“What I Really Wanted To Say Was That A Monster Is Not Such A Terrible Thing To Be. From The Latin

gojo's the clingy kind of guy that just NEEDS to have some part of his body touching you.

fluff!!! all fluff!!!!!! supppper clingy gojo x reader, reader has their nails done sometimes, general blurb tbh (not rly a one shot or anything like that), lots of physical touching bc thats what clingy gojo needs,

it truly doesn't matter what, but as long as you two are actually physically connected, he's satisfied. it's obviously horrendous at home when he has unlimited access to you, whining about the most absurd way he needs to have physical contact with you. he likes napping on his stomach with you on top of him in whatever way you please, just wanting to feel your weight against him and have your hand carressing the back of his neck; he also likes sitting side by side at the dinner table so that he could eat with one of his legs just casually stretched out behind yours or even eating with one hand so he can have the other draped around your shoulder or your wasit; and he most definitely likes taking showers together, washing each other's backs and especially having you wash his hair (and of course having you blowdry it afterwards).

he's just a clingy guy because, well, he's lost too much and sometimes he can't be home. this is something you truly need to understand about him and see it as a vulnerability. all he needs is love and it gives him so much reassurance when you let him be as close as he needs.

and he always compromises in public. he knows how annoying extreme pda could be, and he never wants you to feel embarrassed. so he has his own little quirky ways of keeping in touch. when you both are at school and attending meetings, he's always seated beside you, manspreading like a whore but to make sure his knee touched yours. or he brings an arm behind your seat to gently fiddled with the collar of your uniform. sometimes, he's got his pinky linked with yours under the conference table or massging your hand while yaga yapayapayapas about whatever it is (you need to reexplain it all to gojo later).

at restaurants, when it's just the two of you, he opts to sit in front of you. this way he can stretch his legs out on either side of yours and keep you caged in, occasionally giving you a squeeze by bringing his legs together. sometimes he's even reaching for your hand over the table, letting his fingers fiddle with yours when you tell him about stuff he's missed since he was gone. whenever you two are out with friends, however, he always sits beside you and he's got a hand on your thigh. sometimes it's just resting on top of your thigh, sometimes he's holding you by the inner side of your thigh, sometimes he's got his hand across your lap to pull you closer by your thigh that's farthest from him. if not your thigh, sometimes his arm is behind your seat, or he has you sit up a little farther up so that he could rest a hand on your lower back (maybe even around your waist or on your hip). it's not unusual to also have a hand on his lap where he's got both of his own giving yours a massage. he's interlocking your fingers, giving you squeezes, kneading at the muscles on your palm. he's letting your nails gently glide across the length of his fingers down to his palm, and when you've got charms on them, he's gently tracing them with his thumb.

all in all, gojo's just a clingy guy whose love language juuuuust might be physical touch.

The people have asked and they shall receive!!! A little Slytherin sandwich for all you fine folks 🐍 (all characters aged up and well into adulthood)

I’ve stumbled upon the throuple fanfics AND THERES NO GOING BACK!!

# “MRS. WAYNE I THINK THIS IS FOR YOU!” ── .✦ ( bruce wayne wife headcannons )

a/n: this was request by a anon (here) so yeah but anyways I Lowkey used to be OBSESSED with like batmom stories but like I genuinely then lost all care for liking anything bruce wayne but this might just like help me (jason todd girly converts into a batmom Stan😭) tags: (bruce wayne x fem!reader)

CHAOTIC HEADCANNONS ── .✦

“No, Bruce. That’s Not a Normal Thing to Do.”

You frequently have to remind him that billionaire habits don’t translate to normal life.

Bruce: “I thought I’d buy out the café you like so you wouldn’t have to wait in line.”

You: “Bruce, we’re just getting lattes. Calm down.”

The expensive car Dilemma: He’s tried picking you up in one of his expensive cars once, and you’ve never let him live it down.

“Bruce, we’re not running a car dealership we’re going to Target.”

Tech Mishaps: Bruce likes to show off his gadgets, but they always malfunction around you. Once, the Batcomputer locked him out because you accidentally spilled coffee near it. You took a picture of his shocked face and made it your phone wallpaper for weeks.

