#The only bad thing that's ever come out of it so far was them replacing the account tab on mobile. But they fixed it from what I've heard.

[covenofagatha]

Birthday Girl

On your 21st birthday, your friends drag you to a bar to get wasted when you decide it's a good idea to drunk-call Professor Agatha Harkness.

Word count: 3400+

Warnings: smut, fingering, oral, intoxication, mentions of underage drinking, teacher x student (legal)

“One, two, three!” Wanda chants and you and your friends tap your shot glasses on the bar counter and quickly down them. 

You gasp at the burn and they laugh at you. It’s your 21st birthday and your best friends Wanda, Rio, and Natasha had dragged you out to the closest bar to get you wasted. They had all already turned 21 the year before; you were the baby in the group. 

“Fuck, that’s disgusting,” you groan. 

“Another round, please!” Rio motions to the bartender. He sets down four more tequila shots and one is shoved into your hand. 

“Think you can get to 21?” Wanda jokes and the thought of 20 more shots makes you want to gag. 

“I might puke after this one,” you say and your friends laugh. You were never a partier in high school or college, always preferring to curl up on the couch and watch a movie. You’d only had some sips of alcohol a few times, but you had never been drunk. 

“You deserve this!” Nat shouts in your ear. “Harkness has been working you to the bone!” 

You shrug and wave your hand dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable. Agatha Harkness is your History of Witchcraft professor at Westview University. She’s known around campus for being cold to everyone and rarely giving out A’s. She expected nothing short of excellence and would not put up with excuses. Everyone was terrified of her. 

Everyone except for you. 

Something about the older woman captivated you. You were obsessed with meeting her standards, dreaming of the day she would look at you with pride. You poured over your books for her class, rereading every sentence you wrote thrice, just to try to impress her. It had taken your friends days of begging to convince you to come celebrate your birthday with them because you had a paper for Agatha’s class due in a week and you were already worried about it. 

“I don’t know how you’re surviving,” Wanda says. “I had her last semester and got a C in the class. Third highest grade. She’s the worst.” 

“She’s not that bad,” you defend, not quite sure why. Something about Agatha getting so much hate for pushing her students rubs you the wrong way. 

“Yeah she is,” Rio joins in. “I heard that she’s a real witch.”

You roll your eyes. “Can we please stop talking about her? I thought you guys brought me here to get away from school.” You take the shot that’s still in your hand and it goes down smoother this time. 

“Yes, there we go!” Rio whoops. 

Two more shots later and your head has gone completely fuzzy. You feel as if you are floating on air and everything around you is happening in slow motion. You get off your stool and immediately stumble, Wanda catching you with her arms. 

“I think I’m a little drunk,” you tell her. She laughs like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. 

“No shit, y/n, you don’t have to yell!” 

You didn’t even realize you had. “We should probably go back to the dorms!” You look around to see Nat chatting with some girl and Rio throwing darts at the board in the corner. 

“Not yet,” Wanda says, picking up her rum and coke. You’re not sure how she’s still drinking after she also did four tequila shots. “I’ll get you some water.” She signals to the bartender and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your vision to go back to normal. 

When you open them, you see dark hair in the corner. Is that–? You shift so you can get a better look and feel sorely disappointed when you realize the person is not Agatha. Why are you disappointed? The thought echoes in your head for a second, and then is replaced by a sudden urge to see your professor. 

“Drink this,” Wanda orders, pressing a glass of ice water into your hand, but you’re too busy scrolling through your phone. You know she put her number on the syllabus somewhere and you are too far gone to think that this might be a bad idea. 

You feel a thrill run through you when you find it. You read the number over and over, like you’re afraid it’s going to change somehow. 

“I’ll be back,” you slur to Wanda and then step out the side door into the alley. You type the number into your phone and your finger hesitates over the call button. You know you shouldn’t. But fuck it. You press the button and lift the phone to your ear. 

It rings. And then rings again. You’re about to hang up to spare yourself the rejection when the call connects. 

“Hello?” It’s actually her. 

Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up straighter. “Professor Harkness?” 

“Y/n? Is that you?” 

“Yeah.” Shit, this was a bad idea. Even with your head still swimming, you know that. You can’t just hang up though. 

“Why are you calling me at 10:30 on a Saturday night?” 

“Um,” you say, trying to think of something. You’re definitely going to have to drop her class after this. You’ll never be able to face her ever again. “It’s my birthday?” You offer lamely. 

Agatha scoffs. “Happy birthday. Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, no, Professor, I just wanted – we’re at a bar – I thought you were – and just wanted to say hi,” you ramble, knowing you’re not making any sense, and you can almost hear her smirk through the phone. 

“Y/n, are you drunk right now?” Her voice perks up and it sounds like she’s finally interested. 

“No!” you protest. “Well, maybe a little. But I’m 21 now!” 

“What bar are you at?” 

“Jimmy’s.” It’s a local dive bar that is a popular place for Westview students to hang out at. 

“I’ll be there in ten. Wait out front.” There’s a click and then she’s gone. You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Is Agatha coming to pick you up? Why?

You walk back into the bar and order a Dirty Shirley. The call had sobered you up a bit and if you had already drunk-called your professor, why not get even more hammered. Wanda comes back over to you and giggles when she sees the new drink in your hand. 

“Alright, time to party!” she exclaims. You pick up on the fact that she’s a little drunk as well. You stand up, vision blurring for a second. 

“I actually called an uber,” you lie, even through your hazy mind knowing that your professor coming to pick you up might sound strange to them.

Wanda pouts and then throws her arms around you. “Happy birthday,” she says into your ear and your arms tighten around her. 

“Thank you,” you breathe back. You’re close with Rio and Nat as well, but they don’t have the same bond you and Wanda do. You pull back and then go say goodbye to your other friends. 

The wind outside does very little to sober you up and you shiver from the coldness. You’re wearing a purple crop-top and a black mini-skirt, something Nat had found buried deep in your closet. You watch the time on your phone, heartbeat picking up as it gets closer to ten minutes since Agatha had hung up on you. 

And then right on the dot, a slick black Range Rover pulls into the parking lot, and you immediately know it’s her. The car stops right in front of you, the passenger window rolling down, and your breath catches. 

It’s Professor Harkness, clad in a maroon suit, wavy hair falling over her shoulders. 

“Do you need me to open the door for you, too, princess?” Agatha says, sarcasm dripping over the words, when you haven’t moved. You shake your head, partly to answer and partly to clear the fog. You settle into the seat, not missing the way Agatha’s eyes rake over your skimpily clothed body.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” you mutter, putting real effort into not slurring your words. 

She glances at you and sees you struggling with your seatbelt. She reaches over and you freeze at her close proximity. Her breath is hot against your cheek and her fingers brush your stomach as she takes the seat belt from your hand and buckles it for you. “Thought I would spare the other people you drunk-called,” she says. 

Embarrassment runs through you. “You were the only one,” you say meekly, picking at a scab on your hand. You dare to peek at her, only to find her smirking, one eyebrow quirked. 

“Oh?”

“I shouldn’t have called.” This time, it’s harder to keep your words from running together. “We were talking about you and then I thought I saw you and I just wanted to see you.” You need to stop talking, now. 

Agatha hums. “Did you, now?” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears as she shifts the car into drive and you watch her fingers. 

“You’re really hot,” you blurt out and then clamp a hand over your mouth. Fuck. 

Instead of pulling over and making you get out, like you thought she would, Agatha simply reaches over and pats your leg. “And you’re really drunk, sweetheart.” 

The pet name makes you swoon inwardly. “Not that drunk,” you say unconvincingly. “I only had one…two…” You trail off, attempting to count the number of drinks on your fingers. Agatha stifles a chuckle. 

“Is this your first time drinking?” She asks, amused. 

“No, but it is my first time drinking this much,” you admit. “My friends dragged me out since it’s my birthday. I was going to work on the essay for your class.” 

“You were going to spend your 21st birthday doing school work?” 

“Your essay’s due in a week. I wanted to make sure I-it was good enough for you.” 

She notices your slip of tongue and her smirk sends heat down low in your stomach. “You’re always good for me. Your essays are some of the best I’ve ever read.” 

Your heart skips a beat and your face flushes. “I have a B in your class.” 

“You have an 88 in my class. That’s the highest I’ve had in years. Can’t make it too easy,” she says with a wink. 

“You could make it just a little easier,” you grumble, the alcohol clearly getting rid of any inhibitions. 

“You keep doing what you’re doing, sweetheart, and it’ll go up, I promise. I’m very impressed with the work you’ve been turning in.”

A hot flash runs through you. “Just wanna be your good girl.” And if it wasn’t clear how you feel about her now, it sure is. But she doesn’t look disgusted or creeped out, only intrigued. 

She finally stops the car and you peer out the window, expecting to see your dorm. You haven’t been paying attention to where she’s been driving at all, and you’re quite surprised to see you’ve arrived at a two-story house in a cute, suburban neighborhood. 

“This isn’t where I live,” you say dumbly. 

“No, it’s not,” she agrees, getting out of the car and walking over to help you. You stumble up the steps to the front door, Agatha’s tight grip on your shoulder keeping you upright. You can feel her fingers playing with the ends of your hair. 

She unlocks the front door just as a wave of nausea hits you. “Oh, god,” you say weakly, holding a hand in front of your mouth. Agatha doesn’t even seem phased; she leads you to a bathroom in the hall and leaves, only to re-enter with a glass of water moments later. You gulp it down and feel better. 

“You okay?” she asks softly, stroking your cheek, eyes tracing up and down your face. You’ve never seen this side of her and you really like it. 

“I think so. Thank you again,” you murmur and you realize that you’ve been staring at her mouth. 

“Anything for my favorite student.” 

And then, because you’re apparently determined to fuck everything up even more, you lean in and press your lips to hers. Agatha stands still for a second before you pull back, horrified with yourself. 

“Professor, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” 

She draws you back in for a longer kiss this time, tongue licking into your mouth. You let out a long moan and she breaks away. 

“You’re drunk,” she tells you again.

You clasp the lapels of her blazer. “I know. But I want you.” 

She softly pries your fingers off her suit and smiles. “You need to sleep. And then we can talk about this in the morning.” 

You pout and she runs her thumb over your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down. You suck her finger into your mouth, delighting in the way her eyes darken. She steps back.

“Let’s go. You can sleep in the guest room. I’ll find you some pajamas and toiletries.” Her hand on the small of your back guides you up the stairs and to the room on the right. The guest room is simple but cozy and you immediately go to the bed and flop onto it. “Don’t fall asleep yet,” Agatha warns and then leaves the room. 

She comes back in a few minutes, an old shirt and sweatpants in one hand and a toothbrush and toothpaste in the other. She pats your legs in an effort to get you up but you can barely move, suddenly weighed down by all the drinks. 

“Come on, hon,” Agatha says and helps you stand up. You don’t move as she works to take your shirt and skirt off, your cheeks and upper chest flushing red. You try to cover yourself and she smirks. 

“M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“Don’t be. I’m enjoying the view.” You stare at her longingly, silently begging her to fuck you right there and then, but she helps you step into the sweatpants and pull the shirt over your head. She watches you brush your teeth and moves the covers so you can get into bed. “Do you need anything else?” 

Your hand grabs hers. “Just you,” you try again hopefully, but she chuckles and wrenches free of your grip. 

“Good night, birthday girl,” she whispers and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. And then she turns off the lights and leaves the room.

You fall asleep immediately. 

***

Sunlight streams through the blinds, waking you up. It takes you a minute to get your bearings and then the events of last night come back to you. 

The bar. Four shots of tequila and half a Dirty Shirley. Calling Agatha and her coming to pick you up and taking you to her house. Kissing her in the downstairs bathroom. Shit. 

You groan, head pounding. You see a container of Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand beside you. You take two Advil and drain the glass, heart warming at the thought of Agatha taking such good care of you. 

And then you remember that your relationship with her will forever be complicated by your actions. 

You solemnly brush your teeth and pull back on the clothes you wore to the bar last night, neatly folding Agatha’s pajamas and placing them on the bed. You hope she hasn’t woken up yet so you can sneak out without her having to tell you how inappropriate you behaved last night. 

No such luck. The second you get downstairs, Agatha perks up from where she’s typing on her laptop on the couch.

“Good morning, darling,” she purrs, shutting her computer. You gulp, taking her outfit in. She’s wearing a robe that ends mid-thigh and the neckline drops low. 

“Hey,” you say casually, trying to hide how much you’re internally freaking out. 

“Do you want something for breakfast? I can cook you something.” She stands up and walks to the kitchen and you follow like a lost puppy. You involuntarily lick your lips at the way her hips are swaying. 

“What are my options?” Your voice is raspy, still feeling hungover. She glances back at you and her eyes dart up and down your body. 

“I can make eggs. Bacon. I think I have pancake mix in the pantry. What would you like?” 

You’re a little confused that she hasn’t scolded you yet. And then you remember something else. She kissed you. 

You swallow hard. Whatever else you may have done last night that you can’t remember, she doesn’t hate you for it. She might even want you back. 

“Are you on the menu?” It comes out before you can even realize what you’re saying. 

Agatha freezes and turns around. You shift your weight nervously, but then you see her pupils blown out. Her eyes are so dark you can barely see any blue. “What?” She asks carefully.

“You kissed me last night,” you say, a little breathless. You have absolutely no idea where this confidence is coming from. “You wouldn’t do anything else cause I was drunk. But I’m not drunk now.” 

She steps toward you and roughly grasps your hair. She tilts your head back, exposing your neck just a tad. “No, you’re not.” She regards you for a second. “You know you’re not going to get extra credit for trying to sleep with your professor.” 

You laugh. “That’s not why I’m doing this.” 

She smirks. “Good.” And then she licks a hot stripe up your neck and bites down, sucking a mark on your skin. You gasp loudly and tangle your hands into her hair. 

“Professor,” you moan and you drag her into a filthy kiss. She backs you up until your thighs hit the table so she lifts you up onto it. Your legs wrap around her to pull her closer. Agatha pushes up your crop-top and kneads your breast, thumb stroking your nipple, never once breaking your kiss.

Her hand creeps under your skirt and cups your mound over your underwear. Your hips jump on their own at the stimulation. 

“Please,” you beg. Her lips curl into a smile. 

“What do you want?” Her fingers have pushed your underwear to the side and have started lazily stroking through your folds, spreading your wetness. 

“You,” is all you can say before she sinks a finger into your hole. 

“Like this?” She asks innocently, thrusting hard. 

“Yes,” you pant, quickly untying her robe so you can touch her. She’s completely naked underneath and you lean down so you can take a nipple into your mouth. 

“That’s perfect, baby,” she sighs, setting a relentless pace with her fingers after she slips another one in you. “Is this what you hoped would happen when you called me last night?”

“I’ve been hoping for this since the first day of the semester,” you answer, and she falters for a second, thrown off by your honesty. 

She pulls out of you and panic runs through you, terrified that you said the wrong thing. But she just pushes you down so your back is resting on the table and she pulls out one of the chairs from the table. 

“What are you–” Before you can finish your sentence, she leans forward and sucks your clit into her mouth. Your back arches off the table, hands rushing down to hold her in place. “Fuck, Professor!” 

She devours your pussy like she’s a starving woman, pulling all sorts of loud noises from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cum,” you chant, hips grinding on her face, trying to get the last bit of stimulation you need to send you over the edge. She knows what you need and presses her fingers inside you, curling them just right and gives your clit a hard last lick. You cum harder than you ever have before, her name on your lips like a prayer. She helps you ride through the aftershocks and then trails kisses up your body until she can kiss your mouth. 

