#I don’t even think it was intentional at first

[ditzydoe444]

think i need someone older ૮₍˶ •. • ⑅₎ა ♡

age gap and size difference! jason x innocent! reader

jason todd smut

you were the sweetheart of the town, the innocent girl who pranced around offering baked goods to your neighbours and offering to help out. you were the one hosting the town’s small events, like markets, charities and even festival. everyone loved you for your kind heart and pure intentions.

you were currently tending your garden patch, where you saw your neighbour jason working on his car. it wasn’t unusual, during the summer months like right now, it has been pretty common to see your neighbour working on his car… shirtless. despite how prim and proper you were, you couldn’t help but to stare, it was a meaningless action, just appreciating the view that’s all..

but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it, you purposely slowed down your gardening to have more time to gawk at him. “sweet heart, why don’t you go and give him some of your cookies? he rarely interacts with anyone, maybe it’ll be good thing.” your dad spoke up as he hosed the garden down. eagerly you nodded, quickly wiping the dirt that stained your knees and hands.

you pranced to his driveway in your tiny white dress offering him some cookies before insisting you could help him whilst he worked on his car. however when he went for a break, you unaware and inexperienced pounced on his lap. quickly though you got embarrassed, what were you thinking? but he didn’t pull away, pulling you closer and his grip tight around your waist. you felt something inbetween his legs, and you moved against it. the feeling was too good, and so new, it wasn’t long before you created a damp spot in between his jeans, bouncing on his clothed cock.

though one thing led to another and jason was currently balls deep in you. “didn’t think a pretty thing like you would be into me, hm?” he cooed softly, in your ear. currently you were bouncing on his fat cock, on his old rugged couch. you were shy, covering your bare body at first but he kissed you roughly, holding your hands back at first so there was no possible way you could hide from him. he allowed you to take your time, being so patient and giving you a small kiss on your cheek for each inch you took, before his fat cock was shoved in you.

“doin’ so well for me,” he praised, he was gentle with you, after knowing it was your first time. “aren’t you the sweetest thing ever, hm?” he mumbled softly as one of his hand softly caressed your cheek. you whined as you bounced, the bulge of him was obvious through your stomach, and your tight cunt was squeezing him so, so hard. his other hand held your waist tightly, being the gentleman jason was, obviously he wasn’t going to let you do all the work, bouncing and thrusting you up easily with his hips.

the hand that was on your waist dropped down your hips, squeezing the soft flesh there before rubbing your clit harshly. “i think this is the prettiest thing i’ve ever seen,” he groaned, you were so, so tight. “neighbour sweetheart bouncing and taking my cock so well,” the words only motivated you further. your knees were weak and stamina was running low for you, but hearing his praises and occasional grunts made the whole thing bearable. both of his hands went to your hips, gripping it tightly, before thrusting up harder than before. the sudden movement made you squeal and whine, your hands immediately gripping his broad muscular shoulders, letting him take you.

a new sensation was now bubbling up in your stomach, something you never felt before. “j-jay, something feels weird,” you whined, clinging onto him as he continued to thrust deeper and deeper. “it’s nothing to worry about sweet thing, just let it go yeah?”

though you shook your head, the feeling was too new, and too much. “c-can’t” you whined, but your resolve was crumbling quickly, his large hands squeezing at where he was buried deep in you. “you can, and you will,” jason grunted, his movements not faltering one bit. “just hold onto me ok?”

you nodded, clinging onto him tighter, before you even knew it, you came all over his fat cock. “there we go, wasn’t that hard was it now?” he grinned, wiping some of the hair that was stuck to your forehead. you pant, your head placed on his shoulders though his movements didn’t stop. “think you can give me one more?” you didn’t know, but the feeling was too good, and god you wanted way more.

it wasn’t long before you squirted, painting it all over his cock. “pretty little thing, all this for me,” he groaned before he filled you up. a white ring finally formed at the base of his cock, “never thought i would be filling up the prim and proper neighbourhood sweetheart?” he groaned. jason and flipped the two of you over, cuddling on top of the rugged couch before you went for the second round.

[secretmaniacc]

RIDE OR DIE

Parings: The salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: Two fierce recruiters, locked in a heated rivalry over who can secure the most players, strike an unusual deal: whoever wins the next recruit gets to drag the other out to dinner. But when tempers flare and egos clash, their “game” turns into a battle of wits, slaps, and simmering tension. What starts as a simple challenge spirals into something far more unpredictable—because in their world, nothing ever goes as planned.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, dom!salesman x baddie oc, teasing, work rivals, kissing, fingering sex, mentions of blood, slapping, maybe something else that I don’t remember.

Wc: 5.4k

A/n: this is my first post and idk how do you use tumblr and I can’t even add warnings cuz idk what should I warn about but I hope y’all can enjoy wtv the hell I wrote, English isn’t my first language so no attacking. Not proofread. This is so bad ik.

The dimly lit café hummed with quiet chatter, the occasional clatter of cups breaking the tension in the air. She adjusted her sunglasses, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward, her fingers tapping softly against the edge of the table. The man seated across from her was sweating through his cheap dress shirt, his eyes darting nervously to the plain white envelope she'd slid toward him just moments ago.

"Inside that envelope," she began, her voice calm but charged with intent, "is the answer to all your problems. Every overdue bill, every phone call you're dodging, every sleepless night. All gone."

He hesitated, staring at the envelope like it might bite him. "I don't know... I mean, this doesn't sound—"

"—legal?" she finished for him, leaning back casually. She tilted her head, the smirk widening. "You'd be right. It's not. But when has that ever stopped you before?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bingo, she thought, watching him flounder. That reaction told her everything she needed to know.

"Think about it," she pressed, her voice dropping an octave, almost a whisper. "A few games. A few hours. And then you walk away with enough money to start fresh. No more debt. No more hiding."

He reached for the envelope, his hand trembling. But just as his fingertips brushed the edge of it—

A familiar voice cut through the air. "Amateur move, don't you think?"

Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person could manage to sound both smug and bored in the same sentence.

"Go away," she said flatly, her tone ice-cold.

But of course, he didn't.

"I mean, honestly," the salesman continued, sliding into the booth beside the man like he owned the place. "Laying it all out like that? Where's the finesse? The mystery? The intrigue?"

She finally turned her head, pushing her sunglasses down just enough to meet his eyes. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Not when I'm right," he replied, flashing her that infuriatingly cocky smile.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, and gave him a sweet, fake smile in return. "Right about what? Annoying the hell out of me? Congratulations, you've mastered the art."

The man between them shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from her to the salesman and back again. "Uh, I should probably—"

"You're not going anywhere," she said sharply, cutting him off. She reached for the envelope and slid it back toward the man with deliberate slowness, her gaze never leaving the salesman. "You want to talk about finesse? Fine. Let's talk about your pitch. What is it this time? Another mysterious slap game in the subway? Real creative."

He laughed, the sound low and easy, and leaned back in the booth. "What can I say? It works."

"Until it doesn't," she shot back.

"Why don't we let him decide?" he countered, gesturing to the man, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

She turned her attention back to her target, her expression softening. "You want to trust him? Go ahead. But let me ask you this: When he disappears into thin air after taking his cut, who's going to be there to clean up the mess? Not him."

The salesman's grin faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make her smirk.

"Fine," he said, standing abruptly and brushing imaginary lint off his suit jacket. "He's all yours. Let's see if your little sob story gets him to bite."

"Gladly," she replied, leaning back with a victorious gleam in her eyes.

But as he turned to leave, he leaned in close, just enough for his breath to brush against her ear. "Next time, sweetheart, try not to play so dirty. It's almost cute how hard you're trying to beat me."

She didn't flinch, didn't react, even as her grip tightened on the edge of the table. He chuckled softly and walked away, leaving her with the trembling man and the lingering scent of his cologne.

"You should take the deal," she said finally, sliding the envelope across the table one last time. "Before someone else comes along and makes it worse for you."

This time, he took it without hesitation.

As she left the café, she spotted the salesman leaning casually against a lamppost outside, twirling a coin between his fingers.

"You owe me," she called out, not breaking stride.

"For what?"

"For not strangling you in there."

His laugh followed her down the street, a sound that stuck in her head longer than she cared to admit.

Next day

She pushed the door to the briefing room open with a little more force than necessary, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. He was already there, of course, leaning back in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table like he owned the place. The sight made her want to turn around and walk right back out.

The office reeked of stale coffee and carried the faint metallic tang of the envelopes they used to seal people's fates. Spotting their shared desk, she sauntered over and dropped into her chair, leaning back with a casual air. Her red-tipped nails drummed a steady rhythm against the table, a small but deliberate sound to break the silence.

"So," she started, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut, "how many desperate souls did you con into signing today?"

"You're late," he drawled, not even bothering to glance up from the notepad he was scribbling on, "I've already got a head start."

She ignored him, tossing her clipboard onto the table with a loud thwack. "Four recruits," she announced, while sitting in the chair across from him.

That got his attention. He arched an eyebrow, finally glancing up. "Four? That's cute."

Her lips twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Better than your three."

The smug grin he'd been wearing all evening faltered for a split second, and the sight was immensely satisfying. He quickly recovered, sitting up straighter and folding his arms over his chest. "Who says I only got three?"

"I saw you at the station earlier," she shot back. "Your guy ran off before you could even give him the envelope."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "He came back. Took the bait. Easy money."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge whether he was bluffing. With him, it was impossible to tell. He could sell a lie as easily as breathing, and she hated how good he was at it.

"Let's see the proof, then," she said, gesturing to his notepad.

He hesitated, just long enough for her to pounce.

"Liar," she said smugly, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," he admitted, tossing the notepad onto the table. "Three. But mine were quality recruits. You're probably scraping the bottom of the barrel as usual."

She bristled at that, her fingers curling into fists under the table. "Quality? The last guy you brought in was a drunk who passed out halfway through the first game."

"And he still made it further than your little college dropout," he countered.

"That dropout lasted three games," she snapped. "And he made us more money than any of your recruits ever have."

"Us?" He laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Sweetheart, there is no 'us.' This is a solo game, remember? And right now, you're losing."

The word sweetheart grated against her nerves, but she forced herself to stay calm. She wasn't about to let him see how much he was getting under her skin.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said coolly, pulling out a pen and jotting down the day's numbers on her clipboard. "Meanwhile, I'll be over here actually doing my job."

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached across the table and snatched the clipboard out of her hands.

"Hey!" she protested, but he held it just out of her reach, flipping through the pages with a smug grin.

"Let's see... Ah, there it is," he said, tapping the page with the end of her pen. "Four names. Not bad. But you forgot to include the part where they all looked ready to bolt the second you left."

She lunged for the clipboard, but he pulled it back again, chuckling under his breath. "Careful now," he teased. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, would we?"

She glared at him, her jaw tightening. "Give it back."

"Say please."

"Go to hell."

He laughed again, but this time, he relented, sliding the clipboard across the table. She snatched it up, smoothing the crumpled pages with deliberate care.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

"And yet, you keep coming back," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

She bit back the retort that was on the tip of her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. Instead, she focused on her clipboard, pretending he didn't exist.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it.

"You know, you're lucky you have me as competition."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I keep you on your toes," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Admit it. If it weren't for me, this job would be boring as hell."

"Boring?" she repeated, her tone icy. "You think ruining people's lives is boring?"

"Don't get all self-righteous on me," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We both know you enjoy the thrill just as much as I do."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn't wrong, and they both knew it.

"Speaking of thrill," he continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how about a little wager?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of wager?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Next recruit wins."

"Wins what?" she asked warily.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Bragging rights. And dinner."

She snorted. "You think I'd let you take me to dinner?"

"Who said I'd be taking you?" he shot back, his grin widening. "You'd be taking me."

The audacity of it made her laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the sterile room.

"Fine," she said, standing up and smoothing her pencil skirt. "But don't cry when you lose."

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie. "Worry about yourself."

With that, she grabbed her clipboard and swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.

Later That Night

The neon lights of the city cast a harsh glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the restless hum of nightlife. Cars honked in the distance, their headlights cutting through the mist rising from sewer grates. She stood near the entrance of a seedy-looking diner, a faint flicker of its neon sign sputtering above her. The air smelled of fried food and rain-soaked pavement, but she didn't notice. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd like a predator hunting for its next meal.

She didn't need long to spot potential. It was always the same—the defeated ones, with slumped shoulders and darting eyes. They carried their desperation in their posture, wearing it like a beacon.

Her instincts honed in on a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit leaning against a lamppost. He clutched a briefcase to his chest like it was his last lifeline, his lips moving silently, perhaps rehearsing excuses or trying to summon courage to return home empty-handed.

Perfect.

Before she could move, a faint ripple of awareness prickled at the back of her neck. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Stalking me now?" she asked, her tone sharp but low enough to remain unnoticed.

"Just observing," came his smooth reply, closer than she expected. "Wouldn't want you accusing me of cheating."

Her lips twitched, almost betraying a smile, but she held it back. "You can't cheat at something you're already losing."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, and she could feel the smirk in his voice without even glancing back.

She pushed his presence to the back of her mind, focusing instead on her target. With a subtle breath, she strode forward, heels clicking against the pavement, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the street. She approached the man with the kind of confidence that disarmed even the wariest prey.

"Rough night?" she asked, her voice soft and sympathetic, like the purr of a cat just before it strikes.

The man flinched slightly, his tired eyes meeting hers with a flicker of suspicion. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

She tilted her head, her expression warm but unreadable. "Well," she said, slipping an envelope from her jacket pocket and holding it out to him, "what if I told you there's a way to turn your luck around?"

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking between her face and the envelope as if weighing the risks. Behind her, she felt his presence again, closer this time. The faintest shuffle of shoes on asphalt told her he was watching, and she resisted the urge to smirk. This one was as good as hers.

Just as the man reached out to take the envelope, a hand shot over her shoulder and plucked it from her grasp.

"Now, now," he said, stepping into view with that maddeningly smug grin, twirling the envelope between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. "Let's not rush things."

Her jaw tightened, the air around her practically crackling with tension. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp.

"Just helping out," he replied, unfazed by her glare. With a deliberate slowness, he handed the envelope back to her, throwing in a playful wink that made her blood boil.

The man, caught in the crossfire, glanced between them, his confusion turning into hesitation. "Uh... Is this some kind of scam?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, his tone dripping with practiced reassurance. His smile widened, radiating a charm that seemed almost genuine. "We're just offering a little game. High stakes, high rewards. Interested?"

The man hesitated, his grip on the briefcase tightening. "What kind of game?"

"It's simple," he said, crouching and slamming the folded paper onto the pavement with a sharp snap. "You use your own tile and try to flip mine. If you win, you keep the envelope and some extra cash." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, fanning them out enticingly.

"And if I lose?"

He smirked, the gesture sharp and taunting. "Then I get to slap you. Fair trade, don't you think?"

The man recoiled, his skepticism deepening. "What kind of twisted game is this?"

"Just a little fun," the salesman said, his tone light but unyielding. "Besides, no one plays if they think they're going to lose. Are you scared you'll lose?"

She suppressed a groan. He always did this—pushing just hard enough to make them take the bait.

"Or, you take the envelope and walk away, no games required." She suggested.

Her rival's chuckle was low, almost teasing. "Where's the fun in that? And where's the money he so desperately needs, Let him decide."

The man glanced at the envelope, then at the money, and finally at the salesman's smirk. "Fine. I'll play."

Her rival's grin widened. "Excellent.", gesturing toward a nearby alleyway. "Let's make this quick."

She followed them into the dimly lit alley, her annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. He always turned everything into a game, always needed to prove he was one step ahead

He handed the man a folded paper tile, stepping back and gesturing for him to begin. The man crouched, his hand trembling slightly as he slapped his tile against the one on the ground. It barely budged.

"Not bad," the salesman said, picking up the tile. "But let me show you how it's done."

He crouched, his movements fluid and confident. With a sharp snap, his tile slammed down, flipping the man's effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, he straightened and grinned. "Looks like I win this round." He raised his hand, his smirk deepening.

The man flinched, bracing himself, but the salesman stopped short, hovering just close enough to make him sweat. Before delivering a slap that echoed through the alleyway like a gunshot. The man staggered back, holding his cheek with a mix of shock and indignation.

"Oh my—" she whispered, flinching

The salesman, unfazed and borderline proud, grinned down at the man. "another round?."

The man blinked, rubbing his face. "don't you think this was abit painful?"

"Wasn't this our deal?"

"Alright, I'll go again," the man exclaimed, determination etched on his face. He grabbed the colored tile with trembling fingers and slammed it down with force.

The tile on the ground barely budged.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Minutes passed, and the man refused to give up, his voice hoarse as he repeatedly asked for another round. His face, now blotched with red and purpling bruises, told the story of his futile persistence.

Growing impatient with the drawn-out game and the waste of her time, she decided to intervene. Not only had her rival stolen her recruit, but he was also dragging this nonsense far longer than necessary.

"I'll go easy on you this time," she heard him say, his voice laced with mock compassion.

"Or," she interjected sharply, pulling a thick stack of cash from her pocket, "you let me take over and raise the stakes."

Her rival's brows lifted, amusement lighting up his face. "Feeling brave, are we?"

"I just like winning," she retorted, her tone clipped as she handed the cash and envelope to the bruised man. "I don't think you have a reason to continue this."

The man hesitated for only a moment before greed overtook him. He snatched the envelope and money from her outstretched hand, shoving them hastily into his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered, practically sprinting into the crowd and out of sight.

She turned, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto her rival. "Happy now? You scared him off."

He smirked, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and calculated. "Scared him? I think I made his night."

"Your ego is insufferable," she said, arms crossing over her chest.

"Is it?" he countered, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a maddeningly light touch. "Or is it just that you don't like losing?"

Her pulse quickened at the proximity, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. "I didn't lose. He took my deal."

His smirk deepened, his expression dripping with arrogance. "If that helps you sleep at night."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur. "The game's not over yet. Want to take his place?"

Her breath caught as his fingers grazed hers, sliding the blue tile into her palm before he pulled away. The motion was deliberate, calculated to unnerve her, but she refused to let him win that easily.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her chin upward as she crouched down. Focusing on the game, she slapped her tile against the ground with all the force she could muster.

The crack echoed through the narrow alley, but the result was disappointing—the tile barely shifted.

"Tough break," he quipped, crouching beside her, his voice a teasing whisper. "Maybe you should let me teach you a thing or two."

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and unwavering. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, an electric crackle in the chilly air.

"I don't need your lessons," she bit out, rising to her feet and brushing past him, her jaw tight.

"Alright then," he said with infuriating ease. He crouched effortlessly, his movements smooth as silk. With a single, sharp slap, his tile flipped hers with almost mocking precision.

Standing, he turned toward her, a mock pout curving his lips. "I guess I'll have to slap that pretty face of yours now. May I?" he asked, his voice dripping with a false politeness that made her blood boil.

Her jaw tightened, and she nodded stiffly. Before she could brace herself, his hand connected sharply with her cheek. The slap rang out in the alleyway like a firecracker, her head snapping to the side with the force.

Pain bloomed hot and fast, her body recoiling slightly as she stumbled a step back. She could already feel the beginnings of a bruise forming, the sting radiating from her skin.

Her chest rose and fell as she steadied herself. "Again," she demanded, her voice steely.

This time, she took her turn, and with a fierce slap of her tile, she flipped his. A slow, triumphant grin spread across her face.

"Your turn," she said smoothly, stepping closer.

His smug grin never wavered, even as he leaned in for his next move. The sharp crack of his tile meeting her tile.

he missed.

