#There's a good chance that this will go nowhere though

[cjlouwho]

I wrote my bucktommy stargazing as an astroid is set to hit fic. There's no actual death here, but the topic is discussed.

"So, how's it happen?"

"What?"

Tommy gave Evan a pointed look. "How's it happen?" he repeated.

Buck looked away from him, opting to stare up at the sky. "I don't know," he answered. "I didn't look it up."

"Really, Evan?" Tommy sat up on his elbows, the ridges from the bed of his truck digging into his skin uncomfortably. "Our last night on Earth and you're gonna lie to me?"

Buck rolled his eyes, but opened up his hand and waited. Tommy took it without hesitation, and laid back down. "Okay, obviously I looked it up."

"Obviously."

"It's not pretty."

"Didn't think it would be. Death by asteroid doesn't exactly sound like an easy way to go."

"Well," Buck scooted closer to Tommy, shivering slightly, "I don't think we'll suffer or anything. It's just, wh- when it hits, we- we'll most likely die from the shockwaves. The, uh, the winds will be strong enough to flatten the city. We're," he paused to clear his throat. "We're so close to the approximated impact site that our, um, our internal organs will probably rupture because of the pressure."

"Yikes," Tommy deadpanned. "Really not pretty."

"Yeah, really not pretty."

They kept staring up at the sky. For the moment, it was quiet. It looked just like any other night. Stars shining brightly, crickets chirping, trees swaying slightly in the light wind.

They had found a spot in the middle of nowhere, somewhere along the highway. Everyone had tried to escape. Get as far away from Los Angeles as possible. There was a chance, on the east coast. Instead of dying instantly, they might get a few more months before the food supply ran out and they starved.

Buck and Tommy had stayed behind until the LAFD gave up. 911 disconnected for good and everyone was told they were on their own.

They escaped the chaos of the city, but couldn't get too far. Too many cars, too many blocked roads, not enough gas, and not enough time.

"There's still a chance," Buck whispered in the space between them. "Karen's still working. There's a chance."

Tommy nodded. "Maybe," he replied. But he knew the odds. They both did. He turned onto his side, wrapping an arm around Buck's waist. "I'm okay though," he assured Buck. "If it doesn't work out with Karen, I- I'm okay. I mean, I'd rather my organs not rupture," he added, getting a laugh out of Buck, "but everything else. Being with you. I'm okay."

Buck smiled. He curled onto his side, bringing a hand to Tommy's cheek and pressing a kiss against his lips. For the first time in his life, he felt nothing but peace. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'm okay too."

[butchisrevolution]

dolly dog man readthrough #5

PART #2

for whom the bell tolls

TRUST GET TO THE END OF THIS RAMBLE I GET RLLY NERDY

bro the behavioral modification therapy thing traumatized him

i've heard this is a common criticism of BMT but feel free to correct me

i feel as though this form of therapy may be unethical...

jesus. no wonder bro has problems with intimacy bro literally does not know what love feels like

lowkey saving this for myself bc i need to remember this

lowkey this is just my dad

anyways this is also not healthy obviously and another thing that would contribute to a personality disorder

HOLY FUCKING SHIT. YES HE IS. AND THIS IS WHY.

that fear doesn't come from nowhere, it was instilled in him by his dad from a young age

li'l petey my anarchist boy back at it again

oh baby

petey sees himself in his son so much rn and it's heartbreaking

HE TOOK EVERYTHING THAT'D BENEFIT HIM PRACTICALLY

BUT HE DIDN'T CARE FOR THEIR LOVE

BECAUSE HE CAN'T FATHOM PUTTING HIMSELF BEFORE OTHERS

it'd be too painful for him to confront his lifestyle choices, so he fell back into his old harmful habits and left his past behind

he's insistent on keeping this promise because his father never kept any of his promises

it's a recently opened wound, so it's his first impulse. distance himself as much as possible from his father's identity to distance himself from the hurt

THE COLOR THEORY THAT'S USED TO SET TONE IN THIS BOOK. IT'S SO WELL DONE

and now he sees what he's done in his son's mind from an outside perspective. he has cursed his son to the same fate as him, a nihilistic hopeless view on life. and he hates it. his son doesn't deserve that. he doesn't deserve to go through what he did. he's so young, he hasn't done anything wrong. through realizing this, he realizes that he didn't deserve it either, and that his view on the world isn't any more correct because of his own experiences, it's just a damaged unhealthy view of it. he deserves better too. he can create better things for himself, like love for his son

so that's what he does

he does what he can. he reinforces his son's value, which was damaged by his grampa. he inserts a more positive world view, to try and change what alterations he may have caused to his sons psyche

...

my shayla

THE SYMBOLISM OF THIS SCENE MAKES ME GO FERAL AND IS THE ENTIRE REASON I GOT INTO THIS FANDOM. THIS SCENE I FIRST SAW IN THE MOVIE AND IT'S JUST AS GOOD IF NOT BETTER IN THE COMIC

he's turning something seen as "bad" or "wrong" by society into something beautiful that will spark joy and serve a purpose. he lets himself walk through the mud to get home, he turns even that into a positive experience, letting himself feel wonder about his surroundings instead of repressing his feelings, turning them to stone cold logic. this represents his newfound effort in, not repressing his personality, but in learning to cope with it healthily and create a life worth living. a life with a purpose, something he denied himself for so long. it represents being given the chance of recovery as someone with a personality disorder.

i love this book so much

[king571]

Arcane Analysis: Season 2 Episode 8 

The Symbolism behind the famous Jail Cell and how Jinx, Caitlyn and Vi “break the cycle."

Hi all, this is a long post, so thank you everyone in advance for taking the time to read this. Over the past few weeks, I have seen many well done analyses for the love scene between Caitlyn and Vi. I am not here to break down that again, but I would like to focus on the events that lead up to that and the symbolism behind Silco’s speech and the famous jail cell. 

Before I get into my humble analysis, I would like to emphasize that Arcane is an artistic piece of media that constantly makes these bold and unexpected creative decisions to communicate something deeper in its story, whether this is through character designs, their actions, animation, or the music. And symbolism is part of that. It is a storytelling device that connects characters and plot points for us to see a larger theme. Not everything in Arcane is meant to “make sense” to you in the way you expect; it’s meant to “intrigue” you, to push you to ask questions and find the answers yourself. That’s part of the process of analyzing and understanding the media. Therefore, most of the “criticisms” made for this episode do not seem constructive to me, as it destroys the essence of the artistic storytelling of this show by applying some personal logic, morals, and expectations on these characters. The love scene between Caitlyn and Vi did not “come out of nowhere.” It was thought through for the story the writers wanted to tell and well-animated. Whatever you felt about this scene personally simply does not change these facts from the professional media perspective. After that little rambling, let’s get into the real deal: 

Recap:

Although I believe the symbolisms that I am going to explore in this post may apply to the other characters of Arcane since they are the main themes of the show, I will solely focus on what they mean to Jinx, Caitlyn, and Vi. Therefore, I will only focus on the set of events that happen around these characters. 

Episode 8 kicks off with Vi waking up from her recovery and going straight to Caitlyn to confront her about Jinx. Their argument is centered around their lack of trust in each other, something that they built in season 1 and lost in the following events. Those of you who think Vi does not hold Caitlyn accountable simply need to rewatch, I do not know what to tell you. Vi lets her anger out on Caitlyn in this scene and corners her because of her alliance with Ambessa. She gets a powerful reaction from her: “I KNOW!”.

This delivery portrays Caitlyn’s anger with herself. She continues by explaining that Jinx was the one who surrendered, and Caitlyn didn’t know what to do. She was simply waiting for Vi to recover. These are the footsteps that show her growing willingness to listen and allow Vi to take the lead. Caitlyn’s response calms Vi down, and Vi shares that Jinx has changed. Caitlyn’s reply essentially says that even though Vi might be right, it doesn’t matter. What's done is done: "We can't erase our mistakes, none of us,". She includes herself in this, aware of her own faults. In contrast, Vi responds by asking, “Who decides who gets a second chance?”

This exchange is important because it illustrates their different perspectives on forgiveness. Caitlyn thinks that no matter what they do, they cannot fix their mistakes. Vi, on the other hand, believes in second chances and believes that Jinx has changed. Yes, this is such a Vi thing to believe and say. We leave the scene with Caitlyn contemplating that. Vi’s insistence on seeing the good in people she loves is important for Caitlyn to move forward.

After her conversation with Vi, Caitlyn makes her way down to face another confrontation. At this point, it's important to remember that both Jinx's and Caitlyn’s perspective on each other has shifted after episode 6. Jinx saw how Caitlyn betrayed Ambessa to help save Vander and Vi. Caitlyn saw how Jinx acted around Isha and her family. Their small reunion before the chaos ensued humanized Jinx in Caitlyn’s eyes. This is why instead of taking actions against her, she decides to wait for Vi to recover.

The way Caitlyn and Jinx address each other in this conversation shows that they see each other as equals now ("Both you and I know…") and they are aware of the destructive paths they took (No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes). They are both honest with each other. The scene ends with Caitlyn admitting to the person she has been desperately trying to catch that she hated herself for everything she did, showcasing her vulnerability, remorse, and regret. Jinx replies with the only thing she knows, that she did not know her mother was there when she attacked the council. It was not personal; it was not her intention. It is not a "sorry", but the only thing that she can share with her to make her understand the situation. The zoomed frame on Caitlyn’s ear shows me that Caitlyn does not only hear her but also listens to her with attention. This exchange is not for them to build any kind of relationship, but it is enough for them to let each other go. Caitlyn walks away and starts the process of breaking the cycle for all of them.

Now let’s get to the real stuff. 

Jinx and Silco: 

There are two important monologues in this season that really summarize the whole concept of Arcane for me. The first one is Viktor’s speech about humanity and human emotions being two sides of the same coin. And the second one will be this scene. Silco reminds us about 'the cycle of violence.' It is so interesting that there is an element of hallucination in this scene but Jinx is not manic or fully psychotic here. In fact, she is more aware than ever, which makes her suicidal thoughts more dangerous and real than ever as well. The speech that Silco gives her is both symbolic to her and symbolic to the viewers. After Caitlyn’s visit, she is stuck in her head about what is next, and it's so normal that her thoughts come to her in the shape of Silco, her adoptive father. The only person that guided her as Jinx and supported her during her path to destruction. Let’s remind ourselves of the conversation and break it down:

Silco: Oh, it's a hell of a place. It says something about the late Marcus that he found imprisoning your sister to be a greater mercy than killing her. 

Jinx: Killing isn't mercy.  

For Silco, killing and violence were always justified as long as it had a “good” cause and purpose, they were necessary for him. Jinx finally goes against that mindset that says no killing is not a merciful act. Nothing  “good” comes out of it.   

Silco chuckles: A spark of rebellion still burns inside that husk, I see. No. Killing is a cycle. One that started long before Vander and me. And it will continue long after the two of you. 

Jinx: I'm done running in circles. 

Just like Caitlyn, Jinx does not have the will or energy to keep contributing to this cycle anymore. Once again in this conversation she is turning her back to it.  

We build our own prisons. Bars forged of oaths, codes, commitments. Walls of self-doubt and accepted limitations. We inhabit these cells, these identities, and call them "us." I thought I could break free by eliminating those I deemed my jailors. But... Jinx... I think the cycle only ends when you find the will to walk away.

This is the symbolism that I will be paying attention to later. But for now, let’s look at it for Jinx. Similar to Silco, Jinx’s method of coping with her walls of trauma and self-doubt was unleashing violence on the ones who she deemed as her jailors. Vi, Caitlyn, the topside.. And after all that destruction, she gained nothing from it and all of that violence just contributed to more violence. She finally comes to the realization that in order to make a change, she has to break the cycle and walk away. 

Unfortunately, in this state of mind Jinx sees herself and her existence equal to “violence” and “destruction”. I don't think Jinx wants to die particularly, but she has been ready to die this season because she thinks she needs to.. to stop the violence and suffering, to break the cycle. There is a difference between her wanting to die and simply thinking she needs to. It is a very difficult mindset to get out of on your own. That’s why I believe Ekko’s role will be important for her later. I know that it is not confirmed whether she is alive or not at the end of the show, but if she is, this also explains why she fakes her death. She still has a will to live but she wants to remove her existence from Piltover, break the cycle, and also let Vi be happy. 

Jinx’s dialogue with Silco ends with Vi’s entrance to the scene. I love Vi, but she has never been good with connecting and understanding Jinx’s mental state (not her fault obviously). Her point about Jinx using all her potential to be good, makes Jinx realize that no matter what she does, Vi will continue to love her and see the “good” in her.

Except.. Jinx does not think there is any good in her, she knows that letting Vi stick with her will only lead her to unhappiness. Knowing that Vi cannot give up on her by herself, she locks her in the cell and tells her explicitly that she deserves to be with Caitlyn. The sisters' dynamic has been shifting this season ever since Vi saw her with Isha. Remember what Vi said to her in the mines: 'Why did you come get me? You actually don’t need my help. You haven’t for a long time.' Vi knows that Jinx is a grown up now and can take care of herself. During their time in Viktor's commute, Vi has started to see Jinx as more like an equal and asked for her input from time to time. Jinx simply knows that Vi would never leave her if she does not lock her up. 

Their dynamic flips this season from Vi being the protector of her to Jinx being the protector of Vi and her happiness (as we see and compare the intros of both seasons as well.) And that's change and growth, people. Therefore, anybody saying that Vi should have followed Jinx, they just want to continue Vi’s role as a sacrificial sister and have everything continue to revolve around Jinx. It is a bad faith comment for this story and ruins their character arcs. Jinx does break the cycle here, removes herself from Vi’s life to pave the way for her happiness.

Although this scene between the sisters is important for us viewers, what it really does to Vi is put her back into a spiral. No, she does not know Jinx is going to try to take her life (another bad faith comment), she thinks Jinx left her again, that she made the wrong choice, and now she is going to lose Caitlyn again, too. She deals with her frustration of being trapped again (both mentally and physically) with her punches. And that is the state Caitlyn finds her.

Caitlyn and Vi and the Jail Cell:

Let’s rewind back to understand the symbolism of what Silco said and what that means to our characters.  

 “ We build our own prisons. Bars forged of oaths, codes, commitments. Walls of self-doubt and accepted limitations. We inhabit these cells, these identities, and call them ‘us.’ ” 

So what is Caitlyn’s prison?  

We see the cycle of violence taking shape in the context of the two cities, but we also see it in character dynamics with Jinx and Caitlyn. Jinx spent the entirety of season 1 suffering from attacks on her, ended up losing her mom to this violence, and then took a similar path down and contributed to the cycle of violence herself. Caitlyn’s prison is her hate and vengeance. Her identity as a Kiramman, the expectations and responsibilities she carries by that name. Her sense of justice.

How does she break the cycle: 

Caitlyn’s will to break free from her entrapment is both Vi and herself. She abandons her strict sense of justice she had built in her mind, choosing to see the bigger picture and her mistakes. She finally finds the strength to forgive Jinx and shifts all the guards to the Hexgates, clearing the path for Vi to free her. Aware that she may never see Vi again, she lets them go. Like Jinx, this is a selfless act, driven by the belief that it is the right thing to do and that it will make Vi happy. In the final episode, I believe Caitlyn stops being the Kiramman that everyone expected her to be and becomes the person she truly wants to be. Caitlyn and Jinx’s breaking the cycle moment mirror each other. While Jinx locks Vi up to stop it, Caitlyn frees her both physically and mentally.

What is Vi’s prison?

It's her responsibility to her family. She is stuck between her loved ones, Jinx and Caitlyn, and failing to choose one over the other. Her self-blame for making the wrong choice all the time. Her lack of self-love and always prioritizing what others need from her.

How does she break the cycle: 

Vi breaks the cycle by doing the opposite of what she has been doing and makes a choice for herself. She has had enough. I LOVE how Caitlyn walks into the cell and literally joins her in her spiral, revealing that she let all of this happen because she sees her now, she knows her heart, and accepts her for who she is (“sorry to say, you have grown a bit predictable”). For the first time, someone joins Vi in this fight and stands by her unconditionally. She feels unburdened, free, and encouraged. She is overwhelmed by her emotions that she kisses Caitlyn and decides to be with her. I don't care what everybody else thinks, but this act from Caitlyn and what it means to Vi is much better than a cheap “sorry”. After holding back for such a long time, this is an impulsive “screw this” moment for Vi. She wants to leave the past behind, her imprisonment, and move on. She says it herself with the “I don't f*cking care” line. And Caitlyn, being receptive, gently lets Vi take the lead and have whatever she wants.

Making love in that cell, their joy, happiness, and giggles create a juxtaposition to all the messed up stuff that they had been through and reflect their state of mind. They are rewriting their story. From a psychological perspective, it still makes sense as there are techniques similar to that to work on your traumas. But Arcane is an art piece, the creators are not here to scientifically prove something or break down how to overcome trauma with realistic therapy sessions. They are here to tell us a story, and they are doing exactly that.

This is why this scene shows and symbolizes the culmination of Caitlyn and Vi character arcs. They are coming full circle at the place they met. This scene shows two lovers “breaking free” from their prisons and running to each other. Finally choosing each other although they don't add up on paper. Running away from their personal worlds and commitments to be together. I do not know what is more romantic than that. This is a story that I will cherish forever.

If you have read this far, thanks again. It means a lot. If you have any questions, drop down below. I am happy to discuss it. (Excluding haters and antis, I don't tolerate them anymore.) Also, thanks to my best friend who helped me co-write this. She is a psychologist working in the field. Her specialty is forensic psychology, and her experience really makes her a great source to analyze a complex character like Jinx. A lot of you and your analyses encouraged me to put this out here, so thanks for that too. Arcane means a lot to me, especially season 2. And I will never, ever stop loving or talking about it.

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony let out a breath and nodded.  He wondered where he’d be able to get a good therapist out here in the middle of nowhere, and quickly decided he’d probably need to find one that was willing to do remote sessions.  He assumed even the good ones that didn’t like them would agree to it for the right money and the chance to get inside his fucked up brain.

He was nervous about it though.  He didn’t like being that vulnerable with people.  It was difficult to do even with Clint.  But for Clint’s sake he wanted to be better at it.

He glanced at Clint and shook his head. “I would hardly call it an event.  My charity gives out scholarships in Engineering at my old Alma Mata for bright up and coming students.  Some for low income so that it’s not just rich assholes like me getting into the good schools, and some are just to fund interesting projects.  It works out in both cases for everyone.  Kids get to go to school without worrying about being in debt, school has projects funded, we get to register trademarks and cherry pick the best minds for my company.  But I just need to go in, do a little talk, hand out some scholarships, there will be a little drinks thing, but it’s nothing crazy.  It’s not some gala or something.  We can do one of those if you want sometime.  I say no to the MET a lot.  But I bet you could look super hot in a weird suit.” 

Clint listened to him and smiled a little nodding softly. “I do think you should yeah. Everyone probably needs some therapy at one point in their life. But I agree, you shouldn’t let those things define you. I know it’s easier said than done, but you are Tony. And you can feel exactly how you want to feel,” he spoke and smiled a little bit and kissed his forehead.

