#fucking OBSESSED with the way you drew habit

[angelzdaydream]

he's obsessed with you | Marcus Baker

plot: Marcus and reader have been in a secret relationship and they have been hiding it well from Max, but when she finds out she laughs because she knew he was obsessed with you.

requested by: @xtom-darling-x17

warnings: slight smut but no details

Marcus sneaking through your window at night had become a habit for the past few months, but on this particular night you decided you'd be the one doing the sneaking.

You took extra caution to be quiet not wanting to draw attention to yourself as you shimmied your way up the house and into the Baker household. As much as you didn't want his parents catching you, the thought of his sister Max who just so happened to be your best friend was much worse.

You smiled at the sight of your boyfriend sleeping soundly in his bed, his sketchbook sprawled against his chest and he pencil he was still in his hand.

You walk over to him, carefully grabbing the pencil out of his hand and the sketchbook to put it away. You go to close the sketchbook but before you could the drawling he was working on catches your eye. Your heart begins to flutter when you realize it was of you.

Marcus stirring in his sleep snatches your attention away from the drawling and you close the sketchbook before placing it on his nightstand.

"This is different. Normally I'm the one doing the breaking and entering." Marcus's voice startles you a bit.

"Figured you shouldn't be the only criminal in the relationship." you grin before leaning down with the intentions of kissing him gently, but the moment your lips touch, he's pulls you on top of him making you gasp at the sudden motion. Marcus uses this to his advantage as he slides his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

The moment you pull away for a breath of air, Marcus's lips are against your neck sucking and pressing needy kisses against your skin. "You drew me." You moan shakily.

"I did." Marcus replies before sucking on the sweet spot on your neck making your eyes roll back. "How about you be my muse again and give me something else to draw of you?"

"Please." you beg, already so needy for him and before you know it, Marcus is detaching himself from your neck and flipping the two of you around so he's on top.

His lips crash against yours as he grinds his hips against yours, causing the both of you to moan. Both of you were too consumed by each other that you both failed to hear his door open.

"Mom wants to know what you want for dinner- y/n? Holy shit! Holy fucking shit, my eyes!" Max screeched before slamming his door closed and running off.

All you can do at first is look at Marcus in horror. "Shit! How mad do you think she is?"

"She didn't try to kill me so maybe not as mad as we expected her to be." Marcus replies sitting up off of you.

"I'm going to go talk to her." you stand up off his bed fixing your hair and clothes.

"You want me to come with?" he asks reaching for your hand and kissing it reassuringly.

You shake your head no. "I think I should go alone in case she's super pissed. You being there might make it worse."

He nods his head in understanding before you make your way to Maxines room.

You knock on her door, and it doesn't take long before she tells you to come in. You quickly do, shutting the door behind you but never moving from in front of it. You look up at Maxine who is already looking at you. The two of you go a moment without speaking when all of a sudden Max burst into a fit of laughter.

You stare at her wide eyed, unsure if she was so pissed it was coming out as laughter or if it was for another reason. You really hoped she wouldn't make such a big deal out of it, you loved and cared about both Marcus and Max in different ways and you never wanted to hurt either of them.

It goes on for a few minutes before her laughter finally dies down. "I'm not mad." Max speaks after catching her breath.

"You're not?" you question, gaining the courage to move away from the door to sit next to her on the bed.

"I mean it hurts a little that you didn't tell me, but I figured something was going on between the two of you and that you'd tell me when you were ready. I've seen the way you two make googly eyes at each other and honestly, I've never seen him as happy as he is with you. He cares about you a lot, it's disgusting really. Not as disgusting as what I just seen though." Max scrunches her nose up in disgust.

You giggle. "Sorry about that."

"As you should be, I'm scarred for life." she says before giggling too and pulling you into a side hug.

A weight feels like it had been lifted off your shoulders now that you and Marcus no longer had to hide your relationship from her and that Marcus cared as much about you as you did him.

-

idk about the ending but hope you guys liked it <3 feel free to send me request!

[oharabunny]

imagine miguel pining for you but he finds out you are fucking someone else, but not in the way that he thinks

Word Count: 3591

Warning: 18+, mdni, switch!fem!afab!Reader (dom to sub), switch!Miguel (sub to dom), unnamed sub!malethird, jealous!Miguel, aggression, MMF threesome, cuckholdery (not on Miguel), p in v, fingering, blowjob, some spanking, porn without plot, not beta read, oneshot

Imagine Miguel was pining over you, obsessed, I mean. For awhile, basically almost ever since you joined the Spider Society. You have a smile that shines brighter than the sun. Your eyes twinkle when you look up at his tall figure. Your scent always lingered wherever you were at, in the most pleasant way. He always paid attention to every little subtle quirks and habits you have. From the sway of your hips as you move, to the way you squint and pucker your lips in deep thought. Besides the fate of the multiverse, you occupied the remaining space of his mind, which was a lot. Even sometimes to the point the thought of you would distract him from his work when he smells you coming from behind. You didn't even know the sheer effect you had on this guy.

Imagine Miguel overheard your conversation with Jess one day about your type in guys. You tell her you don't engage in those types of thoughts since you never really gave it a real, serious thought before. At first, Miguel is disappointed to hear that, but quickly recovers to the fact he had a chance due to your perceived innocence. How hardworking and dedicated to your job you must be. You were always so busy with so many things, you probably never even had your first time yet. He could already feel himself hardening in his suit at the thought of being your one and only. 

Imagine Miguel was agitated to the fact you were not answering his messages and calls over your dimensional watch one day to join an emergency meeting he ordered, despite it being your off day. It wasn't just you he called, mind you, so you were being incredibly rude for ignoring his messages and making him and the other Spiders wait. It didn't help that his feelings for you only served to agitate him even more than usual. He had enough of waiting for you as his patience was as thin as paper. He headed to your dimension to fetch you himself.

Imagine Miguel barged through your window to your living room in your apartment. His heightened senses could already hear sounds coming from your bedroom. Sounds that made his blood run cold. It was moaning. It wasn't you who was moaning, but another man's. He stalked to the bedroom door silently and leaned in to hear because he refused to believe a sweet, innocent girl like you are hooking up with some rando, but he was also too hesitant to see it for himself. 

"Oh! Y/N!! R-Right there! Aaaah~! Mmm~"

Now that didn't sound quite right. Why was the scumbag's tone like that? There was a hitch in his voice. Too high pitched imitating a girl. He had enough of listening in and swung open the bedroom door, and he couldn't believe his eyes.

Some small framed, small dicked man was tied up pathetically to your headboard with your webbing with his legs up over your shoulders as you fingered his ass with two, while wearing women's lingerie and stocking.

As for you, you weren't anything particularly special, you weren't even wearing a bra even. Just a tank and booty shorts. 

The little man's voice hitched and sobbed, "Y/N! W-Why's he here?" 

You didn't even flinch nor acknowledge Miguel's rude entrance. You slid your hand across his chest and your body against his to cradle and caress his form. You cupped his cheek, turned his face to Miguel,  and looked up at Miguel directly into his red eyes. He has never seen you give that look to anyone before.

His face was still masked but you can see his jaw grinding, seething at the sight before him. His fists were balled so tight his claws drew blood in his palm. All this time, he thought he knew you like the back of his hand, but you had a darkness that you kept away from him too well.

"What. The. Fuck. Are you doing?" Miguel's voice was low and dangerous. He wanted to rip you away from that lowly man, if you can call him one, and fuck you properly. To put you in your place.

You were his, and his alone. 

"Aw, looks like we got caught by the big man, he doesn't look too happy with us." You teased your little man with soft little pecks on his cheek as you trailed down to his neck and stroked his tiny cock up and down with just your thumb and pointer finger making a ring. You never once broke eye contact with Miguel. 

That only angered and infuriated him even more. You were teasing him, and no one makes fun of Miguel O'hara and live to tell the tale.

His heavy footsteps could be mistaken for stomps as he walked up to your bed to yank you off of your little fling and hold you up by your tank top, dangling over the floor.

"I never took you for a whore." He growled in your face.

"And I never took you for someone so presumptious and...nosy." You smirked before going straight to the point. "Why do you care about an employee's private life?"

He couldn't recognize you at all. You were always so gentle, kind, sweet, and understanding. What happened to you? It was like something posessed you. 

His grip on your tank top only tightened. 

"You were supposed to answer your calls and messages when I send them. In case you forgot, we have a meeting today." He avoided the true answer to your question. "Now let's go."

He was quite literally about to just drag you as is, without your Spider suit. He didn't care if you were underdressed. That was your fault for ignoring him when he needed you. For being such a slut. Even if you were never his to begin with.

You never once flinched at his apparent anger. Actually, something about it turned you on.

Ah, he was jealous. 

Yes, you had noticed his likened interest in you, but you never gave it much thought. He wasn't really your type. You preferred smaller men. You loved the thrill of being in control and to feel powerful. You loved watching the way they squirm and cry in pleasure when you hit the right spot inside. You loved watching small cocks grow triple in size that you normally can't see with ones that are already big to begin with. 

Miguel is a big guy, in every sense of the word. You can tell. You don't usually enjoy submitting to big men. It wasn't...your thing.

So you wonder to yourself, why were you about to do your next move?

Your gaze turned sultry and your previous smirk fall into soft smile. Your hand made its way to his crotch. You can feel the definition of his large veiny cock. Precum threatening to drip through his unstable suit. You palmed his clothed cock up and down, even gave his balls a gentle squeeze. 

"Then what are we going to do about this?" You practically whispered.

Now it was Miguel's turn for his voice to hitch. He tried to swallow his moan as he didn't expect you to come onto him all of a sudden. He didn't move to stop you, however. 

Your other hand slid along his strong muscular abs, up up up, over his chest, neck, until you reached his mask and ripped it off his face to reveal him in a panting mess. His fangs protrude as his mouth is agape. His eyes dilated and filled with want. His hair disheveled with strands dangle over his angular face. 

"You want this." You said as if you spoke his mind.

But his own denial caught up to him and pushed his unwanted thoughts away, and dropped you to the floor. His gaze was a war of emotions that you can't depict. All you knew he was only trying to suppress himself, for one reason or another. It didn't matter to you.

You stood up to press your perfect, curvacious body against his hard one. He can feel your two large mounds against him spurring his mind from what he originally intended to do. You were too close. Far too close for comfort.

He ducked and wrapped his arms around you in fevered desperation and kissed your lips hungrily. This kiss was a sloppy mess. He stopped in between breaths to kiss your jaw and neck. His hands roaming all over you trying to memorize every nook and cranny.

With your super strength, you shoved him off in annoyance. You glared at him coldly.

"I didn't give you permission to touch me." You said flatly.

He shot you a confused look until you moved closer to him and guided him into your bed. You made him lay on his back and moved his arms above him. You were about to use your own webbing to his wrists, but his eyes began to panic and his breathing quickened.

You didn't need him to tell you that he didn't want that. You softened your gaze at him in understanding. You gave a light peck on his cheek, right under his eye. 

"You will be okay. I will take care of you." You said in the gentlest voice you can make. "But you have to be a good boy for me. You have to listen to me. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded. 

And you were not satisified with just that.

"You need to use your words, you big baby. Say, yes ma'am."

"Y-Yes, ma'am." His voice was shaky. His sensitivity was peaking and he couldn't help but buck into you as you are straddling on top of him. Your clothed pussy deliberately pressed against his hard cock.  His arms move down to try and grab you again but you swatted them away. 

"Do not touch me until I say so." You commanded. 

"Yes ma'am!"

He learned fast.

"Now, deactivate your suit." You ordered but it was gentle. And he does, without a second thought. Your hips start to roll and glide along his veiny cock. You made sure you could feel his big cock from every inch of your clothed pussy. The thin fabric of your booty shorts gave nothing to separate between the two of you. He even notices that the loose thin material of your shorts bunched into your puffy, needy pussy. You weren't wearing panties. You coated his cock with your slick. The way you angled your hip allowed your clit to also glide along.

Your hands were at first on his abs to stablize yourself, but when he revealed his glorious pecs, you couldn't help yourself but to cup them with your hands and massage and squeeze them roughly. Your fingers would pinch and roll his nipples. You ducked down and captured his left nipple into your wet mouth. You sucked and flicked his nipple with your tongue. You even bite down his mounds, causing a sharp pain, before quickly consoled by your soft tongue.

His fists were balled into the sheets. He was doing everything he can to not touch you, as you ordered. His claws were escaping and were tearing your sheets. His back was arching, pressing his chest more into your mouth. 

A string of undecipherable words fell out of his mouth. All of these sensations were too much for him. He was too stimulated. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He wanted to say something but his heavy pants were getting in the way of his words.

He whimpered.

Your mouth lets go of his nipple in delight. Never had you seen the most proud and ferocious manly man trembling in a pathetic mess right under you. 

That deserved a reward.

You leaned into his face and peppered sweet kisses along his cheek and licked away his tears. You brought your hand to his jaw and captured his lips into a deep kiss. Your tongue poked at his lips for permission, which he lets you. Your tongues battled against each other with not any one particularly winning, rather it was more of a dance. 

He pulled away first.

"P-Please! Let me touch you!" He begged. Tears threatening to well up again. "I need to be inside of you!"

You didn't answer him just yet. Debating it in your thoughts. Sure you enjoyed making him a sobbing mess underneath you, but it didn't change the fact that he was BIG. You weren't too experienced with bigger cocks.

Before you could even give an answer, the forgotten little man, your lover turned third, had also whimpered in desperation for you. "Please don't forget me, Y/N!"

He seemed to be palming himself during the entire ordeal and squeezing his nipple. 

"I need you too." He sobbed.

Your gaze that was fixated at Miguel turned over to your little lover. "C'mere, sweet boy, I didn't forget you."

You pulled yourself up from Miguel to reach for him, but Miguel pulled you right back down to him.

"Don't touch him!" His eyes were red flared with anger and jealousy. "You're mine!"

As if he had enough for your taunts, he sat up and flipped you over. This had surprised you which didn't give you time to react. He pinned your arms to the side of your head. He glared down at you with a mixture of resentment and lust. You were too surprised at this switch, so he took the chance to finally devour you.

Hot kisses that were nothing like the ones you gave him. His were needy, hungry, and rough. He wasn't afraid to bite your neck and suck on it. A moan escaped from you. You never felt this way before. 

Now it was his turn to straddle you. He ripped away your tank top and shorts with ease and threw away all the shredded fabric aside. He kneeded your breasts and gave them a hard squeeze. 

"I should've never given you the day off. Shouldn't have let you go home. You fucking whore."

He slapped your breasts. 

You moved your hands to cover your mouth to stifle a moan, but his hands shoved them back to the side of your head.

"You're not covering your mouth. Be my little slut that you are. I want you to scream till the whole neighborhood hears you."

All of his senses are clouded and reason all gone. His movements were animalistic as he bucked his cock on the lips of your folds to catch more slick. The only mercy he was going to give you.

"Now take it."

He plunged right in so hard and so fast. You convulsed and screamed. You weren't used to being this full, nor this level of pain and pleasure mixed together. 

His pace was brutal. You looked down. Horror struck your face. He didn't even bottom out yet. 

"This isn't even all of me." He smirked. One hand hovered your clit and his thumb drew circles on it. Nothing gentle about it. The sheer shock of electricity caused you to scream.

The pleasure of your clit being roughly massaged convulsed your walls to tighten and loosen. He used it as an opportunity to go all the way in. His balls slapping against your ass as he pumps into your swollen pussy in full. 

You tried to put your hands on his shoulders to leverage yourself but he swatted them away and say: "Do not touch me till I say so."

He lifted your legs and folded them over your shoulder lifting up your hips in consequence which allowed him to reach even deeper into you. Even more so when he stepped onto the mattress with his foot.

You couldn't stop sobbing. Drool was flying out of your mouth, but you couldn't give a damn. This was new levels of high you had never even begin to imagine. 

You were so cock drunk that you couldn't focus on anything or anyone. However, you still tried to focus on him, his eyes, and when you do, your eyes widen in pure realization that he fully intended to breed you. Breed you till your belly was swollen. 

He was getting close. You could tell too with the way his pace picked up in speed. You were close too.

Somehow, your little lover creeped up into your mind. Perhaps a little guilt from the fact that this had been intended to be between you two. 

"W-Wa....it!" Your words sputtered out. You tried to reach him with your hands again.

He shot a cold glare down at you. "Don't. Touch."

"H-He ne-eds to cum!"

Then, he halted. He harshly grabbed your face.

"Even when I punish you, you're still thinking about other men." He looked at him. His tiny cock was still trapped in that frilly white lingerie he probably chose to wear. Fucking pervert. The two of you. 

But he couldn't help but see an allure in that little man's eyes. That remniscent look he desperately craved. He was quivering and desperate. Yes, he indeed needed a release, badly. 

He wasn't going to get him off though. No, he won't touch his little thing. He has an aversion to it. He wants it to disappear if he's going to let him cum.

"Come over here." He ordered and gestured over as he slowly moved inside of you, maintaining his high so it doesn't go away. He was going to finish inside you no matter what. 

"Sit on her face. Put your cock into her mouth." He sternly instructed. He lowered your legs, spread them outward, and pulled you down so your pussy was at the edge of the bed to give your third a room. "Y/N, suck." 

Your little lover does he was told and sat on your face with his cock in your mouth. You didn't complain either. You began to suck his half hard cock and it grew bigger instantly. Though, nowhere near as big as Miguel's. He still fit perfectly in your mouth and throat. Your tongue swirled and your cheeks hallowed on his cock, causing him to bounce up and down into your mouth. 

Miguel, on the other hand, reached back to his brutal pace in your tight pussy and watched as this perverted guy fuck your face. Knots began to form in his chest.

He slapped his ass, which rewarded him a girlish yelp. Then he slapped it again. And again. And again. His small ass turning pink to a glowing, stinging red which Miguel would contrast with a firm yet consoling grope. 

You sucking him wasn't enough, Miguel thought to himself, as he remembered when the beginning of this encounter. He let go of your legs which you weren't ready for so they fell limp at first, but you didn't want to lose your connection to his cock so you wrapped your legs around his waist to keep him inside you. 

Miguel groped your third's cheeks before spreading them apart and stuck his thick, long pointer finger inside. 

"A-AH! MIGUEL!!" He cried and arched his back. 

Miguel smirked at this and started pumping his ass. His finger curled up and played the inside of his tight walls to find his perfect spot. He then added another finger inside and continued pumping him. He lost his strength and bent over your face to grab anything to leverage on. 

How he managed to give equal focus to the both of you were beyond your comprehension, because he never once stuttered. No matter how many things he had to do separately, he did everything in a rhythm. 

You were so unbelievably full from both ends. Your climax was coming. You moaned into your little lover's cock so loud it could be confused with a scream. 

Miguel and your little lover were not too far behind either. Just a few more thrusts here, and few more there. You all came crashing down and coated your insides white. 

None of you moved from where you were as you all rode out the highs and catching your breaths. Your legs fell limp letting go of Miguel who stayed inside you for some reason. While your little lover eventually did exit your mouth and rolled over on to the bed, completely spent. 

Miguel slowly pulled out, but not without lifting your hips up first.

"W-What are you doing?" You asked shyly; your breath still shaking. 

He shoved his fingers into your puffy little pussy. "I can't have it go to waste." He simply said. That statement alone tightened your walls around his fingers. 

When he felt sure enough that his cum won't leak out, he laid you back down gently. He walked away for a second to go dig in your closet to cover. Oh, and to get your suit too.

You laid prettily on your bed with your little lover all spent just like him. Eyes hazy and you both stared at each other. Both faces inches apart. You get closer and closer.

Until Miguel abruptly lifts you off the bed, wraps you up in a towel, and takes you away from him. His suit was already back on, and he fired up the dimensional portal. 

"When we get back, I'm cleaning out your mouth with my cock, you greedy slut." You glared at him with everything that you have.

He smirked, rejoicing to the fact you enjoyed this, even if you won't admit it.

"You better be fucking ready."

The End.

A/N: Okay this one was longer than intended because I was just going to jot down random ideas and let it be chaos, but it surprisingly came together as a decent oneshot. Mind you, this is the first time I ever wrote a complete story, regardless if it's a oneshot. I'm open to any feedback. I'm not very good at dialogue usually. I'm also actually still new and fresh to this whole tumblr setup. So I apologize of how plain and unaesthetic my posts and page are. இ௰இ 

I also gotta thank my new friend @miguelswifey04 for encouraging me to write it out! Hope you enjoyed it. Now go take a shower. Lord knows I need to cuz I wrote all of this in one go.

[huihuiheart]

Kinktober D15: Forbidden Fruit - Kang Yeosang

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Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

Ateez Masterlist

Pairing:  Kang Yeosang x GN Reader

Genre: Smut

Summary: It's forbidden, but perhaps it tastes sweeter that way.

Warnings: 69, some manhandling, some strength kink, cum eating, unprotected sex, mentions for crying from pleasure, forbidden relationship.

