#i was never completely into it but i was still compelled to keep watching

[mikimeiko]

Scavengers Reign | Miniseries (2023), Joseph Bennett and Charles Huettner

[attapullman]

Silver Screen, Make Me Scream | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: The world is used to seeing Robert Floyd as a Navy admiral on a screen thirty feet tall. You're used to seeing him as the man who spoils you rotten, in and out of the bedroom.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: f!reader, 18+ ONLY, older boyfriend AU, movie star AU, daddy k!nk, unprotected pinv, older bf Bob eats it from behind, cowgirl position, age gap, no y/n

A Note from Mo: Uh...this is porn without plot disguised as a filthy, flirty AU and I am waving from the bars of horny jail. Fellow old man fuckers, this one is for you.

It’s his cold pillow that wakes you. 

No deep breaths or soft snores echoing around the vaulted ceiling. The absurdly expensive bedding all yours to take. Your late night should keep you asleep until noon, but it feels wrong to be in bed when you don’t have your lover’s solid warmth against your skin.

You pad down the terracotta-tiled hall and take in the views of the Pacific, the only artwork needed on this side of the house. Stormy blue and glass-riddled sandy white, the picturesque view sells itself. The waves crash on the beach below, their mellow sound seeping into the Mediterranean revival from the open patio doors. 

He’s sitting outside in just his sweatpants, coffee in hand, as he watches the water while flicking through a thick stack of pages. The grey at his temples is bright under the early San Diego sun. You know he’s reading something important because he has those horn-rimmed glasses on, the ones he repeatedly complains are too tight around his ears. Won’t even waste a minute to go grab his preferred wire frames. 

Robert Floyd may be retired from show business, but he’s hotter than the first day he graced screens.

Eyes lifting from the pages, he catches you staring from your spot by the French doors, negligee skimming your body in the soft ocean breeze. The lids of your eyes are still a little heavy with sleep.

“You need something, baby?” He pats his broad thigh and you assume your perch, snuggling against his sun-warmed skin as you shake your head. How is he always the perfect temperature? The chill from the ocean wafts over you as he wraps his arm around your waist.

Your lips part in a contented smile. “Just checking in on you, Daddy. Missed you in bed.”

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, brushing his lips against your temple. His thick pointer taps against the stack of pages that arrived by messenger at sunrise. “Agent asked me to give this a look over, see if I’d be interested.”

You tilt your head to see the title. “Is that-”

“Yes, baby girl. They’re asking me to come back. Just a few scenes with the new regime, but get to wear that admirals uniform one more time.” Despite him saying it so matter of factly, you can detect his giddiness at wearing those pins once again. “Not sure if it’s the right move though.”

You trail your finger along his pectoral, imagining the ironed uniform underneath your touch. 

Robert Floyd had made a career of Naval action films, starting out as a fresh faced Weapons Systems Officer in his debut, to gracing the screen one last time as an Admiral in the franchise’s original conclusion. He’d won over hearts with his steely blue gaze and soft smile, never one for breaking the rules. Yet always the one who celebrated the hardest when his squadron completed a mission.

For military propaganda, he made a compelling poster boy.

Your entire childhood he had been on posters in the mall, trailers on the television during commercial breaks. Those bright sapphire eyes and gleaming pins burnt into your vision, uncontrollably charmed by the strong, silent type. 

And now here he was, putty under your palms as you asked if he wanted more coffee.

Without a doubt he’d take the appearance, spend a day or two on set with the next generation of Naval action stars. The next year he’d appear on every talk show and repeat his modesty over his fifteen minutes on camera. Your Bobby would balk at the attention, but glow with pride as the host played his cameo for the audience. 

Watching him flip through a few pages, you could already see the shy smile he would win the crowd over as he insisted the revival’s cast members were the real stars.

“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” You were so lost in your daydream that you missed his attention turning to you, warm palm running over your hip under your thin robe. 

You stroke his jaw, fingers curling into the regulation-cut greying hair. The cut he’s kept since he was first cast in his early twenties. “You should take the role. You look handsome as an admiral.” You peck a light kiss to his lips. “Dashing, really.”

His blush is striking against the ocean sky. As you get up to go make you both breakfast, you can feel his eyes on you; an extra sway in your hips for his enjoyment. Bob lounges back on the outdoor set and looks between the breaking waves and the now slightly rumpled script. 

He’s coming back.

The view of the ocean as you zip up I-5 is breathtaking, a gorgeous Southern California day. The early call time was less than ideal, but the energy in the car is electric. Bob’s hand wanders into the passenger seat to wrap around your bare knee, thumb tapping out an unknown rhythm as he navigates traffic. 

He looks the vision of wealth and importance sitting in the front seat of his pewter grey Porsche 911 - a sleek upgrade for his 40th from the battered truck he’d been driving since he arrived in Hollywood. The car is understated in its elegance, like its owner. You admire his graceful lines of a life well lived, the pokes of silver woven through his hair. And yet his eyes carry that intelligent, sassy energy that keeps you on your toes, ready for the next challenge he brings you. 

“You’re looking at me.” His eyes don’t leave the road, but the smile on the corner of his thin lips is playful.

You fiddle with his fingers, admiring the large dexterous digits. “Just so handsome, how can I not?”

Bob lifts your hand with his, allowing the platinum and diamonds of your bracelet to catch the morning sun - nearly blinding with their sparkle. He brings your interlocked fingers to his lips, pressing a loving kiss to the skin as he finally looks at you. His eyes are the same striking blue as the ocean behind him. 

“Perfect girl, what did I do to deserve you?”

You’re wondering the same when he enters the studio lot, passing through security and finding your way to the set. There’s a bustle of commotion as the two of you join the crowd, everyone immediately hushing their voices as the talent arrives. Bob’s chest swells with power as everyone immediately caters to him before noticing you.

“That must be his assistant?” Rumors spread through the crew like wildfire, watching you prance behind film legend Robert Floyd like an excitable puppy. Eyebrows shooting up when he turns back and rests a hand on the back of your bare thigh, leaning close to ask if you want anything from craft. 

You slide your diamond-covered wrist around his neck and peck his cheek. Definitely not an assistant.

Since the day he’d made his name on marquees, Bob had been surrounded by women. A tall man in Navy blues with the golden touch of Hollywood? His fellow cast joked more than once that tag chasers didn’t care whether you served the country or just did it on screen. Eventually he’d done the responsible thing and tried marriage, settling down with a woman who cared more about his flashy lifestyle than the quiet man behind the lights. Divorce was swift and the introvert reverted inside his shell, his film career quiet as the next generation of aviators took the screen. 

And then you entered his life, with your open face and bright smile. A coffee shop in Coronado he frequented that you happened to pass. A bump of elbows over the creamer, his amused grin when you accidentally grabbed his drink in your fluster. You were so excited to meet a real movie star, a dream come true. And he looked so much bigger than his character - those shoulders brawnier, that jaw sharper. Yet the smile he gave you was heart-melting as you handed him your own coffee cup to sign, nothing else available.

It wasn’t until that afternoon you noticed he’d written his number in neat penmanship. You had to wait until that next night to know you were falling inexplicably in love with a man who the rest of the world already adored. He was bigger than life, your everything.

And for all of your affection, he spoiled you. Dates to restaurants you couldn’t pronounce in Liberty Station, private events with tickets you couldn’t afford. Every week a new trinket left at your bedside, sparkling in the low light while he hummed in the bathroom excited for you to notice. Few things brought him joy at this stage in life, but you traipsing in with nothing on but the latest diamanté left him positively enraptured.

People could stare and point and judge all they wanted. It was love, and it was all yours.

You’ve raided the mini bar and read through the call sheet when Bob finally comes back to his trailer. He strikes a bold figure in his Navy blacks - pins gleaming, white cap under his arm. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” he greets you, swooping to kiss your cheek. But your breath is already stolen. You’d seen pictures, caught his movies at the old matinee in Balboa Park. But standing in front of you is the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. He looks so…official.

Bob was already feeling good in the wardrobe trailer, the crew he’d worked with for years stroking his ego as they put the final touches to his starched uniform. He’d be on screen for a total of eight minutes and he was going to look important every single second. 

But with your eyes trained on him, pupils wide and mesmerized, it’s the only compliment he needs. 

“They look good on you again,” you coo, tracing your fingertips over the sterling silver insignia pins. It’s hard to quell the rising heat as you look at him, standing tall in this uniform - his uniform - just like the posters and movie trailers of your youth. 

He rubs his temples and grabs his wire frames from the counter, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he straightens up. “Feels good to wear them, baby. Not sure who I am if not in the ‘Navy’.” He chuckles around air quotes, morphing into a moan as you run your nails down his torso. 

Even though he’s not in character, the suit transforms him. 

He’s not your Bob, the man who walks around his big ol’ house in band shirts he got in the 80s and his worn shearling slippers. Squinting through his glasses while trying to read fine print for instruction manuals for more Lego sets than he needs, peppering your head with kisses as you sit between his knees. Your Bobby is always goofy and smiling when you come through the door, eager to wrap his arms around you as he patiently listens to all the friend updates from brunch. He’s warmth and safety, that side of middle age where you have to explain internet fads with a playful eye roll.

But this man…this man in front of you is stern and mighty, seizing the room with his intensity. He’s commanding in his own silent way, back straight and shoulders taught. No nonsense, just like the admiral he plays for screens around the world. His presence is intoxicating. You can’t decide if you want to dominate him or be putty in his hands. 

You twist in his arms, pressing your chest to his as you smooth the lapels of his suit. It’s only natural that those big, practiced hands of his immediately slip to your legs. Two magnets drawn by the promise of touch. But once he’s inches from your pretty face, ready to ask you to help him read over lines, that gleam in your eyes has other plans.

His girl wants him.

“Babygirl, I’m in wardrobe.” His words say no, but the fervent way he’s stroking the skin under your hem says differently. He’s not immune to a tiny dress and puppy eyes. You watch his hand reach up to drag through greying roots before he remembers it’s styled, redirecting his frustration by slipping rough fingers around the nape of your neck. Holding your head still while he fights his sense of responsibility.

It doesn’t matter that you’re in a tin can trailer with no sound proofing. You lick your glossy lips and give him the most innocent smile. “Please? We can be super careful.”

He eyes you warily. The two of you together is messy.

“Please, Daddy?” You rub yourself against him, feeling the way he shivers underneath his stiff uniform. “I wanna know what it’s like to fuck an admiral. Please?”

He’s powerless against you when you’re like this. Needy and heavy-lidded, unsatisfied until you’ve had your fair share of him and then some. It’s only when you’re a panting mess full of his spend that he can regain any control against you.  The age gap is exhilarating and exhausting.

His face dips to rest against your temple, the floral scent of your perfume clouding his senses. So sweet, so soft. You feel his groan against your cheek before he straightens up to his full height, towering over you with a stern expression on his face. Those elegant, practiced fingers tuck under your chin.