His tile flipped awkwardly, tumbling off-course and skidding out of bounds. A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but before he could recover, her palm came down with brutal precision. The slap echoed louder this time.

He staggered slightly, his face turning away as her hand left a bright, stinging imprint on his cheekbone. The smirk she wore grew darker, more dangerous. "Losing your touch?" she taunted, her voice mocking.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, merely resetting the tiles and motioning for the game to continue.

The game continued, the back-and-forth intensified, each slap a resounding echo through the narrow alleyway. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, thickening with every calculated strike. Her cheek throbbed, the sting from his earlier slap blooming into a vivid bruise, while his jawline reddened with the marks of her retaliation.

Then she missed.

Her tile spun wildly off-course, landing far from where it needed to be. The mistake was glaring, and he seized the moment without hesitation. His hand came down with brutal force, striking her cheek hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

The impact sent her staggering, and this time, a trickle of blood began to run from her nose. She stood frozen for a moment, her fingers brushing against her upper lip. Crimson streaks stained her pale skin, a sharp contrast that only seemed to embolden her defiance.

She tilted her head back slightly, wiping the blood with the back of her hand, smearing it rather than cleaning it. When she looked back at him, her smirk was intact, as sharp as ever.

"What's the matter?" she teased, her voice biting despite the blood. "that's all what you've got?"

For the first time, his confidence faltered. His hand, raised for the next strike, but then froze mid-air. Her face painted with blood hit harder than any slap, and the hesitation in his expression was palpable.

Before she could press further, he stepped forward abruptly, closing the distance between them in one smooth, deliberate motion. His hand dropped from the air to grip her arm firmly, and he pushed her back against the cold brick wall.

The impact stole the air from her lungs, the rough texture of the wall biting into her back. Yet her smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, her chin tilting upward as if daring him to try harder. His arms came up, caging her in, palms pressed against the wall on either side of her head. Her breath hitched at his closeness, but she refused to let him see her flinch.

His eyes flicked to her nose, catching the blood still trickling down. Slowly, with deliberate precision, he raised his hand.

She braced herself for another strike, but instead, his thumb brushed against her face. The unexpected gentleness of the motion sent a shiver down her spine, though she masked it well. His thumb wiped away the blood, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.

He pulled his hand back, glancing at the crimson streak now staining his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and wiped it clean on her shirt, the motion casual but calculated.

"Better?" he asked, his tone mocking, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Her smirk dissolved into a sharp scowl, her voice snapping as she opened her mouth. "You—"

He cut her off without a word, his lips crashing against hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. The world around them faded as his hand ditched the wall completely, roaming over her body, pulling her impossibly closer.

For a moment, she pulled back, eyes wide with shock, breathless and taken aback as if the kiss had surged through her like electricity, igniting every nerve ending. What had just happened? How had everything shifted in the blink of an eye? But before she could fully process the intensity of her feelings, his grip tightened on her hips, anchoring her in place, and the heat radiating from him was undeniable, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Her heart raced, a wild flutter in her chest that felt like it could lift her off the ground. There was something magnetic in the way he looked at her, a primal pull she could no longer resist. The air was thick with tension, charged with unspoken promises, and just when she thought she might pull away entirely, the fire in his gaze ignited something deep within her.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she leaned back into him, allowing herself to melt against his body. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek, as if memorizing the delicate curve of her features. And then his lips crashed into hers again, hungry and demanding, hungry as though he had been waiting for this moment forever. This time, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to dance with hers in a slow, teasing rhythm that sent shivers down her spine.

She gasped at the sheer sensation, heat pooling in her core as every ounce of tension from earlier evaporated in an instant. The taste of him was intoxicating—warm, slightly sweet, and utterly captivating. Her hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him for more.

He pulled her closer still, his hands roaming over the small of her back, mapping every curve as if he were trying to memorize her with his touch, urging her to lift her legs around his waist. Instinctively, she obliged, feeling the strength of his body as he lifted her effortlessly. she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively urging him to lift her higher, to take her deeper into his embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly—two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their match.

The world around them vanished, a blurred backdrop to this moment where only they existed. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down her jaw, throughout until he meets her neck, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin just below her ear, igniting fire in her veins with each flick of his tongue and gentle bite. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her tightly as if he feared she might slip away. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt electric.

When his lips began to trail again over her delicate skin, she hissed, "You can't leave more marks; they'll know."

He paused, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, a teasing light in his eyes. "How would they know it's me?" he murmured against her skin.

"The cameras," she whispered, referring to the implanted devices on both their jackets that monitored their work. But just as the words left her lips, she felt his mouth curl into a smirk against her neck.

"Then we might as well give them a show and leave as many marks as I want." He falls back into her skin, his lips teasing the flesh between his teeth as he moves to mark her as his own. His lips pause at one of the pulse points on her neck, noticing how her heartbeat quickens and flutters. Was this typical?

He wasn't sure, but he finds himself praying it's a good thing. A chuckle escapes him as her hands grow desperate, pulling at the back of his head, stifling a groan. "Easy, girl."

"Remember when you said you'd never kiss me? That I wasn't worth it?" she teases, a playful smile flickering on her lips.

"Fuck, did I really say that? I don't recall," he replies, feigning shock.

"Just saying that because you can't make me come," she laughs softly against him, and he can't help the way a small smile curves his lips. His fingers slip underneath her skirt, pushing past the hem of her panties. He finds her wetness already coating his fingers. "Can't make you come yet you're so wet for me, hm?"

She bites her lip, allowing her hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelops her thoughts. Though he's unsure of what exactly to do, he has overheard other men discussing this, and he hopes it delivers as much pleasure as they say when he dips a finger inside her. She's loose around him, wet, eagerly sucking him in. He quickly adds another finger, finding his rhythm almost immediately and growing bold. He dares to let his thumb tease the edges of her clit.

He notices the way her nails dig into his shoulders, biting her tongue so hard that crimson might seep forth at any moment.

The salesman had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, yet none had reacted the way she did. They were quick to show their responses, every emotion not hidden behind a curtain of embarrassment; yet now, despite the situation, she found herself shy about making noise. He allows another finger to push inside her, the pink velvet of her insides gripping him. He hears her gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. His thumb finds her clit again, and that's when her grip becomes lethal, biting her lip no longer serving as a guard for her moans.

"Please," she mumbles, whimpering.

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"I... I need you," she moans, surprising herself with her confessions to a man so dangerously psychotic, one who has killed and toyed with lives—this was something she swore she would never do. Yet here she was, becoming intimate with him, and his touch felt so gentle it was as if his past didn't exist. She can see the vein pulsing in his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes fixed on hers as he moves his hand to his mouth, savoring her taste.

Her pupils dilate at the sight, skin warming before she realizes she's replacing his fingers with her tongue, pressing her mouth against his again. His hand falls to her waist.

Now every kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of urgency and desire. She feels each heartbeat echoing between them. Every brush of their lips sends sparks racing through her veins, igniting every part of her being. It's primal and raw, yet intimately tender, as if they were revealing hidden parts of themselves that only the other could see.

Their lips finally part after what feels like an eternity, both gasping for breath. Foreheads resting against each other, they feel the warmth radiating from their skin, their hearts racing in unison. His eyes flutter open to find her looking up at him, a soft, teasing smile spreading across her face.

"You can put me down now," she breathes, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He reluctantly lowers her to the ground, still holding her gaze, trying to steady himself.

But as soon as her feet touch the ground, she kneels right at his crotch. "That's for not giving me a warning," she laughs, her sound teasing and light.

He winces, a mixture of surprise and discomfort crossing his features as he stumbles back. "Fuck."

She turns with a gleaming smile, beginning to walk away, glancing over her shoulder. "And now... I win. Dinner is on you," she calls back, her laughter lingering in the air.

"We are not done yet!" he calls out one last time, holding himself in pain.

part 2

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.

warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET

notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)

♫ ♪ the worst playlist this man (in progress)

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.

You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.

You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.

A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.

“Excuse me, Miss… Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.

“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”

Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.

Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.

Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.

Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.

“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.

“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”

“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”

The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.

“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.

And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.

…

Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.

You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.

It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.

Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.

Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.

At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.

The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.

He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.

What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.

Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.

His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.

The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.

Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.

So now, was like it was meant to be.

How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.

Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.

With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.

And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.

…

Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.

Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.

“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.

“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.

The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.

“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice…” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”

“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things…” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.

“You sound like an ethnocentric…”

“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.

“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”

His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.

“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination…” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”

“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.

“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.

“I might believe you. I always win…” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.

Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.

“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but… here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.

“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me…” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.

The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.

…

Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.

The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.

It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.

He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.

He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.

After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.

Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.

Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.

“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.

The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.

You swore you saw your salesman.

Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.

“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.

“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind…” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.

But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.

Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.

And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.

You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.

Your salesman was the attacker.

“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.

His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.

It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.

You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.

There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.

You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.

But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.

Your salesman finally found you.

…

“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.

The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.

Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.

“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.

Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.

“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.

“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call…”

He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.

“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.

For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.

“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”

His good girl….

What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.

What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”

He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.

“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.

“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”

Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.

“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir…” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.

“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”

“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.

He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.

Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.

Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.

Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.

“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.

“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.

His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.

It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.

You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.

At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.

Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.

…

When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.

“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”

“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.

He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.

“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”

He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.

Fuck everything, you thought.

I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).

“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.

Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.

Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.

Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.

Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.

You step forward, confidently eyeing him.

“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean…”

He gulped.

His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.

Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.

Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.

You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.

Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.

“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts…” you blurt out, panting for air.

“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless…” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy…”

“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”

“And you won’t have to worry about anything again…” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.

“I don’t need your money”

“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct…”

“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”

It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.

“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.

Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.

As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.

_______________________________________________

If you ask for more I will provide

Quién me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.

[mandarinmoons]

omg i love ur account soo bad, i would rlly like to read about Spencer being jealous of Derek, for the reader to comfort him and try to help with his insecurities, lowk sad ik but pleaseee 🙇🏻‍♀️

Spencer sighed as he watched Derek from afar, talking to a group of women. Each of the girls seemed to be entranced with what the man in front of them was talking about, one of them playing with her hair while the other one kept biting her lip which turned into a not so subtle smirk over time.

Spencer hadn’t had the best luck with women, he had a few take interest in him over time, but it never grew into something serious. He blamed himself for not being the archetype of a man girls would usually want from what he saw and no matter how hard he would try to be more appealing, it just wasn’t him and he wouldn’t be able to keep up the facade for too long.

“What’s on your mind, boy wonder?”

Spencer blinked his eyes as you walked over to him and brought him out of his thoughts. Spencer wondered if he should tell you what’s on his mind or would it be something he would eventually get over after some time. It was hard to hide anything from you though, the sparkle in your eyes made Spencer crack and he’d always tell you whatever it was he was thinking of, you had never judged him for it as well, so he had his answer.

“Y/N, be honest, is there anything about me that’s… unattractive?”

“What do you mean? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.”

“Really?”

You nodded as you took a seat next to Spencer, your hand reaching out and thumb running across the back of his hand. Spencer wasn’t one for physical touch, but whenever you showed it it put him at ease.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I look at Morgan at times, the way he talks to women, how he presents himself, the way he is basically and I don’t know I just… wish I could be that way.”

“I’ve always liked the way that you are. Men similar to Derek put me off at first, it makes me feel like they have other intentions, but when we first met only minutes in and you were talking about the differences between plant and human cells and I thought that it was really fascinating.”

Spencer chuckled as he remembered the day you both had met. He was scared that he had messed up his first interaction with you and that you would stay clear of him whenever you would come across in the bullpen, but you did the exact opposite. You’d always take time out of your day to go talk to Spencer, even if it was the most random subject someone could think of, but you never regretted it and kept coming back for more.

“There are people out there that adore people like you Spencer and I’m proud to say that I’m one of them. Plus, I think you’re cuter than Derek.”

Pressing a kiss to Spencer’s cheek, his eyes went wide as you waved goodbye and he watched you return to your desk, a slight bounce in your step as you strode across the room.

Spencer chuckled as his eyes met the floor, somehow your words set him at ease during times he needed it the most. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve someone like you in his life, but whatever it was he was sure he’d do it a thousand times again to have even one more conversation like this.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

[cheemscakecat]

I high-key think the reason Shifty even wanted the journal so bad and tied Fiddleford up is that he overheard talk about freezing him.

Maybe Ford wasn’t there and it was Mcgucket muttering about it to himself, not thinking Shifty was sapient and understood words.

Imagine living in the same room as the cryogenic chambers, not knowing what they are, and then finding out its freezes living things and you’re the lab rat? The scientist that looks at you like you’re gross and doesn’t like being around you very much said so himself.

And you’ve seen that the nice scientist won’t show you his face, or his journal, or let you go outside. The scientists haven’t put anything in the big tubes in your room, there’s no other test subjects. Maybe the mean scientist is right, maybe they are going to put you in the tube and freeze you!

What’s going to happen to you if they do? You don’t know if the freeze would kill you, you don’t know if it’s meant to keep you alive or not. So you panic.

[Like imagine living in here. Depressing.]

Shifty didn’t stuff Mcgucket into a cabinet and mimic him to be evil, he did it so he could get the journal and find out what the scientist’s true intentions were. Maybe he hoped it wasn’t true, because Stanford was so nice to him. He knew the book held the answers, Ford was writing and reading it in front of him. About him.

Fiddleford was obviously traumatized, but Stanford didn’t mention any injuries. Shifty probably did take his big scary form for the first time when catching Mcgucket, but I don’t think he was actually physically attacked.

The shapeshifter probably would have panicked and tried to escape the bunker if he did read the journal pages, not try to hurt Ford and Fiddleford. It sounds like he was more anxious and scared than anything.

“His throat really did sound awful, but I told him to simply use the cough drops in the first aid cabinet. He grew increasingly insistent that only the journal had the answer.”

”The ‘impostor’ F had been waiting impatiently, shaking involuntarily in his chair. I noticed that his ‘hands’ were so strong they had bent the steel in the armrests.”

”He darted off for the journal, and the instant he stepped inside the cryogenics tube, I slammed the red button, trapping him in. HE SCREAMED and took on a form I’d never seen. He pounded on the glass and froze before my eyes.”

I wouldn’t say Ford abused Shifty, but he and Fiddleford saw the poor kid as an animal and not a sapient alien. They didn’t understand that they were traumatizing a child. They had a right not to want the shapeshifter to mimic them, and to be cautious about it.

Shifty wasn’t in the wrong or “nuts”, he was a kid that panicked and did something reckless because he found out he was being used as a test subject. He didn’t understand why Mcgucket was repulsed by him and his powers, he didn’t understand why humans would be so quick to assume the worst about a shapeshifter.

That being said, Stanford went all over the multiverse, meeting aliens and ending up in worlds where humans aren’t the dominant species. His ideas about sapience have changed over 30 years, regardless of whether or not he ever met more of Shifty’s species.

I think he’d come back to the bunker next summer, because between Stan’s memory loss and Bill’s cursed book, there wasn’t time to try and patch things up with Shifty.

As for Fiddleford, I think his trauma would be an obstacle when it comes to the shapeshifter, but it wouldn’t be impossible for him to understand Shifty better. He lived around other anomalies for 30 years, and got more used to them.

Maybe Shifty unthawed a bit during Weirdmaggedon, when Mcgucket was in the bunker. I think unthawing would be a painful and slow process, and that Fiddleford would be able to see that. Perhaps he decided to speed up the unthawing process instead of repairing the freezing mechanisms. Maybe he was also the one to remind Stanford about Shifty the next year.

People who say Ford abused the shapeshifter, what.

I just read those pages. Fiddleford immediately wanted to freeze him, but Ford wrote, “I've grown attached to the creature.” He wasn't like OH ☝️ I must TORTURE this thing POST HASTE! He found a weird creature while digging and hand fed it some beans. The shapeshifter didn't show signs of being dangerous (besides "watch your fingers")

Ford named him Shifty and did experiments, which involved seeing what forms he could take by showing him a book of animals, and he upgraded his kennel when he grew. Ford considered him a pet, but noted that Fiddleford being raised as a farmhand made him unsentimental toward what he saw as “livestock.”

Ford continued to take care of him until Shifty went nuts and tied Fiddleford up to take his place and steal journal 3. Even as Ford froze the shapeshifter for their safety, he wrote that he felt remorseful for having to freeze his former pet, but even worse that he'd been fooled - and that Fiddleford had paid the price

[jester-lover]

Batfam with a Desi! S/O

CWs: Fem! aligned reader discussions of discrimination, angst, spoilers, but overall fluff

AN: I'm desi and I rarely see desi! reader content out here, so I felt the need to deliver, would love feedback! Also, I'm very new to the Batfamily dynamic, so please don't think anything OOC is intentional.

Bruce

You’ve got to be a really smart person to catch his eye; when you’ve got him, he’s absolutely ensnared by you. Bruce worships the damn ground you walk on, and he respects your culture from the get-go.

As a businessman, he’s met people from all countries. He knows how to behave respectfully towards your family without much nagging. By that I mean, he’ll take his shoes off when he gets to your place.

You know those big gold bangles and accessories you’ve always wanted? You’ll get them. Bruce knows what an investment gold can be, and he’s insistent on only the best for you.

Desi culture is very family-oriented, and while at first, he’s a little put off by how close everyone is, he warms up to it. Your family adores him because they know he can take care of you, and he actually puts in effort to connect with your identity.

He encourages you to wear traditional clothes to every press event you attend, and whenever you’re at desi events together, he’ll wear a kurta too. Imagine going to a desi wedding with a billionaire in tow, and he starts throwing hundreds on the dance floor lol.

You worry about him regarding his double life, but he tries to keep the crime in Gotham away from you the best he can.

Dick

He’s so down bad about you his own teammates make fun of him for it.

Dick would see you doing something like oiling your hair and beg to try it out too, so now you oil his hair once weekly. He tells everyone it’s a secret, but they all know it got better as soon as he was with you.

He would love watching sappy old Bollywood/Tollywood movies with you; the plots and slang might be outdated, but he loves the ornateness of it all. Like he’s a sucker for good background and costume design.

Your family loves how much attention he pays to himself and his body, and he practically soaks in the adoration of any number of little cousins he can pick up and spin around at family functions.

Speaking of functions, you know he’s gonna be in the middle of the dance floor. Does he know even a single song or move? Absolutely he does not, but is he gonna try to replicate SRK from his heart? Yes, he is.

He might shed a little tear the first time he sees you in traditional clothes; you just look so pretty to him. He loves seeing you in lehengas and saris, especially the long, flowy fabric that makes you look like a princess to him.

Jason

I really don’t think your family would like him at first, but he’s committed to you, and he’s gonna be with you as long as you’ll have him. He’ll happily immerse himself in your culture and eventually gain their trust, albeit, hanging on a thread.

Similarly to Dick, he’ll ask for you to try oiling his hair, but he’d love oiling your hair too, helping you tend to it during slow days. 

While none of the other people here would be quiet in the face of you facing discrimination, Jason would be the most willing to cause equal or worse harm. God forbid someone acts rude or racist towards you; they will find their lives slowly falling apart around them. From flat tires to burnt-down houses, he will willingly cause misery for those who have upset you over something you couldn’t possibly control.

Loves to help you cook; seeing a dish come together makes him feel all domestic and giddy inside. Even if it’s something simple, like a cup of chai or basic daal, he loves the richness of the flavors and spice. His spice tolerance is also high, so you don’t need to make your shared meals blander.

Worrying about clothes is a little out of his general interest, but he loves how opulent your traditional clothes are, like the amount of attention to detail and elegance. He thinks you look pretty even after the event, shoes in hand and hair messy after dancing for hours. He’ll carry you to the car if you ask him.