Word Count: 747

Perhaps shared preferences are what always drew you back to each other, but there was no denying that no one felt like he did against you, even if it shouldn’t be. Yeosang isn’t someone who you could have, and you weren’t someone he could have. The two most powerful families in Seoul and the only heir of each, the only request made of you was not something of heavy responsibility, but not to fraternize with the enemy. Though perhaps that is what had initially drawn you both in, the appeal of the forbidden. Now however, you each found the other too magnetic to resist no matter how you tried or whom you distracted yourself with. 

So here you were again in some lower class hotel room just to avoid being found out, after all with the money both your families had you would be nowhere near here. The method has worked well so far. Concealing your actions from anyone other than you both. Tangled up in some sheets that made your skin itch from being spoiled with silks and satins as long as you both could remember. Your crotch riding his face as you loved while you licked your lips at the sight of his hardened cock, tip red and angry. Before you could get a taste of what you had been craving however his grip tightens on your hips, pulling them down to his lips that work eagerly against you and make you moan. You’d squirm if he wasn’t gripping you so tightly, forearms flexing and reminding you how truly strong he was.

Still, you weren’t the only one obsessed with the feeling of oral. Licking his tip to take in the taste of his precum, something you’d spent the last three months craving as you tried to break this bad habit. Licking your lips in anticipation before your mouth was around him.

“Fuck just like that baby! Even after so long you know how to do it perfectly for me.” Yeosang praises when his lips move to mark up your thigh, one of his hands taking over your pleasure for that brief moment. “Jerked off to the thought of you so often.”

“Shit Yeosang don’t talk like that or I won’t last long.”  You warn against his cock with a soft hiss before taking him down your throat and gagging softly as his actions make you jump in pleasure taking him even deeper.

“That’s okay I won’t either. I’ve been needing to taste you so bad… don’t ever make me wait that long again. Even if it means someone finding out. I’ll deal with the consequences to taste your heaven again. Gonna have you on my tongue three times before we even fuck… I’ll give you the same too though, don't even worry.” He tells you before working twice as hard, his words and the thoughts they spur on makes your eyes roll. Only a moment later you do as he did though and work even harder, intent on ensuring he does give you that as well instead of only you cumming.  It proves to pay off too as he’s cumming a few seconds before you, letting you swallow his cum before moaning loudly as you cum for him. Letting his mouth work you through it and get every last taste of you he can before he’s attempting to start again. You’re quicker though turning around to kiss him while you both taste of the other, the kiss sloppy and full of spit as you both moan and groan into each other.

“May I make a counteroffer?” You finally ask panting softly as you look at him through hooded eyes, slowly lining up his half hard tip and dropping to start taking him inside, “I think we both taste better after we’ve fucked, so how about we handle the other two after that?”

“Fucking hell!” Yeosang cries out as you bottom out on him only to feel him hardening more inside of you, hands running down his face in disbelief, “You’re going to be the death of me babe… still that’s an offer I can’t refute.”

“Good, I’ll make it up to you for staying away so long too, by riding you until you cry.” You smirk down at him, though the way his fingertips dip into your waist only a moment later and he’s smirking back you’re thinking that perhaps he won’t be the one crying from the pleasure in a few more minutes.

If you enjoy my work please keep in mind how much time and effort goes into it and show support through comments and reblogs, or consider buying me a kofi. (Caffeine fuels the chaotic gremlin in me who creates content.)

[trashyslashers]

May I get a killer dbd matchup pls? 🖤

Also, THANK YOU BBY I know you doing your best, sorry this dump truck is long ❤️❤️❤️

Looks: I’m 21 F, 5’3 bi. I have moles, lots of scars on my body and 2 tattoos. I’m a bit chunky ngl but nothing too bad with kinda long brown hair. I also dress like those trending grunge girls.

Personality: My personality is very random ngl. On one hand, I’m a patient, hardworking and empathetic person towards the people I really care about. I love taking care of people and nothing makes me more content then seeing them relaxed with me. The other side is once I’m comfortable enough to be loud and open I’m completely different from quiet me. I love risks like once you say no balls I’m doing it. I’m down for mostly anything like shit I don’t judge. Crack up at the most random shit or anything in general, shitpost behavior and humor, no filter at all and does not care what people think about it, and very comfortable with the uncomfortable. I’m not afraid to call someone out if they’re in the wrong and have a great control of my emotions and stress unless someone does something goofy ass fuck. The only bad is that I tend to hide my real feelings a lot and lightly push people away bc I feel like a bother if my negative feelings are noticeable. However, if a person genuinely keeps reassuring it’s okay to let my feelings out I’ll crack eventually.

With a lover: I’m okay with anything my partner will be okay with and understanding their wants and needs. I want them to be my pillar just as I am with them. I include them in mostly everything I do if they are willing to do that and not afraid to show them off if they are comfortable with it. If they aren’t comfortable with physical affection, the most I’ll ask is light hand holding or gentle touches. I hardly initiate fights and do my best to understand their point of view but if they start being disrespectful I’m not tolerating that behavior. My love language is quality time and physical touch, the occasional gifting as well. Ideally want someone to be okay with my menace behavior and have nice looking arms 🫶

Dislikes: I hate when people try to control me and force me to be a certain way bc I’m not letting anybody change the way I am for them. Very spicy food too. 🖤🖤

Hobbies/Interests: E-gurl gaming 😈, cooking meals or baking sweets, reading fanfics, making a shit ton of cute or complex origami. Daydreaming while looking at the sky and smoking that mj as well. Making my friends comfortable with me so we could be crack heads together. Looking at which cute clothes to buy and lastly doing hand made gifts from anything.

Again thank you, I hope this was enough! 😊❤️❤️

I think Danny Johnson | The Ghostface would have a huge thing for you!

Patient and hardworking: both are traits that Danny has, and both are traits he'd enjoy in a partner. The randomness of your personality is something he finds enticing, and Danny loves to find out what makes those he's, uh, interested in, tick.

Risk taking is the name of the game, baby. Though he would not harm you (apart from in trials, of course, where he sort of has to), there's a degree of risk when it comes to being in a relationship with him, both in and out of the Fog. It might not be the type of risk you enjoy, but he appreciates that you aren't judgmental or afraid, and have the guts to be in a situation that many others wouldn't want. Honestly, this is probably what drew him to you in the first place: you stood out in a way that caught his eye.

He's still an obsessive sadist, though. In trials with you, he tends to have a bad habit of focusing and chasing you down. It comes with the relationship. Maybe it's a type of risk you enjoy?

He's damn good at reading people, so even if you do well masking your emotions around him, he can tell when something is off. He may poke a bit to try and get you to open up, but ultimately knows it's up to you to come to him if you so choose to.

It may be surprising, but he is goofy - at least, in a dark sense of humor type of way. He's extremely charismatic and has a pretty good sense of humor - it's how he went so long without getting caught, to a degree - and so this man can and will make you laugh.

Loves that you aren't afraid to speak your mind and call people out for things. If it's directed at him for any reason he might be a bit flustered at first, but honestly, he'll think it's cute seeing you all riled up.

Loves that you show him off, and he'll do exactly the same if you're okay with it. Has more polaroids and photos of you - many of which you didn't seem to notice were being taken - than you know.

More than okay with your menace behavior - I mean, why wouldn't he be? He loves it, and finds you incredibly fun.

Not the best arms, but being a killer does take some physical strength, so his are pretty nice! There are times he may roll his sleeves to his elbow to "unknowingly" give you some glimpses if he catches on that it's something you enjoy (he totally is well aware of what he's doing).

Surprisingly, he's not one to control his partner. Though he likes being the one "in charge", in a sense, that doesn't mean he's going to try to control you and who you are. He wouldn't change you for the world.

[into-the-blorboverse]

Context to some Drew Things. You can see his inventory HERE and in here I'll talk about the lucky playing card he keeps in his wallet.

TW for suicidal thoughts

When Drew was a teen he was going thru shit and was suicidal but he kept having like. vague little reasons to hold onto so he never tried anything but he was struggling a lot (repressed queer teen with homophobic parents for one thing) and one day he just. Shuffles a deck of cards, drawing a new card everyday, saying that when he draws the king of hearts AKA the suicide king he will either Act on It or he will see if he has his shit together. Basically 52 days or less to figure some things out. Well he draws a lot of cards and it becomes a sort of habit, one more day alright I can handle one more day. Then, he meets Libra at his band practice and they really hit it off actually and shes hot and actually interested in him wait this is great news??? Then he draws THe Card. fuck. alright... He stuffs that in his wallet to deal with later because he really wants to see where this relationship may be going. He's not gonna die yet!

And Drew and Libra are absolutely obsessed with each other (Drew Especially) and they date really hard and fast just so into each other, everyone else in the band is rolling their eyes alright we get it you finally have a girlfriend. But he can't help being excited!! Drew always felt like a late bloomer (WHICH HES NOT, HES ONLY 17!) when he sees all of his friends start dating people. The whole dating thing just doesn't really click for him. None of the girls at his school really interest him, and he's really trying to suppress new thoughts of guys, too. His friends Toby and Anna start dating and he's extra confused. "She's apart of our friend group? Shes One Of The Guys™?? You can't do that that's like if I started dating Mark ... that's ridiculous..." SO you understand why, when he finally meets a girl who he actually likes and who LIKES him Back is groundbreaking and adds to his complicated obsessed feelings.

Libra joins their little band, and they're always finding time to be together. They vent about family things together, they talk about music. Drew's finally not that afraid that he might like other boys because it doesn't matter look he's got a girlfriend he doesn't even have to worry about that!

BUuuut Libra is a dumb teen (they all are but you know) and cheats on Drew when she meets someone new she likes. It's a messy breakup, and a lot of drama as Libra is kicked out of the band as quickly as she came in... which all sends Drew spiraling pretttty badly. He drives recklessly to a bridge and thinks he'll jump, but again second guesses himself. He gets back into the car, still very distraught when he gets into a wreck and hits a tree. He's alright, just bruised and shaken up. (and now he has to lie and say he swerved to avoid a deer that came outta nowhere...)

He sees the card in his wallet has a moment of just. Man.... This shit sucks ... ... ... But I survived...! And shit does suck but hes getting older hes making plans to move out of his parents house with his best friend Mark and he wants their band to succeed. Hes Gonna Be OK. And That Card symbolizes that and he still has it with him as you can see.

ANDDd eventually after all this, for Drew's birthday Mark helps pay for his big Suicide King tattoo because it means a lot and he's proud of Drew for surviving too he knows this. He's good now, and in the future Drew starts a solo/side band project for fun with him as the lead called The Invincible Drew Donovan because,, well. Nothing can stop him actually, by the way.

[kuradoberijam]

Jinjin for the opinion ask game (if someone else already sent him, then Tsubaki maybe?)

You are surprisingly the first person to send me Jin!!

❄️ Overall Opinion of him:

Literally such a fucking loser (affectionate) I have been attached to this Blorbo for the last 6 years even though he sucks so bad. He is so pathetic (also affectionate).

❄️ Gender & Sexuality Headcanons:

I think he’s bi given the right circumstances and also trans but I’ve also been kinda flirting with the HC of him being in that sort of grey aro area + some sexual aversion (not quite ace) just because I couldn’t really see him dating anyone and that working out for more than a month. Jin at his core is shitty at holding himself accountable which is important for communication in relationships.

❄️ Favorite moment in canon:

Oh 100% when Ragna lectures him in continuum shift to pull his head out of his ass. That in general is actually one of my favorite scenes with them together because it was the last real time we got any potential for their character dynamic. It really showed that despite everything Ragna still cares about Jin because Jin is his little brother but also showcases that their relationship can’t change until Jin pulls himself together enough for them to have a proper final fight. I could talk on and on about that scene but I would be rambling too much. 

❄️ Favorite moment in a fan work:

I’m going to flex on myself a little bit here because I’m one of the few writers on ao3 that doesn’t write ragjin incest shit but I still really like Bury the Hatchet. It kind of aged a little bit poorly considering I’ve gotten better at writing but I still feel like it holds its own with Jin characterization.

❄️ Favorite Line:

I think most of his lines suck so bad but his introspection at the end of his calamity trigger route still gets me. I drew it once but I was 17 then and didn’t know as much about art as I do now so I’ll have to go back and re-draw it. 

❄️ Characters I like seeing them interact with:

Ragna for sure. We could have had so much when it came to their dynamic. I desperately wanted to see them have a satisfying character arc where maybe they don’t necessarily ever become close again but they can tolerate each other at family gatherings and have occasional fun being belligerent towards each other. We should have been allowed to have a dynamic where Ragna smokes a cigarette because it’s just one of those days and Jin takes it and puts it out on Ragna’s hand. Their dynamic would be so much better if it moved to being built around Jin pestering Ragna in non violent ways and Ragna getting got by his shit every time. Either that or go straight for the tragedy but don’t leave us in the middle with no closure.

❄️ Last thing before sleeping headcanons:

Jin wears an ungodly amount of makeup every day. Because of this, that means that he has to spend a total of 30 or more minutes washing foundation off of his face and wiping off eyeliner with make up wipes. Sometimes his eyes get red from the sheer amount of times he has to wipe stuff off of his eyelids. Ragna once said he looked like a melted Madame Tussaud wax figure and the rest of his night was spent evading Jin running around the house with a knife. He’s also very obsessed with skin care and once had to begrudgingly lecture Kagura about what a pore strip was because Kagura found it in the trash once and didn’t know what it was.

❄️ Sleeping habits headcanons:

Jin sits sleeping upright with a weighted blanket because if he didn’t he’d be sleepwalking the way he did when he was a kid. He still remembers the days when he would end up knee deep in the creek by the church with Ragna worriedly shaking his shoulders yelling at him to wake up. Jin did however, forget his routine once and ended up just outside of Torifune’s borders with military personnel prying open his eyelids. Jin also sleep talks and his eyes flicker when he’s in deep sleep which has worried more people than he cares to admit.

❄️ First thing after waking up headcanons:

Jin primarily wakes up to his own nightmares. As a result, he’s grown intimately familiar with the early hours of the morning. He usually starts his day by making some tea and then putting on an insufferable amount of makeup because he can’t stand looking at his bare face in the mirror. 

❄️ Favorite locations headcanons:

Jin likes anywhere quiet. It’s why he used to like the library when he was at the military academy. People always thought that was why he was a good student but he mainly just went there to feel at peace. He hates loud noises and crowds more than he can express (autism gang rise up). 

[nightcolorz]

Random Gotham Rogues Headcanons

(In honor of all the wonderful people who wanted more after my last post, yes I see y’all)

*Jonathan has a huge sweet tooth, the poor bastard didn’t try sugar until he was like 12 and eats candy like it’s his last meal.

*He’ll forget he needs food to live for way too long and eat a gallon of ice cream or some shit that’ll give any sensible man heart palpitations and just be like “😐👍”.

*Selina tells the newer rogues she was raised by cats to freak them out, Jervis still believes her. (Tbf, Selina does walk around with a cat tail on hissing at people and purring on their laps, I don’t blame him).

*Edward has a tiktok account that he made to fule his own ego, he’s a fragile little shit, literally all of his hate comments have video responses (as you can imagine, Edward gets A LOT of hate comments).

*One time a teenager called Edward “submissive and breedable” and he was too baffled to make a clap back.

*The Rogues have a surprising amount of stans. Ivy’s fan base consists mostly of lowly simps, Joker gets stopped on the street daily by greasy redditors and zealous scene kids.

*No one likes Joker, he thinks it’s because he’s “Batman’s favorite” (it’s not).

*For a while Joker has been insistent that he fucked Bruce Wayne once at one of his many parties, no one believes him except for Harvey (begrudgingly).

*He says it’s “Perfectly in character for Bruce” as much as he may hate it.

*Selina denies everything.

*Oswald and Jonathan share solidarity as “the weird bird people”. At first Oswald was a little put off that Jonathan only held knowledge of crows but soon got over that when he realized that now he had an excuse to infodump on someone who might actually be interested.

*Every time Jonathan visits Oswald’s aviary to pick up Nightmare and Craw Oswald jumps at the opportunity to talk about his numerous birds in excess, Jonathan’s a surprisingly good listener.

*Despite Edward and Joker’s long term rivalry Edward has remained relatively civil when faced with Joker’s constant egging on. That is until one iconic day in Arkham Asylum when Edward beat the absolute, ever loving shit out of Joker in the cafeteria. To this day no one knows what exactly got him to snap, not even Joker.

*Harley keeps a scrapbook about all her misadventures + friendships as a rogue, she has a habit of taking pictures of the others at the most inappropriate times (during a heist, while being beaten to a crisp by Batman, ex).

*One time Harley asked Batman to pose for a picture to put in her scrapbook, he obliged to everyone’s surprise.

*Edward is wholly insistent that he doesn’t belong in Arkham, and is convinced he’s completely sane. He’s weirdly obsessed with the fact that Oswald is sane “as well” and will make unprompted snide remarks like: “Blackgate sounds terrific, unfortunately I’ve been misplaced among MORONS, it’s a shame that the system is too incompetent to properly judge my un-categorizable psyche.”

*Oswald usually responds with a simple “🙂👍” or “ok” to avoid conflict, disagreeing with Edward could be catastrophic.

*Art therapy is an occupational hazard for all the Arkham staff. (Seriously, who thought giving super villains an outlet to express themselves was a good idea).

*Edward can’t draw so he spends his time harshly criticizing the other rogues art, that’s caused more than a few fights. The one time Edward’s ever actually done art in art therapy was when he drew a green triangle and explained in complex detail how he colored it to perfection.

*Jonathan is no longer allowed to share his art with the group before having it reviewed by a staff member after emotionally scarring a few patients. He’s one of the few rogues who presents his art every time, just to see the disturbed looks on the others faces when he explains whatever twisted art piece he came up with this time.

*Jervis is probably the most dedicated artist of the bunch, he‘s not allowed to make himself any hats (for obvious reasons) but he’s still a very skilled seamstress and has a very interesting art style (Jervis tries not to draw anything explicitly linked to Alice in Wonderland in fear of getting repercussions, as rogues often do when they engage with their ‘personas’).

*Harvey isn’t very technically skilled in drawing, but Harv usually spices their art up enough to make it interesting. Their drawings are always two themed, as expected. One time Edward criticized a painting of theirs for being “too unrealistic” and Harv had to manually restrain himself from kicking Edward in the teeth.

*Victor can’t draw either, but he writes pretty good poetry. His writing is excessively melodramatic and flowery, and his themes even more so. Half of the presentation period is spent listening to Victor muse about the meaning of life or some shit, his poems are VERY long.

*Waylon and Ivy are the obligatory pretentious painters, both have a fondness for flowers (for very separate reasons). The two will often compare their paintings and wax poetics about the beauty of nature or some bullshit before never speaking again. That’s one of the positives of Art therapy, it brings rogues together who would otherwise not grant each other a passing glance.

*Group therapy is just as (if not more) atrocious than Art therapy.

*The only one who ever talks is Joker (and sometimes Harley, but way less).

*Joker is the embodiment of an irl troll, he does a much better job at getting responses from the other rogues in therapy than the therapists ever could (usually hostile responses but still).

*Occasionally a new and bright eyed therapist will try and coax childhood memories out of the rogues, it never ends well (usually with the rogue or the therapist in hysterics).

*The majority of the Arkham staff are either terribly unqualified or terrible period.

*Music Meister lived with Edward for a short while after escaping Arkham together but he was promptly kicked out because he wouldn’t stop singing.

*Selina and Ivy had a huge argument once because Selina’s cats nibbled on Ivy’s plants.

Okay this post is all ready super long so I’m gonna end it here, as I said last time I can always make more if you guys like these (I’m not running out of headcanons anytime soon!)

[robin-the-enby]

New beginnings

Pairing: Yondu Udonta x gn!reader

Summary: You're immortal: If you die, you immediately respawn in the closest safe location. Usually a few yards away, sometimes a few miles away. But in a time of global war, you die and respawn on a completely unknown planet, millions of lightyears away. - prompt by @writing-prompt-s and “i feel like shit.” “you look like it, too.” *they bump shoulders* “ you know, if you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you’ve succeeded.” “i wish i never acted the way i did towards you. i’m sorry.” “i know.” - enemies to lovers prompts by @malabu

Warnings: very long fic, cursing, torture, enemies to friends/lovers, description of injuries and death, slightly sexual themes, insecurity, scars, Yondu and the reader being jerks to each other

A/N: Aaaaaaaaaaaand my obsession continues!!! Hope you're buckled up, 'cause this bitch ain't about to stop lovin' on this man!

aIt was supposed to be an easy job. Go in, take the loot, get out. But of course, nothing in life's that easy. But it just had to happen to you. Of course.

You were pondering on that all while staring into deep red eyes of the ravager captain blocking your way to the exit. It seemed the loot was more important than you thought. If somebody hired fucking space pirates to get it for them, you must be holding something really special right now.

"'Ight, we can do this tha easy way, or tha hard way. Yer choice." the blue man had the audacity to smirk at you. Of course, you chose the easy way. But it seemed the captain had something else in mind when he said easy, because just as you pointed your weapon at him, a sharp whistle cut through the air and seemingly at the same time something seemed to cut through you, judging by the sharp pain in your chest.

You only had time to look down at your chest, which was now spewing blood like a freshly popped champaign bottle, from a hole the size of a marble ball, before you collapsed to the ground, your vision going black, your mind almost numb with pain.