The Disastrous Cooking Attempts: Bruce insists he can cook. The truth? Alfred banned him from the kitchen after he tried to “surprise” you with pancakes and set the stovetop on fire.

“I’m Batman, but I can’t handle pancake batter.”

OVERPROTECTIVE HUSBAND™ ── .✦

He’ll interrogate any new friends you bring around like they’re suspects in a heist.

Bruce, shaking someone’s hand firmly: “And what do you do for a living?”

You, glaring: “Bruce, they’re not applying to join the Justice League.”

GOSSIP FINAL BOSS ── .✦

He pretends not to care about gossip, but he secretly listens to you rant about gala drama. Sometimes, he’ll even chime in with hilariously accurate observations.

You: “That woman was glaring at me all night.”

Bruce: “Because she kept seeing her husband looking at you’re instagram posts. Trust me, Alfred told me.”

ROMANTIC HCS ── .✦

Constant Gentleman Mode: Bruce is always opening doors for you, carrying your bags, or pulling out your chair. You tease him about being old-fashioned, but it’s clear he loves taking care of you.

Private Dance Lessons in the Manor: When you’re stressed, Bruce will put on some music in the empty ballroom and sweep you into an impromptu dance. He’s a surprisingly good dancer, but the way he looks at you mid-spin? That’s what makes your heart race.

Personal Love Notes: Bruce doesn’t text much, but he leaves little handwritten notes around the house.

“Don’t forget, you’re the best part of my day.”

“Coffee’s ready downstairs. So is your husband, who can’t stop thinking about you.”

The ‘I’m Watching You’ Look: At galas, Bruce can’t stop staring at you. When you catch him, he gives that little smirk that says, Yeah, you caught me, but I’m not sorry.

Soft Batman Moments: Even in the Batcave, he has moments where he’s just your Bruce. When he sees you waiting up for him late at night, he’ll silently take off his cowl, walk over, and hold you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Protective, but Not Controlling: He worries, of course, but he respects your independence. If you’re ever in trouble, though, the Bat is out faster than you can blink. “No one touches my wife.”

Gift Giving Expert: He puts serious thought into gifts. One time, he recreated your childhood bedroom in the manor when you were feeling homesick. “I just wanted you to feel at home,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The Morning Ritual: He wakes up early to watch you sleep for a few minutes (in the least creepy way possible) because it’s his quiet reminder of how lucky he is. When you stir awake, he presses a kiss to your forehead and whispers, “Good morning, love.”

Subtle Public Affection: In public, his affection is subtle—hand on the small of your back, thumb grazing your hand, or an almost imperceptible wink across the room. But behind closed doors? He’s all cuddles and kisses.

Always Puts You First: Whether it’s cutting a patrol short to spend time with you or risking everything to keep you safe, Bruce’s priority will always be you. “The city can wait. You can’t.”

MIX OF CHAOS AND ROMANCE ── .✦

When Bruce tries to be romantic but Alfred bringing him back to reality: Bruce, holding your hand: “You’re the light in my dark world.”

Alfred, walking in: “Sir, you said that to the last woman, too. Shall I fetch your script?”

You once jokingly wore a bat-symbol T-shirt to tease him. Bruce didn’t say anything, but later that week, he wore a matching shirt that said, “I <3 My Wife.”

carpe noctem [ climax ] | sylus

— summary: sylus drags you onto a mission with him for old time’s sake. and you slide into familiarity, almost like there isn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driving you apart. — cw: explicit sexual content, reader is not mc, reader implied to be femme, assassin!reader, mentions of blood, profanity, mentions of pedophilia, mentions of human trafficking, minor character death, men with guns, reader has a shitty past, self-destructive behavior, reader doing her assassin duties, a little romance sprinkled in between, mdni — notes: inspired by mr. & mrs. smith. thank you so much for reading, lovely! [ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ] — now playing: cariño - the marías — obligatory tags: @withering-dream @an-ever-angry-bi @midiplier @abbylee0710 @picnicthegarden @karespocketboyfriends @chrissy26 @delulusimps @glamouroki @midiplier @celestemcbrim @everywherenothere @ari-shipping-stuff @beewilko @alexhenituse @nim-rose @moonlight-inthe-sea @sunnyf4lls @himiko-omikami @inkonparchment @sillyfreakfanparty @regandoesthings @im-in-different-universe @ravensheart18 @alyyylog @corvid007 (sorry if i missed anyone.)