“How was that?” she asks after you pull away to catch your breath. 

“That was probably the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” you say, which cracks both of you up. “But I’m not finished.” 

Her eyebrow quirks up and she smirks. “Oh?” You stand up, putting your hands on her hips and flipping her around so she’s leaning against the table. 

You sink to your knees in front of you, not even bothering with a chair. You slowly push her robe up so it bunches at her waist. “Can I return the favor?” 

A glint appears in her eye and she fists one of her hands in your hair preemptively. “I’d like nothing more.” 

[lemon-3ds]

Tumblr users stop complaining about the important blue checkmarks and Tumblr merch challenge

[flwrkid14]

Why Tim Drake Sees the Bats as Co-Workers and Not Family (Tim Drake is a Fenton)

aka a follow up to this post, on why tim calls the bats coworkers because I think it's the funniest thing ever

It’s not that Tim hates the batfam. If anything, he has a grudging respect for them. They’ve saved his life (and Gotham’s) more times than he can count. But to Tim, that doesn’t make them family.

Here’s the thing: Tim already has a family.

Growing up as a Fenton, Tim knew what family meant. Jazz was the protective big sister who made sure he ate, slept, and survived middle school. Danny was the chaotic younger brother who still cared enough to make sure Tim didn’t feel overshadowed. Even his parents, as wildly eccentric as they were, loved him with the kind of unapologetic enthusiasm only Jack and Maddie Fenton could pull off.

Sure, they weren’t perfect. They panicked after Danny’s death-and-rebirth-as-a-ghostly-superhero and left Tim with Aunt Janet Drake, thinking they were protecting him. But they called. They checked in. And once they realized how bad things were with the Drakes, they worked to make amends.

Tim never stopped being a Fenton, no matter how far Gotham took him from Amity Park.

So when Bruce Wayne swept in with promises of training, teamwork, and trust, Tim didn’t see a new family. He saw an opportunity.

————

The Batfamily Dynamics:

The Batfamily operates on trauma and duty. Everyone has scars, and everyone has a mission. That’s how Bruce connects with people—through the shared pain of loss and the relentless drive to make Gotham better.

But Tim’s mission was never born out of personal tragedy. He didn’t lose his parents to crime or see Gotham as something he had to save. He joined because someone had to. Batman was falling apart after Jason died, and Gotham was suffering for it. Tim stepped up because it was the right thing to do—not because he wanted to fill some emotional void.

And that’s where the disconnect lies.

For Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, and even Cass, Barbara and Steph, being part of the bats means finding family again. It’s their way of healing. But for Tim, it feels like replacing the family he already has.

————

Tim’s Perspective:

To Tim, the batfamily is a job. A very dangerous, very complicated job, but a job nonetheless.

Bruce isn’t his father. Dick isn’t his brother. Jason isn’t his big-brother-who-died-and-came-back (that spot was already taken by Danny). They’re teammates, coworkers, and maybe even friends. But family? No.

Because family is Jazz sneaking him snacks during his stakeouts. Family is Danny sending sarcastic texts about “ghost-proofing” the Batcave. Family is Jack and Maddie trying (and failing) to make sense of his vigilante life while showing up with enough ectoplasm-based cookies to fuel an army.

Family is messy, chaotic, and full of love.

And while the batfamily might be chaotic, the love feels conditional���wrapped up in the mission, the masks, and the unspoken rule that Gotham always comes first.

————

Why Tim Doesn’t Want a Second Family:

And then there’s the second layer—the one Tim doesn’t say out loud.

To Tim, having a second family feels like betraying the one he already has. Like admitting that Jazz, Danny, and the parents who tried so hard to fix their mistakes weren’t enough. And they are enough.

Tim doesn’t need another family. He doesn’t want another family. The Fentons are imperfect, but they’re his. If he started thinking of the batfamily as his own, it would feel like he was erasing the people who already mean everything to him.

It would also make losing them hurt more.

The batfamily’s world is dangerous. Gotham is dangerous. And if Tim ever let himself think of them as his family—as more than coworkers or teammates—it would make every death, every injury, and every failure cut that much deeper.

Tim’s already had to grieve once, when Danny died. He barely survived it. He doesn’t think he could go through that again, especially not in a world where loss is inevitable. Keeping the bats at arm’s length is self-preservation as much as loyalty to the Fentons.

————

Does It Hurt the Bats?

Absolutely.

Dick wants so badly to be Tim’s big brother. Jason finds it hilarious, but even he bristles at being labeled a coworker. Damian sees it as a betrayal of loyalty. And Bruce—well, Bruce doesn’t say much, but the tight line of his mouth speaks volumes. Tim doesn't even want to think about how Cass probably already knew, and how much it had still hurt her nonetheless.

But Tim doesn’t change his stance. Because at the end of the day, the bats aren't his family. They’re his team, his coworkers, and maybe even his friends.

And that’s enough.

[sorceressofthesky]

Something I find really compelling about Zaundads is the fact that you can clearly see the division between their ideologies in the way they show their love. When Silco and Vander were still a pair, Silco loved Vander for his brutality. He loved Vander because he was angry at the world; because he was fierce and tenacious and capable of devastating violence. He respected Vander's willingness to fight for the cause and his loyalty to their shared ideals. And we know from Silco's parenting of Jinx that when he loves someone, he uses them. That's not to say this is a good or bad thing, but just an observation. He loves people for the potential he sees in them - in Vander, it's his capacity for violence, and in Jinx, it's her capacity for chaos and destruction - and a big part of how he shows love is by fostering that potential. Creating the means and motivation to use it. He lives by the notion that "there's a monster inside all of us", which started with his perception Vander, and extended to Jinx later on. He sees a monster in himself too, but he's not a naturally violent person, so he surrounds himself with people who he does see as strong and capable, and channels his indignation through the people he trusts most.

Meanwhile, when Vander loves someone, he's gentle with them. He has this innate protective instinct that drives him, and he's capable of summoning his brutal side when his world is under threat, but his default is care and affection. With his kids, it comes out mostly in the form of guidance; being a calm voice of reason when it's needed. We don't see it as much with Silco given the lack of insight into their past, but we do have hints of it in the flashback - with both Silco and Felicia. Silco already has a bowl of soup and a cup at the start of the scene, which, based on context clues, were most likely prepared for him by Vander. Vander also pours drinks for the three of them, and upon finding out that Felicia is pregnant, he replaces hers with a non-alcoholic option. His automatic response to her distress is to comfort and console her ("you're going to be a great mother"). In contrast, Silco listens silently for most of the conversation, and contributes in the only way he knows how - by agreeing to continue the fight for Zaun, no matter the cost.

And I think, ultimately, this would have always created a division between Vander and Silco. Whether or not Felicia and Connol were killed in the explosion. Whether or not the kids were even in the picture. It was inevitable that somewhere down the line, Silco would keep pushing the limits, and he would reach one that Vander couldn't exceed. Felicia's death might have been the catalyst for the betrayal, but it seems like the ideological rift ran a lot deeper than that - particularly noting the line from Vander in S1E3; "You had my respect, the Lanes' respect, but that... that was never enough for you." The phrasing makes it sound like he was already fed up with just how far Silco was willing to go for justice.

Vander regretted the violent way he went about the split, but I don't get the impression that he ever regretted the actual decision to part ways with Silco. Which actually creates another interesting contrast in itself, because Silco's perspective was the complete opposite. Silco had already forgiven Vander for the drowning incident by the time they met up again. The murder attempt was brutal, and Silco is unquestionably traumatised by it, but he never stopped respecting Vander, nor does he ever ask why he did it. Because that isn't the part he's hung up on. He understands why Vander went about the betrayal in such a vicious manner. Anger and violence were what he loved about Vander in the first place, and as such, Vander trying to drown him was consistent with everything Silco knew and respected about him. The Vander he didn't understand was the one who gave up on fighting out of fear of what he might lose, and that was the Vander he resented.

Reconciliation is definitely possible between them, and that's clear even without regarding the S2E7 AU, because it happens in the main timeline. Silco is given a choice between his dream and Jinx, and the first place he goes to deliberate is the Vander statue, because finally, he does understand. He understands why Vander bent to the Enforcers' will just to keep his kids safe. But he only understands it because, by that point, he's lived it himself. In an alternate timeline scenario, if Silco were to forgive Vander, there would need to be some other catalyst that triggers that understanding. It would take a lot more than simply reading an apology letter - not because of how terrible the apology was, but because Vander was apologising for the wrong thing.

[maxivstappen]

THE GREATEST — TRUE BLUE

[ part one / masterlist / requests are open ]

☽｡⋆ part 2 of THE GREATEST. he tried to live without you, but how is one to survive with a broken heart? a story based on TRUE BLUE by billie eilish. — lando norris x fem!reader (could technically be read as a stand-alone)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, hints of fluff (?) 𝄞 4.1k words

❝ Lights out, you’re not here holding me ❞

Lando had never before felt the way he did the day you left him. Seeing you walk through that door, intending to never come back to him ever again, it pained him. It took him too long to realize how much he hurt you, and now he had to suffer the consequences. He swore it wasn’t on purpose, but when his friends told him that also the third girl he had brought along since you broke up with him resembled you in a way, he stopped denying. There was no use. The guys knew, the internet knew, he knew that he wasn’t yet over you. And he thinks he never will be. You left an empty place in his heart, a place that would forever be reserved for you only and you only. No matter how hard he tried to find someone else, no one would ever be able to replace you.

The girl he brought to the first race after the summer break was long forgotten already.

At first, everyone around him believed him when he said he felt happier now without you. But the moment he went back to his old ways, the heartbreaker they’ve known for so long, they realized he wasn’t. The girls always looked like you. He only rarely smiled anymore and he couldn‘t care less about his friends‘ relationships, even going as far as faking a gag or simply not coming to hang out with them at all. He said it’s because he needs to focus on racing. They knew it was because of you. Lando was yet to tell them why the relationship ended. He’d rather crash his car and DNF in every race for the rest of his life than to ever have to talk about the night you left ever again. He felt embarrassed and bad and was so terribly regretful. Only his parents knew the whole truth. He told them with tears caressing his face just like you once did, and seeing the disappointment in their eyes, he felt his heart rip apart even more. They had loved you so much, only waiting for the day he would finally go down on one knee for you, and now he messed it all up.

If he could just go back and make it all alright. Make you feel unconditionally loved wherever you went, make you happy, keep you happy. He would change it all if he just had the chance, but he knew you deserved better. Maybe one day, he could be better again.

He is ready to give up the very thing for you that had made you leave him that night if you’d ask him to. Racing would never again mean as much to him as you, though broken up, still do to him.

He was currently seated in his McLaren, waiting for the lights to go out so he could try his very best to overtake max at the start already. He should have his mind on the track. He shouldn’t think about you, not here. But like always, he couldn’t help it. He hoped to see you in the stands once he was able to get out of the car again. He hoped to see you wave and smile at him, run into his arms and let him kiss you all over, do all the things he had failed to do so many months ago. He knew it wouldn’t happen. He believed anyway. The lights went out and the cars began moving. He tried his best, he always did, but he wasn‘t afraid to lose anymore; for what was it worth to win a race when he had faced the greatest loss of them all already?

❝ I count every tear down my cheek instead of sheep ❞

You couldn’t sleep. You could never sleep while he was racing. Especially when he was on the other side of the world, which is why you went with him last season, and also at the start of this one. Maybe you never should’ve. Long distance was hard, but you managed. He felt farther away when he was still sleeping next you every night. At least when he didn’t send you off to sleep on the couch.

You tossed and turned in your sleep, but you didn’t dare to turn on the TV. It’s been months, you should try to live without him. Without seeing him. Without feeling for him. His races had nothing to do with you, neither did the outcome. And god, if he wins and you have to watch him kiss someone else again you might as well just take his racing car and drive right into the nearest wall. He’s so far away and yet, it didn’t make you love him any less. You huffed, fear slowly building up inside of you. You knew you shouldn’t do this, you had to wake up early tomorrow and really, it wouldn’t be that bad to miss a race once or twice, but you couldn’t help it. Reaching for the remote, your eyes were flooded with tears and your heart stung like never before when you saw him driving out there. You were rooting for him nonetheless. Just months ago you had watched the races from inside the McLaren hospitality, but now? All alone in your bed, anxiously following his every move. You would never fall asleep like this.

❝ Sleepwalk, find myself on your street. Three knocks, ring the bell, then I leave ❞

And there you stood high up in the stands the next weekend, head hanging low as you didn‘t want any fans of him recognizing you, back in his territory. You tried to ignore him, you really did, but your eyes kept following him around the paddock and didn’t leave him even while he was doing the quick interviews he had to do on his way there. And honestly, it kinda felt like home. Attending the races. Being near him. Being with him. You missed it more than anything else in the world, and you felt pathetic for it. He hurt you every way he could, and still, he didn’t hurt you enough to make you hate him. And you really wanted to hate him.

You went to the race together with one of your friends from uni. You bonded over formula 1 and your shared passion for the sport and quickly became very good friends. However, she had to leave soon, moving to another city for a better starting point for her career. Hence, you decided to save some money and go to a race together for the last time; for now, at least. You still remember the way she looked at you when you told her you were with Lando. The way you swooned over him to her, and the way you cried your eyes out when it all ended. You really thought you‘d be able to spend the rest of your life with him, and now all you had left of him were memories. She‘s known you long enough to immediately notice your longing after him the moment your eyes locked onto his dark brown curls. Your heart fluttered and it made you nauseous. One day this would stop, right? Your feeling must fade at least sometime, or was this all just wishful thinking? Could you not just get over him like everyone else got over their exes and start dating someone new?

Your heart ached. He was so close, not out of reach anymore, not on the other side of the world anymore, but still, there was no way of getting back to him, the crash barriers and the grandstand keeping you away, and it felt like the end of your relationship all over again, with him on the track and you sitting and waiting patiently on the sidelines, always at least an arm length distance between you two. You shouldn’t even want to get him back. You left out a sigh as he walked into the McLaren hospitality, finally out of sight. But still not out of mind.

Your friend huffed next to you, and finally decided to try and convince you to talk to him after the race while you were still in the same place, to get closure at last. You knew it must annoy your friends and maybe even your family that it was so hard for you to just move on. They put effort into understanding, but still, Lando wasn‘t good to you, at least not in the end. Many would treat you better, but you didn‘t seem to care. You quickly shook your head no, telling her how he probably didn’t want to talk to you and that catching him after the race would be nearly impossible, with bodyguards and tons and tons of interviewers and cameras around him.

The conversation ended soon after, as the lights went out and the drivers hit the gas. You pondered for a second, reconsidering your friend‘s suggestion, a weird feeling building up in your stomach. Maybe you shouldn’t even be here, maybe you should *leave* after the race and never look back. But to your dismay, every sense in your body was telling you to stay.

❝ I try to live in black and white but I’m so blue ❞

The race went well, but he didn‘t really care. Of course he was happy, the whole team was euphoric for their two drivers who secured place 2 and 4, huge smiles plastered on their faces. Once he was done with the post-race interviews he left to go back and get some rest inside his apartment, at least until the others came around to drag him to the afterparty, slandering from one club into the next one.