You felt the familiar signs of bleeding out. The hot pain in your chest, where your wound was, the cold that seemed to spread through your body and the white noise that seemed to swallow your mind. The last thing before you let go was the cheerful cackle of the blue ravager and very faint sound of steps growing further and further away.

Whe you opened your eyes again, you quickly grasped at your chest out of habit. The phantom pain was still there and although you knew this was going to happen, you were glad when you felt that your chest was, in fact, intact. Quickly you sat up and shook your head to chase away the dizziness and looked around the room. You realized that the maps your...'team' gave you before they sent you to this place actually came in handy, because you were just in the next room.

Quickly you got up and rushed out of the room. And of course you had to run just into the same guy as before. Only this time, he wasn't alone. There was a scrawny looking guy, probably from Xandar, right behind him, then two very similar looking men with light blue scaly skin and yellowish eyes and then a dude with long greasy hair and a really messed up face. They were all in the same kind of uniform though, so you suspected they were the captain's crew.

They stopped dead in their track when they saw you, some of them even looking back at your corpse to make sure you didn't rise from the dead to haunt them forever. The captain however, only narrowed his eyes at you. It was your turn to smirk "I guess you chose the hard way." you cocked your head to the side and drew your weapon again. As much as dying over and over was tiring and annoying, you weren't about to just turn around at the first sight of trubble and run away with your tail between your legs, just to later get it from your boss.

You heard the whistle again, only now you realised it was the captain who controlled the mysterious weapon. His coat was slightly opened and the crest installed on top of his head was glowing faintly with red light, as an arrow shot from a holster joined at the buckle on the blue captain's hip. Quickly, before he could get rid of you again, you said "You do that and I'm gonna come right back, y'know?" The arrow stopped right in front of your face and you nearly sighed with relief. That would have been a nasty scar, you thought.

With the arrow still floating in front of your face, the captain spoke "Now I pried this tressure from yer cold dead hands. How come yer right here, tellin' me what to do?" he quirked a brow at you, the scowl still on his face. "Wouldn't you like to know?" you drawled and felt the arrow quickly float closer, pricking the skin of your nose. "Are ya cursed or somethin'?" the Xandarian asked suddenly. "It's more a blessing." you smiled at him. The captain seemed to think for a while, but after he probably decided you weren't lying, his scowl turned into a sly smile "Listen. Ya seem like a smart kid. How 'bout ya ditch yer crew and come workin' fer me instead? We could really use someone like ya." he tilted his head and shrugged.

You pondered on it for a minute. Either you could try to kill them all while dying at least 20 times, before you got what you needed before you would return to the group of criminals the captain just called your crew. Your 'team' consisted of five aliens, including you, on a small ship, with the most intimidating one as your leader. He was a brute of a man, they all were, no manners and no respect whatsoever. On the other hand you could just ditch those assholes and join the ravagers instead, who at least had a fucking code they followed. It seemed the choice was already made. "Alright." you chirped and lightly pushed aside the arrow pointing at the bridge of your nose, before walking over to the small group.

Hushed whispers resonated through the few aliens accompanying their captain. Was he really taking you in? How can he be so sure you weren't going to ditch them, if you so easily abandoned your old crew? Thruth is, he didn't know. And that's why he pointed it out right away "Wow, tha' was quick. Neva' seen anyone betray their crew tha' easy." You only shrugged your shoulders "Well, it's not like I was thrilled to be there in the first place. And if you count five criminals with the biggest jerk in charge a crew, then I don't know how you wound up as a captain yourself." The man in question quickly whirled around to face you, the frown on his face returning "Now, ya go runnin tha' pretty mouth a' yours an' I'll stick this arrow in a place ya won't enjoy." he threatened you. But you looked at him uninterested and only replied with a shake of your head "Go ahead. See what happens." and shrugged your shoulders.

The rest of the journey to the M-ships was quiet. As much as the captain's threats didn't faze you, you weren't looking to die a second time today. You boarded an M-ship with the two blue twins, as you guessed and made your way to the mother ship. When you finally made it to the ship in question, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor with the various passages and bridges and whatnot. Seeing this, the men smirked amongst themselves and the captain patted you on the back "Welcome to the Eclector, uh..." he looked at you questioningly. "(Y/N)." you answered shortly, while never taking your eyes from the interior of the large ship. The captain grinned, his jagged teeth showing "Welcome to the Eclector (Y/N). You're a part of Udonta's crew now." he said as he began to lead the way through the mess of hallways and rooms.

"Now, before ya officially become a ravager, I need ta know some stuff about'cha." Udonta told you without even turning to you "So, how did'ya end up with those miserable fucks ya told us 'bout?" he asked. You shrugged, even though he couldn't see it "Well, since the global war broke out on my planet, I kept dying a lot. Well, once I died and woke up in Knowhere. I got into a bunch of trouble before these guys picked me up, offering me a place to stay in exchange for alliance." Udonta nodded, before asking again "Where's you from again?" "Bruirilia." you answered and couldn't help the tinge of sadness washing over you. Your new captain made a hissing sound at the mention "Oooh, I's heard that planet's been destroyed not too long ago. Sorry kid." But you just waved your hand at the apology "Nah, it's good. Haven't had any ties there since my parents died." Udonta nodded and mumbled "Good." quietly, before asking yet again "Last question kid. How does tha work? I mean tha curse o'yers." You took a deep breath "I'm not sure myself. But whenever I die, I just...respawn in the nearest safe place. The only thing remaining from my dead self is a scar." you explained as best as you could. The captain hummed in acknowledgement.

An that's how you became a ravager. You were given your own uniform and were acquainted with the ravager code, or at least, the parts you needed to know. Which, fortunately, weren't that hard to memorize. You also found out the full name of your new captain, as well as your crewmates'. Yondu Udonta huh? Pretty interesting name, at least in your opinion.

Finding a place on the Eclector wasn't that hard. Even though the crew was pretty big, the ship was bigger and chores were numerous. You went from cleaning up here and there and helping in the kitchen and med bay to being assigned with missions.

At first, everything seemed perfect. You felt as if everything clicked into place when you joined Udonta's crew. You felt as if you really belonged there, dare you say you found some new friends after years of solidarity. Plus, your captain paid you well. But as the months went on, with your salary also rose the danger of the missions Yondu sent you on. And the more dangerous the mission, the less people went with you. A few months in you noticed you were mostly sent on missions alone, and although they were mostly successful, they took a toll on you. By now, you were used to going on a mission, just to die at least five times and coming back, only to drop the loot off at the cockipt and flopping down on your bunk, sometimes not even having the energy to shower or change your clothes.

Last mission was especially gruesome. You were supposed to steal some precious metal right from the smelter on a planet inhabitated by dwarf-like people. The instructions were easy. Yondu told you that they stored the processed metal in wooden crates in a special part of the smelter complex, something like a warehouse. The more you could get your hands on, the better. Yeah, but try smuggling more than a crate from a horde of angry dwarf natives, alone. You told Yondu in the beginning that there was no possibility of successfully completing the mission by yourself, but he only dismissed you, saying you handled worse.

At least when you came back empty-handed, with a new scar that was caused by an axe to your face, so it stretched across the entirety of it, he didn't scold you. But it was that moment when you realised what your captain has been doing, perhaps from the very beginning. He's been assigning you only suicide missions because he knew you were gonna come back from them. Sure, he paid you some more than the others, but was it worth the mutilation your body went through? But, your crewmates admired your new scar, saying it looked "badass". So that made up for it a little bit.

Luckilly, captain decided it was time to let out some steam and announced a break on Contraxia. That made your heart jump a little in your chest. Now, you've never been on the planet, but its reputation surpassed its borders. As you layed on your bunk that night you imagined all the things you'd try out. You fell asleep with one thought that night, you were gonna enjoy it no matter what.

Or so you thought.

At first, you stayed close to your friends, tagging along, taking in your surroundings. You went through a few bars, some shops, having a drink here and grabbing something to bite there, buying bits and bobs that looked interesting, until you wound up in a brothel. First, you were with your friends at the table, drinking and having fun, but you couldn't not notice how most of them made googly eyes at the pretty waitresses and other...workers...of the brothel, with their perfectly smooth skin and curves. One by one, your friends were snatched by the ladies of different races and led to different rooms. And that left you alone, at the brothel's bar. At least the barman was quite handsome, you smirked to yourself. Oh but he noticed, and immediately asked you what you were smirking about.

Well, word after word you made coversation and...it was actually quite pleasant. You haven't been really intimate with anyone since the war on Bruirilia started. Between protecting your home annd dying, there wasn't much time for you to really...get close to anyone. And the time after that was so hectic you didn't even think about anything like sex. But, you had to admit, the barman was doing this to your body. So you shot your shot. You asked him when his shift ended and if you could perhaps accompany him home. He looked you up and down and when you saw his expression turn into one of understanding and then nervosity, you knew you were going to face the hard, cold, rejection. "Listen," you remember him saying "You're really nice and I enjoyed talking to you, but...if this is going where I think it is...I just, if the rest of your body looks the same as your face then...sorry, but that's just kind of a turnoff, y'know?" but the second yu let your expression fall, he quickly added "It's nothing personal, just a preference!" but at that point, you had already paid and were on your way out of the brothel.

Of. Fucking. Course. It just had to be you. Were you really that hideous? Undesirable? Just because of some scars? You chuckled darkly. Yeah, some scars. At this point, there were probably more scars than clean skin on your body. But who's fault was that? That's right! Your captain's!! You balled up your hands into fists and clenched your teeth. You stomped your way to the Eclector and before you used your card to open the entrance you took a deep breath, in case anybody was back on the ship. Much calmer now, you made your way through the maze of bridges and passages and hallways that the ship was made of and towards your bunk. But just when you were passing the captain's quarters, the door opened, revealing the man you wanted to see the least himself.

For a second you two just stared at each other, both wondering, why the other wasn't out with the others, but it was Yondu who broke the silence "What're you doin' 'ere? Couldn't find a good fuck?" he smirked. Now, the rational side of your brain knew he didn't know that was the worst thing to say in that moment, he didn't know the emotional turmoil you just went through and how you viewed him at this very second, but the rational side of your brain was silenced by pure, white rage that bubbled up inside of you like a silent volcano and the lava finally spilled over the edge. With a frown you bared your teeth and spat out "No. No, I couldn't find a good fuck." but before Yondu, who now had a slightly shocked expression in response to your boldness, could get any word in, you growled "And you wanna know why? 'Cause of this!" you gestured wildly to your face. Yondu's eyes fixated on your newest scar adorning your face as his eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak. Oh but you weren't done, no, not in the least. You wanted him to see just how much damage he had done.

Without thinking, you pulled off your ravager jacket, followed by your undershirt, leaving him gaping at your chest that was littered with numerous scars of various sizes and freshness. "You did this." you said slowly "You and your fucking suicide missions." you shook your head "And now, not even a fucking brothel bartender wants anything to do with me! And it's. All. Your. Fault." you squinted your eyes at him and jabbed your fingers in his chest with every word. Yondu could see your eyes glint with unshed tears. Finally, you stepped away from him and said quietly with a smal sniffle "You ruined me man. You fucking ruined me." and with that, you continued on your way to your bunk. Leaving your captain standing in front of his quarters, dumbfounded and maybe a little bit guilty, as he watched your trembling form dissapear behind the corner.

You didn't feel like your usual chipper self for the next few days and your crewmates noticed that. Some of them tried to joke about it in a similar way their captain did, but whenever that happened, you quickly shut them down with a glare. But after a few days, you managed to pull yourself together and were able to start focusing on work properly again. The only difference you noticed on the ship after that...eventful night on Contraxia, was the way captain started treating you. You two were never too close, he didn't really let anyone get too close to him, the closest he might have been to was Kraglin and that was just because he treated his first mate kind of like one would treat their younger relative. But you two sometimes shared a nice laugh or a few words about how your missions went, but now whenever you two were in the same room, he didn't look at you, talk to you, nothing. It was like he tried to ignore your presence completely. Even when he assigned you your new missions, he was either turned away from you or seemingly very busy with his control console. You tried not to let it bother you too much, but his treatment only fueled your anger towards him as time went on. The fact that he made no effort of changing the type of missions you were assigned didn't exactly help either.

"This one should be easy." he said as you stared at his back. It was as if you've already been in this situation once. Go in, take the loot, return to the ship. But right now you were face to face with someone you've never expected to see again. Your previous crewmates were standing there, a few meters away from you, arms folded and expressions pissed off. You weren't scared, just surprised. Seems like you had competition. Quickly, to avoid conflict, you ducked into the next room of the small, but highly sheltered gallery you were supposed to rob, switching on your communicator quickly "Kraglin? Kraglin! Can you hear me?" you said, urgency clear in your voice. "Loud and clear, (Y/N). What's up?" you heard the first mate say nonchalantly. He must've had so much experience with missions going wrong that it didn't faze him anymore. "We have company." you panted and Kraglin could hear your hurried footsteps and somebody chasing you in the background. "Don't tell me you were caught?" he groaned and you had to fight the urge to scold him, before remembering he was your superior. "Of course not, I wouldn't be calling just because of that. No, my old group showed up." you said hurriedly, getting tired of how leisurely Kraglin was talking. "What? What do ya mean?" the Xandarian in question seemed to straighten up at that mention. "Yeah, one moment I'm taking whatever I can and the next they appear from around the corner like they owned the place!" Kraglin could hear a booming noise ring out as you quietly cursed to yourself "Shit, they're firing. I gotta go take cover-" your voice was interrupted by a loud shot that seemed to have come from somewhere near you and before Kraglin could get a peep in, your painful scream filled the air in the cockpit. Yondu, who was up until that point trying to be very interested in piloting the ship through the vast space turned around with his eyes slightly widened. They both knew that you died on missions frequently, but they've seen it in person only once. But then you were strangers, it was different now that they nknew you. Kragling listened intently for any signs of you being alive and his heart jumped in his chest when you groaned with pain. But the voices and footsteps that were quickly approaching couldn't mean anything good, so he quickly ordered you "(Y/N), go hide somewhere, ya hear me? (Y/N)!!" but it was for naught, because the line went dead. Kraglin spent a second just staring at his communicator before turning to the captain "Cap'n, we lost contact." he said sadly. Yondu, who already turned back to his control console, only shrugged "Don' worry 'bout it, they'll turn up eventually."

Little did they know what really happened. You didn't have time to report to Kraglin if you were ok, because you recieved a nasty hit to the shoulder, which made you drop to the ground in pain, your vision blocked by black spots. Your communicator unfortunately was damaged by the fall, so you didn't suppose that Kraglin could hear your ex-aquaintances grab ahold of you and start dragging you back to the ship you once knew so well. You could roughly m,ake out where you went, but everything was hazy. But you knew for sure that you were losing a lot of blood. You hoped death would come quickly, so that you could get out of this place, because somehow you knew that these guys meant no good.

To your dismay, you woke up in a locked room, your hands bound behind your back and your legs at the ankles. You were sore all over and couldn't move properly. You felt tired, hungry and thirsty all at once, you were disoriented and confused. You didn't die? When your vision cleared up a little, you turned your head slowly to glance at your shoulder. It was bandaged, haphazardly, but it kept you alive. Why? Why were they doing this? You couldn't figure it out. That was, until the leader of your old group came into the room, a wicked smile on his face. He stepped closer to you and cupped your jaw in his hand, making you look at him. You frowned as deeply as your sore muscles allowed you to and had to supress the urge to spit in his face when he started talking "So we finally found you. The traitor came back home." "I wouldn't say that." you rasped out. He chuckled "Doesn't really matter, does it? You're here and that's all we've wanted." he squinted at your face before growling out "Did you seriously think you could betray us like that and expect us to just let you go?" he tsked "Well, here's where you're wrong. Your actions have consequences, y'know? And we've brought you here to teach you to face those consequences."

"And what did you expect me to do? Stay somewhere where I felt scared to fall asleep in fear of getting robbed or worse in my sleep? Did you seriously think I was gonna stay with this bunch of assholes whose leader thinks he's all high and mighty, but he's just an insecure idiot? Yeah, I ran away. So that I could feel more safe. And you know what? I'm doing better than ever! So what are you gonna do? Kill me?" you smirked up at him. But your smirk faded when he smiled even wider "Kill you? No. We both know that's useless. Oh no, we're gonna do something so, so much worse." And then the pain came.

It didn't happen often that the captain was wrong about something. Usually, his somewhat of a sixth sense helped him detect things others could not, so the fact that you did not in fact return not later that day, not in a few days, but not in a few weeks, was concerning, to say the least. Was it because he just thought you'd be alright like you were after every mission? Or was it perhaps because he was ignoring the feeling in the pit of his stomach that was telling him something happened? Nobody knew for sure. But at the start of the second week of you missing, the crew started to get anxious and whether he liked it or not, Yondu too, was worried. That is why he called Kraglin away from his task to the cockpit to discuss what they should do next. "We could track down their communicator." Kraglin shrugged and his captain nodded. It was probably their best bet. He himself couldn't think of anything else they could possibly do. If they were lucky, it would lead them straight to you, but if they threw your communicator away, it would at least serve as a lead.

They got to work immediately, leaving Kraglin's communicator on, trying to search for connection. One of them always stayed in the cockpit and monitored the device, while the other was allowed to go away and perform his duties. But they both were in contact, in case the communicator picked something up. For hours they were switching in the room only for the result to be nothing at all. But in the late afternoon, when Kraglin was the one looking after the device, the light on the screen, to which the communicator was connected, turned green and the line representing the sound wave started flickering up and down, he quickly gave captain the signal to come to the cockpit.

At first, there was only cracking and static, but then the first mate could hear hushed voices, before everything went quiet again. It seemed both sides were waiting for the other to start. Luckilly that was solved by Yondu coming into the room, expression stern and his walk resolute. He looked to Kraglin, who pointed at the screen and Yondu bent down so those on the other side could hear him clearly. "(Y/N)?" he called. Dark chuckling came in response. "Who's there?" the captain shouted. He looked at Kraglin and then pointed to the control console, signaling him to track the location of the signal. Kraglin nodded and swiftly went to work, while Yondu listened to the person chuckle again "Definitely ain't the one you're looking for." the person joked. Yondu recognized the voice as a male one, quite deep, but other than that, he had nothing. "Where's (Y/N)?" the captain asked shortly. "With us." the voice said and laughed "And ya ain't getting that sad fuck back, 'till we're finished with'em." the voice paused "But if you stick around long enough, maybe you'll hear them scream."

Yondu was just about to give this motherfucker a piece of his mind, when a bloodcurling scream ripped through the air, followed by cheering of multiple people. "Sounds like they are having fun, don't'cha think?" the voice mocked. Yondu growled and cut the connection, ending the conversation. Turning to his first mate, he said "You got it?" Kraglin nodded his head "Yes sir." "Right. Set the course to the coordinations. Gather a few men. We'll go in, kill anyone on board and get them out. Undersood?" Kraglin saluted "Yes, sir!" before quickly exiting the room.

Yondu could vividly remember your face when you yelled at him that night on Contraxia and showed him their scars. You looked so...broken. The one person that was able to laugh in the face of death suddenly looked so...defeated. And it didn't make Yondu feel good, at all. For the next few days he shut himself in, trying to come up with a reason he was feeling this way, but in no way admitting it was guilt. He didn't need to feel guilty for anything. In fact, he should punish you for being impudent with your superior. But the truth was, he let greed consume him. And now he saw it. And that's why it suddenly felt so...personal.

It wasn't long before the Eclector reached the destination. Yondu, along with Kraglin and a few men the first mate deemed worthy of this very important mission were gathered in the hangar by the M-ships, going over the details. Once everything was clear, they took two of the small ships and set out in the direction of the enemy ship. It was farely small, so the possibility of many enemies was off the table. When they broke in, it seemed they caught the enemy team by surprise, which definitely played into Yondu's cards. His men quickly dealt with the enemies, there were roughly five of them. Yondu wondered if they were worth of keeping alive for some questioning, but decided it would be better to dispose of them straight away. Then, after the enemies were dealt with, the search for (Y/N) started. Everyone looked in every nook and cranny, very room where they might've hid you. Luckilly, one of the men found a place at the bottom of the ship where they seemed to keepo hostages. In of the rooms was you, bound and bloody, it semed tyour fingers were broken, you were badly beaten and cut up and were on the verge of death. At the bloody sight Yondu could feel his blood boil. What kind of sick animal results to torture somebody?

He quickly went over to you, kneeling by your side and calling your name softly. At the sound of a familiar voice, you seemed to wake up a little from the haze you must've been in "Captain?"you asked shakily. "Yeah kid. Don't'cha worry, we'll get'cha outta here soon enough." Yondu said reassuringly, then lifted you slowly up to your feet. Your knees buckled, but before you could fall back down, the captain caught you. After that, Yondu thought it would be best if he threw one of your arms over his shoulder and supported you that way on the way to the M-ship. Halfway through the journey, you piped up grogilly "I feel like shit.” “You look like it, too.” Yondu chuckled and bumped their shoulder, but quickly apologized whenyou yelped in pain. After you two made it with the rest of the small crew to the M-ships and flew back to the Eclector, you were rushed to the medbay, where you stayed for almost a week.

