#and she continues to blow up to this day!!!

[greengoblinswifey]

Can I get a Bestfriend JJ smut?? You spend the day hanging out and surfing maybe?? And then later that night you’re smoking together and then at some point JJ convinces reader to ride him 🤭

pairing— bsf!jj maybank x pogue!reader

warnings— best friends to lovers, smoking, praise kink, ass slapping, unprotected sex, creampie.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

The day had been perfect, a stretch of sunlit hours spent surfing with JJ. He was your best friend, but the two of you shared a closeness the other Pogues never stopped teasing about. “When are you gonna stop pretending?” John B had once asked JJ, to which he’d only grinned and said, “She’s my best friend, man. That’s all.” But there’d been a glint in his eye that you’d chalked up to his usual mischievousness.

Now, back at your house after an afternoon of surf-offs and playful banter, the easy rhythm of the day continued. You’d both showered off the saltwater, and JJ had pulled out a blunt he’d rolled earlier, offering it with a sly smile. “C’mon, you trust me, don’t you?”

You rarely smoked, but JJ had a way of convincing you to do things you wouldn’t usually. Sitting cross-legged on your bed while he lounged in the chair, you passed the blunt back and forth, the warmth of the room amplified by the slow haze settling over you.

“You’re pretty when you’re relaxed,” he said casually, leaning back and letting the smoke curl around him. “I can’t believe I got you to smoke with me.”

You rolled your eyes, giggling. “It’s not that shocking.”

“Oh, it is,” he teased, his blue eyes glinting as he sat up a little. “C’mere, sweetheart. Sit on my lap.”

“What? No way,” you said, suddenly shy.

“Why not? You’re my best friend. I don’t bite,” he said, grinning. The nickname rolled off his tongue easily, like it always did, and after a moment of hesitation, you stood up and let him guide you into his lap.

His hands rested lightly on your waist, his touch warm even through your clothes. He passed the blunt to you again, his eyes never leaving yours. “Blow the smoke into my mouth,” he said, his voice low and husky.

You hesitated, the request catching you off guard. But there was something about the way he looked at you, something unspoken and lowkey hot. You obeyed, leaning forward and exhaling softly.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You laughed nervously, high and a little unsteady, but the moment felt charged. He shifted beneath you, and the movement made you hyperaware of how close you were. His hand reached up to tuck one of your braids behind your ear, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“You know,” he started, his voice dropping even lower, “you’re fucking dangerous.”

“Me? Dangerous?” you asked, your voice light and teasing.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You froze for a moment, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. But then he shifted again, and you felt something unmistakable—the unmistakable feeling of his hard cock pressing against you. Your cheeks flushed, and you pulled back slightly to look at him.

“JJ.”

“You feel my dick hard?” he said, his lips curling into a slow smirk. “That’s what you do to me.”

You tried to form a response, but the words caught in your throat. He tilted his head, studying your expression before his hand moved to your chin, tilting your face back toward his.

“Don’t overthink it,” he murmured. “It’s just us, like always. Let me take care of you.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at JJ. “What do you mean by that?”

His smirk deepened, his voice a soft drawl. “I want you to ride me, baby.”

Your breath hitched, the words settling in the space between you like a spark. “J, I—”

“C’mon,” he coaxed, his tone playful but edged with something deeper. “It’ll be fun, I promise. I need you, sweetheart. You wanna feel good, don’t you?” He leaned in closer, his blue eyes locked on yours. “And you want your best friend to feel good too, right?”

You hesitated, dazed and unsure, but the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world was impossible to ignore.

His hands slid to your waist, steadying you. “Trust me baby,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, you nodded, letting him guide you. His smirk turned softer, more reassuring as he helped you out of your shorts and panties. He reached between your bodies, gathering your wetness and rubbing your clit, his touch lingering just enough to send shivers down your spine.

JJ leaned back, pulling his pants down just enough to pull his hard cock out, his breath hitching as he looked at you. ���You’re so perfect,” he muttered, his voice rough. “C’mere.”

Your breathing quickened as you let him guide you, his hands firm on your hips. He leaned back slightly, blue eyes taking you in, murmuring, “That’s it, baby. Take your time.”

As you sank onto his dick, a shudder rippled through both of you, his grip tightening. JJ’s head tipped back, a soft moan escaping his lips. “You feel so good,” he said, his voice rough. “Perfect, like I knew you would be.”

You moved slowly at first, testing the rhythm, but his hands urged you faster, guiding your hips. “C’mon, ride me just like that baby,” he whispered, his tone laced with praise.

When he pulled your top down, his lips found your skin, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on your boobs. His teeth grazed your brown nipples gently, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His hand came down sharply on your ass, a playful smack that made you gasp. “Yeah, grind on me, just like that. You’re so fucking good at this.”

Your grinding and bouncing grew desperate as heat built between you, the feeling of him so deep inside you one that made your head spin. His praises came in a steady stream, his voice low and husky. “You’re gonna make me fucking cum baby but cum for me first, show me how good it feels.”

Your senses were heightened, every feeling of his cock moving inside you amplified by the hazy warmth coursing through your veins. As you moved against him, it felt electric, each shift of your hips sent sparks of pleasure through your body. The friction was intoxicating, your body more sensitive than ever, and every brush of his rings on your skin made you shiver.

The hazy, relaxed state only made the rhythm more fluid, your movements unrestrained and natural. You were acutely aware of how deeply you could feel him inside you, the connection heightened. His murmured praises felt like music, grounding you while your body floated on cloud nine. Time seemed to slow, every feeling of pleasure as he reached between your bodies to rub your clit lingering longer than usual, as if your mind was savoring each second.

The combination of euphoria and closeness created a feeling that was fucking electric, pleasure and intimacy meshed into one, making every motion, every touch, feel otherworldly. If this was what Heaven felt like you wanted to die already so you could get there and ride his cock while high for the rest of eternity.

Finally, your body trembled, and you buried your face in his neck as waves of pleasure overtook you. JJ moaned your name, his own release following soon after, his grip on you unrelenting as he held you close, his cum deep inside your pussy.

Afterward, he kissed you softly, his hands brushing over your back. “You’re such a good girl,” he murmured against your lips. “Took me so well, like you were made for me.”

You smiled against his mouth, still catching your breath, the warmth of his words lingering as he pulled you closer.

You could feel his dick slightly twitch inside you as you giggled softly, the warmth of the moment clouding your thoughts.

“Can we do that again?” you asked, biting your lip as your cheeks warmed.

JJ leaned back with that signature smirk, his voice low and teasing. “Of course, sweetheart. That wet little pussy? It's mine now.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he gently tilted your chin to meet his gaze. “Every time we hang out, you’re riding me, got it? I’m not letting you stop now.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, so much for being ‘best friends’.

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 3 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 4.0k (i know)

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), much cussing, some adult themes (again, no smut y'all), bkg and reader go through one stage of grief: bargaining, the plot thickens!

a/n. wrote all this in one day—i couldn't put the doc down until i finished it. this chapter is jam-packed and has lots going on, but we're only at the beginning. i hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it!

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

“…Though I trust you’ll understand if we set some—” he pauses, and you’re 99% sure it’s for dramatic effect, “—precautionary measures in place?”

“Waddya have in mind?” asks Bakugou, his rough tone laced with unmistakable skepticism.

“Well, for starters…”

Their leader glances back at the bionic woman. “Sayaka, are they ready?”

Sayaka nods. “Ready for installation, Masaki-san.”

You scramble to take a mental note of their names—as well as try to ignore the fact that the robotic girl sounds like a robot, too—as you watch Masaki gesture to the escort from earlier who’s standing at the sides and in the shadows.

He emerges into the dim lights with a wide stride, but to your surprise, another leg steps forward right beside him. Your eyes trail up until they land on the other person, widening in confusion because they look just like a carbon copy of the intimidating escort—tall, ginger head, pale skin—only it’s a girl.

There’s no mistaking it.

They’re twins.

Twin bodyguards. In a quirk supremacist group.

You fight the urge to let out a dry laugh.

But apparently, neither of the two finds the situation funny, because they’re nothing but serious as they approach Masaki and bow politely, before heading to Sayaka and taking what looks like tiny…metal pieces?

You don’t get the opportunity to wonder about what those were, though, because, in the blink of an eye, the twins are already stalking straight toward you and Bakugou, glaring daggers.

“Those are bugs,” Masaki explains just as the twins arrive right in front of you, with the guy from earlier towering over Bakugou and the female staring you down a few inches away from your face, decidedly a little too close for comfort. You barely manage to stop yourself from gulping and looking away.

“They’ll be tracking your speech and movements 24/7. And don’t worry, they’re waterproof.”

You sense Bakugou’s about to spit some smart-ass comment, judging by the way he puffs up like he tends to do when he’s about to drop a curse-riddled quip, but he doesn’t get the chance to deliver the blow because the twins are on you in an instant.

You accidentally let out a yelp as the woman grabs the hem of your tank top so roughly you think it’s gonna tear, before she stuffs her right hand up. Mortified, you struggle against her hold, but her left has a death grip on you.

“Relax,” she seethes, obviously very much already done with you. “I’m just installing it.”

At her words, you manually will yourself to calm down, and it quickly dawns on you that she’s not touching you violently or inappropriately. You tamp down a shiver as her cold fingers come into contact with the center of your chest, right at the dip of your bra and between your breasts, feeling the surface before sticking something that you promptly identify as the tracker.

And as she retracts her hand and steps away from you, right at the same time as her twin like they’re wired for synchrony, you reflect on how it’s so light that you barely feel an added weight to your body. It’s circular, too, and you debate for a second whether or not to peer down at your chest to see what it really looks like, before ultimately deciding against it.

You can do that later, in the privacy of the (hopefully not downstairs) bathroom.

If such a concept even exists.

“Thanks, you two,” comes Masaki’s gentle voice, before shifting to regard you and Bakugou. “You can get to know your designated guards later on, but for now, let’s continue.”

As if on cue, the twins take a further step back before eventually returning to their dark corner.

“What we just affixed on your chests are special devices, again, designed to monitor any sound you make as well as your specific locations. They’re not your ordinarily engineered trackers—they’re Sayaka’s thanks to her quirk—which also allows her to directly receive the feedback and project it for others to see and hear.”

Ah.

You don’t know how that works exactly, but you bet the expensive ass perfume that you got for your birthday last year—the very one you wear for special occasions like now—that it’s got something to do with her robotic parts.

“Does everyone in your group get one, too?” questions Bakugou, who’s now looking a bit miffed. You’re sure he didn’t enjoy getting felt up by a stranger who he just called someone’s little lackey.

“Only the new members,” Sayaka answers succinctly, her voice sounding like it’s filtered with autotune.

But especially you two, you finish for her in your head. And really, you can’t blame them. Taking in a pro-hero, let alone Japan’s #2, is a huge gamble, and Bakugou quite literally can make or break their whole plan to attack. This level of precaution is not at all uncalled for. You’d even go so far as to say it’s not enough.

Bakugou must be thinking the same thing, too, because he doesn’t offer a follow-up question.

Masaki takes your silence as a sign for him to go on.

“Of course, that’s only the first layer of protection.”

Shit.

You hope you didn’t just think that into existence.

The plain-looking leader puts on that prudent smile of his, before turning to look at the old man. “Kouki-san here has a very handy quirk. Teleportation,” he glances at Bakugou, “A sought-after power in the hero world, isn’t it?”

Bakugou shrugs, although you’re guessing the answer is yes and that he’s just too stubborn to admit it.

Figures.

“Well, he’s gone and mastered his quirk, and has since been indispensable to our organization. Essentially—” Masaki huffs, like he’s preparing for the bomb he’s about to drop, “—the very moment you even hint at betraying us, we’re gone,” he snaps his fingers, “Just like that. And you won’t be able to trace us.”

“Really?” drawls Bakugou. “You’ll abandon this cushy, not at all seedy ass headquarters of yours?”

“This is only one of many, Dynamight,” Masaki responds, seemingly unbothered by Bakugou’s taunt. “And this is actually not our headquarters.”

He picks up his glass of alcohol and lightly twirls it around in his hand. “I also trust that you’re aware of what a distinguished group such as ours entails? Naturally, we need to have somewhere safe where we can conduct all our activities under the radar.”

“As you can imagine, it’s not just us five. We have many, many members who share the same principles, and this club can’t possibly be large enough to host all of us.”

“Where are you going with this?” Bakugou demands.

“What I’m saying is that we have a separate place as our headquarters, a place much bigger than this. And—” he cocks his head toward Kouki, “—we get there via teleportation.”

“Obviously,” sneers Bakugou, “Otherwise that’d be a huge waste of the old man’s quirk, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s only one of the reasons. You see, it’s also so that you won’t know where it is located,” Masaki pauses once again, which you decide in a split second is warranted because of what he’s going to say next.

“And for that to work, we’re also going to have to lock you inside.”

Your breath hitches. Bakugou bristles.

“The fu—”

“We’re going to have to make you stay with us—” the plain-looking man interjects with a slightly louder voice, “—at least until the day of the attack, as we cannot risk you two being seen constantly going in and out of this club every night.”

You’re about to contribute to the conversation for the very first time but Bakugou beats you to it. “Fucking stay in? Isn’t that gonna cause even more suspicion?”

“It wouldn’t if you both come up with a good excuse to disappear,” Kouki retorts with a smidge of attitude. He eyes Bakugou with a raised brow, “Wouldn’t now be a great time to have a top-secret ‘mission’ overseas? And I’m sure your friend here can whip something up.”

You brush off the annoyance that shoots through you at the dismissive mention. Instead, you finally bring yourself to speak up. “I thought you just said we’ll be stuffed in a secret hideout?”

“Ah,” Masaki sounds out, “You are, but this is our gateway, so to speak. You go here to get teleported to the headquarters, and from there, get teleported back here to return to the outside world. We won’t hesitate to teleport away from both places the second we have to, but that doesn’t mean our HQ is easily disposable to us, hence all these measures.”

“All this to say,” he furthers, his timid tone juxtaposing the threatening words you’re sure he’s about to utter, “You two better think twice about betraying us.”

There it is.

He smiles again. “Do either of you have any questions?”

Beside you, Bakugou mutters to himself for a second, before clearing his throat. “You’re yapping on and on about what you’ll do if we betray you and shit. Ain’t that such a warm welcome for your new members?”

—A rhetorical question, because he doesn’t let anyone get a word in. Instead, he presses on.

“But what if we don’t? What’s in it for us?”

“You get to live out your ideals, boy,” comes the old geezer’s snappy reply.

Bakugou snorts, and you’re sure it’s not because he found the guy hilarious.

“That’s a shitty deal on our end, don’t ya think so?” the pro-hero shifts his weight on his other foot. “How ‘bout this, you guarantee protection for my…friend here, and we’re even.”

