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incognit0slut · 11 months

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Lose Control

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer finds himself locked in a room with his rival. Based on:

warning: 18+ explicit content including oral (both), hair-pulling, chocking, and unprotected, semi-public, hate sex

words: 6.8k (I'm a smut-with-a-plot kind of person)

a/n: this is not enemies to lovers. This is, quite frankly, enemies to (fuckable) enemies. Also, we hit 1.2k followers!! Tysm!! I legit made this blog 2 months ago that’s crazyyy😳

MASTERLIST

“…mind games until you lose control…”

CHANGE WAS INEVITABLE WHEN IT CAME TO HIS WORK. Spencer encountered many great people walking through the door of the bureau throughout the years he worked as a profiler. Most of them he genuinely liked, and most of them he considered more than mere colleagues. But from all the people he had to work with, there was one person he really couldn't stand.

"Move out of the way, Reid, you're blocking the way."

He turned to see the last person he wanted to indulge in standing close to him, a hand on her hip and a frown on her face. "There is literally enough space for you to pass through."

"And jeopardize myself by touching you?" She wrinkled her nose. "I think I'll pass."

His gaze, usually warm and welcoming, hardened into a steely resolve. It pierced through her like an icy dagger, radiating an unmistakable contempt. He then backed away, walking further into the room that held rows of shelving units lining up the space. "What are you even doing here?"

"Well, ever since we found the victim's body surrounded by those cryptic signs, it reminded me of the cult massacre which happened in—"

"St. Joseph, 1947," he finished.

"Yeah, although this isn't mass murder, I thought the nature of the death was very similar to that old case." He could practically hear the smugness in her voice as she continued, "I also knew you'd be here and wanted to beat you to it."

His gaze settled on her standing by the door. "I don't think that's going according to plan considering I was here before you arrived."

"Please, you just got here. I bet I can find the files before you do."

His brows furrowed. How could he not feel some kind of disdain when she was acting the way she was? One might say he was acting too immature for his age, for a man who was close to pushing forty he did consider himself too old for petty fights. But it was hard to keep his composure when she was often the one taunting him, ridiculing him with that haughty mouth of hers.

It was better to ignore her presence completely, so he did just that, focusing his attention on the files in front of him as she stepped into the room.

She frowned, feeling her throat clenching before coughing out loud as dust particles greeted her entrance. She was busy trying to swat the specks of dust away from her face when something solid suddenly nudged her feet. Her eyes swept towards the floor.

"Why is this massive book laying here?" She picked up the thick paperback and read its title. "The Anatomy of Motive?"

Spencer's head snapped in an alert. "Wait! Don't—"

But it was too late. The old wooden door hanging loosely on its rusted hinges creaked without any support to keep it ajar, and with a resounding thud, it closed, the sound echoing through the stagnant air. "I put that there for a reason," he grumbled. "And now we're stuck here."

She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the handle, trying to yank the door open. The panic on her face was evident when it didn't budge. "Shit."

"You can only open it from the other side."

She turned towards him. "Do you have your phone with you?"

"No."

She groaned because her own device was also securely tucked in her bag. Not wanting to be locked in a room with the last person she wanted to be with, she started pounding on the door frantically. "Help! Penelope! Luke!" Bang. Bang. "Anyone!"

"Nobody's going to hear you."

She tuned him out.

"Emily! JJ!" She pressed herself against the door, drawing her mouth close towards the tiny gap between the wooden panel and the wall. "Help! We're locked in!" She suddenly caught his movement from the corner of her eyes and turned to him, noticing the way he was already studying a file.

"What are you doing?"

He slipped back the document into the cabinet and went through the other folders. "Might as well work until they realize we're gone."

She straightened herself and glanced at the watch around her wrist. "But it's late. What if everyone's gone home and we're stuck here for the night?" A thought struck her and she looked up in horror. "Or for days?"

"Then you have yourself to blame."

She glared at him. "You're not helping."

Spencer looked up to see her jaw clenching, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. Her normally composed features, so delicately balanced, now seemed to unravel in a heat of fury. It was the only expression she held every time she had to deal with him.

He glanced away and focused back on his task. "Don't worry, we have a team of competent profilers. If they can find dangerous criminals throughout the country, they can also find their two missing agents."

She considered his words and acknowledged the truth behind them, so she reluctantly moved to the other side of the room, going through the shelves opposite of him. The space went completely still as they both went through the stack of folders shelved between the old cabinets. It wasn't until curiosity got the better of him that he finally looked up, his eyes falling onto her form.

Her back was facing him, giving him a view of her tousled hair falling down over her shoulders. His eyes involuntarily trailed the contours of her body, betraying a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His gaze lingered upon the gentle curve of her shoulder, the graceful line of her spine, and the sway of her hips as she moved onto the next shelf, her steps echoing through the silence and it was then he realized she was wearing heels.

Again.

This wasn't the first time she decided to wear shoes that looked very uncomfortable to wear. Who even wore heels in this line of work? Being an FBI agent meant you had to be quick on your feet because anything could happen unexpectedly. He once voiced out his opinion on this matter, which she only answered with, "My choice of clothing won't reduce the capability of my brain, Reid. You and I are still doctors even if I wear a bathing suit to work."

"It's not about your choice of clothing, it's about being practical."

"That's why I keep a pair of sneakers in my drawers,” she had haughtily replied, then narrowed her eyes at him. "And don't comment on my shoes when I've held myself from judging on your ugly cardigans."

His cardigans were not ugly.

He shook the memory away as eyes roamed over her again, noticing her very exposed legs. She was also wearing a skirt today, something she often did and something he never dared to have an opinion on, knowing she would probably bite his head off if he did.

"Stop staring at me."

Spencer cleared his throat at being caught. "I wasn't."

"I could practically feel your eyes on me." She looked over her shoulder. "I have great spidey senses."

There was a sudden pause. "Spidey senses?"

"Yeah, like Spiderman." When he didn't respond, she turned around and faced him. "Please tell me you know who Spiderman is?"

When he returned her gaze with a frown, she couldn't help but laugh, turning her back towards him again. "You know this is why people like me better than you. We both may be smart, but you got to admit, my knowledge doesn't simply stop on academics."

He should've been offended by her words, he should've countered back a vile reply, but her voice became white noise to him as he watched her body leaning down, picking up a document that slipped from her grasp. His eyes caught the way the tight skirt clung to her form like a second skin. The fabric, stretched taut against her curves, highlighted the alluring lines of her figure. The skirt's snug fit caressed her thighs, tracing their slender form and hinting at the softness beneath.

This wasn't the first time he noticed her beauty in this type of way, beneath all that glare she often carried whenever he was around her, he knew she was an attractive woman. It was her personality that often stopped him from marveling this insight. But being in this closed, tight space, Spencer was forced to study her, and with the way his body was reacting, he knew his lingering stare was more than simple admiration.

He could feel his blood pulsing down south, tightening underneath the confinement of his pants.

As she straightened herself, she felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. She turned her head and noticed his eyes training on her body.

"You're still staring." She then caught a glimpse of something unguarded in his gaze, something that was definitely far from hatred. Her mind whirled with questions, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. "Stop looking at me like that."

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "Like what?"

"Like you either want to strangle me or—"

"Or?" He prompted.

Like you want to eat me alive.

It was the only way she could describe it. She was aware of how his eyes usually pierced her, how every movement she made or word she uttered could trigger this immense disdain radiating from him. But now the weight of his gaze bore down upon her, casting a palpable heat that danced across her skin. Something had changed, and she felt it in the intensity of his eyes, so different from the usual hostility she had come to expect.

They held a predatory gleam as if he could pounce on her at any moment.

“If I hadn't known you better," she carefully spoke, watching as he took a step towards her, and she took one back, bumping into the wall. "I'd say you're trying to flirt with me with those eyes."

"Me? Flirt with you?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself."

She scoffed, squaring her shoulders as he closed the distance between them. "You're right. What was I thinking? You can't even flirt to live."

"You don't even know how I flirt."

"Reid, I've seen you flirt," she said between fits of laughter. "Remember you tried getting that cop's number? You were stuttering and suddenly giving her facts about oil paintings. Paintings."

"She had an interest in fine art," he stated. "And if you must know, after giving those informative facts, I told that no amount of art could ever compare to her beauty as a compliment.”

She snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "And that actually worked? She gave you her number?"

"No." Then a smirk curled on his lips. "But she did come home with me."

She frowned. That was new information. She never really thought about what went on in his love life, but hearing him implying his active sex life had her feeling strange. "She did?"

He took another step forward. "If I hadn't known you better," he carefully spoke, mimicking her words before. "I'd say you're jealous."

She tilted her head up and scowled at him. "Even if you were the last person on this planet I wouldn't consider breathing in the same air with you."

She waited for his response, but he didn't even seem to be bothered by her words. And as they stood there, holding each other's gaze, she became acutely aware of everything; their close proximity, the warmth radiating from his body, and the rise and fall of his chest. His unfamiliar scent lingered in the air, a distinct combination of earthy musk and a hint of something indefinable. She had never allowed herself to notice it before, but now it was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes then traced the lines on his face, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and finally settled on his eyes. At first, she thought her eyes was deceiving her, but she knew exactly what held behind his gaze. It was the same expression she saw in all her past lovers. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see the same intensity on other men, but to see it on him? The guy who had always hated her guts the moment she corrected his statistic rants the first time they met?

Spencer fucking Reid?

It was too much for her to handle. She was used to his piercing gaze, his evident disdain. Not this. It became almost overwhelming that she decided to step away.

Just as she turned to retreat from the intensity of his gaze, her body froze as she felt warm fingers gripping her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through her body and her eyes snapped back at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ah, there it was, that hatred she was looking for blazing in his eyes again. "You see, I don't like you."

"Good." She held her chin up. "The feeling's mutual."

"You think you're better than everybody else, you think you're better than me."

She was about to retort another response when he suddenly yanked her, a gasp leaving her mouth. "But somehow I can’t help myself from wanting to taste you.”

Then it happened so fast. One moment she was trying to register what was happening, the next thing she knew his lips were on hers, moving frantically in desperate hunger. She couldn't believe he was actually kissing her. It also burned her up inside to find he was good at it. She wanted him to be all teeth and awkward so she could sneer at him and push him away, but he was holding her face in his hands like they hadn't spent months sniping at each other.

A turmoil of thoughts swarmed her mind—What are you doing? Why are you kissing him back? What the hell is wrong with you?—while she gripped onto his arm as a pleased sigh slipped through her mouth before she could catch it.

He slowly pulled away from her, eyes glittering in mischief. "Would you look at that?" he muttered, gripping her jaw and tilting her face like he was appraising her. "All bark and no bite."

She shoved his hands away from her face, ignoring how nice it had felt, wide and warm and firm. "Don't test me."

"Yeah?" His hand settled on her hip, pulling her against him deliberately slow, giving her every opportunity to knock his hand away, to sidestep him, to tell him to stop, but she didn't. He took it as a sign to run his hand behind her. "I think you're bluffing."

Her heart quickened when she felt him gently squeezing her ass. "A-About what?"

"All this bravado of yours," he taunted, his hands now trailing down to her sides. "I bet there's something sweet underneath all this bitterness."

"You don't know me," she hissed breathlessly. It was difficult to keep snapping back at him when his other hand ran up her leg, pushing her skirt up as he went, his grip encompassing the entire width of her thigh.