At one point, Yondu visited you, saying he wanted to talk. He sat down next to your bed and sighed "Back then, on Contraxia...You know, if you were tryin' to make me feel guilty, you’ve succeeded.” he said and nodded his head “I wish I never acted the way I did towards you. I’m sorry.” “I know.” you said and reached for his hand. He took it gently and ran his thumb over your still bruised knuckles. "Let's start from the beginning, shall we?" you suggested. "From the beginning." he smiled.

[youandtom]

Let's Play a Game...

Frat!Dom!Tom x Reader

Summary: Who knew that the ever arrogant, cocky and competitive Tom Holland, the sports major superstar, was such a sore loser...

Themes: SMUT, college au

w/c: 5.4k

NSFW!!

Includes: dom!tom!, degrading, oral (m. receiving)/face fucking, gagging and choking, mean tom :(, hints of sexism, cum eating, tapping out, brief masturbation (m), manhandling, major competitiveness :)

☆MASTERLIST☆

Request: After reading it I was just wondering if you would ever do cocky frat Tom? I wouldn't want to hamper your storyline, because I think you could make it really interesting, but I would just want a smut scene where Tom is very dom and in control, similar to indebted, including a long blowjob/face f*cking part. Thanks so much for your works!

You suppose you could say you are a feminist. A feminist in the definition that you believe anyone is able to do something regardless of gender. It is a view that has been inherited from your mother who has, despite raising two children on her own, succeeded in nestling her way through the ranks to become chief executive of a company that develops software, using Apple technology to create products and databases for a small niche of clientele. As a woman already working in a male-dominated career and reaching positions that the glass ceiling would otherwise prevent her from achieving, it isn’t hard to say that your mom is an inspiring woman.

So when you told her that your interests lie within sports, yet another career often segregated by gender, she couldn’t have been more supportive by offering you words of encouragement. Your competitive nature and tenacity for equality drew you to apply to sport courses with a focus on Athletics where you found yourself immersed with a bunch of dudes and very few other girls in and out of class. A prime opportunity to advocate your feminism, defy expectations and break stereotypes. And it was just as you expected it to be: competitive, intense and hard-going. But you loved it.

‘Bet I can beat you in the 600m,’ boasts Adam as you walk alongside him towards the campus’ athletic track.

‘You know I’m faster. There’s no point in embarrassing yourself like that,’ you retaliate.

‘Game on.’

Everything is a competition and nine times out of ten, conversations between you and your friends start with the word ‘bet’ and end with ‘told you so'. The habit stems from the general mindset you all adopted as soon as you stepped foot on campus; someone has to be the winner, and someone has to be loser. It was innocent at first, fun, harmless. It wasn’t long until it morphed into an addition and soon you were religiously keeping records over and over again and obsessing over the euphoria that came with claiming titles. If you are to start with the obvious sports, as it stands Adam can lift the most amount of weight, Stephen can jump the highest, you can run the fastest regardless of hurdles, but Stephanie can run the furthest. Jack and Cameron can throw and jump the furthest respectively and share the title of most personal records broken. You also have the biggest list of personal achievements you want to beat and your friends say you’re deluded with confidence if you think you can come close the records they hold. In fact, it just motivates you even more.

Okay, maybe you were being a little over-ambitious but if you’re trying to excuse yourself, the difference in biological physicality between male and females is a major barrier that you have learned to accept. Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from grumbling when your male counterparts find the tendency to rub your face in it, flexing when you can’t lift the weights they can, or standing inches above you and comment on your height. Most importantly though, you know there’s no hostility behind it, they just have that boastful teasing nature that most male, college sports students have.

Once the main sports were out of the way, you went down the creative route and as a collective, you all wanted to know who would win a one-legged race blindfolded, or who would jump the highest with someone on their back, or who could shotgun a beer the quickest whilst spinning. It made for very interesting frat parties.

You are all proud of your titles and achievements, and it’s nice because you all have your own individuals specialities. But only when Tom isn’t included. Tom Holland is the jack of all trades; he is exceptional at everything and it infuriates you and your friends how he has a natural talent for sport. He’s the only person to beat your quickest track time, and the only person to lift a kilo more than Adam, and holds the record title for discus, shot-put and long jump to Jack and Cameron’s dismay. Tom glorifies himself in being the best athletic student at the university and his arrogance is staggering. He is void of all humbleness and modesty, spitting in the face of American patriotism being nicknamed the ‘English Rose’. The smug bastard knows how much you all hated being inferior to him and exercises that knowledge regularly.

But you’re working to be better.

What makes his smug personality even worse is that he’s such a likeable guy; funny, witty, attractive, outgoing and adventurous. Your typical jock. All the boys chase after him to be like him and all the girls chase after him to be with him - but not you, oh no, you’re too stubborn for that.

It’s possible that you hold a personal vendetta against the boy since the moment he sent you that cocky, sly smirk from across the track just seconds after beating the personal record you worked so hard to get, worsened by the sexist remark he made about girls maxing out at the boys minimum levels of stamina, which is absolutely ludicrous. He reads you so easily that he knows what buttons to push and when to push them, saying all the wrong things just to get a rise out of you that you swear he does it for his own pleasure. For example, take last week’s 800m trials for the state’s outdoor track and field championship…

You finished your race with a sufficient enough time and the praise from your friends commends you for it, saying all the things they know you love to hear. Feeling elated, you left the track only for a certain Tom Holland to share his input, no doubt in his own favour and with intent to deflate your high.

“Jeez calm down y/n, it’s only a 2 minute race don’t cough up a lung on me.” Of course, his sly remarks don’t go without a patronising smirk or laugh, as you stand panting like a dog after a race you put all your efforts into. You roll your eyes and ignore him, heading towards the bleachers. Tom decides that he isn’t done talking and you haven’t finished listening because he has one more sucker punch up those dense sleeves of his.

“Well of course, a 2 minute race is all you’re capable of doing, isn’t it? I mean it’s fairly standard for me to finish 800m in under 2 minutes but for you? Would be a pretty surprising-”

“Fuck off Tom, I was 2 minutes and 4 seconds. I can be under 2 minutes in no time.”

He folds his arms and clicks his tongue, all the while taking a step closer and whispering “I’d love to see you try, darling.”

You didn’t realise it at first, but in taking a stance in front of you, he’s just pressed start to a very serious game. It’s a game you’ve played before, but from a distance. It’s one you like to call ‘I Won’t Be Intimidated By You’ and the rules are simple; whoever looks away first is the loser. He sways himself closer to you, noses almost skimming as you perch yourself on the higher bench staring very intently into his eyes, sharing nothing but the will to crush him. Under different conditions, you realise it’s the first time you’ve been this close to him, seeing that there isn’t a bead of sweat in sight and his curls sit proudly in shape, motionless under the control of his calm breathing. He smells of cedar and it’s deliciously masculine, so warm and edible that he almost catches you relishing it. But it doesn’t distract you from your game and you remain level-headed. He reciprocates your competitiveness and refuses to back down, quirking an eyebrow when you release a quick exhale in an attempt to contain your erratic heartbeat.

“Still out of breath?”

“No.” Yes.

“So what’s got your little heart pounding then, huh?” He smirks, still maintaining eye contact. “Is it me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself-” No, really. Don’t.

“-Are you nervous?”

“Pfft, c-course not-” You are.

“You little liar.” Fuck. His lips curl and he hums. “Look at that. Girl on fire. Nervous for me.” You’ve never heard words sound so salacious and suggestive that unbeknownst to Tom, it actually does make your heart skip a beat.

“I…” You attempt to speak but a scream from someone far off into the distance disrupts your words and grabs your attention but Tom remains absolute. Your eyes cut to over Tom’s shoulder to see your friends playfully tackling each other to the ground, lips sealing shut and eyebrows sinking to a scowl when you realise you’ve just lost a game of ‘I Won’t Be Intimidated By You' because your friends were being idiots.

“Shut up,” you spit.

“Never said a word.”

“I know you are thinking it. Don’t say it.”

“I win.”

The potential to beat Tom at something arises during tonight’s end-of-month frat party. It’s a perfect time to collect wages, submit assignments and flip over the calendar for a fresh month, ready to send off another month with the Olympics of drinking games and shenanigans. Having being organised by the very frat that Tom is president of, the parties are always to your taste; fun, lively, and reckless. It’s a party you rarely miss.

The lights are flashing, colourful and blinding. The music is pounding and you can feel it pulse through your chest as you half-heartedly shimmy with Stephanie, a drink in hand and singing to your hearts content. Most of your friends are here mingling with a few mutuals you’ve seen once or twice before, spaced out across the open plan living room split with the kitchen and the opening hallway. In the hour and a half you’ve been here you’ve somehow conjured up another game with Tom that you’ve decided to call ‘Made You Look’. As ever the rules are simple: if you are able to get the other person’s attention without calling their name, you win. So far you are leading 2-1; your two points gained from firstly flipping your hair to expose your bare shoulder which Tom’s eyes immediately latched onto and your second, well, it was a little cheekier. Dancing with Stephanie, you rolled your body seductively, fitting the vibes of the music where your naturally plump booty popped to the beat. Admittedly a filthy strategy but it ultimately lured Tom and gave you the lead. Tom responded with an equally cheap move and you grinded your teeth when your eyes subconsciously fell to the line of abs peeking out from underneath his t-shirt as he stretched his arms. You thought you got away with it as well, but the twinkle in his eyes and the complacent smile on his lips says he caught you. He made you look.

You still got the lead.

Later on in the night, a large crowd gathers around the ping pong table adorning 12 red solo cups, 6 at either side and shaped into a triangle; the all-too-recognisable game of beer pong is underway between two teams of boys. Normally, beer pong would just be for fun in any other frat house, but when the majority of students here are sport majors, it becomes borderline dangerous. The toxicity of competitiveness and the fragile egos of men are to risk if this game is set up to play. For that reason, you don’t always play yourself and instead you prefer to spectate but there’s something about tonight’s game that motivates you to compete and want to win.

Tom’s playing.

Beer pong is Tom’s game. Everyone knows that. Choosing to go against Tom at beer pong is social suicide, the consequence is humiliation and extreme disappointment. Sure, people have came close but without a doubt Tom has always managed to pull through and claim victory in the final call.

After last week’s humiliation, you’re ready to make your rebound and take back your dignity and you figured that beating him at something he’s renowned for, it would shake the Earth and he would never hear the end of it. Besides, it’s exactly the kind of reminder Tom deserves to throw him off his high horse and humble him with the taste of losing. That’s why you are going to be the first person, the first girl to steal his crown.

Switching it up, it’s decided that winner stays on so naturally, Tom is standing proud as punch at one end, surrounded and backed by his mates, cheering on every successful toss whilst a queue of cocky boys wait at the other, ready to face Tom as their opponent. Quietly, you join the queue, watching as man after man faces defeat against Tom and his 6 untouched cups.

It’s a defining moment when you take your stance at the other end of the table, meeting eyes with a very surprised, but amused, Tom opposite you. A chorus of baritone voices murmur in the air when they see you standing, plastic balls clutched in the fist of your hand and determination painting your face with confidence. Are you confident? Not in the slightest. Is it risky? Definitely. But you pride yourself in feigning confidence; of course you’ve heard the term ‘fake it until you make it’, and it’s a convenient tactic to throw the other player off.

After a quick game of ‘I Won’t be Intimidated By You’, which you win, Tom accepts his competition and proceeds with cocky grin on his face.

“Ladies first,” he offers.

“Well take your first shot then,” you throw back. A few hushed chuckles echo around you.

“I insist,” his tone sharpens.

“As if you’ve ever acted gentleman before. Stop kidding yourself Holland and take the shot.”

“Fine.”

He throws his first and it lands square into the cup in front of you. It’s to be expected, Tom has impeccable aim. Without hesitation, you take the cup and down the drink, unfazed and unblinking. Many watch as you prepare yourself for your first shot. Your muscles quiver in your arm but you don’t let that mess with your head. Deciding not to dwell on it any further, you take your shot and just as Tom’s did, your ball plops itself straight into he cup closest to you. A murmuration of ‘ooh’s reverberate around the room, evident that some people’s lack of confidence in you has been challenged.

Tom’s face is an absolute picture. You would honestly whip out your phone to capture his dumbstruck face but your head’s in the game, so you resist. Besides, you might get an even better picture if you score your winning point. When you score your winning point.

The game continues until you and Tom have all but one cup remaining on each side. It’s any man or woman for themselves as the ultimate showdown of the night manages to grab an audience, dull the music and become the event that is bound to be talked about for weeks to come. In all honesty, your confidence has slipped and the mask on your face has dissipated, but you’re willing to admit it openly because so has Tom’s. He knows his reputation is on the line and has heeded the threat that his ego faces, but above all, he’s absolutely furious that he’s even let you, never mind anyone else, come this close to beating him. The cocky, arrogant boy he was is no more, and his more serious and competitiveness persona has taken lead.

Tom begins what could be his final attempt, aiming very carefully and stuck under the trance of concentration, but while he’s focused on the game at hand, you begin to play another. You press resume to your game of ‘Made You Look’, so innocently crossing your arms over your chest just that little bit tighter and just as you had anticipated, your top lowers and offers just the slightest bit of insight to the depths of your cleavage.

Hook, line and sinker.

Tom’s eyes twitch; a telltale sign that he loses his composure to catch sight of your cleavage before missing that all important shot. The crowd loses it and shock emanates from their voices. Indeed, it is a shocking turn of events as Tom missing is a very rare sight to see, so of course, your audience are suddenly underdoggers, now craving your victory just to see the champion lose his crown. Thanks to your little devious plan, you remain in the game for at least one more round.

Simply put, Tom is incandescent with rage. The expression on his face is nothing like you’ve ever seen before; eyebrows knitted together, lips pursed in tension, arms and fists hanging flexed and strained at his sides and his eyes dark with hostility. He doesn’t say a word as he tilts his head to crack his neck (a sign of frustration, you think) but you can tell that behind those eyes are threats and every calibre of curse he can think of directed towards you. You could very well be Tom’s ruination with this shot and the anticipation is killing him. For all the titles and records he’s achieved throughout his sports career, he would be willing to see them go, but this…this is Tom’s game. No one else’s. He will not let someone take this away from him.

Everything you do from this moment on decides the fate of the game and everyone is hooked, realising the same thought while they swarm around the table to watch with intent. The music has been completely killed and the mood is tense as eager spectators wait to see the conclusion to this epic battle.

The ball begins to lose its grip between the sweaty palm of your hand. Before you even take your shot, you regain your composure by taking a deep breath and placing all of your focus on that one little, lonely cup over at Tom’s side. Nerves are swimming through your veins as you raise your arm, eyes drawn to the cup. Every couple of seconds someone whispers words of encouragement to fill the choking silence. Determined, you draw back your arm and throw.

That pink plastic ball flies through the air and lands right into Tom’s last cup with a plop.

Holy shit, you did it. You actually fucking did it. You finally beat Tom.

From stone cold silence to a deafening roar of cheers. The room spins around as you are hoisted up into the air by a pair of arms and perched onto someone’s shoulders, jumping as celebration fills the house. Beer is thrown, objects get knocked over and the beat of the music resumes. Your triumph is shared with the many people in the room as one by one do they congratulate you, patting you on the back or dedicating a drink to you as a salute for making what was the impossible, possible. You’re certain that you’ve never smiled more for such a victory. The thrill of winning races, or being awarded medals, or claiming titles cannot be compared to the pride and joy you feel beating Tom because the look of Tom’s seething face is so fucking worth it. He stands out like a sore thumb unmoving while the whole room jumps, clearly not taking his loss well as he clenches his fists and chewing through his outburst. You find it laughable that his friends try to console him by offering a pat on the back, but by way he shrugs them off, the gesture is meaningless to him.

You feel the heat of his glare when he finally finds your eyes and upon seeing such a distraught look of defeat on his face, you can’t help but revel in your victory which urges you to take a page from Tom’s book of arrogance, shamelessly mouthing…