On the topic of clothes, Jason would look so gorgeous in a silky black kurta; I just know it.

Tim

One of my favorite gora pakoras.

He’d love to visit your country of origin someday; warm weather, good food, meeting your extended family—it’s all great for him.

Loves desi sweets so much. His favorites are mostly kulfi and syrupy treats like gulab jamun, but he loves snacks like pakoras.

This is the boy you want to bring home; he’s smart, self-reliant, comes from money, and is willing to keep up with the various traditions we have. Tim will happily learn your language, even if just to greet people respectfully at events. Your desi mom will literally start telling you to act more like him.

He’ll get himself matching kurtas to your outfits if you want him to, even if he kind of just sits around at events. It's not that he doesn’t want to socialize; he’s just a little nervous.

Tim will watch all the Desi rom-coms you want with you, especially the musical ones; they’re his guilty pleasure.

Duke

He’s so sweet, genuinely such a good partner in general, but also so conscious of cultural and social differences. 

Duke Thomas would be the type of boyfriend who carries around extra safety pins whenever you’re in traditional clothes or bobby pins for your hair, just thoughtful in little but important ways.

Running around fighting crime really takes a lot out of a guy, so you know he’d love to eat some hearty food; I think his favorites would be biryani or anything similarly substantial. 

This is the boy who’d spend any spare hour he has listening to you ramble on about family drama that goes back three generations and spans 3 continents. He’ll even help you oil your hair while he’s at it; he’s pretty decent at massaging it into your scalp. 

His favorite clothes on you are the less gown-like desi clothes, like the Shalwar Kameez; Duke thinks you look absolutely adorable in a dupatta.

He adores you so much because of everything that makes you, you. That includes loving your culture.

Barbara

Barbara’s such an ideal girlfriend in any situation, but with a desi partner, she’d really adore exploring your culture with you.

Another one who’d love watching Bollywood/Tollywood movies with you, especially some of the newer ones by more obscure directors, focusing on women’s issues and other elements of modern Desi society.

She would help you do your makeup for formal events, and it will be locked down for the night. Imagine wearing matching lehengas with Barb; she’d look so stunning!

Warms up to your family pretty quickly; she loves sharing chai and biscuits in the morning with them, talking about all the happenings in the city.

Barbara loves desi jewelry; she’d adore it if you got her a piece. She loves seeing you in ornate matching sets, just decked out in glamour.

[rhenuvee]

The Secret Menu [Diluc x reader]

Summary: Diluc's love for you is overflowing, so he wants to find a way to show you... [established relationship]

A/N: Happy new year everyone! Manifesting positive vibes and good health for you all! Sorry for the inactivity again, I am trying to post and interact more but clearly it's difficult aaa

Warnings: Old draft... just trying to get rid of it so sorry if this is cringe and rushed

════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ════

"...What's your favourite drink?"

Diluc asks this one evening you decide to accompany him at the Angel's Share. You're in a safe spot, closest to him of course. He was thinking about something for quite a while- something to surprise you with.

"My favourite drink..?"

You didn't think anything of the question, though you were curious when you saw Diluc's expression- deep in thought, yet spaced out. You give it some thought and he listens attentively as you talk about the drinks you like: You ramble about the sweet fruit juice which was your first drink Diluc gave you at the Angel's Share, the milky drink you had that quenched your thirst on hot days, a flowery drink you had in Liyue that soothed your stomach...

A week passed, and you felt like Diluc was busying himself more. You decided to visit him again at his work, but surprisingly he approached you with a task.

"Could you try these for me?" He places four small glasses in front of you, with the same coloured liquid in them.

"Oh! Is this going to be on the menu?" You ask while examining the liquid curiously before trying them.

"S-Sort of." He replies. He places a glass of water to reset your tastes after each one, as well as a tissue just in case. How sweet, you think, smiling at the thought of his care for you. However, you don't expect even more sweetness when you try each one, the subtle differences on your tongue.

"Mm, they're all really good 'Luc~" He relishes in your delighted expression, eyes closed and smiling for the taste of the drink he made. But just this once there's something else he's anticipating. He waits patiently for your comments as you think of what to say. "Three has a thicker texture, while two has more sweetness from the fruit you added. I'm not sure which one patrons would like more, though..."

"Which one do you like?" Diluc asks straightforwardly. He internally smiles at how sweet yet honest you were with your feedback. But your opinion is what he needs.

"Me?" You ask. And suddenly you feel a hint of something different in the way the asks you this with softness. The way he looked at you so lovingly- well he always does, but it felt like the same look he gave you when he held you close at night, soothing you before finally falling asleep. Or when he arrived with flowers for you when you go on dates. "I like this one the best, but maybe with a bit more of the fruity flavour."

Diluc only quietly nods and immediately gets started on the change you suggested. It is from this response that you wonder what's got him distracted- or rather what he's puzzled about. You've come to know that this is the face he makes when he is thinking hard about something.

"Why do you ask...?" You subtly ask, almost as a whisper. You didn't want to intrude in case this was a secret. You so soft that you weren't sure if he heard you and if you should repeat it. But Diluc always hears your voice. He turns to you, and gives the new and improved drink without saying a word. You're too occupied with the anticipation of the new taste, so you don't notice the blush slowly rising on his cheeks and his furiously beating heart. You take a sip and your eyes widen.

"It's perfect." You blink with a smile, giving him the positive note that he's made it the best. However, you don’t seem to realize his true intention with the drink until you look at your lover’s tender expression.

"It's for you." He says softly, looking at you dearly. He relishes in the moment that your mouth subtly hangs in an O-shape, expressing your surprise.

Yes, your favourite drink. He wanted to make something for you. However, he couldn't paint pictures as good as his father did. Though he can cook, he doesn't think he'll master dishes as well as Adelinde and the other maids. And Diluc would absolutely kill for the ability to make you a piece of jewelry, but his hands are too coarse, he thinks. Not delicate enough to make you something of quality- something perfect for you. He wants to make something from his own hand- that showed his love. And so...

"You made a drink for me?" You repeat in a question, starting to feel emotional. Your hands instantly feel the need to pull your lover closer, and he notices as he complies with your movement, leaning toward you and letting you hook your arms around his neck.

Diluc gives a soft but slow nod, but it's all that's needed to convey his confirmation of love. You share a quick kiss, letting your lips submit to the rhythm he guides you with. His large hand comes over to smooth against the skin of your cheek, then grazes behind your ear. You both pull back, relishing in the short and sweet moment, unable to stop the smiles on your faces.

Though you've been together for a while, you always appreciate his thoughtful gestures and how he reaffirms his love for you more and more. You love the drink Diluc made for you, but most of all, you love him.

════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ════

[morgana-larkin]

Alright so I got this prompt messaged to me by @dreamer-329 : Hi I have read almost all your fanfics and I love them a lot, I saw you are fine with receiving prompts and while I was listening to music this song came on and I got an idea haha

Hearing this song made me think that this would be a perfect club song for Melissa x reader, song is Mi casa su casa by Omar Rudberg, here is what i thought of but you can spin this however you see best fits, Melissa is out with some of the Abbott crew and she sees R dancing and is into them, they briefly bump into each other at the bar ordering drinks but nothing happens until R is dancing to this song and they look at Melissa(who is already watching them) and sing the lyrics while staring intently at her and dancing more provocative by every line they sing (I can see it in your eyes

This is what you came for

Baby, don't be shy

Because you got something I've been wanting

A long, long time

And I got something you've been wanting

That's no crime 'cause

You got a body

I got a body

Let's have a party

Mi casa su casa)

I thought this was a cute and smutty idea and wrote it over the holidays. I just finished it and I definitely had to edit it as I wrote most of it when I was not sober and some of it made no fucking sense. Hope you like it!

On another note: I’m working on 3 other prompts for Mel atm so be patient! Especially as I might need a moment after I saw the dress Lisa wore to the golden globes…😮‍💨

Mi Casa or Su Casa

Warnings: smut, teasing, teacher-student role play (small part)

Words: 2.6k

“I still don’t get why youse dragging me out.” Melissa complains as they all step into a bar.

“Because we all could use some fun after the week we’ve had.” Janine says excitedly and they all find a table to sit at. “I’ll buy the first round, what does everyone want?” Janine asks and everyone gives their order to her and she goes to the bar to order.

Melissa looks around the bar and sees a few people dancing to the song that the DJ is playing. She sees a few other people scattered around the bar, most in conversations with the other people at their table. Janine comes back a few minutes later and passes everyone their drink.

“Here’s to putting up with all the golf course construction.” Jacob says and they all cheers to that.

A couple rounds later and they’re all looser, even Melissa. Melissa then notices a few people walk by the table and she looks to see a few young women walking by. One of them turns around once they find a table and Melissa does a double take.

You decided to go out with your friends after you were ready to come back out after a breakup and one of your friends suggested a bar where you can all dance. You walk into the bar and you pass by a group of people at a table and then one of your friends decides on a table and you turn around to sit in a chair. You look around the bar and you notice a ginger woman staring at you and you smile and wave at her. She smiles back at you and then joins the conversation at her table.

You notice her keep glancing at you and then she goes to get up and walks to the bar. You get up with the excuse of getting the next round even though you just got the previous one and you go to meet her at the bar.

“Hi.” You say and she turns to look at you and you smile.

“Hi.” She says. “I’m Melissa.” She adds on and you shake her hand.

“I’m Y/n. Melissa is a beautiful name, it suits you.” You tell her and she smiles with a slight blush “So I’ve noticed this hot ginger staring at me for the past hour. Would you know anything about that?” You ask her and she pretends to think about it then shakes her head.

“Not a thing, but maybe she thinks you’re cute.” She tells you and you smile.

“Well I think you’re cute as well.” You tell her and then the bartender brings her drinks and she takes them.

“I gotta go bring these to my friends but maybe I’ll see you around.” She says and then walks away, with a slight sway to her hips. You watch her walk away and then the bartender asks what you want to get and you order all the drinks.

You go back to the table with your friends and then they ask you all about that woman you were talking to.

“I don’t know anything about her other than her name is Melissa.” You say to all of them.

“Then go talk to her more, or even go ask her to dance.” One of your friends suggests.

“She’s busy with her friends right now.” You tell them and they look over at the table.

“Go up and ask her to dance.” They tell you. “Or you can dance seductively and get her to come to you.” They add and you think about it and decide to do that. The next song comes on and you get up and go to the dance floor. You know the song that comes on and you also start singing as well as dancing to it.

“Well woman the way the time cold, I wanna be keeping you warm. I got the right temperature for shelter you from the storm.” You sing and move your hips along to the song. You also have your hands up in the air as well as everyone else who’s dancing and it makes your shirt go up and anyone can see your belly button. “Oh lord, girl, I got the right tactics to turn you on. And girl I wanna be the papa, you can be the mom, oh-oh.” You sing out and you quickly glance and see that Melissa is watching you and you smile before you keep dancing to the song. The next song comes a couple minutes later and you instantly recognize the guitar beat.

You swing your hips to the beat before the lyrics start and you decide to go a bit further with your seductive movements to see if she’ll come to you.

“Mi casa su casa. I’ve been watching you all night, over on the dance floor.” You sing out and you look at Melissa and you see she’s still watching you. You decide to keep your eyes on her while you still keep dancing. “I can see it in your eyes, this is what you came for.” You continue while you run your hands down the side of your body and you see Melissa grabs her drink and take a sip. “Baby, don’t be shy, because you got something I’ve been wanting, a long long time. And I got something you’ve been wanting.” You sing out and move your hips more. “That’s no crime cause, you got a body.” You sing while you point to her. “I got a body.” And then you run your hands down your chest down to your stomach. “Let’s have a party, mi casa su casa.” You sing out and turn around and wiggle your butt a little.

You turn back around and you see Melissa making her way over to you and you look back at her table and see all her friends watching her. She makes her way over to you and she puts her hands on your waist while you’re still dancing and you wrap your arms around her neck. She pushes you closer until you’re pressed up against her and the next chorus is just about to play.

“That’s no crime cause, you got a body, I got a body.” You sing and she moves her hands to your back and runs her hands all over while dancing to the song with you. “Let’s have a party, mi casa su casa.” You continue singing. “I got a body, you got a body. Let’s have a party, mi casa su casa.” She then flips you around so your back is pushed up against her front and she runs her hands down the side of your body and she starts singing the rest.

“I’ve been looking at you all night long. From over on the dance floor, I really want to take you home.” She then places her hands on your stomach and she starts taking over the dancing, making you move in time with her. “You got a body, I got a body. Let’s have a party, mi casa su casa.” She sings and then gets right to your ear. “I got a body, and you got a body. Let’s have a party, mi casa su casa.” She finishes singing the song but she doesn’t move away from you or let you move. “You wanted me to come to you.” She says and you smile.

“Is that a question or a comment?” You ask her and she gets you to turn around.

“A comment, staring at me while running your hands all over your body gave it away.” She tells you. “What do you want to happen?” She asks you and you shrug your shoulders.

“I haven’t thought that far.” You tell her and she shakes her head with a smile. “All I thought was getting the hot ginger that’s been staring at me to come over.” You tell her and then she cups your cheek and leans in. You lean in as well and connect your lips with hers. They feel fucking magical and much softer than you’ve imagined all night. You feel her hand move from your cheek to the back of your head and the other move to your waist.

“What would you say if I asked you mi casa or su casa?” She asks when she pulls away and you blink at her for a second before smiling.

“I’d say…su casa.” You tell her and she smiles.

“Let’s go grab our stuff and I’ll call an Uber.” She says and you nod before you speed walk to get your things.

“Where are you going?” Your friend asks.

“With the hot ginger to her place.” You say and then walk over to Melissa.

“Melissa, why are you grabbing your purse?” Barb asks and Melissa just smiles.

“I’ll see you all on Monday.” She says and then she grabs your hand and leaves.

“Can I stay at someone’s house tonight? Melissa is not as quiet as she thinks.” Jacob asks everyone.

You get in an Uber with Melissa and she rubs your thigh the entire time. Once you get to her place she takes your hand again and you quickly get out. As soon as she turns the light on to her house you get a good look at her and you’re mesmerised.

“You’re even hotter now than at the bar.” You tell her and you kiss her again. You trap her against you and the door and with the way her hands are all over your stomach and chest, she doesn’t mind. She then pushes you away, takes your hand and brings you upstairs to her room.

“You’re wearing far too many clothes.” She says once she closes her door.

“And what are you going to do about that?” You ask her and she smirks before taking your sweater and shirt off. You then go and take her blazer and shirt off before both of you get on the bed.

You end up straddling her lap and she unclips your bra while you’re kissing her and you help her take it off before she throws it somewhere in the room. You then unclip her bra and you throw it away without any care once you get a look at her chest.

“Do you like them?” She asks when she sees you staring at her boobs and you nod.

You go directly to her neck while you cup both her breasts and she moans into the kiss. You push her back on the bed and then you take her leather pants and underwear off. You run your hands up her smooth legs all the way up to her hips. You see her start squirming under you and you smile.

“Eager already Melissa?” You ask her.

“You were pretty much grinding on me at the bar.” She says and you snort. You then bend down and wrap your mouth around a nipple and she moans out. You switch to her other nipple and you can tell she needs it bad.

“When was the last time you had sex with someone?” You ask her and she sighs.

“A few months.” She says and you hum.

“Really? You look like someone who can’t go that long without it and someone who can get someone no problem.” You tell her.

“You’re right, and yet you’re making me wait.” She tells you and you smirk. “I mean if you won’t do anything then I’ll just- oh god.” You cut her off by circling her clit and she’s now whimpering and gasping underneath you. You’re slowly circling her clit as you want to see her slowly come undone and also have her beg for more. You watch as she squirms, trying to get her high quicker but you’re not letting her. “Please, please go faster.” She begs and you smirk before circling her clit faster.

You feel her entire body under you and you listen to her as she comes and you don’t stop. You insert 2 fingers in her dripping centre and start fingering her while circling her clit. She gasps out and bucks her hips when you insert two fingers and starts moaning at the sensitivity.

“Oh god.” She begins saying like a mantra as she gets close to her second orgasm. She squeezes around your fingers and then she comes again and she holds your hand and gets you to pull out. You then lick your fingers and taste her and you moan at the taste.

“You taste good.” You tell her and she pulls you down to her.

“You think so?” She asks and you nod. She then pulls you into a kiss and tastes herself mixed with the taste of your mouth and she loves it. “Take the rest of your clothes off.” She orders and you immediately obey. “So obedient.” She smirks as you take your pants off.

“Something about you and your tone that makes me want to obey.” You tell her and she hums.

“Wish my second graders were like that as well.” She tells you and you tilt your head.

“You’re a teacher?” You ask her and she nods. “That’s so hot.” You tell her and then kiss her.

You feel her move her hand down and then she starts circling your clit and getting you all wet before she inserts a finger in your entrance. You moan into the kiss and then she slips another one in and then starts pumping in and out of you.

“What do you find hot about me being a teacher?” She asks and you have to take a few seconds to think about what she just asked you.

“I think it’s more about thinking of you…teaching me a lesson.” You say in between moans and she smirks.

“Why would you need to get taught a lesson? Have you been a bad girl?” She asks and she feels you get wetter after saying that. She then pulls out of you and flips you both so that she’s on top. She sticks her fingers back inside of you and she smiles at you gasping and moaning. “Be a good girl for your teacher and do as I say.” She tells you and you whimper while all the moisture goes right to your pussy. “Are you that excited to be a good girl for me?” She asks and you nod. She then curls her fingers inside of you and you start seeing stars.

“I’m so close, I’m so close.” You tell her and she feels you clench around her fingers and she moans at the feeling.

“Be a good girl and come for me.” She tells you and you immediately come, like the good girl you are.

She gets in bed beside you after helping you clean yourself up and she wraps and arm around you and you both fall asleep. The next morning Melissa wakes up and sees you’re already gone and she sighs. She walks downstairs, a bit weirdly due to last night and she sees a note.

‘Last night was fun, txt me ;)

xxx-xxx-xxxx’

She reads it with a smile and immediately puts your number in her phone and texts you.

Melissa: Hey, it’s the hot ginger. I noticed there was a girl missing in my bed this morning.

She texts it to you and then she goes to get breakfast ready but then gets a notification and sees it’s from you.

You: Hey hot ginger, maybe that should be your name in my phone 😉

You: Sorry I left, I had plans with my parents this morning but I’d like to do it again sometime if you also want to as well

Melissa: Yes I’d love to, just one question

You: What’s that?

Melissa: Mi casa or su casa?

Taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta

@imaginesmultifandoms

@idonothingalldays-blog

@sexysapphicshopowner

@dvrkhcld

@lilfartbox1

@ricejucie

@unicorniusfallapatorius

@a-queen-and-her-throne

@sleep-deprived-athlete

@og-kxsh-420

@sasheemo

@midnight-lestrange

@dashbag-art

@morgananyx

@schmentisgf

@cblanchetts

Let me know if you want to be added!

