#Even if it means people like me end up doing a little more of the front facing social stuff than the others

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn’t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[cherrygirlfriend]

pairing: frat!rafe x tutor!reader synopsis: reader attends a frat party where the theme is to dress up as your type warnings: fluff! wc: 1.3k i got this idea from the wonderful @rafeyscurtainbangs and it had me dead because it's so funny and i can picture him wearing that… i also tried out a new kinda formatting for funsies ^_^ also i'm surprised i’ve never posted for frat!rafe? anyway first fic for 2025!

you'd never really been much into parties, your best friend constantly trying to get you to go to some of the various parties the social butterfly had gotten invited to, but you simply held up the book you were in the middle of and let out a soft hum as a way to say that you had your own plans. after some more pleading, lexi always gave up trying to convince you to come and left you in your own devices, returning in the early hours of the morning, trying to be as quiet as possible yet waking you up every time.

but this time, all the girl had to do was mention the frat party she was going to that night when you let out a sigh and told her you'd come with her. maybe there was a second reason you wanted to go, other than to just please your friend.

"we're having a party this friday."

you chuckled, turning your gaze from the book in front of you to the boy next to you, "you're in a fraternity, rafe. i'm pretty sure that happens every friday without exception."

your words caused the boy to roll his eyes, yet the small grin you'd grown to like still remained on his lips as he repositioned his backwards cap, "yeah, but it's a themed party. you should come."

"why?" you furrowed your brows in suspicion and confusion as to why he'd want you to attend, "what's the theme?"

"you're supposed to dress up as your type."

"and what are you going as? some kind of variation of jennifer from jennifer's body? or regina from mean girls?" you let out a small snort.

"guess you'll have to come if you wanna find out." the boy poked your forearm with the rubber end of his pencil, licking his lips, "i wanna see what kind of guys you are into. i bet it's some thrifty hipster dudes or some broody bad boys that secretly get hard for poetry and emily dickinson and shit."

you felt your cheeks warm from the memory as you placed the backwards cap on your head. you looked in the mirror, clad in loose jeans that hung low on your hips so it'd show off the calvin klein logo on your underwear, and a sweatshirt adorning the logo of your university. the outfit you wore looked just like something rafe would wear during one of your tutoring sessions. hell, he probably had.

lexi looked at you with raised brows, the muscular girl who usually wore dark, baggy clothes looked strange in the blue sundress she'd borrowed from you, her biceps basically protruding from the short sleeves, the girl's short black hair pulled up into a tiny attempt at a ponytail, wearing some simple makeup that you'd helped her apply.

"you're going as a frat guy? to a frat party?" she snorted, taking in your ensemble, "damn, you date so little that i had no idea that's the type of guy you were into."

you rolled your eyes, throwing her the handbag that she'd asked you if she could borrow, "and you're going as...?"

"a straight girl." lexi said, her usual shit-eating grin taking over her lips.

"in that case, you could've just worn like, a grey hoodie, those flared leggings, and a pair of white nike air force ones. most straight girls here do. i think you've failed at your assignment."

"shut up."

you were surprised by how many people actually dressed up according to the theme, especially over the number of frat boys wearing different types of skirts and dresses, some of them even sporting poorly done makeup looks on their faces.

having gotten separated from lexi almost the moment you arrived to the party, you were now leaning against the living room wall, hiding a part of your face behind a red solo cup half-full of some sort of concoction you'd found as you looked around. you'd always been better at standing aside, observing what everyone else was doing, rather than trying to join in.

you lifted the cup to your mouth and drank some of the nasty liquid, nearly spitting it out when you spot rafe chatting to his friends, just about managing to swallow it before you keel in laughter.

he stood confidently in a grey cardigan strewn over a white button-up that was so small on him it actually turned into a crop top, showing off the lower part of his abs, a faint happy trail as well as a defined v-line leading to a short black pleated skirt, his calves covered by black socks that ended just below his knees.

it seemed that your amusement had caught rafe's attention, as the moment you'd finally managed to straighten yourself up, the boy was strutting over to you, his hands on his hips in a way that almost caused you to go into another laughing fit.

"what's so funny?" rafe asked with lifted brows as he reached you, looking over your outfit with a pleased look on his face before gesturing to his own, "you don't think i look hot?"

"oh, definitely. the hottest." you snorted, bringing the drink to your lips and taking a small sip before pursing your lips in thought, "so, what's your type? britney spears?"

the boy's brows furrowed at that, "huh?"

"you look just like her in one of her music videos." you explained, your lips falling open in shock as his eyebrows continued to remain furrowed, "you don't know 'baby one more time'?"

"i haven't seen it." rafe shrugged, "what, you can't recognize who i'm trying to dress as?"

"i can't say i do. who?"

"i'm dressed as you."

you knew that if you were able to see yourself, your eyes would comically widen the moment the words left rafe's lips; and as you looked at him up and down, you realized, that his outfit was something you'd usually wear; just more lewd. "you're... dressed as me?"

"yeah. and clearly you're dressed as me."

"based- based on what?" you laughed incredulously, feeling your cheeks light up, bringing the cup to your lips and drinking just so you'd be able to hide a part of your face from the boy.

"well," rafe snatched the cap on your head, placing it on his instead, making his entire ensemble look even goofier, as he took hold of the front of your sweatshirt. "i'm pretty sure i've worn this exact same outfit."

"that doesn't mean anything… plenty of guys wear this." you mumbled from behind your cup, only to have rafe grab it from your hands, your eyes widening as you watched him finish it in one swallow, scrunching up the cup and throwing it on the floor somewhere.

cupping your chin with his finger and lifting it up so you were looking up at him, rafe brought his face closer to yours, his ice-blue eyes looking into yours in a way that made you feel like you were naked as his lips twisted into a knowing grin, "it doesn't?"

"n-"

before you could finish denying it, rafe's lips were pressed against yours; your eyes still wide open when his free hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

slowly, you felt yourself melt into the kiss, your eyes automatically closing as your lips moved against his. your hands were pressed against his chest, slowly moving down to feel his defined abs over the sheer button-up.

you could feel rafe's grin against your lips before he even pulled away, looking down at you with a knowing look on his face, the boy licking his lips causing you to bite down on your lower lip, your head spinning from just kissing him.

"so, that didn't mean anything, huh?"

[em-exceeds-change-zearu]

oho i've been tagged.

so like. i thought i did this meme before and went looking for my old answers, but it turns out i did that for zexal, not pokeani. so that's fun. answers under the cut!

blorbo: ash, undoubtedly. that boy went from baby's first crush in elementary school to the darling little son boy i still enjoy poking at and writing fics about. sure recent years have soured the fandom on him, and his retirement was handled...poorly. but he holds a special place in my life as baby's first blorbo so it's hard for me to not be fond of him. and writing fics with people's other POV's looking in on him is always a delight. to him he's just a guy travelling and meeting all the creachers and living his best life but anyone looking at him even a little sideways spots an incomprehensible lad.

skrunkly: predictable answer, but it's pikachu. loved his early characterization of a feral little goblin who's only barely tamed by ash's blinding sunshine nature, and while he's grown to be a capable leader and a sweet guy in his own right, i do love to think that he's still that prickly bastard underneath it all. this rat is SO tired seeing the light of his life CONSTANTLY running headfirst into danger, he will in fact be the mean one so ash doesn't have to. (and then when he and ash are BOTH being mean it's even MORE delightful).

scrimblo bimblo: maybe trip. i think he had a lot of potential as a rival and could have been written really well, especially as a rival who's main focus was alder, and he treated ash dismissively as best. but he wasn't really allowed to grow organically like the other rivals, and his constant refusal to engage with the rest of the cast when they were all making bonds with each other really made his character leave much less of a favorable impression on people. i have a lot of words on how trip could have been done better tbh. so yeah probably trip.

glup shitto: a. are there obscure faves in pokeani? it's all one off CoTDs and such. i'm straining to think of one.

poor little meow meow: is alan still a controversial character. the way the entire fandom turned on his ass when he ended up being the only rival that ash never got to beat in a battle was absolutely unwarranted. comparing him to TOBIAS was completely uncalled for, when he was a character who was, in fact, built up through his own separate storyline as a protagonist for the team flare plot, as opposed to tobias who came literally out of nowhere, because sinnoh is the region full of legendaries and you can't trip over a rock without finding one apparently. i think people have softened up to him after he got. COMPLETELY miscast in journeys (but everyone got completely miscast in journeys, except like. opal), and i know he has a fairly dedicated following outside of the english fandom, but man. i love that poor child and he doesn't deserve the hate he got for winning the kalos league.

horse plinko: the fun part about plinko is that you can put multiple chips (or uh horses) into the game. EVERYONE GOES INTO THE PLINKO. EVERYONE DEALS WITH THE SITUATIONS AND THEY ARE GOING TO LIKE IT.

eeby deeby: i can't eeby deeby lysandre because bonnie already sent him to superhell. but maybe i'll eeby deeby him regardless.

Send me a fandom and I’ll tell you my:

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Itoshi brothers and Bachira with a ballerina reader?

“You can’t possibly be serious.”

Rin didn’t know a lot about relationship and girls, but he still knew when he said that, he crossed a line.

“Oh really.” [Y/N] snapped back at him. Arms crossed across her chest. Glaring at him with that fiery determination Rin usually respected, but now was a little scared of. “So you admit you think my training is BS compared to your training?”

The two of them had been on very intense practice schedules as of late. Rin training up to prepare for his next match and move up, and [Y/N] training for their upcoming performance and hopefully be scouted for prima in a company. They were stressed out, fried, and exhausted. And what do exhausted people do when they are exhausted? Compare their exhaustion so they make sure that their complaints are justified as they are the only one, in the whole wide world, who could be this exhausted.

“I didn’t say it was ‘BS’. I’m just saying you can’t possibly compare what I have to do to what you have to do. The weight training. The cardio.”

“The stretching. The vaults.”

“The practice matches. The strategy management.”

“Learning every step in the performance, even if it isn’t yours, to memory. Being lifted almost 8 feet in the air and hoping your partner can hold so you don’t break your leg, or your neck.”

“The ice baths.”

“Pointe shoes.”

“Having to deal with Isagi!”

The couple growled at each other before [Y/N] finally snapped. “Fine! You think it’s so easy, you do it!”

“Fine!”

Rin would live to regret that.

The next day, to foolishly prove a point, Rin went through [Y/N]’s whole workout schedule with them. The stretching, the vaults, the practice, the lifts. He wouldn’t let himself be lifted, nor wear pointe shoes, but by the end of the day his body hurt in new ways he didn’t even know were possible. “Still think it’s so easy?”

Rin looked up from the floor he was laying on up at [Y/N]. “Fine. I take it back.”

She smiled and knelt down beside him. “Well, I appreciate that. People think because ballet is all pretty costumes and fluid movements that it’s calm & easy. They don’t appreciate the work that goes into it.”

“I’m sorry.” He realized he was doing that. Belittling their hard work.

Rin sat up and took a sip out of his water bottle. “Are you going to do my training tomorrow then?”

“Sure. What’s fair is fair.” She agreed. “But no weights. I can’t bulk up anymore of Madam Costume Maker will murder me.”

Rin scoffed. “We’ll just do an easy day for you then. If you can’t handle it.”

She punched him in the shoulder, but Rin was too tired to even feel it.

One thing that people don’t tell you when you become a professional athlete is that it’s not just about the games anymore. It’s the press.

Sae sighed as he came back to his hotel room. Completely drained from having to deal with people all day and answer their silly questions. He just wanted to play football. Why did he have to tell everyone about his fitness strategy or what brand of saltines he liked?

As he was taking off his coat his phone rang and Sae answered it. “Hello.”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

A small smile tugged at Sae’s lips as he heard [Y/N]’s voice. “Of course.” With his game coming up, he was not in town for [Y/N]’s opening night. He felt bad about it, which was strange, but being professionals in their art sometimes they had to make sacrifices. That didn’t mean he couldn’t make an effort. “How was the show?”

“Good. Early critic reviews seem to be positive.” Of course they were with [Y/N] as the prima. “I wish you could have seen it.”