"Maybe not. But I'm always up for a challenge." His calloused hand brushed at the lacy edge of her underwear and she sucked in a shaky breath. "Let's see how long you can keep up with this attitude."

She opened her mouth to say something snippy, but he ducked down and kissed the words out of her mouth with a low groan. Her brain suddenly froze when his finger curled under the outline of her underwear and tugged it to the side, trailing his slender finger through her bare slit.

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips as pulled away, trailing his mouth along her jawline. His finger brushed along her slickness and it took a lot of self-control for her not to moan. "How are you already so wet?"

Although a small gasp emitted from her as she felt him sliding a finger, and when his thumb pressed against her clit, she closed her eyes, tossing her head to the side at the feeling of him filling her up.

"You're awfully quiet," he murmured against her neck, sucking a bruise against her soft skin as he began to pump his finger. "Who would've thought I had to touch you to keep your mouth shut."

She bit her bottom lip, fighting against the pleasure that surged through her, desperately trying to suppress the enjoyment coursing through her veins. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." His tone was vexingly calm, and all it did was rile her up more. She wished he'd match her frustration because his composure was annoying. Then to make matters worse, he let out an amused laugh. He fucking laughed. "Look at you trying to hold yourself back."

"I'm not—fuck." She gasped as she felt his finger curling inside her.

"Keep telling yourself that." He added another finger and she slumped against the wall, pressing back hard to keep herself upright as he pumped his wrist. "It's okay to admit you're enjoying this."

"I-I'm not," she huffed indignantly.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bad liar?"

Her breath mingled with the sound of her arousal echoing in the narrowed space as he drove his fingers into her faster. "Shut up, Reid." She then grabbed onto his arm as the pleasure intensified, nails digging into his skin. "You think you're so smart, so full of yourself—"

"You really like picking up a fight, don't you? That's why you always have an attitude with me." His lips brushed her ear. "It gets you worked up. It gets you wet."

She quickly shook her head. "I just don't like you."

"Hmm." He leaned back and watched the way she tensed beneath his touch, her muscles coiling with delicate restraint. It was as if she fought against the pleasure that threatened to consume her, seeking to maintain control even as her body betrayed her desires. "I wonder if you'll like it as much if I put my head between your thighs."

The thought of having his face buried right where her arousal burned drove her over the edge. Her body betrayed her and she knew he could feel it too. "Oh wow, you're clenching around my fingers," he hummed in satisfaction. "Is that what you want? You want me to eat you out?"

"No," she mumbled but he found her hips bucking against his palm.

"Your body is saying otherwise." He withdrew his fingers but kept rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her blood was hammering under her skin and her legs shook as she tried to roll her hips up against his hand again. "Say you want me between your thighs."

She gritted her teeth, her muscles tightening in a valiant effort to hold back the mounting pleasure that begged to be unleashed. "I'm not saying that."

"Are you sure?" His other hand traveled along the back of her head before fisting her hair in his hand, exposing the column of her throat to him. "Don't you want to come all over my face?"

"Reid..." she mumbled hopelessly, her head spinning as his hot breath brushed against her skin. The thought of admitting that infuriated her because him actually getting her off was something she'd never live down. This was Spencer Reid, the man who had always infuriated her with his know-it-all statistics as if she hadn't already known half of the things he said.

But damn it, she really wanted him between her thighs.

"Say it," he repeated, moving his hand away entirely, and she grabbed his wrist desperately, pulling his fingers back to where she wanted them. "Say I want your mouth on me, Spencer, and I'll happily oblige."

"Reid—"

"Spencer," he corrected. "Say it."

Her body quivered, a taut wire stretched to its limit, yearning to snap under the weight of the pleasure that coursed through her. And then his finger suddenly stopped its movement and she knew he wasn't going to touch her again until she gave in. If that's how he wanted it, fine. She was going to consider this as one of their silly mind games, their usual banter whenever they tried to outwit one another. She could figure out a way to get back at him later. She could swallow her pride for now.

"I want your mouth on me," she reluctantly caved in.

"Did you forget my name?"

Unbelievable.

"I fucking hate you," she sneered. Then she pushed him away from the crook of her neck and leveled her gaze on him. "Just put your fucking mouth on me, Spencer."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You have a very foul mouth."

But true to his words, he eventually dropped to his knees, his hands trailing on either of her sides before he slipped her underwear down her legs. His fingers trailed along her skin as he did it, prickling the depth of her anticipation even when her mind was still trying to comprehend what she was letting herself in.

Because she had never thought of getting eaten out at work, let alone with someone she hated. Sure, hate was a very strong word, but it was what she was used to feeling whenever it came to him. It was easy to engross her hatred every time he treated her differently from the others.

Hate she could do, it came naturally to her. But to desire him, actually wanting him to bury his face between her thighs, was starting to mess her up, and not in a bad way. Not in a way that had her feeling repulsed, but in a way that made her want to grab onto his hair and pull his face right at the center of her heat.

Spencer looked up at her and smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking, and pushed up her skirt around her hips. His eyes bored into her as he hiked one of her legs onto his shoulder. His gaze traveled down her body, taking in her flushed cheeks—out of anger or embarrassment, he didn't know—and continued to sweep over the curve of her breasts before they stopped right in front of him.

"Look at you." He leaned closer, his breath brushed her damp skin. "Aren't you a pretty thing?"

There was something compelling about having Spencer sinking on his knees before her, but having his mouth wrapped around her clit pulled away her senses and her legs started to buckle that she had to grab onto the nearest cabinet for support. She stifled a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her from below with frantic motions of his wandering tongue.

This was so wrong. However, heat continued washing over, traveling up towards her face and burning at the tips of her ears. The more his mouth sucked onto her, lapping his tongue through her slickness, the more her body coursed with pleasure that she couldn't stop herself from sinking her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as she ground her hips over his face.

"For someone who claims to hate me," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin, his tongue pushing into her walls. "You sure are enjoying this."

A moan was thick in her throat until she swallowed it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of how true his words were. "You're annoying. So fucking annoying," she hissed.

Spencer hummed. "And you taste so good."

She gasped in surprise when she felt him lick a long stripe along her slit, the rough pad of his tongue catching her clit as she jolted. His fingers dipped into her thighs as he held her steady, lewd sounds leaving his lips as he continued to suck her wetness. His movements were suddenly fast, so feral and animalistic as he shamelessly lapped her skin, swallowing every liquid dripping off her body.

The built-up pleasure inside her continued to grow as she rolled her hips into his mouth, trying to focus on the sensation of him pressing his tongue against the same spot each time. Her chest was heaving as she tried to focus on the pleasure that was slowly taking over her rational thoughts, the coil inside her desperately close to breaking.

"Oh, god," Her voice shook, head tipped back and eyes staring at the ceiling as she felt herself dance on the precipice of release for a few agonizing moments before she finally started to shatter. Then a strangled cry left her lips as she began to buck her hips as he continued to suck her clit through her climax, the pleasure clouding her mind. It wasn't until he finally stood up, looking down at her with a grin that she finally took in what just happened.

"Do you still hate me?"

Yes, yes she did, especially with that smug smile of his taunting her. Yet she found herself hooking her fingers around the belt strap of his pants, pulling him closer as the weight of her resistance began to crumble under the force of his unwavering gaze. "So fucking much." The triumphant smile on his face grew as she started to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing in the room. "Do you have a condom?"

"Do you really think I'm the type of person to be carrying a condom in my pocket?"

"I think you're the type of person who never gets laid." He threw her an uninterested stare which she decided to ignore. Then she let her hands fall to the side. "I'm not having sex without a condom."

Spencer weighed in her words. If he was smart, he would've stopped himself, pulled away, and accept her admission. But he didn't want to be smart, after depending on his intelligence throughout his life, he didn't want to be rational. It was definitely out of his character, but there was something about her that stirred a dormant part of him, awakening desires and emotions he hadn't known existed within his soul.

He had always prided himself on his restraint and self-discipline, but after finally having a taste of her, he found himself unraveling. He wanted more. So he leaned closer, and pressed a desperate kiss at the hollow of her throat, marveling at the way her body trembled from his touch. "Why not?"

She was going to regret it. She really was. But damn it, how could she restrain herself when he was sucking into her skin like a man starved. She splayed her hands on his chest and pushed him away before giving him the deadliest glare she could muster.

"I swear to god if you finish inside me I will kill you."

Then a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "Was planning to come in your mouth anyway."

She was about to retort a haughty response when he suddenly grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around, pushing her against the wall. She was taken aback by the newfound dominance he exuded in his touch. It was a side of him she had never witnessed before, and it sent a thrill of surprise and intrigue coursing through her veins, something she would never admit out loud.

He dragged his tongue across his lips at the sight before him as his hands reached for his belt, unclasping the strap before unbuttoning his pants, the sound of his zipper being pulled down echoing in the narrowed space. He then slightly pulled down his briefs, slipping out his cock before his knee wedged in between her thighs, parting her legs to open.

He slightly shifted, his jaw twitching as he gathered saliva in his mouth, craning his neck down to spit on her pulsing core before the head of his cock gently nudged her clit. Embarrassingly, she clenched around nothing. Her vision went white and she felt herself tremble as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing in inch by inch.

"Fuck," he sighed, hips twitching as he finally slid into her fully, feeling her walls clenching hard around him. "I can get used to this."

She could get used to this too. She had never felt so full before, never felt herself being stretched like this so deliciously, but she certainly didn't need to feed his ego by moaning about it. "Well don't, this is the only time I'm letting this happen."

He pulled back his hips, leaving only the tip as he watched her slickness coated around him. "We'll see about that."

And then all hell broke loose.

He slammed into her with so much force that she let out a muffled scream as her eyes shot wide open. He relentlessly bucked his hips, his cock filling her over and over without self-control, the tip of him hitting her deepest parts relentlessly. She could barely even think as his hips fell into a rhythm, sending her higher and higher with each thrust.

Her legs tensed up even more at the pressure, his hands gripping her hips so hard his fingers dig into her flesh that she knew she would leave bruises. Behind her, he was grunting and growling through gritted teeth as he repeatedly buried himself into her without remorse. It didn't take long before his vicious thrusts had her eyes rolling back behind closed lids, her mind going entirely blank to everything but this very moment.

One of his hands released her hip before she felt him grabbing a fistful of her hair, just at the base of her skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise tore out of her at the feel of it. "Poor baby," he cooed. "Look at you so desperate for my cock."

She couldn't help but be stunned by his words. Who would've thought Spencer Reid was good at dirty talk? Definitely not her. It was as though he had unveiled a secret facet of his personality that had remained hidden until now, and she found herself captivated by this revelation.

Not that she was going to admit this, of course, so instead, she solely focused on the way he addressed her. "I am not your baby."

"You want me to call you something else?" He asked between bated breaths, hips thrusting into her. "How about Angel? Darling? Sweetheart?"

She let out a frustrated groan at his teasing but it was probably impossible to discern it from the rest of the noises she was trying to hold. "Are you always this chatty during sex?"

"No," he hummed as he picked up his pace, sending a helpless spasm through her.

"R-Really?" She mused breathlessly. "I must be special then."

He then tugged on her hair even rougher, causing her to curse loudly in response, her hips beginning to eagerly press backward into him as his hips jutted into her relentlessly like a man possessed. "Don't get too cocky."

"Just admit it," she whispered, pleasure racing down her body in waves. "You like me."

