#though at one point in time i did believe that

[rivergirlabby]

dresdencodak:

Part 1: Rebooting the Justice League

Part 3: Rebooting Batman

What are heroes without villains? To follow up with my Rebooting the Justice League post, where I treated those characters to a more extreme reboot than DC’s “New 52,” I thought it would be fun to take a look at a redesigned villain team to oppose my redesigned Justice League:

Make sure to read the previous post, as I’ll be referencing plot points I set up there. All of these characters are part of the Legion of Doom, a group organized specifically to oppose the Justice League.

Lex Luthor

Origin: Lex Luthor is a self-made man. Born in the slums of Metropolis, he pulled himself out of poverty and was accepted with a full scholarship to MIT, though he soon dropped out to start his own business, LexCorp. Luthor’s company soon became the most influential in the country, the leader in both consumer and military technologies. His business practices were less than honest, however, and his further rise to power increasingly involved more dubious dealings. Upon the arrival of Superman, however, and his clear message of standing up to those who would abuse their power, Luthor became concerned. He didn’t understand where this person came from or how he was seemingly invincible, but he would find out.

To keep Superman and other heroes away from his most important dealings, Luthor devised two plans. First, he worked with the CIA to create Power Girl, a metahuman counter to Superman who would join the Justice League and watch over them. The second was a far more sinister and secret plan: to fund a team of supervillains to occupy the League’s time, a “Secret Society.” No one but Luthor and a single Society member knew he was ultimately behind their organization.

Notes: Luthor’s a pretty great foil to Superman already, so I didn’t want to change much. I prefer his depiction as a corporate mogul instead of a mad scientist, especially since it fits with my Superman’s proletarian leanings. This, however, doesn’t mean that Luthor isn’t a technical genius, it’s just that his goals are bigger than just inventing things. Visually I wanted someone who looked pretty friendly, nerdy fellow, like a Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. He’s a famous guy and his personal image is strongly tied to the success of his company, so he’d try hard to suppress any notion that he’s anything but perfect. Then comes Superman, who’s this media darling, and it really gets to Luthor. Not only is this guy out to stop Luthor and his kind, but he’s doing it with a squeaky clean image.

Cornelius “Gorilla” Grodd

Origin: LexCorp geneticist Cornelius Grodd was tasked with reproducing Superman’s regenerative abilities and invulnerability. When he learned that his professional rival at S.T.A.R. labs, Ananth Patil, had made greater strides in this, Grodd sabotaged Patil’s work (unwittingly turning him into the Flash) and stole a sample of what he believed to be a serum for reproducing Superman’s invulnerability. After thorough testing and modification, Grodd concluded that the serum would work, and would also easily double his intelligence. He also concluded that only he should possess such power, and took the serum himself. It did increase his intellect, but instead of invulnerability, Grodd’s body was turned into an early hominid-like form. Disgraced, he turned to Luthor for aid, who offered him a new mission in exchange for the funding needed to undo his disfigurement: create a supervillain group to keep Superman occupied.  Grodd knows he’s being used, but for the meantime plays along before making a direct action against Luthor.

Powers: Grodd possesses slightly higher than human strength, but his main ability is his cunning intellect and ability to hypnotize and control those with whom he makes eye contact.

Notes: Grodd’s a fun character and everyone loves an evil gorilla, but I wanted to have an appearance that wasn’t so on the nose about it. I decided for kind of a Planet of the Apes appearance, and went with a backstory that meshed with that. He’s also a guy who’s now as smart as or smarter than Luthor, with the same sort of ambition, and I wanted to preserve the classic semi-rivalry between these two villains.

Metallo (John Corben)

Origin: LexCorp wasn’t the only company bidding for the government’s superhuman contract. Cadmus Labs also had a candidate for the “answer” to Superman, but while Lex Luthor’s project was simply to make their own superhuman, Cadmus took a darker route by creating a weapon explicitly designed to kill Superman. In place of a life sentence, mass murderer John Corben signed on to be one of Cadmus’s experiments. Project Metallo involved grafting him to a mechanical body, one that was powered by a mysterious meteor that they had been observed to weaken Superman. When Metallo was rejected by the government in favor of Power Girl, Cadmus made plans to dismantle him, but Corben managed to escape. Soon, however, he was intercepted by the Grodd, and offered an opportunity to join the Society so that he could fulfill the one action that would truly give him pleasure (thanks to Cadmus’s conditioning): fighting Superman.

Powers: Metallo possesses superhuman durability and strength, as well as a limited armament and the ability to fly short distances via rockets. His most distinctive attribute, however, is the power source in his chest: a fragment of Krypton, which fell to Earth along with Kal-El’s rocket years ago. The reason it causes harm to Superman is that when Colu sets out to destroy a species, it reforms their planets into a substance that unmakes them, specifically. As such, a fragment of the reconstituted Krypton (“Kryptonite,” if you will) unravels Kal-El’s very being. Metallo is also capable of firing a beam of Kryptonite radiation from his chest or eyes (when his faceplate is down).

Notes: Criminal experimentation seemed like a natural way to go with Metallo. I also like the notion that Lex Luthor actually didn’t come up with the most evil way to deal with Superman (at least at first). Visually I wanted Metallo to look a bit clunky and retro; there’s some Iron Giant and Big O in there, as well as a creepy glowing skull. He’s meant to look like he can take and give a pounding. The origin I’ve given him isn’t far removed from his original, just a little closer to something from the Robocop movies.

Livewire (Leslie Willis)

Origin: Leslie Willis first gained notoriety on the reality TV show I’m a Superhero, Get Me Out of Here, where contestants were given a superhero name, powers, and forced to live together in Miami. When she discovered she would soon be voted off the show, Willis concocted a plan to increase her popularity by “going evil,” and proceeded to murder the other contestants and film crew. The plan worked, and “Livewire” continued to garner fame with a violent life of crime. She joined the Secret Six primarily because it would increase her exposure and chances of killing a popular hero. However, if that doesn’t turn out, Livewire has a backup plan where she will “turn good” at the last minute and help the Justice League.

Powers: Livewire’s gauntlets and helmet allow her to control electromagnetic fields. This mostly involves firing bolts of electricity and a rudimentary usage of magnetism to bend or throw metal.

Notes: Livewire’s original origin (as a shock jock) seemed a little too early 90s, but I do like the idea of an obnoxious egomaniac angle, so I went with the reality show backstory. In a world where Superman and other heroes are a new thing, you’d expect media outlets to capitalize on the hype. Livewire’s motivations aren’t too far removed from modern non-celebrities of that type, she’s only taken it to extremes. Visually, I wanted her outfit to be provocative before it’s practical. This is a character who is more concerned about being photographed than having combat-ready clothing.

Giganta (Doris Zeul)

Origin: The appearance of Superman and others sparked somewhat of a superhuman arms race worldwide, with nations concerned about their enemies gaining super soldiers of their own. A high price was offered, for example, for anyone who could navigate to the Amazonian island, Themiscyra, and recover its relics. Many treasure hunters lept at the opportunity, but only the mercenary Doris Zeul and her team were able to successfully navigate to Themiscyra. Although her companions were killed by the various traps left by the Amazons, Zeul survived and found a suit of armor said to contain the power of Ares. Deciding the claim the armor for her own, Zeul now works for the highest bidder, and that bidder is the Secret Society.

Powers: Fueled by rage, Giganta’s armor enhances her fighting skills and physical stature, as well as raise her strength and durability. Generally, the longer a fight goes on, the more indestructible she becomes.

Notes: Wonder Woman needed someone to sword fight, so I went with a little-used origin of Giganta that involved her being more of an Amazonian foil than a lady with growing powers. I also wanted to keep the origins of the characters diverse, and liked the idea of some powers-that-be trying to replicate Wonder Woman’s powers instead of Superman’s. Visually, I wanted Giganta to contrast with Wonder Woman while still having Greco-Roman vibes. I used a gladiator style to help distinguish her as someone who revels in combat and power, while Wonder Woman is more of a peacekeeper.

Sinestro (Evan Qward)

Origin: Midori Ota was not the first on Earth to possess the Oan “green lantern.” Years earlier, another person, Dr. Evan Qward, first received it, but he quickly came to abuse its power, hoping to rule over the Earth with what he deemed a divine gift. The Oan lantern, however, was built with a failsafe against such abuse and disappeared from Qward’s possession, in search of a new host. Soon Qward was driven mad, having become addicted to the power, and spent the rest of his life trying to replicate the abilities of the lantern. Having recently discovered there is a new person using his former “gift,” Qward has taken up with the Secret Society under the name Sinestro in order to kill this new Green Lantern and reclaim what is rightfully his.

Powers: Sinestro has designed a suit and power supply meant to mimic the Green Lantern’s abilities, though it does not exactly achieve this. Instead, he can only deconstruct and manipulate nonliving matter with yellow rays from his gloves.

Notes: I think Sinestro is an important component of the Green Lantern mythos, as he represents the temptation that comes with such power and how easily it can be abused. Although his origin here is fairly different from the original, I think I’ve still kept the essential element of him being a “fallen” Green Lantern who thinks that power should be used to rule over people rather than serve them. While originally his antagonism was mostly an ideological one (since he still had his own power ring), here I’ve added a more direct motivation: he wants his lantern back. I like the notion of such power being addictive. After all, I imagine losing the ability to make whatever you imagine come to life would make anyone pretty angry. Visually, I didn’t want to stray too far from the original Sinestro. He’s a basically an evil Green Lantern, so that should stay the same.

Parasite (Madame Vandal)

Origin: Shortly before their fateful visit to Mars, Kryptonian explorers briefly visited Earth to determine if its inhabitants were ready for “modification.” After a brief experimentation, it was determined that humans were too savage in their present state, and the Kryptonians erased the evidence of their arrival before moving on to Mars. One experiment lived, however, and found that she could prolong her life by absorbing the “life force” of those around her. As time went on, the power did dwindle and she found she had to more and more frequently absorb others to maintain her life. This persisted for over a thousand years, when she encountered Grodd, who wished her to join the Secret Society in exchange for research into her “condition.” Madame Vandal’s story of alien abduction is not believed (and she never quite remembers it correctly), but she is nevertheless welcomed, as she is indisputably the most powerful member of the Secret Society.

Powers: Vandal has the ability to leech energy from others through physical contact. This rejuvenates her, as well as temporarily elevates her strength and vitality to whatever she’s touched. This effectively makes her as powerful as Superman while fighting him. To fully maintain her presumed immortality, Vandal has to completely drain a person until they die.  Also, with some concentration, she can absorb non-biological energy as well (such as kinetic or electrical) and redirect it at her command.

Notes: I combined Parasite’s abilities with a more Vandal Savage origin story, as I think the two work well together. Visually I wanted someone who didn’t look very imposing, hiding their true power. Parasite here is almost like a vampire, slinking in the shadows and lasting as long as she has because most people don’t know her true nature.

Huntress (Helena Bertinelli)

Origin: Daughter of a prominent Gotham crime boss, Helena Bertinelli watched her family gunned down during a mafia war.  Living in hiding with a foster family, she grew to despise organized crime in all its forms. When she came of age, Helena idolized Batman and wished to gain his favor by taking on the persona of Batgirl. However, Batman was concerned about her brutal methods of crime fighting, and told her he couldn’t waste time training such a person when there is a growing superhuman concern. Still wanting his approval, Helena created a new villain persona, the Huntress, and joined the ranks of the Secret Society with the intent of exposing their mysterious financier. She reasoned that superhumans loyal to the government or a corporate force were far more dangerous than the Justice League, and intends to dismantle their operation by whatever means she can.

Powers: Huntress is an expert in hand-to-hand combat and ranged weaponry. Her goggles allow her night vision and infrared tracking, and her body armor is designed specifically to absorb concussive blows, as well as redirect energy known to be used by many metahumans. Her preferred weapons are a crossbow and collapsible sword.

Notes: I wanted to have one character who rode the line a bit, and the Huntress is a good candidate. While obviously not a real villain, Huntress is to the Secret Society what Power Girl is to the Justice league, at least in that she has ulterior motives. Visually, I wanted someone who took after Batman, so most of what’s she’s wearing is a more practical version of her regular costume. I’m not a fan of people with secret identities and exposed hair, so I gave her a full mask and cut her hair short to fit. I liked the religious imagery of her original costume but felt hanging crosses were a little too on the nose, so I went with a priest’s collar and an overall look that sort of resembles a cardinal.

******************

And there’s my Secret Society! I wanted to have a combination of personalities that would play well with each other, as well as give the Justice League appropriate foils in combat. Most importantly, I wanted the backstories, characters and designs to be fresh and get people interested in some of these (often obscure) supervillains. Tell me what you think!

Part 1: Rebooting the Justice League

Part 3: Rebooting Batman

Rebooting DC's Villains!

[qardenofeden]

“kei, do you ever think about how strange it is that we've never fought?” you ask, limbs tangled with his as you cuddle on his bed.

it’s 10:03 PM and you’re doing your best to fight against the chilling, icy atmosphere of tsukishima’s room. for some reason, he likes to sleep like a vampire.

“do you want to?” he offers with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. tsukki doesn’t even open his eyes when he responds, too sleepy to entertain another one of your late night overthinking sessions.

“no,” you say calmly, “but we’ve been together for 7 months. we must either be like, the greatest couple of all time or the exact opposite.”

you feel his chest rise and deflate against your head as he lets an overly dramatic sigh.

you knew tsukishima kei wasn’t one for pda. hell, it was one of the things you loved about him. he knew how to make you feel loved without having to scream it to the world.

like that one time on one of your first dates, when you had accidentally fallen asleep on the soft grass of the park while waiting for his weekend practice to end. you woke up with a hand massaging your scalp.