He wanted to make love. You wanted to fuck.

He wanted you, all tender and pliant beneath him, his name hinged in your throat. He wanted to worship you, to uncover the erogenous zones of your body piece by piece, and to expose you like forgotten treasure buried deep beneath rotting ruins. 

But you reasoned you didn’t have time. You were in a hurry—a hurry for what, exactly, you couldn’t pinpoint. 

Perhaps you were rushing to feel something, in a hurry to please and to feel useful as you tore his shirt from his shoulders, his body rigid and searing between the thick of your thighs. Pleasing is all you know, serving embedded in your chemical makeup, no room to pursue your own desires. 

Your mouths came together so abruptly that your teeth clashed. The counter of his kitchen island was glacial and tacky beneath your thighs. You’d barely divested yourself of your coat before you drew him into an ardent dance of tongues, his abs twitching beneath the artful crawl of your fingers. You tugged at the give of his pants, quietly yet vehemently demanding he take them off. He drew back, wild-eyed and hair mussed, eyes drowsy with want.

“We should slow down,” he sighed, hot and open-mouthed where your shoulder met neck. Blistered down to your collarbone where he nipped, hands roosted on your hips, thumbs soothingly cruising over juts of bone. 

It made you sick, his tenderness. You weren’t glass and didn’t deserve to be handled like it. 

You chuckled something husky and bitter, tossing your thoughts to the wolves. Your fingers raked through his hair. Grabbing the scruff of his neck, you brought his mouth back to yours, trapping any further words of protest in his throat. 

You didn’t want to think. Didn’t want complications. Just wanted to be driven by sensation, tucking your inhibitions into the darkest hulls of your mind. 

You’re a bit of a masochist. You enjoy punishing yourself for misdeeds you’ve constructed in your mind—having feelings for your boss, secretly envying your friend. Your use is slowly running its course, and you’ll one day be thrown to the wayside. 

You figure you don’t deserve kindness. Sensitivity. You don’t deserve a slow love, the steady creep of an orgasm bubbling in your stomach, invoked by the sluggish grind of hips, words of affirmation whispered like the sweetest supplication into your ear.

No.

You deserve to be used, lusted after. You’ve spent most of your adult life with that mentality, your past having engraved that under your skin. You’ve been a weapon for as long as you can remember. A tool. Loveless. Which is why, when the gentleman who’d frequented Lux wanted to take his time with you, you declined, opting for something more ragged and intense. 

He took you hard and rough on his counter at your behest. Left you open, bare, laughing, battling to get your breath under control. You stayed the night to humor him. Let him hold you as he stroked the sweetest compliments of all with ghostly fingers into your skin as the stars in the sky gave way to the gentle spill of sun rays. 

You crept out of his arms and apartment once he sank below the misty shawl of sleep. He’d inquire about your whereabouts later—ask why you didn’t stay. You rarely did. Tonight, you felt weak. 

You’d ignore him until you next needed him. When the urge to forget sunk its talons into your chest, curling around your heart and squeezing. 

You had a mission to prepare for. Sylus’ name lit up your notifications, cryptic as ever with minimal words. You’d deal with your feelings later. 

There was work to be done.

Besides, you didn’t even remember his name. 

How could you face him when you’d uttered someone else’s name while he was deep inside you?

—

You pay for your escapades in the form of pretty petals of blue and green blooming on your neck the following night. Bite marks. 

You rub at the raw skin for the nth time, a hiss forced through grit teeth. Maybe he was a little too rough. Concealer works wonders, coupled with your glamor. Still doesn’t take away the sting, but you suppose the pain is your punishment for being weak.

You stretch, yawning. Shift until the leather of the car’s backseat squeaks. You sense his eyes on you in your periphery, boring down to the marrow. The fine hairs littering your body stand on end. You maneuver again, leant against the door, cheek propped on your knuckles. 

