#Never knowing that Victor was a woman

[the-soupgoblin]

I love you old movies about queerness that portray such a real and beautiful message in a loving and sensitive way that despite being seen as problematic by today's standards still clearly have so much love and caring for queer people I love you To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, I love you Victor Victoria, I LOVE YOU OLD QUEER MOVIES!!!

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

bad idea, right? | f. odair

masterlist

summary: after receiving a late-night call from your ex-boyfriend, finnick odair, you can’t help but agree to meet with him. what happens when you mix a sound-proof train car and an ex you haven’t seen in months?

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: rough-ish smut, a teensy bit of angry sex, swearing, unprotected sex (zon’t zo that), kinda ooc finnick, choking,

notes: based on 'bad idea, right?' by olivia rodrigo. i lost the person who sent the request so sorry this took so long to come out!! i don’t know if i like how this is written, but smut is smut so… enjoy :)

word count: 4.6k

Neon beams of light pulsed in time with the heavy bass blasting throughout your unnecessarily large home in the Victor’s Village. District Two. Masonry. Big houses.

Two shots of tequila and some other very unnatural concoctions were soaking deep into your brain. Everything was swaying—the room, the people, even you. Your small group of friends danced by your side, keeping together to avoid the creeps that might have entered your home. Although, to you, entertaining a stranger that night did not sound like such a terrible idea.

You felt lonely. Undeniably and pathetically lonely. The alcohol only enhanced your emotions and libido, leading you to search the room for anyone who interested you enough to take them upstairs. But there was no one, because in reality there was only one person you really wanted, and he was no longer yours. He hadn’t been for months.

Replacements had come and gone, but they never stuck. None of them made you feel the way he did.

“Excuse me!” an exasperated voice yelled. “Would you please get out of my way?!”

To your right, your housekeeper, bless her poor deafened soul, was pushing through a crowd of intoxicated partygoers and heading straight for you.

“Claudia!” you shouted over the music, tugging down your short black slip dress out of respect for her modesty.

The elderly woman stopped in front of you, her disapproval of the vibrant scene clear as day. You always paid her double in exchange for putting up with the chaos whenever you threw a house party, which was almost every weekend.

She hovered close to your ear. “There is someone on the phone for you!”

“Did you get a name?!”

After she shook her head, you escorted her through the thick crowd of dancers, into a quieter room and thanked her before beelining for the landline.

With a heavy sigh, you brought the corded phone to your ear and said, “Whoever this is, you better make it quick. I’m not nearly as intoxicated as I need to be and in dire need of another shot.”

Over the scratchy static, you could hear a quiet chuckle—a sound you had spent months trying to forget, along with the person attached to it. How many drinks did you have again? The alcohol must have messed with your mind because this could not be real.

“Hello to you too, sweetheart,” the caller said, his voice low and amused.

Everything you had longed to forget came rushing to the surface at an overwhelming pace. Wisps of hair the colour of a dying fire. Eyes resembling the sea. Arms that once acted as a life jacket. A dangerous mouth that had explored every inch of your body.

No. It couldn’t be—

“Finnick.”

********

Stupid. This was so fucking stupid. You were attempting to sneak out of your own party. A good old Irish Goodbye in your own house. With luck, you would make it out the front door without being caught by your friends, or worse, Claudia. Now that would be scary.

Water flushed through your system, a weak attempt you made at sobering yourself up because meeting up with your ex while drunk was a recipe for disaster. Then again, so was meeting up with your ex in the first place. Nothing will happen, you thought to yourself, we are just going to talk.

A thought even more unbelievable than thinking you would be able to be able to escape the watchful eyes of your friends.

Your high-heeled foot had just crossed the front door when someone called your name. “Damn,” you muttered, turning back around.

Valeria, your closest yet heavily intoxicated friend strutted over to you, her feet wobbling every few steps. “You sneaky little minx,” she slurred. “Someone said they saw you on the phone. It was him, wasn’t it? He asked you to go see him.”

“Just as friends. No, not even. As acquaintances.”

“Oh, my sweet, sweet silly friend.” She grabbed you by the shoulders. “We both know you aren’t that foolish.”

You looked away because you knew damn well that she was right.

“Look, I get it,” she continued. “Your hot, he’s hot.” You smiled. “You both have a history. I just want to make sure you know all the outcomes of what you're about to do. I’ll be here for you if things do get messy but expect a well-versed speech of me saying ‘I told you so’ afterwards.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Val,” you laughed, prying her hands off your shoulders. “I really do appreciate your concern, but I promise all we’re going to do is talk.”

“Alright, but if things go south, call me. Immediately!” she called a little too loudly as you took subtle steps away from the front door and onto the street. “Have fun with your innocent little ‘talk’!”

“Thanks, mum!”

You waved goodbye as you walked down the street, body buzzing with exhilaration and apprehension. Finnick had told you his train stopped in the district’s station for the night. He and his new victor were travelling throughout Panem for the Victory Tour and were currently in District Two. You didn’t know much about his tribute, only that they were a she. The thought of Finnick spending all his time with another girl had that green-eyed monster inside you writhing.

Enough to make you agree to meet with him after midnight while moderately drunk and slightly horny. What a fantastic plan.

District Two’s train station was a short distance from the Victor’s Village, but it was long enough to cause you to remove your heels. You finally reached the train, barefoot and with the wind softly blowing your hair. Finnick had specified a particular door to knock on so as not to alert the peacekeepers residing within the train. So, you knocked. And then you waited.

Your heart was pounding; your hands were trembling. Not long after, a dark figure appeared behind the door’s tinted window. With a click, the door opened and revealed a shirtless smirking Finnick Odair.

Oh, fuck me.

He was even more gorgeous than the last time you saw him. His crossed arms bulged with thick muscles as he leaned against the doorframe, gaze shamelessly roaming over your scarcely dressed appearance before settling on your face. The amusement in his expression was ever-present and ever-growing.

“Finnick,” you greeted.

“Y/N.”

He extended his hand, inviting you inside the train and hesitantly, you accepted. Sparks of electricity travelled up your arm, starting from where his and your hand connected. Some things never changed.

Empty silence welcomed your presence as you entered the train car. Patterned silver vases of white roses were placed atop every available surface. Meticulously crafted chandeliers lit up the room with a golden haze. To your left was an arrangement of black leather couches surrounding a small silver table; further down the car was a rectangular mahogany dining table decorated with fruit and unlit candles.

Somehow a single train car was more luxurious than your entire house.

“Is every one asleep?” you asked, running your fingertips along the pure gold that lined the couches.

“Yeah,” he said, eyes following your movements. “Every room on this train is sound-proof, so...”

You nodded, unsure of how else to reply. Conversations usually ran smoothly between you and Finnick. They were effortless. But that was when you were together. Four months must have passed now since you last spoke.

“Are you and what’s-his-name still together?” he asked.

“No,” you said bluntly. “I broke up with him last month.”

“My sincerest condolences.” His sympathetic tone was as transparent as glass. Sarcasm always was his favourite pastime. “Guess he just couldn’t satisfy your needs.”

Turning around to face him, you leaned against the couch’s arm, jaw clenched and eyes glowering with agitation. “Is there any specific reason why you called me here?”

He raised a glass of rich amber liquid to his lips. “Can’t two old friends just reconnect?”

“Old friends,” you scoffed. “That’s what you call it. From what I remember, the last time we saw each other, we were having goodbye sex in your bed. And in the kitchen and the lounge and on the balcony.”

Something sincere overshadowed his teasing nature, revealing itself in the tension in his facial muscles and the glassy haze that clouded his eyes. Reminiscence. “It didn’t have to be goodbye,” he spoke softly whilst holding your gaze.

You blinked. There was a short pause and only the quiet hum of the lights sounded in the room. You were the one to end the relationship, not the other way around much to your friends’ disbelief. Over and over, you had been asked the same question: why on earth would you break up with Finnick Odair?

Well, behind closed doors, he was incredible. He was loving, affectionate, and thoughtful. He would collect seashells for you that he found on the beach whenever he went fishing, leave hand-written poetry and heartfelt love letters whenever he left for the Capitol, and mother of fucking Christ was the sex just downright extraordinary.

But as previously stated, it was all behind closed doors.

Finnick never wanted to be seen together in public and on the off chance you were, he would practically neglect your existence. Only your most trusted friends and Finnick’s family knew about your relationship. No one else. Eventually, the secretiveness created a deep void inside you that not even the sweetest love letters and seashells could fill. You couldn’t remain with someone who seemed ashamed to be with you in public.

So, with a heavy heart, you said goodbye.

In fear of becoming too emotional, you disregarded his weighted words and crossed your arms. “So,” you began, “how’s the Tour been so far? You must be pretty ecstatic one of your tributes actually won.”

He bounced back fairly quickly. “I suppose it’s always nice to watch someone you trained live for a change,” he said, placing his drink on a nearby table. “Plus, she’s got a lot of charisma. A natural with the speeches and interviews, so I don’t need to do too much coaching.”

And there it was again—that green-eyed monster. “Charisma, huh?” You just couldn’t help yourself. “Is she pretty too?”

Finnick tilted his head, visibly surprised by your blatant jealousy. “She just turned sixteen,” he stated with a small smirk tugging at his lips. Well, no one told you that bit of information. Awkward. “Careful, Y/N. You sounded a little jealous there.”

You pushed off the chair, heading back toward the door you entered through. Maybe this was a bad idea. “Alright, I’m leaving now.”

Just as you turned the handle, a set of rushed footsteps thudded behind you. The door opened a mere crack, sending in a cold draft that caused your body to shudder.

“Wait, just—” A swift hand came over your shoulder and pushed the door shut, eliciting a startled gasp from your lips. You could feel Finnick towering over you, the warmth of his skin spreading onto your cold back and his breaths fanning down against the bareness of your shoulder. He was so close. “I just needed to see you before I leave tomorrow morning.”

Slowly, you turned around, coming face-to-face with the man you shouldn’t have loved. His burning gaze was a stark contrast to the icy metal door your back was pressed against. Tension pulsated in the small space between you and him. The intense attraction that had first brought you two together came rushing forth; trying to fight such a magnetic force was impossible. You needed connection—touch.

This night would not end with just a simple innocent chat, you knew that now.

You swallowed hard, your heart racing. “You needed to see me?” you asked. “Finnick, if you want me to stay, don’t beat around the bush. Tell me what you really want.”

Silence. He continued staring at you and you could see a scheme forming behind his mesmerising green eyes. Then the scheme was unfolding. He leaned down to your level, to your lips, his half-lidded eyes never leaving your mouth as he just barely allowed his lips to brush yours. On instinct, you tilted your head upwards.

“I want you,” he whispered.

You didn’t waste a second to respond. “Then take me.”

He was quicker than a bullet train. Finnick’s lips caught your own and were burning with fiery desire, evident in his haste to wrap you up in his arms and practically merge your body with his. Flames licked just beneath your skin, setting your nerves alight with passion and lust. You burned together in an inferno fuelled by each other’s touch.

Logically, this was wrong. Finnick was your ex-boyfriend and for good reason. But as your hands clung to every inch of him that they possibly could, as his tongue and yours danced fluidly with one another, and as your body buzzed with pure adrenaline, you were willing to abandon all your morals in exchange for five more minutes in his embrace.

A moan travelled from your mouth to his own as you felt him bite your lower lip. You could already feel that familiar throbbing sensation between your thighs and the wetness that exposed how much you craved him. You knew he felt the same. His sweatpants left little to the imagination.

Your hand slipped between your connected bodies, travelling down Finnick’s firm stomach, gliding over his small trail of hair and finally into his pants. Your fingers curled around his cock which already leaked with precum. He was just as desperate as you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, the sound sending tingles down your spine.

You left his lips to press a wet kiss to his neck. “I wonder how many times you pretended your hand was my own,” you purred, leaving another kiss on his clavicle. “How many times you tried to recreate the warmth you only feel when you're inside me.”

His mouth hung open, letting out quiet uneven breaths as you stroked his length, your pace so quick that he already felt an overwhelming urge to release into your soft unrelenting hand. The sound of your voice, so sexy and lustful, combined with your swift pressured movements had his stomach tensing and contracting with a devastating build-up of pleasure.

“Too many times,” he admitted in a strained voice.

You sucked on the warm pulsing skin of his neck, this time receiving a groan that buzzed on your lips. His hands grabbed at your hips for support, roughly kneading the softness and satin in his large palms.

“This dress—fuck!” his voice broke as another hand slipped into his pants, cupping his balls as the other twisted with each stroke of his cock. “Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathlessly. “You look like a fucking siren.”

Your soft lips pecked at his toned chest before pulling away and looking up at him through your lashes. Euphoric delirium was prominent in his eyes. “You should’ve seen everyone staring at my party,” you said. “I wish you saw how badly the men wanted to fuck me right there on the dancefloor; how they undressed me with their eyes. Maybe then you would understand the mistake you made by never showing me off.”

Aggravation blazed in his aroused eyes which only made you so much hornier. Before you could pump another stroke, Finnick had ripped your hands from his pants and spun you around, pinning your body against the wall with his own, his hard cock pushing against the plush of your ass.

“I do understand,” he growled into your ear.

He abruptly started sucking hard kisses onto the side of your neck which had you gasping for air and tilting your head to allow him further access. One of his hands cupped your breast, massaging it with rough fingers and pinching your peaked nipples between his fingertips. His other hand travelled around your hip, wandering beneath your revealing dress and slipping into your lace panties.

You cried out when two fingers plunged into your soaking hole without warning.

“Know what I wish?” he asked, fingers curling in and out of you at such a rapid pace that the wet noises could be heard throughout the entire room. Blissful tears threatened to spill down your face. “I wish those guys could see how you looked right now with my fingers fucking you.” The hand on your breast moved to your throat, applying enough pressure on your carotid to make your head pound with dizziness. “I wish they knew you only enjoy being fucked by me.”

Your walls squeezed around his fingers, pulling him even further inside. Your untouched breasts were squashed against the train door and the fabric of your dress rubbed against your sensitive nipples. Finnick’s cock twitched against you and his hand was constricting the blood flow to your head. Yeah. Nobody else could make you feel better than this.

Finnick plunged his fingers inside again with a hard thrust which forced a broken moan from your lips. “Isn’t that right?”

The heel of his palm dug into your clit and your entire body was overcome with pins and needles; your knees buckled and hit the metal door. That would definitely bruise. You hoped it would—you wanted a reminder of this night.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Finnick, only you. Only you.”

“That’s right.”

Your moans started to rise in pitch, signalling the orgasm which was rapidly closing in. But right before you could come, Finnick’s fingers slipped out of you and out of your now-drenched panties. Your orgasm began to fade due to the lack of friction until it disappeared completely, leaving you feeling frustrated and neglected.

Turning back around with a flushed face, you witnessed Finnick sucking your juices off his fingers with a pop. His grin was conniving, self-satisfied with his actions which proved how desperately you wanted him to fuck you. That smug bastard. You would give anything to wipe the amusement off his beautiful fucking face.

And, well, you did.

“Fuck you!” you exclaimed, shoving him backwards.

“Fuck me?” He raised an eyebrow, smirk twitching at his lips. “I already know you want to.”

With a frustrated cry, you shoved him again, but this time he caught you in his arms and fervidly crushed his lips to yours. You squirmed and writhed and resisted but eventually melted into his embrace when you remembered you wanted this. You wanted this so badly.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as both your bodies continuously curved into one another, neither of you being able to remain still for more than a few seconds. The taste of brandy and you were on Finnick’s tongue as it swirled around your mouth; the flavours, which were polar opposites, sweet and savoury, mixed together to create something utterly carnal.

With the knowledge that this was probably a one-time thing, your kisses became bruising and frantic. Finnick alternated between kissing your lips, your neck, your jaw, and any place he could possibly reach. You hung onto every sound he made, every hot breath he took.

The two of you stumbled around the train car, lips never leaving one another, hands grabbing at every inch of flesh they could reach. You bumped into walls and multiple glass ornaments and laughed together when Finnick just barely caught one before it shattered on the floor.

Eventually, you ended up down the opposite end of the train car. Your back hit something hard and you gasped in surprise. The dining table. Finnick gave a quick glance at the table before pressing another kiss to your lips, this time a little more tenderly.

“Turn around,” he said, and you did.

You immediately felt him press himself against your behind. You stared ahead, chest heaving and swollen lips tingling, waiting for any more commands. His hand walked around your thigh, over the mound of your pussy, and then grazed up your stomach. He left a trail of warm tingles between your breasts before continuing upward to move your hair from your shoulder where he placed another warm gentle kiss.

Finally, he splayed his hand flat between your shoulder blades and pushed, bending you over the table until your torso lay flat on the cold wooden surface. Finnick hiked your dress up to your hips and crouched down, caressing your outer thighs before sliding your panties down to your ankles.

The air hit your bare skin and you exhaled a shaky breath as you anticipated his next movements. As he rose to his feet, he trailed kisses up your leg, ending with a soft bite to your ass which earned him a small giggle.

You could hear him tug down his sweatpants which hit the floor with a muffled thud. Your breaths continued to shake with nerves, coming out in soft pants. Finnick held onto your hip with one hand and held himself in the other. No words were spoken. Both of you wanted this—needed this.

Next thing you knew, your panting breaths had stopped altogether. Finnick’s cock had slid between your folds, filling you up in one single movement, and you both released a relieved moan in sync. Your hands pressed against the tabletop as your body began to rock with his thrusts. You weren’t going to make love or whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. No. This was pure unadulterated fucking.

Finnick started off fast; neither of you had the patience for a slow build-up. You didn’t even bother caring about the fact that he wasn’t wearing a condom. His hand had lowered to your mid back and the other gripped your hip as your warmth swallowed him over and over.

