#charming and funny and vicious

[papayainsectorone]

Classified Bassline.

summary: what starts as playful jealousy simmers into something hotter, dirtier, and undeniably possessive. a little tension. a little show.

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, post-race party setting, club bathroom sex, tension-filled banter, explicit sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, suggestive humor

word count: 2.4k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: gotta love a neon green lando moment walls are way too thin - series - a´s masterlist

might be confusing if read as standalone

The bass thrums through your chest like a second heartbeat, and sweat clings to your skin as bodies sway all around you in a blur of sound and light. The post-race party has taken over the rooftop club, low lighting, flickering strobes, the scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. You’re leaning against the bar, one heel popped behind the other, your glass sweating in your hand and the pleasant fuzz of too many drinks warming your bloodstream.

From across the room, you catch Lando’s outline near the DJ booth, half-shrouded in shadows and strobes. He’s bobbing his head to the beat, fingers tapping the table beside the turntables like he might jump in and take over. Classic Lando. Half cool, half chaos. But you know him well enough to spot the way his gaze sometimes flickers over. Not at the music. At you.

Before you can raise your glass in a tease, a sharp pinch lands at your waist.

You jump slightly, heart jolting before you catch sight of Charles smug grin in place, eyes gleaming under the pulse of neon. He’s standing closer than necessary, the bass rattling through the floor, making everything feel just a bit unsteady.

He says something — you can’t hear it.

“What?” you call over the music, leaning in.

Charles smiles wider, then steps in so close you feel his breath against your ear. His voice is a low purr just audible beneath the thrum of the beat. “Didn’t expect you to be drinking alone.”

You turn your head slightly, your cheek brushing his. “I’m not alone. Just...selective.”

He chuckles, deep and slow and now it’s you who feels it down your spine. “Selective, hmm? Dodging the desperate masses?”

“Or the ones who think wandering hands are charming,” you shoot back, playful but pointed.

Charles lifts both hands in mock innocence, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in again, shoulder brushing yours, the music loud enough to make every word feel like a secret.

“I behave better after a few drinks,” he murmurs, close enough that it sends goosebumps skittering down your neck.

“You’ve had more than a few.”

He shrugs with a grin. “It’s a party. This is me behaving.”

You laugh unguarded now, a little buzzed, a little curious. And when he leans in once more, lips grazing your ear to say something else, you don’t pull back.

“You know what’s funny?” Charles leans in again, his lips brushing your ear under the pulse of the music. “I’m pretty sure I heard Lando fucking someone in his driver’s room on Friday.”

You freeze.

It’s just for a second, but your drink stalls halfway to your mouth, and your heart does a neat, vicious somersault in your chest. You glance sharply at Charles, throat suddenly dry.

His grin widens, wicked. He saw that.

“Thin walls,” he adds, dragging out the words like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Sounded... enthusiastic.”

You manage a laugh — too high, too quick. “Honestly, sounds like something he’d do.”

Charles tilts his head, watching you with open amusement. “You sound... amused.”

“I mean, who doesn’t love a bit of efficiency?” you shrug, lips twitching into a smirk, fighting to stay in control. Your cheeks are burning, your ears ringing and it’s not from the music.

He hums low in his throat. “So, is he with someone now? Or still leaving the party solo?”

Your fingers tighten around your glass. From across the room, you feel it — the unmistakable prickle of being watched. You don’t have to look to know Lando’s there, somewhere in the shadows, seeing you with Charles, seeing you pretend you weren’t the one moaning into his neck while the rest of the paddock went about their day.

You lift your chin and meet Charles’ eyes, steady now. “Hard to say,” you reply, swirling the melting ice at the bottom of your drink. “Lando’s full of surprises.”

He holds your gaze a moment longer, as if testing the weight of your words, then grins like the devil and clinks his glass against yours.

You smile back.

But your skin still prickles with heat, with nerves, with the unmistakable feeling of a line that’s already been crossed.

Just then, movement catches your eye — Lando, cutting through the crowd with a drink in hand, his expression unreadable but his focus razor-sharp. His pace is easy, casual, like he’s just wandering over for a chat but his eyes are locked on Charles. And you.

You straighten instinctively, barely catching the flicker of tension in your shoulders before smoothing it away. Lando reaches the bar, slides in beside you, and tosses an arm along the back of your stool — casual, practiced, like he’s done it a hundred times. Like it means nothing.

But the warmth of him is immediate, pressing against your spine.

Charles spots him, and of course decides to make everything worse.

“Hey!” he shouts over the thumping bass, grinning wickedly. “We were just talking about you. Specifically that girl you had in your room Friday.”

Your stomach flips so hard again you nearly miss your mouth with your drink.

Lando slows his step, eyes narrowing just slightly, and you catch the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips. “Yeah?” he says smoothly, planting himself beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “It was actually a pretty great afternoon.”

You bite your lip, sipping hard from your glass to hide the grin threatening to give you away.

Charles arches a brow. “Oh? Who was it?”

Lando clicks his tongue, then winks. “Classified,” he says. “You don’t have clearance, mate.”

Charles groans, throwing his hands up. “Come on. Spill. I’ll trade you gossip.”

“I don’t gossip,” Lando says flatly, then immediately adds, “Okay, I do. But not about this.”

You feel the air shift something unspoken exchanged in the glance Lando throws your way. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not without cracking wide open in front of Charles.

Charles watches the moment, lips twitching like he knows he’s poking at something volatile.

“Fine, fine. Keep your secrets,” he concedes, reaching for his drink. “You’re both so boring, honestly.”

He scans the dancefloor with exaggerated drama, then perks up, attention snaring on someone across the room. “But I see someone else who might be more cooperative.”

He winks at you, gives Lando a cheeky salute, and disappears into the crowd, swallowed by flashing lights and bodies.

The second he’s gone, silence blooms between you and Lando thick, electric, absolutely charged.

You don’t move, but you feel him shift closer, lips brushing your ear, voice low and impossible to ignore.

“Think he knows?”

Your breath catches.

“Not yet,” you murmur, keeping your gaze fixed forward. “But you’re not exactly subtle.”

Lando’s chuckle is warm against your neck. “Neither were you.”

And god, you wish you could argue.

Then Lando pulls back, his grin returning. “C’mon. Dance with me before Charles comes back and tries to charm you into a Ferrari contract.”

You grab his hand, letting him tug you into the crowd. “He couldn’t afford me.”

“Exactly,” Lando says, spinning you into him. “He´s already over budget.”

The music pulses through your bones, the bass thudding like a second heartbeat as you and Lando spill onto the dancefloor. It starts simple, a shared rhythm, bodies moving side by side, eyes catching in flashes of strobes. His hand brushes your lower back once, then again, lingering just a second too long.

You spin away, laughing, letting the crowd swallow you for a moment but not too far. He stays in your periphery, now dancing with some girl in red, hands at her waist, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her back. You roll your eyes, turning into the arms of someone else. Tall. Handsy. Too eager. You don’t care.

You move with him anyway, grinding just enough to send a clear message — not to the guy, but to Lando.

When you glance over your shoulder, Lando’s already looking. Smirking. He tilts his head like he’s amused, like he’s winning something, even though you’re not sure what the game even is.

Eventually, the heat pushes you both back to the bar. He’s already there when you arrive, sweaty curls pushed off his forehead, eyes dark and glinting as he sips something sharp.

You slide up beside him, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Going to take her to the bathroom?” you tease, nodding toward the red dress girl still swaying near the speakers.

He snorts. “You gonna take him?” he shoots back with a grin.

You don’t answer and you don’t smile either. Your cheeks betray you first, flushing warm under the lights. You turn slightly, trying to hide it behind your drink.

Lando notices instantly.

His eyes widen, grin turning gleeful. “No fucking way,” he gasps. “Little Miss I-Fucked-Someone-in-a-Bush-at-a-Family-Picnic didn’t do it in a club bathroom yet?”

You shoot him a sharp look, biting back your smile. “Not everyone’s a whore like you, Lando.”

He throws his head back laughing, the sound rich and unbothered until he leans in, breath ghosting your cheek, the smile still wide but something hungrier underneath.

“I’m gonna show you,” he murmurs, grabbing his drink, draining the last of it and stepping away with a wink.

Toward the bathroom.

Leaving you standing there, pulse racing, torn between your pride and the undeniable pull in your gut.

You stare after him, lips parted, brain short-circuiting somewhere between don’t be obvious and fuck it. His figure disappears through the crowd, headed toward the back hallway, no hesitation in his step, like he already knows you’ll come.

You hesitate for all of three seconds.

Then you toss back the rest of your drink too, feel it burn down your throat, and follow. The music presses in from all sides, the thump of bass like a countdown in your ears. You slip through clusters of dancers, weaving between bodies, your skin tingling like it knows what’s waiting.

The hallway behind the club feels darker. Cooler. But your blood is warm.

You catch up to him just before the bathroom door swings shut behind him. He glances back and there it is. That fucking smile. The one that says I knew you would.

“Changed your mind?” he asks, one brow lifting.

You roll your eyes, but your breath hitches. “Just making sure you wash your hands, Norris.”

He laughs but it’s low, rough at the edges. “Come make sure then.”

The door shuts behind you with a click that sounds final in the small, dim space.

He’s still smiling. But it’s different now a little slower, a little more loaded. He doesn’t move. Just watches you. Waits.

Your pulse roars louder than the bass outside.

And then you move first, stepping into his space, closing the charged distance like gravity’s doing the work for you. Your hand lifts, deliberately slow, until your palm presses against the front of his jeans.

The hiss he lets out is sharp, quiet, like it’s been punched out of him. His eyes snap to yours, dark and burning.

“Fuck,” he breathes.

Your smirk curves slow and satisfied. “Don’t play me like this, Norris,” you murmur, your fingers flexing just slightly. “You want this just as much.”

He laughs, if you can call it that. It’s breathless, stunned, a little reverent. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”

You lean in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, echoing his own earlier tone. “Prove it.”

And that’s all it takes.

His hands are on you in an instant heat and urgency, mouth crashing into yours like restraint was never even in the cards. He backs you up against the sink, hips pressing close, breath hot, fingers tugging at your clothes like they offend him.

The bass outside keeps thumping, distant and forgotten.

In here, there’s only the heat of him, the way you both know exactly how to pull each other apart and how much you’ve wanted to.

Lando kisses like he’s dared to reckless and grinning, a little sloppy from the alcohol, but it just makes it worse, makes it better. Your teeth clash once, twice, both of you laughing into it, breath hot and fast. His hands are wild, tugging your hips into his, fingers curling under your top like he’s forgotten what patience even is.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice rasped, drunk on you. His mouth is hot on your neck, biting down hard enough to make you whimper and buck against him.

“And you’re all talk,” you shoot back, already working at his belt, fumbling, rushed. “Thought you were gonna show me something?”

“Oh, I will,” he growls, shoving your skirt up as he walks you backwards into the counter. “I fucking will.”

Clothes aren’t removed just shoved, tugged, pushed out of the way like obstacles. He lifts you onto the sink and it squeaks beneath you. Your head tips back when he thrusts in fast and sudden, breath leaving you in a stuttering gasp.

You both freeze for half a second, dizzy, drunk, overwhelmed, then it’s frantic. Messy. His fingers dig into your hips like he’s trying to brand you there. Your hands are in his hair, pulling, clawing, keeping him close.

“Fuck, fuck,” he mutters against your shoulder, pace rough and fast, and you swear he’s barely holding himself together.

“You’re loud,” you tease breathlessly, biting down on your own moan. “Someone’s gonna hear.”

His eyes flash as he grins. “Good. Let ‘em.”

You almost laugh but then he hits that spot again and you break, nails dragging down his back.

He doesn’t slow. “You gonna come for me right here?” he pants, forehead to yours now, sweat-slick and shaking.

Your only answer is a gasp, a shudder, your body clenching hard around him. That’s all it takes.

Lando swears, low and filthy, then comes with his face buried in your neck, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he might fall without you.

For a few seconds, all you hear is panting and the low thump of bass outside the door.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, still dazed, lips brushing his temple.

He grins, pulling back slightly to kiss you again — soft this time, drunk and satisfied.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “but also fucking amazing.”

tag list:

@lifesass @norrisjpg @random-movie @widow-cevans @mxdi0

[captorations]

i want dulcie septimus to be a little bit fucked up and vicious. she's horny for *revenge*. harrow likened her to a *malign* fairy. i want her to be angry and feral and spiteful and selfish even as she's funny and charming and fiercely loving. i want her to cause problems. i want her to find cytherea's ghost in the river and beat the shit out of her. i want her to bully john. most of all i want her to make paul worse

[horny-marbles]

Bite the Hand Part 2 (Brian Thomas/Hoodie x F!Reader)

PART 1

CW: toxic relationship, mentions of abuse, home invasion?, dubcon, degradation, oral (f receiving), creampie

word count 3.8k

You used to wait by the door.

Phone clutched in your hand, heart pounding with every tick of the clock past midnight. He’d come back eventually; blood-soaked, silent, maybe drunk on adrenaline, maybe just quiet. You never really knew which version of Brian you were getting anymore.

There had been warmth once. Jokes in the kitchen. His hand on your thigh while you watched movies, thumb absently stroking soft circles into your skin. But soon enough, that same hand only ever grabbed you when he wanted to fuck, or shove you out of the way on his way out again.

“Stay the fuck put. Stop fuckin' asking questions.”

It became a mantra,orders barked more than spoken.

The ski mask might’ve stayed in the closet most days, but the man behind it was gone anyways. The glint in his eyes wasn’t the same. The charm he wielded like a sword had dulled, used only to keep you docile between missions, between arguments, between the cruel grip of his hands on your ass when he needed something to feel real.

So you fought. You fought like hell.

Hands, mouths, nails. Screaming, spitting, biting words that bled out worse than any knife wound he’d ever created. It always ended the same: bruises in the shape of apologies, cum on your thighs, his hand around your throat like a leash he didn’t even bother hiding anymore.

That last night was a war. Screaming, shattered glass. His voice like fire, yours like broken glass.

“You’re a fucking psychopath!”

“And you’re a useless, whining fuckin' whore!”

It ended in sex, as always. Violent, degrading, nothing new. You cried after. He didn’t even glance at you.

You left in the morning. Packed your shit in the middle of the night, shaking like a leaf, and ran.

You got out, somehow. Slipped under the radar, out of Slender’s reach, far from the forest, far from the last hideout you were forced to follow Brian into, far from him. You found a shitty little apartment with leaky pipes and windows that didn’t close all the way, and for the first time in too long, you breathed. Started piecing yourself back together with shaky fingers and cheap coffee and silence that felt aggressive.

But nights were the worst.

Some nights, you missed him so bad it felt like a wound that won’t clot. Not what he became, the cold, vicious thing with blood under his nails and emptiness in his eyes. No. You missed the man who used to rub circles into your back when you cried, the one who used to smile at you with a brightness in his eyes like he was looking at the sun. The one who used to say your name like it meant something. Even if he was dead and gone, buried under Hoodie’s boots.

Present day felt like trying.

Clocking in, clocking out. Laughing at coworkers’ jokes even when your chest felt hollow. You went out for drinks sometimes, flirted with people you didn’t care about just to feel seen. Most night sthough, it was you and the walls of your shitty apartment, the hum of the fridge, the muted buzz of some late night TV show you weren’t really watching.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and half-assed regrets tonight. You were three drinks in and still hadn’t laughed at anything your coworker said. He wasn’t funny, not really. But he was nice. Nice in that bland, unassuming way. The kind of man who asked how your day was, who didn’t look at your mouth when you spoke.

You wondered, in a slow, grim sort of way, what Brian— or Hoodie—would’ve done if he saw you there. Probably would’ve broken the guy’s nose on the curb and made you clean the blood from his knuckles with your sleeve.

The thought made you sick.

By the time you stumbled home, sobering up with every step, the streets were mostly empty, just the wet hiss of cars passing on the avenue, neon signs flickering like dying stars. Your boots echoed up the stairwell to your floor. Fifth, no elevator. You were sweating by the time you reached the landing.

Then you saw it.

Your doorknob, on the floor. Jagged metal, splinters around the frame. Like it had been crushed off.

Your stomach plummeted, a hot wave of nausea curling at the base of your throat.

A crowbar. That’s all you could see in your mind. Black steel, splattered red, the way Brian used to drop it in the doorway when he got back and the clatter would resonate like a bad omen.

You pulled your pocket knife from your bag with a shaky hand. It was laughable, really. As if a blade that size could stop him. But still, you held it close. White-knuckled.

The apartment was silent. Too silent.

You stepped over the doorknob, cautious. Careful. Like maybe if you were quiwt enough, time would rewind. Undo the lock. Send you back to that bar with that forgettable man and his easy smile you forgot halfway home.

