and surrender. And Mark, Mark watches you as you fall apart for him, watches as your whole body shakes with the force of it.

And with a final growl, he follows you, burying himself deep, claiming you in every possible way. He finishes with a low, satisfied groan, burying himself deep and holding you there—his hands gripping your hips like he owns every inch of you. And he does.

“Next time,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin, “we’ll do it on the Capitol steps. Let them all see who you belong to.”

And the worst part? You want that too.

You collapse forward, trembling, skin slick with sweat, knees sore from the gravel, but it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Not when he’s still inside you, so deep it feels like he’s fused to your spine. Not when you’re dizzy from the aftershocks, from the way he took you—like he needed it, like he’d fall apart without it.

You feel him exhale behind you, breath ragged, chest heaving against your back as he leans over you. His hands are still on your hips, thumbs rubbing absent, possessive circles into your skin, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“…fuck,” he breathes, more to himself than to you.

There’s something wild in the way he touches you now—softer, almost reverent. His fingers trail along the bruises blooming on your thighs, the prints he left behind, the heat radiating off your skin. He doesn’t apologize. He never would. But there’s a tenderness in the way he shifts, lowering you gently onto your side like you’re something breakable. Something precious.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter now but still rough, still his. His mohawk flutters in the wind as he hovers above you, studying your face like he’s looking for cracks, for signs you might slip through his fingers.

You nod, breathless. “I’m yours, remember?”

That gets a smirk out of him—crooked and dark, but it’s the closest thing to peace you’ve ever seen in him. “Damn right you are.”

He lies beside you on the rooftop, pulling you into his chest like a dragon curling around its treasure. The stars blink above the ruined skyline, and for a second, the world is still. He tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers rough and calloused but shockingly gentle.

“I hate this world,” he mutters. “Filthy. Weak. Useless.”

You hum against his chest. “But you like me.”

He pauses. The kind of pause that means he’s battling something inside—something he never lets anyone else see. Then he answers, low and deadly serious:

“I don’t like you. I need you. You keep me from turning this whole fucking planet to ash.”

His fingers trail down your spine, resting low over your ass—his favorite place, the one he claims over and over like it belongs on an altar. “If I lost you… there wouldn’t be a world left.”

You believe him.

You shift closer, tilting your head up. “You’ll never lose me.”

He kisses you then. Not soft. Not sweet. Just real. Teeth and heat and need. The kind of kiss that says: You’re mine. Forever. Even if I have to tear through every universe to keep you.

And you kiss him back, silently telling him what he already knows. You’d let him.

You’re still on the rooftop, curled in his jacket, legs weak and heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm when you hear it— the crunch of boots on gravel below.

You freeze.

Mark doesn’t even flinch. His eyes snap open from where he was lazily nuzzling your shoulder, his body already tense, ready. On edge. “…Hello?” a voice calls from down below. “Is someone—shit. Hello?”

You move toward the edge of the rooftop, careful but curious, peering over with Mark’s massive jacket barely covering your thighs. Below, a young man—probably a patroller or worker—stands in the alley, looking up. His eyes land on you, wide, startled—

And then his gaze lingers. He gasps. “Oh—uh—I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—!” His face goes red as he stammers and immediately looks away, hands raised in apology. “I thought the place was empty!”

You blink at him, unsure whether to laugh or cover yourself more tightly. “It’s okay. Just… don’t look.”

He nods furiously. “Right, yes, of course, I didn’t—I wasn’t—!”

But that was enough. Behind you, you feel it: the air shifts. The weight of fury. The silence before the storm. And then, in a blur of motion, Mark is gone. CRACK—the impact below echoes up like thunder.

You rush to the edge again just in time to see the man slammed into the alley wall, feet off the ground, Mark’s hand tight around his throat. His naked body gleams in the moonlight, but modesty is the last thing on his mind—his rage is all-consuming.

“You looked,” Mark snarls, voice low and lethal. “You looked at her.”

The man chokes, hands clawing at Mark’s wrist. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“She spoke to you. You spoke to her.” Mark’s grip tightens. “That alone’s worth breaking your spine.”

“Mark!” you shout, grabbing the edge of the rooftop. “Stop!”

He doesn’t. “I should fucking kill you,” Mark growls, eyes glowing like a warning. “You think you get to see her? Get to hear her voice?” You leap down, landing hard and stumbling, Mark’s jacket still clutched around you. “Mark, please. Stop.”

He growls, muscles trembling with restraint as he glares at the man, who’s turning pale under his grip. You move in front of him, pressing a hand to his chest. “He didn’t touch me. He didn’t even try anything. He’s just a dumb kid who looked up at the wrong time.”

His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle ticking. You cup his face, forcing him to look at you instead of his prey. “Please, Mark. For me.” He breathes through his nose. Once. Twice. Then he rolls his eyes with a grunt and drops the man, who crumples to the ground, gasping for air.

“You should be dead,” Mark growls at him. “You even dream about her, and I’ll rip out your tongue and force you to swallow it.”

The man whimpers and crawls backward, disappearing into the shadows without another word. Silence returns. You look up at Mark. “You didn’t kill him.” He tilts his head. “Don’t act like that wasn’t impressive restraint.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am,” he says, dragging you flush against him, voice dark and low. “And you love it.”

His hands settle low on your hips—palming the curve of your ass again, possessive and unrepentant. “Let someone try that again. Next time, I won’t ask for permission.”

You kiss him, rough and quick. “Next time, don’t make a scene while I’m still half-naked.” He grins, wicked and wild. “That’s your fault. Walking around looking like sin in my jacket.”

And before you can argue, he lifts you into his arms like nothing in the world matters but you and takes off into the sky.

[cookies-after-dark]

ok but imagine pv smilk and reader having something going, relationship going steady, freak is on™, people kinda get the hint that this is a committed poly relationship

but! some poor soul makes a pass on the reader (thinking that the relationship is open and they're up for grabs)

you cannot tell me these two mfkers aren't the most possessive ass bitches (pv undercover) when it comes to each other and their partner (i'm hinting at possessive sex bro it would be so good)

pv 🤝 smilk

"that's my boyfriend and my partner and if u look too much im gonna bite."

they live in my mind rent free i need to write an eviction notice- i am so so sorry if this is nonsensical

(additional tags: possessiveness, unhealthy dynamics, beast x ancient

ships: Pure Vanilla Cookie x gender neutral!reader x Shadow Milk Cookie)

Okay so this ask resonated within my soul. I've wanted to write about just how willing Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk are willing to share the one that holds their affections, across many different dynamics (yandere suitors sharing vs. normal poly relationship between three mostly stable individuals, etc.)

But I really, really like the thought of the two of them just closing the relationship after they include you in it. Because I love to see Shadow Milk when he's a snarling, spitting animal and PV needs to be possessive over his belongings friends and family more because I said so and it brings me joy.

I think they both would handle it quite differently, their jealousy. Shadow Milk Cookie is all external force, his hackles raise when he sees another cookie rub their hands over your back when they hug you. Shadow Milk Cookie is insecure desperate and clingy enough to shoot first ask questions later if he feels you're drifting away from him.

You're not, you tell him that when he's curled around you like some type of hissing weasel.

He believes you, but he just wouldn't feel better if he didn't teach that other cookie a little lesson! One should know better than to enroach on his territory.

Shadow Milk Cookie feels nonthreatened only when it's Pure Vanilla Cookie (and his other Beast friends, as he has expressed to the two of you eagerly). He doesn't mind it, loves it even when he finds their scent on you as he wraps himself around you. It's quite comforting.

But a stranger's touch on you feels wrong, like a sin. Shadow Milk Cookie actually gets very antsy until he's at least sniffed out this foolish doughbrain and assure himself that this won't happen twice.

You and Pure Vanilla Cookie have helped a lot on this regard; Shadow Milk's wrath used to mean something serious. Well, relentlessly stalking a cookie and pulling meanspirited "pranks" on them still is quite serious. Baby steps, everyone!