Everything felt so lonely without you. His bed was cold even when he was hidden under his blanket, and the dining room was nothing more than a reminder that he wasn‘t spending his evenings with you. Watching TV got boring. Everything got boring. He didn’t even know why he lost you anymore, he didn’t know what the hell it was that made him believe you weren’t made for him, making him believe there was actually something more important than you in this lifetime. You haunted his every thought, and even though he truly only wanted the best for you, deep inside him, he wanted you to still need him as well.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, gently buttoning up his shirt like you used to do, always leaving the 3 highest ones unbuttoned. He missed your touch, your eyes looking up at him and your hands always reaching for his. His arms would be wrapped around your waist and his head would be leaning on your shoulder, sneaking a few, small kisses up your neck as you changed your earrings for the night, the imagine of it painted onto your fast beating heart as you stood in front of the full-body mirror in your apartment, finishing up your accessoires. You wore a blue dress that covered your thighs, not reaching your knees. It hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your features. It used to be Lando‘s favourite, but you had no other alternative, not having brought any other dresses. Your friend insisted on going clubbing anyway, desperately wanting to finally get him off your mind for one night at least.

The other drivers were loud and happy and drunk and Lando sat next to them, staring at his already empty glass. He knew how this would go. At some point, either the drivers or one of their girls would tap his shoulder, saying they have a friend they think he would really like, and if he would like to be introduced to her. He would agree so they would finally keep their mouths shut, he would talk to the girl. Maybe they would kiss if he drank enough. Maybe he would take her home. Maybe he would think about you the whole time, maybe he would accidentally call her your name. Maybe he would wake up in the morning and would be happy that she‘d left, content with it only being a one-time thing and not meaning anything.

Because, in the end, nothing meant anything without you.

He pretended to laugh at the jokes of his friends, but really, none of this was fun to him. These nights were nothing more than a constant reminder of how he used to have his fun while you were waiting for him at home, cold and sad and alone. How could he be so stupid and leave you alone all the time? He doesn’t even know why he did it anymore. He yawned, very obviously not enjoying the party. Yes, it was nice seeing his friends so happy, the mood wasn’t as tense as it was around and on the track and the people inside the night club were vivid, dancing and drinking, seemingly having the time of their life downing countless beverages, but still, the happiness didn’t reach him.

“Dude, I think your girl‘s here.“ Oscar pushed him slightly, two vodka bull in hand for himself and Lily. Lando didn’t pay him any mind and rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for talking to any girl that isn’t you at the moment. Couldn’t they just give up? He wasn’t ready yet for someone else, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be with someone that isn’t you at all. Ever. Instead of arguing with Oscar about how he didn’t want to hear from any other girl right now, he went to get another drink as well.

He pushed through the dense crowd of people, navigating through the cacophony of laughter and piercing yelling that seemed to echo from all directions. The deafening loud music blasting through his ears made it difficult to focus, and the harsh sound of glass clunking together only added to it. The colorful LED lights rapidly switched from green to red to purple to yellow in a matter of seconds, creating a dizzying light show that overwhelmed his vision. This sensory onslaught of sounds, sights, and sensations overstimulated his senses, making each step forward feel like an effort.

Finally at his destination, he waited for the waiter or waitress, he wasn’t quite sure, to get his order. He wasn’t certain what his plan was that night at all. Sleeping around or not, you wouldn’t stop haunting his mind anyway, so was it really worth it? Getting drunk and trying to make his nights feel less lonesome? Or should he just wait and really focus on his carrer again until maybe, one day, you’d come back?

He ignored the possibilty of you not coming back at all.

He let his eyes wander around the scene unfolding in front of him, occasionally making eye contact with random girls who winked at him and tried to get his attention, but he didn’t pay them any mind. Frustration started to bubble up inside of him as the wait for his drink seemed to go on for forever, until suddenly, his heart skipped a beat.

Lando was certain that in a room full of people, he would always be able to notice you first. He pondered if it was you whenever he‘d walk by a girl with the same hair colour as you, immediately dismissing the thought when he saw a face that didn’t match yours just a second later. But this time, it was different. The hair ressembled yours without a doubt, and of course he remembered the dress he had bought for you so long ago; never once had he been able to keep his hands to himself when you wore it. The height matched you perfectly as well. But it couldn’t be you, right?

Oscar‘s words replayed in his mind and he finally understood what he meant. Who he meant.

It was really you.

You tried to enjoy the party, but you really weren’t doing so well. Your friend had left you near the bar, thinking you’d be hitting it off with a guy you’ve been talking to for some time, but that wasn’t the case. he left just five minutes after to go home, asking if you’d like to come with him. You denied, but your friend was nowhere to be found, having found someone in this club herself. It was scary being alone in a club full of drunk, intoxicated people, even more so when you sensed someone staring at you from behind. You didn’t have to worry about things like that when you were still with Lando, with him always stuck to your side, a protective arm hanging around your shoulders. you shuddered at the thought, and dared to turn around to find the very person who was looking at you so steadily.

And then you locked eyes.

The world suddenly went quiet. All the chaos, the noise, it all faded into the background, no sound to be heard other than the synchronised, rapid beating of your heart. It seemed as if the only two people in that room were you and him, only the void surrounding the two of you. The LEDs turned blue, engulfing you and him, the light accentuating your features and he couldn’t move even if he wanted to, stuck in a trance of what this could mean for him in the future; what this could mean for you both. Time seemed to stand still. He wanted to run to you, to hold you, to tell you how much he missed you, but his feet felt like they were glued to the floor. His breath hitched and so did yours, all the yearning, all the longing hitting you and him at lightspeed.

You walked towards him, each step filled with electricity. The tension was palpable, his mouth agape as you stood in front of him, only centimeters away from closing the gap between you. There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to apologize, so many things he wanted to make right, but he didn‘t dare to say things first, afraid too scare you off. The last thing he wanted is for you to leave him again.

“I didn‘t know you‘d be here, thought I‘d seen Oscar but I wasn‘t sure,“ you started, stumbling over your own words, laughing awkwardly, then biting your lip right after. He noticed, because you always did that when you were nervous; you’d done it too when you broke up with him. You wanted to blame it on the alcohol, but that would be a lie, one he could look right through of. You just couldn‘t process actually being in his presence again.

“You still wear the dress?“

“It‘s, uhm, quite pretty, so yeah.“ You nodded along to your own words, gulping at the tense and awkward silence right after, looking down at your shoes, the sight of him in this light still not leaving your mind. Maybe he didn‘t even feel the same way, maybe he didn‘t even want to talk to you. Maybe you already made a fool of yourself when you made your way over to him, maybe you really should‘ve just stayed at home. But at the same time, this is what you‘d hoped for this whole time. To finally see him again.

“I‘m so sorry for what I did to you, y/n, please believe me. E-Ever since you left, I couldn‘t stop thinking about you. Not once. I tried to move on, y‘know, would probably be better for you as well, ‘cause you deserve better than how I‘ve treated you at the end and I don‘t want to have to put you through that again but I just- I miss you so much, I don‘t know what to do! And now you‘re here and I swear I‘ve been waiting for a moment like this and-,“ he stopped for a second, heavy and shaky breaths filling the silence, „If giving up racing means you‘ll let me come back to you, I‘ll do it.“

Your teary eyes widened and you looked up at him again, staring into his. One could take it as an empty promise. But you knew better than anyone else that Lando wasn’t one to joke about racing, ever. “Lando you can’t just- I- I mean, racing? It didn‘t work before Lan I just- don‘t give up your dreams for me, please? You shouldn‘t, you have so much ahead of you still,“ you sighed out, every single part of your body overwhelmed like never before.

But Lando was certain. He traced every yet so small feature of your face and body with his eyes, and he knew in that exact moment that, no matter what, he could never lose you again. Not this time. Not when fate hat somehow brought you together once again, giving him a second chance to make it all better. Question was now if you’d let him have that second chance too.

He lifted his hand to gently wipe away the tear running down your cheek, having you lean into his familiar touch. “I’ll do it for you”, he said, and that was when you broke apart, legs feeling numb and wobbly suddenly. Tears streamed down your face as you took another step forward and he wrapped his arms around your body out of reflex, gently placing soft kisses on top of your head, tearing up as well as your cried into his chest.

Maybe it was bad, maybe you shouldn’t feel like this again, but you’ve never once after the breakup felt as at peace with yourself and your as you did now, even if you were in a loud and busy club, surrounded by drunk and high people. You managed to push them to the back of your mind, the familiar scent of Lando’s perfume calming your senses. It felt like home. Maybe he really did owe you something, and though you once were anguished because of it, you wouldn’t ever deprive him of the joy of racing. There would be a way through it without having to abandon any of your or his dreams. There must be if you want it to work out, and you were sure that this time, it would. And so was he.

Lando took you home with him that night, not before you shot your friend a quick text message, afraid she might think you were kidnapped or whatnot. You knew that you’d have to fly home again in two days. He knew that too, but there was no need to rush things anyway. You were still his and he was still yours, and that’s all that mattered for now. It’s gonna be weird explaining this to your friends and your family, but neither of you minded it as long as it meant you could be with each other again. You would have to talk things through and see how you’d manage the race weekends and the events and the media - but not now. Now, with you calmly and lightly snoring in his arms, he didn’t care about any of that, simply content with having you again.

He promised you before you drifted off into your tranquil slumber that he will make it right this time. He will be there for you no matter what, he will defend you and take you with him and show you off and love you like already should have done all these months ago. This time, he will put in the work and the appreciation and the effort, and then, you will finally be able to be the greatest.

❝ I’d like to mean it when I say I’m over you, but that’s still not true. ❞

taglist for part 2 of the greatest : @mrs-saturday @tylerstacobell @angeltroian @acesbakery @directioner5life @malynn @escuellasceramicdollie @strangetoadroadbat @norrisdriver @aliceisnuts @carlando4 @f1fantasys @no-144444 @belivisa @callsignwidow @cruzgrecia @ifsoniacouldfly @wony6ung @hurtblossom @faeriepigeons @interlagos @xnatqq @fanficweasley @youreintheclubb @chaimaarouaine11 @idgasb @cruzgrecia @madstxo @trisharee (basically everyone who commented vv sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged!)

[kumkaniudaku]

Just For You

Summary: Terry and Patrice give each other lasting nicknames.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: None

"Terrence and Patrice, you're married. Any objections?" 

None from Terry. A few from Patrice, but what was new? She always had objections. Ms. Cole answered each of her star pupil's questions in extreme detail before sending the pair home as a fictional married couple exploring the semester's section on personal finance. 

It was Terry's idea for them to work together on the weekend at his house, citing weekday football practices as too much of a hindrance to after-school instructional time. His sophomore year came with another growth spurt to a towering 6'1", and he couldn't let the new length or extra muscle go to waste. The fight for starting receiver had only just begun. 

Patrice hated falling behind. The thought of letting days pass without tracking toward their project's completion ate away at her. She allowed Terry to have his way, but under one condition: they'd work all morning on Saturday to knock things out in one day.

He scrunched his face and ran a hand over his haircut. "Patrice, that's a lot. We can't stretch it to two days?" He thought again for a better solution when she started to open her mouth with a rebuttal. "What if we talked on the phone and finished up Sunday night! Then you only have to leave home once!" 

"Take it or leave it, Terrence. One day or a little bit every day after your practice." 

With Saturday morning SportsCenter's top five clips playing on the television while they sat beside each other, their feet and legs jutting out from beneath his mother's coffee table, it was clear he'd taken the offer with a few concessions. Highlights stayed on during homework. 

Patrice sat still and quiet while she watched Terry twirl a pencil between his fingers and squint at the instructions on their project syllabus. Late morning sunlight streaming through the living room window brought out the honey color in his eyes, her favorite part of the blue-green pieces of art she pretended not to sneak glances at when they spent time together. His brows furrowed to create little ripples at the center of his forehead. Three. She always counted them when he made his focused face. 

If anyone didn't know him, he'd look like an intimidating man at least five years his senior. But Patrice knew Terry was mostly a gentle giant. He spoke softly as if the sound of his own voice was scary, opened doors, laughed on occasion, and remained polite day to day. Compared to the other boys in his grade, Terry was a saint—a saint slowly creeping his way into Patrice's day-to-day thoughts. 

Terry's shoulder brushed against Patrice's as he shifted on the floor, making her shuffle further away to avoid the goosebumps populating her forearm. Terry glanced over, concern replacing the focus in his eyes. "You okay? Did I hit you?" 

"No, I just didn't wanna be so deep in your space." Partially true. The why was her secret to keep. 

Terry shrugged. "It's cool. You're not bothering me." She never was. If he were honest, Terry wished she would bother him more. Come over more, show up to more games, and stay on the phone a little later when he called under the guise of missing notes from class, knowing the only thing he missed was her voice. He scooched closer to her, leaving a sliver of space between them. "So, I think you're the breadwinner in this scenario. Sixty-thousand a year ain't half bad. You must be a professor or something. Talkin' them students' heads off, I'm sure." 

"Shut up," Patrice laughed as she elbowed his side. "You aren't far behind! Your $45k gets us to a combined $105k. That's more money than I've ever seen." 

Her compliment of his pretend income pulled a closed-mouth smile from Terry. "Yeah, well, how do we spend it? Says here we need to budget our combined monthly income between bills, discretionary spending, and savings." Quick mental math helped him tally their post-tax income. "That's $3,204 bi-weekly. Just under $7000 a month. I think we can handle that." 

"Let's start with housing and work from there?" 

"I'm following your lead." 

One hour of hard work and bickering netted the play couple one outcome they could agree on. Terry thought it'd be best for them to choose a modest three-bedroom dwelling with a low mortgage to fit their housing needs and free up funds for two cars. Though Patrice wanted a bigger backyard for her garden, she relented when her mate pointed out she'd get the better car and a summer vacation if they were wise with their monthly spending. One night out a week, $500 a month in "fun funds," and a strict savings schedule left them more than enough money in their reserve to consider children in their plan. 

Brain fog stemming from a quietly growling belly made Patrice stretch her arms high about her head and whine. "Can we take a break? I'm a little hungry." 

"I can make you something!" Hearing the extra eagerness in his own voice felt like a punch to the throat for Terry. Embarrassment had him scaling back to save face. "It's just a PB&J. You don't want me using the stove. Or you can wait 'til my mom gets home. She usually does crawfish on the weekends."

"Shoot, let's do both! I've never had crawfish before."

Not ever having crawfish was a cardinal sin in Terry's household. If his parents found out Patrice had been living a life without experiencing their family specialty, she'd be forced to camp out until every piece of corn, sausage, potato, and crustacean was consumed. Terry logged the reference in the back of his mind for later use as he made his way into the kitchen. 

While Terry focused on the even spreads of peanut butter and jelly on his mama's "good" bread, Patrice took her time mosying around the large living room to acquaint herself with her surroundings. 

Expensive trinkets and books she'd never read lined the cubby spaces on one side of their large wooden entertainment center. On the other, family photos told the Richmond family's story. At the top, Mr. and Mrs. Richmond posed in formal attire with big smiles to celebrate what Patrice assumed was their wedding day. Another shelf featured photos of twin girls with encased baby booties in the middle. She smiled at their big afro puffs and chocolate-covered faces while they enjoyed dessert at Disney World. Then, she spotted it. Perched on a stack of photo albums, a little boy decked in Spider-Man gear from head to toe stretched himself in the hero's signature squat. But those eyes were unmistakable. Little Terrence was clearly on a mission to save the world. Or his backyard, at the very least. 

In awe of how cute Terry looked as a kid playing make-believe, Patrice reached out to grab the frame for a closer look. That was him, alright. Terry still had the same toothy grin that crinkled his nose at the bridge and made his eyes close from the rise of his cheeks. Ears too big for his body stood out even more than they did ten years later. He may have been smaller in stature and much more upbeat than the brooding teenager in the other room, but after a year of friendship and a little secret pining, she could recognize him anywhere. 