[lucygraysboy]

“it’s a wonder how they do it, right? i mean, they don’t even speak our language and somehow they just know if you’re a good or bad person, and what your intentions are. do you think they can read it off of our body language? or what’s happening in their heads?” thinking out loud, pale blue eyes fixated on the back of her head as his hand continues to travel across her back. over her shoulder, along the bumps at the nape of her neck, inching closer and closer to her other arm. olive skin covered in suds. “mhm,” he hums softly, praying she doesn’t turn around. he doesn’t want her to see him blushing like a schoolboy. “when i first walked in here, i thought that you’d ran away, but then i saw reva blue and began to wonder why you’d ever want to leave her behind… and started to question my own sanity, asked myself if you were real or a figment of my imagination,” he admits, chuckling sheepishly because it’s embarrassing to a certain degree. “i will never cause you any harm, lucy gray. i just need you to know that, okay?” even if she won’t instantly put all her trust in him. “and if ever want to go your separate way, i won’t go after you unless you want me to.” he’s not his brother. “and your favorite dessert is blueberry pie.” noted, he remembers. but he still leaves enough room for her to correct him if he’s wrong. “but not all desserts make you happy? that doesn’t make sense,” he playfully argues, just trying to provoke her to convince him otherwise. “horses.” what an easy question, he thinks. “i love and respect all animals.” even the squirrel that became their dinner as hard to believe as it may be. “birds and dogs and cats and cows and butterflies, but horses are just so special. my mother’s friend, back at the capitol, had stables bigger than whole neighborhoods in district twelve. plenty of stunning thoroughbreds. most of them had probably been imported from district eleven or something. anyway, there was this one chestnut mare that i really admired, could watch her for hours. she could run so fast…” eyes alight at the memory, but then he realizes that he’s been rambling for a long time and must be boring her to death. “sorry, got a little carried away. um, what’s yours?” he inquires, meaning her favorite animal. too bad there are no horses in district thirteen. it’s been so long since the last time he was near one… “thanks for trustin’ me enough.” to show him the wound on her leg. thank god he had that jar of iodine with him. “and how will that be your fault? don’t blame yourself for things that happened because other people put you in a certain position. what were you supposed to do? grab a brush on your way out? you had more important matters to worry about. it’s really not your fault, lucy gray. it’s not like you’re a slob by nature and let this happen out of laziness. you’ve been through a lot. it’s only natural,” he softly corrects, reaching around her petite frame and handing her the soapy washcloth so that she can scrub her legs and torso. calloused fingertips sinking beneath the surface, getting wet before gathering her long hair with nothing but affection. “we won’t be cuttin’ it to your ears. if we can’t get all the tangles out, we’ll braid it and… well, maybe my mother,” the one who’s most likely sick with worry back in thirteen, “will find a way to help us.” but right now, he’ll focus on combing through these pretty locks with his fingers, careful not to pull too hard.

“i think they can definitely tell, who’s a good person and who’s tryin’ to bring harm. animal’s are intuitive like that.” lucy gray reassures, smiling softly as her arm stays around her bent knees, her free arm tracing circles in the water. “oh…yeah?” brow lifting, looking over her shoulder at him before eyes glance back towards the water. shying up momentarily again. “of course not.” leave him as a single parent. a twitch of amusement pulling at her lips before softening at the thought, thinking how she can’t run. but even it she could, would she? not… exactly. not when she doesn’t have a gnawing fear in her chest yet towards him. just like the animals they speak of… if she doesn’t have a reason or sense a reason, she won’t leave. just like deer and birds, she too has those same instincts. “sort of. i mean, i can choose a favorite dessert. i can choose a favorite month. but i can’t choose a favorite color, animal or flower. all flowers, colors and animals make me happy. hard to choose just one.” a soft laugh emits, gently shrugging her thin shoulders. “what’s your favorite animal?” questioning before hearing the awful story of the man he knew and before too long her face is contorting into disgust and stomach churning, vomit reflexes on the rise when he starts saying thing about smells. “lord, then, i sure am lucky you found me in time. i might’ve suffered the same thing. that’s sickenin’, bless his poor soul havin’ to suffer all through that.” feeling sympathy and disgust, quickly trying to think of something else. she definitely doesn’t want to suffer like that and scared up to keep watching her wounds. “i hope not, i really like my hair. but then again… that’ll be my fault, maybe i’ll learn.” scolding herself— to at least brush her fingers through it and keep it from getting so matted. “it’d be devastatin’ cutting it off to my ears.” that gives her the notion to quickly start trying with her fingers to start pulling some knots out, feeling a little panicky on needing the answer if she’ll get to spare it or not. the rubs on her back feel so pleasant, too. the most soothing feeling she’s felt in awhile but she can’t exactly relax with her hair on the line.

[nemoredraw]

Can we get a full Nemo (your oc) body drawing? And some notes about them! I’m invested in his story and his deal!!!

[TRIGGER WARNING] Violence, drugs, etc.

Of course!

Here are some reference drawings I usually use.

Fun facts about Nemo Arkham:

• Skilled in mechanics: Surprisingly, he does quite well fixing and understanding the workings of many vehicles or even gadgets.

• Firearms proficiency: Despite always carrying two pistols, he’s not very skilled with them. He prefers to play with the element of surprise in close combat. He still has a lot to learn about firearms but is quite adept with melee weapons (though explosives require less effort for him).

• Fashionable: He likes to dress well, usually in elegant suits, even in complex situations. It has become a symbol of his identity.

• Smokes anywhere: Even in tricky situations, he smokes. Let’s just say it helps him think.

• Great actor: He always likes to keep everything under control. When things slip out of his grasp, he becomes overwhelmed and desperately tries to regain control. He never does anything without a double intention, making it hard to trust him. He always seems to be playing with those around him. Nemo has excellent manipulation skills.

• Multilingual: He speaks several languages—Russian, German, Japanese, French, Spanish, and English. He is most fluent in Spanish and English. His origins are European, though the specific region is unknown.

• Empathy for children: This is the one area where he shows genuine empathy, likely because it reminds him of his childhood.

• Feminist: Despite his identity as a villain, he always defends women, viewing them not as sexual objects but as people.

• Spending habits: He doesn’t care much about spending money and is often surrounded by luxury, but only when he’s with others. In the quiet of his home, he’s content with a good bottle of whiskey and regular cigarettes.

• Solitary: He dislikes having close relationships, believing they could become a weakness others might exploit.

• Body modifications: He has a navel piercing.

• Transgender: He transitioned at a young age, and since his body hadn’t developed much yet, transitioning to male was easier for him.

• Heir turned soldier: Nemo is an heir but was raised more like a soldier or a weapon, always under his father’s yoke.

• Self-grooming: He cuts his own hair, which is why it always looks rather messy.

• Drug addiction: He’s addicted to a new drug called ASH BONE. He usually consumes it alone since (depending on the dose) it puts him in a state of chemical submission. A small dose only relaxes him.

• Goal (spoiler): Nemo’s objective is to destroy Batman and Gotham, no matter the limits he has to cross.

• Slade Wilson’s role: Slade trained him in hand-to-hand combat for a period of his life. Nemo never liked Slade. (Spoiler) When Nemo escaped his father’s grasp, he was kidnapped and tortured to break his will. Slade oversaw the torture, administering the experimental drug ASH BONE for the first time, making Nemo addicted.

• Shade the cat: As a child, Nemo adopted a black cat named Shade.

• Connection with Damian: The only member of the Batfamily he gets along with is Damian. He understands his anger and pain, so they connect perfectly, even though they maintain a lot of emotional distance. Nemo gave Damian those little star-shaped clips.

• Nicknames for Batman: Nemo ironically calls Batman “the emo who listens Deftones.” (He has many nicknames for the Batfamily: “the bats,” “winged rats,” “the emo squad,” “the darkness,” “the dark divas,” etc.)

(I could go on all day writing more random facts about Nemo, but I don’t think many people would care, haha!)

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 13

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

Spotify Playlist

Follow @romana-updates and click follow, join my tumblr community or ask to join the tag list to keep up!

Buy Me A Coffee : Kofi : Go Fund Me

Chapter summary: Past. Dolly is a part of a family. Present. Seeing Stevie

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religious trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

a/n: PAST is a short chapter. the floor of the next few chapters is.... bad?? so im trying to chop it all up the way its best but its so hard trying ot match themes up with the before and after ;-; so im sorry. I feel like this chapter was boring.

Before

You tried, he really fucking tried to go back to normal after that, but ever since kissing you, feeling you body… things became more charged than normal.

You sat closer to him now, his body warm and inviting and buzzing with energy with everyone piling into the media room to watch a movie. Earlier today, Remy came into your room while you taught, trying to rally everyone together for a movie night.

*

You hear the door creek and glance over, smiling when you see Remy’s black and red eyes popping through the cracked door. Waving him in, you continue with the lesson. At 6’1 but not built too wide, Remy would not be out of place in your height school class seats…

Unfortunately, he was sitting in on your small elementary class.

Most mutations manifest with puberty, but some, especially second generation mutants, have the x gene activated much earlier. Your class was small, small enough you usually had to figure out how to teach content at 3 different grades at the same time… You couldn’t have a whole class just for the one 1st grader. When Remy came in, you were getting ready to read a book. You explained that each of the grades would have an assignment based off the book, and what each grade should be thinking about during the book, but to try and concentrate on the story first and foremost.

“I’ll be doing a think-aloud, so I will be modeling to you how readers think through books as we go.” You don’t have any degree, but you've been doing research on how to be an effective teacher.

Remy listened intently, looking like he’s about to REALLY enjoy the story, but you have some mercy. His legs look like they are losing circulation.

“Okay friends, how about we read the book on the carpet.” The kids erupted into cheers. “IF we can show Mr. LeBeau out best quiet feed and listening ears, okay?”

It was not very quiet, but they didn’t run.

“Mr. Lobo!” Said Micheal, not watching where he was going. “Are you and Miss Palmer in wuv?”

Remy bursts out in laughter, while your face burns red, quickly apologizing to Remy and trying to quell the kids. 

“No!” Another kid, Katy, piped up. “She loves Mr. Howlett!”

Remy was no help, your handful of students arguing that you were in love with “Mr. LeBeau”, “Mr. Howlett”, “Mr. Summers” and even one kid asked about “Miss Grey”, which felt like the start of a very convoluted love… square?

“1, 2, 3, eyes on me!”

The children chimed back. “1, 2, eyes on you.”

“Okayyyy” You cleared your throat. “You guys don’t need to worry about who loves who. Me and Mr. LeBeau are just friends, and he is going to model good listening for me.”

30 minutes later, Remy did not model good listening, but he did at least help the younger kids with their assignment, so there was that.

“You’re a pain, you know that?” You tidy up before heading to the high school English room. This room was used for most subjects so the elementary school so most of your kids just stayed in the room coloring or reading or talking.

“A pain in your ass?” He whispered, and you gasped in response, smacking him with crumple cardboard paper.

“Hey! I whispered!” But he stopped swearing. “I wanna have a movie night with all of us, are you in?”

As much fun as it sounded, big groups of friends still made you nervous. Remy was friends with everyone, and although no one had treated you badly, there were people you knew still thought you were weird. They weren’t wrong. Moreso, it was hard with a large group of people who all were friends together. Then there was you. Last week's dance was enough for a little while. “Whose all coming?”

“Well, Logan of course, but I think he’s assuming you’ll be there.” He answered, and smirked at your little smile. “Kurt and Ororo said yes, Hank said maybe, you know how he gets caught up in his work, and I’m gonna invite Scott and Jean after you tell me yes because you love me so much????”

Your head sank a little at that. You liked Scott a lot, and Jean was always kind to you. You had no reason to dislike them…

“I don’t… I don’t think I can make it. Papers to grade and all that…”

Remy’s face crumbled. “Why? What? Too many people? I’ll uninvite everyone!!  I’ll grade all the papers! Pistache, you’re the one I actually want there!”

You don’t know what to do with that. You knew Remy loved you, and that he was your good friend, but you weren’t used to someone choosing you first.

“It’s just… Well, don’t uninvite people, that’s crazy.”

“But I want you to come! What is it?”

He was too loud, some of the kids were trying to eavesdrop (nosy little things. You loved ‘em.) so you pull him off to the side, talking quieter. 

“It’s just… Scott…”

Remy frowned at that, a little concern on his face. “What, has he given you problems? I thought he’d be understanding, knowing he knows what you-” But then he stops himself.

You almost missed it. Pinching your brows, you shake your head, “N-no, Remy, he’s fine- he- it’s Logan and Scott, Remy, come on. The fight?”

He relaxed. “Oh. Well, aren’t they over it?”

Over it? You don’t think they’d ever be over it. There was never friendship, never something to rebuild, only jealousy, anger, and a little bit of attempted murder. 

You sigh, pinching your brow. “Remy. Logan tried to kill him. Scott keeps accusing him of abusing me. Logan slept with his wife. Scott accused him of m-o-l-e-s-t-i-n-g Rogue”

“Wait, what?”

“I can’t expect them to get along. And if Jean’s in the mix I- Remy, why would you want to invite all three of them?? Are you trying to start another fight?” The tone was harsher than you wanted it to be, but you’d had an intense week, and he gave you a piece of information you weren’t sure what to do with.

Your friend in front of you completely deflated, his normally happy face falling and his red eyes looking down. “Yeah, you’re right… I didn't think it through…”

You instantly felt bad. How could you be so mean to Remy? Sweet, sweet Remy? Remy who’d been there for you though it all. “I know. You’re friends with everyone, so you want everyone to be friends. I get it. I’m sorry.”

Remy gives you a small smile, seemingly recovered. “It’s alright, Pistache. What if I just don’t tell Scott and Jean? Or we could just watch something together? I uh… I heard from Rogue today. Got a letter and it… wasn’t very long, is all. Bit worried she’s forgotten about me in her grand adventures.” He gives a little laugh, but it’s nervous.

You consider the people coming, and decide it’s a small enough group. And Logan will be there, so you won’t be alone.

“Yeah, the movie sounds fun. Thanks for inviting me, Remy.”

*

You leaned against Logan, snuggled up to him comfortably as everyone found their spots. Kurt poofs in front of the large TV, see’s you in Logan’s arms, and his yellow eyes light up. “YAYYYYYY! Darauf habe ich gewartet!!” He teleports to you and Logan, squeezing both your cheek, poofing onto Logans shoulders to hug his whole head, then to behind the couch where he gave you a hug that clearly respected your personal space stuff.

“What are you on about, elf?” Logan pretends to be grumpy, but other than Wade, Kurt is his best friend.

He’s standing in front of you two again, grinning wildly and you can see his sharp teeth. “You two!” He gestures. “I’ve been knowing something is going on between you! Liebe, nein? I’m so happy it had finale happened!”

Morph threw a popcorn kernel at him. “Nothings happened yet. They are in denial.”

“We’re not in denial!” Logan barks, but he’s blushing. “We’re just…” he looks at you. “Taking it slow…”

“Oh.” Kurt’s shoulders drop. “Then… wat eez all dis?” He gestures to Logan’s arm around your shoulder.

You giggle. “Well, like he said, we’re not in denial.”

Kurt observes you for a second. “Mph. Well, dis eez… embarrassing for me, ja?”

You were about to protest when when Remy throw a pillow at him, yelling something about sitting down and shutting up. Kurt BAMF’d away, and reappeared on the armrest next to Logan.

“Dis guy.” Kurt gestures to Remy, whispering a little too loud. “Get’s broken up with vone time and he’s a mess.” He shimmers down between the arm rest and Logan, forcing the wide older man to scoot himself and you over, muttering, ‘well excuse me, I guess.’. Kurt settles into his spot opposite you, next to Logan. “Meanvile, I get broken up with, MANY TIMES! Including by him, and wat do I get!”

“We weren’t dating!”

“But you like to say I love you during sex, no? Oh, Kurt! Mo linm twa!” he mimicked, but the humor was in his voice, as it was in Remy’s as he retorts.

“At least I don’t pray the Hail Mary after sex!”

“At least I know the Hail Mary”

“I’m Cajun, do you really think I don’t know basic catholicism?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I just have catholic guilt about.”

“You could use a little guilt, mein freund.”

“I’ll leave that to Scott.”

Hank slaps the armrest of his seat. “If we’re not actually going to watch a movie-”

Remy and Kurt laugh, and Remy starts the movie.

As you watched, you couldn’t help think about how good life had gotten. A peaceful, easy feeling comes over you as you listen to Kurt and Remy whisper to each other the whole time, Logan telling them to ‘shut the hell up or I will stab you.’ Morph loudly booing the cheesy sex scene, and Hank letting all of us know what is impossibly and unrealistic in the movie. Things were good.

There was, however, a gnawing piece of your mind… it reminded you what Remy said. Scott knows. Scott knows what you’ve been through… or what you’ve done, you didn’t let Remy finish.

You’d figured Charles had told Scott at least a baseline of what you’d experienced. Scott was his man on the ground, the one who had these day to day interactions with you, the staff, the teens. It made sense, and you didn’t expect the top teacher and school leadership (and basically the HR department) to NOT know one of his staff was severely traumatized. 

You’d JUST told Logan what you’d done. You’d told Remy last month. You just wanted them and Mr. Xavier to know… had he gone and told Scott you were a killer? Did people other than Scott know?

After

Jean was all ready at the table when Logan brought you in, gently laying you down on the bed for Jean to examine.

“What happened?” She asked, frowning as she looked at your slightly bloodied face. The cabinet hit your forehead and nose.

Logan began to answer. “She hit her face on-”

“I was asking Miss Palmer.”

Scowling, Logan shut his mouth. “I… I slipped on water cleaning up from the party. My face hit the cabinet.”

“Did you fall?”

“No, I caught myself. Or- I think Logan caught me? It’s kinda hard to remember.” It was fuzzy, honestly. You’d thought he hit you, the ghost of the slap still stinging your cheeks… but that was probably something else.

“Yeah, I caught you.” He strokes your cheek, soothing the leftover pain there.

Jean does her work, informing you that you were mildly concussed.

“You’ll need to rest. No work for a few days minimum.” She raises an eyebrow at you. “No repeats of when you got sick and refused to tell anyone until you passed out. You’re going to take off the rest of this week.”

You open your mouth to argue, but she points a finger with a slight smile. She’s tired, but her bedside manner is compassionate. “No. We can shuffle a few things around. Wade can take over a few simple classes while he’s here and move those teachers to your kids, and Hank can easily slide back into teaching English. Well, maybe high school and middle. I can handle the littles.”

She turned to Logan.

“Logan, I don’t think we can get you off that long, but we’ll get you off a few classes so you can look after her. I’m sure Wade will be happy to teach gym, and Professor can take on history. Next week is finals anyway, so I know you guys have a lot of study periods planned.” She touches your shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

You nod, but there’s a more pressing issue. “And Stevie?”

Jean smiles. “He’s doing fine. Don’t take aspirin as it could cause bleeding but tylenol is okay for your head pain. Stay hydrated, nothing caffeinated.” She types everything up for you, then prints it out. “Here’s a care plan, but know I’m right here if you need me.” 

“Thanks, Jean.”

Logan gave a nod. “Yeah, thank you. I know you were in bed.”

She closed up her laptop. “Not a problem. Now, I know you’re seeing a regular doctor, and that’s okay… but I thought… if you’d like, I could share what I saw when I checked on Stevie.

You blink. “You mean… like an ultrasound?”

“Kind of, but much more clear. It’ll be almost like you’re there with hi-”

“Yes!” You’re so excited you almost forget any fear or pain.

Logan nods his head, eyes wide, and takes Logan’s hand before laying her other one on your stomach again. Suddenly, her mind’s eye was your own, and you could see him. You little baby asleep in your stomach, and it was like he was in a pool of water; not quite totally clear, but not blurry either. It was incredible.

You begin to cry.

“Go get your girl to bed, Logan.”

*

Logan laid you down on to bed after having you drink a bunch of water. “Wake me up when you need to pee, okay?”

You don’t look at him. “Okay.”

There is a short pause. “Hey.” Logan cups your face, bringing it to you. “It was an accident, okay? Just an accident.”

And all you can do is give him a smile, because you don’t know what option you have. “I know. I’m kinda tired, Lo. Can we talk in the morning?”