“I will.” Sae explains that he paid someone to film their performance. He had gotten special permission and everything from the company; with a hefty donation. “I’ll watch it later.”

“You sound tired.”

“I am.” He confessed.

“Poor baby,” [Y/N] cooed. Even though she was the one that went through the grueling physicality of dancing, she still seemed more concerned for him. “Why don’t you take a hot bath and get some sleep then?”

“They don’t believe in baths here.” Or at least his hotel room didn’t.

“A shower then. I’ll see you next week?”

“Of course.”

Sae hung up the phone and sighed again. Still tired, but a little refreshed from talking to [Y/N].

He showered and went to bed as suggested. Getting a goodnight sleep for another press tour tomorrow before the game. When he woke up that morning there was a knock at his door and a delivery from room service. A hearty breakfast of an egg white omelet, fresh fruit, and salty seaweed tea. The kind of breakfast he needed but would never get for himself. After accepting delivery, Sae noticed a card on the silver tray and quickly read it.

:Do your best: was all it said, but Sae knew who it was from.

He sat in his hotel room and ate his breakfast in silence. Watching [Y/N]’s performance on TV. Just because they had to make sacrifices didn’t mean that they couldn’t make the effort.

Bachira had been obsessed with ballerina’s ever since his mother took him to see a show once at Christmas.

The bright costumes. The spins. The music. It always excited him.

Dating [Y/N] was almost like being in the show. Helping them with their choro. Coming to rehearsals to see them practice. Bachira had probably seen the show a hundred times before actually opening night, and yet he was as nervous & excited as the actual dancers.

“You’re going to do great [Y/N]-chan~!” He whispered to her backstage.

“I don’t know…it’s a much bigger crowd than I expected….”

“That’s ok.” Bachira told her. “They’re all just faceless blobs in a crowd. Don’t focus on anyone but me in the first row. Unless…I get removed for cheering too loud. That’s gonna be hard for more….”

[Y/N] chuckled, then kissed Bachira’s cheek. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your support.” The music changed, coming up on [Y/N]’s cue, and they get into position to dance out. “Don’t get kicked out.”

“I’ll try~!” Bachira promised, then went to his seat to watch the performance from the audience. In awe & rapture of the beauty of the show and his partner.

[justaaveragereader]

Pay Attention

Pairing: Yunho x Reader + Mingi

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: Spit Roasting, Choking, Cuckholding, Mingi Watches Reader Get Fucked, Spit, Raw Sex (Wrap It Upppp People!), Slapping, Name Calling (Pretty Girl, Cute Thing), Deep Throating, Yunhos Dirty Talk/Praise Almost Sounds Like It’s Degrading, Praise, Manhandling, Rough Sex, If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀👀!

A/N: I swear the brain rot I have bc of that photo of Yunho and Mingi should be criminal! Can you imagine being on both the giving and receiving end of them lmaoooIWantThemBadlylmaoooo. Good news, I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing, I haven’t felt much motivation bc I’ve had so much shit going on but slowlyyyy it’s coming back to me, and things are starting to slow down in my life which means more time for writing! Tbh sometimes it’s easier to do quick little fics like this, but I LOVE writing a good 5k+ fic😔! I got some WIPs in store and I can’t wait to share them! So onto the fic we go!

Masterlist

All Ageless, Blank, and Bot Looking Blogs Will Be Blocked.

Roughly grabbing his collar Yunho pulls Mingi closer. Halting his hips that are pushed flush against the plump flesh that is your ass. A loud whimper leaves your mouth that is currently filled with Yunhos cock. The vibration around his member makes Yunho hunch forward a bit more, cock sliding further down your already stuffed throat.

“You aren’t thrusting hard enough.” Yunho grits out, fist full of Mingis collar. His black leather jacket long gone on the floor, his turtleneck is practically glued to his skin from the sweat due to the hot small room they are in. Yunhos warm breath fans out across Mingis face, reddened cheeks, black slacks around his muscular thighs. His head cocks back letting out a loud whine. Gripping harder, Yunho jerks Mingi back slightly making his head roll forward.

Mouth pooling with saliva that drops and hits the couch cushions underneath your body, skirt hiked up past your hips, panties sticking out of Yunhos pocket. Your nose brushing against his soft skin, inhaling his scent, and drinking the precum that slides down your throat as you wait for him to finish instructing Mingi.

“You gotta fuck her hard, good girls like her don’t get satisfaction unless you drill it into their skulls.” He says while letting go of Mingis collar slightly shoving him back. Hand traveling down the side of your face, swiping a firm thumb against your bottom lip that has a thick string of saliva spilling from it. The same thumb that lowers and clutches your aching chin. Your eyes flutter up to meet his, dark eyes soaking in your form. From this angle he looked like a God, shirt off but he kept his black jacket on, black hair tousled from how long they had been at this.

“Isn’t that right baby?” He says through a whisper, his lips twitch at the end of his sentence. He swore this was supposed to be a lesson for you, yet this felt like a lesson for you both. His hand comes up to grab your head, his large hand engulfing the top of it, before slamming you down even further on his length. Saliva hitting his toned bare thighs, the sudden movements has you choking slightly, cunt clenching on Mingis pulsing cock. With a stutter of his hips, he grips your hips, letting out a loud whine.

“I c-can’t Yun-Yunho.” Mingi whines out, tears filling his water line. His toes clenching, eyes squeezing shut trying his best not to explode into your warm, wet cunt. Trying not to bust was a job all in itself. Hunching himself over your body, cock digging even further down your throat, choking on inch after inch. You try your best to breathe through your nose, the soft hair on his groin begins to comfort your nose, inhaling his scent with each second that goes by.

“Go sit down.” Yunho says, voice thick with demand. His eyes cut at Mingi who is hell bent on trying his best not to disappoint the man in front of him, his best friend. Pulling out of your wet cunt with a wet squelch he lets out a breath of relief, his reddened cock bobbing at the cool air hitting it. Plopping himself down across from you and Yunho, his long limbs hang tiredly all over the chair. Pulling out of your mouth, he steps back, making his back to your backside. With each wet cough you hack, your eyes water with the feeling of fresh air filling your lungs.

“Eyes on us.” Yunho says, shifting your body slightly, hands running over your soft skin, thumb tracing the deep curve of your back. His eyes darted up to Mingi, whose pants are still wrapped around his thighs, cock practically begging for relief. Those soft traces Yunho was giving you are now dead, his hands roughly grab your skin, grabbing handfuls of whatever he can grab before tapping his cock against your wet entrance. Cunt practically screaming for relief, with one smooth slide he enters your pussy, the difference in his girth knocks the wind out of you, your head falling face first into the cushions til you feel a hand wrap around your throat, tugging you up, backside firm against his chest. Your eyes immediately fill with tears, the new position change has you seeing stars. As long as you’ve been with Mingi, never have you felt a feeling like this in your lower belly. His hand that is gripping on your throat helps hold your head up. Right in your line of vision is Mingi, who looks just as helpless as you. Drawing his hips back, the tip of his cock barely at the entrance of your cunt, he slams up into you, your body lurching forward.

His cock leaves a bulge in your lower belly with each strike up of his hips, your mouth falls open, no noises leave your throat. You can't help but shut your eyes, soaking in the pleasure Yunho is giving you, Mingi is a soft lover, you are normally the one giving pleasure, not that he doesn’t return the favor but Yunho he's a hard lover, a firm one. The drastic difference between the two was like a splash of water on your face. You don’t expect it yet when it was over the cool feeling was refreshing.

“Look at him.” Yunho says, voice layered with many emotions. Dominance is the one that outweighs each one. The slight growl that hangs on the edge of each word he makes sure to punctuate as he’s deep in your cunt. Your juices soak him, his thighs, the fabric of his pants hugging his skin. You are enjoying the way he’s manhandling you, the way Mingi helplessly watches you get rag dolled around by his best friend. His eyes grow darker with each gasp you let out, head firmly against his chest as he’s slamming into you, the wet sopping noise in the small room leaves very little to the imagination as to what is going on inside. His hand tightens on your throat as you begin to babble out his name in tiny, desperate whimpers. Your hand coming up to clutch his own. You need anything to anchor you as you begin to feel that heat boiling in your lower stomach. With each deep slam of his hips, your body hiking up against his moist chest, he smiles at Mingi who is gawking at the sight in front of him.

“This is how you fuck a pretty girl, Mingi. Got a cute one and don’t even know how to fuck her correctly.” He says through a smile, eating up the sight in front of him. Your fucked out face, Mingis wide eyes and twitching cock, the wet sound of slapping skin. This was his personal heaven. The hand that was wrapped around your throat moves up to squish your cheeks, body flushed with heat, drool dripping from your swollen lips.

“Go on baby, tell Mingi this is how you wanna be fucked.” Yunho whispers loudly in your ear. A loud whine leaves your throat, eyes fluttering with the way his voice dances in your ear. Cunt clenching onto his member that’s pistoning in and out of you. With a obnoxiously loud gulp you attempt to tell Mingi just how you wanna be fucked.

“I-I wanna b-be fu-fuc-.” His hand tightens on your face, your cheeks squishing tighter together cutting your sentence short. Lips puckering together, with a stream of drool dripping down onto your chest.

“Fuck..” Mingi whispers out, clearly turned on by seeing his girl be rag dolled around by a man who wasn’t him.

“She’s a cute thing.” Yunho says through a chuckle, slowing down his thrusting to go slow and deep. The feeling of his cock bullying its way into your lower belly has you almost doubling over in the sudden feeling. Your body is attempting to hunch forward if it wasn’t for his strong grip on you.

“Ah, Ah, Ah, where do you think you're going?” Yunho whispers into your ear, licking the shell of it before nipping at the lobe. Pausing his thrusts he moves you to the side, so Mingi had a side view of just how he’s fucking you. Chest flushed against the soft cushions, your sweaty face pushed against the soft fabric. With a firm hand Yunho places his hand between your shoulder blades keeping you firmly in place.

“Does she run from your cock to Mingi? Or are you being extra special for me today baby?” he questions through a whisper, hand getting more firm by the second. You can feel his cock pulsing in your walls, you are just mere steps away from an orgasm.

“When you got a pretty thing like her.” Yunho says while grabbing your right ass cheek firmly, spreading them apart to spit on your stuffed pussy. That action alone has you so close to coming undone on him. With a loud whimper Mingis eyes glue to where Yunho’s cock meets your cunt, pussy just dripping with arousal.

“You have to remind her of her place.” Yunho says while firmly planting his foot on the couch, with one foot remaining on the floor.

“Because if you don’t, how will pretty girls like her ever be rewarded?” Yunho says in a low tone, a tone you’ve never heard, as his grip never wavers from your shoulder blades you make eye contact with Mingi whose cock is twitching at the sight in front of him.

“Eyes on me Mingi. I’m about to teach you how to fuck your girlfriend.”

DO NOT REPOST.

[rcmclachlan]

Tommy Kinard, from a long line of Gloucester fishermen. Hence his penchant for ill-fitting jeans, flannel, and affection via bitchiness.

He and Evan are sitting on the little bench outside The Causeway waiting for their chowder—best in the country, hands down—when Evan, who's been quietly studying boats in various stages of winter wrapping across the road, suddenly asks, "Why did you leave here? It's awesome. The downtown area looks like something out of a postcard—"

"It does not," Tommy interjects. "Rockport's downtown, on the other hand..."

"—and the beaches feel like real beaches, even if they do smell like shit."

Tommy tilts his head back and inhales the heavy, but comfortingly familiar stench of low tide. "I left because the town's unofficial motto used to be 'Come for the heroin, stay because you've developed a crippling heroin addiction.'"

Unimpressed, Evan nudges him with an elbow, then jumps to his feet to get the door for a family of six who will be waiting at least a month for a table big enough to accommodate them to open up.

The Causeway is approximately the size of an elevator car. Despite its outward appearance, it's relatively new; it hadn't been there when Tommy was a kid. The little cinema next door had been, though, and he feels a surge of pride for the Williams family that it's still going after all this time.

"No, but seriously." Evan hunkers back down next to him. "Why'd you leave?"