Needless to say, but I'll say it anyway, Pure Vanilla Cookie is not nearly as unhinged and unstable as his Beast partner is. In fact, I think it would take a much bigger push to feel like Pure Vanilla had to step in. He's patient, kind, and understanding.

But Pure Vanilla also feels jealousy, like any other cookie.

Pure Vanilla Cookie doesn't puff out his chest and start strutting around like a peacock when someone flirts with you. Actually, he thinks it's quite flattering that his partner is attractive enough for such a positive response!

(But if I just left it at that and didn't find some way to make Pure Vanilla Cookie's hackles rise then we wouldn't be here right now.)

I think the thing that gets Pure Vanilla's eyes to snap open is when someone persists with you. Fair enough, anyone with a partner would feel the need to smile a bit more tightly and wander over to put a comforting hand on yltheir shoulder while making subtle eye contact with the pursuer, it's totally normal!

Just a little sign, y'know? A quick nuzzle to your cheek will do the trick.

Unbeknownst to you - there's the faintest reflection of alitted pupils in Pure Vanilla's eyes when his gaze flits towards your increasingly unwelcome guest. Shadow Milk Cookie has been a really good influence, huh?

I think PV would process this internally, more than anything else. You notice he kind of anxiously prowls around you a little bit more, but he goes back to acting like his merry self a day or two later.

Although, his insecurities ring like a bell through his souljam, which Shadow Milk Cookie can feel. They're both watching you much more often than you would think.

And isn't that so sweet? So romantic? You have not one, but two ultra powerful cookies with stable emotions watching your every move, making extra sure that you're safe and sound in their arms, and their arms only! You're in good hands, here.

[redr0sewrites]

Adam x Reader General Hcs

HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR HIM HES JUST SO. AUGAHGEHEG. i love him. characterizing him is so fun, but so challenging at the same time.

🥀 Cw: adam being adam, sfw + nsfw hcs, smut, breeding kink

🥀minors dni with the nsfw portion

sfw:

Adam is more prone to casual flings and hookups, hes def not huge on relationships and longterm partners

this means that if your with him, you must be pretty special bc hes a huge ass handful

while he is a pretty big douche, adam is definitely loyal imo

deep down, hes still pretty insecure about both lilith and eve, and im a firm believer that he would never cheat on a partner if he was in a serious relationship

adam comes up with very.... interesting nicknames for you that are 10x more vulgar than the ones he uses for everyone else

hes HUGE on nicknames and petnames in general, at the start of a relationship theyre pretty crude and flirty but over time they start to become sweeter

sugartits, doll, sweet cheeks, bitch boy/babe, babycakes, BAE, lemondrop (idk it just fits), mama/mami, honeytits, honestly anything that comes to mind

adam likes to put "my" in front of most of your petnames, its not so much in a possessive way, moreso in a bragging way, he just loves telling the world that your HIS

he also definitely calls you bro, brah, dude, etc he doesn't care that it "doesnt sound romantic" 💀

adam finds the MOST unhinged things hilarious, hes the type to watch those ten hour long youtube videos of a spinning potato chip and laugh every ten seconds

speaking of, he has one of those loud, booming laughs with a slight wheeze to it

"BAAHAHAHAHAH BAE COME HERE LOOK AT THIS HAHA" and its just a low quality video of a water bottle falling over???

100% a shitty pickup line user

and also a shitty flirter in general

his flirting is just

obnoxious

adam is very proud of you, when the two of you officially got together he probably called half of heaven to announce that you two were dating

"THATS MY PARTNER‼️‼️‼️" type of vibes

adam acts like he isnt big on cuddles bit is secretly the clingiest, most touch starved person alive

PLEASE let him hold you, this man is tall af and loves just swallowing you in an embrace

when he was "courting" you (irritating you constantly and flirting with you obnoxiously until you caught on that he was serious) the biggest tell that his feelings were genuine was the amount of physical contact he initiated

adam was always leaning on you, throwing an arm over your shoulder, resting a hand on your thigh, hooking his arm through yours, overall invading your personal space

he was incredibly happy to FINALLY be able to cuddle with you when you both got together, and HAS to fall asleep touching you in some way every night

adam is almost always wearing his exterminator helmet, but he really likes it when you take it off for him at the end of the day. even he doesn't really understand why, but there's something so intimate to him about the fact that you love his real face more than the persona he puts on

he would rather die than admit it tho

hes not good at words or communication in general, and prefers to express his appreciation through actions

he brings you foods that he knows you like on days where you're especially busy, he gives you song recommendations that he'll think you'll like, he'll buy you a trinket he saw you eyeing at the store, just tiny things like that

adam genuinely does care about you, but as per his usual adam-ness, he would rather go bald than live up to that 💀

nsfw:

you cant tell me this man isnt kinky as shit

hes tried pretty much everything

HE LOVES TO HIT FROM THE BACK, DEF LIKES DOGGY STYLE

i also think he would like the mating press too, getting to watch your face as he wrecks you while also having the opportunity to leave bites all over your thighs, and feel them tremble as he fucks you? sign him up!

his dick is big big

i think hed be a little thicker than average, with a few veins running up the underside, but its his length that's downright heavenly

adam keeps himself pretty well groomed, but has a prominent happy trail and light fuzz at the very base of his cock

listen, this is the first man we're talking about, he KNOWS what hes doing

whether you're male or female, he will go down on you

once he buries himself between your thighs youre done for, adam barely comes up for air as he devours you

hes def sloppy w it too, loves when you cum on his face so he can lick it up

enjoys it when you return the favor as well, i actually think hed really realy like receiving head

would def fuck your face until your drooling

if you hve an oral fixation, you're in luck bc he LOVES watching you suck his dick, his fingers, anything really

adam always makes you lick and suck his fingers before fingering you, and will sometimes trigger your gag reflex by shoving them down your throat to watch you gasp and whine

adam has STAMINA, expect to stay up all night bc this man will stop at nothing to make sure you're both satisfied

i swear this man is built to breed, he has a HUGE breeding kink and goes crazy at the sight of his cum dripping from your hole. even if it's physically impossible for you to get pregnant, adam still babbles about "fucking a prety little babe" into you when he cums

adam likes using plugs to make sure his cum stays inside you, he'll also finger it back inside and loves smearing his cum on your thighs and ass

he also brings his fingers up to your face and has you lick the cum off of them

LOOOVEEEESSS marking you, by the end of the night youre always covered in bruises and scratches and hickeys galore

i love adam guys yes ik hes a douche but hes my douche <3

i wish i characterized him better but whateverrrrrr i dont want to write him as a total asshole but hes def not an angel either (haha im so funny💀)

[roseykat]

TITLE: How each of the members talks to you during sex

SUMMARY: blurbs on how each of the members talk to you/verbally treat you during sex!

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with me, my work, or page whatsoever.

TAGS: smut, mentions of sexual intercourse, cumplay, breeding, humiliation, dirty talk, swearing, use of names such as good girl, baby girl, angel, slut bunny.

MASTERLIST

A/N: haven’t done an OT8 piece in a while. Next work is ‘Play Night��� from my Play series! Really sorry for pedalling out content slower than usual, just been a busy gal as of late and also working on the rest of my promised parts to other works too. Those will be prioritised over the new ideas I have x

BANG CHAN

He is an absolute king at communicating. Chan will verbalise to you how he feels just about every step of the way when he’s hitting it in every position. He’s letting you know how insane your pussy makes him feel, how good his body feels. At the same time, he is also the type of person to say things such as ‘do you like it when I do that?’, ‘what about this way?’, ‘can you feel that?’

Chan also has this thing he likes to do where he cums first, inside you of course, then focuses on making you orgasm next so that when he pulls out, he can see your pussy pulsate and try to squeeze out his seed. He'd plug your sensitive hole with a few of his fingers, stroking your creamy walls. Doing something like that will compel him to say something like 'look at this mess princess, need daddy to fuck it back into you?', 'that's it, don't wanna waste a single drop, right baby?'