He gave a sad smile back. “Yeah dollface, we’ll talk in the morning. You’ll see. It’s all be better in the morning. I’m gonna step out for a sec, but I promise I’ll be here if you need me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Goodnight, baby doll.” He kisses your tummy. “Goodnight, Stevie.”

*

Logan’s head was reeling. How did that happen? What the hell even happened? He hurt you, he hurt you, his pregnant fiance, his sweet, loving girl, carrying his child. What if something had happened to Stevie? Jean said he was fine…. But what the fuck did she know? Nothing! That bitch and her smug attitude. Stupid fucking cunt. She was probably just lying, trying to sabotage him. Not wanting to have his baby wasn’t enough. She can’t let him be happy. She won’t let anyone else have his baby. She’s just as bad as Scott, stupid mother fucking pansy ass shithead. Couldn’t fuck his wife right then got mad she needed someone else to satisfy her. Must’ve learned how to take it up the ass like he’s always dreamed and won her back, now he can’t let him be happy.

They are out to get him.

Logan needed to clear his head. He needed to let it out.

He needed insight from someone who, while being God perfect idiot, had a strangely good sense of the world. Sure, he didn’t understand what the fuck the mouth was talking about half the time, but Wade understood the world in a way Logan couldn’t.

When Wade answered his door, he was in a hello kitty t-shirt. That was it.

Logan only paused a moment before saying. “Meet me in the west lounge in 5?”

“Hell yay!” Wade sleepily cheered. “I’m on my way!” He began stepping forward, but Logan stuck a hand out to shove him back, He glanced down to his dick, then back up. “Pants on, Wade.”

*

An hour later, Logan had spilled it all. The slap, the… sex he might have been a little forceful on, how Stevie’s conception was from that… half drunk, he let it all out.

And for once, the merc with the mouth only had 4 things to say.

“Jesus fucking christ, Logan.”

Okay, next chapter we see logan baring it all and i think??? I think we see what triggered logan into the assult

ugh its soooo hard to plan i keep changing the outline so much. This series has given me the most problems out of every series ive written! and ive written many ;-;

Anyway guys im talking to a guy and he knows x men stuff and is chronically online like me and i realllllly like him we met on hinge bc he made a Jim Croce reference which if you know me you know i looooove old music!!! heres too hoping!

I sent him my x men restaurant au bc he's familiar with fanfiction! he really enjoyed it :))) Im taking requests for the restaurant au drabbles!

I also started a romcom/omegaverse/enemies to lovers Logan x reader! Im leaning into the goofy and silly bc too much dark i think isnt good. dark fics help me work through things but too much is.... too much. Im not in a great place mentally rn so i dont wanna linger you know?

I also want to just highlight my go fund me bc im once again struggling greatly to pay for school and im just... so close .;-;

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia a @new-genesis100 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight @nonamevenus

[rinhaler]

Tell Me Where The Piece Go, 'Cause I'm Lost

CHAPTER SUMMARY: all you and megumi do is argue. and he's happy to leave you to your own devices, but after he and Gojo have a few drinks together, Megumi's lips begin to loosen in regards to you.

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, drinking, pining, arguing, etc.

WORDS : 5k

notes : kinda obsessed with megumi here idk xo

       LAST CHAPTER ┊ MASTERLIST ┊ NEXT CHAPTER

—

Gojo pulls up outside of your house and you can barely bring yourself to even look at the place. The home you built with Yuuji. The memories that you shared there with him and the romance that has bloomed into something so beautiful. You’ve allowed Megumi Fushiguro, your bully, to defile the blossoms with a litany of weeds. Weeds you could no longer fight or get rid of. They’ve taken root and as Gojo’s words replay in your mind, you know those roots will continue to grow.

You hadn’t noticed Megumi has been staring at you through the rear-view mirror the whole journey. But his gaze is intently fixated on you when Gojo parks outside of your home. He's focusing on your facial features. He was trying his best to decipher what was going on in your mind and what your next move would be.

To his surprise, his eyes widen when you fling the car door open and rush up the stairs to your front door. The speed in which you leave the car makes Megumi’s jaw lower slightly, his mouth agape. He catches himself, though, after hearing Gojo clear his throat and realise what he's doing.

They both deduce from the way you're frantically searching for your keys that you're crying. Eyes filled with tears and causing the world around you to be nothing but a meaningless blur.

“You wanna go help her?” Gojo asks, almost too quietly. Megumi barely hears him, his words almost being beaten by the sounds of the birds tweeting in the trees.

“This is your fault, you know.” Megumi groans back in response, “For pushing her. Shoulda just dropped it, Gojo. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Why are you tryna paint a picture of something that isn’t there?”

Gojo sucks air into his cheeks and puffs it back out of his pursed lips, a crass sound accompanying it. He pushes his little round shades up into his hair; his shimmering, worldly eyes boring into Megumi as he forces his surrogate son to stare into them. He’s searching, Megumi thinks, searching for a weak spot in his armour to point out any lies.

“Sure.” he smirks, leaning back into his seat and unbuckling his belt, “But that’s not what I asked. Are you gonna go help the poor girl? She even left her bags in the trunk.”

Megumi scowls, a quick ‘tch’ leaving his agitated lips before he steps out of the car. He slowly approaches you, your bag tossed to the ground whilst you sit on your doorstep curled up into a ball and crying. You don’t even notice him getting closer to you. One minute your world is an unclear smudge through your sodden lenses, the next moment you hear the chain of your purse rattle and a giant standing beside you rifling through it.

You wipe your tears away hurriedly, still not completely clearing them. From the low angle you’re sitting in, Megumi looks like a giant. He looks like Toji.

He tests a few keys in the hole before he finally finds the one that works, slotting it in perfectly and turning the handle. He pushes the door open for you, but walks in first. It’s not surprising that he doesn’t offer you a hand up. So soon after telling you he loves you in a drug induced stupor and he’s back to his old self.

You toss your keys onto the coffee table carelessly before crumpling down onto the couch. Megumi isn’t beside you, you didn’t even notice him in the kitchen when you walked by. You’re happy to never look at him again, if possible. But he emerges, eventually. A tall glass of water with a few ice cubes in his hand. He pushes a coaster from the coffee table closer to you and sets it down.

“Are you— uh… Do you need anything?” he asks, stammering over himself. He pinches the end of his nose again and again to scratch it as he waits for you to answer.

“You can’t even ask me, can you? Were you going to ask i-if I’m okay?” you question. His eyes go a little wide, but it’s barely perceptible to you. He pulls his lips into a straight line and grunts at the unintentionally rude question.

“I was. I decided I don’t care.” he replies defensively, and you can’t help but scoff.

“There it is. God. I’m such an idiot.” you tell him. You pull the sleeve of your jacket over your hand and dab the ball of your wrist into your eye as you try and dispel anymore tears eager to line your vision.

“There what is? Why would I care to ask when you’re obviously not okay? I don’t have a time machine, O’Keeffe, I can’t make last night go away. There’s nothing I can do. We did what we did so there’s no use fuckin’ crying over it.” he bites at you.

“Don’t you think I know that?” you raise your voice a little, your words getting caught in your throat as tears begin to stream down your cheeks and your lips swell from the pressure of your mouth pulling and stretching to allow you to sob loudly. “You’re so fucked up Megumi, you don’t even realise it. You’re beyond help.”

“Shut up. If you’re gonna turn to insults you know who’ll win. You’re already crying babe, won’t take much to push you over the edge.” he explains.

“What is wrong with you? Do you hear yourself?”

“You wanted me last night. You’ve got such a fucking victims mentality, that’s what I can’t stand about you. You’ve been a victim your whole life and now you’re turning on me because you regret what happened. Newsflash, I’m not thrilled about it either.” he informs you. You don’t respond right away, more interested in wiping away your tears for the time being.

“You can’t keep getting away with this…” you sigh, wiping your nose and sitting forward on the sofa as you consider your next words carefully. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Megumi. I’ve known you and your M.O. long enough now to know you wanted this to happen over the weekend.”

“Huh? Are you joking?”

“This would never have happened if you didn’t pressure me into doing coke!” you yell, breaking down into sobs as you linger on the memory a moment too long. “You convinced me and manipulated me into doing so many drugs I’m surprised I’m even alive to talk about it!”

“You’re so fucking dramatic!” he yells back at you, turning away to pace around the room and rake his fingers through his hair. “Look, this is only a big deal because you’re making it one. I’m not gonna say anything and Gojo won’t either. If you keep your big mouth shut—”

“You don’t get it,” you start, interrupting his strategy. “I am so in love with Yuuji. It’s unconditional and I don’t doubt for a minute that he loves me too. I’m not scared to be with him or worried he’s going to have a change of personality from one minute to the next like I do with you.”

“And?”

“And, I know he’d do anything and everything to make me happy. I know he wants to be with me forever… And I love him so much, Megumi.”

He grits his teeth and his face scrunches tensely as he registers what you’re telling him. But he knew that already. He knew all of that but he still can’t help the irritating feeling gnawing at his insides.

“What’s your point, O’Keeffe?”

“How am I meant to be with him for the rest of my life if I don’t tell him the truth?” you finish, lip wobbling and beginning to bawl into your sleeves again.

Megumi looks down at you like you’re nothing. Your tears and emotions mean nothing to him as he watches your heart shatter over the breakdown of your relationship. His lips are back to being in a tight line and his green eyes glower down at you. You’re not even looking at him and you can feel the way they are burning into you. He went against his better judgement to come in here and try to help you. And you repaid him by telling him how fucked up he is. He has no sympathy for you. None. Because last night, no matter what the circumstances were, you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

“I don’t care if you tell him. It’s you who’ll get dumped by the end of it, not me. Do what you want O’Keeffe.” he turns away to walk out of the door, but you can’t let him go like this. Like he’s won a game of chess rather than destroying your life.

“Megumi, wait.” you call to him. He stops in his tracks, and then finally turns to face you once more. “I— I shared my body with you last night, Megumi. I risked everything that makes me happy… for you.”

He sighs, looking down at the ground before looking back at you. You back away when you notice him getting closer to you. It’s slow, deliberately intimidating and you can’t bring yourself to move away quick enough. You remember standing upright one minute and then falling back down onto the couch the next. His body towering over you and caging you between his arms. Your faces so close to each other your noses almost touched.

“Said you were lonely, baby. Wanted me because you were missin’ Yuuji.” he tells you in hushed tones. The memory of your words comes rushing back as you relive the incident that has lead to the two of you being like this now. “Victims mentality. I had nothing to lose and I was horny, O’Keeffe. You wanted me, and you could have said no.”

“But I—”

“Use all the excuses you want, princess. You wanted me. And now, you’re playing the victim. Because now you realise what you’ve done, and that you’ve risked everything to have it. To have me.”

“Do you love me, Megumi? Last night—”

“Are you fucking serious?” he asks, a gruff and infuriated tone lacing his words. “Use the fucking internet and look up the effects of E. You are somethin’ else, really. I told you. I wanted to get off, and you didn’t want to be lonely.” he pulls away so quickly from you that he creates a breeze. The air makes your tear-soaked cheeks cold. Your loose hairs flow and follow him. Your eyes are lifeless. You can’t hide how dead inside you feel.

You risked your perfect relationship with Yuuji Itadori for a meaningless handjob with Megumi Fushiguro.

Your former, or maybe still current, bully.

He decides enough is enough, heading towards the front door and slamming it after himself. You hear the passenger side door slam quickly after, but you don’t hear the car pull away. You quickly take the opportunity to google the effects of ecstasy, curiosity getting the better of you. Although, you feel like you already have a good idea what it’s gonna say thanks to Megumi’s patronising response.

How you might feel: ‘loved up’

You are such a fool. You’re so embarrassed and you wish you’d never opened your mouth to ask such a stupid question.

Of course he doesn’t love you.

You don’t even want him to love you, but it at least would have given just cause for him to thrust all of this pain onto you. If he were jealous of Yuuji. If he was trying to break you up and wanted you for himself.

But, really, you could have been anyone. You were just… there. It was the right place and the right time for Megumi. But the wrong place and time for you.

There is a soft knock on the door and you jump to your feet. Gojo peers inside with a guilty looking smile, pushing the door open with his elbow to let himself in with your bags in tow.

“It’s just me.” he greets you.

You’re deflated once again, falling back into the sofa. But now, you’re done. You’re exhausted and you can’t take it anymore. You lie down and close your eyes. It might all be a bad dream. Maybe you can wake up and be in bed with Yuuji holding you close. You’d give anything to hear him whisper good morning to you right now. Anything at all to giggle and squirm as he begs to eat you out before you go to class.

“Is there anything I can do, sweetheart? Anything at all, you name it.” Gojo queries, hoping to coax you out of your depressive state.

“Please… just go.”

He sighs, placing down your bags and heading for the front door.

“You have my number. If you need anything please call. Even if it’s just a friendly ear.” he smiles. You look at him briefly before observing the way the ice cubes are moving in the drink that Megumi got you. Without another word, Gojo carefully closes the door behind him. And finally, finally, you hear the car pull away.

—

“Do you wanna—”

“No, Gojo, I don’t want to talk about it.” Megumi answers before his surrogate father can finish speaking. Gojo chuckles which irritates Megumi even more. “Stop laughing before I punch you.”

“I was actually going to ask if you’d like to go for a drink somewhere.”

Megumi’s body stiffens before exhaling a heavy sigh of relief. His cheeks are flushed pink with vague embarrassment and even he finds himself laughing a little. He nods, thinking the sound of something alcoholic sounds just fine.

“Leave the car at my place, I’ll ask my sister if she can take us.” Megumi insists. Gojo nods, agreeing with his idea. It definitely beats paying taxi fares.

Earlier, you mentioned Megumi being manipulative. And he isn’t ashamed to admit to himself that it’s true. He did manipulate you into doing drugs with him, but you did them nonetheless. And, somehow, manipulation is a skill of his that gets him through everyday life.

Like now, for instance.

Poor Tsumiki has been working all day, and she’s exhausted. But how could she deny her dear little brother a single thing in this life?

He barely walks in the door and he's already asking her to do things for him. She’s always so sweet and positive and it gets on Megumi’s fucking nerves.

And she can’t help but extend that kindness to Gojo when she sees him. She’s more than happy to drop her second father and beloved brother off wherever they need to go.

“Did you have fun on your trip, Megumi? I’m sorry I couldn’t get you.” Tsumiki breaks the silence in the car, eager to alleviate whatever tension is brewing inside.

“Not to worry, he was happy waiting for dad to pick him up. Weren’t you, Megumi?” Gojo grins in the backseat. Megumi cranes his neck to look back at him and scowl. “You know your brother, always finds a way to make fun for himself.”

“Is your classmate okay? Did they have fun? I felt so guilty when dad told me—”

“I’m fine. She’s fine. Drop it.”

Tsumiki feels her insides drop lower as she tries to determine whether she heard him right. She looks up into the rear-view mirror to meet Gojo’s eyes and then back to her brother.

“She? You were stranded with a girl?” she asks.

“Does it matter?” Megumi responds.

“Well, yeah! Kind of!” Tsumiki beams, doing her best to contain her excitement and be focused on the road. “I didn’t even know you made any friends at your new school, let alone a girl! And you shared a room with her? Oh my God!”

“Shut up. God I can’t fucking stand you, you’re so annoying.”

“Did you share a bed? Do you like her? Is she your girlfriend? Oh my God Megumi I’m so excited!”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Megumi bites at her loudly, stunning her a little and retreating back into herself.

“W-What?”

“You know I’ve brought girls home before. You’re acting like I’m a fucking virgin who’s never even talked to a girl before. This isn’t a big deal, at all. Why is everyone acting like it’s such a big fucking deal?” he complains, his heart rate increasing and his breathing becoming louder and heavier.

“No, I know. I’ve complained a fair few times about the racket you make when you bring girls over, I know you’re not a virgin. But… as far as I’m aware I don’t think you’ve ever been friends with a girl before. I’m sorry, I got excited.” Tsumiki apologises meekly. The car is silent, again. One beat too many to keep it from being awkward. But finally, Megumi speaks.

“We’re not friends. It just… happened. It’s complicated.”

“People say shit like that when they’re in denial, you know. ‘It’s complicated.’ I think little Megumi is in love, Tsumiki.” Gojo smiles widely, such a cheesy and aggravating smile that takes up the majority of his face.

“Gojo, I swear to fucking God.” Megumi grimaces.

“Wait…” Tsumiki thinks, turning a corner in the car. She’s almost gotten them to their destination, but now the cogs are whirring in her mind and she doesn’t want this conversation to be over. “It’s the girl I met not that long ago, isn’t it?” she wondered. Megumi raises an eyebrow, obviously confused.

“The one who’s friends with dad. Yuuji’s girlfriend. Was it her?” she asks again. Megumi forces his eyes closed, as much as he could before looking out of the window and nodding. “Oh! Well, I’m sorry for prying. I didn’t realise.”

She turns the car back on track and heads towards the bar they want to be taken to. Megumi’s brows furrow in confusion, though he doesn’t speak or look at her directly. Instead, he side eyes her. Trying to read her process that lead her to dropping the topic entirely. She parks outside of the bar, smiling gleefully at her brother.

“I should have known you were just taking care of your best friend’s girlfriend! You’re such a good boy Megumi, I’m so proud of you.” she tells him, pinching his cheek like an overly adoring mother. Megumi’s eyes flutter shut as she tries to shut her words out and prevent himself from smiling or laughing. My God, Tsumiki is such an idiot. Although, ‘taking care’ of you is one way of putting what happened.

“Oh sweetheart…” Gojo sighs. Tsumiki turns back to look at him, confusion taking over her features. She cocks her head, prompting him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Nothing, thank you for the ride. C’mon Megumi.”

—

You haven’t moved from the couch in hours.

Since Gojo left, in fact.

You’d decompose here if you could.

But your bladder gets the better of you. You take the opportunity to get up and lock the front door and then go to pee afterwards. It’s so dark, now. Your eyes are swollen and puffy and you decide you should probably take yourself to bed. With your phone in one hand and your fluffy blanket in the other, you carry yourself up the stairs and into the second bedroom.

You aren’t sure if smelling Yuuji’s scent in your main room downstairs will make you feel better or worse.

And while you’re struggling to function normally. While your heart is decaying and you are finding it difficult to even turn the TV on for some background noise; Gojo and Megumi are having the time of their lives.

Gojo is on his fifth bottle of beer whilst Megumi has lost count. They are laughing, joking around and making memories that brutal hangovers will help them forget the following day.

They’re playing pool. Another hidden skill of Megumi’s. As Gojo takes a shot and accidentally pots the white ball, they both burst into a fit a laughter. Megumi picks up the white when it rolls through the table and lines up a shot he thinks will be perfect. And even if it isn’t, he gets two shots.

“I love Tsumiki,” Gojo smiles, wiping away a tear. “I can’t quite believe she managed to talk herself out of her suspicions.”

“She’s an idiot.” Megumi reminds him, potting the striped 13 ball seamlessly. He stands upright and changes his position, searching for his next target. “Stop talking about it. I’m still pissed about your pathetic little comment in the car.” he alerts him. Gojo’s relaxed pose turns steadier and more serious.

“Comment?”

“Forget it.” he responds, potting another ball. Striped 9. Gojo wracks his brain as he tries to remember what he said in the car. Something bothersome enough to make his son hold a grudge.

“Ah.” it comes back to him, but decides nothing more needs to be said. Megumi rolls his eyes and takes another shot, this time missing and potting Gojo’s solid 7 ball. Fuck. “Careful now… Going to form a habit of touching other people’s things.” he smirks, leaning over the table to try and take a shot of his own.