“Attention.” Your spine straightens, your breath deepens. “Let’s see if you’re up to regulation, lieutenant.”

A warm gush of excitement floods your body, soaking in your flimsy excuse for underwear. You watch your big, broad, authoritative boyfriend sink down into the plush trailer sofa, knees spread. Patting his thigh with an unamused brow quirk. 

Exhilaration races through your veins as you eagerly straddle his lap, sundress sliding up your thighs as you perch prettily on his thighs. The vision of youthful glow, hoping to impress.

Bob traces your heated skin with callused fingers, lips pursed, before sliding a hand firmly up your back. The world spins as he flips you over his lap, your rounded ass exposed to his eyes, modesty barely covered by a scrap of lace.

“Uniform panty inspection,” Bob huffs out, fingers ghosting over the fabric. His voice is restrained, clipped. You stay as still as possible as you hold your breath. You want to pass this inspection so bad.

The firm touch of his ring finger to your clothed sex forces a moan to slip through your clamped lips. So close to giving you what you want. But he remains diligent, stroking your pussy through the fabric until he’s satisfied with the wet patch he created. “Perfectly up to code.”

His finger wraps around the strap of the thong and yanks it down, forcing you to further immodestly part your knees as he discards the sexy - yet unnecessary - piece of fabric.

Your mind is heavy with lust as you turn your head, trying to understand. Normally he’s between your thighs teasing the fabric for longer than you can handle. Your lips are still dry. But before your eyes and brain connect with the visual, film legend Robert Floyd has a rounded cheek in each hand and his tongue plunged deep in your pretty pink pussy.

Blunt nails dig into the soft skin of your ass as he re-acquaints himself with your taste. Sliding his thick muscle along the velveteen walls of your cunt, lapping up the addicting taste of your lust. Your head is empty as he forces you to take it, to enjoy the way he worships the very core of your being. 

Saliva and arousal mix on his clean shaven face as he presses deeper, moaning as he feels you clench around him. His own pride growing as you wail with only his tongue fucking you. It’s wet and dirty, the heat along your skin eating you alive as you succumb to your pleasure. 

These are the benefits of dating a man with experience.

His tongue retreats, laving over your folds with practiced precision. You bury your head in the rough sofa fabric, muffling the depraved sounds crossing your lips. Your fingers reach up and wrap around his thick wrist, needing a tether to reality. His free hand travels to his belt, loosening the leather and freeing his erection to the humid trailer.

He knows you and your tells. Dragging that wicked tongue back, he corners your little neglected clit. Sucks it into his mouth like an after dinner mint, savoring the tangy sweetness of you. Your hips thrust back at him, desperate for more as you begin your hedonistic descent. 

Time and space lose all meaning as Bob goes in for the kill, switching between the heavy pulls on your clit and the slippery licks along your core. Blowing cool air where you’re most sensitive before sweeping in with his burning tongue. The combination of his stiff muscle fucked into your depths and his thumb bumping your swollen clit finally send you over the edge, a white light overtaking your body as you scream into the plush cushion below.

Film legend Robert Floyd cleans your juices from your shaking thighs thoroughly.

Begrudgingly, your limbs are jelly as you bring yourself to his level. Bob’s hands continue their ministrations to the globes of your ass, squeezing and groping the soft skin. When you finally find yourself sitting upright, his thick cock nestled between the soft lips of your cunt, he gives into his desires and draws his hand up, only to bring it down with a slap! The sound rings through the room and his cheeks tinge pink with arousal and embarrassment.

“Admiral!” you giggle as he repeats the harsh slap on the other cheek. 

While you have the devastatingly sexy view of a sweaty admiral beneath you, his eyes are glued to the mirror across the trailer that captures the dark red handprint he wishes he could tattoo on your perfect ass. 

Lips descend upon his and the trailer is filled with the slick sounds of tongues and moans, four hands grasping with the need to touch. But where to touch? His burning skin? The cool pins of his jacket? It’s almost too easy a choice to wrap your fingers around the bulbous head of his cock while he swallows your desperate little tongue.

“That’s it, feel how hard Daddy is for you.”

He finally pulls himself from your kiss-bitten lips as his hands tug down the neckline of your filmy dress, exposing your heaving breasts to the room. Lips dipping down to wrap around your hardened nipple, leaving teeth marks and wet kisses on tender flesh. Your moans egging him on to bite deeper, suck harder.

The world knows the reserved man who waits to speak, level-headed in the most dire situations. And yet here he is, the remnants of your orgasm staining his chin as he closes his eyes to better enjoy the peaked bud he’s devouring. 

He’s delicious and all yours.

Your fingers tangle at the nape of his neck, grasping the short strands with all your might as you pull him off your chest with an audible pop. Those impossibly blue eyes look at you reverently, letting you call the shots so he can continue to enjoy your body as it deserves. You drag your shared gaze to where your bodies meet and a grunt involuntarily leaves him. Finally.

The first touch is a puzzle piece falling into place. The thick head of him asking for entrance, slick with your desire. 

Those unbelievably large hands hold themselves delicately at your waist, assisting your descent. His eyes flicker between yours and the welcoming entrance of your cunt. Your commanding admiral - your sweet Bobby - grasps you securely as you try to sink further on his swollen cock.

“Daddy, it’s too big.” Your voice is pained, teary eyes struggling to hold his gaze just as he likes. His size splitting you open like his own personal cock sleeve.

“You can take it, baby, just breathe.” His heart threatens to beat out of his chest as your impossibly tight cunt squeezes around him. “There’s my good girl, gonna fit all of Daddy, aren’t you?”

Hesitantly lifting your hips, muscle memory takes over as you adjust. The ease of taking his thick cock coming back to you as your breasts bounce with your fervent movement. The lapel of his jacket wrinkles as you hold it, lip between your teeth as he grazes that spongy spot only he can reach.

He guides you in your pursuit of pleasure, admiring the way you thrust you chest out as you clench around him. One hand on his lapel, the other grasping his knee. Truly using his body to get yourself off. So unbelievably sexy.

Your admiral’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing persistent slow circles over the sensitive, swollen bud. Times a hard press with when you are completely full of him, your senses overwhelmed. Bob. Bob. Bob. His balls ache with the need to claim you as his.

Impatient, knowing call time is mere moments away, Bob lifts his hips to yours. Pumping his erection deep, all the way to the hilt as his balls brush your ass. He’s so deep, so perfectly deep. A guttural moan leaves your spit-slicked lips, begging for your orgasm. 

“Are you going to cum for your admiral?” His deep voice rings through your ears as you chase your high, the world clouding as only his cock becomes your reality. Your fingers card through his hair, silver and golden brown weaving together to keep you grounded in your pleasure. “I said, are you going to cum for your admiral?”

“Yes!” The next lot over could probably hear you shout to the heavens, plunging yourself down on Bob’s thick cock as your orgasm plunges you over the cliff. Sweet relief flooding your senses as your pussy pulses around him as a thank you.

Your lips find his neck as you nuzzle in, hips still sunk low on his throbbing erection. You need to be filled with Daddy’s cum.

The stiff fabric of his uniform jacket rubs your bare skin as he holds you close, pressing your nipples to his insignia pins as he strongly thrusts those last few times. Grunting into your cooing mouth as he finally lets go, cock pulsing as thick white jets of his cum coat your walls. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” you whisper in his ear when you carefully pull off, barely enough energy to keep your thighs closed for the sake of his uniform. He gently guides you onto your back, ever the gentleman. 

You stretch your sore limbs and relax into the plushness of his trailer sofa, hands wrapping behind your head as you smile, satiated, while Bob’s creamy cum runs past your thighs to pool on the fabric. Your graying lover gives you a wry smile as he regains his breath against the back the couch, uniform crumpled and bearing a stain a little too close to his zipper. 

Always so messy. But so worth it.

There’s a rap at the door, three quick knocks that shake you both from your orgasmic haze. Bob rushes to cover your modesty, fiddling with the hems of your dress with clumsy fingers. Wishing you were home so he could wrap you in his robe and run a bath before watching the ocean from the terrace instead of praying there’s wipes in this shoddy trailer. 

“Mr. Floyd? We’re ready for you,” comes through the door. The PA who whispered you were an assistant, now only steps away from your bare breasts and dirty thighs.

You wiggle your eyebrows at Bob as you fix your own appearance, amused as the bigger than life Robert Floyd shuffles around the room, tucking in his button up and wiping sweat from his collar. Blush in full force as he hands you the thong resting on the kitchenette. He shakes his head at you, mirth softening the edges of his hard gaze. There’s another knock at the door.

Uniform fully back in place, Bob takes a moment to admire you before an afternoon in front of cameras. Enjoying this last moment before he gets into character. Hands on your soft hips, sated cerulean eyes appreciating the curves of your mischievous lips. “Be a good girl for me today and Daddy will give you a reward later. Deal?”

You bite your lip and nod with a smirk, opening the door of the trailer so he’s not later than he already is. Today you get to watch him do the thing he loves, that in itself is already a reward. The crowd outside the trailer watches you turn back and leave one last kiss to his lips.

“Yes…Admiral.”

Bob can’t wait to surprise you with the South Sea pearl and diamond earrings he’s saved for this day. It’s his baby girl’s first day on set, only the best to commemorate the occasion.

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[eoieopda]

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intently up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”

[l1tw1ck]

✨M.S Here! Dropping in to request something! You can set this aside if you lack motivation rn

But May I please get a Dom!Ftm Reader thats a mafia boss who uses Yan!Sub!Recruit or Enemy as a dildo, drugging the recruit's/Enemy's drink and just degrading them, telling them how they're only useful for Reader's pleasure?

Or

Dom!GN!Reader whose an assassin somehow ended up in bed with the top boss of Yakuza, bite marks littered all over the boss's body:]

Dom reader x sub character. Includes 2 shorts with dom ftm reader & dom gn reader respectively

sub!top!amab recruit x dom!bottom!ftm reader

language used: hole

cw: non-con, drugging

When the new recruit received a whiskey specially poured by his new boss, he was happy to accept it and never doubted that you wouldn't drug him. He was wrong to trust you.

Your new underling slowly opens his eyes, still feeling pretty doped up. He isn't sure how to feel when he realizes you're bouncing on his cock. While he's insanely turned on by the view and the feelings, a small part of him is aware enough to realize he didn't consent.

You notice he's awoken. "You're much better off being my dildo~" You smile. "You would've been fired if it weren't for this dick of yours."

His cheeks burn with heat. Your words have unlocked a new kink of his. Being degraded. He's been insulted hundreds of times but it's completely different when it's coming out of the mouth of someone who he's having sex with. Your dominant attitude and your hurtful words keep his dick flowing with blood.