“how long have you been waiting there?” you giggle, rising from your slumber as you rub your eyes awake. he pulls away, casually avoiding your gaze. “why didn’t you wake me?”

kei only shrugs, “you looked peaceful.”

or that other time you got sick for a week and couldn’t make it to school, so he immediately visited you as soon as you got better and brought his backpack with him.

“i got two copies of all the homeworks due next week, so you don’t have to ask the teachers for them.” he unpacks his notes and fishes out two pens from his bag before turning to you. “come, i’ll teach you everything you missed.”

your teachers praised you for how responsible you were, and told you how much they appreciated that you took the initiative to study.

yeah, you totally did that.

or like right now, and all the other nights you���ve spent at his place. because unbeknownst to you, tsukishima kei sets up his bedroom every single time you visit. he tidies up, cleaning even spots that you would never think to look at. but most importantly, and tsukishima knows this routine by heart, he turns the a/c to the highest setting so you’d be forced to cuddle against him underneath his sheets.

“the former,” is all replies with, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“but seriously though. how lucky are we to never have fought even after seven months.”

tsukki sighs again, before reluctantly revealing, “we don’t fight because i make it a point to always agree with you.”

you’re taken aback by his words, sitting up slightly as you look him in the eyes, though his are still closed as he tries to focus on sleeping.

“...huh?”

“idiot,” he teases. maybe he thinks calling you names will cover up for how unbelievably sweet he’s being right now, “why would i want to argue with you?” he shifts, trying to subtly move his face away so you don’t see him fully.

“but i can’t always have my way, you know. a relationship should be 50/50, right?”

“not ours.” he presses your head back against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat fasten a little. “you’re the boss.”

BONUS: “and you’ve never paid in your life anyway. you don’t believe in that 50/50 bullshit.” “hey!” “i don’t even know what your wallet looks like.”

@kokokoula this one’s for u <3

[my-castles-crumbling]

solid - jegulus - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 328

“Ouch!”

Regulus yelped, tripping over his feet and catching himself seconds before he fell to the ground. Though he felt like he’d walked into something solid, his eyes and ears told him nothing was there in the dark corridor. Which obviously meant one thing:

“Come on out, Potter, I’m not an idiot!”

After a few seconds, the air itself shivered and James Potter appeared, looking a bit sheepish. “Would you believe me if I said I was just taking a stroll?” the older boy asked, rubbing at a sore spot on his shoulder where they’d obviously collided.

“Sure, if this wasn’t the third bloody time we’ve run into each other at this exact spot this week,” Regulus hissed.

Hazel eyes opened wide and James gave an innocent smile. “It’s almost like fate, eh?”

“I don’t believe in fate. Just irritating, stalker Gryffindors,” Regulus mumbled.

“If I’m such a stalker, why are you here, Regulus?” James retorted, raising an eyebrow in an infuriating way.

“I have rounds, Potter. I know you always skip yours, but–”

“Your rounds are on the opposite side of the school,” James pointed out, smirking.

Fuck. He was right.

The truth was, he’d taken a slight detour to this spot because he was maybe, possibly, slightly hoping to run into James Potter again. Because this was the spot where they’d seen each other before, and he thought maybe it would happen again. He couldn’t begin to explain why he wanted it to happen…only that seeing James Potter made him feel giddy and nervous and terrified and happy and alive like nothing else did.

“Well, why are you here? You don’t even have rounds tonight,” Regulus deflected, avoiding eye contact.

James looked down at him and Regulus wanted to scream with the way it made his heart pound in his chest. “Isn’t it obvious? I’ve been dying to see you. I can’t stop thinking about you,” he replied, shrugging. 

Fuck. There was that breathless feeling again. 

[darkmarkmarauder]

Dirty Fucking Mind - M.R.

Speak of the Devil…and the Devil shall appear

Your luck was fucking awful.

You had come to the Restricted Section with a singular purpose: find the book on alchemy you’d been dying to get your hands on and get out. Simple. In and out. No one would know. But, as usual, your unfortunate timing had yet again fucked you over.

Because you weren’t alone.

You stilled, fingers hovering over the spine of an aged, leather-bound tome, as you caught sight of him. Mattheo Riddle.

He moved between the towering bookshelves like a shadow, deliberate and silent, his sharp gaze scanning the rows as if searching for something just out of reach. But what caught your attention—what made you pause, breath hitching—was the way his lips moved. Barely audible, murmuring a language you had heard before but couldn’t immediately place.

And then it clicked. Parseltongue.

Your brows lifted in mild surprise. You recognized it as clear as day, though your understanding of it was... lacking. A fault of your own negligence, really. Your grandfather—one of the few remaining Blacks to still wield the gift—had tried to teach you, but you’d been too stubborn to care. Maybe if you’d listened, you would have known exactly what Riddle was searching for now.

As he stretched, reaching for a book just out of reach, the fabric of his shirt pulled taut over his forearms, the flex of his muscles making the veins in his hands stand out, and fuck—had he always been this strong? The thought hit you suddenly, unwanted, unwarranted. You imagined those hands on you, wrapped around your throat, pinning you down as his body pressed between your legs. How deep would his cock—

You about done, princess?

Your stomach plummeted as the voice echoed inside your mind. You recognized it instantly, it was Mattheo’s. shit. shit. shit.

Panic flickered in your chest, but you kept your expression composed as you straightened, snapping your head up to meet his gaze. Except…

He wasn’t there.

The space where he’d stood just moments ago was empty, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across abandoned bookshelves.

What the—

His laughter curled around your mind like smoke, seeping into every crevice, dragging icy fingers down your spine.

Legilimency.

You should have known.

Riddle was a fucking menace, a master of slipping into minds undetected, and clearly, you weren’t as skilled at Occlumency as you’d thought. Which meant—

Heat burned across your cheeks.

He’d heard everything. The filthy, unfiltered thoughts you’d had about him.

A slow clap broke the silence, sharp and mocking. "Well, well," came his voice, smooth as silk and twice as deadly. "I must say, I’m flattered."

You didn’t turn immediately. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you exhaled through your nose, slow and even, before sliding the book back into place. Only then did you pivot, deliberately, meeting his gaze with a lazy tilt of your head.

Mattheo stood mere feet away, leaning against a bookshelf like he had all the time in the world, his arms folded, one brow arched in amusement. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, accentuating the cruel smirk tugging at his lips.

"You must be mistaken," you said, voice laced with boredom. "Not everything is about you, Riddle."

His smirk widened. "Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong." He pushed off the shelf, closing the distance between you in two measured steps. "See, I find it quite hard to believe that you weren’t just picturing my hands around your throat."

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. Instead, you smiled—slow, saccharine, dangerous. "I suppose if you already know my thoughts, there’s no point in lying," you said, voice dipping just slightly. You let your gaze flicker over him, deliberate and slow, before meeting his eyes again. "It’s a shame, really. Fantasy is always better than reality." Taking a step back as he took one towards you. Your back hit the bookshelf as you inhaled sharply, refusing to react, refusing to let the way his body crowded yours make you do something stupid—like, say, pressing your thighs together.

"Is that so?" Mattheo mused, his eyes locked onto yours. He reached out lazily, running his fingers along the edge of the shelf beside your head. You felt the air shift, his presence pressing in closer. then—before you could register the movement—his thigh was slotted between yours, firm and unforgiving.

Your breath stilled in your throat. The heat of him was immediate, seeping through the fabric of your skirt, and—Merlin help you—you were already too fucking warm.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.

"Interesting," he drawled, his voice almost thoughtful as his hands came to rest on your waist—not gripping, not pinning, just there. Just waiting. "You act as though I don’t affect you, yet here you are…" His lips curved into something wicked, something knowing, as he shifted just slightly, the movement pressing the firm plane of his thigh against your already aching cunt.

It took every ounce of restraint you had not to react. Not to suck in a sharp breath or—God forbid—moan. Your nails dug into the wood of the bookshelf behind you, grounding yourself, forcing yourself to meet his gaze with unwavering defiance.

"You think too highly of yourself, Riddle," you murmured, voice impressively steady.

His hands tightened just slightly, the ghost of a squeeze, and then his knee bucked up—just a fraction, just enough to force a spark of pleasure up your spine.

Oh, fuck.

Heat licked at your cheeks, but still, you refused to break. Refused to let him have this. You set your jaw, inhaling through your nose, refusing to give him a reaction.

You glared at him. "If you think this little game is going to—"

Another slow, deliberate movement of his thigh.

Your words cut off.

His dark eyes gleamed. "Go on," he encouraged. "Finish your sentence."

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself, but the friction was unbearable. The ache between your thighs only intensified, and you were certain—certain—he could feel the evidence of it. The growing damp spot against his trousers, the way your body reacted against your will.

And the worst part? He wasn’t even holding you there. He wasn’t forcing you to grind down, wasn’t pinning you in place.

You were doing that all on your own.

"You’re quiet all of a sudden," Mattheo murmured, tilting his head. His thumb brushed over your jaw, deceptively gentle as his leg shifted, dragging slow, agonizing friction against you. "I expected more fight from you. Aren’t you going to tell me how much you don’t want this?"

Your nails bit into his wrist. "I hate you," you breathed.

He chuckled. "Oh, I know."

His thigh flexed, and stars burst behind your eyes. You bit your lip, hard, swallowing the whimper that threatened to spill out.

Mattheo’s free hand traced the line of your waist, slow, testing. "You’re soaking me," he murmured, almost thoughtful. "All from just this?" His knee shifted higher, pressing right against the throbbing ache between your thighs.

Your head tipped back, thudding against the shelf. Fuck Fuck Fuck.

You barely noticed the way your fingers worked at his belt, the way you shoved his trousers just far enough down to feel the thick, heavy weight of him against your palm.

Mattheo hissed between his teeth, his breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re impatient,” he muttered, but his hand was already guiding yours, wrapping your fingers around his cock like he needed it.

The door creaked open. You froze. Mattheo didn’t. You barely had time to react before he shoved you down, your knees hitting the stone floor, his cock in your hand before you could even register what was happening.

“Mr. Riddle?” came Professor Flitwick’s tiny voice. “Still here, are we?”

Your eyes flicked up to Mattheo’s face. He had to step further into the shelves to hide you, but you stayed exactly where you were, blinking up at him with mock innocence, tongue trailing the underside of his cock just to fuck with him.

He stiffened. You swore you saw panic, actual panic, flicker across his features before he schooled it into composure.

���Yes, professor,” Mattheo rasped, voice strained.

You started again, licking his cock slow, deliberate, watching the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his nostrils flared as he fought for control. Letting your lips part, taking the thick, leaking head of his cock into your mouth just.

Mattheo shot you a warning look, but you ignored it, taking him deeper into your mouth, swallowing around him.

His thigh tensed, his jaw locking, and for the first time in your life, you heard him stutter.

Flitwick’s voice remained curious, oblivious. "What is it you’re still doing in the library?"

Mattheo cleared his throat, his grip in your hair tightening as he struggled to maintain control. "J-Just—research, Professor." His voice was even, but you could hear the strain beneath it.

God, this was fun.

You hummed around him, flicking your tongue over the sensitive tip, and his entire body shuddered.

You watched, delighted, as he fought to remain composed, as he struggled against the pleasure you were so generously giving him.

You sucked harder, forcing Mattheo’s cock deeper down your throat.

Mattheo stiffened. His grip on your hair turned punishing. "Shit."

"Professor," he choked out, voice strained. "I… I was just finishing up in the Restricted Section."

Flitwick’s tiny feet pattered closer.

You flattened your tongue, swirled it around the head of his cock, hard, until he trembled above you.

Finishing up. You could hardly help the quiet giggle that slipped from you as you took him deeper into your mouth, pressing until you felt him hit the back of your throat.

Mattheo’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling, silently begging you to stop, but you just stared up at him tauntingly, sucking harder.

“Very well,” Flitwick replied. “Do lock up when you’re done, won’t you?”

Mattheo grunted in response, sharp and clipped, visibly struggling. He could barely manage a nod. His knuckles turned white where they gripped the shelf behind him, while the other hand held a death grip in your hair, pleading you not to move, you did the exact opposite.

The moment the library door clicked shut, Mattheo snapped.

His hand fisted in your hair, yanking you off him with a wet, obscene pop, your saliva still glistening along the length of him as he dragged his thumb across your slick, swollen lips. His eyes, black as sin, drank in the sight of you—breathless, wrecked, your mouth shining with evidence of your depravity.

“You little fucking—”

“What?” You taunted feigning innocence as you pouted at him.

"You," he growled, hauling you to your feet, crashing your bodies together, "are going to pay for that."

His thumb pressed against your tongue, and you—defiant, taunting—wrapped your lips around it, sucking, never breaking eye contact as his restraint shattered.

His hands were everywhere—pushing, pulling, grasping at your robes, yanking at your clothes with a ruthless impatience. He had no time for undressing, your skirt was shoved up over your hips, your blouse hanging open, the cool air ghosting over your exposed breasts.

Your moan was swallowed by his mouth as he pressed against you, his fingers slipping beneath your panties, dragging through your slick folds, spreading you open. "So fucking wet for me," Your nails carved red crescents into his back as you moaned against his lips, and he drank in every sound like a man starved. He lined up his cock, teasing you as he slid through your wet folds pushing his tip against your sensitive clit. His eyes never leaving yours as he thrusted into you, one arm wrapped strongly around your waist and the other gripping your throat leaving bruises you knew weren’t going to heal for days.

"Fuck," you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling,"Is that all you've got, Riddle?"

His pace faltered, just for a second, before his grip on you tightened like a vice. "You're infuriating." His hips snapped against you in punishment, pulling a cry from your throat.