Immersion disarmed Patrice's senses, giving Terry ample space and opportunity to sneak up on her. "That's funny?" His voice cut through the silence, making Patrice jump and turn to catch the sly smile on his face. "That was my fifth birthday. I can't remember why I didn't get a party, but I guess I still had fun that day." 

"It's cute," Patrice complimented. "I didn't know they made masks for little kids with adult-sized heads." 

Payback from her jab tasted perfectly sweet on her tongue, like her Nana's homemade apple pie. Patrice watched Terry roll his eyes and shake his head before pulling the glass photo frame from her hands and placing it back in its rightful spot. 

He pretended to laugh along before kissing his teeth. "Come get this sandwich before I change my mind, girl." 

Terry would never change his mind, no matter how hard he tried to pretend or fight back the smile revealing his top row of teeth. Patrice had a free license to pick with him, and, on occasion, he'd join in to further solidify their friendship. 

Lighthearted rounds of the dozens meandered into winding conversions dominated by Patrice's favorite secret chatterbox. He ran through team drama a mile a minute, only taking breaks to chew and ask her intentions for the remaining pretzels on her plate. She granted him permission to clean up her portion and his if it meant he'd keep talking. 

"So, you like orange?" His abrupt change in subject turned Patrice's passive listening into active confusion. He pointed at the scrunchie on her wrist to clarify. "The color, I mean. I noticed you wear it all the time. I was just wondering if it's your favorite." 

Patrice fiddled with the ponytail holder, looking for anything to keep her from making eye contact with Terry. Knowing she was being watched excited and terrified her with equal intensity. "Um, yeah. It is." 

"How come?" 

"I don't know, really. I think because of how the sky turns orange when the sun's going down in the summertime. That's always been pretty to me." Terry committed the information to memory with a quick head nod, letting awkward silence scream into Patrice's ear until she forced out a follow-up question. "What about you? What's your favorite color?" 

Terry thought for a moment. "Blue, mostly. But like Carolina blue. If you get too dark, it's like the Patriots, and I hate the Patriots." 

"Dang. Soooo, no tickets to see Tom Brady for our fun money, huh?" 

"Well, I ain't say all that!" 

Stomach-busting laughter derailed all thoughts of returning to the second half of their assignment. Instead, they chose to take a nose dive into each other's likes, dislikes, and anything in between. Terry had to know Patrice's birthday for…research purposes. 

She scribbled the date on his mother's wall calendar. "April 23rd, remember? Shakespeare's birthday!" 

Fitting. Terry stored the date away in the section of his brain reserved for important things like stats and Lil Wayne lyrics for good this time. 

"What's your favorite food?" 

"My maman's étoufée," Terry answered, whistling from the memory of last Thanksgiving. "I can't wait to go visit next month!" 

How Patrice wished to visit with him and experience even the smallest taste of the dish, brightening his smile more than she'd ever seen before. 

Back and forth they went while time morphed into more of an abstract concept than a rule governing the physical world. Terry's favorite film? Remember the Titans. An obvious answer for obvious reasons, but Patrice loved to hear his explanation anyway. Patrice's plans for her future career? A teacher, high school English more specifically. And, if she found the time, she'd get her PhD and teach other teachers how to teach one day. Her commitment to learning and school was admittedly odd to Terry, but still, he found her passion for it magnetic. 

In their own world, Patrice and Terry were free to be themselves in every imperfect way. Nothing was too nerdy or too weird to discuss. And, if it got close, they knew to keep each other's secrets. 

Gathering plates for cleanup, Terry rattled off his umpteenth question. "What's your middle name? Wait! Can I guess?" Patrice smiled and pushed for him to take his best shot. "You look like a Nicole." 

"No way! How'd you guess that?" 

"Every Black girl's middle name is Nicole. Or Marie. It was a 50/50 chance." 

"It was a 50/50 chance," Patrice mocked before kissing her teeth. "What's yours? Michael?" 

Terry smirked at her attempt to get him back. "Nope. It's James. Me and my dad have the same one." 

"I guess that's kinda cool." Curiosity turning the wheels in Patrice's head robbed her of seeing Terry trying to hide his smile and reddening ears from her view. "Do people ever call you TJ, or is it always Terrence or Terry?" 

Hardly anyone called him Terrence. His full first name was his mother's go-to when he was in trouble. In school, teachers faithfully called him what existed on the roll sheet. But, those closest to his heart knew him as Terry and nothing else. The divide between Terrence and Terry was his way of telling friends from foes. TJ, though, was new and interesting.

Thinking for a couple of seconds yielded no results. "Nah, I don't think so. You can have dibs if I give you one." 

Decisions decisions. Alternate names gifted by little boys never went well for Patrice. Four Eyes, Girl Urkel, and Stilts still haunted her well past elementary and middle school. The potential fallout from another botched nicknaming debacle wouldn't deter her from having something special between them.

"Fine," Patrice relented, grumbling enough to pull a laugh from Terry. "But nothing about my physical appearance. Or food-related. Or downright mean. Or Pat. I hate Pat." 

Her heavy southern twang exaggerated all of her demands, eliciting a laugh from Terry as he shook his head. "You know, usually, people don't get that much say in their nicknames. It's kinda the whole point." 

"Yeah, well, this ain't one of them time, so tread lightly." 

Terry lifted his hands in surrender, not wanting to squander his opportunity to deepen their connections. If rules existed around what he could and could not call her, so be it. "What about…P," he prosed after a few seconds. "Short and simple." 

"And unfortunately already taken by my mama. Try again." 

"Patty? Like LaBelle. Y'all both kinda mean but in a cool, old lady way." 

Patrice's annoyed eye roll sharply contrasted with Terry's impish grin. Payback was officially his again. 

"Terry, I swear! Be serious!" 

Relenting, he tossed out another option. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "For real this time. How does Treece sound? Just the second part of your name." Terry watched her mull over the idea, his smile growing when she offered no immediate rebuttal. He nudged her shoulder and smiled when she forced a sour expression. "Nah, you like it! Treece! Treecey! Big Treece!" 

Listening to Terry rattle off variations of her newly minted nickname, the sound from his lips sounding like her mother asking who wants a second helping of ice cream or Usher singing to her and her alone through her radio's speakers. 

"You know we sound like twins now, right? TJ and Treece?" 

"That's what we should name the kids." 

Missing context caused an invisible record to scratch, forcing Terry to quickly correct himself. Kids? They'd just reached good friend status. Patrice opened her mouth to question Terry, but he beat her to the punch with an explanation. 

He emphatically waved his hands in front of him, trying to sweep the misstep into the ether. "For the project! I meant kids for the project!" 

"Right!" The project. Duh. Patrice tried to recover cooly from what she was sure looked like utter panic with a dash of hopefulness on her face. "The kids from the project. Which –" 

"We should get back to. It's gettin' late. Unless you stayin' for crawfish tonight?" 

Dancing eyebrows and an irresistible grin slowly turned a firm no into a maybe before Patrice could stop her lips from moving. 

She sighed, giving in to the barely there push of peer pressure. "I'll call and ask my mom," she grumbled. "Is the phone in the living room, TJ?" 

"By the couch, Treece." 

Special names reserved for private use added another layer to a friendship blossoming by the day. Terry stood in the kitchen for a second longer to try out Patrice's new moniker alone, flexing different inflections and how it sounded next to his. Treece and Terry. Terry and Treece. Treece Ellis. Treece Richmond.

The last one earned a few repeats until Patrice's voice snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"No luck on crawfish, TJ! I've got to leave to babysit my brother tonight!" she hollered from the other room. “Come on so we can finish! We gotta get one of these kids on paper and budget for their Spider-Man birthday party!" 

Terry chuckled and shook his head. She'd never let him live that down. "Alright. I'm coming. You're a real demanding wife, you know that?" he shouted back with a smile.

Treece Richmond. He could get used to that one.

—————-

Reply if you'd like to be tagged in future work!

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @ghostfacekill-monger @nyifly22

[maxillness]

🇳🇱 || Day 29: Handjob || MV33 x gf!Reader

Warnings: 18+, hand job, sub!max, degrading kink (if you squint), Wordcount: 0.8k A handjob (also spelled hand job) is a manual sex act involving a person stimulating the penis or scrotum of another by using the hand

God was she bored. She was comfortable in the bed, but she was bored as hell

"Babe!" She called out, not wanting to get out of bed "Can you come in here for a minute" She didn't an answer, but she heard the all too familiar footsteps walking towards the room

"What's up?" Max walked over to her, crouching down to kiss her forehead

"I'm bored" She said, pouting as she looked up into his eyes. hoping he would do something about it

"Seriously? That's why you called me in here?" He asked, chuckling a bit as she nodded "Fine. What do you want to do?" He didn't miss the way the question made spark in her eyes

"I can think of a few different things to do" She said, smirking a bit, when she sat up, almost pulling him onto the bed, getting into his lap, his hands landing on her waist

Her hands cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss, making him let out a pleased sigh, but it was replaced with a whine when she pulled away "I wanna watch a movie" She said, smiling, still holding his face

"You're such a tease" He kissed her softly again before she stood up and walked out to the living room

"Can you take the duvet with you?" She asked, already in the living room. She yet again, didn't hear in an answer, but thanked him when he came in with the duvet

"What do you wanna watch?" He asked, taking the remote from the coffee table as she leaned into his body, pulling the duvet over him as well

"You decide, love" She said, kissing his jaw softly, smiling at the way he couldn't stop the dark blush creep up on his cheeks "We both know we're not gonna watch it anyways"

He hated it, but yes, they never finished a movie. Either they would end up taking each other on the couch, or where ever they were watching it, or one of them would end up falling asleep, maybe he didn't hate the first scenario as much

"I hate when you're right" He said, tugging her further into his body after he had chosen a movie

Not even 10 minutes into the movie, and she could feel his hand travel under the duvet and down to rest at her ass

"Max?" She asked, not looking up at him. He only answered with a small hum "Could we just the movie for once?" She actually liked the movie so far, and wanted to watch it through

"I'm not doing anything" She could clearly hear the smile in his voice as she felt his other hand nestle on her upper thigh

"Sure" She rolled her eyes, but decided on revenge. She placed her own hand on his thigh, as close to his crotch she could get without touching

"Don't do that" His breath stuttering slightly

"I'm doing anything" She said teasingly, hearing a quiet moan from him when she 'accidently' touched his crotch "Stop squirming" She noticed the way he bucked his hips slightly, trying to get closer to her hand

"Please" He brought his lips on her cheek bone, kissing her softly, asking her to do something about the boner he 'suddenly' had gotten

"Only my hand, okay? I wanna watch the movie" She said, looking at him, seeing his closed eyes as he nodded

"Anything" His head fell in the crook of her neck when she managed with one hand to unbutton his jeans and got the zipper down

He moaned soft when she managed to get his cock out of his boxers. She chuckled at the sound of his moans when she smeared the precum from his tip and down his shaft

"Please" He pleaded, starting placing wet open-mouthed kisses along her neck "Please, i need you so bad" His nails dug into the skin of her thigh and her side

"Always so needy" He moaned as she started moving her hand, grazing over his slid with her thumb once in a while, drawing loud moans from him

Her hand was at a slow pace, but he needed more "Faster, please. I'm begging you" He begged, bucking his hands up into her hand

She granted him his wish, her hand speeding up, pulling a mixture of moans and whimpers that filled the whole apartment

The way his nails dug into her, it would be sure to leave marks tomorrow for him to soothe with his kisses and licks

"Fuck- please, 'm close" His words were slurred and breathy as he started twitching in her hand, almost his whole body shaking rapidly

"Come for me, baby" She said low, eyeing the way his body shook from the orgasm. This stage of him she loved; fucked out, hair messy, a panting mess, tired

"Thank you" He said panted, kissing her neck "I'll clean up and get a new cover for the duvet" He said, getting back into his pants

"Good boy" She said, slapping his ass softly as he stood up from the couch

[springtyme]

since youre feeling a little burnt out it could be like three sentences and id jump for joy but could you do Arthur Morgan realizing you do not know how to ride a horse and how have you survived this long without riding a horse?

Thank you thank you thank you thank you

𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 ♡

Thank you for the request, dear <3 As a certified horsegirl, I really loved your idea, so I might make a part 2 sometime.

Arthur Morgan x f!reader || Masterlist || Arthur playlist

summary: After recently having joined the Van der Linde gang, you still have a lot to learn about your new life. Good thing that Arthur is willing to help you learn.

word count: 2.1k

warning/tags: Fluff. Arthur is a horse stealing sweetheart. Very brief mention of a dead deer. Perhaps a little occ, haven’t played the game in a while.

The camp is alive with the sounds of crackling fire and low conversations as you sit by the flames, warming your hands against the chill of the evening air. You’ve recently joined the Van der Linde gang, finding a strange sense of belonging among these outlaws, but there’s still much to learn. The thrill of the freedom they embody has drawn you in, but the reality of their life is far more complex than you initially imagined. Each member of the gang has their own story, their own scars, and their own reasons for being here.

As you watch the flames dance, you can’t help but reflect on your own past and what led you to this moment and how your life has changed. The things you have to learn are as varied as the faces around the fire. You do feel welcomed by the gang, but you can’t help the nagging in the back of your mind telling you that you don’t really belong. At least not yet.

You are pulled from your thoughts as you hear the familiar sound of hoofbeats approaching the camp. The rhythmic thud of hooves on the ground cuts through the quiet evening, and you turn your gaze toward the sound. The flickering light casts long shadows as you squint into the darkness, anticipation lacing your thoughts. The gang is often on the move, and late-night arrivals usually mean news—good or bad. The hoofbeats grow louder, and soon the silhouettes of a few riders come into view. A few of the members of the gang left earlier in the day to scout the nearby town for supplies and information and have now returned.

And there is one rider in particular who you are the most excited to see coming back. You recognize the figure of Arthur immediately, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glow of the campfire, and the familiar outline of his hat pulled low over his brow against the dusky sky.

Ever since you became part of the gang, you’ve felt an undeniable attraction to him. It’s as if you’re a ship caught in a powerful current, swept along with a momentum you can’t resist. There’s a strength in him that you find captivating, and an unspoken vulnerability that tugs at something deep within you.

You step away from the fire to get a better look as the men ride into the camp. You notice the glint of something large strapped to the side of Charles’s horse—a hefty buck they must have hunted. But that is not the only thing they have back with them. Led by a rope, a horse you have never seen before trots alongside Arthur’s own chestnut mare. A palomino, its shiny golden coat glimmering in the light from the fire.

Arthur rides forward, dismounting with a practiced ease, and you can’t help but admire the way he moves—confident, yet grounded. You stand frozen for a moment, drinking in the sight of him as he guides the two horses forward, desperately trying to quell the fluttering in your chest.

He catches your eye, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It’s a fleeting expression, quickly replaced by his usual reserved demeanor, but you saw it. The warmth in his gaze softens the rugged lines of his face, the weariness etched by countless hard days seeming to melt away for a brief instant.

He nods a greeting, a silent acknowledgment of your presence. You give him a slight smile and a nod in return, feeling a little embarrassed to have been caught staring, but you hope it comes off as you being interested in the new horse. You are ready for him to turn his focus back on the animals, but instead he calls your name, gesturing with his head to the palomino beside him. “Got someone here I’d like you to meet.”