"Why'd you leave Hershey?" Tommy counters.

The corner of Evan's mouth twitches knowingly. He's got Tommy's number in a way no one else does. "You know why I left. But you could've stayed here and done anything. Massachusetts might be even more progressive than California—I mean, it was the first state to legalize gay marriage. Plus, I know there's an air base nearby."

"Hanscom," Tommy says. "It belongs to the Air Force and I wouldn't have been caught dead joining them."

Evan gives him a dubious look. "But the Army was okay?"

"Don't you know, Evan? The Army is for real men," he says with a grin, putting an emphasis on it so Evan knows just whose words he's parroting. "The Air Force is for fa—"

"Yeah, okay, I got it," Evan says loudly, cutting a furtive glance at the people on the other bench, who are too busy looking at their phones and not talking to each other to pay attention to any casual homophobia. "You're gonna get us run out of town."

"Please, it's Gloucester. If anything, they'll probably join in."

Evan deflates a little, pouting, and Tommy is helpless against the urge to press a kiss to his hair. What Evan doesn't understand is that Massachusetts is like an impressionist painting: beautiful if you're standing back far enough to see the whole of it, but get closer and it's as ugly as anywhere else.

"My point was," Tommy continues, "I left because I needed something more than what this place could give me, same as you. And also I needed to be somewhere with a spring wind chill above -10°."

"You bitch if the temps hit above 70," Evan points out.

"I also bitch if the day ends in Y." Tommy shrugs. "Complaining is the official state sport, especially when it comes to the weather."

Checking his phone for the time, Evan heaves an impatient sigh and drops his chin onto Tommy's shoulder. He's too used to LA's food trucks to last a minute here. "There's so much here, though. Like, Worcester looked fun."

Tommy winces. "It's pronounced 'Woo-ster'."

Wide-eyed, Evan lifts his head. "You're shitting me."

"I shit you not," Tommy says. "And Worcester's okay. It's big, though. And a pain in the ass to navigate."

"What's beyond Worcester?"

"Nobody knows." He coughs out a 'fuck' when Evan buries an elbow in his gut.

Laughing, Evan echoes, "'Fahk.' There's the accent I've been hoping to hear. I mean, heeyah. Try and hide it all you want, Kinard, I know what you are."

"Okay, Hershey, I dare you to say 'water' like a normal person," Tommy can't help but tease. "Remember, there's no U or D in it."

Eyes sparkling, Evan presses close with a shit-eating grin and says slyly, "I'll show U where to put a D."

Before Tommy can shove him off the bench for that one, the door to the restaurant opens and a head pops out. "Order for Kinard?"

"Saved by the clams," Evan chortles, standing up when Tommy goes to grab the bag from the kid. He gives a long, luxurious stretch, and Tommy can't help but let his eyes be drawn to Evan's belly when his shirt rides up. "Where do you want to eat? We could go sit down by the beach. There's a big dahlia garden display there."

Huh. They still do that? That's actually kind of sweet, but Tommy has plans and they don't involve the public.

"If you don't mind a bit of light trespassing, we'll head up to Mussel Point. The view's well worth it."

Intrigued, Evan lifts his brows. "Trespassing? Gee, Tommy, you take me to all the best places."

That snark is nowhere to be found half an hour later when Evan's full of clam chowder and getting ruthlessly jacked off while the ocean bays at his feet, but Tommy doesn't call him on it.

[fftwy]

I moved through the little cul-de-sac with my head on a swivel. Ryegrass only gets to about two feet when left untended, but between my scavenged clothing and the grime that covered me, it made effective camouflage for crawling. There were no signs of people, but you could never tell.

You'd think four years into an apocalypse people would adjust, but a lot of these idiots really thought they were going to be part of the 1-4-4 when the day came, and they still aren't taking it well.

As an atheist--well, a former atheist, of course--it was very funny to me when they found out. Alas, it turns out that in a country with more guns than people, sudden widespread loss of faith can get pretty ugly.

There was a sound to my right, and I froze. The day was nice and still, and just as I'd started to relax, I heard it again. I couldn't quite identify it, but I had no doubt it was a living creature. Could be an animal. Could be a person. Either way, it was probably bait.

Instead of entering the church from any obvious angle, I crept around to the back and peered through a window. I don't know how I knew what I was looking at; I just knew. That was God, no two ways about it. In a cage.

He looked ... absurd. Short and stout, with broad shoulders and an unkempt beard. He wore some manner of tattered robe, but the fabric was the purest white I'd ever seen. Legs crossed, seated on the floor, idly stretching and muttering. Utterly human, utterly mundane, absolutely oozing Divine Grace. He really had created us in his own image--and apparently we're all variations of Danny DeVito.

I stared for a long time. Then I just stood, woodenly, and walked toward the front door, not even looking for threats. I could tell there wouldn't be any. The doors creaked open and then God was looking at me. The weight of the gaze was almost literal, and my temples pounded as I walked slowly down the aisle.

He stood up as I walked in. His expressions were easy to read, almost prototypical: first I was assessed as a threat, then evaluated as a potential savior. He leaned on the bars and smiled. It was every fake smile I'd ever seen on celebrities and politicians. It was perfect and utterly devoid of warmth.

"Greetings, human! It is indeed I, your Lord and Creator! you are burdened with the glorious responsibility of freeing Me from this detestable cage!"

I could hear the capitalization: uppercase for his pronouns; lowercase for mine.

My mouth was starting to get dry, so I closed it. My legs were kind of wobbly, so I sank into the nearest pew. His mighty brow furrowed. I thought wildly that he looked like a cartoon character.

"Lo! Only come forth and undo this latch that I might bless you with salvation! Surely you know that this is a rare prize, especially in this terrible age!" He chuckled at his own joke, as though the desolation that surrounded us was whimsical.

Finally I spoke, my voice cracking. "How long have you been in this cage?"

His eyes narrowed. "Since the final Seal was sundered."

"So like, half a decade?"

"Something like that. Look, are you going somewhere with this? Because I would really like to get Myself out of this cage. I can't even imagine how impatient the Raptured must be getting up in Heaven, and since they're kind of my core demo, if you know what I mean ..."

I did. God help--well, no. But the point is, I did know what he meant. But I focused, even though it was hard to do. I don't know if the constant reeling of my mind was biological, psychological, or supernatural, but it wouldn't stop even when I closed my eyes and shook my head. I opened them again and found God still staring.

"So everything about the world up to the actual ending, that was your hand on the wheel the whole time."

That fake smile again. "Who else?"

"So all of the horrible fucking things that happen in this world are one hundred percent your fucking fault?! Like, I already thought you were an asshole, but, like, you designed this!"

It seemed like maybe he hadn't been expecting that. "I work in mysterious ways," he began, but I was shouting again.

"My parents died slow, painful deaths, of cancer, too young, and they had to beg for medical coverage the whole time! The system was already about to go tits up even without your fucking rapture!"

"Ah ah," he tutted. "Render unto Caesar. Don't bother me with economics."

Then he ducked, as a chunk of stone I'd thrown bounced off a cage bar near his head. He stepped back, hands up in a placating gesture. "Whoa, hey now. You can't actually harm me, and you are definitely sinning right--"

He stopped as more rocks followed. There was a handy little pile where some statue had collapsed, and some of them were small enough to go through the bars. They didn't seem to cause any injury, but it was the best catharsis I'd had in years. Finally the pile was gone, I was panting, and the rage seemed to pass. My arms hurt.

I settled back into my seat and regained my breath. God was waiting with surprising patience. I cleared my throat and told him, "If you want me to actually flip that latch, you're going to have to answer an awful lot of questions first."

He assessed me for a cosmic instant that seemed to last forever, then gave me a glare that burrowed into my literal soul. "I am your God," he said slowly, incredulity building. "you were created in My image, to take My tests, and to be judged accordingly. your entire world is nothing more than an experiment that I set up. you think you have the right to question Me? To judge ... Me?!"

I looked at him blankly before I realized the question was not rhetorical.

"You created us in your image, buddy. Who the fuck else could give you useful feedback?"

You have survived the rapture for 4 years killing anyone to survive but one day you find God caged in an abandoned church

[sunny-knight]

What Kind Of Monster Was He?

A @forgettable-au fan (colored) animatic

MINOR BLOOD WARNING!

*Was he the kind to do too much, or not enough?

…OK, SO WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS-

I had planned to finish this into a full fledged animation, but a lot of the parts I did end up finishing just didnt live up to what I imagined…I waited for more motivation to happen, but it just didnt so HERES THE COLORED ANIMATIC CAUSE IM REALLLY HAPPY WITH WHAT I HAVE and ive sat on posting this for like a 2 weeks 😭 which is an eternity in my time

Im gonna post the unfinished “finished” part on my side account @o-sunny-day though! and probably have people yell at me cause it actually isnt that bad AND IT TOTALLY ISNT I just… art. You get it. ENOUGH YAPPING! ITS TIME TO YAP!

except not yet, MORE BACKGROUND INFO HUCDHUC- but its background info on explaining the lore…

The explaining is much less expansive than in Dear My Dear just because I didnt work on it long enough to think every bit of it through. This is just a clean, nicer looking, and colored version of the very first storyboard.

I usually think about and put more effort into the little stuff while making the FINISHED bits since ive had so much more time to think about that in all the preppin n sketching.

BUT I liked the explaining format I did for Dear My Dear so im sticking with it!

The main idea for this was to do a study of Wingdings’ character from what we’ve been given, mainly focusing in on the expectations he puts on himself because holy shit the lyrics for this works so stupidly well it makes me mad LOOK AT THIS???

its ridiculous. i love it. I didnt know Jack Stauber helped write Forgettable AU???? woww!!! ANYWHO thats the gist of it, not much context is needed past that. Onto the sillies!!!! (per usual excuse the shitty quality of the pngs idk why Tumblr does that-)

Did you know love? Will you rest in peace?

Wingdings and Sans holding hands as kids, before turning to a casket like appearance for adult WD. The flowers hes holding are pretty important too, Marigolds to represent grief, Lilys, new life, and Forget Me Nots for this lovely little line I found when looking up good flowers to use-

“a promise to always remember” ….stop that.

That actually also has a double meaning in this case too. 1, ofc the forgetting of Wingdings. But ALSO Wingdings forgetting something himself. Forgetting who he is. Almost like a Zuko ATLA situation.

Did you have a family?

Who knows where theyre parents are, but this is HAPPY TIME and we’re gonna assume they were so awesome and very kind but had to leave or went to a farm in the sky for whatever reason.

The colors here I had a lot of fun with. Their parents had warm colors but the boys have cold, still with warm accents. Its said they more or less raised each other being very independent as shown in the second part with them running out the door by themselves.

How was the view from the shelf? Did you ever believe in yourself?

Before, we started with the beginnings. The good things, the only thing Wingdings cares to even recall. Now we’re seeing his life really start to turn upside down- making first contact with The Player :D

He’s hesitant to reach out, but is intrigued, before getting a rushing revelation of his reality and how it isnt “real”

Rather than feeling crushing existential dread, he more feels pressured to be BETTER, to figure a solution, to do something. Thats what white represents here

WHAT KIND OF MILK WERE YOU?

We then switch to more examples of how Wingdings is taking this pressure (not well) The soft tones of yellow that were shown before, turn to way brighter, intensifying that feeling that he should be fine, he should be happy, drowning in success of being the Royal Scientist.

But he just desperately wants to just go back to a time of nice coldness.

The warm vs cold tones in this I had so much fun with, coldness is supposed to represent hostility usually, while warm is nice and happy. (same with Black and white. Scary, relieving,) But these points often contradict each other, its hard to tell what you’re feeling vs what you’re supposed to be feeling. Just like Wingdings!

WHAT KIND OF LIFE DID YOU LIVE THROUGH?

The white lab coats, the expectations, theyre on all of them. But Wingdings has essentially become his expectations.

He questions what life he wants to live, one being himself and alone (speaking in wingdings) or not himself and with company (speaking in a “normal” font) Still, he frames it in past tense as he believes theres no going back now, based on what he knows.

“One of the last happy moments they had together” stop that. (i cant find a link to when that was said but I know it was once, about them taking a photo together….)