“You’re already doing better acknowledging it, so I say you’re on your way there.” He spoke and smiled softly stroking his side. “So, where are we going for this event of yours, tell me more,” he spoke and looked down at him.

[blue-aconite]

For Blurb Night: “You do have a stupid face.” with Jake ♥️

It's here! I swear I thought I could pull of a blurb night but turns out I couldn't.. Thanks to @a-reader-and-a-writer for looking this over ❤️

Blurb Night Masterlist

She smiled politely at another one of his anecdotes, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her disinterest. A quick glance at her watch told her it had been over two hours. 

Two hours of the man in front of her droning on about himself and all his supposed adventures. He had yet to tell a story where he wasn’t the hero. At this point, she was sure that more than 90% of what he said was fabricated to fit his own narrative. 

Hamish didn’t seem to take notice of the fact that she wasn’t listening, continuing to animatedly talk about a recent business trip where he made good on an important deal with another company. 

“.. and then, he asked if I wanted to join him for a night out on his yacht. He really should have been more specific because what he showed me was not a yacht, but a small boat. I never would have agreed to go along if I knew -“ 

She interrupted, seizing the chance before she could wither away from boredom. “You know what? It’s getting quite late. How about we call it a night? I do have an early morning tomorrow.” 

The lie fell easily but she couldn’t be bothered to care. She’d do anything at this point to make him stop talking. 

“Right, of course. You need your beauty sleep.” Hamish winked, standing up and offering his hand. She debated just standing up on her own but took it anyway, not wanting to seem rude. 

She really didn’t want to get back into the car with him, so she quickly caught Penny’s eye from behind the bar, begging her to interfere. 

Penny quickly caught on and hurried over to where they were standing. “Oh, are you leaving? Could I borrow you quickly before you go? It won’t take long, just … -“ 

“Sure, no problem.” She turned towards Hamish again. “Why don’t you head out? I don’t want to keep you waiting.” 

“Alright then. I’ll call you later.” Hamish kissed her cheek before heading towards the doors. 

Both she and Penny watched through the window as he got into his ridiculous car and drove out of the parking lot. 

“I thought he’d never leave.” Hangman appeared out of nowhere, pool cue in hand. 

Penny patted her on the shoulder before going back towards the bar, Jimmy waving cheerily at her. She waved back before turning around to face Hangman, raising one eyebrow. 

“And have you been keeping track of him all evening? I must say, I’m surprised. Didn't you know you were so interested in what I’m up to?” 

Hangman rolled his eyes, grabbing her elbow and steering her towards the pool table. “I haven’t seen you look that bored since the last briefing you guys were forced to join.” 

He made no attempt to deny that he had been watching her and her date, which brought a warm feeling in her stomach. 

There was a time where the two of them could have been something, but neither had been ready for it. Now, she wondered if they should have taken the leap anyway. 

“Well, to be fair, it was almost three hours and even Cyclone looked bored, and he was the one holding it.” She countered, accepting the pool cue he handed her.  “You sure you’re ready to lose?” 

Hangman snorted, leaning over to make the break. “I never lose, sweetheart.” 

“Guess there’s a first for everything then. It’s going to be entertaining watching the smirk fall off your face.” 

He shook his head. “I’ll enjoy watching you try. And if I can entertain you, what’s the harm? Better that than what that stupid-what’s-his name could ever come up with.” 

He was joking but she could read him easily enough at this point. “Are you jealous?” 

“I don’t get jealous. Especially not over someone named Hamish. Stupid name, stupid face.” 

She took her shot, sinking a solid before answering. “You know, I don’t mind if you are. It’s cute. And even though he’s the most boring person ever, his face was nice to look at.” 

She tried to get around the table for her next shot but Hangman crowded her against it, trapping her between his body and the table. “Mine’s much prettier to look at.” 

His breath was warm on her face, his lips inches from her ear as he bent his neck slightly to look down at her. 

She tried her best to come up with a witty comeback but him being so close distracted her. 

“Nothing to say?” Jake smirked, leaning even closer. 

She took a breath, willing herself to get it together. “You also have a stupid face so I’d argue that you’re pretty much the same.” 

Jake straightened up but his eyes never left hers. “I take offence to that. And I’m nothing like Hamish. I’ll prove you wrong.” 

“And how are you going to do that?” They were headed into dangerous territory but the butterflies told her it would be worth it, as did Jake’s smile. 

“Guess you’re just going to have to stick around and see.”

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Thank you for answering my Origins Dragon!Marinette and Turtle!Adrien question! Please don’t worry about disagreeing with the idea; I asked for YOUR opinion and analysis on why it would OR wouldn’t work, and that’s what I got. 😌 It also made me consider meta and in-show stuff that I hadn’t before, which is cool. You mentioned wanting all of the Kwamis to be part of some sort of set of two or more, and I’d love to hear what those sets are in your head going down the full Chinese Miracle Box list and why you’d pair them together with consideration towards both the Kwami themselves and their Powers.

(Post this ask is referring to)

Oh good, I'm glad that you found it useful and not discouraging!

Talking about how to pair the Kwamis is a little tricky because of an issue that I've discussed before. That issue being that the "Chinese" miracle box seems to be about as Chinese as fortune cookies. That makes me uncomfortable because - as far as I'm aware - the Chinese zodiac is a major part of Chinese beliefs and traditions. As such, I personally feel like the box should reflect those beliefs and traditions, but I also don't know those beliefs and traditions, so I can't tell you how I'd effectively group the zodiac Kwamis in order to honor their cultural origins. I can't even be sure if my criticism is valid or just me being overly cautious!

In an ideal world where I had money to invest in this sort of thing, I'd hire a cultural consultant to work with me to design a Chinese miracle box that feels Chinese (or to tell me that I'm overthinking this and to just do whatever I want). Assuming that I'm not overreacting, this would probably mean redesigning a lot of the powers and looks so that they honor Chinese lore and not Western lore.

For example, one thing that I know for sure is that black cats are not unlucky in China. They're actually symbols of good luck (all cats are), so a Chinese box would not have the implied good luck/bad luck thing that we get with Ladybug and Chat Noir. My limited research has also raised some doubts about ladybugs being a go-to symbol of good luck or creation in China, but I'm a lot less confident about that one being a bad choice as the association may exist. I couldn't find anything definitive one way or the other. This leads me to think that, if the association exists, then it's probably a bit obscure, meaning that a Chinese box would probably go with a different animal if we were trying to be culturally accurate to what a Chinese-inspired box would really look like.

I can say with reasonable certainty that Creation is associated with the masculine yang and Destruction is associated with the feminine yin, so Tikki should possibly feel masculine to feminine Plagg. At the very least, their spots in the miracle box should probably be reversed with Plagg in the black and Tikki in the white since yin is black and yang is white?

[Image Description: center of the original miracle box showing that ladybug earrings are placed in the black part of the yin yang symbol while the black cat ring is in the white]

I also known that white rabbits being associated with time, watches, and umbrellas comes from Alice in Wonderland and not China. Are you starting to see why I'm doubting the cultural accuracy of the miracle box?

The alternate way to approach this is to remove the possible issue of Chinese culture being treated as "mystical" or nothing more than ornamentation by making the Chinese miracle box into the miracle box of no specified culture. Since that's kind of what the box already is in terms of deeper meanings and cultural ties, I think we can go that route for this discussion since we have taken a moment to acknowledge the potential issues with the box's existing design and why that's leading me to take this route as - to me - this seems to be the only way to stick to canon's lore while avoiding potential further insults to Chinese culture.

If we went to my ideal extremes with this approach, we'd actually massively cut down the number of miraculous in the box because I think that there are way too many miraculous! Who needs nineteen "unique" powers to arm and fight one villain? This is extra true since there's no real theme to the miraculous beyond the initial setup of Creation/Destruction + five random powers followed by the addition twelve more random powers with no clear ties to any culture or theme other than the look of the Kwamis that grant the powers.

But that's getting real extreme, so for this ask, we won't go there. Instead, I'll talk about some general ideas for grouping the powers that we already have and some ideas for how you could fix the randomness of our current powers to make them feel like they make sense.

To start, I love the fact that our two main heroes are supposed to be a pair power wise. That's a lovely way to approach your lore and is why I think that they should have grouped the other miraculous, too. Why are Creation and Destruction the only set? Why aren't the others in any sort of group? Why do these miraculous have the powers they do? What ties them to this box and not another box?

There are a few ways to approach pairing the other miraculous. You can come at it from a theme perspective such as the fact that both the snake and the rabbit are all about time. You can also look for opposites such as the turtle being all about defense and the dragon being more about offense. You can even go more broad and say that a given group of miraculous is all aspects of one type of power such as the peacock, the goat, and the ladybug all feeling like aspects of creation. There's really no clear way to go about this because the current powers are so freaking random!

When I approach this stuff, I don't just come up with powers. I come up with the lore and let that help guide the powers or I shape the lore around the powers I want to use until both things make sense. For example, it makes sense that Creation would have some magical being guiding it. It also makes sense that Creation would either create Destruction for balance or that they both popped into existence together so that there was always a balance. Once you have that, you say, "Okay, what other Forces would these two want in order to help guide the universe? What can't they do or what do they do consistently enough that they might want to hand it off?"

Going from there, you start to come up with ideas like maybe they wanted Time to have a physical embodiment so that they could get some guidance on the long term effects of the things that they were making, so that's Fluff coming online. But Time is a lot and they liked their balance, so maybe Sass was brought online too in order to balance Fluff with Fluff being focused on what was and what could be while Sass is focused on what is, thereby giving Fluff someone to ground her. Or maybe you even add in a third Kwami to be some sort of historian who remembers the past while Fluff is the future and Sass is the now.

Another thought path is that most things are not pure Creation or pure Destruction. You must destroy to create. When you make bread, yeast consumes sugar to create air bubbles. Creation and Destruction working together. So maybe Tikki and Plagg wanted to make "children" who could do what they couldn't do solo and that's how we got the peacock?

No matter how you go about this, I really don't think that there's a great way to explain/group all nineteen miraculous, especially if you add in the eagle and Fei's wacky prodigious with it's animal abilities. It's just too random! But I do think that there's a lot of potential in strong subsets of the ones we get in canon, especially if you're allowed to edit the powers or the Forces a bit to make them fit their supposed Force or granted power better. I've talked before about how I'd mess with Lucky Charm to remove the odd Luck association and focus on Creation and that's what I'd do with most of the miraculous because, right now, most of them don't make much sense.

For example, Ziggy - the goat - is supposed to be the Kwami of Passion and that somehow gives the power to create anything you want? I know creatives are passionate, but that still doesn't fit in my mind. It would make more sense for this to be an inspiration power like the pig or for the Force to change to Creation and Ziggy is just a lesser ladybug for some reason? And Stompp - the Ox - is Determination, but I'd actually label his shield power as an aspect of Protection, making him in some sort of pairing with the turtle. Self defense verses defense of others?

In short, the canon lore is a disaster that needs major work to feel solid which leads to lots of paths for fixing the mess. In my opinion, the best way to go about fixing it is to take the element that worked best - the Creation/Destruction pairing - and expand that out to make strong, logical lore for the other Kwamis and their associated powers. Lore that probably won't be rooted in any one culture because no culture seems to be a solid match for the lore that canon is using, which is only concerning because of the current obvious associations with China and that's not even touching on the whole Tibetan monks + Chinese culture issue. Go check out the post I linked at the start for my thoughts on that which basically sum up to, "I am not even remotely qualified to talk about this one, but it seems like a terrible idea."

(Once again, reminder that I'm not Chinese or otherwise deeply informed on Chinese culture. I'm just a person who tries her best to respect other cultures and the miracle box sets off a lot of warning bells for me. Those warning bells could always be a false positive, so you shouldn't take my thoughts as some sort of final say on this topic. Please feel free to look into this on your own and form your own opinions.

If you are Chinese or otherwise educated in these topics, then please feel free to reblog this or send an ask giving me some additional context as I really do love learning about this stuff, but it's near impossible to research! I spent a good hour talking to a local librarian trying to find books or articles in our library that talked about the Chinese zodiac from an academic perspective and we found nothing. I've got a few interlibrary loan requests out to academic libraries in our library network though and I'll follow up on this if those books end up having information that adds to the discussion.)

[alelathedragon]

THERES MY BABYYYYY LOYBOOO AAAAAAA CUTIEEEEEE U DREW HIM SOOO CUTE... LUCIAN CHECKING ON HIM 💦💦💦 MY HEART

" huh?? "

The little creature was startled by the sudden question by the tall male with duel pistols as if they were zoned out in their own little world... Shifting nervously

" oh... I'm okay... Thank you,,, I am a bit worried!! This is my first time being in a big group that isn't the Boos!!! I don't know a lot about customs or or... Uh- how people talk out here away from the woods- its so big and intimidating "

" I'm just.... Going to mostly hang in the back... Draw on my tablet..... I hope that's okay... "

[some yummy context for Loyboo in RTV's universe below]

Loyboo lived out in the darkest point of the woods since she materialized into existence like all the other boos do- following King Boo from day 1 but that doesn't mean her interests don't expand!!! Shes sweet, nervous, a drawer, though she has a bit of a dark side- will torture and kill for the thrill of it. Loves pranks and dark humor. Her upbringing in King Boos house led her existence to feed off more negative emotions so if shes hungry- someones going to suffer for it.

Shes a mixed media. Not always evil but not necessarily good either.... Though living out in the middle of nowhere he didn't find out about RTV like everyone else did via the mass brain washing (they didn't have a tv out there lol!)

Loyboo went out of the forest for a good ol' prank on some random stranger! When his interest was suddenly drawn to one of the televisions violently integrated into one of the structures near by- as there was a cartoon playing! Loyboo loved cartoons when he came into town and had a chance to watch them!! So he sat down and watched.

Eventually the puzzlevision logo appeared and RTV right after promoting something as usual- the natural brainwashing tried to manipulate Loyboos brain.... But living with King Boo and all his tricks made her heavily resistant to it and she didn't get brainwashed. In fact. She could recognize what was happening and pulled herself away from the television to not lose her brain privileges.

While wondering around. That's how she figured out that the world was under RTV's finger tips... All the televisions, odd behavior, the sound of static.

.....

COOOOOOOOOL >:D this is awesome

Loyboos eyes got stars in them as he wondered around and began to follow RTVs advances in the world by his own merit. Always pulling himself away before being brainwashed because he didn't want to become a zombie! He wanted to continue to enjoy himself and the content RTV was handing out as himself. And maybe eventually meet the famous fellow. Ask for pointers.... Loyboo fancies themself a good artist but no one will buy their work.... Maybe she could get pointers from someone who has an understanding of artistic vision and is also so powerful!

Worth a shot.......

Right?

1st Group!

The first people have arrived at Puzzlevision Studios for the tour!

@alex-dolmatescu2-0 @alelathedragon @liliththequeenofdemon @runrabitrunrunrun @lunatic-artz @mrtophat518 @mylifeisfakeenjoy @theghostinthestudio @just-j3ster

[raeathnos]

.

[savanir]

The What Corps?

“we have you now spook! there is nowhere you can run and hide with our new spectral tethers active!”

Danny winces at the small metal clips that have hooked themselves in his leg, some new GIW tech that is messing with his powers.

“oh yeah? I was just dying for you guys to give me a challenge” plan. plan. He's gotta think of a plan to get out of here and fast. He takes a steadying breath and starts to look for anything that can help him.

he can’t get caught here. He just can't. He simply won’t allow himself.

suddenly the two GIW goons in front of him click their earpieces to clearly listen to what someone else is telling them, Danny is very glad for his own enhanced senses.

“Operatives K and O, be advised, there have been sightings of a new ectoplasmic entity near your location. Other operatives report that it’s incredibly small and moves fast. watch your backs, this may be an ambush”

small and fast? it better not be some poor little blob ghost, Danny sort of hopes it’s some manner of ectowasp, at least that could be entertaining to see.

“you better not be hoping for back up, ecto scum”

“I have no idea what you are talking about”

It's then that a small bright green light zips on scene and weaves through crowds in the distance with ease and then speeds up towards the two operatives who do not hesitate to shoot, missing completely like the storm troopers they are.

Whatever it is, it is indeed going very fast but Danny manages to figure out what it looks like and it appears to be a… ring?

“hold it you tiny accessory shaped ecto fiend!”

The ring does a speedy circle around Operative O while K is lining up a shot and ends up blasting the poor guy point blank in his face, “O!”

Danny takes a step forward with an arm outstretched and a “oh damn! Are you alright?” on his lips when the ring takes the chance to slip on his finger. “Daniel Fenton of Earth”

Danny already had a freakout about a ghost jewelry getting on him, his experiences with those so far have been incredibly bad after all, what with the rings and crowns and pendants… now this damn thing is just straight up outing him! 

Thank the ancients the two GIW stooges are too busy with each other right now to pay close attention to what this weird ring is saying.

“You have the ability to overcome great fear” ah so this is related to him steeling himself just now? Maybe? or something??

You have been chosen” never good, we are back to freaking out again.

“Welcome to the green lantern corps” 

… the what?

Danny notices that his usual outfit suddenly has more green going on, and his DP symbol has some sort of… he guess it’s supposed to be a lantern, maybe? shape around it.

He’s somehow even more glowy now, and there is something on his face. Feeling its shape makes him think it’s some sort of mask.

The metal clip things are no longer attached to his legs though so that’s great!

“You’re not getting away so easily ecto scum! sentient ghost paraphernalia coming to your rescue or no!” They both aim their weapons to take a shot.

Danny figures he can now easily hold them back with his usual shields,“you guys realize you just called this weird ring sentient and thereby negate the whole nonsentie-ack!”

“Attacking a corps lantern is punishable offense as of the instatement of the galactic diplomatic immunity as declared by the-” Okay so now Danny is just raising his eyebrow at this weird as fuck ring. Just what is it going on about?

“notifying nearby lanterns and requesting assistance with apprehension of hostiles”

what?

“getting your friends to help you out vile spook? such a thing is useless with the Blackout still very much in place”

Well… the two streaks of green light in the distance is making Danny doubt that statement.

Maybe there is more to this Lantern corps thing than he thought… And something tells him his life is about to get even more complicated than it already is.