You hold your breath.

Looking past the way he just so awkwardly referred to you as his friend, that segue just now wasn’t exactly the smoothest.

Still, you have no choice but to roll with it. So, with much conviction, you morph your face into that of shyness—one that you hope is charming enough to win their graces.

“Just her?” asks Masaki, placid as ever.

“I can get by,” comes Bakugou’s confident response.

Once again ignoring the mildly degrading remark, you ready yourself to use your quirk. You closely examine the leader’s features as they transform into an expression of contemplation, even as he turns to the other two and engages them in quiet conversation.

You and Bakugou stand there for a few moments, waiting, before Masaki finally turns again.

And all that preparing to utilize your quirk goes out of the dilapidated windows once you catch a glimpse of his face.

“I guess that’s settled, then.”

Called it.

Masaki then raises an eyebrow at the two of you. “Any more concerns?” he smiles to himself, “Heartwarming requests?”

Neither of you says anything.

“None?” he asks again, before patting his thighs in a gesture of finality. “Well, then, I believe it’s time for you to see your new home! Kouki-san?”

At the mention, the old man slowly gets up from where he made himself very comfortable on the couch, and walks leisurely towards you, planting himself in front of and between you and Bakugou.

“Hang tight,” Kouki smirks, reaching out for both of your hands, and you’re just about registering how eerily cool his are when the ground that was perfectly carpeted and steady just a second ago suddenly collapses from beneath you.

A violent wave of nausea instantly hits you as the room completely vanishes before you, replaced by pitch-black darkness in a second. You scramble for purchase—tightening your grip on the person responsible for whatever the fuck this is—as the noise instantaneously gets sucked in a vacuum, leaving you in full silence. Your legs are jelly as you stumble on your feet, and you’re convinced you’re going to fall to your death down to the abyss below you when—just as fast as the lounge disappeared—a warmly lit hallway materializes in front of you.

But it’s too late, you’re already out of balance and lurching forward—inch by excruciating inch—right until you feel a hand grab your forearm and you’re unceremoniously yanked back into an upright position.

You whip to look at Bakugou as you wobble on your feet, and he’s staring at you with such alarm that makes you feel so…vulnerable. He retracts his left hand a beat later when you eventually steady yourself, his serious and unrelenting gaze fixated on you before shifting to study the place you just got teleported to.

You follow suit, eyeing the hallway as you place the hand Kouki was holding into your pocket to warm it up.

Similar to the club and the room you were just in, the area is barely illuminated, but it’s bright enough for you to make out the dark wooden doors that line both sides. You’re right in the middle of the hallway, and at one of the ends you think are staircases leading both to a lower and an upper level, while at the other end is another door.

If these lead to what you think they lead…

Then, damn.

They weren’t kidding about lodging.

From the corner of your eye, you see the old man look at you and follow your line of vision, shifting to study the aforementioned door at the end of this hallway.

“That’s your room,” he offers curtly, like this job of chaperoning you to your place of residence for who knows how many days is beneath him.

Room, you parrot in your head.

Room singular.

“Well?” he asks, not even bothering to hide his impatience when neither you nor Bakugou makes a move. “Aren’t you going to check it out?”

You hesitate, glancing at Bakugou to find him frowning at Kouki, before turning to look at you.

“We don’t have all day, you two,” Kouki adds on with a sigh at the same time you raise your eyebrows ever so minutely at the pro-hero, as if asking for confirmation. “Go on, I’ll wait here.”

It only takes a small nod from Bakugou to pull you out of the paralysis, and the minute that he does, you’re already moving to the spot beside him, matching his pace as you trudge towards the door.

As inconspicuously as you can, you check the corners of the room along the wall facing you for cameras, only to find none.

And so you do it.

With your backs turned against the Teleportation master, you finally let your emotions show on your face.

You also chance a peek at Bakugou, only to find him already eyeing you with the very same expression you’re sure is written all over your features.

The one that says you’re fucked.

You don’t get to dwell or comment on the shared sentiment, though, mainly because they’ll hear every word you say, but also because you arrive in front of the door. Bakugou looks at the knob and then at you warily, and you can only nod in encouragement.

That seems to be enough of a push for him, because he reaches for and turns the handle, pushing past the entryway so you can walk in from behind him.

Now, the first thing that registers after you startle at the door closing is the fact that the room is small. Tiny, even. There’s another door at the back, which you think leads to the comfort room.

But that’s pretty much it.

That, and there’s only one bed.

To your credit, though, you’re able to refrain from gasping in horror at the sight of it, which you can chalk up to the next thing that you see—a couch.

It doesn’t seem like it’s foldable or can be converted into a larger bunk, but it’ll have to do. It’s brown and hopefully real leather this time, and is crammed right next to the bed. You remind yourself that they were only expecting Bakugou, and so you can’t really complain and that you’ll have to make do with sleeping on the couch for the next n days.

Aside from all those, though, the room is relatively bare.

Well, apart from the cameras with the blinking red light at the upper, four corners of it.

But you don’t get to wordlessly warn him about it, let alone come to terms with the fact that they’re deadass going to be watching your every single move, because something seizes your wrist, spinning you around, leaving you face to face with Bakugou.

You’re too preoccupied with the sudden motion and the fact that you’re just a breadth’s width away from each other to notice the darkened look in his eyes.

Which, in hindsight, you should’ve noticed.

If you wanted any chance at bracing yourself for what he’s going to do next.

“Wha—”

You yelp—cutting yourself off—when Bakugou, the Bakugou Katsuki—Japan’s #2 Pro-hero, Vogue Japan’s Hottest Bachelor of the Year, and the dickhead who used to be your biggest, fattest crush��grabs at your neck and smashes his lips against yours.

You involuntarily jerk away from him, but his free hand shoots up to roughly clutch your hip just as his grip on your neck tightens, pinning you in place and right against him.

And you don’t know how the fuck it happens, but he does something with his tongue, or his mouth? His teeth? You don’t know at this point, and frankly, you don’t want to know, because coupled with his scalding hold on your body, it causes you to do the unthinkable.

You moan.

And again, you don’t even get the opportunity to feel the utter humiliation, because just as quickly as he pounced on you, Bakugou pulls away, but not before scowling at the cameras as if he just noticed them—which you doubt—then taking your hand, dragging you out of the door and into the hallway.

The old man glances at you. “Are you don—”

“Take us the fuck back now,” Bakugou spits as he pulls you right beside him.

At that, Kouki’s eyebrows furrow. “You ought to know better than to speak to an elderly like that.”

But the man who just fucking kissed you apparently can’t give a single flying fuck, because he retorts without missing a beat. “Take us back now.”

That must’ve been the final straw, because Kouki’s face finally morphs into the scowl that you think he’s been trying to suppress this entire time, but to your surprise, he moves closer to the two of you and once again, reaches for your hands.

You don’t know what the fuck is going on, but what you do know is that Bakugou’s onto something here, because he wouldn’t have pulled that stunt just now without any reason, which means the last thing you should do is resist.

And so you take Kouki’s hand, just as Bakugou snags the other, and when you do, the floor gives out from underneath you.

You’re still overcome with a sense of dizziness as your surroundings shift and the noise dissipates around you, but as you find the lounge slowly appearing before your eyes, you find that it’s not as bad the second time.

Bakugou’s still holding your hand when you arrive at the second floor of the club, right back where you stood from a while ago.

Sayaka is the first one to notice you, most likely thanks to her quirk and the goddamn device stuck to your chest, but it’s Masaki who speaks up when he catches wind of your arrival.

He puts down the deck of cards you think he’s just been shuffling before shifting to look at you. “Back so soon?”

Kouki turns around to face him, “Bakugou demanded to—”

“Why the fuck are there cameras in our room?”

Offended, the old man whips around again to glower at Bakugou, seemingly ready to unleash the sermon of the century. “Young man—”

“Turn them the fuck off,” the pro-hero interjects, “And the mics, too.”

Bakugou hesitates, as if unsure of how to properly say the next few words. He glances at you, expression inexplicable, before turning back to face them. “…At least at night.”

Silence.

“Oooh, I see where this is going,” comes Masaki’s reaction a moment later, a knowing smile creeping on his face. You feel yourself flame. “You weren’t being clear with us earlier, Bakugou. You didn’t say you brought your girlfriend.”

“Didn’t think it was necessary to point out,” comes Bakugou’s terse reply.

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid it doesn’t matter either way. The surveillance is for our safety, which comes above everything else, even the privacy of our esteemed members.”

“You promised you’d protect her at all costs,” Bakugou counters. “Protecting her modesty from the perverts you call your surveillance people is part of that.”

Now, you’re not a hundred percent certain, but you’re pretty sure he just shot the cyborg a look at the latter half of the sentence, which you think would’ve been a noble gesture—if it weren’t for the fact that it’s not just her, judging by the sheer number of cameras in this room alone.

Your attention drifts back to Masaki, however, when he heaves a sigh, leaning against the couch with a tired expression on his face. “Tell me, then, Dynamight. How do you propose we make sure you don’t brew something behind our backs off surveillance?”

“I can turn off the bugs,” Sayaka pipes up before Bakugou can answer, her mechanical voice drifting across the room. “They emit a blue light at their circumference that shuts down when I turn the device off.”

“As for the cameras…” she drones on, “The blinking red light should be gone when they’re offline.”

“That shit won’t do,” Bakugou declares decisively, not even letting the suggestion simmer. “There’s no knowing for sure that they’re actually off and aren’t just hacked to seem like they are.”

“The cameras should also face down. And—” he huffs, “—We get to remove the tracker.”

A chorus of protests erupts from the group—particularly from Sayaka and Kouki—but even the twins who are still stationed at the sides. Masaki, in contrast, only sits in silence as he studies the pro-hero, but there’s no missing the uneasiness decorating his features.

“It’s only at night,” Bakugou reasons, voice now a bit louder to be heard amidst the sea of complaints. “You can set up guards around the perimeters of our room. We’ll surrender them at the door before entering, and we can’t go out beyond the doorway until they’re attached again.”

And when no one says anything, Bakugou pushes. “How does that sound?”

You chance a glance at Masaki, who does not seem to be getting anywhere near convinced.

Bakugou must be noticing it, too, because he squeezes your hand so imperceptibly that you almost miss it.

But you don’t, and quite honestly, you could have and be okay with having done so, because you were on it, anyway.

You quickly scan the room.

One, two, three, four, five.

Five.

You can do five.

And so with the most innocent tone you can muster, you speak up.

“That sounds reasonable to me.”

All five whip to look at you, and the second that they do, you pull—swiftly and in succession—eyes jumping from Sayaka to Kouki to Masaki to the male twin and then to the girl.

Your gaze darts back to the leader right after to make sure you got him, but his remarkably serene countenance is enough to tell you that you’ve successfully done it.

You did it.

You just won Bakugou and you the window of time to discuss the mission in the privacy of your own room.

And Bakugou must be seeing the palpable shift in their demeanors because he squeezes your hand once more, only this time you think it’s in gratitude.

You feel a surge of pride swell in your chest.

Let the games begin.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day

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[demonic0angel]

for the burning man anger management AU you did, maybe it comes out that the joker is behind all this? mix in the previous hatred of the joker plus the distress of the fake cheating and jason todd would end up publicly beating the joker to death. or jazz would kill the joker

Part 1

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!" Jason roared.

Tim winced. "I don't know what to tell you. Kon and I went investigating and we found out that the Joker has someone captured with your face. They apparently found a lookalike and then used plastic surgery to do the rest."

Jason was almost vibrating with rage. His fists clenched hard enough for his short nails to dig into his palm, sending droplets of blood onto the floor.

Tim stared at him in horror.

"Jason..."

"I can't believe this," Jason hissed, shuddering as he suddenly hated with every fiber of his being, "He killed me, he hurt Barbara, our family, and now he's ruining my marriage?!" He turned to Tim with green eyes blazing. "Does Jazz know about this?!"

Tim shook his head. "No, but I did tell Young Justice because they helped. Dani knows."

Jason covered his face, unintentionally smearing the blood. He breathed in and out deeply, trying not to explode from sheer rage and hatred.

These past several days, he had skipped sleeping to investigate into the cheating evidence. He had worked tirelessly day and night to take care of the house and Crime Alley as Jazz continued to go to work, and their marriage descended into a relationship like roommates.

Jason did not blame her. Jazz had not treated him harshly or mention that she did not believe him. She had only acted politely, as if she had entirely closed herself off to avoid hurting herself. She was still kind, but his sweet, mischievous wife had hidden herself away.

Jason had never wanted to tear apart Gotham City like this before. It was as if he wanted everyone to feel the same pain as he did. He was full of so much resentment and frustration these days that he had unintentionally resorted back to his mindless killing ways before Jazz had helped him with the Pit Madness.

And now he found a real, proper outlet.

Jason hummed and then said, "Alright. Thank you, Tim."

Tim nodded. "Of course. So... what are your plans after this?"

"I'm going to find the Joker," Jason said emotionlessly. "Then I'm going to torture the information out of him before I blow a hole through his brains. Then I'm going to hunt down everyone and anyone who was involved in this and then I'm going to go home and beg Jazz for forgiveness."

Tim paused. Then he nodded again, more stiff this time, "Okay. I'll get you a list of everyone I know who was involved."

Jason smiled coldly.

"Perfect."

Well, no matter what, Jason would fix his marriage with Jazz. Even if he had to massacre the entirety of the Joker's lot to do so.

[leoleolovesdc]

Stephanie (at least throught the 90s-00s) had a very discernible violent streak and morals that don’t really line up with tim and the other bats around her. This is kinda lost on modern comics, either because of how much she’s being sidelined or as an attempt to soften her character and make her more likeable, but i genuinely think it was a interesting part to her characer that we should bring back.

Steph is sort of angry and reckless, she became spoiler without any training because she needed to get her father out of her and her mother’s life permanently, and she didn’t care for the implications of what she had to do to get there.

In her debut, you can see how desperate and impatient she is, she was tired of all the harm arthur caused to her family and of the helplessness of never being able to do something about it. It’s just a lot of bottled up anger you can tell she’s been struggling with for years, so when she finally finds a way to channel it onto something good (you can argue on how much good beating up criminals would really do, but this is from steph’s pov) it immediately leads up to her being ready to murder her father on the first opportunity she gets.

And even after bruce convinces stephanie to Not Kill Him, she still expresses multiple times how she doesn’t care for men like her father and saving them is a waste of her time. She is usually pretty willing to let “bad” people die because, as she sees it, their lives aren’t more important then the ones they ruined.

I wouldn’t say steph has very “strong” opinions on murder like jason, for example, does, but she definetly has a detachment to bruce, cass and tim’s morals that end up pushing her into a place of distrust with all of them at some point or another. She is willing to adapt to what her teammates (on the occasions where she did get to feel like a part of a team) expect of her in a mission because she values their opinion of her and wants to receive proper support and training, but it doesn’t make her dislike the kind of people who’s lives she is told to care about any less.