Your nails clawed at his back, your legs tightening around his waist as he fucked you deeper, harder, driving you into the wood. Your head thumped against the bookshelf, but you didn’t care. Didn’t even feel it over the sharp, consuming pleasure, over the way he was taking you. “You almost fuck me better than my ex,” you moaned.

Then, in a blur of motion, he pinned your wrists above your head, his other hand wrapping around your throat as he rolled his hips against you with devastating precision, dragging himself out excruciatingly slow before slamming back into you so hard you nearly screamed.

"You forget yourself," he growled, lips grazing your ear, his grip tightening just enough to make you whimper. "Do you want to repeat that, princess?" Another thrust, sharp and cruel, making your legs tremble around him. "I thought you were going to stop me, eyes up, look at me, where the fuck is my cock right now." His grip on your wrists tightened, his pace relentless now, your back arched, your lips parted in a silent scream as your body clenched, trembled, broke around him.

Mattheo groaned, as he drove into you once, twice more before he spilled inside you, his head falling against your shoulder, breath ragged, bodies slick and trembling as you came together.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your breathing—a soft shuffle. The unmistakable creak of an old wooden floorboard.

You stilled.

Mattheo’s head snapped up, his gaze narrowing as he peered into the darkened rows of the Restricted Section.

Your unfortunate timing had fucked you over yet again.

And this time… someone had seen.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: this was supposed to be slow burn but then I blacked out and now there’s thigh riding in the restricted section. oopsies.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[ernestofoulworth]

This wasn't about fallen angels, though. In the catechism of the Catholic Church, a fallen angel is one who willingly abandons God.

"It is the irrevocable character of their choice, and not a defect in the infinite divine mercy, that makes the angels' sin unforgivable." (Libreria Editrice Vaticana) "There is no repentance for the angels after their fall, just as there is no repentance for men after death." (St. John Damascene, Defide orth. 2, 4: PG 94, 877.)

The wording I used in this Tumblr shitpost is, admittedly, vague, as wording in a Tumblr shitpost ought to be, but wouldn't "cast down" and the language of yearning imply unwillingness to abandon God?

It is true that fallen angels cannot be prayed to. The belief of salvation for the damned is the apokatastasis of Origen Adamantius, which was declared heresy by the Synod of Constantinople in 543, and ratified by the Second Council of Constantinople in 553, recognized by both Eastern Orthodoxy and by Catholicism. This is, therefore, anathema.

Fallen angels also do not fall to earth. There are many different ecclesiastical interpretations of what happens to fallen angels after their abandonment of the Father, but most seem to agree that they become bound to Hell. In Divine Comedy, Dante Alighieri places them in the City of Dis. In later interpretation by Wallace Fowlie in A Reading of Dante's Inferno, he postulates that the fallen angels, at the mouth of the Sixth Circle, represent the dogmatic change in the nature of sin.

Both of these quotes demonstrate the arrogance and intent of abandoning the Father.

"Whence is this arrogance within you couched? Wherefore recalcitrate against that will, From which the end can never be cut off, And which has many times increased your pain?" (Dante Alighieri, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Inferno, 9:93-97) "The circle of the heretics in their flaming tombs illustrates this new part of Hell where the sinner's will is more obdurate. Previously, in the five circles of incontinence, the sinners had broken a moral law with full knowledge they were doing so, but were unable to resist, unable to struggle against the temptation, impulse, or habit. From this point on, beginning with this graveyard scene, the sinners have looked upon the face of Medusa and their will has hardened. [...] The fallen angels are an appropriate introduction to the sixth circle. They have rebelled against God, although they cannot, in fact, deny him. They illustrate the will moving deliberately and actively against God." (Wallace Fowlie, A Reading of Dante's Inferno, p.70)

One might also consider this verse from the Epistle of Jude:

6 "And the angels that did not keep their own position but left their proper dwelling have been kept by him in eternal chains in the nether gloom until the judgment of the great day" (Jude 1:6, Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition)

Again, the language of abandonment and the placement of Hell.

As for angels on earth, angels themselves do not become human, but they can take human form.

15 "When I, Daniel, had seen the vision, I sought to understand it; and behold, there stood before me one having the appearance of a man. 16 And I heard a man’s voice between the banks of the U′lai, and it called, “Gabriel, make this man understand the vision.”"(Daniel 8:15-16, Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition)

An otherkin is, by Wikipedic definition, a person "who identifies as nonhuman". I've been on Tumblr long enough to know the reasoning most often given either references the Dharmic belief of reincarnation, or the western belief of the immortal soul, or the pure being.

Catholicism teaches that only humans possess the immortal soul. Animals possess a soul, but it is not immortal. And angels are pure, immaterial being (though certain saints of the Franciscan order believed that angels were composed of matter (this belief is universal hylomorphism)). Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote of them as pure beings that sometimes held material bodies.

"Consequently, since all angels are not bodies, nor have they bodies naturally united with them, as is clear from what has been said, it follows that angels sometimes assume bodies." (ST Ia 51,2)

Thus to view oneself an angel in human form would technically comply with Catholic doctrine, more so than a fallen angel in human form. It's more complicated than that and probably... a little heretic but that's neither here nor there.

I've never asked an angelkin why they're here. An ecclesiastically acceptable answer is that they were sent by God for duty on earth. There are some verses about this:

20 "Behold, I send an angel before you, to guard you on the way and to bring you to the place which I have prepared." (Exodus 23:20-21, Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition) 1 "The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave him to show to his servants what must soon take place; and he made it known by sending his angel to his servant John," (Revelation 1:1, Revised Standard Version Catholic Edition)

Saint Thomas Aquinas also said of angels in human form:

"Angels need an assumed body, not for themselves, but on our account; that by conversing familiarly with men they may give evidence of that intellectual companionship which men expect to have with them in the life to come." (Ia 51, 2 ad 1)

But this is all a very shallow, speculative argument.

Conclusion: I'm asking these fuckass angels on earth in human form to help me. I am licherally an Arch's Deacon.

take it away claude!

Bibliography

Catechism of the Catholic Church, Libreria Editrice Vaticana.

Schaff, Philip. “The Anathemas Against Origen.” NPNF2-14. The Seven Ecumenical Councils - Christian Classics Ethereal Library

Dante Alighieri, and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Inferno. Modern Library, 2003.

Wallace Fowlie. A Reading of Dante’s Inferno. Internet Archive, Chicago : University of Chicago Press, 1 Jan. 1981.

The Holy Bible: Revised Standard Version, Catholic Edition. Oxford University Press ; Distributed by Ignatius Press, 2004.

Aquinas, Thomas. “Question 51. the Angels in Comparison with Bodies.” SUMMA THEOLOGIAE: The Angels in Comparison with Bodies (Prima Pars, Q. 51).

kin hate is so forced. if someone said "oh I'm an angel who was cast down from heaven and I miss my beautiful home and my shiny wings" I'd be like sweeeet can you ask God to forgive me

[fear-is-truth]

Bestie hehe whose pullout game is worst and whose is best out of the characters Evan plays???

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑽𝑨𝑵𝑺 — 𝑷𝑼𝑳𝑳-𝑶𝑼𝑻 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ jimmy darling ‧ james patrick march ‧ kai anderson ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel — nsfw ; MDNI 18+

a/n: hey bestie i love your mind

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍. (3/10)

his intentions are good. his execution? terrible. pull-out game is WEAK purely due to incompetence.

“fuck—wait, wait, oh shit, i was supposed to—”

feels guilty as hell afterward. “you don’t think i did it on purpose, right? you believe me, don’t you?”

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑. (2/10)

kit TRIES to be responsible. really, he does. but he’s also a man who fucks deep and loves even deeper.

a very passionate lover and in the heat of the moment, he forgets everything else.

honestly, he doesn’t even try that hard.

if you reminded him, he’d listen. but if you didn’t? yeah, he’s finishing inside.

if you got pregnant, he’d step up immediately. his pullout game is terrible but he’s a great dad.

⟢ pre death .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑. (10/10)

doesn’t take risks; he’s got a good head on his shoulders.

his timing and self control are actually great. the pull-out game is strong with this one.

even before he met you, kyle doesn’t sleep around like most of his frat brothers, even though he totally could.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆. (6/10)

jimmy knows he can’t afford to be reckless. he’s working in a freak show—not exactly the best place to raise a kid.

he also worries about passing on his ectrodactyly. even though you tell him constantly that it doesn’t matter.

most of the time, he cums on your tits or ass.

but when he’s drunk, he’s super impulsive, emotional. all self control flies out the window.

if you got knocked up, he’d have a mini breakdown and go on a two day bender but would also step up.

he will also propose immediately (after he gets his shit together)

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇. (10/10)

he is nothing if not disciplined.

if james ever decided to give you an heir, that decision was made long before the act.

lowkey has reservations because of bartholomew.

⟢ cult leader .ᐟ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍. (0/10)

kai never pulls out. he never intended to in the first place.

at first, he’ll act like it was an accident—just for plausible deniability. he’ll moan about how tight you are, how good you feel, and then when it happens:

“fuck—couldn’t help it. you feel too good, baby.” he’s fake guilty, kissing your shoulder, murmuring “next time i’ll pull out, promise.”

next time never came. (but he did. inside you) at some point, he just stopped pretending.

“this is how it’s supposed to be. why would i waste it anywhere but inside you?”

if you tell him you’re not ready for kids, he’ll say “women are biologically wired to want children. you’re just brainwashed by feminism.” (i hate this guy)

0/10 cos he’s actively TRYING to fail.

if you got pregnant? he’d be ecstatic.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅. (5/10)

thinks he has great control, but he really, really doesn’t.

he’ll pull out last second. but he cuts it close EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.

sometimes he miscalculates timing.

“uh. okay, okay—don’t freak out, but I MAY have just—wait, are you on the pill?”

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋. (9/10)

very responsible. colin respects boundaries and never pressures you into risky sex. always wears condoms unless you explicitly ask not to.

“you sure? ‘cause, uh, i got condoms—like, a lot. not a weird amount, just… y’know, normal.”

lowkey wants to have kids with you… but suppresses the “selfish” fantasy.

his one weakness? when he’s tipsy.

the one time you were both drunk, making out on the couch, which led to hot and sloppy sex. you felt so good and he was so lost in it, and then—

“oh, shit.”

immediate panic. full-body guilt. buys you plan b, also flowers and coffee because he feels guilty.

overall he’s very reliable, just that one slip-up.

[fyuyushia]

"Someday, I know you'll come to your senses and leave me alone with all of my questions 'cause I don't have the answers I can't give you more. I know that you'll never be mine but I'll always be yours." — Senses

Ugh how does one write down their ideas in a way that makes sense and doesn't look like a mumbo jumbo mess😓😓

Sung Jinwoo getting in a relationship with reincarnated!reader who he slowly sees becoming very self destructive.

He can never figure out what goes on in that head of yours. Though you continue to stay with him, you always donned a paranoid, anxiety stricken expression that's barely concealed by the mockery of a smile you wore. Even if it was convincing to others, for him who's studied your features for ages, he could easily tell when it was genuine and when it wasn't.

It's not that you don't like him anymore—at least he thinks it's not. You acted skitterish whenever he initiated affection, yes, but you always reciprocated after a few seconds, craving it despite thinking it's wrong.

He doesn't understand why you accept his affection with such a guilty look. You bite your lip, eyes averting away from his own as you lean closer to his touch, tightening your hold on him just to make sure he wouldn't let go. You were a walking contradiction, and Jinwoo hopes you weren't this complicated.

He doesn't miss the way you constantly try to self sabotage, intentionally or unintentionally. You acted as if you were waiting on the day he'd wrung all his feelings for you dry, living every day with bated breath. It pained him to think of your actions, acting so distant despite longing for his affection more than anything else. What scared you so? What was it that terrified you so much you could never seem to find the time to simply bask in the moment and love for the sake of it?

What changed for you to act so differently? So scared of something, but counting on it to happen nonetheless. With what faith do you believe that something catastrophic would happen?

You who somehow ended up in the world of solo leveling. You don't know how you ended up here, was it reincarnation or transmigration? Isekai? You had memories of both the life you lived here and another life. It was confusing, seeing as both lives seemed similar to one another, the only difference being the presence of gates in this and the lack thereof in the other.

Fortunately or unfortunately—you vaguely remember reading a manhwa with a world building that fits the bill for the current one you lived in.

Solo leveling: a manhwa you've only recently finished back then. The main character? The man laying in bed next to you. Sung Jinwoo—your pathetic(loving) childhood friend Sung Jinwoo.

Since this revelation, you began to fear for your just recently blossomed relationship. The more Jinwoo played out what you've read in the manhwa, the more you worried about yourself. As far as you can remember, a character like you was never introduced, maybe they did, but only in a passing. Your lack of presence in the manhwa had caused fear to sink in and petrify you to the core.

What if Jinwoo plays out that certain part? Basing off on his current progress, Jinwoo was bound to meet Hae-in and get to know her more intimately from this point on. If that happens, what about you? What will happen to you who presumptuously stuck to his side even after knowing all this? Will you be cast aside? Forced to let go of this love just to follow through the story?

The fact that Jinwoo acted in ways that remained primarily loyal to the manhwa's story made you feel queasy. Will you be forced out of the picture when the time comes?

Thoughts like this gave way to self doubt, and self doubt then gave way to your self destructive habits. You couldn't love Jinwoo so sincerely anymore, couldn't look him in the eye without doubt creasing your features. The knowledge that he was fated to be with Cha Hae-in ate you up alive.

And if you think about it, who could be a more perfect pair for him? Unlike you, Hae-in was a capable hunter. Not only that, she was pretty, athletic, and not without a lovable personality as well. She was better than you, far, far better than you.