Megumi snarls but keeps his mouth shut. Gojo whistles and orders another two beers for the pair of them, noticing Megumi trying to slurp the dregs from his bottle to no avail. During the wait for their drinks, Gojo makes one shot and misses another. Megumi grabs his bottle hastily and drains the contents almost too quick to register. His Adam’s apple bobs as he downs the liquid in less than thirty seconds, and then he orders another.

“I’m a little worried about you, kiddo.” Gojo tells him. Megumi shakes his head, taking his next shot.

“Don’t.”

“I haven’t seen you in— We haven’t talked for— You’re a son to me, Megumi. I’m allowed to worry.” he finishes, taking a small sip of his beer.

“What do you want from me? Huh? To call you dad? Will you drop this conversation if I call you dad?” he slurs, staggering a little as he works his way around the table. “Okay dad. What do you wanna talk about dad?”

Gojo sighs, taking a bigger drink before setting it down and leaning against the pool table.

“It’s alright,” Gojo smiles.

“This fucking chick. I’m sick of her. Everyone’s in my business, no one cared about me before she came along and now everyone won’t leave me the fuck alone.” he explains. Gojo nods, wanting to display that he’s listening to him.

“There have been a lot of big changes in your life, Megumi. You moved back home. Toji is back. And your situation with this girl is clearly a heavy burden on your shoulders.” Gojo speaks as he chalks up his pool cue.

“Don’t even mention that bastard. I hate him and I hate her.”

“Megumi, try not to bite my head off but… Would you consider going back to therapy?” Gojo wonders. Megumi shakes his head and scoffs.

“Didn’t like it. Fuckin’ useless.” he announces. “And an- another thing about O’Keeffe, she’s just so perfect. Not, like, I think she’s perfec- perfect. But she thinks she is. Like she can’t do anything wrong. I hate her, I fucking hate her.”

“What happened today? When I wasn’t there.” Gojo wonders. Megumi’s eyes roll over white and he somehow manages to make his next shot despite him being able to see three white balls instead of one.

“She just blamed me for everything. Said it was my fault we hooked up even though she was crying about being lonely. Like… I mean…”

“What?”

“Okay, okay. Maybe it’s my fault. I got her to get high with me and she’s never— I don’t think she’s done drugs before? Can’t remember. Anyway. She went along with it. And we were both just… handjobs are nice, right? Fun and feels nice and getting to cum with someone is—”

“Keep it down Megumi.” Gojo warns him.

“What? Look, I could have fucked her but getting jerked off was enough, y’know? It was just nice. It was just really fucking nice and I liked it and I thought she liked it too. But n-now she’s worried about Yuuji and she’s pissed at me but she wanted it. I came, she came, and I thought it was all good a-and fine but she’s being a cunt now... and I hate her.”

“Do you… like her, Megumi?” Gojo probes.

“Are you— are you deaf? I said I hate her, you aren’t listening to me. I hate her.”

“But you’re upset that she’s mad at you.”

“Y-Yeah, so? Thought we were gonna be frien- fine. And she’s just making a big fuckin’ deal out of it. I just don’t… I don’t get it. It was nice.” Megumi rambles. Gojo nods again, knowing the conversation would be better if they were both sober. He’s making mental notes though. Making sure to lock away the information to discuss with him another time. “Like— Like her, tch. Dumb ass. Never even thought… For a second anything like that would happen between us. Especially after we kissed at her parents place and—”

“Back. It. Up. Cowboy. You hooked up before this?” Gojo interrupts.

“I— not really. We kissed. I kissed her. Dunno why, just felt like it. But she slapped me ‘n I just thought it was funny. Made her cheat on Yuuji and started keepin’ s-secrets.”

“Megumi…” Gojo sighs. “You felt like kissing her.”

“Yeah.”

“And you wanted to make her keep secrets from Yuuji… Something to eat away at their relationship.” Gojo continues. Megumi hiccups and his eyes squint. His body sways and the only balance he has is the pool cue between his fists keeping him upright.

“R-Right, so?” Megumi responds. Gojo smiles, gritting his teeth and it appears he’s more pained than joyous. He shrugs his shoulders and doesn’t say another word, hoping even in his drunken state that Megumi will connect the dots. Megumi’s body relaxes. He goes limp and the pool cue drops out of his hands. He falls backwards into the wall behind him and slides down until he’s sitting on the sticky flooring. Gojo rushes to him, crouching down on one knee and trying to get Megumi’s attention. “Oh fuck. Oh G-God. Gojo, n-no.” he stammers, not looking at Gojo but through him.

“It’s okay, Megumi. I’ll get us a cab and get us home.”

“N-No. Gojo, it’s not fucking alright. I like her, don’t I? I fucking l-like O’Keeffe. No no no, this isn’t right.” Megumi wrestles with himself. Gojo helps him up with one of his sons arms around his shoulders and leads him outside into the fresh air. “Gojo I— I don’t— like her, do I?”

“I think you do, kid.” Gojo grins earnestly, happy to get an admission out of Megumi. “Maybe even more than that.”

“W-What?” Megumi wonders aloud, a twinge of fear intertwined with his drunken speech, “Gojo… Do I— Do I love her?” Megumi asks. Like he’s asking his genuine advice as if Gojo knows Megumi’s feelings better than he does. It’s probably true. Despite his feelings being his own, he can’t connect with them. He can’t connect with himself.

“It seems that way. Either you’re in love with her or you’re falling there, that’s my guess.” Gojo tells him.

Megumi begins to shiver as the cool night air attacks him. Gojo keeps him upright and tries to pass along his body warmth to him as they wait for a taxi to pull up and collect them. Neither of them can believe how dark it is. Light morning sky turned to a black abyss and somehow neither of them have eaten or slept. Megumi has done nothing but drink since seeing you and it all feels like the same long day that you hooked up and argued about it. And now, out of nowhere, he’s found out he has feelings for you. Actual feelings. The type that people write songs about. The type that could potentially make you happy rather than terrified.

He likes you.

He might even love you.

“Fuck.”

—

You left Netflix running when you finally got the TV on. Final Space has been paused for a while since you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to press continue watching when it was prompted. You’ve been staring at your phone for hours. Your thumb hovering over Gojo’s name as you debated sending him a message.

Over and over again you scrolled through all of your contacts. A variety of people stood out but none of them that you wanted to call. You still had the numbers of people you had fallen out with and no longer talked to. There was one thing you wanted to do; and that thing was to scream. You felt desperate to let it all out, but there wasn’t a soul you could confide in.

The one person you did call, Toji, still wasn’t answering his calls or texts. It worries you that he isn’t responding, it’s so unlike him. You even contemplated calling your mother. But after last time you couldn’t think of a worse thing to do. You don’t need to give your parents any more ammunition to disparage you from your relationship and get into your head about doing what they want.

So, Gojo is all you have. But maybe you should just go to sleep and try to forget everything that has happened. Wash the day away from you and imagine yourself somewhere far away. Wherever Yuuji is, perhaps. But you can’t lock your phone screen. All you can do is stare at Gojo’s name. Your thumb venturing closer and closer to the phone icon. It’s out of your hands, now. You need to call him. You need to talk to somebody.

But as you’re about to press the button, your entire screen is filled with an incoming call. It shocks you. For some reason your phone isn’t on silent so the garish ringtone slices through your body like knives. You’re lucky your phone is somehow still in your hand and not smashed against your bedroom wall. You’re so fucking lucky. Luckier than you could have imagined being today. You press the green phone button so fast and bring the speaker to your ear.

“Yuuji?”

—

© 2025 rinhaler

—

[honeyfarts666]

A Party Most Vile

Lucius Verus x OFC

Mutual non-con, Slavery, Breeding, Angst, Aftercare, Shame (please check out all the tags listed on Ao3 for full content warning)

Part 1 on Ao3 or tumblr New! Part 2 on Ao3 or under the cut ↓

Excerpt: “I am giving you this lovely, young thing,” Macrinus said slowly, “and you reject my gift. Is there something wrong with her, I don’t know about?”

Lucius shook his head. “No!” he shouted a bit too emphatically. It took a surprising amount of restraint for Lucius to resist rushing forward and tackling Macrinus. He was amazed by the fierce protectiveness he felt for Naevia. She was not bound to him and she was not his responsibility. But she had caught Macrinus’s notice because of him. He could not let anyone else get caught up in the mess of his revenge.

@okyeeaaahhhh @writersrash @buttermilktea11 Thank you guys so much for commenting on the last one!! I hope you enjoy!!

Lucius gritted his teeth as he was escorted down the hall to Macrinus’s chamber. He had been taken directly from practice, and his bare chest glistened with sweat. He was certain he stank terribly, but he disliked his master, so there was some small satisfaction to be had. Yet, the meeting loomed large in his mind. It was their first since the disgusting party he had been forced to perform at. Macrinus’s displeasure at his behavior had been obvious. Lucius prayed that this meeting would be about something else. Even a conversation about his true identity would be more welcome than reliving that nightmare.

Macrinus was at his writing desk when the guards brought Lucius in. “Leave us,” Macrinus ordered with a wave of his hand. The guards silently left them and the door was shut. Macrinus sat back in his chair and appraised Lucius as he had many times before. Sunshine streamed though the window behind him, illuminating him like a deity from some distant land. Silence sang between them. Perhaps Macrinus hoped Lucius would crack and finally speak freely. If so, Macrinus would have to try harder.

Finally, after a long moment, Macrinus said, “The slave girl at the party…”

Lucius’s heart dropped into his stomach. There went all his hopes of a short, easy conversation. Macrinus wanted something. And he wasn’t a man accustomed to being denied his desires. Lucius straightened his back and replied, “What of her?”

Macrinus stood and walked around his desk to stand a few paces in front of Lucius. He repressed a smile as he asked, “Did you know her before the party?”

Lucius furrowed his brow. He hadn’t expected that. “No,” he answered swiftly, “I had never seen her before that day.”

Macrinus raised one brow. “Really?” he asked incredulously. 

“Yes,” Lucius firmly answered. He didn’t understand what Macrinus was getting at, but the last thing he wanted was for Naevia to get in trouble because of him. Because he said something stupid or thoughtless. But it was the truth. He didn’t know her at all.

Macrinus leaned in slowly and asked, “Then why did you run away with her? Help me understand that, Lucius.”

Lucius stared into his master’s gleaming eyes. How could he possibly answer in a way that this savage man would understand? Certainly not the truth! The truth that, after the shame of fucking the girl in front of a crowd, all he wanted was to be alone with her. To get away from the staring eyes and cruel sneers. To touch her tenderly and let her know that he wasn’t a beast. That he hadn’t wanted any of it. 

Lucius shook his head and glanced up at Macrinus’s waiting face. He grimaced and gave the best answer he could think of, “She looks like my wife.”

Macrinus’s expression softened. “Your wife, she died during Acacius’s invasion?”

Lucius nodded in reply. 

Macrinus looked into Lucius’s face, studying him intently. Lucius tried to ignore it. He tried focusing on the floor, on the desk, the chair. But it was no use. Macrinus crowded his space, and Lucius was forced to look the older man in the eye. Suddenly, almost as an afterthought, Macrinus muttered, “You have the look of your grand-sire.” For the second time in as many minutes, Lucius was surprised. Macrinus smiled and took a step back to pick up his cup from the desk. “Although, that is to be expected when he is your grand-sire twice over,” Macrinus chuckled before taking a sip of wine.

Lucius gave Macrinus a darting look. “Twice over?” he asked cautiously.

“Ah!” Macrinus gave him a playfully pleased smile and leaned against the desk, “So, the rumors are true!”

“I don’t know what rumors you speak of,” Lucius replied, his features settling into a deep frown. 

Macrinus chuckled to himself and then spoke with a wicked gleam of spite in his eye, “That Commodus was your true sire.”

Lucius couldn’t restrain the scoff that fell from his lips. Of course, Macrinus would believe the worst tales he heard! The most vile rumors spread the fastest. But it was actually a relief to hear. If Macrinus believed that Commodus was his father, then he hadn’t overheard any of the conversation Lucius had with Lucilla. Macrinus knew nothing of the coup that Lucilla and Acacius were brewing. Nor the revelation of Lucius’s true father. Lucius had many complicated feelings about his mother. But he sent a silent prayer of thanks to all the gods he knew. She would be safe, as would her secrets.

Macrinus inclined his head towards Lucius. “Oh, come now!” he teased, “Tell me the truth!”

Lucius let out a short laugh and said, “I cannot tell you. I wasn’t there when it happened!”

Macrinus let out a boisterous laugh and said, “True, indeed! But you must know?”

Lucius gritted his teeth but stayed still. He didn’t trust himself. He knew his temper. And he was growing tired of Macrinus’s prying. He didn’t care what anyone believed about him! The whole world could believe he was an inbred bastard and he wouldn’t bat an eye. Let the vermin think whatever suits them. Lucius lifted his chin and said, “The only father I have ever known, was the man for who I was named.”

Macrinus let out a disappointed hum. He tapped his hand on the table and took another sip of his wine. Another unsettling smile crossed his face as he swept his hand toward the door. “I have a gift for you.”

Lucius didn’t think the sudden change of subject could be a good sign. And he certainly didn’t want anything from Macrinus. Even supposed gifts came with their price. 

Just then, a servant opened the door to the study and held it open for another to enter. Lucius’s eyes dilated and every last whips of air left his lungs as he saw her: Naevia. She looked much the same as she had upon their first meeting. She wore the simple garments of a slave and left her hair loose around her. As her eyes landed on his, he saw her take a shuddering breath. Clearly, she hadn’t expected to see him either. Lucius tried to remain composed. He tried to hide the tidal wave of emotion that ripped through him. But it was impossible. He felt his jaw twitch horribly before he managed to snap his mouth shut. Had Macrinus bought her? Or had she been his slave the whole time?

Once Naevia was inside, the servant left and shut the door behind him. Naevia jumped slightly at the harsh sound of heavy timber against metal. 

Macrinus gave Lucius a long glance and then burst into roarious laughter. Only at that terrible sound was Lucius finally able to tear his eyes from Naevia. Macrinus, still grinning broadly, said, “I have never seen a man look so bleak after being given a woman!”

Lucius didn’t dare look at Naevia again, even though he wanted to. He wanted to reassure her. But Macrinus would use anything he observed to his advantage. He had to show him that he didn’t care about her. “I have no need for her,” he announced in what he hoped was a steady voice. “You can put her back wherever she came from.”

The smile faded from Macrinus’s face. For the first time, he seemed annoyed. He set down his cup and approached Naevia. He ran his fingers through her hair and tugged on a curl. She repressed a shiver and held still. She was clearly afraid. Lucius could see it even before she looked up at him with her huge, brown eyes. “I am giving you this lovely, young thing,” Macrinus said slowly, “and you reject my gift. Is there something wrong with her, I don’t know about?”

Lucius shook his head. “No!” he shouted a bit too emphatically. It took a surprising amount of restraint for Lucius to resist rushing forward and tackling Macrinus. He was amazed by the fierce protectiveness he felt for Naevia. She was not bound to him and she was not his responsibility. But she had caught Macrinus’s notice because of him. He could not let anyone else get caught up in the mess of his revenge. 

Macrinus let go of Naevia’s hair, and she and Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived. Macrinus crossed the room to stand in front of Lucius. “Give me a reason why?” he asked with evident impatience. 

Lucius was confident Macrinus had never experienced anything like the love that he and Arishat had shared. Nor anything as simple as the connection that had formed between him and Naevia. Macrinus would never understand. He was incapable! But Lucius had no other answer. So he spoke truthfully, “I have no desire for any except my wife.”

Naevia trembled at his confession. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her quiver and wrap her arms around her body. But there was little time for Lucius to notice it. Macrinus slammed his fist on his desk and shouted, “Your wife is dead!” Rage flashed through his features like a wildfire. But he quickly regained his composure. He breathed deeply and ran a steadying hand over his beard. As quickly as it had arrived, the rage left and the mask fell back into place. “In truth, I should have expected this from you,” he mused softly. After a moment of deathly silence, Macrinus turned back to Lucius. “Very well,” he said with a sudden confidence, “Since you will not take her as a gift, you’ll take her as a punishment.”

A deep dread pooled in Lucius’s stomach. He could guess Macrinus’s meaning, but he dared not even think it to himself. Macrinus gestured to a bright rug on the floor and said, “Lay her down there and fuck her.”

Lucius couldn’t restrain himself anymore. He could not play the part of the obedient slave. Not when his master was so needlessly cruel and foul. He let out a heavy sigh and said, “No.”

Macrinus cocked his head to one side. “You forget yourself, Hanno,” he mused with a barely perceptible fury. “You are not a soldier. You are not a free man. You are my property. My possession. I speak and you obey.”

Lucius gave his master a bitter smile. He had reached his limit. And he would bear no more. “No,” Lucius uttered again.

With a fluid motion, Macrinus pulled a dagger from somewhere in his robes. Lucius readied himself for a fight, but Macrinus didn’t approach him. Too late, Lucius realized that Macrinus reached for Naevia. Lucius started forward but froze as the point of the blade came to rest on Naevia’s throat. Macrinus used his other hand to wrap around her waist and hold her secure. In a steady voice, Macrinus said, “If you don’t want her, I’ll give her to my guards downstairs. I’m sure they would greatly enjoy a ripe, young thing such as her.” 

Naevia repressed a gasp and Lucius made a great effort not to look at her. He could feel every muscle in his body tightening with every passing second as he glared at Macrinus. The worst part was that he couldn’t understand why Macrinus went through such pains to torture him in such a twisted way. “Why?” he asked with bitter despair, “What do you gain from this?”

Lucius expected Macrinus to reply with a shout and a retort. Something to put him back in his place. Something that would remind him he was a slave now. But no such reply came. Instead, Macrinus gave him that twisted smile again. “It’s not what I gain,” he replied coyly, “But what you gain.” After a breath of anticipation, he continued, “An heir.” 

Lucius’s heart nearly stopped beating. He and Arishat had never considered having children. She always drank a special tea that prevented her from conceiving. Neither of them desired to bring a child into the world when the threat of war loomed so great. His feelings on the matter certainly hadn’t changed since losing his freedom. A child would mean only more pain and heartache. A child would only be a chain for Macrinus to bind him with. 

Before Lucius could formulate a response, Macrinus pulled his blade away from Naevia’s neck. “Undress,” he commanded her. With a shaking hand, Naevia unfastened the ties of her robe and let the long garment fall to the floor. Her body was just as lovely as Lucius remembered. Without another word, Marcinus pushed Naevia forward, into Lucius’s arms. He caught her against his chest, and he finally felt like he could breathe. His mind knew that she was anything but safe. But he couldn’t help but feel relief. Naevia’s whole body was tense and she gripped onto Lucius’s arms for dear life. He ran his hand over her back, trying to comfort her. 

“The rug, now!” Macrinus ordered. Lucius glared up at him. Macrinus gave no other response. He only twirled the dagger, with the point on the edge of the desk. It was a casually calculated image. A threat hanging in the air, ready to be made real at any moment. Numbly, Lucius walked to the rug, taking Naevia with him. She didn’t resist, but he felt her shudder in dread. He couldn’t imagine how frightened she must be. If anything, his fate would be easy. He would likely die in the arena soon. But she would be forced to live and bear a child, his child. 

At the rug, he let go of Naevia to free the ties of his britches and drop them to the floor. Unlike at the party, the simple sight of Naevia’s nude body wasn’t enough to make him aroused. He glanced around for oil to help ease his way but saw nothing that could help him. Macrinus rounded his desk to sit in his chair and said, “Naevia.” She startled to attention and tightly clasped her arms to cover her breasts before turning to their master. Macrinus continued, “Get on your knees and help Hanno get ready.”

