#but i generally do ask for a consensus on some things

[sl-walker]

what will the content policy on your fanfic archive be? will it have the same rules as ao3?

I'm guessing you mean the CFAA, since I've already got Ad Astra running for the past year.

The answer is no. I don't allow RPF except for under very select circumstances (mostly because I don't want anyone's kids running across fanfic about their parents or something). I'm going to have Underage be a mandatory tag for any content that requires it, and also require those stories be archive locked. I also will have a much stricter tagging policy than AO3 does; you can already see how I run the ship on Ad Astra.

Which is to say, tags are actually useful as search terms.

Otherwise, this is also going to be a fairly genre-specific archive. AO3 is the general all-purpose archive, you can consider my two archives to be the 'specialists' of the fanfic archive set.

Aside the above restrictions, if it's legal in the US, it's allowed.

On the more cheerful side, I have a category for Fan Created Universes, so anyone who has ten stories in their 'universe' can have a fandom. We've got two additional, mapped relationship tags more than AO3: QPR for Queer-Platonic Relationships and vs. for adversarial relationships.

We're going to have primary and secondary character and relationship tags, too. Like-- right from the outset, the organization's going to be a lot more like a library and a lot less like a free-for-all.

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[coco-loco-nut]

Gen Z

pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

summary: everyone seems to forget that Max is 26

a/n: not my favorite, but it’s something i’ve been working on for a while there will be no part two

requests open masterlist

—————

Breaking up with Kelly was extremely difficult for Max to do. Despite not being in love with her anymore, he was very aware of what would happen to P. Max knew it was better to break up than stay just because of P, so he bit the bullet. The next few months were lonely, having to readjust to being alone in Monaco with just his cats.

That’s when you came barreling into his life. Only two years younger than Max, you were a breath of fresh air for him. He really didn’t expect to fall for you, not so quick anyway.

You knew a bit about Formula One, but it was more to the extent that your home hosted a race, some drivers lived in the city, and your hairdresser’s son was a driver. It didn’t phase you when Max told you about his career and fame, you just thought the Dutchman was cute.

“Men who own cats are major green flags,” you told him over text when you first started dating. That might’ve been what really made Max fall for you. You made him feel young, understandably so. He was 19 when he first met Kelly, and she was 28.

Max taught you about the races, you helped him connect with his inner Gen Z. He taught you Dutch and how to game, you taught him slang and pop culture. The two of you were sitting on the couch a month before the Monaco GP, watching Cars of course, when Max asked you to join him at the race.

“Of course, anything for Lightning McQueen,” you squeeze his hand. You knew from TikTok that Charles, your boyfriend’s work husband, was Lightning McQueen, but how could that not be Max.

“Kachow,” Max says causing you to laugh. He has been watching the TikToks and reels you send him, usually something formula one or cars related.

Max is watching Cars 2 with you when he points out each driver in the movie. You store the knowledge in the back of your mind for when you watch classic races and Max explains things to you. You feel sufficiently ready for Monaco.

“Lewis, this is my girlfriend, Y/n,” Max introduces you to the Mercedes driver. You look at him, star stuck.

“I loved you in Cars,” you blurt out, causing Lewis to laugh and Max to hide his face in embarrassment. Max isn’t surprised, but he can’t believe this is how your first interaction is going. Lewis is just happy you aren’t with Max because he is a driver.

“Thank you, how old are you?” Lewis asks, ready to feel old.

“24, two years younger than Maxie,” you smile lovingly at your boyfriend.

“I forgot how young you actually are,” Lewis’s unspoken words hang in the air between him and Max. Now that you are dating someone closer to your own age.

Lewis’s statement seemed to be the general consensus when everyone saw you with him. Max looked and acted like he was 26. He was using slang you taught him, he was making pop culture references that he likely wouldn’t have known otherwise. He was getting to experience his twenty’s like he should have been, not as if he was much older than he was.

Lando was the most excited to meet you, not only were you his age, but you brought out Max’s inner child that Lando never could.

“I’m stealing your girlfriend,” Lando tells Max, wanting to claim you as his best friend.

“No,” Max deadpans.

“What if Lando is my bestie?” you ask Max, who can’t say no to you.

“Then I guess that’s okay,” Max kisses your temple.

“OMG, McLaren is doing another hide and seek video, you two should join,” Lando proposes.

“That actually sounds fun,” Max says, looking at you for confirmation.

“I’m in,” you smile, letting Lando lead the way.

The video is a hit, the fans are loving this version of Max. Max is loving this version of him too, for once he doesn’t feel like he has to grow up faster than he should.

“Stay away from her, she’s no good for you. Act like a grown up,” you overhear Jos tell Max as you come back to the garage from hospitality. You have yet to meet Jos, Max made it very clear that he doesn’t want you near his dad. The memes the two of you send back and forth are a good enough reason why, so you hang back.

“What do you mean? I am. I’m 26, why should I act like I’m 40? I am happier with her than I was with Kelly,” Max argues back, you hold yourself back.

“World Champions are serious, mature. Quit acting like Lando Norris and more like an adult,” Jos is seething.

“Ask Max to come back here, say the team needs him or something,” you as an engineer when you notice Jos getting angrier.

“Then why am I leading by a heavy margin already. You just can’t handle that I am putting myself first. What would you even know about being a champion? You never won a race!” Max yells. The engineer quickly cuts in and leads Max to you.

“You gagged him, baby. Are you okay?” Max hugs you, you just rub his back as he regulates his breathing.

“He’s an opp, for real,” Max mutters into your shoulder, causing you to snort with laughter.

“God, I love you,” you can’t contain the laughter. Max joins in, your smile is infectious.

“I did use it right, no?” Max asks between the laughter.

“You did, I just wasn’t expecting it,” you take a deep breath, calming down.

“No cap?”

“Alright, you are using too much. Where is old man Max, this is freaky,” you take a step back, the smile that remains on your face betrays your words.

“You got me into my gen z era, you get the consequences,” Max pulls you back into him as you groan in annoyance.

“I love you too,” he laughs, peppering your face with kisses.

And when a journalist is brave enough to ask about the shift in Max? He’s always eager to talk about you.

“My girlfriend forced me to watch hours of YouTube compilations about formula one memes. We are always sending different memes to each other, she definitely helps me remember to laugh more,” Max gushes.

“I guess we all forget that you aren’t nearly forty,” the journalist nods. Max answers a few more questions before finding you in his drivers room. He lays down on the couch, his head on your lap.

“What’s on your mind?” you run your hand through Max’s hair.

“Have I changed that much?” he asks, his blue eyes looking up at you.

“I don’t think so, I think you’ve just started being yourself around more people. You are still the same Max that I first met and fell in love with, everyone else is just seeing that Max,” you are confused about the question, but answer him. Max doesn’t reply, he just nuzzles closer to you.

“I like this version of me,” he says into your shirt a few minutes later, you keep playing with his hair.

“I’m glad, but I like every version of you, Max. Even old man Max,” you smile as he sits up.

“Old man? How about I show you how far from true that is,” there is a look in his eye that tells you that you just started something.

“And how will you do that?” you decide to entertain him as he slips his hands under your shirt.

“I don’t think I need to tell you.”

[juney-blues]

June Egbert is, and always has been incredibly fascinating to me because of just, how many factors have conspired to make Homestuck fans show their collective transmisogynistic asses.

The main character of Homestuck transitioning is a planned future plot point for the official continuation of homestuck, that was spoiled in advance by a fan making a joke about finding some toblerones Andrew Hussie the author of homestuck hid in a cave.

The current main writers of Homestuck: Beyond Canon have went on record in an AMA confirming that this was indeed always the plan, even before they took up the project.

In spite of these facts, the general consensus among certain homestuck fans seems to be that "June Egbert" is purely a headcanon for the original comic that was "made canon" by a "Toblerone Wish" (a concept that didn't even exist at the time)

For a variety of reasons, the "canonicity" of the postcanon official continuations of homestuck is a mattter of much debate, (though a debate that most homestuck fans seem to err on a side of "it's not canon at all in the slightest," something the writers have feelings on I'm sure.)

All of these factors combined leave the concept of "June Egbert" in a very nebulous place. It's assumed by most to just be an "ascended headcanon" that was shoehorned in, it's a spoiler so it hasn't happened yet in any official media, and the official media it will eventually happen in is regarded by some to be nothing more than glorified fanfic.

If someone is talking about June Egbert, and you don't like the concept of June Egbert, you have your pick of a million different excuses for why she's fake and gay and not worth discussing and bad writing and just the authors doing a gay dumbledore*, paying lip service to representation while actually doing nothing.

And of course, lots of people *don't* like June Egbert! Rather than being introduced as transfem from the start, she's in this nebulous position of discovery where people have to truly reckon with the idea of a "Pre-transition Trans Woman."

You can try to write off *some* of the backlash as transphobia, because obviously not everyone in this fandom is gonna be cool about trans people.