Your kitchen was untouched. So was the living room. No drawers open, no mess. But the bedroom door —the light was on. A single band of gold stretched out beneath it, still and warm and wrong.

You padded toward it slowly, breath caught between your teeth. Every step like walking deeper into a grave you’d dug yourself. “Who the fuck would break into this shitbox?” you thought, almost laughing to yourself. What was there to steal, the inflatable mattress you slept on? The secondhand TV with a line through the screen?

But the lie died in your throat. You knew.

That smell hit you first. Cigarettes and metal, the cold scent of rain on asphalt and that fucking cologne that was burnt into every synapse and olfactory nerve in your body.

You didn’t even get the chance to open the door.

An arm snapped around your neck from behind, tight like a vise, forearm digging into your windpipe before you could scream. Your knife hit the ground with a soft clatter. Another hand was on your wrist, twisting it back — pain bloomed hot, immediate. Your body jerked in his grip, but it was useless. He had you.

You gasped, legs kicking, vision tunneling. You knew that grip. Knew how he held you when he wanted to hurt you just enough to make a point.

Your back slammed into his chest, solid and broad. So familiar it made something in your ribs ache.

His breath was on your neck, slow and quiet. A whisper.

And this exact moment was the part where you remembered that missing him was a disease, and he was the plague.

“You think you can fucking leave me?”

His voice was a razor at your ear, dragging slow, gritting low. The kind of voice people hear in nightmares and still wake up wet.

“Leave me? ” His arm flexed, pulling your back flush to him, tighter, until you couldn’t breathe right, until your body remembered him without your permission.

The curve of your ass pressed against the shape of his cock, already hard, thick through his jeans, and your spine arched like it always had, like instinct. Like obedience.

You hated yourself for it.

“Still want me,” he muttered, voice frayed. “Say you fucking don’t, but look at you—fuck, look at you.”

You tried to wrench free, heart jackhammering, but his free hand slid down your front, fingers splaying over your stomach, holding you there. Trapping you in that tension, in the horrible, undeniable reality of your pulse pounding in your pussy.

“You thought I wouldn’t find you?” he spat, the words venomous, but shaking underneath. “That I’d just fuckin forget you?”

He ground his hips forward slow, deliberate, and you felt every inch of him –hot, insistent. Your breath hitched, traitorous, and the noise you made was somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

“Stupid fuckin' skank,” he snarled. “Ran away like a coward, just to come back to this. To me. Like you always do.”

“I hate you,” you choked out, voice raw, spit pooling on your tongue like blood. “I fucking hate you—”

“Yeah?” He laughed, bitter, sharp. His lips ghosted just behind your jaw, not a kiss, just breath, heat. “Then why’s your pussy beggin’ for me right now?”

Your legs nearly gave out.

And still, he held you like something precious. Something ruined, but his.

“I fuckin’ missed you,” he murmured like a sin, and something ugly shattered in your chest.

Because you’d wanted to hear that more than anything once. Before the blood, before the bruises. Before he’d torn your love out by the roots and left you bleeding for it.

And still, your body leaned into him like it hadn’t gotten the message, like it didn’t know better. Like every night you ached for him and slapped yourself to your senses was just a pause.

His hand slid down your front like it had every right. Like he owned the air in your lungs and the ache in your spine. You struggled, but it wasn’t real, not with the way your hips tilted back to meet his touch.

But the silence that followed was loaded, poisonous.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

The growl in his throat rattled through your back as his fingers hit bare skin under your skirt. He yanked the fabric up to your hips and let out a humorless laugh. Low and sharp. Almost like he was surprised. Almost like it hurt.

“No panties? What—were you planning to get fucked tonight?”

You choked on a curse, head lolling back against his shoulder, teeth bared.

“Fuck you.”

“Slut,” he said flatly, fingers dragging through your folds. Your thighs jumped.

He hissed. “Jesus Christ, you’re fuckin’ soaked.”

A wet, vulgar sound filled the air as he spread your lips apart, rough fingers sliding through the humiliating mess between them.

“What were you gonna do, huh?” he muttered, voice brittle with fury. “Let some loser from work take you home? Let him stick his tongue in my pussy?”

He pinched your clit between two fingers, hard, and you gasped so sharp it burned your lungs.

He shoved you forward, finally releasing your neck. You stumbled, dizzy, and landed on the big lumpy bean bag chair you bought on clearance months ago. It barely held your weight, but it was yours. It was supposed to make this place feel safe.

He made it feel like his.

Brian was already on his knees, hands dragging you toward the edge. You barely had time to brace your hands before two rough palms were spreading your thighs open in front of his face, legs tossed over his shoulders like luggage.

“You look so fuckin’ stupid in this place,” he sneered, jerking your skirt up further until the waistband was biting into your ribs. “Tryna play house without me. What, you think shitty furniture and cheap drinks could make you forget me?”

His mouth was on you before you had time to bite back. Slurping right off the bat like a man starved, like it had been years since he’d had a taste and he was desperate to memorize it again. His tongue was hot and thick and messy, slathering you in spit, curling and flicking against your clit with rhythmic cruelty.

You tried to stay still. You tried to stay angry. But your hips jerked up with every suck and swirl like you were being strung up by nerve endings alone.

He smacked the underside of your thigh, hard, loud, the sound cracking off the apartment walls. Then again. And again.

“Don’t fucking run from it,” he growled against your pussy, lips slick, stubble soaked. “You want this so bad you didn’t even bother to put panties on.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, but it cracked halfway through, pathetic.

He moaned —moaned, the sick bastard—and dragged your clit between his lips like a cigarette he couldn’t quit.

One hand gripped your thigh so tight it’d bruise, the other — shoved under your shirt — groped your tit like he owned it, like he missed it. Rough fingers tugged at your nipple, just shy of cruel.

“This pussy’s been lonely,” he muttered, licking up the mess he made, nosing deep like he wanted to smother himself in it. “But not as fuckin’ lonely as me.”

You hated the way that landed. Hated the ache between your ribs worse than the one between your legs.

You were barely breathing, panting and shaking, trying to keep some shred of dignity while he tongued you like salvation and slapped your ass and thighs like punishment. Your hands clawed at the bean bag, nails chewing into cheap fabric, and just when your hips started to tremble, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, at the trebling mess he’d made of you already, scoffing.

He spat a thick, stringy glob right onto your cunt, the spit mixing with your slick in a hot, filthy sheen.

“Fuckin’ nerve,” he muttered, rubbing it in with the pads of two fingers, slow circles on your clit before dragging them lower. “Tryna give my pussy away like it’s up for grabs.”

He smacked it, just enough that you yelped, hips jolting. “Oh?” he said, voice all mock-innocent, cocking his head. “She got somethin’ to say?” Another slap, harder. Then those same fingers slipped inside, knuckle deep.

Your eyes flew open as your back arched against the bean bag. Brian just laughed, like the way you bit back a gasp, a reaction, was comedy to him. Stumbled forward a bit like he couldn’t help himself, crowding over you, chest to chest now, breath hot against your cheek.

“Tight as a fuckin’ fist,” he whispered, grinning. “Don’t tell me you’ve been sluttin’ it out for nothin’. You leave me, and then what—dry spell?”

His fingers piston into you hard enough to make the bean bag shift under your spine.

“No one want this pussy?”

He curled his fingers just right and your mouth fell open with a moan.

You finally got air in your lungs, finally started to say, “Go fuck yourse—”

But he kissed you.

Hot, messy, all tongue — he shoved it into your mouth like he wanted to fuck your throat with it, your own taste still thick and embarrassing on his lips. And as your hips twitched and writhed, his fingers just kept going, relentless, pounding into that spot that made your stomach seize and your eyes roll.

You whimpered against his mouth. Moaned into it. Tried to bite him, but it was weak, pathetic, and he felt the way your walls started throbbing and clenching around his fingers, just to prove him something.

“Mhm,” he hummed into your mouth, a deep, low vibration that sent you spiraling. “There it is, baby. There she fuckin’ goes.”

He broke the kiss, pulled back just far enough to watch your face fall apart. “Let it fuckin’ happen,” he muttered, teeth grazing your lips, hand slapping your thigh. “Come on, baby—fuckin’ show me how well I know you."

And you did. Convulsing around his fingers, slick spitting out like a fountain, your body betraying you in the worst fucking way possible. Proving him right, as if you had no autonomy.

You felt him shifting, leaning back. A low grunt. The slick sound of skin meeting skin. You opened your eyes—squinted— and saw him on his knees, pants shoved down just enough, one hand working his cock in slow pulls while the other kept those two fingers inside you, curling again, fucking up into that swollen spot.

“Look at you,” he muttered, eyes lidded, teeth gritted like he was pissed. “Fuckin’ creamin’ on my fingers and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your back arched. You gasped out “B—Brian,” like it hurt, like you hated yourself for saying it.

His jaw flexed, forearm tensing under your nails. You didn’t even realize you were clinging to him that hard, nails digging in, trying to anchor yourself against the second wave tearing through your gut.

“Say that shit again,” he growled, voice all gravel and heat, hand speeding up on his cock. “Go on. Let me hear you.”

You bit your lip, tried to turn your head, but he caught your chin, thumb still wet with your slick, and forced you to look.

“Don't piss me off, sugar. Say it.”

You sobbed out a moan and broke right the fuck down.

“Brian,” you whispered again, breath catching, heat curling low in your belly. “Brian—I can’t—”

“Couldn’t even last two fingers,” he muttered, breathless, his voice dark with disbelief. “Fucked you dumb with my fuckin’ hand and now you’re sayin’ my name like you never stopped wantin’ me.”

You tried to push him off, weakly, voice hoarse. “You’re such a fucking—"

“Shut up,” he hissed. “Shut the fuck up. Look at yourself, whore.”

He pulled his fingers out with a cruel little twist, and before your brain could catch up, he grabbed you by the back of your neck, shoved your legs open wider with his knees, and sank into you in one deep, brutal thrust that split you open and knocked the breath from your lungs.

You cried out, hands scrabbling at the bean bag, thighs twitching as he bottomed out.

He fucked you like he was trying to kill you, like his dick could carve a place for himself in your guts where no one else could reach. Deep, hard strokes that punched the air out of your lungs, your legs cracked wide open over his hips. Skin slapping, obscene squelches from your soaked cunt, his low grunts in your ear twisting your stomach into knots.

“Shit,” he hissed, grinding his hips in a tight, mean little roll that hit something wicked inside. “God, I missed this sloppy fuckin' pussy."

Your hand fisted into his hoodie, teeth grit like you could fight off another orgasm. But then he leaned in. Pressed his chest to yours, nose to your cheek, and murmured, “Touch your clit.”

You froze, choking on half a moan. “What—?”

“Run that clit for me, baby,” he snarled, giving a particularly mean thrust that had your thighs twitching. “C'mon, show me how fuckin’ bad you missed this.”

You hesitated. He reached down and smacked your ass, lip curling.

“Do it.”

And you gave in, because how could you not? No matter how much you hated it and denied it, no matter how your chest stung every time you met his eyes, your body spoke for you.

Your fingers trembled as you found your clit, slick and swollen and sensitive. You rubbed it fast, desperate, on the verge of tears, your cunt pulsing around his cock with every thrust.

“Fuck, fuck, Brian—”

He moaned low, watching your face scrunch up, watching your eyes go glassy, lips twitching in a sharp smile. “Atta fuckin' girl. Too good? You gonna cry for me, sweetheart?”

You did. Tears welled up and spilled without permission. It was too much, the stretch, the heat, the shame, the fucking relief.

“You still mine?” he growled into your ear.

You clamped your teeth together, but your body gave him the answer.

You came with a broken gasp, cunt clamping so tight around him he groaned and bit your shoulder, still pounding into you, not letting up even as you trembled beneath him, twitching and overwhelmed.

The kind of rhythm that left you sobbing, drooling, grinding back because your body needed more even when you swore you were finished. Deep, dragging thrusts that filled you up and pushed the air from your lungs, again and again, his hips flush with yours, one hand tangled in the sweat damp hair at your nape while the other braced on your thigh, pushing it back to fold you open for him.

He buried his face in the curve of your leg, stubble scraping your skin, lips parted, panting. You felt the heat of him everywhere, groans vibrating into your calf, his hand shaking as it held you still, his cock stretching you wide enough to split your soul.

You were babbling. Couldn’t form a single sentence. Just broken gasps, high-pitched moans, and his name like it was the only thing you had ever known.

“F-fuck, please—Brian—please, I—”

“Please what?” His voice was strained, all grit and poison and possession. “You want my fuckin’ cum? Huh? Say it. Say you want me to fill this pussy like nobody ever did.”

You gasped like you’d been burned. “Yes—yes, please—fuck, I need it, I need it—”

He grunted, fucking into you harder, biting down on your calf deep enough to make you jerk, arm snaking around to press flat against your lower belly like he was feeling himself through you. His breath hitched, voice tightening.

“Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Your brain short-circuited. You tried to speak, choked on it.

“Say it, baby. Say it or I’ll pull out, leave you full’a nothin’.”

“No—please! It’s yours, yours, Brian—!”

He snarled, and buried himself all the way inside, hips flush to your ass, cock twitching. You felt the warmth of it, thick spurts of cum filling you, and he groaned into your leg like it physically hurt to let go. His whole body trembled, breath ragged and shaking as he held himself there, deep, biting into your calf to muffle it, to anchor himself while he came, grinding in with a low, broken, “Fffffuck…”

You collapsed. Just collapsed. Face pressed to the side, mouth open, tears in your lashes, body throbbing with every twitch of his cock inside you. Your thighs were soaked, cunt aching, spent—but he was still holding you down like he couldn’t let you go just yet.

And he didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t move. Just breathed, his body molded to yours, his cum leaking out around the base of his dick, warm and messy and final. His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, too soft for what he’d just done to you. Like he hated how much he meant it.

“…No one will fuck you like me,” he muttered finally, voice raw and thick with something that wasn’t quite smug. “Nobody knows you like this.”

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hello!! I just loooooove how you write Alastor, this unhinged bastard 😂 anyway can I request Alastor with a lesbian, chaotic reader, who's always drooling over women (especially Alastor's friends)(read: Rosie). Toooootally not self-indulgent. Obv platonic pls!! Thank you in advance 🙇

- 🥀

Omg I love this SO MUCH

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

❌️Romantic

✅️Platonic

TW: TERRIBLE TREATMENT OF READER, reader being funny af, idk who is more unhinged, slight Mimzy X Reader, slight Rosie X Reader

Description: ☝️⬆️

First of all, he's gonna be your wingman NOT because he wants to help but because it's funny when you fail

Encourages your chaotic nature and uses it to his advantage, will not let you be caged

Someone beneath him wants to pick a fight with him??? Oh he'll give them a fight

*sets down an oversized pet carrier*

*feral animal sounds and vicious shaking*

Alastor opens the door and lets you wreak havoc on them, it's just too hilarious

All metaphorically of course

😳

They get you a toddler leash because you're always scampering off straight into trouble???

Alastor cuts it the first day Vaggie takes you out

*massive destructive explosive sounds in the distance*

"What the FUCK, ALASTOR!?"

Alastor: 😏

You're his favorite feral little ball of chaos

BACK TO BEING YOUR WINGMAN

It's amusing how quickly you change gears when it comes other women and how they enthrall you

He often gives you a handkerchief to clean up your drool, pushes your mouth shut when it's hanging open and grabs the back of your clothes to keep you upright

He does look out for you though

If Mimzy is currently in your sights then he won't let her take advantage of your attraction towards her

That greedy little thing will take you for every dime all while she flirts and toys with you

If you're feasting your eyes any of the overlords(*cough*Carmilla-*cough*Missi-*cough*Velvet-*cough*) then he'll straight up tell you no

Not him bonking your head sweetly with his staff before pushing you out of harm's way

Rosie is an exception tho

He knows she can fend you off herself if she really wants to but also that she won't really do any harm to you

Not that you're not very charming

Rosie just thinks you're adorable!! All the eager attention you're giving her! She could just eat you up!

No seriously...she could...you would taste sweet

No you're sweet

You're making her blush

And you're making her hungry

"Okay, time to go!"

So Alastor sticks around and looks out for you in those moments but he also thinks it's hilarious when you shoot your shot

Feeds you terrible pick up lines and almost dies of laughter when you actually use them

"Hey! Tie your shoes!! I don't want you falling for anyone else~"

"She actually went with that one?!"

Will properly fix your hair or clothes up before you go out on a date, he can't have you looking shabby

If you ask him for advice then he actually has some really good ideas for romance

It's just difficult to get him to give you a honest answer because it's so funny when you fumble a bad bitch

Actually, he does try to set you up with women he thinks could be good for you

"Fascinating, but have you met my good pal Y/N yet? She is QUITE a character!"

Alastor is your partner in crime and you're wingman but he's pretty terrible at both

Gah!! I hope you liked this one!! I wanted to really get the little gremlin vibes!!