"This is the only thing you're good for." You lean your head back, stroking your t-dick as you approach your release. "You're nothing- ah- nothing more than a piece of meat–" You come, squeezing his dick. He lets out sounds of pleasure as he feels your hole hug his cock tightly. His feelings might change when he sobers up but right now, he doesn't want this to end.

sub!male yakuza boss x dom!gn reader

language used for boss & reader: sex

cw: drunk sex, frottage, biting, hickeys, orgasm delay

***

You're not sure exactly how you ended up in the bed of the big bad yakuza boss after just a couple drinks nor how you managed to make him submit to you but you're not complaining. "Please- please, touch me." He begs drunkenly. He's so horny and needy for you, you feel compelled to give him what he wants. You lean into his neck and give him a kiss before biting him, your sex rubbing against his. He whimpers and moans in pleasure as he happily lets you mark him up, his body quickly reaching nirvana thanks to his drunken state. "Gonna- gonna come~" He moans. You stop, in turn preventing him from orgasming. He whines in dismay. "Please, [Name], I wanna come!"

"Ask for it properly." You hold his cheeks in your hand. "Did you forget your manners already?"

"I'm sorry- please let me come, [Name]!"

"Good boy." You purr, continuing your movements. He throws his head back, his body shaking. You watch in amusement as he reaches his peak, shivering as he comes. You don't stop however. He moans at the overstimulation. "You'll let me come too, won't you, baby?"

He nods quickly and endures it in favor of your pleasure. He's barely able to speak, his body twitching and overwhelmed by the continuous pleasure, but he's happy to make sure you have an orgasm too. He feels even more pleasure as he hears and watches you come, your enjoyment evident on your face. He doesn't want the night to end.

[chubs-deuce]

I watched the minecraft movie trailer And I Have Thoughts™

none of them are good lmao

why are we pulling a handful of "real life" humans into a video game... can't we just do "guy wakes up somewhere and has to survive with minecraft logic"? You could easily make him find hints towards an ancient curse keeping all 3 realms enslaved or whatever and then have him work his way towards the end where he fights the dragon, like- not only is this the LITERAL plot of minecraft, it's also a very compelling adventure story??? ALSO. DRAGONS. BIG END BOSS BATTLE. HELLO???

tell me you've never looked at minecraft terrain generation up close without telling me you've never looked at minecraft terrain generation up close bc whatever they decided to do just looks DEEPLY WRONG. Like if you're gonna go stylized at least be fucking consistent with the source material? Minecraft is built (pun intended) on 1x1 blocks, why does this movie's landscape look like everything grows and forms like pyrite

why are piglins trying to raid the overworld??? 1) they would zombify within 15 seconds 2) piglins don't even attack unless provoked 3) THIS IS ILLAGER ERASURE 4) they aren't even wearing gold armor...

the cast look like randomly generated sims, get Jason a better wig at least for fucks sake!

they bleached steve minecraft :(

something tells me the humor will be a cringefest filled with outdated meme references people haven't cared about in 10 years

it's concerning that we see no hints at other typical minecraft mobs beyond creepers and the nether ones... The complete lack of even just implied endermen presence makes me feel like the entirety of the end dimension isn't even gonna come up as a passing subject :(

I honestly had no hopes for this movie to begin with, but seeing it botched so hard still stings...

It's like a minecraft flavored jumanji movie but worse, bc the actual minecraft "flavor" experienced so much corporate dilution and had so little thought put into it that they might as well not have fucking bothered at all...

I am hoping beyond hope that this movie will flop so fucking hard, give it the morbius treatment of not even granting it hatewatch revenue

This movie should've been a visual love letter to a wildly beloved and insanely influential video game classic, not shallow kids entertainment CGI slop that looks like someone lovelessly based it off of a CEO's poorly researched summary of what A Mined Craft is and then pulled like 6 screenshots to work off of D:< giving it the sonic movie treatment won't be enough, these guys would have to make a whole new movie with how much shit needs fixing

[kitkatscabinet]

Are you there God?

Summary: A chance meeting in the dilapidated remains of your mother's old church ends up changing the trajectory of two lives

Pairing: Jason Todd x f! Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, mentions of Christianity and nsfw themes. Unedited.

There’s a chill in the air, carrying with it the promise of an upcoming winter. The old church offers little reprieve from the harsh bite of the night air, the wind easily pushing through dilapidated wood. 

The many near burnt-out candles that flicker and cast dancing shadows across the darkened chapel emanate no heat. Nor does the flimsy jacket you’d hastily adorned before this impromptu midnight visit. 

Your fingertips tingle from the cool temperature, even as you exhale smoke from the cigarette you’d used one of the dying candles to light. 

Sacrilegious sure, you could perfectly picture the scowling faces of the nuns if they could see you, but it was one of those nights—the nights where you needed something, anything to take the edge off. 

And if nicotine was your preferred poison? Well better that than heroin you argued. 

Besides, if God existed then he had bigger issues to worry about than you sprinkling some ash on the floor of an old dilapidated church slated for condemnation. 

A tinge of sorrow hits you as you take in the poor state of what was once your mother’s church. You’ve no fond memories of the place, having hated being dragged along every Sunday by your more devout mother in your childhood. Now though, it’s one of your last remaining connections to your long passed mother. 

Gotham had never been an overtly religious city, you guessed it was hard to believe in a supposedly merciful God when you lived in such a shithole. And ever since the discovery of aliens, demons and the like, Gotham’s faith in anything divine had long since seemed to die out completely.

You stare up at the wooden Jesus hanging behind the pew contemplatively. It’s silly, you’re not even remotely religious but something compels you to speak to the empty space regardless. 

“Forgive me Father for I have sinned” That was how it went right? “It’s been… well forever since my last confession.” 

“I look like a priest to you darlin?” A startled screech leaves your lips at the unexpected masculine voice. Jolting, the butt of your cigarette flies from your hand, your free one clutching at your chest. 

“Jesus Christ!” You exclaimed, trying to calm your hammering heart. 

“Not quite.” The voice rumbles as a muscular figure steps into your view. Your eyes trail from booted feet up to thick thighs adorned with gun holsters that inspire some incredibly less-than-holy thoughts. But it’s the blazing red bat symbol stretched across the man’s chest that makes your mouth run dry, it's the Red Hood.

You’d never seen the gun-toting, violent, vigilante in person but it's unmistakable who’s standing across from you now.  Forcing your breathing to even out, you allow your muscles to relax as you lean back against the wooden pew. 

“Too pretty to be a priest.” You agree with his earlier statement, watching in amusement as the vigilante stutters in his steps. It was cute, watching a man of his renown and stature suddenly flounder in embarrassment. 

“Didn’t exactly take you to be the religious sort.” You say, gaze never once leaving his form as he slowly sits down on the creaking bench beside you. 

“I’m not.” He grunts.

“Me neither.” You confess, the two of you sitting in companionable silence as you stare up at the wooden Jesus that presided over the church. 

You don’t know what compels you to keep returning to that dilapidated old church (that’s a lie, you know damn well why), but like clockwork, every Sunday night you return. And every Sunday night, so does he. 

At first, he hadn’t been consistent. Why would he? The Red Hood had no reason to be skulking around a random church, nor did he have a reason to want to see you. 

Still, you kept going to that church, and unbeknownst to you, so did he. 

Since that first night, Jason Todd had been watching. What had started with concern over a young woman walking alone at night had morphed into curiosity into what he refused to acknowledge was a crush. 

Though he’s pretty sure not even the helmet had been able to hide the heart eyes he’d thrown your way when you admitted that Pride and Prejudice was your favourite novel. 

He’s late sometimes, bloodied and bruised, but three months following that first fateful meeting, the Red Hood goes out of his way to meet with a random civilian girl. 

It was nearing the two-month mark when everything changed. The both of you were forced to acknowledge the underlying tension of the odd and unexpected friendship that had formed in the twilight hours spent under the roof of a God neither of you believed in. 

It had been the first time you’d seen him injured, barely a scratch in Jason’s opinion, but the way you’d worked yourself into a frenzy of worry over him, the way you’d dropped to your knees before him and had taken his bloody knuckles into your gentle touch would forever be engraved into his mind. 

It’s at that moment that Jason realises God’s not there, because if so then surely he would have smitten Jason then and there for thinking such sinful thoughts in his house. Besides, as far as he was concerned, you were the only entity worth praying to anyway. 

He wants so badly to rip off the mask, secret identity be damned, and kiss you breathless. In the end, cowardice wins out, but Jason thinks back on that night often with regret. 

“Favourite hero go,” Red asks, turning to look at you with what you imagine is a smirk under his stupid red helmet. 

“It’s not you if that’s what you’re fishing for,” you grin, looking back up at the ceiling from where you lay on the wooden floor, protected from the dust and splinters by an old picnic blanket. 

The terrifying sort-of-crimelord lying beside you scoffs in offence like the big baby he is. 

“Ok then who is it?”

“Wonder Woman.”

“Oh that’s such a basic bitch fucking answer.” You know he’s joking, Red’s made it clear that despite his distaste for Batman he respects the hell out of Wonder Woman. Still, you entertain him, rolling your eyes dramatically. 

“Fine, you wanna know the real answer? It’s Black Canary, but specifically when she was rocking that full-body black leotard with the mesh cutouts on the legs and the cropped bomber jacket.”

There’s a stunned silence that follows your passionate answer before Red bursts into laughter. 

“Oh, fuck you,” you quip, though there’s no actual heat behind your words. 

“You wish.” Any witty retort instantly dies on your lips and you’re suddenly distinctly aware of the heat emanating off his shoulder which brushes lightly against yours. 

Red has stopped laughing, coughing to clear his throat as you suddenly wish for the floor to swallow you whole. For anything to distract you from the way your mind suddenly races, filled with various images of different positions you could achieve right there in front of Jesus. 

“Right, well, I should probably go. Bad guys to catch and all.” It’s painfully awkward and so is your lacklustre response. 

“Oh, yeah … yeah.”

Neither of you move though and you don’t think you’ve ever been more hyper-aware of your body and the one lying next to you in your life. You quickly sit up, the vigilante mimicking your movements. 

“So um —”

“Well I — ” The both of you speak at once, you motion for him to go first and he clears his throat once more. 

“I should probably go now. Bye.” With that, he’s gone so fast he might as well have been the flash, leaving you alone to stew in the mortification and arousal that’s worked its way into your belly. 

A scream of frustration rips its way out of your throat when your mind conjures up the very graphic image of you straddling one of Red’s delicious thighs and refuses to drop the line of thought. 

Little did you know, Jason had needed to cut his patrol short for the same reason. A cold shower having practically screamed his name. 

Footsteps echoed up the aisle towards where you were sat in the front pew, as had become a tradition between you and your vigilante, playfully you turn towards the source. “Hey Red, you’re late — ” the words die on your tongue, mouth running dry as you take in a trio of figures, none of whom are the Red Hood. 

The fear must show on your face as you shakily stand, and try to create space from the ominously grinning men. 