You felt yourself die on the inside as you came to terms with this fact. Resigning to your fate, whilst also wishing to be selfish, you reluctantly took whatever scraps of affection Jinwoo gave you. Before he'd move onto another, before he realizes how much you blinded him into thinking he loved you.

Sung Jinwoo notices the way you rarely cling onto him now. Instead, only stealing longing glances in his direction, hands twitching as if longing to touch but pulling away whenever you get too close. Every time, he gets the urge to just grab you by the wrist and forcefully wrap your arms around his neck, but he doesn't, afraid that doing so would only push you who slowly drifted apart from him further away.

He doesn't miss the way your body turns rigid when he mentions Hae-in in a passing. Your shoulders stiffen, and you bite your lip, barely holding back tears from the mention of her alone. That night, he spent hours comforting you, assuring you he would never leave.

Cha Hae-in was a sore topic for you, as noticed by Jinwoo. He thought it was petty jealousy at first, but now he had an inkling it was much deeper than that. You don't hold any sort of animosity towards her, matter of fact, you admired her to the point Jinwoo felt somewhat jealous by your zealous fangirling.

You seemed so sure he'd leave you for her, even encouraging him to spend time with her despite you clearly being uncomfortable with the idea. He's left confused by your antics, you don't want him to leave but you encourage him to get closer with Hae-in when you knew a simple no from you could easily convince him to cut off all relations with her and her associates.

Really, you seemed to have a penchant for contradicting yourself in the worst ways possible.

Sung Jinwoo feels his patience draw thin. Every attempt at a question was answered by a surety he found baffling. Did he seem that disloyal? He shouldn't be angry, he knows that. But seeing you slowly spiral into this complicated mess of a lover brings him closer to the brink of insanity as well.

What exactly would it take for you to see the way his heart burns for you only?

[howlingmod]

ALWAYS THAT LITTLE SPARK ...

summary - n7 and noob w/ a killer reader . smiles

misc - expected warnings for blood and violence and such. might be scattered i am cold and dying as i write this. i was gonna do more but ouhh ... chilly

Noob - Blindsighted

-It'd been a stupid gesture, trying to bargain for their life the first time you'd caught them. They'd scrambled for something, anything they could give you in return for letting them run free, even just for a little while. At some point they'd settled on their sweater, even ripping it off as some kind of proof they'd gladly hand it over. You didn't speak to them at all, only stared down at their cowering figure. They'd hardly even registered you left, their eyes squeezed shut and hand lighter.

-They seen you very little from then on, but they felt your presence frequently instead. When they ran from generator to generator they'd feel eyes bore into the back of their head, when they were hiding and waiting out others' screams they'd feel you hover around the corner, when they ran back to the cabin at night and they'd feel you stand at the treeline, making eye contact when they glanced over their shoulder.

-They were constantly aware of how easily you could kill them, lunge at them before they can drink slateskin and crush them, perhaps that's why they weren't surprised when you'd snatched them up next. It was hardly gentle, yanked up by their collar and heaved over your shoulder like a shot duck before you began walking, dumping them onto the ground equally as rough once you found your makeshift campsight. They didn't have time to scurry back, beg once more and hope you'd take mercy on them, your weight falling onto them not long after.

-Limbs curled around them, pinned their own down and against their body, your head buried into their neck and hung your mouth threateningly over their jugular. Instead of biting down and ripping their throat out, you stayed completely still, didn't even toy with the idea. They could feel every muscle that you'd used to rip others apart so easily with the closeness, could just barely pick up on the shaking- shivering.

-Maybe they should have kept their guard up more, but what could they even do? They were pinned and, at least for now, you made no move to harm them. It really was cold out, especially since you'd taken their sweater. They could lie here for a little while longer ... they remember waking up eventually, laid on the porch for the others to find and shake awake in panic, asking where they'd gone and if they were ok. Even still, they could feel eyes boring into their back. They claimed to have just gotten lost.

007n7 - Bad Memory

-He still loved you. You'd killed people in front of him plenty of times now, shown just how easily you could catch up no matter how much they ran, how much they begged or fought back, you'd win. You hardly looked like yourself, contorted into something that could only carry out violence. Yet, he still loved you. Maybe he was stupid for it, but he couldn't hate you for what you'd become. It wasn't your fault, you didn't wish for this, you didn't choose this.

-He still remembers one of the last nights he spoke to you before you left to rot and shift into something else. How you'd reassured him you and the others would be back soon, how he held your face in his hands like that'd keep you from leaving him here to worry about him. How you'd stayed longer than you should have to reassure him in countless whispers and brushed away tears you'd be back before he knew it. You never did come back, only returning as a dragged pool of blood a few hundred feet away from the cabin.

-You always left him alone, only staring at him from afar as though you could rip him apart just by looking at him. He'd believe it, you could do so much more than he could nowadays. He remembers how stupidly excited he was when he showed you some of the exploits he found, inviting you to clip through walls and change the very world around you, how he'd kissed you for the first time after some dumb little robbery of that pizza place Elliot worked at. You'd remembered it too, creating duplicates of yourself to wander and watch for any trespassers and morphing yourself into whatever best suited the chase.

-It'd been a particularly bloody night when you'd approached him. You'd torn apart the few survivors he'd come out with, bodies strewn about the area until he was the only one remaining. You'd stared at him from afar again for long enough he figured you'd just stand there, until you moved, quickly, running right at him. He'd tried to turn on his heel and run, more instinctive than anything thoughtful and logical but you were faster- so much faster than you were even when you'd chase each other around, teleporting just a few feet behind one another every few seconds until one of you finally caught the other in a pile of laughter.

-You caught him before he could ever dream of getting away, slammed him down into the wall he'd slump down against, staring up at you. You didn't move then, just stared right back down through him. Suddenly, you'd jerked your head closer but stopped as soon as you'd started, stilling once more.

-There was still the little glimmers of who you were, the few features that hadn't been mangled beyond recognition. You still felt so warm, warmer than anything else had felt in a while, different from the searing heat of the fireplace, more inviting. Maybe he was delusional. He still reached out, one trembling hand stretching out to cup the side of your face once more. That seemed to quell you, leaning your head into his hand heavily as you continued to stare. He understood it then, at least he imagined he did. You came back.

[yumeka-sxf]

Was not expecting a Yuri/Yor chapter, but it was a pleasant surprise! First thing I want to mention is the fact that Yor is not wearing her usual Thorn Princess earrings, but instead has rose earrings similar to the button on her red blouse.

I could be wrong, but I believe this is the first time we've seen her with different earrings. Perhaps it's an indication that she's feeling more "at ease" as far as her relationship with her Thorn Princess identity, since we know that her usual earrings function as weapons if needed. Maybe she doesn't feel as much of a need to be "on guard" all the time as she used to be.

As for the bulk of this chapter, it featured great character development for the Briar siblings. What stood out to me the most is how hard it is for Yuri to understand that Yor's happiness truly does come from the happiness of others, plus the fact that she has very few desires for herself, especially materialistic ones that can be bought at a store. It's hard for him to grasp because he spent his whole life watching her selflessly sacrifice her own childhood to take care of the both of them, so he feels he has to overcompensate. But again, because he can't fathom that she actually enjoys taking care of others, the only explanation he can come up with for her lack of wanting things for herself is that the Forgers are "controlling" her somehow (also due to his own bias, lol).

It was amusing how Yuri's attempts to frame Loid and Anya as "brainwashing" Yor failed miserably...it only served to highlight how much she cares about them, especially Anya. I loved the below panel ❤️ She's such a mom.

By the way, this next panel cracked me up the most 🤣 I was curious what the "go at it" part was in the Japanese version, and it turns out to be the verb 絡む ("karamu"). It has several meanings, but mainly it means "to be entangled with" either with physical things like vines or wires, but also to be entangled with a person in a problematic way, such as by quarreling. I can only imagine how Yuri interpreted this 😂

In the latter part of the chapter, Yor finally made it clear to Yuri that he doesn't need to keep pitying her. She states that she enjoyed the time she spent taking care of him, and whatever negative feelings she had after he left her are in the past, so he doesn't have to keep trying to compensate for it.

For a brief moment, Yuri daydreams about the two of them going back to their hometown to live peaceful lives before ultimately realizing that they have responsibilities in the city that they can't just abandon. The emphasis on their respective "real" jobs that they can't reveal to each other, plus the later scene of Yuri lamenting that he feels distant from Yor because he can't show her who he's really become, definitely gave me a feeling of foreboding. Plus the fact that the chapter ends with him possibly being assigned a new job.

Even though the rest of the Forgers didn't appear in this chapter, we did get this precious little panel when Yuri was musing about why he feels so lonely. So thank you for this Yuri and your rolodex wheel of anxious thoughts 😂

I think it's still too soon for any kind of big, story-shattering reveal, but I feel like Yuri's next assignment could be something akin to the mole hunt arc, where something big almost happens...the fandom focuses a lot on a Twilight/Thorn Princess reveal, but a Briar sibling reveal would be just as major in my opinion, which is the vibe I got from this chapter. Since Yuri already had an encounter with Twilight, what if he had some kind of run-in with Garden next? 👀

...or maybe this was just a standalone chapter and we'll never find out what Yuri's next assignment is because it's not important and the next chapter will move on to something else 😅 I'd say it's 50/50 at this point, lol.

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

As a Rookanis lover, I've got to say that I enjoy seeing affectionate Lucanis from the external perspective on a different playthrough. It's something you can't see while romancing him with Rook, because he wouldn't tell them how much he wanted to get it right and how nervous he was about it, because he wants to look good for them.

But he totally fusses over preparing the dessert for his sweetheart. Which is adorable. And he does not like it when you later tell Neve that he got flustered over it. He wants to make a good impression.

And I can't believe people say you can't be evil in this game when you can straight up lie to him that it's a bad idea. :( That's an option for Rooks who like kicking puppies.

Also...

Assassin mode: On. 😆

An interesting difference I found here is that this is the point where Rook's romance with Lucanis locks in, and they officially become a couple. Rook recognizes what he's trying to say, likely thanks to all the previous experiences they've shared together - besides all the time spent together, getting to know each other, at this point they've almost kissed, and Lucanis also admits to having feelings for Rook during Inner Demons. The romance lock-in for him and Neve happens later, though. In my playthrough (where my Grey Warden Rook romanced Davrin but still saved Treviso), it actually happened waaay later, probably because I did Inner Demons soon after it became available, and the romance lock-in scene for them happened after Blood of Arlathan. (I haven't played enough yet to know whether it always happens this way, but I assume you can postpone or switch order for certain quests, which will affect your timeline for this.) So, with Neve, he may take significantly longer than with Rook.

And that is not meant to be any commentary on the quality of the relationships. I'm just observing the bird man for science. Especially because I've seen some people say that he doesn't act consistently between his romance with Rook and Neve. But... I don't think so? He still takes it slow in both cases. This is one of the examples. But of course, Rook and Neve are two different individuals that get involved with Lucanis under different circumstances and from different positions in the team, so it makes sense that the progression is not completely the same. Lucanis' relationship is flavoured by his partner, but they both make him happy and they're both equally valid.

I've also repeatedly seen some nonsense takes about how Rook's romance with Lucanis is supposedly inferior to Neve's, how he ignores Rook's affection, and isn't actually that much into them, which is honestly insane to me, because Lucanis expresses interest in Rook way before the scene with the dessert. Not only does he eagerly play along with Rook's flirting during their first coffee date, he initiates it. Most of the time, Rook's "flirting" takes the form of caring, expressing concern, and showing support. Lucanis is not used to that and he's also experiencing the horrors 24/7. But it is him that tells them that they always manage to cheer him up ("How do you always do that?" - "Do what?" - "Break apart my perfectly gathered clouds of doom.") and when they keep being supportive, he pins them against the wall. He straight up tells Rook that he doesn't want to lose them in Inner Demons. And I could go on. All that happens before the point when he starts courting Neve on a playthrough where they become a couple. Neve gets one cute dialogue cutscene with him and a few lines of dialogue/banter, because she's a companion. There's no reason to be jelly.

But back to the post.

From what I've gathered, it seems that the first pie didn't do the trick with Neve. I imagine they still spent nice time together, but from their actual lock-in scene later, it's clear that Lucanis didn't express his interest yet (or maybe didn't do it clearly enough, because his style is pushing a snack your way and hoping you'll get the message), or Neve wasn't ready to/didn't pick up on it. After the scene with the dessert (after Inner Demons) with Rook, Lucanis writes in his 4th logbook entry about spending time with them late at night. But with Neve, it's just this:

No mention of spending time with her yet.

When Rook and Lucanis become a couple, he makes this addition in the same logbook entry:

Which is another reason why it's clear they're just not there with Neve yet at this point. Also because Lucanis then prepares another pie later for her, and that's when they finally admit they like each other. But that's something for another post.

Also, I will tolerate no clowning towards Neve on this post. We love and respect Neve in this house. Sometimes she's my boyfriend's girlfriend, and sometimes she's also my girlfriend. I will protect. I'm writing this for fun, because I want to study the bird man from all angles. It's good extra material for my Rookanis headcanons. I also assume not everybody has done multiple playthroughs, so I thought maybe other people could appreciate it.

[cueloki]

Mission shenanigans

You and Loki really aren't that close... or are you?

Wordcount: 847

Pairing: Loki x f!reader

Warnings: Loki has ulterior motives, Loki cuddles, Bucky and Sam just want to sleep :(

A/N: Really don't know where this came from, but should we explore the aftermath in a part 2? | divider credit: anitalenia

“So this is cozy…” You speak up, after all of you are settled into the bunk beds and the big light is already off. “I had no idea missions could have such a school trip vibe,” You muse.