In the short time steph had as robin that trend of loose morals in comparison to the bats really continues, like in that one story where a guy she hit recklessly doesn’t die by pure luck and when bruce is scolding her about it she just goes “he was a serial killer, so really, why should i even care?”, or when she has that talk with batgirl after having to be stopped from beating the shit out of the penguin and ponders a bit about “when does it end? Am i really that wrong for wishing we could just take guys like this out of our lives?”.

It’s a very noticeable highlight on this aspect of stephanie right near the end, and it builds up to when she is fighting fo her life against black mask and finally manages to get the upperhand. It���s not the first time she has someone’s life on her hands but it is the first time she hesitates, maybe because the stakes are higher now, but mainly it’s just because of how guilty she feels for the gang war, for fucking it up with batman and for orpheus’ death. When she lets black mask live it’s not because she thinks it’s the right thing or because she doesn’t want to blow his brains out, it’s out of respect for bruce, because she feels like she already ruined everything, she should have known better and she owes him something, so she does what batman would do. And then that gets her killed.

So, let’s be real, why should i think that after all of this, after her father ruined her mother’s life, after she watched hundreds of children get killed and traumatized by monsters like the penguin, after the one time she tries to follow the damn code it kills her, should she have any notion that murdering is wrong if when she’s looking back on it, killing a bitch would have solved all of her problems from day one?

Being a Stephanie Brown fan is so annoying sometimes because you read about this child consistently trying to commit murder since her literal debut just for some random writer and those “batboys” mfs go around saying that she thinks murder is wrong

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - Chapter 7 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The Lion's Lamb Series: Aesthetics, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6

Over the next few days, the two would meet up casually, either to get coffee at the cafe they met at, going for walks, and even getting casual dinners together.

Their conversations usually surround you, about your life, dreams, and aspirations.

Whenever the conversation switched over to Max, mainly about his line of work, he would always quickly change the subject.

You thought it was odd, but figured it wasn't something he wanted to talk about and he'd open up when he wanted to.

It was Friday evening and sadly Max was pushed into a boys nights with his friends, leaving you to figure out what to do for the night.

You knew Max had told you to text him if you needed him, but you didn't want to bug him, especially if he was around his friends.

You didn't want to be the type of girl that would continuously blow up a man's phone while he was out.

It was around 8pm when Amelia came storming into your room, "you're coming out with me tonight."

"Why do I have to go out?" You asked.

"Well I can't go alone," Amelia said dramatically, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Cant you go out with your friends? I really don't feel like going out tonight."

"You have too! Who knows what will happen to a young, pretty girl like me all alone at a club!"

You bit your lip while nodding your head slowly, feeling guilty if you left Amelia to go out alone and something were to happen to her.

"Great!" We leave at 10:30," Amelia said smugly before happily leaving the room.

By 10:45, the two girls had arrived at the club. You're trying your best to keep close to your roommate as they made their way through the busiest club in Monaco to get to the bar.

It was true that Amelia wanted the girl to go out with her so she wouldn't be alone, but it wasn't the full truth.

She knew how pretty the you were, how your aura of innocence you projected attracted men like a moth to a flame.

You had no idea that your roommate was using you to attract men. You were playing the oblivious wing man.

After ordering both of the girls a drink, Amelia was quick to pull you out onto the dance floor before you could even think about protesting.

While your roommate started dancing, trying to attract men towards her while you sat there awkwardly taking small sips of your drink.

You were uncomfortable with the amount of people surrounding you causing you to feel claustrophobic.

They were on the dance floor long before two men found their way towards to the pair.

One was blonde with brown eyes, average built and height. The other was brunette with brown eyes so dark they could be mistaken for black. But this man was shorter then the other but slightly more built. They were both attractive looking, and just by looking at them, a person could tell they reeked of daddy's money.

While the blonde went over to Amelia and whispered something in  her ear, the brunette stood there, staring at you. The look in his eyes made you nervous and intimidated the hell out of you.

"We're joining them at their table," Amelia interrupted before grabbing you by the hand and dragging you to the two men's booth.

Amelia is moving to sit next to the blonde and the brunette coming to sit next to you, uncomfortably close.

"I'm John," the man stated after an awkward amount of time passed with them just sitting in silence.

"(your name)," the girl responds softly, giving the man a small smile, trying to be polite.

The smirk that rested on John's face told the girl everything she needed to know. He knew he was an attractive man and used it to his advantage.

He knew that any girl at that club would be clawing to get his attention, yet he was intrigued on the one girl who didn't want it.

You continued to talk to him, making small talk because you didn't know any better.

You thought you were being polite and just trying to make it through the night. John took it for flirting.

Little did he know that the only person you were interested in was a blue eyed Dutchman.

"What is a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" John asks while slowing inching closer towards you, resting his arm behind you on the back of the booth.

"My roommate wanted me to come out with," you politely stated, deciding to ignore the compliment and keep it short.

Before John could continue, alcohol was brought to their table. John, his friend and Amelia all were taking shots, the man next to her talking at least 5 in a 30 minute period.

They asked the girl if she wanted some, but you declined, okay with sipping what was left of your original drink.

It didn't take long for John to make his move after that. Thought their conversation, he had scooted closer until his knees were touching her.

His arm behind your back, causing you to be slightly trapped when he leaned in and started to run his hand up your thigh.

"Why don't you and I get out of here baby," he whispered in her ear, his lips grazing her ear.

You quickly jumped back from your seat, trying to get out of his reach.

"No," you stated sharply, but fear filled your entire body. You turned to catch Amelia's eyes to try to signal to her for help, but she was too busy making out with John's friend.

"Come on sweetheart, you wouldn't be here dressed in that sexy little dress if you weren't trying to get someone attention," he said slowly moving closer again, like a predator stalking its prey.

In an instant, you stood up mumbling about having to go to the bathroom. you bolted to the toilets in hopes of escaping the situation.

Max had spent the evening hanging with his friends and playing videos games together.

He hadn't done it in a while since meeting you, but you insisted he hang out with his friends, thinking he never gets to see them because he travels so often.

He was glad he did it because he had time to relax a bit before their next race in Qatar next weekend.

He arrived home close to midnight, and immediately laid down in bed, ready for a good nights rest when his phone sudden rang.

Looking at the caller ID he couldn't help the smile that erupted across his face.

"Hello beautiful," he said gently.

"M-Max," he heard your weak stuttering voice through the phone.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting up immediately.

"I'm scared." Your broken words echoed through the phone, leaving an impact on his heart with those two words.

"I-I went out with Amelia, a-and this man started to put his h-hand up my dress and I'm scared."

"Where are you? I'll come and get you right now"

"I don't know," you say softly, "I've never been here before. I don't remember the name."

"Okay love, can you send me your location?" He spoke softly, not wanting to cause anymore fear or anxiety.

"Okay," you mumble.

Max looked at where you were at and luckily the club was only 5 minutes away from his apartment.

"Okay love, I'll be there in 10 minutes. Why don't you go wait outside in front so the bouncers can watch out for you."

"Okay," you stated quickly before hanging up.

The Dutchman quickly bolted towards his front door, scared out of his mind. In his line of work, fear wasn't an option.

If they have fear while driving, they wouldn't survive. For the first time in his life he actually felt fear when hearing your meek voice say those words.

I'm scared

Those words echoes through his brain as he drove to his little lamb. He felt like someone stabbed him in the heart.

He made a promise to himself that his little lamb will never have to feel this way ever again.

You decided you had to grab Amelia and take her with you, or at least have to decency to tell her you're leaving if she refuses to come with you.

Swiftly, you left the bathroom to go back to the booth where you end up finding no one except one person, John.

"Where's Amelia?" You asked with hesitancy, wanting nothing more than to just leave.

"She left sweetheart," he said with a smirk.

"What?"

"She went home with David," he started to make his way closer to her again, his eyes darkening even more than they already were, "Now it's just me and you daring. Why don't we go and have some fun?"

"No," You said, taking a few steps back, "my friend is waiting for me outside."

Without another word, you finally made your way towards the exit, deciding not to give John the chance to keep coming after you.

It wasn't until you felt the cool Monaco breeze on your skin did you actually let out a breath of relief. You tried to even out your breathing, calming herself down but you couldn't.

The loud pounding of the music emitted from the club caused you to slowly make your way down the street towards the street corner.

You started up in the night sky. A wave of peace and calm washed over you as you gazed upon the stars that filled up the dark night sky.

Sadly, this peace did not last long as you felt a hand grip your arm tightly, making you cry out in pain as the person turned you towards them.

John stands before you again, yanking your body closer to him, leaving no room for you to struggle.

You scratched and tried to fight him but he quickly gripped your wrist, tight enough that there will surely be a bruise there tomorrow.

"I've been looked my everywhere for you darling," he whispered close to ear, pulling back with a wicked grin on his face.

"Let go of me," You hoped your voice would come out strong but it came out weak and fearful.

"I can't do that sweetheart," he tilted his head slightly to the side, starting you down like you were a monkey in a zoo, "you're coming with me."

"No!" You shouted hoping that someone would hear you. You need to escape somehow now or else-. You honestly didn't want to think about what would happen if you didn't.

"Stop fighting," John snaps, annoyed at your struggling, but You refused to go down without a fight.

One minute you struggled with John, the next you were being pulled away from him into someone else's arms.

This person wrapped you up in their arms, their firm chest provided you some form of comfort.

You didn't care who this person was, anyone was better than being stuck with John.

"Don't you dare fucking touch her!" The rumble of a familiar voice vibrated through the chest you currently leaned into.

Max.

Taglist: @shelbyteller, @smithieandy, @fangirlforever2000, @herexpertcollector, @vip-access, @genevieve-blr

[yuyuyunnie]

Beyond Bag End | C.JH

pairings: hobbit! jongho x hobbit! reader (fem)

summary: Before heading on an adventure to rid of the ring that was meant to be ruined years ago, Jongho has some choice words, and actions, before you take off on your once-in-a-lifetime journey.

warnings: literally soft sex with jongho, unprotected sex (pls wrap up!), slight name calling from other characters and jongho, talks of dying but not crazy

word count: 5.2k

Author's note: If you are into The Hobbit or LOTR franchise at all, please—I beg of you—DO NOT imagine Jongho's feet as normal hobbit feet! That will be the one thing I don't do right 😭.

p.s. i also shamelessly listened to I Don't Understand But I Luv U by Seventeen and it changed me.

⁂𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽⁂

Your finger twirled the golden ring, the wind blowing your hair as you sat on the hill leading to the Shire. The ancient writing on the ring glowed, your eyes studying the small script. To your dismay, you came upon this ring after sifting through your cousin's home. Ironically, you were related to the Baggins, and you came from the Took side of the family. 

Frodo left plenty of items in his home when he left with Bilbo for the Undying Lands. You were shocked to see the ring fall out of the book that Frodo had completed. The leather was worn, the edges ruffled as if Bilbo clung to the book for dear life. In the back few pages where Frodo had filled the rest of the book out of his adventures with Samwise, Merry, and Pippin, you came across a little hole, the perfect size of a ring carved with a small blade. 

Everyone knew of the story. Bilbo went on his adventures with the dwarves and Gandalf. Years later Frodo went on a journey himself to destroy the ring that Bilbo stole from Gollum, and from what you heard, as years have passed, Frodo supposedly tossed the ring into the fires of Mount Doom, along with Gollum, but, here you were, sitting on the grassy fields with the ring sitting heavily in your hand. 

You huffed, shoving the ring back into the pocket of your skirt. Why did Frodo keep the ring? You had so many questions and the one person to ask was miles away in the Undying Lands. You never knew if Bilbo passed—or even Frodo for that matter—but you had to figure out why the ring continues to haunt your family. 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you trek back into the small town. The chatter was nonstop; Hobbits tending to their gardens, smoking pipes, having their second breakfasts, and living peaceful lives. You were tired of this mundane life; living the same day every single day and nothing new happening. You admired the stories of Bilbo and Frodo growing up, wishing you could experience what they did—and by that, you mean leaving the Shire. 

You made your way back up to your home, your garden looking terrible compared to everyone around you. Your tulips were sulking, your daisies thirsty, and your vines curling into themselves. In all honesty, you needed to come out here and tend to the poor things but you had no motivation. Ever since finding the ring a month ago, your mind has stayed on the golden piece. 

‘And there the ring went, down into the flaming mouth and Gollum along with it. I have done it, for now, we are safe and sound.’

“Gone down the mouth my butt,” You grumbled, pushing your door open. 

The sun was hitting your stained windows perfectly, and your floors were different shades of color. Your home was quiet, the plants inside needing just as much tender care as the ones outside. Your eyes drifted to your kitchen, the thick red leather book on your table. If your mother knew that you had this book—had the ring at that—she would personally throw you into the flames of Mount Doom. Your mother was never too fond of the Baggins side of her family. She said all they did was cause trouble and bring bad luck with them wherever they went. 

You thought differently. 

You yearned for the life that Bilbo and Frodo endured. You longed for an adventure outside of the Shire and you yearned for friendship as they had. You have friends, just one to be exact. Jongho has been your friend since you were children and has never left your side. You two were inseparable and still are to this day. 

You did have a slight crush on him, but only you knew.

Jongho was taller than the average Hobbit, his broad body towering over many. You’re not too sure what his mother fed him when he was young, but he definitely stood out from everyone else. However, with his larger frame, Jongho was the most tenderest Hobbit you have ever come across. He was sweet, helped in your garden, was by your side 24/7 when your mother passed, and helped you stay afloat. He was truly the best thing that has ever happened to you. 

Tearing up at the thought, you plopped down in front of the book. Your fingers traced over the lettering, ‘Red Book of Westmarch’ trembles going through you. Flicking to the back of the book, your eyes bore into the perfectly cut circle before a loud BANG interrupted your thoughts. 

“You know, you really need to tend to your garden or else everything will die,”

Jongho’s voice rang throughout your home. You let out a quiet squeal, dropping the ring back into the book before slamming it shut. Jongho walked into your dining room, his eyebrow flicked up, his eyes falling onto the book. 

“How many more times are you going to read that book?”

“As many—“

“Honestly, you could probably relive everything that Bilbo and Frodo did with how many times you’ve read the book. Better yet, you could probably—“

“Jongho,” You cut him off, your eyes glaring at him as he plopped down in the chair beside you, “I feel very connected with my family when reading this,” 

“A family line that ended,” He said quietly, his hand laying on top of yours gently. 

Your heart fluttered at the contact. You and Jongho have held hands, hugged, and cuddled, your body should be used to his touch, but here recently sparks keep shooting throughout, making you feel warm. 