But there's no shortage of fans just dying to tell you about how much they like reading her as transmasc, or the idea of her being nonbinary or genderqueer or genderfluid, or literally anything besides a trans woman. And since they're fine with all those other interpretations, there's obviously no implicit biases driving their distaste for the concept! (if you want to try explaining the concept of "transmisogyny" to people like this you're braver than I.)

you can trust them when they say it's *just* a problem with whether or not it makes sense with the writing, or it just doesn't feel right somehow, or any of the thousands of excuses that this writing situation gives them to just Not Like It.

It's just, so interesting to me. There's not a lot of characters out there that get a trans arc in this way, that leaves room for open denialism and insistence that we have our trans cake and eat it too... Because Homestuck is a timeline spanning multiverse story, lots of people seem to want it to be an alternate timeline thing. Assuring us we can have this character share space with a non-transitioning version of herself and it won't be weird or imply gross things about trans people.

If you ask me it feels like a plotline that'd be really good for exploring some gender horror though, finding your true self and then being demoted to a footnote, an alternate version, because everyone around you likes your pre-transition self more....

Anyway I have no broader point beyond "hey look at this isn't this kinda weird. You don't get this kinda stuff often!"

*side note: it's a little ghoulish I think to compare "a future trans plot point that hasn't been given the chance to even happen yet, in an already famously queer piece of media, from a nonbinary author" to "some stupid shit done by the literal most famous transphobe of all time" but that's perhaps a discussion for later.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

i saw this poll and it was like "is watching porn wrong?" and a lot of people were defending the fact that they voted "yes" because a lot of porn comes from sex trafficking and coercion and rape and now i'm conflicted. i don't think porn in general is wrong but is it wrong to watch it since they're technically right, there is technically no way to 100% confirm that everything was consensual. but also a lot of people called them terfs for voting yes. i don't even really watch porn it just kinda grosses me out but i have in the past, does that mean i could have been watching, like, rape?

I think if you're going to start overanalyzing your porn consumption like this you're going to also need to start giving up any clothing or products that you're 100% sure aren't made in sweatshops, any produce that you're sure weren't harvested by underpaid or trafficked laborers, any seafood that you can't be sure wasn't fished sustainably, any meat or eggs that can't be sure don't come from factory farms, any movies or music where you can't be sure the performers weren't in exploitative working conditions, etc.

all of those things are bad, sure, but making broad sweeping generalizations isn't helping resolve any industry-level issues and it sure as shit isn't helping independent producers who are doing their damndest to create things sustainably. porn is an easy issue to target because it's inherently tied to sex and it's very easy to moralize about sex, but you could apply this to literally any other industry. imagine a poll asking "is owning furniture bad?" and having people reply "yes, owning furniture is wrong because some furniture is made from endangered rosewood that's illegally harvested." you see how deranged that is?

porn is also, like, quite obviously one of the industries where it's easiest to support ethical practices, by financially supporting independent creators instead of just watching shit ripped to pornhub to watch for free. go subscribe to some onlyfans.

[saszor]

hi!! silly question but could you add pan flag to your picrew, if you dont mind? i really love it! i am not pgysically disabled, but i am hard of hearing and its so nice to see hearing aids and so much disability options, more than i ever could think of being in a picrew overall (: thank you so much for making it!! hope youre not overwhelmed by response(s)

added it as a background :) I'm glad you enjoy it !

[deen-djarin]

Suds n’ Trunks

Summary: Joel ordered a car washing service…bikini car washing service.

Tags: 18+, No Outbreak!Joel, Cheeky Flirty!Reader, Porn with a sprinkle of plot, Daddy kink, Choking, Joel is a menace and so is reader, Oral (m & f receiving), Unprotected P-in-V, Consensual Creampie

—

The sun shone on the perfect suburban streets of Austin, Texas. So hot you could fry an egg if you wanted to. You rolled your windows down, driving down a neighborhood you’re not familiar with, and pulled up at the house that sits in the cul de sac, a dirty- no filthy ford pickup truck parked on its driveway.

This must be the place.

A sigh fell from your lips as you hopped off your car with your supplies in hand; a bucket, sponge, microfiber rag, and various soaps for different parts of the car. The heat was even worse after you’ve left the comfort of your air conditioned car, but the thought of being out of your clothes and soaked in suds and the cool water excites you.

Once you’ve discovered this lucrative market of bored, horny, lonely middle aged suburban guys— eager to see a show, and maybe get their car cleaned as well, you start to do this gig every summer. The money is good plus these guys tip generously.

Your service by its core is nothing but a mobile car wash, but the carwash is being done by you, clad in a skimpy bikini. c’mon, who wouldn’t want that right?

When you scored your first customer, you became a spectacle for the neighborhood. Your client shamelessly pulls out a lawn chair, having a grand ol’ time “enjoying the sun” as you wash their car. Neighbors walking out their houses mowing their already perfectly trimmed lawn, walking their dogs, cats, and some approached your client for a neighborly talk they probably haven’t had in months.

You’ve gotten the whole neighborhood out of their house basically, then your client list doubles with those people coming over to you and asking to do theirs next. Some cars don't even need washing, but you do them anyway with a smile knowing you’re gonna eat good that night.

Ever since then you decided to do this gig every summer, cheekily naming your little business “Suds ‘n Trunks”.

—

You ring the doorbell of the Miller’s residence and step back. You could hear a soft grumble from behind the door before it opened and reveal a scruffy, middle aged, handsome man. your eyes scans him quickly, his hair tousled, his shoulders broad, big arms, big hands, Jesus Christ you want to just-

“Can I help you?”

His gruff, deep, Texan drawl snaps you out of your trance and brings you back to reality.

“Uhm yes, Mr. Miller? you called for a car wash?” You asked him with a sweet voice you come to learn that older men love, it always works like a charm, making them tip you a fat wad of cash— these men just craved attention from a pretty girl, and you’re happy to give that to them.

“Oh..yeah you could uh, it's that one right there,” he motioned to the dirty pickup truck. You give him a smile and nodded, “okay, i’ll go on and get started then.” Joel nodded and shut the door immediately.

—

A red Ford bronco sat on his driveway, absolutely covered in filth. You usually don't deal with this much grime, dust, and mud. Granted, most cars you’ve washed barely need a wash, the clients just wanted to see you wet and covered in suds, which you couldn’t really blame them.

You took a breath and started to step out of your tanktop and shorts, revealing the red matching bikini you’re wearing underneath and started to go to work.

—

Joel was exhausted after doing several construction projects back to back yesterday, from dawn to the ungodly hours of the night resulting in his beloved truck — Shirley— looking like it had been dragged in the mud…literally.

Joel likes to take care of his things, Shirley is no exception. His free time on the weekends is often spent on his truck in the garage, polishing her to perfection. But after all the hard work he did, just the thought of washing her made his back groan in protest.

So he got the number of your services from his coworkers after they commented on the state of Shirley, a smirk planted on their faces and they kept snickering which Joel found odd, but he was too fed up and exhausted to think twice on booking your services.

Joel grunts as he settles on his couch, his cold bottle of beer in one hand, the tv remote on the other. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table, and turned on the TV.

It's finally his time for him to take his hard-earned relaxation time. which should be easy, but he could hear the annoying sputtering sound of his neighbor’s lawnmower.

That thing needs more oil. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer.

Then another sound of a lawnmower sounded from the other side of the house, even more annoying than the first.

What the fuck? Why are they all mowin’ the lawn at the same time? at this hour? he thought.

Then comes the obnoxious yapping of Mr. Thompson's french bulldog and chihuahua.

What the hell is goin’ on? it's a whole ruckus out there.

He groaned, frustrated that the whole neighborhood seems to be against his well deserved relaxing time. He grumbled as he strides towards his window, drawing up the blinds to see what the fuck is going on out there.

His eyes nearly bulged out, blush quickly crept up his neck to his cheeks, and his cock twitching in his pants instantly at the sight.

You, bend over in the hood of his car, wet, covered in suds, in a fucking bikini. He tried to look away, he really did, but the way your hips sways, your ass jiggled, as you scrubbed hard with the caked on mud on his truck— it was hypnotizing.

—

“What the hell are ya doin’?”

The sight of Joel's furrowed brow as he stared at you in your revealing outfit was a mix of disapproval and desire. Your sweet smile remained as you answered his question, "Mr. Miller! I'm just washing your car."

His gaze roamed over you, making you shiver with anticipation. "In that?" He grunted, clearly torn between his disgust and arousal. "Well, yes�� It's part of my service."

The man stood silent for a moment, his confusion palpable. "Part of your service?"

"Uhm, yeah... It's a bikini car wash service… You didn't know?" you tilted your head, confused.

Joel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"The name is Suds 'n' Trunks," you reminded him softly.

"I know what it's called!" he huffed, clearly frustrated.