With another sharp tug on her hair, he abruptly plunged his cock so deep inside of her that she couldn't stop herself from arching her back. He held himself there as he used the grip on her hair to haul her backward to him, a surprised yelp falling out of her. "I don't like you."

Her back fell onto his chest and she felt his body vibrating behind her. "Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

"Well, sex is physically exerting so..."

How was it possible to be this aroused and annoyed at the same time? Wasn't sex supposed to be enjoyable? Well, she was clearly enjoying this, but it was hard to fully sink into the pleasure when he was driving her insane. Unless...

It dawned on her, that was her move. That was how she could play his game. Maybe she should be enjoying this to the fullest, maybe she should stroke his ego, get into his head, and have him feel as desperate as she was. A fierce determination ignited within her, fueling a newfound resolve to turn the tables on him. This was how she was going to get him back.

"Harder," she asked, pushing her hips into him.

His pace suddenly slowed down, uncertain whether he was hearing her right. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Please?" she added before he could prompt her.

A satisfied sound escaped his lips—it was a sound she had never heard coming from him, loud and crude emitting between a growl and something coming close to a whimper, which had her smiling triumphantly. "L-Look at you begging now."

This was easier than she expected. She rolled her head back against his shoulder and let out a moan she had kept so hard on controlling. "I want you to fuck me harder, Spencer."

His sharp intake of breath at that moment was worth it. "I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing, baby?" she asked sweetly, dripping in forced affection that sounded nothing like her at all.

He instantly released the hold on her hair, his hand snaking around to grip her throat as his other hand slid around the front of her. "You're messing with me."

She let out a strained sound as she felt his other hand traveling down where they were connected. "I-I thought you wanted me to admit how good you make me feel? Is that not enough? You want me to cry out how amazing your cock feels inside me?"

Then she couldn't help her next words.

"Should I call you daddy?"

Oh, that got him. He hissed as the hand on her throat tightened. "You're a menace."

"A menace you enjoy fucking?"

His lips curled into a snarl. "I'm going to wipe that smug look off your face."

Only then he began to thrust back into her roughly. A series of breathy, needy gasps fell out of her as she held tight onto his forearm that was holding her by her throat. His other hand on her clit circled around roughly, touching her just right that she entirely lost it, her hips quaked against him as he groaned out in response, her walls clenching his cock.

Then his hand left her clit a few moments later, instead landing hard on her ass with a sharp smack that sounded throughout the room. His fingers dug into the flesh there as his hips began clumsily ramming into her, his cock twitching inside of her. The stimulation was too much for her that she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep quiet as he stretched her harshly, the delicious burn only adding to the pleasure.

"You're still holding back?" He taunted, bringing back his hand before another loud smack rang in her ears, her ass burning from the pain. "Let that voice out, no one's going to hear you."

It was amazing how long she could hold in her pleasure because now her walls were starting to crumble when a particularly deep and brutal thrust had his cock hitting her just right. And then, it happened—the dam of restraint finally burst. A low moan escaped her lips, a primal cry of pleasure that echoed through the room like a song of surrender

"That's it," he grunted. "You sound so pretty."

As the sensations intensified, her breaths came in shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. Once she let herself go, she couldn't stop herself from moaning out his name, to which he responded with his own moan, especially when she clenched around him even tighter.

"You gonna come for me now?" She helplessly nodded, not trusting herself to form any coherent words, squirming her hips against him for more. "Go on then," he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Come for me."

She finally snapped as she gave in to the sensation that had been gradually crawling its way up her spine. Pleasure was soon coating every inch of her and as her eyes closed. She didn't bother to muffle her cries this time as she fell apart around his cock, her body convulsing as he continued to thrust inside her, forcing the pleasure to keep growing stronger and stronger until small black spots started to appear in her vision.

When her climax had washed over, she was left dizzy and breathless, still leaning against him. His loud panting breaths quickly filled her ears, his chest heaving beneath her head and she could tell by the way his hips were fluctuating in their pace, the feel of his throbbing cock inside of her, that he was very close to his release.

Panic suddenly crept into her daze state and she craned her neck to look back. "Don't you dare finish inside me, I swear to god—"

Very abruptly he slipped his cock out from inside of her, his arms releasing their hold on her just as fast before turning her to face him.

"Get on your knees."

The ground scraped her skin as she quickly sank onto her knees, and just because he looked so damn good tethering in his pleasure as she stared up at him, she gripped his cock in her hands and took him fully in her mouth.

"Fuck," the gravel in his voice was prominent, her lips gliding effortlessly down his shaft until her nose hits his stomach. His hand finds its way into her hair as she kneeled there before him, fisting a bunch of it at the scalp, desperately needing something to tie him down to reality.

She slid back off his cock to take just his head inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before flattening it against his tip, licking a fat stripe while looking up at him through her lashes. Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, tightening the grip on her hair.

Maintaining his gaze, she took him completely down her throat again, essentially swallowing him, holding herself there until she gagged around him. She could taste him on her tongue as she continued to repeat the motion, tears welling at her lids and saliva building at her lips, seeping down her chin.

He groaned at the sight.

"I-I'm gonna come—"

And he did. She felt lightheaded as the first shot of liquid filled her mouth, and then he jutted his hips a few more times before another surge of his release spilled down her throat. She swallowed him whole, swallowed every drop of him into her mouth as he continued to look down in wonder. She never thought of ever being in this position, but now she decided there was nothing else more satisfying than to watch her rival come undone from her touch.

Although she couldn't dwell in her contentment for long because as she released him from her mouth, the sound of the door rattling waked her senses. Panic flashed in her eyes as they met his gaze, and they instinctively stepped apart before sprinting into action, Spencer tucking himself back in his pants, while she quickly got to her feet and pulled down her skirt, scurrying to the other side of the room.

It wasn't until she spotted her underwear laying by his feet that she realized she was still naked underneath. Spencer followed her line of sight and just as the door creaked, he bent down and quickly grabbed the fabric, shoving it in his pocket at the same time their friend entered the room.

"There you are," Luke sighed in relief, casting them both a look. "We've been searching everywhere for you guys. Are you both alright? I thought I heard screaming."

In that fleeting moment, they both exchanged a glance laden with unspoken messages, each silently urging the other to maintain composure.

"Yes. I-uh." She cleared her throat, struggling to suppress the heat rising to her cheeks, willing herself not to betray the blush that threatened to expose what went on before this. "I was screaming for help."

Luke watched them with keen eyes, skepticism etched upon his face. A subtle tension crackled in the air, barely noticeable to most but not escaping the scrutiny of his gaze. He watched as Spencer hid his face behind a file he was holding, and she was studying her nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything, before stepping back towards the door again. "Well, come on, there's a new lead on the case. Everyone's waiting."

When he finally left them alone again, she let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding and quickly held out her hand. Spencer raised his eyebrows at her. "What?"

"My underwear?"

He stared at her empty hand, then at her face, and shrugged nonchalantly, leaving her dumbfounded as he started to leave the room before the door closed on them again.

"Reid," she hissed, following behind him. "Give it back."

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a smile, or something close to it because even after what happened a few minutes ago his smile was far from looking genuine. "Come by my place after work and I might give it to you."

Her steps faltered.

"Might?"

But his back was already facing her as he strode down the hallway. She stood there, feeling extremely exposed wearing nothing but her own skin underneath her skirt, and the only way to get back her missing piece of clothing was to force herself in his presence again.

She closed her eyes and sighed, not sure what she felt right now was either anger or exhaustion. Probably both—no, wait, definitely both.

Because what the fuck did she get herself into?

Quick question, if I make a taglist for my one-shots does anyone want to be added?

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

the tension between you and miguel rises to an all-time high —a ficlet featuring a grumpy miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. fem!reader, 1k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel has asked you multiple times to leave him alone while he's working. The strike force can't run itself (or so he claims —Margo and Lyla seem plenty capable, in your eyes) and he needs time and solitude to organise the protection of canon events, and—

"Blah, blah, blah," you say, dropping your voice to a soft, teasing melody as you skirt around his frankly audaciously jacked chest.

"Don't blah, blah, blah me," Miguel says. You'd be intimidated if you weren't so happy to mess with him. "I'm not kidding around."

Okay, maybe you are intimidated. That just makes messing with him more fun.

The room he operates from, as you've so fondly monikered The Office, is in organised chaos, and much too dark. You drag a lone chair toward his control panel and set yourself down in front of all his screens and computers.

"Ooh," you hum, reaching for an unlabelled switch with a purposeful slowness.

Predictably, Miguel slams his hand over yours, yanking your chair back with an annoyed, "No."

"Come on, Miguel. What harm could I possibly do?"

"You could–"

"Topple the multiverse?" you suggest. "I've heard."

"You could turn off every member of the Society's DMW. That's what that does. Potentially endangering each of their lives by stranding them in unfamiliar dimensions, and preventing them from correcting canon events."

You feel bad for teasing him when you see the look on his face, anger and exhaustion and the slimmest allowance of defeat. It must be tough to lead the Spider-Society. Tougher to micromanage more than half of its members.

Pulling your hand from under his, you cross your arms over your stomach and give him an apologetic frown. "Sorry, Miguel."

Evidence of his sweet spot for you lines his expression, softening his sharp jaw and the stoic set of his brow. It's gone as quick as it came, and his mask falls back into place. He turns away from you as though pretending you aren't there and scans one of his holographic screens, his face glowing with a yellow-orange haze.

Miguel has to tolerate you, because you're a Spider-Girl. Though you've never called yourself that aloud, and you're not sure anyone else has, either, it's an undeniable truth. You were bitten by a radioactive spider that gave you super mutant abilities, though yours aren't as potent as others. You're not especially strong, you probably couldn't stop a bus with your bare hands, but you're smart. You haven't saved the world or anything, but you lost your Uncle Ben. You paid the toll.

Every spider person has lost someone. Miguel seems to have lost more than that.

"You know," you mumble, kicking the ground lightly to make your chair spin on its axle, "I've been thinking…"

"That's never good."

"Why do we wear our suits here?" you ask, spinning for a second time, the room moving past your eyes in flashes. "It seems performative."

"Ah, I can answer that. Some of us work when we're here."

You wrinkle your nose at his deadpan and kick the floor again, spinning so fast it makes you laugh. "What did you say? I can't hear you from your high horse– woah!"

Miguel grabs the back of your chair, bringing you to a sudden and firm stop. You blink hoping it'll assuage the dizziness between your eyes, and when it doesn't work you keel forward, muttering, "Woah, I'm gonna die."

"You won't die."

"How do you know?" you ask.

"You're under my watch, aren't you?"

"I knew you liked me," you say. "Oh, I don't feel well."

"You brought it on yourself."

You catch your breath. When you feel okay enough to stand you almost trip, and Miguel doesn't bother pretending that he had any intention of stopping you from landing flat on your face. The you before the spider bite would've wiped out. This you giggles and holds Miguel's elbow for a second while you plant your feet.

"Okay, boss-man," you ask, looking up at the unnaturally high screen he's investigating. "What are we doing today?"

"I'm supervising a task force operation on Earth-31913. You're going home."

"Miguel," you say, not sure if you want to flirt with him or piss him off. He looks incredibly pissed off already, so you choose flirtation. "Have I told you how handsome you look this evening?"

He doesn't react. His hands don't so much as shift where they're akimbo on his hips.