DID YOUR LIFE RUN RICH WITH CALCIUM?

Calcium….bonesss :3 Hehehehdhehfhehehheheheh still dont know why he has holes in his hands so we’re movin on

DID THEY LAUGH AT YOU OR DID YOU LAUGH AT THEM?

Compared to the childhood Wingdings remembered, heres the sadder, bleaker, more realistic version. He always thought they were laughing at him but… maybe they werent.

DAIRY BELOVED. YOUR DAYS ARE GONE,

It doesnt matter now though. Because in the NOW, Wingdings has become consumed by his expectations of himself, seeing this has the “only option” to do the only thing that he feels will give his life meaning and purpose, establishing connection with THE PLAYER

But the grocery list goes on…

And yet life continues on without him, and his room is transformed into a more livable space now that someone is…living in it. Always hurts so much making the differences between Wingdings and Papyrus’ room. It feels like making something out of the man Wingdings COULD HAVE been. Because honestly thats just what Papyrus is,

Thank you to my bestie @fruitytrip for helping me with all of my art in general but especially the storyboarding on this :3 <3

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

let me chase your demons away | l.howlett

First post of the New Year, hoping to write bigger and better things this year :)

Summary: Logan struggles to sleep... but not when you're around

Warnings: nightmares and panic attacks

Pairings: leaning more towards a fem!reader

Enjoy and please like and comment if you do. Something as simple as an emoji literally makes my day better so please don't hesitate to comment and obviously reblog to share my work.

Requests are also open if there is anything that people want me to write 💛

Logan had struggled with nightmares for as long as he could remember. Up until now, there had never been anything that could prevent the neverending terror loop his brain played on a night. Up until you.

You hadn’t been at the school long, Charles had invited you to come and teach English to some of the younger students, but Logan could tell there was something about you, something about your scent that made him relax. Your sleeping habits were just as messed up as his meaning that, whenever you both found yourself unable to sleep, you would both end up on the couch in the mansion’s living room, watching shitty movies to try and tempt you both to sleep. More often than not, it worked for Logan but little did you know that it wasn’t the mind numbing films or the peaceful silence, it was your company. 

For weeks, Logan would simply allow himself to fall asleep on the sofa beside you and it was the best night’s sleep he would have all week. He would ensure there was a good amount of distance between the two of you, not confident enough that he wouldn’t have a nightmare and go all Wolverine on you. You would wait until he fell asleep and then arrange his legs and neck comfortably on the couch, laying the thick blanket over him and then heading off to bed. 

When you were out on a mission or away from the mansion on a long period of time, Logan would have many nightmares. Nightmares meant a sleep deprived Logan and a sleep deprived Logan meant suffering for everyone else in the mansion. One night in particular, snow was falling heavily when Logan went to sleep and you were out of town, visiting some friends in a nearby village meaning a nightmare was 100% guaranteed. Snow was hard enough for Logan to manage, reminding him of Stryker and the physical and mental toll he went through. 

He woke with a start, his chest heaving and feeling tight, dripping sweat and struggling to concentrate on taking deep breaths. He didn’t know why it occurred to him but for some reason his first instinct was to call you so that’s what he did, not even considering the late hour, knowing that you were more than likely awake. 

In the next village over, your phone buzzing interrupted the conversation you and your friends were having over a bottle of wine. “Who’s calling you at this time?” Your friend, Georgia, asked with a smirk. 

“You got a secret boyfriend, you’re hiding from us?” Faith nudged you with a cheeky grin but you just gave them a half smile, standing and excusing yourself to take the call. 

“Logan? Has something happened?” You asked down the phone, alarmed by the heavy breathing and almost whimpers you could hear. 

“I-I think I’m havin’ a heart attack bub.” He said and you knew from then what was wrong. Since when does the Wolverine have heart attacks?

“Logan, you’re having a panic attack honey. You need to take deep breaths, sit yourself down and stop pacing, okay? Are you sat?” You asked and heard the creak of a bedframe as the man grumbled an affirmative. “Alright, in through your nose and out through your mouth. It’ll pass, Logan, I promise.” 

After a couple of minutes, his breathing began to even out the amount of noise he was making reduced. “I… sorry for interrupting your evenin’.” He ended the call quickly and you were left standing in the hall of your friends house, confused. Why did he call you out of everyone?

~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, upon your return from your friend's house, Logan pulled you aside with a stern look on his face. “What happened the other night, didn't. Understand? Forget it.” 

You look at him, confused and slightly insulted. “What? You think I’m going to tell someone or something? You think I think of you any less because of it?” Your protest seemed to throw Logan off guard and he looked at you with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. “I don’t know who you think I am, Logan but that’s not the type of person I am.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few nights, Logan didn’t go downstairs to sit with you on the couch and watch shitty films, didn’t allow himself to bask in the comfort your company gave him. Instead, he suffered on minimal sleep and caffeine, causing headaches for everyone around him and snapping at every minor inconvenience in his life. 

Eventually, you grew tired of it and grabbed him by his forearm just as he was about to head to bed, dragging him towards the couch. “Everyone’s tired of your shit, Logan. Sit on the damn couch, watch a movie with me and sleep.” You demanded, pushing him to his side of the couch and putting the blanket over him before plopping yourself down at your side, closer than the pair of you would normally sit. Logan resisted for as long as he could but pure exhaustion gave him no other choice than to relax and sleep. His eyes fell shut and within minutes he was asleep, snoring and drool coming from his mouth. However, instead of going off to bed like you normally would, you rested your head against his shoulder and let yourself doze off. 

When the students and teachers of the school began waking up and racing downstairs to fight for the tv, they all fell silent at the sight of the notoriously grumpy Wolverine cuddled up with the cute English teacher, his face pressed into your hair as he spooned you, deep snores emanating for the man. Storm and Jean ushered the children out of the living room, telling them to leave the pair of you to rest for a little while longer while Scott immediately found a camera to take a photo to tease Logan with as soon as he woke up.

Dividers: @coolcatsgraphics

I'm also on A03 :)

[monokoitari]

I randomly thought of a Shen Qingqiu (Shen Yuan) Omega, who was searching for plants and mushrooms to see alternatives to create a new body ends up face down in a pile of tiny white-yellow flowers. Ugh, damn Airplane and its sexual pollen plots! But pollen is not sexual, it just makes him sneeze and have a very slight deviation of qi which, ironically, is relieved on its own thanks to Without A Cure being activated.

Shen Qingqiu pretends that nothing happened. At least it wasn't sexual pollen. Being an Omega affected by sexual pollen is a fucking pain. (More excuses to yell at Airplane)

A month later, nauseous, disgusted, irritated and sensitive, he is definitely pregnant and Shang Qinghua might die if it were up to Shen Qingqiu. How could he think of that!? A plant that impregnates people in a papapa world?! What kind of sense did that make?!

(obviously, it's an abandoned plot from Airplane. Something like, a wife who wanted a baby but because of her weak meridians was afraid of getting pregnant with the protagonist's demon baby, so Luo Binghe brought the flowers -with a great solo adventure in between to get them- to make her wish come true without papapa getting in the way. Which Shen Yuan would have liked to read. But damn.)

Shen Qingqiu keeps it a secret. It's not that he doesn't want others Peak Lords to know, it's just that... Well, he already knows what gossip is like. He hides his scent with talismans, blockers and patches, nests a lot, demands Shang Qinghua to scent robes for his nest because he feels heartbreakingly lonely (horrible omega instincts!) and runs away from practically everyone in order to get used to his condition before saying anything.

He is barely into his fourth month, debating with Shang Qinghua whether he should tell them right now (actually, Shen Qingqiu remembered something about, not announcing it until three months had passed? In his mind it made sense, but the baby bump is starting to show no matter how many tunics he changes or belts he layers, a tiny but obvious curve in his thin body, and oh, he's eating too much and sleeping too much, and probably if his disciples haven't said anything it's only been out of respect for their Shizun...). Then the cultivators are called to Jinlan City for its closure, the infected merchant and the missing disciples.

And Shen Qingqiu decides to go. Liu Qingge follows him because he is an unconventional guard dog, and Mu Qingfang is already going to provide medicine to Shen Qingqiu (and even though Shang Qinghua has somewhat clumsily taken over Without A Cure so that Shen Qingqiu doesn't have to expose himself pregnant before he decides, hat doesn't mean he's better.)

And there they are. And it turns out to be a sower. And Luo Binghe is there too.

And it's... insane. Because omega-pregnant Shen Qingqiu's instincts want to run away, but those same instincts want to hold Luo Binghe close because, oh, his poor little lamb, what happened to his sweet boy? Shen Qingqiu doesn't know how to respond to Luo Binghe's demands.

So, cornering him, Luo Binghe feels the little baby bump and watches as Shen Qingqiu's expression turns into the rawest dread when he realizes that his former disciple has noticed it. Luo Binghe pulls away as if burned by the touch, and Shen Qingqiu protectively covers his belly.

Luo Binghe doesn't know what to do with the information. He has already made Shen Qingqiu drink his blood parasites, and when he spreads them out, he can feel it. Feel the tiny life inside his Shizun. He can feel his Shizun's heart racing, his face terrified.

"Don't hurt them" begs his Shizun, in the most visceral and instinctive way. "Allow they to be born. Take revenge on me but do not harm them."

Luo Binghe... may fall apart. His Shizun thinks... Does he think something so horrible about him? It's to be expected, but it doesn't make him feel any less... wronged.

There are no scents on Shizun, but there are blockers and patches. Luo Binghe removes them. He needs to soak himself in the scent of Shizun's emotions to have the courage to leave.

... What he discovers is that his Shizun, on top of everything, doesn't have a binding bite either. There's a baby growing in his belly, and there's no binding bite on his neck. Who... Who would be such a repulsive and wretched alpha to impregnate an omega and leave him without taking any responsibility? Who could have done that?! Luo Binghe will destroy him.

Well, alright. If that irresponsible Alpha couldn't take care of his Shizun and the baby, Luo Binghe will. To hell with all the plans.

Shen Qingqiu still has no idea why Luo Binghe brought him to his palace in the Demon Realm, feeds him home-cooked food, gives him nesting materials filled with the beautiful and exquisite scent of Luo Binghe himself, gives him precious ancient relics or jade jewelry.

Well, maybe Luo Binghe is trying to keep Shen Qingqiu calm and comfortable so that his baby grow healthy and without problems, so he can get rid of the horrible Shizun who threw him into the Abyss when the baby born.

Shang Qinghua (brought to Binghe Palace after a hormonal imbalance because Shen Qingqiu misses his, well, pack) thinks Cucumber-bro is genuinely an idiot. But he will let him discover it on his own.

[letsgobarbs]

@slimybeth69 @guiltyasdave @luvvyouforever Hahaha... Happy New Year?

Pairing: carpenter!joel miller x Reader x lumberjack!logan howlett

Warnings: It's almost 6k of just porn :) she's got a little power dynamics, dub-con, fingering, outdoor sex, oral (both male and female receiving), boobs, anal play, double penetration, a healthy amount of degradation and also a little praise, unprotected p in v sex, maybe a little dumbification if you squint... yeah, I think that pretty much covers it. Oh, it's also romantic sometimes.

A/N: I opened up a tab to search for what lumberjacks and carpenters do, and types of wood and stuff. Then I instantly closed it, because that's not important. It's not what the people want. But what I googled in a short minute gives you a nice little opening. Like the script and scene before the sexy stuff starts.

divider by @saradika-graphics

Your lips wobbled from the effort to not cry. 

“Don’t go crying on me now, bub. The order will take time, can’t just keep chopping all day because that asshole boss of yours demands it.” Logan wasn’t even paying attention to you now, both his feet were propped up on the desk while he leisurely lit a cigar. But not even the sight of his biceps bulging in that sleeveless white undershirt of his could make you feel better. It was all your fault and you could lose your job for it. Joel had asked you to place the order for, specifically, a Black Locust tree with its log sliced into 2-inch thick slices.

“I know you have the tree, Logan, please. I saw it on my way in. Can’t you please just cut it into smaller logs… I’ll do the slicing myself. Please.”