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Might want to do a bit of reading about the Ramones. Several sources point to their anti-blackness and siding with white supremacy groups at their shows, as well as supporting presidents Reagan and Bush. Dee Dee was also a pedophile, grooming a sixteen year old when he was in his forties

Unsolicited but I am assuming well-meaning anon, thank you for the heads-up about the Ramones, but in case you could not tell from a very basic search of my blog, I do not give a shit about the Ramones - which is to say that I've never liked them or cared for their music and find them vastly overrated and mediocre, anyway - and the only time I ever intend to post about them is in relation to someone I certainly like better (who I, most likely, find quite a bit less overrated and mediocre). Nonetheless, it's good to know about their anti-blackness, although to be fair (not to them - just in general), that could very, VERY easily be said about almost any white artist (at the least; they would otherwise, of course, have to be rather vocally anti-racist!), which is not at all meant to be in their defense but is just to suggest, why single out the Ramones when this issue is rampant in all art forms? Honestly, it should be acknowledged in regards to everyone's white faves, and my white faves are no exception (though I am not, of course, at all saying that the Ramones are my faves. LOL I could not care less about them, except for the way their music was given far more credentials than women and non-white, and especially non-white women, in punk were ever given; THAT! I CARE A WHOLE FUCKING LOT ABOUT!! And I've posted about this before, although I will say, it does suck that my primary example is Patti Smith given her history of anti-blackness. I can certainly rethink who and how I laud those who spearheaded punk, but I also think there are lines to be drawn). Nonetheless, aligning themselves with white supremacy groups at their shows is FUCKED!!!! And that does make me consider the way my faves have associated themselves with the Ramones. Oh...*is now deeply unsettled* yeah, that's really fucked up. I will be thinking about that quite a lot more now, so thank you for that bit of information in particular. But also, *coughs* I have a song to share that speaks to that history of white supremacy in punk - from a very beloved folk singer, no less. :') (Brief, historical context for that, btw: she was in punk before she became a folk singer!! So she was there witnessing this stuff around that time - the late '70s and early '80s, which is exactly why it's relevant.)

Still! Despite my defensiveness, I do appreciate the heads-up about them, and I will gladly (I guess; just to be informed, because when did that ever hurt anyone...rhetorical question!) read about them as you suggested. So thank you for bringing that information to my attention, and if you have any recs about where to read more about them concerning their anti-blackness and association with white supremacy in particular, that'd be super helpful, but I'm never afraid of a little research, anyway.

Note: sorry to gloss over the "Dee Dee was a pedophile" bit, but...not that I am defending pedophiles in any area of anything whatsoever, but there have been far more pedophiles in areas of 'popular' music than just one of the Ramones and punk; there are people that we do not talk about (for this reason, or do so very carefully), or people who we still laud to this day, and probably always will, despite the fact that they were absolutely, 100% taking advantage of young people and children, and I'm sorry that I cannot sugarcoat that. My acknowledgment of this is not to say that we should not talk about them, nor do I think it's right to continue to give so much credit to people with so much fame, and thus power, let alone to give them more fame and power, when they've done such reprehensible things. Rather, I would like to suggest that we think about and discuss ways in which we can PREVENT things like fame, and proximity to fame (and thus power), from empowering these people (men, women, and people of any gender) to take advantage of children, young people, and young fans. Because that's a significant part of what has been happening for all these years, and it will continue if we do not consider ways to check famous people - and fame, in general - and those in power. (And if you happen to think of the whole J*ffr*y *pst*in situation, that's a great starting point! Let's consider the ways in which they're all connected, but in particular, WHY!!!)

[tteokdoroki]

✎ᝰ. OCT 1ST ★ BONDAGE - satoru gojo .ᐟ

[CHAPTER ONE RAPUNZEL] satoru gojo as flynn rider + bondage. once upon a time, a girl trapped in a tower with nothing but her extremely lavish, long hair as company decides…fuck it and sleeps with a handsome stranger to get what she wants ( 9.1K ).

✧ chapter contents - minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, rapunzel!au, strangers to lovers, role reversal & switching, orgasm control, sensory deprivation, edging, thigh riding, spit kink, outer-course, begging, handjobs (m!recieving), reader's hair has blonde streaks but colour remains ambigous, rapunzel + fem!reader, flynn rider!satoru gojo.

✧ fairy godmother's note - yippieee!! kickstarting spooky season with this hefty boy. we have our glorious blue eyed king welcoming you all to our fourth annual tteokdoroki kinktober - i hope you all like what's planned this year and enjoy this piece to start with !! kissies hehe <3 - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ☆

“you’re going to take me to see the floating lights. or else.” 

“or else, what, honey?” 

ever since satoru gojo climbed the wooden lattice sewn to your tower by blooming, overgrown weeds and winding vines effectively invading the safest space in the world ( according to mother ), he’s been a pain in your fucking ass. when he’d first arrived, a towering and unfamiliar figure creeping about the main floor — your heart had dropped to the base of your stomach, pulsing rapidly with fear while he scoped the scene. you’d never come across a man before, mother had made sure of that, warning you of their cruelty and ugliness both inside and out. except satoru looked nothing like the descriptions your mother had left you with, you’d say that the man was stunning. not that you had much to compare him to.

his hair was a crisp white, appearing soft to the touch much like the snowfall that came in the winter months (something about playing in it. contrastingly, his eyes were a beautiful shade of baby blue — eerily similar to that of a summer sky free of cloudiness. he was too good looking to be human, for it to be natural, almost as if satoru had strolled straight out of one of the many fairytale books mother purchased for you from the markets. although, over the years you’ve probably read each book cover to cover a million times and not one fictional prince could even match this stranger’s sheer beauty.

though for now, this handsome stranger’s looks would get him nowhere with you. strangers always came with dangers, and since all you’d known throughout your years of living were these four walls, you weren’t going to take any chances with satoru and whatever problems he’d have brought with him.  initially and out of an unfamiliar fear, you’d  taken the nearest weapon to you (a frying pan) and cracked it right over his skull — watching the hunk of a human collapse to his knees and eventually black right out. if mother were around, she would have been proud. you’d tried not to feel any guilt trying to stuff his limp, lengthy limbs in your closet or under your bed because… well, what business does this stranger have with you? what the fuck is a man doing here? how did he get here? why is he here? 

your whole life you’ve been convinced that the outside word was treacherous and that you had to stay inside, where it was safe, because people were horrible and selfish — intent on hunting you down for the powers that lay intertwined in the coils of your hair. those specific streaks that glow a valuable gold between the usual  colour of your locks whenever you sang. mother would style them the way you liked every night — so long as you sung for her. you weren’t about to let mother down, nor risk the little life you built here together.

but, as it turns out, satoru wasn’t looking for the magic sprouting from your crown and entangled in your hair. it almost seemed like he had no idea about them either. rather, the moonlit haired man was looking for a place to lay low and hide after being chased through the forest for his satchel that seemingly carries something valuable. a crown… jewels that have a weight familiar to your head and sparkle like something you’ve seen before in a distant memory. 

“come to think of it, honey, where is my satchel?” cocking his head to the side, sky blue eyes peer up at you with a charm that sends a foreign swarm of butterflies ripping through your stomach.

you frown, accusingly pointing your weapon of choice at gojo’s head and puffing out your chest to appear as intimidating as possible while giving him your name. “i’ve hidden it in a secure location—“ 

“it’s in that pot…isn’t it?” 

as best as he can in the handcuffs he can call locks of your hair, the tower’s newfound infiltrator gestures towards a colourful pot in the corner of tne room. what? all you could think of in the moment is restraining him against the chair and why waste perfectly good rope when you’ve got such length to your own hair? the pot was the closest spot too.you knock him out swiftly after his guess, not giving gojo the satisfaction of finding his precious purse.

now, with the satchel hidden once more, satoru gojo semi-concussed and conscious once again — you realise that for the first time in your life, you have some kind of leverage to bargain with. you need someone to take you to see the floating lights that illuminate the sky on your birthday, every year. satoru needs his… crown? that so obviously doesn’t belong to him. of course, he would have stolen it, mother always said men were no good and always take what isn’t theirs (oh the irony). nonetheless, it  was the perfect match of desires.

this way, you could prove to mother that you weren’t weak like she said you were. that you could cope by yourself and go explore the outside world. it wouldn’t be how it usually is with mother — where you ask for something and instantly get denied because she believes you to be too naive to function in a world outside of her. not this time. this time you have a bargaining chip. a satchel containing a valuable so rare that satoru was willing to risk his life for.

your captive wriggles against the restraints of your hair, woven around the chair like tough knots of a rope to keep him at bay. while the silver haired fox may not have canines like your mother suggested, you have no idea how powerful he could be. contrastingly, gojo finds your hair to be soft against his skin, ticklish along the veins of his arms despite how secure it has him strapped down. he’s forced to listen and to follow your every move across the floor plan, guided by the strength of your hair tugging him about.

“i have a proposition for you. come, look.” drawing back a curtain to reveal a painting from earlier — you recite your plan to your intruder. tomorrow evening, he will take you to see the floating lights … ahem…lanterns that drift across the sky on your birthday every year and then, return you safely to the tower before mother returns. it’s an easy deal.  “i won’t give your satchel back until then,” you stutter out fiercely, adjusting your height and the grip you have on the cool metal frying pan. “you won’t get it back until you’ve taken me to see the lights.” 

“oh whatever, i can just take it back, honey,” satoru goads, cockily ripping his head back in patronising laughter. even though the melodious sound makes irritation bubble hot underneath your skin, you can’t help the way your eyes are immediately drawn to the man’s Adam’s apple as it bobs delectably along with his chuckles. “as soon as i get out of this…hair? hair.” pale blue eyes flicker up to your face when gojo fixes himself in the seat he’s fixed to. they bore deeply into your soul, reading you with as much ease as you have flicking through the same three books that you own. you feel the weight of your hair shift around satoru’s shoulders as he gestures down to it nearly wrapped around his bulging forearms (not that you’d been paying attention). “this is kinda freaky, hon. don’cha think?” a slow sexy smirk tugs at the corners of gojo’s plush, glossy lips, or rather, he smoulders attempting to woo you into giving him what he wants. “you don’t seem like the freaky type, sweetheart.”

once more, a frustrated flame flares up in the middle of your chest — you’d feel offended for sure if you know what gojo meant. “freaky?” 

“as in like… dubious?” he grins in response, running the pink tip of his tongue over his straight, perfectly white teeth. “this is basically bondage, yanno?”

you blink once. confused.

“improper?” 

nothing, not one of these synonyms or explanations from the smiling idiot makes any more sense to you — bringing you to tilt your head to the side, innocently like a puppy that makes satoru laugh once more. this time it actually does something to you. sends weird butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

with a shake of snow white locks and an inhale that sounds amused as it goes, your hostage clicks his tongue — letting those cooling blue eyes slink up and down your virtuous frame . the swell of his lower lip trapped between pretty perfect teeth. “as in sexy, sweet thing.” satoru’s sickly sweet and powdered sugar coo slips through one ear and out of the other like hot, viscous molasses, you immediately shudder — flustered down to the meat on your bones, curling in on yourself as your faux intimidation tactics melt from your body and slip between the floorboards beneath your bare feet. “gosh! you’re so innocent,” his gaze rips away from you, and you fight back an unexpected whimper, missing the intruder’s gaze on you. “guess that’s what being trapped in a place like this does to a darlin’ thing like you. you wouldn’t last a day out there.” 

he’s patronising you. speaking to you as though you’re no more than a child. however, being talked over and down on is all you’ve ever known, especially from your mother… but the way he acts reminds you of all of the advice she’s bestowed upon you over the years. mother tells you all the time, how naive and silly you are. how people will try and take advantage of your looks and your kindness. and so you decide to use your mother’s advice — if all humans, act like dogs, you’ll throw one a bone and wait for them to come back for more. 

steeling yourself, you use a loop of your hair to drag gojo’s chair toward you — positioning him like a puppet beneath your cold, hard stare. he man spreads on the chair as best as he can in his restraints, leaning back while his seat tilts backwards on a forty-five degree angle — drawing your eyes from his face to his thick thighs momentarily. “you are going to take me to see the lights. it’s a promise, not a threat,” you whisper into the air that buzzes with tension between you both, leaning down and pinning gojo in place. you’re so close, so little proximity between your faces, that you can practically feel his warm breath lingering on the damp skin of your lips. “and i promise, i’ll make this worth your while.” 

your voice lowers an octave, smooth and buttery and just right. like a snare for a wild white rabbit or bait on a hook — it peaks satoru’s interest, illicit thoughts and desires flashing behind his pupils like lightbulb ideas. “oh, honey. i can make you see stars alright,” he looks up at you then, with an expression of heat and thirst, dragging you into a pool of shining blue eyes that you barely manage to free yourself from. drowning in his attention once more. you stand over him proudly, between his legs smugly and all he wants to do is wipe the winning smile from your face and show you a real good time. 

if he could, gojo would reach up and grab at your hips possessively, if he could he’d cup your neck and let his fingers toy with your baby hairs to pull you into a sloppy kiss. he can’t help the way white hot desire spreads through his system like throwing gasoline on an open fire and pile of wood. he grins mischievously, and in response, a brand new sensation stirs within your lower tummy — blistering hot as it zips between your chest and your core.

you sense the change in the atmosphere and gojo does too. both of you dying to scratch the itch on the part of your brain that is the control centre for lust. but you remind yourself what this is truly about, tell yourself not to get lost in the haze of it all, and will yourself to throw a loop of your hair over daring blue eyes like a blindfold — acting fast to secure a seat in an unsuspecting satoru gojo’s vacant lap.

he grunts in surprise, flinches when he realises one out of five of his senses are down. “what the fuck—?” gojo spits, cocky smirk melting away. 

“shhh,” you taunt the man under your breath, leaning forward so that your voice coasts over the shell of his ear like a summery breeze. it invokes a sense of pride within your chest when your hostage tilts his head to follow your voice — his own breathing erratic and increasingly shallow with how he begins to struggle against your restraint on him. “you won’t get a chance to make me see those lights. not if i get you to see them first.” 

in truth, you've got nothing planned. you’ve never been in the same room as a man, let alone pleasure them the way that you’ve read in books you’d borrowed from your mother. 

the reality of the scene before you is daunting, giving up part of your virtue just to prove a point and get to see the floating lights like you’ve always wanted…but at the same time — it’s your one chance at freedom that’s at stake here. “you don’t sound so sure about that, sweetheart,” satoru taunts you with the peaks in his voice coltishly high. he continues to wrestle against the restraints of your hair — he’s strong and with a little more force he could escape but it’s like he senses your hesitancy. 

like he knows for certain you won’t make good on your promise. just like mother. 

that much is evident in the way his smooth, glossy lips tick upwards into an arrogant smirk. 

your determination to prove him wrong grows more and more by the second, so before you succumb to your nerves again, you let your free hand claw with way over gojo’s right shoulder — steadying him, forcing him to sit still as you make a comfortable seat out of his widespread lap. he tenses at first, unable to see you move, but his grin remains, you have no idea if it’s because he’s proud of you or doubting you — but the expression only serves to piss you off even more.

“what’s next, sweetheart?” 

a strangled growl is your only reply, the most menacing sound you can muster as you lift head upwards and his pool of loose silver-moon locks fall out of place. with a shuddering breath and a hold of gojo’s restraints, you press your lips to his in a shaky kiss — still unsure of where your lips go and what to do with your teeth and how to move your tongue. the captive beneath you knows it and takes advantage of your weakness, nipping at the swell of your lower lip gently — hardly enough to draw blood. satoru is testing you, telling you to be brave and take from him. prove to him that you’re willing to do whatever you want for him to make your silly childhood dream come true.

he allows you to fight back, despite this being your idea, lets you forcefully grab his angular jaw and capture him in a proper spit-swapping kiss. if he really wanted to, he’d find a way to escape from the tight bounds of your lengthy hair. but he doesn’t. gojo lets you swallow him down; push your tongue exploratively into his mouth and lap at his foreign flavour. he wants your tongue to take dominance from his, pink appendages sloppily rolling over one another, slipping and sliding as you take and take from satoru.

the kiss, already uncoordinated from your lack of experience, becomes hurried and hungry and wet the more you steal from satoru. you take and take and take until his glass his half full and his brain slowly becomes devoid of all logical thought. he comes the prey to your predatory mouth, missing the way your hand frees his pale cheek and fingers fluidly traverse down his broad shoulders, over his marble sculpted body to find purchase in the belt loops of his bothersome pants. now curious, you feel your way down the front of the fabric and grin into the hot and heavy kiss when satoru’s lets out a breathy, staggered moan into your open mouth. 

his swelling erection twitches in response to your inquisitive hand, slender hips involuntarily jumping upwards.

“fuuuck,” satoru chuckles airily, words featherlight as they breeze along your lips. his head keens upwards too, chasing the weight of your hot sticky tongue in his mouth — desperate to be closer, craving the feeling of your nose knocking against his and your breath on his cheek from just how pressed up against each other you are. “fuck baby that’s it. kiss me more, touch me harder…” he’s addicted before he even knows what you have to offer, what he’s getting himself into. if you could see his eyes from under his binding, you’d bare witness to pleading blue pools swirling with a painful desire as he twitches beneath you, wriggling his wrists to get free. “c’mon, touch me.” he adds between sloppy pecks.

backing your face out of satoru’s reach, you break the drooly lip lock — letting your lungs fill with oxygen it had once missed, while your heaving chest syncs up with the intruder you have strapped  to a chair. you pull away, connected to the man by not just your hair, but a string of saliva glazed across your lips — cautiously, your tongue dart out to break the the between your eager mouths, two sets of uneven panting filling the quiet air. 

the two of you remain unmoving and unwilling to back down while you catch your breath; but your hand remains in the centre of gojo’s lap — rocking it back and forth, back and forth over his growing bulge. you stare at him, observing the reactions that he tries so hard to control. little twitches to his pink swollen lips and the flare of his nostrils whenever your palm makes contact with a sensitive spot. all this waiting is agony, the white haired captive might die if he doesn’t get more from you soon. 

satoru whines impatiently as a result, knowing full well what you want and you won’t ask him again — not when you’re tauntingly squeezing his cock for a second, third, fourth, fifth time. he doesn’t fucking know — overwhelmed by waves of lust-infested blood rushes to its blistering hot tip. “fuck! okay, okay fine. i’ll take you! just—“ the chair rattles from the force of gojo’s struggle against your restraints, which hardly covers the low moan that escapes from between his plush glossy lips while his length pulses against the inside of his pants. “just fuck me. touch me. anything.”

something about his tone being all desperate and high activates a part of you that you never even knew existed. a part of you that knows what to do next… even if you haven’t acted it out, you’ve enough books to remember what the erotic ones say.

only then, after he pleads, do you use your shaky hands to tug down the garment — pulling them towards his knees as best as you can against your hair until the button pops free. the zipper follows easily and the waistband falls away from starlight skin and slender hips. everything gets hotter; any fresh air between your bodies becoming tinged with the need for sex as the scorching ghost of your fingertips leaves burn marks against satoru’s pelvis, and sends heatwaves of ardour from the base of his spine to the top of his skull.

satoru’s squirming pauses while he waits with uneven breathing for your next move — tongue pressing up against the barricade of his white teeth to prevent himself from taunting you further or perhaps to stop himself from belting out another pathetic set of whimpers. he wishes he could see you, those sweet innocent eyes looking down at him as you peel back the last layer of fabric stopping you from accessing his painfully hard erection. his underwear. 

when you gasp in shock, pride weaves itself between the bones that protect his heart and lungs like an uninvited weed, he knows that he’s decent. longer than he is thick, bright red at his mushroomed tip and leaky from just how turned on he is. there’s a trail of silver moon hair that leads you down a path from his belly button to the thickest part of his dick too. but oh, how satoru gojo wishes he could see.. the way you lick your lips as drool drowns your tongue, mouth watering at the sight of his length slapping against his clothed stomach while he manspreads for you. the way your pupils dilate, the colour in your eyes swallowed by a dark veil of carnality. 

this is a hunger you’ve never experienced before, a type of starvation that makes your hand lurch forward before your brain can control it, gripping satoru at the base of his milky, slender shaft. it’s the first time you’ve ever seen a cock; let alone held one between your tiny fingers — it’s much warmer than you anticipated, tacky to the touch from dribbles of precum running down from his untouched tip, but you like it. the weight, the wet sound it makes when you slightly flick your wrist around satoru. not to mention the stuttered groan he lets out, his head falling against the support of the chair and yanking slightly on the blindfold made of hair that covers his eyes.

if you weren’t sitting in his lap, you’d want him in your drooling mouth. you’d sink down to your knees like the girls in your naughty books and take him down your virgin throat, just so you could look up at satoru and watch the sweat bead down his jawline and run a track over his bobbing adam’s apple. but you’re not and you’ve got a point to prove, so you loop your hair around your other wrist to tighten his restraints and extend a thumb upward from his base to his seedy tip, jamming the pad of it through the slit where he pre forms in thick, creamy pearls. as white as those that come from an oyster.