“Oh god,” you gasped.

The sensations that overtook your body were eagerly welcomed. You had tried to replicate the sex Finnick gave with other men after your relationship ended, but none seemed to compare even the slightest. You weren’t sure how a single human being could provide the sensations of nirvana, how one could master the skills of bringing another person to such an incredible high, but Finnick could. He always could.

It was only at this point that you realised how badly your body had been in withdrawal from his touch. The feeling of him inside you was like a drug. Addicting. Definitely not healthy.

You had tried fingering yourself to replicate his cock, but it was a pathetic attempt. Finnick could hit a deep spot inside you that no one else could like it was some secret forbidden location that only he held the key to. He made your body feel full. Stuffed. Complete. In a way that made you feel like you were going to burst into an explosion of white heavenly light.

Your nails scratched at the wood as he continued to pound into you, cock gliding against the ripples of your inner walls. There wasn’t a single inch of space left inside you. He fit like your pussy was where he belonged.

“Always feel so fucking good,” he muttered between thrusts.

His pleasure was always vocal, voiced with heavy breaths, grunts, and groans. Sometimes he even whimpered, especially when you edged him. He didn’t mind you being more dominant at times, but right now was not one of those moments. Being bent over and fucked into a table was not in any way, shape, or form you being dominant. This was Finnick being in control and it felt incredible.

“Finnick,” you said. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop!”

In response he grabbed your other hip and pulled you back into him, burying himself even deeper inside you with each thrust which had you crying out his name again. He hunched over your body, hips still pounding behind you, and sucked harsh kisses on your shoulder. He left behind red and deep purple marks on your shoulder, moving to your neck, and then grazed your earlobe with his teeth.

He returned a hand to your throat, forcing the both of you into a standing position. His fingers squeezed, reducing the blood flow into your brain which enhanced the explosion building up inside you.

“Harder!” you cried.

Both his cock and his hand increased their vigour. Stars were sparkling in your vision. You were almost completely sober now, yet you felt entirely drunk. Drunk on Finnick. He reached his free hand between your legs and your body fell back into his, only remaining upright from his support.

His fingers rubbed side-to-side on your clit, so hard and fast that his hand almost blurred in motion. Your moans rose an octave as your stomach began to tighten. A fire burned within your muscles, so pleasurably excruciating that you thought they would liquefy inside you. Your pussy clenched around Finnick’s cock, walls fluttering with each of his pounding thrusts.

“Come, sweetheart,” he purred into your ear. You could hear how much he struggled to contain his moans as he talked. “Come on, I know you're close. I can feel you.”

You nodded mindlessly and curled your arm backwards around his neck, in need of something to cling to. As the feeling inside your stomach intensified, your eyes squeezed shut and your hold around his neck tightened until you were almost choking him. With every ounce of strength that he had inside him, Finnick increased his pace until he fit multiple mind-destroying thrusts into each second that passed.

He was almost animalistic with his pounding and unrestrained groans of pleasure. And you were so close, so, so close to falling over the edge. His hand was constricted around your throat; the other assaulted your clit, and his cock was mercilessly hitting that swollen spot inside you. Any second and—

“I’m go—I’m gonna come!”

A potent cocktail of pleasure, ecstasy, and release washed through your body, unravelling the tension inside your stomach and exiting through your stuffed hole. Your juices coated Finnick’s cock with warmth as you repeated his name over and over.

You could feel him twitching inside you, spilling himself onto your clenching walls whilst bending you over to senselessly fuck you into the table. His moans were so loud, so fucking attractive, but may God have mercy on both of you if the room wasn’t actually soundproof.

Neither of you could stop. You came an immeasurable number of times; your hands left marks on Finnick’s body as he did on yours, and every surface in the room had been tainted with your sin. You clung onto one another, desperately prolonging your night together that would most likely be the last. Ever.

*********

“Don’t leave again.”

Your fingers stilled as you strapped on your high heels. You glanced up at Finnick—who now had his sweatpants back on—from the gold-lined leather chair you sat in.

“Finnick…” you sighed.

“Please,” he said. Crouching down in front of you, he gently took your hand into his own. His face, which previously reflected nothing but pleasure, now looked at you with pained desperation. “I’ll explain everything to you. Why I was always in the Capitol. Why it was too dangerous for us to be seen together in public. All of it.”

The mention of danger took you aback. You had thought he never wanted to be seen together because he was embarrassed, not because it was… dangerous. Brows furrowed together, your eyes flickered between his, searching for any hint of deception, anything that might reveal malicious intentions. But when had Finnick ever been malicious towards you? Never. All you found in his eyes was sincerity.

“I can’t lose you again,” he whispered, lowering his head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, you realised there wasn’t a chance in hell you were going to walk out on him again. Life would mean nothing without Finnick beside you.

Your fingers sat under his chin, lifting his head to meet your gaze. The two of you exchanged a look of vulnerability, signifying an era of newfound understanding and reconnection.

You whispered in response. “You’ve got me, Finn.” 

tags: @tayrae515

[seraphicsentences]

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

~

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

���pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

[fallstaticexit]

To Continue -> 18+ Pillowfort (TW: Sex, Nudity, Choking, Marking/Biting/Bruises)

Prev / Next / Beginning

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [I won the bid. My father looked me in the eyes and smiled. My name is displayed all over the media. I had almost everything I could possibly want. So why was I still so deeply unsatisfied]

[door swings open]

Lily: Well. Look at you, celebrating your big win by gazing at the bottom of a bottle. A true CEO in the making.

Nancy: What do you want? Why are you here?

Lily: Wouldn’t I be a bad sport if I didn’t come congratulate the victor?

Nancy: [scoffs] Don’t waste your breath. I’m hardly moved nor am I flattered.

Lily: I didn’t think you had it in you. Who would have thought that feeble, meek woman I met had some bite to her after all? Paying off my guys in Tomarang? That’s pretty fucking low. God, I should sue your ass for everything you’re worth.

Nancy: It’s a man’s game, right? Isn’t that what you said? Take what you want? I deserve this. So I took it.

Lily: What is it that you really want, Nancy? Are all your accomplishments for meaningless gratification or do you truly love being a vile bitch?

Nancy: You wanna know what I want?

Lily: Go on. Humor me.

Nancy: Alright.

Nancy: I want you to kiss my heels.

Lily: [huffs] Wha- what did you just say to me?

Nancy: I said, I want you to kiss my heels. I won, didn’t I? You’ve come all this way to my office dressed in red because you know I’m a winner. I deserve this and now, I want my prize; you on your knees kissing my heels.

Lily: [sneers] Are you asking me or are you telling me?

Nancy: I’m telling you. Now get up.

Nancy: Crawl.

Lily: [panting] What else?

Nancy: [breathlessly] E-else?

Lily: [groans] Fuck. I need you to tell me what to do.

Nancy: I don’t know...I’ve never-

Lily: Do you want me to take this off?

Nancy: Y-yes...

Lily: Tell me to do it.

Nancy: T-take off my skirt. Now.

Lily: Keep going. Tell me more.

Nancy: I-

Nancy Narrates: [Oh God. What the hell am I doing]

Nancy: I want you to take off my panties..

[awearywritersworld]

i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend

sukuna x reader summary: you persuade sukuna to play go fish. the two of you have a small disagreement (he really can't stay mad at you). he confides in you about his past as a sorcerer. w/c: 3.4k tags/warnings: the teeniest bit of angst. mostly fluff. banter. cursing. aged up!yuuji. slight yuuji x reader. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: the first section could be read as a brief(ish) stand alone. and for context, the world's shortest frankenstein synopsis: victor frankenstein brings a creature to life using dead body parts and thrusts him into a world he doesn't understand, then promptly abandons him and wishes him dead. alone and regarded as repulsive by every human he comes across, the creature begs frankenstein to create a wife for him too. when frankenstein refuses, the creature is further driven to hatred and violence. series masterlist // masterlist

"we should play a card game!" you exclaim as if you've just had the world's greatest idea.

"i'll pass."

sukuna sounds listless, like it's quite possibly the worst proposition he's ever heard.

"why's that? scared i'll beat you?"

"i'm opposed to mind numbing boredom, more like."

"you really need to expand your horizons," you suggest, making your way over to where you keep your playing cards. "all you do is read and brood."

"it's gotten me this far."

you don't respond, too busy rifling through your bookshelf. just as you spot your cards, a book catches your eye and you pull it from its place.

making your way back over to him, you drop it in his lap. "since you found jane eyre so insufferable, here's one you might actually like."

he surveys the cover, which reads: frankenstein or the modern prometheus

you take a seat across from him at the kotatsu table and shuffle the deck, while sukuna flips through the pages with new found intrigue.

"what's it about?"

"the dangers of playing god. should be right up your alley."

"your subtly never ceases to amaze."

"i'm just kidding." you laugh. "there's a lot more to it than that— revenge, loneliness, personal responsibility..."

he turns the book over. "it's written by a woman?"

you raise your eyebrows at him. "what, you don't think women have enough depth to write about those kinds of topics?"

"no, it was just an observation," he says off handedly. "you are evidence enough to the contrary."

he doesn't say it as a compliment, more so as a statement of fact. you hope your astonishment isn't written all over your face.

clearing your throat, you begin dealing while explaining the rules to him.

he takes up his cards and seems to understand the game after only a turn or two, but you're narrowing your eyes at him soon thereafter.

"go fish," he says for the fourth time in a row.

your gaze shifts down to his hands. there's just no way. "show me your cards."

"wouldn't that defeat the purpose of this stupid game?"

"not if you're cheating, now let me see."

"no."

you reach across the table, hoping to snatch them from his grasp, but he just holds them out of your reach.

swiftly rising to your feet, you launch yourself at him in a sad attempt to catch him off guard.

with only one arm extended, he easily fends off your attack. "do you actually think you have a chance here?"

you sink to your knees in defeat and sit with your legs folded beneath you. "not really, but i have to know if you'd stoop this low."

"that so? had you believed me to be above cheating?"

you gasp. "so you admit it?"

"i told you i didn't want to play," he deadpans.

"that doesn't mean you had to cheat! now we have to start over!"

he carelessly tosses the cards onto the table. "i don't think so."

"please?" you lean forward, jutting out your bottom lip.

he just stares at you with an air of disinterest.

sukuna can be so haughty sometimes, and frankly, it drives you a little crazy. you'd give anything to wipe that look from his face— to prove that he doesn't find this as miserable as he lets on.

leaning forward even further, your hands meet with the carpet to support your shifting weight. now he's watching intently as your face approaches his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

unbeknownst to you, sukuna's breath catches in his throat once he sees your gaze shift, though his mind struggles to catch up. it happens so fast that he hardly registers the quick peck you place on his lips (though maybe it's not the speed of the occurrence, so much as his shock).

"please?" you repeat.

he looks off to the side and stays silent, though his demeanor is indicative of some heated internal debate.

sukuna can't let you win, not that easily. you'd be under the impression that you actually have power over him! and for what? some measly kiss?

no, he simply will not allow that. "i already told you—"

grabbing him by the chin, you cut off his words with another kiss, but this time it lasts a few beats longer. your lips don't move against his, they just linger there in a way that that makes him question whether all of the oxygen has vanished from the room.

when you pull away, you're looking at him expectantly with the same pout still playing on your lips.

"fine!" he barks, grumbling something afterwards that sounds a lot like "evil little minx."

"human earthworm two is definitely still the best."

you're walking home with yuuji after a late night showing of the newest movie in the series.

"no way," you contend. "this one was even better."

he gawks at you. "in no world is the seventh film in an anthology the best! you're crazy—"

sukuna's mouth appears, always eager for a chance to undermine his vessel. "she's right, brat."

yuuji can't believe his ears. "what?! you haven't even seen it!"

"i don't know," you interject slyly. "i'm willing to look past that. it really seems like he knows what he's talking about."

"you mean the guy who's existence predates cinema?" yuuji asks, his eyebrows furrowing as a thought occurs to him. "what'd you do all day anyway? watch plays?"

"..among other things, yes." sukuna answers.

"if you look at it logically," you reason, "we probably wouldn't have movies without theater, so we should definitely consider him an expert in this case."

"oh please, baby. when the topic is ancient civilization or being a homicidal maniac, i'll be sure to solicit his opinion then."

"i resent that," sukuna declares, his conviction forcing a giggle from your lips.

"why?" you question. "was it the part where he called you old as shit, or the part where he called you a murderous lunatic?"

yuuji brings a hand to his mouth to stifle a snort, but you're freely laughing now.

sukuna scoffs indignantly and bites back a comment about how partial you seem to be toward said lunatic. "and to think i defended your opinion."

his response has you clutching at your sides and struggling to see through teary eyes.

but perhaps karma is real, because not a moment later, you step off the curb in a way that sends a sharp sensation through your leg.

you gasp in pain and brace yourself for the impact of falling to the concrete, but it never comes. instead, you're left with fingers clamped tightly around your wrist and a strange sense of deja vu.

you turn your head just before the dark lines fade from yuuji's arm completely.

"tch, watch where you're going idiot," sukuna scolds, his mouth disappearing as soon as he finishes speaking.

"are you okay?" yuuji asks worriedly.

"absolutely," you claim, but when you try to put weight on your left foot, you let out a hiss.

yuuji's hands find your waist, hoping to keep you steady. before you know it, he's crouching in front of you with his back turned and beckoning you to wrap your arms around his neck.

once you do, he hooks his arms under your thighs and easily stands up. "this okay? you comfy?"

"yeah. i can't believe i just did that." you hide your face in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. "thanks, yu."

when you get home, yuuji sets you up on the couch with icepacks, heating pads, three different drinks, two different books, and the tv remote.

he still asks if you have everything you need several times, then kisses you sweetly before heading to bed.

around thirty minutes later, sukuna's leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed.

"hey," you greet. your eyes never leave the tv, as you're privy to the slight tension between the both of you.

he skips the evening's pleasantries. "i could heal it, you know."

you finally turn to face him. "really?"

"of course." he rolls his eyes. "some of us can actually use reverse cursed technique."

"and you've just let me hobble around the past hour anyway?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off."

you blink at him a few times, rubbing at your temples. "well what about now?"

"i don't know," he begins, making his way over to you. he towers over where you're seated on the couch, so you have to crane your neck to look up at him. "just doesn't really seem like something a homicidal maniac would do, but maybe if he were to receive an apology..."

you cover your face with your hands and groan. "i didn't say that. this is really something you should take up with yuuji—"

"i don't make a habit of conversing with the brat, so if that's the way you're going to be..." he turns on his heel and starts for the bedroom, but you grab onto his sleeve just before he's out of reach.

"wait. please don't go."

just like that, your words have his resolve crumbling and any of his lingering irritation ebbs away. he urges himself to stay strong though, especially after the go fish debacle.

when he doesn't speak, you let out a breath.

"i'm sorry, sukuna." he can tell right away that you're being entirely sincere. "i would never purposefully hurt your feelings. i only meant to tease you, but i can see how i was being mean."

are those... are those tears swimming in your eyes? are you in that much pain, or did he just make you feel that badly? in any case, he endeavors to remedy it immediately.

moving around the couch until he's in front of you, sukuna kneels between your legs. he grabs your left foot gingerly, situating it on his thigh before hovering his hand over top of it.

he sighs. "i don't care if you tease me and you weren't being.. mean." the words sounds so juvenile to him.

you weren't necessarily wrong either, goes unsaid.

well, he'd like to consider himself a little more sophisticated than 'maniac' would imply, but that's beside the point.

"then why are you upset with me?"

his jaw flexes as he tries to find the right words. "i would prefer you do that when it's just.. us."

"oh." realization dawns on you, as does another heap of guilt. you know he despises being trapped in yuuji's body, and you completely failed to consider how ganging up on him might make him feel. "i'm... fuck. i'm really sorry, sukuna—"

"stop apologizing," he urges you in a low voice. it's partly because what he just said makes him feel pathetic, but more than that, it's because the look of self reproach you're wearing is akin to a thousand needles in his chest. "it's fine."

he can't believe you're sitting there with so much remorse over a man like him because you... what? wounded his pride?

he probably deserves it anyway.

why should you give a shit when he's done things a thousand times worse, a million different times?

oh, right. because you care about him.

you can't see the cursed energy at play, but you can tell it's working as your pain begins to dissipate.

once he's finished, he carefully moves your foot to the floor and looks up at you. it's not unlike the way a person might gaze at one of the wonders of the world, like they're lucky to be there in the first place.

with the intensity of his gaze, it feels like he can see right into your head— read your every thought and pick apart every emotion. has anyone ever looked at you like that before? you're having a hard time remembering. you're having a hard time thinking of anything at all, really.

so it goes without saying that you don't think about it when you lean forward and kiss him.

it's not at all like when you were trying to convince him to play cards. no, this isn't light hearted or frivolous.

and it's not like the other two kisses you've shared either. it isn't heated or desperate, nor does it leave you gasping for air.

it's tender. it's so fucking tender, in fact, that sukuna wonders whether he's going to crumble beneath your touch.

he grips the area just above your knees, as if needing something to tether himself to before he withers away completely.

his lips move with yours in a way that's slow and careful.

your hands are on either side of his face, ghosting over his skin as a testament to your hesitance— like you're not certain if this is something he would want.

he wonders how in the world you could ever second guess yourself.

when you pull back, you examine his face for a moment before a small, shy smile tugs at your lips and you murmur, "thanks 'kuna."

he just peers at you wordlessly and it makes you nervous, so you attempt to fill the silence. "it feels so much better. a-and i'm sorry again abo—"

his hand finds the back of your neck, pulling your lips against his for a moment longer. "don't mention it, angel."

ever since you gave sukuna your copy of frankenstein, he's spent a decent portion of your nights together reading, his brows drawn together in concentration.

upon finishing, he stares at the page after taking in the final line: "he was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."

he's deathly quiet and wearing some unreadable expression. his eyes seem far off.

you leave him be for a little while, as it's clear he's lost in thought, but eventually you grow a bit concerned. it's been nearly half an hour since he last moved.