Naevia took a sharp breath before she nodded. Slowly, she sank down onto her knees. Lucius’s eyes followed her as she lowered down. He couldn’t deny the sight of her in such a submissive position was beautiful. He felt his cock starting to grow stiff just looking at her on her knees in front of him. His stomach twisted in disgust at the idea that he could enjoy this. And he regretted that he had not been allowed to bathe before the meeting. Everything about him must repulse her. But then he felt her soft mouth on him, and all the blood in his body rushed into his cock. She gripped his base in her hand and bobbed her mouth over his tip. Sucking him and then swirling her tongue over him in turn. Lucius swallowed dryly. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see Macrinus staring at him from across the room. His tight jaw relaxed just enough for his lips to part and a soft groan to leave his lips. Naevia seemed encouraged by the sound and took more of his length into her mouth. Lucius groaned again, louder this time. He ran his fingers though her hair and looked down at her as she took as much of his cock as she could. Unconsciously, he began to rock his hips into her.

“That’s enough!” Macrinus shouted, stopping them in their tracks. Lucius took a heavy breath as Naevia pulled her mouth off of him. He was fully erect and the top half of his cock glistened with Naevia’s spit. He caught her eye then. She was so beautiful on her knees. Spit dribbled down her lips and her eyes were wet from the effort of taking him. She gazed at him with a mixture of fear and arousal. “Go on!” Macrinus shouted from his desk. Naevia was the one who broke their gaze. She turned around on her knees so she faced away from Lucius. Then, she bowed forward, keeping her head down and putting her ass up high with her legs spread. Her pussy was on full display to him and he saw her lower lips glisten with her wetness. A ridiculous sort of pride filled Lucius’s chest. He knew it was childish, but the thought of her growing wet from having his cock in her mouth made him harder than he ever had been in his life. 

He knelt down between her spread legs and readied to plow her. He notched his cock to her entrance and he felt a delicious shiver run through her body. He pushed in the head of his cock and a gentle moan fell from Naevia’s lips. He found a guilty satisfaction in her anticipation. The whole ordeal would have been so much worse if she resisted him. But to feel her arousal as he entered her was more than he could have asked of her.

Before he could sink into her further, Macrinus interrupted them and asked, “Don’t you want to see her face while you take her?” Lucius couldn’t help it, even though he knew it was a bad idea, his eyes shot to Macrinus’s expression of feigned curiosity. “Or,” he continued, with their gaze locked, “is it easier to pretend she’s your wife when you can’t see her face?”

Lucius felt his face twist in rage. But he also felt Naevia tremble under him. Macrinus was intent on driving this knife as deep as possible. Making sure that Naevia overheard talk of his wife. Calling out Lucius’s disassociation. It was all part of Macrinus’s plan, whatever that was. The last time he had fucked her, Lucius had been afraid to look at Naevia. Not because it was easier to imagine Arishat, but because it was easier to imagine none of it was happening. But now, Naevia would believe she was nothing to him. That she was just a warm cunt he could fill and toss aside. He couldn’t live with that. With a great effort, he tore his eyes away from Macrinus’s smirk and turned back to Naevia. He pulled his tip out of her core, and a trail of her wetness drew out between them. 

Lucius put his hands on Naevia’s hips and encouraged her to turn. She flipped onto her back but kept her legs spread for him. Her pink folds glistening with her arousal. If they had been alone, he would have leaned into her ear and told her what a good girl she was as he filled her. But they weren’t alone. Instead, Lucius took in the sight of her silently. Her breasts shuddered with each frightened breath. Her hair was splayed out around her like a dark halo. And her eyes were on his. Her gaze never left him. It was as though the rest of the world faded away and they were the only two beings in all existence. Slowly, he crawled on top of her and loomed over her slight frame. He had been so afraid she would be repulsed by him. He wouldn’t have blamed her. Not after what he did to her. But she opened herself willingly and moaned as his cock brushed against her bud. He could scarcely believe it. He had raped her. He was about to rape her again. And for some reason, she chose to be nothing more than a delicate, obedient flower. So submissive and willing.  

Without ever taking his eyes away from hers, he lined himself up to her entrance and pressed into her. Her lips parted in a soft gasp as he filled her all the way. Her hands flew to his shoulders and she clung to him with a fierce need. She took him so well. He watched with fascination as her pupils dilated, half certain his must be doing the same. Her mouth hung open in a silent moan as he pulled out of her and then plunged back in, slowly building his pace, snapping his hips into hers with growing force. He leaned all of his weight on one arm and used the other to grip her thigh, pinning her open. Her eyes fluttered closed as he pounded into her. The room was filled with the wet slap of their bodies joining again and again. The only other sounds were the gentle whimpers Naevia gave each time she was filled. She was so perfect. So soft. So wet. All for him! 

Lucius couldn’t deny the jealous beast that grew inside of him. He couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her. Macrinus said she would bear him a child. That was the purpose of this debauchery. To make him an heir. An heir to his grandfather’s line. Lucius imagined what Naevia would look like as she swelled with his child. The image only made him drive into her faster. He let out a heavy moan and rested his forehead against her shoulder. She smelled like bread and honey. He hated to admit it, but the thought of planting his seed in such a sweet girl only urged his need. A primal instinct burned in his mind. He needed to breed. He needed to create something before his miserable life was over. He needed to leave something behind. The animal drive to breed had activated somewhere in the distant corners of his mind, and he couldn’t control it. He felt how tightly her inner walls gripped his cock and all he wanted was to feel her pulse around him as she came. He moved his hand on her thigh between their bodies until his fingers brushed against her bud. Instantly, Naevia’s grip on his shoulder’s tightened. Her nails sunk into his skin and his gasped in response. Her grip on his cock also tightened. She pulsed in time with his ministrations. Clenching down on his length with each drag of his finger over her bud. 

Lucius picked his head up from the crook of her neck. As much as he loved breathing in her scent, he needed to see her. He looked up just as she pulsed around him. Her mouth fell open with a tender moan and her head tilted back, arching her spine. The noise was the sweetest thing he had ever heard. But she wasn’t looking at him. He needed  her to look at him. To see him. To know him. “Look at me,” he demanded between harsh thrusts. Naevia’s eyes fluttered open, but she was looking up at the ceiling. Not at him. “Look at me,” he demanded again, louder this time and with a harsher tone. Naevia’s eyes snapped to his and he felt instant relief. She was burning as much as he was. Every ounce of her essence pulsed with need. A need for him. Lucius gasped as he beheld her. He still couldn’t believe how open and sweet and willing she was for him. He didn’t deserve any of it. He was wholly unworthy. He deserved to feel overwhelming shame. But instead, she was gushing around his cock, making him feel in a way he thought he never would again. He was getting close and he could feel she was too. 

Lucius pinched her bud between his fingers and her walls clenched down on his length. She became impossibly tight and let out a breathy cry. Her eyes were wide and wild as she came on his cock. Lucius let out a low groan as he surged into her as he found his own release. As his warm seed flooded her womb, his eyes fluttered shut and he wondered if it would take root. He rested his forehead against Naevia’s and tried to calm his hammering heart. His chest heaved with each breath but otherwise, he stilled. 

Lucius quickly came down from the high of his orgasm as his mind filled with new anxieties. What if his seed didn’t take? How long would Macrinus force them to do this? Would Naevia be punished if they failed to produce a child? But even worse were the anxieties that came if she did conceive. Would Macrinus be angry if the child was a girl? Would he demand more children from them? If it was a boy, would he be forced to train as a gladiator? Would he be branded and marked? Would he spend his whole life as a slave? Would the boy look like him?

Lucius was vaguely aware of the sound of Macrinus pushing back his chair and walking toward them. But he didn’t fully become aware of his master until he was just a few paces away. Macrinus approached and then walked past them. He opened a cabinet on the far wall and proceeded to go about his business, content to ignore the naked slaves entwined on his rug. Almost as an afterthought, Macrinus mused, “It is a shame your mother never gave you a sister. Then I could have bred you with her! Kept the family tradition alive.”

If Macrinus had said such a thing to him earlier in their conversation, Lucius would have struck him, no matter the consequences. But now, with his cock buried in Naevia’s core and the haze of his anxieties dulling his senses, he couldn’t find the will to do anything about it. Perhaps if he really had a sister, he would have cared more. At least, it was impossible for Macrinus to make it real. 

Lucius had been so desperate for eye contact in the throes of his passion. But now, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Naevia’s gaze. Her face was right below his, but he stubbornly refused to look at her. Even as she whispered his name, “Lucius.” It was so soft he barely heard it. But still, her voice rang like music in his ears. He closed his eyes, willing her to disappear from under him. Willing all his guilt and shame to disappear too. “Lucius,” she whispered again, slightly louder. But still, he couldn’t look at her. As Lucius pulled out of her, Naevia gasped and shivered. But Lucius wasn’t in a state to comfort her. He pulled away from her. He got up onto his knees and sat back on his haunches. Naevia was splayed out before him, her legs spread wide. He watched in a mixture of dread and fascination as his seed spilled from her lower lips. The instinct to spread his seed and reproduce had faded away with his climax. He felt a wave of nausea wash though him. It passed quickly, but in its place came a deep and biting shame. He never thought he’d be in this situation. He had heard many gladiators speak of the children they had fathered in whores and courtesans. And he had once believed himself to be above such things. Naevia shivered on the floor. She gathered her arms under her and weakly pushed herself up, closing her legs as she did. Lucius’s eyes were still locked on the juncture of her legs.

Macrinus threw an ornate robe over his shoulders and straightened the fabric. Without even looking at them, he said, “There is a wash basin in the corner for you to clean up.” Lucius followed the gesture of Macrinus’s hand and spotted a clay bowl on a table in the corner. Macrinus suddenly turned his attention back to Lucius and took a few steps toward him. Lucius, uncertain of what would come next, moved to stand. But Macrinus put up a hand to stop him. Lucius was caught down on one knee before his master. It was a submissive position, no doubt intended to be emasculating. Macrinus smiled casually and said, “I am expected elsewhere, but you may stay here for the rest of the afternoon. Someone will collect you at sundown.”

Lucius’s brow furrowed. They were to be left alone together? 

“Help yourself to the wine and the fruit,” Macrinus continued. He turned toward the door but then, he had another thought and turned around again, “And Lucius,” he said with a harsher twist, “There better not be any trouble when I return.” 

Macrinus waited expectantly, staring Lucius down. Lucius nodded, hoping that would be enough to pacify him. It was not. 

“Well?” Macrinus demanded.

Lucius swallowed hard. He knew what was expected of him. But it was worse that Naevia should be a witness to it. He looked up at Macrinus with a blank face and said, “Yes, master.”

Macrinus nodded and without another word, he opened the door and left.

Lucius took a shuddering breath. He could scarcely believe any of what had just transpired had really happened. But most of all, he could not believe Macrinus had left them alone together. It felt… manipulative. Like Macrinus wanted them to form an attachment. He hesitantly glanced at Naevia and she was already looking at him. Her long hair wrapped around her like a veil, shielding the side of her face and her breasts from his view. She pulled her knees up to her chest, making herself as small as possible. Lucius’s eyes fell to the floor and his jaw tightened. He felt another wave of nausea pass through him and he swallowed back the bile. 

In a quiet voice, Naevia asked, “Are you alright?”

Lucius looked up and saw the genuine concern in her eyes. He nodded quickly and broke their eye contact. It was too much for him. He stood stiffly and walked to the wash basin, a wide bowl with a cloth hanging off the edge. He dipped the cloth into the cool water and rung it out. He thought about cleaning his cock, but he had already been filthy before, so it didn’t matter much. Instead, he brought the damp cloth to Naevia and handed it to her. She accepted the small offering and cleaned between her legs. Whipping away the evidence of their coupling. Lucius turned his head away. It was foolish to think of privacy in such a moment. He had been openly staring at her cunt a minute before. And he had been inside of her the minute before that. But it was what a decent man would do. What a better man than him would do. 

When she finished, Naevia stood. Lucius turned back to her and she met his eye. Only two paces separated them, but it felt like all the vastness of the empire lay between them. He was frozen. He couldn’t even breathe as she stared at him from under her long lashes. All he could think was that she might already be carrying his child. After a long moment of terrible waiting, Naevia reached for him. Lucius’s heart stuttered as she drew closer. With her free hand, she touched his chest, tracing over the bruises that painted his flesh. He let out a soft gasp as she touched a spot that was particularly tender. Her hand froze and she looked up at him with worry, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s alright,” he cut her off. And with a half-smile, he added, “I am unharmed.” He still couldn’t believe that she wasn’t afraid of him. He recalled how she had cringed when he picked her up at the party. How she had recoiled from his touch. He had imagined she would react the same way this time, even though she had let him hold her for hours after the party. He fully expected her to hate him. But she didn’t. And he was unprepared. “Are you hurt?” he asked her as gently as he could.

“No,” she whispered as she shook her head softly. Her hand on his chest moved to his shoulder and brushed away some loose sand that still clung to him. 

“Forgive me,” Lucius told her, “He didn’t give me the opportunity to bathe before.”

Naevia gave him a soft smile and said, “It’s alright. There are worse things than a sweaty man.”

“Indeed,” Lucius murmured and returned her smile, though his was more of a grimace. With a heavy sigh, he continued, “What Macrinus said… about you bearing my…” His voice trailed off and his eyes fell. Another deep sigh left his body, and he looked to the heavens for guidance. The gods had no love for him. But somehow, he found the strength to look into Naevia’s eyes again and went on, “Macrinus would use a child to control me. To keep me in line. To ensure I would not rebel against him.” Naevia’s brow furrowed in worry. He wanted to reassure and tell her that he would protect her. But he knew that promise would be impossible for him to keep. “I do not wish for you to be entangled in this mess. If there is a way for you to…” He swallowed hard and prepared for the next words he was about to say. “If there is any way for you to stop it before it takes root…”

Naevia trembled slightly but she nodded. “I know of a way,” she admitted. “My former mistress, she would make me drink a tea. But…” She looked into Lucius’s eyes and he saw her fear, vivid and bright. Tears brewed in her eyes as she said, “I do not have any friends in this house. I don’t know anyone. And I’ve seen girls die because they didn’t brew it right! I don’t know-” She cut herself off as the tears came streaming down her face. 

Lucius wrapped both of his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her head against his chest. She clung to him as she cried. Her trembling body seemed so small compared to his broad form. She was alone and frightened and it was his fault. Because he had been too emotional. Because he had lost control of himself. “Shh,” he tried to soothe her, knowing he was pathetically out of his depth. “It’s alright,” he cooed as he stroked a hand through her hair, “I won’t have you put yourself in danger.” Naevia sniffled again and nuzzled her cheek against him. She had calmed down, but he could still feel her fear as it pulsed through her. It mixed with his own and pooled deep within him. 

He was lost in his despair until he felt her fingers on his cheek, gently turning his face to hers. Her huge, brown eyes gazed up at him sorrowfully. Lucius wanted to reach into her and take away all the fear and misery she felt. He would take all of it if it meant she would be free. Tenderly, she brushed her fingers over his beard, feeling the coarse hairs shift under her touch. Then, she moved her hand to his brow and stroked the small bruises and cuts that marred his skin. He didn’t deserve her tenderness or her affection. He felt tears gathering in his own eyes. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. What could he possibly say to her? What words could sooth his horrible deeds?

Naevia trailed her hand down his chest and took his hand. She led him across the room to the wash basin. She cleaned the cloth in the water and rung it out again. Lucius watched her the whole time, mesmerized by how calm she was. She turned to him and looked up at him expectantly. “Well,” she said, “I cannot reach you up there. So, you’ll have to kneel down.”

Lucius’s heart fluttered. “You mean to wash me?” he asked in disbelief.

Naevia nodded and a blush colored her cheeks. Lucius felt something strange and unnameable swell in his chest. He knelt down and held still while she bathed him with the cloth. She started with his brow, wiping away the sweat and grime that clung to him. She moved down his face and neck. The cool water caused goosebumps to form on his flesh. She knelt down with him and cleaned his shoulders and chest, only slowing as she reached his navel. She hesitated and looked up at him with an uncertain gaze. Lucius took her hand in his own. “It’s alright,” he said to her in a low voice, “I’ll finish the rest.”

Naevia nodded and allowed him to pull the wash cloth from her hand. She stood and retreated back toward the desk, where their clothes lay on the floor. Lucius washed his lower body quickly. The cloth was already filthy but he found a clean corner to scrub his cock with. He barely had the patience to wipe down his legs and feet. His hair was still unwashed but he would have to live with that. He turned back to Naevia and saw she had dressed. Her shy look from across the room sent an unexpected pang though his heart. They hadn’t chosen to be together. But she would be the mother of his child. And that bound them. That made her his responsibility. 

With a hurried pace, he walked back to where his britches lay and hastily pulled them back on. He wished that he had been given a shirt. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so exposed. Naevia looked as though she felt the same way. Her bare arms were pulled tight across her chest, holding herself. He could see her uncertainty. To a certain degree, it was endearing. But he hated that it was him that made her so uncertain. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on a bench. His hands gripped his knees and his knuckles turned white from strain. He had much to consider. In the months since his enslavement, he had allowed himself to become consumed by revenge. He could live with bearing his own punishments. But if Macrinus were to pass them on to Naevia and the child, he would never forgive himself. He did not know how to calculate a child into his plans. Much to his surprise, Naevia sat next to him. She sat close enough that their legs touched. After a moment of hesitation, she placed her hand over his, soothing him. He instantly relaxed into her touch. 

Lucius’s mouth went completely dry and he gulped down a heavy breath. “I don’t understand your goodness,” he confessed as he turned to her with awe in his eyes. “And I don’t deserve your tenderness.” 

Naevia shook her head. “No,” she murmured, “It is you who have been good to me.”

Lucius couldn’t help the scoff that fell from his lips. “I violated you. I forced myself on you. Twice now.”

“But you didn’t want to!” Naevia protested. “I could see it from the moment we first met eyes. You’re not like the others.” Lucius raised his hand to her face and stroked her cheek. Naevia leaned into his touch and let out a soft sigh, “Every other touch I have known,” she continued slowly, “was cruel and selfish. You are the only man who has ever… made me feel good.”

A swell of pride flushed in Lucius’s chest.  “My only solace in all this mess,” Lucius told her in a low voice, “Is that no other man will touch you now.”

Naevia opened her eyes and met his with a burning gaze. “I am glad for it,” she said with a smile. “You see? Why would I hate you when you have protected me?”

“I cannot protect you,” Lucius admitted sorrowfully. “I am but a slave. I will likely die in the arena before the child is born.”

Naevia took his hand in hers again and said, “Let us not think of such things.”

Lucius swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and said, “I can think of nothing else.” Naevia’s face clouded with worry. But he continued before she could reply, “These past months, I have been driven only by revenge. For my wife and for my home. But now,” he let out a dark laugh, “I cannot continue down that road without endangering you.”

“Do not worry about me,” Naevia said gently, “I am not with child yet.”

“But you could be,” Lucius said with grave sincerity. 

Naevia blushed deeply but she did not respond. She didn’t have to. 

Silence settled between them. There was little they could say to each other without opening the floodgates of their emotions. Instead, they found a solace in touch. Naevia curled herself under Lucius’s arm and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was comforting to feel her weight against him. Lucius wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly. 

All too fast, the afternoon sun fell low in the sky. The door to the chamber opened and two of Macrinus’s guards stood outside. It was time. 