‘I win. You lose.’

~~~~

It’s been hours since the game of the year and since then the mood for the rest of the party is nothing but memorable. In high spirits with your dignity intact, you dance the night away well and truly satisfied. Tom is seldom seen after reportedly storming away after the game but you aren’t too concerned. He’s just a sore loser and you don’t even feel guilty about it. In fact, you find it amusing imagining him stomping around in his bedroom, throwing tantrums and refusing to accept that he is in fact, a loser. And it’s a fact that he will have to get used to; someone beat Tom at beer pong? Headline news. Front page article. Trending on social media. He will never hear the end of it and there’s nothing more fulfilling than that.

Minutes into a conversation with Adam, you are suddenly yanked back by the recognisable brute force of a sore loser. Unsurprisingly, your eyes whip round to find Tom marching ahead of you with his hand tightly coiled around your wrist. You don’t know where he’s leading you, but whatever it is he wants from you is to be out of sight from others as he drags you up the stairs where it’s quiet and secluded.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You and I need to have a little chat.”

“What, so we can have a rematch? No chance, Tom. You lost. Accept it.”

“You wish it was rematch,” he threatens.

He pulls, pushes and man-handles you until you are both locked within the walls of his bedroom. With your feminism assaulted, you complain and tug yourself away from his angry grip. Christ, it’s been hours and he’s still acting like a fucking child. He’s clearly never been taught how to be a gracious loser…but then again knowing his arrogance, he’s probably thought it’s something he’s never needed to learn.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You yell, but he ignores you and advances again. With all your strength you push away, ready to out-manoeuvre him and make a break for it. But he catches you, arms sturdy and firm as he wraps them around your entire body. Stuck with your back against his chest, wriggling, writhing, struggling, he digs is chin into the crook of your neck pressing weight onto your pressure point, pain ultimately freezing you. A pain that flourishes into pleasure when he presses his lips against your ear.

“You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you?” He growls, his temperament vicious.

“Let go-”

“Was it worth it? Flashing your tits like the slut you are just to win a game. Was it worth being the attention whore in front of all those guys?” You ignore the derogatory names as much as they irk you because you know it’s his strategy to get a rise out of you, so with all the certainty your voice can muster, you give your answer.

“So fucking worth it. Anything to see you lose.” He squeezes tighter, his hand snaking up to encircle your throat. You anticipated his rage, but what you don’t anticipate is the fluttering in the depths of your stomach, easing closer to your cunt.

“You and your little fucking games. Well here’s a game for you, it’s called ‘Beg Me’. I think you’ll like this one. It’s where I put my dick in your cheating mouth and fuck it until you’re begging. One rule: you beg, you lose.”

“What makes you think I’ll play?”

“Because you’ve been asking for it all night, and I know you can’t resist a game. Now, shut up and get on your fucking knees.”

Powered by an uncontrollable wrath, Tom twists you around to face him before pushing you to your knees and watches whilst you lose your balance, grappling onto his thighs for support. Compromised, you stare up to him, eyes meeting in a quick game of ‘I Won’t Be Intimidated By You’ because you refuse to be, even if you���re weakened by the sight of him glowering through half-hooded lids as he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, or by the prominence of the veins protruding from the muscles on his arms. Even from here, you can smell his warm, cedar scent drafting in the air like a poison and it’s intoxicating.

The game continues as your fingers grip the material of his university branded, light grey joggers dragging them down his legs and instantly coming face to face with the outline of his cock through his boxers. That’s the thing about sports majors; they’re never dressed in anything else but their sports kit.

You suck in a breath and hold it in your lungs for just a couple of seconds, wobbling on the losing side of the current game. Tom sees the opportunity and in a bid to make sure you lose, he plays his most powerful move involving his hands to slowly slide along the line of your jaw until his fingers comb through the hair just on the other side your ear, resting to cup your face. You admit the small defeat, eyes fluttering to a close being cocooned in the warmth of his expert hands.

With his cock free and fully erect, he guides your mouth closer to him, his lack of patience evident in the way his eyes remain latched onto your lips parting, inches from his cock. Trembling because of the sheer size of him, your hesitance stalls your attempt when you bite your lip.

“What’s wrong, darling? Scared you’ll lose?” Stubbornly, you shake your head even if you know that the outcome of all of this is your defeat. There’s no way that with his size and girth that you’ll be able to take him for as long and as rough as he’s entailed this game to be.

“Then. Open. Your. Mouth.” He spits through gritted teeth. Shameful of your obedience to him, you part your lips and let your tongue slip out to run over his tip, already leaking with arousal and twitching to be engulfed by you. Above you, you hear his groans, droning as his hips thrust into your mouth. His cock easily slips towards the back of your throat and the panic rises when you realise that he could push even further if he wanted, that he could completely fuck your throat raw if the compulsion overwhelms him. Realistically, it probably will.

Your tongue runs along his shaft, tasting a mix of spit and his arousal, unable to stop the concoction from running down your chin as he maintains all control. A gag tickles your throat but it is muffled by his cock, his thrusts becoming increasingly harder and faster convincing you that you’re not going to last much longer.

“Fuck, that mouth. Taking me so well. Bet this is the best cock you’ve ever had.”

Tom finally gives you a brief moment’s respite to breathe and cough your way through the gagging, your hand replacing where your mouth once was. Tom’s thumbs are quick to catch the tears spilling from your eyes, but he’s also just as quick to thrust into your mouth again. Your eyes squeeze shut and you pinch your thumb in the palm of your hand; a trick you once heard from Stephanie to stop your gag reflex. But as Tom pulls your mouth closer to him still, where your nose brushes against his skin, you realise you’re not gagging…you’re choking.

“Yes, just like that, just like the fucking cock slut you are. So fucking good.” Tom seems to alternate between jutting his hips relentlessly into your mouth, and holding you captive, your mouth full of him and unable to breathe. The voice of a frustrated and lust-driven man rumbles into your ears as the sounds of desperate whimpers rings in his.

“You think you can get away with embarrassing me like that? In front of the entire frat?” He asks, his fingers tightening around your face. “I asked you a question.” You shake your head with a muffled whimper. “Little brat. Shit. ‘M gonna fuck that smug little grin off your face. You ready to beg yet?” Sadly, you are…

But you’re too stubborn and Tom knows this, chuckling when you refuse to concede. He was depending in it.

“You can’t get enough of me, can you? God. Fuck. I’m gonna cum all over that cheating mouth of yours.” The gagging becomes persistent and you’re finding little time to breathe between taking him in your mouth and being choked by him. He’s made an absolute mess of your mouth, lips coated with spit and his arousal as he continues to bounce your head repeatedly up and down the length of his cock. Your body is struggling to differentiate between lust and danger, either way it’s persuading you that if you don’t concede soon, you’ll pass out from exhaustion. Tom’s patience is growing thin but he isn’t the only one; your cunt is throbbing beneath you, willing to bet that Tom can put his animalistic desire towards something else. Because that’s all this is. It’s not about winning or losing…okay, yeah, maybe a little bit, but it’s about finally relieving a years’ worth of tension grown from competition and rivalry, the hatred you shared for each other finally being released in an angry display of physical dominance.

You hollow out your cheeks as best you can when he pushes you to the hilt, your throat bruising with the angry twitching from his tip, but for Tom, it’s a mind-boggling pleasure he’s never felt before and he isn’t willing to let up until you’ve lost the game. In true sportsmanship fashion, you give a quick double tap to his thigh and he immediately releases you, allowing you the time to compose yourself because he wants your full attention when he boasts his victory.

“Got something to say?”

“Please, Tom, I’m done. I’m done. You win.” He cups your face drawing you closer to him as he crouches down to your level, that very detestable smirk finding his lips.

“Say it again,” he whispers darkly. You huff, but you obey.

“You win.” The words spur him on, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he growls. It takes just a second to realise that he’s pleasuring himself in admittance of your defeat. Hearing you say those words, giving him the clout he craves is another twitch to his cock and fuck, is it a sight to see. Tom pounces forward and melts his lips onto yours, muttering through hushed tones ‘Made You Look’. Arsehole. It isn’t long before he draws back, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and whispering…

“One more time.”

“You…win.” Your voice doesn’t come out as resentful as last time, but rather more impelling, inducing his lust because you saw how crazy it made him.

“Fuck-” his breath hitches. “You’re going to make me cum. Finish me off, darling, please.”

“Are you begging?”

“Don’t get cheeky,” he warns. He stands up once again and you resume your position, hand placed where your mouth can’t reach and edging him closer to his orgasm. “Shit. Keep going, keep going. Just like that. Oh, Christ.”

Your mouth fills with his cum and you’re quick to swallow it, continuing to milk him through his high even when he doubles over in pleasure. His hand clamps the back of your head, gripping locks of your hair between his fingers and easing you away from him, breathless and spasming. Drunk with the pleasure you give him, he locks lips with you once more where his tongue begins to explore. As you passionately kiss him, Tom’s hands finds your waist to lift you up to your feet but only for barely a second. Your lips separate the moment he throws you onto his bed eliciting a sharp yelp from your throat.

You quirk a brow when Tom crawls upon the bed above you, caging you in before taking the skin of your neck between his lips, sinking lower and lower down the length of your body. Not that you had ever thought about it before, but you had always figured Tom to be one of those guys who would only seek out sex for their own benefit, selfishness completely abandoning the pleasure of other party. His arrogance fits the stereotype, so it’s a wonder why Tom hasn’t thrown you out his room after getting what he wanted. As always, Tom reads your mind.

“Did you think there was only going to be one round of ‘Beg Me’?” He bunches your skirt to your hips and strips you of your underwear, sharing a kiss to your inner thigh. “You want to cum? You beg. You beg, you lose.”

“That’s hardly fair, Tom.” He chuckles, voice deep and sinful as he shares another kiss your thigh.

“That’s the whole point, darling.” Just like that, round 2 begins and ends with a gasp and a desperate, wanton moan, your dignity slipping with each sound you make. What you didn’t realise was that Beg Me was a game made to last the whole night with its entirety of 6 whole rounds.

Tom was going to make sure he was going to win every single one of them.

A/n: its 3 in the morning this may be shite but I hope you enjoy? Feedback's always appreciated :))))

[homoose]

Love Has a Learning Curve: Part VII (x reader)

Summary: Reader tries to make things right, with a little push from her mama.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: none

a/n: I know, I know— please just let our babies be happy ♥️ and so it was. Also, big ups to my tumblr gf @idmakeitbehave​ for being my beta the past two chapters.

Series Masterlist

———

One week.

That’s how long it had been since their argument. Spencer had driven back to his apartment in silence, absolutely stunned by the way things had blown up.

They’d gotten back from the case in Utah on the fifth of January, and he’d driven straight to Y/N’s, ready to give her a belated New Year’s kiss. Immediately upon entering her apartment, he knew something was wrong. Her hug was stiff, her kiss brief, her eye contact minimal. He’d spent the night, but they barely touched, and she left early for work without waking him. He’d let himself out and texted her later in the day to invite her over for dinner.

Dinner hadn’t been any less awkward, and when he felt awkward, he knew it was bad. He finally couldn’t ignore it any longer, and he’d called it out. He had expected some resistance, but he hadn’t expected that. Y/N never spoke to him with any malice at all, even when he was actually doing something that irritated her. She was the queen of healthy communication. So for her to speak to him like that meant that the underlying issue was much, much worse than he’d originally thought.

He’d gone over their conversations a thousand times, looking desperately for the moment that it went wrong. After some deep consideration, he was certain that something had happened on New Year’s Eve. He just wasn’t sure what. Y/N was insistent that she wasn’t bothered by the declined call, but he still wished he could go back in time and answer it. He was pretty sure the seeds of their argument had sprouted in that moment, regardless of what she said.

Spencer knew she was a creature of habit, and that sometimes she needed space to process and experience her emotions. And if he was being honest, he needed some space after the argument, too. But usually she would have at least texted him by now.

He sighed and set down his newspaper, realizing he’d read the same page four times and hadn’t retained any of it. It was Friday, and he knew she was working. But still his fingers itched to dial her number. He picked up the phone, pressing a key to light up the screen yet again.

No new messages.

He dropped the phone back to the table with a little more force than was necessary. He decided he’d give her the rest of the weekend. If he didn’t hear from her by Sunday, he’d have to do something.

…

Y/N dropped her bag on the floor inside the door and turned to lock the deadbolt. She had managed to sneak out of the building without being stopped by Anita, and she thanked the universe for small miracles.

She didn’t want to have to explain herself. She didn’t want anyone to know what an absolute troll she’d been. Considering that Sam and Spencer had practically become attached at the hip since they’d started hanging out more, Anita was bound to ask about him.

She showered and ordered Thai food, snuggling down on the couch to watch a movie with Roald. She settled on Dumplin’— a favorite for the body positivity, the southern drawls, and the Dolly Parton drag.

And then she came to the argument outside of Harpy’s and lost what little emotional stability she had left.

“Never took you for the type that cares much what people think.”

“I can’t, Bo. And that might make me a coward, but—”

“It does. Willowdean Dixon, I think you’re beautiful. To hell with anyone who’s ever made you feel less than that.”

She didn’t realize she was crying until Roald meowed in distress. She choked out a sob and stroked over his ears, closing her eyes in defeat. “I really fucked this up, huh?”

It had only been one week, but it felt like years since Spencer walked out of her apartment. She’d stayed in bed for the entire weekend, crying on and off. She knew she had no one to blame but herself. Owen had knocked over the first domino, but she’d done nothing to stop the rest from falling.

Spencer had done everything right. He’d done everything she asked, and she’d thrown it all back in his face. He had made the comparison to Mitchell Park, and he was absolutely right. She’d done the exact same thing, only she had almost a year’s worth of ammunition, and she cut a hell of a lot deeper.

Roald nuzzled against her, but she nudged him away— she didn’t even deserve the comfort. Instead, she fumbled in the couch cushions for her phone, swiping open the screen and tapping her favorites list, thumb hovering over Spencer’s name. Then she tapped on the name right above it and blew out a breath.

The line connected and rang three times before she picked up. “Hey, sugar! Your ears must be ringin’, ‘cause I was just thinkin’ about callin’ you.”

“Hey, mama,” Y/N breathed.

Her mother’s tone changed from chipper to concerned in an instant. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She leaned forward to the coffee table to grab Spencer’s scarf— somehow left behind in her apartment— rubbing it between her fingers. “I— I really messed up.”

“Oh, Lord. You need bail money?”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed wetly. “Oh my god , mama. No, I don’t need bail money.”

“Well, if you made bail it can’t be that bad,” Rose insisted.

“I didn’t— I’m not in jail, for Christ’s sake.” Y/N ran a hand over her face. “I messed things up with Spencer.”

“Well, we can fix that,” Rose responded matter of factly. “What happened?”

“We were fighting, and I said some really, really awful things,” Y/N admitted, tears spilling over her lash line.

Rose scoffed. “Honey, I say awful things to your father all the time, and we’ve been married almost 40 years.”

Y/N heaved a long sigh. “Not like this, mama.”

Her mother hummed in consideration. “Well, what were y’all fightin’ about?”

“It’s complicated,” Y/N hedged, toying with the fringe of the scarf.

Rose clicked her tongue. “Do ya want my help or not?”

Y/N dropped her head back against the couch. “I ran into Owen on New Year’s Eve—”

“Well, I hope you told him to stick it where the sun don’t shine,” Rose practically growled.

Y/N closed her eyes as the tears tracked hot down her cheeks. “I didn’t. I— I let him get under my skin, and then I didn’t want to tell Spencer about it because it’s embarrassing, but he knew something was wrong, and he wouldn’t stop asking about it.” She had to pause and suck in a hiccuping breath, releasing it on a sob. “So I yelled at him and said all kinds of terrible things, and then he left, and now I think maybe we broke up, and I’ve literally never been so sad in my whole life.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, and then she heard Rose sniffling. “Really shoulda had your brothers knock the mess out of that son of bitch when we had the chance. He's been gone five years, and he’s still hurtin’ you every chance he gets.”

Y/N swiped uselessly at the tear tracks on her cheeks, sniffling pathetically. “And now I hurt the person who’s spent the last year singlehandedly undoing all of his awful handiwork.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Rose cooed. Y/N could hear the creak of the floorboards as her mother walked through her childhood home. “You said he knew somethin’ was wrong, right? I can almost guarantee that he’s still just wonderin’ what’s goin’ on. I know he’s supposed to be a genius, but he’s still a man. And men are dumb, sugar. You gotta spell it out for ‘em. Have you talked to him since?”

“No.” Fresh tears spilled over Y/N’s lashes as the thoughts that had kept her from calling him spilled out of her mouth. “What if it was too far? What if I ruined everything? What if he never wants to speak to me again?”

Ross heaved out a long breath. “That’s a lot of what ifs, Y/N.”

“What if I’m right?” she whispered.

“And what if you’re not?” Rose countered. “That boy loves you. Anyone could see that, clear as day. He’d do just about anything for you.” Rose paused, and Y/N heard the springs of the bed squeak as she sat. “But you gotta let him, sweetheart. Right now you’re takin’ away his chance to do that. You’re makin’ the decision for him.”

Y/N listened as her mother’s advice crackled over the line, and for the first time in a week, she felt a tiny sliver of hope.

“If he doesn’t want to be with you anymore, you need to let him tell you that. Don’t settle for a what if. Find out for sure, or you're gonna spend the rest of your life worryin’ and wonderin’, sugar.”

…

That evening found Spencer in his usual spot on the couch, reclined against the arm with a book in hand. He’d promised himself he’d give Y/N the weekend to herself— that he’d let her come to him. That didn’t stop him from checking his phone obsessively; it never buzzed with any new calls or messages, but he still looked every seven minutes.

The sound of the buzzer jolted his body to attention. He checked his watch and drew his brows together before closing his book and scrambling to cross to the intercom, a tiny seed of hope beginning to germinate. He pressed the button to talk, calling, “Yes?” into the speaker box and then listening for the response.

“Hi.”

Her voice was so quiet that he could barely hear it over the crackle of the speaker. He buzzed her in without hesitation, crossing to the door and opening it immediately. She made her way slowly up the stairs, turning at the top of the landing and pausing.

His heart broke at the sight of her. She looked utterly exhausted, dressed in black sweatpants and a soft purple sweater, a black puffer jacket over top. She was holding his scarf, wringing it in between her hands. Her eyes were ringed red, and the bags under them were worse than his.

He watched as she crossed the landing, coming to stand quietly in front of him. He’d known something was wrong, but the way she looked now made him wonder just how long she’d been battling whatever private demons she wouldn’t let him in on.

“I, um.” She cleared her throat, and it was clear she’d been crying from the thickness of her voice. “I have a lot to say— again. But since I was such an asshole, I wanted to give you the opportunity to say anything you need to say first.”

He’d imagined this conversation countless times over the last week, and never once had he thought it would start like this. “Um. Well. You— you really hurt me.”

She could barely look at him. “I know.”

He swallowed. “Please don’t do that again.”

She shook her head, finally meeting his eyes. “I won’t. I won’t ever again.”

Spencer tucked his hands into the pockets of his lounge pants. “I know I may not be the best at social cues, but I’m a pretty good profiler. And I can tell when something’s wrong.” He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I’m just asking you to tell me when I do something that makes you upset.”

“You— you didn’t do anything wrong. I—” He watched her squeeze her eyes shut. “God, I’m so sorry, Spencer. I’m just— I’m sorry for so many things. For lying about being fine, for being up on my high horse about communicating and then not actually doing it, for being an absolute bitch.”

He wanted to argue— she wasn’t a bitch— but he could tell she was far from done.

“I— I thought therapy was supposed to teach me how to talk about things, but this still feels… impossible to say out loud,” she admitted, fingers fumbling with the fabric of the scarf. “It’s embarrassing and ridiculous. But I— I have deep-seated insecurities. That I’m not really that smart or interesting or particularly special.”

He thought back to that night in Mitchell Park and felt the guilt all over again. He’d practically said those exact words to her— it was no wonder she was feeling this way.

“And every person that I’ve ever been with has— really reinforced those ideas, so for a long time they were just… a set part of my self-image,” she explained, dragging a hand over her messy hair. “I thought— I thought that I was over it, but I— I don’t know. Maybe you never really are.”

His brain sorted through every moment of their year together, pinging off the countless examples of her self-doubt and insecurity. She was easily the most wonderful person he knew, but he could clearly see the cracks in the facade if he looked close enough. How had he missed it for so long?

“And then I met you, and you…” Y/N let out a wry laugh. “You’re easily the most interesting person I’ve ever met, but you made me feel like… I don’t know, like I’m interesting, too. Like I’m worthy of being with you, like I’m— like I’m good enough.”

He felt his heart splintering into a thousand tiny shards— good enough?

“But I can’t— I still have a hard time believing it sometimes. And I— I’ve been letting myself keep you at arms length. Letting you see parts of me, but… never giving you everything,” she admitted.

He watched her struggle to get the words out, her voice thick with the act of holding back sobs. He hadn’t realized she was carrying all of this. She was so good at supporting him and loving him through all of his trauma and issues, he hadn’t stopped to consider just how much she needed him, too.

She continued, “It’s why I took so long to say I love you… why I couldn’t talk to you last week. Because I just—” She shrugged as the tears rolled down her cheeks. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize that I’m really nothing special. That you’re getting bored, or there’s someone who’s a better fit for you, or one million other things. That I’m needy, and annoying, and too much work.”

A fresh tear tracked down her cheek, and he felt his own eyes filling. She never failed to put a stop to his own insecurities— reminding him that she liked his rambling, that he wasn’t irritating, that he was just the right amount. In his eyes, she was perfect. He would have never guessed she felt this way about herself.

She continued, “That’s what happened before, and none of those guys were even half as wonderful as you are.” She swiped a hand haphazardly over her cheeks, looking at him sheepishly. “And then I was hurtful and awful, and I realized that I was just creating a self fulfilling prophecy and I don’t— I don’t want to do that.”

Her hand shook a little as she brought it back down to twist in his scarf. “Because it’s never— I’ve never felt like this. I've never been this happy with anyone else, and I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to give you up. Even if sometimes I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Her voice cracked on a stifled cry, and his chest physically ached. “And if you never want to see me again, I completely understand, and I’ll leave you alone, but I— I’m just so sorry. And I love you so much, and I’m trying so hard to be better.” She sucked in a ragged breath and let it out on an exhausted sigh. “And that’s, um— that’s it. If you want me to go, I—”

“I don’t want you to go,” he interrupted.

Her eyes went wide. “You don’t?”

“Of course not.” Spencer stepped forward and reached for her. “Of course not. C’mere.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, she was tumbling into his arms with a choked off sob. He pulled her inside and closed the door behind them, walking her to the couch and sitting them both down. She clung to him like she was afraid he’d disappear into thin air.