“What’s so wrong with me reading up on my family history?” You retorted. 

He shrugged his shoulders, leaning back into his chair, taking his warm hand with him.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, but you know how the Shire feels about your family. Especially Bilbo and Frodo. You know, sweet Mary-Ann is afraid that you’ll take off on an adventure yourself,” He chuckled. 

If only, you thought to yourself. Letting out a loud huff, you prop your chin up on your hand, your eyes gazing at the book once more. Your hand itched where the ring sat for so long. Is this how Frodo felt when Bilbo left the ring for him after disappearing at his 111th birthday party? You were a mere child then, not too aware of who Bilbo and Frodo were. Your family kept their disappearances a secret, never telling you of the great adventures. 

“Would it be so bad?” You mumbled, cutting your eyes to him. 

He scoffed, “You? Going off frolicking in the fields, killings orcs and riding off with a wizard in the sunset? Yeah, no.” He shook his head, letting out a sweet laugh, “You’re much safer here, in the Shire, staying in Bag End with me,” He whispered the last part, his hand falling on top of yours again. 

Your eyes fell onto your hands, your hand fitting so perfectly underneath his. Jongho was right but you would never let him know. You’ve longed for an adventure for so long, but could you do it? Could you manage leaving Bag End and going off to do god knows what? 

“Jongho,” You whispered, turning your eyes back to him, “There something I have to show you.” 

“Oh,” He quipped, “What is it?” 

Your heart started pounding, your ears feeling like they’re on fire. You gently remove your hand from under his and grip the leather book. Your finger tips burned; pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you peeled the book back open and landed on the page where the ring sat comfortably, snug. 

“A ring?” He quirked his eyebrow once again, “And I assume this is…”

“It’s the ring, Jongho,”

“The ring?” He sounded confused, dumb even. You wanted to smack your hand against your forehead, but you saved the dramatics. 

“Jongho, the ring that Frodo supposedly tossed into the flames of Mount Doom and destroyed. This,” You grabbed the ring., “is the ring.” 

Jongho gulped, his eyes enlarged at the sight of the ring. He knew of the stories, knew of Bilbo fighting off the dragon and Frodo riding Samwise’s back up to the top of Mount Doom. Everyone in the Shire knew of the tales in some shape or form. Could he believe that the ring was right here, in front of him? No, but here it was, twinkling in-between your little fingers. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered, tugging at his shirt. 

You nodded, eyes falling back onto the lettering that was now glowing a red shade. Your mind tingled, begging for you to slip the ring on and see what Bilbo and Frodo seen so many years ago, but you grunted, dropping the ring back into the book before shutting it closed. 

“I thought Frodo tossed it into the fires of Mount Doom?” He gulped, eyeing the leather bound book. 

You sighed, leaning back into your chair, “I thought so too, but clearly he didn’t.” 

You both stared at the book, all you could hear were the birds chirping outside and the slight shuffling of Jongho as his mind went a thousand miles per hour.

Weeks have passed since you showed Jongho the ring. He left your place in a panic, stumbling over his words as he stumbled out. You've never seen Jongho so flustered, not since that one time he glanced at your naked body behind your home, but that was years ago! Jongho was your only person and now it feels like you have no one. 

You pulled harshly at the weeds that flourished in your garden over the few weeks you neglected it—due to the Jongho incident of course—and small mutters left your mouth. 

“This is why I stay to myself,” You grumbled, ripping another weed from the soil, “Mind my own business! That’s what I’ll do from here on out—“

“I'm afraid that won’t be happening,” 

Your eyes widened, your head slowly turning around. A tall elder gentleman stood behind you, his body blocking the warm sun from your body. You cocked your head to the side, your eyes taking in his figure before everything clicked.

Oh, fuck me.

“And you are?” You could barely get that question out, your throat closing at the realization. 

“I believe there is no reason for any introduction, but if I must, I am Gandalf the White.” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Of course Gandalf would be here, at your doorstep; probably here to send you on a god forsaken quest, but that’s what you wanted right? 

You huffed, pushing yourself up off the ground, wiping your hands off on your apron. 

“YN Took,” You sent him a curt smile.

He smiled, “I know who you are. May I come in?” 

Gandalf took it upon himself to let himself in your home, whether you wanted him in there or not. Your mouth gaped open, awed at the audacity of the older man. You rolled your eyes, followed behind, and shut the door, watching Gandalf take in his surroundings. You didn’t say anything, you didn’t know what to say. What if he unleashes some sort of spell on you for having the ring? It’s not like you went out and sought for the damned thing. 

“I assume you know why I’m here,” His gaze fell onto you, his eyebrow quirked up. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” 

Before Gandalf could retaliate, your door flung open and Jongho stood there, panting and red in the face. Anger completely took over your body, wanting to cuss him out for ignoring you for weeks. 

“YN you won’t believe it! There’s a weird, taller older man here that looks just like—oh,”

Jongho’s eyes laid on Gandalf who sent him a smile, a deep rumble of laughter leaving his chest. Jongho’s ears turned a deep shade of red, a small ‘sorry’ leaving his lips as he shut the door. 

“Now where was I,” Gandalf hummed, “Don’t act stupid, YN Took, you know exactly why I’m here. Where is it? Where’s the ring?” 

You fidgeted, your fingers picking at each other as you weighed out your options. If you give the ring to Gandalf, all your troubles will be gone! If you refuse to tell Gandalf, then what if he cast a spell on you? Or, what if he knows where the ring is but is seeing if you will cooperate? What if—

“It’s in that red book over there,” Jongho quipped, pointing over to your kitchen table. 

“Jongho,” You hissed, swatting at him. 

Gandalf turned swiftly, taking three large steps, grabbing the book, flipping through the pages before coming to a halt. His breath hitched, his fingers trembling as he pulled the ring out from its hiding spot. You gulped, your eyes frantically watching as Gandalf studied the gold piece. The air was thick with silence, nobody said anything, who could? 

You took a tiny step forward, the feeling of Jongho’s eyes boring into your back. A wave of possessiveness overcame you, your body aching for the gold ring to stay here, with you, safe in Bag End. 

“Alright,” Gandalf huffed, shutting the leather book and tucking the ring into his pocket, “I will be heading out now,” 

With no goodbyes, Gandalf shoved past you and Jongho and made his way down your stone path. A low growl emitted through your throat, with clenched fist you followed behind Gandalf, faint calls of your name following behind you. 

“You can’t just take that!” You erupted, “Frodo left that here with me for a reason!” 

Gandalf came to a halt, his white hair flowing faintly in the wind. The air was thick with tension, your body growing hotter with the thought of Gandalf taking the ring away from you. Frodo left this ring for a reason and you’ve been taking care of it for months, not letting anyone know of the secret hidden inside your hobbit hole. 

“You Took’s are quite bold at times,” He chuckled, turning around to face you, “Do you know what dangers you have had tucked away in your home, YN? Frodo was dumb to not let this go into the fires of Mount Doom. The journey itself almost killed Frodo. He’s a fool for leaving this in the hands of another family member. You Took’s are a fool,” 

You were fuming, your nails digging into your palm as you bit your tongue. The faint touch of Jongho’s hand on the small of your back sent waves of calmness throughout your body. His thumb rubbed at your lower back gently.

Here we go, you thought. 

“Let me go with you then, to Mount Doom, or wherever you plan on taking the ring,” 

Your sentence felt rushed, and eager, and all this brought was a low chuckle from Gandalf and a quick shake of his head. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea of another trip, another journey with the same family. It’s like he couldn’t get rid of you hobbits. Gandalf has kept a keen eye on you, your family, and your surroundings for years. He knew Frodo didn’t toss the ring into the fire. He knew the dangers that Frodo brought along to his family, but he didn’t expect to see a feisty, young hobbit like yourself be the new bearer of the ring. 

His fingers gripped his cane, “I’m sure you know of the dangers?”

You quickly nodded, stepping forward, the feeling of Jongho’s fingers leaving your back. 

“YN,” He mumbled, taking a step forward, wrapping his hand around your wrist. 

“I think you two need to do some talking,” Gandalf sent a small smile, “If you decide to come with me on this journey, meet me at the Prancing Pony Inn, and talk to Azo, he will know what to do,” 

Tipping the brim of his hat, Gandalf set off, leaving you there with a fuming Jongho. 

The air was thick, and silence hung between you and Jongho. Your fingers traced the rim of your cup, your eyes boring into the table as Jongho’s bore into you. You’ve never felt this kind of rage from your best friend, this thick tension. You could slice it with a knife, cutting through multiple layers. You’ve been waiting for a chance like this to come your way. You’ve been eager to leave the safety of Bag End to experience what your family did. You knew you made the right choice. 

Jongho’s jaw clenched, his mind going a thousand miles per hour. He couldn’t stand thinking about you walking away to your death. What if you didn’t come back? What if you get caught by an orc and he’s not there to save you? There have been plenty of times when Jongho had to rescue you from some sort of situation that you put yourself in. Jongho felt like your protector whether you knew that or not. 

His fingers twitched, your precious face seemed clueless to the dangers you were putting yourself in. Your cheeks were rosy, your eyes filled with wonder, the gentle waves of your hair cascading down your shoulders, your dress clinging to your chest tightly. How could someone as sweet and perfect as you go to the fiery pits of hell? 

Letting out a slow breath, Jongho finally spoke, “I think this is a bad idea, YN”

Your eyes fell onto him, his brown eyes boring back into yours. His black hair fell messily into his eyes, his plump lips swollen from the constant nibbling while thoughts rampaged through his mind. Your heart fluttered at the sight, blushing at the intense stare-off between you two. If you didn’t know the anger that Jongho had with you right now, you’d pounce on him. You don’t know if the feelings are reciprocated, but something about Jongho being mad at you sends warmth throughout your body. 

“Jongho,” You breathed out, “You know how bad I’ve been wanting to leave the Shire—“

“Not to go to your death, YN!” He yelled causing you to jump at the suddenness, “You’re absolutely stupid if you decide to go with Gandalf!” 

“I’m not though,” You whispered, your feelings shattered at him calling you stupid. “I want to finish my family’s curse once and for all, can’t you understand that?” 

You looked at him with pleading eyes. A soft grunt left his lips as he turned his fixated gaze onto something else in your home. He couldn’t stand hurting your feelings, let alone make you look at him the way you’re looking at him now. It caused his stomach to stir, his dick twitching at the thought of you looking at him like that underneath him, all sprawled out. 

“Jongho, please,” You whispered, your hand resting on top of his.

His eyes jerked over, and his breath hitched in his throat. He felt like his body was going to explode. Taking a deep breath, Jongho finally looked up at you. Your bottom lip was slightly pouted, glistening from the afternoon sunlight. How could he say no? 

“You’re reckless,” He whispered, his eyes twitched as they filled with tears. 

You sighed, pushing yourself up from your chair, your legs taking you over to him. Taking in your body in front of him, Jongho stared up at you, licking his plump lips as he took you in. Fuck, he thought, his dick strained in his pants, your precious eyes not noticing the bulge growing.

“You know you love me,” You smiled at him, reaching your hands out, silently asking for a warm hung from him. 

Jongho hissed, “I can’t,” He mumbled, gripping the side of his pants. 

“What?” 

You cocked your head to the side before your eyes fell down to where his eyes lingered. A small gasp left your lips, your eyes widening at the view before you. 

“Jongho-“

“Fuck, YN,” He growled standing up, “I’ve loved you for years,” He started, his hands came to cup your face, your cheeks filling his hands perfectly, “I can’t sit here and watch the love of my life walk away to her possible death,” He breathed out, tears falling silently. 

You didn’t know what to say, your words caught in the back of your throat. He felt the same way. Jongho felt the same way as you. You brought your hands up, cupping Jongho’s. You studied his face, the tip of his nose turning a slight rose color from him holding in his tears. 

“You love me like that?” You asked quietly, letting a low giggle slip. 

He rolled his eyes, “Please kiss me,” He whispered. 

You couldn’t make the move first if you wanted to, Jongho slammed his lips against yours, moving rhythmically against yours. His plush lips felt so warm against yours, a soft moan rumbling through your throat, Jongho swallowing them. His hands fell down to your waist, pulling you into him, his growing bulge pressing against your tummy. You gasped at the feeling, Jongho took this opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, skimming your mouth. 

“I need you now,” He whimpered, his hands gripping your waist, definitely leaving bruises. 

You nodded swiftly, wrapping your hand with his, dragging him to your all too familiar bedroom. Jongho knew your home like the back of his hand. He’d move in if he could, stay here with you, forever. His body was burning with desire, his fingers tingling at the feeling of your hand wrapped around his. He couldn’t believe that you reciprocated, that you were dragging him to your bedroom, whimpering like that to him. His mind was fuzzy, his heart thumping, his ears loud with the beat. 

Coming to a halt, you quickly kick off your boots, Jongho following right behind. Your body felt relief it was finally getting what it has been yearning for longer than the ring. You were finally making love with the man of your dreams. Granted you would have done this in different circumstances but, due to what has happened, this felt only right because what if he’s right? What if you don’t make it back alive?

“You’re so beautiful,” Jongho mumbled, his fingers untying your corset, your breast slightly falling as the corset came off. 

Pulling your shirt off and tugging your skirt down, you were bare. You stood there, the afternoon sun beaming on your skin, soaking in the warmth. Jongho stopped breathing, his eyes soaking in your naked form. You were beautiful. Your wavy hair falling down to the middle of your back, your peach fuzz glistening in the light, goosebumps rising over your body at the mixture of warmth and cold. 

You glanced back, taking in the shocked expression of Jongho before smirking, laying down on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. 

“Don’t act so shocked, Jongie,” You whispered, “You’ve seen me naked before,”

He blushed, tugging his shirt over his head, his torso coming into full view. You sighed, mesmerized at his form. Jongho helped around town lifting heavy objects, building doors, barns, all the heavy lifting. God did it showed. 

“That was by mistake.” He smirked, climbing onto the bed, his large frame hovering over you, “And I thought about it for months,” He whispered, bringing his lips back down to yours.

Soft kisses were exchanged between you and quiet ‘I love you’s’ mixed in there. Taking his hand, Jongho traced down your body, feeling the smooth skin on his hands, his cock aching at the touch. Pushing his knee back, Jongho placed it between your thighs, wedging it in between the soft skin so his hand could finally find your soaking cunt. 

You slung your head back, the feeling of his fingers tracing your slick folds sending you into oblivion. Jongho traced small circles around your lips, spreading the sticky wetness around. 

“Fuck,” You whimpered, picking your head back up, staring at Jongho who was staring down at your soaking pussy. 

“Fuck is right,” He mumbled, dipping his finger into your cunt. 