"sukuna?"

he turns to you. "why did you think i would enjoy this particular book?"

you consider his question carefully, his mood evoking your own seriousness. "it's... elegant and tragic. i suppose i appreciate the moral grayness of it. why do you ask?"

"no reason."

"did you enjoy it?"

"yes."

"why?"

he ignores your question. "frankenstein— do you like his character?"

you can't help but feel like you're answering some sort of riddle. "i think he's foolish and arrogant, but i guess i pity him to some degree."

"and the creature?"

"i'm much more sympathetic toward him. he's very... complex and certainly less culpable for the events of the novel than his creator."

you're surprised when he laughs. "of course you would think that way."

and with that, he's flipping through the pages of the novel. you move to sit beside him and once he finds what he's looking for near the middle, he begins reading:

"remember, thou hast made me more powerful than thyself; my height is superior to thine, my joints more supple. but i will not be tempted to set myself in opposition to thee. i am thy creature, and i will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me. oh, frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. remember that i am thy creature; i ought to be thy adam, but i am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. everywhere i see bliss, from which i alone am irrevocably excluded. i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous.”

his voice is strangely even, almost bordering on robotic. you're struck with the notion that he's attempting (with rare difficulty) to mask his emotions.

you regard him quizzically and wait for him to speak. the last thing you expect to hear tumbles from his lips.

"you know they called me the disgraced one?" you nod. "do you know why?"

"i know the story that sorcerers have passed down."

he hums. leaning back into the couch, he looks fixedly at the ceiling before continuing. "i was just a boy when i was orphaned and no one knew anything about my heritage, including me. jujutsu society took me in and raised me as a sorcerer."

"and you didn't care for it?"

"oh, quite the opposite. i reveled in it. my strength was unprecedented, that much was clear from the start. i surpassed my teachers with ease, and eventually, i took to training alone— reading primitive texts and honing skills that they couldn't teach me."

your hand finds his thigh, hoping to offer him some consolation before beckoning him to continue. "then what happened?"

"the men who had been my teachers, who had been the only.. family i'd ever known.. they scorned me. deemed me reckless and dangerous to jujutsu society. plotted my demise."

your voice is small when you ask, "were they right?"

he wants to hate the question— wants to hate you for asking it— but he knows that it's warranted.

"no. i admit i was forward thinking and a bit.. unorthodox, but i wasn't..."

"what they thought you were?" you offer gently.

he nods. "not until they made me that way— not until they abandoned me and backed me into a corner like some animal."

you struggle to find the right thing to say, if any such thing even exists. you're amazed that he's confiding in you, and while it makes your heart swell, you really don't want to fuck it up.

he looks back down at the book, his eyes scanning the paragraph before repeating, "i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend."

he says it as if he's coming to terms with the circumstances of his life for the very first time.

"the creature was remorseful at the end of the novel," you recall somewhat bravely. "are you?"

sukuna thinks for a great deal of time before replying. you wait patiently for him.

"no," he answers decidedly.

looking over at you for the first time since he began his story, he's relieved to find your face is free of rebuke. instead, there's a warm willingness to understand him. a sadness because of the way he was alienated.

he's curious whether anyone would be able to read the sentiment on your face, or if he just knows you better than most.

is that a privilege he's worthy of? he doubts it.

"you didn't deserve what they did to you," you whisper, reaching up to rake your fingers through his hair, nails grazing his scalp before your palm rests against his temple.

his head leans almost imperceptibly into your hand, and any regret or unease he may have felt at relaying his past to you disappears. watching a single tear slip down your cheek, he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

he means to say "don't cry. not for me," but the words die in his throat.

for once, your tears are for him rather than because of him and it's utterly riveting. the fact that someone like you would cry on his behalf seems to contradict every horrible thing he's ever been told about himself.

he could sit here and bask in the feeling forever— he's always known himself to be selfish after all. and you know it too, don't you?

his eyes flicker between each of yours, studying your face. "do you want to know why i don't regret the things i've done?"

you tilt your head to the side. "why?"

"because even if it's made me into a monster..."

for a moment, he contemplates not saying anything more. he considers forcing himself to pull away from your touch, even if it's the only comfort he's been given his entire life. he might still be able to salvage whatever tiny, laughable pieces remain of his pride—

"all of my actions have led me to you."

your eyes soften before you're wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your body to his. he returns the gesture after a few seconds pass.

you know he's awful. you know he's cruel. you know that what he's been through doesn't excuse his actions. but still— you want so desperately to take away his pain. to make up for all the things in his past. to wipe the blood from his hands.

as you embrace such an incredibly complicated man (one who is infamous for unrivaled wickedness, yet has his face buried in your hair), you ponder the creature's plea: "make me happy, and i shall again be virtuous."

a/n 2: if you're still w me, thanks for reading!! i'm not sure how i feel abt this part, so feedback is both welcome and appreciated!! also, how do we like sukuna using angel?? in my head he picked it up from the "my good angel" line in jane eyre, so i hope it doesn't seem too unnatural. alsoooo, highly recommend frankenstein. it's one of my favorite books!! mary shelley popped off and literally created the entire genre of science fiction at 21! anyway, thanks for all the love yall, it means the world<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[moldyfairyguts]

toxic doomed old man yaoi

shakespeare if he was woke

Iago: God forsake that doltish, doltish man! That he believeth each word to drop from mine own lips as though ‘twere holy writ, blindeth himself in his conceit... God save us all if that moor hadst remain’d powerful as he once was. Was! ‘Tis ever so sweet to speak of him in the past. My hatred for the man doth outlast his brief, fool’s life. Ay, good riddance I say, good riddance. It gives me somewhat to dwell upon, rather than mine own blood seepeth o’er my clothes – and yet, whilst I am so bruised and beaten, the thought dost creep o’er my mind, that I am glad Othello saw me not in such estate... good riddance, I say! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, loyal or nay! I stand triumphant, as I ever was, whilst they both do rot in the ground, many a pace betwixt them. Never have I known a fate more satisfying. If he were to cast me aside, then let him have naught by his side. Yet the question I can but ask myself still, is why doth mine heart ache so? The moor is dead by none but his own doing. Blind was he to mine own worth, casting me off like so. Say not mine hand was unforced. So why doth I ache so?

Were he alive, would he rue it? The fool, to end his own life... could he not be a man? Othello, thou art a fool if thou hear’st me now! By what reason or wit didst thou wed that woman? Did she know thee better than I? Did she know thee more deeply? Doth her devotion put mine years of loyalty to shame? I-

Ay, see me now! Pacing and railing against the walls of this accurs’d cell like a craz’d wretch. Nay, Othello, thou art not here. Good riddance to thee. Thou art dead, I am alive; thus I am the victor.

Yet it doth feel less noble than I had dreamt. There is no crowd to applaud me within these walls. In mine heart there smoulders a fire, yet beneath it lies an emptiness naught can fill. My hunger should have been sated the moment that blade pierc’d his belly, yet instead tis growing more keen as each day doth pass. And without him. Yet pass they do.

Nay, good riddance, The days pass as e’er they did, yet the man who wronged me doth not see their passage – that alone is reason for celebration. Were I free this moment, mayhap I’d travel to the nearest tavern and there proclaim my triumph to all ‘til my voice grew hoarse.

Yet, even as I say it, I dread that the instant I entered, the name “Othello” would lie presuppos’d on my tongue. Oh, heavens, whom do I seek to deceive? There is none but myself here. His name, which stirr’d naught but anger in my heart, used to do the opposite. Speak on, I shall not, for if there aught left to grip save mine hand upon mine wind, it is my dignity. These walls, they crack and whisper – I should know, for I have stood long upon the other side of them. For Othello’s sake, no less.

The fate he met, ‘twas by his own hand wrought. Cassio, his choice? That lecherous, fawning knave? Were I in Othello’s stead, I’d have cast off this mortal coil the moment such a decision was made. And yet, as he hearken’d to mine own supposed crimes, ere he did end his life in such selfish haste, I find myself longing that his reddened face and rueful eye had been set alight for another cause. Mayhaps a more selfish one. That red, perchance warm’d by mine lips upon his.

God, save me! Let some gaoler enter this cell and thrash me senseless for thinking thus, and let mine head be dash’d upon the cold stone floor for that I would not repent.

--

translated version for stupid harlots

Iago:

God forsake that stupid, stupid man! Believing every word to come out my mouth like it is the scripture itself, blinding himself with his own ego... god save us all if he was to remain as powerful as he was. Was – it’s ever so satisfying to speak of him in past tense now. My hate  for the man lives longer than he ever did. Good riddance, I say, good riddance. It gives me something to occupy myself with, rather than the way my own blood drips onto my clothes – while I’m beaten, the thought can’t help but enter my mind that I’m glad Othello never saw me like this... good riddance! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, faithful or not! I remain triumphant as always while they both rot in the ground, metres apart forever. I’ve never heard of a more satisfying fate. If he was to choose to not have me by his side, then he will have no one. The question, however, that I can’t help but ask myself, is why do I still ache? That idiot is dead because of no one’s fault but his own. He failed to recognise my worthiness, pushed me to the side like some sort of wingman, you cannot say my hand was not forced. So why do I ache like so?

If he was alive still, would he regret it? The fool, ending his own life like that... be a man! Othello, you moron, if you by any chance of the heavens can hear me now, you are a fool! Why in any sense of sanity you still held onto would you marry that woman? Did she know you better than I? Did she understand you more deeply than I? Did she stay by your side for god knows how long that put my years of loyalty to shame? I-

Look at me now. Pacing and yelling to the walls of this damned grey cell like some sort of deluded psychotic. No, Othello, you are not here. Good riddance. You are dead and I am alive, and  therefore I am the victor.

It feels less admirable than I had imagined it to feel.

There is no applause in this cell for me. There is a fire burning in my heart but just below it, my stomach is empty as it’ll ever be. My appetite should’ve been quenched the second that knife entered his belly but for some reason it’s getting worse as the days pass. Without him, they pass.

No, good riddance. The days pass as they always did and this time a man who has wronged me is not here to see it – that, in my books, is a cause for celebration. Why, if I was freed right now maybe I’d even go for a trip to the nearest tavern, and brag about my winnings to everyone I can see until my throat is raw.

However, and I truly may hate myself for this, I fear the second I storm in there and open my mouth to speak, the name “Othello” would already be presumed to be on my tongue. Oh, who am I to fool. There is no one here but me. Where his name, when spoken to me, now provokes ire and anger, it did so used to do the opposite. Speak on, I will not, for if there is one thing that I wish to hold on to other than my hand to my bleeding wound it is my dignity. These cracking cell walls, they speak. I should know; I’ve been on the other side of them for the majority of my time here. For Othello’s sake, nonetheless.

The fate he had he brought it on himself. Cassio was his choice? That good for nothing womanizer? If I were Othello I’d have killed myself the second that god-awful decision was made.

And yet, as he was told of my crimes, before he did end his own life so selfishly, I can’t help but wish the red in his face and the regret in his eyes could’ve been for a different reason. The flush of his face, maybe accompanied with my lips on his.

God, spare me! Let someone back into my cell to beat my wounds raw for thinking such a thing, and let my skull be cracked open on the cold, concrete floor for not wanting to take it back.

[leviscolwill]

darling, i fancy you - jude blurb — #2

“jude… what does leng mean?” your boyfriend switched his attention from his phone to your figure sitting next to him. “why? did anyone call you that?”. you frowned at the serious look on his face, assuming it meant something bad from his tone, “just a guy from uni, what does it mean though?”

jude’s brown eyes rolled at your answer, “how are you gonna have a british boyfriend and not know what leng means?”, he sighed at the questioning look on your face, “it means you're fit, you're hot. it also means you should block him, silly boy.”

you laugh at his childlike jealousy and purposely ignore it, “you never taught me any british slang, how was i supposed to know what leng means? it sounds stupid anyway.”

your boyfriend faked indignation and flicked the back of your head in retaliation, “you sound stupid, woman. you never asked me to teach you anything, because you really don’t care about me like that i guess… you want another word to describe you?” you eagerly nod to jude, your attention now fully turned to him, and not your classmate or uni work.

“daft. ask your other boyfriend what that means, i’m sure he’ll be more than happy to help”, how you wished you could wipe that stupid smirk off your boyfriend’s face. you could easily guess the word wasn't as nice as ‘leng’.

“god, just tell me what it means already”, even after seeing the pleading look on your face, jude didn't give in just yet. instead advising you to look it up, which you did.

needless to say, your boyfriend was nowhere to be seen once you turn your attention back to where he was last seen, two seconds ago. one of the doors upstairs loudly shutting, was all you needed to know precisely where he was hiding.

“jude victor william bellingham, when i catch you...”

[noyoucantpinmedown]

The Bowers Gang When Their Partner Has Their Period

Basically headcanons on the boys' attitude towards periods and how they handle their afab partner having one.

Belch Huggings

While Belch was raised by his loving mom, I picture Mrs. Huggings being quite old-fashioned and therefore very sheepish when it comes to talking biology with her son. Poor woman barely made it through giving him the sex talk, and as a result all Reggie knows is that whatever happens during the elusive ''time of the month'', it's not fun. Despite his lack of knowledge, Belch will be very doting of his partner if he's told they're having theirs, or even if he thinks they might be (he will never ask, or say the P word.) His SO can expect even more cuddles, random store bought or home-cooked treats (Mama Huggins is proud of how considerate her boy is), supplies kept on hand in the glove compartment of his car, patience, and compassion. Will assume sex is out of the question for the time being, but if his partner asks, he's more than happy to oblige. Generally will check on his SO constantly to the point of being annoying, and is willing to do anything they want, being nothing but understanding and obliging the whole time, even if his partner is cranky and takes out their frustration on him. Clueless as he is, he's ready to do anything he can think of to help, and is eager to be directed on what his SO needs. Will it kill him inside to be seen out buying pads for his partner? Yes. Will he do it anyway without complaint? Also yes. 10/10 in terms of support.

Victor Criss

I headcanon Victor as having two younger sisters and one of them is around the Losers' age, so aside from actually having been educated by his parents, he has actually witnessed what it can be like. He's the best prepared for this scenario and the most mature about it. As most teenage boys, Vic is a bit grossed out by the whole thing, but he's determined to handle it maturely and discuss it openly with his partner. Once he knows Aunt Flo is in town, he'll steal some pads from his sister and mom's stash to keep in his backpack, along with some Advil for cramps. He will show empathy for his SO's aches and mood swings, but unlike Belch, he will not take his SO directing their frustration at him- they may be bleeding, but that does not get them a free pass to treat him badly. In terms of intimacy, he's squicked out by blood in a sexual context, so his partner is on their own for that one. Other that that, he's happy to provide whatever his SO needs- he'll cuddle and read with his partner when they're bedridden with cramps, supply them with warm drinks, listen to them rant, and provide plenty of affection.

We're done with the sweet boyfriends part- onto the shitty ones.

Patrick Hockstetter

Patrick's knowledge on menstruation amounts to sexist stereotypes, and shameless as he is, he's not afraid to talk about it. The type to bring it up whenever his partner is grumpier than usual (''Oh, I see. Shark week, is it?''), and enjoys coming up with names for it- they're about as gross as you can expect. He's curious about how it really works, though, which might make it even worse, because now his taunts are even more based in reality. The stereotypical ones don't really stop either, though. The only one who will not tell their partner if their clothes are stained in public, because it's funnier if they're walking around with a red spot on the back of their pants. Patrick has an uncanny ability to just know when his partner's having their monthly visitor without them having to mention it (because he's a stalker with great observational skills). Doesn't give a shit about what their partner is going through, no emotional support to be found here. He's just as likely to take mood swings and crankiness in good fun (but there will be some form of punishment if his SO crosses the line of what he considers entertaining sass) as he is to get bored with it and avoid his partner until they're in a more agreeable mood. But hey, he is not completely useless- will give his partner all the physical affection they want, because he enjoys his partner being clingy and it's easy to transition to sex from there. Every now and then he'll swipe treats and supplies from the store even if he is not asked for them. The more attached Patrick feels to his SO, the more likely he is to do it and the more likely he is to not ask for anything in return... the latter still isn't a lot, he'll still expect his partner to fall over themselves thanking him for his sacrifice and generosity (that being the one chocolate bar he stole while going to steal cigarettes for himself). Generally speaking though, for Patrick it's business as usual. Ditto for intimacy. The negative is that he will expect his partner to put out in some form of another; the positive is that his partner will not be without if they habe those kind of cravings, and absolutely nothing is off the table because we know Patrick is nasty as hell and really enjoys blood. If his partner really wants nothing to do with him in that department, no big deal! He'll just find someone who does while he waits out the crimson tide :) He's such a catch, guys!