"You really have the most handsome eyes," you continue, weaving around his arm to stand in front of him. You have to crane your neck to see them. "Sulky. Do I really have to go home? I'd rather stay here with you."

He looks down his nose at you. "Yeah?" he asks quietly, his voice rough as hewn stone.

"Yeah," you say, taking a small step back.

"And do what?"

You mirror his stance, hands on your hips. Your suit isn't form fitting like his, doesn't showcase nearly so much lean muscle, but you like it. You'd chosen a simple black ensemble to match the spider who bit you with a pinky purple heart over your stomach. Miguel had asked about it once, just once, when you'd first met and he had no idea how much of a problem for him you were going to become.

Why there?

Why do you think? you'd asked, giving him a sticky-sweet smile.

Forget I asked.

He lifts a hand to your chin, pinching it between two deft fingers. You're lucky he isn't wearing his gloves; his claws would pierce your jaw.

"What do you want to do?" he asks, again so quietly. "If you stay?"

"I could help with the task force."

"That's what you want to do?"

You flush with heat but refuse to let him know how you're feeling. Your heart bumps against your ribs, breath caught in your throat as he tilts your head up, as he leans down.

"No," he says near your lips, "that's not it."

"I could help you?" you offer.

Something flashes in his eyes. You hesitate to call it lust. It reminds you of a cat with a mouse in it’s clutches, only his pupils are blown, black and inky and wide as dimes.

"You want to help me?" he asks, his lips an inch, half of that from yours.

You nod minutely. "Yes," you say under your breath.

His hand moves to your cheek. He leans in closer and closer, until there's a hair's width of air between his mouth and yours, the tips of your noses bent together. His breath fans over your bottom lip and it's hot. You swear you can feel his heart as his chest presses to yours. He lingers there for an endless handful of seconds, silently egging you on.

You call his bluff and refuse to close the distance.

Miguel pushes you away from him, far from cruel but certainly not sweet. "I have a tower of paperwork you can file," he says.

"Here I thought you were finally going to bite my head off," you hum. "You're a sore loser, Miguel."

"And you're my pest," he says, holding your gaze for a half-second too long. He turns away. "Lyla? Arrange the recounts from the last canon event for Spider-Girl's perusal, please."

"So you've remembered I'm here?" Lyla asks wryly.

You don't mind the paperwork. You sign each one with a winky face and a pink gel pen heart, knowing Miguel will go over them all again, and knowing he'll grow angrier and angrier with each heart.

He'll kiss you and mean it one day. You just have to play the waiting game.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

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honestsycrets · 1 year

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Idle Hands [Miguel O’Hara x Reader]

❛ pairing | miguel o’hara x bratty wife!reader

❛ type | drabble

❛ summary | you’re a little bit of a show-off.

❛ tags | size difference, mostly fluff and cheese, a bratty reader, gif credit to original poster, slight overprotectiveness, an argument about a ‘dress’, just a kiss!

❛ sy’s notes | My obligatory bratty reader story. Just a light drabble to break up work on another chapter I’ve been working on. A few translations: Mande: Yes? (formal), Otra Vez: Again.

His little wife was a show-off, he was not.

Not intentionally. There were some things about himself he could not hide: the fangs, talons and claws, vivid organic webbing, brawny body, and other… glaringly obvious attributes. Attributes that he could not easily suppress. Now you, on the other hand--

“Miguel~” you sang in that wonderfully sing-song voice of yours. It was followed by the tapping of your feet running into the lab. Oh, here we go. He didn’t acknowledge your entrance with anything more than a well-placed grunt as he ran through lab reports with a shuffle of his hands. He had things to do. Things that didn’t include… distractions. “Miguel!”

“Si! Yes, what?! What do you need?” he slammed his hand down on his desk and threw you a look. You paused before him and fiddled with the bottom of your dress. You never came into the lab just to see him— because you knew how much work he had to do. You came to tease him.

He knew this was another one of your bids for attention. You always finished the tasks he threw at you quickly and efficiently. From the looks of it, you were indeed done with what needed to be done and here to harass him like the brat you were. He made a note to give you more work. His forehead grew with a line of tension as you pouted your soft, kissable lips at him. Then, as he brought his hand to the back of his neck to massage his sore muscles, he turned around. Not this again. Not now.

“Don’t raise your voice at me. Isn’t it ‘¿Mande?’, Miggy.”

His eyebrow twitched. He gritted out a cool “¿Mande?” through his interlocked fangs.

“Look at my new dress,” you flounced around and whirled into a spin.

He threw a look over his shoulder. Defining that as a dress was kind at best. It was a lovely pink and covered less than it should have. Worse, the dress was not equipped to handle your ass, even if it was obscured with a longer skirt in the back. His gaze drifted across the meager crisscrossed straps clinging to your chest. Show off. “Isn’t it pretty?”

He turned away from his work and crossed his thick arms one over another. Then, he twisted his finger to motion you to spin again. “Otra vez. Slow.”

You turned your foot tight over the other, spinning in a whirl of powdery pink. He wasn’t sure if it was the dress he was lingering on anymore or the bright smile plastered across your face. Even a pretty dress couldn’t brighten how you looked when you were happy. It was irreplaceable. Miguel leaned on his table. A smile crept onto the corners of his normally stoic lips. “Beautiful.”

“You think so?” you came closer to trace your fingertips over his chest in deliberately small teasing circles. Your hand then flattened, reaching as far up on his chest as you could go while on your tippy toes.

Miguel’s hands secured themselves on your waist before effortlessly lifting you onto his desk. He allowed his hand to glide up your thigh and delicately part your thighs from kissing one another. He took up the spot between your legs as his. You shimmied closer to him with the brightest shit-eating smile he’d seen that week, likely from your victory of relieving him from the many live screen panels and anomaly files.

“I always think so.”

With a soft, pleased hum, your fingertips danced across his shoulders. You always seem to know where the achiness was, working your hands over the spot. He rumbled, half pleased and half annoyed that he was pleased in the first place. The moment of rare relaxation irked him. You nibbled your plump lower lip in preparation for your next question, a sight that Miguel’s half-lidded eyes didn’t miss. “So... what if I wear it on my next big, bad villain detail?”

Despite your words, you fluttered your lashes at him like it was a joke... like it was inconsequential. His gaze hardened. He hated how you challenged him in areas you knew he wouldn’t be okay with. To soothe the beast, you traced your fingertips over his jawline, peppered with stubble. Your hands slinked around his head and delved into his thick tresses to drag him to your lips. Usually a wall of muscle, he stumbled forward and found himself enveloped in your muscular legs that hooked around his hips.

You slipped your tongue against his lips, a slight movement that invited his mouth to open up for yours. Miguel’s hand clasped at your waist before he drew his tongue against yours. You grazed his sharp fangs and swirled around his tongue. Miguel teased your lower lip with a soft nip when you tried to pull away. He let you escape at the price of another sweet kiss on his lips.

“Not a chance.” He huffed. His breath was warm against your lips. Then, he tapped his finger on your chest. “This? This is for my eyes-- only.”

“I know,” you hummed. “I know.”

#Miguel x Reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #spiderman imagines #spiderman imagine #across the spiderverse imagine #miguel o'hara x you #Miguel O'Hara reader insert

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averagecygnet-blog · 2 months

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one thing I absolutely adore about tgwdlm is how completely and irrevocably a stage musical it is. it HAS to be a stage musical - the medium is so deeply baked into the story that it truly would not translate to another medium.

some reasons why:

the musical style is old-fashioned in a way that screams classic broadway. you can't get away from it, especially in songs like "lah dee dah dah day" and "show stoppin number". and it's not just the music, it's the dancing too - have you ever seen a kickline in a movie musical, once, ever? or jazz hands? gimme a break

along similar lines - all the broadway references! hamilton of course, but also wicked and mamma mia and jekyll & hyde

all the attention deliberately brought to the lighting and set! the performers in "la dee dah dah day" loudly saying "lights down!" when it's over; ted, paul, and emma striking the stage after "show stoppin number"; the lighting panels used as sirens, TVs, showcasing hudgins' alexa, and more; ted wheeling the big meteor prop off the stage after "let it out". they don't let you forget that we're in a theater.

all the hokey ass miming and special effects???? charlotte and hudgins having their guts ripped out is flashy and fun onstage because of the intestine props. emma and ted having blood capsules in their mouths. paul, emma, and zoey violently shaking when pantomiming being in a helicopter. ted running in place, moving forward or back to suggest movement across the road. it's all so fun and consistently reminds you that this is a stage

double-casting as intentional obstruction of the truth. we're used to seeing one actor play several roles in a musical, so when a familiar face shows up in a new costume we assume it's a new character. but it was zoey flying the helicopter to clivesdale, and I think it was zoey in the hospital at the end as well. you couldn't pull that shit in a movie because movies don't double-cast.

the role of the audience, the laughter and gasps and reactions and applause, especially the applause at the end when emma is begging the audience members to let her use their phone and demanding to know why they're clapping; sure movies have audiences too but the presence of the audience as part of the story makes a point about societal ideals as something we all have a part in that a movie just couldn't make in the same way

on a related note - emma's sudden awareness of the stage and the audience as the horror trope where the person realizes they're trapped and will imminently die. she knows she can't escape because it's just a fuckin loop. she knows no one will save her because they're all clapping. you couldn't do that in a movie because in a movie there is a fourth wall, whereas on a stage there's nowhere for the characters to run away. on a stage the characters can look you, the audience, directly in the eye, with no camera or screen between you

I will literally never shut up about that curtain call

god damn what I wouldn't give to watch this show performed live

#starkid #team starkid #tgwdlm #the guy who didn't like musicals #ted spankoffski #emma perkins #paul matthews #tgwdlm paul #tgwdlm emma #tgwdlm ted #tgwdlm hudgins #tgwdlm charlotte #tgwdlm zoey #stage musical #musical theater #musical theatre #broadway #musicals #fourth wall

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christinebloodwrittings · 18 days

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To hunt or be hunted #11

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Drinks with Alastor turned the heat up! Warnings: Gore, blood, Smut.

Thank you so much to the amazing @hazelfoureyes she's the author of the smut here! She was an amazing help for this, so go to her profile and give her lots of love!! Her masterlist

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @ladyzaunis @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @shamblezzz @looking1016

“Alastor, it’s me” An Alastor with a seemingly white tie ensemble only with red and black colors, opened the door to his studio. Red evening tailcoat, It’s not closed entirely, double breasted black dress shirt, high pants held up by suspenders, winged collar and butterfly bow tie, he looked amazing. That was, at your time, the highest and most formal wear for men.

“Y/n dearest, I thought you had forgotten of me” he offered his hand to you, pretending to be hurt, “Never, sorry for the delay, the comedian that arrived a while ago was a blast, made me laugh to tears” as you walked up the stairs he eyed the dress you wore, feeling disgust as he knew who had tailored for you.

With a click of his fingers, his green magic made a flash on your body, flapper’s dress red and black materialized. It had tons of black beads and shiny flowers. Your hands were covered by laced long gloves. Golden medium high heels that matched the golden headband.

“Hey, this is lovely” he smiled proud of his work, “Figured it was better than the ensemble you were wearing” You didn't ignore his bitter tone, but you didn't want to rub it in, instead you rolled your eyes and smiled as he prompt you to sit on a chair near his radio panel.