“Yeah? You know your way around a chainsaw?” You didn’t appreciate the sardonic eyebrow raise he gave you.

“I will figure it out, please, Logan. I need that wood today. Or else I’ll lose my job. It was totally my fault for forgetting to place the order—”

“It’s not the first time you’ve forgotten an order. Sometimes, I wonder why Joel even keeps you around, he’s not a very patient man.” You were too busy feeling aggrieved and anxious to notice the way he looked you up and down, lingering over the way your t-shirt snugly stretched over your boobs. 

“Don’t say that… I’m very good with numbers, I handle the accounts and taxes really well—”

“That’s all you do for him? Accounts and taxes?” There was laughter coating his voice as he blew out a cloud of smoke between you. You tried not to cough.

“I clean too…” You cleaned and closed up the workshop for Joel every day. That’s what you would have been doing right now had you not fucked up your job.

“Well, I can’t keep covering for your mistakes, bub.” He stood from his seat, walking out the back door into his working area. You followed behind still badgering him for your order. 

“Please, Logan, I’ll do anything. I can look over your account books? I know you needed someone to do that for you. Or maybe I can clean up for you today?”

“I don’t do overtime, makes me tired.” Horeseshit.

“Please, I’ll give you a massage or something. Whatever your old bones need to not be tired.” You didn’t mean to be snippy with him, after all, you were still trying to coax him to give you the order. But he was clearly just being difficult. 

He seemed to think about your offer as he sat on the tree stump that usually served as his chopping block. You put away your attitude to give him your best pleading, puppy-dog, eyes again while he blew several more puffs of smoke.

“Lift your skirt.” You thought you had imagined his words. That your brain was just playing tricks on you from how often you had daydreamed about this man. 

“What?” He looked like he had just casually commented on the weather, but his eyes were dark, almost predatory.

“What? Nobody taught a cute little thing like you how men like to end a long day at work?” He thought you were cute? And you were by no means little, but you looked at his muscled, brawny form, his large hands, sturdy thighs, and that growing bulge in his dark-washed jeans. Oh, this man could make you feel little in every sense of the word. The walls of your pussy flutter and clench around emptiness. 

“Logan—”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to… you could always just go back and tell Joel you forgot to put in the order for that rich, fussy client.” You couldn’t disappoint Joel.

You tentatively made your way to stand between his spread thighs, the smug smirk on his face unfortunately made your nipples stiffen; and you felt a warm, twisting tug between your legs at the thought of letting this man have his way with you. It’s all you have thought about since the day you met him. 

“So… we do stuff? And you’ll give me the wood?” You confirm again, hoping this wasn’t some cruel joke he’s playing on you. 

“Oh, I’ll give you the wood, alright.” A giggle slips through at his pun, the tension between the two of you slightly eased at the sound. 

You slowly lift your skirt to reveal the baby-pink cotton panties you were wearing; had you known this was the plot twist in store for you, you would have gone for one of the sexier, lacier ones you own. But Logan releases a soft groan at the sight anyway. Your thighs clench involuntarily at the sound, and you keep them together in fear that he will see how desperately turned on you are when he hasn’t even touched you. His cigar is abandoned between his lips as he brings his hand to gently part your legs and graze your slit over your underwear, finding the wet little patch you had leaked in his presence. 

“Oh, you dirty fucking slut. You’ve been walking around me, dripping this entire time.” 

He slides his fingers into your panties, caressing the damp patch of fabric between his thumb and fingertips. You shivered at the feel of his rough knuckles gliding over your folds. Your hips rock forward over the loose fist he has on your underwear begging for more friction. A whine escapes your lips at the loss of contact when Logan slides the panties down your legs, making you step out of them and then pocketing the panties in the back of his jeans. 

This time, there is no cover as he cups your sex, you’re so wet his fingers glide over your folds. His thumb is almost too rough on your clit, and it makes you stagger away with a gasp of protest to escape the touch. But Logan leverages the two middle fingers he has pressed inside your pussy—pulling you closer with the hand in your cunt— they curl inside you and catch a spot that has white heat spreading behind your eyes. He presses an apologetic kiss just under the curve of your belly. 

“Lift the t-shirt up too, let me see those gorgeous tits, babe. Been imagining what they’d look like for months…”

You lift your top, and your sensible cotton bra with it, letting your boobs fall from their perch and dangle right in front of his face in a lewd offering. He blows the hot cigar smoke right over your erect nipple while his other hand reaches up to brush a knuckle over the other one. He kneaded your breasts, squeezing and lifting them in his palms to feel their weight; your nipples insistently pucker into his palms for attention, and he relents by lifting your boobs by their nipples.

 In slow, unhurried movements, he rolls the buds between his fingers, giving them sharp tugs, unpredictable flicks, and gentle scratches from his nails— studying the sounds you make at each action. It’s like a live wire connects your nipples to your clit. The mean twist he gives to your nipple along with the rough pinch to your clit sends you over the edge as you shake and convulse, limply landing on his lap unable to hold yourself up on your own two feet. 

Logan whispered gentle words as you came down from your high, none of which you heard over the rush of blood in your ears. He soothingly rubbed along your spine, letting the last of the tremors leave your body while you rested your head on his shoulder, taking in large mouthfuls of air. He smells of smoky tobacco, coffee and sweat. 

He tenderly removed his fingers from your pussy with a loud, squelching sound, and bought his arm up to taste your juices coating his fingers. 

He licked a finger with a soft moan, “Knew you’d be so fucking sweet.” 

Then he offered you his other finger, shoving the digit into your gaping mouth, “Taste yourself, Darling.” And you suckle his finger, swirling your tongue around it thinking of an entirely different part of his body you would rather be sucking. 

He stands to position you over the stump of wood he was sitting on; his finger receding from your mouth as his hand cups your jaw and lowers you so your hands are flat against the wood. Your tits felt full and heavy from this angle after how much he’d worked them. He guided you with a hand on your hips so that your ass stuck out for him— your wet, shiny pussy lips on display. 

Logan ran a large, calloused hand from the base of your spine to your skull; his fingers tangled in your hair and pulled your head up, “Tell me you want it, Darling.”

“Yes, please, Logan. I want it.” You pleaded with him as you gazed over your shoulder to watch him unzip his jeans behind you. He roughly tugged your head to make you face forward. 

“Yeah? Look at you, nothing more than a cock hungry slut who would let me fuck her like an animal in broad daylight.” 

The bark of the tree dug into your palms. There was a cool wind against your heated, oversensitive skin that reminded you that you were outside. And right ahead of you, you noticed the gap in the tree line, anybody driving by could see you being fucked with your tits out if they turned their head. 

Logan tapped your ankle with his foot, kicking your legs wider apart for him. He lined his cock with your opening and you felt the bulbous tip of him try to enter— two fingers were not enough to have prepped you for him. The stretch burned you, and your body tensed under the intrusion; you felt the pressure right up against your throat, for a brief moment, you worried you would throw up before you had taken him all in. 

Logan’s arm banded around your waist, pulling you deeper on his cock. You hadn’t even realised you were running away. He made soft hushing sounds at you while he rocked into your cunt with shallow thrusts, not really moving inside you so much as swaying your bodies back and forth. 

“You’re doing so well, Darling. That’s it… relax. Good girl. Don’t tense up on me now, you’ll kill me.” 

His arm came under you to finger at your clit again, working the little bud in tight circles until the walls of your pussy relented and let him slide in further. He bullied his cock into your hole for what felt like forever, you were starting to believe there was no end to his dick until his balls slapped heavily against your mound. 

“What a perfect fucking cunt, so tight and wet. You were made to take a good fucking, weren’t you? Made for my cock.” 

He set a brutal pace, rough and fast. His dick retreated until only his tip was inside, before shoving back in again. The slide of his cock against your walls in deep, long strokes was dizzying. The burning stretch settled into thrilling currents as the pool of pleasure widened from your core to move up your spine and to the rest of the body. He pistoned into you, chasing his own release with his fingers curled into your clit providing additional friction. There was a tension building inside you. 

At some point, you stopped pushing back onto his cock to meet him thrust for thrust, unable to keep up with his forceful movements. Your knees buckled under you, chafing against the edge of the stump. All you could do was take it, take everything he was giving you. Your hands lost strength, causing you to drop onto your elbows— your sensitive nipples were caught against the rough wood below. The broken moans and pleas were interrupted by a shocked yelp. Oh my God, were you the one making those sounds?

All at once, you came with a scream, shuddering with the force of your orgasm. Your release coated Logan’s cock and his thighs. The walls of your pussy clenched around him and milked him for his cum— somehow you felt him sink even deeper into you. You laid there, a sheen of sweat covering your back, in warm relief while he grunted and rutted into you— his own words coming out broken by gasps and groans. 

He came with long, heavy spurts that scalded the walls of your cunt, making you feel impossibly fuller. The ash from his cigar fell on the small of your back, the heated sensation unexpectedly intense against your skin sending another wave of ripples through your awakened nerves. He kept fuckin his release deeper into you, a zing of pleasure working into your body again, until his cock slid out of you only half hard.

He stood there watching you long after he had tucked himself back into his jeans; your body slumped over, languid and spent— your palms still gripping the edge of the stump, your knees perched on the wood, folded over the block with just your ass in the air. But the most fascinating sight was his creamy, white cum leaking out of your red, swollen cunt. He hadn’t cum like that in decades. Logan used two of his fingers to scoop some of his cum that was dripping out, and smeared it over your asshole. 

“Gonna be in this fuckhole next, Darling.” His voice thick with dark promise.

He pulled you up after affectionately patting your pussy, his fingers landed against your clit— the sensation making you twitch with need again. He pulled your bra back over your tits, followed by your t-shirt, and then lowered your skirt to cover you again. He guided you back into his office with a hand on your waist, handing you a glass of iced water and a seat.

You watched him shuffle a few things around and pull out… 2-inch thick slices of Black Locust logs neatly tied with a rope. You accusingly stared at him, not regretting what happened— you would’ve easily let Logan fold you like a pretzel and fuck into you for as long as he wanted any day— but he really could’ve helped you avoid all this stress and anxiety. You could’ve fucked him after as a thank you!

“Joel reminded me at the bar a few days ago to not forget his order. Didn’t mention it to him that you never placed it.” He explained with a teasing huff. Logan loaded the car for you— not the only thing he had loaded today. 

“Umm, thanks… can I have my panties back please.” You notice your underwear hanging out of his back pocket. 

“No, I think I’ll be keeping these.” He said while he took an obscene sniff of your panties. 

You had no idea how you drove back, your legs still felt wobbly and jittery. You braced yourself for an earful from Joel as you glanced around the clean workshop. He had cleaned up without waiting for you. You would gratefully take his scolding today, there was no way you would have been able to clean the place without Logan’s cum dribbling down your thighs. 

“Where were you?” Joel scowled at you. 

“Umm… just went to pick up your order from Logan’s— Sorry. The traffic was insane… did you need anything else before I close up?” You grew scared when Joel didn’t say anything for several long minutes. 

“Did you check what he gave you? Correct wood? Even slices? I don’t want to have to sit down and shave off some wood.” 

“Yeah, seemed fine to me…” 

“How’d you hurt your knees?” He asked while nodding towards your knees. You desperately choked back a strangled gasp at his question and looked down at your knees as if they might answer for you. They were scratched up and bleeding— only after seeing them did you realise they were stinging. 

“Oh, I fell.” 

“And that bastard Logan didn’t even offer you a bandaid?” Joel frowned as he retrieved the first-aid kit from one of the cabinets. 

“It happened after I left his.” Your voice sounded unbelievably high and false to your own ears. 

Joel tapped the top of his work table in a wordless command for you to hop on while he pulled a chair for himself. You gingerly climbed onto the table, folding your skirt under you, keeping your thighs clenched so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your bare pussy— interlocking your ankles for good measure. Your boss was another tall, dark, handsome, brooding man with a heart of gold in your life. You admired the way his jean shirt stretched over the expanse of his shoulders while he gently dabbed some antibiotic ointment over your scrapes.

“Tell me, sweetheart, you got these scrapes by kneeling for Logan and letting him fuck into your mouth?” 