“Doll, this is the only time we get to sleep before it's all hands on deck,” Bucky says softly from the bottom bunk. You lean over the edge to investigate if he's actually trying to sleep. You squint your eyes and make out that his eyes are closed.

“Sam?” You whisper in the direction of the other top bunk, even though his back is turned to you.

“Oh, hell no, I know your mind is on that hyperactive shit right now but don't drag me into it.” He moans, exhaustion clear in his voice.

You huff and lay back. Usually you had better luck persuading Bucky and Sam into conversation but you guessed that with the way the mission was going, it made sense they'd want to get some rest in. 

And Sam had a point. Lack of sleep made you hyperactive which did you no favors in a situation such as this. You won't fall asleep anytime soon. Not that the bunks offer comfortable sleep in the first place.

Then there was Loki. In the bottom bunk beneath Sam, somehow still full of energy to read, with a soft glow conjured around his book to light up the words. Suppose gods don't need to sleep. Lucky bastards.

But you and Loki don't really get along. So there's little hope of starting a pleasant conversation there.

You stare at the ceiling as the room fills with the sound of Bucky's and Sam's snoring, which has probably been your least favorite part of this long mission with them. What makes it even worse is that you dropped your earphones somewhere, lost forever god knows where, so you truly have nothing to fight the violent snoring with. 

“You could borrow one of my books,” Loki speaks in a hushed whisper.

You stay quiet. Whenever he has offered something previously, it was with a motive. And he's been pissing you off with his quips about your moves during the mission. He’s a pain. A good looking, divine, drool over his looks in secret pain, but a pain nonetheless. The fact that he is attractive doesn't make up for the fact that he loves to get on your nerves.

“Come now, darling, I know you aren't asleep. Your breathing isn't deep enough,” He sighs.

“What are you bothering me for?” You huff.

“Well you tried to strike a conversation with everyone but me, I'm a little wounded,” You can hear the mirth in his words. Probably because he succeeded in baiting you into a conversation.

You snort. “You expect me to believe you care about that? Or anything?”

He ignores your question. “I could help you sleep. With my magic.” He offers, seemingly set on proving you wrong, because he's annoying like that.

You roll your eyes.

“It's a genuine offer, darling, just come down here,” 

You fidget with your fingers. You don't want to accept his help but you get clumsy and reckless when you haven't had rest. You curse yourself as you start climbing the ladder of the bunk.

In no time you stand awkwardly in front of his bunk. You shift your feet nervously. 

“What now?” You mutter.

“Sit down.” He says as he closes his book and it disappears in a green glow.

You follow his instructions and sit on his bed, facing away from him. But then he's pulling you to lay down with him.

“What-” 

Your protest is cut short as his hand splays over your stomach and you feel a wave of warmth wash over your whole body in pulses, relaxing both your muscles and mind.

“Oh,” You say in surprise, unable to muster up anything more.

“Oh,” He copies you, amused. “Oh, indeed,” He chuckles as he pulls you even closer and drapes the duvet over the both of you.

You don't have time to process whatever just happened because your body is now in such a bliss that the only thing you can really do is accept the situation as your eyes flutter closed.

Before you drift into slumber you think you hear Loki whisper a soft “Sleep well, darling.”

–

When you come to wake, it's to the sight of Bucky and Sam trying to stifle their laughter as they stare at you, wrapped in Loki's arms.

“It's not what it looks like!” You argue immediately, in your morning voice, causing them to give each other a knowing look and laugh out loud.

“Sure, doll,” Bucky grins, making it obvious they don't believe you, before they start walking out the room.

“We leave in five!” Sam calls.

You groan and feel Loki shift.

“And what is it, if not exactly what it looks like?” Loki's deep morning voice sounds from behind you as he pulls you closer.

“Shut up, Odinson,” You mutter.

He laughs and there's a pang in your heart. Oh, you're screwed.

more of my works

[chibinasuu]

would you fall in love with me again from epic......... but it's sanji and the reader after the events of wano after his exoskeleton activates

nyla, i just wanted you to know that this request absolutely broke me. it's been sitting in my inbox for almost two weeks but i finally got the time (and courage) to finish it!

i've been wanting to write a fic with this exact premise for a loooong time, but i'm glad i hadn't written it yet because this song is so perfect and fits incredibly well for this story. thank you for giving me inspiration, and the push to finally write this!

and i am nawt the best at writing angst but i really hope i did this story justice!

Would You Fall in Love with Me Again | Sanji x Reader

Tags: major spoilers for wano, sfw, angst, hurt/comfort, GN but written with F!Reader in mind, no use of y/n Disclaimer: some of the dialogues are taken directly from the song

A strange clanging roused you from your slumber.

You reached for the sheets beside you only to find them void of warmth. A sliver of moonlight penetrated the darkness of your room through the cracked open door that led to the castle gardens outside.

You slid the wooden frame open, revealing a figure hunched over on the ground, half hidden by the shadows, "Sanji, is that you? Are you alright?”

The banging stopped.

"Sorry, did I wake you? Please go back to bed, sweetheart, I’m fine. I’ll be there in a minute."

You observed him for a moment—taking in his seemingly permanent frown, the bags under his eyes, the slouch in his shoulders—and voiced the thought that had been bothering you since the battle on Onigashima ended a couple of days ago, "You look… different. Tired."

He refused to meet your eyes, his gaze remained fixed on the lush greenery of the garden.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Your plea broke his facade, and Sanji was no longer able to pretend that he was okay.

His breaths turned into short, shallow gasps. He gulped, jaws clenched tight, before he finally admitted, "I can't feel."

He pounded his fist once more against his abdomen to prove his point, the clang echoing unforgivingly amid the otherwise silent night, "I can't feel anything. There's no pain."

You surged forward, catching his wrist before his fist could fall upon his body again.

"No! Don't touch me!" He rasped, though there was no fight when you gently guided his hand to rest in his lap, "Please, I don't want to hurt you."

"Sanji—"

"It's that wretched Germa suit. It did something to me. Something foul."

He clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp so forcefully that a few golden strands came loose and fluttered to the ground.

"I-I'm not the man you fell in love with, nor the one you once might've adored." He rambled, "I'm not k-kind or, or gentle—"

"Sanji.”

You cradled his face in between your hands, pushing away his hair to take in both of his misty eyes. They were filled with a rare vulnerability that made your heart ache.

A choked sob escaped him as he finally looked at you.

In a voice so small it was nearly impossible to comprehend, he whispered, "Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I've done?"

You knew he was not only referring to what happened on Onigashima.

You didn’t witness what went down between him and Luffy on Whole Cake Island, and you never had the urge to ask for the details. Sanji was back on the Sunny, he and Luffy were okay, and that was all that mattered.

Sanji's expression turned into one of disgust as he gestured to his body, "The things I cannot change… Would you love me all the same?"

The answer to that was as clear as day, but somehow, you doubt that he'd believe you just like that.

"What happened?" You asked instead, "During your fight with Queen?"

He grimaced as he recalled the bitter memories, "I… lost control. My mind went blank, then that girl was on the floor, bleeding."

He shut his eyes tight, "In the end, I found out that Queen was responsible for that, but I still can't forget that look she gave me. That girl… She was afraid of me. And rightfully so. She should be afraid of me—I'm turning into a monster."

Your chest burned with hatred for all the people—or rather, monsters—that made your sweet Sanji feel this way.

Your fingers left his face as you stood up resolutely, "A monster, huh? If that's true, could you do something for me?"

He stared up blankly at you.

"Kick me."

Sanji fell on his knees to the ground in front of you. His face soured, brows furrowed as if the simple thought of bringing harm to you physically pained him, "How could you say that? No! I would never!"

He caught both of your hands, kissing them in turn with a gentleness that was oh so familiar to you.

You smiled, "Then I guess you're still my Sanji."

His eyes widened, then the dam broke.

His body shook as he weeped uncontrollably, and you crouched down again to take him into your arms.

Within seconds, the fabric of your yukata was soaked with tears and snot, but you never loosened your hold on him. Your hand rubbed soothing circles on his back as you let him ride out his grief.

And once his sobs turned into sniffles, then into steady breaths, you intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching up to caress his cheek, "Can you feel this?"

He nodded.

"This?" You asked as you pressed your lips to his neck, leaving a tender kiss that left Sanji sighing blissfully.

"Does your heart still race when I do this?" You whispered in his ear, bringing your lips down to his and staying there for a few seconds before you pulled back, barely.

"Yes," He breathed out as your hand moved to his chest, confirming the quick rhythm of his heart underneath your palm.

"Then you're still my Sanji. You're still human. And nothing could change that."

You rested your forehead against his, "I will fall in love with you over and over again. I don't care how, where, or when. No matter what happens, you're mine."

Cupping his face, you made him look into your eyes, "Don't tell me you're not the same person. You're always my Sanji."

The relief was obvious in his sigh.

Sanji leaned forward timidly, capturing your lips with a nervousness that hadn't been present since the first time he kissed you many, many moons ago, "I love you."

"And I love you. Always."

You took his hand and pulled him to his feet, “Let’s get back to bed.”

He followed obediently.

Limbs entangled with yours, Sanji finally slept through the night.

↳ masterlist

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

oh I'm glad I'm seeing this post again because I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT A LOT and what it would mean the rest of other stanley's upbringing would look like. and honestly the rest of ford's life too

like maybe at some point the baby calls him "dada" and ford gets all flustered like "what? no no no, I'm not our father-" but then, he mentally adds, "even though I'd be a better father to you than filbrick was."

and that's when it kinda sinks in that like. he's going to be the one to raise this version of stanley. up until that point he'd sort of been thinking of himself as some kind of babysitter, but babysitting is temporary. this isn't. he'll be watching over new stanley until he's an adult, probably. for all intents and purposes, he basically is new stanley's dad

and that's weird, he realizes. it feels weird and kind of wrong. but what else is he supposed to do about it? obviously this stanley would be too young to understand if ford tried to tell him the truth. so, he'll let new stanley grow up thinking that he's ford's son, weird as that feels, and tell him the truth when he's older. because he's definitely going to tell him the truth... eventually. he deserves to know the truth

"I'll tell him when he turns 10." Ford tells himself. But new Stanley's 10th birthday comes and goes and Ford doesn't have the courage to say anything. besides, he's still so young. just a child. this would be too much for him to process. "I'll tell him when he's 13," but that day passes as well. "I'll tell him when he's 16," and so on. he keeps pushing it off

because how is anyone supposed to start that conversation? "Hi, son. Actually you're my twin brother. But you died so the time police brought me a younger version of you from a different timeline because you're destined to save the world apparently"

and Stanley does believe that Ford is his father. he has no reason not to believe it. this is the man who cared for him as far back as he can remember, and the family resemblance is undeniable. Stanley's the spitting image of his old man. if Ford tried to tell Stanley he was adopted (which was technically what happened, Ford supposes), Stanley would never believe it

and Stanley loves Ford as a father, too. At one point Ford thought he would never get used to hearing young Stanley say "I love you, Dad". but as the years went on, it came to feel as natural to him as any other father-son bond. and Ford loves Stanley, of course. he isn't sure anymore if he loves him just as a brother or sort of also, weirdly, as a son. but that doesn't matter, he tells himself. they're family, and they love each other as family, and that's what's important. he'll explain the details of their strange relationship to his not-son... someday, for sure.

And he knows he definitely won't abandon this version of Stanley. His heart still aches for the original. And fate gave him... a weird second chance, but a second chance nonetheless. He would make sure this Stanley never doubted that his family loved him.

Ford proved to be a much better father than Filbrick. Granted, that bar was so low it was practically in the earth's core. But he raises new Stanley with more love than Filbrick ever could've. And he was much gentler with his punishments, of course. He might have to give Stanley a stern talking-to now and then. At his worst, if Stanley somehow made him really angry, he might yell. But he would never physically punish him. And even after an (exceptionally rare) father-son shouting match, Ford made sure to check up on Stanley after they had both simmered down. And he would apologize, and assure Stanley that he loved him, and that everything he did and said was because he loved him.

Ford was somewhat of an over-protective parent. That might've been the biggest flaw in his parenting style, aside from the secrets he was keeping. But who could blame him, knowing what he knew? The Stanley from his childhood with had been tossed out on the streets and suffered a slow, agonizing death, scared and alone, locked in the trunk of a car. And the Stanley he'd been given to raise was apparently destined to save the world. Well, really, the Stanley from his childhood was supposed to do that, until he died young. And Ford never knew what sort of world-ending threat Stanley was destined to defeat. And he never told Stanley about this supposed destiny, either. The circumstances of new Stanley's upbringing were strange enough without Ford throwing a "chosen one" narrative into the mix to loom over the boy's head. And Ford never knew how Stanley was supposed to save the world, but he had the sinking feeling that it would all culminate in some heroic act of self-sacrifice, and Ford's heart ached at the thought...

I COULD GO ON but I don't have any coherent way to wrap this all up. But this has been bouncing around in my brain for like 24 hours and I had to get at least some of it on paper (so to speak)

Stanley has an important role in the grand scheme of things, specifically saving the universe. His role is so crucial that if anything were to happen to him it could lead to not only the destruction of his universe, but also lead the destruction of others. So what would happen if Ford had lost Stanley somewhere during the ten years they spent apart, only for Ford to be met face to face with the time police and what appears to be 2 years old Stanley.

His ears feel muffled as he’s handed the toddler.

Death by asphyxiation

Trunk of the car

Far too late

Paradox

The child’s timeline was already gone

The fate of the universe

His hands

The baby coos in his arms babbling as he grabs Ford’s pinky.

[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom

Is it not Obvious?

For decades, almost my entire life, I’ve had to hide some parts of me. Mostly, to stay of out of trouble. I was good at it too. Still am, truth be told. Or so I believed. Until my nosy brother answered my question with one of his own.