“I have a surprise for you” he pulled up an album, in between the pages were pieces of newspapers all about the Axe-man of Louisiana, “How did you brought this down here?” he put in your hands, allowing you to pass on the pages. “I have my ways” he was proud, even more so when you started showing signs of homesickness.

“I don’t regret a single one of this encounters, except the crazy as fuck letter that I wrote” which was in one of the pages, a subtle 'oh' from you made Alastor laugh, "Do you know that I read that letter on the radio? I don't know how I didn't laugh while I was doing so, but as soon as it was off the air I couldn't stop” you hit him on the shoulder playfully.

“That was my last murder, I wasn’t in my right mind, the cut was sloppy and I didn’t even reached the brain, it was a mess” he was invested in the story, you could tell by the way his smile looked more relaxed.

“The wife saw me but didn’t said anything, instead she wanted me to confirm that he was dead, as soon as I did she thanked me” part of you was pissed she didn’t felt fear, the other was at peace with that, “It made me sick to see her wounds, but I guess it didn't make sense to think that a bad man could be a good husband” your eye roll and sarcasm put an amused grin on his face.

“I’m not a good man, but I know I can be a good husband” he took your hand, knowing your point but still making his own on top, “Because you don’t abuse little girls Alastor, that’s the line between a bad man and a monster” and he was proud his mom taught him better, “You eliminated all those vermin, how you’re not in heaven?” in his mind no one so well thought as yourself should be in hell just for taking out a contaminator, “Because a life is a life I guess, not matter how worthless” not enough, he needed to make the puzzle you were less of a mystery.

“How did you died?” to him it didn’t made sense, your appearance, “The Axe-man did it” but he wasn’t satisfied, he needed to take the bodies from the closet, “Is this your real face?” taking a better posture on the chair you sternly made him explain, “What do you mean?”.

“You used a mask when you got here, even in life you were famous because you were never identified” he was truly informed, a fan of your ways , “What was my modus operandi?” you asked, eyeing a photograph of the bayou in between the pages, “Axe through the head” he answered, “Face” you corrected him.

“I did the same with me, what I came to know later was that there was a fire caused by a misplaced candle, took years of deep care to my body to be this soft, but I had no face” that information was new, “I don’t care how much I like you Alastor, but if you try to say this to anyone else my coming back victim will be the radio demon” to be fair, that thought turned him on, just the feeling of your fangs on him again was enough to rile him up.

“Charlie gave me a face, this one-” he placed his hand on your cheek, appreciating the feeling, “For your information, dying by your hand, would be my upmost pleasure” a crack of his chair was heard before he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“What made you do a contract with her?” he had thought that question for a while, Charlie didn’t exactly gave him an answer when he approached her, “What will you give me in exchange?” he swayed his hand in the air, the wall turning onto itself.

“The pleasure of seeing me kill him” sat in a chair was your ex-husband, almost unrecognizable in all the bruises and cuts everywhere.

You were speechless, he did that for you? Alastor turned the man that hurt you in his own punching bag, just for you. “I was angry, she wanted to help, I wanted her to die” you admitted, watching closely all the wounds on his body, “The princess will die at the end of this?!” he rose from his chair, green hue surrounding him.

With a smirk you out yourself at his level, “You sound a tad too preoccupied for someone that made her sign a blank contract” his ears pinned down his head, “I have my reasons” he added, bitterly so, “Too bad she can’t help you with that leash” your fingers grabbed the invisible pull around his neck making him growl, “You’re despicable” he spit, his eyes turning colors, black and red dials, “And you a manipulative narcissist, hungry for power, cannibalistic fool” a growl of your own made him shiver in place instinctively.

Pulling on your hair he took your lips on a kiss, your hands flying to his neck, hugging his shoulders yearning for his touch. His tongue pushed his way into your mouth, an audible yelp got swallowed from your mouth my his.

“You two are crazy” your ex cried from his seat, calling yours and his attention. “My darling, this is one of your birthday gifts” he pointed to all the black ties around his body and the chair, “Car cables, how many watts?” his hands circled your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, wickedly smiling when he uttered “39.9” with a purr, “That’s twice the electric chair, your idea of foreplay is splendid” you kissed his cheek earning a sigh from him.

Your eyes darted towards your ex, “The mobster’s wife drowned our daughter in the river, just so you know” while he started crying his guilt out you walked up to the switch, “Start recording, I want all of hell to hear him later” he pushed a button on his panel “Of course mon cœur”.

As soon as you flipped the switch, the radio electricity that Alastor provided overloaded your ex-husband's body and made it blow into a thousand pieces, staining your dress and some of the walls. “The dress is ruined” you shook some of the blood off, before you were pulled to Alastor’s lap, “You’re a tease” you smiled, “And a manipulative narcissist” he used your own words against you, but with a laugh.

“She can’t help?” he referred to Charlie and his deal with her, “The only one that can has a short sense of humor towards you” you booped his nose, “You’re hilarious” his eye roll made you laugh, “And you…prideful-ah!” he bit you on the neck, “But you like me either way” he knew you liked him at least a little bit, “Guilty as charged” however, he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“But you like him as well” he made your heart beat painfully in your chest, “I went from nothing to have two sources of affection, I became an addict” he pressed his cheek to yours, “I…mmh” he bit his tongue, “I don’t know what I can do, whatever I choose will hurt me, and one of you” he pulled you closer while you spoke, your knees straddling his hips.

“How about both?” he thought out loud, “I didn’t take you for a sharer” ‘If that can overrule the deal, make you stay and arrange it so we won’t lose you, then’ he thought, “I can swallow my pride that far” then his confession seemed so surreal, “Is that my second gift?” he smiled trying to mask his embarrassment.

“I hope it can suffice” he whispered, his hand petting your hair, “I don’t want to seem greedy” could you really date both? “Oh you are, darling, but I bet the king and I adore you either way” head pressed against his chest, felt right, just as much as having Lucifer curl up with you at night.

“Thank you” he hummed in response, “That won’t do” you thought it for a second, “Want me to take the lead?” maybe he wanted a reward for being so good to you, “I already gave you my answer a while ago” ‘Devour me’ you remembered his words, while adjusting yourself on his lap, you could feel his erection, “All this for little old me? How flattering” the clothed friction electrified his senses.

“You know what I found out?” Your breath ghosted along his neck, little bite marks already reddening as your hands found their way to his pants. “You love being in control, but even more so…” you bit gently on his neck, “When I control you” he let a shaky breath escape his throat, making it looked like he had been holding it for a minute now.

“Hands behind your back” you took off his belt, twisting it around his wrists, tightly but not so much, “I want to thank you for the amount of trust you give me” Zipper down, you grabbed either side with your hands and pulled them down with a swift yank.

“I’ll tear you apart if you…-” tell anyone? No, you were going to have him all to yourself, “Tempting, but I would never” you stopped your movements when you caught a magnetic scent, “Is this a new cologne?” he hummed a yes, “You like it?” you nodded excitedly, “Yes, and though the white tie dressing is sexy, is horribly tedious to undo” the red and black suit was too gorgeous to ruin, but he had that in mind.

“Claw your way through it” he furrowed his brow, “I don’t want to ruin it” the fabric was far too exquisite, “You’ll make me beg for it?” his words made your tail slightly wag, “How far can you swallow your pride?” he laughed in response, “Chérie, please claw your way through it” It was the show of strength that took him by surprise, not that it wasn’t adding to the strain of his cock against his underwear. You ripped the pant legs off in tandem, slowing down as you brought your hand to the curved bulge now open for you to enjoy. Finally, a moment to pause.

His hands wouldn’t be stopping you now, but the way his was cutting into his lip as he bit down in anticipation made it clear you were not unwanted.

A slow drag down his clothed erection, small wet spot forming at the head. “Now this, this is all for me. No denying that, no questioning.” His hips bucked up instinctively, chasing your finger for more friction. A little giggle from you, realizing how much fun you were about to have.

Leaning down between his legs, you let your nose slid up his length. Hot breath ghosting over his head, that wet spot growing as he twitched.

“Y/N…,” he growled, “Enough.”

You shook your head and hooked your fingers under his waistband and peeling them off. A hiss as the air hit his precum slicked cockhead. Heavy and hot, you took him in your hands. No stroking, no squeezing. Your eyes looked into his, attempting to look as innocent and confused as you could to counter the small rage overwhelmed by arousal.

“Should I stop then?” A squeeze at his base. Another raise of his hips.

His head drooped down, a nearly imperceivable shake of his head. “Good boy” Your hand rose up slowly, then back down. Each stroke you rose further and further until your hand was rolling over his head with every pass. Clear and sticky, his precum slowly made a lovely wet sound fill the space between you two. As his breath began to hitch, shoulders tightening and drawing in you, you stilled your hand. A whimper was your reward.

Letting a beat come, feeling that pulse slowdown in the heat in your hands, you only then began again. Taking pleasure in biting at his inner thighs when you noticed his body tensing up with the next attempt to cum, the pain breaking him just enough to let you regain the control.

You brought him closer and closer each time, managing a third before you finally gave in and let him meet his climax and paint your knuckles and his station floor. “Sloppy” you mocked, letting your finger rub at his slit. Alastor’s knees drew up, hands tugging at his restraints.

“It’s too sensitive. Up”

“Why are you still so hard then?” Your hand twisted over his head and shaft. His legs were hitting at your ribs, body trying to escape your hand but with nowhere to go.

“You’re pushing your luck, chérie”

You liked pushing your luck. Watching him hiss and convulse was bringing out the sadist in you. With a second to consider it, you nodded to yourself and swiped your tongue up the bottom of his cock. Salty, bitter, hot. Focused, your tongue edged along the neck of his glans.

As he squirmed, he realized you hadn’t been made to squirm yet… nor last time. Motivation found; his smirk finally returned in full.

The sound of the leather ripping as his arms pulled them apart reached your ears too late. You knew he could have gotten free at any time but you hadn’t expected him to actually do it. You knew despite his act; he enjoyed letting you be the one pulling his reins.

A hand in your hair pulled you off his lap, another took hold of your waist. The wind was knocked out of you as he tossed you to the floor between the chair and his table.

Alastor had had enough. You had your fun, you teased, you took control of the dynamic. He warned you, and now he would reclaim the power.

“Allow me to return the favor. I have a debt to you, after all.”

You hissed a warning that he ignored, ripping through your dress with ease. Unfair, you thought. You hadn’t been quite as quick when you undressed him. Had you known it was a competition you’d have made a quicker order of his pants earlier.

A clawed hand slid down your pelvic mound, two fingers spreading open your lips on the way down to your entrance. “You’re already dripping. You acted so tough earlier, but you were melting.”

“Can it.”

He hummed, both fingers bending and slipping into you with a slight resistance. Though you both enjoyed a little sadomasochism, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. So preparation was a necessity. Not that you minded, hips rutting into his palm to bring his digits deeper. Your hands came to your chest, feeling yourself while his own hands were occupied.

You hadn’t minded not finding your own release last time, but the promise of Alastor drawing an orgasm out of you made your pussy clench around his fingers.

“Not enough?” The radio static of his normal voice grew as a direct reflections of his faltering control.

Your hands came between your leg and pull his hand away, “I want you.” Hooking your legs around his waist you dragged his lap to your core and rubbed your slick smeared folds up and down his growing length. “Enough foreplay” you growled, wild and feral expression darkening your eyes.