[lovezbrownies]

Better and sexier. (Yandere!Queen)

General Masterlist - Nia's Masterlist.

Synopsis: You've lived most of your career humiliating and hurting yourself for the sake of making other's laugh, but once you move to a different court will it be the same? Or will you begin to crave the horrible obsessive love of a queen?

PAIRING: Yandere!Queen x GN!Jester!Reader.

WARNINGS: Darling is abused by higher powers, making others laugh by the expense of your health and safety, stockholm syndrome, kind of embarrassing first meeting. Request can be found here.

The court of Virelle had no room for soft things. It was not like Xelera, where cruelty hid beneath velvet and roses. No, Virelle’s nobility drank spite like wine and laughed with blood on their teeth. You’d learned that quickly, learned it the way all fools in gilded cages do — through silence, through pain, and through the shattering realization that no one ever clapped for you unless it was at your expense.

You weren’t the favored jester there. That title belonged to another — a man of charm and showmanship, all teeth and showy flips, the sort of performer who could set a room roaring without cutting himself open. They adored him. They gave him gold-threaded capes, silver bells for his wrists, a suite with a window and a bed that didn’t creak like a gallows. You, though? You were the contrast. The other. The shadow. You were called only when the night dragged long and the court grew bored of polished wit. They liked something raw then. Something ugly. Something that screamed if they pulled too hard.

You remember the worst nights not by date, but by sound. Laughter — high and vicious — echoing across the marble halls as they told you to fall again, again, again. A knee to the stone floor. A rib bruised for a snort. The prince once asked you to juggle knives. You weren’t trained in that, of course, but what use was skill to a creature whose only worth was in spectacle? So you did it. You dropped one. It slit your palm open, and gods, they howled. Clapping, wheezing. One of the ladies shrieked with glee when you bowed after, blood running down your sleeve like it was part of the act.

You learned to cry without making sound. You learned to smile while stitching your own skin in your quarters — quarters you shared with the dogs. Literally. They kept you in the servant’s wing, not even among the jesters, because “your kind shouldn’t get comfortable.” And every time you passed that mirror — cracked, crooked — you reminded yourself how to laugh like you meant it. It was your armor. It had to be.

Because they didn’t hit you like soldiers do. They hit you with words, with expectations, with games disguised as orders. Crawl like a worm, they’d say. Break the plate over your head, but make it funny. And if you hesitated — if you paused, even a second, even to breathe — it was considered defiance. That meant punishments. Isolation. No meals. Once, they locked you outside in the snow until your lips turned blue. You danced for them the next day anyway. You had to.

You weren’t permitted to speak your mind, but you were allowed to mock yourself. That was what they liked. A jester who knew their place. A puppet who knew the strings. And every time you dared to look up — dared to think, Maybe I’m more than this — you’d catch sight of the other jester, basking in attention, winking at you like you were in on the same joke.

But you weren’t. You never were.

You were only ever the punchline.

And when the offer came — when the quiet envoy from Xelera whispered that Queen Nia was searching for new court figures — you didn’t ask for details. You didn’t pack your things. You had nothing to pack. You simply left.

No goodbyes. No farewells. Just silence where the applause used to be.

The court of Xelera was everything you had expected and yet nothing like what you had imagined. The grand hall stretched out before you, adorned with tapestries that caught the light in golden threads, the delicate hum of courtly gossip floating through the air. There were whispers of admiration as the courtiers turned their gaze upon you, awaiting your performance. But it wasn’t admiration you wanted. No, it was their laughter. Their approval.

The jester’s mask you wore was heavy, not just from its weight, but from the memories it carried. It had seen too many performances, too many falls, too much pain. Pain you used to bring, pain you had come to rely on.

You stepped forward, and the bells on your shoes jingled with the rhythm of your step, announcing your arrival. The usual routine — the one drilled into you from the moment you had first been given the title — began to unfurl in your mind. It wasn’t enough to trip, to stumble, or fall clumsily. No, you were here to elicit pain. To break yourself for their amusement. You had been trained to hurt for their smiles, to twist your body into ridiculous, contorted positions, to throw yourself to the ground with an agonizing thud, to make them laugh at your suffering. It wasn’t an accident. It was a performance. Your pain was their joy.

You began, letting your body collapse in exaggerated, painful ways, each movement carefully timed to evoke a wince from the courtiers. A sudden twist of your ankle — the kind that should have been impossible — and you gritted your teeth, feeling the strain in your leg but forcing yourself to smile through it, just as you had been taught. You let your shoulder slam against the floor, the bone jarring painfully, and the court flinched, their eyes wide. But they were already beginning to laugh, some gasping, others chuckling in their seats.

It was exactly what you wanted.

But then there was a soft voice, cutting through the noise. A voice so distinct, it stopped your movements in an instant.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

The words were soft, yet they struck you harder than any fall could have. You paused mid-spin, your breath catching in your throat, eyes flicking up to meet the source. It was her — Queen Nia. The regal figure who had been watching quietly from her throne, the one who had summoned you.

The court was still laughing, unsure of what had happened, but Nia was staring at you with an intensity that made your heart race. Her expression wasn’t one of disgust or confusion. It was something more complicated, something more... discerning.

You took a deep breath, shifting uneasily on your feet, suddenly acutely aware of every ache and bruise that marred your body beneath the mask. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” you said, swallowing back the tightness in your throat, your words apologetic but hollow. “I—I thought... I thought this is what you wanted. The performance, the laughter.” You forced yourself to look at the ground. “In my previous court, this is how we entertained them. We made them laugh by... by throwing ourselves into pain. It’s what they expected.” You hesitated, glancing up, feeling an almost suffocating weight on your chest. “This is what I know. It’s what I was trained to do.”

There was a silence that hung heavy between you, the court’s eyes flicking between Nia and you, some of them sensing the shift, some still unsure of what to make of this sudden break in your act.

Nia’s eyes softened, but her voice was unwavering when she spoke. “This is not your previous court,” she said, each word deliberate, her gaze unwavering. “Here, we do not laugh at pain. We laugh with you, but not because you break yourself for us.” Her voice was firm, but there was something else in it — a hint of something softer, something that was more than just concern. It was an understanding, perhaps, or a recognition of what you had endured. “No one here will make you hurt yourself for their amusement. You will not have to suffer to entertain. That is not the way of this court.”

You felt a knot tighten in your throat, the weight of her words pressing down on you. For a moment, you stood there, frozen, the shame and confusion swirling inside you. You had never known anything else. You had never been allowed to entertain without the constant threat of pain, of injury. The idea that you could stand before a court and not break your body to make them laugh felt like an impossible concept, one you couldn’t even begin to grasp.

“I— I don’t know how else to perform,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve never been allowed to do anything else. It’s the only way I know how to make them laugh.”

Nia stepped forward, her gaze softening further, though her authority still remained sharp. “You don’t have to break yourself for laughter here,” she said, her voice gentler now, but firm in its intent. “I requested a jester, not a martyr. You’re here because you can entertain, not because you can make people pity you. You are better than this.”

Her words stung, but it was a different kind of sting. It wasn’t the sting of disappointment or disgust. It was the sting of someone finally seeing you — truly seeing you — and recognizing the potential within you. You had never felt so exposed, yet so understood. For a brief, painful moment, you thought you might crumble under the weight of it.

“You can make them laugh with your skill,” Nia continued, her eyes gleaming now, a spark of something else in them, something dangerous and powerful. “You don’t need pain to make them smile. You need wit, grace, timing.”

Her words sank into your chest like a seed, taking root and slowly unfurling. There was something both terrifying and thrilling about the idea of performing without pain. You had never dared to imagine such a thing before. Could you truly do it? Could you entertain them without the mask of suffering?

The court was silent now, watching you carefully. The weight of their gazes was still there, but now, they seemed... expectant. Nia had set the stage, and it was your turn to rise to it.

You took a shaky breath, adjusting your posture, and for the first time, you didn’t fall. You didn’t hurt yourself. Instead, you stood a little taller, your fingers brushing the bells on your shoes, and you began again. A new performance, one that felt less like survival and more like freedom.

And Nia, watching from the throne, smiled.

Several months had passed since your first performance before the court of Xelera.

What once felt like a foreign and intimidating place had slowly transformed into something more comfortable, even... welcoming. The lavish room you were given was fit for royalty. Velvet curtains in rich crimson, a massive four-poster bed draped in silks, and the finest furniture, all neatly arranged to provide you with the most comfort you had ever known. It was a far cry from the cold stone floors and cramped quarters of the courts you had been subjected to in the past. Here, you were no longer a tool for entertainment, nor a pitied soul in the corner. You were an artist, an entertainer, valued for your wit, your talent, and your cleverness. The food that was served to you was beyond anything you’d ever tasted — hearty, flavorful, rich in spices and textures. Every meal felt like a feast, each bite a reminder that you were no longer starving for more than just sustenance.

But it wasn’t just the food or the luxury of your room. It was the laughter.

The court had embraced you in a way you had never experienced before. Laughter echoed through the halls every time you performed. They didn’t just laugh at your expense; they laughed with you. You didn’t have to contort your body or throw yourself into painful tumbles. You were funny, naturally so. Your wit, your timing, your observations about the nobility’s habits and the absurdities of court life had them in stitches. At first, you were hesitant, unsure if it could last. But it did. Every performance, every joke, every little quip made them laugh with genuine joy, not the hollow, forced chuckles of pity.

And sometimes, when the court wasn’t even expecting it, they would summon you. They missed you. They wanted more. The musicians would start a tune, and soon, you’d find yourself in the center of the room again, making them laugh with nothing more than a clever line or a well-timed flip. Even when you weren’t scheduled to perform, the request for your presence would come, as though they couldn’t bear the silence without the entertainment you provided.

But among all the faces in the court, there was one who stood apart.

Queen Nia.

At first, it had been casual, just a few private performances in her chambers, a few soft chuckles from her as you told jokes no one else would dare to utter. But over time, the requests to entertain her became more frequent, more personal. At first, it had been for her to enjoy your performances in a more intimate setting — no court to hide behind, just the two of you. You didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you enjoyed her company. There was something about her that was different from the others. Something that kept you on edge, yet drawn to her. She was always watching, never quite letting her guard down. But it wasn’t just the way she watched you as an entertainer. It was more than that. The gleam in her eyes, sharp and calculating, had become something you couldn’t ignore. Something... intense.

She would summon you to her private chambers, and you would perform, just as you always had, but the atmosphere was different. The air between you crackled with something unspoken. She would sit, perched upon her throne or leaning against the desk in her room, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Sometimes, her eyes would linger a little too long, her lips curling just slightly at the corners as you performed.

There were times when the others weren’t watching, when you would pause in the middle of a performance to see her smile softly, an almost secretive smile. She didn’t laugh as easily as the others. She didn’t even react in the same way. But when she did smile, it was... different. It wasn’t just for the performance. It was for you.

One evening, after a particularly funny performance that had the whole court in uproarious laughter, Nia had asked for you again. It wasn’t unusual for her to request a private show, but tonight, there was something in her eyes that unsettled you. A strange gleam, almost possessive in its intensity, something darker beneath the surface.

“You’re very funny,” she said softly, her tone measured and calm. “I could watch you all night.”

You stopped mid-spin, feeling a sudden rush of heat flood your cheeks. “Your Majesty, I’m flattered,” you said, smiling nervously, trying to brush it off as a compliment. But something about the way her eyes darkened made your heart race in a way that was entirely unfamiliar.

Her smile softened, but there was something else in her expression. “I find it... difficult to look away from you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You bring something to this court that no one else can. Something... genuine. Something real.”

You felt a shiver run down your spine at her words. Was it the weight of her gaze, or the meaning behind her words, that made your heart skip a beat? Either way, you couldn’t deny the stirring feeling in your chest, the strange pull between you and her that had only grown stronger since you first arrived.

“I’m just doing my job, Your Majesty,” you said, forcing a smile, trying to keep the nervous flutter in your chest at bay.

But Nia’s gaze never wavered. She rose slowly from her throne, her movements graceful, like a predator who had already cornered its prey but enjoyed the chase all the same. “And I’m telling you, you’re doing more than that.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping low, and you had to force yourself not to step back. “You’re making them laugh. But you’re also making me...” Her eyes flickered to the side, as though weighing her words, before meeting yours once more. “You’re making me feel something.”

You were silent for a moment, not knowing how to respond. Nia was standing so close now, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. The space between you was thin, charged with something unspoken, something that neither of you had acknowledged — until now.

“I...” You swallowed, your throat dry. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You don’t need to,” she murmured, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

Her fingers brushed against your arm in a casual motion, but it sent a jolt of warmth through your body. Your pulse quickened as her touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary.

You didn’t know what to make of it, but one thing was clear: Nia’s interest in you was no longer about your talent. It was something else entirely.

She smiled softly, almost dangerously. “Come back tomorrow,” she said, her voice quieter now, as though this was an invitation she didn’t want the rest of the court to hear. “I’ll have a new performance for you.”

And just like that, the moment was gone, slipping away as she turned and returned to her throne, leaving you standing there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of the connection that was beginning to form between you.

The evening was quiet, the last of the courtiers having long since retreated to their chambers. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire in Nia's private quarters, where you had once again been summoned for a private performance. You had grown used to these moments with her — the private, intimate shows that had gradually become more than just about entertaining. You had become her secret, her favorite, and her audience. The subtle glint in her eyes, the way she watched you with that unblinking intensity, had always made your skin prickle, but tonight... tonight was different.

You had just finished a lighthearted joke, one that usually had the court in fits of laughter, but the room was eerily still. Nia’s gaze never left you. She didn’t smile or laugh as she usually did. Instead, she stood up slowly, her movements deliberate, as though every step was calculated, predatory.

“Your jokes... they’ve been keeping everyone entertained, haven’t they?” Nia’s voice was smooth, almost too smooth, like silk slipping through your fingers. But there was an edge to it, something darker, that sent a shiver through you.

“I... I do my best, Your Majesty,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, though you could feel your heartbeat quicken under her gaze.

“You do more than that.” Her voice lowered, becoming a murmur that seemed to vibrate through the air. “You make them laugh, yes, but you make me... feel something different.”

Your throat went dry. You tried to take a step back, to keep some distance between you, but before you could react, Nia moved faster than you could anticipate. In one swift motion, she was before you, her hands gripping your arms with a force that made your breath catch in your throat. She pulled you close, her face inches from yours, her eyes alight with something you hadn’t seen before — something raw, unrestrained.

Her lips parted slightly as she spoke, her voice low and dangerous, yet strangely soothing. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, you know. And I’ve decided that no one else will have you. No one else will touch you.”

You froze, unable to move as she held you close, her fingers pressing into your skin, forcing you to remain in her grasp. The air between you was thick, heavy with something that felt like it could snap at any moment. Her words were a command, not a suggestion, and something about that sent a thrill down your spine.

“You’re mine, and only mine,” she continued, her voice becoming more fervent, more intense. “And I won’t ever let anyone else take you away from me. Not now, not ever.”

Her words were like a poison — sweet, intoxicating, and utterly consuming. The possessiveness in her voice, the way she claimed you as though you were an object she couldn’t bear to share with anyone else, made your pulse race. You had never experienced anything like this before. There was fear, yes, but there was also something else. Something that made your breath hitch in your chest, something that made your heart beat faster.

You tried to speak, to push her away, but the words caught in your throat. Nia wasn’t done. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I know what you need,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost affectionate. “You need to be wanted. You need to be adored, cherished... and I will give you all of that. I will always give you everything you need, darling. And you won’t ever escape m.”

There was something in the way she said it — something final, something that left no room for argument. The possessiveness in her tone should have made you recoil, but instead, you found yourself... leaning into it. Your heart fluttered in a way that both terrified and thrilled you. You couldn’t look away from her eyes, and when her lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, you felt something inside you snap.

You weren’t sure what it was, but you didn’t want to fight it. The strange, twisted sense of possessiveness, the way Nia wanted you all to herself, felt... right, in a way. It wasn’t just about control. It was about belonging. And strangely, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. You were hers. And, deep down, a part of you wanted to be.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to see your face, her eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. But all she found was silence. You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything. You were just... there, caught in her gaze, trapped by her words, by the way she held you like you were the most precious thing in the world to her.

Her smile deepened. “I knew you’d understand,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face, her fingers trailing down your cheek, leaving a burning path in their wake. “You’re mine, now. Forever.”

And, to your own surprise, you didn’t argue. You didn’t protest. There was no fight left in you, no resistance to her hold. You didn’t want to escape. You just wanted to be... hers.

[spideyanakin]

summary - sirius black x malfoy + slytherin! reader, ever since regulus drowned, you keep dreaming about him, but what if your dreams weren't just dreams? aka: we are saving regulus

warnings - angsty, near death experience but ends well, dumbledore being an icon

part of all I think about now - masterlist

read the part right before

"Let me offer you a cup of tea," Albus broke the silence.