“Is it not obvious?”

That got me thinking, and when I came back from my Mind Palace, Mycroft had left 221B.

Every comment regarding my relationship with John; sorry, friendship, has gone over my head. He answered them loud enough – “not gay!”

On more thorough inspection, those comments weren’t all wrong. Granted, we’ve never had a romantic or sexual relationship, but our friendship was, is, unique. Intense, possessive, easy, complicated, and filled with hidden emotions. The latter is the reason for the complications. 

Like I said, I am good at hiding parts of me I don’t wish exposed. That changed one January day when John Watson entered my life. My abilities to conceal my feelings, were thrown to the wind, and they have been quite difficult to reclaim.

I realised that John was hiding too. Not as well as I once did. His admiration for my deductions was instant, unshielded, honest. The way he looked at me then… I just wanted to…

***

We’ve been through hell a couple of times since the mentioned January day at Barts. I have hurt him. He has hurt me. I told myself I deserved every blow he gave me. Now, I’m not so sure.

“I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did to you, Sherlock,” John said when we finally reconciled, and he reluctantly agreed to move back home.

He cried, which was an alien sight. I had never seen John cry before. It broke my heart, and I slowly got up from my chair. My body was still bruised, and every movement hurt.

I slid one hand up his right arm, while the other rested on the nape of his neck. His left hand was still covering his eyes, which hindered me from pulling him tighter toward me. To my utter relief, he didn’t pull back when he had calmed.

“Why are you so good to me, Sherlock?” he whispered hoarsely.

The words resting on the tip of my tongue, were too dangerous to speak. Perhaps one day.

“You are my best friend, John,” I told him, reminded him.

“Some friend I am,” he huffed and moved.

I let him go with a heavy heart.

“You were grieving.”

“No excuse,” he said angrily.

I winced involuntarily at the vehemence in his voice. Thank God, he didn’t see it. Or so I thought.

When he lifted his head, new tears trickled down his cheeks.

“I don’t deserve your friendship,” he whispered and took my hand in his. “If you still want me and Rosie to move in, I promise I’ll do better. I’m working on my anger, and…”

I gripped his hand so hard I thought he would squirm, but he seemed unfazed. His face, though tear and grief stricken, was open, unveiled, and I realised that my feelings for him weren’t as unrequited as I’d feared. 

His phone buzzed before I managed to catalogue everything, but he didn’t let go of my hand, which I took as a good sign.

***

After John left, I thought about the previous conversation with my brother. I admit, I didn’t pay full attention. My mind was elsewhere. With John. As always. I was nervous about his answer to my request of moving back. So, when Mycroft mentioned the hidden chemistry between me and John, I honestly had no idea what he was on about.

“What are you talking about, brother mine?” I snapped.

“Is it not obvious?”

The question soared around the corridors of my Mind Palace until it led me to the door of John’s Room. Behind said door was the truth I had avoided for so long. When I looked at it from a distance, it was crystal-clear. Our chemistry was a tangible thing from that particular point of view. 

Sentences and statements from us both lit up the room:

“Where he goes, I follow.”

“I would be lost without my blogger.”

“Of course, you’re my best friend, Sherlock.”

“You are the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever known.”

***

Two days after John and Rosie moved in, John finally noticed what was missing from the flat.

“Sherlock, please tell me you haven’t given up on doing experiments for our sake. I don’t want you to – “

“John, it is one thing to have chemicals and body parts lying around when two adults live together. Bring a toddler into the equation, and things change considerably.”

“I get that, but – “

“221C. That’s where I’ll be doing the more…dangerous and malodorous experiments. Mycroft had it renovated. It even has proper ventilation now.”

“So, you’ve hidden your chemistry set and everything down there?”

“Yes. Well, almost. I’ve kept the microscope up here. Molly had a spare one I keep down there.”

“Wow, well, I guess that’s good. I never thought I’d say this, but 221B’s kitchen wouldn’t be the same without that microscope.”

His voice was teasing, and…happy?

“I am happy, Sherlock. This is the only home I’ve ever wanted. Sharing it with you and Rosie…well…”

“Since when did you become a mind reader, John?” I teased back.

“Learned from the best,” he replied mirthfully, before he turned serious. “I’ve missed you, Sherlock. I’ve missed us.”

His hand found mine so easily, as if it was a habit, normal.

“I’ve missed you too, John. And us.”

Carefully, I pulled him closer. He didn’t hesitate, but put his arms around me, and placed a hand on my cheek. I closed my eyes and said the words I had hidden for so long.

“I love you.”

He echoed my words reverently before he kissed me.

“No more hiding,” we agreed when we could think straight again.

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

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[nerdgirlbutinpink]

so i did say you guys would be feed some joaquin worries head canons while im writing part 2, so here they are!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦 | 𝗷𝗼𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘅 𝗚𝗡!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲

↳ you guys meet at a coffee shop — hear me out though! the beginning scene from anyone but you, he fakes you being his wife so you can use the restroom

↳ but this one doesn’t end as you two bring mutals and being enemies, this is the happy ending of you two going on an actual date

↳ he’s actually really good at picking spots to go to for date nights, you two go to places you don’t even know exist

↳ for those nights you two stay in? oh my gosh, when you say that he’s the best cook ever? you mean it.

↳ he cooks you all kinds of mexican dishes, he makes enchiladas, tortas, tacos, sopes, mole and pozole

↳ enough with the food talk now

↳ he’s SUCHH a family man, you don’t even understand

↳ when he takes you to a family gathering, you’re so nervous and about to jump out the car

↳ “what if they don-“ “they’re going to like you babe, they like everyone!” in the conversation you both have in the car before getting off

↳ you two walk in and you swore his mom looked at you angry then a sense of joy came upon her seeing you were with her son

↳ joaquin’s mom? nah. that’s your best friend now! you two have been talking and texting nonstop since you met her

↳ even when it’s not about joaquin, you’re always asking her for cooking advice or even advice about joaquin

↳ “he’s been acting strange, he goes away when we’re not together, he never answers the phone when he’s gone, and hes a little too secretive about his second phone”

↳ besides him being a little odd when he’s away, he’s such a gentle man

↳ ever since you met him, he’s never let you open any door for yourself or anything, and he makes sure of it too

↳ when it’s that time of the month? gone or away, you’ll receive his own little care package he made himself of stuff he knows you like, down to the candy, a pair of socks, a heating pad and even a blanket sometimes

↳ you always swear you’re going to marry him

↳ he gets you a puppy for your guys’ anniversary

↳ he says it’s for when he’s on his oddly long periods of time …. and you bring that up too

↳ “joaquin?” you say with the cutest smile on your face, “yes y/n?” “where do you you even go in those times you just leave me alone?”

↳ that starts a pretty heated conversation, you get worried on if you two would break up but it ends in him admitting he’s the falcon

↳ honestly you didn’t see or believe it at first since you didn’t notice any similarities between the two

↳ then when he pointed out when you’d see the green suited man on the news … the same times he’d be gone

↳ everything had just made a bit more sense now

↳ honestly you couldn’t even be mad at him, because you’re boyfriend being a superhero? holy shart

↳ you soon forgive him to getting angry at the fact he would disappear, all was now okay knowing he was safe in these situations

↳ but then you hit him because he didn’t tell you sooner, “why would this be a secret!?” he explains he didn’t want you to worry

↳ you weren’t even mad at that part, you were just mad because that’s such a cool thing to hide

↳ “you make me seem lame, my super secret is that i eat all the nutella when you’re gone!” “so that’s where it goes…i know im not crazy”

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

a/n: please lmk if this was any good T-T also i want to start a taglist but im not sure how to make the link, but once i find out ill make one for each character i write!

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔓𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 Mike Schmidt x male reader

Summary: You thought you were just having fun, teasing Mike and testing his patience. But everyone has a breaking point, and you’re about to find out exactly what happens when he reaches his.

Tags: Part 15 of this series of Mike Schmidt x male reader but can be read as a standalone as usual. No use of Y/N. Age-gap (5 years) between you and Mike. Male reader. He/him pronouns used towards the reader. Lots of teasing. Smut. Dom Mike. Brat tamer Mike. Bottom reader. Anal sex.

Words count: 6000

The night air clung to your skin as Mike half-guided, half-dragged you through the front door. His grip was firm around your waist, not out of annoyance but caution. Your giggles echoed against the hallway walls, low and slurred and warm with the afterglow of cheap beer. Mike smelled like faint sweat and faded cologne and every time your shoulder bumped his, you caught that scent and leaned in closer, as if magnetized. Your head lolled onto his shoulder for a second, just long enough for him to huff something between a sigh and a chuckle, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud.

Abby stood there, halfway down the corridor, blinking up at both of you in her oversized pajamas. Her arms were curled around her favorite drawing of you three but her face was wide open, curiosity and excitement shining in her eyes. "You're home!" she beamed at Mike and then her gaze flicked to your glassy eyes, dumb grin and the way you clung to Mike like gravity itself was optional.

Mike blinked slowly, ran a hand through his hair and let out that familiar tired exhale. "Abby," he said, voice flat but gentle, "what did I say about bedtime?"

She puffed out her cheeks, made a face at you (which you lazily returned with a lopsided wink and a finger-gun) and then shuffled off, dragging her feet. The sound of her door closing was the quietest little click and Mike let out a breath he'd been holding since you stepped inside.

He helped lower you onto the couch, your body boneless and warm under his hands. His palms lingered for a second on your waist as you sunk back into the cushions, then slipped away. "Stay put," he muttered, standing up and walking into the kitchen.

You pulled your shirt slightly down as it kept riding up, though not enough to cover anything meaningful. It left your flushed collarbone and the start of your chest exposed. Mike came back with a glass of water, a few droplets sliding down the outside of the glass as he handed it to you.

"Drink."

You took the glass in both hands, your fingers brushing his knuckles. "Yessir," you said with a little salute that made the corner of his mouth twitch, barely.

He sank into the couch beside you, letting out a breath as his body relaxed. You drank greedily, the cool water refreshing and harsh against your warmed throat. When the glass was empty, you leaned over and set it down a little too hard on the coffee table, missing the coaster entirely.

"So," you drawled, turning toward him and letting your entire body follow, practically melting against his side. "I had so much fun tonight."

"Mm?" he answered without looking at you, eyes fixed on a stain on the carpet or maybe nothing at all.

You continued, bubbling over. "We went to Leo's bar, the divey one, you know? With the sticky floor? Gross as hell, but the shots are two bucks. Two. Can you believe that?" you pinched your fingers together dramatically, your body swaying with the gesture.

Mike chuckled under his breath, the sound low and tired. Your smile widened. You were flush-faced and loose, every word falling out like spilled liquor. "Some guy—rando—tried to chat me up. Like, real smooth- like, y'know? Came up, offered to buy me a drink and said I looked lonely!" You rolled your eyes, giggling "I told him, and I quote, 'Back off, I got a boyfriend and he could beat your ass."

Mike turned his head then. Not just a glance this time, his whole face angled toward you, eyes tired but alert. You just smiled and slung your arms around his neck, your chest pressing against him, body curling on instinct and it was wrecking him.

His hand twitched against his thigh, like he had to stop himself from reaching for you, dragging you into his lap, slamming your mouth into his just to remind you whose you were.

He swallowed, throat tight. The image of some greasy stranger putting a hand on you burned. Even the idea of it made his knuckles tense. Pride slid through his veins like whiskey, warm and molten and mean at hearing your response.

"…Glad you remembered," he said finally, voice a low rumble. Not sarcastic or teasing. Just real and quiet and so fucking full of meaning.

You blinked up at him, grinning like a kid. "Of course I remembered," you slurred, your fingers now threading into his hair without a single thought. "You think I'd forget my man? Please. Even wasted I know who makes me come so good."

That hit hard. His breath caught, then left him slow and steady, like a man holding back the tide. Your fingers in his hair, the weight of you against his side, the bare inch between your lips and his pupils blown wide. God, you looked good. The flush across your cheeks from the alcohol had spread down your throat, lighting your exposed skin in a way that made his chest tighten.

He leaned in a fraction, just enough to smell your breath, to feel your warmth tickle the corner of his mouth. He wanted to kiss you. But he didn't. Not yet.

His hand finally moved, resting against your exposed collarbone, thumb brushing that delicate skin. Your breath hitched. So did his.

"You really told him I'd beat his ass?" he murmured, lips barely inches from yours.

"Fuck yeah," you breathed.

Mike didn't expect the sudden weight in his lap. You moved without warning, hands braced on his shoulders, knees bracketing his thighs as you slung yourself into his lap. His whole body stiffened under you, eyes going wide, then narrowing fast, lips parting for a split second in stunned silence.

"Jesus," he hissed through clenched teeth, grabbing instinctively at your hips to steady you. "What the hell are you?"

You just laughed. Loud, tipsy, unfiltered. "You shoulda seen your face," you wheezed, voice bubbling out of you, "you looked like I just pulled a gun on you."

"Shhh—“ Mike hushed you fast, his hand flying up to your mouth with a panicked glance toward the hallway. "Fuck, babe, Abby's still awake."

Your laughter softened into a muffled snort against his palm, eyes glossy and half-lidded as you blinked at him with this lovesick grin that melted everything you said next. "Then she should not be listening to her big brother getting cozy with his boyfriend."

"Goddamn it—" he groaned under his breath, face turning a shade darker, jaw tight. But his hands didn't leave your hips. If anything, they gripped tighter.

You leaned in closer, your weight rockin ever-so-slightly forward on his lap, sending a slow drag of friction right over the growing heat in his jeans.

"I was just thinking," you whispered against his cheek, your voice suddenly intimate, sing-song and sticky with fondness. "You know what I love about you?"