“What’s the matter darlin?” One of them drawls, and you want to throw up at the use of the petname, that was what he called you. 

“Look, I don’t know what you want but my friend will be here soon.” You mentally curse yourself when you notice the way your voice quivers, and the men clearly pick up on it too. 

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Fear nearly roots you to your place at the surety in his words, but you live in Gotham and Red Hood has made it his mission to get you to be able to defend yourself. 

You don’t think, you just move, and when the nearest guy reaches out to grab your arm you knee him in the balls. He goes down with a howl and you think you break the second guy's nose if the crunch is any indication. 

The unmistakable click of a gun’s safety has you stopping in your tracks once more.  “That’s it, just settle down now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to that pretty face of yours now would we?”

Tears well up in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall, unwilling to give them the satisfaction. Goon #2 uses the opportunity to grab your arm in a bruising grip before a blow to the cheek leaves you reeling, black dots dancing across your vision as you struggle to regain your senses. 

“Speak for yourself, the little bitch broke my fucking nose.” 

“What do you want from me?” You croak when you finally regain the ability to speak, ignoring the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. 

“From you? Nothing. It’s not personal darling, but the word around here is that the Red Hood is sweet on ya, and well, I don’t appreciate the way he’s been nosing about my business lately.”

You should be terrified of the implications of that statement, about what these men will do to you, and you are — but you can’t stop thinking about how Red will inevitably blame himself for anything that happens to you. 

You close your eyes, trying to make peace with what is likely the hour of your death. You’re in a house of God, you should be praying to him, and yet all you can think of is Red. Your Red.

A gunshot rings out, followed by another, and another. When seconds pass and you feel no pain you open your eyes, just in time to witness the Red Hood reaching gently for your face. Despite yourself, you flinch slightly when his gloved hand brushes lightly against your cheek. 

He reels back as if stricken, and immediately you wish to rectify your mistake. With a sob, you launch yourself into his arms, ignoring what is probably the corpses of the three men lying on the ground. 

“You saved me,” you mumbled against his chest, relishing in how safe you felt encased in his arms. 

“Always.” There’s such surety in that single word, such devotion that you believe him. 

“Red — ” you mumble, pulling away to meet what you expect to be the whites of his mask, only to gasp when you find yourself looking into swirling pools of blue-green. 

“Jason,” the whispered name is a confession to you alone, though you barely have time to ponder the new information before a pair of lips descend upon your own. Your eyes flutter closed once more, hands wrapping around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. 

You’ll deal with the after-effects of what you just experienced later, what almost happened to you, for now, you’re content to remain absorbed in Red’s — in Jason’s arms.

The man who'd been there when God wasn't.

[yandere-sins]

How would it be if blade's darling had wanted to contact him, though? Maybe to try and talk about things? They probably wouldn't know about the mind reset kafka does, so when they try to contact him to set up a meeting they think he remembers them.

Oh my god, that just gave me the sweetest of images! Some yandere's love is just so pure, I swear ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Blade didn't really know why he reacted so fast to the unknown sound.

He usually didn't get bothered by that thing in his pocket, a device Kafka made him walk around with, telling him to check it regularly. It pling! and dundun! all day long, notifications appeared on its screen that he didn't usually react to unless someone mentioned him by name. Why would he? He knew his mission; there was no need to be in constant contact with the others.

Bing!

And yet, when a new sound rang in his ears, one he hadn't heard before, Blade stopped dead in his tracks. The guy he was hunting hurdled away, crawling through the pools of blood on the floor while the rain washed away the evidence of battle. Holding his bloody stomach, he watched the Hunter reach into his pocket, picking up his phone, unbothered by the massacre in front of him, almost as if he forgot about his target that took the chance to scramble to his feet, running for his dear life.

Blade gazed at the bright screen, his eyes hurting, but he didn't even notice the pain as he read the latest banner that notified him of a message.

we need to talk

The hairs at the back of his neck stood straight as he read those four words. Blade's mouth ran dry while his breathing stopped. As if he had to hear better, every one of his motions ceased, and the sounds of the constant traffic in the distance vanished. He felt fury build up as raindrops landed on his screen, the words vanishing. Yet he didn't understand why.

Bing! Bing!

He flinched. Even a second time and repeated, this sound differed from when Kafka or Silver Wolf tried to contact him. He didn't remember it ever ringing out before. A slight shake of nervousness went through him, followed by a spark of excitement. Before he knew it, he was reading the message—eager, desperate.

[Location sent]  meet me here tonight, we really have to talk. i want this to end, you have to...

The message preview stopped there, and Blade snapped out of his trance. Slowly, his eyes trudged to the sender's name, but it was only a culmination of unfamiliar numbers. He looked at the time next, and with a twinge of disappointment, he realized it was early noon at best. A shaky breath escaped him, and for the first time since he got the notifications, he looked up into the dark alleyway before him.

It was quiet, no more breathing of his enemies. Yet, he could hear his own blood pounding in his ears and feel the desperate grip on the sword he still clutched onto. It had not been drenched in the blood of his target completely, yet, he didn't feel the yearning of finishing a job.

Instead, Blade felt compelled to go.

Where to, he didn't know. Somewhere, or precisely, where he should go, but he had never opened the message he received with the location. All he knew was that he had to go there. His legs moved on their own, steps splashing in the wet puddles on the ground. By the time he walked out onto the busy street, his sword had vanished, but not that feeling of urgency pushing him forward.

What were those feelings? Why did they keep aggravating him so? His head hurt as the lights of the cars flashed by him, taking in every moment of his pain. He should stop. He had to call Kafka. Something was wrong, and although he couldn't pinpoint it, it would be dangerous to continue on this unfamiliar path on his own.

Reaching into his pocket, he felt the little device vibrate against his fingers, followed by the now-more familiar Bling! he began to dread yet anticipate at the same time.

don't chicken out this time! just come and let's talk... i know you can see my messages

Staring at the message for a moment, he let the phone sink back into his pocket, never bothering to reply. You knew he was going to come, and he would. He wouldn't miss it for anything in this world.

You?

Who?

His legs carried him onwards into the unknown, but something told him that he knew exactly where he could find you, even if he didn't remember. Something inside him knew, and this feeling grew and grew stronger until it robbed him of any reason. There was a pull on him so strong, he couldn't help but pursue it—hunt it.

You, whoever you are, were his next target, and he had to have you. All to himself. Pressed against his marred body, engulfed by his shadow, never to be seen by anyone else again. Never to be touched unless it were his fingers resting gently against your skin, and never to be tasted unless it was on his lips and tongue. If he must devour you to have you all to himself, he would. And he would tear you down and ruin you to the point that no one would dare to take his prey away from him.

Blade had to have you. Savagely, violently. All to himself.

He didn't know who you were or what you wanted from him. Why you contacted him, or how you even knew about this pitiful creature with a heart beating so fast that he felt real fear for its safety inside of him. But he'd find you, have you, and destroy you.

And he couldn't wait to meet you.

[midnight-bay-if]

How would the RO's react to an MC dying in their arms?

(Oh, dear… I see you’re here for the angst, anon. That’s fair. So am I. I decided to answer this with little shorts instead because I enjoy pain, haha. :))

S:

S pumps your chest almost brutally as they bark orders at the others.

“Taj, call an ambulance this instant.”

“Rain, stand by for the recovery position.”

A desperation everyone can feel feeds their words. They refuse to give up. They can’t. “One, two, three, four.” They chant the numbers in time with the chest compressions, compelling the ashen colour of your lips to revive their warmth with a silent prayer. “Don’t do this,” they cry as the blood seeps between their fingers and slips mid-compression, causing them to shout in frustration with sweat dripping down their brow.

This can’t be happening. They made a promise, a vow. They wouldn’t lose anyone else under their protection. They promised!

How could they have miscalculated this badly? And with you?! This can’t be real…

S lifts their head to the heavens, no longer able to face the weight of the failure, staring so vividly at them with blank eyes.

Rain kneels beside them, tears spilling down their cheeks. “I’m sorry, S. They’re gone.”

S shakes their head ardently, still pushing down on your chest. “No. I just need to keep their heart moving until the paramedics arrive. They’re going to be fine.”

Rain slowly shakes their head and places a grounding hand on S’s shoulder. They break. All movement stops.

S stares down at your glassy eyes with hollowness. Their beating heart has given way to a void of nothing like a light switch being turned off and plunging them into darkness.

After a few moments of staring blindly, of feeling the blood clinging to their clothes and skin like tar, S inhales sharply. Pale and shaking, they reach over and gently close your eyes.

Don’t cry. Keep it together. They still have a duty to you they must complete. There are a lot of people who will keep them strong, especially now.

When they are alone, and only when they are one, will they allow themselves to feel. And they will feel it. Every crippling second of it.

Rain:

It’s like time slows down. From across the room, they watch helplessly as your legs give out from beneath you and your body plummets to the ground.

“NO!” They scream. Their heart slams against their chest in rhythm with their feet as they rush to your side. Taj and S are screaming at them to “Stop!” “Wait!” “We still need you in this fight!” but the words fade like dreams. The only thought festering in Rain’s mind is, ‘Why aren’t you getting back up?’

Rain falls to their knees beside you, tears spilling from their eyes as they are confronted with the deep wounds covering your body, torturing them with their ineptitude. With vision blurred, they press their shaky hands into the wounds. “Come on, MC. You’re going to make it.” Scrunching their eyes closed in concentration, Rain breaks every vow they’ve ever made to themselves. If it’s to save your life, they will do anything.

They focus their magic into your blood, manipulating it away from the wounds. If they can direct the blood flow to the brain… if there’s a chance…

“It’s too late, Rain.” Following the extinction of the threat, Taj and S watch forlornly as Rain desperately saps at their magical reserves to save you.

“What the hell are you talking about?!” They bite back viciously.

Taj shakes their head, grabbing Rain by the arm. “Listen.”

Rain stops. They listen. Then, they notice. The flow of blood… has stopped. “No, no, no,” they whimper, pulling away from Taj as they frantically begin shaking you. “Wake up, MC. Please! This can’t be happening. This can’t happen!”

“I’m sorry, Rain.” Both Taj and S turn away, affording Rain the respect of their grief.

Rain cries and cries, and it feels like they will never dry up. How much grief can one person carry before it maims you completely? Your death is another drop in their ocean of bloody history, yet it may very serve as the catalyst for the hurricane that finally buries them. For what reason do they have left to swim?

Taj:

This can’t happen. This can’t fucking happen.

Blood drips from the tips of their canines. Drip. Drip. Drip. They taste the remnants of the parasite whose throat they had ripped out, tainting their tongue with its bile. They feel sick.

It comes to them in flashes. They were fighting with the others, cockily throwing barbs at their opponents with a self-assuredness that came with years of fighting. Then, they heard it. A scream. Your scream. So frighteningly ear-piercing that they felt their heart shudder in fear. All they could do was react. Instincts took over, and their canines pierced the offender’s throat before their next intake of breath as they tore at the jugular.