Happy to oblige though not eager to show it, he took his time drawing back his hips. Already so hard he didn’t need his hands to enter you, Alastor let his claws grip the flesh of your thighs as he pressed into your heat, moving your tail to the side, tempted to grab hold of it, but he ignored it.

A brief moment passed over his face when his smile faltered, the pleasure of getting back into you breaking his focused facade. He took a breath and that smile widened again, eyes opening to lock on your face as he started immediately into a steady rhythm. He knew what you needed to cum, something from within told him exactly how to work your body on his cock to make your vision white out. A consistent and determined thrusting, the sounds of his hips and balls smacking into your body getting louder as the sweat and arousal was shared skin to skin.

The noises of your bodies hitting together punctuating the restrained moans you were biting back made his ears twitch. Debauched, a moment you let yourself be bested. Rarely did you surrender but for his dick you lied on back for him. Or on all fours. Or… his head fell forward. Hanging there he could hide his uneven smile behind his curtain of hair. He could see himself disappearing into your body. Effortlessly you were sucking him in and gripping with every withdrawal.

The buildup of your orgasm was stalled, your hand coming to your clit to push yourself over the climax. As soon as your handed started strumming at your little bud, your walls spasmed and squeezed Alastor.

“Y/N, Are you close?”.

You nodded, eyes clenched shut. Your stomach muscles tightened and threatened to cramp your arching back.

When was the last time you felt good about this? Wanted? Loved even? Was this it, at last you found someone that could match your unique self?

“Me too.” Alastor groaned it out, body straightening. Onto your shoulders were touching the floor of his station now, back bent with the chase of your orgasm and Alastor lifting your ass so he could fuck up into you.

It was a fact your knees would bruise his sides as you finally came, legs wrapping around him and pulling him as deep as you could get him. It wasn’t enough, you whined with the rare display of desperation to have more of him.

As if he felt that draw as well, he let your body back down. His body rested on top of yours, the air slightly pushed out of your lungs. With a weak and broken moan into the side of your head, he pressed your body into the floor as he came buried as deeply as he could physically manage.

“I’ll talk to Mr. vertically challenged” he breathed out, “Are you sure?” you saw spots of colors, regaining as little strength as you could, feeling your body being pulled backwards. Soon enough you were in his lap again, curled up against his chest, “You go out tomorrow, I think I can convince him” he looked down to you, with the softest look he could provide.

“Deal” you kissed his chin, he felt how your tail tangled around his waist, it was soft and warm, “Just don’t get killed” he took your lips in a kiss, “I won’t” you gave him an unamused stare, “I’m serious” he kissed you again, as if he could erase your worries like that.

“Now, let’s get cleaned up, cuddle the king so he doesn’t suspect anything” you made a pout which he found adorable, “I thought we could sleep together” he made you and him appear in his bathroom, where his shadow already made a warm bath for you two.

“I’m going to compensate for the other day, but I feel…weird” he was overstimulated, so you understood and rather enjoyed the bath and his delicate way to spread the soap across your skin, rather than object him.

After a good night kiss, you went back to Lucifer’s room, finding him in the same position you left him in. “Luce, Luci” you slid in between the covers, calling him softly to get him to cuddle, in which as soon as he heard you, regained a bit of senses, enough to fit his head in your chest and his arms around your waist.

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

Stay tuned ;3

part 12

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starrycomics · 8 months

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Reading Batman #138 has just confirmed for me that one of the main themes of Zdarksy's run is the line Bruce's loved ones (particularly the Robins) walk between Family and Soldier, and his struggle to separate the two

It's shown pretty plainly from Zdarksy's first Batman comic where Tim gets shot in the throat. In the heat of the moment, Bruce cradles Tim in his arms and calls him 'son', prioritising Tim's safety over evacuating civilians

But then in the car a couple of pages later, you get these amazingly horrific panels showing Bruce de-costuming Jason and Tim's bodies, referring to them as 'soldiers’

At this point I read his soldier description as almost sarcastically bitter - he clearly hates that ‘the mission' drives him to treat his sons like impersonal soldiers, but he does it anyway

And this is something Tim completely goes along with - Bruce doesn't even visit him in hospital, but he's back out soon after with a bandage still on his neck. When he's back in the field he has an argument with Batman that with hindsight feels like an obvious set up for Gotham War

Bruce questions Tim's judgement and berates him for something he did in the field, while Tim says that Batman can't control him

Bruce is, at this point in the story, pre-Zur, and obviously doing this from a place of concern for his son rather than as something more coldly militaristic, but it's still the same type of justification Zur will later use during his fight with the rest of the Bats

Batman #138 is when this turns on his head, when he becomes more drill sergeant than concerned father, where having a son in place of a soldier is a hindrance rather than a gift

And that’s the whole point of Gotham War - a lot of people have been bogged down debating the logic of Selina’s plan, when it was really no more than a MacGuffin to put the Bats’ fault lines on show and illustrate the strain of being a father to your soldiers

And if you’re viewing this with a completely cold, mission-first mentality, then Bruce-as-Zur is kind of right - he’s allowing the rest of the Bats, his soldiers, to essentially mutiny against him because he’s tied to them by his love. Obviously that’s a good thing, he absolutely should care about his children like that, but it objectively makes him weaker

Tying back to Tim getting shot - the most fatherly thing to do in that situation would be to damn their identities, prioritise Tim’s well-being and take him straight into hospital without wasting time with his uniform. That would ruin him as Batman, but it’s still something he considers out of love for his son. Throughout his run and especially in Gotham War, Zdarsky is putting that love to the test and exploring what’s more important to Bruce, justice or family

I could say a lot more about Bruce’s role as a parent (personally, while I do think he can be fatherly, there is something inherently unethical about sending your children to war - him and Batwoman’s dad have a lot in common in that regard imo)

Mostly I just love the fact that Zdarksy’s exploring the complex dynamics between Bruce and his Robins, and I can’t wait to see where he takes it

#Batman #Gotham war #Bruce Wayne #Tim drake #Robin #red Robin #chip zdarsky #look at me writing a PEEL essay about a Batman comic #this is my at my strongest and most unhinged #already formulating my ‘Batman may be a good man but that doesn’t make him a good parent’ essay #while he is responsible for those children he is not responsible with them #but that’s a story for another day

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disniq · 10 months

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heyyy it's the tropes jason anon again back at it with a new question! what quotes from the comic books would you say describe jason & his philosophy well? thank you so, so much for helping me out ❤

Hi again Anon!

Full disclosure here; I don't think Jason has been written consistently enough over the years to necessarily have one set, inarguable philosophy. But I do think there are certain themes that carry through.

So;

Red Hood: Lost Days #3

This is, notably, the first time Jason kills. (I'm not including Garzonas, which is debatable, or the Cheer incident, which is a retcon) He finds out his hand-to-hand teacher has a barn full of drugged children about to be sex trafficked. The cops and politicians are in on it, making lawful justice extremely unlikely, but taking out one man takes out the system. Jason crosses that line for the first time because nobody else is there to stop it, and this is the most practical route.

He does not see it as "murder" because he feels it was deserved.

Red Hood: Lost Days #4

After that line has been crossed - as Talia points out here - a pattern emerges. It's notable that Jason does not kill all his dubiously skilled teachers, only the ones he deems the worst of the worst - people deliberately and repeatedly harming everyday people, especially children.

Jason reiterates this in his famous utrh speech. He's not talking about killing every rogue, every criminal. He's talking about killing the worst of the worst, the people who can finagle their way out of the system, the people the system fails to catch.

Under the Red Hood

It would be remiss of me not to include that one time Jason killed a nazi. Good for her dot gif.

To Jason, these people are beyond the regular means of justice, so he provides his own. He stops them from hurting anybody else.

This is not an exclusively post-resurrection opinion of his, either. Jason expressed similar thoughts during his Robin run.

Batman #422 (thank you @benbamboozled 😘)

This woman, Judy, baited her sister's murderer into attacking her too and then slits his throat. She's unrepentant, and Jason agrees with her decision. (Bruce, for the record, gives a speech on how "nobody is above the law" which is. An interesting stance for an illegally operating vigilante to take lmao)

It makes sense to me that Jason, as someone who has seen the system fail repeatedly (both as a civilian and as a hero), would have those kinds of doubts. The system doesn't always work. The system often fails the most vulnerable people.

When Bruce was failed by the Gotham justice system, he became his own extra-judicial system. When Jason is failed by both the justice system *and* Bruce's own vigilante system? Why wouldn't he do the same.

Unfortunately, this thread is mostly dropped for a while with the wave of writers who either actively hate Jason and try to make him capital E Evil or who are playing shameless self insert with him, but there are two more recent panels that I want to include too;

Task Force Z #12

So, in TFZ, Jason pushes who he thinks is Bane off a roof for killing Alfred. It... is not actually Bane, but instead the brainwashed former corpse of Gotham re-reanimated via comicbook science and. You know what, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that Jason regrets killing Gotham because he didn't deserve it, but reiterates that he will kill the real Bane if he gets a chance.

Jason sees killing as something he can do that others can't, that others maybe *shouldn't* have to do.

The Joker: The Man Who Stopped Laughing #8

And finally, I adore this little beat in JTMWSL. This is something Jason thinks about. He's not just some brute that doesn't understand that "killing is bad". He thinks about it, reads theory about it. He sees that between the black and white, there are many, many shades of gray.

He understands that people who don't kill with their own hands aren't necessarily good people - like these cops here, gleefully waiting for him to be killed in prison. And that the people who *do* get their hands dirty aren't necessarily the bad guys - like poor Judy.

And I think he probably varies where he places himself on that scale at any given moment.

#I'm sorry anon none of these are strictly speaking quotes but this is what I've got lol #jason todd #asked and answered #long post #my meta

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sage-nebula · 6 months

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I've seen some people surprised that Kit feels murderous toward Tails in the newest issue, but honestly? I really think this tracks. Setting aside his original programming to kill Tails, let's look at their relationship in chronological order, shall we?

As we know, they met in Eggperial City, where Kit tried to do his job and kill Tails. Tails quickly set to work on talking Kit down, which he did mostly successfully (mostly, because it all went to pot the instant Tails suggested they find Sonic). The thing is, if he has taken the time to look back on it (and I'm sure he has for reasons I'll get to), I don't think Kit sees Tails as really being kind in retrospect. I think he sees Tails as having manipulated him.

And the thing is: he's right.

Look at Tails's smirk after Kit shows surprise that Tails likes his gear. That's a got him smirk if I've ever seen one. Tails has clued into a vulnerability of Kit's that he can use to his advantage.

He further tries to draw similarities between them ("I'm different too and people didn't like that either") and asks leading questions ("you don't get support huh?") to get the result he wants. We have further confirmation that this is deliberate manipulation on Tails's part by his internal monologue about Kit's emotional instability.

Now, none of this is to say Tails is a bad person. Kit was genuinely trying to murder him and Tails was trying to de-escalate the situation to save his own life, without physically harming Kit if possible. As funny as memes about Tails murdering the Kukku Army are, generally he tries to avoid hurting others if he can. He's a nice boy.

But what happened after this?

Well, more specifically: Tails mentioned wanting to find Sonic for help, Kit attacked again, Tails knocked Kit out, and then after Kit comes to and they all leave the city . . .

. . . he's told that Surge died.