“that’s it gorgeous, just like that…” satoru leers up at you huskily, voice tinged with neediness that he fails to mask. he seems to like the way you touch him and you’re sure to use a delicate hand when you smooth the supple pad of your thumb over the pad of his sensitive tip, rubbing his opaque precum into it sweetly. “touch me s’more? you can do it… i know you’re shy, can hear your breathing ‘n how heavy it is. shit, you’re new at this.” saliva slows down satoru’s salacious words as he rambles to you with swollen lips and rosy cheeks, angling his head in whatever direction your breath seems to be coming from. 

he’s in tatters, destroyed by a few simple touches with his hard on smearing white across the front of his clothes. you roll your palm over his mushroomed cockhead next to test the waters and take pleasure in admiring the way he trembles, grasping at the arms of the chair you have him strapped to in order to ground himself. it’s torture for satoru to be this patient, killing him slowly from the inside out like a virus spreading across his brain and other vital organs — but it doesn’t mean you’re in any better state. practically dripping in his lap with your panties dampening more and more every time satoru so much as whimpers. past the point of being turned on by the sight of a strong, powerful man weak and blindfolded underneath you.

satoru bucks upward at your command, sucking in a breath as his sensitive, seedy slit bumps your palm once more. “s-shit… please.”

the improper ness of the entire situation sends a zap of electricity to your swelling clit. you’ve only ever imagined being with someone like this as you have seeing the floating lights — touching yourself beneath your skirts and under your painted ceilings whenever you were brave enough. now you’re here, spread over the thick thighs of a possible thief who begs you to jerk him off. “s-shut up,” you hiss as embarrassment and  inexperience begins to shine through the deal you’ve struck with gojo, the fact that he can tell as much and still wants this has you soaked all the way through and aching for friction as well. 

you’ve never been in possession of so much power in your life. mother never let you have it. but right now, you can taste it sparking between you and gojo, smell it in the air teeming mixed with a cocktail of your arousals. in the moment you realise that the silver haired man would cling onto every one of your sugar-coated words (no matter how nervous) if it meant he got the fuck he wanted in the end. and you would get to see your lights too.

“just… tell me what to do,” you say without realising how husky your own voice has gotten. “i promised you your crown, to make you feel good if you took me to see the lights. and i never go back on a promise. s-so tell me.” talking yourself into it and building up some more confidence, you circle over satoru’s bulbous cockhead again — gaze laser focused on the burning bright red colour as it oozes. you know that he likes it and it makes his head spin so much that he starts to fight against the restraint of your hair again. “i won’t let you go, not until this is over. so tell me what i can do to make you cum.” 

despite not being able to see his entire face, gojo’s smug smile says it all — his perfect teeth cheerily on display, contrasting with the flustered pink tint to his cheeks. “cup it, make a fist around my cock so you can jerk me off’a little bit,” a haughty moan scratches at the walls of your captive’s throat when you follow his guidance and finally grip him fully, soft and supple hands easily dwarfed by the size of him. satoru’s shaft may be a little thinner, but he’s thick enough to fill your own throat and cause a stretch to your quivering hole with his balls being round, plump and full of white hot seed saved up just for you. “christ, squeeze my base a lil’ before you get movin’,” at first contact, satoru’s thighs tremble deliciously against your mound, blood rushing to your clit and through the forked veins that spiral down his length. 

your senses are overwhelmed, he smells so good — of peppermint and a musky twang of sex act like dangerous smelling salts or fumes. you could get addicted if you weren’t careful. you’re super aware of each ridge and firm vein that decorates him and as you start to palm satoru steadily, you notice just how sticky your hand is — movements guided by the wet cream of his cock. slipping and sliding as your closed fist moves up and down, up and down, occasionally squeezing the base of him just like he asked. your knuckles brushing the soft bush of pubic hair at his pelvis. you can only imagine how everything feels for him, not being able to see at all.

the thought just barely crosses your mind — too focused on speeding up your soiled hand around gojo just to hear more of his angelic gripes and groans that rise and fall from his heaving chest. how good all of this must feel for the man without being able to see. every touch must make him tick and drip and throb achingly. he must feel weak too, completely vulnerable to anything you might do to him while blindfolded and unable to touch you because of bonds formed by your hair. 

once you set a steady rhythm to your closed fist to jerk him off with, gojo takes a breather to announce his next command — head shaking side to side with moonlight locks sticking to his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the inferno of desire spreading through of his limbs. “now spit on it,” he states bluntly, an obvious dip to the octave in his voice. you can’t possibly imagine why he’d need spit; your hand is already glossed with a shiny layer of precum, tainting your knuckles from the viscosity. 

you swallow thickly, but don’t dare stop pleasuring your captive stranger. “w-what?” 

“are you kidding me just—“ leaning forward as best as he can while held back by the strong locks of your hair, like rope around his wrists. dopamine crackles over your brain like fireworks in an enclosed space at the scene that unfolds next, satoru pursing his lips to spit onto his own milky dick — letting the frothy mix from mouth join the mess that lubes the both of you up where connected. “just spit on it, honey. thought you wanted me to feel it.”  

licking your lips, you rub down satoru’s girth far enough to drag the glob of spit down to his tender weighty balls, that pulse at your gentle touch. the feeling makes satoru’s entire body jolt like an electric shock — a gargled groan clambering out from the depths of his panting chest as his jaw goes slack and mouth falls open. “please. please spit on it, honey. god please.. need you to wet my cock. i need it so bad, promise i’ll be fucking good.” blind but with his remaining senses in tact, gojo remains largely vulnerable to your touch, his entire world tilting on one axis when you grip his dick a little harder at his request. causing a ring of white to gather where the circle of your wrist envelopes him.

at his begging. which you swear makes you gush like a small, erotic stream — your juices sloshing about in the gusset of your panties while your sex goes unattended.

so you nod obediently, tilting your head forward and parting your swollen lips to let a thick, syrupy string of your own spit ooze onto his plump and sore balls, stroking him rapidly to spread it over his creamy tip as well. your spit is contrastingly cool in comparison to the natural lubricant smeared all over your captive’s palpitating dick — causing it to grow impossibly harder. it slickens up your hand, evidence of the silver haired man’s arousal seeping through the fabric of his crumpled shirt and coils of your restrictive hair. neither of you can bring yourselves to care in the moment — all you can think to do is relish in gojo’s size.

he’s so big, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t wondered how satoru fit entirely inside your tight hole, stretching you out in the new future — earning yourself a fresh wave of liquid lava hot essence to your ruined panties. you dare to dream onwards, picturing the azure eyed stranger fucking you against the walls of the tower in every way the man knew possible… you have no idea what he’s capable of when untied. but the sight of him lazily thrusting into your filthied fist like it’s instinct, following it like a moth to a candle flame, is enough dream fuel to last you a lifetime. even after the deal is complete and the lights are just a distant memory. 

eventually, you decide to pull off of satoru to give your wrist a break — walking your fingers up the broad expanse of his built chest to tweak his nipples between your tingling bodies. his entire frame is wracked with a case of shivers, mouth parting in a high-pitched, whiny whimper with strings of saliva connecting its roof to his tongue. you’re so pathetically turned on, drool pooling on your tongue like a hot flash flood. 

it’s why you tighten your grip on your hair and thus his restraints, resulting in satoru staggering forward. closer, panting like a damn dog in rut. drawing your free hand up towards your lips and away from his pecs, the proximity between you becomes so little that satoru can practically smell the musky evidence of sex that you lick from your hand. “oh… you taste so good,” you lament in a dulcet tone, failing to miss the way gojo’s dangerous azure eyes dart about beneath his makeshift blindfold, probably dying to see you get a taste of him.

“d-don’t say that, you’ll make me fuckin’ cum, honey.” he gulps, involuntarily pumping his hips into the air, chasing your hand which he needs so desperately to feel good. “please don’t stop.” while begging you — satoru is the perfect picture of a ruined man, though you’re sure he would say the same about you if you hadn’t strapped your hair over his line of vision. his milky skin glistens as though it’s the very source of light for the silvery moon — illuminated by droplets of sweat from the exertion off fucking your fist like a squelching, welcoming pussy. his cheeks glow warmly with a dusty shade of pink and there’s a red ring forming around his lips from where he’s bitten them to control his wails of ecstasy.

succumbing to the obscenity of it all,  you reach forward and lick a stripe into his hellfire hot mouth. effectively sharing the saltine flavour of gojo’s own precum with him while he languidly sucks all the tang from your pink appendage. his angel white lashes flutter shut at the heaviness of your tongue against his own. the kiss is messy and mismatched, saliva seeps from the corners of your mouth and drags a sticky train down your chin. parting briefly, you spit it into the middle of your palm — happily taking satoru’s cock back into your talented hold and providing a solace to soothe its passionate ache. 

“ngh… i can feel you. f-fuck. feel you tryin’ not to grind against me, sweetheart.” somehow, gojo finds pockets of air to taunt you in — his voice an arousing mix of a raspy whine and cocky tone. “so wet, i can smell you too. so sweet. dripping all over your panties while you jerk me off. do you need that needy pussy taken care of?”

everything he’s said is true, while the man with the sweaty silver locks fought to escape the prison of your hair — desperate to see how you pleased him, you fought the growing pit in your stomach. the urge to use satoru for release. you’d never hit your peak with another person before, only your smaller-than-his fingers whenever mother left for more than a day or two. 

you admit to nothing, continuing to stroke satoru to his own high — his panted moans accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin from your hand fisting him to the high heavens.  “please baby, i wanna help get you off. feel that wet little cunt. let me go, i’ll be so good to you if you let me touch your sweet c—“ 

“n-no! we had a deal. my rules.” you stutter, denying yourself. denying him.

“c’mon sweetheart,” a strained and petulant whine echoes throughout the tower — satoru thrusting shallowly through your closed hand in order to match his rhythm to the flick of your wrist. “please, god, baby. if you won’t let me touch you, or at least see you, then can you put that pretty pussy on my thigh? ride it real good? wanna know how you sound when you’re being pleasured…when you give into it all. please honey, give me somethin’ to work with. anythin’…”

gojo presses, like a disciple begging their god for mercy. begging you for mercy. there’s never been this much power in your reach, the ability to control a man who could easily over power you with your sex makes your mind feel egotistically weighty. your resolve crumbles just a tad, satoru’s neediness  chipping away at its foundation until your hips instinctively position themselves perfectly over the swell of his right thigh. how bad could it be? giving him an inch when you’ve taken a mile from him. mother says you’ve never been good at lying and right now, you can no longer pretend like your hips aren’t dying to slide back and forth over your capture like a desperate whore. 

like you don’t want to use him for more than just the floating lights, but to soothe the fire lit in your lower stomach — trailblazing down to your throbbing clit.

something clicks in your mind, all of your inhibitions are dashed from the tower as you briefly release satoru’s pathetically wet cock and restraints to pull up the skirts of your silk purple dress, exposing a slither of supple fat at your thighs. hurried movements deliver the same treatment to satoru’s pants. “this… this doesn’t change anything. doesn’t mean i’m letting you go just yet. it won’t affect our deal.” you warn the intruder but all sense of venom and authority is lost, evaporating into the temperate air and ending up as a piteous, meek mewl when your exposed mound makes first contact with man’s naked thigh.

if the sound of ruffling fabric hadn’t caught your hostage’s attention; the heat of your sopping sex against his moonlit skin definitely did. “fuck…that’s it. there we go, honey. put it on me,” a tinge of amusement lays evident in his gravelly voice, sets of slender digits peeking out of their hairy restraints to map out your doughy thighs and crawl their way up to the source of your essence. “i just knew you were wet for me, can feel how turned on you are.” as best as he can, gojo shifts until his knee is able to bump your clit — cooing in satisfaction when you ooze against him in response. you almost despise the way he laughs up at you condescendingly, as if he’s the one in control irregardless or the fact that you’re on top. 

maybe it’s the dopamine rush that makes your dynamic unclear — neither of you wanting to give up or take the lead. the lust fizzing in the cracks and crevices of your brain make you cute and pliant for gojo but hair woven over his body keeps him subdued and thirsty for you. 

like a gravitational pull, you buck downwards on the silver haired stranger’s toned thigh and smear the beginnings of your arousal all over him. you’ve barely been touched, oozing in viscous waves as you lose control over your body, rutting harder and faster. “watch your mouth.” you cry out, volume barely above a whisper, bottom lip trembling because it feels so good to use someone this way. 

resuming your hold on his dripping cock again as you rock your hips — you rearrange the loop of hair keeping gojo in place, covering his eyes just as your hair begins  to glow gold in time with your symphony of moans. “right, right, sorry. this doesn’t change things,” he flexes his thigh underneath your syrupy sex, strawberry tongue slipping out to wet his lips while your words fade away into a pretty little sigh. “but you wanna smack that messy clit all over my thigh, don’cha wanna make it creamy… even messier?” satoru all but jeers, the wisps of a smirk rising on the horizon of his lips now that your hips have formed their own rhythm over his leg.

they speed up their passionate dance on him, beads of glistening essence pearling between your two fat pussy lips. the slick smack of your naked cunt against his muscular thigh caused his dick to twitch in your hand — gojo thrusting up when you thrust down. he tilts his head down, catching a whiff of your heavenly scent in the air between you both. you hate that he’s right just as much as he hates not being able to see you and touch you properly — only catching glimpses of the golden light sparkling within your hair like a halo from underneath his makeshift blindfold.

you feel like you might be going insane, trapped underneath a non existent touch. like being pulled under waves of euphoria with aching lungs that don’t get enough air. near angelic screams of delight rip through the base of your throat contrast with the way you sinfully hump satoru and jerk him off to the point of his dick forming a creaminess in your hand. he bounces his thigh faster the higher you moan, rewarding you for all the hard work you put in to make this deal worth it.

“you’re no better… you’re filthy,” 

“that’s right honey, so dirty. all cause of you. messy with you, why won’t you let me see?”  the captive rambles, torn between fighting to break out of the bondage and listening to the lewd sticky noises your mound makes when gliding smoothly over his paled skin. satoru growls at how roughly your body moves above his own, face contorting lecherously, cheeks red and lips puffy — a mess from how long he’s been holding out for you. he’s a mess. it’s true. he won’t even deny it. “now fuckin’ stroke it baby, stroke me to the rhythm of your pussy bouncing up and down for me…please…” 

simpering slightly, gojo’s fingers twitch against the arm of the chair — itching to grab at your ass and slam you down against his shaky thigh. if you palm him more, grip him tighter… he can better imagine the warmth of your cunt if he got the chance to slip inside. for now, you oblige his request, pulling tighter on the bindings of your hair while you them use as leverage — throwing yourself down on satoru as the lewd pap of your drooling pussy fills the musky tower air. “that’s it honey, up ‘n down. uppp ‘n  down. keep goin’ just like that.” 

you don’t have the energy to chide him, jostling about in satoru’s lap with wet whimpers bubbling up on the seams of your lips. pleasure begins to twist nice and tightly in your tummy, scalding you from the inside out and burning any logical thought from your brain. head beginning to roll to the side, you think about fully submitting to your capture. letting go entirely — you’d be satisfied. you’d get to cum. your deal might fall through but at least you’d get to see a different kind of light. 

easily, you could just give up. it wouldn’t be hard to, not  when gojo firmly plants his feet into the tiled floor and the power from his hips has hip rutting upwards to chase your fleshlight-like fist. a beefy cry battles its way out of his broad chest, vibrating through you as his quivering thigh juts your pretty, syrupy cunt every time you lift off of him. 

it’s the perfect cycle; the ideal push and pull. you squeal in ecstasy, the hood of your clit dragged back so that your sensitive bundle of nerves is exposed to the blistering heat of satoru’s cool toned skin — taking you closer and closer to your high. streaks of your hair glow brighter than before, more intensely the louder you moan and just like they would if you were singing to help mother or while she brushed your hair. despite the strength in the light of your hair, everything else about you weakens, your grip on your hair, the pace of your hand as you palm satoru to the high heavens. you can’t think to care about any of it when you’re this close. 

if mother could see you now, you don’t think you’d mind if she was disappointed in you. 

but then you’re ripped away from the edge of cloud nine. satoru stops just short of the dam threatening to break. his thigh completely still with your juices splattering against him once your own hips come to a hault. a petulant howl echoes through the flower, frustrated tears stinging in your waterline as you feel your orgasm slip away from you cruelly. “what the fuck satoru?” 

“sorry honey….” he laughs heartily, a slight rasp coating each syllable from each word that leaves his mouth. “don’t think i like this deal very much. just ‘cause you feel good doesn’t mean you can forget about me,” gesturing to the way you gush on and stain his thigh, the captive with the silver moon hair shrugs. “you don’t get to cum or see the lights unless i get to see you.”

gojo’s been good so far, hardly challenging you this whole time and instead, goading you into a world of pleasure you would have never experienced under mother’s watchful eye. instead, he was content to have his cock touched and his name wailed a hundred different ways — he’d shown no indication of breaking your deal aside from this. so in turn, you halfheartedly let go of the loop of hair that kept his sapphire stained eyes away from the world and held his wrists down to the arms of his chair.  the restraints loosen just enough to please him and do what he needs to do. not enough to give him complete freedom. 