Henry Bowers

Oh boy. So, here's the thing: unlike Patrick, Henry actually wants to help. Unlike Vic and Belch, Henry is too stoic and hard-headed to even touch the topic. All he knows about menstruation is wrapped up in sexism, so he probably thinks that ''it's not that big of a deal'', or that ''women play it up for attention''. But he's squeamish when it comes to the reality of All Things Afab, so if he pulls the ''are you on you period'' card when his partner is in a bad mood and his partner answers Yes, I am, expect blushing and stammering. Wants to help, but does not want to talk about it, and a lot of the things that would help he considers demeaning (he will not be caught dead in the feminine care aisle). Not much to offer in the way of emotional support, except awkward pats and clumsy attempts at validation. He will show his partner more grace than usual, but if they're the type to complain a lot, get snappy or emotional, he'll get very tired very quickly. As far as sex is concerned, Henry expects his needs to still be met but refuses to touch his partner below the hips- he won't push his SO more than once or twice, though, and will wait it out without bringing it up again. Generally better at the quiet moments: sitting with his SO while they nap or watch a movie, wordlessly giving them food or a hot water bottle and trying to blissfully ignore the whole situation as much as he can.

[planetwaynez]

obsessed

Jason x Roy x Fem!Reader

Notes: This is part 2 to bad ideia right? !!! So like I said on part one I got exicited and wrote too much, but this is a very special universe to me and I hope you guys enjoy the part two!

WARNINGS: kidnapping, tourture, aggression, complicated feelings, talks about death and guilt, murder, SMUT! cunnalingus, DP, edging.

Words: 7,2k

TAGLIST: @ilyyuuji @witchymomfrien @makiplsfkme @parttimeshadowhunter @fandxmslxt69 @27drunkdeer @solarrexplosion @mariam12344

Synopsis: She is safe once again after Roy and Jason's help, now she can live her life fully - or at least that's what they think.

TWO WEEKS LATER - AFTER SHE LIVES 

It's been two weeks since she left the safe house that turned her home for four months. 

Even though she knows she is safe, Y/N can’t shake the feeling of being watched away, maybe she is being paranoid or just finding ways to reach out to Roy and Jason again but deep down, she is scared that they didn't eliminated all of the threats, that one got away and is in hidden, waiting the right moment to strike her.

Y/N walks down the busy street of New York, always looking over her shoulder, even though she knows nothing will happen, she needs to relax and live her life again. 

She takes a deep breath and enters the bookshop, feeling the warmth of the place envelop her and inducing her to forget all of her worries; She will relax more from now on, if they said there is no danger, then there is no danger.

At least, that's what they want her to believe; 

TWO MONTHS LATER - AFTER SHE LIVES 

Y/N is finally comfortable in her own skin again, finally comfortable in walking around the city without keeping an eye out, finally comfortable to go out at night with her friends and she even applied to her masters degree. And that's exactly what they wanted from her.

You see, it’s not because you killed a few snakes in a nest that you managed to kill them all. 

Arsenal and Red Hood may have killed a bunch of the mafia but they didn’t kill all of it, and that’s why Victor Zsaz watches her right now. He was hired by a very angry heir to kill her and boy, was he enjoying watching her become comfortable in herself again. It was like watching a child learn how to walk, except that he was watching a grown woman learn how to be functional again. 

Victor takes a deep breath and smiles as Y/N gets in the busy pub, she is smiling and is dressed in a short black dress, looking adorable and oh so dumb to her surroundings. 

He made sure that tonight none of the boys would be around, since from time to time they come to see how she is doing on her own. It's cute, but totally ineffective since they never caught a glimpse of him. He enters the pub and follows her from a distance, keeping an eye on her movement around the crowded space, his instructions are very clear. Kidnap her, take her to the heir that he didn’t bother learning the name, torture her  a bit and then kill her off. An easy job, especially now that she is drinking again and it looks like the six shots of tequila she just took are hitting hard. 

Victor sits at the bar and waits;

And waits; and waits and waits;

Until it is around three in the morning and she looks wasted. He smiles and decides it's time;

He walks to her with a soft smile on his lips, getting mentally ready to deal with her drunkness. 

“Hello, lovely” he says, touching her waist lightly; She turns around and tilts her head to the side, but she smiles nonetheless. 

“Hello!” she screams, her eyes are glossy and they can’t focus on much at the same time; He smiles even more.

“You are so pretty” Victor says, getting closer to her and she giggles like the stupid brainless thing that she is; “How about we go to a more secluded place?” he shoots his shot and waits for her answer;

He knows he is not the hottest guy but he is fairly confident in his skills, and when she nods biting her lips, he knows he got her; 

Victor drags her out of the pub, listening to her talk about how she is not one for casual sex, but it's making an exception because ‘it's been too long’ and he is kinda cute. He is getting tired of her voice so when they reach his car and she is seated at the passenger's seat, he drugs her so she blacks out. It doesn't take much for her to pass out and look miserable. Victor chuckles and walks around the car, sitting at the driver's seat and taking off to the location he has to take her to..

She knew she shouldn’t have gone comfortable, she knew should’ve listened to her gut and called Roy and Jason but now it is too late. When she finally wakes up, she is in an empty room with a cold light on top of her head, her eyes hurt and her stomach is making her sick. Y/N looks around and sees no one, being alone is not a good thing, it’s a way to toy with her head and she can feel panic rising. 

She takes a deep breath and touches the ring in her ring finger, pushing just lightly the panic button that is disguised as a ruby. It’s going to be ok, soon they will be here to rescue her and she won’t have to be waiting for death to collect her.

“Look who just woke up” a voice says as the door is open, revealing a bald man with one scar in his eyebrow, he has a big smile on his lips and she remembers him. It’s the guy from the pub. 

She is so fucked.

“Who are you?” she asks, feeling bile rise in her throat, nausea hitting her like a train.

“Me? I am no one, lovely” he walks closer, until his nose is touching hers. “However you must know my boss, Mr. Campbell” 

Y/N feels her blood getting cold, her head gets empty and her heart is racing faster than its recommended. Roy said they killed the man, unless it’s someone else.

The door opens again and a young tall man enters the room, his eyes are focused on her and he has a mean quiver to his lips, making her nausea even stronger. This is not the Mr. Campbell that she meets, but he looks an awful lot like him. Probably a son that many didn’t know about. 

“Y/N” he says, his voice is pure venom as he crosses the room, coming in her direction “I am going to have so much fun with you”

She takes a deep breath, getting ready for anything that these two throw her way. Even death.

…

When Jason and Roy got the call from Y/N’s panic button they were kissing. Hard. Kissing to the point where they were shirtless and Roy was sitting in Jason’s lap. But everything stopped when their own rings in their ring fingers started to beep like a siren, very loudly; They looked at each other and started to move as fast as they could. 

Roy is calling Dinah and asking for a private plane while he puts on his combat boots and Jason is cursing himself for ever letting Roy convince him that taking a trip to Los Angeles was a good idea for their anniversary. 

They are out of the motel in less than twenty minutes and driving as fast as possible to the airport, the localization of Y/N is the outskirts of New York City, and they need to get there fast before something awful happens to her.  They don’t say it but they know they will never live a full life again if she dies. She was not theirs but knowing that she was alive and healthy was enough for them to move on as much as they could, if she dies, they won’t have anything from her ever again, not even a text asking how Lian is doing.

So they rush as much as they can.

…

Her head feels heavy and her body is in pain. She can’t think or even move, it's like she is in a state of numbness. Nothing seems right and she is just so tired. Y/N wants a nap, or two, or maybe not wake up again.

She is not sure how long it’s been since she pushed the button to call Jason and Roy but she knows what she’s been through in the meantime. Henry Campbell, the son and heir of her ex boss - who’s dead, is having his fun with her mind and body.  Henry and Victor punched, kicked, cutted and pushed her hair in their fists until they got bored. They said horrible things and they made mind games with her. She is tired and starting to lose hope.

They won’t come. They don’t care. They knew this was going to happen.

The intrusive and cruel thoughts won’t stop coming, making her dizzy and her throat tight with sadness, her eyes blurry with tears. 

She closes her eyes and let her breathing get even, maybe a little nap won’t do any harm, not more than she’s been through already.

But before she drifts into unconsciousness, there is a loud sound outside, screams and gunfire. Her heart beats faster and that spark of hope comes back stronger than ever; The door is kicked out of its hinges and she can see Roy standing there, his lips are tight and his breathing is heavy.

“There you are, pookie” he says, running to get her in his arms; When is in front of her, kneeling to see her state better, Roy feels a mixture of things. First, he feels guilty for not being there for her when she needed and not coming faster to her rescue; Second, he feels relief that she is actually alive. “Look at me, pookie” Roy asks but he sees right out that her eyes are glazing and she can’t seem to understand what is happening - not fully.

“Red Hood!” Roy screams for his boyfriend, hoping that he is already done with Szaz and Henry Campbell, the lost son of the Mr. Campbell they killed a few months prior. 

Roy holds Y/N's face, trying to keep her awake, since she has a concussion if he sleeps, he won’t ever again see her eyes or hear her voice. Jason sprints into the room, his breathing heavy even through  the voice modulator of his helmet. 

“Don’t tell me that she has a concussion” the brunette kneels next to the redhead, moving Y/N hair out of her eyes and looking for her gaze, but he only finds confusion and fear there. His heart is being crushed inside his chest. 

“You know she does, but she is not responsive” Roy’s voice is full of panic and he is starting to spiral, and Jason knows that he will have to think hard for everyone so they can’t get out of this labyrinth. 

“Take her, I will lead us out” he says, getting up and a plan starts to create itself in his mind. Szaz is unconscious and Henry Campbell and all his men are dead, and if there are more people out there wanting revenge against his and Roy’s girl, he will take them down. He promised he wouldn’t kill without a reason anymore, and now he has a really good one to kill every single person that harms who he loves. 

Jason looks behind him, watching as Roy takes Y/N in his arms in a delicate way, so she won’t feel more pain or get scared. They nod at each other and Jason starts to lead the way out of the horrible place, the only thing in his mind is Roys and Y/N’s safety, then getting her to Alfred so he can patch her up. He won’t let anyone with bad intentions near her ever again.

While Jason is focused, Roy is sparling. And he is spariling really hard. His mind is full of bad thoughts. All the possibilities of what could've happened to her if they didn't get there in time.  All the physical and mental torture that she gone through because they were careless and were more around her. All the punches, kicks, slaps, cuts because he didn’t feel to his knees in front of her when she was leaving their safe house and begged her to stay with them. 

He holds her closer to his chest, holding her bridal style but wanting to lay down, hug her and sob all his tears in her hair, he is scared, so scared that he won’t ever again see her, smell her perfume or hear her laugh. He doesn’t understand how they let Szaz slide, but they did, and now they are paying the price.   

…

ONE WEEK LATER - AFTER THE INCIDENT 

Jason paces around the bedroom, looking at Y/N in the bed. She’s been out for a week now and Leslie said that she would wake up any moment. Neither him or Roy left this bedroom in their apartment since she got here. The only people allowed are Leslie and Alfred, not even Lian can get inside - they are trying to prevent her from more trauma. 

Roy opens the door, walking inside; He looks miserable, dark bags under his eyes and his hair is a mess, but Jason is sure he is not much better than him. 

“Nothing yet?” he asks, giving Jason a mug full of black coffee. Jason sighs, holding the ceramic close to his face, letting the warm vapor soothe his headache. 

“No” they look at each other,  scared that she may not wake up soon or ever. 

“She will wake up” Roy says, trying to hold that last string of hope in him. To not give up;

“She will,” Jason nods, his shoulders getting tense with the idea of not having her ever again to cook with, or to talk about classic books while Roy smiles at them. 

Roy offers his hand to Jason, and he takes, intertwining their fingers together, hoping and waiting for her to wake up.

…

It’s night time and things are calm, there is no movement in the streets and there is no sound coming from Lian’s room - indicating that she is asleep. 

But they wake up with grunts and gasps coming from the bed. Y/N is moving, and she seems scared, nervous. They get closer, each one holding her hand and their eyes full of hope when she gasps again and opens her eyes, her gaze franict, looking at everything and nothing at the same time.

“Calm down, sweets”, Jason says, his voice soft and low, trying to not startle her. Y/N looks at him and frowns, then smiles and her shoulders drop, feelings her mind rest, feeling safe once again. 

“Where am I?” she asks, looking around and not recognizing the bedroom that she is in; Roy enters her field vision and smiles lightly at her, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

“In our bedroom” he says and she nods, her head is still heavy and she feels her whole body scream at her, sore as a consequence of what happened. 

Y/N feels like she is invading Roy and Jason’s private space by being in their bedroom, but little does she know they've been hoping that she stays with them this time, preferably in this bedroom cuddling at night for the rest of their lives. 

“How do you feel?” Jason asks, worry evident in his blue eyes, she takes a good look at him and tilts her head to the side trying to understand that the worry he is feeling is directed to her healthiness. His hair is tossed, mixing the white strake with the rest of his black hair, making him look a little silly. But the dark bags under Jason’s eyes are obvious and he looks beyond tired. 

She smiles and they feel like the sun is finally shining again - even though it is the middle of the night. 

“I am fine” the tears are pooling at her bottom lashes but she swallows them, not wanting to cry right now, not having the mental energy for that. First, she needs to process what happened to her and process Jason and Roy’s actions. Y/N looks at Roy and he looks tired beyond himself, just like Jason. His red hair is greasy and full of knots, the dark bags under his eyes make him seem sick and his freckles seem to lose color without a smile on his lips. 

“We were so worried, pookie” Roys says, squeezing her hand in his hand when he truly wanted to squeeze her in his arms and not let go, unless it was to let Jason squeeze her in his. 

“Really?” disbelief colors her voice, making her feel more fragile than she already is. Jason moves next to her and clears his throat, clearly wanting to say something.

Since Jasonn died and came back, understanding his emotions was a very difficult task for him, but expressing them? Even worse. His throat dries and his heart beats way too fast, it was very confusing and hard for him to tell Roy his feelings, and now he is going through the same dilemma because of Y/N. Like when he expressed his feelings to Roy, he feels like he needs to assure her that they were both, in fact, worried with her. 

“You have no idea how much” that's all that he says, but she always had a easiness

 understanding him, so she smiles and nods, swallowing more tears. 

Roy reaches for Jason’s free hand and they meet halfway, touching each other with softness, their way to tell one another they are together in this, that it's all going to be okay. 

“Could I please be alone for some time? I know it's late but I need to process what just happened” both men exchange looks and their lips contorts into something she can’t quite describe. 

“If you need to go to the bathroom, please call for us… you were unconscious for a week.” she nods, looking at the machines attached to her body. They modified their room for her, so she didn’t have to endure staying at a hospital during this time. More tears pool at her bottom and she wants to scream until she loses her voice. 

Eventually, they leave the room and she looks at the window, wondering what could've happened if they didn’t rush to her rescue, if she didn’t have the ring in her finger. What was going to be? All the possibilities and different scenarios of tragedy involve her mind and she can feel herself fall in a rabbit hole very fast. 

She feels somewhat numb, remembering all the torture and aggression against her. And in the back of her mind she can’t stop thinking that she was a idiot for ever getting herself into this situation at all.

Only if she had been more careful and less curious. 

Looking at the moonlight entering the bedroom, she finally cries. 

TWO MONTHS LATER - AFTER THE INCIDENT 

The coffee machine is making that annoying sound again, which means Roy didn’t fill it with water until it reached the minimum required by it. Y/N sighs and gets up from her spot on the table, to fill the rest of the machine with the water that it needs to work.

It’s been two months since the biggest trauma of her life happened and she can admit that she processed quite well. Way better than she thought she would. But a lot of the healthy way that she dealt with it is thanks to Roy, Jason and Lian. The man practically forced her to stay at their apartment with them after she woke up and recovered.  Now their guest bedroom is her bedroom, filled with all of her stuff and smelling like her perfume. 

Moving to Gotham was not easy to get adapted to, because it is well, Gotham. 

But they make it worth it.

However in the last month they have been weird, as if they are tiptoeing around about something they want to tell her but don’t have the courage to. 

“Sorry!” Roy screams from Lian’s room and she can hear the girls laugh from the kitchen, saying something about him always doing the same thing, everyday. Roy tells her she always forgets the minimum required by the machine.

Jason chuckles from her side, he is at the stove, cooking pancakes, since it’s friday and its tradition to eat them on friday mornings. Lian’s words, not hers.

She looks at him and he is focused at his task, looking truly beautiful, so much that it’s almost unfair. His hair is falling a little at his eyes and he is shirtless, exposing his muscles and scarred skin to the sunlight of the morning, making Y/N’s mouth dry and heat pool at her belly; In the last two months she had to process her big, complicated feelings towards Jason and Roy. How they make her giggle and how they make her feel safe. How they make her feel hot and bothered. How they are doesn't belong to her but belong  to each other. 

“It’s always the same” she says, rolling her eyes and Jason nods, a smile on his lips. 

“Honestly at this point I think he is doin’ it to piss you off” Jason flips the pancake and watches the other side cook, never looking at her. He never does, not in the mornings at least. Y/N believes he avoids looking at her in the morning because she looks ugly. Jason doesn’t look at her in the mornings because he knows he won’t be able to control himself when she is wearing short pajamas and her hair looks so soft. He would break and kiss her until their lips got swollen. 

“You think so? Because I am sure of it” she turns the coffee machine on again and this time, it doesn’t make a weird sound and the coffee is poured into the jar. 

“Good Morning!” Lian screams and runs towards Y/N, hugging her legs and looking up at the young woman.

“Good Morning, Lili” Y/N says, bending down to kiss Lian’s forehead. Once the girl is sitified she turns to Jason and hugs his legs, wishing good morning to him as well;

“Are we eating strawberries with pancakes today, daddy?” the girl asks, her shining eyes on the fruit next to the pancake plate. Y/n smiles softly at the scene, wanting to hug Lian again.

“Yes, baby” Jason answers her, since she talked directly to him; It took a while for Y/N get used to the fact that Lian calls Roy dad and Jason she calls daddy, but once she did, they very easily fall into routine. 