“Y/N, I’m right here,” he assured her. “I’m right here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But if you n-need space, I understand,” she sobbed.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t need space. I think a week was long enough, don’t you?” he asked, pressing a kiss into her hair.

She pulled back out of the hug, head down. “But I really hurt you.”

He held her hand. “Yeah. And I really hurt you, too.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not how this works. I don’t get to hurt you just because you hurt me.”

“I know that.” He almost laughed at how indignant she sounded. “I’m not saying that we should hurt each other. I’m saying that sometimes it happens. And when it does, we apologize, and we forgive, and we move forward. And it’s okay if you need space. But I don’t.”

“What if you change your mind?” she whispered.

“Then I promise I’ll tell you.” Spencer tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes. “I promise I’ll tell you what I need, as long as you tell me, too. We’ve gotta use all those communication skills we learn in therapy.”

Y/N nodded, and he pulled her into another hug. He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. “If I hadn’t heard from you by Sunday, I was planning to bother you until you talked to me.”

He could feel the beginning of a smile turning up the corner of her mouth where it was pressed to his shoulder. “You never bother me,” she mumbled. She held him for a moment longer and then released him from the hug and sat back, fidgeting with her hands and letting out a breath.

“Sometimes I need to be told that my worst fears about myself aren’t true,” she admitted. “I know that’s so annoying, but—”

“It’s not annoying,” he interrupted, putting an immediate stop to that line of thought. “Telling you how amazing you are isn’t the chore that you think it is. I’m sorry that anyone ever convinced you that it was.”

He covered her hands with his own, rubbing his thumbs softly along her skin. He couldn’t stop thinking about her dealing with all of this by herself. He hated that she’d ever felt anything less than adored. More than anything, he hated that he hadn’t been able to help her through it. And he wanted to make sure that he never made that mistake again.

“A wise man told me once... that love is helping someone navigate their storms,” he murmured, squeezing her hand. She looked at him then, and he continued, “You’ve been my lighthouse for a long time, Y/N. And I— I’m trying desperately to be yours… But you have to let me.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but she nodded. He let out a long breath and pulled her hands into his lap. “I understand that sometimes you need space, and that’s fine. I’m happy to give you whatever you need.”

He shook his head. “Just— please don’t try to weather the storm by yourself. You can’t do it all alone; no one can.” He smiled ruefully. “I can tell you from experience that’s pretty much a guaranteed way to capsize your boat.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he felt a tear slip over his lash line. “I’ll help you repair your boat, or build a new one, or you can just float on mine for a while. It’s not perfect but it’s pretty sturdy, I think.”

She brought her fingers up to brush at his damp cheeks, and he met her eyes. “What I’m not going to do is let you float out on the ocean by yourself. I love you too much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, sniffling a little and just watching him— almost like she couldn’t believe he was there. She brought her hand back to his and laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb along his skin. “I love you the most.”

“Agree to disagree.” He gave her a small smile and leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead. “Want some tea?”

She was frowning when he pulled back, her brows drawn together. “I need to tell you about Owen.”

The conversation he’d had with Anita was suddenly on replay in Spencer’s head.

… a real piece of shit… telling her lies about herself… isolating her… destroying her from the inside out...

He squeezed her hand. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready. You don’t have to tell me at all if you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “Talking about him takes away his power. I have to stop letting him have so much sway over my emotions.” She looked at him then. “I do things I regret and hurt people I love.”

He brought their joined hands up his lips. “Well, I’m here either way. And I’m still going to make you some tea.”

He stood and pulled her up with him, bringing her into the kitchen and refusing to let go of her hand. He filled the kettle and turned it on, found a bag of her favorite tea and ripped it open with his teeth. He dropped the bag into her favorite mug, and then made a mug up for himself.

“You know, it’d be a lot easier if you’d let go,” she said, the hint of a smile in her voice.

“Mhm,” he agreed, but he made no move to release her hand. In fact, once he’d fumbled a spoonful of honey into each of the cups, he dropped the spoon into her mug and turned to pull her into another hug. He hooked his chin over her shoulder and closed his eyes as she brought her arms around his waist. “I missed you,” he whispered.

She squeezed him tight. “I missed you, too. I’m so sorry.”

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt her breathe him in. He pressed a kiss into her shoulder and then settled his chin again. “Apology accepted, in case it wasn’t clear.”

They stood like that until the kettle began to whistle, and then Spencer kept her tucked underneath his arm as he turned to shut it off and pour the water into the mugs. They each grabbed a mug, making their way back to the couch and setting them on the coffee table to steep. Spencer kept their fingers intertwined and stayed quiet, letting her set the pace of the conversation.

Y/N took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. “I guess I should start at the beginning. I, um— I had my first boyfriend in high-school: Cal Cunningham. He was older and cooler, and so I felt— I don’t know… special when he picked me.” She rolled her eyes. “In reality, he was rude, and arrogant, and kind of a misogynist. We didn’t date for very long, but it kind of… set me up on this path of dating guys who weren’t very nice.”

Spencer ran his thumb soothingly along hers, waiting for her to continue. “When I started college, I dated this guy Adam for a few months. He was nice enough but really self-centered and a little immature. When we broke up I just wanted to be on my own for a while.”

“I was single for two years after that, just kind of… finding myself and whatever.” Her eyes tracked the path his thumb traced along her skin. “So when I started dating Owen at the end of junior year, it felt like my first real relationship. Like— we were both adults, and he dressed up for our dates, and he paid for things and bought me flowers and fit all the cliches.”

“And it was great at first,” she admitted. “We had a lot of the same friends, so we’d been hanging out for a while before we got together. He was a perfect gentleman— and smart, accomplished, and ambitious. I fell fast, and I fell hard, and we were sort of— it feels so stupid to say this, but it felt like we were an it couple.”

“A few of us made plans to move to DC after graduation�� my friend Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Sam and Anita,” she explained. “And Owen and I, obviously. We moved in together in an apartment downtown. And that’s when everything changed.”

She drew her brows together. “It was little things at first. Like he’d jokingly call me stupid for forgetting something, or he’d complain about one of my friends being annoying. But it snowballed pretty quickly. He’d tell me I was stupid, and he wasn’t joking. All of my friends irritated him to the point where we couldn’t hang out anymore— even our former mutual friends. He thought that teaching kindergarten was a mindless, pointless job.”

Spencer tried to keep his heart rate steady, his facial expressions neutral, but his blood pressure was on the rise. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, least of all Y/N.

She continued, “We spent the holidays at my parents’ the second year we were dating, and he spent the entire car ride home explaining, in detail, how ridiculous and low-class he thought everything was.”

She shook her head and rubbed her free hand over her face. “I know it’s insane that I stayed with him for five years, but I— he did a really good job of convincing me that I was... that I was nothing. That he was doing me a favor by loving me. That he could have anyone, but he chose me. No one else was going to, so I should be grateful.”

He balled his free hand into a fist to avoid squeezing her to death. When Anita had said Owen was a piece of shit… he hadn’t realized just how deeply she meant it.

She picked at the fabric of her sweatpants, staring intently at the tiny pills. “When someone says all of that to you on a daily basis, and you’re not hearing otherwise from anyone else— because no one knew what was going on— when someone tells you you’re nothing… you start to believe it.”

Spencer relaxed his fist to bring his fingers up to her face, gently cupping her cheek. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a long moment. He didn’t know what to say. Instead, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a voiceless assurance that she was, in fact, everything. He felt her relax under the warm pressure of his lips, and he hoped that was enough for now.

He sat back to let her continue. “We were together for five years, and we only broke up because he cheated on me. It was a long term affair; they were sleeping together for almost a year before I found out. And… a lot of people knew. Almost all of his friends knew. But I didn’t. I was still being this ridiculous, desperate little Suzy Homemaker trying to make him happy, even though he was still treating me like shit.”

She laughed, but there wasn’t an ounce of humor in it. “When I found out, I wasn’t even hurt. I was… embarrassed, I guess. But I was so relieved. I was so fucking relieved that I had a way out.”

He watched as her shoulders settled, almost like an actual weight had been lifted off of them. “I got a therapist and dropped all of the friends that were still hanging around with him. I moved to a new neighborhood, started hanging out with Anita and Sam, and just— started fresh. And I was doing really well. I’ve had my moments of insecurity here and there, but for the most part, I’ve been able to recognize the moments when I’m falling back into old thought patterns.”

She looked at him then, and her eyes were so soft and lovely that his heart ached. “You’re a big reason for that. You’re so open with how you feel about me, and… it makes things a lot easier.” She dropped her gaze with a sigh. “But I— he was at the party on New Year's. And I didn’t know he was going to be there until I was already there , and then it felt stupid to leave. I thought I could handle it—”

“And then I didn’t answer your call.”

“No, no .” She shook her head and reached her free hand out to grasp his arm. “That’s— Spencer, none of this is your fault.” She furrowed her brow, and the crease between them was practically an abyss. “He sort of— cornered me on the patio. I hadn’t seen him in like, four years? And he was complimenting me, and asking about you, and then he tried to— well, he did kiss me actually. I shoved him off, and he didn’t like that, and he did his whole Owen thing. Told me that he’d cheated because I was uninteresting and worthless. That eventually you’d get bored of me, too. Just, um— generally awful shit.”

She took a deep breath, and the rest steamrolled off her tongue and over his heart. “And then he just— left . And he’d absolutely demolished my self-image in less than ten minutes, and I was embarrassed and angry at myself, and then you didn’t answer, but I was kind of glad you didn’t because I didn’t actually want to talk about it. And I thought I could just move on, but then I was being weird, and you knew something was wrong. And I just wanted to pretend like it never happened, but then you kept pressing me on it, and I just— I didn’t want to have to explain it all to you because I was afraid that— that maybe he was right.”

Y/N dissolved back into the couch, an unwelcome indication of the emotional exhaustion that came with reliving trauma. Spencer moved closer and mirrored the position of her body against the cushions, bringing his face close enough to bump their noses together. They breathed the same air for one noiseless minute before she finally met his eyes.

“I need you to understand that not one single thing he said to you— on New Year’s or ever— was right, in either sense of the word. None of it was factual, and none of it was acceptable.”

She gave him a weary nod, and he continued, “You are the single best person that I know. You’re kind, brilliant, and driven. You’re interesting, and wonderful, and lovely. You’re my absolute favorite person on the planet, and I will never get bored of you.”

He let his eyes trace over all the angles and curves of her face, and then raised his eyebrows. “He’s lucky that I respect you enough not to go over your head, because what I’d like to do is run a full background check and find any and every possible transgression that could be legally investigated and then use that information to ruin his life.” He tilted his head in thought. “That or— get really jacked and then beat the shit out of him.”

“God, please don’t. As much as I’d love to watch that unfold,” she cupped his face in her hand, “you’re better than that. And he’s not worth either of our energies… I already wasted enough time dwelling on it and hurt you in the process.” She dropped her hand back to her lap with a sigh. “I spent so much time in that relationship that my brain didn’t know what to do with this good, healthy one.”

He took both of her hands in his, squeezing them tight and then pressing a kiss to the back of each. He wouldn’t commit assault, since she’d asked him not to. But he wasn’t going to let Owen taint any part of his life with her.

“I’m so sorry that someone you loved made you think it was hard to love you. Because loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” He pressed his lips together and mused, “But I think maybe love has a learning curve. Especially when you’re used to being hurt. You have to unlearn all the bullshit. People will have you thinking that you have to water yourself down, or change who you are, or make yourself more palatable. I thought that, too.”

He brushed her hair back away from her face and waited for her to meet his eyes. “And then I met you. And you love all of it— all of me. All the rambling, all the quirks, and— even the dark parts, too.”

She sniffled a little, but really smiled for the first time that night. “What’s not to love about you?”

He smiled back. “I’m not sure if you realize that I fully reciprocate that feeling. What’s not to love about you? I have a hard time thinking of even one thing about you that I don’t absolutely adore.”

“Even when I act like a horrid bitch?” she mumbled, only half joking.

He leaned his head against the couch cushion. “A year ago, you stood on my doorstep and gave me forgiveness— after I’d been a complete asshole to you... I told you then that I wanted to learn how to love with you. I still do. In all the wonderful, and the weird, and the terrible. Even when we get it wrong.”

He shrugged, and then ran a soft fingertip down the bridge of her nose. “There is no one else I’d rather get it wrong with. Because when we get it right… it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to magic.”

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and she brought both hands up to his face, holding him with an adoration that made his own eyes burn. “You can believe that you love me the most,” she whispered, “but just know that you’re wrong.”

He leaned forward to close the distance between them, pressing a kiss to her lips with a reverence that felt technicolor and devout and more magical than any trick he’d ever mastered.

“Agree to disagree.”

———

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[bubsdolan]

hi bubba!! i have this really unusual tattoo (at least i think so, ive never see anyone do it), basically, i have stretchmarks that stretch on my hips and love handles so tatted on some of them are little flowers and the marks are basically the stems...if you get what i mean idk if i explained it really well lol....would u mind writing a blurb ab reader w this tattoo having a beach day w gray and he’s never seen her tattoos before and is basically really impressed and fascinated w it?? none of my past bfs liked it so :(

{ok firstly let me start by staying that is the most beautiful tattoo idea i think ive ever heard of. it’s so unique & i just know you look absolutely stunning.}

“baby, you coming in the ocean?”

grayson’s mesmerising hazel eyes bore into you as he watches you get your little station of sun lotion, a book, snacks and all your other beach essentials set up for your day of relaxation ahead. you could never say no to grayson, his face was one of those you became so desperate to hold, to kiss, to touch whenever he looked at you the way he was right now- love. he was so beautiful you often wondered what he saw in you. 

you giggle as a puppy like grayson bounces on his feet before you. with ethan and kristina long gone, chasing and splashing in each in the cooling water under the 80 degree heat of la, grayson was just as eagar to follow behind, but he wouldn't go anywhere without you right by his side.

“s’give me a minute, i’ll meet you there.” you lean over to place a quick peck on his lips, feeling him smile in the kiss as he thrived in the affection you gave him and in nature. he loved being outside that was a given, in the fresh air and beautiful scenery with the woman he planned on one day marrying. you, his twin and nature was all grayson needed to survive and right now, he couldn’t be happier.

accepting your kiss, grayson soon turns contently to meet his brother and his girlfriend in the water he was so desparte to indulge himself in. however he stopped short of hitting it, when he saw you hesitantly strip your body from the cover up you insisted on wearing in the heat and leaving you in nothing but your tiny bikini that made his mouth water. he couldn't take his eyes off you. 

raking in the breathtaking site of your body, the one he worshiped every night but never fully got to idolise as you always made a conscious habit of wearing his t-shirt in the bedroom. his breathing hitches and eyes falling when he noticed the art that adorned your hips. 

there, in plain sight were tiny little flowers, all shapes and sizes, grazing your stretch marks. scars grayson could only consider as beautiful as they acted as the strems of your creation.

it suited you perfectly, it made you stand out even more in his eyes and only confirmed the fact that you were damn near perfect for him. your body a priceless canvas as he fell in love with you even more at the sight of the new found discover. he fell harder, his soul already married to you. his future standing in front of him.

a niggle of doubt crossed his mind as to why he was only just seeing your masterpiece now. did you not feel comfortable around him? were you ashamed? grayson never failed to make you feel worthy, loved and worshipped, that he hated himself for not noticing sooner. how could miss something so vibrant and alluring. 

“ready to go bear?” you place your hands on grayson’s pecks after jogging slightly to catch up with him, your fingers dancing over the skin of his heart as he didn't even realise he was lost in a trance of you, until your angelic voice brought him out of it. 

his hands automatically find their home on your hips, his fingers trancing every elegantly precise line that helped shape your body. his fingers soothing, loving and warm. his eyes watched the gentle movements as he traced and memorised each petal, each leaf and each stretch mark. he had to pinch himself that you were real. 

“s’come you never showed me this before?” 

you heart drops, completely forgetting about the art you permanently drew on your body when you were just 18, after suffering with the insecurity of your scars most of your teenage years. ever since the day you ‘friends’ ridiculed you and doubted your life choice, you vowed to keep the tattoo in your own possession. not wanting to deal with the heartbreak of more judgement, especially from the only person who mattered the most. 

you feared your stretch marks would put him off you, make you less attractive in his eyes and made you not fit in with the beauty standards that surrounded grayson daily due to his status. you feared he would find your stretch marks disgusting, off putting, not wanting to be with you any longer as you were scared. permanently damaged. you weren't like other girls grayson had been associate with in the past, and that in turn forced you to keep this secret from him for many months.

you avoided his strong gaze and instead focused on the way his hands praised your body by continuously following where the tattoo leads. there was nothing but love in his eyes, he was truly fascinated by the way you turned such an already beautiful part of you, into something more breathtaking.

you gulp, your own thoughts running away with you as you thought back to the moment your friends and family laughed at you. claiming you made a mistake and ruined your body forever.

“i- erm,- i wasn’t sure what you would think about it. didn't want you to be turned off or laugh at me, m’sorry.”

grayson whips his head up to look at you so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. he was completely taken aback by your comments, as he never once gave you the impression he wasn’t utterly obsessed with you. the odds of existed are slim, so the odds of you and grayson existing at the same time is next to impossible. but that was the beauty of your relationship and grayson vowed to never take it for granted.

bringing one hand up from your waist, he lifts your chin delicately between his fingers and forces you to look at him. his touch electrifying, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin due to the outpouring of love being shown to you.

“fuck baby, i couldn't be more in love with you if i tired. this-” he refers, point down to your tattoo that has taken his breath away, “only makes you more beautiful.” 

“plus i think it’s super badass my girl is tatted.”

you search his eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but when you are met with nothing of the sort, you break down. tears free falling as you crash into grayson’s chest and let yourself be held by him in a way that made you feel safe. all your pent up fears, doubts and insecurity’s washing away in a matter of seconds by thr kindness and love grayson showed you thoughout your entire relationship. you felt silly for ever thinking different. a tattoo doesn't change you a person, it doesn't define you and it cetinaly doesn't make you incapable of love. 

grayson listened to your soft sobs, a mix or both happy and sad tears as he wished he could capture all your sadness in the grasp of his palm, clutching it tighly and ensuring it could never find it’s way back to you. he wished to vanish all the negative opinions of people in your past who made you feel any less than perfect. any less than beautiful and any less worthy of being loved the way he loved you.

as graysn held you, shushing your whimpers and kissing your forehead repeatedly, his hand presume their precision back on your hips. unable to draw himself away from the art that in his mind has him already planning a similar tattoo. maybe he’ll even get you to design and hand draw it. a sign of his love for you that was permanently and going to stay with him till the day he parts the earth. with you by his side.

[hxlyhead-harpies]

Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You (R.L.)

Requested: Yes

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: The reader can’t stop staring at Remus and he doesn’t understand why

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of injury and bullying, cursing

Title from: Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Franki Valli

The library was full and bustling with students. You sat near the back, your assignments sprawled out in front of you. And while your quill floated above your parchment, dark ink sliding off of the tip, your eyes were trained on someone across the room, your essay forgotten.

Remus Lupin sat on the other side of the library, surrounded by books and his friends. You watched as his eyebrows drew down in concentration and how he flexed his hand as he thought. The habit was familiar to you as you watched Remus quite often. It wasn’t in a creepy way but in a sad lovesick way. You were a Slytherin and the boy who had garnered your affection was a Gryffindor so it seemed as if the only way to know him was to watch him. The old house rivalry stopped most Gryffindors and Slytherins from ever interacting, so you soaked up Remus in any way that you could. So you found yourself watching him at meals and during class. You almost felt bad for how often your eyes were on him, you were almost surprised that you hadn’t burned holes into him from your stare. But to be fair, with Remus, there was a lot to look at.

Remus was tall and lanky with surprisingly broad shoulders. He was often slouched and when he was tired he’d roll his shoulders back and stretch. His hair was a golden brown with slight curls spilling from his head. It often flopped in his face when it got long and he was constantly running his fingers through it. His fingers were long and nimble with the nails bitten down and callouses against his fingertips. You often found yourself imagining what it would feel like if he slipped his hand into yours and if they were as rough as they looked or if the skin was soft. 

At this moment, you found yourself staring at his scars. The way they zigzagged across his exposed skin; one down his neck, one down his cheek, carving out his high cheekbone, and one running through his left eyebrow. You thought his scars were beautiful, adding a hint of ruggedness that juxtaposed his soft nature. You wondered how he felt about them and you wished from deep in your soul that he didn’t hate them. 

You knew how easy it was to hate scars. You had a nasty one that ran from the back of your knee down to your ankle, gently curving around your calf. You had gotten it when an older student had pushed you down in the courtyard in your third year. You had fallen back into a bush and your skin had gotten caught on a branch. While the pain of the injury faded, the pain of the memory had not. You wished, however naively, that the memories of his scars didn’t cause him too much pain.

He looked up from his book and caught your eye. The second he noticed your staring he glowered back at you. You flushed deeply and looked away. You had been caught staring a few times now and you had a feeling that he had found out about your feelings towards him. You nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and continued with your essay. 

The next time you saw Remus was in potions class. His friends had dragged him over to the table next to yours and you could only assume it was because Lily was your partner. You heard them bickering quietly as they came over.

“Do we really have to sit by them?” Remus hissed under his breath. James huffed.

“Yes, we do, Lily is over there. Now’s my chance,” he muttered back. Remus made eye contact with you and you pretended not to notice when he rolled his eyes despite the pang in your chest. James gave Lily an exaggerated wave and she just scoffed before turning back to you. 