“JOEL—”

“What? You think I wouldn’t be able to tell with the way you walked in here, all bow-legged and unsteady like a fresh foal?” He looked disappointed.

“I—”

“You see, sweetheart, I had a bet with that bastard. He thought you would easily spread your legs, wouldn’t even need convincin’. But here I was, thinking you were a good girl with her head full of numbers and taxes. Thought you’d hold out for at least a few more weeks. That’s my bad, I didn’t know you were just a cock-hungry slut.” His tone was scornful and mocking. Your nose burned with the urge to cry. 

“It’s not like that, Joel— Please don’t fire me, I really need this job.” You could feel the ugly sobs climbing up your throat. 

“I’m not gonna fire you, sweetheart. You gotta work off that cash I lost in the bet.” His knuckles came up to gently rub your cheek, smearing the tears you had shed into your skin. 

“How— How much is it?” 

“Don’t you worry about that. You’ve just got to start taking on some extra chores around here…” Joel put away the first-aid kit and returned with a plain, wooden box. 

He grasped your knees and spread them, exposing your large pussy lips— full and swollen— and your clit pushing out towards him as if begging for him to rub it. He groaned at the sight, the hair covering your mound was dewy, your folds still damp, the inside of your thighs still coated with your sticky juices. He guided your heels to rest on the edge of the table, further pushing your knees apart to expose the entirety of you— down to that winking rosette much lower where the cum Logan had smeared was slightly drying. 

“Joel, what—” He softly shushed you, folding your skirt so it bunched around your waist. 

“No need to worry about the job. I fully intend to keep you. See, sweetheart”—Joel brought his hand to your exposed sex, grazing a knuckle over your clit before squeezing your puffy labia between his thumb and his finger, giving it gentle tugs and shakes—“You’re going to give me whatever I want, whenever I want it.” Logan’s cum oozed out as your pussy clenched and contracted at Joel’s words.

Joel’s eyes were blown wide with lust as he opened the mysterious box beside you, “But first… Logan won the bet, didn’t he? So we should give him his prize.” Inside the box were seven beautiful wooden butt plugs, smooth and shiny with a flared base. They had different shapes and sizes, one of them was even long and straight like a dildo. Joel reached for the smallest one, and your thighs quivered with anticipation. 

Logan’s promise echoed in your ears, “Gonna be in this fuckhole next, Darling.” You gasped with the realisation that Joel was prepping your ass for Logan to fuck. Maybe he read your shivering and gasp as fear because Joel gently caressed your hips like he would soothe a spooked animal.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, we’ll see to it that you like it when we touch you… But that’s not going to be so hard for a slut like you, huh? Look at you, you’re dripping from just my words.”

Joel rolled the plug at your opening, lubing it with your own release mixed with Logan’s cum before he pressed it into your asshole. The intrusion was shocking and far too foreign, almost too overwhelming as your back landed on the table under you with a thud. But the knot of tension in your body tightened, a blazing flame of pleasure licked at the base of your spine as Joel started rotating the plug in and out of you— stretching and spreading the ring of your ass wider.

“This is the prettiest fucking sight, sweetheart. Wish you could see it— maybe I’ll spread you open in front of a camera someday… Decided to make these plugs the day you interviewed for the job, took one look at that ass of yours and knew it would look so fucking cute plugged for me… Logan personally chose the wood for it too, it’s pear wood… beautifully compliments your skin.” His words gave you butterflies in your belly, and your heart skipped a beat. This is so romantic.

Joel stooped down, his nose nudging at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis and he took a deep sniff before licking at the dried slick on the inside of your thigh. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, savouring the taste. Uncaring that he was about to eat another man’s spunk from your cunt, he turned to your aching pussy, licking a strong, stroke up the slit and to your sensitive clit where he circled it with his tongue before closing his lips over the little bud to suckle.

You gasped his name, your hands reaching to tangle in his hair and tugging him closer to your desperate cunt. He groaned into your pussy, the vibrations travelling straight up your clit. His tongue was devastatingly accurate against your folds as it tasted and licked until you were trembling under the hold he had on your hips, his other hand still working the plug in your bottom.

Your body tightened and arched, your muscles waiting for the release that was just at its precipice. And then you felt it— Joel, gently nibbling on your clit. Your orgasm set off like a firecracker, your entire body shook as all your muscles contracted and released. You shoved your pelvis deeper into Joel, rocking your hips over his face to ride out your orgasm. 

Joel’s mouth was still attached to your warm pussy even after you had come down from the high of your orgasm. His hand came around your thigh to pat and stroke through the pubic hair that covered your sex— gently playing with the hair while he cleaned you up with his tongue. He whispered sweet words into your pussy, his nose affectionately nuzzling your clit while he just enjoyed the taste of you, the smell of you on his face. 

“Such a pretty pussy. You’re perfect, sweetheart.” 

“You’re going to make me so happy…” He whispers as he stands from his seat to look at you. You feel downright sinful and wanton. Your hair wild, gaze half-lidded as you stared up at him with naked want. Your legs were spread wide open in invitation, your well-used, glistening cunt open and displayed for him. Maybe you should feel ashamed, you just had another man’s dick in you not even an hour ago. But the constant arousal and orgasms had you worn out and slumped in delicious replete. 

“This is how I always want you from now on, open and ready for me whenever my cock gets hard.” He ordered as he lowered his jeans and underwear to release his cock. Your mouth watered at the sight of him— long and thick, the head slightly red and weeping at the tip. You hadn’t seen Logan’s dick, but you could tell that Joel was just barely shorter in length; whatever he lacked in length he more than made up in girth. This time, you truly wondered how you would fit him inside you, especially now that you also had a plug up your butt.

But Joel sank deep in you with one easy stroke; Logan’s seed from earlier was still coating the inside of your walls along with your own arousal, Joel met no resistance except for the plug in your ass that rubbed against the bottom of his cock. You felt impossibly stuffed and full, and he waited for the shock and surprise to ease from your eyes even when your back had arched into the pleasure.

“That’s it… my pretty little cocksleeve. Just a minute, then I’ll make it all better.” He appeased. 

He slowly started pistoning his cock into you, and a rush of wetness seeped out to flood where the both of you were joined. Joel gave a savage little laugh as he cupped the base of your skull in a forceful and possessive hold while ripping your t-shit and bra up to reveal your tits. 

“You want this, sweetheart, don’t you? You need this. Filthy fucking slut”—he was growling into your face—“You need your old boss to fuck you even after you had another man’s cock deep up your cunt. What happened, huh? Sweetheart? Did Logan not make you cum?” 

“No, he did—” you mewled. 

“Oh. So his dick just wasn’t enough for you, was it? You just needed more cock, anybody would do—”

“No, no, no, Joel. You, just you—”

“Yeah? Didn’t realise I was paying such a greedy fucking slut. You should be glad I didn’t know about the absolute honey pot you had between your legs— would’ve broken you in a long fucking time ago.” 

Joel guided your head so you could see his dick surging in and out of your hole, a ring of foamy, white cream forming at the base of his cock. 

“See? That is one good pussy— trying to suck me dry.”—The walls of your pussy clenched around him at the sight, Joel broke off his words with a biting curse—“You’re doing so great, baby girl. Such a good whore, taking care of my cock. So fucking good for me.”

You preened under his praise, raising your pelvis to meet his thrusts. And you quickly lost the ability to speak. His balls hit against the flared base of the butt plug, jostling it inside you so both the plug and his dick rubbed at some elusive spot on the thin barrier that separated the two. 

“You’ve wanted this for a while now haven’t you? Wearin’ all those skimpy outfits to work, bending over to show me your fucking panties all day. This little pussy just needed some cock, huh?” 

His head came down directly at level with your swaying tits, and Joel took advantage of that to catch one in his mouth. He sucked, licked and nipped at your erect nipples causing a feeling so intense— like a lightning bolt— that you started fighting against the pleasure by twisting and contorting under him. Joel leaned down to throw his weight on you, stilling your struggle under him. His hand came up to hold you by the throat. 

His hand didn’t tighten or grip your throat to choke you, he just held it there letting you feel the weight, warmth and power. The touch was almost grounding and comforting as you could feel the wild beat of your pulse steadily pumping against his hands. 

“Don’t struggle. You gotta get used to this, sweetheart. This is your daily chore from now on… Making sure Logan and I get our cocks wet. It’s a good thing you’re so insatiable, won’t have any problem milking out every drop of our cum every day like a cum dumpster.” 

The very idea had you writhing, Joel could feel your pussy getting wetter, fluttering and clenching over his cock in a vice. Sticky, syrupy sounds get louder in the workshop. 

“Oh, you like that, dirty girl? Us taking turns with you? Taking you together? Sharing you like our personal fuck toy…” 

You miss the rest of his words, your mind already having slipped into a trance-like state, the noises around you receding into a dull buzz, your eyes seeing yet unseeing. You had been reduced to nothing more than a pulsating, throbbing ball of aching need and nerves. The scratch of his shirt on your nipples was overwhelming, so was his pubic hair rubbing over your clit, and the plug was still being pushed into your butt. Tears escaped your eyes. 

Joel looked concerned for a moment, his pace stuttering as he considered slowing down, you couldn’t hear the soothing questions he was asking you. But you let out a loud keening, wail— wordless but the sound was a needy, desperate plea for him to never stop, to do whatever he wanted to you so you could feel this way forever. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly deeper into your cunt— tightening your hold so he could never escape. 

Joel gave a smug, triumphant grin over you before he leaned down to kiss your lips. Contrary to his words, and how he was fucking you, his kiss was utterly sweet, tender and affectionate. He kissed you hesitantly and tentatively like a new lover who had yet to figure out how you liked to be kissed. He maintained a gentle hold of your throat, and his other hand came up to pet your head lovingly— his calloused thumb reaching to wipe the tears escaping from the side of your eyes. 

You could barely make out what he was saying, “That’s it, sweetheart. You ready to let go for me? Give me what’s mine…”

Joel reached between you to pinch your clit, but the slightest graze set you off. Your nipples tightened, clit hummed and your body buzzed as the walls of your cunt gripped onto his cock trying to milk him while your ass clenched on the plug. You leveraged the last of your strength to arch your hips pushing the plug right into that spot you had discovered earlier that could throw you off the edge and keep you suspended there. Joel’s fingers gripped the side of your throat, making it all the more difficult to breathe.  

You shattered. Hard. Your body gripping and convulsing as you sprayed out your release all over Joel’s cock— wetting his jeans, the table under you, the chair behind him, until the clear, viscous fluid was dripping from the table and forming a pool around his feet. Your own scream sounded distant to your ears, but they could probably be heard out on the street. Joel followed, slumping over you with a grunt, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum that washed your womb with his seed. 

You laid there relishing his weight on you, playing with the hair at his nape while he pressed reverent kisses into every patch of exposed skin he could reach. He pushed himself on his elbows, gingerly pulling out of you and made his way to the bathroom with unsteady, wobbling legs. You wanted to throw his comment back about walking like a newborn foal, but you didn’t want to bother with words just yet when you were still regretting the loss of his body on yours. 

He returned with a bottle of lube and a wet washcloth, softly dabbing away your tear streaks and drool then moving down to clean your thighs and pussy. His ministrations were thorough and gentle, careful not to rub your already raw skin. You moaned a protest against pulling the plug out until he questioningly showed you the next size. 

“You think you can take more, princess?”

You spread your legs wider for him as he eased out the small plug, wiping your gaping hole with the washcloth. He coated the bigger one with lube before pressing it into your ass, playing with the flared handle to rotate and tweak it until it was firmly lodged inside.

He leaned over you again, carefully slipping a hand under your boneless body, and another under your head before picking you up like a child, your legs wrapped around his waist again as he took a seat in the chair. 

Your nose nuzzled into the crook of his neck breathing in his scent of sawdust and wood veneer. He held you like that, cuddled into him while his rough, warm hands stroked along your spine and he peppered kisses into your neck and shoulders. You slipped your own hands under his shirt, feeling the broad expanse of his skin and playing with the wispy hair that lead into his cock… Now you knew that his trail had the same silvery greys as his curls and patchy beard.