Your breath was still held as you watched the pieces of the shattered locket, mixed with the shards of heavy wood from the desk bellow. With a flick of his wand, Dumbledore restored the desk that had shattered with your blow.

You watched, almost as if you were having an out of body experience as he was poured you the tea, and you sat on the homely couch by the fire place.

You found it impossible to have a sip of the warm liquid inside the flowery porcelain cup. Your hand was shaking.

Maybe what had happened was actually sinking. Your chest felt warm, heart beating loudly and pumping blood in places you did not know you could actually feel.

Would he know? Would the dark lord sense that a Horcrux had been destroyed? Would he know by whose hand the object had been shattered?

And suddenly, a look received from Dumbledore melted all the worries from you.

No. He couldn't know. You couldn't let doubt sink in. Not now, not when you were a step closer to ending this once and for all.

Dumbledore needed you, and if this meant continuing to put yourself in danger, to continue living a double life to save thousands; then you would.

So you breathed, smoothed down the rumbling of your bones, and smiled back at him the best way you could.

Something itched in the back of your throat though, and suddenly you found yourself speaking before you could stop it.

"Albus," You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, placing your steaming cup of tea back on the table in front of you. "Ever since my husband- ever since Regulus passed, I have been having these dreams, but they do not feel like dreams."

He nodded for you to continue.

"I thought it was Kreature's memories, from that night, but the more I think about it, the less it makes sense," you breathed, closing your eyes for a brief second as the memory flashed before you. "It is, as if I am seeing his memories. He is dragged into the depths, there is a flash from his wand, suddenly he is breathing, and then he is back to struggling, but the inferi could not reach him."

"How long have you had those dreams?"

"Since the night he passed."

Dumbledore nodded.

"Every night, he breathes, then suddenly struggles again, stops, he feels cold, but not quite dead, right until he takes a new breath, and every time he does, I wake."

Dumbledore quietly placed his cup back onto its saucer. He itched his thin white beard as he peered at his desk, and then to a painting of a wizard you did not know.

"Sir Watson," he adresses him, and the funny looking, very small wizard with a bright pink hat and matching robe with diamonds sewed to the sleeves looked at Albus.

"Yes?"

"How did your partner survive your last mission with him?"

The wizard jumped from his bright baby blue rococo chair, clapped his hands with a bright smile on his lips. Cheeks filling with his smile.

"I love this story! Brilliant wizard was he!" He nodded eagerly and you raised an eyebrow at his enthusiasm. "The poor lad was stuck, attacked by rogue and vicious mermaids! He used a scutum charm, protecting him from their attacks. He was able to empty the water from this shielded bubble you see, the shield made it impossible to move but he was able to survive days underwater! Days! He even did a silencing charm so he could block out the mermaid's luring voices! Genius wizard, I tell you, brilliant man."

"How did he get out?"

"Sent me messages, through dreams. We were married you see, magic intertwined and all."

"Thank you, Sir Watson." Albus smiled, and the wizard happily nodded before sitting back on his chair and grabbing the book he always seemed to be holding.

Your mouth opened in shock, hands shaking as you brought your hands to your warm cheeks, already wet with tears.

"Tell me. Do you think there is a chance he might still be alive?"

~

You shivered. The wind was rustling harshly, and drops of salt water were picking at your eyes. Your thin coat and skirts of silks were already starting to feel heavy from the accumulated rain drops.

You held your arms close to yourself. This was the place of nightmares, of your nightmares. Your gut was twisting in itself and you felt like you were going to retch everything in you as you walked through the opening to the cavern.

You shivered again. The rain was replaced by the harsh voice of the wind, waves crashing against the rocks of the cliff and the screech you were so familiar with in your nightmares.

The icing screams of the inferi.

Albus Dumbledore muttered something, you assumed a spell, you did not recognise.

Suddenly the pitch black water turned crystal clear.

You could see them. The dead creatures slithering at the bottom of the lake, harshly tapping onto something.

Dumbledore threw something on the other side of the lake using his magic, and only when their attention caught on the pebble and they swam towards it did you see him.

Regulus. You could see his fine features, eyes closed in pain, hand clutched tightly against his wand. Suddenly he breathed again, and you watched as, just like in your dreams, bubbles rose from his lips before air was sucked into the shield he had created himself.

Indeed, Regulus was still alive, and barely hanging on to life.

"Quick, he will not be able to hold it for long."

"What do I do?" Your heart was racing, and your hands clammy as Dumbledore walked closer to the water where Regulus lay.

"Asciendio!" With a flick of his wand, you watched as Regulus was pulled out of the water, faster than the dead creatures could reach.

You dropped by his side, and before you knew it, Dumbledore’s hand was on your shoulder and the three of you aparated to location twelve.

"Regulus," you cradled his head, attempting to lift his upper body. He was coughing, trembling as he tried to hold on to your shoulders for support.

His eyes were bloodshot, his skin paler than his already pearl colour. His plum lips were blue, and the tip of his fingers a matching colour. You held onto him as he continued coughing water, severely shivering in your arms.

"Y/n," he croaked.

"Shh, you're safe my love." You pushed his hair away from his face. Suddenly you felt the weight of his body on you, head heavily resting against your shoulder. He was crying, hot tears streaming down his face. "It's over, my love, you're safe."

Albus wrapped a large blanket over the both of you, and you thanked him as a shiver tumbled down your own spine.

Your hand held tightly onto the back of his head, the other firmly pressed against the space in between his shoulder blades. You shivered with him, your own body shaking with relief and emotions you were yet to decipher.

"He is soaked to the bone Albus, I need to get him home." You spoke through a hoarse voice, tears blurring your vision

"Alright," the elder nodded. "Do you remember our agreement?"

"Yes," you roughly nodded, pressing your cheek against Regulus’s cold forehead, your heavy tears dripping into his hair.

Although his voice held gravity, it wasn’t a hard agreement to maintain. That you’d take care of Regulus, nurse him back to health. That you’d tell him all the things he needed to know, and that if he truly wished to change sides, he would meet with Dumbledore to discuss further agreements.

The rest was the plan for the news of his come back to the purebloods and death eaters.

The story that was bordering truth. That you had seen the signs, that he had sent you the signs and you saved him. But how you were to tell them the story would remain in the choices Regulus had to make upon his return to full consciousness.

Your face softened as you met Dumbledore’s eyes, "thank you, Albus. Thank you."

[acowardinmordor]

You Left Me, You Miss Me

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four

@mc-i-r is writing another version of this and tagged me and my brain woke up, so here ya go. This is almost all dialogue, and my new love for Mrs Buckley.

----

"Hey Steve-o! Get in here!" Robin yelled.

"Thought you were talking to your mom?" Steve shouted back.

"I am! That's why you have to come here! The cord won't reach!"

Steve hauled himself up from the corner of the kitchen where he was reorganizing things for the third time since they moved in last week. There was a pile of boxes they really needed to open in the hallway, and his mattress was still against the wall, but he kept going back to the kitchen, trying to make it work despite there being only one pull out drawer. One. They noticed before they signed the lease, but they both assumed they could make it work somehow if they just tried hard enough. But. Third time's the charm.

Flopping onto the thrifted couch next to his best friend, he leaned against her head, and greeted, "Hi Mrs Buckley, how are you?"

"Now why can't you answer the phone so politely, Robin? Who raised you to be so impolite?"

"Yeah, mom, I know you love Steve more than you love me, you tell me every time you talk to him, now can you say it again please?"

"Yes, well, like I was saying, I don't really know why they were all so upset about it, but I didn't want to overstep, so I didn't tell them anything. Not really. Only that you had moved and that you were fine. It's not like that's a secret. Then I noticed that they didn't know about that and so I didn't answer the rest of the questions, which really only made them more upset, but I think they were upset with me, not with the pair of you, so that's perfectly fine, none of them were nearly as vicious as Robin was when she was fifteen and decided she--"

"Mom!"

Steve giggled. Robin's rambling came from her mother, that was certain, and it was worse when they were on the phone. They fed on each other's talking. Like that snake thing.

"Right, yes. Well, Steve, like I told her, those boys, the ones you used to babysit for, they came around to ask if I knew where you were," Mrs Buckley finally said.

Robin grabbed his hand with the one not holding the phone, and pressed her forehead harder against his as they crowded the handset. Steve didn't think he'd reacted, but they didn't need anything as boring as a visible reaction to know each other.

"They said that they went into the video store and saw someone new at the desk, and when they heard that the two of you were no longer working there -- Apparently that manager of yours had some unpleasant words on the subject. You know I never liked him? The first time I stepped in there he asked me if I was still married? Not like that, of course, but it was still very strange. I didn't like it. And according to Robin he was always like that, wasn't he, Steven?"

"Yeah, he was pretty weird," Steve answered numbly.

"Well, that Keith fellow told them you were no longer employed there and that curly haired one demanded to know where you were employed. Since its not like he knew even if he would have told them, those boys went looking for themselves. I guess they went to your house first, Steven, and must have seen the for sale sign. I don't know what your parents are thinking, selling with the market like it is right now, but no one has ever made either of your parents listen to a single word of sense in their lives."

"Mom, the point?"

"Yes, sorry dear, like I told Robin, eventually it must have occurred to them that the two of you would be in the same place and thought to come by. Well. I say come by. First they called, and your father, you know how he is, simply said you were no longer in residence and hung up on them. He thinks he's so funny. Oh! Make sure you remember to call next Tuesday to congratulate him. It's his first day as the lead manager in the office. Oh no, wait, does it count as long distance for you? Never mind, I'll place the call so you don't have to worry about it."

"Mrs Buckley? You were saying something about Dustin?" He was proud that his voice was steady. They left Hawkins eleven days ago. They started packing two weeks before that. His parents put the house on the market around the same time. It wasn't until today that they noticed.

"Yes, that's the one. So Dustin didn't take your father's humor well, and he and his friends came by earlier this evening."

"Wait, evening?" Steve interrupted, "It was dark? They were biking around in the dark? In this weather?"

"Oh goodness no, that young man drove them. The one that was in the papers that the pair of you helped last year. He was much more polite than they were. Well, once I told them that you'd moved, they all started shouting over each other, I was sure that Ms Wickley was going to come over and scold them."

"I'm sorry, ma'am--"

"Oh you don't need to ma'am me Steven, I've told you that."

"Mom, he was just trying to be polite when he asked you to please get to the point, so can you, you know, try to get to the point some time tonight. You're paying for the call, but jeez."

"Oh yes. Well it occurred to me while they were all shouting that if they were your friends like they were saying, they would have known that you were moving. So when they managed to calm down enough I could hear a thing I said, I refused to tell them anything else. It's none of their business if you don't want it to be. And that Dustin boy said that you were his best friend, right in the same sentence he said he hadn't seen you in a month. But, I wasn't entirely sure if I was wrong about it, so I did promise I would ask you if you wanted me to pass on your information."

"Good job, mom, you finally got back to it. This is why I had you come over here, so you could hear that last part. I should have just asked you. Do you want my mom to give them our number or address or anything?" Robin had rolled her eyes over her mom's rambling, completely unaware she was just as terrible. But then she stared at him, concerned and outraged and protective and sad. God, he didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Did they ask?" Steve said.

"Ask? I don't think a single one of them knows how to ask anything. They certainly shouted a lot of demands. If you don't want me to tell them, I have no complaints about being the villain in this story. After everything you've done for my girl, being there for her before she even told me, and now making sure she's safe from any kind of trouble up there, you're such a perfect - what was the - beard? I think that's what I saw in that article in that magazine. Oh, no, the Zine, I ordered. But even without all that, I'll happily shut the door in their faces every day for a year if that's what you want done."

Steve's next breath stuttered, and that was all Robin needed to see.

"Hang on mom, I'm going to put the phone down, don't hang up, we'll be back." She sat the handset on the couch, then dragged a throw blanket over it to muffle their voices completely.

"You okay there or do I need to make a snap decision about which is going to be our household's vomit bowl?" He pushed her shoulder half-heartedly. "Okay, yeah, we both know it's gonna be the one with the cow on it. But you okay there, Stevie?"

"I'm fine."

"No you aren't."

"I'm fine."

She gasped, "You would lie to your soulmate? To her face?"

"I'm not! I'm fine! I just... I don't know, Robs."

Robin watched for a second as all of the muck of emotions bubbled inside him. Then she, as she always did, understood him.

"You want to say no. You want to tell her not to let them know where we are, but you're also freaking out because the brats come find you whenever It's back."

And because for a second, he desperately hoped that they missed him, or wanted to call so they could apologize for the last months. She didn't need to say that part. He half shrugged, sort of nodded, and bobbed his chin towards the throw blanket.

"You sure, Dingus?"

"Yeah."

"Is it gonna be Hopper or Joyce?" she faux wondered as she grabbed the phone from its prison. "Mom? Hi, back. Yeah, thank you. I'm gonna hand the phone to Steve now."

She didn't move away, but she didn't share the earpiece.

"Hi Mrs Buckley. I guess I -- could I ask a couple questions first?"

"Of course dear. What would you like to know?"

"Did any of them say anything weird or really specific?"

"Like what?"

"Like, about the mall, or last spring, or, bats, or uh, did they say anything about their dungeons and dragons game?"

"No. Why would they?"

Steve forced his shoulders to relax. El said it was done, but four years of it coming back meant he'd never fully trust that as true.

"No reason I guess."

"Well. That Munson boy did ask me about a radio right at the end. After the others stomped back to the driveway. He came back and he seemed - well he asked about a radio. And I said you certainly had a radio in your car, but I think he may have been talking about something else. Is that what you meant?"

"Okay, uh. Yeah. Thank you. I guess."

"So what would you like me to tell them next time I see one of them? If you'd like to take your time about it, you can. They were quite worked up about it, but it's a little ridiculous to act like they were owed something if they didn't even notice you two moving. You knocked over a stop sign with that rental truck."

Steve laughed. Couldn't help it. "I really can't wait, ma'am. They'll be back tomorrow morning to bother you." He gave Robin a look she immediately returned. Even without hearing the other half, she understood how true that was.

"Of course they won't, they have school," Mrs Buckley argued.

"Yeah, just means they'll be at your door even earlier."

"Well that's rude."

"Yeah, that's them. So, um. You can be rude back if you want. Don't, uh, you don't need to answer their questions. If you don't mind that they're not going to take it well."

Mrs Buckley laughed, loud and cackling for a moment, making the phone go staticky. "Oh dear, it would be my absolute pleasure to be rude right back to them. I'm much better at it. Anything else?"

"Yeah, you know Jim Hopper?" The resounding silence promised she was giving him the same judgemental look Robin was. "Sorry, that was dumb. But can you give him our number? Not to share with them, just so he has it. And, funny story about radios, but, the one that -- that that guy asked about is in your hall closet. Top shelf, next to the popcorn tin. Give Hopper that too?"

"Certainly, anything I should tell him, or should I ask to return the phone to my ridiculous child that you're generous enough to live with so I can say good night?"

For some reason, it made him think about the returns box at the store. A handle pulled open, the movie dropped inside, and nothing else needed. No one had to explain why they were giving back their copy of Breakfast Club. They had it for a while, hopefully they enjoyed it, and then when it was done, when they didn't need it anymore, or when it was overdue, when they kept it longer than they should have, costing them more money to keep around than it was worth, when they decided they were done with it, they didn't write a letter and explain why they--

"No. But, just. Tell him its for emergencies or something. Thank you, bye, or, goodnight ma'am, Mrs Buckley, uh, here's Robs. Bye."

He climbed off the couch as he shoved the phone at her, and headed for the window in his yet to be unpacked room. Rob would kill him in his sleep if he had a cigarette, but if he had any, he'd have taken the risk.

The glass was so cold it was painful against his forehead when he leaned into it, and he watched the little flurries of snow on the street kicked up by the wind. They didn't even notice for a few weeks. They'd quit Family Video a week before they left, and he knew the kids watched at least a few every weekend. They must have gone in, multiple times, and just, not noticed. Or not cared.

He wasn't sure which of those was worse.

He wasn't sure why it hurt when he made his peace with it weeks and weeks ago. It hadn't ached so vividly since the fall. Worst of all was the shock of concern for them, thinking they were out on their bikes in the dark and the snow. Then the relief that Eddie drove them. The feeling was huge enough to eclipse anything else until he knew they were safe.

Hadn't seen them in a month, barely seen them before that, and his first instinct was still to drop everything and grabs his keys. He was two hours away, and his brain was itchy to go drive by and check on them. They didn't need him to do that. They didn't want him to.

And based on how his stomach lurched when he heard that they didn't know he'd left, he didn't think it would do him any favors to go back. Hop and Joyce knew how to handle them if they started to do anything too risky, and the kids were practically glued to Eddie's side.

They weren't his to look after.