The little girl sits at her chair at the table and waits for her breakfast, murmuring a song to herself. Roy gets in the kitchen, wearing a dark green shirt and jeans, his bare feet not making a sound on the floor as he walks. His hair is not in a manbun today, falling to his shoulders softly. 

“Good morning” he says, getting to Jason first, holding the brunette's waist and giving him a pack on the lips. Y/N looks away, never getting used to them being physical next to her, even if they never do extravagant things in her presence. She always feels like she is invading their moment. Roy walks to her, his hand going to her cheek and turning her head to him, he already noticed that she looks away everytime he gives Jason a pack or when Jason gives him one, as if she is trying to not stare. They think it’s cute, she always ends up with her cheeks red; Very softly Roy kisses her forehead, as a greeting, when he actually wanted to give her a pack on the lips as well.

But he doesn’t, so he just moves on as always.

“I will be taking Lian to class today, please wait for me to go grocery shopping” Y/N knows he is not asking Jason to wait, since he only leaves on the afternoon to go to his book club down the street, although she has to leave for work at one pm sharp, or she gets late at the hospital lap for her shift. 

“You won’t take the long way, right?” she questions, arching her eyebrow to the redhead and he smiles; His hand still holding her face and compelling her to hold his gaze.

“I promise I won’t” and she believes him, not needing more than just those few words from his lips. If he takes the long way, he gets home at eleven am, but if he takes the short way to and back from Lian’s school, he gets home at eight in the morning. 

They fall apart, going to the table to take their seats and wait for Jason. He hates when they help him in the morning, saying it’s his duty to Lian and not theirs, so they wait patiently for him to finish breakfast.

While waiting, Y/N and Lian talk about how the girl’s day it’s going to be at school. Y/N listens to the little girls rambles attentively, asking questions at the right time and agreeing when it’s needed to. Roy watches them, his hands itching to reach out to the other side of the table and hold Y/N hand on his, he is getting miserable by the day not being able to treat her as she deserves and Roy knows Jason is already miserable.

She is more than just pretty, she is divine. And it’s not just her looks, it’s her brains and her personality and her soul, it’s everything that makes Y/N that turns her into this being made of light. And Roy wants to devour her every time she laughs at one of his jokes or when she gets his favorite ice cream at the grocery shop before him, because she is just that thoughtful. 

He looks at Jason, who is filling another plate with pancakes and they share a look full of meanings. But the main one is: I can’t wait anymore.

They can’t wait anymore, they need to have her to themselves or they are going to slowly turn into mad mans. 

Jason walks to the table and leaves the pancake plates, to go back and return with one full of strawberries. Y/N smiles widely and before she starts to eat, she fills Lian’s plate with pancakes and strawberries. They sit next to each other and Jason sits next to Roy, watching the woman and the girl of his life smile at one another and talk in loud voices about Barbie.

They eat, conversation flows easily, especially with Lian at the table and once they are done, Roy leaves with the little girl to take her to school.

“Till later” she screams and holds Roy’s hands, leaving for another day of education.

Y/N smiles and looks at Jason, that is very much to avoid looking at her again.

“I will get ready, soon Roy is back” Jason only nods and starts cleaning, leaving a confusion on Y/N head. He is acting weird, almost robotically but she says nothing, going to her room to get ready for the day.

While Jason cleans, his mind wonders. When she turned around and her back was to him, he looked. He took a really good look at her in those flimsy pajama shorts and that oversized shirt that once belonged to him. He can’t control his mind, not anymore, fantasizing all the things he would do to her if she only looked at them, if she only saw how much they both burn and agonize for her. 

He finishes cleaning and goes to his and Roy’s room to get ready, sporting a raging hard on that it’s starting to turn painful.

He sighs and thinks about disgusting things to get calm, to not lose all his senses and jump on her when he sees her again.

Twenty minutes later, Roy is home, calling for them from the living room. Jason is the first to answer, showing up to Roy’s encounter and kissing his boyfriend, hard enough to bruise.

‘Wow, what happened?” Roy asks when they break apart and Jason rests his forehead against Roys.

“She was wearing one of my t-shirts today” Jason answers in a hushed voice, low enough to only Roy hear it and the redhead chuckles and caresses Jason back with one hand, leaving the other in his waist. 

“Yeah, yesterday she was wearing one of mine” they both groan lowly, not knowing what to do anymore. They need her just as much as they need each other.

“We have to do something about it” Jason says, his hands playing with Roy’s shirt and wanting to throw a tantrum over not having Y/N.

“Do something about what?” her voice is the one to answer Jason’s and they both stiffen lightly, worried that she hears something she shouldn't, not just yet.

They break apart and turn to her, just to be stunned by her beauty. Y/N was wearing a red suit, paired up with a white satin blouse and white high heels, making her look gorgeous.

Roy never really had a filter and he admits that when he was younger, it was worse. But now, looking at her, he feels like he is twenty again and can’t control his mouth.

“You” he says, not actually thinking anything coerent,  all his thoughts were gone and the only thing in his mind, in a loop, was Y/N on all fours sucking his cock while Jason fucked her from behind.

“What?” she asks, walking towards them. Wrong move, Roy thinks. The closer that she gets, the thinner their control becomes. 

“Do something about you” Roy repeats himself, this time crossing his arms over his chest, to contain his urges to just grab her like a man cave. 

“Oh” she says, and Jason can see in her eyes how oblivious she is. Its evident in her expression that she thinks they are going to kick her out of her apartment. “I will arrange a new place for me, don’t worry, Roy…” she smacks her glossy lips together, avoiding their gaze, “I know it must be weird to live with the ex girlfriend that you had to safe from death, so I will be moving out by the end of the next week” she guarantees and Roy gets angry. 

Really angry.

And it’s not easy to get Roy angry. It’s actually quite hard but with a few words, she managed to make him almost furious. 

And Jason smiles to himself, stepping back and enjoying the scene that is about to happen. He’s been waiting for the moment that Roy loses his mind, loses his control, loses all his composure because if Roy is the first to move, she won’t think that Jason is cheating. Or that he is out of his mind.

He is, but for a different reason. 

“What the fuck did you just said to me?” He doesn't call her pookie and he doesn’t relax his muscles, his jaw is tense. If Jason didn’t know his boyfriend he would have swore that Roy was going to punch Y/N in the face by the way he stood in front of her. But he knows better, he knows he is about to kiss the life out of her, she just has to make the wrong move, again. 

And she does; She moves closer to Roy, looking him dead in the eyes, her lips drawn in a mean scowl. “I said that by the end of the next week, I am moving out”

She truly doesn't know how this happened. How the easy going, soft vibe that was going on earlier turned into something heavy, angry and complicated in a few minutes.

“You are a fucking minx” Roy growls, grabbing her neck in one swift motion and collading his lips against hers. Y/N gasps and tries to move from his grip, her eyes open and wide and Jason smiles, a wicked one. The type of smile she never saw on his pretty face and she knows she is in trouble. 

Jason moves fast and stands behind her, holding her waist and leaning down to whisper at her ear, “Kiss him, sweets” 

And that is all she needs to melt into their hands and kiss Roy back, her hands tangling in his long red hair. Roy moans and pushes his tongue inside her mouth, his body and soul remembering all the things that made her swoon in a tidal wave, making him almost feral. 

He twists his tongue on hers and shivers when she whimpers softly. Fuck, he missed her.

Jason draws lazy circles in her waist, making her mind dizzy, not being able to process all at once, but she leans into his touch, wanting more from him. And he gives, pressing his body against hers and kissing down her neck, making her mewl and letting Roy swallow every sound that she makes.

Roy breaks the kiss, his lips red and swollen, looking down at her with a fire burning in his green eyes; “Turn around, pookie, and Kiss Jay” with his hand around her neck he turns her around, making her face a very horny Jason. No, he is actually going insane. If she doesn’t kiss him, he might never recover from the rejection. 

“Yes” she whispers, her hands going to his hair and bringing his mouth to hers, whimpering when his lips touch hers. Jason relaxes and grips her waist tightly, his tongue twisting around hers in a erotic way, making him hard and wanting.

They break apart and she says, in a rushed voice: “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this, wanting you, wanting Roy” she kisses his cheek and Jason feels warth at this chest, his heart at ease. She turns around and kisses Roy’s cheek and he smiles, some of his anger disappearing. 

“We need you, sweets” Jason says, his voice hoarse with want and his hands are shaking a little bit when he grips her hair and pulls, eliciting a choked sound from her, Y/N’s eyes rolling to the back of her head and her breathing heavy. Roy kisses down her neck and she feels so good with them lavishig her. Jason kisses her face and makes her giggle and Roy pinches her side. 

“Don’t you dare fucking leave” he moves up and Jason lets go of her hair, letting Roy grab her neck once more, “Not letting you go again, ever, you belong to us now, pookie” 

Jason can be possessive, he is aware of his own actions but when Roy gets in a mood, he can be so much worse and right now, he can see in Roy’s eyes that the red head is feeling really possessive. 

“Okay” she whispers, her voice low with desire. 

“Now, we are going grocery shopping” And as he moved towards her like a hurricane, Roy was at the door, leaving her and Jason dumbfounded. 

“Now?” Jason asks, not believing his boyfriend, “I have a hard on, Roy” 

“I know, I do too” and they stare at each other, and neither of them moves, Jason’s hands are resting in Y/N hips and he sighs when his conversation with Roy over looks is done. “She needs to learn to not run away from us, Jay”

Y/N huffs, leaning against Jason's chest and crossing her arms in something very kin to a tantrum. “I don’t run away!”

“You do, actually” that’s all Jason says before he goes to the door and waits for her, Y/N can’t believe they are going grocery shopping when they just made her wet but they are, and she has to go too because they never get the right brand of shampoo and conditioner. 

“That's cruel” she grabs her purse and walks to the door, feeling like an idiot and Roy giggles like a schoolgirl.

“Promise we will fuck you stupid tonight” and he kisses her cheek. Jason agrees with him and kisses her other cheek.

Y/N walks out of the apartment, with a little bit of hope to get what she wants at night, since Lian is going to spend the weekend with Dick and his daughter Mary. 

She truly hopes they fulfill their promise. 

…

Grocery shopping was torture and work was a full session of desperation. Y/N can’t wait to get home, she feels restless and she wishes that the bus moves faster. They are home waiting for her and all she wants is to kiss them and touch their skin.

When she gets out  of the bus, she sprints to their building and gets into the elevator, pushing the button to their floor.

The door opens and, as usual, Roy is waiting for her at the door with a smile. She once again sprints and throws her arms around him, kissing him hard.

“Missed you” she says softly, tangling her hands on his hair and making him laugh. 

“Fuck, this is good” he holds her by her hips and kisses her back “Is soo good to have you”

They smile to eche other and get inside, were Jason waits for them on the couch, cleaning his guns. When he looks up, automatically he drops his things on the table and waits for her next move. Y/N doesn’t think at all, throws herself at his lap and kisses him with the same want that she kissed Roy.

“Missed you” she tells him and smiles. Jason finally feels complete.

They walk around the promise from earlier. They’ve showered and are in pajamas, just waiting to see who makes the first move. They are in the main bedroom watching a movie and Jason can’t wait anymore.

He kisses her, pressing her body against the mattress and enjoying her little surprised sound. His hands roam her body and he feels like a teenager that never had sex before; He needs her, he needs Roy.

When he feels Roys hands on him, he completely melts; Roy grabs him by the back of his neck and breaks their kiss, just to turn Jason’s head towards his and kiss the brunette with want. This time, Y/N doesn’t look away, she stares and whimpers, loving the view. 

Roy turns to her and kisses her as well, loving the contrast between kissing her pliant mouth and kissing Jason’s demanding one. 

They kiss and touch each other, moaning and whispering praises to each other. Y/N feels her skin on fire every time they kiss her or when she touches them. Jason practically reaps her shirt off and he leans, kissing her right breast with want. He kisses, licks and bites softly, adoring the feeling of her on his mouth. Roy moans and goes for her other breast, making her scream with pleasure, her body not used to having so much attention at the same time. 

They meet in the middle of her skin and kiss, making wet sounds that drives her crazy. 

They move around and undress, kissing more and more. Wandering hands exploring new places.

Roy’s fingers find her clit and he smiles, playing with the bundle of nerves with expertise. Against Jason's lips, she moans, stopping her movements on his cock. Jason twists her hair in his fingers and clicks his tongue at her, and she can’t stop thinking how hot he looks right now.

“Don’t stop, sweets, or Roy won’t let you come” she whines but moves her hand again, eliciting a broken moan from Jason. He closes his eyes, lost in the feeling.

Roy kisses him and he feels like he could die again and this time he would die happy.

Jason moves away from them, making both whine in reprimand. But he pushes Y/N back into the mattress and grabs Roy to go down with him. Laying in their bellies, they settle between her legs and smile to each other, eating her out together. 

She moans loudly, not expecting this but loving it anyway. She feels like her soul might just leave her body when Jason puts a finger inside her, his tongue on her clit alongside Roy’s. 

Her vision blurs and she can’t hear anything when her orgasm hits her, making her body spasm. Both men smile, eating her out with more vigor and Jason’s finger moving faster. She grabs their hairs and tries to move them out, eventually they do, kissing her body and taking turns kissing her.

“I want to feel you” she says, mind in a haze, “both of you”

“At the same time, pookie?” She agrees, not thinking much about Roy’s question but she knows she wants them.

Now;

They move around until she is sitting on Jason’s lap, kissing his neck and caressing his skin, “Fuck me, Jace, please” she bags and he groans, not being able to deny her. So he moves his cock until he is pushing inside of her, their bodies connecting perfectly. 

He fucks her in a slow pace, letting her get used to and when she starts to moan more Roy moves, grabbing her asscheeks and moving them from his line of vision, opening more of her legs, showing all of her to him. He growls, watching Jason’s cock move in and out of their girl. 

“Ready, sweets? Roy is going to push inside” Jason says and she nods, wanting to feel full, full of them, of her men. Roy fists his cock and Jason stops his movements, letting Roy push inside her pussy.

She whines, hides her face on Jason’s chest and wiggles a little. “Fuck, pookie, don’t move yet” Roy groans and pushes inside more, until they are both inside of her pussy, feeling her and each other.

“Fuck” Jason growls, leaving marks of his hand on her thighs. Roy nods, agreeing with the feeling but not being able to form coherent words.

“Move, please” she bags in a broken voice, trying to move her hips up and down but not being able to.

They start moving, when one pushes inside the other pushes out and they fall into a delicious rhythm, where soon they are coming. Panting and moaning, Y/N comes and gets jelly, Jason comes soon after and so does Roy.

They move around again, but this time to cuddle. 

After a while, Roy says: “I hope this means you are our girlfriend now”

Y/N laughs, not believing his audacity; “Not even going to ask me out?”

Jason kisses the crown of her hair and smiles, just to ask in a sarcastic voice “want to go out on a date with us?”

“Yes” she doesn’t even need to think, and she only asked for the date to pick on them.

“Good but you must know that after the date, you are our girlfriend” Roy says, hugin her closer to his body and moving his hands to rest on Jason’s hips.

They go out a week later. Two months in, they are officially dating because Y/N made them ask and one year forward, they are marrying each other in Bruce’s garden. 

[morgan-tha-gorgan]

Logan can sing.

But he doesn't sing in front of anyone.

When he is by himself (driving a car or even in the shower) he starts to sing.

And bc he is around 200 years old, he sings from every time period. Every song he knows is a memory of a purely happy moment: An old lullaby sang to him by his mom or adopted dad. A jaunty little jig played on an out of tune fiddle that played when he had a first dance with someone in his youth. An upbeat jazz number that played in a nightclub the night before him and Victor shipped out to the European theater in WW2.

He knows a lot of songs. And each one a memory that he feels is worth revisiting when the mood strikes him.

The thing is, Althea hears everything. She keeps it to herself. She likes his voice, especially the way he sings the oldies she grew up with. She knows he would be embarrassed and never sing again if she gave even the slightest inkling of knowing. So, she just listens.

Laura hasn't ever heard him sing, but she notices that when they're in a car together he insists on letting certain songs play. He never sings or even hums. He just listens. But one day, while they were picking up Althea's medications and geoceries, Joan Jett and the Blackheart's "Bad Reputation" starts to play. And Laura, can't help it. She loves this song. And starts to sing to it. Logan looks over at her perplexed. "I didn't know you sing?" He says to her. "This song is about you, you know," she taunts back. He snorts. But then he starts bobbing his head to the beat. Laura notices and sings a little more enthusiastically, hoping he might join in his own way. He hums low, while turning up the volume so she can't hear him. Laura sings a little louder and even does a little air guitar. He just watches and smiles. Laura doing her one woman revival of Joan Jett and the Blackhearts.

They get back and Logan hands Althea her bag of meds. "Make sure Wade doesn't find this stash," he says. Laura unpacks some of the groceries then heads out for the night with some friends. Wade is out on a job, so it is just Althea and Logan. They sit on the couch, Logan flips through channels until they find something they both like. They more often then not gravitate towards the Turner Classic Movies channel, or some trash reality TV that catches their interest. This night, Logan lands on "Singing in the Rain," and he stops. It is the titular moment when Gene Kelley and Debbie Reynolds are kissing on the stoop, before he breaks out into the big musical number for which the movie is called.

Althea notices this immediately. "I never took you for a guy who liked musicals," Althea quips. She hears the remote creaks in Logan's hand. He is going to change the channel. But Althea is quick to stop him, "Nah, uh....I like this part. Don't change it."

Gene Kelley put his umbrella aside, starts to hum that catchy tune and the music swells...Althea noticed she could feel a slight thumping on the ground. It was Logan's foot, tapping to the beat. She also heard a very slight creak of the remote, still in Logan's hand. He was tapping his finger to the beat as well. Althea smiled to herself: this guy really is full of surprises.