Now, with a mouth full of flesh and blood, they collapse to their knees. They spit out the remnants, retching the contents of their stomach onto the ground. The red haze of their anger fizzles away, and only the cold realisation of what happened remains.

Taj turns to you, more frantic than they think they’ve ever felt. You are lying flat and motionless, staring up at nothing at all. You’re not breathing. You’re not fucking breathing.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” they mutter, dragging their knees across the hard concrete to be closer to you. Taj grabs your hand and places your palm against their face. It already feels cold. “Don’t leave, Koel. Don’t you dare fucking leave me.”

Taj watches as the eyes, once so full of bravery and spark, slowly fade of all light… and tears spill from theirs.

N:

They feel it. All of it.

The knife. The pain. The blood. It’s all so visceral that they are certain it’s happening to them. But they look down. There’s no knife, no pain, no blood. How strange. N feels around their abdomen and stomach, just to be sure. It felt so real.

Then, they hear it. A shriek so penetrative and cruel it must have been conjured from the very heavens to torture them. It rattles in their skull, forcing them to their knees with its cacophony. N thrusts their hands over the ears, desperate to make it stop.

“What is it?”

Umbra, who had been fighting by their side, scowls down at them in bemusement after dispatching their opponent.

“Do you not hear it? How can you not hear it?!”

That’s when it hits them. That scream – it had been inside their head. Which could only mean one thing…

N shoots up onto their feet, their head swivelling side to side as they search the carnage. The scream is still screaming. You’re still alive. They just need to find you.

Then, it stops. A gasp. Pain. A whispered word spoken directly into their mind. ‘I’m sorry.’

N spots you. You’re lying there in a puddle of your own blood, but you’re there. They just have to get to you. ‘Don’t apologise,’ they think clearly, directing it to you. ‘I’m coming, my dear. Just hold on.’

Then, nothing. Silence. Only silence.

N thoughts are faster than their feet as they ardently search yours for anything. A reprimand for reading your mind again, or a sly joke for getting them so worked up, anything.

Nothing.

The carnage that follows is truly breathtaking. Balls of molten inferno burn through everything daring enough to come close, leaving behind trails of dust and ash. N feeds on the screams of those who dared lay their hands on the reason for their heart beating. Ultimately, it takes S and their team to put an end to the terror.

This was never how N wanted to return to full power.

Umbra:

Umbra had been practising trust. You had discussed in length how their constant hovering had become cumbersome to you and that they needed to trust you and the people around you more. That your protection wasn’t their responsibility, and it was important to you that they learned to value themselves just as much.

So, they had been trying. It was the only reason they weren’t directly by your side in that battle.

The moment your body hits the floor, Umbra realises, for the first time, they must truly have been alive. Because this has to be what dying feels like.

There’s nothing left of your attacker except stripped ribbons of flesh, torn to shreds with Umbra’s blade. Once the threat has been eliminated and Umbra has drenched themselves in their blood, they drop the blade and watch as it clatters against the ground.

With trembling hands, they ignore the puddle of your own blood as they desperately scramble for a pulse. “I need this,” they whisper to anyone with power enough to listen. “Don’t take them away from me.”

When the expected rise of your chest never comes, Umbra’s world completely shatters. It’s their fault. It’s all their fault. It should be them bleeding out on that floor - not you. Umbra would suffer a million cuts this instant if it meant seeing your eyes open once more because nothing could cut deeper than this.

So, they won’t let you go. They refuse.

Even if it takes burrowing down into the darkest depths of Hael, or bloodying their hands in a river of crimson with a thousand sacrifices, they will do it. They will get you back.

With a deadly determination, Umbra stands, cradling your lifeless body in their arms.

“No matter how long it takes. I will see you again.”

(Well, I literally spent all day writing these, haha. At the start, I was all gung ho about how I like angst, but these got a little real for me at times. Enjoy!)

[onepiecepetalfanfics089]

Yandere vampire Luffy getting jealous and breaking the nose of one of his vampy friends trying to bite on his precious Reader?

Belong To Me~..

College student reader!! X yandere vampire! Luffy!

Halloween special~

Fluttering your eyes open, you opened your eyes and sat up in your bed to face the world. Looking around, you noticed it was a bit dark..the curtains were closed after all.

“It’s so dark in here..isn’t supposed to be a bit sunny today..?”

You asked to yourself, sitting up out of your bed, you got up and turned to your curtains. Opening then to the reveal the glorious sunlight shining through. Of course the weather wasn’t as hot though. A smile made its way onto your lips as you were just about to comment on the weather, especially for Halloween season you heard a hiss.

A hiss of pain, like someone was behind you and felt pain from the..sunlight..?

Immediately, you turned around to look at what was behind you but there you saw nothing. In the shadows you saw nothing lurking around..

Or so you thought..

Little did you know that there was a certain vampire with obsidian black hair and big wide eyes filled with curiosity and adventure. A vampire that was completely..compelled by you.

Luffy blew on his wing as quietly as he could, but also trying to heal it from the sunlight you just had to shine at this time of day!

He huffed, his eyes following your every move while you walked around the room. Who knows how long he’s been staying in your apartment..one day he found you and couldn’t let go..he would never forget that one fateful rainy day.

The wind was crisp as autumn was coming to a close. The moon was shining bright as a light in a dark room. Luffy unfortunately, was having a bit too much fun in his bat form that night and was being a little reckless..he was laying on the wet floor, tired, hurt and hungry. But then you came. You came and rescued him from who knows what could’ve happen to him. You fed him, cared for him and loved him. All in his bat form but that still counts for something right?!

His heart fluttered as he grinned, showing his white shiny fangs along with his other pearly white teeth. Just look at you..those eyes..that hair..that smile.

He just had to protect you no matter what..soon, you’d be his..

And nothing could change that.

He was absolutely sure of it, oh so delusional..his grin didn’t even falter at all as he jumped from the bookshelf and turned into his bat form, flying after you when he saw you leave out the front door while you were talking on the phone, trying to keep quiet.

The sound of your phone ringing got your attention as you picked it up from your bag and answered it, the beeping finally stopping. Now your eyes were locked on where you were going but still you kept your mind open to whoever was calling you so suddenly just when classes were about to start.

“Hey,Y/N!!”

Your eyes lit up as soon as you heard that voice, it was your best friend who was also attending the school you were currently going to! But what did they want?

“Hey,(F/N) what’s up? You know we’ll see each other in class right?”

“Yeah i know! But I just wanted to make sure about one thing, you’re going to the Halloween party one of the students is throwing tonight right? It’s gonna be huge!!”

You thought about for a second..would a part be good for you?..you liked Halloween..and you could get a a taste of the college experience better..sure why not!

You have been feeling a bit..watched lately..

A smile made its way onto your lips as you opened up the door to your first class of the day.

“You bet your ass I am!”

.

.

.

.

.

.

When you walked into the party you were immediately hit by the flashing lights and colors. So many people were dancing and even singing that it was hard to keep track of who was who.

Looking around for your friend who invited you in the first place, you went over to the punch bowl.

Leaning against the railing, you took out your phone and texted your friend to let them know you were here but all of a sudden you felt a light, gentle tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw a boy with black hair. He had a big grin on his face with excitement in his wide eyes. Something about him was truly..compelling..you could already tell. He had a scar under his right eye and..fangs?..

No! That had to be a costume! Get it it together Y/N!..

Looking up at him, his smile only grew somehow. He just met you but seemed so so excited..was he new?..

“Hi!! My names Luffy! Yours?!”

He did while holding his hand out, sheepishly smiling you gently took it and shook it in a friendly manner.

“Hey Luffy I’m Y/N..how do you know the host of this party?..or are you new to campus..I don’t recall seeing you around..”

He blinked a few times and then laughed a bit nervously.

“Oh well..yeah..I’m new! I know the host by..an old pal!”

Tilting your head you nodded. The whole conversation so far, you saw that he hadn’t removed his gaze off of you..once.

His cheery attitude never left or faltered once while the two of you were talking and for some reason you felt he was a bit off. Whenever you told him something about yourself like your favorite food, color or music style, he didn’t seem surprised like..at all.

It was like he already knew the answers.

Like he already knew you.

Like the back of his hand..

A few minutes had passed and he was still rambling about some nonsense. Boy, he really did know how to talk your ear off didn’t he..? He seemed so excited to talk to you. Not to mention he kept inching a bit closer, so close that if he wanted to, he could pull you in a hug without even trying.

Then out of no where, two hands slowly slid down to your hips. Eyes widening in shock and surprise you instinctively turned around to face whoever was in a touchy mood tonight.

You would notice that Luffy also stopped immediately when someone Dared to lay a finger on your precious body.

He was clenching his plastic cup with juice in it, making the juice slowly drip down his fist to his arm.

He hated when others stole your attention from him. He did not like it. Not one bit.

The person who grabbed you from behind seemed to have the same vibe as Luffy….kinda..And those fangs..those fangs they had looked so real..

But they couldn’t be! Vampires weren’t real! Right?

“Hey Luffy, who’s this cutie?..”

The guy asked, unusually staring at the side of your neck..

Luffy groaned. Why couldn’t he just have you to himself?..he gave a little pout as he watched you and his friend talk for a bit.

In all honesty, he didn’t really care if that guy was his friend..

Yeah, they did know each other for a few..years, and they looked out fir each other whenever the humans tried to kill them but..

Whoever should even dare to touch will get their asses kicked.

Luffy’s thoughts were really running wild through his mind. What if he tried to take you away from him..? What would he do with you? Who would he do with you?!?

Man..he really didn’t know why you made him so..so..

Quiet.

His mind then went quiet when he saw the sight before him.

His friend was trying to bite you.

He had his jaw open and forcefully tilting your head to the side so he could have more access. You look confused out of your mind, why was he trying to bite you..? What was this?

With the lights, the music and the people all around you three, adrenaline shot through Luffy’s veins. He snapped. He just couldn’t handle this anymore.

You were his.

You saved him.

He was supposed to protect you!

Without a thought he lunged forward, a shadow covering his eye as a serious look that rarely showed on his face.

His fist instantly connecting with his friend who tried to bite your neck with his dirty slimy teeth. The guy clenched his nose as blood trickled from his hand and letting out a loud groan of pain.

You were absolutely shocked, looking down at him with a mix of shock and horror.

By now, the party had stopped and everyone was looking at the scene that just played out.

Luffy took a few deep breaths, his fists clenched. Looking at you he smiled, not even caring about the whole scene he had caused.

Without any hesitation at all he swooped you up into his arms and flew out the window, holding you tight as you screamed for help. There were people who ran to try to help and others just stared. Ether way he finally had you now he was never letting you go.

Ever.