You try to focus on the scenery unfolding beyond the car’s windshield. Powdery stars spilled over a deep violet canvas. The red glare of brake lights every so often as you approach another vehicle. Try to focus on the driver’s fingers readjusting on the steering wheel, on the fixed hum of the engine, and how it intermingles with the gentle bumps on the road. Home in on your breathing and the thunderous drum of your heart. He’s been watching you like this since you eased into the car—Sylus. 

You get this creeping suspicion he wants to say something. Like he knows all your secrets, having perused through them like they’re the yellowed pages of a book. Nah. He wouldn’t know what kind of night you had. He wouldn’t care. You’re a grown woman, capable of making your own mistakes and reaping the repercussions of them. He has other things on his mind—other people. 

Another yawn escapes you. You curse yourself for not grabbing coffee on your way out. Too busy pouring yourself into your dress, painting your face with makeup, and meticulously tucking your weapons away. 

“Long day?” says Sylus. You jolt the slightest bit at the grit of his voice. How it breaks up the silence and sets your stomach alight with dragonflies. Fabric shifts. His exhale is weighted beside you, thigh brushing yours as he spreads his legs, so very big in comparison to the backseat. 

You force a smile, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress. “You could say that.”

You feel the shift in his gaze. There’s a whisper of bitterness in his tone when he next speaks. “Maybe you should spend less time pursuing your hobbies at night and more time sleeping.”

This time, you do turn. Cut your eyes to him, mouth tugged up with confusion. His expression reads passivity. Mouth scrawled into a rigid line, scarlet eyes fixed to yours, unrelenting. Something’s off about him tonight. You sensed it in the brevity of his call when he phoned you to outline your mission—you’d be accompanying him tonight to a banquet. A glittering, amenable doll on his arm, smiling pretty like murder wasn’t rotting your mind. You’d lure your target away to be snuffed out like a candle’s flame. Slip out without drawing suspicion, and the world would be rid of another shit stain. 

He quirks a brow, wordlessly challenging you. No customary smirk comes this time. Just the air weighted with something tense. Your throat clicks when you swallow. You opt for obliviousness, laughing it off despite the gnarling feeling in your gut worming its way up your throat. Despite every synapse in your brain screaming for you to fire back. You’re reading too much into things. He’s being his usual, detached self, and not because he knows you were up to no good last night.

Right?

“Maybe I should.” 

The tendons in Sylus’ neck pull, jaw tensing. For a moment, he looks like he wants to keep prodding. But he instead averts his gaze when the driver chimes in, announcing you’ve arrived at your destination. 

The venue’s tawny spotlights dance over the windshield as the car crawls to a stop. People donned in expensive formalwear line the sidewalk, animatedly chatting as they await entry. You take some time to admire the historic, art deco architecture before your door opens, the crisp evening air spilling in and fanning over your skin. 

You look up when Sylus offers you his arm. His expression softens considerably, contrasting the wet cat he was moments ago. There’s a hint of a smile twitching his lips. He almost looks boyish, and you can’t help taking him in. He’s dressed to the nines, tucked in a three-piece tux, bow tie meticulously tied, hair swept up into a pretty, alabaster coif.

Your lips spasm. You peel yourself from the seat, gathering up the trail of your dress. Twine your arm with his, allowing him to shepherd you through the throng of people. It almost feels like old times, their voices petering to a hush when they catch sight of you. They part like a school of fish as the pair of you make your way up the steps leading to the venue’s doors.

“Stay frosty,” you joke to dispel your nerves, standing before the heavy, double doors, waiting for the attendees to open them. 

Sylus snorts, his arm flexing beneath the possessive clutch of your fingers. He pinches the bridge of his nose. And the exasperation in his voice makes your eyes crinkle with mirth. “Please, never say that again.”

You slide into familiarity thereafter, almost like there wasn’t a wedge in the form of a beautiful young hunter driven between you.

—

She said something curious to you when you arrived at the airport earlier—Ms. Hunter. You had the time to spare. You wanted to ask why she requested you drive her instead of Sylus. But you didn’t push it, figuring she had her reasons. Maybe she didn’t have the energy for his nagging, his fretting. She should be so lucky. 