They watch the whole movie. The entire time, Logan kept his hand on the remote but never made a move to change it. His finger and foot tapped to every song.

As the credits rolled, Logan began moving furniture to pull out the futon. Althea walked around to figure out where he was putting the furniture so she wouldn't trip over it in the morning.

"I saw that movie with my dad when I was probably 9 years old. It was the first movie I ever saw in a theater," Althea said.

"Me, too," Logan said. "First, time in a theater."

"I figured you'd be into westerns with how you act like Clint Eastwood up in here."

"Clint Eastwood was in a musical, too."

"What?"

"Something like...Wagon Paint? Can't really remember. We were watching it in the barracks in Vietnam when we were suddenly being rushed..." his voice trails off and the room tenses around him.

Althea didn't need eyes to see that Logan was having a traumatic flash back. She knew not to touch him. Instead, she quickly fiddled her hands to where she last heard the remote clank. When she finally grasped it and found the power button, she realizes she had no idea what movie was playing next. Hoping it wasn't a John Wayne war movie, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard a song she vaguely recognized belonging to the musical "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," an obscure one for sure. But hey, better than what was happening in Logan's head right now. Howard Keel was full on belting about how some girl was the girl for him, so Althea jabbed the volume button as loud as it would go, neighbors downstairs be damned.

Eventually, she heard Logan move. It sounded like he took a step, like he was turning towards her.

"Althea?" He sounded a little dazed and confused, but atleast he was here, and not lost in his thoughts. She didn't want to embarrass him.

"Sorry, Logan, I read in the TV guide that this movie was on next and I just had to see it."

"You read the what?"

"Just lay down and watch this movie with me for a bit."

And so Logan found his place on the futon, Althea on her sitting chair. And they just let the music and movie take them away for a bit.

"Thanks Al." Logan, said.

"Don't mention it."

When the movie ends, Althea turns off the TV and makes her way to her bedroom. As she dozes off, she hears, rather clearly, Logan singing. She can't make out what he is singing. But it sounds vaguely like Joan Jett and then morphs into Singing in the Rain.

[joelslastofus]

[SUMMARY: Joel secretly keeps a close eye on you after finding out you’re pregnant and isn’t ok with how you’re treated by your mother Marlene.]

Angst, child birth

PART TWO

Your mind couldn’t stop thinking about Joel now being around. He did as he said he would and kept his distance but you would feel his eyes on you every now and then. Ellie and you had both grown somewhat close for the last few weeks and so she helped you that morning make breakfast.

“Do you actually like doing this?” Ellie asked just as you felt a strong kick from the baby distracting you from answering her.

“Ouch” you chuckled as Ellie looked over at you.

“How does it feel?” she asked curiously staring at your belly.

“Um…a little weird but I’ve gotten used to it now” you shrugged.

“Wanna feel?” You turned towards Ellie allowing her to place her hand on your belly. Her eyes widening in amazement as she felt your baby move. You had no idea that your mother’s friend Victor was watching you in the doorway in a way you would have never expected. Joel soon walked in the front door wiping his hands off with a rag after doing some work for the day. Just as he looked up he noticed Victor down the hall. Joel noticed how he licked his lips as if he was looking at something that bought him pleasure, that’s when he heard your voice and realized he was staring at you. A crease forming between Joel’s brows, he cleared his throat purposely making Victor look back at him. Distracted with Ellie you hadn’t heard a thing as Victor walked towards Joel with a chuckle.

“Something about a pregnant woman I just find…sexy” he looked back over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you outside” he patted his back and walked out not realizing the threatening glare Joel had given him.

Joel took a step closer overhearing you speaking to Ellie.

“Do you think it’s a boy or girl?” Ellie asked as she continued to help you.

“I don’t know, I kind of hope a boy. Even though I’d be happy with a girl too” you shrugged with a giggle. Joel couldn’t help but smile as he heard the excitement in your voice.

You would see Joel through out the day but kept away from him at all times…anything to avoid any suspicion from your mother.

That evening you surprisingly all sat together during dinner, something that wasn’t done often let alone with Joel. Ellie sat beside Joel whom she didn’t really know but she seemed to be the only one to notice how he would sneak a look at you.

“So you’re getting close to having the baby huh?” Victor pointed out making Joel look up. God you wished there could have been anything else as a topic other than your baby.

“Mhm, eight months now and she still managed to not tell me who the hell knocked her up” your mother spoke sarcastically. You swallowed nervously taking a sip of water and remained silent until you felt a sharp pain.

“Ow” you gasped practically dropping your cup on the table. Joel eyes were alert with concern looking directly at you.

“And that proves me right” Marlene laughed ignoring the discomfort you clearly felt. It had been about a week now since you began feeling these sharp pains.

“Maybe you should lay down” Joel’s voice made your mother, Victor and Ellie look his way.

“I um-I think I will” you quickly responded as Victor quickly stood up.

“Here, let me take you to the room” Joel, not being able to say a word narrowed his eyes on Victor as he walked you out not even realizing Marlene was speaking to him.

“Miller!” She yelled out snapping him out of it.

“Hm” he looked at Marlene.

“How are you holding up here?” She asked with a squint of her eyes.

“Just fine, why?” She looked down at his plate and noticed he hadn’t touched any of the food.

“Just making sure our guest is comfortable.” Joel wasn’t a stupid man, he could tell she wasn’t genuine in what she said but in that moment he didn’t give a shit. His only thought being you and Ellie could tell.

“I think I’m gonna go make sure she’s ok” Ellie quickly stood up and walked out of the room as Joel crossed his arms.

Victor had left you in the room and didn’t really say much. Of course, too distracted with your discomfort you didn’t pay attention to the way he had looked at you.

“I got it from here, thanks” you smiled at Victor just as Ellie showed up at your door.

“Hey you ok?” Ellie’s voice made you look up.

“If you need anything, call for me” Victor left the room as Ellie looked at him strangely.

“I’m fine. I think just tired from being on my feet all day” you sighed.

“So why don’t you get more rest?” She asked.

“Ask my mother, she doesn’t think me being pregnant means I can’t do the same amount of work. I think it’s her way of punishing me.” You shrugged.

“That’s stupid” Ellie whispered.

“Well, you get some sleep, I’ll make sure everything is cleaned up, I’ll see you tomorrow” Ellie was pretty sure you had already fallen asleep and quietly closed the door letting herself out.

Once she came back to the kitchen, she found Joel alone cleaning up. Joel was hesitant but itching to ask Ellie if you were ok but before he even asked she already knew.

“She’s fine” she suddenly spoke taking him by surprise.

“She’s asleep in bed” she turned and began to clean as if she had said nothing. Joel stopped and looked at her strangely.

“Beg your pardon” he attempted to somehow act confused.

“What, you don’t think I notice the way you look at her? What is she like your girlfriend or something?” His silence making Ellies eyes widen.

“Wait! Is that your kid?!”

This girl was smarter than he expected.

“Shut up” Joel whispered looking behind him to make sure no one heard her.

“Just don’t repeat whatever we speak of”

“I knew it!!”

“Don’t” Joel warned her.

“Duh, I’m not stupid” Ellie chuckled as Joel looked at her unsure whether to feel anxious that a child knew your deep secret or relieved that he now had another way to keep an eye on you.

“So she say anything else lately?” Joel proceeded to ask as he pushed a chair in.

“Um…she’s scared” Joel of course knew this but to hear it was different.

“Marlene is kind of a-“

“I know” Joel cut her off.

“Sometimes she doesn’t feel good and Marlene doesn’t let her rest. Like today, the only reason she let her go to the room was because you said something, she keeps her on her feet all the time. She thinks her mom does it on purpose” Ellie noticed the way Joel crossed his arms, chewing on his inner lip, anything he could do to not show Ellie how what she said truly pissed him off.

“Do me a favor alright” he whispered.

“Sure”

“Keep an eye on her for me, you come find me if anything. Understood?”

Ellie nodded as the two of them continued cleaning up.

The next morning you woke up to your mother barging into the room loudly telling you to wake up.

“Time to get up, it’s a big day, lots of work to do and-“

“Mom-“ you rubbed your eyes half asleep. An ache in your back that wouldn’t go away, your feet as swollen as can be.

“Mom…I don’t think I can today…really”

“Ah ah, honey. Now you know you don’t get to make those decisions.”

“Mom, please it’s not an excuse” she unexpectedly leaned over you with a look you knew you couldn’t dare answer back to.

“Get up and get yourself ready, today you’re working with Joel. Nobody told you to get pregnant” she left the room slamming the door shut expecting to see you outside very soon.

Of course today you would be working with Joel, how much worse could the day get?

Waddling to the room Joel was in, you saw him already stacking boxes. More cans of food had come in and needed proper organizing the way your mother liked. Joel turned not expecting to see you and instantly noticed you didn’t look right.

“What are you doin’ here?”

“I’m here to help you” you shrugged as you walked around the table towards the boxes beside him until he took a step in front of the them blocking your way.

“Oh no you ain’t, you better get back to bed. Now”

“Joel, I can’t”

“Why the hell not?” You could see the frustration clear on his face.

“My mother-“ before you could finish your sentence Joel cursed under his breath looking away.

“Look, you don’t know her. I can’t just ignore her and go to bed-“

“Then I’m gonna say somethin’”

“No!” You screamed.

“You don’t know what that would do to me, please” you whispered desperately. Joel could see the fear you felt and as much as he didn’t want to listen to you, he did.

“Fine” he grabbed a chair placing it beside him.

“You’re gonna sit right here and not do a damn thing” you sighed and gave in. Sitting down sounded like absolute heaven.

Joel watched as you sat in the chair and leaned your head back taking a deep breath with your hands on your belly. A black tank top fixed tightly around your belly as it poked out beneath.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just exhausted. I’m barely sleeping”

“Should be on bed rest not no damn heavy liftin’-“

“What the hell is going on here?” Your mother walked in to see you sitting back comfortably.

“Mom-“ you tried to sit up.

“It was me, I told her to sit down. She shouldn’t be out here”

“And who the hell are you to think you could tell her what to do?” In that moment Joel so badly wanted to tell her who the hell he was.

“I’m sorry mom, I just-“

“I don’t wanna hear a word. You can help Victor take crates off the truck-“

“Ya gotta be kiddin’ me” Joel uttered making your mother turn to him.

“There a problem, Joel?”

“No” you quickly answered for him but he had enough.

“She’s eight months pregnant, you’re gonna send her into a damn early labor-“

“Oh please, Joel. I did more work when I was pregnant with her than she’s doing now” Marlene rolled her eyes.

“The world ain’t like it was back then, she don’t have proper care, she don’t have a doctor-“

“We have a doctor here and he’s made clear she’s perfectly healthy and capable to do her part.” She turned to you with a threatening glare.

“Let’s go.”

Silently you walked past Joel obeying your mother. He watched in frustration knowing there was nothing he could do, not yet at least.

You knew your mother had lied to him, never had you been approved by any doctor to do any of this amount of work while pregnant. If anything the ‘doctor’ who saw you recommended for you to be on bed rest. You knew your mother knew how weak you had been lately. Something she purposely chose to ignore.

It had been almost an hour packing up the truck with Victor. Your back in unbearable pain, your ankles swollen as Victor handed you a box ordering for you to bring it inside. With a sigh you took hold of it and did as he asked.

Walking down the hall you passed the room Joel was in, his eyes unexpectedly meeting yours as you walked past the door.

“Hey-“ he ran up behind you as you took a deep breath. His hand taking hold of your arm and gently turning you to him, seeing how exhausted you look he brushed his hand over his face in frustration.

“Jesus Christ…look at you”

“I have to take this to the back-“ he took the box from your hands and put it on the ground not caring about what task needed to be done.

“Enough is enough with all of this already-“

“Joel” you whispered shaking your head.

“If you ain’t sayin’ somethin’ I will-“

“No!” Your eyes widened.

“Look, I don’t give a shit who your mother thinks she is. I ain’t gonna sit back and watch what she’s doin’ to you and my baby” his words leaving you speechless.

‘My baby’

This was actually happening, you were pregnant with Joel’s child. Your lips opened to speak but before any sound came out an overwhelming sharp pain struck you making you lean against the wall with a gasp. Joel’s eyes were instantly filled with concern as he moved in your direction.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” He asked eagerly. You shook your head taking a deep breath.

“I don’t know” the pain slowly subsiding.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. It stopped” you breathed in relief.

“No it ain’t fine, what if you’re goin’ inta labor or somethin’”

“I’m not going into labor, Joel. Look I know you’re worried about me but I’m fine. Now let me just-“

“I’ll take the box. Go lay down” you knew he wouldn’t accept any other response and so you quietly nodded and walked away.

The next few days Joel had Ellie stay close by your side making sure you weren’t over working yourself. Anything Ellie could do to make a task easier for you she would do when your mother wasn’t watching.

“Ellie, you really don’t have to help” you assured her.

“But I want to” she responded confidently.

“Yes but it’s not your job, you’re a child, Ellie”

“And you’re pregnant. Joel’s right, this is too much for you-“

“Joel?” You squinted your eyes at her.

“He’s the one who put you up to this?”

“Uh, no, uh I mean..he’s just worried.” she tried to explain.

“Don’t tell him I told you…please”

You sighed and assured her you wouldn’t tell him a thing as much as you wanted to.

“Well, let me check what needs to be done outside.”

As Ellie and you walked together, Joel watched from afar. Relieved that Ellie was beside you yet still wanting to stay close by.

Ellie and you laughed together before being interrupted by your mother walking towards you.

“I’m assuming all your projects are finished since you have time to take a stroll and laugh” she stopped before you crossing her arms. God your mom could really be such a bitch at times.

“I did finish most, I just was taking a minute-“

“We don’t have time for you to take a minute” she rose her voice making Joel look up.

“Mom, I’ve been working all morning-“

“And you’re still not finished. Get back to work” she began to walk away as you sighed and rolled your eyes.

“See what I mean” you whispered to Ellie making your mother turn back to you.

“What was that?” Before you could even say a word, your mother yanked you by your arm making you turn towards her, Joel immediately stopped what he was doing.

“Marlene..” Ellie spoke hesitantly.

“Go ahead, tell me what you’re mumbling on about” she continued.

“Mom, I don’t know what else to do. You have a problem with anything I do or don’t do, you’re being ridiculous-“ Marlene unexpectedly smacked you making you gasp. Just as Joel was ready to head to you Victor stopped him blocking his way.

“You gotta let them be, don’t get in the middle of that” Joel shoved Victors hands off him and walked to you ignoring his calls.

Marlene turned to see Joel pacing her way with a clear look of anger.

“What the hell do you want?”

“Joel-“ you whispered but he wouldn’t look your way.

“Joel, I suggest you mind your business this has nothing to do with you”

“But it does” Joel responded low.

Marlene furrowed her brows placing a hand on her hip as she took a step towards him.

“And how on earth would that be?”

Joel took a deep breath swallowing hard before his eyes turned to you and that’s when it hit her…

“Oh my God….” Your mother whispered.

“Mom-“

“You mean to tell me you…you did this.”

“Mom-“

“So this is why you’re here now? Is this your way to ‘help her’ after leaving her the way you did? Got what you wanted from her and you were on your way huh?”

“It wasn’t like that” his nostrils flared as he spoke before your mother continued.

“Joel” you attempted to speak again but neither listened. Ellie standing beside you noticing something seemed off with you. She watched as you slightly stumbled to the side with a wince.

“Hey guys” Ellie tried to catch their attention but once your mother began going off it was hard to get her to stop.

“I ain’t the one mistreatin’ her while she’s got a damn baby growin’-“

“Oh screw you, Joel!”

“Guys!” Ellie yelled making them both look your way. Joel’s face instantly changed when he noticed your discomfort and rushed to you.

“Hey, look at me” he tilted your face up to him as you winced.

“It’s the same pain as before, I don’t know what’s-“

“She’s being dramatic” your mother could be heard mumbling in the background.

“She’s been doing this for the past few days”

“And you didn’t think to stop pushin’ her so damn much?” Joel yelled looking back at her.

“She just does this to get out of work and-“

“Oh God I think my water broke!” Joel’s face turned pale as he looked down and noticed the clear liquid running down your legs.

“Shit-“ he whispered as you grabbed onto his jacket. Ellie looked at you in shock. Your mother could be heard saying things that you couldn’t make out. Joel stared down at you giving his all not to panic as pain slowly began to build within you.

“I’m takin’ you to Jackson”

“Excuse me?” Your mother spoke loudly as Joel lifted you up in his arms.

“She’s comin’ with me and so is she” he motioned toward Ellie as Joel walked past Marlene.

“Like hell they are” she yelled out following him as he got into his truck, sitting you in the back.

“Ellie stay next to her” he moved quickly as he got into the drivers seat as Marlene ran to his door. You could barely speak as the pain escalated.

“You can’t do this”

“I already am” he slammed the door shut before speeding off.

Thankfully Jackson wasn’t far from where your mother now was. It didn’t matter to you, you didn’t want to be near your mother any longer.

“How she doin’ back there, Ellie?” Before she could respond you suddenly wailed as you felt pain like you had never felt before. Ellie raised her brows unsure of what to do as Joel sped as fast as he could.

“We’re almost there, baby I promise” he looked up at the rear view mirror and could see you in agony as tears streamed down your face. His hands tightening on the steering as focused on getting you to Jackson as fast as he could. Your screams growing louder as Joel cursed at himself hearing the panic in your voice.

“It’s hurts so bad” you cried.

“I know it hurts, baby, I know-“ Joel tried not to panic. He tried his best to remain calm for you.