You had met Lily through Severus since he was in your house. He wasn’t your favorite person, you found him a bit creepy and his crush on Lily seemed to be a tad obsessive, but you were grateful that he had introduced you to the redhead. The two of you became fast friends, you loving her sharp wit and her loving your ambition and drive. 

Lily started talking to you about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip when James called out her name.

“Oi, Lily,” he said with a smirk, “are you really consorting with the enemy?” he asked, gesturing towards you. You felt your cheeks burn and you ducked your head. 

“Oh sod of James,” she replied, “Why must you always be so immature?” You smiled slightly at her words. You turned to look back up at the boys. James’s face was flushed with embarrassment at Lily’s words and Peter and Sirius were laughing at him. You stole a glance at Remus to see him glaring at you. You frowned and looked away. 

You sat in the Gryffindor common room with Lily while you worked on your potions project. It was getting late but the two of you wanted to finish the project early. Lily had offered that you spend the night in her room and you had agreed. You weren’t a fan of your dormmates anyway and would jump at any chance to spend a night away from them. They were loud and brash and had no issue with loudly proclaiming their thoughts on blood supremacy. It made your skin crawl.

“Ugh I have to go to the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” Lily said, setting aside her book. You sent her a quick smile as she got up. When she was gone you continued working on your assignment. The portrait hole swung open and Remus walked in, seemingly coming back from his rounds. His eyes narrowed at the sight of you. 

“How did you get in here?” he asked harshly. You shrunk under his gaze. 

“Lily invited me. We’re doing school work,” you explained, gesturing down at your work. He crossed his arms.

“Where is she then?” he questioned. You shrugged.

“She’s in the bathroom,” you replied. 

“I think you should leave,” he responded. Your eyes widened.

“What?” you exclaimed.

“You should leave. You shouldn’t even be in here in the first place,” he pushed. 

“Now just wait a minute, Lily and I-”

“I really don’t care. Just get out of the common room and go back to the dungeons,” he said, practically sneering. Your mouth hung open in shock.

You had liked Remus because of how soft and kind he appeared to be. Everyone loved him and it was because he always wore a compassionate smile and had understanding eyes. But it appeared that you clearly would never be on the receiving end of his kindness.

“What is your problem?” you asked, feeling anger building in your chest. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re breaking the rules, you need to leave,” he retorted. 

“I’m not talking about just this, what is your problem with me? You always treat me so poorly and I can’t seem to figure out why,” you answered. Remus scoffed. 

“I don’t have a problem with you,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. 

“So you just have a problem with Slytherin’s then?” you spat, venom filling your voice. Remus’s jaw clenched. 

“I don’t particularly like blood supremacists and Voldemort sympathizers so I guess I do have a problem with Slytherins,” he said. You laughed. 

“You can’t honestly think that we’re all-”

“Do you know how many dark wizards have come out of Slytherin?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you. “Because it’s quite a large number. And the way you seem to always be snooping around and staring makes me think you might be one yourself.” You gaped at him.

“You can’t actually be serious?” you sputtered. Remus shook his head.

“Just leave before I deduct any points,” he said quietly before turning towards the stairs. You stood up from your seat on the couch.

“Now wait just a minute, Lupin,” you practically yelled. He turned around with a clenched jaw. 

“What?” he spit out.

“There is nothing about Slytherin that is inherently evil! There is nothing evil about ambition or determination. Just because you have some twisted idea of what my house represents doesn’t mean that you’re right. I reckon that every house has the same chance of fostering evil. Blind bravery can be evil can’t it? And loyalty to the wrong person? And intelligence can be incredibly dangerous,” you shouted at him. Remus stared at his shoes. “And let’s not forget all the good wizards that have come from Slytherin! Professor Slughorn may be a bit odd but you can’t tell me that he’s not a good man. And for Godric’s sake! Merlin was a fucking Slytherin,” you yelled. Remus looked up at you.

“What about you then?” he asked with his arms crossed, “Where do you fall?” You swept a hand through your hair exasperatedly. 

“I’m not a dark wizard you dimwit! I don’t stare at you because I’m a spy or whatever dumb idea you came up with! I stare at you because I think that you’re bloody handsome,” you yelled. Remus’s eyes widened. 

“You- you what?” he sputtered. You groaned and began to gather your stuff. 

“Nothing, never mind,” you answered, shoving your parchment into your bag. Remus came up beside you and grabbed your arm.

“Wait,” he said, trying to get you to stop. You pulled your arm away. You turned to storm out of the portrait hole when Lily’s voice rang out into the room.

“Where are you going?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. You turned to Remus angrily. 

“Ask him,” you responded before storming off towards the dungeons. 

A few days later you were sitting by the black lake with a book in your hands when you felt a presence beside you. You looked up to see Remus with his hands in his pockets. You rolled your eyes. 

“What do you want Lupin?” you asked with venom lacing your voice.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said softly, digging his shoe into the grass. You sighed.

“And what do you want to apologize for, exactly?” you questioned with a raised brow. 

“I’m sorry for being so rude to you and for insinuating that you might work for Voldemort,” He answered sheepishly. You nodded. 

“Thank you,” you responded before turning back to your book, assuming that he’d walk away. Instead, he sat down beside you.

“I just- I saw you staring at me all of the time and I was confused as to why you’d even do that,” he began, “And you’re a Slytherin and I just assumed that you had some motive or something. It didn’t even cross my mind that you thought I was handsome,” he said with a slight smile. You blushed and looked away. 

“I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable,” you murmured, “I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.” You stared anywhere but him. 

“If I had known why you were looking at me, I wouldn’t have minded,” he said softly. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked up.

“Huh?” you said. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“If I had known that you fancied me I would’ve just talked to you instead of coming up with an idiotic conspiracy theory,” he admitted. You looked at your lap. 

“Oh.”

“And I feel so stupid for thinking that you could be so terrible. I had no grounds for it other than a dumb stereotype. I’m really sorry,” he said. You turned to him.

“It’s alright I suppose. I just don’t understand how you jumped to the conclusion that I was some sort of spy because I was looking at you,” you said with a slight chuckle. Remus ducked his head.

“I don’t know, it never crossed my mind that you might like me. I’m not exactly much of a looker,” he replied. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What are you talking about? I think you’re quite good-looking,” you admitted with a blush. A small smile played at Remus’s lips.

“Didn’t think that anyone would ever think that of me,” he said softly, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his cheek. You frowned and reached up to remove his hand from his face. You lifted your finger and traced along the scar, causing Remus to gulp and avert his eyes. 

“Well I think that you’re beautiful, every part of you,” you said as you finished tracing the pink line. His amber eyes were back on yours, a deep vulnerability shining in them. His eyes flickered down to your lips for a moment and you held your breath. Slowly, he began to lean in. 

He kissed you just as softly as you always imagined he would, though it felt better than you ever could have thought. His rough hand cupped your face while you tangled your hands in his silky hair. When the kiss broke you were breathless. You watched as he ran a hand through his hair and sent you a shy smile, his freckled cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink. Even now, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:  @durmstrange @theweasleysredhair @spn-marvel-nerd @gloryekaterina @bellaacunaa @mytreec @levylovegood @inglourious-imagines @whatwoulddracodo @pattinsons-films @birdie-writes @kashishwrites @wonderful-writer @accio-prozac @sarcasticallywitty15​ @chaoticgirl04​

add yourself here

[chwedout]

hi besties <3 i got tagged by cami @celticwoman to fill out this oc thingy so of course i had to do it because i'm obsessed with my own ocs :) i'm gonna answer for my two boyfriends <3

tagging: @leonscottskennedy, @leondaltons, @storyoflight, @pearlcscent, @anotherbeingsworld, and @maeflower

NAME: Yang Daeha.

NICKNAME(S): He often gets called Dyls by his close friends. He also gets called by his last name a lot around camp.

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 2 (English, Korean) — Dylan used to live in Korea before he moved to New Olympus when he was ten so his first language has always been Korean. He already knew how to speak a little bit of English before moving but he eventually became fluent in the language after learning at New Olympus.

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep — Dylan's voice just has an average tone, it isn't too high or deep. He has a really smooth and soothing voice though.

ACCENT: yes / no — You can still hear a little bit of a Korean accent when he speaks. It isn't too noticeable but you can definitely hear it when he says specific words.

DEMEANOR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other — dorky, playful, friendly.

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed — His posture is very relaxed. You can often find him clinging a bit to his friends when he's sitting or standing next to them.

HABITS: head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance

PROFANITY:

FREQUENCY: ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜

CREATIVITY: ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY.

arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy.

THIS OR THAT.

straightforward or cryptic? / finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? / masculinity, neutrality, or femininity? / formalities or with abrasiveness? / praise or equivocation? / frankness or lies? / excessive or minimal hand gestures? / name-calling or magnanimity? / friendly or blunt?

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS.

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING OR HEARING YOUR CHARACTER? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never

WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? yes / no / only ironically

YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps

HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? walk away / ask if that's everything / say that's everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't

WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? upper / middle / lower

IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't

NAME: Andrew Edward Schofield.

NICKNAME(S): Everyone basically calls him Drew. Only his grandma and other posh, rich relatives call him by his full name.

NO. OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES: 1 (English) —Drew can only speak English fluently. He's been forced to learn other languages such as French and German but he's not that interested in properly learning.

TONE OF VOICE: high / average / deep — Drew has a deep voice and speaks in a very calm manner. However, there's something about the way he speaks that kind of just off.

ACCENT: yes / no — He's Bri ish darling.

DEMEANOR: confident / shy / approachable / hostile / other — mysterious, secretive, unapproachable.

POSTURE: slumped / straight / stiff / relaxed — He has very good posture as he was trained as a kid to always have a straight back. His grandma would hit him if he slouched.

HABITS: head tilting / swaying / fidgeting / stuttering / gesturing / arm crossing / strokes chin / er, um, or other interjections / plays with hair or clothing / hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact / frequent pausing / stands close / stands at a distance

PROFANITY:

FREQUENCY: ⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜

CREATIVITY: ⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜

BOLD ALL THAT APPLY.

arse. ass. asshole. bastard. bitch. bloody. bugger. bollocks. chicken shit. crap. cunt. dick. frick. fuck. horseshit. motherfucker. piss. prick. screw. shit. shitass. son of a bitch. twat. wanker. pussy.

THIS OR THAT.

straightforward or cryptic? / finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind? / masculinity, neutrality, or femininity? / formalities or with abrasiveness? / praise or equivocation? / frankness or lies? / excessive or minimal hand gestures? / name-calling or magnanimity? / friendly or blunt?

IMPORTANT QUESTIONS.

DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING OR HEARING YOUR CHARACTER? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never DOES YOUR CHARACTER'S POINT COME ACROSS EASILY WHEN THEY SPEAK? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS? almost always / frequently / sometimes / rarely / never WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE 'WHOM' IN A SENTENCE? yes / no / only ironically YOUR CHARACTER WANTS TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT. WHAT WORD DO THEY USE? but / though / although / however / perhaps / mayhaps HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS? walk away / ask if that's everything / say that's everything / give a proper goodbye / tell their company they're done here / remain quiet / they don't WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO, HEARING THEM SPEAK? upper / middle / lower IN WHAT WAYS DOES THE WAY YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS? accent / vocabulary / tone / level / politeness / brusqueness / it doesn't

[mrsalwayswrite]

Filthy Tease (Eugene Roe x f!reader)

I meant for this to be a spicy Roe piece but it kinda of took a different route than anticipated... oops? Anyway, i wanna dedicate this to @saritanotserena for giving me the idea but also cuz she is amazing! (sorry if this is awful, i still think i’m terrible at smut) also, not super edited cuz we die like men, alright?

Warning: sexual content- teasing & fingering & my poor attempts at dirty talk

Words:3700

Tag list: @happyveday @saritanotserena @sydney-m @evelynshelby

 There were many things most people were not aware of in regards to Easy Company's Eugene Roe. For example, he was terrified of bees. But instead of running away screaming, he would freeze and not move, barely breathing until he felt safe enough to move. Also, the man was obsessed with strawberries. He would pick them any day over chocolate or any other kind of dessert. When alone, he enjoyed quietly quoting poetry. He never did it in front of the men, for fear they would mock him. The biggest secret that would surprise people though?

 Eugene Roe was a filthy tease whose lips dripped sin and hands brought you to heaven with their touch. 

 And you were well acquainted with this side of him. 

 In Albourne, the replacements had begun calling you 'mama bear' shortly after you punched a Sergeant from a different company, who was picking on one of Easy's replacements. You also had the habit of checking up on them and trying to teach them extra things that training left out. You did not mind the nickname. Honestly, you thought it was sweet how all the boys took to you so. Since most of the Toccoa guys did not want anything to do with the replacements, you stepped up. 

 Unfortunately, all this extra attention from the replacements seemed to spark unnecessary jealousy from Roe. In the quiet moments you two managed to sneak away, you always tried to remind and show him how he was the only man who caught your eye. You would shower him with words of affection, hold him close and kiss him until he forgot his worries. You both hated that you had to keep your relationship a secret. You tried to remind him that this was only temporary. One day you could kiss and hold hands in public. One day you could stand before him in a white dress. One day you would make others jealous with the overwhelming love you had for each other. 

 But that was not today. Or in any sense of the foreseeable future. So you kept your relationship secret and tried to keep your affections on a slow simmer as to not alert the rest of the company. 

 After you started gaining more attention from the replacements, after you started spending more time with them…. Roe changed his tactics in reminding you of who always stole your breath and made you feel like a goddess on earth. 

 And that was how you learned he was a filthy tease. 

 It started off with simple things. He would walk past you and let his hand caress your ass for a fleeting moment before moving on to avoid drawing notice to the pair of you. Or if you sat next to one another to eat, he would place his hand on your knee or thigh underneath the table, giving you an occasional squeeze. If your hair got in your face, he would tenderly tuck it behind your ear or adjust your cap if your hands were full. It was sweet how tactical he was. Always seeking for a way to subtly touch you. 

 Then one day, you were walking with a couple of replacements back from the firing range, having been helping them with their accuracy. You saw Roe approaching, hands in his pockets, his eyes focused on you. He commented how he needed your advice for something and so you innocently followed him towards the small aid station set up in Albourne, having waved goodbye to the replacements. 

 As you passed a huge stack of empty boxes next to a brick building, he pushed you off the road and behind the boxes. You slammed against the brick wall, shock making you unable to cry out or demand about his actions. He had never been rough with you before. Concern and anger warned in you, unsure if something was wrong with him or he was being an asshole. When you leaned back, ready to demand what was going on, your words were cut off by his mouth covering yours and his tongue slipping between your lips. His body pressed against you, pinning you between him and the brick wall behind you. His mouth and touch dominated you, bringing you to the brink and turning you into a puddle of desire. Just as a whine left your throat, desperate for him to touch you where you needed him most, he pulled back. Through the haze of lust, you could see his lips swollen, eyes dilated, and chest rising and falling rapidly, matching your own. 

 "What…?" You stumbled out, your mind and body quaking with need. 

 "That's so ya don't forget." Even his voice was affected, more husky than normal. God, it sounded delicious and you wanted to taste it from the source again. 

 "Forget… forget what?"

 "Who makes ya feel good. Who can please ya… and who always wants ya." He stepped back, a smug smirk tugging on his lips. "See ya later, chéri." Then he walked away, back onto the road, hands in his pockets as if nothing had happened. As if he had not left you aching in need and obscenely wet. 

 You stayed there against the brick wall for longer than you would ever care to admit. Your heart hammered in your chest, the ache in your belly at an almost painful level, your breathing heavy in anticipation for what you thought was to come. But now you stood there… alone… and horny. 

 You thought maybe this was just a one-time thing. He had never done anything like this before. 

 Oh, how wrong you were. 

 A couple days later you sat in the back of a lecture room, Nixon at the front talking about something very important. But you could not hear a word he was saying. Oh no, because Eugene Roe was sitting next to you, whispering in your ear about all the dirty things he wanted to do to you in quite explicit terms. Half the stuff he whispered, you wondered where he even got the ideas. Soon enough, his words seeped into your mind as he painted such lewd images of the two of you. You had to press your thighs tightly together to deal with the growing ache. Something you were positive he noticed and delighted in. At one point, he even drew his finger slowly up from your knee to your hip as he whispered about sneaking into Sink's office and letting him fuck you over the man's desk. Once the lecture was over, Roe just gave you a wink and easily got up to walk away with the others heading out. You had to sit there for several minutes, taking long, deep breaths to try and will away the flush over your skin and suppress the pooling desire in your belly. 

 You could not decide if you loved or hated this new side of Roe. 

 Another time he asked for your help, that he might practice a new technique he read about in one of his medical books. You laid down on one of the beds in the aid station. The quiet chatting of a couple of the other medics behind the half-wall curtain filled the otherwise silent air from the other side of the station. Roe snuck a quick kiss to your lips making you giggle quietly and the two of you easily fell into a light-hearted conversation about a party being set up for the enlisted. Though as you two kept talking and he practiced wrapping and unwrapping various parts of your body, his hands began to…. wander. His fingers skimmed up your thighs, moving teasingly close to your groin then darting away. 

 At first you thought it was an accident and paid no mind, but after a couple times, you realized he was doing it on purpose. When you called him out on it, he pretended to have no idea what you were talking about. Then he told you he needed to practice working on a chest wound. Next thing you knew, he had the top several buttons of your army-issued jacket open, and he was laying a bandage on your exposed skin. His hands roamed across your chest, brushing your breasts with firm strokes. At one point he murmured something about giving you morphine and pretended to jab a syringe into your thigh; but as his hand moved back up, it grazed over your sex, leaving a fiery trail up your torso and back to your chest in its wake.  

 "Gene…" you moaned, unable to take it anymore, wriggling underneath his touch seeking friction. 

 He hushed you, wicked eyes glancing towards where the others were in the aid station. "Ya gotta keep quiet, pretty lady. Can ya do that for me?"

 You nodded but it was only half-hearted, your mind already drawing in the euphoric hunger he induced in you. His hands worked you- skimming, fondling, cupping and teasing- in all the ways that soon left you a quivering mess, biting down on your hand to keep the lascivious moans at bay. 

 The whole time he complimented and whispered to you, saying things that only seemed to heighten the experience. "Doin' so good, mon chéri, look at ya. Beautiful." Or "gotta keep quiet, pretty lady." Or "just imagine when I do this to ya, but with my tongue… I know ya taste so damn good. How's that feel, darlin'?"

 Finally, you were toeing the edge, body desperate to fall off that cliff. Your body vibrated with maddening want. "Gene, please…." You begged without shame; the desire, the need too great for you to care. 

 "Shhh...can't let 'em see ya like this." He cooed, one hand cupping your cheek while the other fondled your breast. "This is for me only, yeah? Say it, chéri."

 "Just you… just you, Gene."

 "Mmm… good girl." Then he finally slipped his skilled hand into your pants and pushed you off the edge. Your body drowned in bliss, mind hazy with pleasure. 

 This went on for weeks. Any opportunity he could pull you into a dark corner, push you against a wall, touch you, or drive you wild… he took full advantage of. 

 To everyone else, he still remained the quiet, slightly reclusive medic with a heart of gold and healing hands. 

 But to you… he was a fallen angel with the sole purpose to tempt you with that delightful Cajun accent and take control of you with those sinful lips and magical hands. 

 ***

 The atmosphere in the pub was jovial. Glenn Miller played in the background from the radio. The many voices of the paratroopers filled the pub, overshadowing the famous artist. The place reeked of beer, cigarette smoke and testosterone.  

 Buck, Luz, Toye and Heffron played darts in the corner. A few of the other Toccoa men heckled them and laughed at their own jokes, ignoring the replacements scattered about. The divide between Toccoa men and replacements felt like a terrible chasm. You tried to bridge it though. Floating between both parties, you laughed and cracked jokes with everyone while sipping on your beer. 

 This was the first time you had worn your WAAC uniform in months, reviving fond memories at its feel and look. You had started in the WAAC but then threw a series of unexpected encounters and circumstances, you eventually found yourself at Camp Toccoa training to be a paratrooper. Now, it felt odd to be wearing a skirt, stockings and kitten heels. You had become so used to your dirty ODs. Tonight though, you donned your skirt and heels, even going so far to put on some red lipstick. Who knew when the next chance you would have to dress up would be?

 "Come on, just one dance." Simmons was begging from the seat beside you, his boyish charm on full display, enhanced by the dimples in his cheeks. 

 You laughed, more amused than annoyed by his persistence. "No, if I dance with you then everyone else will expect a dance too."

 "Give it up, Peter." Burkle chuckled. "Mama bear ain't going out there."

 You pointed a finger at the dark-haired replacement across the table. "I knew there was a reason I liked you, Frank."

 "Ya hear 'bout the man who got caught joy-ridin' the other day?" Ralph Nestor changed the topic thankfully, leaning forward against the table, ready to spread the latest gossip. 

 Taking another sip of your beer, you listened but scanned the crowd around you. It was about time for you to move on to the next group. 

 As if sensing a pair of eyes burning into you, you swiveled your head trying to locate the gaze. It did not take long for you to meet the eyes of Eugene Roe. He sat with Spina and a few others at a table on the other side of the bar. He subtly tapped the empty spot next to him after he caught your eye. A warmth filled you. It was stupid since you knew he loved you but even here amongst a crowd, he wanted you by his side. 

 "Well, I'm off, fellas. Don't get too drunk tonight please… and if you do, make sure to keep all your clothes on. I'm looking at you, Private Burkle." You teased, watching the young man's face redden at the reminder, while the others laughed. Standing up, you brushed your skirt down, still unused to the feeling after so long. 

 "Yes, mama bear." A couple of them chorused. 

 You smiled. As you reached forward to grab your half-full beer glass, a hand slipped into yours and spun you around into a solid chest. "What?"

 Simmons held your hand as he placed his other on your waist. "Come on, one dance. I'll even keep my hands to myself."