Back in his cave he had you in between his legs, snuggling his head in your neck. Unfortunately, you were making too much noise while he was carrying you so he had to knock you out. It was okay though! You would forgive him eventually..

He had to admit he was overjoyed to finally have you here his cave, holding you close and caring for you.

He had all your favorite things here!..that he may or may not have stolen from your home..Your clothes, pictures..you would love it!

A grin was plastered on his face as he took in your scent and let out a happy sigh.

“Finally..”

He said softly in your neck, his grip slowly tightening around you.

“You Belong To Me..”

Hey guys!! I thought I’d do this request first since it was only two days after Halloween! I really liked this one and I hope you guys did too!❤️🌸❤️

@anemptypuddingcup thank you so much for requesting this sweetie! I really hope you liked this!! I thought I’d make it into a modern college AU because it fit better for me lol, sorry if that messed it up 😭 but I really hope you enjoyed this because it was so much fun to write this🫶🏼 remember, you can always request from me because I LOVE your ideas! Thank you again darling!

Until next time my pretty petals!! 🌸🌱🪷

[approximateknowledge]

beater syndrome or: "why people misunderstand vriska and kirito for the same reason"

so a little while ago i made a random shitpost that ended me up with this image

^cursed entity

and it's come back to haunt me with ungogly revelations which i will now share because i have to it feels important

context: originally i was just gonna make a post about kirito, explaining how people misunderstand the character and *why* (and why it's completely understandable); but then i realised there was a real pattern here and the subconscious connection that led to the above cursed image suddenly made sense in my mind

so here it is:

the reason kirito gets mischaracterised so often has entirely to do with the combination of:

a) most people only having watched the aincrad arc (&lt;;keyword watched),

and

b) the fact the anime gives a twisted image of the characters due to the fact the internal dialogues from the light novel get cut out completely

the end result of this is that when most people talk about "kirito", they're actually talking about "the beater", and those are crucially *not the same*!

the "beater" is a *role*, and a very specific one at that; it's what happens when you try to "own up" to accusations and unreasonable expectations (internal or external) to such an extent you're always playing the same self-destructive part, and because it's fundamentally a defense mechanism you just get stuck in it until things change drastically enough it finally feels safe to stop playing that horrible role and try to remember who you really are, after everything's over

that's what's happening here; when people say a character is "a kirito" they're actually referring to the beater, and the reason those characters suck ass is because they unironically use what's actually a coping mechanism in a horrible situation for a character's actual personality; of course it sucks! because they're doing it wrong!

it's about trying to convince yourself being a loner destructive scapegoat is "cool" despite always having a nagging insecurity it might just not be, but given the circumstances you're in too deep and so the sunk cost fallacy compels you to keep going

it's not *actually* cool; if anything it's depressing

now i think it's becoming obvious how all of this applies to vriska as well, but there's one crucial difference: the death game never actually *ends* for vriska serket; even now in post-canon she's arguably the *only* character who seems to still be playing sgrub, or maybe she never even stopped flarping

except for one version of her. for (vriska) the game did finally end. and they're the same

the beater dies when the game ends, and we see it happen to both of them

(also they're both transfem i didn't know how to fit that in but they are and that's a fact)

[licorice-tea]

Don’t Fall In Love With Me (Yet) Pt. 2

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: mentions of fights/canon typical violence and weapons, sooo much pining, can be read as a stand alone or as part of the mini series, allies to friends to lovers (soon!?), etc!

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: hmmm where do i start? i changed the pov from third to second person, (the first part was third person) the writing style of this is a little different from what i usually do but i still like it so hopefully you do to! pls enjoy and ty for reading <333

edited 1/8/24

Part 1 | Part 3

Law finds y/n leaning on the starboard railing of the Thousand Sunny.

You feel Law’s steps on the wooden planks and look over your shoulder to see him approaching. you swear you can hear your own heartbeat, and only hope that he won’t be able to hear it, too. Your thoughts are interrupted by his presence to your left. Law leans over the railing, mug of coffee in hand. A moment of silence passes while he watches you watch the sea from the corner of his eye.

“Can you even see anything?” he questions, his words coming off much harsher than intended,

A bit caught off guard, you simply respond, “Mhm, everything.” you have good vision, so you’re sort of the natural choice for keeping watch if Zoro doesn’t feel like staying up.

You can feel Law’s gaze on your profile. You can also feel your cheeks heating up, but those two things are completely independent… It doesn’t even matter though, because the darkness of the night should be enough to hide that from him.

“Are you having a good time on board the Thousand Sunny?” 

“It’s alright. You guys are really loud.” He says in a near scoff.

“Oh… Sorry about that.” Did you really bother him so much?

Law mentally kicks himself and is quick to wave a hand in front of his face apologetically, “No, I just mean… you’re all very energetic. Not you specifically, either. You’re actually really, uh…”

You wait patiently, now peering up at him through your lashes. He meets your eyes with his own, much more frantic gaze.

“You’re… nice.” He finally averts his eyes with a turn of cheek.

“Oh… thank you.” You smile to yourself. “I think you’re really nice, too.”

Law releases another scoff, though it comes off as more surprised than mean. He struggles with accurately portraying his feelings for you, who remains equally oblivious to his feelings as he does to yours. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not known for being nice.”

“People must not really know you, then.”

“And you do?”

“Not as much as I’d like to, but well enough.”

“… What?” He finds that you make him feel dumb sometimes, be it through quick rebuttals or patient stares.

“I just mean, we could be friends. But I understand if you don’t-“

“I do.”

“… Ok.” You grin once more.

The pair stare out to sea, and Law takes another sip of his coffee.

“How come I never see you in fights with your crew?”

“I try to stay out of the way. Plus, I don’t really like fighting in the first place- that’s not why I joined my crew. It’s more of a last resort.”

“Interesting.”

“You think so?”

“That you would rather play support than have to get into a fight? Definitely. It’s not very pirate-like.” He nearly sneers- he has certain beliefs on what a pirate should be in order to be of use to their crew.

But, ever the optimist, you simply laugh, “So I’ve been told,” you start. “I guess I’m a little… strict about my morals. Just never really want to hurt someone, you know? Even if it makes people think I’m weak, because I know I’m not.”

“At least you’re self aware.” Law begins, but for some unknown reason feels compelled to continue. To give you some little piece of himself in return for what you’ve told him. However, after he tells you, “I don’t enjoy fighting much either, I just do it to protect my crew.” he feels like he’s talking too much.

You listen intently, “And do you have a family? If you don’t mind me asking.”

He shakes his head no, “Gone.”

You nod solemnly. “Well, I’m sure they’d be proud of you.”

“Have you… lost someone?” Law immediately regrets asking such a personal question.

But, you aren't offended. “No, I’ve been lucky in that way. Though we aren’t really… We don’t… Well, we’re not close.”

“Why’s that?” he mimics your earlier question, which you pick up on and smirk at.

So you sigh; “I guess the whole running-away-with-a-pirate crew thing kind of soiled their opinion of me.”

Your eyes meet again after your confession, and after a moment of silence, you both break out in laughter. Except, Law’s is more of just the shake of his shoulders, while you actually laugh.

“It’s not funny-” Law says through broken exhales.

“No, it’s really not!” you shake your head, still caught in a fit of giggles.

Eventually you both still yourselves, and Law concentrates on his half empty mug while you look up at the stars above head. Then you look at him from the corner of their eye, just for a split second, but find his eyes are already trained on you. So you offer a smile, like always, and go back to star gazing. Another moment passes, and your enjoyment of conversation gets the best of you.

“What’s it like living in a submarine?” Law raises a brow and gives a sidelong glance at your question. “Don’t you miss land and the sky when you’re down there?”

“Yeah. I miss land sometimes, I guess.”

You explore the answer to your question further by standing up on the ledge before you, and leaning over the railing to look down into the waves being split by the Thousand Sunny. It’s not a particularly dangerous stunt at all- there’s the floor, a 3 inch raised ledge, and the railing on top of it. When you stand on it, your height is barely altered; that’s how non perilous what you are doing is, for context. You simply want to lean over to see the waves.

But Law’s hand shoots out to grasp your shoulder, acting as a tether. You look at him with a concerned expression, which turns into a smirk. You could stay up there, maybe even turn and lift yourself slightly to sit on the railing itself, but you decide to come back down to the floor on your heels instead of giving the surgeon something else to stress over. Law then pulls his hand back rigidly and scratches the back of his neck with near painful awkwardness due to his sudden display of concern for your safety.

“I don’t think I could trip all the way over the railing unless I tried.” You tease.

“No, I- I know.” he coughs. Did he really just stutter?

“See? You are nice. You care.” you punctuate your statement with a smirk and the side to side tilt of their head. An occasional habit that, if someone were around you often enough to witness, they would know signified a feeling of triumph.

Law is at a loss for words at the moment, thoughts clouded by the growing warmth in his chest that seems to fluctuate up and down his neck and face, but never disappears completely when he’s around you.

“Sure.” he takes to mumbling again.

“You know, I really like having you here with us.”

“…You do?”

“Yeah. I love the other Straw Hats of course, but… I don’t know, you’re different.”

“You’re different from my crew, too.”

“Oh yeah? In a good way, I hope.”

Law shrugs, “Yeah.” He pauses, then mutters something under his breath. “In a good way.”

You’d blurt out your feelings here and now, if it were anyone else. But this is Law, and you kind of like him a lot, so you want to do things right. Besides, that would probably only scare him away- he seems like the kind of man who carefully works his way up to a relationship. With a friendly smile, you accept his statement. Because now that you know he considers you a friend at the very least, and more than likely shares your affections… you’re in no rush.

The night goes by quickly in his company, and soon enough you spot the golden rays of the sun peaking over the horizon.

“We should do this again sometime,” you tell him as the sun starts to climb higher into the sky (quicker than you’d like), “I had fun talking to you.”

Law nods, “Just let me know when you’re keeping watch,” he waves over his shoulder as he walks away, “I’ll be there.”

And when he makes it back to the privacy of his room, Law replays the night in his head. Over and over and over again, until he comes to a not-so-shocking conclusion. “Shit:”

“I’m falling for y/n.”

[bless-my-demons]

Redamancy: Chapter Four

Jasper Hale x Reader

Series summary: What happens when your soulmate is a vampire that struggles to maintain a diet of trying not to kill you? Common sense says run for the hills, nothing is worth your life - but my heart is whispering why not, what’s there to lose?

Warnings: Almost-car accident? Talk of getting smushed by a car.

Notes: Finally, a little something-something! I’m trying to post on the weekends to have some sort of schedule, but I have zero impulse control… so here it is a day early!

Word Count: 2146

Series Masterlist

• January 25th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Jasper

Not only am I lucky enough to spend lunch with Y/n, but some godly force must be watching out for me in that today’s history assignment allowed me to team up with her and learn more about her.