She’d be gone for a couple of weeks, swept up in the grueling task of protecting researchers in the mountains from Wanderers. A part of you felt sorry for her. Worried. But she was a big girl. If she could smack Sylus around in Kitty Cards, she could dodge a few teeth and claws, no problem. 

“Need help?” you asked over your shoulder, the SUV’s engine humming idly at the airport’s drop-off point. 

She smiled at you from the backseat. “I got it!” She chirped as she fetched her oversized suitcase from the floor. 

She rounded the vehicle, bowing to your level at the window. Up close, her smile looked more mischievous than usual. Smile lines bracketed her honey-dipped eyes as she murmured, “Be nice to Sylus. He’s trying, ya know?” 

You pinned her with a quizzical look, your mouth working around a retort. She left before you could get a word out. You watched her slip through the crowd of travelers milling about before she was out of sight, leaving you to mull over what the hell that meant.

—

It starts to make sense as time passes what she meant. 

When you’ve gorged yourself on conversation and champagne, nestled between politicians, CEOs, socialites, and people of the like. Fickle, spewing gossip you can’t be bothered to keep up with. 

Sylus rarely leaves your side, only slipping away to chat up old colleagues or to procure you more bubbly. Always has a hand, scorching and possessive, at the small of your back, or an arm slung about your waist, drawing you into the safety his body exudes. He doesn’t correct anyone when they address you as his, giving you a subdued, amused look when you work your mouth into amending them.

You titter shyly, toying with your necklace. Maybe this is a part of your cover—pretending to be his significant other, all pretty and docile at his side. You won’t complain. It’s nice being this close, feeling wanted, and being envied in a different way. Not for your body, but for the man wrapped so willingly around your finger. 

It’s felt like ages since you’ve last done a gig together, so you’ll enjoy his attention, even if it’s all a ploy, while you can.

The evening slides by in a blur of twinkling chandeliers and laughter. 

Sylus draws you into a dance, and the pair of you are swallowed up by the mass of swaying couples and the string orchestra. Your cheeks ache with a smile, your limbs and inhibitions loosened by the champagne. He holds you to him as you waltz, his body rigid and devastating against yours, languorous fingers curled around your nape. He hasn’t stopped smiling, a boyish dimple cratering his cheek. Hasn’t released you from the scarlet stir of his eyes since, and you smoosh your face against pectoral muscle, hiding the warmth splotching your cheeks.  

His heart thrums something steady beneath your ear. Beneath the expensive pleat of his tux. Breaths even, his bewitching scent furling in your chest like smoke. You let him lead you about the glittering marble tiles of the dance floor, feeling like you’re in a dream. Perhaps it’s the bubbly that’s got you toddling through a dreamlike fog, but a fraction of you starts to think, just for a second, you’re more than a cover, and your boss isn’t so detached, shoving you to the back burner in favor of someone else. 

Your breath is sharp when he suddenly peels away, expertly twirling you. You laugh as your dress flutters around your ankles, nearly tripping you up. He dips you as the music dampens, the beautiful scenery tilting and blurring. Swathed in the tawny, dim lighting of the banquet hall, you make out his features, something akin to affection loosening his expression, and the smile slips from your face. 

The world fades away, and only the pair of you seem to exist in this moment. He pulls you closer until your vision fills with red, fringed by dark, wispy lashes sweeping over cheeks mottled pink. His lips purse as his gaze slides to your mouth, breath stirring your baby hairs. You hold your breath as he eases in, appearing like he’ll kiss you, and you’re stricken by something hot. Your mouths but a hairsbreadth apart, he whispers something that makes your heart sink to your feet.

“It’s showtime.”

The magic of the moment falls away as he steadies you. A pout worms its way onto your face as Sylus tangles your fingers together, a chuckle swelling in his chest. He leads you back to your table, still holding your hand, even long after you’ve returned to your seats.

—

Nikolai is easy to manipulate. To bend to your will. Of course, he is. All men are if you know how to approach them. 

It helps that your glamor erases a few years off your face, giving you the appearance of a young woman barely experiencing the world. His favorite. It only takes you fluttering your lashes, laughing pretty, and flattering him to get him to take you back to his hotel room.