Unsure of how to proceed, you hesitated. "So, uhm, you want me to just dress up and go or—"

"No, finish your job," he grumbled, still irritated. Your eyes trailed down to the growing tent in his jeans, confirming the source of his conflicting emotions.

You hid your smirk and purred, "Yes, sir," before returning to your task. The knowledge that you had such a potent effect on him only fueled your desire to please him.

—

Your back is even more curved now, ass sticking up more than they should as you washed the side of his truck, knowing Joel is looking– watching you like a hawk while he sits on the porch, a beer in his hand and a cigarette on the other. you turned your head over your shoulder just to give him a small smile, which he returned with his jaw clenching.

You bask under his gaze, your body tingling, giving him the best show you’ve ever given. you squatted as you started to clean the lower part of the truck, your ass jiggle with every hard scrub you give.

The tension between the two of you is palpable, leaving Joel frustrated, he knows damn well you’re taunting him. He’s torn between wanting to yell at you for acting so unprofessional and embarrassing him in front of the watchful eyes of his nosy neighbors— or fucking you against the truck for payback.

He sits there watching you, contemplating on what to do. You gave him another cheeky look over your shoulder and that was it, his last resolve snapped, fuck it.

—

“Careful with her,” he said lowly as he approached you.

You turned your head, batting your eyelashes, “Hm?”

“You’re goin’ too hard on her, just painted that part,” he murmured as he got closer, just right behind you.

“But the mud is really caked on this part,” you told him and went back to scrubbing.

“A-ah, hey,” he tutted and leaned down behind you, his large palms sitting atop of yours “Gentle…easy does it,” he murmured, his hot breath fanned against your ear.

You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan as you felt his hardness pressed against your thigh. Your hand following his movements, “There we go…there we go, good girl,” he murmured and you swore every part of your body shivered.

“This is gonna take longer to finish, sir,” you murmured, your voice a mere whisper as you turned your head to him.

“I know…but you’re gonna get a bigger reward out of it, how’s that sound hm?” he muttered to your ear before abruptly pulling away from you and sitting back on the porch.

your breath hitched, heartbeat skipping, and the heat between your legs grew hotter. You turned your head towards him to see him sitting back at his porch, his head nodded at you to continue your work, a small smirk curved his lips.

—

You’re halfway done with the truck when his neighbor starts to approach you, a middle aged guy you came to learn named Michael. He’s been clearly hitting on you, and trying to get a closer look on what you’re doing. which usually doesn’t bother you but you could practically feel Joel's watchful eyes boring into your back.

“So you do this for a living?” he asked as he stood a few feet away from you, “It's just a summer gig i do,” you replied with a small smile, keeping the response light.

"Sweet, it's nice seeing a young, beautiful, hard-working woman," he chuckled. Your jaw tensed for a moment before you forced a tight-lipped smile.

"Can you do my car next? It's pretty dirty too," he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows. You felt a flush of annoyance, but your eyes met Joel's, who glared disapprovingly from his porch.

"Well, uh..." you hesitated, glancing back at Joel. He shook his head, a clear indication that he didn't want you to entertain Michael's advances. "Sorry, Michael. I'm booked for today... I gotta go somewhere after this."

Michael sighed, "Aw, just my luck," he lamented. "I'll ask Joel for your number, huh? I'll book you as soon as you're free." You chuckled, "Yeah, you go do that."

Michael made his way over to Joel, asking for your number. Joel nodded, but with a grunt, he gave Michael the wrong number. A smirk played on your lips as you returned to your work.

—

After what feels like forever you finally finished with the last drag of your microfiber rag. You let out a sigh and turned around to Joel sauntering his way. “All done Mr. Miller,” you purred.

He looked at his truck, all clean and shiny. A satisfied smirk graced his face, “you did a good job” he praised. “Good enough to get that reward?” you murmured with your head tilted innocently. Joel let out a small chuckle “Mmhm... come on inside and i’ll get it sorted for you, pretty girl.”

Your eyes gleamed with lust and you bit your lip in anticipation as he led you inside his house. The wind hits your wet body, the coolness leaves your nipples even harder, your body tingling with need.

By the time the two of you were inside, Joel’s body was taut, like a spring ready to burst. He couldn’t hold it in anymore, his large palms grab a hold of your wet body and pinned you against his door, you let out a surprised whimper at his sudden actions.

“Been a good girl for me huh? Takin’ care of my truck,” he murmured as he leaned down and his lips grazed your jaw to the skin under your ear. “Been naughty too haven’t you? Tauntin’ me with this sweet ass of yours,” he grabbed your ass and gave it a hard squeeze making you let out a small moan, he pulled you closer, his hard cock pressing against your wet bikini bottoms.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips against him, needy and desperate for friction, eliciting a small moan from you and a groan from him. “What do you have to say about that huh? Pretty girl?,” he muttered and nibbled on your earlobe, “I’m sorry sir” you panted softly.

“Yeah? Doesn’t seem to be that sorry,” he chuckled lowly, his voice gravely and his accent was thicker than before “Think I would have to punish you… you thought it was funny huh? Makin’ me hard as a rock with those fucking neighbors watchin’?” he growled to your ear and slapped your ass, you whimpered and jolted forwards.

“I’m sorry sir..please don't punish me,” you whined and bit your lip. “You’re sorry huh? Go on, pretty thing, show me how sorry you are,” he murmured. You didn't need to be told twice, you fell to your knees, eyes wide as you looked up to his face, hands deftly undoing his belt and jeans and pulling it down along with his boxers.

Your mouth salivated just from the sight of his cock springing free, thick, veiny, and throbbing, just how you thought it would be. He gave you a nod to tell you ‘go on’, you leaned down and darted your tongue out, tasting the heady taste of his precum. He groaned and tossed his head back, hand tangling in your hair and pulled you in, you hummed and finally wrapped your mouth around his girth with a small whimper. Your jaw straining to accommodate him, tongue moving with practiced ease as you sink down deeper, taking in more of him.

“Fuck yeah..good fuckin’ girl…thats it,” he muttered and started to guide your head the way he wanted, you thrive with his praises, taking in him as deep as you could. Gagging and sputtering here and there but you didn't stop at all in search of his approval and satisfaction, you didn’t want to stop. The room was filled with the sound of his grunts and heavy breaths, along with the obscene sounds from you and your muffled whimpers.

Joel nearly came when he saw you starting to snake your hand between your legs, “Naughty fuckin’ slut, touchin’ yourself huh?” he groaned and started to thrust into your mouth, holding your head in place. “You want me to take care of that? Hm?” he growled and you whined as an answer. Suddenly he abruptly pulled you away from his cock, “get on the fuckin’ couch,” he muttered, you scrambled off the floor and quickly gotten on the nearby couch, “on your hands and knees, sweetheart,” he commanded and you did as he said, bending over, facing the backrest of the couch.

He stood behind you and pushed you legs wider, your head craned over your shoulder to look at him with your needy expression, bottom lip between your teeth. He gripped your chin and he leaned down, finally crashing his lips to yours. He was rough, didn’t even hesitate on pushing his tongue into your mouth, tongue dominating yours, making you whine and push your hips back, desperate, begging for him.

His kiss left you panting as he pulled away, he trailed kisses down your back, biting on the knot that holds your bikini top together and pulling on it and letting it unravel, his hand started to grope your tits, playing, pinching, pulling on your sensitive nipples. “Mr. Miller,” you panted “please..”

“Use your word, Baby, what do you need?” he murmured to the crook of your neck. You whimpered and kept moving your hips, “anything- please- your finger, mouth- anything, i need you,” you rambled desperately. Joel chuckled darkly, his large fingers playing with the knots of your bikini bottoms, “needy little thing,” he murmured before pulling on the knots and unraveling the red wet fabric, making it fall to the couch.

Joel practically growled at the sight before him, you, bent over with your ass high in the air, naked, your pussy dripping and ready for him. “Look at you..” he murmured and leaned down, groping your ass and pushing it apart to reveal more of you. “Mmh..” he grumbles before leaning down and placing a broad lick on your cunt. “Oh- god- Mr- mmhngh! Mr. Miller” you whined and pushed your hips more to his face. Joel groaned and started to really eat you out, his large palms splayed on your ass, face completely buried in your drooling pussy. “It's Joel, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he pulled away from your cunt for a second, “I wanna hear ya moan my name.”

“Joel..” you breathed, getting used to the feel of his name on your lips. Joel started to flick his tongue rapidly on your clit, making your eyes roll back and moan out his name, “fuck- ahh! Joel!” He grunted in response, “yeah that’s it, moan my name…mmhhh good fuckin’ girl.”