MINHO

You’re his personal wet, fuck toy and he’ll see you as nothing else unless you’re making love. If that’s the case, there’s barely any talk except ‘I love you’s’. Which is never a bad thing because the physicality speaks for itself. But if you’re not his love, you’re his whore, his little slut bunny that he rails and lets you know that you are one.

He’ll have a hand on your throat, leaning down into your ear which forces you to hear his every word. Minho also mock-moans you as almost a form of humiliation. Every time you scream out that you’re going to cum, he’ll repeat your words in the same manner just to be a dick. But for some reason, it’s fucking hot.

CHANGBIN

A man of principle as we all know, and as a man of principle, he sticks to what he believes. And what’s that exactly? He believes that you are his. So yes he can be quite possessive and is vocal about it in the bedroom, or, wherever it is that he decides to fuck your brains out.

Changbin is letting you know that your pussy is his, is for him, is for his taking. He’ll tell you that your tits are for him to suck on. He’ll tell you your body is for him to mark, that your ass is for him to grope, slap, and grab. Above all, Changbin will not fail to also tell you how beautiful you are with him. Possessive Binnie is a staple concept.

HYUNJIN

Almost similar to Chan in a way, Hyunjin will let you know how he feels. But similar to his artistic streak, he can actually be really descriptive with what goes on in bed despite his semi-soft personality that would wrongly suggest that he's shy. For example, he will tell you something along the lines of ‘keep squeezing around me baby girl’, ‘need to fuck this pussy forever,' 'need to see you dripping with my cum.’

Lately, you’ve noticed a spike in Hyunjin’s obsession with breeding and that has massively impacted the way that he talks to you. Ever since he heard and read up on the phenomenon of his newly acquired kink, he can’t stop saying things to you like; ‘gonna be a good girl and have my kids, huh? Wanna breed this pretty pussy - fuck my bloodline into you’ - something unhinged like that.

JISUNG

Again, under the switch!Jisung agenda, depending on what way he leans for the night dictates how he talks to you in bed. If he’s subbing, and you’re fucking him? Oh, he is whining. Whining to you like a bitch in heat, telling you to spit in his mouth, how much he loves it when you fuck him, he’d tell you to go harder and faster until he passes out. He’d shamelessly cry out ‘I’m gonna cum - you’re gonna make me fuckin’ cum’ repeatedly and without a care in the world.

When he tops, he has the same level of communication but with the opposite style of talk. Out of all of these guys, Jisung is up there with one of the filthiest mouths. Saying things to you like ‘look at all this cream around your pussy, makes me want to fuck you with my tongue,’ or, ‘I’ll fucking make you cum as many times as I want, I need you spilling on these sheets you hear me?’ He just becomes totally deranged because of you.

FELIX

Words of affirmation are just a top-tier love language of his just as much as physical affection. Felix will speak to you in the most loving manner possible when he’s doing the dirtiest of things to your body. Like fingering your wet, oversensitive pussy and breathing into your ear, how much he loves your dripping hole. How it only gets that wet for him.

Felix would be into a lot of fun activities in the bedroom but at your own sanity really. They're activities that could involve edging for more than an hour. Similarly, overstimulation as well that could last over an hour. In those instances, Felix is showering you with praise. Every orgasm or every time you try and hold off - 'my angel, look at how well you're going. So wet and perfect. Makes me want to just stop now and fuck you. You want that, don't you? Want to cum on my cock instead?"

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin’s form of verbalisation is almost like some type of militarisation, like he’s handing out instructions to you as if it’s the army. In the bedroom, whenever there’s edging, overstimulation, rope, handcuffs, toys, contraptions of sorts, chains, you name it, he will be telling you what to do and will say things like ‘hold your arms out so I can tie them,’ ‘open up that mouth nice and wide’, ‘spread those legs for me’, ‘make sure you swallow everything I give you’, and it’s always in a nonchalant, indifferent, and uncaring tone. 

In a way, it’s reiterating that he calls the shots, and sometimes it feels like he's using your body - which is welcomed here and there. Other than that, Seungmin can say some pretty out there stuff too which makes you wonder where it all comes from. Such as ‘need to keep fucking this pretty pussy of yours otherwise I’ll go crazy’, ‘not stopping until you squirt all over my cock’, ‘that’s it, fuck yourself on my dick until you cum.’

JEONGIN

Jeongin is a different breed of cattle when it comes to the way he speaks to you in the bedroom. He’s the type of person to praise you first, then belittle you in the next second or the opposite way around. He is the first person to call you a 'whore' or a 'cock-driven slut' whenever you beg him to fuck you. Then once he does, he will call you his 'good girl', his 'sweet girl' for taking his cock so well <3

Jeongin can, for the most part, be a receiver - in the sense that he makes you do all the work just to punish you and not necessarily because you or he wants you to take control. That does happen every now and then, but whenever he’s receiving head or you’re riding him, he’s still the boss. He’ll still tell you to ‘ride my cock faster’, egging you on by saying ‘I know you can do better than that’, ‘what? You want to cum? I think you can wait.’ He’d just be a menace tbh.

I strictly forbid and do not permit anyone or any user to copy, re-upload, translate, remake, or pass off any of my work here on Tumblr to any other social media platform whatsoever. Doing so will result in having your account suspended, deleted, taken down, and or permanently banned.

[bedlam-barbie]

NSFW Alphabet: Hwang In-Ho (The Frontman)

Because I was not inspired to write for attention and decided to be disgusting about my man

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)Secretly excellent at it—but he’ll pretend he’s not. He’s the type to silently run a bath, leave warm towels, bring you tea without saying a word. You’ll wake up under expensive blankets, your favorite playlist quietly playing. His hands are gentle after the storm.He’ll hold you—wordlessly, tightly—like if he lets go, he might lose you. It’s not sweet, it’s possessive

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)On himself: His eyes. Intense, expressive, full of secrets. He knows they intimidate and seduce. On you: Your mouth. He watches every word, every whimper, every bite of your lip like it’s scripture. Also? Your thighs. He could worship them for hours.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)Controlled. Always. He holds back until he chooses. Finishes inside like it’s a claim, but only after eye contact that says “mine.” When he's angry or desperate, he might finish on your stomach, jaw clenched, breathing heavy like he regrets everything and nothing.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)He has a voicemail from you saved on his private burner phone.

You don’t even remember leaving it—drunk, laughing, calling late one night after a night out. You were rambling, teasing him, voice slurred and soft as you said: “I know you won’t pick up. You never do. But... I wish you would. I miss you. Even when I hate you.” You ended the message with a sigh and whispered “Goodnight, Hwang.”

He’s never responded. Never brought it up. But he listens to it when he’s alone, in the dark, sitting on his penthouse balcony with a glass of Yamazaki in hand. The sound of your voice—unfiltered, tired, and vulnerable—is the closest thing to love he allows himself to feel.And sometimes, after hearing it?

He fucks his own hand with your name on his lips and a silent apology burning in his chest.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)Extensive. Precise. Clinical. He’s not messy. He’s not experimental. He knows what works and how to break you open with a single thrust. Sex with him is strategy—pinned wrists, controlled breathing, building you up just to break you down. But when the emotions leak through? It’s unhinged. Animalistic. Unrepeatable.

F = Favorite Position Bent over his desk. Skirt up, panties pulled to the side. One hand around your neck, the other around your mouth. He fucks you like a decision—deliberate, final.

Alternatively: flat on your stomach, his full weight on top of you, whispering into your ear, “Take it. You wanted this.”Every stroke is meant to remind you who you belong to.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)Absolutely not. His humor is dry, scathing, and rare. Sex is sacred. If you try to make a joke mid-act, he’ll grip your jaw, force eye contact, and say something like:

“Open your mouth again, and I’ll make sure you can’t speak at all.”