Your heart skips at the sound of your name on his lips. You make your way over to him, curiosity piqued as you step closer. You have always admired horses from a distance, captivated by their grace and power, but have never had many interactions with them up close, and you can’t help but feel a tiny hint of trepidation mixing in with your curiosity.

The new horse stands patiently beside Arthur while he ties up his own to remove her saddle. You can’t help but reach out a hand, letting your fingers gently brush against the soft, smooth coat of the palomino’s neck, feeling the warmth radiating from its body. “Where did you get it from?”

Arthur loosens the girth of his mare’s saddle and glances over at you, a hint of pride in his expression as he watches you interact with the palomino. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that, darlin’” he replies with a teasing lilt in his gruff voice as he lifts off the saddle.

You feel how your cheeks warm from the name of endearment, rivaling the warmth you are feeling from the fire at your back. You try to compose yourself, focusing on the horse instead of the way his voice wraps around you like a comforting blanket. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your fingers continuing to explore the palomino’s neck, smoothing over the soft fur. The horse leans slightly into your touch, and you can’t help but smile at the connection you feel, even if it’s fleeting.

“Yeah, he is.” Arthur glances at the gelding with a fondness that brings a smile to your face, and you can’t help but notice how his eyes light up when he speaks about it.

“Have you given him a name?” you ask, your curiosity now peaked further.

“No…” Arthur shakes his head, a thoughtful look crossing his features. “I figured I’d let you do that yourself.”

You feel a rush of surprise and delight at his words, your heart racing at the thought of Arthur letting you name the horse. The palomino stands patiently, as if aware of the importance of this moment, while Arthur watches you with an intensity that sends butterflies swirling in your stomach.

“Me?” You say softly, trying to mask your excitement with a light laugh. “I’ve never named a horse before.”

“Well, he’s yours now, so it’s only right that you name him.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words, a mixture of disbelief and exhilaration flooding through you. “You got him for me?”

Arthur’s expression softens further, and he nods, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small smile. “Yes, I figured… well, you don’t have a horse. Thought you could use one.”

You swallow hard, feeling a swell of gratitude, as well as a wave of deep apprehension. The weight of his gesture sinks in, and the reality of it is almost overwhelming. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s really kind, but…” You trail off, the words catching in your throat. You want to express your gratitude, but the hesitation lingers. “I’ve never had a horse of my own… I don’t even know how to ride one,” you admit, an apologetic tone to your voice.

Arthur’s brows furrow in disbelief. “You don’t know how to ride?” he repeats, shaking his head in bafflement. “How the hell have you survived this long without knowing how to ride a horse?” There is nothing in his tone that indicates judgment; rather, it’s a mix of incredulity and genuine curiosity. Still, you can’t help but feel a rush of embarrassment and a twinge of fear that the gang, who have welcomed you in, will start second-guessing their choice if they realize just how unaccustomed to their lifestyle you really are.

You shrug, glancing away from Arthur’s penetrating gaze. What does his eyes also have to be so piercing blue for? Sometimes it is as if he can see straight through you. “I grew up in a town, I could walk everywhere. And on the occasions I had to travel it was by wagon or train.”

Arthur shakes his head, chuckling softly, but there’s a glimmer of something else in his eyes—concern, perhaps? “Well, darlin’, if you’re gonna be part of this gang, you’re going to need to learn. A horse is your lifeline out here.”

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. The idea of riding a horse, of being free, and of truly belonging to this life, both excites and terrifies you. But you can see the sincerity in Arthur’s eyes, the way he believes in you.

“Okay,” you finally reply, determination creeping into your voice. “I’ll learn.”

Arthur nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a way that makes your heart flutter. “Good. I’ll help you. We’ll start tomorrow,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’ll have him running like the wind in no time.”

The campfire crackles behind you, casting a warm glow that feels almost like a cocoon, wrapping you in a blend of excitement and nerves. “Tomorrow, huh?” you repeat, trying to envision the scene. The thought of being on horseback, feeling the rush of wind against your face, stirs a thrill deep within you, but at the same time, the uncertainty of it all sends a shiver down your spine.

Arthur seems to catch your momentary uncertainty. “And hey,” he says, his voice low and reassuring, “you don’t have to worry. I’ll be right there with you. And we’ll take it slow, one step at a time.” There’s a tenderness in his gaze that calms you, and you can’t help but feel a sense of safety in his presence.

His words wash over you like a gentle tide, soothing the apprehension that had begun to rise within. You meet his gaze, feeling the intensity of his attention, and for a moment, the world around you fades into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing amidst the chatter from the camp and the hum of the night.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you say, this time with more confidence. “I really appreciate that.”

A flicker of something deeper passes through his eyes, and you wonder if he feels the same current of connection that you do. He looks younger in the soft glow of the campfire, almost boyish, the gentle smile on his face softening his rugged features. “Anytime. You’re one of us now, and we look out for each other.”

For a heartbeat, it’s as if the air thickens with unspoken words, lingering like the smoke from the fire. But then he clears his throat, breaking the spell.

“Now, let’s get this big fella settled, and then we can grab some food. If you’re feeling anyway like my, I reckon you must be starving.” His voice is warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill in the air, and you find yourself nodding in agreement, feeling a sense of ease settle over you.

You glance back at the palomino, who stands with an air of quiet patience. “I could use some food, and I better start thinking about a good name for him.”

Arthur steps closer, helping you untie your new horse. “Why don’t you take your time with that? You’ll know his name when you spend some more time with him. It’ll come to you.”

With Arthur’s help, you lead the palomino to the horse line, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as you navigate the unfamiliar task. You watch as Arthur works with the horses, his movements fluid and confident. It’s easy to see that he’s in his element, and you can’t help but admire the way he connects with the animals. Arthur seems to command respect without even trying. It’s as if the horses know they’re in good hands.

With your new horse now content in his spot, you take a step back, allowing yourself to breathe and absorb the moment. The laughter and chatter of the gang surrounds you, a reminder of the sense of community that you’ve only just begun to understand. You feel a flicker of hope that maybe, you really can carve a place for yourself within this chaotic family of outlaws.

“Hey, you coming?” Arthur’s voice breaks through your reverie, drawing your attention. He’s looking at you with that same warmth, inviting you to join him and the others around the fire. You nod, a smile breaking across your face as you make your way back to him.

As you settle into the circle, the fire crackling cheerfully between you and the gang, you realize that for the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of belonging.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I think it's canon that stan smokes and gets high when he was younger

So I'm thinking reader (they are as old as the og mystery twins) is the type to smoke when they're stress and they say that smoking/getting high clears the fog in their brain

So how do you think stan & ford react to this? I mean they know it's bad but it helps them

Most research about the negative effects of weed I found online, whether or not half of them are actual negative effects is beyond me.

Stan isn’t a hypocrite, he’s gotten high before and so he knows what state your life must be for you to resort to getting high as a stress relief.

He fully understands why you’d always resort to doing such a thing but would remind you that you could always come to him if anything was ever bothering you instead of resorting to getting high.

‘I appreciate it but I don’t want to bother you with what goes on in my head, half of the time I can’t even put it into words that best describes what I’m going through but with this,’ you raised your blunt, ‘it helps me in ways that talking to someone else never could.’

‘Okay, just know I’m here to talk toots.’ Stanley said as he patted your shoulder and left you be.

Stan did it to escape everything and avoid the consequences of his own actions, so much so that he often abused the substance on more then one occasion, but after Dipper and Mabel came for the summer, he has later learned to cut down his smoking sessions for the betterment for the twins and himself.

So whenever he sees you heading out towards your designated smoking spot- the top of the shack- he’d sometimes join you for a smoke, especially when Ford came back and had been nothing but a stubborn nuisance as you shared common worries while the smell of his cigarette and weed was all you could smell.

Neither of you spoke but there was a solidarity between the two of you until you were done. Stan knew that it wasn’t exactly healthy but he wasn’t going to cut you off weed completely if it helped when you needed it most, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t not join you to make sure you weren’t abusing the substance like he did when he was younger.

Ford fully understands that weed is a natural product that can calm people who suffer from anxiety and stress related issues, but over-usage of it was highly discouraged.

Ford knew his brother did similar things in his youth and hated it then, but knowing that you did also only made his distaste for the strong smell stronger as he would then avoid any and all areas that you smoked in, and yet the smell clung to you like second skin and Ford was reminded of how much he hated the stuff and would try to give you something that would hopefully act as a replacement for weed.

Unfortunately for Ford it didn’t work and by the end of the week you were back to smoking weed almost on the regular to destress.

He’d even list off the risks you’d run if you low using the substance.

CHS syndrome

Elevated anxiety

Paranoia

Psychosis illnesses such as schizophrenia

Addiction to weed, if you hadn’t already formed one.

Confusions and or potential hallucinations

And so many more but the more he listed the less you seemed to care as you had relied on the weed for a good majority of your life, and did so in controlled quantities but understood Ford’s worries regardless in the matter and placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I’m fine Ford, I know it’s not exactly good for me but it’s the only thing that helps.’ You tell him.

‘I’m here.’ Ford replied, a little hurt that you didn’t think of him as a good option for distressing.

‘You’re far too busy in your lab or out monster hunting to sit still for ten minutes and listen to me talk about my worries.’ You said as though it was obvious. ‘So weed is my only resort to calm mind.’

‘Meditation exists, so does journaling and or scrapbooking?’ Ford suggests and it was obvious that he was trying to mitigate any permanent damage you might do to yourself in the future.

‘Not my thing and I lack the patience when this mind is loud as fuck.’ You shrugged before walking up to the top of the shack to smoke, leaving Ford a little at a loss of what he could do for you now. He didn’t condemn you for your usage of weed, but he just worries that an addiction will grow from it and he wants to be there for you, he just doesn’t know how…

[outercrasis]

Change of Plans

Pairing: Adrian Chase (Vigilante) x F!Reader ++ Word Count/Rating: 5.4k / E

Summary: You know Adrian is Vigilante. Now you just have to prove it, but things don't pan out like you expect them to.

Warnings: Sex pollen (there's like inherent dubcon bc of that, but they're both so into it), vaginal sex, light angst, honestly this is so fluffy and emotional bc I can't ever help myself lmao

You knew it. You fucking knew it. 

You’ve had your suspicions – Adrian’s unexplainable injuries, him bailing on you with short notice all the time, his complete avoidance of any and all questions. At first you thought he simply didn’t want to be friends anymore and this was his shitty way of ending things. Then you started to notice the pattern.

Anytime Adrian Chase is unavailable, someone reports a sighting of Vigilante.

Tonight’s the final straw. You were looking forward to hanging out with Adrian and watching bad movies all week, only for him to send a text at the last minute saying can’t hang. have to stay late at work. 🧜🏻‍♂️😿

Except when you called Fennel Fields to fake a family emergency so he could get out early, you learned that Adrian wasn’t on the schedule today and he certainly wasn’t pulling any extra hours. Then you saw the video on twitter. 

It was short, just a few seconds long, but it was enough. His voice. His stupid, infuriating voice. You’d know it anywhere. Combined with your already suspicious mind, you have to prove it – which leads to now. Sitting in the dark of Adrian’s apartment, waiting for him to get home.

You've come prepared. Bringing all the snacks and drinks you originally picked up for movie night, you have no reason to get up from the chair you've chosen to camp in. Tucking yourself into your favorite blanket, you're in it for the long haul.

Movies never show how boring it is waiting in the dark for someone to show up. They always skip to the good part and provide the immediate pay off. Seconds pass like minutes and minutes pass like hours. You could pull out your phone, but you don't want to chance alerting Adrian of your presence in any way.

Part of you is still having a hard time reconciling this. Despite all the evidence, there's still that voice whispering doubt that you've made this all up and are going to look insane once Adrian gets home. Adrian will laugh at you for your crazy theory and then either kick you out or relentlessly laugh at you. Either option is not preferable.

Another option crosses your mind. You try not to dwell on it, but it's impossible to ignore in the dark. What if Adrian isn't alone when he comes home? What if he's been spending time with someone he likes more? You don't want to fully consider the fallout of that – likely copious amounts of ice cream and a romcom marathon.

Enough time passes that you eventually begin to nod off. After a long week it's only natural. You drift into the weird liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, consciousness bobbing along like a ship without a motor.

Jarring is an understatement when you're woken by Adrian loudly returning home. He storms in through the sliding glass door, slamming it so hard that it pops back open again slightly. It's a rude awakening, but the adrenaline now running through your veins is a great boost.

He's hunched over the dining table, arms extended with his hands flat. You can see his heavy breathing from here. You don't need to be an expert in body language to tell that he's upset about something.

It's not until he tears his mask off, fully confirming what you already know to be true, that you gasp. You can't help it. Despite every suspicion, seeing him there is a shock. The fear of losing Adrian to someone else melts and is swiftly replaced by a fear of losing him in a far more permanent way.

Adrians's eyes go wide and you yelp as a knife suddenly arcs through the air at you. Acting purely out of instinct, you duck and the knife embeds itself into the chair where your head previously was.

“What the fuck?” you yell, frantically looking between the knife and Adrian. “You could have fucking killed me!”

Adrian stares at you. “You aren't supposed to be here.”

That stupid fire in your gut that convinced you this was a good idea in the first place sparks again. “Actually, this is exactly where I was supposed to be tonight until someone bailed on me. Again.”

You're not even sure Adrian realizes how often he's been bailing on you these past few weeks. You know how he works – completely single minded when he wants to be. Whatever he's been doing as Vigilante has kept him busy.

“You aren't supposed to be here,” Adrian repeats again. The look in his eyes is wild, his breathing still erratic. It doesn’t even seem like he's put the pieces together on you figuring out his secret identity. Whatever footing you thought you had has been swiftly pulled out from under you.

You take careful steps towards the dinette like you're approaching a scared animal. “Ade? Are you okay?” You lift your hands, showing him that they're empty. The last thing you want is for him to think you're a threat.

He doesn't move. It's unnerving. Adrian is always moving, fidgeting, talking. Some days you want to strap him down to keep him in one place. If it weren't for the continued heave of his chest you'd think he became a statue. 

A half a step away, he speaks again. “You have to go. Now. Otherwise I can't-”

“I'm not leaving you, Adrian. You're scaring me.” As angry as you are over all this, your concern for him overrides it.

His hands ball into fists. “Fuck, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for wha-”

You don't get to finish your question before Adrian is on you. His mouth crashes onto yours, all teeth and desperation. You feel every hard line and contour of his costume pressed against your body. His hand engulfs your jaw, keeping you firmly in place.

So this is what kissing Adrian is like. You never imagined it quite like this, but you aren’t complaining as he overwhelms your senses.

He tastes faintly of mint – a sharp contrast to the rubber and cordite smell of his suit. His hands are seemingly everywhere all at once while all you can do is hold onto him. There's a fuzz in your ears as every sound except for those coming from Adrian gets blocked out. 

The burn in your lungs finally forces you to break the heated kiss. It doesn't stop Adrian. He simply moves down to your neck, sucking and biting it in ways that are sure to bruise. He's mumbling into your skin the whole time but it's nothing you can make out.

“A-Ade?” He doesn't stop. You want to sink into this. Give in completely and let Adrian have his way. It's not right though. Adrian isn't quite right and you need to know something, anything before this can continue.

“Ade.” He bites a little too hard on your neck. “Adrian!”

You push and shove his concrete wall of a body, not stopping until he finally does. It's a small consolation that he looks abashed.

“What the fuck is going on?”