On the surface, he’s a passive, middle-aged man who looks like he wouldn’t harm a fly. But beneath that facade, he’s a scourge waiting to be wiped out. He’s as despicable as everyone else you’ve bumped off, auctioning off girls to nefarious men under the guise of selling “harmless little dolls.” Moonlighting as a franchise owner, using his stores as a ruse to smuggle young girls through the channels of the underworld. 

You take that personally, having once been on the auctioning floor yourself. Memories of a past painted red flood your mind, and it makes your stomach churn with disgust. You were lucky then, having been turned into a murderous tool rather than a fucktoy. So, it makes sense why Sylus was so eager to get you on this mission. Like he knew you’d take pleasure in watching Nikolai’s life drain from his eyes, his blood caked up under your nails. 

Your smile twitches, threatening to screw up into a grimace as you walk at Nikolai’s side, arm in arm. He’s red-faced and cheery, having gorged himself on champagne and merriment at the banquet. You would’ve snuffed him out if four bodyguards didn’t flank you. Not like you can’t take them, but you’d rather complete your mission as quietly as possible without rousing suspicion.

You just have to keep up the act long enough to isolate him so you can make your move. He’s been ruffling Onychinus’ feathers, claiming to be in cahoots with its notorious leader. Sylus, of course, doesn’t like that, not wanting to be associated with the likes of him. This is where you come into play, his ever-faithful watchdog, ready to kill at the drop of a hat.

Nikolai ushers you into his hotel room, where three more guards stand in good form in the living area. You acknowledge them with a seductive smile, allowing one to frisk you. Your smile grows tenfold when he finds nothing, clearing his throat and straightening his tie as if he’s fallen prey to your charm. Someone should be fired.

Nikolai leads you into his room thereafter, the double doors shutting and locking with finality. You offer him a massage, to which the portly man happily accepts, stripping down to his boxers and plopping onto the king-sized bed. He has a thing for pretty, young girls barely scraping the surface of legality. You’ll see to it he’s ushered into the afterlife by one.

Your hair waterfalls from its updo, warm as it spills onto your shoulders when you pull your hairpin free. You ruck up your gown, climbing over his body to roost yourself on his backside, legs bracketing either side of his waist, heels digging waning moons into your thighs. You’re sultry as you ensnare him in small talk, fingers kneading over layers of fat and muscle. Nikolai hums appreciatively, seemingly thrilled to have your company. Just the way you want him.

Your fingers tip-toe up his spine, thumbs smoothing over the notches of bone there. He exhales beneath your ministrations, remarking how magical your hands are. You huff a laugh as your fingers curl around his jaw, the opposing set burying themselves in his hair. 

“Massaging isn’t the only thing my hands are good at.”

With a fluent twitch of your wrists, his neck snaps, the sound barely heard above the gentle croon of the jazz music he queued up beforehand, accompanied by the exhale of a life dying out like a flame. 

You pull his eyelids down, easing off his lifeless body. Stare at his corpse with a faraway look in your eyes, smoothing some hair away from his face. Like he’s a sacrifice to the little girl inside, screaming for revenge. You straighten your dress when the bedroom doors rattle, Nikolai’s men frantically calling his name. Shit. Maybe you weren’t as meticulous as you thought. 

Quickly, you survey your surroundings for a way out. Spot the sliding doors leading to the balcony, and you dart between them, the wispy curtains grazing over your fevered skin. A wintry kiss of wind greets you as you lean over the rail, hair ruffling, and you take in the bokeh of lights glittering on the street below. 

You’re at least eight stories from the ground, so jumping is out of the question. You could very well fight your way out, but Nikolai’s guards are heavily armed. There’s no guarantee you’ll make it out of the fray unscathed. 

You lean back against the rail, adrenaline spuming through you, watching the bedroom doors pulse as his guards kick and shove against them. Fuck! Tugging a knife from the garter belt tucked beneath the slit of your dress, you prepare for a fight, body taut, nerves flaring. 