...And then, he’ll do it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)Neatly groomed, though not obsessively so. He’s classic, subtle, and never sloppy. He doesn’t expect anything specific from you, but if you do wax or shave, he’ll notice and murmur something quiet and filthy against your skin.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)He is terrified of intimacy—but craves it more than air. If you touch him softly, cup his cheek? He’ll break a little. The most intense moments aren’t during sex—it’s afterward, when he lets you see how hollow he feels. Every kiss, a vow. When he holds your face and looks into your eyes while he's inside you, you’ll know: he wants to say “I love you.” He just can’t.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)Rare. If he needs release, he’ll find you. But when he does take matters into his own hands? It’s dark. Angry. Filled with shame. He bites his lip to stay silent, closes his eyes, and imagines your tears, your begging, the way you whisper please, sir when you're right on the edge. He always finishes fast—and hates himself for it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Control/ Edging: He tells you when to come. If you disobey, he punishes.

Breath play: He loves your gasps. The fluttering panic. The trust.

Praise: “Good girl.” Said low, like a gift.

Obedience training: He'll teach you to kneel, wait, earn every inch.

Possession: He wants you marked. Bruised. Filled. His.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)His office. His car. A private lounge above a gala full of VIPs. Somewhere dangerous, but with a locked door. He likes the thrill of control amidst chaos. Sex on the rooftop overlooking Seoul? One of his best memories.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)Emotion. Conflict. The moment you call him out, touch his wounds, or stand your ground—that’s when he snaps. Love and rage are entwined for him. When you show him you're not afraid, he needs to consume you.

N = No  (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)He won’t do sharing. He won’t let you top. And he won’t fake softness. He’ll never say “I love you” during sex—because when he does say it, it’ll destroy him. And you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)Devastatingly good at giving. Tongue slow, deliberate, reverent. He takes his time, looking up at you with heat and apology in his eyes. Receiving? Loves receiving—especially when you're on your knees, hands bound, mascara running. .

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)Controlled. Ruthless. He wants you to struggle to breathe. To cry. To plead. But he’s not reckless. He watches your reactions like a hawk. And when you’re right there? He’ll stop. Whisper in your ear: “You’ll come when I say.”

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)Only if he’s angry or desperate. If he’s pulling you into a dark hallway, lifting your dress, and fucking you with one hand over your mouth? You’ve really pissed him off—or someone else touched you. Either way? He finishes fast. Deep. And leaves you shaking.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)Calculated. Always. He won’t get caught. But he likes the illusion of danger. He’ll fuck you in the boardroom at midnight. In his car outside your apartment. Just to prove you’re his.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)Unmatched. One round? He’s just warming up. Three is typical. Four if he’s punishing you—or himself. He doesn’t stop until your legs won’t hold you. And even then, he’ll make you beg for more. “Use your mouth then, sweetheart.”

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Under lock and key. Velvet-lined drawer. Restraints, gags, blindfolds. Leather cuffs with your initials burned into them. He’ll never use a vibrator unless it’s to tease you to tears. He prefers his hands. His control.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)Master of denial. He’ll edge you for an hour, then pull out and say, “You haven’t earned it.” He wants you desperate. Crying. So broken that when you finally come, it's an exorcism. And he watches the whole thing unfold with a dark smile.

V = Volume  (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)Low. Hoarse. He doesn’t moan. He growls. He gives you commands in a quiet, dangerous voice. The only time he loses it? When you whisper, “Please, sir. I’m yours.” Then, you’ll hear a sound so raw it’ll haunt your dreams.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)He once fucked you in full uniform—black mask on, gloves on, over his desk while footage of the Games played in the background. He never took it off. He needed to disappear in that moment. And he needed you to know: even when he’s a monster, he still chooses you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)Lean. Muscled. All sharp lines and quiet power. His back is littered with old scars. His thighs are strong, his hands are huge. And yes—he’s big. Thick, veiny, and perfectly curved. When you first saw it, you paused. He laughed. Quiet. Dangerous. “Don’t worry. You’ll take it.” And you did.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)High. Painfully high. But buried under work, duty, guilt. He wants you all the time, thinks of you at meetings, dreams of you in silence—but he’ll never act unless he has to. When he does? It’s a damn storm.Z = Zzz  (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)He doesn't sleep. Not really. After sex, he watches you. Traces your skin like it’ll vanish. He memorizes your breathing, listens to your heartbeat. If he does fall asleep with you? It’s the only time he dreams peacefully.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

—————————————————————————

Masterlist

Chapter 7: Too Loud

—————————————————————————

A week later, the video drops.

Chris titles it with his usual flair:
“WE MADE A BINGO LIST AND IT GOT OUT OF HAND | ft. chaos, shots & George nearly drowning”

Within twenty minutes it’s trending. Comments flood in—some unhinged, some suspiciously poetic. Y/N watches from her sofa, half-buried under a blanket, nursing a coffee and trying not to spiral.

The edit is kind, actually. A little crazy, yes. Unflattering in places—also yes. But somehow, Chris has made her seem funny. Game. Brave, even, as she climbs into that godforsaken fountain. Her anxiety sits like a weight in her stomach, but the group chat is already lighting up.

CHAOS GOBLINS
Chris:
it’s out. i regret nothing.

Bach:
someone’s already made a gif of you doing tambourine karaoke with Weed Steve

ArthurTV:
Y/N’s going viral for “iconic shoe swap” energy

George:
ngl you were the MVP

Arthur Hill:
the ferret’s got its own fan account. i’m not even mad.

Y/N:
glad to know Pickle’s the breakout star here

Chris:
you’re all stars. but Pickle is in talks for a Netflix docuseries

The messages keep coming, a steady stream of dumb jokes and unhinged reactions. It makes something loosen in her chest. She’s still nervous—of course she is—but it’s easier to laugh this time.

Later that week, they all pile into Chris’s for a group filming session.

She shows up with snacks and a confused look as she’s instructed to sit beside Arthur. “Okay, which one, there’s too many Arthur’s in here.”

“That’s it,” ArthurTV groans. “I’m changing my name.”

“You could give him a nickname,” George points out.

Y/N snaps her fingers. “Got it! ATV. Like a small, chaotic vehicle.”

ATV gives her a wounded look. “Is that not just you in human form?” she smiles.

“And you,” she turns to Arthur Hill, “can be Hilly. Because otherwise my brain explodes.”

Hilly shrugs. “I’ll take it. Makes me sound like a tragic romcom side character.”

“Perfect,” she grins. “Very on brand for this group.”

Chris is already setting up the cameras. “Alright, we’re filming a Cringe Compilation Reacts, but everyone’s taking a shot every time someone says the word ‘vibe.’”

Bach eyes the bottle. “I’d like to survive the evening, thanks.”

“Too late,” ATV says, handing out shot glasses.

They film for hours. It’s easy—banter flying, laughter echoing, George nearly choking on a gummy worm mid-reaction. Hilly keeps making offhand self-deprecating jokes that leave everyone wheezing. ATV zones out at one point, staring at a coaster like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Afterwards, they crash at the boy’s flat in that post-filming slump—half of them on bean bags, half on the floor. Pizza boxes litter the coffee table. Someone’s playing music softly from a phone.

Y/N’s head rests on the back of the sofa, her cheek warm from laughing too hard.

Bach nudges her foot. “You good?” She nods. “Just… this is nice.” “Group chaos goblins. You’re one of us now.” ATV chimes in, still staring at the ceiling. “That sounds like a cult.” George, from across the room: “To be fair, you do have the stare of a man possessed.” ATV flips him off without moving.

Hilly groans, “remind me to write a ballad about this moment. It’ll be titled ‘Ode to Soggy Trainers and the Girl Who Mocked Me On Sight.’” “You mocked yourself first,” Y/N points out. “Exactly,” Hilly grins. “I’m just building the lore.”

The next few days blur in a good way.

They meet at George’s to stream a chaotic game of Gartic Phone that derails almost immediately.

They film a football challenge in the park, where ATV takes a ball to the face and Hilly somehow ends up barefoot.