You were falling apart already at the hands of his tongue, moving on your pussy with practiced ease. Joel relished the sounds of your moans, and the sweet and tangy taste of your cunt. He groaned and started to push his thick fingers to your entrance, “Joel! Ahnghh! F-fuck! mmhngh!!” you cried out, he grunted and pulled away from your pussy for a second, “That’s it baby, you’re gonna cum hm? Gonna be a good girl an cum on my face?” he muttered and curled his digits to hit that heavenly spot within you, you whined in response, barely able to come up with words but nodded with your eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl, c’mon, come on my face” he panted and started double his efforts, his tongue flicking on your sensitive clit, slurping all your juices, whilst his fingers kept hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, you back arched and your eyes rolled back, you swore you saw stars. His name kept falling from your lips in between moans and whimpers which he responded with praises.

“good girl, that’s it”

“you’re so pretty when you cum for me”

“tastes so good baby, there you go..”

He peppered kisses across your shoulders and back as he waited for you to come down from your high. “joel..” you panted and kept pushing your hips back to grind against his throbbing cock, eliciting a groan from his lips, “yeah? you want my cock, pretty girl?” he muttered and rutted his hips against you, his cock sliding against your cunt. “yes- please joel- please-“ you let out a loud moan when he suddenly pushed his cock into your core.

“fuuuck” he groaned as he pushed himself in “fuck- shit, baby you’re so fuckin’ tight,” he panted and gripped your hips tight. “joel! oh- f-fuck hhngh!” you whimpered and gripped the back of the couch. Joel pulled back until his cock is almost fully slipped back, you whined at the loss of his stretch, then he slammed back in. “Fuck! Oh- f-fuuckk! Joeel!!” you cried out, “Yeah baby that’s it- shit- yeah take it baby, take it” he growled to your ear and wrapped your hair on his hand and yanked it back. Your head tilted back at the force and he crashed his lips to yours again, swalowing all your moans and whimpers as he fucked you with a relentless pace.

“J-joel” you warned between pants, “Yeah i know baby- fuck- yeah i can feel it,” he groaned and panted “c’mon baby give it to me, cum on my cock, c’mon” he murmured and went faster. The sound of his skin smacking against yours gets louder and louder, the couch groaned and creaked in protest. You could barely utter any coherent words at this point, just slurring his name and how good it feels between moans and pants.

Your back arched and trembles as you cry out his name like a prayer. Joel slowed down for a second, letting you ride out the orgasm, “there you go…hmm there you go” he muttered soothingly, his hips rocking deliberately, slowly. “You can take more, sweetheart?” he murmured to your ear, you couldn’t help but nod. ”Good girl,” he praised to your ear and kissed your jaw before his arm wrapped around your waist, the other around your chest and pulled you up until his chest pressed against your back. He resumed his hard relentless thrusts, his hand on your chest groping and playing with your hard nipples. you felt like floating at this point, just taking everything he gave you like a good girl.

“Who’s pussy is this?” He growled to your ear, you could barely talk just letting out sounds of pleasure, he spanked your ass hard and you gasped out a moan, “Yours! Hahngh! All yours!” you whined, Joel gripped your neck and pulled you closer to him “Who?” he demanded, you panted and choked out, “Yours daddy!” bingo.

He growled and bent you over again, his hand still tight on your neck, choking you just right. “Yeah that’s right, such a good girl for daddy,” he muttered and pounded into you. You kept choking out moans, calling him daddy over and over. He shifted his position, propping one leg on the couch to get a different angle, deeper, and it allowed him to reach that spot within you. “Oh my g- aahhngh!! daddy!! right there, oh fuck- fuck me right there!!” you cried out. He grunted and let out a dark chuckle, “there sweetheart?” he taunted as he thrusted extra hard aiming at that spot again. “yes!! yes- yes please- please i- daddy please” you rambled, begging for him, his cock has reduced you to nothing but desperate and needy. “well since you asked so nicely,” he said coyly before hitting that spot over and over again.

You felt you’re gonna shatter yet again in any second, a ticking time bomb set on your lower belly. “D-daddy i’m- hah- i’m-” you could barely finish your choked out sentence. “Yeah? Gonna cum again for daddy?” he panted to your ear, all you could do was nodded and give a whimper of confirmation. He chuckled darkly and his hand snaked down to rub your clit with fervor while his hips kept pounding to your ass, “Go on then, come for me, come for daddy,” he muttered to your ear.

Your vision blurred and you saw white. It feels like you’re barely conscious, your third orgasm hits you even harder than the last. You didn’t noticed whats happening until joel groaned, “Fuck yeah you’re squirtin’ on me baby- good girl- hhnngh good fuckin’ girl.” Your thighs trembled, wet with your release, red from his thrusts.

He finally let go of your neck and you gasped out for much needed air, his thrusts started to stutter. “Where do you want it?” he panted to your ear, “Inside, inside daddy, please,” you begged and started to move your hips to meet his. Joel couldn’t hold back any longer, 1, 2, 3 hard thrusts later and he came completely undone inside you. “Fuuuckk!! Fuck yeah- oh shit baby” he moaned, “fuck! makin’ me cum so much, pretty girl…oh yeah good fuckin’ girl,” he panted to your ear.

After his hips stilled, he pulled out of you, making you whine and clench around nothing, pushing his hot sticky seed out of you.

He chuckled and whispered to your ear, “look at you…all messy n’ dirty,” he cooed. “You cleaned my truck now it's time for me to clean you,” he murmured before peppering kisses down your spine yet again.

—

author’s note: THIS WAS MY FIRST FIC EVER AHSHSHEH so forgive me if its shitty or the grammar is horrible bc english is my 2nd language:3 ALSO i have never written smut before heheheh, your feedback is greatly appreciated!! thank you for reading this horny piece of literature!!

[awrkive]

Idk I must have some problems I need to talk about with my therapist, but I NEED the #3 lmao

summary: jungkook is usually a nice guy from the way he interacts with other people – but the only exception comes to you. and you can't figure out why.

w/c: 3.5k

note: aurkayyyy general consensus says write # 3 and that post got 40 likes idk so here it is ig.. unedited cos its 3am but also i tried my very best awrkive nation 😞💔 under the cut cos its long asf for a drabble crying

People always gravitate to you. You have this sort of unbreakable and contagious energy around you that just pulls people right into your orb – your classmates in middle school through college, your cousins, even the cashiers at the cafes you like visiting downtown every here and there. 

And it is why Jeon Jungkook from your Environmental Science class baffles you. Because while everybody in the lecture hall – even prof Nam – likes to give you a smile or even just a nod of acknowledgement when you walk in, he does the total opposite and will just do about anything to avoid you. 

It had been during the first week of the term when you realized this fact. When Jungkook seemed to have abhorred the idea of sitting next to you because somebody had “stolen” his seat. 

Of course he knew the fact that you technically could not “steal” a seat in college – there are no such things as assigned seats in college, after all – so you had kindly offered the empty chair beside you, then, but he just looked at you with his knitted brows, like he couldn’t believe you had asked him that in the first place. 

In the end, he chose the free seat at the back of the hall – even though as far as you know him, he’s the type to like sitting in the front rows to engage with the class better. 

However, that did not deter you from trying to befriend him. In fact, it just made you want to get closer to him more. 

You like Jeon Jungkook. Not romantically, of course! You just like the fact that he is extremely smart and listen, he seems nice. The girls always have something good to say about him, and he’s friends with one of your closest friends, Namjoon – whose judgment you trust most of all. He’s acquainted with most of the people you know and you’ve seen him interact with others – he’s charming and doesn’t exactly look broody and uninterested when he’s with them. 

So when Prof Nam partnered you both in a presentation for your final requirement for the term, you were over the moon to have been given the opportunity. 

“__,” Jungkook calls, but you’re way too busy admiring the strands of his hair that had now been dyed to gold – a contrast to his previously dark brown locks. It’s mostly hidden from the beanie he’s wearing. Something you’ve noticed he’s been wearing a lot these days even though it’s not that cold. 

You think it’s because he’s not too keen on getting attention for his newly dyed hair.

Jungkook calls your name one more time, and this time it snaps you out of your trance. 

“Hm?” You look up, blinking at him – only to be met with his knitted brows again. At that all too familiar look by now, you frown slightly, knowing the tell-tale signs of his annoyance. 

“I’ve been asking you about biofuels for the past two minutes.” 

“Oh!” Your eyes widen for a bit, quickly looking at your iPad. “Uhm… it’s here…” you slide your device over to his direction and he’s quick to read over your work. With him seated beside you, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and you don’t even think it’s cologne in the first place. It just seems like his natural smell – like fresh laundry. Downy or something. 

Ever since you started working on the project, you’ve been going to cafes and the library to work on it – for at least an hour – and you’re starting to get accustomed to everything Jeon Jungkook. He’s smart – and that’s a given – but he also smells really good; that’s what you noted specifically.

But most importantly, he’s dyed his mid-length hair blonde. And he looks different but somehow… really handsome. With his prescription glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, you just can’t help but to look. 

“Where is your citation for this?” He says, pointing to a certain part of your work. 