A yelp escaped your lips, the feeling of his finger stroking your insides causing your brain to stir. Glancing up at you, Jongho smiled softly, pressing another finger into, scissoring his way in, stretching you out to fit your pretty pussy around his cock. His mouth salivated at the sight of your cunt sucking his fingers back in every time he pulled out. God, you were beautiful, ethereal, and here you were, all spread out for him. 

“Want me to eat you out, baby?” 

Your pussy clenched at the pet name, a quick nod and a soft whimpered followed. Jongho smirked before shuffling himself between your thighs. His nose skimmed your soft thighs, his lips pressing delicate kisses, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. Your nipples hardened at the feeling, your hands coming to rest in his soft, thick locks. 

Jongho nuzzled his nose against your throbbing clit, your body jerking at the sudden touch. 

“Relax, baby,” He whispered, peppering sweet kisses along your drenched lips, “Let me take care of you like I always do, like I was born to do,” 

Your heart fluttered and so did your pussy at the obvious confession. Jongho licked his lips before pressing them against your clit, sucking on the sweet pearl. Gasping, your slightly arched your back, the feeling becoming too intense with Jongho softly fucking you with his fingers. 

“Hold still,” He mumbled against your folds, bringing his arm up to hold your hips down. 

Whimpering, you softly ground your wet pussy against his face, his lips sucking at you, loud slurps filled the room as he finger fucked you to your orgasm. 

Loud moans fill the room, your eyes filled with black dots as you rode out your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby, use my face,” He mumbled, kitten licking your clit as his fingers came to a halt inside you. 

Propping yourself up, you caught Jongho sucking on his fingers. His big, brown eyes gazing back at you as his tongue swirled around them. 

“Oh fuck,” You whispered, in awe at the sight between your legs. 

Pulling his fingers out with a loud pop, Jongho pushed himself off the bed, his dick suffocating in his pants. Smirking at you, Jongho pulled his pants down, his dick smacking against his stomach. Your mouth dropped open, your mouth salivating at the sight of him. His tip was scorching red, precum coating the tip, shining in the light. You sat up, ready to push yourself off the bed but Jongho stopped you, gently pushing you back. 

“That can wait,” He breathed out, his hand gripping his throbbing cock, a faint whimper passing his lips, “I need to feel you around me, baby” 

You licked your lips, nodding before laying back down. Jongho gazed down at you, his eyes filled with love and lust. You looked beautiful underneath him, just as he had imagined. Your breast rose with each breath you took, goosebumps surrounding your perked nipples. Bending down, Jongho took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on the sweet mounds, abandoning his dick to grip at the other breast. A soft moan passed your lips, your legs wrapped around his waist as he took his time with your nipples, switching back and forth from each one. 

His dick twitched at your entrance, your legs wrapped around him bringing your soaking cunt closer to him. He couldn’t wait any longer, not when you were whiny and needy underneath him. Abandoning your breast, Jongho gripped his dick, swiping his dick up and down your folds, coating his tip in your essence. 

“Want me to fuck you, baby?” 

You nodded, wiggling your hips as he continued to circle your clit with his tip. He tsked, smacking the side of your thigh, “I need to hear you, sweet girl.” 

“I-I want you to fuck me, Jongho,” You breathed out, your pussy fluttering at the smack. 

“Good girl,” He whispered. 

Wrapping an arm underneath the bend of your knee, Jongho pressed himself into your sopping entrance, pushing himself in slowly, your warmth surrounding him. A long, drawled out moan left his lips as your pussy swallowed him completely.

“Fuck,” He groaned, pushing himself all the way to your cervix, your pussy clenching at the feeling, “You feel so good around me.” He whined, his hips jerked. 

You couldn’t respond, your body in full bliss at the feeling of being filled to the brim with his dick. As if on cue, Jongho started rocking his hips, slowly, and passionately as he soaked you all in. His eyes hazed, staring down at your body as it jumped with every thrust. He couldn’t handle himself. With the sight of your breast bouncing with each thrust, your lips parted and soft whines tumbling out, Jongho started ramming himself in you. The obscene sound of your pussy squelching around his cock filled the room. 

Your body was overcome with goosebumps, all you could feel was intense pleasure as Jongho made love to you. Panting, Jongho brought his fingers down to your clit, rubbing quick but soft circles around your swollen pearl. 

“Jongho,” You drawled out, your back slowly arching, “I’m about to cum,” You whined, gripping  bicep. 

Jongho smirked, leaning over slamming his lips against yours. Wrapping your hands around his neck, lacing your fingers in the hairs that settled in the back, Jongho groaned at the feeling and started speeding up, his thrusts and fingers going the same speed, sending you into a complete spiral. 

“Come on, my sweet girl, cum for me. Cum around my cock and show me how much you love me, please,” He whined the last part, sending you into your orgasm. 

Your back arched into his chest, a long, drawled out moan escaped your lips as Jongho pressed light kisses along your jawline. 

“That’s it baby,” He grunted, trying to hold himself together, “Cum around my cock,” 

With a few more thrust, Jongho moaned, his seed feeling you to the brim as you still rode out your own orgasm. Soft pants filled your room as you both came down from your high, Jongho’s body laid on top of yours, your hand softly caressing his head. 

“Fuck,” You whispered, tucking a few of his longer hairs behind his ear, rubbing your thumb against his cheek. 

“That was amazing,” He mumbled, staring up at you. 

Jongho pulled out, his cum flowing out after. The sun has finally set, the moon now glowing on Jongho’s naked body. You were in awe of him and what just happened between you two. As if he didn’t notice, Jongho got dressed and headed to your bathroom, bringing a rag back to clean you up. 

“You know,” He mumbled, tossing the rag to the side and folding your blanket onto your naked body, “If you go, I’m coming with you,” 

He flopped down beside you, propping his head up on his hand as he stared down at you. You took in his rosy cheeks, his swollen lips, and messy hair.  God he was beautiful. 

“You sure?” You whispered, caressing his hand that was laying on top of your stomach. 

“Looks like we’re going on an adventure,” 

© yuyuyunnie, 2024.

[serickswrites]

Lonely Place of Longing XV.V (The missing chapter)

Master list link here (includes chapter links, summary, and character bios)

A/N: I took this chapter out because it made references to things I hadn't talked about in this story (but will in the prequel series!). And because I felt like it would have made the chapter after this one (and in the story's current iteration Chapter 16) less climactic--though it probably would have been pretty climactic with the cliff hanger in hindsight. It's a short one, so please enjoy. The final chapter will be out on its usual post day!

Warnings: physical violence, blood, knife, stabbing, wounds, referenced death, character death, mcd, unconsciousness, referenced heat injury

“You are sadly still so predictable,” Owen drawled as he grabbed for another knife from his bandolier of blades. He had slipped back into their native tongue. He had, Dylan realized, always spoken to Dylan in their mother tongue. Only when it was absolutely necessary did he use the language native to Patricanus.

And you haven’t changed either. “Does it matter? We both know how this ends, Owen. Give it up.” I will end you. I will rip you limb from limb. I will destroy you. You did this. You gave me no choice.

“Yes, it ends with me winning and imbuing your sweet paramour. Do you think she will be as monstrous as me? Or perhaps as monstrous as you?” Owen chuckled as he dodged another attack from Dylan.

Dylan and Owen continued to trade blows. Both weapons fought with their powers, Owen combining his attacks with his physical weapons. Their chests heaved as they panted. Neither had had a fight that required this much strength in nearly a decade. “Isn’t this lovely,” Owen said as he tossed a bent knife to the side before drawing another, “two of the most powerful beings in the world set to destroy one another.” He glanced over his shoulder at Halle. “Perhaps she will join our ranks soon.”

Hold on, sweetheart. I won’t let him hurt you. “Owen,” Dylan said as he raised his fist once more, “it doesn’t have to be this way. If you agree to stop, if you agree to come willingly—“

“You’ll what, kill me quickly? I’m not going to do that.” Owen released a large pulse of energy at Dylan. It missed Dylan by a wide margin, blasting a large hole in the wall behind him. Shouts of pain and alarm rang out.

Dylan gritted his teeth. His side pinched. He could feel blood leaking through his shirt and making his side slick. He didn’t dare check the wound. It doesn’t matter. It is minor. Minor pain. I have had worse. I need to stop him. I need to stop him from destroying everything. He knew he was burning through his vast reserve of energy. But most of all, Dylan hated the loss of innocent human life. “Do you care so little for your minions you would kill them to hurt me?”

Owen smirked. “Yes, wouldn’t you?” Owen sent another energy blast at the wall, vaporizing the scattering men. “That’s what they are for. They are weak. We are strong. We can destroy everything.”

“You cannot do this, Owen. You cannot destroy everything. Think of what we could rebuild. Think of all the lives we could save.” Please. Please don’t make me do this. I…I don’t want to. Dylan realized with a pang of guilt. As much as he hated what Owen had done, as much as he hated the destruction and waste of life, he didn’t hate Owen. And killing Owen would kill a part of him. Please, we were friends once. We can still be friends. Please, don’t make me kill you.

“I can. And I will. Because I can. And because I want to.” Owen lunged towards Dylan again, his knife flashing bright. Dylan easily dodged Owen’s attack once more, but realized his mistake when Owen charged towards Halle.

“No!” Dylan surged forward, realizing too late, this was exactly what Owen wanted. Owen stabbed the knife up and into Dylan’s gut, burying it to the hilt. Dylan tried to breathe through the pain as Owen rode his body to the ground.

“Like I said, Dylan,” Owen ripped the knife up and through Dylan’s body until he hit bone. Dylan gasped through the pain, “so predictable.”

“Owen,” Dylan hissed as he felt Owen rip the knife from his gut. “Owen, please,” he said. “Owen, ahh—“ Dylan cried out as Owen shoved his hand into the wound. His world whited out with pain as Owen wormed his fingers into the wound on his side.

“There, that’s it. Yes, you are where I always planned for you to be, Dylan.” Owen’s face was inches from Dylan’s. “I have been waiting for this moment.”

“Owen, I’m sorry,” Dylan whispered. I cannot let you do this. I cannot let you win. If you win, the world burns. If you win, she dies. I cannot let that happen.

Owen froze. “What are you sorry for? Wounding me?” Owen wriggled his fingers deeper into the wound. Dylan cried out with pain. “What’s the best way and only surefire way to kill a weapon?”

Dylan gritted his teeth. I don’t want to do this. But you are leaving me no choice. Please, Owen. “Owen—“

“That’s right, you destroy the heart. A head shot will probably kill them, but not always. But the heart? The heart is the only way. I’m going to rip your heart apart, Dylan. And then I’m going to wake up your love so she can see your corpse as I turn her.” Owen twisted his arm, shoving it further into Dylan’s body. “I’ll reach your heart either through your belly or through your side. It doesn’t matter. I will have your heart. I will win.”

Destroy their heart. This is the only way. I’m sorry, Owen. I’m sorry this is what it came to. You left me no choice. “Killing me won’t bring them, any of them back. Killing me won’t bring her back.”

Owen froze. Dylan continued. “Killing me won’t change what happened. Killing me won’t bring—“

“You don’t get to say her name. You don’t get to say anything about any of them. And yes, killing you won’t bring them back. But it will make me happier.”

Dylan closed his eyes tight against the sting of tears. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I tried. You left me no other way. I would have found another way. You left me no choice, Owen. Dylan raised his shaking left hand to touch Owen’s chest as Owen tried to dig further and further, searching for Dylan’s heart. He didn’t even notice when Dylan touched his shredded shirt. “I am sorry,” Dylan whispered as he unleashed his power. “I am truly sorry, Owen,” he said to the red mist that filled the air.

You’re free now. Free from pain. Free from all of this. Free from suffering. I am sorry. Fare well, my friend. May the next life treat you better.

Dylan lay in the growing pool of blood for a moment longer, slowly trying to take stock of his injuries. He had worse pain. But he knew it had to be bad. It didn’t matter. He had to get to Halle. Sweetheart. I’m coming. Hold on. I love you. I love you. I love you.

With a stifled howl of pain, Dylan rolled onto his uninjured side and slowly tried to stand up. He pressed his hand to his gut as he rose on shaking legs, gasping with pain as every muscle protested the movement. He couldn’t stop. He had to keep going. He took two tentative steps on shaking legs. Good enough. I can get us out of here. I’m coming, sweetheart. Hold on.

Halle lay where she had fallen after her head struck the wall. She hadn’t moved during his entire fight with Owen. Please, be ok. You have to be ok. Dylan stumbled over to Halle, collapsing to his knees, relieved to see she was alive.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got you,” Dylan said as he braced himself. Carefully Dylan lifted her, stumbling slightly as he tried to get his balance. Though Halle was petite, he struggled to carry her. He knew his wounds were much worse than he initially thought as he struggled to balance. “I’ll get us to the team. They’ll look after you. Just hold on.”

Halle hung limply in his arms, her limbs swaying with his staggering. The room spun around him. No. Just a bit farther. Just a bit longer. Dylan refused to give up, refused to let his body give out. She needs help. I have to get her to help. Hold on, sweetheart. I have you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Dylan only managed to get a few steps before his legs gave out completely. He didn't have the energy to get back up, to carry her and go forward. “Oh,” he sighed. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Halle. I can’t. You’re going to have to walk out of here. I….I can’t carry you. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I…Please wake up soon. Please be ok.”

He held Halle tightly in his arms. He rubbed gentle circles on her back. Dark spots flecked his vision. He shook his head. Come on, sweetheart. You have to be ok. I am alive because you are alive.You have to be alive. I love you. I love you. I love you.

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[sepublic]

Luz: Hey Ed, this looks like it'd be fun to try out;

Edric:

Edric: Imagine going to a party with the white suburban stay-at-home mom with three overachiever kids, and the white dad who barbeques but doesn't know how to barbeque, and is always surrounded by other white dads who compliment his barbequing even though they're just store-bought pre-shaped frozen patties from Ralph's or Food 4 Less.

Luz:

Edric: And while he's cooking those the white mom comes out and says "Okay kids, here's some pizza!" And she pulls this out and starts telling the kids why it's a "fun pizza," and then cries in her master bedroom when no one likes or finishes it.

Edric: And the white dad is then consoling her while she sobs that she's a terrible mother and ruined her fourth-grade straight B+ daughter's birthday and thinks her kids hate her, but they don't care, but she continues crying softly into her pillow while the children eat poorly cooked burgers with unmelted Kraft singles and too much mayonnaise, and the only other condiments are two pickles and pepper because the dad called it his Abomination Burger with a Secret Spice, but the spice was just pepper.

Edric: And the kids just keep playing E-rated games on their Nintendo Wii while the 12-year-old older sister starts cleaning the tragedy up and throwing away uneaten "fun pizza" and whole burgers dejected from the start, while she dials Pizza Hut to get these kids an actual birthday lunch.