Just when you’ve resolved to get your hands dirty, something feathery touches your bare shoulder. Gentle and curious in its embrace, and you whip your head around to its source. You’re met with a smoky tendril, speckled with claret orbs of energy, swirling ominously before you. You peer over the railing, a familiar shock of white blurring into frame. There’s no mistaking the upward cant of his lips, and the crinkle of scarlet-spun eyes from this height. He motions to you with two fingers from the sidewalk, wordlessly beseeching you to come down.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter, a nervous expression stretching your features. Heights have never been your forte, but you suppose beggars can’t be choosers. “Fuck it,” you relent, gathering some courage and climbing onto the rail. 

Nikolai’s men finally break through, and as they dart in, spraying the room in a hail of bullets upon seeing Nikolai’s corpse, you fall into the feathery cradle of Sylus’ Evol, a yip ripped from your throat. 

You float to the ground like a feather, falling into Sylus’ arms. He looks down at you with something unguarded shining in his eyes, using his Evol as a shield when Nikolai’s men pelt the pair of you with a barrage of bullets.

You lose yourself in the moment. Your lips part, lids heavy with something you can’t quite place. 

“Took you long enough,” you chide to dispel the tension brewing between you, trying to catch your breath.

“I’ll be more punctual next time,” Sylus answers with a chuckle, voice rumbling against your body as he casually walks away from the scene, refusing to put you down, even long after he’s warped you to safety. 

rising action | masterlist

Or maybe..

sam monroe x female reader hcs

some mentions of sex, drugs, alcohol, prostitution + angst and fluff

sam monroe would glare at you as you looked at him from across the room, trying to scare you away.

sam monroe would eventually become friends with you after you practically forced yourself into the poor boys life.

sam monroe was very confused that a girl—especially one like you—would ever want to be friends (or more) with him of all people, i mean, he’s goth, and he isn’t nessicarily masculine. little did he know, you adore his eyeliner, his piercings, and his clothing

sam monroe quickly became infatuated with you, obsessed with the time you would spend with him, even if it was a quick conversation about how your best friend fucked the popular jock.

sam monroe struggles with drugs— and you weren’t aware of this until a few months into your friendship with him, you immediately tried helping him, but he pushed you away.

sam monroe invited you to his house one day after school. as soon as you two were in his room alone together, something clicked inside of you two, and sam immediately clinged himself onto you and it ended up in some..intimate activities.

sam monroe opened up to you a bit more after he found out his father has cancer, and he stayed at your house for a bit, and refused to leave your bed for a week. eventually you got him out of bed with a promise that you would let him fuck you in the shower. that horny fuck.

sam monroe was convinced by josh to try prostitution for one night— in order to get drug money. you were shocked when he came running to your house in tears, babbling about how “he made a huge mistake” and that “he promises he’ll never do it again.” it ruined his self esteem a lot, and once you found out what really happened, you made sure he never took any drug again.

sam monroe and you had a awkward friends-but-still-knew-you-both-liked-eachother phase. it consisted of you and him never outright saying you were dating, but you both knew what was what.

(sam monroe did convince you to let him still smoke weed, though)

sam monroe has a big dick.

sam monroe loves deftones and muse

sam monroe let’s you boss him around and yell at him, (even in bed)

sam monroe hates parties— he hates getting drunk, mainly because of the hangover. he surprisingly hates the loud music, the bright lights, and the many amounts of people. he would much rather have a quiet night watching star wars with you.

sam monroe loves to cuddle you, nuzzling your chest and biting you playfully

sam monroe loves when you show him off. sam loves when you attach your mouth to his neck and use his skin as a canvas for your art.

sam monroe loves doing his makeup with you. even though he only wears eyeliner, he still finds it enjoyable.