At that, you grow anxious. Jungkook’s really serious about his academics. And even though he looks distracting with his blonde hair right now, you can’t help but feel a bit nervous. 

You’re not dumb or something! You’ve survived three years of college just fine – you’re just not the likes of him, or Namjoon, for that matter. But you do well for yourself. 

But Jungkook, reading over your work with furrowed brows, you can’t help but second-guess yourself.

Especially when the next thing you can say is just, “Oh, uhm… I thought citations would only be after every four sentences?” 

“Did you not read the instructions?” Jungkook says. It’s not harsh but there’s a certain lilt to it. A bit pointed that you visibly recoil. As if noticing you do that, Jungkook clears his throat and looks right back to your iPad. With a tone that considerably sounds gentler to you this time, he says, “You should put a citation every three sentences.” 

“Okay…” You say. You look at Jungkook and you give him a tight-lipped smile when he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

His gaze lasts longer than necessary – he almost always doesn’t really look at you but this time he does, and just when you’re about to ask him what’s wrong, he peels his eyes away from you and turns to his computer, not saying anything. 

You sulk in your seat, revising your paper while Jungkook acts like a stranger beside you again. 

“Kook…” you say after awhile. You watch as Jungkook visibly stills at the nickname. Nonetheless, he hums, but he doesn’t stray his eyes from his laptop. “I really like your hair.” 

Nothing. 

“Kookie…” This time, you poke at the material of his purple hoodie. “I said I like your hair.” 

He doesn’t budge. 

When you make a move to poke him again, he finally says, “I heard that.” 

You turn back to your google doc with a pout. 

You don’t know what you’re expecting from him. A thank you, maybe? But that would be unlikely for him to say to you. He’s just always so quiet around you. Annoyed, irritated—

“Thank you.” 

At first you don’t quite catch it, but you kind of got the gist. Unbelieving, you turn to him with a confused look. “What?” 

“Isaidthankyou.” 

But it was spoken so fast that you just grew more puzzled. 

“What…?” 

“Nevermind.” He says, hacking away on his laptop again. 

You pout the whole time writing your paper. 

———

You’re just about to approach Jungkook to talk about your recent development for your project when somebody beats you to it first. 

It’s Han Hyorin from the same class. You made friends with her from another minor you’ve had in the previous semester and she was a really nice woman – sort of similar to you. A big ball of sunshine, all smiles and cheerful and full of energy. It’s why you clicked instantly a few months ago. 

But that’s also why it surprises you when you see her talking animatedly with Jungkook and him listening to her attentively – smiling and laughing. 

Certainly not his vibe when you’re the one in conversation with him. 

Listen, you’ve been so accustomed to his behavior to you all this time that you just don’t mind it now. But for the record, you just thought that maybe – he just can’t quite level up to your energy. You’re too bubbly and he’s too… calm. And you get that! You certainly don’t hold it against him. 

But as he catches a glimpse of you his mood turns completely different, no longer smiling ear to ear. It makes Hyorin stop speaking, turning her body to look at your direction as well. 

“Oh, hi __!” She greets, grinning. “I was just talking to Jungkook here.” 

“Hi, Hyorin.” You wave at her, mirroring her smile. You walk towards them, hugging your iPad tight to your chest. “Hi, Jungkook.” 

He just sends you a timid smile. 

Weirdly enough, it makes your heart twinge. 

“Anyway, are you two gonna work on your project? Sorry for keeping him up, if that’s the case. I’ll be off then.” Hyorin says as she picks up her bag. She looks at Jungkook once again, saying, “I’ll send the link to you later, Jungkook.” 

Jungkook only nods before Hyorin walks out of the lecture hall.

You watch her disappearing back before you turn to Jungkook. “I didn’t know you guys were friends.” 

He shrugs. “We talk sometimes.” 

“Ah.” You nod. 

“Anyway, you got my text, right? Hoseok said it’s too crowded at 556 right now. And my laptop’s dead so I can’t use it either. Left my charger at my place,” he says, starting to put his stuff in his backpack. 

“Yeah, I got it,” you say, stepping out a bit to let him out of his row. You follow beside him when he begins to walk. “Well, where should we do the project?” 

You see Jungkook wince. “I have no choice but do you mind if I just suggest my place? I have a roommate but he’s not around this time. Or we can just call it off for today and resched.” 

You blink at him. “Your place?” 

He arches a brow. “Yeah. Is it okay? Do you have something else in mind?” 

Shaking your head, you look straight ahead. “It’s fine.” 

“It’s just a three minute walk from the campus. Do you mind?” 

“Nope.” 

“Alright, then.” 

——— 

Jungkook thinks you’re strange today. 

You’re usually so full of stories. Never ran out of things to say. His silence never deterred you from sharing something and even though Jungkook would deny it to you and to all his friends – he actually secretly enjoys your blabbering. Finds most of them funny.

But right now, you’re all quiet on your iPad and notes, focused on doing your work. The last thing he’s heard you say something was when you commented earlier, “This is a nice place,” when you stepped inside the threshold of his and Taehyung’s apartment.

No comment about his hair. Or his hoodie. Or the stupid occasional, “You look handsome today.” that makes his heart perform backflips against his ribcage and makes him all nervous that he can’t really look straight into your eyes for the rest of your interaction.

He finds it strange that he finds you strange today. He should be… happy about this right? He always tells his friends that you’re too… loud when they ask why he doesn’t seem to like you. For the record, he does not not like you. Jungkook just thinks you’re too much. 

Or that you make him feel too much it drives him insane.

“Are you alright?” He breaks the ice after a few minutes. He couldn’t help it. This isn’t like you at all. At this point, you should have already told him twenty different stories that includes your breakfast and the bird that keeps knocking on your window every 5am. By this time, you should have already asked him if he likes your outfit or some stupid shit like if he likes your nails. 

For the record, he likes all of them. Your blush pink nails and your pink skirt that stops above your thigh, exposing your smooth thighs that Jungkook always berates himself not to look at. You always wear skirts. He hates them. 

He hates that he doesn't really hate them. At all. 

“Huh?” You turn to look at him, blinking. Meek and pouty and puzzled. You look so cute it confuses the hell out of him. 

“I asked if you’re okay.” Jungkook says, leveling his voice. Lest he gives himself away. What would he give away, though? That he’s weirdly worried about your silence? That he’s starting to think maybe you’re getting fed up with his constant avoidance of you and you’re starting to realize he’s a shit person and he doesn’t deserve any of your time? 

That he’s putting way too much meaning into this? 

And what for? 

“Oh,” you utter. A bit taken aback. You nibble on your bottom lip and Jungkook tries hard not to focus too much on the way your gloss makes them look so plump. You had pretty lips. Jungkook’s not that prideful to admit that. Just to himself, though. “Yeah. I am fine. Why do you ask?” 

He clears his throat. “Nothing.” 

You look at him with furrowed brows but don’t really say anything further. “Okay.” 

When you go back to working in silence simultaneously again, Jungkook finds himself not being able to focus on the words of the journal article he’s reading. There’s a sentence to it he’s been going right over and over again. Everytime he reads it, it’s like the point just crosses right over his head and his efficacy in the language degrades every single time he repeats it internally.

All the while, you’re still quiet. 

And Jungkook’s had enough. 

Why weren't you saying anything? 

“__.” 

“Hm?” When you tilt your head to look at him, Jungkook nearly falls over his bed. You’re across the room on his computer desk while he’s on the mattress. 

God, you are so unbelievably beautiful without trying it makes his head ache. 

“Are you –uh. What’s with you today?” He finally asks. He watches as your face contorts into an expression of confusion once again, which he can’t really blame you for feeling the way. 

“What’s with me today?” 

“You’re just…” he tries to find the right words. “Quiet.” 

You don’t say anything for a while that Jungkook was about to take his words back. 

“Oh… I’m just not feeling well today, I think.” 

His brows furrowed. You looked perfectly fine today. You were your usual sunshine shelf when you stepped in class – all big grins and pretty laugh Seo Jihyun as usual was trying too hard to get your attention beside you all day. 

“Really?” He asks. “Do you need something?” 

It takes you by surprise. But you recover fast. “No, it’s fine.” 

“We don’t have to do this today if you’re feeling under the weather.” 

You laugh. And Jungkook thinks that’s a win. He thought he wasn’t getting any of that for today. 

“It’s fine, thank you, Jeon.”

Jeon?! Jeon, like his surname? 

He chooses to ignore that. But then a few minutes passed and he spoke again. God, he couldn’t stand any of this.

“How’s the bird?” 

“The bird?” You parrot back. 

“The bird at your window.” 

“Oh!” A flash of recognition goes through your face. “That. Well – as usual it knocked on my window again.” you giggle and it’s the first time Jungkook feels a little light ever since you entered his place. 

Good. This is good. 

“I didn’t know you’d remember that.” You say, giving him a small smile. 