Lucius placed a kiss on Naevia’s brow. She clung to him as they stood and walked to the door. Only when they reached the guards, did they finally part. Naevia’s fingers lingered on his hand for a moment as they were taken in opposite directions down the hall. Lucius looked back over his shoulder and saw Naevia do the same. It wasn’t like the first time they parted ways; he knew he would see her again. 

AN: I intended this to be a quick follow up, I really did! I intended to post this before new years. But then... well, it just kept getting bigger and more elaborate. I have really loved exploring Lucius's psyche. He's such a fateful character.

As always, thank you all for reading!! If you enjoyed reading this, please comment or reblog. It really means the world to me! And my ask box is always open to anyone who wants to talk about Lucius or writing in general!! <3

[justallihere]

rereading fourth wing for the first time ever since reading it in may 2023 so it’s been a while but i think i’m going to have fun with this actually!! jury’s still out on iron flame though lmao

anyway chapter 1 thoughts here you go

“I don’t need the prohibited power of mind reading to know exactly what she sees.” If Violet ends up being an intinnsic so help me god I will turn this car around

I love getting to reread this first conversation with Lilith knowing what we know about her after Iron Flame. She talks about scribes being below riders—not in strength, but in safety. Violet would have no protection as a scribe. It’s fun seeing the true meaning behind her words compared to how Violet takes it—how Lilith wants her to take it, so Violet doesn’t catch onto the secrets she’s keeping

Also she never explicitly agrees or disagrees that Papa Sorrengail wouldn’t want Vi to be a rider. “I doubt he wants much these days” is cold as fuck but actually says nothing about how he’d feel about what she’s doing. For all we know he’d agree. He loved Lilith after all. He had to be as pragmatic and maybe even as ruthless as she was

Oh dear god I forgot the phrase “for the win” was in this damn book

Lilith sees Violet more clearly than anyone except for Xaden. She knows she can use her size to her advantage, and she knows that while her strength isn’t physical, it’s no less impressive

Anyway I love her and I miss her!!!

“Lightning quick” the foreshadowing in this book is not subtle

I forgot that the fables demonize the dragons?? I hope we dive into that more in OS

“…more vocal about her men than I have been…about all two of them.” Okay Halden and?? Or do we count Dain in this?

Rhiannon is here!!

Violet swooning over Dylan’s not-proposal is actually so cute. Baby’s a romantic!!!

She’s so horny 😭 one look at Xaden and she’s ready to climb the man like a fucking tree

“…as if he can hear me over the howl of wind…” not you baby just your thoug—intentions! Just your intentions!

Two seconds into meeting and that muscle in his jaw is already ticking god I love this man

“Seems like we’re even.” “Hardly.” It’s not her fucking fault her mom sucks Riorson??? Leave my girl alone. I don’t love you THAT much

Love that we can see him already rethinking his assumptions of Violet when he realizes she gave Rhiannon her boot

[kisakunt]

THE RICH MAN’S GUIDE TO CORRUPTION

GIVE IT UP FOR LOVE

warnings… i mean some absolute swine talk, gojo and geto are evil men, you’re a sweet and pure virgin. swearing, mentions of fucking, really just vile pig shit.

synopsis… suguru and satoru have a lovely chat over a warm summers breeze. oh! and sweet, un-expecting, vulnerable you is the topic of discussion.

a word from the creator… idk if i mentioned this but this fic is based loosely off the movie cruel intentions! banger film, check it out. i wrote a lot of this chapter awhile ago so if the writing style switches up next chapter don’t sue me. i’m excited!!!! here’s to the next eleven chapters of hell

series masterlist

Gojo hates the heat. He thinks he's tolerated it before on his father’s yacht or when he did an unnecessary shirtless carwash for extra money he didn't need; but right now with the breeze through the window— that Suguru demanded be open— overbearing the air conditioner, he's absolutely positive that summer is the worst.

“Start of the year’s comin’, yknow.” He typically broke the silence— as if he could ever shut up to begin with— and he was almost always met with a:

“No shit.” strident response. Those seemed to be Suguru’s speciality, and provoking them seemed to be Satoru’s.

It’s too hot. His white hair presses into the drywall, feeling much cooler than the air outside. “I’m not stupid, Suguru. Neither are you, you know what I mean.” It’s an overdramatic sigh— a call for attention— as he turns his head over to look at him.

“They’re gonna ask us about it soon.” And, in some way Suguru can’t really comprehend, Gojo sounds excited.

His manner isn’t necessarily wrong, not so much as it is unexpected. The ‘new year, new fuck’ competition of Azabu was practically famous among the young men certain to attend— the sons of the sons who started it, and all their nephews or cousins or any synonym for a pig of a relative that they could come up with. And, luckily enough, they had the privilege to be top candidates.

The competition was started by the current dean’s uncle, a horny fuck-all type who would take any and all excuse to boost his ego while tearing down a girls— or maybe he really did just want a good lay. But, it grew and grew and grew, and now it was almost ritualistic, a second identity of worthiness in the form of fucking a virgin before anyone else did.

Sure, they were nothing but thrilled for it as high school reached an end, or even the first or second year of university. But now it just seemed dull.

But, traditions are custom, and customs are a necessity. It’s almost become lore throughout their little clique of affluence; whispered stories from childhood turned into real competition after a long wait, especially from a group of people who so rarely have to wait for anything. It’s inspiring, they think, means to associate themselves with a lower class; normalize themselves just a little more.

Alumni share stories at functions, putting the frat in fraternizing, nonchalance on the tips of their tongues. Sometimes the tone almost feels dark, and Suguru thinks if he were a better person he’d feel some type of sympathy for the girls. Any fragment of empathy he had wiped away when he won for the first time, though, wide smirk as his year mates glared at him; memories of the tight, albeit idiotic, girl engrained behind the lids of his eyes.

Even so, it gets old quick. And it’s not like they don’t fuck dumb, stupid, silly girls with nothing to say for the rest of the year anyway. So, he can’t quite figure out what Gojo is all too excited about.

“Well try to make sure your dick doesn’t get hard from the thought, you fucking freak.” There’s a giggle from the other man, a scoff too, and he pushes his hand out at him.

This is crucial. This is who they are together. A pair— whether it’s a pair of awful men or not.

There’s also a sense of trepidation that comes with it, of course. It’s exclusive, more so than they already are, and if you do one thing wrong- speak a little too loud, come off too brash, give a lackluster lie after actually getting caught— you’re out. And whose pride would want that?

“It’s stupid we always gotta wait for them to sit us down, it’s not like we don’t know what’s coming up.” He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. “Plus, what a fucking weird thing to say to your kid.”

“I mean the whole thing’s odd if you think about it.” Gojo shrugs, hands stuffed in his pockets, forearms bare against the linen of his trousers.

He’s right, of course. Even if neither of them feel guilt for their actions, they can’t ignore the sinking feeling in their stomach when their own fathers sit them down and incite such a twisted view on them.

Be that as it may, it’s not too bad when that’s all they know, and it’s not like either of them are going to complain at a quick orgasm, a nice pair of tits, and that goddamn feeling of triumph.

“Do you think they’ll cry again?” Satoru mocks, brimming with glee as he leans in the direction of his friend. “It’s always funny, dontcha think?”

“As if you’d know,” There’s a smirk despite the aggression in his tone. “Dunno why it matters so much to you, you already got bitches babbling about you all the time.”

Gojo sighs, expression bored and childish and fucking greedy. “Yeah, I know but…” His voice peters out, lost in the room. Elation bubbles back into his features, warming his cheeks and animating his eyes as he looks at Suguru.

“Yknow, I heard the dean has a daughter starting, actually. Real sweet gal, even wrote a whole fucking magazine article about the importance of ‘saving your innocence’” his voice wobbles, eyes rolling as he sneers. “for someone you really love.”

“Sounds like she’s ugly.”

“Thought so, too, but..” He trails off, hand fishing in his back pocket for his phone, pupils dilating at the light on his screen. It doesn’t take him long to find the photo; clearly he’s been sitting on his discovery for awhile, anticipating when he could tell him. “Look.”

Suguru doesn’t like to be wrong, much less will he ever admit it. “Holy shit.” You aren’t necessarily the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, probably not even the prettiest he’s seen in the last month, but you were definitely something.

Maybe it was the curve of your jaw or the tint in your lips, but the photo set something off in him. On the surface he thinks it’s the just barely explicit face you’re making in your mirror, phone in hand as you look into your lens, but really, honestly, if he’s searching deep down— it’s the fact he knows you’re the one girl who wouldn’t just throw herself on him if he so kindly asked.

“Sugu, are you ever bored of this? It feels too easy, right?” Suddenly Gojo’s previous excitement feels misplaced, voice itching for more. “Hardest part about it is finding out who’s actually a virgin or not, and that’s pretty simple with how awkward they get.”

“What are you saying?” Maybe he already knows, maybe he’s hoping for the obvious, but he asks like he doesn’t care. The former moves fast, hand steady on the desk as he leans far too close for comfort. In any other situation, he’d probably be met with a harsh jab to the face, but this feels different— secret.

“Let’s do something, on our own, just you and me.” He almost seems too impatient, pressure digging into the ground from the toes of his shoes and gaze begging. It was the kind of thing that made you want to agree, if nothing else to just feel a fraction of the way he seemed to be. Before Suguru could even consider the idea, test the waters and make Gojo beg a little bit, said boy opened his mouth again.

“I mean, unless you’re not up for it. You don’t really seem like the type to make a girl give it up for love.” He snickers, raising the back of his hand to his forehead as he feigns swooning.

“Geto, I— I love you.” His voice is high, wheezy in his imitation and a little rude. “I think.. I think I’m ready- I want it to be you.” He cuts himself off with his own laugh, hand circling over his mouth to try to stifle himself. “Could you imagine?”

“The fuck does that mean?!”

“Cmon, Suguru, you’re not really the endearing type.” He’s edging him now, tone manipulative and pressing and snarky and Suguru knows— of course he knows, but it can’t help but irk him.

“What are you thinking?” And now Gojo’s beaming again, feet guiding him back across the room to his bag, books stacked neatly inside, lying even against each other. He pulls out a magazine and tosses it to him haphazardly before he reaches back for a notebook and a pen.

“Page 36, read it.” The article is cheesy. It’s too long and feels like something right off a self care Facebook page. Suguru is sure he physically recoiled a couple times reading it; especially when you wrote ‘Virginity is a miracle— the ability to show someone how much you love them in such an intimate way should be saved for someone special.’.

It’s shocking that you’re the daughter of the man who oversees their little sex game.

Suguru thinks you’re vile— embarrassing and pathetic and a huge fucking waste of what seems like a really good pair of blowjob eyes. It makes his skin crawl and he verbally scoffs when he reads your finishing sentence about cherishing your virtues, so focused on the arrogance in your punctuation that he doesn’t even hear Gojo’s laugh.

“Pretentious as shit, right?” He snorts, eyes flickered as he recites the passage in his head. “It’s gonna feel so good to fuck the words right out of her mouth.” Suguru didn’t know what he expected from his friend, but it wasn’t that. It’s clear through, through and through, that he’s dedicated to the idea.

“I mean sure, I guess you’ll have your turn. Maybe she’ll fuck just about anyone after I win.”

“Wait, so you’re in?”

“Whatever.”

“Fuck yeah!” He’s joyful, fist pumping into his chest in a quick celebration before he’s holding up his notebook, standing directly across the floor from the desk.

The wood is dark, deep and marbled, glazed over the top and lined with little symbols of power in the form of trophies. It’s clearly something too nice to serve as a welcome mat, but nonetheless Suguru rests his heels on the surface, ankles crossed over each other as he leans back in his chair. His eyes point to the ceiling to look at anything other than the annoyance in front of him.

“Well clearly we need to set up some rules.” He sneers in his seat when he remembers not looking at him won’t make him shut up.

“Okay well we have the obvious: whoever fucks first wins. And I mean fucks, none of that sloppy anal shit. Doesn’t count.” It’s almost funny, but neither of them acknowledge it. If they do, that’ll come hand in hand with the fact they’re acting just like their fathers.

“She has to be sober.” He didn’t really expect himself to say that, but he did expect Satoru to whine.

Gojo lets it sit in the air for a second before he nods curtly and jots something done.

“Would it be too cocky to say she has to cum?” The journal’s away from his face now and someone could, and probably would, argue that the walls are lucky to see the boyish grin he’s got. His smirk pulls up at the corners of his lips, but Suguru just finds it vexing. Gojo is far too full of himself, he thinks, and he hates to admit there’s good reason.

Nonetheless, he has to give him a little shit. “Do they normally not with you?”

“Hey! That’s not what I meant, asshole.” There’s something sweet to Satoru, under all the sickening that is his personality. It makes people understand just why girls fall for him, and definitely helps him keep a good image to the public.

And there’s something smart to him that makes you feel like he could really pull whatever he wanted off. It makes the idea of competing with just him much more appealing.

“Are we gonna have like a— fuck I don’t know— like a time limit?”

“Fuck is this? A video game?”

“I mean no, but competition wise if it takes us like half a year isn’t that kind of stupid? Because who’s to say she won’t ‘really love you’ by then, and then you’re not making her go against anything, yknow?” And there's also something meticulous about him that makes him aggravating as all hell.

“Fine. A month.”

“Just a month?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Plus, anything longer than that and we’d just be a couple of fucking losers chasing after a bitch.” Suguru knows Gojo is giving him a look without even seeing it, the slightly judgmental and almost kind one he does. “What? You’re the one who said it to begin with.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever. A month.” It’s silent for a second, comfortable with all their years of each other, before he clears his throat.

“That it then?” Maybe they’re the same kind of evil. Maybe they deserve each other.

“One more, actually.” There’s that feeling from him again, the tone that makes Suguru want to agree aimlessly for no fucking reason other than the possible rush. And before he can fester; before his skin can start to crawl and his hands can get clammy just from that sheer desire in his voice, Gojo grins.

“You need proof. And I don’t mean her saying it, because you can bribe anyone into saying anything. Gotta show it, photo or video or something, balls deep or whatever the fuck.” That almost makes Suguru laugh.

“I don’t think she’s gonna go for that one, no matter how good the dick is.”

“She doesn’t have to know.” Now he’s really thrilled. He doesn’t know what it is, but that lights something in him, stirs in his stomach and causes a little quiver in his brow.

“Fuck yeah, man,” he’s really laughing now, pointing at the journal harshly. “write that shit down.”

There’s something unspoken over them now, a deeper bond than they thought they could have. Neither of them would ever admit it, but it feels like they’re those two high schoolers again, counting down til they can become something fucking great. This is the feeling they’re supposed to get from their fathers’ stupid fucking contest. This is actual competition, a chance to actually win.

A new air falls on them, mixed back in with that warm, rich breeze.

“Okay, that settles that then.” Gojo offers, fingers tapping the binding of his book. “She has to be attending the start of the year banquet so that’ll be an excuse to meet her. Everything from then on is up to us.” Suguru always dreaded that shitty event, but now he finds himself doing mental math to count how far away it is.

Even if the whole thing is trivial, and even if you seem like the most uptight thing ever, Suguru is a man of pride. And prideful he’ll be.

“We still gotta do the ‘new year’ thing, you know. They’ll burst a fucking artery if we say we’re not interested.” His voice is gravelly and calm and so not anything he’s feeling, but he thinks Gojo buys it when he chuckles.

“Can you be excommunicated from being a womanizer? Because I think we would be.” They’re almost joking like everything is normal. It’s different, so much different, but they’re acting the same.

“I’m gonna go grab some water and maybe call one of your maids to make lunch, you want anything?” Suguru shakes his head, shifting in his seat as he tries his hardest not to look at the journal Satoru set on the side table.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be back.”

“Whatever,” He waits after Gojo walks out. Waits a good forty five seconds before he stands up, and he crosses the room in about three.

He glances over at the thrown aside notebook, eyes quick as he scans it. The handwriting is adjacent to messy, scattered and the page is littered with semi vulgar doodles and side bars. It’s coherent, though, and even though they both know Gojo had no intention of giving it to him, it’s got his signature at the bottom.

1. Full fucking!! Penis in vagina

2. No signs of being inebriated. Absolutely stone cold sober

3. If it takes longer than a month after everyone is introduced we’re both “a couple of fucking losers” (< Sugu’s words)

4. Orgasms are important ! Or at least near orgasms (she is a virgin)

5. Photo / video proof. If you can’t get it, you aren’t in it (haha! get it?)

He snickers at four, the uneasy tone in the second sentence almost self deprecating. Despite that, he can’t help but feel a smidge of respect that he ended up adding it to begin with.

He grabs the pen from the table, pressing into the paper too hard as he leaves his chicken scratch of a John Hancock. Okay, maybe this will be fun.

taglist… @moonlight-pearls @sharkerino @echerie

[joelmillerisapunk]

Wip Wednesday!

Tysm for the tags @sawymredfox @thundermartini & @almostfoxglove 💖

I have three snippets this week! And Howdy Honey is on its way veryyyy soon!

-> first is for @jolapeno 's dear-uary challenge

The screen lit up, and there it was—a new message.

Every morning, like clockwork, one of you would send a song with a time stamp—each track chosen so deliberately. Some days, it was your favorite love songs, sappy and sweet, reminding the other how much you cared. Other times, it was to lift each other up, a little nudge of hope when the world felt too heavy. And then there were the ones that said all the things neither of you could say out loud.

You: I’ll send you one tomorrow.

———

You: 3:01 - Exile by Taylor Swift.

His heart kicked up as he clicked the link and let the song play, skipping to the time stamp. The haunting melody filled the room, and when the lyrics hit, he froze.

“I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending.”

Joel leaned back against the headboard, staring at the phone in his hand. The words hit harder than he’d expected—bitterness woven into a truth he couldn’t deny. But beneath the sting, there was something else.

You’d sent him a song. After all this time, after everything that had passed between you, you’d listened, and you’d answered. It wasn’t an olive branch, not exactly, but it was a thread. A connection. A chance.

-> next is for @almostfoxglove 's let's get angsty challenge

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Protect me? You can’t even protect yourself, Acacius.”

His grip loosened, and his hands fell to his sides. The silence that followed was deafening, and you felt the weight of it pressing down on your chest.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, the words so soft you almost didn’t hear them.

Your breath hitched, and you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Then fight for me,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t let this be all we are.”

For a moment, you thought he might say yes. His eyes searched yours, his jaw clenching as if he were trying to find the strength to give you what you wanted. But then his shoulders sagged, and he looked away.

“I can’t,” he said, the words barely audible. “I can’t.”

-> last is for a mini 3 part series called hold the line. A long weekend family vacation with dbf!joel

Joel leaned closer, his elbow propped casually on the tile, his intent was anything but. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and steady, the kind of look that made your breath catch. It was as if the rest of the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of you caught in the glow of the moment, the tension between you taut and undeniable.

"You’re trouble, y’know that?” Joel murmured, like a quiet confession.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, though your pulse betrayed you. “And you’re staring.”

“Maybe I am,” he said, his tone unapologetic, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Your breath caught as his gaze flickered downward, lingering on your lips with an intensity that made your skin hum. The music shifted to a slower, softer tune that was spilling from the speakers, wrapping around the two of you.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but the space between you shrank until you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, warm and laced with whiskey, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Your eyes fluttered closed, your heart pounding in your chest as you leaned closer.

“Hey! There y’all are!” Tommy’s voice rang out, cutting through the moment like a knife.

Npt: @evolnoomym @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @arcanefox207 @gothcsz

@itwasntimethatdidit40 @ace-turned-confused @slimybeth69

@toxicanonymity @probablyreadinsmut @morallyinept