Chris ropes her into a video titled “Who Knows Me Best,” which devolves into Bach and George arguing over what year Chris supposedly got his nose pierced (infected, didn’t last long).

Y/N’s camera roll is now full of blurry selfies, a questionable amount of ferret memes, and one photo of George mid-sneeze that she’s saving for blackmail.

Her anxiety hasn’t disappeared. But it’s dulled, made manageable by this messy, wonderful group of goblins who’ve somehow adopted her as one of their own.

Still, there’s a shift she can’t quite ignore.

It creeps in late at night, in the quiet moments between content and chaos—when she’s editing a stream highlight and catches herself smiling a little too long at a clip of George laughing.

Or when she’s walking home from Chris’s and replays something dumb George said—some dry one-liner, some passing look—and feels it echo sharper than it should.

Or when her phone buzzes at 1:23AM with a new message from him:


georgeclarkey:
you on?
i need someone to mock my aim in cod or i won’t improve as a person

She tells herself it’s nothing. That he’s like this with everyone.


That she’s imagining it.


That she’s just tired. Or bored. Or projecting.

But the truth is, there’s a version of her—somewhere just beneath the surface—that lights up when it’s him.

And that version is getting harder to ignore.

——-

The hate started slow. Almost imperceptible beneath the flood of chaotic memes and inside jokes after Chris’s video dropped.

At first, it was just a few offhand comments in the replies—tiny stings buried in otherwise harmless noise.

“Who invited the try-hard?”

“Another girl tagging along for clout, yawn.”

“George looked annoyed with her the whole time lol.”

She tried not to care. Really, she did. Everyone got some heat on the internet. Especially women. Especially women who dared to exist in male-dominated spaces.

But over the days that followed, the anxiety sat with her like a bruise just beneath the skin—tender, persistent, waiting for the next hit.

And tonight, it landed.

The stream had started light. George had invited her to join a game of Call of Duty, and she’d said yes instinctively.

It had felt good at first. Familiar.

But fifteen minutes in, the chat shifted.

@ogclarkeyfan:
was she even invited or did she just show up again?

@whyisthisgirlhere:
she made that video so cringe. literally ruined the fountain bit.

@fancam4rory:
can’t believe george is wasting content with her

@clarkeybabey:
she’s not even funny?? why is she always trying so hard

Each line landed harder than the last. Even as her fingers moved on autopilot, her brain fuzzed with static. Her throat tightened.

She tried to focus on the game, on George’s voice in her ears—teasing, grounded—but it didn’t cut through the rising spiral.

Then someone posted a clip.

A screen recording of her slipping in the fountain, zoomed in and slowed down, captioned: “when you force yourself into the group and still flop.”

It had over 3,000 likes already.

Y/N's stomach flipped.

“Y/N?” George’s voice cracked through the headset. “You good?”

She didn’t respond.

Her screen blurred. Her chest pulled tight, breathing shallow. Her cursor jerked as she missed a shot. Then another.

“Y/N?” George again. Softer now. Concerned.

She mumbled something, barely audible. Her mic was already muted. She didn’t remember doing that.

With shaking fingers, she ended the stream. Closed the tabs. Ripped her headset off. The silence was deafening.

She curled into the chair, fists clenched, eyes burning. It wasn’t just the trolls. It was the weight of everything. The effort of trying so hard to fit in, to keep up, to belong—to not be the weak link in a group of people who already seemed to love each other in this seamless, shorthand way.

She’d thought she was getting there.

Now it felt like maybe she was the punchline.

-

Ten minutes later, a knock on the door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

She moved on instinct, flinging it open—and George was there. Hoodie on, hair slightly flattened from a beanie he must’ve discarded en route, phone still clutched in one hand.

His brows pinched the second he saw her face.

“Hey,” he said. “Saw your stream cut. Tried calling. Just… came to check.”

Her eyes brimmed before she could stop them.

“I’m fine,” she lied, voice cracking on the second word.

“Sure you are,” he murmured, stepping in. “Totally fine people usually answer calls while hyperventilating.”

She let out a broken laugh and wiped her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

She hesitated. “I just—” The words caught. “It got in my head. The trolls. The video. The comments. I know they’re just idiots but it felt—like they were all thinking what I’m scared everyone secretly thinks.”

George didn’t say anything at first.

He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

No theatrics. No platitudes. Just warmth. Steady and grounding.

Her face pressed into his hoodie. His arms held firm, not too tight. She could smell his deodorant and the faint trace of rain on his sleeves. She didn’t realise how fast she was breathing until it started to slow.

“They’re wrong,” he said quietly. “They don’t know you.”

She didn’t answer. Just listened to his voice. The same one that had made her laugh on stream, the one that had made her feel safe that night in the pub.

“They’re loud,” he went on, “but they don’t matter. You do. You’re not just ‘someone we stream with’ or a side character. You’re one of us.”

Her chest ached, but in a different way now.

She tilted her head back slightly. “Even if I call you a hobbit again?”

George huffed a laugh, resting his chin lightly against her hair. “Especially then.”

She closed her eyes.

And maybe, just maybe, she let herself believe him.

————-

@madforgeorge

@wherethezoes-at

@sundarksposts

@clarkey4life

—————-

This was a long one!! But we’re getting somewhere 🤭

[ravenclaw-jojo]

Fandom: LaDS Pairings: Xavier x afab!reader Tags: Breeding kink, light bondage (pun not intended 😏), creampie (wrap it before you tap it cough), jealousy-possessive love, dirty talk, Xavier jealous of everyone (what’s new?), praising degradation kink (you heard me), slight dom-sub relationship. MDNI. WC: 1.7k Description: Caleb’s return and the new neighbor at your apartment building puts Xavier on edge. A/N: Inspired by a prompt I read on Pinterest (and may have different versions for different characters). For @laddelulu30 and her ask, I present to you, Xavier’s version. ;)

A/N^2: Life decided to be life so I’m here posting instead of processing feelings and following the downward spiral where everything hurts. We patch it up with reruns of Gilmore Girls and fictional world! Anyway, enough rambles…I do hope you enjoy! Forewarning this might’ve gotten a little unhinged towards the end, and proofreading might’ve gone out the window   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

As if it wasn’t bad enough that when you both returned to your apartment later that evening, there was a basket covered with a red tartan-patterned cloth and a note in a thick, cream envelope waiting for you at your doorstep – but now you were smiling at your phone with that softened expression that accompanied someone’s reappearance in your life. 

“Another text message from Caleb?” He tried to sound nonchalant, oceanic blue eyes barely glancing in your direction as he closed the self-locking door behind him. “He seems to have a lot to share with you. Funny considering he hadn’t been able to text you sooner.” The snideness in his typically soft-spoken voice was hard to ignore. 

You placed your phone on the charging tablet, “Did you take a peek in that basket yet?” You attempted to steer the conversation to another topic, realizing only too late that you’d just jump from the frying pan and into the fire. 

“Hmph. Just more gifts for you.” He pulled back the cloth to reveal freshly baked bread from the new neighbor, Charlie. He’d also opened the bakery that wasn’t far of a walk from the apartments. “It’s bread. It’s not just a gift for me, it’s something to eat. To share. There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat all of that on my own.” You protested. Still, Xavier stared at the basket of baked goods as if it had personally offended every one of his ancestors. He folded his arms, “I don’t want to eat any of that. It’s not even that good.” Xavier added in an off-handed manner with suggestive pettiness. 

Attempting to keep the smile from your face, you gently patted his elbow. “How about we make some of our own then? I’ve got bananas sitting around that should be juuuust ripe to make a great banana bread.” You pattered towards the cupboards of your kitchen, searching for the ingredients you’d need. Xavier followed you, his silence clearly telling of his lingering annoyance. 