Luz:

Edric: And the mother then throws a fit because the daughter did something the kids liked and she didn't, and was the only one making a huge deal out of it, and the daughter was then grounded from her TV in her room for only two days.

Edric: And the other daughter went to blow out the candles in her standard birthday cake from Food 4 Less the mom added strawberries to so she could feel she did something, but was still slightly teary and sad because her day was ruined by no one wanting to eat her "fun pizza."

Luz:

Luz:

Luz: This is way too specific. Do you need to talk?

[the-physicality]

c*thy and chr*stie are the same in that they will both get labeled "successful" for what happened under their "leadership" but at the end of the day all the good things that happened happened in spite of them.

[bunnyb34r]

I stg life is trying to give me an aneurysm or mental breakdown good god

[ereborne]

Song of the Day: March 25

"Groovy Little Summer Song" by James Otto

[tmnt-obsessed-ace]

Too mentally drained to write tonight

[tonycries]

Green-eyed Monster

Synopsis. He knows it’s not your fault they’re all over you - but that doesn’t stop him from fúcking you like it is.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, established relationship, jealous séx, spítting, exhíbitionism, bréeding, chokíng, degradatíon, cúmplay, Nanami’s a bit mean, squírting, overstím, oral (female receiving), semi-public, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.4k

A/N. It’s my birthday month yippeeeee

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - “Talk to her?”

It takes you a second to even register those words - let alone the phone being pressed against the side of your face - Toji’s cock too big, the stretch too sinful, so utterly relentless as he fucks your sloppy pussy into the mattress. 

“Hellooooo? Anyone there?”

And it takes you even longer to hear that familiar tinny voice. Too familiar. 

“T-Toji- what ngh-” you let out an obscene gasp - one you were sure that Toji drew out of you on purpose. Dragging his thumb all over your throbbing clit, lips curling in a way that already told you who was on the other end of the line.

“C’mon, doll. The mans been blowing up your phone all day.” his words are hot against your lips. Giving your swollen lips a loud peck, once. Twice. “S’rude to keep someone waiting on call.”

He only huffs out a laugh at how cute you looked underneath him, all breathless and fucked dumb. Jaw slack, teary eyes rolling to the back of your head, words slurring and barely coherent.

“Hngh- what-” you squirm, words so heavy as Toji continues his movements. “Oh my god-”

Your boyfriend had you exactly where he wanted you - and since he couldn’t take a hint, Toji was about to let that annoying little ex of yours know too. Knowing that whatever comes out of your pretty lil’ mouth would definitely stop that loser thinking he still had a chance.

“Is she there? Baby, are you there?”

Oh, well, Toji didn’t like that. Not one bit, as he pushes your legs further apart to ram into you even deeper. Unstopping. Unforgiving - like he was taking his irritation out on your poor, ravaged cunt. 

“Yeah, speak up ‘baby’.” he pants into your open mouth, hot tongue licking up the stray tears rolling down your cheeks. “Use those words now.”

And because he was such a shameless bastard, Toji’s rolling your swollen clit between two large fingers. Lips twitching up into a smirk as he drinks in all those cute little whines that startle out of you. 

“Hn-hngh-” you cry, bowing your body deeper into Toji’s. Clawing at his arms - his shoulders - his back to desperately contain your obscene moans. What a shame, they were so pretty too - he wouldn’t mind the entire neighborhood overhearing. “Fuck, Toji…”

“Awww, what? Can’t even speak?” Pulling himself closer to catch your lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss he hopes would ring through the speakers on the other end of the line. “My poor baby’s gettin’ nervous?”

God, that asshat better take a hint now.

And shit if he thought he was going insane because of that bastard interrupting his precious time with you, then he was definitely not ready for the way you get wetter - tighter - as he does. Putting on a sinful little show that had Toji’s hips stuttering, knuckles white on your phone as he fights not to drop it. 

“Oh-” Toji’s head drops into the crook of your neck, fingers bruising on your hips while he fucks you back harder into him. ”Ya like this? Like being so dirty in front of someone else?” Difficult with the way you were squeezing so tightly around his swollen cock. “Actin’ so innocent but you’re such a slut, huh?”

You give him such a delirious little nod of your head, batting your lashes so deceivingly innocently and- shit, did you even know what you were doing? How fucking sexy you were being right now? Shit, he was fucked. He was so fucked.

“Is this you playing hard to get?”

Ah, right. Forgot about that bastard.

Droning out into the phone, “Seems m’girl is busy right now.” And as if to prove his point - maybe to that scrub on the other end of the phone, maybe to himself - he’s slamming into your heavenly cunt faster and faster. Making sure to angle the speaker just right to catch all those lewd little squelches as your sweet sweet juices soak Toji’s achingly hard cock. Voice as ragged as his hips as he grunts, “Very busy.”

“I can hear her - let me speak to her!”

Well, what your ex was hearing were probably those fucked-out whines spilling from your lips. Just as out of control as your hips bucking up for more more more- “Ah! Toji, wan’ more- hngh- fuck fuck fuck.” 

It made all the blood in Toji’s body - especially his brain - rush straight down to cock to watch you go from pretending you weren’t affected to being such a good little whore for him. And, hell, that was only for him to hear.

“Wait- that noise-”

So Toji’s snaking up his hand from its relentless abuse on your sensitive clit to shove two fingers into your mouth. Huffing out a dark little chuckle at the way you gag and choke so prettily around him, moaning like you couldn’t help yourself.

Though, that doesn’t mean he’s going to be any nicer to your cunt though. Toned pelvis slamming against yours - so hard he’s sure it would leave some nice little bruises to brag about - maybe even send that asshole ex a few pictures if he still keeps calling.

“What the fuck- is she…?”

“Told ya, she’s busy.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - “You deserve it.”

“Do I really have to do this to teach you a lesson each time?”

You gulp, eyes flitting between his yellow tie wrapped around your wrists pinned above, and the man in-between your legs. Eyes glassy, strands of blond sticking uncharacteristically to his forehead, such a cruel little smirk playing on his lips as he positions himself in-between your legs. 

Smack!

A breathless gasp leaves you as Nanami’s hand comes down on your ass. Hard. 

And he only huffs out a low chuckle at the way you keen, hips bucking wildly in- defiance? Need? You didn’t know, the only thing you were sure of was that you wanted him to do something - anything - right now. 

Because one look at that classmate who you were just a little too close with earlier today, and Nanami’s been so mean ever since then. All but ripping off your clothes as he tied you to the headrest, fucking you over and over until he could see you all bloated with his cum. And even then - Nanami wasn’t done.

“Y’should answer me when I ask something, my love.” he licks a long, languid stripe up your swollen folds. Pressing softly on your tummy to watch his seed gush down your legs, so fucking filthy as he pools it on his tongue, tipping his head back, back, back to let it slide down his throat. “Or is it that you just listen to what he says now?”

God, he was being so sinfully irrational right now. Teasing. Taunting. 

“No, tha’s not it-” you sob, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks at how you wanted to cum again so badly despite how sensitive your poor pussy was. “J-jus want-”

“Want what?” 

Oh how Nanami loved you like this - that pathetic little whimper leaving your mouth as he teases you with his mouth. Hot tongue going all the way up from your base, just underneath your swollen clit. Not even bothering to fuck into your sloppy hole yet. 

“To make me-” the words die in your throat as he grazes your clit. Ever-so-slightly. You just wished you could free yourself and give in so badly. “Cum! Wan’ you to make me cum.”

Your back arches off the bed, legs wrapping around Nanami’s head to pull him closer to where you needed him the most. Thighs quivering, his cum dribbling out of your sloppy pussy and into a lewd little pool below.

And it seems to work - perhaps temporarily. Because he’s echoing against your glistening lips, “To cum?” smirking against your cunt as he dips his tongue past that first ring of resistance. “You should ask-” Before pulling away completely. “-that friend of yours.”

“Noooo!” you’re letting out a strangled gasp, and if you were in any better state of mind maybe you’d have been embarrassed about how pathetic you were being right now. Tugging uselessly on the tie. “Please, Ken.”

God, how he would love to bully you some more - to have you crying and shaking on just the tip of his tongue until all you could remember was how he couldn’t have you like this. Ruin you like this. 

But, no, Nanami can’t deny that your adorable mewls of his name have him feeling lightheaded.

“You little minx.” he manages out, pulling away mere millimeters. Purposely letting a tense beat pass, one. Two. Before spitting on your fluttering cunt, adding to the absolute mess of cum and slick below. Missing on purpose - of course - to let it splatter all over your thighs. “Usin’ the dirtiest tricks, huh?”

“I didn’t oh-” Nanami doesn’t let you plead your case - he doesn’t want you to. Instead, shoving his face nose-deep in your overfilled pussy. Lapping at all your - and his - sweet sweet juices.

“Asking me to do this.” he hisses into your cunt, trying for the life of him to sound like he isn’t in heaven right now. Murmuring around your throbbing clit, “Shoulda asked that friend. Didn’t need me when he was around.” 

You hiccup, face burning at how mean he was being. “He’s just a c-classmate.”

Smack!

Maybe to shut you up, maybe to stop you from talking about that loser with those pretty lips of yours, Geto’s giving you a quick, sharp smack to your ass. Smoothing his palm over the sting like a little warning. 

“Oh yeah?” he questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Didn’t seem that way with how he was flirting with my wife. N’ now you wanna cum on my tongue? How needy.”

“M’sorry!” you’re grinding your cunt deeper onto his face, a rapid, sloppy little rhythm to match his own. Geto’s tie now digging into your wrists with how hard you’re pulling. “Shoulda known- m’sorry- hngh, fuck fuck fuck.” 

Rewarded with a gentle smack! and his tongue - hot and deftly massaging all the right spots. So expert in the way he’s teasing and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his face, tonguefucking you with such reckless abandon. No rhythm or technique - just to show off. To show you.

Close - too close. 

Close enough that you could almost-

Let out a broken whine as Nanami pulls away, delicate strings of cum and spit snapping as he does. So pretty and filthy all over his kiss-bitten lips, ones that curve into a mocking smile at your state. 

“Who said you could cum, gorgeous?” A hand reaching down to fist his swollen fist, pumping up and down. Slowly. “I was jus’ cleaning that pretty pussy up for the real fun.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - See the mess

It was too much - everything was too much. From the way Geto had you shoved into your empty office room, strong arms spreading your legs so shamefully on the desk, to the way he’s stuffing his achingly hard cock in-between them.

Hips so well, and dangerously intent. Like he had something to prove, and didn’t mind whether he would break you in the process. 

And he did - to prove himself to those incessant coworkers of yours that hit on you in front of him. As if they had a chance? To prove that he’s the only one to that can make you cum over and over and- 

Dragging you on his cock, veins throbbing in a maddening thump! thump! thump! Against your walls. Edging you closer to - which number orgasm was this, again? You weren’t in the right state of mind to calculate. 

“Oh, this? Might the seventh.” he murmurs, fingers stuttering on your throbbing clit and- oh shit, had you said that out loud? “Mhm, you did.” Geto grins up at how pretty you were like this - tear-streaked face, lips wobbling, such cute moans leaving them each time he gave a long, languid strokes. “But s’alright, I love it.”

“B-but-” you whine, words slurring together in a way that has all the blood in Geto’s body rushing painfully to this dick. “Someone might-”

“Come?” he circles around your sloppy entrance with a fingertip, stretched so fucking obscenely around his cock. Shifting to flick at your sensitive nub. “Guess you jus’ better hurry up then, my love.”

Your head spins, both from the way Geto was dragging your pussy so sloppily all over his cock - bouncing you like such a slut - and from how mean he was being. Nothing at all like the caring, gentle boyfriend he usually was. Throwing your legs over his shoulders to fuck you even deeper.

“Fuck shit shit shit-” you buck your hips wildly as he bullies his heavy cock faster into your plushy walls. One hand on your hips, keeping you still while he massages every crevice and spot he knew would have you seeing stars. The other, drawing frenzied little circles on your ravaged clit. “S-Sugu, someone’s gonna hear- gonna walk in.”

“Good.”

Mouth dropping into a soft oh! you snap your head up to meet his darkened gaze. Man bun so messy already, brows furrowed, lips swollen and curling ever-so-slightly into a cruel, fucked-out little smile.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” he grunts, hips getting sloppier. Faster. “Almost like you want someone to come.”

Unconvincingly, “N-noo, hah- I don’t”

“Y’sure about that?” Your sweet sweet juices glossing his lips so prettily from where he tongue-fucked you to insanity right here not to long ago, and if you angled your head just right you could see the way it trickled down his jawline. An even bigger mess at his hips, cock soaked and glistening in the dim lighting. “Don’ want any of those friends to see you all filthy like this?”

Because Geto wasn’t afraid of getting messy - or showing it off. He loved it in fact. 

Loved your slick just smearing dangerously close to the strands of hair framing his face. Loved ruining you because he was the only one that got to - and anyone else can come in and watch if they wanna flirt with you so badly. 

“Fuck them.” you flinch at how uncharacteristically mean he was being. “Fuck them all. Only I can make you feel like this-” Hitting that one spot again and again. “-right?”

“Sugu- f-fuck s’too deep.” you arch off the desk, fingers carding through his locks to pull him even closer. Eyes watering as you feel that familiar knot in your stomach. “I’m hah- shit.”

“Who’s cock are ya gonna cum all over?” Geto questions, muffled around your dripping cunt. So deep that his nose was rubbing tiny, sinful little circles on your poor clit. “Who’s making you- hngh- f-feel this good?”

It’s all you can do to let out such whiny, cockdrunk replies. Ones that only make Geto rock his hips harder, sloppier with each word falling from your lips. “You- Sugu- Shit s’too much.”

 “Yeah? Gonna cum f’me again? All on my cock?” breathing ragged now. 

“I- I don’t- hngh. Know if I can!” You were barely lucid at this point, barely even registering the way you’re so sloppily jerking your hips all over. Using him in exactly the ways Geto wanted. 

“You will.” Pace only picking up, so rough that a little part of Geto almost feels bad - almost. Your entire body is twitching with each flick of his finger on your clit. Cock hitting all the right spots. Making such a mess of slick and precum below you that you can only pray your office isn’t used for a meeting today. “You can- hngh- do it. F’me.”

“For you?”

“Yeah.” he’s pulling you close enough that you can feel his breath hot against your lips. “You can do it, right? Can cum for me? Squirt all over my cock?” Licking at the seam of your mouth - forcing you to taste him and yourself and him- “F’me. Only me.”

It’s sudden - almost violent, and you don’t even realize when you’re cumming at first. Just that, with a strained scream of Geto’s name, nails raking down his sculpted shoulders, leaving pretty red marks for him to remember. 