To say that Adrian looks delirious would be kind. His eyes are glossy, hair sticking up in all different directions, and a deep flush running down his neck. Whatever is happening, it's impacting his ability to think straight.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “I got hit with some kind of dart and I feel like I'm on fire. I came home to deal with it myself but then you were here and you said you wouldn't leave and-” 

His explanation gets caught in a high pitched whine. Adrian pulls you flush against him, nearly crushing you in a hug as he clearly attempts to restrain himself. You realize that the stiffness you felt before was not an athletic cup in his suit.

“How can I help?” you hear yourself ask. This is probably, definitely, stupid. 

You're still pissed at him for not telling you about his double life. You're still trying to process the fact that he has a double life. Despite all of that, he's clearly suffering right now and you can't walk away. He's still Adrian. He's still your best friend. 

He's still the idiot you love.

“You don't-”

You cut him off. “Well I'm going to, so tell me how to help.”

Adrian looks like he could cry. Whatever he had expected his night to be, it clearly wasn't this.

“Need you to touch me.” His words come out as a whine. Whatever this is affecting him, it seems to come in waves as Adrian's control start to slip again.

“You're sure? This isn't just whatever was in that dart?” You have to know there's some real part of Adrian that wants this. If it's just a drug controlling him, you can't do that to him or yourself.

Adrian pulls your hand, marching in the direction of his bedroom. “I've jerked myself off to the thought of you since the first day we met.”

Well. Not exactly poetic, but you certainly feel better about the current situation. 

The moment you step inside his bedroom Adrian is on you again. His tongue presses into your mouth while his hands work on removing your clothes. It's desperate and ungraceful, but you'd be lying if you said it was a turn off.

You know part of it is just the drug. Its effects are evident in Adrian's shaky hands and nearly possessed need to remain in contact with you. You know Adrian well enough to know the parts that aren't. He's making a valiant effort to ramble between kisses, trying to convey how beautiful you are and how long he's thought about this. Although all lights are clearly green he still checks in before he tears your underwear off and mumbles a quick apology.

You're suddenly off your feet, falling backwards onto the cushion of his bed. Shock is replaced by a wave of heat rolling through your body as you take in the new view.

Adrian is standing above you fully clothed in his Vigilante suit except for the mask. He looks imposing, the armor only making him that much bigger than he does without. He's palming his cock through the thick fabric in a futile attempt to take any of the edge off. 

You never would have considered it, but Adrian in his getup while you're beneath him completely bare is certainly doing something for you. You wonder if he'd ever fuck you in the mask. The thrill of it would likely be worth missing out on his gorgeous face.

The stare he seems to be caught in is more than a little flattering. Gears are clearly whirring in his head, but it's like he can't decide which is the next best step to take. He looks like he wants to eat you alive. 

You drag a hand down along your body, thrilled as Adrian’s eyes quickly lock onto the movement. It’s a leisurely pace, even circling back up once or twice before finally making the descent towards the apex of your thighs.

You barely graze the short curls there before Adrian drops to his knees and bats your hand away. 

“No fucking way am I letting you do that.” He tears off his gloves with his teeth and unceremoniously sinks a finger into your core. You feel even better than he imagined and you both groan in a filthy harmony.

Adrian doesn't have much tact – falling somewhere between what would be ideal and jackhammering. You've certainly experienced worse. You know he's not some blushing virgin, nor is he a selfish asshole, so you're willing to chalk this up to the desperation of the drug in his system. It's only confirmed when he speaks.

“I'm sorry. Fuck - I want to take my time with you but I need-”

“It's okay, Ade. Let's get you feeling better first, yeah?”

Adrian groans, the word first ringing between his ears. He's not lucid enough to parse out what that could mean, but it sounds promising. “You're too good for me.”

His head falls against you, which quickly turns into him mouthing at your inner thigh. You really hope it's not just the drug that's made him so oral-focused. 

There's the jingle and snap of a belt coming off. You prop yourself up on your elbows in time to see Adrian pulling his pants down just far enough to let himself free. If you had any shame left at this point, you'd be embarrassed by your gasp.

Precum leaks freely, sliding down his considerable length. The head of his cock is red and clearly bordering on, if not actually, painfully aroused. “Thimble” your ass. 

Before you can give his dick any further consideration, Adrian grabs your hips and drags you to the edge of the bed. The need pulsing in his veins is reaching a fever pitch.

There isn’t much ceremony as he presses into you, folding over in a bout of sheer ecstasy. You wish you could bottle the moan that’s pulled from his chest. Tears catch in the corners of your eyes and you’re not sure if it’s from the perfect burning stretch of him or if it’s from the overwhelming feeling that this is finally happening. 

“So good for me. Knew you would be. Oh fuuuck, you're squeezing me so well…” Adrian rambles. 

Being inside you seems to have taken the edge off for the moment. He’s as gentle as he can be, trying his best to give you time to adjust. His mouth laves over your skin, finding your breasts and making your back arch up into him. It provides exactly what you need.

“C'mon, Adrian. Fuck me,” you say. Whatever control he was clinging to shatters. 

Adrian sets a devastating pace. He regrets not being able to take things slower. He'd always imagined being able to tease, slowly working you up and making you laugh, until the moment where he finally got to ravish you. 

The regret doesn't last long. Not while he feels the heat of you wrapped around him, your clear sounds of pleasure beneath him. The worry that he's somehow taken advantage of you lessens with each stroke.

You look heavenly laid out beneath him. Your fingers dig into his scalp, sending tingles down his spine. He's already addicted to your little moans and whines, knowing that he'll die if he never gets to hear them again after this.

He's imagined this countless ways and countless times. None of them ever involved highly unregulated and experimental sex drugs, but then he supposes that's on him for not being more creative in his fantasies. He still didn't come close to how good this would feel.

“I can't- I'm not going to last,” he grunts.

You tug the hair on the back of his head lightly. “That's okay. Let go, baby.”

Adrian unravels at the pet name. His brain and baser urges can't fathom pulling out at this point, instead pounding deeper in as he lets himself go. It's almost enough to push you over the edge with him.

His body is heavy on top of you, half collapsed and boneless. “Holy fuck.”

“Better?” you ask. 

“Mhmm,” he hums.

Your breath hitches as Adrian begins to slowly rock his hips again. You expected he would need a moment to recover, but he feels just as hard as when you started. Thrill mixes with concern as you wonder just how long Adrian will be in this state for.

“Not done with you yet.”

His hand slips down between your bodies. His thumb gently swirls over your clit. This slow and sensual pace is so different from the violent pounding you were just receiving that it's dizzying. It's not long before you’re back on the edge of ultimate pleasure.

Adrian nips at your neck, immediately soothing it with his tongue. “Your turn. I need to see how pretty you look when you come. Please, please, please,” he begs, still breathless from his own release.

His sweaty forehead presses against yours, locking eyes with you. With that, one more swipe of his thumb, and one more please, you're crying out as your cunt clenches around him. He continues his gentle rock, working you through the intense orgasm.

Adrian’s wild grin greets you as you reopen your eyes. He leans down to give you a messy kiss as he ramps his speed back up. “You're so fucking hot. I nearly came just watching you. I know you're not on any sex drugs but I'm going to make you do that as many times as I can. Hottest thing I've ever seen.” 

You have absolutely no idea how long these drugs are going to last in Adrian's system. What you do know at this point is that you need to be ready for a long night and you're going to need to get creative. Who knew you'd be speedrunning a number of fantasies with him on the first night you're together? It's like taking a crash course in each other’s sexual proclivities.

At a certain point you lose track of the positions and angles you find together. You take him in your hand or mouth when your pussy needs a break, but draw a hard line at your ass. There's no world in which Adrian has enough patience for that to be a pleasurable experience.

Thankfully, each orgasm seems to take the edge off for longer and longer. After this, you expect that Adrian will be drained for days. If you didn't know about the drug in his system you'd be terrified by his stamina and recovery. The human body should not be able to produce that much cum in one night.

You're completely exhausted. There's no world in which you won't be limping tomorrow and potentially for days after. The discovery of lube in Adrian's nightstand halfway through your marathon was an absolute godsend but could only do so much.

The bottle now lies empty on the floor alongside the pieces of Adrian's Vigilante costume. Those came off at random, whenever he felt too restricted by them remaining on. You're not sure what to think about the jolt that ran through you looking at all his weapons laid out on the floor. You really hope he was too delirious to notice at the time.

Adrian is currently pressed into you from behind, spooning you. He's not moving, just taking pleasure in being buried inside you. His face is pressed back into the crook of your neck, very obviously smelling you and your hair. It's sweet.

You find his hand and intertwine your fingers with his. You'll ruminate more on the size and feel of them when your brain is more operational.

“Feeling better?” you ask, voice thick with fatigue.

“So much better. I thought my dick was going to explode earlier but now it just feels normal.”

You chuckle. “I'm glad your dick didn't explode.”

“Me too! I can't be the guy with the exploded dick. How would I pee?”

Your body relaxes further into his arms as sleep begins to pull you under. “I dunno. I'm glad it didn't,” you tell him. “You have a really nice dick.”

You can feel it flex inside you at the compliment. You don't think he did that on purpose. You'll have to investigate that more at a later time. 

“You really think so? You're not just being nice?”

You snort. “Yes. Your dick is very nice and has made me very tired. Wake me up if you need something.” With that, you slip off into a deep sleep as exhaustion takes hold. 

Adrian holds onto you tightly, still disbelieving that any of this is real. You're even better than he could have imagined. The two of you never avoided sex as a topic but you also never dove deep into it either, and Adrian’s chest always felt weird whenever he thought about anything past vanilla involving you. 

Despite his want to stay wrapped up and buried in you he also knows he's taken more than his fair share tonight. Adrian slowly climbs out of bed, careful to make sure you stay asleep.

He takes stock of himself as he stands. His head feels clearer than it has in hours and his veins are no longer searing. He has no open wounds or bruises. His dick doesn't even feel that bad. This is definitely not Vigilante’s worst night. He has no idea how he's going to discuss that with you. 

He maneuvers in the bathroom just from the ambient light out of the bedroom. It's good this is his own place or he definitely would have knocked things over and woke you. 

Adrian cleans himself up and wets a washcloth to do the same for you. A single small noise escapes you as he does this, but you otherwise remain fast asleep. He decides it's worth the risk to pull one of his shirts over you as well.

His heart stutters at the sight of you in his bed and in his clothes. Adrian doesn't like reflecting on his feelings often. Years of forced therapy and people staring at him like he'd grown antennae out of his head whenever he tried to express an emotion really stamped that out of him. You make him want to try.

You appeared in Adrian's life unexpectedly and cemented yourself in it quickly. For whatever reason, you were charmed by what others regularly told him was weird and off putting. Faster than he'd admit, he had to reassess his entire BFF tierlist.

From the start, there had been a soft and saccharine hope that this could be something more. The second it was felt, it was buried, but it never went down deep or stayed there for long. Like an annoying but resilient weed he couldn't ignore. You probably wouldn't appreciate that comparison.

Adrian was left stuck – wanting more and not wanting to ruin your friendship. He really hopes tonight changes things.

Your brow furrows, arms reaching out to where Adrian should be beside you. He slips a pair of boxers on and joins you back in bed. He was going to grab a glass of water for when you woke up, but how can he deny that?

You snuggle into his chest and throw a leg over him. Adrian kisses the top of your head and settles in. He's asleep in minutes.

×××

It's early afternoon when you wake. Your body is starfished, left arm and leg splayed over Adrian. His gentle snores tell you that he doesn't mind. 

You reposition and tuck yourself alongside his body. He's a furnace and you're happy to soak up some additional heat. While you move, you realize that you have a shirt on despite definitely falling asleep naked. It's the Fargo shirt you got him for Christmas. You smile.

It's not long before Adrian is waking up too. He's quick to pull you in closer and kiss your forehead. “I'm not dreaming or dead, right?” he asks.

“Not that I'm aware of.”

“Okay, good, cool. I just thought I'd make sure. I've had a few dreams like this and it really pisses me off when I wake up for real and you're not here.”

You tilt your head to look up at Adrian. You may need a pinch of your own to make sure you're not still sleeping.

“What?” Adrian asks. “Is there drool on my face?”

You chuckle. There is actually, but you don't tell him. Instead you shift so that you’re now laying directly on top of Adrian and lean down to give him a soft kiss.

He responds immediately, arms wrapping around you and one hand finding your ass. You end the kiss prematurely. “Don't even think about it. I'll be lucky if I can walk today.”

You could frame the grin on Adrian's face. He sneaks in another quick kiss and then holds your face in his hands, seemingly inspecting it for something.

“What?” you ask between mushed cheeks.

“You're okay? I didn't hurt you, right?”

You roll your eyes. “No. You just fucked the shit out of me and now I'm tender.” The shit eating grin returns to his face.

You spend some more time in bed, poking fun at each other and goofing around. It feels no different than any other time you've spent with Adrian except for the new level of affection and the teal colored elephant in the room that you both dutifully ignore.

Eventually, the need to pee surpasses the joys of staying in bed. You take one wobbly step before Adrian is lifting you into his arms. You let out an undignified yelp.

“You looked like a baby deer,” Adrian tells you happily as a way of explaining his reason for the sudden lift. It's an embarrassing comparison, but you'll take the help. If he doesn't actually see you waddle, it may prevent Adrian from singing “Side to Side”.

He's more than happy to carry you out to the living room after, even offering a pair of his boxers to make up for your ruined panties. You'll steal some money from him later to replace those.

You demand Adrian bring you the blanket from the chair you camped out in last night and some of your snacks. The knife is still embedded in the back of the chair. You look away and busy yourself with locating the remote.

You're quick to find a movie, choosing something at random. Netflix original that had no marketing and no one has ever heard of? Perfect. Something to fill the room with noise.

Adrian drops the blanket over your head. 

“Hey!” you yell indignantly. By the time you have it off your head he's disappeared into the kitchen. The hum of Adrian’s keurig machine starts up, eventually turning into a spitting whir and two watery cups of coffee. 

He settles beside you on the couch and focuses on the movie. You aren't. Leaving the bedroom popped some kind of bubble in your mind, bringing you back to last night. 

Adrian is Vigilante. There's no denying it. You thought there would be a euphoric feeling along with the discovery – the absolute satisfaction in being right. Instead there's a pit in your stomach. Adrian is Evergreen's most wanted. A person who you once heard laughed while chopping a guy's arm off. Someone any normal person would be terrified of. So why aren't you?

You take a sip of your coffee. It's exactly how you like it. 

He's quiet, which is starting to freak you out more than anything else. You've only seen him go completely silent while watching Fargo or the Planet of the Apes movies. This random garbage is certainly not capturing his attention like those do.

Looking around the room, you catch a glimpse of his mask on the ground where it was discarded last night.

“So, can we talk about it?” you ask tentatively, still not quite looking at him.

“Talk?” Adrian says. “What do we need to talk about? How great this movie is? Because if you want to talk about that we should probably finish it first.”

You roll your eyes. Unsubtle as always. How he even kept this secret for so long is a genuine miracle. 

Your legs are unsteady but you do just fine in getting up and grabbing the mask. You throw it at him, somewhere between gentle and hard. 

“That.”

“Oh right! This old thing. Not much to talk about there.” He tosses it onto the coffee table. “Let's just go back to this amazing movie. I think we're coming up on a big action sequence.” 

You move to stand directly in front of Adrian, tilting his head up so that he's forced to look at you. The look he gives you doesn't help your conviction. He's nearly begging to not discuss this. Unfortunately for him, there's no amount of puppy dog eyes that can get him out of this one.  