 "Your hands wander at all, there's at least thirty men here who will rip your hands off for me if I ask."

 "Oh believe me, I know." He squeezed your hand, a cheeky smile on his face. "Please?"

 "Simmons, give it up!" Nestor said. "I see your platoon Sergeant looking over here."

 That got Simmons to freeze, glancing over his shoulder to see Guarnere with eyes narrowed at the two of you. 

 You laughed, pushing away from the replacement. "Better not piss your platoon Sergeant off. I'll be back for my glass." Swiftly, you moved in the direction of the bathroom, sending a wink Guarnere's way and receiving one in return. 

 The women's bathroom was small and cramped with two stalls, barely room to move, and a small counter with a sink. Either women did not frequent this pub much or this was awkwardly small to discourage women from lounging and socializing in here away from men. In your mind, it could go either way honestly. 

 After you finished your business, you stood at the sink washing your hands. The cool water soothed your skin after the heat in the pub. Looking up in the mirror, you saw your lipstick had faded and was slightly smudged. Most likely from the beer glass. Carefully, you tried to fix it using the tip of your finger. It seemed absurd, with everything you had been through- the training and combat you had seen- for you to be standing here worried about your smudged lipstick. Perhaps it would not have felt so odd if you stayed in the WAAC instead of joining the paratroopers. 

 Behind you, the bathroom door opened which surprised you. You thought you had been the only woman at the pub tonight. Maybe a few local women showed up? You looked up into the mirror, prepared to greet the woman. After the person stepped through, your jaw dropped and eyes widened. For it was not a local woman in a pretty dress that stepped in.  

 It was Eugene Roe. 

 "What are you doing in here, Gene?" You looked at him through the mirror. "Is the men's bathroom full?"

 Instead of verbally responding, you watched him latch the simple lock over the door. Your movements stilled as you realized what he just did. 

 "Gene?"

 In a single stride, he came up behind you, putting his arms out on either side of you, caging you between the sink and his body. 

 "Darlin'," he crooned in your ear as his lips left a trail of sweet heat along your neck. "Ya look too damn sexy out there. I see ya legs in those heels and skirt and all I can think about is how good they feel wrapped around me as I pound into ya."

 Your skin felt feverish as the heat radiated off his body. Even through all the layers between you two, your body soaked it in like the parched ground after a thunderstorm. With the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin and his filthy words, your womb clenched from that alone. 

 "Then I see that boy with his hands on ya… shit, it took everythin' for me to not rip him off ya."

 "He didn't mean anything, Gene. I promise."

 "Don't matter. I hate it." His hands gripped the hem of your skirt, slowly pulling it up and bunching it around your hips. He began laying open-mouth kisses along your neck, the whole time his eyes holding yours, as you watched him in the mirror. "I need to 'ear ya sing, pretty lady, I need to 'ear ya gorgeous sounds."

��"Gene…" you moaned out, your eyelids fluttering. That delicious warmth, that only he could fuel, began growing in your belly. "We can't right here." 

 "Shall we find out?"

 Without preamble, one of his hands slipped under your skirt, the other still bunching the fabric up around you and out of the way. You hissed slightly as he touched your bare core, unable to completely hide the smirk on your face as he gave a slight groan. 

 "Mon chéri, where ya skivvies at? Ya been out there this whole time with no underwear on?" 

 "I wanted to surprise you… I thought you might try something."

 "Fuck!" He bit your earlobe and ground his hardening cock against your ass. "Ya tryin' to tease me? Mmm?"

 Before you could retort something smart back at him, you gasped as he slipped a finger into you, finding you already wet for him. 

 "Look at ya, sweetheart, so fuckin' beautiful right now." He murmured, eyes not having left yours in the mirror this whole time, pining you even more so than his body still caging you. 

 With one hand, you grabbed the sink to anchor yourself, your legs turning into jelly beneath you from the onslaught of pleasure coursing through your veins. "Gene, please." You begged. 

 Eyes boring into yours, he pulled his finger out of you, drawing a whiny whimper from your lips. With a salacious smirk, he opened his mouth and placed his pointer and middle fingers in his mouth, making sure to swirl his tongue around them then pulled them slowly out. 

 "Holy fuck…"

 Still smirking, he reached down and slipped both fingers into you. They plunged in and out of you, the wet sounds lewdly echoed in the small bathroom. Roe continued to grind against you from behind, timing it to match with the thrusts of his fingers. You wanted to close your eyes, to sink into the heat bubbling in you. But you were unable to for Roe watched you with a heated, heavy gaze in the mirror. Your gazes locked as he brought you closer and closer to your climax, moans and sighs slipping from your lips. 

 "Good girl, mon chérie, so beautiful. Look at ya."

 He continued to whisper in your ear in between leaving open-mouth kisses and bites on your neck and jaw. 

 "Ya close, sweetheart? I can feel it, so close."

 "Oh God, please, Gene…. Don't stop. Please."

 With a dark chuckle, he gave one last flick to your clit and pushed you over the edge. As you opened your mouth, he slammed his mouth over yours, greedily swallowing your cry of bliss. You floated on waves of ecstasy; your eyes closed to soak in the sensations. Eventually you opened your eyes, even if the movement felt sluggish and your body limp. 

 "There's those gorgeous eyes." Roe nuzzle your temple. "Ya back with me?"

 "Mmm… I think so."

 He chuckled. "Think ya can stand?"

 That was when you noticed he was practically holding you up between an arm now wrapped around your waist and you still pinned between him and the sink. 

 "Sorry." You mumbled, standing up on shaky legs. When you noticed his cocky smirk, you languidly swatted at him. "Shut up." Slowly you turned around to look at him. It did not escape your notice his… um… large problem he was sporting in his trousers. 

 "You know… the couple I am billeted with, they left this afternoon for a weekend in London visiting family."

 "Oh? Well, that is interestin' news."

 "Uh huh. What's the likelihood we can sneak out of here unnoticed?"

 He leaned down to press his lips against yours, drawing a soft sigh from you at the sweetness in the kiss. "Very likely… Guess we'll find out though."

 "And what's the likelihood we'll actually make it to the house before you try to get under my skirt again?"

 "Less likely."

 You laughed, pressing a hand to his chest to push him back. Running a hand over your skirt, you tried to smooth it out as much as possible and hide any evidence of your tryst. 

 "Ready?"

 "Always."

 The two of you somehow managed to sneak out of the bathroom and out of the pub without drawing notice to yourselves. As you stepped out into the night, walking quickly down the street, you both were giggling like teenagers having snuck out of your parents' homes. He snagged your hand and pulled you along, almost jogging down the silent road in Albourne. 

 Before you even made it halfway to your billeted house, Roe pulled you into a dark corner, just off the road. You laughed before his mouth covered yours, silencing you and turning your laughter into moans. 

 You did not mind too much. 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Re: Star Wars prequel novelizations - the Revenge of the Sith book is genuinely one of the best things I have ever read and changed my life.

THANK YOU, anon, for reminding me about the Revenge of the Sith novelization.  I just reread it, and my crops are watered, my skin is clear, and — I cannot overstate this — I actually remember why I love Star Wars.  That love has been for too long stolen by The Fandom Menace sucking the life out of those movies to invent a new definition of suffering while digesting them slowly over a thousand years.

Revenge of the Sith by Matthew Stover is one of the greatest works of adventure fiction I have ever read, and it continues to inspire the way I write action sequences and character conflicts.  It does so damn much to transform a movie that is, to be honest, just okay.  There are a couple of big additions from the novel that make the whole Skywalker saga richer, and there are about five hundred little tweaks that deepen the lore in a way that shows that Stover loves Star Wars to the core.

First big addition: having Obi-Wan tell Padmé that he’s in love with Anakin. This is great because yay, queer representation!  But within the specific context of RotS, it also sets up the super-important contrast between Obi-Wan and Anakin.  Obi-Wan, Stover’s novel makes clear, is the quiet and unassuming embodiment of everything a Jedi is supposed to be: he’s selfless, loving, hard-working, and incredibly skilled with the Force.  Obi-Wan falls in love with Anakin, realizes that Anakin doesn’t love him back in that way, and... lives with it.  He spends time with Anakin, supports Anakin, enjoys Anakin’s company, and doesn’t act like the world will end if Anakin isn’t his.

Anakin loves Obi-Wan, in a siblinglike way, and he loves Padmé.  But he’s got a nasty habit of expressing that love through possession and control, through going behind Padmé’s back to “fix” her life without her permission.  Anakin falls in love with Padmé and immediately concludes that he cannot possibly live like this: they must begin a secret relationship, and he must both marry her and remain a Jedi.  Later he destroys the Jedi and eventually Padmé herself because he sees himself as having no way out of that dilemma.

And all the while, Obi-Wan is there in the background.  Also in love with someone with whom he cannot have a relationship, and just… dealing with it like an adult.  Because millions of people are in love with people who don’t love them back, and that’s just how it is sometimes.  It’s selfish to obsess over “having” their love at all costs.  For Anakin, that obsession with saving Obi-Wan and Padmé eventually leads to him killing them both.

When Yoda tells Anakin that he must deal with his fear of losing Padmé through letting go, Anakin takes this to mean “let her die.”  But what Yoda means is not “let her die,” but rather “love her the way Obi-Wan loves you: quietly, selflessly, and with a willingness to do what’s best for her, whether or not that means you get to have her.”  And Anakin never understands that, because Anakin’s view of the world is so intensely egocentric.

Second big addition: updating the Force to explain the Dark Side. Revenge of the Sith, even more so than any other Star Wars, is all about the contrast between the Dark Side and the Light Side.  Here, Stover’s contribution is brilliant; he makes the Dark Side egocentric and the Light allocentric.

Terminology! “Egocentric” in psych refers to the perspective that focuses on how the world affects you and how you affect the world.  At the extreme, egocentric thinking can be believing that a baby is crying in a deliberate effort to annoy you, or that every person in a crowded cafeteria will remember what shirt you wore when you ate there a week ago.  “Allocentric” refers to the perspective that the self is one of several disparate elements buffered around by the world.  At the extreme, allocentric thinking can be failing to realize that others are reacting to your presence, or viewing your own life as one thing you can give to help others.

Stover doesn’t use those terms, but he does describe how Dooku “drew power into his innermost being until the Force itself existed only to serve his will” (p. 64).  Later, Obi-Wan “gave himself to the living Force… the Force moved him, let him collapse as though he’d suddenly fainted, then it brought his lightsaber from his belt to his hand” (p. 285).  Dooku ultimately loses his fight against Anakin because he focuses on how everyone is responding to him, and misses that Anakin and Palpatine are beginning to build an alternate alliance right under his nose.  Obi-Wan ultimately wins his fight against Anakin because he allows the Force to shove him around, and sets aside his concern with both his own life and that of his best friend while fighting for the greater goal of peace.

Not only that, but Obi-Wan’s understanding of the Force moves beyond that of most Jedi.  He compares “the will of the Force” to “the will of gravity,” in essence stating that simply because it is beyond human comprehension doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its own rules.  One can be a Jedi without needing to understand the Force in the same way one can be a pilot without needing to be a physicist.  In RotS, we see that his refrain of “search your feelings” is a way of calling on a Force user to be mindful enough to accept realities that are already evident, if one can only allow oneself to have that knowledge.

Stover also uses these competing perspectives — allocentric and egocentric — to explain why the Jedi Order falls.  The tight control the Order exerts over the Jedi moves them away from the will of the Force and toward the will of the Council.  Its insularity creates a sense of superiority, which is the reason so many Jedi fail to see their clone troopers as threats until it’s too late. Stover tweaks the Jedi Purge scene to emphasize that the only reason Obi-Wan and Yoda survive is because of their selflessness.  Obi-Wan takes the time to befriend his alien mount, repeatedly confirming her well-being, and then she shields him with her body when his troopers open fire.  Yoda respects the Wookie command and puts himself in a position to assist rather than lead the resistance movement on Kashyyyk, meaning that when a fight breaks out between him and his troopers the Wookies don’t hesitate to side with him.  Yoda and Obi-Wan are the only two Jedi who truly give themselves to the service of others, and thus they are the only two to survive the Purge.

...and the million little favors this book does for the movie.

During the opening battle, having Obi-Wan tell Anakin to “use the Force” to fly a narrow trench and having Anakin roll his eyes at such an obvious suggestion.  It’s a callback to A New Hope, but one that drives home how much more the Force is integrated in the lives of Old Republic Jedi than it is in the lives of Imperial kids like Luke.

Fixing the minor continuity error from Episode III to Episode IV — why would Admiral Motti dismiss Vader as following outdated superstitions if there were millions of Jedi within his lifetime? — by explicitly stating that the Sith are considered a dead culture.  Ergo, Vader’s “ancient religion” isn’t the Force in general; it’s specifically the Sith creed.

Making Palpatine scarier and more seductive than he is in the movie.  Stover’s rhetoric about killing even the Jedi children is frighteningly rational and coherent, and he uses it to give Palpatine some stomach-churning speeches while corrupting Anakin.

Using the novel format for all it’s worth.  Stover skims over the physical-comedy elevator sequence in favor of having Dooku and Palpatine discussing their plans for the war.  He only tells us about Anakin’s conversation with Yoda after the fact, in scattered flashes as a panicking Anakin runs through the halls of the Jedi temple.  He gives us intense focus on Anakin’s mindset while trying to land the broken halves of Invisible Hand, less on what the ship itself is doing.  He cuts away from Anakin and Obi-Wan’s final battle, toward R2D2 and C3PO as they struggle to drag a dying Padmé into her ship out of a desperation to find some small way to help her.

Revealing that Palpatine spends the entire story trying to kill Obi-Wan.  This gets hinted at in the movie, but Stover includes several moments throughout Palpatine’s “rescue” from Dooku when Palpatine sets Obi-Wan up to die, and mentions like eight other attempts on Obi-Wan’s life as orchestrated by Palpatine.  It’s a great character addition, that Palpatine assumes he cannot get Anakin to fall unless he first eliminates Obi-Wan.

Expanding Padmé’s role in the movie (set dressing, and later refrigerator filling) by having her secretly organize and launch the Rebel Alliance right under Vader and Palpatine’s noses.

Those are just examples of how Stover clearly knows the Force, gets the Force, and strives to make the Force more internally coherent.  How he sometimes translates, sometimes preserves, and always improves the pacing and tone of the film.

I haven’t even touched on the FUCKING AMAZEBALLS imagery or introspection in the book yet, but this post is getting wicked long, so I’ll go ahead and leave it here for now.  Point is, all y’all should go out immediately and get a copy from your library and/or used bookstore, because Nonny is right and it’ll change your life.

[dinosaurtsukki]

housemates with karasuno

okay this is so fucking long because i love karasuno so much i’d get up to a million antics with them

how you ended up living with them: 

you were probably friends with the entire volleyball team in high school since you were one of the three (cute) managers so when they all suggested living together you were like ‘sure why not? how bad could it be?’

honestly this is so unrealistic but we’re enjoying ourselves aren’t we? 

since there are so many of you in one single house there are probably like 3 to 4 people in a single room

the original room arrangement was that the first-years and second-years would be in separate rooms but ennoshita was like ‘no way are you putting me in the same room as noya and tanaka i will die’

so you, ennoshita, yamaguchi, and tsukishima are all in another room (the second-most peaceful room in the house)

daichi, sugawara, and asahi are all together in another room because they’re pretty tight

and hinata, kageyama, along with tanaka and noya share twin bunk beds in the fourth room

now let’s get into living with this chaotic bunch:

daichi is undoubtedly the head of household. at first he didn’t want to have to manage that on top of everything else but one night he was making a chart for chores (along with small stickers of everyone’s faces) and finally accepted that he was in charge of the house

he’s def the type to manipulate the chore chart just a little bit. if tanaka or noya managed to piss him off, daichi will just slide their face under ‘dish duty’ and they’re none the wiser

at first he feels terrible but then tanaka and noya accidentally break a window and daichi just thinks that maybe authoritarianism isn’t so bad after all

jk guys authoritarianism is bad down with the government

you, on the other hand, know very well what daichi is doing but instead of tattling you just appeal to his good side and before you know it, you haven’t done any chores for an entire year

ASAHI IS THE TYPE OF HOUSEMATE TO BRING YOU UP A PLATE OF SLICED FRUIT WITHOUT EVEN ASKING AHHH

when the clock hits four, its cut fruit time and there are different fruits for every day and asahi just brings up plates of nice cut fruit for everyone

you kind of wonder if asahi ever gets tired of slicing fruit for EVERYONE IN THE HOUSE until you see him split open a pineapple with his bare hands

also he has such a huge closet but if you want a snazzy outfit all you have to do is knock on his shared room and he’ll whip one up for you

okay you guys are probably thinking that sugawara is the mom of the household but unfortunately he is a gemini and therefore even satan fears him

suga’s the one who cooks for everyone but when he’s in the kitchen you had better stay away because he gets intTENSE. he probably uses this big ass knife

potholders? suga doesn’t know her. he uses his bare hands to get trays and stuff out of the oven. just watching him cook stresses you out so nobody watches him cook

but his cuisine is exquisite nobody has complaints

i feel like their room probably has a fuck ton of snacks with asahi’s fruit-cutting, suga’s cooking skills and i bet daichi has a stash of snacks that he keeps from noya and tanaka (it’s under his mattress, that’s why his back hurts)

you, ennoshita, tsukishima, and yamaguchi have by far the cleanest room though (just slightly cleaner than the third-years’ room because they have snack wrappers) and your roommates are all workaholics

your room is pretty much ‘bookshelves and studyblr aesthetic’ except for ennoshita’s CPR doll that stays in a corner of the room looking creepy and out of place but you don’t have a closet to put it in

yamaguchi swears that it’s haunted because it changes positions every time he wakes up in the morning and he keeps trying to convince his roommates about it

little does he know tsukki and ennoshita like to move the CPR doll around to scare him because they’re like that

tbh you are not a fan of the CPR doll either but that doesn’t mean you won’t play with it by dressing it up 

these three are such workaholics that there’s literally only one person asleep there at a time and you like studying there because of the Intense Productive Energy

they even have their own espresso machine and a minifridge full of Red Bull

tsukki is the best at waking you up he’ll literally grip your shoulders and shake you or spray you with water

you can tell he enjoys it and you hate it so much but it does get your papers going

the one thing about this group is that they forget this little thing called ‘self-care’ because they work all the time (well except for yamaguchi who knows how to put on a sheet mask once in a while)

that means you’ll sometimes be knocking on their door with some of asahi’s Sliced Fruit or some instant ramen you whipped up yourself

ennoshita also has a habit of passing out in random places so it takes you and yamaguchi to haul him up to his bed

you also use this opportunity to tuck in his CPR doll next to him in bed because why not?

the chaotic, noisy members of the household are all relegated to one room for the good of the entire house and its downstairs where the walls are thick

these guys are the bunk-bed sharing kind of people but they kind of just switch beds depending on how they feel like it

tanaka: hey dude, is it ok if i top for tonight?

noya: oh yeah sure! no problem!

you: 👁👄👁

suga: they’re talking about bunk beds

hinata and kageyama like to play video games during their breaks but they only have one game and that’s Naruto Shippuden: Ultimate Ninja Storm 3

i have an obsession with naruto don’t @ me

that’s because they bought a playstation on craigslist and it came with one game and that was it

you like to play with them when you’re taking a break and kageyama’s always the one who loses and he gets so frustrated with himself that you let him win at times just so he feels good

hinata always uses hinata when he plays but he’s also the type to elbow kageyama or purposely swerve a hand in your face when he’s playing 

even though sugamama is in charge of the kitchen, noya and hinata do like to experiment with cooking from time to time and if daichi is in a good mood he’ll indulge them

they’ll even rope you in on their shenanigans and pretty soon you’re making a casserole out of pepperoni and cheetos just in time for sugawara to come in and see what happened to his kitchen

it usually ends with all of you guys just ordering pizza and you having to clean the kitchen with noya and hinata

house incident: ennoshita’s CPR doll that ACTUALLY MIGHT be haunted

okay i know that i already wrote about ennoshita’s cpr doll being not haunted and that tsukki and ennoshita just like to mess with it but IMAGINE IT ACTUALLY BEING HAUNTED

it starts out with yamaguchi getting mad at tsukki or ennoshita for putting the cpr doll in his bed while he was asleep and they were both like ‘no seriously we didn’t do it’

and you could vouch for them because you were the last one to fall asleep in your room and the CPR doll was way in ennoshita’s side of the room (yamaguchi believes you cause you’re the only person he trusts in the room)

you and yamaguchi begin to think that something strange is going on and like ‘is it just me or are those dead, plastic eyes somehow following my every move?’

it gets to the point that you have to turn the plastic doll around the face the wall when you’re studying

and then, you begin to notice that the doll is nearer to your bed when you wake up in the morning and again, neither tsukishima nor ennoshita touched it

because of this you now stay over at daichi, asahi, and sugawara’s room because you’re so creeped out by the doll and also because they have snacks

and then an Incident happens wherein noya and tanaka, who are both doing a first-aid class, decide to secretly use the doll while no one is around at home

although noya and tanaka trying to practice cpr by themselves is hilarious

just visualize tanaka trying to administer cpr while dueting ‘staying alive’ with noya

they both take a break and turn away from the doll for one second only to see it standing upright when they turn right back

tanaka: that doll just moved on its own, right?

noya: yeah, pretty much

that’s when you and yamaguchi come home and see the cpr doll with tanaka and noya looking very afraid

you: the doll’s haunted isn’t it?

yamaguchi: I KNEW IT !!

daichi comes home to the four of you trying to dispose of the doll by fitting it into a box and gets mad at everyone because you can’t just do that to ennoshita’s stuff

but then he sees all of you looking clearly in distress and decides to call for a house meeting about ennoshita’s haunted doll

asahi brings sliced fruit

tsukishima and kageyama very firmly talk about how it’s not possible which is weird because it’s something they agree on for once

daichi: well, where did you get this doll, ennoshita? ennoshita: i got it for cheap at an old antique store. the owner was super intent to get rid of it so i bought it

you, tanaka, yamaguchi, and noya: 👁👄👁

daichi: even i don’t believe in ghosts but damn ennoshita what were you thinking?

and then sugawara who has been eerily quiet this entire time brings out a ouija board and goes ‘LET’S EXORCISE THIS BITCH’

a few minutes later you all are set up in the living room with candles, the ouija board, and the cpr doll

tsukishima’s just there to livestream everything (STORYTIME: my dumb housemates think this doll is haunted)

you, sugawara, and hinata are in charge of the seance (hinata ironically drew the shortest straw and was forced to participate)

sugawara: spirit of the cpr doll, what is your name?

the triangle piece on the board starts moving, you are looking at your friends in shock, asahi has fainted. the triangle piece stops at the word ‘yes’

you: oh my god this ghost is an idiot

daichi: all in favor of getting rid of this doll?

everyone except ennoshita raises their hands

sugawara is already on the phone with the current owners of the warren museum

you: why do you have their number memorized?

sugawara: ,,, reasons

the cpr doll is picked up the next day. kageyama pokes at the doll and goes ‘you’re just a doll, cpr doll. you can’t do anything’. asahi feels sorry that it’s gonna be displayed naked in the museum and gives the doll a little fedora hat

also ennoshita is compensated for the doll and now has enough money to buy AN ACTUAL, LEGIT CPR DOLL from AN ACTUAL, LEGIT CPR DOLL FACTORY

you and yamaguchi still hate it

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