Finally arriving to where Tommy would be Joel quickly jumped out of the truck and opened the back door. Carrying you out with Ellie beside him he ran to the entrance screaming for the door to be opened.

“Tommy!” He yelled running inside making his brother look up.

“Holy shit..” Tommy whispered before running towards Joel to help him. Tommy led them to a room and quickly helped Joel lay you down as he realized what was going on.

“Please help me, Tommy” his brother could hear the desperation in his voice, he could see the desperation in his eyes.

“Here, I got her” Tommy’s girlfriend Maria walked in and proceeded to help you remove your pants as Ellie quickly covered you with a blanket. Maria proceeded to explain that she would check where the baby was, a slight relief feeling that you were with someone who seemed to know what they were doing. Joel quickly went around the bed pulling Tommy aside not wanting you to hear what they spoke of.

“They’re gonna be comin’”

“Who?” Tommy’s brows furrowed.

“Marlene…all of them-“

“Guys she’s crowning” Maria announced loudly making both men quickly turn to you.

“What does that mean?” You cried as Joel rushed to your side.

“That means the baby’s coming now” he explained taking your hand as you shook your head.

“It’s not suppose to! Not yet!” Joel could see the fear you felt, the shock in your eyes.

“You can do this, I’m right here” he spoke with genuine reassurance.

“Alright, on a count of three I want you to push really hard ok?” Maria instructed. Anxiously you nodded and proceeded to do as she told you once she asked you to push. The pain was like nothing you had ever imagined, the agony you felt you wanted so badly to be done.

Just ten minutes of pushing exhausted you when Maria finally yelled that the head was out. Your body weakly leaning to the side against Joel as you struggled to find strength to continue.

“Come on, one more push ok?” Joel whispered as he held one leg while Ellie held the other. Tommy standing behind Joel watching everything unravel so quickly when suddenly a baby’s cry’s made everyone silent.

In shock you looked down at the baby in Maria’s hands as she looked up at you with a smile.

“You have yourself a boy”

Gently cleaning him off she wrapped him up in a blanket and lay him on your chest.

“Oh my God…” you whispered looking down at your baby who quickly calmed down once you held him against you. Joel had tears filled in his eyes as he looked down at him, his hand gently covering yours. You felt his hand shaking making you look over at him. In that moment it felt like it was only the three of you in that room. Joel slowly looked up at you and with eyes so sincere began to speak..

“I promise you I won’t let nothin’ happen to our son or you.. I’m sorry for the way things happened, it was never my plan” he whispered. Quietly you nodded as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“My mom-“

“I’ll deal with her” he assured you before pressing his lips to your forehead and staying close to you both..

Tags: @harriedandharassed @locaparapedrito @untamedheart81 @rosaliedepp @illyanam1011 @hopefulatrocity @tikikiki @thewritermj @l0veang3l @moonpascal @katmoonz @joelsteinfeld @picketniffler @stcrrjoon @itsamandi @starry-eyes-love @theoraekenslover @psychoenergy @joeldjarin @bambisweethearts @baronessvonglitter @mangoslushcrush @guelyury @mynameistokyo @katiemarieeee

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

red wine | f. odair

masterlist

summary: you and finnick spend the evening together at a party in president snow’s mansion. hidden feelings reveal that things are much more complicated than they seem.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

warnings: alcohol use, mentions of alcoholism, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, minor angst

notes: i'm really proud of how this one turned out. someone better enjoy it.

word count: 1.3k

The entire room was buzzing, a party at Snow’s Mansion in full swing. People were chatting, laughing, and dancing, and yet all Finnick could focus on was you. Your rosy smile. Your sparkling eyes. Your laugh that rang like a perfectly pitched bell. He had never heard anything more harmonic.

Drunk on sweet red wine, your head fell back with every word that left his mouth. His natural wits and humour only seemed to heighten your amusement.

“…such a liar!”

“No, I’m serious,” Finnick urged, grinning. “Go look if you don’t believe me.”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn’t stop. After winning the 70th Hunger Games, you thought happiness was something impossible to regain. Many visits to the Capitol resulted in you meeting the famous Finnick Odair, who, over the course of many months, had gained your friendship and showed you that light could still be found in the darkness that was being a Victor.

“Fine, Finnick. I believe you—President Snow has cats dressed in little white suits running around his mansion.”

“Thank you!”

You weren’t sure how you ended up talking about Snow’s cats. You weren’t sure when the wine had seeped into your brain, making the subject so irrationally hilarious. All you knew was that it didn’t matter what Finnick was talking about. What mattered was that he was talking about it with you.

Throughout the night, all types of women had thrown themselves at him. Beautiful women. Old women. Women who were surgically enhanced to resemble animals. But he rejected them all to stay by your side. Another girl came swooping in, asking him for a dance. She was incredibly attractive, her eyes dark and sultry, her hair pin-straight and hanging at her waist.

Her ensemble was entirely made out of fur that clung to her body, complementing the whiskers that were embedded in her face which made her look feline. You thought for certain he would whisk her away.

But once again, he proved you wrong.

His hand fell on your hip, pulling you into his side. “Sorry, honey. I’ve already got a dancing partner tonight.”

That sobered you up a little.

The woman pouted, her whisker implants drooping as she left in the opposite direction.

You glanced nervously at the large hand still cupping your hip before looking back up at Finnick. “I am not dancing in front of these people.”

“Why not? You’re a great dancer.” He smirked. “Remember that time I walked in on you dancing in one of the bathrooms? That thing you were doing with your hips?” He blew out a breath of air.

Warmth flooded your cheeks. That had been the first time you met Finnick. You were a borderline alcoholic back then, having just become a Victor and all. Still, dancing in a bathroom was tough. Having the Capitol’s heartthrob catch you was even tougher.

“You know, your face is almost as red as that gorgeous dress you’re wearing,” he teased.

Everyone at the party was weighed down with extravagant and obnoxious attire which, to Finnick, resembled aliens trying to impersonate human fashion. But not you though. You wore a simple floor-length silk dress that was the colour of blood. There was nothing remarkable about the gown, yet Finnick found it to be the loveliest thing he had ever seen—a breath of fresh air compared to everyone else’s ridiculous artificial outfits. Or maybe it was just the person wearing it that made him feel this way.

You hiccupped. “I’m just trying to achieve the monarchy look.”

He shook his head, still grinning. “You mean the monochromatic look?” Your expression morphed into one of puzzlement as if you were trying to figure out the secrets of the universe. Finnick chuckled, swiping his thumb across your warm cheek. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re very drunk.”

“Only a little.”

He watched as your eyes closed, swaying on your feet. There was a small smile on your face, seemingly absorbing the lively atmosphere around you. The thumping music; the sound of laughter, and the warmth of alcohol buzzing in your brain. If the entire room weren’t swarming with his customers and the President’s guards, he probably would have kissed you. And if you were in your right mind, he probably would have confessed his feelings too.

Too many variables worked against him. So, instead, he cleared his throat and said, “Maybe you should call it a night. Before you end up in the bathrooms again.”

You laughed, eyes opening again. He laughed with you, but your drunken mind failed to notice the deep affection his gaze suddenly held. A lot of things had slipped past you that night. If only you had seen them; things between the two of you would be so much more different. Less complicated. More true.

Finnick helped you gather your things, shooing away every man who asked to take you home on your way out. Somewhere along the way, his hand had interlocked with yours. This you noticed. The wine only seemed to enhance the butterflies fluttering around your stomach. It sent sparks up your arm, beginning in your fingertips which rested between his knuckles.

Eventually, he had successfully assisted—half-carried—you down the palace steps and into the backseat of your ride home.

“Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair,” you said, looking up at him from your seat.

His dimples grew deep with a genuine smile, dishevelled hair blowing in the soft night wind. He rested a hand on the door. You wished he would step into the car with you.

Once more, he gently brushed his thumb against your cheek. “Never without you, sweetheart.”

A subtle confession. And then the door shut.

Finnick watched the taillights fade into the dark as you disappeared down the long driveway. Gone. Until the next party, that is. Or maybe even before then, if he finally gathered up the courage to convince you to flee Panem with him. Only then would he be free to pursue his feelings for you.

Johanna, who had been threatened into coming to the party by the President, found Finnick at the bottom of the palace steps, solemnly staring into the darkness. She stepped beside him. He didn’t seem startled; he barely even noticed her presence.

“You okay?” she asked flatly. When Finnick said nothing, she tried again. “You two looked friendly tonight.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. Was it that obvious? Who else noticed?

“Johanna,” he finally acknowledged her existence. “If I asked you to put an axe in my head, would you?”

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy to do so, but why, may I ask?”

His hard-set lips quirked at the question. Why? Shades of red flooded his mind like an open floodgate. Crimson of a silk dress. Cherry of painted lips. Pink of blushing cheeks. All of which flowed through his red-blooded veins and straight into his heart.

Laughter in the tune of a perfected melody echoed in his ears, the image of a beaming smile accompanying it. Then there was the voice, “Don’t get into any trouble without me, Finnick Odair.” He hung onto every word that voice spoke. All the philosophical thoughts it had spoken aloud; the nonsensical wine-drunken babbling, and the gentle whispers that longed for a simpler life which he had the honour of being trusted with. Your voice. Your words.

Everything that made you who you were—that was the answer to Johanna’s question. The reasoning behind Finnick’s next words.

“I’m in love with her.”

Surprise briefly flickered across Johanna’s features, then returned to their usual monotony state. “Well… that’s not good.”

“No,” he spoke, his eyes lingering on the ominous white roses that lined either side of the driveway. “It’s not.”

part two

[alwaysdaenerys]

I just feel bad for show-only fans of Game of Thrones and House of the Dragon sometimes, you know? Because the way that GOT ended, and the way HOTD is going to end, it's...bleak. All of the characters in the Dance of the Dragon saga are doomed; no one we truly love and care about is going to make it through, guys. It's horrible, actually. There is no victor--if that's even what we need anyway--and the status quo remains, crushing everyone beneath it's enormous, never-ending wheel: it's grim-dark and heartbreaking.

ASOIAF was supposed to be GRRM's response to that tragedy. A woman's family is usurped, she will take back what is hers, and achieve what her ancestor could not. But sadly, Game of Thrones is not ASOIAF and if you only watch the shows, you are going to see Rhaenyra go the same way as Daenerys, murdered and once again usurped. George wrote Rhaenyra as a tragic character, there is no doubt, but Daenerys is NOT SUPPOSED TO BE. She is meant change the status quo that tramples the smallfolk/women/cripples/ bastards/and broken things/etc. She is meant to live on and plants trees.

If you only watch the shows, all hope is lost. Nothing is solved. Nothing can truly be achieved. Nothing has changed. The wheel continues to turn. My heart aches to think that you will see the parallels and you'll wonder: is this the same exact thing as before? Did we learn anything?

I just hope book fans can get some relief, you know? Because George's ending absolutely cannot leave us without something to look forward to, without something to be proud of. He said bittersweet: not happy, not tragic, not hopeless. What future can the characters of GOT look forward to with an ending like that?

The Dance of the Dragons is the tragic tale, because ASOIAF is the dream of spring.

[missaengg]

Indecently Dreaming Of You

Day 11 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore found here Featuring: Ikemen Villains | Jude Jazza x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, wet dream, sexual fantasy, nipple play, fingering, piv sex, multiple orgasms, some degradation if you squint, pwp Prompts: Wet Dreams/Sexual Fantasy | “Go on, put it in yourself.” ao3 link here.

Crown Castle was surprisingly empty, which was unusual given that a member or two were always lurking about during the day, especially on the weekends – mostly Victor who always seemed to be present or Roger who was always working on some experiment – but today, the large castle was blissfully quiet.

You made your way to the parlor, your latest novel – a torrid romantic fantasy – in hand, one you generally kept hidden in your room, one if any of the castle’s occupants caught you reading would end with you dying of embarrassment.

Today, however, you felt safe reading it in the sunlit window you loved in the parlor as the only occupant in the castle, and with a delighted hum, you entered the peaceful parlor stroking the book in your hands. Last night you had gotten to the part where the tragic hero, a tortured vampire, rescued the damsel in distress, a woman with a heart of gold, and he was finally on the verge of giving in to his passion after pages of thick sexual tension.

“Tch.. can’t ya see I’m readin’ here?”

Shrieking, you jumped, heart pounding furiously in your chest, fumbling to hide your book behind your back. Turning to the speaker, your eyes widened, squeaking in surprise. “Ju–Jude?!”

Because in the very bay window you hoped to occupy sat Jude, nonchalantly draped on the cushion, cigarette in one hand, a dry looking tome of a book in the other propped up by his knees. You gripped the novel in your hands tighter, pressing it closer into the folds of your skirt. When you roamed about the castle earlier, you hadn’t seen a hint of anyone, let alone the languid Crown member in the room.

“If ya got eyes, then ya know to get the hell outta here.” 

Jude didn’t look up from his reading, but you didn’t need to see his face to know he was feeling irritated with your presence. You turned to go, but you hesitated, eyeing the velvet couch in the center of the room. It was late afternoon when the sun was at its most gentle warmest, your room at its most stuffiest, and the couch looked so plush… You snuck a peek at the pre-occupied man who was currently paying you no attention, and wanting nothing more than to sink into the velvet cushions, you strode over to the couch. The parlor was designed to hold multiple occupants and plenty large enough for the both of you to read quietly without acknowledging the other’s presence.

“Oi.”

You looked in Jude’s direction whose amethyst eyes were glaring at you with displeasure.

“Ya deaf? I said get outta here.”

Holding his glare, you defiantly settled yourself on the couch until you were perched against the armrest with your legs stretched out along the couch length. “I’ll read quietly.”

Jude clicked his tongue and sighed, a huffy, impatient sigh, but returned his attention to his boring, complex book.

You exhaled slowly. It wasn’t that Jude scared you, but he was rather imposing, and he had this way of pinning you with his intense glares, much like how you imagined a wolf would pin down a defenseless rabbit. Absolutely certain his attention was most definitely off of you and would remain off of you, you relaxed into the heavenly soft cushions, cracking your book open to where you had left off the night before.

Just as you expected, it was delicious. The male love interest, Silvio, had vowed to never love again after being betrayed by his love in the past, but had reluctantly fallen for the main female lead, Emma, who helped him heal in her kindness, and despite trying his damndest to push her away, her love prevailed. Silvio had Emma in his arms, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, his passion overtaking him. He slowly undid the buttons on the back of her dress, never once letting her go, and as her dress fell off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Emma stood before Silvio, naked and exposed. Silvio’s eyes darkened, and his hands trailed down her back, one grazing Emma’s leg, fingers teasingly running up her inner thigh, reaching for the sweet honey that–

“Ya read this crap?”

You jumped for the second time that afternoon, although thankfully, you didn’t shriek like a fool this time around. Whipping your head to the side, you startled at Jude’s leering face peering at the book in your hands from over your shoulder, a sadistic grin playing on his lips. 

God damn it. How did you not hear him move across the room?

You blushed. Of all the people to be caught by, Jude honestly had to be one of the worst because it was highly unlikely he would let this go, at least not until he tortured you into the darkest depths of humiliation.

“Ain’t that some lewd shit?” He glittered wickedly at you. “This what yer into, princess?”

You groaned, wanting nothing more than to bury your face in your hands, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how affected you were by him in this given moment.

“What’s wrong with reading ‘this shit?” you pushed back.

“Nothin’.” Jude leaned in closer. “Expected nothin’ else from an indecent woman like ya.”

His face was so close to yours, his nose, a mere inch or so from brushing against your cheek. You could feel the heat of his body on yours, and suddenly, the room felt stifling and sweltering, as if the sun burned instead of glowing through the large windows.

“Clearly I’m not the only one if you’re familiar,” you spat, attempting to mask the strange tightening sensation in your chest and your rapidly rising heartbeat.

The look Jude was giving you was frighteningly predatory, his eyes flashing with a devilish heat. You gulped, his intensity robbing you of your ability to breathe. His eyes lazily trailed from you back to the book in your shaking hands.

“Yer at the part where he finally gives in to his desires, are ya?”

You blinked, several times in rapid succession. How would he know that unless he… “Did you really read this?!” Jude read a lot of things, but this… you never expected him to read fantasy let alone romance. 

“Wouldn’t ya like to know, princess.”

God, you wished you could slap that infuriating smirk off his face… or maybe kiss it. 

You flushed. Where the hell did that come from?!

Your body’s state of discomfort didn’t go unnoticed by the devil of a man teasing you.

“Ya want me to show ya what happens next?”

You felt the flush on your face spread, creeping further down your neck and disappearing into your blouse. You swallowed thickly as you watched Jude follow the bright red of your skin disappear into your clothes, and the temperature of the room increased by a few more degrees. 

Why was it so damn hot?

“No, I’m quite alright.”

Why was your voice pitching an octave higher?!

“Ya sure? If ya dream about such… lewd things, I can make it happen for ya.”

Something in your brain short-circuited when his slender finger began tracing along your collarbone and down your sternum. His finger was feather-light against your body, but the way your body fluttered from his touch felt so shamefully good, you didn’t want him to stop.

“That’s… that’s not necessary,” you hoarsely retorted, kicking yourself internally when your voice cracked.

Jude’s finger stilled, and pulling away, he straightened back into an upright position. “That’s yer choice then? Suit yerself.” He shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. 

You faltered. The sudden loss of his proximity felt enraging. There was a fire smoldering within you, all caused by him, and he was just walking away. You gaped at his back, oscillating between wanting to hold onto your pride and wanting him to come back and finish what he started. You watched Jude move further and further away until he reached the entrance to the parlor.

“Wait!”