"Stop staring out the window like your lover is lost on the moors," Robin complained, wrapping him in a hug from behind.

"I have no idea what that means, Robs."

"Good, I'll explain it to you. Come on, lets go, we've got a kitchen to reorganize. I already started stuff for popcorn and hot chocolate. Lets gooooo, you're too heavy for me to carry, hup two."

Steve snorted and let her drag him away.

"I thought we were going to get my room set up, so I wouldn't have to share with you again?"

She gave him that look. That one that was fond and frustrated and sassy as shit. The one that said she wasn't going to let him get away with being dumb, but wasn't going to call him on it.

"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind. You can share with me for a while longer. Now do the hot chocolate, and don't skimp on the whipped cream. We bought that can on sale and its going to go bad any second. Just use all of it. Directly into our mouths if we cant get it balance on the mug. Don't want to waste it, and we deserve it. I'm on popcorn duty, and then we're going to defeat this puzzle, Harrington. We outsmarted the Russians, we can outsmart the dishes!"

Shit. He sniffled as he followed her orders.

He was so damn grateful he still had her.

-----

Next>>

Still don't do tag lists. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[resident-idiot-simp]

Masquerade AU

(This will be edited down at some point and posted to AO3)

Also shout out to @shy-canadian-snowflake with helping me with some of the ideas for this

Logan is minding his own business on a job. It's a masquerade dance he has to infiltrate and collect a data drive. It was going well or it was until a man approached him and pulled him into a dance.

Logan fumbled slightly but went with it confused. They were slow dancing, and he didn't know exactly how he got into this situation.

He knows it wasn't good though could feel it in his bones that something wasn't right. It got confirmed when the man leaned in and whispered in his ear.

"Wasn't expecting competition tonight. Got to say I'm flattered it's the Wolverine."

Logan almost locks up, but the other man forcefully keeps him in step.

"Hate to do it to you, really do. Big fan of your work and just you in general. Sadly however, a man's got to get paid. So I can't exactly allow you to get the drive."

Logan growls lightly.

"Oh, don't be like that. Professional courtesy and all that, I won't cause too much of an issue, won't rat you out. No, I'm just going to give you a choice."

Logan feels his heart sink. "What choice?"

"You can either save people or you can get the information. Your decision, though I don't think either of us is fooled for a moment on which you'll choose."

And on queue, an explosion sounds.

The man laughs likely in his ear, "Go get em' cowboy."

With that he twirls away and disappears into the crowd.

Logan curses to himself before heading off in the direction of the explosion. Conveniently in the opposite direction of where he needs to be.

Once Logan gets to the room he is supposed to after ensuring no one's going to get hurt. The explosion was more of a noise maker, no explosion to it, no danger. Logan doesn't know what to think about it, and he also can't help but feel duped.

He spots a note lying next to the computer that the drive was supposed to be connected to. He lets out a displeased rumble. He picks up the note and reads it quickly.

'It's been a fun night. We've got to do this again ~ DP'

Logan stuffs the note in his pocket and grumbles as he quickly exits the mansion. Deadpool of course it was fucking Deadpool who else would it be? He should be more pissed than he is in all honesty, but no one got hurt. At least that's the reason he tells himself.

They run into each other again and again though, it becomes a game of cat and mouse. It seems everywhere that he goes Deadpool is right there with him.

Both after the same thing, both for different reasons.

It takes only three more run-ins before Logan starts actually getting pissed off that he keeps getting outsmarted. He knows his own intelligence, and it's infuriating that this man keeps beating him. Planning steps ahead in ways that Logan hadn't expected.

Not once had he been able to predict something Wade had done. Also annoyingly, he's enjoying their interactions more and more. As well as this whole game they had started playing. Logan starts looking forward to their interactions. Despite it all Deadpool is charming and quite the character.

He's funny and a flirt as much as Logan would love to deny he enjoys it, he doesn't, and he's not sure he can bring himself to either. Deadpool would always spot him first and make his way over. He would then drape himself as best he could across Logan’s shoulders. 

Logan would growl and grumble as Deadpool 'Wade kitty cat, call me Wade' cooed at him.

From there, Wade would confirm they were here for the same thing (again), and Logan would try to get to it before Wade and fail again. Somehow Wade knew him well enough to outsmart and or trick him. 

He would then collect the note Wade left teasing him before leaving himself.

Truly a vicious cycle.

Many nights Logan had lain awake, flustered as he went over their interactions over and over again in his head. How Wade would always get as close to him as he could physically be. How he flirted with him incessantly, and how he was always three steps ahead. Wade was so effortlessly skillful, and he wondered what else he could do if given the chance.

It was another fucking masquerade when it happened. Wade had found him as always and Logan was determined not to fall for any of his tricks this time. He just ignored the merc and made his way steadily to where he had to go. The only issue was that Wade was quite the attention grabber, what with the never-ending chatter. 

But Logan was fine, he had it under control, he was a damn professional. He was nearly home free too when it happened.

Wade had grabbed him, twirled him around, and kissed him. It wasn't chased, it was nothing of the sort. Wade had just moved his own mask aside and shoved his tongue as deep into Logan's mouth as it could go.

Logan just melted. Couldn't help it, he'd imagined this far more than he was willing to admit. Wade giggled into his mouth at the lack of resistance and took the chance to run hands down his back to pull him closer and squeezing at his ass.

Logan was nothing but putty in his hands as he let out soft noises. Then, when Wade pulls back Logan chases after him. He can't help it, the texture and warmth were addicting, he wanted no needed more.

Wade ignores him however, just pulls something from his pocket tucks it in Logan's breast one before mercilessly sweeping his feet out from under him.

Logan goes down hard and Wade just cackles before disappearing in the direction of the objective. As silent and quick as ever when he wants to disappear.

Logan knows it's over as soon as his feet get swept out, he knows he's lost again. He takes out what Wade had tucked into his pocket.

The note, the damn fucking note.

‘You should call me <3’ and his number scribbled down.

He just buries his face in his hands, blushing with a groan that morphs into a cackle.

Fucking typical.

Tags: @seaweedmakesart

It's up on Ao3

[alwayssassydreamer]

Vicious

Song Prompt Challenge

She's a little bit twisted, little bit wild Little bit fucked up, that's my style Little bit ruthless, little bit raw And I love the way you hate me You love to drive me crazy That girl is vicious, she's vicious Got venom in her kisses She's wicked, she's wicked

Warnings: none really, fluffish, kissing

Characters: Shanks x F!MarineReader

The Red-Haired Pirates had docked in town, and you told yourself you had to “observe” them. Over the months you've been running into them more than once. And every single time, Shanks flirted with you like it was a game he refused to lose. You’d tried to resist, tried to act like his charm didn’t get to you. But it was impossible to hold the line.

The bar you entered was alive with the sound of rowdy laughter, clinking mugs, and drunken shanties. As a Marine officer, you shouldn’t have been there. Fraternizing with pirates — even indirectly — was a direct violation of the code you were sworn to uphold.

But "duty" had a funny way of twisting itself, especially when Shanks was involved. Or at least, that was the excuse you told yourself.

You stood at the edge of the room, scanning the crowd. Your uniform was absent tonight, replaced by casual clothes to blend in.

Then you spotted him. Shanks stood at the bar, next to him Benn Beckman and Yasopp his crimson hair catching the dim light, a familiar grin playing on his lips. His gaze flicked toward you, and just like that, you felt his pull—magnetic and maddening.

You rolled your eyes but found yourself moving toward him anyway, the crowd parting instinctively.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Marine,” Shanks drawled as you approached, leaning forward on his elbows. “Out of uniform, I see. Trying to go undercover to see me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back, leaning casually against the bar. “I’m here to make sure you and your crew don’t burn the place down.”

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. Shanks leaned closer, his eyes sparkled with mischief, and his grin widened.

“I think you just like keeping an eye on me. Can’t say I blame you, though. I am pretty charming.”

Beckman chuckled softly, and Yasopp grinned, but neither of them interrupted. They’d seen this game play out too many times to bother interfering.

“You’re infuriating,” you muttered, turning back to the bar in the hopes of ending the conversation. But of course, Shanks wasn’t done.

"You know,” he began, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

“Oh?” you replied, taking a sip of your drink. “And what exactly have you been thinking?”

"She’s a little bit twisted, a little bit wild,” he said to Beckman and Yasopp. The playful lilt in his voice sent a shiver down your spine. “Little bit fucked up—that’s my style. Little bit ruthless, little bit raw,” he continued, and you could hear the grin in his voice.

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Shanks.”

“Who said I’m trying to get anywhere?” he shot back, his grin turning wicked. “I just love the way you hate me.”

“Hate you?” you teased, leaning forward slightly. “That’s a strong word.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his tone playful. “But you do love driving me crazy.”

“And you make it so easy,” you said, smirking as you crossed your arms.

Shanks leaned closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “That girl is vicious,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “Got venom in her kisses.”

Your lips curled into a smirk, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. “Venomous, huh? Sounds dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” he repeated, his grin widening. “Maybe. But I like living on the edge.”

You held his gaze, the air between you heavy with unspoken words. “So what does that make you?” you asked softly. “Foolish? Reckless?”

“Both,” he admitted with a shrug, his eyes twinkling. “But it’s worth it.”

There was no point denying the pull between you. From the moment you’d first met, his charm had been impossible to ignore. Flirting with Shanks was like stepping onto a battlefield—dangerous, exhilarating, and utterly addicting.

Beckman chuckled quietly, and Yasopp smirked, clearly enjoying the show. You forced yourself to remain calm, though your heart raced in your chest.

“She’s wicked,” he said softly, his tone carrying an edge of something deeper. “Yet somehow so delicious.”

You raised your drink to your lips, trying to ignore the heat in your cheeks. “You’ve got quite the imagination.”

“And you’ve got quite the effect on me,” he shot back, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “Face it—you’d miss me if I wasn’t around.”

You set your drink down, turning to fully face him. “In your dreams, Shanks.”

He grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Every night, sweetheart.”

You leaned in, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “If I'm so vicious and my kisses are so venomous,” you whispered, your voice dripping with teasing confidence, “shouldn’t you be more careful?”

Shanks chuckled, his hand resting casually on the table as his eyes flicked to your lips again. “Careful’s not really my style,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Besides, I think I can handle it.”

The tension snapped, and before you could think twice, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both fiery and intoxicating. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer as the world around you seemed to fade away.

The kiss ended as suddenly as it began, and when you pulled back, Shanks’ signature grin spread across his face, though his eyes glinted with something deeper—satisfaction, mischief, and a challenge all rolled into one

“So?” you asked, your voice light. “Are my kisses really that venomous?”

Shanks grinned, his thumb brushing your hip in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Oh, they’re venomous, all right,” he said, his tone teasing. “Deadly, even.”

“Good to know,” you replied, your smirk widening. “Guess you’ll just have to build up a tolerance.”

Shanks laughed, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something deeper. “Guess I will.”

Beckman and Yasopp froze in stunned silence as you pulled Shanks into the kiss. It wasn’t often they saw someone catch their captain off guard, and even less so in such a bold, public way.

“Well, that’s new,” Beckman muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Didn’t think she’d actually go for it.”

Yasopp recovered first, setting his mug down with a chuckle. “Can’t say I blame her. He’s been laying it on thick since day one. Guess persistence pays off. A Marine and a pirate? What kind of world are we living in?"

“The kind where our captain enjoys making bad decisions,” Beckman replied dryly, though his gaze flicked to you for a moment, assessing.

You straightened, fixing the hem of your shirt as if the kiss hadn’t just turned the room into a powder keg. Shanks, of course, was basking in the chaos, his grin smug and completely unbothered by the reactions of his crewmates.

"What can I say? I’ve got a way with women. Not even Marines are immun” Shanks said. “Now, about that tolerance. Care to help me build it up?”

Before you could answer, Yasopp interrupted, leaning on the table with a smirk. “You know, this is the part where we usually remind you that you’re a Marine, and he’s—well, a yonko.”

Your stomach tightened slightly at the reminder. The line between your worlds was razor thin, and you’d just crossed it in front of his crew. For a moment, doubt flickered in your mind, but then Shanks chuckled, his grip on your hip tightening ever so slightly.

“Details, Yasopp,” he said, dismissively. “We’re having a moment here.”

And yet Yasopp and Beckman weren’t wrong to be wary. You were a Marine, sworn to uphold the law, and Shanks was one of the most notorious pirates in the world. This… whatever this was… it couldn’t lead anywhere good.

But in the heat of the moment, with Shanks still grinning at you like you’d just handed him the greatest prize in the Grand Line, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Shanks leaned closer again, looking at you with that maddening mix of charm and mischief.

“So,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “was that just to shut me up, or are you finally admitting you like me?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly forward. “Maybe I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” you replied coolly, though your heart was still racing. “You do talk a big game, after all.”

He chuckled, his grin somehow managing to grow even wider. “And? Was it worth the hype?”

You let the silence hang for a moment, watching as his crew leaned in slightly, waiting for your answer. Finally, you shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to wonder.”

You studied him, catching the glimmer of something deeper in his eyes than just amusement or lust—it was curiosity, a spark of genuine interest that made your heart skip a beat.

But reality hit as you straightened, your fingers brushing his arm before pulling away.

“As fun as this is, Captain,” you said, your tone light but firm, “I’m still a Marine, and you’re still a pirate. I’m pretty sure this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—isn’t exactly regulation.”

“Funny. I don’t remember asking for permission.”

Your lips quirked up despite yourself. “You never do.”

“Exactly,” he said, lifting his mug in a mock toast. “I’m a rule breaker. And something tells me you’re not as by-the-book as you like to pretend.”

Shanks’ words struck a chord. He wasn’t wrong, and that scared you more than you cared to admit.

Enjoy your drink, Captain,” you said, your voice softer now. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

Shanks looked at you his grin never faltering. “Trouble’s no fun without you, sweetheart,” he teased, earning another groan from Yasopp and a shake of the head from Beckman.

As you reached the door, Shanks’ voice called after you, loud and unapologetic. “Don’t stay away too long, Marine! I’ll be waiting for round two!”

You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t stop the small smile that crept onto your lips. The game was far from over, and you both knew it.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Goo Kim x Reader: Patience

G/N. Fluffy. 4.7k. Another friends to lover with Goo falling first

You're used to Goo's melodrama. You've known him since middle school, survived to tell the tale, hung around post-Juvie and joined him in HNH Group so of course you are used to this guy.

He considers you his best friend, partner in crime. Looks at you with a wicked smile that you return before descending into whatever diabolical plans you have cooked up.

(Goo likes to joke that he's the brawn and you're the brain when he's feeling particularly kind and charitable and you counter with that he's neither.)

And of course this includes witnessing his growth spurt from ankle biter to the somewhat reasonable specimen that he is now. Though you've never looked at him that way, it's a little icky if anything, and you just nod kindly when he tells you how hot he is.

You guess it must be true to some extent. He has a lot of pretty men and women hanging off him. An ever revolving door of beautiful people that you doubt he's winning over with his charming personality.

(Sometimes you take pause and wonder why you get on so well. Maybe it says a lot about your own charming personality but you handwave away any fleeting moments of introspection.)

Objectively, you suppose, he's fine. Like you wouldn't kick him out of bed. Although that's not entirely true. You have shared a bed many times, kicked him out more than you can count when he hogs your duvet and drools on your pillow.

However. It is funny and kind of endearing to watch him wake up bleary eyed. Pillowcase wrinkles pressed into his face, blonde hair a nest, as he pats around for his glasses.

Either way, it doesn't matter. You're childhood friends. You know him better than you know yourself and you think Goo can say the same for you. But he just doesn't give you those gooey fuzzy feelings.

Never has. Never will.

Goo would definitely agree with that too.

.

.

…Except he doesn't.

Well, he doesn't like to think about it, is what it is.

For all his drama and chaotic energy, he stuffs this down and ignores it. Do you know how difficult this is for him? Of course you don't. Goo is loud and boisterous and obnoxious. So to continue to act like everything is normal, to be patient and quiet and not howl and wail about it goes against everything that he stands for.

He can't pinpoint it, ok. Has no idea what changed or when.

Maybe it was when you were kissing that guy with the terrible fashion sense who he thought was fathoms below your league.

(Thank the heavens you came to your senses a week later and ditched him. Even if it took a lot of sly insults and put-downs from Goo to help you along the way.)

Or when you said you thought Gun was pretty handsome and Goo nearly threw up in disgust.

(Goo was particularly vicious to Gun for a short while after that. Hissing at him every time, calling him all sorts of childish names and relishing how the vein in his temple twitched.)

Or it could be the way you took care of him over the years. Waiting for him at an ungodly hour in the morning when he bounced out of juvie and into his first day of freedom. Accompanied him shopping as he spent his first HNH Group paycheck. Bandaged up his many injuries, taking care of age old scars, all the while chuckling at how pathetic he is even with a wetness in your eyes.