“Here.” You pass him a clean glass bowl with the overripe bananas in it. “You can start mashing while I measure out the other ingredients. Oh and can you preheat the oven?” You asked, forcing him to start working. Xavier hummed in acceptance, keying in the temperature into the oven’s interface. Through the crack of the sliding door, the wind carried in the scent of Spring through your apartment along the gentle bird calls as they foraged and hunted. The speakers hooked up throughout your apartment poured gentle piano ballads and symphonies in the background. While you flitted around the small space, Xavier pretended to keep his focus on the bananas, but this was barely a challenge, he’d taken out 30 Wanderers at a time before, peeling and cutting bananas was hardly…

He was well aware of when you bent forwards to measure flour on the kitchen scale, even more aware of the way your shirt rode upwards, appreciating the expanse of skin that peeked beneath the hem. His small smile morphed into a scowl when your phone pinged again. 

With narrowed eyes, he watched you slide various dry ingredients towards him, fingertips dusty with flour. “Another text from Caleb?” He worked extra hard to keep his voice nonchalant. 

You went to wipe your hands on a dishcloth, opening the refrigerator to retrieve the jug of milk, “I would assume so? He was just asking about-...”

“It’s starting to get tiresome, Little Light.” You’ve marveled before at his capabilities to sneak up on his targets such silence and swiftness. Today, your amazement reached new levels, especially when his voice was close to your ear. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of the heat radiating from his body. You turned around to face him though you instantaneously found yourself pushed up against the chrome refrigerator’s door.

“I want you. I need you.” He mumbled, his nose following the delicate column of your neck. 

“Xav…” You giggled, placing your hands against his chest trying to push him back. His large hands covered yours as he closed the distance between you both, leaving just a mere centimeter or two away from brushing each other’s lips. “You’re this ball of sunshine, people can’t help but get drawn to you, can they?” He’s taking deep breaths now, creating another core memory for himself with the way your perfume lingered on his senses when his lips traced a path to the collar of your shirt. 

“It wouldn’t be so annoying if they would leave it at the front door. But then they’re sending you texts…” Your breath catches in your throat, a soft ‘eep’ when he picks you up to place you on the kitchen counter beside the dry ingredients you had so carefully measured out. 

On instinct, your arms wrap around his neck, him nudging your knees apart with his leg. “You can’t really be upset-...”

“You’re mine, Little Light.” Xavier’s voice is soft but carried an edge that was sharp enough to slice a diamond. “-And I’m tired of staying silent.” 

He didn’t give you time to think, not when his hands are slipping your shirt over your head, eyes darkening to the vivid obsidian of a blackhole as he took in the sight of your cute cotton bra in that warm buttery yellow that accentuates your skin tone. It was as if he was controlled by some other being – no – an urge. He stuck his fingers in the softened butter lined up beside the glass bowl earlier, then dipped those same fingers in the dry flour. Your quizzical expression is answered when he starts to draw on your skin, leaving white streaks in their trail. 

A few seconds later you realize that he was writing on you. With flour. And butter. 

‘Xavier’s girl’, ‘Xavier’s light’, ‘Xavier’s love’

His freehand unbuttoned your pants, roughly pulling them down, impatience leaving it dangling around your ankle – not an abnormal occurrence. What was different was the sheer determination rolling off his body in waves, desperate like someone was holding a timer over your heads and you would disappear before he was done with his ‘project’. Your fingers tangle in his feather soft hair, curling and pulling hard so you could steady yourself against the ticklish feel of his fingers tracing words on your body. His messy scrawls were now over your stomach, your thighs…

The matching panty set was going to be the death of him, your name escaping his lips in a growl that made you melt under his touch. There’s a raw intensity to the way his breath caressed the syllables of your name, his hand now ripping at your underclothes, the words on your skin progressing in degrees of filth as he gave into his depravity. 

‘Xavier’s good brat, ‘Xavier’s cum slut’, ‘Xavier’s breedable bunny’

The ‘y’ curled under your navel towards your aching need.

“Damn it.” He muttered, his eyes dilating with an almost apologetic air before he breathed the next command, “I’m making you mine tonight, Little Light-”

“I’m already–” You started to argue but he caught you mid-sentence, effectively swallowing the rest of your sentence in a deep, searing kiss. 

“I know, I know.” Xavier’s breathing is ragged, forehead pressed lightly against yours. “-What I mean is,” He wanted to remember everything about this moment – the scent of raw flour lingering in the air, his fingers greasy with butter, your perfume interlaced with the faintest scent of gods damn bananas… “-what I mean is I want to breed you…want to make you a mommy,” His lips latched around your hardened nipple, swirling his tongue in the most sinful manner as his hand that’d been steadying your lower back on the kitchen counter, slid to your slick folds searching for that eager, needy bundle of nerves he was familiar with. 

“Put a baby in you so everyone knows you’re mine…” He continued to mumble, his palm now smearing the buttery-mixture over your abdomen. “--no arguments, no texts…” Nonsensical babbling while he spelled his name over and over again using your slick. “No other bread but mine…” “Bun.”

His eyes snapped to yours, his breathing ragged. “What?” 

“I…I think you mean ‘bun’...like ‘bun in the oven’...” Xavier’s smirk deepened with a feral touch. “Then let me show you how I’m the greatest baker you know.” 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Hot water rained over the two of you from the ceiling-shower head, despite that, the running rivulets barely rivalled the heat in your core. Xavier had an arm hooked under your knee, supporting you with a hand on your waist. Your palms were pressed against the steamy glass wall, unable to do anything when the angelic man currently rutting into you had them in cuffs fashioned from his light evol.

“Xav, I can’t…” 

“You can. You’re Miss Perfect Hunter, I’m your partner. Don’t you think I’d know the limit to your stamina?” His hand slides around your throat from behind, his fingers tilting your chin so he could look into your lust-blown eyes. “You’ve got plenty to give. Let me hear you.” 

The velvet-mushroom tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix was enough to make your mouth drop into that perfect ‘o’, a whine from the back of your throat as water flowed over your clit, stimulating you in another manner that had you trembling in his grip. 

“Xavier…”

“Fuck.” It was that tone. That cadence in which you called his name pushed him over the edge. 

He bit your shoulder when his release took him – and you – for another drawn out orgasm, causing the light-evol cuffs around your wrists to flicker for a moment or two, Xavier’s vision was overcome with white. Your silken walls tighten around him and yet he refuses to pull out, not even when he could feel his seed overflowing from you, the soft moans you made enough to make his cock continue to jerk and spasm in you. 

“I know, I know…It’s a lot. But you’re taking this so well, Little Light.” He murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear, fingers combing through your wet locks gently. “And we’re still not done yet.” He smirked. His grip tightened before another blinding flash of light and you both are now dripping water onto your bed sheets instead.  

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

ravenclaw-jojo™️2025 writing | No copying, plagiarizing or translations without expressed permission.

[gaywarcriminals]

YQY getting hit with truth serum so he has to confess The Secret to SJ is definitely a thing, because jesus fucking christ ANYTHING to make that man talk, but I think the potential for an even larger audience is fantastic.

A scenario like SQQ's trial. Things are dug up. Other things are implied or even fabricated. YQY is on trial. He's presented with some kind of truth serum. He refuses to take it until it's clarified that it won't compel him to speak, just prevent him from lying. He takes it.

They were lying. It absolutely does compel him to answer any questions asked of him. And the results are completely unhinged.

The Xuan Su thing doesn't even come up. It doesn't need to. In an attempt to paint him as scheming and ambitious, he's asked why he became sect leader.

"So I can give Xiao Jiu whatever he wants."

The assembled crowd: ?????

Is this Xiao Jiu a....mistreess? A son? What the hell. Questioning continues, and Yue Qingyuan's insanity is put on full display.

"What if 'Xiao Jiu' wanted to be the sect leader?"

"I would make him the sect leader."

"Surely the other peak lords of Cang Qiong would object. What would you do, then?"

"Whatever I had to."

Whatever they were originally asking about gets seriously derailed as they realize that this guy, arguably the most powerful cultivator in the world, is singularly obsessed with a person he calls 'Xiao Jiu.' Why did he seek power? Xiao Jiu. What is his ultimate goal? Xiao Jiu.