“fuck the deal.” you cast it all to the side, relentlessly resuming grinding all over gojo — pushing your hips back as far as his knee to smother your swollen pleasure against it.

this time, satoru is able witness the way your bambi doe eyes roll back into your emptying skull. 

with newfound motivation, the intruder begins quickly blinking away any darkness that caused a fuzz at the edge of his vision, gojo’s gaze immediately trickles down to your clenching hole, a treasure kept safe between your nectar glossed thighs; watching you ride him. “god, if i had my hands on you i’d rub that clit until you were squirting… i bet you’d like that, if i ruined that pussy. made her mine — you'd like that.” gojo’s stare returns to your eyes, flashing you his pearly whites through a condescending smile. his rushed and rambled teasing words make your creamy cunt wetter; body betraying you to violently shake above him. 

though you find strength to keep up your end of the bargain. you’d sworn to make satoru see stars, encapsulating his rigid, sloppy dick between your nimble fingers once more. you even spit on it, earning a haughty bleat from between the man’s pretty (yet chatty) mouth. his sturdy body seizes underneath your touch as you take a firmer grip on him, palming him faster and faster — seedy, hot precum webbing over your knuckles once more. that’s when you finally get to see it. how murky and dark your captive’s vibrant eyes grow, like a pond, swimming with desire for you and only you.

the rapture that had once melted away from you like butter in a pan begins to blossom within you once again — willing you to beg for a chance at a real orgasm. “yes satoru! oh, yes please!” you squeak, short of breath and not entirely sure or what you’re even begging for. the golden light emitting from strands of your hair flare up again and your pussy throbs with an aching need to hit release. “please…”

a self congratulatory thread of cobalt lust weaves its way between the darkening midnight flecks in this eyes. “now look who’s begging,” clicking his tongue, gojo cocks his head to the side, relishing in his ability to finally look at you. drink in the way your chest bounces beneath the bodice of your lace orchid gown. it’s completely fucked, darkened by a crude mix of your arousals but it’s the most beautiful thing satoru has ever seen — only serving to rial him up even more… his own orgasm coming up over the hill. it burns at his internal organs, the lining of his stomach and the only way to alleviate this almost painful yet delectable twinge to his system is through you. “bet you’re only being nice ‘cause you’re close. well guess what? me too, be a good girl, honey, and cum for me.” he says, voice rising in both pitch and breathiness through his gritted teeth. 

he’s going to cum. 

and you’re too far gone to form a response with words just yet. you stop your own ministrations, payback for edging you earlier. his own cock dribbles pitifully as you rip his high away from him like pulling a rug from beneath his feet. gojo thrashes in his hair in response, azure eyes wild and almost wet with a sheen of tears — just as desperate to cum ad you are. “wh-what the fuck was that for?” he winges as though he’s a child on punishment, slender hips rising up to chase your soiled hand and perfect grip — shaft standing needily at attention. “honey…”

“you don’t get to cum until i get to cum. so either you work with me, satoru, or we’ll go all day.” you snap, slowly working your drenched cunt over the meat of his thigh once again, your puffy folds spread either side of it — squelching with the way you salaciously wind your hips all over him. 

satoru basks in the sight, tongue poking out tauntingly between his teeth as he decides to test the waters. “fine, but at least let me help,” he suggests, watching eagerly as you throw your head back in the purest form of pleasure and grind on him harder. it’s clear as day that you need just as much of a push to cum as he does and he plans on giving it to you in just one condition. “untie me.”

“deal.” chewing on your lower lip, you let more of your hair unwind your glowing hair from all points that keep gojo strapped to the chair. enough for more of his hands to escape. then, he’s on you within a flash, hot tongue swirling its way over your clothed bosom and biting at your peaked nipples while his hands shoot to the globes of your ass so that he can drag you in harsh circles across his lap. he’s ravenous, out of control, as if he’s been waiting for this moment the entire time. 

somewhere along the way, in one final burst of passion, your mouths find each other again — swapping streams of saliva as you lose yourselves to sex crazed minds teaming with lust hormones. with your lips smacking and bodies moving against each other in a delicious bump and grind — satoru forces a large hand between you both, fumbling against your cotton panties. the sound he lets out when he finally, finally gets his hands on your puffy clit is glutoral and animalistic, the simple touch sending a shock wave of electricity across every one of your synapses. dazing you for good. 

you bear witness to the silver haired stranger losing his mind, falling from grace like an angel with blackened wings. and for you, he does the same, commiting the sight of your glowing halo-like strands of hair to memory — the coils that shine brighter the more you sing and sin for him.

he can’t stop gabbling, gargling on the spit you pour into one another — followed by howls and screams of pleasure. “oh you like that, hm? i bet that feels so good… so sweet ‘n wet under my touch.” hot fingers belonging to satoru pick up the pace between your sticky folds, flicking your clit feverishly and writing his claim against your cunt at the same time that you jam a thumb into the tricking slit of his dirty red cockhead. the pair of you jolt in one another’s arms, taking one too many steps towards the edge of cloud nine before you’re even ready for you.  

“oh sweetheart, listen to you, sound so good. wish i could have you on my fat cock instead of my thigh. next time yeah? you’re gonna cum like this, aren’t you? gonna get my thigh nice and wet?” gojo growls, voice hoarse and layering perfectly over your whistle tone whines. his digits slow and start their greedy assault on your sex, edging you further and further as you wriggle and writhe at his words. 

the world escapes you, the knot of lust that had been warping within you finally coming undone. “gods… s-satoru! please!” you shriek as though your voice is a  gust of stormy wind — reverberating off of painted cobblestone walls. your free hand (no longer trapped by loops of your own hair) darts out to grab the intruder’s wrist, thighs locking around the hand that works you through an earth shattering high. the dam finally bursts, forcing open floodgates as your pussy releases streams of clear arousal in small spurts that soaks his entire lap and clothes.

gojo has no idea where to look, the smallest glimpse of your orgasm sending him hurtling over the edge as well — he doesn’t relent, viciously circling your precious pleasure mug and drawing out your release to match his own. his thick length spasms in your tiny hand, plump balls no longer able to contain the viscous, hot seed he has saved up all for you. just for you. he cums with a shout, abdomen contracting under your never-ending supple touch, ropes of white hot endlessly shoot from his overstimulated tip almost as though he’s a faucet that’s never been turned off.

he swears he almost blacks out, a white and sweaty mop of hair collapsing onto your shoulder as you slump in gojo’s lap — exhausted. as the air in the room cools, your hair no longer glowing and your chests syncing up to heave in an even rise and fall — you bring a lazy hand to the back of satoru’s head, toying with coils of his baby hair to help you both calm down.

a moment of quiet passes before you find the energy to whisper. “will you take me to see those floating lights now?” 

your innocent question causes satoru to snort sleepily, pressing a wet chaste kiss to your sweaty cheek as the sound breaks free from his cherry-bitten lips. “a deal’s a deal, honey. as soon as you untie me… we’ll hit the road.” 

neither of you move a muscle, however, still recovering from the sinful act you had just shared. 

you use the time to reflect, a sense of excitement dawning on you. you were going to leave the tower. you were going to see the floating lights on your birthday. and most importantly, you were directly disobeying your mother to prove your capableness. and all you had to do to get your fairytale happy ending was give a handjob to a very handsome, very willing stranger. 

the end.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[wingedshadowfan]

do y'all not even realize jinx altered caitlyn's entire arc by kidnapping her and that bcuz of it caitlyn had a good enough reason to hate jinx before jinx even bombed the council and killed her mother in the process??

yes, jinx kidnapped her but it was heavily implied jinx kidnapped her from her fucking bathroom. i'm sorry but how fucking terrifying is that? the one place where you're at your most vulnerable, literally naked. then, jinx must've forcibly dressed caitlyn up in her enforcer uniform (you can argue she just politely waited in a corner for caitlyn to finish showering and get dressed but it was late evening and caitlyn had nowhere to go and no reason to put her uniform on after a shower, and even if you claim jinx allowed her to get dressed herself - why the fuck would caitlyn choose her uniform, considering who was kidnapping her), then jinx took her to the undercity and held her hostage there by herself for an entire day before she got silco and vi to join the tea party.

during this time, of course caitlyn would've tried to escape, like did we all see her with that broken wine glass? she was just waiting for a chance. but the fact that she couldn't escape likely means jinx was there with her the entire time (aside from when she was gone for silco and for vi). and what do you think happened between them so that caitlyn wouldn't try to escape during the time jinx was gone? what do you think jinx had done to make caitlyn flinch when she approached her?

we may never know but i'll give you a hint. when jinx tells vi she made her girlfriend a snack, she pulls off the cloche to reveal... a single cupcake.

how would jinx know about that unless she'd forced caitlyn to tell her? vi gave jinx her name. that's what she was, a jinx. of course jinx would've wanted to know what name she'd given caitlyn. but you're so sweet, like a cupcake. of course caitlyn wouldn't have wanted to tell jinx that, not only bcuz of its implication for her relationship with vi but for the fact that it would only make jinx angrier, more insane and more destructive - her only reason to kidnap caitlyn and want her dead in the first place was the fact she thought vi had replaced her with caitlyn. so she somehow got caitlyn to tell her. eventually. if i had to guess how, i'd say jinx waterboarded her - since caitlyn's hair was wet when jinx pulled her chair in, and there's no way it wouldn't have dried since her shower (24hr ago), even though it's also possible caitlyn was so scared and nervous that it was sweat.

and unless i'm mistaken, vi doesn't call caitlyn cupcake again up until after caitlyn tackles her on the border of the noxian camp. so perhaps vi connected the dots after seeing the cupcake and this became yet another thing she felt guilty for her sister doing to caitlyn, or perhaps there just hadn't been an appropriate moment to be flirty again after caitlyn's literal mother died. but vi hasn't called caitlyn cupcake again since. and, metaphorically and only half-jokingly, caitlyn stopped being sweet. the caitlyn we knew from season one was gone. and i hate to say it, because i strongly advocate that vi calling caitlyn cupcake is not what made her decide to betray ambessa, but it had a grounding power over her and i wonder if it would've made a difference in caitlyn's choices if vi had done it sooner. if she'd been reminded sooner of who she was, and what vi meant to her.

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (3) - ln4

You meet the Norris family, Penelope drops by for a surprise visit, and luckily Christmas Eve goes off without a hitch. Thanks to your amazing skills in everything that comes with being a nanny.

warnings/notes: I, once again, am posting christmas after christmas and i don't care <3 happy hanukkah by the way!! also shout out to my brother who inspired the whole 'athena falling asleep' bit here bc he did this w my baby cousin on christmas eve

(prev | next)

Lando is welcoming in his siblings while you're in the process of finishing up a quick little Christmas Eve dinner. They'd requested nothing crazy, so you'd scoured the internet to find a simple chicken dish, and had Lando go out to buy some games to play with the family. His siblings had all been on the same flight, but with a little rain systems coming through Monaco, his parents flight had been delayed a few hours.

Meaning, you got to be eased into meeting your roommate of barely a weeks family, and spending the holidays with them.

As you finally set down some tin foil over the last few sides, sliding them in the oven on a preheat setting to keep everything warm until Lando's parents arrived, Oliver and Flo poke around the corner to look at you.

You don't notice them studying the way you flow through Lando's kitchen, you're too busy counting over the names Lando had told you--Oliver, Flo, and Cisca, his siblings, you think in that order with Lando ahead of Flo. Then, Savannah, Lando's sister-in-law, and his two nieces Mila and Athena. His parents, Cisca and Adam, though you can't imagine calling them anything other than Mr and Mrs. Norris.

"Oh, guys," Lando's tone is full of smiles, proudly waving an arm to you as you turn around and discard your oven mitts onto the counter, "This is my roommate, Yn."

"Ah!" Oliver smiles, Athena in his hands sraring up at you with wonder in her eyes, "This is the roommate I've heard so much about."

"Oh, god, I hope all good things?" You step around Lando to properly greet each sibling, Savannah, and the girls.

"Lando talks about you a lot." Cisca teases softly, looking over at her brother, who flushed and quickly asked what everyone wanted to drink--safely deterring the conversation. Above everyones scurrying heads into the kitchen, you meet Lando's eyes, and find you can't look away as he crinkles up in a smile before turning to find cups for everyone.

A bit later, Lando runs out to go collect his parents from Nice's airport, leaving you with the siblings. Mila and Athena have taken to exploring the living room under their parents watchful eye as you scour for a good Christmas movie for them--settling on the Grinch after a while, just to have it on in the background. You can tell Athena's getting ready for a nap, but with so much excitement and noise, she seems to be struggling to settle down. Savannah seems a bit flustered, so you take a seat with her on the couch while Flo and Cisca sneak some cookies in the kitchen and gossip.

"So," Oliver starts, "We spent so long catching up with Lando, I never had a chance to ask anything about you."

"Oh, Sorry!" Savannah calls, turning to place a hand on your knee, "Don't want you to feel left out!"

"Don't apologize, it's alright! He's your brother and you said, Savannah, the last time you saw him was Goodwood, which was--what, July?" You say, watching as Cisca and Flo come to the living room, sitting down with their nieces and their toys by the big windows. Savannah offering the girls a thankful smile for taking them off her hands for the time being.

"Yeah, it's been a while." Flo hums, "And Cis and I didn't even see him at Goodwood, we saw him at Silverstone."

"He's so busy with racing, I see why but I still worry for him. He's still just the boy he was when we were young and running amuck through the woods in the middle of nowhere. He had no friends back then, and I worry he isolates himself here too, just blames it on being busy." Oliver leans back, running a hand across his head. You can see the worry for a baby brother he's watched grow clear in his eyes, and Savannah soothes a hand across his shoulders in comfort.

You hum softly, "He's got Max. And Oscar, Charles... Carlos, Alex and George, though I guess George is in London now... a lot of the drivers live close--we actually bought them presents for Christmas. He's got all of Quadrant too."

"And you," Flo prompts, looking up from where Athena tries to grab onto her hair.

"Yeah," you breathe out, turning to Oliver, "And me."

"How'd you meet?" Savannah asks and you smile.

"Max Verstappen, his 'bonus daughter' Penelope is the girl I nanny. I've worked for Kelly since Penelope was maybe three or four months, actually. Just an extra set of hands for her, but now I'm sort of like a housekeep? I watch the apartment when they're gone, cook, clean, help them keep track of everything--the two of them are also so busy." You laugh softly, watching as Athena uses the table to toddle her way over to her parents, Savannah picking up the sleepy toddler and laying her on her chest.

"But, with their baby on the way, the room I was living in is turning into a nursery. They didn't want to move, especially with a whole baby coming, so they helped me find a new place to live. Luckily, I knew Lando... kinda... we never really spoke much before but Penelope adores him so I've been out with Penelope at races or even in Monaco, and run into him."

Savannah watches as Athena scoots out of her hold and climbs across the couch, the curious toddler now taking up space in your lap as you wrap up your explanation, and a place a hand on her back, "So, Lando let me move in. I've pretty much transformed his entire apartment in exchange for the rent he's covering for me."

"I was going to say, it looks a lot better than the last time I was here." Oliver chuckles, Savannah countering with, "Yes, it does. A woman's touch was needed for sure."

"Lando kept asking us all about how to live with a girl," Cisca looks over her shoulder, watching as Flo and Mila move to join you on the couch. Little Athena snuggling into the warm of your hold as you move back.

"I told him it was just like living with sisters," Oliver rolls his eyes, "but he was insistent there was a way to do it wrong."

You laugh softly, imaging the way that he had probably begged for some sort of advice over the phone with his siblings, gently rocking a fussy Athena--who has been refusing her nap since she'd gotten into the apartment almost two hours ago now.

You speak softly, to keep the girl from waking up as she nearly is sleeping, "There really isn't, and I've been moving around so much my whole life I don't really have a set way to live. I kinda just adapt."

Before you can say anything else, the front door opens, and Lando announces he's back. Savannah lifts Athena, who whines, clinging to your shirt, and you shake her off, "I can take her, if it's okay."

"Sure, if it's fine. I wouldn't wanna wake her so close to her falling asleep. Athena loves to cuddle, she's a clinger," Savannah laughs softly, brushing her daughters wild curly hair back. You nod, holding her the way Savannah instructs--missing when Penelope used to be this tiny in your arms.

Lando's parents--Adam and Cisca, are happily talking with their children when you round the corner into the kitchen. Everyone turns with your presence, smiling at the sight of Athena curled in your arms, Mrs. Norris audibly aweing at the scene as you smile.

"Hi, it's really lovely to meet you both," You say softly, stepping over so they can give you hugs and greet their granddaughter who refuses to come out of the comfort she'd found nestled in your chest.

"I'll get the food out," Lando says, "I imagine you're all starving,"

"God, please." Flo whines, Oliver going to help his brother. You linger with the Norris parents in the hall, smiling softly as Athena lets out little snores against the warm fabric of your sweater. Savannah long gone after being dragged off by Mila.

Mrs. Norris moves into the kitchen, laughing as she scolds her sons for stealing bits of food while they bring everything out. The stack of bags and gifts flow down the hall now, the jackets and shoes overflowing the racks, and you can't help but smile at the liveliness of the once empty apartment.

"You're a real charmer," Adam says after a second and your attention is drawn to Mr. Norris. He grins, "Haven't seen Lando this organized in years."

You laugh softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Athena's back, "It's the least I could do for him, considering he won't let me pay rent. He's been really kind to let me live here."

"That's Lando for ya," Adam looks at his son in the kitchen, helping Mila get seated at the table, "He'd give you the skin off his back if he could."

As if sensing you both looking at him, Lando's head perks up, scowling as he comes over. He takes his father's jacket out of his hands and urges him to go get a plate of the food you'd 'slaved over' making all day in the kitchen. You can't help but giggle as he shoos away his father's knowing smile and wave as he goes to join his wife and kids.

"Thanks for saving this whole holiday," Lando looks over at you, catching the way you're already looking at him. A soft smile gracing your lips as you sway the toddler in your arms.

"Your family is lovely," you reply softly, "I'm glad I could do something for them."

Lando's quiet for a moment, the both of you just watching eachother. Turning back when Flo and Cisca start cracking up over some teasing thing Mrs. Norris is saying as Oliver scowls and rebukes whatever she's saying.

"Do you want a plate?" Lando says, "I can get mine last."

"No no, wouldn't want to wake Athena. I can always heat it up after she wakes." You wave a hand, and Lando nods, stepping closer to wipe a crumb off your cheek and brush a piece of hair back into place before Flo calls him over. You wave him on and he goes, making a spectacle about making his way back to the group.

Slowly, you make your way back into the living room, slowly sinking down on the couch and getting comfortable with Athena still snoring in your arms. And as the Norris' carry on in the kitchen, you can help but lay your head back on the cushions, cuddling in to the comfiest position you can find.

You fall asleep around the point Martha May announces her love for the Grinch, and right before Flo brings out Uno for the group at the table to play.

Lando comes over about twenty minutes later, pausing when he sees you knocked out. The rest of the family peeking around the corner as Lando grabs a blanket from the chair in the corner and walks over to where you are--Athena still snuggling into your hold. He gently drapes the blanket over the two of you, grabbing a pillow to lay under your head so your neck isn't killing you in the morning, and just takes a pause to sit next to you.

His eyes travel down your hair, to your closed eyes, parted lips, the soft breaths that leave you. The way Athena has tucked herself against your chest like she just knows you're safety, that you know how to take care of her. He lifts the blanket a little higher, resists the urge to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, and stands.

No one moves fast enough for him to not catch them staring.

"Looked like you were gonna kiss her for a second," His father chimes. Lando feels heat rise to his cheeks as his siblings laugh and he just waves away their comments as he comes back to play the game with them.