You didn’t know how many hours had gone by with you between Joel’s legs, your fingers draped over his thighs and his cock stuffed down your throat. He sunk further in his seat to man spread, giving you a flash of the hole you had licked for him earlier. Joel was nursing a chilled beer while he toggled with the remote of the small vibrator he had taped to your clit turning it up so the gentle buzzing filled the air. 

You sucked your cheeks in, pulling his hard length further into your mouth and he put gentle pressure on your scalp to guide you until the short springy hair tickled your nose. You squirmed under his hold partly because it was too tight for you to escape and partly for some desperately needed friction between your legs.

Joel rewarded you by setting his beer aside to bring his cold hand to palm at your tits— the cold sensation against your heated skin finally sending you into another twitching, whimpering orgasm. You stopped counting them after they all started to roll into one constant state of tingling currents.

“Jesus Christ, bub. Look at the state of her. You can’t work her so hard just because you’re jealous I got to her first.” Logan!

“‘S not so bad. You’re just in time, we were waiting for you. I think our greedy slut has a few more orgasms left in her for the night. Don’t you, princess?” 

You were far too gone to formulate a response. Joel rapidly tapped a few strong pats across your cheek to break you out of your haze of pleasure. 

“Hey.” He smiled down at you with his dimple on display. He affectionately wiped your chin with his thumb. And your heart warmed at the tender but fruitless gesture. You had made a complete mess of yourself as you drooled out the mix of his spit and cum, slobbering all over yourself until the sticky, creamy, juices hung from your chin and your nipples before stringing down to meet your own release pooling between your legs. You mustered a silly smile for him despite the cock in your mouth. 

“Logan’s here baby, you want to take both of us at the same time?” He still had a commanding hold over your neck and you couldn’t pull away to answer him. So you gave him an enthusiastic nod, bobbing his cock along with your head. 

“Good girl…” You perked up at the praise. 

His foot nudged the side of your ass, “Why don’t you show him how hard you’ve worked, sweetheart?” 

You obediently raised your hips, arching your waist and sticking your ass out to lewdly shake and wiggle it in the air behind you to show Logan the biggest-sized plug nestled between your ass cheeks— stretching your fuckhole out for him. 

carpenter!joel miller x lumberjack!logan howlett

[stxrslutrestored]

FREE TRIAL

pairing; godfather!jj x reader

summary; when you complain to your godfather that boys your age just don’t know how to treat you, he decides to show you what you’re missing out on in the world of older, more experienced men.

content; large age gap, “uncle” name (not biological) 

authors note; didn't know wether to upload this here or sluttiebabydoll. but since theres not really anything noncon or inherently dark in it i'm just putting it up here

you’re sweating like crazy, the summer air is too hot for your body and your skin, it makes you feel sticky and disgusting. your makeup is running down your face along with your tears. on the way to a family and friends barbecue is just about the worst time to receive a breakup phone call from your boyfriend. 

you walk to the house, and to your dismay the front door is locked and you are without key, which means you’ll have to enter through the back, where the barbecue is. you don’t even try hiding your emotions as you walk round, you know it’s obvius you’re devastated anyways. 

you push through the small crowd of people in the backyard as fast as you can, avoiding anyone and everyones gaze. unfortunately you still catch attention. your father frowns from where he stands at the barbecue. jj is next to him, sporting the same expression. 

theres a minute or so of silence outside after you slam the back door on your way to your room. after that minute jj speaks up, “y’all know what kids are like, don’t let her dampen the mood,” he exclaims, trying to put everyone back on their social track. he then turns to your father, “i’ll go check in on her, make sure she ain’t in trouble.” 

his father nods and then jj turns to follow you through the house, he makes his way through the house to your room. he doesn’t bother to knock, just pushes the door open to find you curled up on your bed crying. 

he closes the door behind him and starts to advance on you. “aw babygirl,” he croons, “what’s makin’ you cry like this huh?” he sits himself down on your bed. 

you sniffle, looking up at him, “my boyfriend dumped me.” you say sadly, petulantly. normally you wouldn’t share so quickly, but you’re comfortable with your godfather, your uncle jay. 

he croons, rubbing your knee, “awh well don’t you be frettin’ over that,” he tells you, “ain’t nobody in their right mind would dump a girl as lovely as you. hes a crazy guy.” he provides immediate reassurance. 

you smile, “thankyou uncle jay,” you look down sadly, “just so annoying you know.’ you start, hesitating momentarily to say the next part but you continue nonetheless, “boys my age just.. they’re so immature.” 

he chuckles, “oh well i ain’t head a truer thing said today.” he looks at your tearstreaked face, “but you’ll find someone, don’t you think you won’t for a second because you will.” 

you shake your head, “it’s just so impossible,” you tell him, “nobody is good enough. no one knows how to be with me or treat me or… touch me,” you murmur the last part quietly. 

his eyes widen a little, “nobody knows how to touch you?” he questions, “well i’m sure that ain’t true.” he argues, but you cut him off. 

“prove it then,” you snap slightly, “prove to me that there’s one person in this world who can treat me and my body right.” you huff, looking away, you expect it to be a dead end then, but to your surprise jj stands up and locks your door. 

little did you know, for this whole conversation, you’ve been teasing jj, hes been doing his absaloute best to hold back, be moral and not corrupt his goddaughter, but after that outburst, he refuses to hold himself back anymore.

“you really want proof sweetie?” he asks, standing over you, “i’ll give you proof. take that little dress of for me and ill give you all the proof in the world.” 

you’re immediately taken aback at his command, did he really just tell you to strip. “what?” you say, slightly incredulously, “you.. you want to be the proof.” 

he smirks, moving closer, “yeah.” his voice lowers, “i think the only reason you think nobody can treat you right, is because you aint had your way with an older man before.” 

you frown, “so you want to.. to.. touch me?” 

he smirks, “consider it a free trial. im exactly what you need sweetheart, older, more experienced. you give me a try, and if you like it then you’ll know what to look for in the future. it’s just a lil favour darlin’. no biggie, what do you say hm?”

you hesitate for a moment. you cant pretend youve never thought about him like that, youve always had a little bit of  crush on him, but for him to offer to have sex with you, thats a whole other thing. but you suppose, if its just once like he says, there couldnt be much harm in it. 

maybe your rational thoughts are clouded by the sadness you feel, but you decide to do it, so you nod. “okay.. okay.. i’ll let you show you what im missing…”

[romulusthethird]

Alt. Universe AU

Listen, Danny didn't mean to fall through that portal and end up in a pool of burning ectoplasm. But here he was, after another annoying meeting with Clockwork about time shenanigans and alternate selves, in said pool of goo.

It felt like he was being burned alive. His mouth opened involuntarily to scream, taking the green liquid into his mouth, into his lungs when he ran out of breath. He screams anew, actually hearing his voice in the dense goo. He sounds like nails digging into a chalkboard and dragging across it.

His Lichtenburg scars light up, glowing an eerie green, almost yellow.

He's going to drown. To actually die.

He kicks his feet, but it's as if he is trying to run in a dream. Too slow. His hands wave above him, pushing down. He kicks, and kicks, and kicks.

He can't breathe.

He's in so much pain--more pain than he's ever felt in his half-dead life.

And then, somehow, someway, he breaks through to the surface.

He gulps in the fresh, clean air with loud wheezes. He's still kicking his weakening legs, still moving his arms. He coughs, moving forward.

His feet touch the ground.

He wants to laugh, and to cry when he finally stands, waist still emerged in the hot ectoplasm. He gags, hacking and coughing, maybe even throws up a little, expelling the green goo back into the pool.

When he looks up, he's in a cave. It's tall and expansive, and he could kiss the damp, disgusting stone a few feet away from him.

He's alive.

He pulls himself out of the water, chest heaving, and lies on his back on the cool stone. His clothes are eaten through and barely resemble clothes. His skin steams and... is he glowing?

He is! His arm looks like he lost a battle with a Edward doll from those twilight movies. He's not sparkling, but it's like a faint shimmer out the corner of your eyes. Like something is trying to enchant you.

Is he some type of Fae?

And his nails... They're claws! Freaking claws! He moves his hand around, wiggling his fingers. They look lethal. Like a mon--

"And what do we have here?" A voice, deep and old, rang out.

Danny startles, not having heard anyone come in (and he has super hearing!) He sits up, hair falling around his face (did his hair grow????) and eyes taking in the old man and the people in black surrounding him.

"Who are you?" The man asks.

"...None of ya business."

"Everything is my business in my domain."

Danny stills. He looks closer at the man. He isn't a ghost, maybe a little liminal, but alive and well. "Who are you?" He shot back. "And what's you 'domain'?"

"Since you managed to find my personal Lazarus Pit, you know what I am. But, I suppose I'll humor you. My name is Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head. This is Nanda Parbat, my domain."

Nanda Parbat? What the heck? Demon's Head? "I don't know you. My name is Danny." Should he be giving random people who appear in caves with green pools of ectoplasm his government name? He doesn't know, but if it goes south he has the power to leave. And maybe that's also in his human form too, now, if the claws were any indication.

The old man hums. "How did you get here Danny?"

"I don't know. One minute I was--" He can't tell him that. That's not something a human should know. Not something someone living should know. "--Y'know at home and the next I'm waking up in this goo pool that burned me."

"You are a poor liar. Why shouldn't I slay you here and now?"

Danny snorts. "You can try."

The man's lips twitch in amusement. "Fascinating. Take him to the dungeons. We'll see how long you can endure before you spill all your secrets, dakhil."

Two men came forward to grab his arms. Danny wants to fight them, really, but he's so tired. He can escape later. For now, he lets these men pick him up and take him out of the cave and into what looks like a medieval castle.

"Do be careful not to damage him further before I can see to him."

Maybe that should scare Danny, but it doesn't. He's dragged past a courtyard full of training people, including a boy, lightning quick, fighting against a woman.

Their eyes meet--his, and the shocking blue of the stranger--before he is dragged further into his new temporary home.

He is leaving. He just needs to rest first.

Yes.

Rest...

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So, the plan for this AU is essentially, Dami never went to Gotham at the tender age of ten, and is still in the league (We are ignoring the "Ra's needs his body" canon because that does not fit here) and is still the heir. He's still his little murdery assassin self. I wanna say Danny is 15 here, (we are ignoring ALL CANON in this household today because Danny is not the ghost king and I can't remember shit about the tv show rn so my plan is like, he's strong right, but not like op insane, but like on par with superboy right, and he does errands for clocky and maybe goes through time/dimensions for him idk. I might make him come across half alien (like in those fics where hes kryptonian or martian, you get what I'm saying right) in this idk we're gonna find out together) and Dami is 16. The plan is to have Dami and the Danno fall in wuv and abscond to gotham together, for the glorious scene of "the son you never knew you had" showing up w his boyfriend. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. (the second part is already in my brain but I was up all night watching movies so you get this now, and that later.)\\

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(also if you've read my shit before, and even if you haven't, I know that Dakhil isn't technically correct, since its using the wrong alphabet, and is not even remotely written how it sounds, but I purposefully do not use the correct alphabet because that is not what the character will hear. They won't hear دخيل, they're going to hear sounds and they won't be able to see the alphabet, so I figured why not just put the closest equivalent so readers can kinda understand what the character, in this case danny, is hearing? idk maybe it's stupid, but I digress. thanks for coming to ted talk numero 2)

(Also 2.0, the word means intruder.)