Something blossomed for Goo. 

Slowly but surely, blooming from a weak seedling and unfurling, growing into a hardy evergreen that never dies, never wilts. Kept steady and healthy by your sharp tongue and knowing eyes.

Whose roots are deeply embedded into Goo's core. That there's no way of ever untangling or removing.

.

.

So yes, Goo has an ever revolving door of distractions.

And if it's something to test the water now and then, to see if your face drops at seeing a new trophy on Goo's arm, then who can blame him for that working in his favour.

It never happens though. You're polite and courteous when you are greeted with his fling. A face you have likely seen in magazines and on the screen but will eventually forget about after their 15 seconds of fame and Goo.

Does it matter that maybe Goo should be direct and stop toying with everyone's feelings. Sure. But the odds aren't in his favour so why not have some fun. This is also Goo Kim you're talking about.

In all honesty, he's still a bit- a lot of an asshole.

.

.

"Why do I even like you," Goo mutters under his breath when he sees you dripping sauce down your top for the N-th time in so many minutes.

Your current hand eye coordination leaves a lot to be desired, and your table manners are atrocious. Goo sits and sighs, hand resting on his palm, watching you trying to clean yourself up when you're only working the stain into your shirt harder.

"Fuck, this is going stain forever isn't it." You frown at the brown splodge across your chest.

"No shit."

"Damnit."

"Let's go shopping after," Goo says, and what he means is I'll buy you a new shirt because you're an idiot and I'm not walking around with you looking like that.

"Again?!" You pull a face, and what you mean is thanks for taking care of me.

.

.

Goo has a theory. One he doesn't want to test or be proven wrong but he thinks about it all the time nevertheless.

Like right now. When you're rifling through the racks picking out clean clothing and he has time on his hands to think.

His theory is that you like him too.

He can imagine you scoffing when you hear that, rolling your eyes and accusing him of being delusional. Which ok, he admits he is. But he's not that out of touch. Even he knows how it sounds. 

He has realised the way you feel about him from the way you look at him, how you seek him out, the way you brighten seeing his handsome face even if you don't realise it yourself. You're just too stubborn to admit it.

There is no way on earth he can force this, and he is oh so very used to brute forcing his way through things with unscrupulous methods, so he waits for you to come to the realisation on your own and eventually bat your eyelashes at him and announce your own feelings.

Except it's taking a good while, and hasn't he already mentioned he's not the patient kind? You're not doing either of those things, nowhere close.

In fact, you're actually exiting the changing rooms in a new outfit that is far too flattering and spinning around for Goo to observe.

"Looking good, Sweetheart," he tells you, leaning back to take in the view with a cat smile. "You should get it."

And you do. Fishing out the credit card that Goo pays off every month to complete the transaction.

.

.

If Goo is someone that keeps count, and he absolutely is despite playful appearances, then he would know it's been years since the feelings have crept up on him.

And if he were to consider when his theory started, it would probably be around two years ago.

Yes, you do spend some nights together. Usually due to running errands from Charles Choi and it's more convenient, or more often because of Goo hanging around too long and too late in your home then refusing to leave.

But he reckons the turning point might have been two years ago when you were the one that stayed at his penthouse. Goo was riddled with some deadly disease (a cold actually, but it was a pretty bad cold to be fair) and you sort of unwillingly took on the role of caretaker.

How could you not? 

No-one else likes him half as much as you do. He's got more enemies than he knows what to do with who would rob him in his state then kill him without so much as a second glance.

You’re sure even Gun and Crystal and Kouji would finish him off then throw a party about it.

For that week, Goo’s usual quips and sharp edges were nowhere to be seen although he definitely did more than his usual share of moaning and whining.

But he was adorable. Pink cheeked and red nosed, hair in disarray, wallowing in his comfiest sweatpants and hoodie. A million miles away from his suited and booted, meticulously styled persona. Half lucid, curled around you or with his head in your lap looking absolutely weak and pathetic.

It's your fondest memory of Goo Kim.

You saw him at his worst, all soft and squishy and vulnerable and it did something to your heart ever since.

Goo knows this. The way you act around him, how you look at him, hasn't been the same since that week.

There's a softness, affection, that wasn't there before. It's just a shame you're too ignorant to your own feelings and any flirtatious behaviour from Goo is just seen as him being his usual fun self.

So he waits and waits, even as he loses grip of his sanity and falls more for you with each passing day.

.

.

Kindness is often repaid, and your kindness comes full circle in the present day when you're the one that falls ill.

It's a rare thing for something to knock you off your feet as much as this has. It started with a sniffly nose and Goo recoiling in horror when an unexpected sneeze crept up and you sprayed spittle in his car.

A cough also accompanied the snot a few days later. Goo rubbing circles into your back turned into thumping and you shoving him away from you, sputtering and hacking in his direction for good measure.

You continued to work, with Goo's stares growing more concerned and exasperated by the day. Likely making yourself much worse and prolonging any recovery until-

You're bedridden. Switching between hot flush and cold shivers and feeling worse than death.

"You only have yourself to blame," Goo mother hens around you, feeling smug. "I told you so."

In your delirium, you can hardly make out the words but a part of your brain, refined after spending so many years in Goo’s presence feels a surge of annoyance.

A hand reaches out to feel your forehead. "Ew, clammy" and you try to bat it away without success.

You're given pills and medicine over the next couple days. Water and herbal teas carefully tipped down your throat and spoonfed hearty meals in your delirious state. Idle chit chat passes through one ear and out the other. You flutter somewhere between half awake and passed out.

At some point, you become lucid enough to poke the body next to you and ask, "Why aren't you at work?"

Goo, burrito-ed in your duvet after you kicked it off for being too warm, and snoozing happily moments ago, turns and glares at you. Wants to point out that it's currently 4am so please shut the fuck up.

Instead, he looks into your eyes that are sort of looking at him but looking through him; notices the sheen of sweat across your brow and laboured breathing. He decides to be nice, for now. 

Voice groggy, he says "Go back to sleep," and gives you a pat on the head to send you on your way.

There's no work for Goo today at 4am. There's no work for him for the last few days either or for the foreseeable. Concludes it better for you to come to your own realisation that he took the time off so he could look after you.

There is no work, no other priorities for him, when you're like this.

Goo sighs and grumbles as he falls back to sleep. About making less money, about having to put up with Gun complaining when he's back.

Still, as he feels you curling your body around his back, your arm slung across his hips - he guesses he doesn't mind, if he can have this.

.

.

Your fever breaks on a Thursday. Lucky for you, it coincides with your medicine running out. Nonetheless, Goo insists on a supply run.

"But I'm fine," you whine, despite being completely not fine and stumbling out of bed.

Goo mutters something about the 'state of you', pushes you back into bed with one hand and cackles when you fall back with an 'oomph!' and minimal force.

"I'm going out." Goo states with no room for argument. 

Something in you clicks at hearing such a no nonsense, authoritative tone.

The bratty side of you insists on at least joining him. It's been days since you left your home, left your bed. You're going stir crazy. Fresh air will do you good.

Goo rolls his eyes as your reasons spill out in a jumble. Lips quirking, he gives in. "Fine."

You hate to admit this, but Goo is right. You'll never tell him though, lest his ego is inflated further.

But the bright noon sun, the city crowd, and the fluorescent lights of the pharmacy are overwhelming.

Has Goo always walked so quick, been so sure in his strides? Cutting easily through the throngs of people.

You trail him, struggling to keep up.

Goo glances over his shoulder, sees you looking bewildered and falling behind. He slows, stretches his hand out to yours and intertwines your fingers with his.

Leaning into your ear, he murmurs "Stay with me."

Something else inside you clicks at his breath ghosting over your skin and the sight of your hands joined together.

The pharmacy is a labyrinth. Aisles and aisles of medicine and toiletries and whatever else overwhelms your delicate senses.

Only the view of Goo's broad back and your hand in his keeps you steady. He winds this way and that, foot sure in where he's going but pace slowing to match yours.

"Here we are," Goo stops, arriving at the destination, untangling your hands and you slam into him.

"Careful sweetheart," he gives you a quick toothy grin before examining the rows and rows of packaged pills and bottled syrups.

Hands now in pocket, he bends at the waist, getting a closer look. Frown creeping over his face when his brand of choice is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit. C'mon, let's find someone to see if they have it in stock." He tilts his head and signals you to follow.

Or at least you try to. One moment he was in front of you, his bleached hair and tall lean physique within reach.

The next, he turned the corner and so did you. Except he vanishes. Completely into thin air.

Fuck.

If you were feeling like yourself, you would know that this pharmacy is only a block away from your home. You've been here a million times. You can wait for him outside if you have to.

But you don't feel like yourself. You feel like a kid lost in a sea of people. Suffocating between bodies and bright shiny plastic crap. Too small to know where to go or find the exit and your one lifeline, Goo, is nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," you look around, check behind you and down more aisles. "Shit shit shit."

The panic lodges itself into your chest and your stomach sinks. More faceless nobodies get in your way, blocking your view and your path, moving too quick for you to cut a route through.

"Where the fuck is he-"

A hand rests on your hip, stops you moving another step and you feel a chest lightly pressed against your back.

Anyone else and you would have spiralled further, but you already recognise who it is.

"Didn't I tell you to stay with me," Goo growls lowly into your ear.

It cuts through your fever induced haze, your sickness induced panic. It shoots into the pit of your stomach and travels like a lightning bolt straight to your groin.

When you turn your head, milimetres away from Goo's own, see an eyebrow arched, the amusement in his eyes and the smirk on his lips-

Your own desire is reflected in his glasses.

The final piece clicks into place.

.

.

Life moves on.

You get better, and you both return to work. You have a mountain of paperwork to catch up on and Goo has to put up with Gun once more.

However. Goo now knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that his theory is correct. He also knows that the realisation is starting to sink in for you too. 

He's seen the look in your eyes, it's blatant as hell. Somewhere between the pharmacy and the walk home you looked at him like he was a new person. Eyes greedy and roving all over his body (which did wonderful things to his ego, by the way).

That doesn't mean he doesn't like it.

You could hardly keep track of conversation, eyes always dipping to stare at his lips. And sure, Goo knows he has very sexy lips, but with the way you eyeball him... He actually feels-

Exposed.

Objectified.

It's just...

Unusual.

That's not even considering the flirtatious banter that returned full force once you were well enough to appreciate it. You've had years and years and years of it. Never batted an eyelid at Goo's innuendos and indecent words. Except now-

You're kneeling down on the floor, rifling through your bag for your wallet you've either left at home or in Goo's office. Neither of which are appealing options.

Goo continues to ramble, as he does. You're feeling around for the familiar touch of leather, holding eye contact with him as he mentions something about a new manga chapter-

But then a salacious smile spreads over his face as he realises the compromising position you're in. On your knees, at head height with his crotch and staring directly into his eyes. It's really a very intimate scene. Easy for minds to wander.

"Get off your knees, Sweetheart. Seeing you at this angle is killing me."

Goo pours all his dirty thoughts into that sentence, and you jolt like you've been struck. You can feel the heat under your collar spreading to your face and the tips of your ears.

Goo notices too, because he glances at your crimson ears and his grin only stretches further.

You are 100% certain that sentence changed your brain chemistry forever. You’ve thought about what it could mean every night since.

.

.

With each passing day, Goo knows you are also losing grip of your sanity too. He hit that point a long time ago and his chest swells with pride knowing you're following in his footsteps.

But Goo is an eternal little shit. He thinks where's the fun in confessing straight away. Why put an end to this game that has lasted so long. He's having the time of his life and frankly, you're so much fun to mess with.

He couldn't believe he went so long without knowing what a pretty shade you turn when you flush. How much your pupil blows open when you're looking at him and thinking your own obscene thoughts. The way you now flinch at his touch but lean in almost straight away.

And the nights. Oh the delicious nights. He spends more time playing sleepover with you than is healthy.

Even if he deprives himself of his own sleep, it's simply so much fun hearing you tossing and turning into the early hours of the morning. You can’t fall asleep knowing that he is next to you, that you want to touch him and hold him but can't. You're on edge, imagination running wild, but unable to do anything about it.

You're sporting matching bags under your eyes but Goo can't bring himself to mind. He is having the best time.

The revolving door of arm candy also stops. It was never serious in the first place, and now that Goo knows you reciprocate his feelings, even he isn't that mean. There's no-one else he needs as a distraction because there's nothing to distract himself from.

Still, if he name-drops a couple made up people in conversation with you, a few fibs and tall tales to make you jealous, see your nostrils flare and your lips thin then who has to know.

.

.

The first bit of doubt presents itself late that night, when Goo is surprisingly in his own bed and you are miles away.

What if you try to distract your own feelings with other people? Sure you're not the type but what if?

You probably feeling a bit unhinged with all your newfound feelings. Goo is doing nothing to help with his own silly game playing, so what if you develop your own revolving door of nobodies to distract you?

What if one of these nobodies turn into somebody?

Shit.

Goo doesn't sleep a wink.

As dawn breaks, he decides that the early bird gets the worm, or the early Goo gets you (Goo cackles to himself at his wit) and thinks today is as good a day as any.

Before anyone with their grimy mitts swoop in and steal you from right under him.

Maybe he only had himself to blame and he was a touch mean playing around with your feelings, but it's a small price to pay for how you have made him feel for years.

It's settled. You and him. Today. No-one is getting in the way of that.

.

.

The day starts off as normal.

Despite the lack of sleep, the alarm for work rings and Goo leaps out of bed with a bounce in his step. Whistles cheerily as he takes his morning shower, lathering himself in luxurious body washes and styling his hair with expensive products.

He chooses a suit that you picked out with him, knots a tie that he recalls you placing around his neck and selects a cologne that he knows is your favourite - every time he wears it, you drift a touch closer.

He drives fast and like a madman, grinning at everyone that flips him off or honks him and navigates to your block. 

You’re already waiting outside, two drinks in hand and smiling cutely when you see his car even if other drivers are still throwing him dirty looks.

“Morning,” You say, climbing in and handing him his coffee. Triple shot with triple syrup and whipped cream, sweet and sickly just like Goo himself.

“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He beams, reaching over to pat your thigh for thanks and enjoying the way you blush and squirm, taking a sip of your own drink to take your mind off the way your skin sears with his touch.

Goo mimics you, takes a gulp of his sugary concoction and finds it extra delicious on this fine morning and smacks his lips in delight.

“You-” You glance over and giggle.

“What?”

You gesture to your upper lip and Goo flips down his visor, examining his whipped cream moustache.

“Maybe I’m saving it for later.”

“Idiot.”

“You’re the idiot.”

Goo leaves the whipped cream. He doesn’t wipe it off. He doesn’t wipe it off when he smacks your hand away from changing the music, he doesn’t wipe it off as he drives to the office, nor when he parks up and unclips his seatbelt.

“Goo,” you say, exasperated at the state of him.

“Y/N,” he says, mocking and matching your tone.

“Wipe your face.”

“No.”

“You look a mess.”

“So do you.”

“You-” Goddamn. You make a split decision. “Fuck it.”

Goo doesn’t move as he sees your hand coming towards him, doesn’t move when you swipe at his upper lip, cleaning the cream off his face, doesn’t move when you lift your thumb to your mouth.

Doesn’t move, can’t; doesn’t breathe, forgets how to, when you suckle on your thumb and lick all remnants away.

Fuck it indeed. That’s Goo’s plans blown to shit.

Thing is, he had this whole scenario planned out. More flirtation and Goo being Goo and you being you until it comes to a head this evening and he confesses. 

Perhaps after he has pissed you off so much for one reason or another and you tell him to get out of your home and he shuts you up with a kiss; or maybe after he has teased you so much you’re a wreck and he finally takes pity and breaks the tension with a well timed smooch.

But goddamn, what a move. He’s supremely impressed and he really has been uncharacteristically patient for so very long, for so many years and he thinks that he deserves this.

“That was really hot,” he grins and he chuckles at the shock on your face.

“My turn-” Goo, voice dropping to barely a whisper, leans over the centre console and crosses into your space.

If he were more of a romantic, he would have wanted your first kiss to be anywhere other than the HNH Group parking lot where it’s dingy and grey, and the lights are flickering.

But you’re both in a fragile bubble. In the privacy of his car, and too wrapped up in the moment to really care about the when or where or how.

Goo closes the gap and kisses you.

It’s minty and barely a peck, your eyes flutter close and you can feel him smiling through it.

He kisses you. And there’s something so Goo and so right about it that you can’t think about anything else except that it is happening. That something really did click when you were ill, and afterwards you had a newfound clarity and a newfound headache because Goo was all you could think about for weeks and weeks.

When he pulls away, you subconsciously move forward, trying to chase his lips with yours.

“How was that, sweetheart?”

You open your eyes, the reality of kissing Goo sinking in, and let out a squeak, “What was that?”