When Athena stumbles in to cuddle her mom about thirty minutes later, he peeks out to see you still asleep on the couch and tilts his head. Oliver leaning on the wall leaning into the living room as Lando steps forward, tucks his arms underneath you and carefully lifts you. It's not graceful by any means, but when your eyes flutter and you settle in as he holds his breath, Oliver bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at Lando.

"I'll get the door." Oliver says, nodding his head to where the spare bedroom is. His whole family pretends not to see him nearly whack your head into the wall when he brings you into your room and lays you on the bed. Mrs. Norris does come to ensure her son has you tucked in properly, with the blinds lowered to block out the setting sun as you curl up in your bed.

"Poor thing, she's absolutely knackered." She hums, waving Oliver out of the room as Lando sheepishly rubs his neck, walking over to her.

"She cooked all day, and we've spent the week decorating everything," his voice is soft as he looks over at your sleeping form in the bed, before his mother pulls him out of the room to shut the door.

"Well, she did a wonderful job." She winks knowingly at him, earning a shy laugh from Lando as she brings him back over to the table to keep playing games.

You do manage to get up and freshen up around nine, after his family has left to sleep off their jetlag. Lando's sitting on the couch with--surprisingly to you, Penelope.

"Max dropped her off, he and Kelly have dinner with their parents and P was supposedly exhausted." Lando pokes the girls cheek, but you can see she's clearly wide awake, sheepishly smiling up at you as you chuckle to yourself.

"I'm sure she was," You chime, sitting down at the counter as Penelope climbs up to sit next to you, leaning on you and looking up at you through her long lashes.

"I just didn't wanna go." Penelope admits softly, "All everyone's been talking about is the baby. I don't care about the stupid baby, I wish it was just me again, and I didn't have to fight this little thing in my Mommy's belly for some attention."

You hum, rubbing a hand up and down Penelope's back. She'd been complaining to you about the baby since you'd gotten back to Monaco, and you'd brought it up to Max and Kelly already. From the time spent in their apartment with them, you knew it wasn't their fault Penelope was feeling this way--after her first complaint. They'd both apologized to her, and explained it to her, and after that Penelope had been fine for a while.

But having every single person in your extended family fawning over the unborn baby in your mothers stomach--buying him tons of gifts and clothes, things Penelope was used to be doted onto her, the shift had to feel weird.

"Max and Kelly still love you," it's Lando who chimes from the couch, groaning as he stands up and stretched out his shoulders, "It's been hard for them with the baby coming, and you know how much the baby needs."

Penelope nods and you pout. Usually, Christmas Eve was reserved for the Verstappen-Piquets to spend the entire night together. But it seemed every one of their traditions had been tossed aside.

"How about this," you say softly, "I have some stuff left over to bake. Why don't you, Lando, and I make some cookies for Santa, hm? We can leave them out at your apartment when I drop you off."

Penelope does light up at that and agrees, so as Lando helps her get supplies, you finish shoveling your dinner into your mouth before standing to help them with baking.

By the end of it, after Penelope's roped you and Lando into a flour fight you know is going to be a disaster to clean up, you and Lando end up carrying up a sleeping Penelope and a plate of cookies. Max laughs softly at the sight of the three of you covered in flour, and Kelly thanks you both for staying up later to watch her.

When you return to Lando's apartment, the two of you elect to finish watching whatever movie is playing on the tv. And the quiet moment, broken by occasionally showing each other something on your phones or asking questions about this absolutely absurd 80s christmas movie, just fills the home with a sense of warmth you aren't expecting to feel.

It almost makes you not want to go to bed, but alas, the Norris' are coming back over in the morning, so you two duck off to bed eventually--hesitating to part due to the invisible magnet that holds you close.

SEE NOTES ABOUT TAG LISTS BELOW:

general tag list (open, tagged in all my fics, will not update for this series. If you'd like to be added to my general list FOR this series, let me know and I'll tag you in the comments!

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins

series specific tag (closed BUT SEE BELOW!!)

@nikfigueiredo @ilovechickenwings @supertrashbread @sltwins @mwuaferrari @si1ver06 @linnygirl09 @kikiki81 @kittylolly4 @lazybot @tylerstacobell @formula1fordisaster @sheblogs @suns3treading @kqliie @jxnellat @anxiousbananna @hard4ndsoft @majasophieanna @diorbrxtz @freyathehuntress @obxstiles @cstads-blog @wierdflowerpower @delululeclerc @honethatty12 @henna006 @chlmtfilms @littlegrapejuice @piastrams @ravisinghs-wife @sturmatt @sagestack @bravo-delta-eccho @eiffel-hood @widow-cevans @ash88-yep @emryb @changetyre @raynetargaryan2 @callsignsiren @mayusaatma @sid-is-gr8  @awritingtree @urstepdaughter @4-ln4

TO BE TAGGED IN COMMENTS OF EACH NEW CHAPTER:

@celestrablack @hadids-world @keij0h @annimausi

(thank you to all the new people (and my return readers ofc), and everyone who has left such kind words!! happy holidays to you all <3)

[tired-biscuit]

i want to ride yuuji so bad and then start crying cause he’s so thick and big and then have his strong arms wrap around me and then he starts thrusting up and we’re both drooling and moaning that would be a dream

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: good girl, good girl, GOOD GIRL!

he’s cooing at you while caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears away, and it’s all so goddamn sweet that it outright hurts; in a good way, though.

always in a good way when it’s with him.

especially because he does it so effortlessly? being kind is like second nature to someone like yuuji and it’s hard not to melt into a puddle of gooey emotions and spill even more tears when he’s looking up at you with hearts in his warm honey-coloured eyes and there’s this prominently lovestruck look on his face that makes him look even dumber than he already is.

but he’s also cute, awfully so. his hair is an absolute mess, his lips are in the colour of dark pink from all the kissing, his cheeks are flushed, and his skin burns so hot that he’s sweating like crazy underneath the thick hoodie that he’s still got on. you’ve been in such a rush to get him inside you that you’re both still completely dressed, aside from the bits of clothing that have been tugged down and pushed to the side in order to make the entire thing easier for you, of course.

however, having all these layers on is simply excruciating. the heat makes him pant and causes his chest to heave in a faster rhythm than normal; and all those breaths make it somewhat hard to get all the praise that he feels for you out of his system.

but yuuji is no quitter. so he swallows the runny saliva that keeps on gathering in his mouth between sentences and threatens to spill past the corner of his lips. it’s audible and it makes his adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet he still manages to thank you in hushed, trembling whispers and broken grunts and moans.

he thanks you for being such a good girlfriend; for being so willing to give it a chance when it comes to riding him and taking him in all the way, despite the fact that it’s only been a couple of days since he’s taken your virginity and your most sensitive parts are still sore and tender from all the gentle pounding — but pounding nevertheless — he had done after getting his first taste.

you feel heat sear your face as you listen to the jumble of gratitude he’s putting before you and look at him from underneath your lashes, trying to not pay mind how tears still cling to them as stubbornly as ever.

this entire thing has not gone the way you’ve imagined it to go at all and it’s frustrating as hell. and how couldn’t it be? i mean, you’ve known how big he is, have known how it feels to have him inside you, but jesus fucking christ, this position is nowhere as easy as missionary had been — and even then you’d struggled a great deal.

because now, you’re the one who has to do all the work while he sits there, looking pretty, sometimes eyeing how your arousal glistens on his pubic hair, even though your clit hasn’t come anywhere near to kissing the spot from how much of a hard time you’re having when it comes to sitting on his dick entirely.

if only you could just—

“hey,” he says the word with such care as he cups your cheek that it sends butterflies twirling in your belly. his hand is just so big, it urges you to pet yourself against it like a little kitty. “you okay?” yet another look that’s brimming with concern is thrown your way. “we don’t have to do this if it’s too much, you know… just tell me.”

“did you really mean all that?” you mumble the exact moment his hands reach for your hips, clearly aiming to manhandle you into a position that you’d be able to endure a bit better.

“mean what?” he asks, glancing downwards just for a second as your hands stop his own. his cock twitches in response — he’s always been such a sucker for hand holding and this time is no exception. when your fingers intertwine, his heart sings in answer.

“that i’m a good girl?” the eye contact that you initiate in return is determined instead of anxious all of a sudden and it makes his pupils visibly dilate right in front of you.

it seems like you’re no quitter either.

“‘course i did,” yuuji replies in a heartbeat, cherishing how you squeeze around him whenever he gives you his approval, his praise. “you’re such a good girl, my good girl, the goodest girl to ever walk the good girl planet... they should make you mayor of goodie town.”

you giggle at that and his smile quivers with pleasure from how it makes your pussy tighten even more. he’s doing everything he can not to grab you, press you against his chest and just follow instinct and start slamming away.

maybe next time… maybe you’ll be ready for it next time.

“you’re so silly,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, though this time on the forehead. his skin tastes salty, and while it may be wrong, knowing that you’re not the only one that’s having a hard time right now makes you feel just a little bit calmer.

unbeknownst to you, the fact that you’re more relaxed allows you to take yet another inch of him inside you. your muscles slacken and his fat cockhead drags against your walls as a result, slipping and pushing in, in, in. the ring of cloudy white slick forms just a little below the lower half of his cock now, stretching you further and making your tummy feel hot and tingly.

it’s definitely progress.

and it makes poor yuuji moan straight into your mouth.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

JUST TEASIN’

summary: you call joel an old man…amongst other names

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 4.4k [i need to learn how to keep things concise]

warnings: 18+, cursing, spanking, p in v, fingering, oral (male receiving), age gap? totally legal though, joel's in his early 40s and reader is in her early 30s, joel is an ass guy which is strange cause i always make my men boob guys, idk i guess this is pretty tame

a/n: as a joke i tend to call pedro and joel peepaw cause he’s older and a total dilf but i love these men so fucking much. i'll be the first to get on my knees

thought i’d make a sweet oneshot about how they’d react to you calling them old. it’s a mix of fluff and smut. a little something for everyone!

also don’t judge me, this is my first time writing for joel 🥺

there’s a little nudge to another favorite fictional men of mine

i want to thank @yxtkiwiyxt for providing me with all the pedro pascal pictures and gifs and movie trailers and for ranting with me all day every day about how amazing this human is… if anyone is to blame about this oneshot it’s her ❤️

It’s one of those lazy Sunday mornings where everyone sleeps in, leaving the Miller household at complete ease. There are no responsibilities to tend to and nowhere to go.

You’re the only one awake, singing quietly under your breath and flipping pancakes until they’re nice and golden. Joel will come seeking you out soon, missing the warmth of your body and Sarah will follow when Joel cracks her door open to let the sweet smell of batter waft into her room.

No matter how hard you try you’re always the first one up. Sometimes you stay in bed with your husband, tracing figures on his bare skin until he pulls you into him and kisses your head good morning, raspy voice begging you for five more minutes.

But most of the time you decide on getting up and having an early start to your day, which includes making breakfast and sorting through your work emails.

The puppy Sarah adopted a couple weeks ago, sits on your feet, licking your legs as if begging for the fluffy sweetness of the pancakes. He had a taste of it when batter dripped on the floor, he licked it up before you had the chance of cleaning it.

Lost in your little world, singing to the tune of Lana del Rey you fail to notice your husband coming down the stairs. Joel leans against the kitchen island admiring you in your distracted state. The loose brown curls in a disarray at the top of his head.

His eyes scan you from head to toe, noting your messy hair pulled up to a half ponytail half bun thing he can’t begin to explain. Down they go to the cropped tshirt with his company’s logo on the back. The frayed edges are the byproduct of your use of kitchen scissors to crop it yourself.

Joel bites his lip as he ogles at your ass and thick thighs framed by the tiniest cotton shorts he’s ever seen. They fail to cover the bottom of your butt cheeks, exposing a sliver of the indigo panties and the crease where thighs meet butt.

Unable to stay away, Joel wraps his warm arms around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. He squeezes you to him, bodies pressed flushed to reveal the stiffness in his pajama pants.

The puppy wags his tail in the presence of his favorite human, standing on two legs to call his attention. The man didn’t want him in the first place but was out voted by the females in the household.

“Morning,” Joel murmurs, placing kisses all over your cheeks and down your neck until he finally presses a warm kiss on your shoulder where he rests his chin to look over at the stovetop.

“Morning old man,” you say with a giggle as his scruffy beard tickles your skin. Your lips press against his in a quick kiss, muffling his sigh of disappointment.

“Don’t start, sweetheart,” he warns. His lips brushing against your ear. Joel’s hands find themselves under your tshirt, his thumbs ghosting over your underboob. At the same time the fingertips of his other hand teasingly dip on the waistband of your shorts.

“Or what?” You say with a bite to your lip, flipping over the last batch of pancakes. Couple more seconds and they would’ve burned—that’s how much he distracts you.

“It’s too early for this!” Sarah’s high pitched voice yells. “Not in the kitchen and not in front of the baby, please!”

The puppy scrambles over to Sarah, jumping into her arms. He recognizes she’s the one who will cave and give him scraps of food.

Joel, startled, takes his hands off of you, facing Sarah with an apologetic smile, not that she sees it as she covers her eyes with a hand. “Are you decent? Can I look now? I’m really hungry if you don’t mind.”

You laugh loudly, shaking your head at Sarah’s dramatics. She takes after Joel and is well on her way to beat him at his own game.

“We’re not doin’ anythin’,” Joel mumbles, sitting on one of the kitchen island stools and petting the pups fluffy head, and the ear that flipped over cutely.

“Not yet,” you whisper to him as you place his stack of pancakes in front of him.

“I heard that!” Sarah yells, covering her ears this time. Joel laughs, nudging her shoulder and telling her to pass the syrup.

You lean across from them, grabbing a sliced strawberry to plop into your mouth. Sarah takes over the conversation as you and Joel share a glance. This is far from over.

Later on the day you head outside with a tray of lemonade and pie in your hands. You’ve gotta take care of your dear husband before the Texas heat gets the best of him.

You nudge Joel’s leg with your foot. He’s under the beat up truck, fixing some odd part. He has the means to replace the old thing but he likes to remind you that ‘Betsy,’ as he’s named his truck, is a part of the family and will never be replaced.

“Thanks, darlin,‘“ he drawls, wiping his dirty hands on a random rag he found on the bed of the truck.

Joel takes a second too long to get up from the floor. You see the hesitance in his eyes as he tries to think the best way to stand without hurting or pulling a muscle.

This is your chance. “Need help there, grandpa?” You pipe up, resting the tray on the portable table scattered with tools.

Joel openly glares at you while you smile broadly at him. It’s not often you make fun of his age, or rather, the age gap between the two of you. It’s only when you’re feeling a particular sort of way.

The age gap between the two of you isn’t the craziest but it’s large enough for people to notice. Joel is easily through the first half of his fourth decade, while you are barely entering your third.

“Watch your mouth,” Joel warns you, standing up quickly despite the cracking of his knees and the ache on his lower back.

Your eyes spark when he grabs the glass of cool lemonade and begins chugging it. The drops of sweat sliding down his neck and into the damp collar of his shirt stealing your attention and any innocent thought you’ve might’ve had about him. They weren’t many to begin with.

You clench your thighs together as you imagine licking that same trail, tasting his salty skin. Say what you want but you love a man that works with his hands and gets all dirty and grimy.

Joel catches onto the glazed look covering your eyes and grasps your chin between his thumb and pointer finger. His body gravitating towards yours as if nature demanded it.

You’re overly conscious of the motor oil covering his hands if not you would’ve sucked his thumb into your mouth, reminding him just exactly you can do with your tongue.

“What’s in that pretty lil head of yours, darlin’?”

Him. It’s all about him. He’s always interrupting whatever sane thought you have. Scenarios of you being bent over the hood of the truck as he sinks his aching length from behind. You riding him in the front seat as you’ve done on more than one occasion, fogging up the windows. The time he was knuckles deep inside of you, teasing fingers drenched during his lunch break.

“How good gray looks on you,” you reply, diverting the conversation somewhere else entirely. A delicate fingers wraps around the charming curl that constantly falls over his forehead, twirling it around.

Joel doesn’t take kindly to your comment, rolling his eyes and clicking his jaw as he lets go of you to return to the truck. Your hand which had been playing with his curl drops to your side as you cock your hip to assess him.

He’s much too aware of the age gap, it makes him insecure. Like you’ll one day realize you’re with an old man and leave him for someone younger.

Except in your eyes he’s the most perfect man alive. The grey streaks of hair that mix with the typical brown of his curls give him an air of authority, making him look dashing in all ways. A silver fox. Strong muscles from working manual labor most of his life are now covered with a healthy layer of fat but remain strong nonetheless. Warm brown eyes that sweep you off your feet every morning as soon as they open.

That man is aging like fine wine and he doesn’t begin to realize it. You feel extremely lucky to be the only one to enjoy it…squeaky joints and all.

Joel is experienced and mature and loyal. He simply wants to have a nice life with his family. A family you’re now a part of. It’s all a woman could ask for.

“You know I love you,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him as he leans over the hood.

“Love to torture me,” he scoffs, taking hold of one of your hands affectionately. He can never stay mad at you.

“I don’t know what you mean? I brought you lemonade and even that apple pie you love so much,” you feign innocence, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back.

Facing you with a sigh, he lets his heavy hands fall on your hips, “What’re you playing at?”

“Me? Nothing,” you say with a wicked smile, “I’m gonna go with Sarah to the mall to get her homecoming dress. Will you be alright here with Ghost?”

He’s quickly distracted by the words Sarah and Homecoming. His babygirl is growing too fast, starting High School and going on dances with boys. She hasn’t told him yet if she’s been invited by someone and he hopes it stays that way.

There’s no way he’s letting her go with a date and you can’t convince him other wise. If she wants a date she can take the puppy she adopted, Ghost. Joel is determined to teach the ball of fur how to defend his daughter.

“Here,” he says, pulling out his wallet to hand you his credit card.

“No, it’s my treat!” You say, pushing his hand away.

“Take it,” Joel insists, trying to slip it into the tight pair of jeans you’re wearing. Fuck. How didn’t he notice until now.

It should be illegal to wear jeans that make you look THAT good. The blue material hugs your thighs tightly and lifts your perky ass to heaven—not that you other wise need it.

He doesn’t hold back and slides his palms on your back pockets, giving you a firm squeeze. You stumble, falling onto him with a weak protest.

“‘M so fucking lucky you’re my woman,” he groans, taking another feel. Temporarily forgetting the conversation at hand, yet another comment directed at his age snaps Joel back to reality.

“Honey, I know I married an older man but it wasn’t for your money,” you tease again, patting his cheek and removing his hands from your pockets—credit card and all.

A sharp slap to your ass, startles you, eliciting a cheeky giggle. All this teasing and you’re leaving him home alone with the mutt.

You don’t apologize, you’ll never apologize for teasing him. Unless it’s in the right circumstances…in his bed.

Towards the end of the night you finish pushing him to the edge of no return. Remember, opportunities are always around when you’re determined.

“Dad, can you sign this for school?” Sarah comes into the living room where you and Joel are watching a movie. Ghost’s head is plopped on his lap, where Joel had been ‘forced’ to pet him.

“What’s this for?” Joel tries to read the paper but has to keep it at arms reach to be able to read it. Failing, he searches for his glasses until Sarah points at his head where they’ve been resting for half the night, nestled between his curls.