Jungkook feels his cheeks burning so he had to look away. “You tell me about it everyday.” 

There’s a pout he can feel you’re sporting when you say, “But I thought you don’t care.” 

Jungkook frowns at that. 

But he realizes… he gets it. He doesn’t exactly show the opposite.

When he looks at you, your eyes are solemn and your downturned lips look so sad that it makes him feel like shit. 

See. This is why he’s always confused when he’s with you. You make him feel so much all at once and he can’t quite put it. 

“You tell me a lot of stuff everyday.” Is what he settles with. 

“Fair.” You say after awhile. “But uhm…” 

“Yes?” Jungkook immediately says, intrigued. You’re about to speak when his phone rings. You both look at the small device lying on his bed. When Jungkook picks it up, the caller ID says Han Hyorin. “Sorry, I’ll just pick this up.” 

Pressing on the green icon, he hears Hyorin’s voice at the end of the line. 

“Hey, Kook,” 

“Hi, Hyorin. What is it?” 

“What was your student email again? I can’t really find it on the roster.”

Jungkook recites it and then that’s the end of the conversation. He finds it strange because she could’ve just texted him but anyway, he turns to you again after the call ends. 

“Who was that?” You ask curiously. 

“Hyorin.” 

You still in your seat. Then nod. 

You don’t say anything again. 

And that stretches into another few minutes that Jungkook is once again confused. When he looks right over to you, you’re all up in your device. 

He stands up from the bed, leaves his laptop on the mattress, and then walks right over to your direction to stand behind the chair you’re seated on. Ducking down a bit, he peers over your shoulder to see what you’re doing. 

“You’re almost done?” 

When you turn back, your faces are so close to each other that his swivel chair creaks a little when you get taken aback. Jungkook steps back. 

“Yeah. I think so. You?” You say, looking up at him. 

Jungkook runs his fingers through his hair, inserting his hand on his pockets as he looks straight ahead on your screen. 

“I’ll finish up later.” 

You nod then turn back to your iPad. 

Jungkook’s eyebrows meet once again and he sighs. 

“__,” 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you mad at me?” 

You turn to him so quickly. “What?” 

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asks because he can’t take any of this anymore. You’re so… distant. And it makes him feel like he’s on edge. “You’ve been so quiet since we got here. I want to apologize if I did something wrong. But even if I didn’t, then I’m still sorry.”

Jungkook watches as your lips part, surprised to hear the words coming out of his mouth. Jungkook’s not the one to shy away from apologies – if he’s done something wrong, then he makes sure to take accountability. 

It’s different when it’s with you, though. He knows he isn’t exactly his nicest and his best to you… but it’s his complicated feelings that get in the way. He doesn’t know how to handle them. He doesn’t know how to handle you. 

“N-no!” You say. “You didn’t do anything.” 

He sends an arched brow your way. 

You shake your head vigorously. “It’s just… uhm… I thought…” 

“You thought…?” 

You look away, and it’s the first time Jungkook sees you seemingly shy. 

“I thought you’d like my company more if I didn’t talk much.” 

Now Jungkook’s just perplexed. 

You. ibble on your bottom lip before you say your next words. “I know you don’t exactly like me that much – that you’re just putting up with me because of this project and all that, but I really like you. Uhm. As a friend. I’d like to be your friend but I’m realizing now that I’m probably just annoying you with all of my blabbering and it’s unfair to you that I just keep on imposing myself on you even though you make it very clear that you’re not keen on befriend—” 

“__?” 

“— hm?” 

“Stop that.” Jungkook says because he can’t bear to hear you say things that aren’t the least bit true at all. “It’s not true.” 

“Which part?” you pout.

Jungkook would like to wipe that off your face with something. Like his lips. And that thought sends him into overdrive. He needs to get a grip of himself, seriously. 

“Everything.” 

What he doesn’t expect is for you to just frown. 

“You’re a liar.” 

“What?” 

You burst. “Well, for one– you always avoid me! You don’t even greet me in the hallways. And even in the same class you don’t smile at me or anything and the only time you ever acknowledge me is when we do this stupid project and okay I get it, you only like bubbly girls when they’re Han Hyorin, but why not me?”

Jungkook, puzzled, asks, “How’d Hyorin get into this?” 

Your shoulders deflate. “I don’t know.” 

“Can you—” Jungkook inhales a sharp breath. He closes his eyes before opening them back again. “Can you listen to me?” 

You plop back down on the chair with an indignant huff. Jungkook lets out a low chuckles but you only glare at him. 

So goddarn cute, he thinks to himself. 

“You’re just… you’re just too much okay?” He sees the way your face falls and he nearly punches himself for how he worded it. “Wait no– that’s not right. I meant, you’re just – you make me feel a lot of things, __.” 

“Things?” 

“Yeah. You confuse me.” 

“Why?” You look so confused it melts Jungkook. 

“I don’t know how to explain it either. Just that… you need to know I don’t not like you. I like your little blabbering. I look forward to your breakfast stories. I like your nails. I like your skirt. And I like your new apple pencil case.” 

Jungkook watches as your face turns soft. And suddenly, you have that million dollar grin again on your face. 

“Really?” 

“Hm.” 

You squeal and the next thing he knows you’re onto him, arms wrapped around his neck, locking him into a hug. 

“We’re friends now?” 

Jungkook takes the opportunity to encircle your waist around his arms, noting the size difference. And how easy it was for him to snuggle his nose subtly into your hair to smell your sweet shampoo and perfume in that position. 

You always smell so good. 

“Friends.” 

Jungkook doesn’t really think he can take both of you as just being friends, though.

[chaos-in-deepspace]

LNDS Spicy Headcanons | 18+

Well I did generalized headcanons for the boys, now we need to get into the spice headcanons. Which honestly is one of my favorite things to write. I regret nothing when it comes to Rafayel's part.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. Warnings: 18+ Headcanons, Cockwarming, Consensual Somnophilia, Sexting, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Bathtub Sex, Mentions of Oral (M!Receiving), Non-Human Anatomy

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

One of the kinkiest men you will ever meet. Is willing to try everything at least once if given the option. The worst part is he doesn't seem like the type at all until you're in the bedroom with him and you realize you might be in danger.

He is normally on top, but doesn't mind being a switch, especially when he's tired. If you want to take charge and pamper him, then by all means. As long as you don't tease him too much he'll let you do just about anything. If you tease him though...well you won't be on top for very long. The moment he loses control you'll be bent like a pretzel.

Xavier has more length than girth, and god damn is he able to use that to his advantage. If anything his dick is actually kind of pretty, with a few prominent veins on it and a soft pink tip. Now how he uses it...he will learn your body so well that he can perfectly angle himself inside of you and make you see stars. There is no saving you at that point.

Xavier can't say he has a favorite position when he's taking you. As long as he can be inside you in some way, shape, or form, he's content. If he had to choose though, he likes being in a spooning position with his cock buried into your heat, his hand on your hip and face in the crook of your neck while he whispers the filthiest things in your ear.

Despite having a larger sex drive than most would think, he doesn't masturbate as often. Anytime he's in the mood he might start, but if he doesn't have you with him it's not as exciting and he often times finds himself wanting to doze off. Only time he'll finish himself off in his own hand is if you're with him, or on call with him and he can hear you moaning as you touch yourself to the sound of his voice.

Xavier can and will send you spicy text messages while you're at work. He's a lot more careful with sending photos though since he'd hate it if you opened an image of him in public and had someone else see on accident. Not because he's ashamed of his body, but because he hates the thought of embarrassing you while you're working. He will, however, happily accept a spicy photo of you at any point in time. He even has a privacy screen on his phone so nobody can accidentally see it.

While Xavier is pretty kinky, he does have a few he is partial to. He likes cockwarming, especially after you two finish. If he had the choice he'd fall asleep with his length still deep inside of you. Another one would be somnophilia, as long as both parties consent to it of course. Xavier feels bad he's always sleeping, so if you ever wanted to use his body he'd be more than happy to let you. Not to mention it would make an amazing wake up call.

Zayne

Out of all three love interests, Zayne is the most tame when it comes to kinks. While he is happy enough to indulge you with whatever you want to try out, he is very much content with plain vanilla if that's what you request. Honestly whatever works out for the both of you is what he likes.

Now despite him being fine with vanilla sex, if you suggest trying something a bit more out there, he's probably all for it. Especially if you ask him to dominate you. He's already the top when it comes to sex, even if you're riding him he's holding your hips and controlling the tempo. If you ask for more Dom/Sub dynamics, he'll research it heavily before trying anything.

Zayne's dick is an absolute monster. Not only is it girthy, there's also quite a bit of length there as well and the veins lining the length only add to the sensations. It's the kind of dick that you have to whisper "Never back down, never give up". You won't be walking straight for days. It's the kind of cock that might put you in a wheelchair. It's a damn good thing he's a medical professional because his dick might actually destroy you, and yet you'll still be begging for more. Half the time he doesn't even put it in all the way so that you'll have a chance at being able to go to work the next day. And good luck sucking him off, not even a master could fit his entire dick down their throat.