It's also starting to seem like maybe Xiao Jiu isn't exactly a willing participant.

"What does Xiao Jiu ask you for?"

"To leave him alone."

Okay. So his attentions are unwanted. Yikes.

Further questioning reveals that this mysterious person seems to hate Yue Qingyuan, but is regularly subject to his attentions anyway.

The one question he won't answer is 'who is Xiao Jiu.' He's bleeding from the mouth and eyes, but he just shakes his head or says, "He told me not to call him that."

In the audience, no one noticed Shen Qingqiu's total bluescreen, because honestly? All of the peak lords are feeling pretty lost for words right now.

I dunno, I just think it's specifically interesting to a) have a public reveal that this man is a lunatic, and b) have SQQ find out the depths of YQY's devotion without being able to get the answer he wants most.

This would drive SJ absolutely insane. On the one hand he’s happy that YQY isn’t spilling every little detail of their past for these vultures to pick through, on the other hands where the fuck is this coming from??? What sense do these answers make in the mouth of the man who abandoned him? If it was anyone else saying these things he’d be wildly uncomfortable, but this is just confusing (if he were to really sit with his feelings, he might realize that any immediate sense of revolution was swept away by a long-dormant sense of possessiveness). He intends to grab YQY and shake him as soon as YQY stops giving the OPM grounds to charge him with stalking or harassment or something, and YQY will just give him guilty eyes because he things SJ is mad about every he said on the stand 😔. Actually scratch that for qijiu’s benefit the potion should still be in effect, so the moment they’re behind doors SJ can furiously ask why, if YQY doesn’t despise him, he saw fit to abandon him back then and every day since their reunion. YQY can try to hold himself back from speaking to the point of coughing up blood again, which only enrages SJ further, and eventually YQY is forced to speak his explanation through his rough and bloodied throat. SJ is have every single emotion today and has a 50/50 chance of learning what YQY’s blood tastes like (for normal kissing reasons. Normaler than usual).

On a different note, I felt palatable anxiety reading the first part of the ask because I thought you were going to say that YQY confessed about Xuan Su in public, his greatest weakness and a questionable/unnatural feat of cultivation that he could well be criticized for. I legit think that if that happened SJ would consider killing everyone else in the room to stop the secret from getting out— he doesn’t have time to process all the complicated emotions from what YQY just told him, he only knows that’s it’s intolerable for YQY to be this vulnerable in front of people SJ distrusts or despises.

[cheezb6llz]

if you can yandere werehog sonic x reader headcanons also i love your writing sm!!

YANDERE WEREHOG SONIC HEADCANONS!!

In his normal form, it’s playful jealousy. like, “who’s that guy you’re talking to?” or “Ha! Didn’t know you liked hangin’ out with losers so much!” He plays it off as banter, nothing too serious.

Until night falls.

His werehog forms makes it UNBEARABLE.. when he transforms, it’s like every thought he’s ever had about you is magnified, like his possessiveness is instinctual. Every scent on you.. every word you have ever said to anyone else.. He’s thinking about it, fuming over it even.

Your scent drives him INSANE!! he knows your scent by heart, recognizes it anywhere. He can smell when someone touched you, stood too close, or when you went somewhere without telling him.

If someone brings you up in a conversation he’ll stiffen, his eyes narrowing. They smile when they say your name? “What’s so funny, huh? Got somethin’ to say about them?”

He keeps things that smell like you. A glove you dropped, a piece of cloth.. Once you let him borrow a scarf in his normal form cause it was cold, he never lets that thing go. At night, he curls himself around it, sleeping with it. Growls if someone else even sees it. It’s his now! And if you ever ask for it back? trust you’ll be receiving it covered in werehog fur lol.

this guy is SO TERRITORIAL. He leaves claw marks in places you frequent, trees, walls, benches.. The marks aren’t to warn you, they’re to warn everyone ELSE. just his way of saying “Mine, back off.”

At first he only slightly thinks about kidnapping you. Only in his darkest most unhinged moments that creep in only on full moons when his instincts are the STRONGEST. he hates himself for it, but he cant help but wonder.. What if he takes you somewhere safe? Just for a little while? Just until you understand.

He gets kinda mad when you don’t notice him.. like, not just annoyed. Mad. “What, I’m not good enough to get a second glance outta ya? Fine, ignore me. See what happens.”

He doesn’t mean to scare you.. Well- sometimes he wants to, just to get your attention.

You make him violent, just not towards you. NEVER towards you, but to anybody who gives off the slightest HINT that they’re flirting with you. They’d probably end up with a broken arm or somewhere near a cracked wall. Sonic will just say something like “Oops. Slipped.”

In his normal form, he’ll pretend everything’s fine. Like, who, me? Jealous? Never! But in his werehog form he is just BURNING with need and curling his claws into his palms trying to keep himself from dragging you into his arms.

He paces in the woods and talks to himself about you. “They’d like me if they just gave me a chance.. I could treat them good. Nobody would ever hurt them again.”

He hardly realizes he’s saying it out loud, the moon just makes him honest.

—

WOO okay so i feel like werehog sonic wouldnt immediately kidnap reader, maybe like goes absolutely crazy trying to come up with a confession like. im gonna tell them. Gotta tell them before someone else does. and then when he does confess it just sounds more like pleading and desperation lololol, but when you say no he SNAPS and takes you.. just a thought!

[mintyys-blog]

The mark and the variants with a reader that is similar to all might, always being the one who carries the world on their backs, willing to put others first before themselves and always being reckless and throwing their life on the line (especially if the Mark's find out about all might reader injury and how the have a limited time in their buffy form ;3)

HEADCANONS | variants with a s/o who is like all might

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: injury

Mainstream Mark

• Admires you to a fault. You’re like the embodiment of everything he wants to be as a hero—but it also scares him. He knows what it’s like to keep pushing until you break, and he hates seeing you do it to yourself.

• The day he finds out about your injury and time limit, he snaps. He can’t believe you’d smile and keep running into danger while literally burning yourself out.

• After that, he’s always lingering nearby, timing your fights, ready to intervene the moment you weaken. You jokingly call him your “backup”, but he just holds you tighter every night.

• “You can’t carry everything forever… so let me help. Please.”

Viltrumite Mark

• Thinks you’re insane. Heroic? Selfless? Always fighting to the point of collapse? In Viltrumite culture, you’d be a joke—and yet, watching you… he starts to understand why humans admire you.

• When he finds out about your condition, he’s furious—but not at you. He’s angry at the world for using someone like you up.

• “They don’t deserve you. You’re wasting your power on people who’d let you die without blinking.”

• He starts pushing you toward a selfish kind of love, whispering that the galaxy doesn’t need a martyr. He needs you. Alive. His.

Sinister Mark

• Thinks it’s hot. No, really—he’s weirdly obsessed with how far you’re willing to go for others. You’re the sun in his dark, twisted little world.

• But when he discovers the limit to your powered form? His obsession turns violent. He starts sabotaging your missions just to keep you safe. He’ll kill anyone who tries to push you too hard.

• “If you can’t stop hurting yourself… I’ll stop everyone else.”

• He becomes possessive, always smirking, saying things like, “What good is being a symbol if you’re dead? Stick with me, and you’ll never have to break again.”

Full Mask Mark

• Quietly watches you. He rarely speaks, but he’s always there when you fall. You pretend you’re fine—bloodied, exhausted—but he knows. He knows you’re dying a little more every time.

• One day, you collapse mid-battle before your time limit’s up, and he just snaps a villain’s spine without a word.

• Afterward, he forces you into hiding. No arguments. He’ll sit by your bed like a silent warden, brushing hair from your face, eyes unreadable.

• You once asked if he was angry with you. His only answer?

“You are the only light I see. I won’t let it go out.”

Omni Mark

• Judges you hard at first. He sees your sacrifices as foolish—human fragility dressed up as nobility.