“I won't pretend like I'm not upset, but I'm also not walking out the door either. I just want to talk, Ade.”

Hearing his nickname seems to at least somewhat relax him. It's quiet for a moment, both of you struggling with where to start.

“How long have you known?” he asks.

“I've known for a while. I finally gathered enough courage to confront you about it last night.” You sit back down beside him. 

“How?”

“I'm not stupid. You would bail on me and then there would be a new post online about Vigilante. I listened to a few videos of you talking to confirm and voilà. I know Vigilante’s secret identity.”

“Fuck! If you figured it out then someone else definitely has. This is so fucked. What am I going to do…” Adrian continues his worried monologue, sinking his fingers into his hair. You didn't realize how important the secret identity was to him.

“Adrian? Hey. Ade, look at me.” Your voice is commanding enough to stop his spiral. “First of all, that was rude as fuck. If I've figured it out then others definitely have? I am relatively smart, I'll have you know. Second, no one else is going to figure it out.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because I've spent a disgusting amount of time paying attention to everything about you. In and out of your suit. It would take a miracle for someone else to have paid the same amount of attention to you and put the pieces together.”

Adrian pulls his head out of his hands to look at you. “Now who's rude as fuck?” His tone is teasing. “Other people look at me. Plenty of other people want a piece of this.”

He gestures down his body. Your gaze gladly follows, which only makes you burn with embarrassment when your eyes meet Adrian's again. You want to hate his cocky grin, but you're also enjoying this new form of confidence from him.

You're not quite sure where things go from here. You have a million questions to ask, but you don't know if you're ready to hear the answers or if he's ready to share. Starting with familiar territory should help you think.

“So um, what exactly happened last night?” you ask, hoping for more details about how he ended up getting dosed with sex drugs. Or how those are something that's apparently real. Do you have to worry about that now?

A panicked look overtakes Adrian. It's a good thing he wears a mask as Vigilante – he's far too expressive and pretty to scare someone without it. 

“Why? Are you-? Oh fuck, I wasn't trying to-” he blurts.

“No, no! I'm not regretting it or anything like that. I hope you don't-”

“No! I don't either. It was great, you're great. Best sex I've ever had not even including the drugs, although they really enhanced the experience.”

You can't help but laugh. The absolute absurdity of all of this has finally and fully caught up with you. You don't know why you ever expected a normal confrontation or a normal confession with Adrian. Instead you're discussing sex drugs and reassuring each other that neither of you feels taken advantage of. This chaos feels fitting though, like it could have never gone any other way with him.

Adrian starts laughing with you, awkward and clearly forced. “Why are we laughing?” Adrian asks through his fake guffaws.

You reach out, placing a hand on Adrian's arm. “I'm- I'm sorry. I swear I'm not laughing at you, Ade. This is just- it's a lot.” 

You manage to calm yourself back down. “I don't regret last night and I'm glad you don't either. If this is going to work though, I have a lot of questions I need answered.”

Adrian sits up straight, eyeing you closely. “You mean you're not afraid? You want this? Me?”

It's probably a bad idea. After all, Adrian is no longer just your friend, the lonely busboy. Adrian is also a wanted and dangerous vigilante. Getting involved with him could result in things worse than a broken heart.

You look him over. His bright green eyes, nothing like you'd imagine the eyes of a killer. The light dusting of freckles that cover his skin, far too soft for some psychopath. The strong line of his jaw and neck, begging to be traced and kissed. His strong arms and hands, which managed to hold you with care even while not in his right mind.

Logic be damned, you know what you want. “Yeah, Adrian. I want you.”

Adrian pounces, knocking you back along the cushions and covering you in sloppy kisses. “Where do you want me to start?”

Thanks for reading!! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 💕

[madschiavelique]

dude imagine Miguel overhearing you talk to your friends about all the things you’d let him do to you in the most vile ways possible. like you’re just talking with your homies about how you’d have to get pried off of his dick if he let you smash or that you can’t hear him talk over how loud his ass looks in his jeans or whatever I dunno I think it’s amusing lmao

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH i just had to write a lil smth anon<33

summary : you talk about how you're down bad for miguel to your friends, and he hears it content warnings : mentions of SMUT (18+) minors dni, just reader being down bad for Miguel, no use of Y/N word count : 660 tag list : @fandom-ash

“Honestly, I’d suck him like a watermelon through a straw”

You were gathered in the cafeteria, not many people left, and Miguel was seated at a table not far from where you and your friends were seated. Whatever he was thinking about was soon replaced by listening to your conversation as soon as this sentence was uttered by you.

"Your mouth couldn't handle the size of him," sneered one of your friends to the others. "You'd dislocate your jaw."

"Some sacrifices are worth making," you sighed thoughtfully, your chin resting on your hand. You let out an almost childish whimper, "what I'd give to just impale myself on him!"

"Lord, you'd never let him leave your body, would you?" laughed another friend.

"Never!" you confirmed as you straightened up, "Miguel is so perfect... did you ever see how he walked? How his ass is round and perfect and to die for?!" your voice almost broke as your hands mimed grabbing something and kneading.

Miguel's ears began to heat up and he placed his hand over his mouth as he tried to keep his composure.

"What about his back? Oh..." you say, letting your head fall back, "I'd leave such beautiful nail marks on it."

"Wow, your marks?" laughed one as she reached for her drink.

"Pantone #996767, google it," you sigh.

"I think it's foam I'm seeing at the corners of your lips, you rabid slut," sneered one of them.

"But imagine, his pecs, touching them, laying my head on them, feeling them against my back as he pulls my hair..."

See when cartoon characters have hearts in their eyes? It was pretty close to what you looked like. And surprisingly, Miguel was starting to feel cramped in his pants.

"You're down bad," breathed one of your friends.

"I'd let him break me, I'll be his toy, he can do whatever he sees fit with me and I'll say thank you."

"Even bite you?" inquired another, well aware of the immobilizing properties of his venom.

"Especially bite me." you asserted with a burst of voice that was half laugh and half sigh.

"Would you have the courage to say all that to his face?"

"No way, he'd look at me like an alien."

"You're pretty close to looking like one at that," laughed one of the girls.

You continued to laugh, then when your meal was finished, you left the cafeteria. A few hours later in the afternoon, Miguel called you to his office. You were probably expecting him to send you to a dimension to catch an anomaly, or try to bring in a new Spider-Man.

But instead, as you walked up to him at a respectable distance for a boss and his employee, he asked you a simple question:

"Did you mean it?"

The question confused you.

"What?"

He turned to you, stepping forward a little more, one step at a time. His gaze seemed almost amused, but your habit of polite distance made you step back.

"Everything you said about me to your friends earlier in the cafeteria," your back halted against a wall as he approached again, coming very close to you, "did you mean it?"

Your heart began to pound in your chest as your cheeks heated up.

"Well?" he asked, towering over you as he put his hand next to your head against the wall, coming closer until only a few inches separated you. "I'd be very disappointed if all this were just words thrown into the air."

You swallow, your eyes falling ineluctably on his lips as you moisten yours, your gaze returning to his.

"Yes, I meant it."

His lip stretches to the side, his smile revealing his pointed fang.

"Lyla, status of the doors." he asked, his free hand coming down along your waist.

"Locked." she replied.

His hand slid up to grip your buttock, leaning in until his lips whispered against your ear:

"I hope you keep your word."

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

It was another competion the entire family all shoving and pushing each other into the car to see more of Damian's art.

Tim is excited for Damian.

He knows what it's like, to stand there and have no one show up. To be there all by yourself for hours the only one to visit your booth being the art teacher.

Ms. Carrington who would ask questions and ignore the tears that pooled in his eyes before helping him pack everything up, sometimes even driving him home because of course neither his parents or Bruce could be bothered to pick him up.

He can't really help the envy that he can feel building in his chest mixing with a good chunk of repressed anger.

A elbow being jabbed into his ribs distracts him.

"Hey what's with the face? Perk up Boy-Loser it's Damian's night."

He turns to Steph the smile that he had been attempting to plaster on falling. It's such a stupid thing it's a nickname so what if it's demeaning, he gets called pretender or replacement by Jason what does it matter.

"Do you ever think it's kinda fucked up that not a single person in this family calls me anything that isn't an insult?" He snaps.

She looks shocked. How fucking dare he have an ounce of self esteem. Someone alert the Media Tim Drake isn't a dormat.

He turns away sliding into the crowd.

There's less then half an hour left before he can leave. Pratically throwing himself down in the empty hallway as far as he can get from this entire night.

"Baby bird and Timmy aren't insults? Or are they I can't seem to keep up with the kids these days."

He turns, of course. You might be able to run from Batman or lie to him, but you can never escape the grasp of Big Brother Nightwing.

"So your admitting that your old?" he joins the banter.

His muscles start to unclench another superpower only Dick Grayson seems to have.

"Never, something you want to talk about?"

Does he? No. Should he? Yah.

"Maybe I just don't want be insulted every day of my life. So weird who doesn't want to be reminded they suck?"

He can hear the whine, he can also hear that everything he just said isn't gonna matter. You don't take whiny little boys seriously. And that's what he is.

"Hmm you know I get called Dickhead or really a lot of just penis related jokes. Always hated them not that it really stops anyone."

He looks finally making eye contact with his big brother. Because he's right. How many times has he heard anyone in the family other than him and Damian call Dick anything nice. Never not once. Maybe Bruce but he can't really picture it.

"Also don't think I didn't notice how annoyed you are with Bruce about this entire night, which I don't blame you for. You know I love Damian kiddo, but yah Bruce is not winning a mug from me or you."

He doesn't really want to acknowledge any of that already exhausted and he will have to apologize to Steph and if he opens the box it will be a car ride from hell home.

"Luckily for you I have a car parked a block up we can escape get ice cream and have a nice sleepover in bludhaven."

He wants to so bad, he wants to throw himself at Dick who knows him so well, who followed him out here, who isn't blinking, the only adult who has ever not somehow fucked him over.

"What about Damian? He will be pissed at me for stealing you or something. He doesn't need another reason to stab me."

He turns to look back at the floor.

"Foolish Drake I will be coming with you Father is being insesently annoying and I much rather talk about art with someone who has a brain cell."

Both him and Dick whip around to see Damian standing there a slight blush on his face hesitation making the corner of mouth twitch. He sees Dick looking on unsure. He doesn't hesitate.

"Thank god I know a great place with that Vegan Cookie Dough you like. What you waiting for Big Bird? Let's go. "

Climbling to his feet he grabs Dick and Damian dragging them to the exit he hears Dick's confused muttering sharing a secret smile with Damian before ignoring it.

The night is finally looking up.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Chosen

I used to love Otome games.

Used to love the genre, predictable as it could sometimes be. It was bright. Fun. A colorful bit of escapism built on love and power fantasies. I read the books. Watched the animes. Engaged with the fandoms freely and with an enthusiasm I can barely remember now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Before I... before, like a monkey's paw wish, I got granted every OI fan's DREAM. I somehow, someway, died and was reborn. A genuine isekai all of my own. I laugh now... I really do... I was so fucking EXCITED.

I was a FOOL.

The world is not a story. PEOPLE are not characters. You can not push the "right" social imput buttons and have a happy ending pop out. Time moves as it always has and always will. Day by day. And? Just because you are HERE? Does not mean you are SPECIAL.

I was old enough to know that, thank the Gods. Or I would have made a likely terrible mistake. Probably a fatal one, by now.

How, you may ask? Surely if you are reborn, you are special! Important to the "plot"! HA. Ah yes, the all forsaken PLOT. That damnable thing, chaining out fates and making us dance, like toys, for the Gods amusement. No, I was merely a replacement part for one worn out and broken down. A soul that gave up.

This dance repeats, you know.

They aren't done with us yet. Not bored of us, all the twists and turns we might take. She could not keep fighting. Keep raging. And so she was replaced. Now I live... a changeling in her place. Knowing my role yet careful to defy it. But... oh...

Oh, how almost IMPOSSIBLE it is to defy it.

I am supposed to HATE her. The Protagonist. The Chosen One. Saintess and beloved. The God's special little thing. Showered in adoration and silks, pampering and protection. While we all DIE. In this, their STUPID fucking Holy War, that we CAN NOT WIN, against "The Dark".

How HELPFUL, my liege. How incredibly SPECIFIC. Is "The Dark" the demons that tore apart my squadron a fortnight ago or the undead that rose and devored an entire village of terrified innocents? How do we STOP them? END this infinite string of atrocities?

Oh? "Only the SAINTESS can push back The Dark"? Well then! It's a good thing she safely tucked away in the CAPITAL THEN, isn't it!? Far from the front lines where we NEED her! Thank the GODS she's getting her chance to play "fuck, fuck, marry!" with the nation's finest while we all DIE!

I remind myself again, desperately, I am not allowed to hate her.

If I hate her, I become an antagonist in this little play. Doomed to die a gruesome and needless death. My men need me. The people need me. The live and breathe and fear for their lives. At the mercy of cruel God's who do not care.

I almost... It is enough that I almost wish my Master was here. But no, HE stayed back at the Magic Tower. Lost interest in me the second the merest HINT that his beloved pet prophecy might be about to be fulfilled. I was his student for most of my life. Chased up and down that mind-bending hellhole for years, giving my everything to meet his every standard.

Does he even remember my name?

Ha ha... gods, as I stare down at the battle map, one of so SO many... I feel brittle. How long will we fight? How many of my men must DIE, before that God coddled BITCH gets off her ass and comes to do her JOB?! We've lost Redwell. Lakehill is covered in ghouls. And no one we sent near the forests of Mirth ever reports back.

But at least the crown prince is getting his fucking birthday party while his people starve. While they run for their lives. Cower from demons and the damned. Because his Twue Woooove~ can't be allowed to put her dainty little self in DANGER now CAN she?!

I'm seething. Furious. Nails digging into the wood on the table before me. I know I should be planning... but I just... gods, I just so ANGRY. So tired. How long can this continue? Am I going to die here, just so those fuckers can DRAMATICALLY "save the day" at the last second? As though they had not let thousands die? Only for it all to begin again? What am I supposed to d-?

Like a roll of thunder and an earthquake combined, the non-physical world SHAKES.

Weight. POWER. Like a mountain appearing from no where, to drop down upon us all. It is CRUSHING. And every bit as dark as being buried beneath tons on soil and stone. My legs nearly give out. My grip on the table before me the only thing keeping me up and alarm bells start clanging outside my tent.

This is it.

I don't know what's about to happen, but I can FEEL it. I... I can not possibly hope to win. It's over. I know, in my heart, I will go out there and fight. Die. Because I refuse to die cowering. Because maybe it'll make a difference for my friends, for the others, for those that yet live. Every monster I slay is one less they fight.

But... this is it.

It's over.

I wish I felt braver. Glorious and filled with light. A beacon of hope, perhaps. But all I can offer is fear and anger and SPITE. Locking my knees so I can stand. Blinking away the tears so I can grit my teeth and bare them. Grabbing my staff so can go a die with the others. Today I shall burn the world. I promised myself.

Take them with you.

Take every last one of those fuckers WITH YOU.

The battle is ugly. It always is and always will be. I heal where I can but kill faster the most can blink. Waves of fire. Blood turned to ice turn to shrapnel bombs turned to flying storms of blood ice shards. Wind attacks and void pockets. Puppets made of mud and rock and bits of armor. The blood of the fallen only making it all that much stronger, that much more terrible.

Magic in war hold no beauty.

I wish I never had to see it again.