Zayne's favorite position would have to be you riding him. He'll sit down on a couch with you on his lap, your chest right in front of him so he can nip and suck at it. His hands having an almost bruising grip on your hips as he guide you up and down on his length. Your small whimpers as he tells you how good you are for him. To Zayne, literally nothing can beat the view of you bouncing in his lap.

Zayne hates having to take matters into his own hands, literally, but sometimes if he doesn't have you with him he needs to do something. Memories of your nights together will be going through his head until he's painfully hard and can't sleep or work. He's not vocal when he masturbates unless he's on call with you, and even then it's small grunts here and there.

Zayne will avoid sending you pictures that are explicit. He might send more teasing photos to you every now and then, but nothing too bad. He's also careful about sending steamy messages. Normally if he does, it's to inform you of what's to come later in the day and it doesn't go too far. When you two are away from one another for long periods of time, he will video call you for some play time. Sometimes he'll even edge you, telling you not to cum until he gets home (which is torture for those business trips that last literal weeks).

Rafayel

As long as you're willing, Rafayel is more than happy to explore certain kinks with you. Of course only after you both look into it together. He loves teasing you about them while you two look into it, his body draped over your own while his hands explore your exposed skin, asking if you wanted to try the kink you're reading about right now.

He's a switch without a doubt. When he's bottoming he's nothing but a brat trying to be a power bottom and take control of the situation. When he's on top he is a huge tease, coaxing you into begging him for his touch. Either way, sex with Rafayel is always fun. Normally it's a small battle of dominance to decide who tops and bottoms.

Rafayel has more length than girth, and can definitely be called above average in that department. He isn't huge though, but just the right size to make you feel completely full. He also knows how to use it, making you whimper out his name as he slowly drags his length against your warm walls. His dick is pretty smooth as well, the veins not being very prominent. It is extremely sensitive to your touch though, and it's so easy to get him riled up just by running your hand over his pants.

To nobody's surprise, Rafayel likes to take you in the water. Whether it be in the pool, his tub, or the ocean. He has to admit you look amazing while the two of you are in the tub, your hands gripping the edges as you slowly ride him. His hands playing with all your exposed parts, teasing you and slowly bucking his hips into your own. Watching you cum and collapse onto his chest, panting his name as he continued fucking into you while you cling to him until he finishes, sometimes dragging another orgasm out of you.

Rafayel can and will masturbate to the thought of you whenever he has so much of a dirty thought. He's so down bad for you that he can't help himself. Just remembering how your skin feels against him, or how you whimper his name is enough to get him hard. He's not afraid to admit he's had to escape to the bathroom at one of his exhibits before just to get it out of his system. He can and will inform you about how it's all your fault and how you need to take responsibility.

Speaking of how you'll be informed if he masturbates, he will send you photos when it happens. His hand wrapped around his cock while in a closet during an event. Sometimes you'll see the cum dripping from the tip as he tells you n detail what you do to him. If he's at the studio, he'll call you up moaning your name, asking when you can come over. Of course this doesn't happen daily, but it is smart to make sure to have a privacy screen for your phone as well as headphones when you answer one of Rafayel's video calls if you're in public.

Lemurian Form

Rafayel is significantly more sensitive to touch in his Lemurian form. Feeling your hands tracing over his delicate scales will send shivers right down his spine.

He has two...and they're not small either. He has a slit in his tail that's softer than the rest and if you play with it enough, his cocks will come out. They're stacked, one on top of the other. The bottom one is about the side of his normal dick, but the top is significantly bigger.

They're tapered as well, coming to a soft point at the tips. The base of his cock has soft scales that are extremely sensitive (touching them the first time made him cum instantly). The rest of his length is a soft blue color that gradients to a more flesh tone at the top.

His cum is bioluminescent.

[drak3n]

REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA

CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers trope, smut, angst, mean naoya, praise, (consensual) recording and sending of sextape, creampie — scroll down for smut!

sena’s note: i love him no matter what y’all say 😻😻

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who hated his job and working in general; whose father had more than enough money as he owned a lot of buildings and offices all over kyoto

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who had been forced by his father to do something after getting his business degree, something other than enjoying his life, spending his daddy’s money and traveling the world

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who hasn’t really been the same ever since your breakup two years ago; who was in denial for the longest time about missing you until he decided to make peace with his mistakes and move on… try to move on

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who knew you had moved on a long time ago, as he had seen multiple pictures of you with another guy on your socials, pictures where you looked at someone else the way you used to look at him

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t give a damn about his clients and whether they liked a place or not, but who was still very good at his job due to his cunning and manipulative ways

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t really look at his next client’s name, all he knew was that they were in dire need of an apartment for one person

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who showed up to the apartment he’d found, a shabby place that was way too expensive for the state it was in, but they didn’t have to know, right?

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who stood in the dim living room on old, croaking parquet with his expensive, shiny dress shoes and crisp, perfectly tailored suit, hearing the doorbell ring

➩ REAL!ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who ripped the door open just to see his ex-girlfriend he had wasted spent three years of his life with

the first thing naoya noticed was that you looked like shit. not even in an offensive way. you just looked terrible. sleepless, sickly, with crinkled clothes and messy hair. back then, you made sure to look presentable even on your worst days.

he didn’t think he’d ever see you again. especially not in such a state.

“naoya?” your voice was hoarse, and you made no move to crack a smile. he didn’t smile either. “my coworker organized this, i didn’t know it was going to be you. i’ll just leave and—”

“stupid. come in.” the apartment wasn’t very inviting, and naoya’s face wasn’t either, but it was better than spending any more time outside in the cold. your jacket was too thin for the weather, as you still hadn’t had time to pick up all of your things from—

“how are things goin’ with your boyfriend?” silence. you didn’t bother asking how he knew you had someone else… used to have. you picked on the laces of your coworker’s hoodie she’d let you borrow, seated on the run-down couch while he opted to stand. of course he wouldn’t sit on a couch that wasn’t made of exquisite, original leather.

“we broke up,” you stated after some time, not quite meeting his amber eyes, “that’s why i need a new place.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who almost laughed in your face at that; and who let his bitterness of the breakup get the best of him as he told you that he knew that no one else would be a good match for you, reminding you of the words he had spat at you two years ago

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t bother stopping you as you left the shitty apartment through tears, and who didn’t care until he received a call from your coworker demanding to know what the hell happened because you hadn’t talked ever since the incident

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who found out from your coworker that you were staying with her, whose jaw tightened when he heard that your ex-boyfriend dumped you for his ex who moved in with him immediately and wanted you out of the apartment

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who appeared at your coworker’s apartment days later — after finally checking the data sent to him by her — while she was at work and you had a day off, and who looked at your miserable state when you opened the door

“do you really want to give that ugly bastard the satisfaction of being all depressed?” he sneered, hands shoved into the pockets of his brown dress pants. you didn’t see how his hands twitched in anger at your condition. he always hated seeing you like that. it was him who was supposed to be moody and grumpy, not you.

“did you come here to make me feel even worse?” you bit the insides of your cheek, feeling self-conscious at how polished he looked while you looked like you were homeless. technically, you were. “you got what you wanted, naoya. i’m unloveable. are you happy now?”

he kept quiet for a few seconds, and you took it as a sign to shut the door. before you could, he stopped you.

“pack your things. you’re staying with me.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who didn’t take no for an answer and nearly smirked in victory when he had you sitting in his passenger seat just like back when you were his

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who frowned upon seeing that you only had very few clothes, meaning that most of your things were still over at that bastard’s place

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who heard you crying yourself to sleep that same night in the guest room he offered you, and who shrugged innocently when you asked the next morning how your bags of belongings were suddenly standing in the middle of the blonde’s spacious living room; “someone set them down in front of the door. must’ve been your colleague.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who watched you open up more and start smiling again, and who felt something inside of him blossom once more, something that had never quite withered away to begin with

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who couldn’t be happier when you asked if he was willing to try again with you, more maturely this time, and who knew you were dying to get revenge on your shithead of an ex as much as he was

“arch your back more— yeah. fuck.”

a breathless chuckle was heard and you wiggled your hips, face buried in silky pillowsheets as you heard the sound of your phone recording. “n—naoya, please—” his hand massaged the flesh of your ass greedily, and you whined.

your thighs shook in excitement as naoya slid inside of your already drenched cunt, and you moaned loudly into the fabric as you started fucking yourself on the cock you had missed so, so much.

“hey, y’see that?” he wasn’t talking to you. you could tell from how condescending and arrogantly he spoke. “look at how she’s moving so prettily for me. s’your new bitch doing the same for your ugly ass? i doubt it.”

your phone camera captured your body glistening with sweat, shoulders and ass littered with hickeys and bite marks, and naoya made sure to record where your bodies connected, revealing how your squelching pussy pushed out a ring of your combined arousals.