Juices squirting all over his abs, staining his t-shirt. Glistening against his milky skin, snug cunt squeezing his rock-hard cock while he fucks you over and over and- 

“So messy f’me, my love. So fuckin’ messy.” His eyes darting to the now slightly-ajar door - as expected. “Hope no one else sees the mess too, hm?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - The needy

He knows it’s not your fault that they hover around you - those pathetic losers that think they have a chance - but that still won’t stop him from fucking you like it is. 

“Baby- ngh. Why the f-fuck did you have to look so hah- good, today?” he’s gasping against your lips, hips out of control, voice a pitch or so higher than it usually would be. “Had so many lookin’ at my girl like ngh- you’re theirs.”

And God - it was so hard to look at Choso too, flushed your favorite shade of pretty pink, stray strands of hair sticking to his forehead - so utterly wrecked already. Though, you weren’t any better. 

“S’for you, Cho.” you whine, jaw dropping at the sudden gush of cum that oozes down your legs as Choso pulls out completely - like a little punishment. Lips curling into a fucked-out little smirk at your adorable pout. “D-did it for you.”

Those simple words break him. You break him. 

And Choso doesn’t even dare to give himself the chance to compose himself before bullying his swollen cock all the way back inside you again. Heavy balls smacking your ass hard enough to leave marks - good, let them leave marks. Milking himself over and over. 

Groaning, “Shit- you don’t know what you do to me, baby.” 

And your eyes flicker down at the hands suddenly all over you - everywhere, anywhere that Choso could reach. So that maybe next time when you wear such a sinful little sundress, everyone else will know to keep their eyes to themselves. Cupping your stomach to press down on where he was right there-

“Hngh- oh my god. So deep, ah-”

“Look s’fuckin’ gorgeous.” he spits into your mouth. Fingers bruising on your hips, your ass, kneading and groping every inch of skin. “Unfair- shit shit- they don’t have the right-” Tweaking your nipples, branding your neck, he runs a thumb under your swollen lower lip. “Don’ have the hah- right to look at what’s mine, right?”

“Y-yes.” you whimper, rutting your hips up pathetically to meet his merciless cadence. Hard abs so painful - maybe even bruising against your skin. 

Choso’s tugging open your lips, and you let him. Way too drunk on his cock - his massive, unforgiving cock - to even think of stopping him. 

Before you know it, he spits in your mouth, once. Twice. And you don’t even realize that this is what you’ve been waiting for - perhaps ever since you put on that slutty little sundress to tease him this morning - because you’re moaning half-lucidly. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you let his saliva slide down your throat.

And Choso just looks like he could pass out right then and there. 

He doesn’t know what’s more obscene - this or that little pool of cum spreading all over the sheets right now. Seeping into your skin, dribbling down your legs each time he moves in and out in and-

“Hated their s-stares. Their whispers.” Jaw falling slack, cock twitching wildly inside your tight walls. Words hurried and slurring together as he whispers, “Mine right?” Biting down your neck, licking hotly - almost as sloppy as his hips, “Only mine, yeah? Who does this pussy belong to?”

“You!” you manage to sob out, jolting at the fingers starting up quick, erratic little circles on your poor clit. “Ngh- only you.”

“Mhm? I make you f-feel this hah- way?” he leans closer, cock ramming in and out of you so animalistically. “Only I get to paint this pretty pussy white.” Nibbling on your ear, “To s-stuff you full, hm?”

Honestly, Choso doesn’t even know if he could cum again but he had to - needed to. Balls squeezing while he fights to cum again - once more, to prove to himself, and you that you were his inside and out. And he tells you - a little over twelve times as he babbles into your lips.

“Mine. Shit shit shit- all f’me. Fuck, m’so close” And he could tell by the way you were squeezing so sinfully around him that you were too, moans getting all breathy and incoherent the way it did just before you were about to cum. “Gonna cum? F’me? H-hah- All f’me?”

“Yes! Yes yes yes- m’gonna-”

You don’t get to finish the sentence - Choso doesn’t let you.

Instead, drinking up all your sinful moans while he angles his hips just right to hit that one spot, at the same time he presses down against your clit. Hard. 

You see stars as you cum, toes curling, legs pulling Choso by his toned hips so he could spill into you with an almost-pained grunt. Cock too sensitive, tears springing to his eyes as he cums and cums so hard he thinks he sees the gates of heaven. 

And you, of course, are an angel.

An angel he’s pressing impossibly closer to. Biting up your collarbone, hips so filthy with the way he’s fucking rope after rope of hot seed into you. 

Whispering hoarsely in your ear, “Ya finally know you’re mine or do I hafta ngh- teach you again?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Listen up!

“I could always get you off right here, y’know. Right now.”

And that’s exactly what he does - one look at his underlings sends them running. The door barely even slamming shut before Sukuna has your drenched panties in tatters on the floor, straddling his thick thigh, trying - desperately - to get yourself off with all that he would give.

“Y-you said you hngh- get me off.” you hiccup, bottom lip wobbling so pathetically as you drag your sloppy pussy all over Sukuna’s thigh. 

And oh you sound so betrayed - so needy - that it might just be opening up a whole new realm of possibilities for the man himself. Doing nothing more but watch the way you ride his thigh like such a slut. 

“So what if I said that?” he crosses his arms, intentionally blocking the mouth-watering view you had of his pecs. “Do it yourself. Think m’gonna be intimidated by a whore like you?”

You know he’s doing this to infuriate you, to get you to break and beg him for mercy. And all you can do is let out a soft gasp as Sukuna shifts his leg, the friction so good against your sensitive pussy. Having you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Heh, too fucked out to even deny it?” he coos, making you whine and stutter your hips right where that sinful little thigh tattoo was. Pressing down. Hard. “You really are a whore. Is that why you let my ministers get close with you like that?”

“I-I didn’t-” your hips are out of control now, sliding your throbbing clit on the dips and curves of his leg. Absolutely soaked in your juices. “They jus’ asked me how to get to the-”

“And they think they can talk to their queen that way?”

Irritation is bleeding into Sukuna’s words now, eyes dark and hooded in a way that makes you wonder whether he realizes the iron-hold grip on your hips now. Hard. Nails sharp against your soft skin, rocking you harder on his thigh. Faster.

With a soft whimper, you let him pull you into a desperate desperate kiss. Just a clash of teeth and saliva and pure need. Pure intensity. 

“Fuckin’ vermin.” You flinch as he spits out little profanities into your open mouth. “Should kill ‘em for even looking at you.” One hand digging into your hips, pushing and pulling them like you were too slow, the other shifting his robe. “Gonna kill them all.”

And maybe because you’re too stupid - or too cockdrunk - to think otherwise, because you gasp out little pleas of mercy. Letting Sukuna drink up your delirious little, “D-don’t kill them…”

“Ha?” Sukuna breaks the kiss, immediately stopping your lewd little movements on his leg. Leaning in close enough that his hot breath fans your face. “The fuck did you just say?”

Oh, shit. You were fucked. You were so so fucked.

“Nooo, Kuna I was so-”

“Close?” And oh, you should’ve known that would be a sign. Should’ve gotten an inkling by the way that Sukuna immediately lifts you from his thigh as if you weigh nothing, immediately hovering you right over his achingly hard dick - you won’t be making it out alive. “Who the fuck gave you permission to cum, brat?”

Nothing more is said before he’s making you sit so prettily on his dick - already soaked in precum and so so angry. Not even a hint of care or concern in the way he splits you apart on his swollen cock with barely any preparation. If you were gonna act like such a slut - might as well take it like one.

“I didn’t give ya permission to cum yet.” Sukuna grunt, lacing his fingers on top of your head to push you down, down, down his cock. “Did they?”

You can’t even form proper sentences at this point, the stretch too much. Too good. Letting out incoherent little babbles of what sounded like disagreement, or, that’s what Sukuna took it as anyway.

“Thought so.” Smirking at the feeble resistance, “Was defending you against that trash and you just had to fuck- go stand up f’them.” He fucks up into your tight pussy in quick, methodical grinds just to squeeze his thick cock inside. “S’like you wanted me to fuck you up right here. To have them hear how I fucking ruin this pretty pussy on my cock.”

You’re scrambling to grab at the chair, his bulging biceps, settling for clawing at his shoulders. Too desperate to even think of a better reply other than a teary little, “N-no- don’ wan-”

Which was useless, really, because any pathetic excuse Sukuna cuts off. Unable to help himself from giving one, harsh thrust that finally has your sweet cunt fully wrapped around his dick. Heavy balls smacking against your ass, squeezing him so tightly. 

“Oh? What a shame.” His whisper is hot against your ear, sending goosebumps racing down your spine. Two fingers squishing your cheeks together into a pathetic pout, forcing you to look at the closed door. “Because they’re right outside listening to ya.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - The show-off

The Kyoto exchange event isn’t always fun and games, Gojo thinks - ever since that new prick from Kyoto’s teaching staff started making eyes at you, that is. 

How unprofessional! Conduct between teachers should definitely be reprimanded - no matter that Gojo had you snuck into his room, shirt hitting the floor faster than the door closes. His hands everywhere, throwing his blindfold around your neck, pulling you to bed so you can ride whatever remaining sanity out of him. 

“T-Toru, what are you doing?” you squeal, as he starts bucking his hips wildly underneath you. Reeling his head back to watch the way his thick cock slides in and out of you. In and out in and out in and-

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart.” he fumbles with his phone, that familiar ping! ringing out over those lewd squelches below you. You and Gojo were no stranger to recording your little trysts - but why did he seem so eager about this one? “Jus’ do what you always do. Take it- fuck take it all f’me.”

And it’s all you can do - thighs shaking with effort as you desperately try to keep up with Gojo’s pace. 

“Yeah- fuck yeah yeah. Feel so good- God I never get used to this.” And it’s true, he thinks - knows, he could never grow used to the heady feeling of wrecking your tight little pussy. Of drawing those cute lil’ whines of his name out of you. “N’ I know no one else would either.”

Gojo’s no stranger to running his mouth when he’s pussydrunk - and the way your plushy walls were squeezing him so tight, body curving into his as you milk the soul out of him - how could he not be?

“C’mon, sweetheart. Make a mess f’me - and him.”

All it takes is for those simple words for you to realize what he’s doing. And Gojo’s long fingers are becoming erratic on your clit, rolling his thumb over the sensitive nub. Hips sloppy like he was trying to fuck any and every rationality out of you. 

It works, probably - because you know you should stop him recording. To tell him to put away that phone and just ruin you how he usually does. 

But no, instead you’re only getting wetter. Knees spread, sopping hole so messy as you rock your hips even harder down Gojo’s throbbing cock. “So th-that’s what this is about.” 

With a throaty groan, Gojo pulls you to him by his blindfold dangling around your neck - easy access, of course. Grip just a little tighter than it should be. 

Looking up at you through his long lashes, eyes hazy - almost glowing in the camera flashlight. You see the way his lips curl into a satisfied grin. 

“C-can you fuck- blame me?” he sounds so wrecked already. Hand growing tighter and tighter with each cute lil’ whine leaving your swollen lips. “Fuckin’ loser thinks he has the ngh- skills to pull you.” Toned pelvis now bruising against your own, words strained and you wonder whether he can remember to breathe - whether you can breathe. “N’ the skills t-to-” Hips jagged, filthy. “-fuck you.”

“Oh- shit shit shit. God, it feels too good-” 

You’re wondering just how useful the video will actually be, because Gojo’s drawing out such slutty, loud moans from you that you’re half-sure most of campus can hear.

“He can never get you this wet.” Bullying his cock into your heavenly cunt like he was fucking addicted on the feeling. Thumb trembling as he tries to get the camera to focus on all the best parts. “This messy.”

The way your glistening pussy is stretched so obscenely around his cock, sucking him up so well. Disappearing into your dripping wet heaven. Your tits bouncing so enticingly in front of his face - marks littering your soft skin like you’d been thrown to the wolves. But, no, it’s just Gojo.

Just him that can ruin you like this, split you apart on his cock, have his blindfold wrapped around your cute neck.

“Jus’ me.” he gasps, blindfold tightening, phone so shaky. “He can’t compare to me. Fuck- fuck he can never compare.” His heavy balls sting your ass, merciless. “Can never be me.” Hips stuttering and so so sloppy, like he was running on pure adrenaline and the need to prove to the camera that he could ruin you like he promised. “Never. You’re mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.” Tightening. “Mine to break.”

“Sh-shit- you’re too much, Toru.”

“You agree, right?” he suddenly sounds so serious. Knuckles whitening against the blindfold. “No one can hngh- do it like m-me?” Blood roaring in your ears, vision getting spotty, like he wouldn’t let up until he hears what he wants. “No one?”

“Hah- fuck, no one-” you wheeze through his grip, “Only you, Toru.”

Then you’re cumming. 

And Gojo’s not far behind as he buries himself deeper to stuff you so full of his seed, chasing peak after peak and the sinful feeling of your gummy walls being so dripping wet - with him. 

And what a view it was - his girl’s poor pussy so overfilled. You catch the way it drips down the side, cum pooling at Gojo’s twitching balls. Such an obscene white, that it makes Gojo him about painting it all over again. Yeah, his favorite view - and the camera’s too.

“Almost too good of a view.” he grins, looking up at you with twinkling eyes that definitely didn’t bode well for your poor, ravaged pussy - or your sanity. “N’ I just exchanged numbers with that new Kyoto teacher…”

A/N. Also happy pride month hehe.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[2tarbell]

one order for a vanilla birthday cake pleaseee!

kook!reader texting rafe “what position have you got her in?” when he takes too long to respond to a text

happy birthday, angel 💓

BSF!RAFE + KOOK!READER ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

manicured pink nails tapped impatiently on the restaurant table. eyes glued to the bedazzled device with a glittery pout adorning her lips. this was so unfair. rafe would have a fucking conniption if she even thought about not texting him back. and now it’s been… seven fucking minutes? yeah, right.

the last time she left him on delivered for two minutes he was blowing her phone up and all grumbly the rest of the week, pounding her into oblivion for playing games. dont get her wrong; she loved it. being fucked within an inch of her life was her favorite pastime.

but now? rafe cameron was like the worst hypocrite known to man.

‘what position u got her in?’

‘Be so fr’

it brought a smile to her pretty face seeing his sassy reply. with a satisfied huff, she set her phone face down on the table. why not make him sweat? picking up her long island iced tea with a devious grin, she was right back into the conversation with her girls.

the table was alight with giggles and gossip — the pack of kook girls enjoying lunch together after before hitting the beach.

it was supposed to be an easy day, a break from all the confusion and feelings still swirling around princess and her tall, handsome “best friend”. and she desperately needed that. needed some semblance of normalcy before shit took off and everything on the island changed when the two most hated and loved rich kids finally get together.

so she didn’t even flinch when her phone vibrated once, twice, thrice. she only excused herself from the conversation with a smile when her phone buzzed in a rhythmic pattern — a phone call. bubbles of giddy excitement filling her tummy as ‘rafey’ showed on the screen with a point five angled photo of him looking pissed.