Mike gave a tight, skeptical grunt.

You leaned in so your lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "I love the way you fuck me." Shifting on his lap again, this time grinding unintentionally right down against his hardening cock. Mike's hand spasmed on your hip. He bit down on the inside of his cheek hard.

"You're so… mean about it sometimes," you murmured, voice breathy and low, laced with a dreamy kind of filth, "but in a good way. Like you want me to feel it all week. You know that time you bent me over the kitchen counter? When Abby was sleeping over at Vanessa's?"

You shifted again on his lap, completely unaware of what you were doing to him and Mike could feel every fucking inch of you. His cock was hard now, straining painfully against his jeans and your weight pressing down, dragging over it again and again was maddening. His hands twitched, digging slightly into your waist, like he was holding himself back from bucking up into you.

"Babe—“ he grunted, trying again to shush you but his voice broke in the middle, strained.

Your hips shifted again, this time a full roll of your pelvis and the friction right against the thick press of Mike's bulge made him suck in a breath through his teeth. It hurts now. Especially with you babbling filth like it was pillow talk, laughing and pressing kisses against his jaw.

"Jesus Christ," Mike hissed, head falling back against the couch as he squeezed his eyes shut, like that'd help, like shutting you out would stop the mental image of your flushed face, mouth open in a desperate moan while he railed you. "You're killing me."

You stopped moving.

Not out of mercy. Just… ran out of energy. Your forehead came to rest in the crook of his neck, your breath warm and damp against his skin, lips barely brushing his collarbone. You mumbled, quiet and vulnerable in the way only a drunk heart could be.

"I love my boyfriend," you whispered, slurred and raw and soft, "so much."

Mike didn't move. Couldn't.

His hands were still on your waist, eyes wide, lips parted, brain screaming through the rush of blood pounding behind his ears and the hard pulse of his cock pressing against his zipper like it was trying to claw its way out. You'd said all that shit with the sweetest fucking smile on your face, no shame, no filter, just the man he loved getting him hard and stupid with a dozen dirty memories and no idea what you were doing to him.

You snored just a little. Mike blinked, looking down to find you out cold in his lap, face still nestled against his neck, your breath tickling his skin, arms slack around his shoulders.

"Fucking menace." He muttered again, dragging a hand down his face. Then he shook his head, scoffing under his breath with the tiniest grin cracking through that exhausted, flushed exterior.

"Time for bed," he murmured after a long minute, voice husky and hoarse.

"Mm," you hummed in your sleep, the sound rumbling low in your chest, vibrating against his collarbone. "Fine."

With slow, clumsy movements, you peeled yourself off his lap, rising to your feet with a stagger and nearly tripping forward. You caught yourself just in time, steadying with a hand on the coffee table. Mike bit his tongue watching your ass sway.

You leaned down again and gave him a lazy, crooked kiss right on the mouth. Just a brush. Soft and chaste.

"M'gonna shower," you mumbled with a sleepy groan, peeling your shirt off halfway to the hallway, revealing that sweat-glossed chest, that sloping line from your pecs down to your waistband.

And Mike just stared, thinking about how he wouldn't have minded if you skipped the shower and just climbed into bed like that.

He'd probably be awake all night anyway.

Mike lay flat on his back, one arm crooked under his head, the other sprawled across the rumpled sheets beside him. The room was dark, but the faint blue wash from the window painted everything in cold shadow, including the edge of the faded poster about Nebraska.

He'd tried to rip the damn thing down months ago. Half succeeded, too. The corners had curled from old tape, hanging limp like they'd given up trying to cling to the drywall anymore. But still, the thing clung-ragged, defiant, a stubborn fragment of a past he couldn't fully strip away.

His eyes stared through it, pupils unfocused, brain half-numb with exhaustion and the slowly settling frustration that hadn't left since you climbed off his lap. He could still feel your warm voice like sin dripping straight into his ear.

He shifted slightly, dragging his forearm across his face with a groan that barely made it out of his throat.

Soft footsteps padding down the hallway, a door creaking open, followed by a quiet yawn. The kind of yawn you tried to muffle but couldn't, ending in a breathy little hum as you stretched your arms up before you shuffled across the floor like a drunk cat, mumbling some nonsense under your breath that made Mike almost smile.

You climbed into bed without ceremony, still warm and damp from your shower, your skin radiating heat like a living furnace as you crawled across the mattress and slotted in beside him. Your head found its place against the thick pillow of his bicep, cheek pressed into the muscle, breath brushing over his arm.

For a while, you both just stared up. The ceiling didn't offer much. Just cracks. That dumb torn poster.

Then your voice cut through the quiet, still half-slurred and lazy.

"How the hell did you even get that thing up there?" you mumbled, lips barely moving, a crooked grin curling on your mouth. "You climbed a chair and almost cracked your skull?"

Mike exhaled through his nose.

"Fuck you," he muttered without looking at you, but the edge of his voice curled into something dry and fond.

You laughed quietly, low in your throat. The sound vibrated against his bicep. It made his heart twitch.

You pressed in closer, tucking yourself against his side like it was instinct. Like it was natural.

You sighed, breath trailing along his ribs and shifted to get under the covers, lifting yourself just enough to slip in and Mike moved without thinking, pulling his arm free from behind his head to loop it lazily around your waist, dragging you into him.

His palm met skin.

Warm, naked skin.

His whole body went still.

It wasn't just a slip of skin, either. The whole curve of your waist, the small of your back, the subtle dip down to where your ass started, smooth and hot and absolutely bare under his hand.

His heart jumped into his throat as his eyes flicked down, quick, instinctive, sharp in the low light.

You were practically naked. Just boxers clinging to your hips and not much else. Your chest was bare, collarbones still damp from the steam of the shower, a drop of water still clinging to the curve of your pec. You were sliding under the covers like some dream conjured by his dick and sleep deprivation, eyes lazy, body loose, unaware of how dangerous you looked right now.

Your bare leg swung over his hip, thigh heavy on him as you draped yourself half-on, half-over his body like you were trying to fuse with him.

His hand was still on your back.That warm dip of skin above your ass, smooth and clean and fucking perfect.

Your head dropped again onto his arm, humming softly, curling into him.

Mike stared at the ceiling, blinking

A pulse pounded behind his eyes, then dropped-hard-straight to his cock. The ache from earlier roared back to life, thick and throbbing beneath the thin fabric of his boxers, pressed up now against your inner thigh. There was no way you didn't feel it.

You shifted again, scooting impossibly closer and Mike's breath hitched.

Your bare chest dragged over his side, your skin slick and soft and so warm it burned. His hand slipped slightly lower by accident and now the heel of his palm rested against the very top curve of your ass, just barely grazing the waistband of your boxers.

Your thigh shifted in your sleep, slow and aimless and utterly dangerous, and Mike felt your own arousal, semi-hard and warm, slid lazy along the covered skin of his upper thigh, soft fabric against thin cotton, the weight of it unmistakable as it nestled there between the drag of your body and the sheet.

Your breath was warm on his chest, arms looped around him in a sleepy bear hug.

He groaned softly, almost a whisper, more breath than sound. His head turned to look at you, just to see your eyes shut and face flushed from the shower and sleep, a tiny wrinkle in your brow like you were dreaming. Oblivious. Fucking innocent.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Mike's voice broke, hoarse, low, the words catching halfway in his chest before he pushed them out again, thick with disbelief.

His tone was a snarl and a plea, frustration bleeding into every syllable. He tilted his face toward you, pressing his forehead to your temple.

But the only thing you gave him back was a sigh. Long. Content. Deep from your chest like a lullaby while you slept peacefully, wrapped around him like a heat blanket.

The morning settled in quiet and golden, light slipping through the kitchen windows in long, warm bars. The scent of batter and browned butter filled the air.

it was early, Mike's hair was messy like usual while wore the same worn-out gray T-shirt he always threw on in the morning. Even now, while flipping pancakes for his sister, every part of him still ached from the weight of you pressed on him all night.

So when he heard the light shuffle of footsteps behind him, socked feet brushing against the floor he assumed it was Abby.

"Pancakes are up," he called, half over his shoulder. "Don't say I never do anything for you."

He expected a squeak Or maybe a quick thank you from a sleepy ten years old.

What he got was your voice.

"Wow. I always dreamed of being confused for a middle-schooler. Thanks for that."

Mike froze mid-flip.

He turned his head and found you propped lazily against the edge of the table, one arm crossed under your chest, the other up with fingers dragging across your face, rubbing sleep from your eyes, wearing one of his old shirts that hugged you tightly.

His eyes dragged lower. The thin hem of the shirt stretched just past your hips, the fabric lifting on one side with how you leaned. Your thighs were bare, smooth, shifting with every lazy movement.

Just below the curve of your jaw was a bruise. Faint now and half-faded but still there.

One of his. Right where his mouth had marked you nights ago. A purpling echo of where he'd bitten down too hard in the dark.

The spatula slipped in his hand. He didn't even blink. Just stared, heat rolling up from his chest to the tips of his ears

The pan hissed violently, a dark puff of smoke curling up as the pancake started to burn around the edges. The flickers of crisp batter snapped Mike out of the spell and he turned back to the stove with a quiet, strangled noise in his throat, flipping the pancake.

"What the hell are you doing up this early?" he muttered, voice low, rough from lack of sleep and laced with the same gravel it carried.

You gave a soft shrug, letting your hand fall from your face, your fingers dragging down your neck and over your chest.

"Got cold," you said simply. "Bed felt weird without my human space heater."

Mike didn't say anything. You pushed off the table slowly and padded toward him, until you leaned your hands on the counter beside him, close enough that the heat off your skin kissed his arm, the scent of sleep and shampoo still clinging to you.

"Burning them on purpose?" You looked down at the pancakes, unimpressed.

He exhaled through his nose, voice flat but betraying the tightness in his jaw "Distracted."

"My head kinda hurts," you muttered, your lips brushing warm against the side of his stubbled cheek in a fleeting, lazy kiss that barely registered before your arms looped around his waist, loose limbs letting your weight settle gently against him.

He stilled for half a second, breath held, then exhaled slow. A hum rumbled low in his chest, half-acknowledgment, half-contentment.

"Abby's gonna get fat if you keep making her surprises like this," you mumbled against his shoulder, eyes shut again, cheek resting there now like you planned to nap standing up.

Mike let himself lean back into your body automatically and the moment your touch left, the warmth abandoned him, it was like someone had pulled a blanket off in the middle of winter.

Mike blinked, jaw tight, resisting the urge to reach for you again. His eyes trailed you instead, helplessly.

You padded barefoot to the fridge, that old shirt riding high up your thighs with every step. His eyes dragged down automatically, unable to help it, and then lower still as you opened the fridge and leaned forward.

You bent at the waist, one hand on the fridge door, the other digging deep into the cluttered shelf, muttering to yourself as your fingers worked through the chaos.

The shirt rode up higher, barely clinging to your ass now, the hem catching on the curve like it was intentionally teasing him. The boxers beneath stretched tight across the swell of your glutes, hugging every perfect contour and making it look good to Mike’s tired eyes.

His tongue moved behind his teeth, slow and dry. The muscles in your thighs tensed slightly as you reached deeper into the fridge, giving him the perfect view and he couldn't look away

He made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Almost a grunt, almost a groan. It caught, unfinished, like the beginning of a curse.

You straightened with a small victorious sound, a bottle in your hand, the syrup in question that Abby enjoyed finally retrieved. Your fingers curled around it with distaste, nose wrinkling.

Mike blinked hard, dragged his stare away just in time and you didn't see it.

"This stuff's way too sweet," you muttered, walking back toward the table and setting the bottle down with a clunk.

Mike's lips curled, a low and breathy laugh coming from them.

"You don't like it?" he asked, voice still carrying that delicious morning gravel, the kind that made your spine shiver when he used it in your ear at night.

You turned around, body already in motion, hopping up onto the counter with one clean jump. Your hands braced on either side, knees spreading just slightly apart for balance.

"I like my sugar natural," you said lazily, leaning back on your palms, shirt riding up again, exposing more of that smooth, sleepy skin. "Besides… I tend to prefer things salty."

Mike's fingers twitched.

His chest tightened

He turned back to the plate in front of him, took the syrup and tipped it carefully over the pancake, attempting to make a heart like he'd done for Abby a dozen times before. The outline was shaky, the curves too wide, the dip at the top not quite centered.

The bottle in his hand gave way under the pressure of his grip, and a thick splatter of syrup dropped dead-center in the almost heart. It spread fast, pooling into the middle, ruining the shape.

A mound. Sticky and excessive. A visual metaphor for the filthy thought that slammed into him with no warning.

The seam of his pants felt awful now. Tight. Suffocating. His cock was stuffed against the denim, thick and hot and raging, the memory of your lips wrapped around it dragging across his brain at what you just said to him.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, staring hard at the ruined pancake, jaw clenched.

Mike hummed low in his throat, quiet enough it might've passed for breath and set the bottle of syrup aside with a small clack.

You had both palms rubbing slow across your face, knuckling sleep from your eyes, the hem of his old T-shirt riding up even further on your thighs as you shifted your weight. Your legs were spread comfortably on the counter, toes flexing with lazy stretches, the soft give of your thighs open in a way that made every part of Mike ache harder.

He didn't know if you realized. Were you teasing him or were you that unaware?

Fuck it. He stepped sideways, not fast, but direct until his body moved in front of yours and without hesitation, your legs responded. Those soft thighs slid around his waist, loose but snug and hooking together behind him, your arms draping up and over his shoulders, fingers threading behind his neck.

Mike's hands found your waist automatically. One rough palm spreading over your ribs, the other lower, gripping your hip hard.