You stifle a laugh as you think of what to say. “Sorry Sarah, good old peepaw needs his glasses to read.”

It’s clear you’re pushing it far as Joel freezes only to glare at you. If looks could kill you’d be six feet underground. Sarah laughs until her belly hurts, repeating the word peepaw between breaths.

“You two are bullies,” Joel shakes his head in disbelief, signing the permit and handing it to Sarah who is wiping her tears away.

“I’m heading to bed, goodnight old man,” Sarah tells a pouting Joel, kissing his cheek and running up the stairs. “Come on, Ghost. Bedtime!”

“Peepaw? Really?” Joel raises his eyebrows at you when both Sarah and Ghost are gone.

You shrug feigning innocence, hiding your smile with the edge of the blanket. ”Yeah, peepaw. It’s cute.”

“It ain’t cute,” Joel kisses his teeth before turning off the TV and standing from the couch, leaving you behind.

“Where are you going?” You call after him.

“To bed,” he dryly responds, shutting off the lights and climbing the stairs. He only leaves the lamp by the couch on. How considerate of him.

“What? Joel it’s barely 10!” Hiding your satisfaction is difficult. Joel’s ticked off, a day of calling him old will do that. It’s exactly what you hoped for.

“Guess that’s what old men do, darlin,’” Joel says sarcastically half way up the stairs.

With a hand over your mouth, you follow him, “Honey, come on. Don’t be angry, it’s harmless teasing. Are you really heading to bed?”

Joel turns at the top of the stairs, glaring down at you, “You really think I’m an old man?”

“Technically speaking you are an older man,” you quip, scrunching your nose cutely.

“You know that’s not what I mean.” Joel crosses his arms, reprimanding you for your cheekiness.

“I dunno why you get like this, you should know I love my older men,” you say sultrily, although it falls on deaf ears as Joel retreats to the bedroom.

When you step into the bedroom you’re instantly pressed against the door, slamming it shut. Joel’s sneaky hands lock it. “You’re playing a dangerous game, darlin.’ Don’t make me bend you over my knee and give you a spanking.”

The thought alone makes you shudder in delight. Wetness instantly seeping into your underwear. You’ve finally succeeded. You have him right where you want him.

With your hands braced on his chest you deliver the final blow. “You sure your knees can take it?”

Disbelief flashes in Joel’s eyes, “That’s it!”

Grabbing your arms Joel leads you to the bed where he sits on the edge. He roughly pull down on your jeans, panties and all, leaving them pooled on your knees, limiting your mobility.

With another tug he lays you face down on his lap, holding your wrists behind you in a tight grip. Joel shakes his head at your upturned ass that’s waiting a little too eagerly for his touch.

Delight bubbles out of you and Joel is determined to take you down a notch or two. Let’s see how you handle this after fucking with him all damn day.

The first swat comes without warning, eliciting a gasp from you. It’s sharp and borderline painful. A red handprint magically appearing on your left butt cheek.

Joel massages and paws at the skin, getting ready to deliver another one. “Cat got your tongue?” He questions at your sudden silence.

You try to look over your shoulder and say, “Is that all you got?”

A sarcastic chuckle leaves Joel’s mouth. Then, three fast slaps are delivered, successfully earning him a whine from your pretty lips. He rubs on the sweltering flesh, easing some of the sting.

Finding their way to your thighs his fingers dig between them to cup your pussy. It’s no surprise that it’s warm, messy and slick. Clear strands extending from it to the inside of your thighs and covering his digits.

You’re a fucking vixen who loves to torture him for your own fucking pleasure and he’s the damn fool who falls for it each and every time.

“Touch me,” you huff, wiggling on his lap to grind on his hand, hoping to gain more contact with his coated digits.

“Touch you? Oh, darlin’ you’re not getting off the hook so easily,” Joel mentions darkly, retrieving his hand and landing yet another smack to your ass, making it ripple from the impact.

“Ow!” You flinch yet remain in the same position, expecting more. You fucking love when Joel gets rough with you. It’s a shame you have to gauge it out of him like this.

“Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hm?” Joel’s asks and when he doesn’t get a response his hand flies down once more. “What was it you called me?”

There’s a beat of silence before his hand strikes, this time aiming towards the middle. “Gra-grandpa,” you stutter at the small burst of pleasure.

“Mhm, what else darlin’?” He prompts again. His middle finger tracing the slit of your pussy, feeling you grow impossibly wetter. His pretty little wife is always so reactive to his touch.

“Old man.”

The stinging in your skin grows warmer, no doubt turning a considerable shade of cherry red. Yet the ache in your cunt obscures it all. The scraps of attention only makes your arousal worse.

“I think there was one more,” Joel hums, urging you on. His slick finger teasing your weeping entrance.

“P-peepaw,” you gasp when Joel pushes it in until his knuckle meets your delicate skin.

“That’s right, peepaw,” Joel repeats absentmindedly, pushing his middle finger in and out. Listening intently to the squishing sound your pussy makes.

He’ll have you calling him something else by the end of the night.

Tight walls grip his finger like a vice, refusing to let go. Soft puffs of air tumble out of your mouth and he knows your eyes are closed as you concentrate on the minimal pleasure he’s providing you with. It’ll never be enough to make you cum but it’ll keep you bothered.

“Get up,” Joel orders with a softer smack to your bottom, wiping his slick covered finger on your skin. He helps you up from the restrained position he kept you in and makes work of taking off your clothes.

Joel pulls and tugs on your shirt roughly, throwing it mindlessly across the room. He palms your tits briefly, pinching one of your nipples to make you whine his name. With cracking knees he kneels on the floor to help you out your jeans and underwear, kneading your thighs with his big strong hands.

He catches a glance of your reddening skin and feels a prickle of pride at the mark he left. Most of it will fade by morning but you’ll feel it nonetheless.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed he wordlessly motions you to get on your knees. A wicked smile spreads on your cheeks as you do as you’re told, kneeling between his spread legs.

Eager hands grasp his belt, undoing the worn leather to get to the button of his jeans. He provides no help, leaning back on his hands and simply watching you with hooded and expecting eyes.

You pull down on his jeans and underwear, revealing the happy trail that comes down his navel to the patch of brown at his pelvis.

His hard cock springs free once you’ve worked his pants down enough. A throaty groan coming from above you at the release of tension.

“Mmm,” you hum, grasping his length in your fist. His eyes meet yours when you look up to press a kiss to the tip, your hand pulling the thin skin back to reveal it.

“Stop with the teasin,’” Joel growls audibly, chastising you.

You rolls your eyes obnoxiosuly, “You’re no fun, g-“

A hand flies to your hair, gripping the roots tightly. Your eyes fly open, starting up at Joel. “You sure you want to finish that sentence, babygirl?”

“Maybe not,” you shrug with a pout, your hand mindlessly pumping his length.

“That’s what I thought.” Joel keeps his grip on your hair, pulling it back to see every detail of you taking his cock into your pretty mouth.

Your tongue goes flat against the underside of his shaft, tracing the vein that runs along his length and letting saliva drip all down and into your fisted hand. Joel watches intently as your lips wrap around the angry red tip of his cock.

You start off slow taking more of his length with each bob of your head. Your eyes never leaves his face, observing every small reaction he makes. The sharp intake of breath when your tongue grazes his tip, the furrowing of his eyebrows, the bobbing of his adam’s apple as he fails to keep his moans in.

The sudden jerk of Joel’s hips causes your eyes to water and screw shut. The initial intrusion of his cockhead unexpected yet welcome. Joel throws his head back, “That’s a fucking good girl.”

Those magic words make everything worth it as you messily continue to suck and lick every inch of his cock. Neither the tears in the corner of your eyes nor the saliva dripping down his length stop you from tasting him.

You swear you’re dripping on the floor as your pussy flutters at his pleased words. You could touch yourself but all your energy and attention goes to pleasing the man above you.

The pain of kneeling hard wood floor for an extended period of time doesn’t bother you and the ache on your jaw is barely noticeable because all your concentration is on Joel and making him feel good.

Joel continues to set the pace, his grip tight on your scalp. “Fuck, just like that,” he moans when you tease the crown of his cock expertly.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Joel’s voice lilts in a reprimanding voice.

A string of saliva connects you to the tip of him as your hand continuing to work on the rest of his length.

Joel takes note of your red rimmed eyes and flushed nose as well as in your swollen lips and moussed hair. The picture of you completely filthy and sexy.

Joel cups the back of your neck, bringing you up to his height. He brings you into a sloppy kiss consisting of teeth and tongue and saliva. Joel loves that can taste himself in your mouth. A job well done.

You straddle his lap so his cock grazes your dripping pussy, tugging needily at his tshirt. “Take it off,” you beg. Your lips separate for a brief second as the shirt comes off before they smash back together.

He complies but quickly reminds himself that this all started because you were calling him old. He can’t be quick to reward you.

You foolishly believe that’s it and you get to have him. Eagerly you try to sink into his cock but he holds you still, not letting you take him to the hilt.

“Who’s the tease now?” You pant against his lips, stealing another long kiss before whispering in his ear begging him to take you, to use you.

“I like to see you begging for it.” That’s Joel’s response as he pushes you off of him.

You protest but fall silent when he removes his remaining clothes. God you’re like a teenager desperate to fuck with clothes and all.

It drives Joel nuts the way you look at him with lust filled eyes. You bite your lip as you take him in all his glory, hands reaching to touch his chest.

He pulls you back to him, his cock wedged between the two of you. The saliva covering it, sticking to your skin. He cups your face, “You have something to say?”

“Nope.”

Joel to cos his head in disappointment, pushing you into bed and maneuvering you till your head is buried in the pillows and your ass is high in the air. It’s tinged a dozen shades of pink and red from his hands.

You wiggle your hips offering yourself to him. Air hits your pussy, giving you an idea of how aroused you are. That’s what happens whenever you have the pleasure of going down in Joel.

Joel grips himself, spreading his pre before pumping his hand. Smack. His hand flies down to strike your ass once more. Your back arches when Joel teases your entrance with the tip. He runs it up and down your slit, wetting it with your slick. He lightly pushes into you so only the tip is inside before he pulls out again.

“Please fuck me,” you plead breathlessly, attempting to rock back to get more of him inside you.

Joel laughs. “Now you’re nice and polite. Is there something else you want to tell me?” He asks expecting an apology.

“No,” you repeat stubbornly.

He’ll get you soon enough. There’s no way you’ll resist.

Joel’s cock brushes against your clit, making you jump and moan. He does it again and again. Your pussy clenches desperately wanting him inside of you.

“You sure? You don’t want to apologize?” He gives you another chance. Sinking his cock deeper into you to give you a taste before he pulls out.

You huff and pout but you can’t take it anymore. You need him. “I’m sorry!”

“Now, was that so hard,” Joel grunts, pushing his length all the way in, rewarding you.

You bury your head into the pillow, stifling the guttural moan that rips from your throat. You could die like this suffocated and blissfully impaled on Joel’s cock and be happy.

With a tight grip on your waist Joel fucks into you at his own pace, watching how easily you accept him, covering him with your essence. It feels fucking fantastic.

His skin slaps against yours rhythmically. You swear you can cum at that moment but Joel knows all your tells and he slows his pace, pushing into you only when the tip remains. Long, slow strokes keeping you from cumming.

“I wanna cum,” you cry out frustrated but he ignores you, edging you.

“If you want to cum tonight you have to stop calling me old,” Joel grits. This is torture for him as much as it is for you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you sob into the pillow, your back arching as you try and take matters into your own hands. Smack, another spank, warning you to stop.

“Will you stop calling me grandpa?”

You have the audacity to fucking hesitate. He’s serious about not letting you cum but he’s confident he’ll get you to cave in.

Joel pulls out his cock when you refuse to answer. He instantly misses the warmth and tightness of your walls. His cock is soaked with your slick, a creamy white substance covering him from root to tip.

Licking his middle and ring fingers he replaces his cock, feeling your walls clench around them. He pumps them angling them downward to reach that spot inside of you, his other hand pressing on your lower back so you arch more.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when this thumb presses on your bud. An orgasm quickly building. “Please Joel.” You wanted to cum around his cock not his fingers but at this point you’ll take anything you can get. Your mind is completely clouded and years for release.

“Did you reconsider what you wanted to call me?” Joel curves his fingers, quickening the pace.

“Yes,” you whine as your hips grind against his hand.

“And what’s that?” His fingers are sticky, your essence dripping down his hand.

“Please, daddy,” you cry abashedly, hiding your reddening face in the pillows.

“I didn’t hear ya’ darlin’. How about you look at me when you speak?” Joel dares to say while his fingers continue to drive into you.

Fuck, your legs are shaking and the knot continues to tighten in your belly. You have to say it or Joel will stop. You turn your head to meet his eyes, “Please, daddy.”

“That’s more like it,” Joel’s raspy voice says, removing his fingers when you’re at the cusp once more.

You audibly groan in frustration but it’s interrupted when Joel eases his cock back into you Fucking you just as you want it, hard and fast.

The bed sheets are fisted in your hands as you hold on. Your nipples brushing against the bed with each thrust. It doesn’t take long at all for you both to titer over the edge. Your pussy squeezing tightly around him, milking him for all he’s worth.

When Joel pulls out you fall to lie on your stomach, catching your breath. He lies beside you doing the same. Sharing a glance you both start laughing.

“Next time you want it rough just tell me,” Joel shakes his head at you. He knew all along and yet it still pissed him off.

“It’s not the same, honey,” you sigh, kissing his shoulder. The nearest part of him you can reach without moving too much.

The following morning you wake up with a kink in your back and Joel being the ever loving husband brings you painkillers to bed where you’re lying still, “Take these grandma. They’ll make you feel better.”

He won’t ever call you ‘grandma’ again. The daggers you sent him were fucking terrifying.

listen...typically i'm not the biggest fan of the daddy kink...but when it works, it works

[solelifauna]

But You Belong to Me (You Belong to Me) - (Yandere Jason Todd x Reader) (Prologue Pt.1)

When (Y/n) (L/n), resident Gotham Prep scholarship student, meets the new son of Bruce Wayne, a friendship like no other is formed. However, maybe what she's feeling is more than just what friends feel for each other. It's too bad that she never gets the chance to tell him before he, Jason, her first real friend (and real love) meets his brutal demise at the hands of the Joker.

Three years later, she finds herself still acquainted with the Bat's nightlives, comfortable monitoring them from her seat in the Batcave. The scars of Jason's death still run deep, yet, just when life starts to become a little normal, a new crime lord pops up out of nowhere.

Insert The Red Hood and his duffle bag full of heads, and he's here to collect what he was promised long ago.

Heavy rain pelts down onto your frame, coveted in all black; what a bleak day it was, but you guessed the weather was befitting the occasion. There are three other people standing next to you also dressed in black. There was a hand on your shoulder (you don't know whose though, and you can't seem to care either), most likely in place to comfort you, or to try at least, but you couldn't focus on anything else but the too small coffin being lowered into the ground.

It was mahogany, a deep brown casket with gold details, something fancy. You knew if Jason were alive to see it, he'd hate it. He likes–liked red, he would have wanted a red one. But no, he was busy being lowered into the ground instead. Tears streamed down your face but you couldn't bring yourself to wipe them. What good would it do you? It was raining anyway.

The funeral comes to a close, although you're not sure when (how) time passed so quickly, leaving Jason, your best friend, the boy you loved, buried six feet under. You don't know what to do, you don't know what you can do. You just stand there, unable to move. He's dead. He’s dead. You’ll never see him again, he’s dead. You'll never sit on the couch with him arguing over his book of the week, he’s dead. You'll never get to stay up and watch the stars with him, he’s dead. You'll never get to tell him how you really feel, he's dead.  

It's only when Bruce, his father, gently tries to guide you to the car you came in, you break. You lash out, twisting away from his hand as you trip over yourself trying to get to Jason’s headstone. Bruce and Dick, Jason’s older brother, exclaim in surprise and then follow after you. You collapse on your knees near the freshly lain dirt, sobbing with your full chest.

You could hear Bruce and Dick stop a couple of feet away from you, unable to comfort you in their own grief. That was fine though, you're not sure what you'd say or do if they tried to. They let you have your time with him, knowing it was just as difficult for you as it was for them, but as time ticks by another hour has passed and you’re still kneeling by his grave, no longer crying, but still unmoving. 

You stared blankly at his headstone, still trying to realize that he wasn't coming back. When you feel someone grab your shoulder this time, you know it's Alfred. And you know what he's going to say to you, the words you’ve been dreading to hear.

“It’s time to go Miss (Y/n).” Alfred says gently, his own voice filled with grief at the loss of his grandson.

You don't say anything, your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Alfred only sighs, before taking his leave. Good. Nobody was taking you away from here. A couple more minutes pass when you hear another pair of footsteps headed towards you. Bruce.

“(Y/n),” Bruce calls softly, yet voice still rough and raw from his own sorrow, “It’s–It's time to go now sweetie.”

You don't even turn around from where you were sitting. “No.” You say firmly.

Bruce and Alfred exchange a look. 

“Miss (Y/n),” Alfred starts, “ you’ve been sitting out in the rain all day. Wouldn't you like a change of–”

“No!” You shout out this time. You flinch back from the sound of your own voice, and you could tell Alfred and Bruce were taken aback by your behavior as well. 

With a sigh, Bruce decides that he'd come get you himself, any longer out here and you'd be sick for a week. His hands come around to grab you, to pull you up and you scream, kicking and fighting your way out of his hold.

“No! No, I wont leave him! I'm not gonna leave him! Let me go!” You cry, banging your punny fists against Bruce’s chest. He doesn't even flinch, he just holds you and lets you cry, kick, and scream. 

“Please let me go! He–he doesn't like being alone, I promised him–I promised I'd never let him be alone.” You cry out again, your voice fizzling into another sob as your fussing stops. You just stand there, slumping into Bruce’s arms, sobbing once more.

He doesn't say another word, he just brushes your tears away and leads you towards the limo where Dick was already situated. Alfred sits you down into the limo, making his way to the driver's seat. Bruce slides in next, eyes aghast and tired, clearly haunted by the loss of his youngest. Dick is turned away from the rest of you in a similar state. The car starts, heading towards the manor.

It was a silent and short ride over, nobody daring or having the strength to say anything. The vehicle comes to a stop, everyone numbly piling out the door and into the Manor. Dinner would be forgotten tonight as everyone went to their own respective places to continue grieving. Bruce, to the Batcave; Alfred, to the Library; Dick, to patrolling the streets of Gotham (knowing that if he stayed in the manor, he’d end up breaking something); and you, to Jason's room.

You crumpled onto the maroon carpet, gazing around his room, hoping that you'd see him pop up and tell you it was all a joke. But he wouldn't. You saw his mangled body. You knew that he was never coming back. What's even worse, is that you could still see Jason’s unfinished math homework lying on his desk, the paper slightly crumpled from when he would undoubtedly grip and erase out of frustration. Mrs. Delaurier’s algebra II homework would forever remain unfinished.