You slam your mouth shut because that was definitely not the tone you meant.

The damage is already done when uncertainty flickers across Goo’s face and he snaps,  “What do you mean what was that.”

“I meant what was that!” You get the mad urge to giggle. That even though you don’t mind this turn of events at all, the ridiculousness of Goo Kim kissing you makes you unwell. In the best way possible.

“It was-!” Goo’s jaw tenses, he flinches as if he had been punched and he had grossly misread the room. He crosses his arm defensively and backs away.

“No!” You surge forward, grabbing Goo by the tie and yanking him close to you, “I meant-” you bring your voice down a few decibels, “It was good. I liked it.”

“Thought you would, idiot.” Goo pouts, side eyeing you but letting you hold on to him.

“I can’t believe you kissed me.”

“Well you’ve been making it obvious.”

You want to smack him. Instead, you catch his bottom lip still jutting out and you think you would prefer to bite him.

You do just that. Yanking Goo forward as he braces himself for another kiss but you nip, harsh and leaving a mark, on his lip instead.

“Asshole.” He says but he’s grinning and reaching over the console for your hand. Lacing your fingers together and squeezing.

“Sorry,” you say and you don’t really feel sorry at all. You feel like you’re floating. 

You can’t believe how long it’s taken to get here. You can’t believe you’re here at all. But now that it’s happened, you’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

“Are we…?”

“I’m all yours, Sweetheart.” Goo smiles, wide and toothy, squeezing your hand to seal the deal.

You yank him by his tie once more, and he follows obediently, across the console and into your space, and kisses you over and over.

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

so like. i have a lot of thoughts about monty finch and sexuality and bodily autonomy and they're only half-coherent so like. strap in.

okay, so monty's gotta have some very complicated feelings about personhood/dehumanization/consent/sex/etc. that would take him ages to unravel, whether you slap him in au or in canon. there are just so many things to say about how monty was created to be an object of pleasure, of desire, and that if this show didn't play out in literally exactly in the way it did, with edwin already interested in charles/etc., then things would have gotten so dubious and complicated so fucking fast because sex is literally what esther was aiming for when she created monty. what does that say about identity and personhood and dehumanization of self both on an internal and external level, all of those comments she makes about his "handsome/charming face" and how he was made to "seduce/tempt" combined with the fact that she is his creator.

esther finch is the closest thing that monty has to a god and a mother and an owner and she is telling him that his only purpose is to be an object.

to be created to be consumed. to be created to be devoured, to be an object of pleasure and desire, to be made to be destroyed, to be hungered for but never be allowed to hunger, to be punished the moment you stray off the path, the moment your feelings become true, to be expected to perform romance/sex by the person who created you, made you, crafted you to be pleasing to the eye, to be made to be used up because you were never supposed to be a person in any way that mattered.

i have too many thoughts about the gothic horror specifically of monty and esther finch and the scenes that take place within esther's house that have less to do with "ooh, spooky crow" and more to do with subjects of taboo and the absolutely fucking creepy vibes that esther has because she collects little girls and birds and she makes monty and the fact that that house is a haunted house before charles and edwin ever fucking enter it, it's haunted by the girls it devoured, it's haunted by the magic that it devoured, monty is implied to have already been killed in crow form before in that house, and he is reconstituted into the form of the Born Sexy Yesterday Trope, he is boy and he is bird and he is designed to be pleasing to the eye and he is a trap like the snake pit is a trap, pulling in magic, pulling in death, he is born out of his own vicious, bloody, death with the intention of luring in someone for their own death but the only two characters who actually display sexual/romantic/whatever interest in monty are characters who are either literally a predator (a cat to a bird) or a self-described predator (esther herself) and monty is supposed to be a predator, chasing after his target, but he is only ever prey.

anyway i find it funny how every character on this show seems to be living in a slightly different genre (whether that be a murder mystery, a psychological thriller, a character drama, a coming-of-age-queer bildungsroman, a rom-com- niko and jenny and maxine in episode 5, shoutout to the girls, etc.) and how the scenes between monty and edwin are shot like a rom-com/sweet romantic story of their own but the fucking moment you pan over to esther watching or to the scenes with esther and monty in esther's house or even to the scenes in the forest you realize that monty, more than any other characters (save the devlin house, shout-out to the devlin house), is living in a straight-up gothic horror and for a moment he manages to convince himself that he's not because if he allowed himself to register the truth he would not be able to process it/allow himself to function within the role that esther crafted for him, as he literally admits with his comment about "all these human feelings"

anyway like. i. just. have. a lot of fucking thoughts all the time about the intersection of parental/guardian abuse and monty's experience with romance/sexuality/bodily autonomy and what all of that bound up together means.

[yazthebookish]

You know what's funny about the arguments that Gwyn is not the one Az wants to go to town on?

At least he made a comment on how he noticed Gwyn's growth and ongoing healing since her rescue. He found her irreverence charming and felt a sense of calmness around her. She challenges him and he finds it amusing since he also has a vicious competitive streak to match. The image of her joy made him smile and he tucked it deep in his chest, he didn't choose to put it away or discard it but kept it.

So thank you for pointing out that we have higher standards than just sex for the romance we want for these two characters and that we rather Azriel sees Gwyn as a person first before anything else.

The couples in this series aren't just about hot moments and sex, they grow and challenge each other. They face all their ups and downs together. They work on their relationship. They go on a healing journey together.

[riddle-me-ri]

Funny Lupin gang ask! Friend!Reader is helping with a heist and the target needs to be distracted. It appears that the target has an… intense interest for reader from the very beginning which plays in well with the job they’re doing. Then vicious envious and unreasonable, jealousy rears its head in the Lupin gang as this begrudgingly charming and handsome stranger tries to woe reader (who is giggling innocently along) with every trick in the book.

a/n: oooohhhh anon this is so goood. I'm all for a little bit of silly jealousy especially with the Lupin gang where everyone seems fairly confident in themselves until something happens that shakes it lol. I may have ran away with this so sorry if it seems to go somewhat of course, I had way too much fun lol. I skipped Zenigata since I don't think he would ask the reader to be a distraction (plus I feel like I already wrote an envious Zenigata piece in Front Page Fiasco) Hope you enjoy!

Lupin The Third and Gang Get Jealous Over Target Flirting with Reader

Lupin the Third

- It takes all of Jigen's patience and then some to get Lupin back on track.

- But Lupin can't help it! That sleazeball socialite was being far too touchy and clingy for Lupin's liking.

- He's not upset with you by no means. You were playing your part, and it worked like a charm.

- The target had no notion that his waiters tending to his elite event were replaced by Lupin and Jigen…

- Lupin often finds himself glancing back towards you, half expecting you to signal to him that you're uncomfortable and for him to save you-

- Lupin is distracted even if you’re not in the room-

- As he's trying to crack a super simple safe, his brain replays images of the sleaze kissing the back of your hand-

- Your strained coy laugh as you try to play off your genuine discomfort.

- Once Lupin has what the gang sought after, you best believe he will whisk you away from the clingy socialite.

- Don't be surprised if it's very dramatic and elaborate and absolutely leads to you guys being chased off into the sunset.

Jigen Daisuke

- Jigen hides his brimming envy well behind his long bangs and hat.

- But he is silently seething on the inside.

- Jigen tries to stay focused–the sooner this heist is over, the sooner you can quit your facade…

- And he can go back to looking out for you and caring about you from a distance.

- For now though, he's gritting his teeth as he keeps watch as Lupin begins cracking the safe.

- Jigen will see you but only give you a passing glance, he knows if his eyes linger for too long his jealousy would grow.

- Can't the wealthy prick see you weren't comfortable with him touching you, trying to wrap and arm around you…

- Once the loot is secure and Jigen is confident he and Lupin will make the escape…

- He does come by the table you're occupying with the target and pretends he's refilling the socialite's cup…

- Of course the beverage ends up “accidentally” soaking the guy's pants-

- Jigen gives you a wink and you couldn't be more grateful for the rescue

- You pretend to go get towels with Jigen but end up leaving with the gunslinger, the both of you chuckling at the ordeal.

Goemon Ishikawa XIII

- Envy is not an unknown emotion to the samurai, but he prides himself in not falling prey to it as often as his cohorts…

- Or so he likes to think anyway.

- Thankfully no one seems to notice Goemon's slight eye twitch at the sight before him.

- Goemon had the role of backup in case things went south, as he usually did.

- But unfortunately that meant he had plenty of time to watch over you as the others went to retrieve the prize of this heist.

- His ears perked up whenever he heard your giggles-as sweet as the sound was he could tell they were forced…

- Goemon was…less than appreciative of how disrespectful the target was in disregarding your boundaries.

- The way he kept leaning his head into your vicinity, whispering only God knows what kind of filth…

- Or how when the socialite kissed the back of your hand and tried to leave a trail of kisses up your arm-you playfully declined him, shoving his face away.

- Goemon’s knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around his katana…his thumb tapping the end, fighting the urge to come defend you and ruin your perfect distraction.

- That crude fool doesn't deserve to be in your presence, even if it's just an act. Let alone something as intimate and precious as a kiss

- Relief fell on the samurai's shoulders when Lupin gave the two of you a thumbs up that the loot had been acquired.

- Goemon ensured to ask if you were all right, you assured him you were fine and relieved it was over. He couldn't agree more.

Fujiko Mine

- Fujiko tried to substitute you for the distraction-

- She knew deep down she wasn't going to enjoy this set-up…

- But she didn’t expect the envy to rise so high so quickly.

- It was hard for her to remain focused on the task at hand.

- She should have been the one buttering up the target-she’s always done it before…

- Fujiko wonders if Lupin made this choice specifically just to rile her up.

- The target is handsome and personable..she’ll give them that, but they don’t have to be draping themselves over you.

- Unironically, Lupin gets envious of Fujiko being envious that her attention isn't on him trying to impress her in the first place.

- Once the heist is over, she wastes no time trying to steal you away~

- You're worried something may have happened or you were doing something wrong…

- Fujiko reassured you that you did just fine, but you two had to get away fast!

- And get away with her hand in yours, and only her hand…

[detectivestucks]

The Bet

18+ Content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Tobi x F!Reader

Summery: You are relatively new to the Akatsuki and your best friends Konan makes a wager with you. When you lose, you're forced to take Tobi on a date.

Warnings: NSFW, canon violence, mentions of biting, fingering, oral-male receiving, unprotected penetration, facial.

Word Count: 4.8k

Anon Ask via DM: Been getting a lot of Kakashi request so I was happy to write for Obito again :)

Tobi always had eyes for you. 

Nothing happens in the Akatsuki without his approval but when Konan asked Pain to let you join their troop of miscreants, Tobi overwhelmingly approved of Pain’s decision. You were skilled, vicious, and adorable. You captured the attention of every man you came across. Even when fighting enemies your beauty captivated them. They shamelessly flirted with you as you battle to the death.

“Come on gorgeous, why don’t you drop the katana and I‘ll take you on a nice date?”

“Wow, strong and beautiful. Maybe after this I can take you to dinner.”

“Keep trying to kill me and I might just ask you to marry me.”

The pick up lines were pathetic and met with a resounding rejection that was usually followed by ending their lives. 

Yes, Tobi had eyes for you alright. He felt a twinge of envy for anyone who joined you on missions because you were a brilliant sight to behold when you hunted your target down. You weren't a victim to the harsh realities of the shinobi world. You were the harsh reality of the shinobi world. 

Always hanging around with Konan, the two of you whisper to each other whenever you’re at the hideout between missions. The other members always came over to talk to you, trying to impress you with boyish charm and corny pick up lines. They would leave you in a fit of giggles and whispers while Tobi watched from a distance. He wanted you as much as the other guys but he had a double life to worry about. He’d leave the rest of the crew to hopelessly fawn over you and your seemingly high standards. 

One afternoon the two of you are chatting away in the corner of the main room laughing at Deidara and Hidan who are putting on an impressive display for you both when Tobi walks through. He runs up to his partner and clings onto him for dear life, pretending to be a damsel in distress

“Oh Deidara! There was a mean man outside! Make him go away with your very impressive art.”

He tilts his head to the side and you just know he’s batting his lashes below his mask. You and Konan crack up at his ridiculous mini play. You enjoyed Tobi. He was funny and pissed Deidara off constantly. He was the much needed comic relief amongst a bunch of moody, brooding, arrogant rogue shinobi. However out of all the guys in the gang he was the only one you weren’t interested in. Even Zetzu had a better chance ending up between your legs than the orange masked idiot.

Konan sees you laugh a little too hard at Tobi and nuzzles her lips against your ear,

“What do you think Tobi’s like on a date?”

“Oh gods I hope I never have to find out. He’d probably cling to his girlfriend the way he hangs on Deidara.”

You both snicker at that, certain it’s true.

“Care to make a wager then?”

Konan piques your interest and you lift a brow at her.

“Next mission, the woman with the least kills asks Tobi on a date.”

You turn to her with your mouth open. “Konan! You seriously are willing to keep living here if you lose?”

“Oh I’m not losing.” she says, crossing her arms.

“Well I’m sure as hell not losing either.”

The both of you continue to stare at your animated comrades when you speak again.

“What does the winner get?”

Konan snorts “Not going on a date with Tobi.” 

“Besides that!”

“I don’t know.: She thinks for a quick second. “They have to invite their crush into their bedroom.”

Your eyes dart around the room, not sure who to choose. There were a lot of guys in your gang that you wanted to sleep with. Pain was off limits cause of Konan but Kisame was ripped and had that sexy predator thing going for him. You bet he bites and when he does, it breaks the skin. Then he probably soothes your wounds by licking up the blood while he fucks you stupid on his cock. 

Your eyes pan over to pretty boy Deidara who was gorgeous with hair you wanted to pull while his mouth lapped between your legs. You thought about all the sinful things the mouths on his hands would do to you and it makes you cross your legs.

You look at Hidan who was crazy hot and twisted. You could see him getting freaky during your period and you wanted to surrender to the ‘way of jashin’ for just one night, letting him do whatever he wanted to your naked body. 

Lastly you peer over at the quiet Itachi. Reserved, kept to himself, and well mannered. The kind of guy you could bring home to your mama but was probably a filthy boy in bed. You imagine him slapping you and calling you degrading names while his eyes glow red.

“Can’t decide, huh?” Konan says with a light jab. 

“Well not all of us joined the Akatsuki with our childhood crush.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to choose. Cause you’re gonna lose.”

You open your mouth and look at her pretending to be gobsmacked. “Oh it’s on!”

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

Konan picked a good time to wager her little bet cause your next mission was a full fledged raid. One thing you envied about Konan was her ability to make shuriken out of paper, leaving her with an endless supply of weapons while utilizing minimal physical effort. You on the other hand had incredible speed but only two kunai and a katana at your disposal. No one could match your lightning speed, not even the raikage himself. But you could still only attack up to two targets at a time. 

The night was long and the body count was high.

…and Konan was kicking your ass. 

You were desperately trying to take out more targets than her but her range was so much farther than yours. You were needlessly brutal, terrified of the horrible date night that was to come at the end of the mission. The first rays of light shone over the rooftops when the two of you finally made your retreat. 

“Your count?”

“78” you pant

“Ha! I win! 102”

“Shut up!”

She only smiles back at you.

“Fuck! Now I have to ask out Tobi.”

“Sucks to suck”

“Oh gods, what if he wants me to suck his dick?!”

“You better open wide.”

You shove her off the tree she jumped on but she caught herself by creating paper wings and flew the rest of the way home. Smug bitch.

You meet up just outside of the hideout, entering together. As soon as you walk through the threshold Konan begins to shout. 

“Tobi! Y/N needs you!”

“I hate you so much right now.” You grumble under your breath.

She sticks her tongue out at you, “Deal with it. I’m gonna go find Pain.”

She leaves in a twirl just as Tobi timidly enters the room. 

“You needed me, Y/N?”

“Yes…I have something to ask you.”

Tobi just stands there, staring at you behind his mask, head eerily tilted to the side. Gods he’s so creepy. You begin to wring your hands in front of your stomach, building the courage to ask the dreaded question.

“Tobi…would you…” you bite your lower lip in the most adorable way and Tobi can feel his heart twist in his chest. “Would you go on a date with me?”

“Oh.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to make of his response. Maybe he was going to reject you. Maybe you won’t have to go on a date at all. Thank the heavens.

“What do you have in mind?”

“I-uh…” Fuck! Now I have to plan the date too?! Konan I’m gonna kill you. “I hadn’t decided yet.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you.

“Do you want to go or not? Cause I can go ask one of the others if you’re not interested.”

Tobi scratches the back of his neck and responds in his childish tone.

“Geh, Y/N, I’d be happy to go on a date with you.” He brings his hands together in front of him and tilts his head to the side in a feminine display, “I just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

It took everything in you not to cringe so instead you force a laugh. Maybe he was just trying to be funny. Yeah, that’s it, he was trying to be funny. 