sam monroe loves blowing smoke into your mouth

miguel o'hara recs

it's always been you | imagine, flangst | @amhrosina

i need you to stay | imagine, flangst | @intoxicated-chan

because i love you! | imagine, flangst | @gay-dorito-dust

miguel o'hara x reader | imagine, fluff | @ichangedmycornyahhname

trivial | imagine, flangst | @spidcrhunni

nobody has to know | imagine, fluff | @knxv1lie

el trato (the deal) | series | @messylustt

give me reasons we should be complete | imagine, flangst | @intoxicated-chan

teasing miguel | drabble, fluff | @stellaaarree

show me where it hurts | two shot, flangst | @loganlermanstanaccount

purr | drabble, fluff | @milequaritchsslut

liability | imagine, flangst | @crescentbelle

try again | au, imagine, flangst | @sm1ls

bite | imagine, fluff | @multi-fandom-imagine

what's in between | two shot, fluff | @ghost-with-a-teacup

to leave the warmest i've ever known | series | @angel-eyes05

husband!miguel | drabble, smut | @miguelsfangs

snow spider | one shot, fluff | @ichorai

college roommate!miguel | au, one shot, fluff, smut | @loganlermanstanaccount

sweet and soft aftercare | imagine, fluff, smut | @little-miss-dilf-lover

happy wife, happy life | imagine, fluff | @msgorillagripcoochie

after missions | imagine, fluff | @blackbat05

- 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐌𝐀𝐍: 𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐒!

𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦

𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐠!!!

𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 • 𝟏𝟒𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

𝘔𝘐𝘓𝘌𝘚 𝘔𝘖𝘙𝘈𝘓𝘌𝘚

𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 ➵ @juneberrie

𝐝𝐮𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐞 ➵ @//juneberrie

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➵ @carpecaelo

𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 ➵ @11vr1

𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞? ➵ @venoti

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 ➵ @moralesie

𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 ➵ @h0nology

𝐢’𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 ➵ @8siangemini

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲 ➵ @feariteriu

𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐬 ➵ @justyanle

𝐢’𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ➵ @milesmolasses

𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 ➵ @fushigur0ll

𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ➵ @despairots

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 ➵ @kombuuuu

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ➵ @the-dumpster-fire-of-life

𝘔𝘐𝘎𝘜𝘌𝘓 𝘖’𝘏𝘈𝘙𝘈

𝐮𝐡-𝐡𝐮𝐡 ➵ @l13

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 ➵ @xkv

𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭 ➵ @devilfic

𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 ➵ @arabaka

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞? ➵ @winterzsurprise

𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 ➵ @ichorai

𝐬𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ➵ @jupipedia

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 ➵ @hoshigray

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 ➵ @devilishcupid

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 ➵ @st4rymoon

𝐜𝐚𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ➵ @basicinstnct

𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 ➵ @nezuscribe

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ➵ @xbellaxcarolinax

𝐢’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 ➵ @tusks-and-claws

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 ➵ @certainlynotasimp

𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐲 ➵ @blackleatherjacketz

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 ➵ @belliesy

𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐝 ➵ @claw-deen

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➵ @daisies-daydreams

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 ➵ @loganlermanstanaccount

𝘏𝘖𝘉𝘐𝘌 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘞𝘕

𝐥𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐲 ➵ @fusaes

𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫 ➵ @dizscreams

𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ➵ @//dizscreams

𝐛𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐦 ➵ @qtkoshi

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 ➵ @vxmpjules

𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨 ➵ @wingedsirens

𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐧 ➵ @love-bitesx

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 ➵ @redstarwriting

𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 ➵ @//carpecaelo

𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➵ @gh0stsp1d3r

𝐜𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞’𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ➵ @moralesluvr

𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ➵ @hanasnx

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐤 ➵ @aphrodite-feverdream

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐌, 𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐌, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ➵ @neo-nomatrix

𝘗𝘈𝘝𝘐𝘛𝘙 𝘗𝘙𝘈𝘉𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘈𝘙

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 ➵ @gay-dorito-dust

𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 ➵ @uramakimochi

𝐢’𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ➵ @wingedsirens

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 ➵ @//the-dumpster-fire-of-life

𝐩𝐬 • 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘴 𝘪 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵.

𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘹 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘺. 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪’𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 :)

the clash | x. brand new

hobie brown x goth!reader

word count: 2k

genre: enemies to lovers

warnings:  language, insults, mentions of everything that happened in the story, almost fainting, soft hobie, big fluff energy, essentially just a fun lil chapter above everything else to wash away the angst

a/n: AND IT’S OVER!! i’m actually crying a bit this was so fun to write. it will not be the end! you can all bet your asses i’ll be working on a sequel for this duo. thank you to everyone who supported the story and my writing. you made the return back to this blog unforgettable and i am so grateful for all of you 🖤 please enjoy the last chapter of ‘the clash’

previous chapter: ix. last caress

now reading: x. brand new

end.

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