You were all soft skin, low heat and sleepy amusement, a little smirk flickering at the corner of your mouth like you knew something.

"Do you… remember anything from last night?" he asked finally, voice low, gravel sticking to the edges like smoke.

You winced slightly, like just the thought pressed too hard against your temples, and gave a slow shake of your head

"Mmmnope," you said, drawling the word out with mock drama. "I remember going out with the guys. Getting maybe… a little too happy. Then I started missing my hot boyfriend, thinking about how he was here being a good big brother."

Mike raised a brow, lips twitching. You gave a lazy smile. "Then it gets fuzzy."

You tilted your head, gaze curious. His hand slipped further down, fingers spreading low on your thigh, thumb grazing the inside where it was warm and smooth. You tensed and your eyes flicked down, following the motion of his hand.

"You don't remember telling me that you like the way we fuck?" He said carefully, voice like molasses and midnight.

Your body went still, breath hitched, caught in your throat and then, you bit your lip.

Hard enough to look surprised. But your lashes fluttered just slightly. Your legs didn't move. If anything, your thighs flexed a little tighter around his waist, grounding him, pulling him closer.

Your voice came out quiet. Soft. Dipped in syrupy innocence.

"I said that?" you whispered, like you weren't sure if you were supposed to be flattered or embarrassed. "Did that really happen?"

Your mouth curled into a slow smile as your brows lifted slightly like you were innocent. But Mike's eyes tracked every detail. The way your fingertips danced up the nape of his neck, the slight rock of your hips into his hold.

He really couldn’t tell if you really knew it or not.

"I haven't stopped thinking about it," he whispered. He leaned in, pressing the bridge of his nose against yours, voice dropping another octave.

"You own me one when you say stuff like that."

You surged forward, your mouth crashing into his with messy, sleep-drunk hunger.

Your lips slid over his, wet and eager, tongues tangling immediately. Mike's hands clutched your hips harder, dragging you flush into him, your thighs squeezing his waist as you tilted your head and deepened the kiss.

You moaned quietly, his mouth opened wider, teeth grazing your lower lip, breath ragged against your cheek as his hands explored, pushing under your shirt to palm anywhere he could feel you

You tilted your head, your teeth catching his bottom lip before sucking it gently and he groaned.

Your ears twitched at the sound of a door opening slow and hesitant, eyes popping open mid-kiss, palms flat on his chest as you gently pushed not panicked, but warning.

Mike didn't stop right away.

He kissed you again in a quick peck, a final wet press of lips before he blinked, dazed and then groaned, the noise deep and almost pained as it rumbled in his chest, nearly passing his lips.

His eyes followed yours toward the hallway with visible reluctance, brows furrowed, face pinched in an expression that read like ‘are you fucking kidding me.’

Suppressing a laugh by biting down on your lip, you rapidly placed a palm on his shoulder to hop down from the counter, your thighs brushing against his hips in one final tease before you stepped back.

Almost on cue, Abby rounded the corner, yawning, rubbing one eye with the heel of her hand.

"Morning," she mumbled, waving blearily. You stepped forward instantly, catching her in a warm hug.

Mike just leaned against the counter, palms flat, still rock hard, jaw clenched as he watched you bend slightly to hug his kid sister while he suffered.

Mike’s aunt has been pressing harder than ever in her attempts to get exclusive custody of Abby. Not because she cared, but because she knew that having Abby under her care meant receiving money from the state. She was treating Abby like nothing more than a paycheck, and that knowledge alone made Mike’s blood boil. He had been fighting so hard to give his sister a stable life, working himself to the bone just to make ends meet and now this woman who had never lifted a damn finger for either of them wanted to swoop in and take Abby away just for a government check?

Mike had barely been able to sleep these days, spending hours poring over legal documents, trying to understand what he could do to stop this from happening and the stress of it was eating away at him.

Now, at work, it was clear that it was getting to him.

He sat slouched in the security office, one hand rubbing over his face while his tired eyes stared blankly at the grainy security feeds in front of him. The familiar hum of the monitors filled the small, dimly lit space, but he wasn’t really seeing any of it. His thoughts were too loud, spiraling with worst-case scenarios, imagining what would happen if he lost Abby.

His jaw tightened. His fingers curled into a fist against his leg. Then, a flicker of movement on the monitors caught his attention.

There you were, standing patiently outside the gates, waiting to be let in. Even through the grainy feed, he could see the way you looked directly into the camera, as if you knew he was watching. His heart jumped at the sight of you. His shoulders sagged just a little, some of the tension melting away. He could already picture you inside, sitting with Abby, making her laugh. That image alone was enough to ease some of the suffocating pressure in his chest.

His small family. All together.

For the first time that night, the corners of his lips twitched up into something resembling a smile.

He pushed himself up from the chair, rolling his stiff shoulders before heading out to let you in. When the heavy metal doors finally groaned open, he was greeted with your ever-patient gaze, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know how much he appreciated you being there.

The two of you walked back toward his office together, the only sound being the distant hum of animatronics in standby mode. It was a little eerie, but at the moment, neither of you cared.

Once inside, you leaned against the desk, arms crossed, watching him carefully as he settled back into his chair.

Mike had left for work without even giving you a quick goodbye, something that didn’t go unnoticed. It wasn’t like him to leave without so much as a kiss or a passing glance. It replayed in your head how he had barely looked at you as he grabbed his keys, jaw tight shoulders tense in a way that told you he was holding something back.

That’s why you were here, to find out what was stressing him out so much. You could tell he was debating whether or not to talk about it. He didn’t want to drag you into this, didn’t want you getting tangled up again in his aunt’s manipulative bullshit.

But you weren’t going to drop it and he knew that too well.

Crossing the small space there was left, you slid into his lap, straddling his thighs with a quiet grace, your arms winding automatically around his neck. His hands shoot up immediately, one settling low on your back, the other splaying over your waist like he was anchoring you there, grounding himself to you.

It was now that you took your chance to shift your hips. A slow, careful roll of your waist that dragged the weight of your body down against the hardness nestled between Mike's thighs.

And fuck, the reaction was instant. His breath hitched in his throat, sharp and caught like he hadn't expected it. His fingers on your waist reflexively gripped tighter.

His mouth was just below your jaw, his cheek pressed against your neck and when you moved again, grinding softly, nothing rushed, just enough to drag the curve of your ass across the growing bulge in his pants, he groaned.

Low. Hoarse. Like it came from someplace deep, buried beneath the weight of stress, rage and a hundred sleepless nights.

"Are you—" he breathed, voice broken at the edge, a question cut in half. "You're doing this now?”

You smiled. Couldn't help it.

You rolled your hips again, slower this time, and leaned in close, your lips brushing the edge of his ear.

"You're stressed," you murmured, your voice dipping into something softer, sultrier, the kind of tone that settled into skin like smoke. "Figured I'd help you relax."

He let out a breathless laugh the same moment you felt his face press tighter into your shoulder, his lips brushing your neck like he was trying to hide there.

"You—" he started again, but his voice was lower now. "It wasn’t enough for you to torture me at home?"

You snickered, loud and immediate, your head falling forward onto his shoulder as laughter spilled out against his skin.

And that's when he knew.

"I knew it," he growled, lifting his head enough to look at you, eyes narrowed, mouth twitching. "You've been doing this on purpose all damn day."

You were laughing now, really laughing, body shaking gently in his lap as you leaned in and buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Oh my god," you breathed between giggles. "You should've seen your face this morning."

"Don't even start," he groaned, but he was smiling, despite himself. His hand tightened on your waist as you writhed in laughter against him and his hips bucked up for you to feel the now fully hard line of his cock pressing into you through the layers of clothes.

You gasped through another laugh, soon softening into a smug little grin as you looked up at him again, your eyes sparkling in the low glow of the monitors.

"I like getting you riled up." You said, voice quiet and velvety and his expression twitched between disbelief and arousal, his mouth parting slightly as he stared back

You groaned into his mouth when you kissed him again. Tongue and teeth involved. Your hand fisting into his hair as he devoured you, his lips tugging your bottom lip between his like he needed to own your mouth to survive.

You didn't stop moving in his lap. Your hips were rocking now, slow and hard, grinding yourself down over the thick bulge in his pants.

Rough palms slid over your sides, under your shirt, up your spine, down to your thighs, squeezing, massaging.

"You think this is relaxing me?" he panted between kisses, voice hoarse.

You grinned. "Not yet. But I'm getting there."

He groaned again, head falling back against the chair and you took the opportunity to trail your mouth down his throat, nipping at the skin there, licking the salt from his neck.

Mike's hands snapped to your hips and in one sudden, controlled motion, he stood up with you in his arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as your back hit the cold wall of the office.

He caged you there, one hand sliding down, gripping your thigh, the other splayed over your ribs like he was staking a claim.

"You really think you can tease me all day and I'm not gonna do something about it?" he muttered against your mouth, his voice a low, shaking growl.

His hips rolled forward and you gasped, fingers tightening around the collar of his shirt, your body jolting in his arms.

Mike's hand fisted in the hem of your shirt and yanked it up, exposing your chest, dragging the soft cotton roughly across your skin. His mouth followed immediately, lips latching onto your collarbone, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

You whined as he bit you again, lower this time, right above your nipple, dragging his teeth and tongue.

"Mike—"

"Shh," he snapped. "You don't get to talk now. You had your fun. Now it's my turn."

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers dipping into your waistband and dragging your shorts and underwear down in one rough motion. You gasped as the cool air hit your cock, already flushed and leaking from how long you'd been teasing yourself on his lap.

Mike dropped you onto the desk behind you with a thud, pushing the clutter aside without even looking at it. Your ass hit the cool surface and he stepped between your legs, spreading them wide with his knee.

“You're hard already,” he muttered, voice lower now, staring down at your exposed cock, the flushed head twitching against your stomach.

You moaned, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as hr leaned in before kissing you hard, biting your lip and sucking it between his teeth.

Then his hand wrapped around your cock. You choked out a breath, hips bucking instinctively as he began pumping slowly, base to tip, twisting the head to smear the precome leaking from your slit.

"You want this, don't you?" he asked. "You'd take whatever I give you, wouldn't you?"

A slow nod formed as the weight of the moment settled over you, your mind processing everything before giving in to silent agreement. Though you didn’t say a word, the slight dip of your head spoke volumes, conveying your understanding, your acceptance, perhaps even your surrender.

He groaned and his hand left your cock for him to reach between you and undo his jeans. The sound of the zipper brutally echoed in your ears, followed by the rough drag of fabric.

His cock, heavy and hot, slapped against your thigh. In one perfect thrust that split you open, bottoming out so fast your breath left you. You clawed at his shoulders, mouth open, gasping his name, but he didn't stop. He stayed deep, hips pressed flush against your ass with his cock throbbing inside you.

He pulled back and slammed in again, the desk jolting beneath you. His pace matching the one of a man unraveling. Every thrust brutal, intentional, like each one was another weight off his chest.

"You wanna help me relax?" he growled. "Then take it."

You took every inch from your boyfriend, every punishing thrust and groan torn from his throat. His hand came back to your cock, stroking it in time with his thrusts, twisting cruelly around the head until you were crying out his name, head back, mouth open, legs shaking around his waist.

With a strangled moan and a full-body shudder, your orgasm ripped through you, cock pulsing hard in his hand, come spilling over his fist and your stomach in hot, messy ropes.

Your body went limp as he kept driving into your still-clenching hole with frantic rhythm.

His breath hitched, hips stuttering before he groaned deep and shoved in hard, staying buried as he came, flooding you with heat.

He collapsed forward, forehead pressing to yours, breathing heavy and fast, lips brushing yours in a kiss that was more grateful than anything.

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” despite the lack of energy, there was a determinate will inside of you to get him to open up with you, cupping his face with both of your warm hands.

Albeit hesitantly, he started talking, explaining everything that had happened. “It’s my aunt,” he muttered, voice tight. “She won’t let it go.”

His frustration was palpable and you could see the reluctance in his expression, the way he hesitated to even tell you this much.

“She’s been at me all day about it,” he continued, shaking his head. “Even at work. She called, left messages. She knows how much this shit gets under my skin.”

You listened carefully as Mike vented, his voice rough with frustration as he explained everything his aunt had been doing. Filing more paperwork, twisting facts to make him look like an unfit guardian, trying to manipulate the system into awarding her custody.

“Mike, listen to me,” you murmured, your voice calm but firm. “She doesn’t have a real case. Legally, she doesn’t have the grounds to take Abby away from you.”

His eyes flickered up to yours, hesitant. “She’s got money,” he muttered. “She can afford a lawyer. I can’t.”

You shook your head. “Money doesn’t mean she’s got a winning case. Family court doesn’t just take kids away because someone else wants them. They have to prove that the current guardian is unfit. And you’re not, Mike. You provide for Abby. She’s happy, healthy and well taken care of. That’s what the court looks at.”

His hands flexed slightly against you, some of the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. But he still looked uncertain. “But what if—”

“Mike,” you cut him off gently. “She has no history of caring for Abby. No proof that she’s been involved in her life. Meanwhile, you’re her brother. Courts prioritize keeping kids with their actual family—especially a sibling who’s already been raising them.”

You felt Mike exhale slowly, his forehead pressing a little more firmly against yours. His grip on your waist loosened, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your lower back.

“I can vouch for you and tell them that Abby is safe, that you’re doing everything you can for her.”

Mike was quiet for a long moment, processing. He had spent so much time in survival mode, just trying to get through each day, that he hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that hem wasn’t alone anymore. That he had you.

You tilted your head slightly, catching his gaze again. “She’s not gonna win this, Mike. Not while I’m here.”

A slow, deep breath escaped him, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “…Thank you,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Always.”