That night you get dressed in a long flowy pale pink skirt with slits along each thigh and a fitted cream colored top with corset detailing around the bust. You hoped one of the other guys saw you in it and would knock on your door later to show you how a real man treats a woman. For now, though, you needed to focus on making it through your date with Tobi.

He knocks on your bedroom door and you walk over to answer it. Tobi stands before you in a fitted black shirt and black pants covered in a long black kimono adorned with a dark gray geometric pattern. It wasn’t a bad look but he hid every inch of his body from everyone as usual.

“Wowzah!”

You smile and roll your eyes. “What, never seen a proper woman before?”

You turn around and retreat back into your room to grab your cream square heels, sliding them on while balancing yourself with Tobi’s arm. 

“So where are we going?”

You look at him and smile playfully “You’ll see.”

You grab Tobi’s hand and pull him through the hideout, heading towards the exit. As you walk through the common area, Tobi looks to the side and sees the jaws of Hidan, Deidara, and Zetzu fall to the floor. He can’t help but feel a swell of pride at their jealousy. 

The date, however, was terribly awkward. You tried your best to be flirty but you had no way of telling how Tobi felt. You couldn’t see him smile or blush. You couldn’t tell if he was staring at you with interest or anger. It was extremely one sided and uncomfortable. You did your best to sell the lie but it was probably painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be holding hands with a big masked baby. 

On the way home you sway as you walk next to him, both arms hugging his right one, trying to maintain a normal conversation. It occurs to you that this might be your only chance to ask the burning question everyone in the Akatsuki is thinking.

“Tobi? Why do you wear the mask?”

“Because I don’t want anyone to see my face of course!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay but why don’t you want anyone to see your face?”

“That’s for Tobi to know.”

You shake your head “What, you ugly or something?” You squeeze his bicep flirtatiously. “You get stuck in a house fired and are covered in scars?”

Tobi goes stiff in your hold. You drop his arm and bring both your hands up to your mouth.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was only joking!”

Tobi walked next to you in silence. If you thought it was awkward before, that was nothing compared to the embarrassment you felt now. 

“Tobi, you’d have nothing to be embarrassed about you know. It’s not like you’re the only freak in the circus. I mean. Kisame is practically a shark, Sasori lived inside a puppet, and Hidan drinks blood to become a skeleton.” A hot ass skeleton but Tobi doesn’t need to know that. “We’re all weirdos.”

Tobi still doesn’t speak but his body relaxes some. He was getting a little easier to read but you still couldn’t wait for the night to be over. He creeped you out and you still had no respect for him. He was a fool even if he was kinda funny. 

You finally make it back to the hideout and much to your disappointment, everyone has gone to bed. Tobi walks you to your side of the hideout next to Konan’s room and awkwardly gives you two pats on the shoulder before telling you he was off to bed in his high pitched kid’s tone.

You turn to unlock your room with a signature roll of your eyes relieved the night was over.

“Pfh, what a loser, bet he’s never even made a girl cum in his life.”

As Tobi’s walking away he overhears you and stops dead in his tracks. He knows that he’s playing a fool but it wouldn’t hurt to teach you some manners and show you who’s really in charge of the Akatsuki while he’s at it.

Just as you open your door you feel two gloved hands tightly grip your biceps. Someone had snuck up behind you.

“What’d you say?”

The voice was rich and deep. It was a cold blanket that covered you with fear and made chills creep down your back. Your breath falters. You didn't dare turn your head.

“Tobi?”

He pushes you into your room with a finger shoved into your spine between your shoulder blades.

“Would you like to test that little theory?”

You turn around, face painted in fear as you search Tobi’s orange mask for answers. He slams the door closed behind him. Tearing off his robe as he swiftly steps forward causing you to retreat away from him backwards. You’re too distracted by the sudden change in his demeanor to notice the bulging muscles poking through his skin tight shirt before he picks up a shoe and throws it against the wall to kill the lightswitch. 

You reach your arms in front of you, ready to push him away but he somehow passes through them and has a grip on your hair while he is sucking on the skin of your neck. An involuntary pleasured grunt escapes you, realizing he discarded his mask and has his lips locked on your skin. You keep trying to push him off but every time your hands pass through him while his grip against your hair remains solid. You couldn’t figure out how it worked but you were starting to no longer care as he created various bruises along your collarbone. You begin to pant slightly, feeling arousal pool between your legs from how he nibbled against your sensitive flesh. Your mind was slowly fogging over and in your haze you wanna hear his voice again.

“T-talk to me. I wanna hear you s’more”

“And say what, Princess? Tobi isn’t my real name?”

His voice was smooth and intimidating. It made your eyes roll to the back of your head. You lean your face against his.

“Yes, tell me more.” you whisper

“What do you want to hear? That I’m the actual mastermind behind the Akatsuki and you are all my little puppets?”

You begin to lift your leg and wrap it around his waist. Panting from how his baritone tickled your mind.

“or that I’m going to fuck you like a whore right now and turn you into my personal concubine.”

“Yes”

You lunge for his lips, hands clawing the back of his head to pull him into you. You had never been so attracted to a voice in your life. You had no clue what he looked like but you knew he had adorably messy hair and scars on his face. You could feel the tough skin with your lips. He backed you all the way over to your bed and switched places with you so that he could take a seat before pulling you into his lap. 

You straddled him, your heat pressing over his concealed boner, while you feverishly made out with him in the pitch black room. Your kisses left his lips and traveled over the ridges of his face, sucking and breathing on the battered skin he was afraid to show, before you licked a stripe up his cheek. 

He anchored you at your hips and pulled you down on him while he rutted up into you. You cried a needy moan into his ear as your fingers played in his hair. 

“My, my, I think I can make you cum without even touching you. You’ve got yourself all worked up over a little conversation and sitting in my lap.”

You groan at the sound of his voice and begin to grind on him, needing the friction while you kiss his lips. You rub your chest against him as you work yourself up into a frenzy. He reaches behind you, looking for how to take off your shirt when he gives up and opts to rip it off of you instead. 

You let out a small cry, partly in awe of his raw strength but partly because that was one of your favorite tops. 

“I don’t tolerate anything getting in my way.”

“Uh-huh” you agree breathily, cupping his face in your hands, recapturing his lips with yours. As much as you want to keep hearing that velvet voice, you want the lips that form the words to be interlocked with yours. Your arms wrap around his neck as you push your barren chest against his clothed one. His hands explored your soft back. You were glad to feel his fingertips dance over your skin and not his leather gloves. You wondered if you’d get to feel all of him tonight. You could tell how toned he was through his clothes and were dying to lick and nibble his chest. 

“Tobi,” you pant against his face, “please make me cum.”’

He hums and grabs you at your thighs flipping you onto your back and kneeling over you. Your hands continue to explore all over his upper body, running up from his forearms to his biceps, sliding over his delts, and tracing down his traps before sinking your nails into his rhomboids. He grunts into your neck. Arousal puddling in your underwear at the sound. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting your hips and grinding into him some more. Panting and needy, the mystery of him increasing your desire. Tobi grabs the front panel of your skirt and pulls it aside, yanking your panties out of the way. You drag your lips along his jaw. 

One of Tobi’s fingers traces along your slit, collecting some of your slick and smearing it along your sensitive nub hidden within your folds. You twitch from the sudden contact and can feel him smile against your face.

“Someone's sensitive.”

A high pitched “mhm” comes from you as you push your face against his. His thumb casually rubs circles between your legs. Shuddered moans expel into Tobi’s ear as your arms slide back up to Tobi’s neck and wrap around him tightly. He lets a finger slip past your entrance, stroking in and out twice before being joined by a second. 

Your eyes snap shut. He pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your head falls back in pleasure as he scissors you open, playing you like a violin. You squeeze around him, soaking in how it feels to be touched for the first time in over a month. Back in your village you were a menace and well hated but you were never short of male companionship, even if it always ended terribly. Once you officially became a rogue ninja the world was much more lonely than expected. You had imagined it would be different once you joined the Akatsuki but to your own surprise, you didn’t take a lover till tonight. Short of breath you manage to wheeze out,

“Thank you Tobi”

“Good girl, you know your manners.” 

His condescending praise filled you with butterflies when spoken in his bassy tone. You respond by nibbling on his lower lip. You so badly wanted to rip off his clothes but you didn’t dare, too afraid he’d stop. Instead you softly beg into his ear,

“Please shove your cock into me.”

“Of course, Princess. How can I say no when you ask so nicely.”

A small cry of excitement whines past your lips. He darkly chuckles at your neediness. What a sharp turn from the bitch who tried to make a mockery of him by asking him on a date as a joke.

He’d make you pay for that. He intentionally wasn’t pursuing you before but since you sought him out with your farce, now he’d take full ownership of you. You were going to be his property now. He wasn’t talking dirty when he said you’d become his concubine. He meant it. You’d be chained to him, only let off your tether during missions. 

He opens the front of his pants and slips into your quivering entrance, stretching you uncomfortably as he pushed his excessive girth into you. A pleasured wail drew from your mouth.

“What a good girl. Tell me Princess, do you want more?”

“Yes!”

You cry the word. He pulled back slowly just to plunge back in. You sink down into your mattress, getting shoved into it deeper with every inward thrust. It was rough. There was nothing gentle about the way he fucked you. His swollen head pummeled into you, dislocating all your organs. He folded you in half as he pushed in. Your knees found a new home by your ears, his body pinning the backs of your legs, pushing your thighs against your chest. In the darkness he could see the whites of your eyes as they rolled back in your head to look at your melting brain. 

Your mouth was left agape. You were babbling and drooling from his dick dragging in and out of you. You swear you’d never been fucked so good in your life. He brought you to tears on his schlong, pistoning in and out of you. Your nails digging into his back once more.

“Gods damn, Princess!”

Tobi was struggling to maintain his domineering composure. He was losing himself inside of your pussy. It gripped around him tightly. The pink muscle constricted around his member, attempting to milk him before he was ready.  “Eager little fucking slut.”

He husked between thrusts. You body fell limp. You became a rag doll under him. The only part of your body that was tense was your gummy walls which held onto him with a death grip. He pushed his sweaty forehead against yours. Holding the back of your head.

“Fuck this pretty pussy. It belongs to me now. You belong to me. Understand?”

You wished you could’ve answered. You would’ve told him yes. You would've told him that you’d never leave his side. That you’d bend over for him anywhere. You’d wrap around his dick whenever he needed you to. You would willingly degrade yourself in the middle of battle if he wanted. You were addicted to him and you weren’t ashamed to admit it. 

His speed increased. He was about to cum. He brought himself all the way to the edge before he pulled out. 

“Stick out your tongue, Princess.”

You opened wide as he shot his load all over your face and chest. Your body still bent in half; your feet resting over his shoulders. He took the palm of his hand and smeared his fluids all over you. Rubbing the glossy substance into your skin and pushing it into your mouth. You hummed happily which made him melt. He allowed your body to unfold and laid his full weight on top of you, arms possessively threading around your waist and pulling you close. 

You lost your breath. Your mind became a swimming intoxicated mess in his hold. You nuzzled your face further into his shirt while his cum dried on your face and skin. He never undressed. His shirt still on, his pants pulled up. He was a complete mystery to you and now you were invested in solving it. You were his but he was about to be yours just as much. Soon, you’d break him…soon. For now you slept sheltered in his arms.

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

The next day you both emerge from your room close to noon. The majority of the members of the gang were rough housing together in the common area. All turned still as you came out holding hands with Tobi.

“Holy hell…”

“You two?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You couldn’t bring yourself to make eye contact with any of them and instead chose to look up at Tobi’s mask. Eyes locked on the face you weren’t sure you’d ever see. Tobi though had a far different reaction. A smug idea popped into his sick mind. It was time to show everyone that you had an owner now and he wasn’t going to entertain any of these brutes trying to encroach on his possession. In his childish voice he called to his comrades.

“Look at my new toy everyone!”

He yanked on your hand so that you were whipped around standing in front of him, your back to the room. 

“Y/N, suck Tobi’s cock. hmm?”

“Yes, sir”

It was embarrassing and made your face heat up but you felt your mouth water as you knelt down before him nonetheless. On your knees, you open the front of his robe and untie his pants, pulling out his thick cock.

“What the hell…” you hear Konan behind you in complete disbelief. 

You let his pulsing length rest on your bottom lip while you look up at him. His chest rumbles as you slip your tongue out and under his weighty member before opening wide and sliding him all the way down your throat. He grips your hair with one hand before looking up at the shocked faces around the room.

“Y/N belongs to Tobi now. Look how good she’s taking my dick, slurping on it like a good little pet!”

Lewd gargles and squelching sounds came from your mouth as you bobbed back and forth along his cock. He was humiliating you in front of everyone and it was making you wet for him. Your hand came between your legs to rub yourself.

“Aww how precious. She’s even playing with herself for me. You see that everyone?”

You wanted to die from embarrassment but you couldn’t help yourself. The taste of him is addicting. He had you out of your mind.

“Here Princess, let me help you.”

He brings both hands into your hair and pushes you down on him. He thrusts into you at the same time causing you to gag around him. You hear him grumble in delight. You open your jaw and allow him to plummet all the way in. Throat constricting around his tip as it slips past your vocal cords. You hum in contentment, forgetting about everyone watching you. You close your eyes focusing on him and how he feels in your mouth. One hand rubbing your clit more harshly while the other clutches his thigh. 

Tobi’s facade almost slipped. He felt high from the way your warm mouth closed around him. He had half a mind to say he loved you. He opted instead to cease talking so as not to give away his cover and instead simply grunted as his hips snapped into your mouth. 

The remainder of the room watched in stunned silence at the pornographic scene before them. They watch the orange mask fall backwards, looking up at the ceiling as Tobi was close to cumming. The jealousy Deidara felt had him storm out of the room. Konan had an uncomfortable guilt crawl over her skin but little did she understand, you were in heaven. You whimper as you touch yourself, bringing yourself close to an orgasm. The sounds make Tobi hammer into you faster until you feel his hot spend shoot down your throat. Your walls clench around nothing and you bring both arms to wrap around Tobi’s wait, holding yourself all the way down on him as you hug around his waist. 

Tobi so badly wanted to coo in your ear and praise you. Tell you what a good girl you were but he couldn’t muster his carefree sound. Instead he pulls himself out of you and grabs your wrist. He yanks you back into your bedroom and slams you up against the door with the two of you on the other side. 

“Fuck Y/N, you’re such a good girl for me. Here, let me reward you.”

You mewl for him, your lip quivering at the return of his deep voice. He twists his mask to the side gaining you access to his lips. You pull them into you while he lifts you up, slipping his wet length between your folds and fucking you against the door.

The banging can be heard by the group on the other side, sitting in the common area.

“Shit…it was supposed to be a stupid prank.” Konan confesses. “What the hell happened last night?”

If only they knew…

Masterlist

[peachblossom-odyssey]

Thinking about Overwatch today, and time travel, and how funny it would be if the team and especially the youngsters are used to Cole being this funny little man, a goofball with a heart of gold, a charming mild-mannered dude who’s generally pretty chill, and then some time travel/dimensional whack shit happens and teenage Cole Cassidy shows up, and everyone gets to see what gentle goofball Cole was like as a teen; dark clothing and piercings and a vicious temper and a seething hatred for authority and a rude attitude, this cornered-dog punk kid who bares his teeth and snaps at anyone who tries to get close and would sooner shoot someone than smile at them, the polar opposite of adult Cole. Folks who didn’t know Cole as a teen are looking between teen Cole and adult Cole like “How the fuck did that come from that???” while Jack and Ana are like “ah lads, not again”

A funny yeehan angle would be teen Cole hating Hanzo, thinking him stuck-up and annoying and calling him ‘old man’ and yet finding a strange satisfaction in getting Hanzo’s attention by needling at him

[crayzyevilwizard]

"Ansbach is so level-headed and tame compared to characters like Varré, he must have been the only sane member of the Mohgwyn Dynasty!" OKAY SO while I find that idea certainly funny, I don't think it's 100% accurate

First, Varré is a missionary-- he kinda needs to be over-the-top in order to seduce the Tarnished into joining the dynasty.

Second, it is heavily implied that-- while maaaybeee not a bloodthirsty zealot-- Ansbach was certainly not. Innocent? (i don't know the words to describe him lmao)

"Markedly different from the finessed swordplay of the dynast, this is an aggressive last resort of an incantation that gave rise to Ansbach's fearsome reputation." (Ansbach's Furious Blade)

"...But an old fear lurks beneath, together with the cold, unflinching discipline that once honed his blade, now employed to enhance Blood Oath and dynastic skills." (Wise Man's Mask)

Ansbach was a cold, vicious, and SKILLED fighter. Dare I say he may have been one of the most feared knights in the Lands Between before he was charmed.