Surge was his one reason for living thanks to Starline's programming, and she died while Kit was unconscious because Kit fell for Tails's manipulation and then was overpowered. We don't get a look inside his head during the time when he believes Surge has died, but there is a strong possibility that he blamed himself, because if he had drowned Tails right away like he was supposed to, he could have gone to help Surge. But he didn't, so he couldn't, so she's dead. That's mostly on him, but he could easily resent Tails for it, too.

And speaking of resentment:

Kit finds out Surge is alive, and of course his first instinct is to think Sonic lied so that he could kill Surge off for good. So he goes to get revenge, only to be blocked by Tails. And that's when we get that gem of a line: "Why would you bother with me? You already have him."

Remember that, when he thought Surge was dead, he figured he could be used by Sonic instead:

But while he of course doesn't want to serve Sonic now, he has also realized that if Surge HAD actually died, Sonic would still have no use for him, because Sonic already has Tails. Tails, who can break his water tails easily. Tails, who easily manipulated him in Eggperial City. Tails, who disabled his water pack and knocked him out.

So far, Tails has bested Kit at every turn, leaving Kit to feel inferior and worthless by comparison.

The next time they meet, it is a trap where Kit is again supposed to kill Tails. And once more Tails is able to manipulate Kit into temporarily backing down:

Tails thinks Kit has gone back to being, if not friendly, then reasonable. But he hasn't. Kit stops specifically when Tails says Surge is hurting herself, because he doesn't want Surge to be hurt. And I think Tails knows that, and that's why he said it. But Kit also knows that he is being manipulated here, and his silence is him watching for his opportunity. Such as here:

Peep Kit in the second panel. He watches as Tails dives after Sonic. Had Tails hit the water, he would have been fried right along Sonic. But did Kit care? No. He watched. Surge could have easily killed Tails just as she (temporarily) killed Sonic, and Kit would not have cared at all, because at this point he does not see Tails as a friend: he sees him as a manipulative enemy.

This is further cemented by what he says and does at the end of the issue.

He uses his water tails to grab Tails and move him out of the way in the very same way that he does to Sonic. And he says, "I'll bury you all here." All, including Tails. While the focus is put on Sonic's anger because he is the main character, that doesn't change the fact that he is including Tails when he says that he will bury them all. He sees Tails as no different from Sonic, Starline, or Eggman. Tails manipulated and used him, just as the rest did. He just pretended to be nice while he did it.

So when he finally comes back in this most recent issue, it comes as no surprise to me that this is his attitude:

His history with Tails is extremely personal, and not in a good way. It can be easy to miss because most of the focus on Kit has been on his codependent relationship with Surge, and he hasn't openly voiced how he feels about Tails until this particular issue. But when you piece together every step of their relationship (Tails manipulating him, Tails overpowering him, Kit saying Sonic has no use for him because he has Tails), it paints a very clear picture that Kit feels every bit as suffering in Tails's shadow as Surge does in Sonic's. The only reasons why Kit isn't more proactive about it is because of his programming as a support figure. Supporting Surge comes before all else, so if Surge is hurting herself it's best to hang back. And if Surge doesn't want to go after the Restoration because it's a losing battle with just the two of them, then he needs to follow her lead.

But those feelings of resentment are still boiling under his surface. And now that he has the opportunity to unleash them, he won't miss the chance to strike.

#sth #idw sonic #idw sonic spoilers #kit the fennec #kitsunami the fennec #miles tails prower #meta #again Tails wasn't being evil or anything like that #he was literally just trying to not be murdered while also not hurting Kit any more than he absolutely had to #but Kit has every reason (narratively) to not see it that way #unfortunately bc Kit has been programmed to believe his own feelings and thoughts don't matter we don't get a lot of it either #but i think it's there if you read between the lines #Tails honey you've got a big storm comin #but so does everyone else in the Restoration bc Whisper is the only one with a healthy sense of mistrust lol

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princessbrunette · 4 months

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Kook!reader Mouthing off to jj and he looks up from whatever he’s doing and is like “ you better chill out or Ima tear that ass up” and her spoiled ass has never been spanked or anything so she thinks he’s bluffing and says he’s too pussy or something. So he just raises his eyebrows and 10 seconds later she’s over his knee confused, and he ends up making her cry bc she needs someone to show her who’s boss 🤭(I need this pls write it)

♛ ⋆˙₊˚⊹♡

jj always got very concentrated and serious when he worked on his bike. it required his full attention, his lips pressed in a thin line with that crease appearing between his brows as he switched out tools and wrenches at whatever he can to fix the problem he’s facing with it. he’d learnt over the years to fix it by himself, hell — he could probably take the bike apart and rebuild it with his eyes closed. it was sexy, seeing him like that— the one downside was it meant less attention for you, and for a girl so spoiled that was a nightmare.

you sit on a stool near him as he works on twisting bolts and sorting wires on an inside panel of his bike. he doesn’t mind you being there, what he does mind is your constant nagging and unnecessary chatter. if it was too much for jj, it must have been bad.

“dont know, babe. it’ll be done when it’s done.” his eyes flutter with irritation as he answers your whining for what feels like the tenth time that minute.

“y’said that last time. you know i came alllll the way to the cut to hang out with you and you’re spending’ all this time with your bike.”

“well, y’haven’t even been here an hour and i told you i’d be done soon. so quit the whining, yeah?” he warns, and he thinks he’s finally shut you up— being met with purely peace and quiet as he continues working away. that is until, you pipe up once more.

“maybe you should date the bike then. seein’ as you love it more than me.”

the tool in his hand clanks against the ground as he drops it, using the same hand to run over his face, releasing a quiet hum of frustration as he tries to gather himself. he stands, turning fully to you with a malicious grin and a tongue in his cheek. you stare, wide eyed and unbothered, feet still swinging.

“i don’t know how your mommy and daddy deal with you back on the kook side’a the island— but over here this lil’ attitude you got goin’ on ain’t gonna fly too well with me, alright? cut it out ‘fore i make you.” he’s made his way over to you, jaw tight and big eyes flickering between yours. you tilt your head, a challenge.

“like you’re gonna do anything about it.” you tease and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“alright, okay— yeah, let’s see shall we?” he asks before he’s dragging you off the stool by the arm and leading you inside.

not even five minutes later, and he’s got you folded over his lap in tears, his large hand relentlessly coming down on your sore ass cheek, each hit making you squeal.

“did i say stop countin’? ‘cos i’m pretty sure i never said that.” he tilts his head, raising his voice just a tad as you hiccup and sniffle.

“seventeen.” you sob, holding onto his thigh for dear life.

“yeah. three more. you’ll think twice next time before you pull that kook shit on me, huh?”

“m’sorry jj!” you whine and it’s met with another spank.

“yeah, i bet.”

“eighteen!”

after you’ve had all the attitude smacked out of you, the blonde cradles you on his lap, rubbing his lips together guiltily as you cling onto him. you had to learn your lesson though, so after he made sure you were okay and got you anything you needed — he headed back outside to finish up on his bike.

he left you to sulk and think about your actions, and just as he was finishing up on his bike— he hears the quiet padding of your feet approaching once more, standing as quietly as you possibly could until he looked over, giving you permission to speak.

“i’m sorry, jj.” you mewl and he throws the rag he was wiping his hands on over his shoulder, pushing himself up to stand.

“i know, babydoll— you’re good now, yeah?”

you respond by lifting up your hand unsurely, pinching a wad of cash. “what’s that?” he asks, placing his tool back into its box.

“money to get the bike fixed so you can spend more time with me.” you sniffle quietly, unsure how he’s gonna take it. he chuckles, snatching his hat off and pulling you in for a hug, his arm around the back of your neck and hand rubbing your lower back.

“i finished with the bike, you goof.” it comes out muffled as he kisses the crown of your head. “and whilst i appreciate the gesture, there’s no freakin’ way i’d let anyone touch my bike.” he pulls back, offering you a friendly smile before pressing a kiss to the tip of your snotty nose and then bringing his fingers up to pinch at it, wiping the snot away. you crinkle your nose, and he starts to walk you backwards. “c’mon, let’s go inside.”

♛ ⋆˙₊˚⊹♡

#anon #jj maybank prompt

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lisa-russell · 6 months

Text

FOR THE FANS OUT THERE WHO CAN'T GET ENOUGH OF SPLATOON.

UPDATE: *Dies in awe*

"Learn the rules like a Pro, so you can break them like an Artist"-Pablo Picasso

"There is no line between an Author and an Artist" - ???

If your like me and love reading, listening and seeing fanart,music and stories all based around Splatoon...well look no futher!

IF ya wanna see a bunch of amusing and comedic, like memes or mini comics collected from all just #sploonies. (I also have links too some of my own stuff lol)

Do me a favor and reblog this! or...atleast share it! More inkfolk who see thia the better!

# splatsville sploonies if yah wanna see all dah memes ive reblogged from tumblr!

HERE IS A LIST OF 93 STORIES ALL LOVINGLY WRITTEN BY FELLOW FANS LIKE YOURSELF.

I reaaaad alllooot. So these are what I get when the game ain't enough. I made this lil list from myself and others. Authors who have taken their time to let us dive into their inky tales or love, danger,action,fluff and... the risqué.

AND THIS IS A PLAYLIST OF....

Yah your reading right. Over 377 songs. Remixes, Fanmade, Originals and so much more!

CHECK THIS OUT!

Ya, 8 links up but they lead too some really good fan comics. I consider small panels one and full series. Feel free teh let me know or suggest some!

And an INDEPTH AND UPDATED AGENT 4 SIDE ORDER THOERY BLOG!

This a rather interesting Reddit Post about how music effects Inklings and Octolings!

An A.I Assistant thoughts(?) On Octo Expansion sanitizing and dah memverse cure...

A lil blog on how agents cannon lore wise have such neat lil details about em!

My stuff lol These are also link's tah my Artwork. Latest Update!

Below one has dah older handrawn on paper work of mine.

And my more r3cent digital work...word of warning I take weeks tah months just tah finish one..I'm a bit of a perfectionist and detail lover lol...

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ecogirl2759 · 7 months

Text

So, I decided to take a few photos of the Danganronpa 4コマ KINGS series and compile a few of the findings I thought were funny.

I don't have everything fully translated yet, so there may be a few issues with my findings. If you find any mistakes or have anything to add, please lmk :) I'll also update this if I find things later.

---IMPORTANT NOTE---

All of these drawings are NOT mine. Everything comes from the 4コマ KINGS series published by Spike Chunsoft. I'm simply photographing them and sharing them with others who may not have seen them before (since the series is out of circulation). If there is any issue with my post, please inform me so that I can take appropriate action.

All photos are below the break here :) (Warning, it's long lol) ((And there are a few minor spoilers))

(EDIT: As a side note, I've posted more pictures in an update. Idrk how this site works, so I'm letting people know here so you can find it if you want.)

Fun things that you can learn from the Danganronpa 4コマ KINGS comics:

Hifumi has written, drawn, or thought of making content relating to Sayaka x Kiyoko, Aoi x Sakura (on two occasions), and Makoto x Byakuya

Toko thinks that… something… happened between Mondo and Kiyotaka in the sauna, wink wink.

Toko wrote some sort of fanfiction in relation to Byakuya, Chihiro and Mondo. Idk what it is, but the title is along the lines of "The Byakuya Family Household Sweep Away a Beautiful Girl". (Pretty sure it's a Mondo x Chihiro fic, but I could be wrong.)