“‘kay— be right back, girls!” she sang, already standing with her phone in hand.

“he finally called you, huh?” melodie, a beautiful brunette in a lilac bikini top teased. the table giggled, all looking at princess and feeling a rush of girlish excitement.

“get your man, baby!” another girl, aliyah, borderline squealed.

princess flushed, feeling her body heat up at the prospect of rafe being ‘her man’. god, imagine! she waved them off embarrassedly, teetering away on her platform flip flops, pleasantly tipsy as she leans against the outside wall of the restaurant.

“hellooooo?”

her voice was sugary sweet into the phone, looking down at her nails and checking the polish for any chips. the warm timbre of rafe cameron’s voice rumbled through the speaker, directly pressed into her ear. she found herself wishing to feel his lips moving around the words and against the shell of her ear.

“you’re somethin’ else, dollface.” he mumbled and she could hear the smirk on his lips.

“aw, you didn’t say ‘hi’, rafe…” she pouted, biting back a laugh at the sound of his heavy sigh on the other end.

“hi. you’re somethin’ else.”

“hiii. why’s that?”

his laugh came through the speaker, all deep and settling into her bones like it always does. she hears the tick, tick of his blinker, meaning he’s driving somewhere in that big truck of his.

princess looks around at the marina, taking the sight of obx residents enjoying the still warm, early fall weather. hot enough to take a dip without the water being freezing yet. rafe continued on as she flitted her gaze around the area.

he ignored her question, instead asking his own.

“checked your location. you tipsy right now?”

a giggle escaped her glossy lips, head lolling slightly, “mmm, maybe… why?”

“go back in and pay. sent you one fifty.”

she froze, pulling the phone from her ear and seeing an apple pay notification. he always did this. not like she could just use her dad’s card or anything.

“rafe cameron—“

he cut her off, hanging up after and not letting her protest, “hey— pay and then come back out. know i’ll let ‘chu make it up to me, a’ight?”

it was like a reverse walk of shame — explaining to her friends why she was leaving early and why she was covering the whole tab. walking back out with her purse on her arm as the familiar rumble of his truck approached, petulant in the way her arms were crossed. he pulled up right before her, rolling down the passenger window and smiling in that frustratingly charming way. dickhead.

she hung up with a guffaw, not believing he actually showed up when she was hanging with her friends. the possessive gesture makes her heart jump then fall. very boyfriend of him.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, that’s how you talk to someone who just paid for your lunch? get in.”

she scoffed, amused at his gall. even more so at the fact she listened — shoes clacking against the pavement. rafe leaned over the console, opening the door for her. he looks good and smells better. that cologne she bought him for his birthday last year that he seems to be wearing a lot recently. an intoxicating smell that makes her feel drunker.

a plaid button up, rolled up to the elbow and exposing strong, veiny arms causes her mind to wander as he leans closer to her.

“hey, gorgeous,” that low drawl sends goosebumps over her body, paired with a half smile that’s so pretty.

comfortable in the seat she’s become so familiar with, he closes the gap between them. giving her a kiss so casual and natural, it makes her fluffy lashes flutter rapidly. sticky gloss transfered on his mouth that he doesn’t even wipe away.

she’s even more confused when flowers are thrusted into her arms. princess blinks at him like a fish — feeling a warmth settle in her chest at the sight of her favorite blooms wrapped haphazardly in brown paper.

“they, uh— they were in this ugly fuckin’ plastic. know you hate that so… yeah,” rafe shrugs it off as he pulls out of the parking lot.

princess decides this is technically a kidnapping. especially because she’s never been more confused and lost in her life.

he leans back in the seat, driving with one hand lazily, confidently. a glimpse of blue eyes at her and she’s smiling wildly, bringing the flowers to her nose to smell them. princess leans over and kisses his cheek, feeling drunker on the moment and smell of his skin.

“i— thank you, rafey…”

rafe takes notice of how small her voice is, how vulnerable. he nods, switching hands to rest one on her leg. large, warm palm soothing her and pulling her out of her mind before she can even begin to cause herself to spiral.

he clears his throat, squeezing the plush, smooth skin of her thigh, “cowgirl.”

her furrowed brow is adorable. looking up from the bouquet in her lap and over at him in question. there’s a drunken slowness to her, a haze. he hums and pushes his hand higher — marking a mental note of how easily her legs spread to make room for him.

“that’s what position imma have you in.”

[autistichalsin]

In retrospect, four years later, I feel like the Isabel Fall incident was just the biggest ignored cautionary tale modern fandom spaces have ever had. Yes, it wasn't limited to fandom, it was also a professional author/booktok type argument, but it had a lot of crossover.

Stop me if you've heard this one before: a writer, whether fan or pro, publishes a work. If one were to judge a book by its cover, something we are all taught in Kindergarten shouldn't happen but has a way of occurring regardless, one might find that there was something that seemed deeply problematic about this work. Maybe the title or summary alluded to something Wrong happening, or maybe the tags indicated there was problematic kinks or relationships. And that meant the story was Bad. So, a group of people takes to the Twittersphere to inform everyone who will listen why the work, and therefore the author, are Bad. The author, receiving an avalanche of abuse and harassment, deactivates their account, and checks into a mental health facility for monitoring for suicidal ideation. They never return to their writing space, and the harassers get a slap on the wrist (if that- usually they get praise and high-fives all around) and start waiting for their next victim to transgress.

Sounds awful familiar, doesn't it?

Isabel Fall's case, though, was even more extreme for many reasons. See, she made the terrible mistake of using a transphobic meme as the genesis to actually explore issues of gender identity.

More specifically, she used the phrase "I sexually identify as an attack helicopter" to examine how marginalized identities, when they become more accepted, become nothing more than a tool for the military-industrial complex to rebrand itself as a more personable and inclusive atrocity; a chance to pursue praise for bombing brown children while being progressive, because queer people, too, can help blow up brown children now! It also contained an examination of identity and how queerness is intrinsic to a person, etc.

But... well, if harassers ever bothered to read the things they critique, we wouldn't be here, would we? So instead, they called Isabel a transphobic monster for the title alone, even starting a misinformation campaign to claim she was, in fact, a cis male nazi using a fake identity to psyop the queer community.

A few days later, after days of horrific abuse and harassment, Isabel requested that Clarkesworld magazine pull the story. She checked in to a psych ward with suicidal thoughts. That wasn't all, though; the harassment was so bad that she was forced to out herself as trans to defend against the claims.

Only... we know this type of person, the fandom harassers, don't we? You know where this is going. Outing herself did nothing to stop the harassment. No one was willing to read the book, much less examine how her sexuality and gender might have influenced her when writing it.

So some time later, Isabel deleted her social media. She is still alive, but "Isabel Fall" is not- because the harassment was so bad that Isabel detransitioned/closeted herself, too traumatized to continue living her authentic life.

Supposed trans allies were so outraged at a fictional portrayal of transness, written by a trans woman, that they harassed a real life trans woman into detransitioning.

It's heartbreakingly familiar, isn't it? Many of us in fandom communities have been in Isabel's shoes, even if the outcome wasn't so extreme (or in some cases, when it truly was). Most especially, many of us, as marginalized writers speaking from our own experiences in some way, have found that others did not enjoy our framework for examining these things, and hurt us, members of those identities, in defense of "the community" as a nebulous undefined entity.

There's a quote that was posted in a news writeup about the whole saga that was published a year after the fact. The quote is:

The delineation between paranoid and reparative readings originated in 1995, with influential critic Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. A paranoid reading focuses on what’s wrong or problematic about a work of art. A reparative reading seeks out what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art, even if the work is flawed. Importantly, a reparative reading also tends to consider what might be nourishing or healing in a work of art for someone who isn’t the reader. This kind of nuance gets completely worn away on Twitter, home of paranoid readings. “[You might tweet], ‘Well, they didn’t discuss X, Y, or Z, so that’s bad!’ Or, ‘They didn’t’ — in this case — ‘discuss transness in a way that felt like what I feel about transness, therefore it is bad.’ That flattens everything into this very individual, very hostile way of reading,” Mandelo says. “Part of reparative reading is trying to think about how a story cannot do everything. Nothing can do everything. If you’re reading every text, fiction, or criticism looking for it to tick a bunch of boxes — like if it represents X, Y, and Z appropriately to my definitions of appropriate, and if it’s missing any of those things, it’s not good — you’re not really seeing the close focus that it has on something else.”

A paranoid reading describes perfectly what fandom culture has become in the modern times. It is why "proship", once simply a word for common sense "don't engage with what you don't like, and don't harass people who create it either" philosophies, has become the boogeyman of fandom, a bad and dangerous word. The days of reparative readings, where you would look for things you enjoyed, are all but dead. Fiction is rarely a chance to feel joy; it's an excuse to get angry, to vitriolically attack those different from oneself while surrounded with those who are the same as oneself. It's an excuse to form in-groups and out-groups that must necessarily be in a constant state of conflict, lest it come across like This side is accepting That side's faults. In other words, fandom has become the exact sort of space as the nonfandom spaces it used to seek to define itself against.

It's not about joy. It's not about resonance with plot or characters. It's about hate. It's about finding fault. If they can't find any in the story, they will, rest assured, create it by instigating fan wars- dividing fandom into factions and mercilessly attacking the other.

And that's if they even went so far as to read the work they're critiquing. The ones they don't bother to read, as you saw above, fare even worse. If an AO3 writer tagged an abuser/victim ship, it's bad, it's fetishism, even if the story is about how the victim escapes. If a trans writer uses the title "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter" to find a framework to dissect rainbow-washing the military-industrial complex, it's unforgivable. It's a cesspool of kneejerk reactions, moralizing discomfort, treating good/evil as dichotomous categories that can never be escaped, and using that complex as an excuse to heap harassment on people who "deserve it." Because once you are Bad, there is no action against you that is too Bad for you to deserve.

Isabel Fall's story follows this so step-by-step that it's like a textbook case study on modern fandom behavior.

Isabel Fall wrote a short story with an inflammatory title, with a genesis in transphobic mockery, in the hopes of turning it into a genuine treatise on the intersection of gender and sexuality and the military-industrial complex. But because audiences are unprepared for the idea of inflammatory rhetoric as a tool to force discomfort to then force deeper introspection... they zeroed in on the discomfort. "I Sexually Identify as an Attack Helicopter"- the title phrase, not the work- made them uncomfortable. We no longer teach people how to handle discomfort; we live in a world of euphemism and glossing over, a world where people can't even type out the words "kill" and rape", instead substituting "unalive" and "grape." We don't deal with uncomfortable feelings anymore; we censor them, we transform them, we sanitize them. When you are unable to process discomfort, when you are never given self-soothing tools, your only possible conclusion is that anything Uncomfortable must be Bad, and the creator must either be censored too, or attacked into conformity so that you never again experience the horrors of being Uncomfortable.

So the masses took to Twitter, outraged. They were Uncomfortable, and that de facto meant that they had been Wronged. Because the content was related to trans identity issues, that became the accusation; it was transphobic, inherently. It couldn't be a critique of bigger and more fluid systems than gender identity alone; it was a slight against trans people. And no amount of explanations would change their minds now, because they had already been aggrieved and made to feel Uncomfortable.

Isabel Fall was now a Bad Person, and we all know what fandom spaces do to Bad People. Bad People, because they are Bad, will always be deserving of suicide bait and namecalling and threatening. Once a person is Bad, there is no way to ever become Good again. Not by refuting the accusations (because the accusations are now self-evident facts; "there is a callout thread against them" is its own tautological proof that wrongdoing has happened regardless of the veracity of the claims in the callout) and not by apologizing and changing, because if you apologize and admit you did the Bad thing, you are still Bad, and no matter what you do in future, you were once Bad and that needs to be brought up every time you are mentioned. If you are bad, you can NEVER be more than what you were at your worst (in their definition) moment. Your are now ontologically evil, and there is no action taken against you that can be immoral.

So Isabel was doomed, naturally. It didn't matter that she outed herself to explain that she personally had lived the experience of a trans woman and could speak with authority on the atrocity of rainbow-washing the military industrial complex as a proaganda tool to capture progressives. None of it mattered. She had written a work with an Uncomfortable phrase for a title, the readers were Uncomfortable, and someone had to pay for it.

And that's the key; pay for it. Punishment. Revenge. It's never about correcting behavior. Restorative justice is not in this group's vocabulary. You will, incidentally, never find one of these folks have a stance against the death penalty; if you did Bad as a verb, you are Bad as an intrinsic, inescapable adjective, and what can you do to incorrigible people but kill them to save the Normal people? This is the same principle, on a smaller scale, that underscores their fandom activities; if a Bad fan writes Bad fiction, they are a Bad person, and their fandom persona needs to die to save Normal fans the pain of feeling Uncomfortable.

And that's what happened to Isabel Fall. The person who wrote the short story is very much alive, but the pseudonym of Isabel Fall, the identity, the lived experiences coming together in concert with imagination to form a speculative work to critique deeply problematic sociopolitical structures? That is dead. Isabel Fall will never write again, even if by some miracle the person who once used the name does. Even if she ever decides to restart her transition, she will be permanently scarred by this experience, and will never again be able to share her experience with us as a way to grow our own empathy and challenge our understanding of the world. In spirit, but not body, fandom spaces murdered Isabel Fall.

And that's... fandom, anymore. That's just what is done, routinely and without question, to Bad people. Good people are Good, so they don't make mistakes, and they never go too far when dealing with Bad people. And Bad people, well, they should have thought before they did something Bad which made them Bad people.

Isabel Fall's harassment happened in early 2020, before quarantine started, but it was in so many ways a final chance for fandom to hit the breaks. A chance for fandom to think collectively about what it wanted to be, who it wanted to be for and how it wanted to do it. And fandom looked at this and said, "more, please." It continues to harass marginalized people, especially fans of color and queen fans, into suffering mental breakdowns. With gusto.

Any ideas of reparative reading is dead. Fandom runs solely on paranoid readings. And so too is restorative justice gone for fandom transgressions, real or imagined. It is now solely about punitive, vigilante justice. It's a concerted campaign to make sure oddballs conform or die (in spirit, but sometimes even physically given how often mentally ill individuals are pushed into committing suicide).

It's a deeply toxic environment and I'm sad to say that Isabel Fall's story was, in retrospect, a sort of event horizon for the fandom. The gravitational pull of these harassment campaigns is entirely too strong now and there is no escaping it. I'm sorry, I hate to say something so bleak, but thinking the last few days about the state of fandom (not just my current one but also others I watch from the outside), I just don't think we can ever go back to peaceful "for joy" engagement, not when so many people are determined to use it as an outlet for lateral aggression against other people.