• But when he learns the truth of your condition, something in him cracks. Because now he sees you not as weak, but as limitless in spirit.

• “You’ve already done more than most Viltrumites ever could… Why are you still trying to save them?”

• He tries to convince you to stop. If not for yourself, then for him. He’ll take care of the world. You don’t have to die for it.

Lensless Mark

• Unhinged approval. You’re his favorite kind of chaos—a beautiful, self-destructive mess wrapped in heroism. He flirts with you mid-battle, even as you cough up blood.

• When he finds out about the injury and time limit, he loses it. “So you’re telling me… every time I watch you fly off, it could be the last time?”

• Cue toxic levels of clinginess. He’ll start fights just to keep you close. Keeps joking about “locking you up for your own good”—you think he’s joking.

• “You say you’re carrying the world? Well guess what, sweetheart—I’m carrying you. Deal with it.”

Mohawk Mark

• Loud. Protective. Explosive. You’re the only thing that makes him slow down. He calls you “Hero” in that half-teasing, half-reverent way that masks how terrified he is.

• The moment he finds out about your injury and limited time in your powered form, he loses it. “You’ve been going all-out like that for HOW LONG?!”

• His temper flares like wildfire—at you, at your enemies, at himself for not seeing it sooner.

• He hates how you smile through it. That “I’m fine” mask makes his blood boil. He’d rather you cry, scream—anything but lie to him with your eyes.

• “You’re not the symbol of peace. You’re my person. Let someone else be the hero for once. Just let me take the damn hit.”

Shiesty Mark

• Too slick for his own good. Flirts like breathing, always calling you “muscle babe” or “Captain Heroic” with a smirk.

• You’d think he wouldn’t take your injury seriously—but the moment he learns you’re dying every time you power up?

• Gone is the smugness. His voice gets quiet. Still teasing, but softer, like he’s mourning you while you’re still alive.

• “So that’s the game, huh? You give your life away one second at a time while the world claps for it.”

• He starts pulling strings, making deals, stealing tech—anything to stretch your time limit or heal your injuries.

• “I ain’t gonna lose you, sweetheart. I steal everything I want… and right now, I want you breathing.”

Maskless Mark

• Raw. Honest. Intense. Without the mask, everything he feels is written across his face—and what he feels when he sees you push past your limits is pain.

• He never says it outright, but he starts stepping in early during battles, taking hits you normally would.

• He studies your body language like a science—he knows exactly when your strength dips, when your breaths shorten, when the time limit’s creeping up.

• When you finally explain the truth, he just stares at you—shocked, devastated… and then angry. Not rageful like others, but hurt.

• “You smile like nothing’s wrong. But I’ve been watching you fall apart this whole time, haven’t I?”

• From then on, he’s your shield. No negotiations. He’ll bleed before he ever lets you hit that limit again.

• “Let me be strong for you. You’ve done enough. You’ve done too much.”

[laseracronym]

Jealousy, Jealousy (MHA/Fem!Reader)

Summary: Where you're not jealous. Definitely not. (MHA characters reacting to their girlfriend getting jealous. Part 1?)

Characters: Dabi, Aizawa

Content: Jealousy. Violence and Unhinged!Reader in the Dabi one.

MHA-MHA-MHA

Dabi

You stalked out of the bar, leaving behind the chaos you just caused.

Cold rage coursed through your veins, your pulse pounding in your throat. You could still see that woman's hands all over Dabi, hear the sweet words she was whispering in his ear. That stupid look on her face, the confidence she had that she would be able to take what was yours.

She's lucky all you gave her was a few broken bones.

A hand caught your wrist and you reacted quickly, spinning around drawing on your quirk, ready to strike.

"Take it easy, Angel," Dabi's grinning face, full of twisted amusement, both calmed and paradoxically infuriated you. "It's just me."

You scoffed, the sound a cobra's hiss, and let up on your quirk. You straightened up and pulled away from his grasp in favor of crossing your arms. You'd left him behind when you stormed out, eager to get out before you truly lost control.

He chuckled at your behavior, at the anger still radiating off of you. He was undaunted by it, moving closer, fingers skating along your upper arms. "What was that about, pretty girl? Feeling jealous?"

"I'm not jealous," you spun away from him and began walking again, his skulking footsteps following you. "I just don't tolerate anyone disrespecting me to my face."

"Sure, sure," he obviously didn't buy it.

"Don't piss me off," you snapped, walking faster, "you weren't exactly discouraging the attention, you know."

"And miss out on the show?" you were spun around to face him again and he pushed you up against a wall. His eyes pierced you, his voice a pleasant purr, "not a chance."

You tried to hold onto your anger, but a new kind of heat burned through you at the look on his face, the feeling of his hand running up your side. He nuzzled into your neck, his tongue dragging along your skin and making you shiver.

"Do you know how fucking sexy you looked? Raging like that, all over little old me," he grabbed a handful of your hair, tilting your head back so he could gain better access to your neck. "Vicious girl..."

Your eyelids fluttered and you gripped his shoulders tight as he began to bite and suck at your neck. Possessive lust hazed over your mind and you pulled him closer.

Dabi was yours, and you'd tear apart anyone who dared to try and take him from you.

Aizawa

It was stupid.

You were a grown woman, well beyond the age of petty bouts of jealousy-

And yet.

Sometimes, seeing Shouta's friends, like Miss Joke and Midnight, playfully flirt with him in the way that they did...

It got to you.

And you hated it. Because you knew they were just joking, knew they had no interest in Shouta. And Shouta never entertained their jokes at all, shooting them down in that stern way of his. You had nothing to worry about.

But sometimes, you could still feel the heat rise up under your collar, the tension in your jaw, the urge to tell them to knock it off sitting ready on your tongue. But you didn't. You didn't want to be that girl. You didn't want to make a big deal out of an obvious joke, be the girlfriend that was so insecure she had to bare her teeth at every woman that came near her man.

So you said nothing. But that didn't mean Shouta didn't notice something was bothering you. He knew you so well.

MHA-MHA-MHA

"What's the matter?"

You blinked, glancing over at Shouta as his voice brought you out of your thoughts. The two of you had just left after getting dinner with some of your UA colleagues and were walking home. At some point, after a few rounds of drinks, Midnight had turned her suggestive persona in Shouta's direction. You'd also had a drink or two at this point and couldn't help but leave the table, using the excuse of needing the restroom to step away and cool off for a while. The attempt to calm down didn't work, and you'd remained quiet and closed off for the rest of the evening.

"Nothing," you weren't very convincing, you knew, but you still tried. "Nothing's the matter."

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully, not saying anything for a few minutes as you continued on your walk. But that didn't mean he was dropping the subject, "you've been quiet since Kayama started in on her antics."

Your mouth twisted into a soft grimace when he hit the nail on the head, "...she was just joking," you said, something you reassured yourself of many a time.

"She was," he agreed quietly, "but it still bothered you."

It wasn't a chastisement, merely an observation, but you still felt embarrassed. You didn't look at him, a horrid blush burning on your face as your silence answered for you.

His hand closed around yours, the familiar warmth a comforting balm to your nerves. "I'll tell her to stop. Joke, too." He really it all figured out, didn't he?

"No," you disagreed, and damn it, why was your throat tight? Why did your eyes burn? "I'm being- I'm just being childish."

"You're not being childish," slowly, Shouta stopped walking, pulling you to a stop as well. He used a gentle hand to guide you into looking up at him, and all you saw was his calm patience that you adored so much. "It's making you uncomfortable, so it's worth addressing."

His thumb brushed over your cheek, the tenderness of the action, of his words, coaxed a few tears out of you. You sniffled, nodding quietly. You still felt so embarrassed, but a part of you felt so relieved to finally have it out in the open, and to have Shouta take it seriously.

He brought you into a hug, and you pressed your face into his chest, the press of his hand resting on the back of your head grounding you.

"I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Don't be," he said reassuringly.

(Requests)