Her energy is absolutely fascinating and it almost worries me that I’m internally compelled to want to spend even more time in her presence. Two days and I’m already a goner, Emmett is going to have a field day interrogating me tonight.

Which leads me to now, after completing our history assignment with only a few minutes to spare, I’m escorting her to her car in an effort to prolong this addiction to her attention.

“Where are you from?” I ask, curious to know anything about her.

“Texas. Well, Dallas more specifically.” She’s still watching the ground as we walk, nervousness pouring from her.

“Why Forks? You couldn’t of picked a more completely opposite environment.” I miss my home state, and if it weren’t for my adversion to the sun - I would return.

“My parents divorced.” She continues before I could apologize for the intrusive question, “Happily divorced and I protested the whole ‘stay together until she graduates’ bullshit.” Fingers gesturing around the air quotations.

She trails off after that, circling back to our history assignment that no doubt has her still worked up. The Civil War, I cringe internally at today's topic since it’s a sore one for myself - having lived through it and fought in it.

“All I’m saying is, maybe history class should be more focused on the lessons learned, than just the events themselves.” She states rather passionately while inserting the key into the lock on the driver’s door of her car.

“To recognize and avoid in the future.” I respond, leaning my back against the rear of the small vehicle as I scan the wet parking lot packed with kids.

“Exactly!” She pops her head up, an excited smile in place as she garners my gaze again.

But just over her shoulder my eyes flick up to catch the sight of a blue van headed our direction a little too quickly for such a busy spot. A car horn blaring has her turning in its direction and the gasp I hear across the parking lot from Alice sends me into action. I grab Y/n by the waist and spin her against her car, so that my back might take the brunt of the hit, but it never comes as the rear of the van just barely slides past us. I relax the grip I have on her and tear my eyes from hers as I spin my head in the direction of the vehicle, ready to yell at the driver for being so reckless. The words die in my throat as I see where it’s headed - straight for Isabella Swan.

“Bella!” Y/n screams, but it’s lost in the screech of tires and the headphones in her ears that are keeping the outside world out.

Just as I’m about to damn us all to save another girl from this idiot driver, Edward flashes past to stop the van from crushing the Sheriff’s daughter.

“Fuck.” I whisper, glancing back to where my other adopted siblings are standing next to their own vehicles - faces unreadable, but emotions blaring alarm.

“I’m sorry, I have to go. Please be safe getting home?” I ask her urgently as I peel my fingers from where they want to stay gripping her, safe and close to me.

“But Jas-“ she starts, a little shell shocked at my quick action of saving her and the close call with her friend.

A whistle from Emmett interrupts her before she can interrogate me, so I flash her an apologetic smile before jogging at a normal human pace to the familiar silver Jeep. My hands flex in my lap the entire tense ride home, warm and tingly from when I gripped Y/n to protect her fragile little human body.

If we weren’t vampires already, this family meeting about to take place would definitely give Carlisle a full head of gray hair.

• January 26th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Hey, mind catching me up on what that was yesterday?” I immediately bombard Jasper as I sit across from him at what I’ve mentally deemed ‘our table’ at lunch.

He glances up from his sketchbook with a look that says he wasn’t prepared for my blunt line of questioning.

“The saving you from certain death part, or?” He leaves open ended for me to clarify.

“The part where Bella was alone next to her truck, but your brother teleported to her side AND somehow the van skidded to a stop right before turning them both into pancakes?” I’m not pulling my punches with my queries, after having spent last night stewing over what I had seen.

“He wasn’t that far from her when I moved you out of the way, I must’ve distracted you enough that you didn’t see him walking to her after he got out of class. Plus, the van wasn’t going that fast, maybe when it hit the back of her truck the tires got traction and he could brake properly.” He answers, turning his gaze back to his sketch and resuming his work.

I don’t really buy it, but I mull over my recount of yesterday afternoon as I pull my lunch from my bag. Was I so focused on Jasper the moment he put his hands on me? Was I so soda-strawed in on Bella being in the way of the van that I missed Edward?

No, something isn’t adding up. I know that van was hauling ass in the parking lot, I was going to yell as much at the idiot driving before I saw it headed for Bella. But I can also tell I won’t be getting the answers I want from Jasper. I can tell from the rigidity of his spine that he’s worried I’ll ask more questions. I mean, his recount of the accident isn’t out-landish, but I know what I saw!

I need to talk to Bella.

“Yeah I guess that makes sense.” I acquiesce. I see him deflate a little with relief as I pick at my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Thank you for saving me, by the way.” I add nervously, a little heat working it’s way onto my cheeks.

Jasper glances up to my face and with a small smile, “Anytime Y/l/n, anytime.”

• January 27th, 2005 • Forks High School •

Reader

“Bella!” I yell down the hallway, catching her as she slams her locker shut. I jog over to her as she turns towards the exit, everyone that has Mr. Banner for Biology is going on a field trip today.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” She questions, seeing the look on my face.

“Tuesday, parking lot, what the hell happened?” I jump right into it.

“Tyler must’ve lost traction-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. Edward was nowhere near you.” Cutting off her redirection. “Jasper won’t budge, he insists I was distracted and didn’t see his brother before the accident.”

Bella glances around the hallway and decides to pull me into the empty female bathroom for some privacy.

“Edward is avoiding me, I was asking him the same questions when I was at the hospital and he refused to answer.” She answers nervously.

“It’s weird, right? I mean, one second I’m unlocking the door to my car, and the next Jasper spins me around to protect my body with his. And then I see Edward jump over the tailgate of your truck when I thought Tyler’s van was going to end you.” I’m just rambling the thoughts that have been pinging around the last two days.

I can see her hesitate, “You can talk to me, you know? I kinda don’t have any friends besides you, I mean - if you want to be friends?” I tack on the last part, worried I’d over stepped.

“Yeah no, of course - I um, I could use a friend to vent to.” Bella glances down at her shoes, picking at the sleeves of her sweater as the both of us exit the bathroom. “He’s coming on today’s class trip, I’ll talk to him then and see what I can find out.”

“Perfect, want to sit with me on the bus?” I ask, walking out of the building for the student parking lot where the buses are waiting.

“As if I’d risk getting stuck sitting with Mike Newton, absolutely.” She jokes back. “I’m going to grab my book from my truck, I’ll be there in a sec - save us a seat!” She yells as she jogs to her vehicle across the parking lot.

As I board the first bus I can hear Mr Banner yell at everyone loitering in the parking lot, “Yo yo yo, hey guys c’mon! We gotta go, we gotta go! Green is what? Good, let’s go!”

A few moments later Bella joins me in our claimed seat, book in hand looking a little frazzled. I see Mike pass us with a forlorn expression on his face, “Oh God, what happened?” I ask.

“He asked me to prom and I told him to ask Jessica, please don’t make me talk about it.” She answers with what I assume is a shiver of discomfort.

I want to laugh, but I just grin instead. “Your not-so-secret admirer fumble is safe with me, Bells.” I knock my shoulder into hers to tease her a little as I crack open my own book I brought for the bus ride.

• Community College Greenhouse •

Reader

Walking alone in line through the greenhouse, my hands drift over the different sprouting vegetables. Behind me I can hear Mr. Banner giving a spiel on “compost tea” and how its derived from table scraps and other organic waste. Every now and then my fingers float over the soft petals of flowers placed sporadically through the hundreds of food-producing plants; earlier it was explained that they encourage pollinators to visit.

Even though I’m a smidge lonely since Bella is hanging back with Edward, I’m glad to be surrounded by greenery instead of stuck in a stuffy classroom.

Just as Tyler Crowley pushes past with a clear mug of what looks like poop/dirt water, I spot Alice just ahead standing to the side of the isle with Jasper to allow students to flow by. When I get within arms reach, Alice loops her elbow through mine, almost like she could sense my loneliness.

“So,” she drags out the word cheerfully, “Enjoying the plants? Fresh air? Freedom from school?”

“Oh absolutely,” I glance over my shoulder at Jasper following behind us silently. “I’m surprised you’re not off in a corner doodling flowers, Hale.” I catch him duck his head and chuckle under his breath as Alice watches our interaction, surprised.

“And isolate myself away from your commentary? Never, Y/l/n.”

“Oh, Emmett’s opinions on your drawings are too much, but mine aren’t?” I smile as I turn to look at new plants as we pass them in our slow walk through the final greenhouse.

“My brother isn’t nearly as interesting.” His response catches me off guard and if it weren’t for Alice’s grip on my arm I would’ve stumbled on the wet concrete.

“As I live and breathe, Jasper Hale flirting-“ but Alice doesn’t finish her sentence due to Jasper snaking out a pinch to her ribs, her flinch forcing our hold to separate. Before I could chide Alice for teasing her brother for just being nice, Edward storms up to the three of us.

“Ready to leave?” He glances between his siblings, pointedly ignoring me so that I wouldn’t feel the obligation to join them.

“Edward-“ Alice says disapprovingly, but he pushes past us without waiting for an answer. She looks at me apologetically before skipping after him.

“Sorry about my brother, he’s insufferable when he’s in a mood.” Jasper offers as explanation as we watch the two of them exit the greenhouse.

“I get the feeling he’s always in a ‘mood’.” My fingers emphasize the last word with air quotations and it draws another chuckle from the gorgeous boy at my side.

“Touché.” He says with a grin. “I better catch up before they ditch me, see ya around darlin’.” He weaves his way through the crowded isle and out of sight before the heat settles in my cheeks.

I manage to file outside and towards the buses with the rest of my class after I gather my wits. I spot Bella already in our shared bus seat with a sad expression. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask as I sit.

“Not right now.” She answers, turning to look out of the window.

Next

[hana-no-seiiki]

Is there a part 2 to Yandere Male makima reader x hsr? I absolutely love this story??!

I'd like to imagine reader playing along with caelus's antics of digging through trash cans and possibly helping him find other trash cans to dive lol

Dan heng and reader having mutual thoughts because there are two troublemakers of the astral express.. (yk who)

I don’t usually write these things (asks for updates) but since you caught me at a nice time…

YANDERE HSR ( THE NAMELESS ) x AEON OF CONTROL! READER

These are moreso antics and headcannons rather than a proper sequel to the previous one so…

warnings: major canon divergences, soft yandere themes.

・❥・ You and Pompom mostly have the same duties mainly keeping the express clean, checking its stability, tending to visitors, etc.

・❥・ However you take more of a authoritative position with your duties.

・❥・ Though you created Pompom, they have no idea you are an Aeon. You kept it that way so that Pompom wouldn’t be too compelled to follow you when you diverge paths with the Nameless.

・❥・ You were the one that redressed March and taught her sewing when she arrived frozen one day. As such, she can be a tad too attached with you. Often flirting with you in front of the other crew members. (A fact that most of them hate)

・❥・ You know the photo wall she has in her room? Well in that gallery of hers she has a secret folder of just you. You doing your daily maintenance, you repairing Pompom’s stitches, you just b r e a t h i n g. Yeah.