"Grandlearner, you've been practicing." A rich voice observed from behind me, sounding pleased. "Good~"

Between one instance and the next, the crushing ocean of power moves between the far side of the battle field to right behind me. I move, spin. Fire my strongest short-range piercing in the desperate hope to gut the man now far too close. I... am effortlessly countered.

He didn't even have to move his hands.

There, standing in the heart of an open battle field, is a man in impeccable fomal clothes. Spotless, dispite the ash and dust, the blood and gore. Almost inhuman in his otherness, compared to the death and suffering surrounding him. He looks like a proper well-to-do gentleman ready for a stroll. The sort of ambiguously ageless bachelor that had haunted the royal university's halls every time I was sent there, to collect something for the Tower.

Too old to be some boyish flirt, too young to be a rougish mistake. It feels false. Mocking. Like a mask held up by some grinning beast. Something older then it seems, effortlessly blending in with the Power of the current age, all the better to play them like fools.

Then the words register and my blood runs cold.

"Learner". It's what a Master calls their personal magical students at the Tower. There are lineage, of a sort. Like bloodlines, almost. Since most never leave. A way to pass on your teachings. Your name and traditions. It's not like we often have the chance to have biological kids. Too busy with our studies. So it's considered effectively the same.

My Master's Master. Who was said to be one of, if not THE, greatest Mages of the last thousand years, possibly longer. Said to have simply vanished one day. Rumored to have "lost his mind" and left the Tower for places unknown after some great argument. Foremost expert on The Dark.

Now standing h...here. Right... Right here. With the enemy army. Of dark and terrible things. The very abominations he once studied "academically". Oh gods. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.

"I've come to collect you, my dear." He says, the very picture of charm as my men scream and suffer around him. As they fight for their lives against his monstrosities. As... as they LOSE. "It has come to my attention, that my unfortunate disappointment of a student has been neglecting his duties to you."

He sweeps his hat gallantly from his head, holding it against his heart at just the right angle, as though offering to merely take me for a stroll. Picture perfect etiquette. As though this were high society and not a warzone. The disconnect stuns me for long moments. "Collect" me?

He strolls forward. Expensive shoe leather somehow unstained by the terrible muck of the battlefield. The blood and mud, the spell water and ash. Amusement rolling off every line of his form, as I try to keep the distance between us. As I struggle against the sucking filth to keep my feet under me.

"I would like to say I am surprised... but honestly? I am not. He always WAS easily distracted by shiny trinkets of little worth. The shinier the better. Like an empty headed little magpie. Disgusting really, how little he values loyalty. I DID try to instill some values. Hard work. Good, honest, study. Some modicum of rationality..."

"It did not work." He sighs, stepping over the fallen body of my Cordelia, my reserve healer. Gods, please no, I told her to RUN... "Unlike myself of course. I, my dear, know EXACTLY what your worth. How you have been WASTED on that little ingrate. It truely has been a theme with him, hasn't it?"

"Tossing aside anything who doesn't fit his perfect little vision. His Master, his Learner, nothing is sacred to him. All he shall ever care for is his little divine tart, won't he?"

The grin that spills across his mouth is like poison through veins, it terrifies me. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasantry. But the look in his eye... that look was coldly covetous. The sort of hunger that would sooner kill than release its hold. It wasn't lustful, I was a child too him. An infant. But I was, perhaps, all that remained. The last piece of his lineage he could possibly still steal away. Corrupt.

I refused.

It... it did not matter much, in the end.

Every spell, he counters. Every attack, he matchs with effortless neutralization. The well of his magic is like the sea. Deep, dark, and crushing. I rage against it, even knowing I stand no chance. I... I have to TRY. I can do no less. Even as I slowly collapse.

Water and ice, electricity and transformation, wind and fire. I try to EXPLODE HIS ORGANS for the Gods sake. In the end, with nothing left, the well of my magic nearly bone dry... I swing at him. Put my back in to it. A staff is a staff after all. It even has a pretty hefty rock in it. It'd probably take out a few teeth.

He, of course, catches it.

Bastard.

He looks CHARMED. Utterly delighted. As though my defiance and struggle are some cute little game. The tantrum of an adorable child that does not wish to submit to their nap. The world swayed as my body begs me to just pass out. To escape within myself. Recover. My legs can no longer hold me. I glare. At last, long last, I let myself HATE.

If that BITCH had just DONE HER JOB. I would not be here, at the mercy of a mad man. While she frolics about, in her happy little tale of love and misunderstandings? I have suffered. People have died! The world has fallen to slow and crumbling RUIN.

Gloved hands cupped my cheeks.

"That's it, little one~ My precious child. Get angry. RAGE for me. Let Master see your fire~" thumbs stroked my cheeks. Looming and entirely too close. There is a glee in that eye, a madness. "We are going to set this world FREE. You? Oh dearest you are utterly PERFECT. Master will take care of everything, understand? All you have to do?"

"Is give in."

Next -->

[ataraxiaspainting]

King of Infinity.

Yan (Villain) Gojo x F Reader. 

Synopsis: You don’t get the starring role. You’re partially happy about it; because you don’t have to break a leg.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships/kidnapping(?), descriptions of genocide, descriptions of corpses, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome(ish), and degrading language against the reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

can technically be considered a roleswap AU but up to you as geto isn’t talked about rcfncodnorjr…

*~*~*~*

“I never considered you someone who would be fond of apartments.” Satoru pushes his sunglasses up with his pointer finger as he wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders.

The same hand that holds you so very tenderly in the eyes of his followers is the same hand that turns on the lighter to envelop his cigarette in a small flame – a flame you had learned long ago to not attempt to put out, lest you would like it seared into your palm like the tattoo he forced on your neck.

‘The Star.’

“It’s a good strategy though,” Those words are the closest thing to a praise you have heard in months. They are akin to Satan reflecting on his reign of hell and comparing, considering whether or not it would be better to serve in heaven. But then he would laugh as his servants danced, not wanting any angel or God to take such bliss away from him.

Satoru had you dressed in what he considered to be the highest quality fabrics monkeys can make, while he had attire made from the sorcerers he had wrapped around his finger. Yours were not suitable for Tokyo’s snowstorms and his clothing covered up more skin than he would ever let you cover – because you aren’t him, the one he loves the most more than anything else in this beautiful world; Gojo Satoru, the special grade sorcerer that killed more than thirty thousand people in a single hour outside Jujutsu High and was never punished after that fateful evening.

You still remember that night. It is etched into your memory like a child had drawn it on a white wall. Despite everything, you will not ever be able to erase it. You will grow old and never dream of anything but him, the center of your now small universe, the only flower that is allowed to bloom under the eternal blood moon. Everything else will rot – even the earth’s shadow will not remain once Satoru’s dreams are realized. His will is all that matters now, he is the priest of the god of destruction and you are so very far below him. 

A monkey. That is where you will stay and continue to be after you rot and he steps on the soil placed on top of you so you cannot breathe or scream. Only gratitude can fall from your disgusting lips because Gojo Satoru’s only fuel is the groveling of every living creature that makes up the infinite number of galaxies. He will gladly replace your tongue with the worms who decompose you if you have more to say than that. After a while, he’ll comfort you and say that it doesn’t get too bad underneath because that is your one true purpose in life; to not speak and only do.

“You didn’t cry too much this time,” The ends of Satoru’s mouth move upwards, having the freedom to do as they please because his lips aren’t sewn shut. Yours on the other hand can hardly get something that tastes pleasant. “That’s an improvement, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be sure to get you some mochi after this mission, pet.”

You’re not sure if he is talking about the car ride here or the corpses strewn across the floor – occupants of this apartment and a poor security guard that just so happened to be in the general vicinity and heard flesh being torn apart like paper.

There are glimmers coming from the knife block in the kitchen area, the sunlight hitting them just right to make them glow a silvery hue. But the idea dies as soon as you feel its warmth – almost nonexistent because of the burning cold – and slink back into the shadows where you belong, where you are meant to be.

“I never took you to be one for planning. Usually, it is Nanami who does that.” 

A puff of smoke comes out, but you can still see his glowing eyes. You can always see them no matter what you do, even if you close your own, so you decide to imagine them as a different color; something less bright and more normal, something like black or brown. Sometimes you get away with it, and other times he somehow knows.

“I don’t mind it though.”

From across the street, you see the clocktower that stands at the gate of the nearest train station… or bus stop. You don’t care enough to remember which it was. Most likely the former though – you highly doubt any mere bus station would have a clock that large when said buses only hold less than fifty people.

“Will you miss me?” The tone in his voice is teasing, you think because his lighter isn’t on his lap or in his hand – it is on the little coffee table beside the sofa you two are sitting on. But you must still behave according to Satoru’s design because the placement of the flames can easily change. The comfort is cold, but it is better than a scorching hot truth.

“Yes.” 

The real reason you had chosen an apartment and not some corporate office that was under the thumb of the Star Religious Group was because you wanted to be somewhere that was halfway normal. It’s selfish, you know that. But the floors are aged and not polished daily, the air smells different and the heating is at its lowest setting because the owners wanted to save a bit of money. It was oh so very selfish of you. But when you are forced to be the companion of Gojo Satoru, someone who is every definition of the word, you have to combat it in a way that won’t leave your skin black and blue.

“It’s almost eleven,” Satoru groans, stretching his arms up to the ceiling. Some blood managed to get up there along with a bit of a leather shoe, probably the husband’s. You two ignore it for different reasons that are just as strong as the other. “Be good.”

When he reaches towards the table, you think he is reaching for his lighter. But with a slight detour of his hand, he opens his wallet instead. A few thousand yen is handed to you when your eyes are closed, your mind prepared for another fight or flight response. All you get is another poke of your cheek.

“You know where the market is, don’t you? The one I took you after our date last week.” 

You nod. “Would you like mochi, master?”

“No,” Satoru chuckles. “Get me something you like.”

[lexxiie]

Hey!!! I LOVE YOUR FICS AAAA

I was thinking of something funny and cute for jjk where the reader is hit by someone with a curse that turns people into their child selves for a little while, how would the guys act?

When A Curse Turns You Into A Child

This is like... The cutest idea ever????

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Nanami.

Gojo Satoru

He was actually a bit worried when the curse first hit you, especially since you didn't even remember him... However, now? He's not worried at all, he's actually quite amused.

"Pleaaaaseee" you almost cried to the tall, mean man in front of you. "No. No ice cream for you." He responded with a huge smile on his face, which only made you burst out crying. "Whyyyyy?" You asked him with a face now covered in tears. He actually didn't mean to take it this far, but he was having so much fun with this. You will definitely be mortified when the effects of the curse vanish, and the thought makes him scaringly happy.

"Fine, Fine. But just one, you have to learn that no means no." You didn't seem to care at all about the last part of his sentence since your tears went away immediately, being replaced by a huge smile that almost made his heart melt. He picked you up and headed to the ice cream shop. He never knew you were so spoiled when you were a kid, you never told him. All he could think about was how hard it must have been for your parents to have such a whiny child. But in the depths of his mind, he also wondered if it would be like this if he ever had a child with you, and the idea didn't bother him one bit. It would be... Nice, wouldn't it?

He got you your ice cream and took you back home. You played Mario kart for a little while, he won the first rounds, but you cried every single time, so he was now letting you win. Once the final round was over, he pretended to be sad to see if you felt a little bad, but no. You jumped and laughed and yelled at him that he was a huge looser. What an annoying little monster you were.

Nanami Kento

He is the most stressed he's ever been in his whole life, what is he supposed to do? He knows nothing about children. To be honest, he wishes your parents lived closer so that he could just leave you there and come back once the curse is over.

"I want my mommyyyy" you cried to the stranger in front of you. "I know, I know, she'll be back soon, you don't have to cry." He said as he wiped your tears with a handkerchief. "Let's do something fun while we wait for her." He tried to cheer you up, even as a child, he hated to see you cry. "Like what?" You asked, still sobbing. "Do you like cookies?"

Kento looked at the kitchen and sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such a mess, but at least you were happy. "Are they ready yet?" You asked, jumping excitedly. "They are." The man said with a subtle smile. He pulled the cookies out of the oven and warned you about the heat.

Once they were cold enough, you both sat down and had a couple, you with a glass of milk, and Kento with a cup of coffee. They had way too many chocolate chips for his liking, but you were the happiest child he'd ever seen while eating them. You rambled to him about how much you hated broccoli and how you wished you could eat cookies everyday, and he realized he wouldn't mind doing this for more than a couple of hours, he might be a family man, after all.

Geto Suguru

Well, weren't you the cutest little thing to ever exist? He was amazed by this, it is definitely the best thing that has happened to him in a while. He was already thinking of how he would tease you when it all ended.

But now, he was way more focused on not pushing the swing too hard. You were having so much fun, but he was so scared you would hit the ground. Yet, you seemed to have no worries or fear, making your biggest effort to move the swing faster. "How about we go to the slide?" Geto asked, tired of preventing the swing from throwing you to the other side of the playground. "But I like it here!" You yelled, visibly annoyed that he stopped pushing you. Geto looked around to try to find something else. "Wouldn't you like to go to the roundabout?"

He didn't often regret things in his life, but he sure was regretting ever suggesting this. He thought you would get tired soon, but no. He had been holding his vomit for about 5 minutes now, but it was already too late, he gave up and turned around to let it all out on the ground. The mothers and kids gave him disgusted looks, but you bursted out laughing, which made him laugh too. It hadn't been such a bad day, after all.

[projectbluearcadia]

A Musing About Luci

Imagining an AU where MC convinces Lucifer to be gentler when punishing them during their first few months in the Devildom...

(You don't want Lord Diavolo to be... mad at you because he had to keep replacing his exchange students, do you? You don't want to... hinder him, do you?)

Thus forcing him to tone down his desire to kill you so far that the only applicable punishments that occur to him often have strong sexual implications. But, surely, MC won't enjoy it... right?

...

Putting his fingers in your mouth under the strict instruction that you suck and don't bite. He thought of this one because, surely, this is humiliating and disgusting, right? Wrong. He does this a few times, and the next thing he knows, you want something a little bigger than his fingers.

Making you kneel in front of him for extended periods of time under his desk. He wanted to make you feel trapped and uncomfortable, but he seemed to forget that while he can easily kick you, it'll be a little hard to do that when your hands are "accidentally" rubbing his inner thighs in your attempts to escape.

Putting a leash on you and making you crawl around for him like a pet. Come on; this one has to be demeaning enough; you can't possibly like this, right? Right, MC? But then you're bunting your head against his hand asking to be petted while he sweats, trying to figure out how the hell he's going to punish you without seriously hurting you.

Spanking you over his knee. I follow the headcanon that Lucifer picked it up from a magazine published in the 1950s and has liked the idea ever since. (It looked gentle enough while still being painful! Plus... there's that nice view...) He still has the vague idea that humans still widely practice it to discipline bad children and adults alike. So, naturally, he has to ask the question: "MC... did you just say 'thank you'?"

...

Naturally, after several failed attempts at making you behave yourself (were you actually misbehaving more now?!), he realizes he desperately needs to get his sexually frustrated ass laid before he goes crazy. :3

And that was the way you made a pact with Lucifer, because he wanted to do that thing you did last night again.

Side note: He would love to confiscate your D.D.D. for a few days (the only thing he can really take away from you that counts as a privilege), but unfortunately, that would cause him more stress than it would relieve. Among other things, he feels anxious if he can't call or text you. (oh, goddammit, I don't know where the human is at... fuuuuuuucckkkk *sinks into his desk, calling Mammon and trying not to cry*)