You grimaced at how quickly you folded and how flustered you were at his teasing, but… the sudden absence of him felt hollow… and you wanted to know how the book went… in person, demonstrated by Jude’s own slender hands.

Jude paused.

You licked your lips, feeling parched at what you were about to say next.

“What happens next?”

That piqued Jude’s interest, and he turned to face you. You couldn’t quite read the expression on his face, and he remained silent, scrutinizing you.

“Ya really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

He held your gaze, something dark and stormy brewing on his brows. He took a menacing step forward.

“Ya want me to show ya?”

“Yes...”

Jude crossed the distance back to where you sat, keeping his eyes trained on yours, and then he smirked, the devilish grin back again, teasing you.

“No turnin’ back now, princess.”

“No…”

Jude reached down, crashing his thin lips against yours. You hungrily pushed back, the fire blazing into an inferno. He pulled back, lightly panting, a thumb roughly swiping against your bottom lip.

“Where’d ya leave off? Where Silvio takes off her dress?”

You nodded. Jude pulled on the ribbon holding the collar together, pulling it down your shoulders. You closed your eyes, biting down the sensual moan building in your throat as he trailed feverish kisses down your neck and shoulders. His hands deftly undid the buttons along your back, each graze of his fingers on your skin leaving behind a tingling buzz. Soon your blouse was off and tossed to the side.

“Heh… it goes down just as deep as I figured…” You heard Jude delightfully mutter to himself eyeing the pink flush covering your torso.

“Jude,” you whined, drawing out the vowel in his name. “Give me a minute, princess. Let me look at ya.”

You knew you turned even redder at his statement, feeling vulnerable at the way his burning eyes raked over your naked flesh, admiring how deep the flush had crept down. Inhaling sharply, he brought his mouth down to your breast, taking one pert peak into his mouth, biting down and soothing it with his tongue.

You gasped, the sensation of him on your breast even better than you could have imagined – not that you imagined it, except maybe once or twice when alone in your room reading that stupid novel… definitely not because Silvio reminded you of a fiery version of Jude…

“Gotta get yer skirt off.”

He moved to unbutton your skirt, and you pushed your hips off the couch so he could yank both your skirt and your underwear down your legs and carelessly discard them to the floor, all while still taunting you with his skillful tongue. You briefly wondered in your dizzy, pleasure-riddled mind where he had learned to be so skilled with his mouth, wondering if it was learned from his smoking addiction, but that didn’t seem to make much sense at all.

“Jude… what– what does Silvio do next?”

You could barely get your question out, so breathless and enraptured in the way his mouth was playing with you, the ripples of rapture you were feeling from his tongue alone coursing down to your belly.

“Heh… I’ll show ya.” Jude rolled your sensitive peak between his teeth, trailing up your bare leg, stroking your inner thigh dangerously close to where your arousal pooled. “He strokes her… here.”

His fingers brushed along your folds, coating themselves in your slick desire, lightly pressing on the sweet nub sitting at the top of your slit. You arched your back, a strangled moan escaping you, unable to hold back the vocal expressions of your gratification any longer.

“Ya liked that, didja? Ya nasty woman.”

His glee at your writhing from his provocation was clearly evident in the pleased tone of his voice. You knew you should be upset, the way you normally would when he called you names, but something about his taunting was only adding to the torrential mix of him, his touch, his voice, his scent.

“What… Ngh…” Your hips jerked sharply as his finger circled firmly above your slit yet again. “What… Jude, what does… haah… Silvio do next?”

“This.” 

Jude unceremoniously plunged two of his fingers inside you. The most animalistic guttural groan ripped out of you, surprising not just Jude, but also yourself. You couldn’t ever recall when you made such a primal noise before in your life, but the sensation of him inside of you was unholy, curling against a part of you that you didn’t even know existed, but had you violently arching your back at the white hot flash before your eyes.

“God damn, princess.” 

You heard Jude bite out as you clamped down on his fingers, lewd whimpers tumbling from your lips. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t had any experience, but nothing… nothing… like this. You were on fire, and he hadn’t even fully touched you yet.

“And then?” you barely rasped out, breathing erratically shallow, disoriented and dizzy from the onslaught of his fingers inside of you and his thumb pressing your clit. 

“Eager, princess?” Jude teased, but there was less of a taunt and more of a feral growl in the way he replied. 

“Jude,” you pitifully whined, bucking wildly against his palm, trying your hardest to keep up with how quickly his fingers were pumping in and out of you. The coil in your belly was taut, ready to snap at any moment.

“He uses his mouth.”

The sudden absence of his fingers snapped you back to reality, but your reprieve was short-lived because the next thing you knew, Jude was between your legs and hauling you towards his face by the bruising grip he had on your hips. Settling his mouth on you, he ran his tongue up your slit.

Your breath hitched.

Oh sweet heavens.

You threw your head back, grasping the soft cushions below you in a vice grip as Jude ravaged you, holding you in place, digging his fingertips into your supple flesh. He explored every inch of you with his mouth, feasting on you like a man starved, the coil in your belly only growing tighter and tighter.

He nudged his mouth up higher and sucked down hard.

“Jude!”

The coil snapped. You saw stars as shudder after shudder of ecstasy overtook you in waves, mind devoid of any thoughts save for the intense pleasure running through you and the sensation of Jude continuing to mouth you through your tremors.

“Don’t think that happened in the book,” Jude snickered, using his sleeve to wipe your essence off his mouth and chin.

“And.. and then?” you asked weakly, laying there dazed, staring at the ceiling and thinking that this couldn’t possibly be the end.

“And then…” 

The sound of rustling had you craning your head to see Jude at long fucking last removing every piece of clothing until he was just as exposed as you, his dick standing at attention. You marveled at how it was just like him, tall, sinewy, thicker than it looked, maybe even slightly irritated with a permanent scowl on its face. You wondered how it would feel in your mouth. In you.

Jude sat back on the other end of the couch, legs spread open. “Go on, put it in yerself.” He arched an eyebrow, a corner of his mouth flicking upwards, that smug smirk you wanted to slap – or was it kiss now – daring you to come closer.

You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, ignoring the damp spot forming beneath you staining the velvet below. “We’re not following the book anymore, are we?”

“Very perceptive of ya, princess. So, ya gonna come here or not?” Jude patted his lap, mocking you with that shit-eating smirk of his.

You glowered at him, but your gaze fell back to his lap, and you felt yourself move, crawling towards him on all fours, fully aware you were giving him a show based on the scandalous look on his face. He leaned back even further into the cushions, resting both his arms along the top of the couch, spread out and proudly on display.

Cocky bastard.

Sweetly smiling at the infuriatingly smug man in front of you, you rose on your knees, and straddling his lap, feeling emboldened, you kissed him furiously, guiding him into position. Without breaking the kiss, you sank down, hard, burying him to the hilt.

Jude choked on his own breath.

Oh. You grinned villainously into his mouth. He wasn’t expecting that.

You ground against him wanting to provoke him for taunting you mercilessly, relishing each choked groan he uttered. You squeezed your thighs, intentionally clenching around him as you pushed yourself up, preparing to slide down agonizingly slowly, to tease him for a change. 

Smug, arrogant, sadistic, fucking sexy jerk.

Jude snapped, thrusting into you without abandon, the tip of him ramming into your cervix. You exhaled sharply, the pain radiating from your center not wholly unwelcome, your vision flashing white. Jude flipped you onto your back during your dazed confusion, and he slammed into you repeatedly.

“Then, princess,” he grunted, brutally jerking his hips into you, a primal frenzy overtaking him, “they fucked.”

He moved against you with such force you could only cling to him. Seeking the tiniest bit of respite, you wrapped your legs around him, accidentally pulling him deeper into you, causing Jude to growl ferociously and only increase his frenzied pace.

You were trembling. For the second time, Jude had you seeing stars, writhing from the unbearable pleasure building deep in you. You didn’t want him to stop, desperate for him to make you cum, to make you quake and shiver and quiver, to make you unravel in the throes of passion, to come undone by his hand.

“Hah.. princess, yer so tight.”

Jude’s groans were right in your ear, his voice vibrating through his body into yours. A thrilling ecstasy was overtaking you, heading towards an explosive peak only he could bring you to, building, building, building until–

“Oi.”

A nudge.

“Oi!”

You cracked open an eye, wincing as the bright sunlight invaded your vision. 

“Oi, princess, wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open, and blinking heavily, you rubbed your face with the palm of your hands.

“Jude?”

You blearily focused on Jude, confused as to why he was facing you by the couch instead of towering over you and way more clothed than you remembered, why you were suddenly fully clothed. Squinting as you adjusted to the light, you sat up on the couch, your book falling off your lap and tumbling to the floor below. 

Was it all just a dream?

As the tendrils of sleep faded away, the full reality of the dream you had hit you, and you blushed a furious shade of red. Oh god… you didn’t moan or utter his name in your sleep by any chance… did you? 

Wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole, you glanced at Jude, anxiously searching him for any signs he had an inkling of the indecent dream you just had, but he only had that same infuriating smirk on his face, which widened when he caught you staring at him intently.

“Hah… why’s yer face so red? Ya have a lewd dream or somethin’?”

“N–no!” you cried out, and face burning even hotter than you thought possible, you swiped your book off of the floor, running out of the parlor to put as much distance as you possibly could between you and the arrogant jerk who was starting to get that dangerous sadistic glint in his eyes.

You didn’t give him anything to torment you about, right? Right?

Groaning internally, you hurried back through the large castle to the safety of your room cursing yourself for being so careless.

Unbeknownst to you, however, you left behind a darkened patch of velvet where you had been laying. Jude ran a finger over it, lips curling when he realized it was damp right where your hips had been on the cushion. He snickered, a sound you thankfully were not around to hear, rubbing his pointer and thumb together.

“Hopeless.”

[myusuchaa]

Ikemen Villains: When He is Jealous: part II

What happens when they see you with someone else?

༊·˚ ELLIS

Similar to the feeling of watching a sunset turn to dusk, his twilight eyes darken to a glowing violet when his jealousy shines through. Chasing after you, running to see you as soon as he finishes work at the trading company. To make sure you’re fine - that no one is making you as happy as he is. He reaches toward you, out of breath and slightly blushing. Cornering you against the wall, he raises his arm above you, completely towering over your small frame.

“Don’t smile at anyone other than me. Don’t laugh with anyone other than me. Forget about everything and think only of me.”

Though his curse can bound your wrists and ankles together with sharp thorns, the prickly sensation it leaves fills you with pleasure, and the kisses he plants on your sore skin never felt sweeter.

༊·˚ JUDE

One thing about Jude - he will always mark and take what’s his. He will let everyone he deals with know that you are his woman, that handling you is not to be taken lightly. Though he prefers his lady to be feisty and independent, he will not hesitate to step in and show ownership when need be. When he finds out the gangs that are after him have been plotting to take you away, he tells you there’s two lessons he needs to teach:

“The first lesson I’ll show ‘em is to keep their damn paws to themselves ‘n mind their own damn business, those pricks.”

He hisses this as he slowly circles you, checking your body for injuries. He then leans into your neck, grabs it with one hand, and whispers,

“The second lesson… I’ll have to show ya in private. You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

༊·˚ ROGER

For starters, he probably wouldn’t let you get into a situation where anyone could put a move on you in the first place. He can hear advances plotted against you before you even knew where they were coming from. But perhaps he doesn't care so much what other men do toward you. Rather, he wants to continuously show you what he can do for you. To you.

“I wont apologize for what I did to you last night... and I might not be able to hold back next time."

Despite his brusque appearance, his ego bruises easily. To make up for it, he reminds you exactly who he is. Him, the hunter, and you, his prey.

༊·˚ VICTOR

You always knew he chose to not share his innermost self with just anyone. He was warm, he was vibrant. He was eccentric. But like all entertainers, the mask he wears has to come off eventually. And when it's off, he desires you fiercely.

"I want to be the only man you choose. I want you to come back, to me." You watch the beauty mark on his lip rise and fall as he sensually mutters these words to you, who lay in his embrace.

As mysterious as a crescent moon behind the clouds, the looming scent of oncoming rain, Victor's envy creeps up on you. Until you no longer recognize the man before you.

༊·˚ RING

"You taught me how good this feels..." His hand caresses your cheek and slides to the back of your head, tugging your hair softly.

"Teach me more…" breathless and raspy, he pushes you down on all fours. Novelty begs attention, and his palate is a clean slate.

Behind his steadfast demeanor is a man pining for affection. For your touch. Your scent. The way you make his heart leap is unlike anything he has felt before. To anyone who would hurt you, take you, long for you - he will cut them down. The loyal dog has one master, after all.

༊·˚ DARIUS

Cold as he is, with a scornful look in his eyes, his calculating nature is easily pit against anyone who attempts to take you from him. He's called you an "interesting being", a "common bird". Something that usually doesn't pique his interest. And yet a hungry curiosity wells up in him when he gazes upon you in his hands.

His arm wraps around your stomach as he holds you in place from behind. "Be careful, little bird.. you may just get eaten up."

A magician with more than one trick up his sleeve. What is it about you that entrances him so? To ensure no one else finds out, he intends to never let you go.

༊·˚ NIKA

As his current plaything, you are to please him at will. You tempt his urges, and if there is someone in the way, he'll manipulate the situation and the sentiments to get what he wants. And he does not hold back from doing that to you. When he holds your hands in his, an overwhelming surge of affection, yearning, as thick and warm as the mind-numbing effects of a drug, shakes you down to your core.

"Come now, my sweet. Can't you show me who you want? Who makes you feel good?"

The intensity of emotion he can sway you with is used like a weapon. At his mercy, you melt in his hands.

Read Part I here

[littlemarianah]

I have a headcannon that it was Peeta's mother who used to decorate the bakery's cakes before him.

She learned it as soon as she married the baker, and is kinda good at it.

Maybe that's why she's so picky about the cakes Peeta makes. "If I had done it..." is what she always says when is about to criticize him. But the truth is that the boy is so good that it's difficult to find something in his cakes to complain.

Peeta took his mother's artistic essence. She is good at crafts, always painting the bakery sign with elegant calligraphy, decorate them with flower designs.

Mrs. Mellark would be a good artist if it weren’t for her complete lack of imagination. For her the books are nonsense, and the illustrations are children’s drawings.

That’s why she didn’t let Peeta draw too much when he was growing up. “go do something useful.” She said “You will not learn to knead bread making doodles.”

She never wanted to be a baker, she never wanted the life she chose, but she knew it was the only way. Her father was a drunk, her mother was neurotic

She didn't choose her husband out of love. She chose him because he was stable, because he was disciplined, because he could be a good father. She didn't have children because she wanted to be a mother, but because she needed more hands to work.

The first was planned, the second tolerated, the third an accident.

After the games, when Peeta returned home, limping and with deep-set eyes. She went to visit him a few times in the victors village.

Peeta's house wasn't organized like she taught him to leave his room. Was a mess. His room was full of pages with scribbles, tubes of paint amd unfinished paintings. Art and more art, everywhere... Mrs. Mellark didn't even know that her son still painted. After he became a teenager, was good at hiding who he really was from his mother. She never saw him draw again, but the truth is that the little artist she tried to repress so much never stopped drawing.

Drawings of landscapes and places, many doodles from the small bakery where he grew up. Drawings of people, neighbors, customers, many drawings of the hunting girl. Peeta paints her much better than she really looks, without marks, without scars, without the frown she has. For Mrs. Mellark, it's just another sign of the madness her son has fallen into.

To the woman’s surprise, she find some drawings of herself, all unfinished. Peeta always seems to stop drawing when he get on her face. Lots and lots of unbedded scribbles of herself. She has always preferred to be feared than loved, to be the tough guy when her soft husband doesn’t have the courage to discipline his children. But it pains her to see that her husband’s drawings at least had the decency to be finished before being thrown into the pile of forgotten scribbles.

Peeta. Her youngest boy. Weak like his father, sentimental, scared, soft. She was perhaps a little heavy on him growing up. She saw how very fragile he was when he was little. He wasn't like his brothers, Peeta was always an outsider. And she always saw that... So she doesn't even try to scold him for the mess in his house.

After he came back to the games she could only see in him the small, scared boy who always tried to hide under her skirt when he was young. And with that memory, comes all the times she pushed him away and told him to become a man. That a six-year-old boy shouldn't cry like a soft girl.

But Mrs. Mellark regrets nothing, even if the memories make her uncomfortable. Was because of that he won the Hunger Games. She taught him to endure, she turned the weak boy into a grown man. She never apologized for that, even though her son hates her forever.

She didn't visit him much in the victor's village, but one of the few times she did, Peeta thought she would fill him with complaints about the dirty house. But she just does said:

"It's not because you're crippled that you have to stay inside this house all day, go sunbathe and open the curtains." And then she left a fresh loaf of bread on the kitchen table and when home.

That was it.

One of the last interactions Peeta had with his mother before she died. Buried under the rubble of the bakery that she fought her entire life to maintain, with the children she raised to become respectable bakers. Men enough to take care of their wives and children. Everything she fought for her entire life was left in ashes and the only one of the boys left was the one she never thought would prosper.

Peeta misses her sometimes.

He thinks his eldest daughter looks like her grandmother a bit. Big blue eyes and dimples on her cheeks. He sometimes thinks he even forgives his mom, not all the time, but sometimes. Peeta misses her discipline and resilience. Sometimes he wants to hear her voice telling him to stop whining and come back with his head held high.

Perhaps the only lesson she taught him and stuck with him until the end is that the Mellarks never give up. Every morning, they wake up early, turn on the oven and work until sunset. That the Mellarks are never content with little, that they never accept mediocrity.

So he teaches his children to lift their heads after a defeat, to try again after they fail. Because The Mellarks never give up.