・❥・ Dan Heng and you often spend hours together in the archive. You had the penchant of checking, and rechecking the organization of things. Your long periods of time together led to him feeling the most safe around you. You already knew of his secrets, but having him divulge it nonetheless still felt like being let into a state secret.

・❥・ Himeko has a suspicion you two aren’t related. In fact you have a feeling she already uncovered what you are. She is however, far too in love with trail blazing and being your sister that she doesn’t do anything to risk the status quo.

・❥・ Welt has the biggest love-hate relationship with you. You haven’t done anything bad per se. In addition to that, you’re the reason Himeko got to explore the stars, but memories of the past still haunt him. Each day he sees you handling the youngins edges him closer and closer to finally letting of go of his resentment.

・❥・ When Caelus isn’t dying inside by being close to you, he likes to be smug by showing how much “care” you put into him. Like the youngest child smirking at the older children as they get the most love and attention. Sometimes he gets himself injured on purpose to get your eyes on him and him alone.

・❥・ Unfortunately due to your presence destabilizing the Stellaron, you don’t get many chances to pamper the boy.

・❥・ Though you did give him a giant wearable trash-can, complete with breathability and protection against the elements.

・❥・ You also don’t go out much and prefer to watch over expeditions. You also make sure never to use your full power as to not alert other aeons aside from IX of your endeavors.

BONUS!

・❥・ Elio and Kafka vehemently worship you. The latter’s domination comes from your blessing.

・❥・ Though they aren’t aware that you took the shape of a human male since you are able to erase yourself from Elio’s scripts.

・❥・ Which leads to Kafka flirting with this handsome man not knowing he’s actually her god.

[97keanu]

Dave lizewski anything 🙏🙏🙏🙏

* ˚₊ · ͟͟͞͞ ➳As you wish <3

Popular!Reader asks Dave to go with them to a party, you insist that it's important that you have your boyfriend there, and you want to finally introduce him to all your friends. Dave is super apprehensive because he doesn't really go to parties and doesn't know how to socialize at something that big, but you assure him that you will be there for him the whole night. Popular!Reader and Dave arrive at the house party and you quickly realize after only three beers, Dave is a super lightweight! You aren't too surprised since he said he usually doesn't party, but at the same time, you didn't know it would hit him so hard. You of course keep an eye out for him and watch over him, and as he loosens up he starts having a great time. Even though he's still his quiet, shy self, you notice he adds little quips and witty remarks while the two of you are chatting with a group, and it makes you really happy he can relax and have a good time. Popular!Reader soon realizes that the party is winding down and Dave has sobered up a some, but he's still in a great mood. You're surprised when he comes up from behind you after going to get some water and wraps his arms around your waist. His breath is hot and husky on your neck, and he pulls you off to the side. "Do you wanna go to the car and maybe make out?" He says with a sly grin, his confidence more than usual, which has you completely compelled. You two go to his car and hop in the back seat.

Dave and you start getting hot and heavy in the back seat, and Dave can barely keep his hands off you long enough to get his own pants off. He wants you so bad it hurts. Even though you're his girlfriend, and you've already been intimate, Dave is never not excited to be able to fuck you. He is always so surprised you even let a nerd like him touch you like this, but he thanks you plenty by burying that mess of curls in between your thighs. If there's one thing Dave has learned by dating you, it's how to eat you out correctly, he cannot leave you wanting, he has to make you cum for him if that's the last thing he does. It isn't until Dave has you practically screaming his name to stop from overstimulation after cumming that he lets up. He comes up and kisses you, his mouth still sloppy from how he tasted you, and he asks you if you are ready for him. You wrap your leg around his waist, pulling him in, ready than ever, telling him how wet you are for his thick cock. Dave loves that you love his cock so much, he didn't really realize his cock would be so pleasing to women because it's not the longest, but it's moderate and girthy, which makes up for any lack of porn star status length. Dave takes you right there in the back seat of his car, he has no idea if anyone can see or hear you guys, but he doesn't care, he needs you right now, and you need him. The two of you make a mess of his back seat and by the time you guys are done you can barely keep your eyes open you're so tired from how hard he's fucked you. Dave has sobered up since the beginning of the party, and he elects to drive the two of you home, you fall asleep in the passenger seat like the passenger princess you are, and he lays his hand on your thigh. He loves the feel of your soft skin under his large hands while he drives.

* ˚₊ · ͟͟͞͞ ➳Let me know if you would want a more detailed one-shot of this! I love it <3 love writing about Dave's nerdy cock, always <;33333

[enemywasp]

i want your billdip headcanosn i recently watched gravity falls and i see such potential for them but id like to hear otherintwrpretations

The JOY I got at receiving this ask!!! Billdip has been my otp for years I've got so many.

Dipper is obsessed with finding answers and intrigued by basically everything, which is of course what drew him to Bill.

Bill finds the Pines family in general fascinating, they're his playthings and Obsession in his own way. Pinetree is the only one who he's really focused on though, the way he talks back and is determined for answers entertains him more than anything

Dipper needs Bill, he's the only one he can really decipher and understand as he's been bullied and outcast his whole life.

He's also the only one who can keep his busy mind occupied

Bill keeps Dippers nightmares at bay as he's got a lot of troubles from his adventures, doesn't mean he won't give him his own little dreams on occasion with a special cipher touch

Bill teaches Dipper magic and runes, mostly out of curiosity but he ends up silently impressed at how much he is capable of as a human.

They fight and argue a LOT. They're at complete different ends of morality, and that makes them clash. Though Dipper finds himself less and less concerned by Bill's behaviour as time passes, and if Bill happens to gain a soft spot... who can say anything.

I think there relationship would be initially built on a deal, something that protects the rest of the Pines family for certain. But Dipper is Bill's. He can do what he want with him.

They do have soft moments, despite it all. Dipper sharing stories of humanity that Bill would never truly understand, and the demon in turn sharing tales of the past and the universe itself.

Bill initially just wanted to use Dipper and manipulate him through whatever means necessary but instead he fell hard.

Bills only capable of a very obsessive kind of love, anyone who gets too close to HIS sapling should be wary.

Dipper has a moral crisis about weekly, he's dating a demon. Who tried to destroy his entire family. But god he can't pull away and Bill makes some very compelling arguments.

If and when Bill would be able to get his own human form it would be built specifically for Dippers pleasure and want.

Being human does make Bill seem more human, though he is of course still himself sometimes he finds himself feeling a new kind of fondness he never knew before

Dipper also sometimes forgets until he pushes too hard and his demon side makes it clear where they stand. Bill will always be the more powerful one in the relationship and Dipper will always be HIS.

I think I'm going to leave it there for now. But I could probably rant forever about these two. I tried to keep this broad so I can definitely do more specific hcs in the future.

[klaineharmony]

Why We Ship: Neo/Trinity (The Matrix)

I have not felt compelled to write one of these posts for a long time, but I watched The Matrix: Resurrections again while I was working this afternoon, and Goddess, I have so many feelings about these two.

I think it's hard to convey how utterly capitating the original Matrix was, back in 1999. And I could not have said, then, everything I can say about it now, because I didn't have the knowledge of myself, or the vocabulary, or simply the experience to be able to articulate why Neo and Trinity (and Trinity especially, but that's a separate post) felt like everything. Even apart from the incredible worldbuilding and commentary on society that was The Matrix itself, they were something special.

A lot of people got really salty and irritated with Resurrections because they felt like it was "less about the Matrix" and "more just about Neo and Trinity." And god damn, if that doesn't say everything about two different audiences who watched the original trilogy. If you didn't see that the whole trilogy was about Neo and Trinity's love from the beginning, then we were not watching the same films. Neo is The One because Trinity loves him; that is established in the first movie. He cannot be The One without her; he cannot believe in himself as The One without her and her love. "The Oracle told me that I would fall in love, and that the man I loved would be The One. So you see, Neo, you can't be dead. You can't be . . . because I love you." She literally brings him back from the dead with her love; she makes him The One because she loves him. She is the driving force behind all of it. And it's not a coincidence that Neo does the same for her in Reloaded; he catches her in midair, he pulls a bullet out of her body and keeps her from dying because she is everything to him.

And here I am, still writing a post that is more about Trinity than about Neo and Trinity together. But this is what still strikes me about them after all of these years: their love is complete and beautiful and all-consuming, but it is also grounded very firmly in the grim reality they are living. They are not blind about the fact that they could die; they know that every minute of every day, and every minute the spend in The Matrix, could be the last one. They do everything they can to keep that from happening, and they train with everything they have to try and prevent it, but they know, all the time, that one of them could lose the other. They cherish every moment they have, because they are living in this terrible world where another day is never a certainty. But even with all of that, and all that they feel, they are willing to fight, to do whatever needs to be done to try and bring down the machines and the Matrix. They do not shy away from what they see as their mission and their duty to others, even while they are so anchored in each other.

And it's part of what makes Revolutions so tortorous (I hated that movie when it came out; it broke my heart). They know. They've known it's coming; they've been waiting for it, and they go to die together. They still hope that somehow, they will make it, but if they don't, their entire intent is to die together. Because they love each other, they have literally saved each other's lives and brought each other back from the dead, and they have spent their entire time together trying to dismantle the Matrix. If they have to give up their lives to do it, then they will. And I think the thing that hurt so much, when I watched Revolutions as a much younger person (and who am I kidding, it still hurts) is that they still died apart. Trinity died first, and then Neo, and while Neo was with Trinity when she died, he had already been blinded and couldn't see her, and he died alone. And it felt like a betrayal of everything they were in the most gut-wrenching, soul-destroying way. Their love not only changed the world, it saved the world and destroyed the Matrix and altered the relationship between the machines and humans - and they still died apart.

I remember being emotionally devastated by that last film, so much so that I couldn't watch the trilogy again for years. I was so shattered by the ending, it hurt so much, that I couldn't bear to revisit it. And again, I don't know that I could have said that at the time, but I felt it.

When the trailer for Resurrections came out, I was so emotional the first time I watched it that I felt a little blindsided. I had packed away everything Neo and Trinity meant, because their ending hurt so much - and then there they were, on my screen again, getting another chance. Getting the second chance and the ending they should have had - defying the odds with their love one more time, and in an even more epic way. Neither of them is living, in the Matrix. As Thomas and Tiffany, they're existing. They're brainwashed. They barely remember who they used to be - Thomas is convinced it's all in his head, and Tiff is only Trinity when she's working on and riding her bikes. It's only when they find each other that they start to find themselves again. And even when Neo escapes and he's back in the real world, the hope of Trinity and his love for her is the only thing that keeps him strong enough to keep fighting, the only thing that allows him to access his former powers as The One.

They help each other survive. And it's complicated and difficult and not always pretty, and it's always in the midst of a world that is against them and trying to destroy them - but they survive because their love survives. They love together and fight together and survive together, always.