^ pretty sure Syo is a heavy BL fan lol

Aoi's b00bs are so squishy, she can use them to launch herself off things.

Everyone really likes drawing pretty boy Byakuya. Like, he looks fabulous in some of these panels. Here is one of those pictures:

........Okay, fine, this is the right one:

Hifumi has drawn gender swaps of a few of the boys, being Makoto, Byakuya, Leon, Yasuhiro, Kiyotaka, and Mondo.

Leon really wants a harem lol

Kiyoko's secret picture (from the last trial in-game) was of Class 78 hosting a cat maid cafe

Yasuhiro's secret (the motive in Chapter 2) is that he's an idiot.

Mondo, Kiyotaka and Sayaka all get along really well! So do Mondo, Kiyotaka and Chihiro :)

Mondo knows how to sew!

Mondo doesn't wear eyeliner, he just has really long eye lashes.

Mondo's hair is fluffy and bouncy :)

Makoto thinks Mondo's hair looks like a corn chip. Aoi thinks it looks like a chocolate croissant :)

Chihiro once gave Mondo a game about dogs. He loved it lol

Chihiro and Mondo have actually trained together.

^ they actually make a great team :)

(I'm pretty sure that) Kiyotaka was found guilty in a trial relating to black underwear. Unclear if he was executed or not. (This point is subject to change once I fully translate the comic.)

Kiyotaka was brainwashed by the Mono-Rangers (parody on Power Rangers) in a different comic. He became Commander Ishimaru and enforced rules and dress code in a dictator-like fashion. (Full translation is still in the works.) This is what his outfit looked like:

Daiya dies in 4K

Komaru's here :D

Mukuro shows up a lot as herself! She's so cute lol

Kiyoko's kinda socially awkward lol, it's really cute.

Makoto has wanted to see up Kiyoko's skirt on multiple occasions.

Makoto has tried a couple of times to cheer Kiyotaka up. It does not work.

And now, here are some funny out-of-context panels to cap off this post! These were too hilarious not to include, I just couldn't make a bullet point out of them lol.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk :)

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void-wolfie · 11 months

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you drew stars around my scars

summary: Jenna comforts you on a bad day.

pairing: Jenna Ortega x gn!Reader

tw: mentions of self harm, anxiety

words: 560

a/n: a bit short and not my best work, but i've always loved this idea and wanted to write something for it

You hated your appearance. Every time you looked in the mirror, it didn't feel like you were looking at yourself. Ironic for someone working in the acting business.

You thought you hid your insecurities well, burying yourself behind fake confidence and oversized hoodies. No one knew the pain you carried with you, that is, till you met Jenna.

Jenna saw through it all. She could look past the smiles and one-liners and see the tired mess you truly were. She could see the signs that no one else cared to. The constant long sleeves and baggy clothes, the dark circles under your eyes, the way you'd zone out in the middle of conversations or bite at your lip when met with a little too much scrutiny.

Jenna quickly became a source of comfort for you. She was always there, supporting you even when you refused to talk about what was bothering you.

It was the first day of the convention, where you and Jenna, along with a few others, were set to talk on panels and interviews about your upcoming project.

You'd forgotten your meds. You were a mess. Anxiety through the roof. All those self-deprecating thoughts you'd managed to subdue coming back at breakneck speed. How you'd survive the day was beyond you.

Jenna was watching you from the corner of her eye. Your knee was bouncing up and down rapidly, your bottom lip between your teeth as you chewed on it, twisting the pendant of your necklace between your fingers. You were a nervous wreck.

Jenna picked up the spare Sharpie sitting on the table, spinning it between her fingers as she thought of what to do, how she could help. There had to be something...

You were busy distracting yourself with your phone when an earbud came into view. You looked up to see Jenna holding out an airpod to you, the other already set in her ear. You took it, putting it in. She handed you her phone, already opened to Spotify, letting you pick the music.

You picked a song from her playlist, the soft sounds of a Taylor Swift song filling the silence.

"Can I draw on your arm?"

Your head shot up; voice caught in your throat as you tried to think of some answer.

"Sure..." The others weren't around, and you trusted Jenna with your secrets. Besides, you didn't have the heart to say no to her anyways.

You rolled up the sleeve of your jacket, setting your arm on the table. She flipped it over and your heart caught in your throat. You saw her hesitate at the sight of the faint white lines and fresh pink scars that littered your skin, clear evidence of your bad habit. But she didn't say anything. Instead, she uncapped the sharpie and got to work, drawing little stars between all the scars.

Jenna had known about the scars, about your little vice. But she'd never mentioned it and she'd never seen the scars up close before. It hurt her, to know you were hurting yourself. But she couldn't judge you for it, not when you meant so much to her.

When the others finally arrived, none of them said anything about Jenna doodling all over your arm. Nor about the way you sat next to her, head on her shoulder, fast asleep.

#jenna ortega x gn!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #void-wolfie

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piratadelamor · 11 months

Text

skip and loafer ch. 53

shima seems to see romantic love as a combination of different attraction factors, where liking someone as a person (for their personality) can be compensated for other things, therefore your standarts are lower when you're romantically attracted to someone. the way he sees it, the highest form of steem you can have for someone is to like them as a person, where these other factors don't matter and what you truly value is solely their personality.

i think it's interesting how mukai introduces this conversation by building a hierarchy of feelings, where romantic love stands on top of the feelings of friendship and of liking someone as a person, because that's one concept i've been personally focusing on deconstructing in my life. it's precisely by differenciating these types of feelings and putting them on a hierarchy that so many people end up in romantic relationships with people they don't really like, or why so many people drift away from their friendships when they start dating someone.

through everyone else's eyes, shima's feelings are romantic, and he doesn't feel like they are, because romance to him means something else. the lines between liking someone as a person, as a friend and as a lover are blurred. and listen, that's how they're supposed be. to love someone as a lover is supposed to mean you love them as a friend and as a person as well. a friend and a lover shouldn't be too different, and liking them as a person is supposed to be the core of both feelings.

i don't think shima is being innocent, like i've seen so many people saying on twt since the chapter came out. i think he's touching something very deep about relationships in our society that so many stories that focus on romance fail to address. in most of these stories, romance is the final goal. that's where most of them end. that's not the case here. i was already surprised when mitsumi and shima started dating, and even more surprised when they went back to being friends. that's not the usual narrative for this kind of story. because here, it doesn't seem like this hierarchy matters. and i think it's beautiful and i think it's HUGE how both shima and mitsumi value their friendship above everything else. not only them, because friendship is one of the main themes of this story. both as a dynamic and as a type of love as well.

but people have different perspectives on love and how love feels for them. it's different for mitsumi, for shima, for mika, for fumi. the way you're taught about love in your family or as a child in general has a big role on shaping that. we saw the matter of mitsumi having received lots of love in her family and childhood friends being brought up before as an explanation for her confidence. then, on the other hand, that's why we see shima acklowledging this on the next panels:

we know a few things about shima's family and their complicated relationships. shima never realized his little brother liked him because he saw his behavior as coldness or indifference, when he was actually being considerate of the distance shima was putting between them himself. he felt the need to please his mother by acting in order for her to love him, or for him to be worthy of her love, because their relationship was too anchored on exploitation. his father was having an affair, which not only made shima watch the failure of his parents marriage but also perceive romantic love as something superficial (as in "people break up and move on to the next person") and possibily as something that pushes people away. then shima's first girlfriend only liked him because of his looks, and so many others confessed to him without barely even knowing him. how could shima trust his own feelings after all of that? if he spent most of his formative years in an environment of appearences where love was tied to selfishness, interest, volatility, coldness, pain? shima learned to supress all his feelings and be a people pleaser as a survival mechanism. don't get too attached, live up to others expectations, keep your distance, smile and wave, bottle it all up. he is a kid that doesn't know a single thing about love and is scared as hell of it. love feels as if something is about to break.

that's why liking someone as a person feels more important to him. and that's not only the highest feeling he can have for someone else, i think this is the highest form of feeling he thinks someone could have for him too. it's the kind of feeling he thinks his own mother couldn't have, because acting was more important to her than who he actually was. it's the feeling he unconciously doesn't allow others to feel for him, because he never shows people who he truly is. so shima understands mitsumi's words as a love confession back in chapter 41. she didn't say "i love you", she said "that's what i love about you". and he asks her out, not only because he already knows mitsumi is different, so it seems more reasonable to give it a try, but also because he thinks this is how it's supposed to go. this is what he thinks it's expected to give her in return.

when society puts romance on the top of the relationships/feelings hierarchy, it builds an insane amount of expectations around it. i think it's crazy how friendships feel so free while romantic relationships feel so enclosured. they have too many rules. you're supposed to do this, and that, and behave in certain ways. if you start dating a friend then suddenly your friendship dynamic changes. a boyfriend or a girlfriend have responsibilities that friends don't have. it's a weight. i can't imagine a person like shima feeling any other way about a romantic relationship. for him, this is a big, big weight. that's why he puts an emphasis when he says "i thought that i could be a 'boyfriend' too". a boyfriend is a social role. when he phrases it like that, he's using the word "boyfriend" as an outside concept: he doesn't know what it means to him, he only knows what it means for everyone else. and that's not something he can do.

mukai is absolutely right when he tells shima he shouldn't be going out with anyone. shima isn't ready to be that close to anyone, not even his closest friends. i can't even describe how sad i felt when mukai said this to him:

shima is just so, so lonely...

but this doesn't mean that shima's supposed to become ready to be a "boyfriend" on those terms. i just think he's still trying to figure out what all of these things mean to him. and the good thing is that mitsumi is also trying to figure out these things too. the difference between them is that mitsumi is a few steps ahead, because she already understands what friendship love feels like. and when it comes to that, she gave us one of the most special love confessions i've ever seen.

so many people talked about this scene already, but now, in the light of chapter 53, her saying "i really like this person" has a whole new meaning. this is the most honest love shima has ever received from anyone. no romantic confession could top that. no romantic feeling could heal his wounds the way these words from mitsumi can. this is a treasure shima can't afford to lose.

we're taught that romantic love will save us. that it will make us the happiest, that it completes us. we grow up believing that we can't survive without it. what we really can't survive without are our friends... skip and loafer is putting friendship above everything else, but more than that, it is questioning how romantic love is supposed to feel. some people feel it, some people don't. i think most of us don't really know what it is. we think we do because we read enough, we saw enough movies, we listened to enough love songs. i think i felt it a few number of times in my life but everytime i felt it for someone new i asked myself, was it really love before? what is it, really? if i never read those books or saw thoses movies or listened to those songs. would i recognize it? would i know it better? would it even exist?

aren't shima's feelings for mitsumi already valuable enough? big enough, true enough? would they change if he called them romantic? mitsumi has SO much to teach him about love, about himself, about others. their encounter is so beautiful and so rich. we see how much he's changing, how many new things he's finally starting to understand about himself, how many important steps he's taken since they met. is finding romance at the end really the most important thing for their story?

#skip and loafer #skip to loafer #PHEW OK ALRIGHT I DONT KNOW WHERE ALL OF TJIS CAME FROM BUT HERE IT IS #yes i do hope they get together i do want then to say i love you i do love the blushes and everything i just really #appreciate the way this theme is being approached in a non linear way #and probably it will end with them being together but not as a final goal but as a consequence of the goal which is #learning about themselves and their feelings and about relationships and frienships and growth and communication and human complexity #aaaaa #bea talks

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