You promptly break into tears once more.

~~~~~~

(3 years earlier)

Chilly air swept through the halls of Gotham Prep, but you, (Y/n) (L/n),  hardly noticed as you rushed to your next class. As a scholarship student among Gotham's elite, you had learned to keep your head down, focus on your studies, and ignore the gossip that buzzed in every corner of the prestigious school.

“Crap, crap, crap!” You huffed under your breath, picking up speed to reach your next class. 

You were late, incredibly so by at least seven minutes. Sure, it isn't that crazy of an offense if you really think about it, but at Gotham Prep? As a scholarship student, you'd be crucified. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a bit, but still, the point was there. You’re forced to break out of your thoughts when the familiar door of Mrs. Banfield’s 7th grade English class comes into view.

Practically sliding into a halt, you nervously open the door, ready for the earful and cruel laughter  you were sure to receive. You walk in, ready for the heat of Mrs. Banfield’s rage, only to find her standing at the front of the class, a boy with black hair standing right next to her. It seems you’ve actually interrupted her speaking, whoops. Everyone turns to you as you give your teacher a sheepish smile.

“Miss (L/n), so glad of you to finally join us.” She scorns, “Now please take a seat, we don't have time for dilly-dallying today.”

You just let out a meek “Yes ma’am.” and “Sorry ma’am.” as you take your seat near the windows. The desk pushed up next to you on your right remains empty, nobody in their right mind wants to sit next to the “charity case”. Well whatever, it was their loss anyway, you were awesome.

“Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Mrs. Banfield says giving you a pointed look. You just shrink back into your seat, “We have a new student joining us today, please welcome Jason Wayne-Todd.” She continues. 

The class breaks out into excited clamor as everyone says their own rendition of a “welcome”. Of course, just what you needed, another stuck-up brat to put up with, and a Wayne too at that–god knows how far there's a stick shoved up his ass. 

“Hello everyone, I'm glad to join y’all this school year.” Jason says, giving a nice wave to the class. 

Others smile back, however, you could see their true intentions, they were only after his money and name. Your teacher says some more thing which you drown out, only to be pulled out of your day dream when you hear a mention of your name. 

“Jason, your seat will be over there by (Y/n). (Y/n) please put your hand up!” She all but yells, glaring in your direction. 

You tiredly put your hand up as Jason makes his way to you. He puts his backpack on the bag hook attached to the desk before sitting right next to you. He gives you a one off glance before he pulls out his notebook and turns his attention to the front. You glare at him. 

‘How rude.’ You think to yourself, before you do the same show of pulling out your supplies. He didn't even bother talking to you, let alone acknowledge you. What a jerk.

You huffed quietly under your breath and focused on the lesson, but the boy sitting next to you lingered in your thoughts. So that was Jason Wayne-Todd—the son of Bruce Wayne. Another rich kid who’d probably never give you a second thought, just like everyone else at Gotham Prep. You convinced yourself that it didn’t matter. He was just another asshole.

But then, a few days later, everything changed.

It was lunch period, and as usual, you sat alone. Not that you minded, really. It was quieter that way, less drama to deal with. You had found a nice spot beneath a tree, away from the main courtyard, where you could enjoy your food in peace.

You were halfway through a sandwich when you heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. You glanced up and there he was again, Jason Todd. He stood there for a moment, looking at you like he was sizing you up. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something curious.

“You always sit alone?” he asked, his voice casual but direct.

You blinked in surprise. "Uh, yeah. So?"

He shrugged and then, to your utter shock, sat down next to you without asking for permission. “Guess I’ll join you then.”

You stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out what his angle was. Jason Todd didn’t seem like the type to care about someone like you—someone who wasn’t from the same world as the rest of these privileged kids. But there he was, sitting with you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I mean, don’t you have other people to sit with?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, popping open a juice box with a smirk. “Maybe. But they’re all boring and stuck up rich kids”

You quirk an eyebrow. “Aren't you a—how'd you put it? A boring, stuck-up rich kid too?” You say, quoting him.

He just looks into you with his blue eyes(Jesus, how were they so blue?), confusion swimming on his face.

“I'm adopted?” He says, all but a question. How did you not know that? It's like the only thing the news and everyone at school are talking about.

“Oh,” You blank, “but you look just like him?”

“Yeah, I get that a lot, it's kinda scary how similar we look.” Is all he says.

“So you’re not just some rich asshole with a stick up his ass?”

He stares at you, expression neutral before he erupts into laughter.

“No, no, god no! I'm from Crime Alley!” He exclaims through laughter.

Your jaw nearly drops at his words. Crime Alley? The notorious part of Gotham, where crime and poverty thrived like the weeds in the cracks of forgotten streets? Jason Todd, the new Wayne, adopted into Gotham’s wealthiest family, was from Crime Alley?

Jason noticed your reaction and grinned, amused at the disbelief on your face. “Yeah, don’t look so shocked. Not all of us were born into the lap of luxury,” he said, leaning back against the tree, his juice box still in hand.

You blinked, trying to process the unexpected revelation. “I didn’t realize,” you said, more quietly now. “I just assumed—”

“That I was like all the other rich kids?” he finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Jason chuckled and shook his head. “Don’t be. I get it. It’s Gotham Prep—it’s all about money and status. But I’m not like them. Never will be.”

You couldn’t help but feel intrigued by him now. He wasn’t what you thought—far from it. There was depth to Jason, a complexity that set him apart from the rest of the students. Maybe that’s why he chose to sit with you, the ‘charity case.’ He didn’t fit in either.

“You’re not like them,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “Neither of us are.”

Jason’s smirk softened into something more genuine as he studied you for a moment. Then, he shrugged and took a sip of his juice. “Guess that makes us both the odd ones out.”

You shared a small smile with him, a strange warmth blooming in your chest. For the first time since you’d arrived at Gotham Prep, you didn’t feel so alone. Jason might’ve been the new kid, but somehow, sitting next to him, you felt a connection. Like he understood what it was like to be on the outside looking in.

And from that day on, Jason Todd became your closest friend. The two of you spent nearly every lunch together after that, sharing sandwiches and laughing at the ridiculousness of the rich kids around you. He introduced you to his world, the one he came from, telling you stories about life in Crime Alley that were equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious.

 He told you stories about Bruce Wayne, about how nice he was and about his brother Dick Grayson, who doesn't really like him that much. You frowned at that. How could anyone not like Jason? With his pretty blue eyes and warm smile, his rambunctious laughter and humor, his kindness and—What the hell was wrong with you?

Anyways, you in turn told him about your family. How you were an only child, how you used to have a pet dog named Pudgy, how both your parents worked all day and every day, leaving you with enormous amounts of free time. They weren't neglectful, or at least they weren't on purpose, but they needed to make money. Your family wasn't living in poverty, but you would be if your parents didn't take on the crazy hours they did.

So you understood. Sure it sucked, but what could you do? Besides, it wasn't all that terrible; when your parents did have free time you’d spend the day laughing in the kitchen with your mom or fixing something in the garage with your dad. You knew they loved you, and that was all that mattered. 

Over time, Jason slowly introduced the idea of you hanging out at his house. The first time he asked, you refused, saying how you didn't want to intrude or be a bother (much to Jason’s dismay and Alfred’s amusement when Jason would complain about your stubborn behavior). But of course, there were only so many times you could refuse Jason's begging and puppy-dog eyes, and before you knew it, you were being picked up by Alfred Pennyworth in an expensive limo that you didn't even know the name of.

That first ride in the limo was surreal. You had tried to focus on anything but the fact that Alfred Pennyworth was sitting just a few feet away from you, his calm, dignified presence making the luxurious car feel even more intimidating. Your heart pounded in your chest as the car wove through Gotham’s bustling streets, and you found yourself fidgeting nervously with your hands.

“Are you all right, Miss (L/n)?” Alfred asked, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

You startled at the sound of his voice, managing a small, sheepish smile. “Y-Yeah, I’m just not used to all this. I’ve never been in a limo before.”

Alfred’s expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, I assure you, Master Jason and Master Bruce will be pleased to have you. No need to be nervous.”

But how could you not be nervous? You were about to step foot inside Wayne Manor. The home of Gotham’s most powerful, wealthy family.

What if you broke something?

What if Bruce didn't like you?

What if he doesn't like you so much that he tells Jason he can't be your friend anymore? Your thoughts continue to devolve into frantic “what ifs” as the drive continues.

When the car finally pulled up to the massive iron gates, your stomach twisted into knots. You stared out the window as the gates opened slowly, revealing a grand driveway that led up to the imposing structure of Wayne Manor itself. It was bigger than you’d imagined—an intimidating, sprawling mansion that looked more like a castle than a home.

You swallowed hard. Jason lived here?

Alfred parked the limo and got out to open your door. You stepped out slowly, feeling incredibly small as you gazed up at the manor. Before you could fully comprehend your surroundings, the front doors of the manor burst open, and there he was, Jason, running toward you with that infectious grin on his face.

“You finally made it!” Jason called out, his voice filled with excitement as he approached. He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the house, practically dragging you up the steps. “Come on, I’ve got so much to show you.”

“Jason, slow down!” you laughed, feeling your nerves start to ease a little in the face of his enthusiasm. He always had a way of making you feel comfortable, even in situations as intimidating as this.

As you crossed the threshold into Wayne Manor, you were struck by just how massive it was inside. The ceilings seemed to stretch endlessly above you, the halls adorned with intricate chandeliers and elegant artwork. It was the epitome of wealth and luxury, but it didn’t feel cold or lifeless. There was warmth here, in the way the soft light filtered through the grand windows, and in the way Jason moved through the space like it was his own.

“Whoa,” you breathed out as you took it all in. “This place is huge.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, it’s a bit much, huh? I didn’t know what to do with myself when I first got here. But you get used to it. Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

You let him lead you through the grand corridors, trying to keep your awe in check. As you passed by one of the doors, you spotted a tall, dark-haired man walking by—Bruce Wayne himself. Your eyes widened, and you froze for a moment.

Bruce glanced your way and offered a small, warm smile. “You must be (Y/n) (L/n),” He says, reaching his hand out for a handshake. You nervously reach out and shake his hand. “ Jason’s talked a lot about you.”

You blinked, stunned. “H-He has?”

Bruce nodded, his expression becoming one of amusement as Jason blubbered behind you. “Oh yes, he never really stops actually. So it’s nice to finally meet the person who–”

“Okay! That's enough dad, we’ll see you later!” 

You could see a tint of red on Jason's cheeks, clearly embarrassed by his dad, as he dragged you towards his room.

Finally, you reached Jason’s room. It was more modest compared to the rest of the house, filled with a mix of personal items that spoke to his life before and after Wayne Manor. Posters of action movies and comic books adorned the walls, and his bed was piled high with mismatched pillows and blankets. It wasn’t neat, but it was cozy. It felt like him—chaotic, comfortable, and completely unpretentious.

“Welcome to my domain,” Jason announced with a grin, flopping onto his bed and patting the space beside him.

You sat down next to him, finally letting out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The day continues like it was normal, with you and Jason playing games of hide-and-seek, tag (much to Alfred’s displeasure), and some video games in the playroom. The day comes to a close as Jason drags you down for dinner, saying how “There's no better cooking than what Alfie makes.” 

You’re bound to disagree until you take your first bite of food. You turn to Jason, fork halfway in your mouth, with a look of pure bliss in your eyes. He meets your gaze with a smudge expression of “I told you so.” Bruce just watches fondly, glad that Jason is adjusting and glad that he has a friend he is comfortable with. You were a sweet girl, Bruce concurred, and with what Jason told him about your family’s situation, he was more than happy to have you around. 

Soon, you were parting ways with the Waynes for the night, Jason giving you a big hug whilst Bruce relayed to you that you were welcome over any time. On the drive back to your house, Alfred tells you how thankful he was that someone “as kind” and “lovely” as you had come into Jason's life. A blush blooms on your face as you squeak out an embarrassed “No problem Mr. Pennyworth.”

The months continue on as you and Jason head into 8th grade, finally having more classes together in your schedules. The days were seemingly normal as you continued to spend time at Wayne manor, now becoming more comfortable with Bruce and Alfred; you spend time in the ginormous library as Jason helps you with your English homework and you help him with math or simply chill in Jason's room or by the pool. 

Things take a weird turn one day when Jason comes to school more tired than usual. He looks like he's been run ragged, a couple of purple bruises on his arms. You worriedly fret over him as he laughs saying he just fell down the stairs. Your jaw drops as you turn on him for being so stupid.

However, the bruises never stop. But that's not the only new thing, Jason looks bigger. He's got new muscles and everything and he's also gained more inches over you. As much as his new physique makes you blush, it worries you that he continues to come to school for the next three months, tired and aching, continually avoiding all your questions and being secretive. You hate to admit that his secrecy hurts more than you wanted to realize. 

In the far back of your mind, your suspicions lead to Bruce. You liked Bruce, he was fun, he was nice, and you really couldn't imagine him doing something like this to Jason. He loved Jason. So, you let the thought fade. You knew Bruce would rather kill himself than ever lay a hand on Jason. But still, something was going on. Not long after, big news spread through Gotham. Headlines like “Return of Robin!” or “Batman’s New Sidekick!” are all the rage. You never cared much for the vigilante stuff, but even you had to admit Batman was cool, but his new Robin? Well–

Jason casually brings it up on day during one of your regular dinners. You’re busy shoveling noodles into your mouth when Jason asks you something.

“So (Y/n), I never really got to ask, but who's your favorite superhero?”

Unbeknownst to you, Bruce and Alfred share a knowing look before turning their attention to you. Yes, Bruce was curious too.

You think for a minute before coming up with your answer.

“Hmmm, if i had to pick, I’d say Batman.” 

Bruce grins in a silent victory whilst Jason scowls.

“What!? Why him?!” He all but yells.

“Well don't you think it's cool that he still fights even though he has no powers? Plus, he dresses up as a bat, I like bats, they’re cute.” You say.

Bruce just lets out a small, thoughtful “huh” as he continues eating.

“But seriously, Batman??” Jason questions incredulously.

“Well, if you want me to be completely honest, Batman isn't my actual favorite. My real favorite superhero, well, everyone says that he doesn't count ‘cause he's a sidekick, so.”

“Well pray tell, who is your real favorite Miss (Y/n)?” Alfred now asks as he picks up some empty dishes.

“It's Robin of course!” You say smiling. Jason proceeds to spit out his water and Bruce chuckles.

You glance worriedly at Jason.

“Are you alright Jay?”

“Y–yup! Now what was that about m–Robin?”

“Oh yeah, he's super cool bro! He fights side by side with Batman, and he took down Ivy all by himself, and he’s super cute too.” You gush, unable to help yourself.

Jason’s face bursts into red as he stammers about how he's suddenly full. Bruce continues to smile like a cat that just caught a canary.

After you head home, Bruce continues to tease Jason, resulting in a multitude of pillows being thrown at Bruce's face. 

~~~~~~

You only come to discover Jason's secret about five months later, completely by accident by the way. It was a school event, a student showcase. The halls of the venue were filled with kiosks and booths where parents could see and celebrate the accomplishments of their children. Yet again, you found yourself at your section alone, standing in front of a painting you had made.

It had won second place, a blue ribbon tapped to its side and you were so proud of yourself. You knew your parents were too, they had told you themselves, but unfortunately, they wouldn't be able to make it. That's okay though, you knew they were working their tails off so that they could provide for you. A missed school showcase was the last thing they needed to worry or feel guilty about. Besides, it wasn't like you’d be completely alone, Jason, Bruce, and Alfred would be here soon.

With that, you continued thanking the random people who congratulated you on your placement, waiting for Jason and his family to show up. Of course, that's when disaster struck. An explosion goes off in the cafeteria as you get thrown back from its force. Your ears ring as you hear muffled screaming and cries, smoke making your vision blurry with tears.

You cough, trying to pick yourself off of the ground, a burning pain shooting through your leg as you do so. You sluggishly look down (god your head hurts) only to be met with blood all over your right leg. Jesus, that was a lot of blood. So much in fact, you couldn't even really make out what your injury looked like.

Tears flow down your face at the pain. God, everything hurt, but you needed to get out of here. Wait–oh no, Jason! You didn't know where he was! You pray that he was still on the way over when the explosions went off. With a sharp cry, you begin limping towards an exit, trying to stay conscious and on your feet with all the chaos going on around you. People push and shove, trying to get out but you just grit your teeth and fight to stay standing because you knew that if you went down, you weren't too sure if you'd be able to get back up. 

Through the cacophony of screams and explosions, you realize that a fight is happening. You see the familiar figures of Batman and Robin battling with the ever terrifying Joker. Another explosion rocked the venue, shaking you out of your thoughts as debris fell around you. You barely managed to avoid a chunk of falling concrete, throwing yourself against the nearest wall, the pain in your leg intensifying as you cried out. You needed to get out of here. 

You try to move, you really do, but you can't get your leg to work. You collapse near a wall, clutching your leg in pain trying to get the bleeding to stop. Someone help me. Someone–anyone.

You’re crying now, your sobs being buried under the chaos of the battle. You sit there for god knows how long, praying that it ends, the screaming, the explosions, the carnage. You want it all to stop. And it does. The Joker is caught and shipped off to Arkham Asylum as Batman, Robin, the police, and paramedics start sweeping through the rubble. However, right now, there's only one thing running through Robin’s mind.

He has your location pulled up, thank god he gave you that bracelet with a tracker. He knew it’d lead him to you, you always wore it. He could hear Batman telling him to slow down but he couldn't bother to listen. He has to find you. 

When he does, his heart breaks. You were curled up against a crumbling wall, hands and legs covered in blood as tears marred your now grime and dust ridden face. His mind went blank, panic rising in his chest as he sprinted toward you, the world around him fading into background noise. Nothing else mattered right now—only you.

He fell to his knees beside you, his hands shaking as they hovered over your body, unsure where to touch, where to help without hurting you more. You blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and wet with tears.

“Robin…” Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper, but the relief in your tone was unmistakable. You reached out, your hand trembling as it found his. 

“My friend…I have a friend, Jason–Jason Todd. Find him please–he's still out–” You’re unable to finish as you break out into a coughing fit.

Jason’s heart stopped at the sound of his own name leaving your lips. Here you were, injured and bleeding, worrying about someone else. His chest tightened as he watched you struggle, your blood-stained hand trembling in his grasp, pleading for help that he had already given. He wanted to tell you—needed to tell you—but now wasn’t the time.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice cracking despite the mask. “I’m right here.”

You blinked through the haze of pain, your brow furrowing in confusion. “No... I meant Jason, he—he’s still out there—”

Wait a minute, that voice–you knew that voice. You’ve heard it a thousand times, every day. Jason. That was Jason's voice. You don't care if you were probably concussed, you knew his voice.

“J–Jay?” You slurred out, trying to get closer to him. Robin freezes, Jason freezes. You recognized him.

[All right folks, that's it for part 1 of the prologue. I hope you guys enjoyed it, expect part 2 soon! I want to preface two things though: 1.) The reader is not adopted/going to be adopted by Bruce 2.) The 2nd part of the prologue will still be taking place as a flashback. You won't get into the actual main plot till chapter 1.]