(i had something else to tell you, but I am genuinely fighting for my life against this headache rn. You cry a few dozen times watching Interstellar and suddenly you and your brain have beef)

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(Lmaoo I remembered. it took me a sec, and the light from my computer is hurting my eyes, but I got distracted right, and remembered--

I almost had danny lie and tell them his name was Dante (which is what a lot of fanfic writers use for Dan) and was tempted to have him impersonate the other danny, and then when clockwork catches wind of his act, have dante come rescue him and get simultaneously confused and angry:

Dante coming to rescue his hopeless alt self Danny: wtf man why are you impersonating me? Danny-Dante, gasping dramatically: what do you mean you're Dante? I've always had this name! My great aunt Tilda gave it to me at the 75th annual Fenton christioning. Are you an imposter? Have you come to harvest my eggs? Dante: You don't have eggs Dante: and what the actual fuck is a christioning Danny-Dante: HA! see? Imposter. Doesn't even know about the christionings. Dante: you made that up Danny-Dante: Prove it. And so the other Danny went back to their dimension to see if so-called "Christionings" are real. He has to wait a year, and when he comes back, he is traumatized. A year later, Dante at Danny-Dante's door: I'm moving in. Danny-Dante: Did you bring Ellie?" Dante, shuddering: No... she enjoyed it. Danny-Dante: Oh god. come in come in. Hopefully she comes to her sense before yultol. Dante, dreading the answer: what is yul-- Danny-Dante: You don't want to know. You really, really don't.

That spiraled but yk. thanks for coming to my fifth ted talk. Bye)

[choccy-zefirka]

Emergency Follow-Up Book Club Meeting

[Won't really make sense if you don't read Part 1 first, but Tumblr will hide this post if I add a link, so search "book club" on my blog]

Attending: Bellara, Harding, Lucanis, Neve, Davrin, Taash, Emmrich, Rook

Book: Adventures of Dolor the Daring, Volume 49, by I. L. Literatus Evaraas Mercar (Rook)

Notes taken by: Neve (Bellara was too overexcited to hold a quill)

Notes:

Important preface: This will likely be the serial’s last volume ever to be published. According to the paper sellers and my own sources, there is currently a lot of public outrage around the scene where Dolor gets hit by an enemy mage’s ice spike and, aside from wounding them for dramatic suspense, it also shatters a glamor amulet around their neck, revealing that they were not a human, but a Qunari all along. Reactions from (human) readers have included, to my knowledge: verbose letters to the publisher decrying the serial’s “forced diversity” in character backgrounds, as apparently it was already bad enough that the supporting cast is “teeming” with elves and dwarves; threats to the author as an “agent of the Qun” trying to “falsely paint their kind in a positive light”; laments from anguished mothers that their children will now think that the “oxmen” are all friendly heroes (I would point out that children have no business reading crime serials in the first place, but we know there’s no stopping a particularly determined twelve-year-old with a yearning to see a throat slit); and even high-brow critical essays insisting that Dolor has so far proven themselves to be far too quick-witted and intelligent to be a Qunari.

Rook opened the meeting by going over all of the above; which, according to them, was precisely what they feared when they picked up writing as a hobby. “It didn’t take you too long to figure out that Dolor’s adventures are based on my own,” they said, looking at me specifically (they did not seem angry, at least; though I suspect that Rook has trained their facial muscles not to betray them when they are angry, to put humans at ease). “But do I look like someone these adventures might happen to? In most people’s eyes, at least?”

Bellara and Harding disrupted the meeting to give Rook a hug.

Taash further disrupted the meeting with an offer to beat up every qalaba that made them feel like this. Lucanis supported them and volunteered his services to do it “more elegantly but also more permanently”. The offer was appreciated, but graciously declined.

Davrin asked if Rook regretted revealing Dolor’s true identity. Rook said they did not, and added that it was not a revelation, but a last-minute twist, which never would have happened if it were not for us. “I have been avoiding your book clubs because I was so embarrassed about my little secret… But it turns out I never had to hide it. Not from you.”

BEL, I CAN SEE YOU LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER. I AM NOT GETTING SENTIMENTAL. I AM JUST KEEPING AN ACCURATE RECORD!

Harding said that she found Dolor’s sendoff to be “quite lovely”, and in her mind, they are still out there, fighting evil mages on the streets of Tevinter as their true self, with their friends by their side.

Bellara stopped trying to contain herself and erupted into enthusiastic gushing about the final scene, where the heroes get a moment to breathe as the villain is dragged away by a very Rana-like templar, and the mage Flosculus gently tends to Dolor’s wounds. In the previous volume, Dolor assumed that their feelings for Flosculus were not reciprocated, and decided to bottle them up. This volume still ends before the two can have an open conversation — but the delicate touches of the healer’s glow-infused hands all across Dolor’s bandaged torso, and the soft whispers asking them to tell him where it hurts “had more spice than the one romance we read that made Lucanis walk out of the room in a straight line”.

I am inclined to agree.

Emmrich laughed at no, that would be too mean-spirited; let’s say, was very amused by Bellara’s stumbling over the word “spice” and told her, “You can say eroticism, dear. That was the intent, after all.”

Rook has quite a few vitiligo spots on their otherwise slate-grey face, and that makes it a little more obvious when blood rushes to their cheeks. Which it certainly did in that moment — as they admitted the healing scene was Emmrich’s idea, and they merely “did their best” to commit it to paper.

To which Emmrich said, “And you described everything marvelously, my darling. I hope you know that all of us in this room are deeply grateful to you for sharing your work with us”.

I am also inclined to agree with that last part. But also, let it go on record that Emmrich held Rook’s hand while talking. If he ever blinks those big eyes at me again and claims that he had “no idea” everyone in the Lighthouse knew about him and Rook, I will just point to the evidence.

The meeting concluded with everyone reassuring Rook that, despite what happened to the Dolor serial, they should never stop writing. Harding even said, tearing up a little, that Varric would be proud. That made Rook blush again; are they finally beginning to process what happened? I cannot be certain.

Once we settled down, dice were rolled to choose the next book. It is Emmrich’s turn now.

Taash begged him, with a groan, not to choose any of the “thousand-page academic shit”. He protested that he has amassed “quite a collection of enjoyable romance stories” over the years — and took Rook’s hand in his again.

I see you, old man.

[writingtraumaforever]

Some Fun Hedgehog Facts From A Hedgehog Breeder:

•They can’t see very good. Like at all. Practically blind. And this only amplifies if they are albino. They rely on their noses mostly to navigate their way. But they often fall over edges or high places because their depth perception is atrocious.

•They do run circles around each other when trying to figure out if another hedgehog is a potential mate. It’s called circling. <3

•They also do a thing called ‘courting’. And you know they’re doing this because they make loud snorting and huffing sounds at each other. It’s like flirting for them.

•Hedgehogs can make some crazy noises while mating. Like huffing, clicking, and even screaming. Yes. Screaming.

•Hedgie pregnancies are usually only slightly over a month long.

•They do this thing called ‘quilling’. It’s like their version of teething. They lose all their baby quills over time so their big boy/girl quills can grow in their place. This is actually quite painful for them (as teething is for human babies) because their big quills are growing through the tiny holes their baby quills were in. They can be pretty irritable during this time, especially touchy on their backs.

•They do this thing called ‘anointing’ which a lot of people find disgusting, but I’m always so honored when it happens to me. It’s when they smell a scent they like and want to remember, so they capture it in their spit and anoint themselves by licking all over their quills to spread that scent on themselves. Hedgehogs often do this to their owners when they feel safe with them. It’s also really silly because they’re practically drunk when they do this and just kinda roll and flop around while they do it helplessly.

•Trigger Warning, this is a death one. When a hedgehog dies, they aren’t limp and soft. They often puff their quills out as a last act of self defense while they’re peacefully fading away. This means they’re very poky when you find them dead, almost too painful to even pick up without gloves on..

•Playing-wise, they like to dig. Like a lot. If you ever have a pet hedgehog, make sure you have them a little pit of something to be able to dig around in. They also like sticks and wooden toys to bite and chew and drag around. They also have a habit of finding tunnels to run through. If you get an empty toilet roll and stick it in their cage, they often will stick their heads in it to try and crawl through, but end up with it stuck to their heads and run around like crazy trying to get it off. This doesn’t seem to bother them, though, as they immediately stick their heads back in to do it again. It’s like a fun game for them. They also LOVE to run. More space, the better. Or a running wheel does them wonders. Never get your small pet one of those balls to run around in, though, as the slits in them for oxygen often result in their little toes getting stuck and broken in them.

•When first brought to a new home, those first few days with them are VERY important as they don’t trust easy. Again, they know people by their scents, so you often need to lay an old shirt of yours in their cages/beds to let them get to know your smell. And NEVER handle them with gloves out of fear of being poked. They’ll never feel safe being held by you otherwise.

•When they yawn, they look like frikkin Godzilla with how their whole face opens up. It’s terrifying but hilarious.

•When hedgehogs are in distress, they cry. I’m not talking whining or whimpering. I’m talking sounding identity to a human infant crying. Loud and hard. Look it up. It’s crazy and will scare you to death in the middle of the night.

•They’re nocturnal. Super active at night.

•They aren’t born with quills, that would be a painful birth for the mothers. They look more like tiny naked mole rats at first, then their quills grow over the first few days.

•They’re very huffy. Especially as babies. They jump and lunge with their quills stuck out over their face to try and scare off whatever is touching them or defend themselves and show they don’t wish to be disturbed. This jumpscares a lot of people when they first get them and they’re not use to it. Sounds similar to what you’d imagine a snake’s rattle sounds like but very brief and quick.

•If they get too cold, they’ll go into hibernation. Which can be super dangerous and actually result in their death. So they need to be kept heated and toasty.

I’ll add more as I think of them. :3

[webbluvrsugar]

through and through. S.R fanfiction. CHAPTER ONE.

➠ fanfic masterlist ৎ୭

content warning: angst, lowkey mean Spencer, female reader, no use of y/n.

You knew that no matter how much Hotch begged for your help on a case, coming back was a mistake.

You figured it out when you’ve just walked into the BAU and Spencer’s eyes met yours, a flick of disappointment and hurt was pretty evident in the brunette’s eyes and honestly, you wanted to quit that mission right there, you wanted to leave and tell Hotch that you wouldn’t be able to do it — but that would’ve made you even more of a coward than you already are.

You didn’t need any introductions to team, they already knew who you were, the point was.. why were you here? That’s what Spencer asked himself. Were you here to work on a case, would you be gone after? Were you here to you with his heart just to leave to another state entirely? Again?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to know, in fact, he didn’t want anything to do with you from the moment you walked in that room, he even gave up on his usual cup of coffee because you two were not about to have this conversation, you were not just going to come back here after all those months with no contact and then act like nothing happened, that was not happening because it did, something did happen and he suddenly feels like a fool for leaving all those voicemails when you came to the BAU with just a phone call from Hotch.

Turns out you didn’t change your number like he thought.

It’s clear why Hotch wanted you back on the team, you’ve always been a great addition to it and, with a harder case in hands, he should’ve expected it. He just didn’t think that you returning back would affect him so much, he can’t think, he can’t do his own job as profiler correctly because all he can think about is you — and maybe that is exactly why you two should’ve never gotten with each other, you’d end up hurting yourself or the team. Foolish as it seems, he still hoped it was different.

And now, as you investigate the house of another missing girl, he’s trying hard to avoid you, but you don’t make it easier for him.

You approach him slowly at first, pretending to look for clues, that is until, you actually talk to him. “Spencer, I —“ you try to speak, instead of running away this time, he interrupts you.

“You found a new lead?” He asks, you shake your head.

“No I just wanted to..”

“Then we don’t need to talk at all.” He tries not to come off as rude, but he does.

You should stay quiet and accept it that he doesn’t want to talk now and won’t want to talk soon but that voice in your head… “Spencer, I’m trying to explain, I want to apologise to you.”

You could’ve sworn he saw red from the harshness he closed the girl’s drawer. “I don’t want any apologies from you, this is not the time nor the place for you to start amends with people you lost — a little girl is missing and we need to focus on that.” He scrolls through the bottom drawers now. “And don’t talk to me about what you wish you had done because it’s not what you did.”

To an extent, his words are fair, but the fairness of them still doesn’t help to ease the pain you felt when he spoke like that to you, because it’s not the Spencer you know. It’s the Spencer you’ve seen talking to an unsub — because that’s what you feel like, he’s talking and treating you like you’re some kind of perp and.. that’s not the Spencer you know, it will always be the Spencer you love but not the one you know.

And it hurts to see that he doesn’t even want to look and you when you leave the girl’s house and meet back with team.

Sure, you have a new lead now but.. you’re forced to dealwith a broken heart.

You wonder if this is what he felt when you left.