“fun fact.” he kept talking while shallowly thrusting into you, kissing your womb with every push. “she’s lettin’ me hit it raw. never let ya do it, hm? because no one can compare to me, right baby?”

your trembling body along with the muffled squeal you let out was proof enough as you were tipped over the edge, squeezing naoya deliciously. he grunted, hips stilling before he pulled out. in your fucked-out state, you barely registered naoya’s digits spreading your lower lips to record how his cum oozed out of you.

your ex could never.

“and no one can compare to her. fuckin’ perfect pussy. look at what you’ll never have, son of a bitch.”

➩ REAL ESTATE AGENT!NAOYA who was disgusting, but who grinned widely when your shaky fingers pressed send before you chucked your phone aside to take one or two more loads that night

[valtsv]

so i’m curious about your enjoyment of pain as someone who also enjoys it. do you like all types of pain? what’s the like. intensity cut off? do you have favorite and least favorite pain sensations? for me personally i sort of like getting zapped, and also getting lightly burned, but not enough to actually leave a burn if that makes sense? like the sensation of having something slightly too warm pressed against my skin for too long is nice but i can’t stand actually healing from a burn wound (there was one time i literally couldn’t sleep due to a burn on my thumb). also bruises are nice. like pressing on them. but i absolutely can’t do cramps of any kind. anywayyyyy i curious about your opinions <3

JAMES CEMETERYTHING PAIN ASSESSMENT (or: i am asking you to get weird with it):

DISCLAIMER: this is a subjective account of my personal experiences with pain, and not intended in any way to dismiss other people's perfectly valid personal experiences, or to promote self-harm or violence towards oneself or others. obviously your body is yours to do with as you wish, but i accept no responsibility for those choices you make. please be kind to yourselves and each other.

- bruises: friendly short-term companions that occasionally stiffen, ache and throb in response to movement and touch. they have pretty privilege but fortunately i like that in a wound.

- scratches: zingy, sharp, and refreshing. like biting into a ripe but still sour berry. sometimes they swell up a little while they're healing. these are the best kind of scratches because they have tenderness and texture that's fun to touch.

- cuts (ie: anything deeper than a scratch, but not puncture/impaling wounds): the pain has a more intoxicating, overwhelming effect than scratches, which can be a good or bad thing. temptingly slippery and reactive to touch, but the risk of infection is a looming threat that takes some of the fun out of the act. cleaning them out can be an enjoyable compromise.

- incisions, stitches, and other consensually inflicted forms of wound (eg: tattoos): the choice and intention you have in the matter makes them more satisfying to experience, and your body's reactions (tensing, gritting your teeth, and breathing sharply through the waves of pain running through your body from the focal point of entry) can be exciting to bear witness to if you allow yourself. please engage in this one responsibly and safely.

- broken bones: immediately nauseating, but the dull ache of a healing bone after it's fractured has an almost comfortingly omnipresent quality to it that i find myself nostalgic for when it's gone. the occasional shooting pains you get when you move wrong, however, are too fleeting and sharp to really enjoy.

- muscle/joint injuries and pains: sickening and hateful. they burrow too deep to easily root out, but remain close enough to the surface to make you feel clumsy and unwelcome in your own body; a throbbing tumour ejecting waves of pain into the world. demanding and ungrateful, relieving them is the only thing they're good for. a notable exception is muscle aches from pleasurable/satisfying experiences, which carry that muscle memory and can redeem themselves in the process.

- headaches: really depends on where and how intense they are. i kind of enjoy the headaches that build behind my eyes, and will roll them and blink exaggeratedly to send little starbursts of pressure-release shooting through my skull. headaches that gather around my temples or build at the bridge of my nose, on the other hand, are unwelcome intrusions.

- impaling/puncturing wounds: perhaps a controversial opinion, but the penetrative aspect is probably the least interesting part to me. the aftermath - having a foreign object lodged inside you, surrounded by shrieking nerves declaring their resentment at the intruder, or a vacant hole of emptiness and strange new sensation where once was untouched flesh - is when things really start to get exciting.

- burns/debridement: generally considered the worst kind of pain, and i'm somewhat inclined to agree. it's hard to find much of a silver lining in having your skin flayed from your body layer by agonising layer. i think it's down to a similar issue to the one muscle cramps present - you're too trapped in the mundane misery of having a body, with no adequate distraction or fascination to make up for it. i do find the way that they heal to be interesting, though. the itching and oozing and peeling is by no means pleasant, but it is a disgustingly welcome relief from what came before. and the shiny new or scarred skin left behind feels like a kind of victory medal. a badge of endurance.

[stsgooo]

The Moonlight Goddess.

✩࿐ summary: the toy that got tucked away, would eventually come back out to play.

warning(s): chapter 48.2 manga spoilers, unedited. wc; 3.2k

pairing(s): jinshi/fem!reader

a/n: caught up on the manga, feeling incredibly deranged. i will Not be speaking about chapter 65 as that was the craziest experience i've ever had at 1 am. also, i'll be reading the light novel soon :)) anyway, i hope you enjoy this random thing i cooked up.

part ii m.list ao3

WHEN MAOMAO SUGGESTED JINSHI TAKE THE PLACE OF A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN, YOU WEREN’T ENTIRELY CONVINCED.

Sure, your master was a beautiful man who had won the lottery of genetics. But you weren’t sure if he could convince beautiful western women that he of the same level, if not above, as them. It wasn’t a slight towards him. A lack of confidence in his abilities. But the mere fact that this issue itself was presented as nonsense. Achievable for a god, perhaps. But not for someone as simple as Jinshi.

It’d been 50 years since the last time the convery had last visited and spotted this beautiful woman. Surely, these girls were aware of the effects of time and how… unkind it could be to some?

It all smelt bad.

“Uh, Maomao, are we sure this is the absolute best approach for this matter?” You had asked as the three others had come to some general consensus amongst each other.

Maomao had stared at you flatly and, for a moment, you ponder if she even knew who you were. “Have you ever dealt with unruly women, Y/N?” She asked in her usual monotonous manner.

You blinked, expression equally as flat as you regarded the younger girl for a beat. Her time at Jinshi’s home had been spent, primarily, with you and Suiren. It was fond to look back on, but the two months had been stressful and the girl was rather difficult to work with. She drug you around on one or two of her little investigations. Much to the disdain of you both. The only compliment she paid you in that time was that you were quick on your feet and able to keep up with. Something that you guessed wasn’t common.

Yes, you are rather unruly, Maomao. Was the reoccurring and unkind thought that passed through your mind.

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of unruly people.” You opted to answer instead.

The girl raised an eyebrow, “Women?”

You deflated, “Many.”

Unfortunately, being Jinshi’s maid had meant you had your encounters with women who, blinded by their fondness for him, would attempt to make random walk-ins. Something strictly forbidden unless it was the upmost emergency. Despite them being the ones in the wrong, it was usually you who suffered the brunt of their abuse until Gaoshun finally decided to inquire what was wrong.

You were quite used to unruly women.

Unknowingly, you'd guaranteed your place in Maomao's plan.

She placed her fingers against her chin, eyes squinted on you. "Do you use makeup often?"

You blink, a weary frown on your lips. "What?"

"Are you familiar with makeup and hair, Y/N?"

"Of course I am." What did she take you for? A lazy uneducated lady?

Maomao grinned, something that was dark and twisted, and you felt like you had somehow stumbled into a terrible trap. "Wonderful, you'll help with Jinshi-sama's makeup!"

"Wha- no, I-I have my--" You attempted to decline, but were quickly cut off.

"That's a great idea," Jinshi spoke up, looking rather delightful as his eyes moved to you. "No one I would trust more with this."

Seeing the glint in his eyes and the kind smile, you knew you could no longer remove yourself from this plan. With a bowed head, you turned to Maomao, prepared to receive your duty.

You suppose this is how you ended up here. Maomao and Gaoshun out to find an outfit that would suit the Moonlight Goddess. And you awfully close to Jinshi's face as you carefully apply the eye makeup.

Silently, you were thankful that he had his eyes closed, as his violet eyes endlessly and innocently staring back into yours would surely make your heart stop. The work had been silent for the most part. The both of you uttering only what was needed: close your eyes, please look up, tilt your head to the side. It was the easy back and forth you both fell into.

It made you realize that most of your companionship with Jinshi had primarily been in silence. You simply deciphering exactly what he wanted from the twitch in his brow or the look he would shoot. It'd never really been on your mind before. Although, it had always been an easy agreement between you that shouldn't be brought to question or pondered upon too much. Ever since the both of you were children. Ever since you were just being trained for the duties that would be carried out in the rest of your adult life. You'd both just been in this tiptoe waltz that carried you through life.

He didn't pry too much into your personal dealings and you never questioned his demands as your master.

Life was, in all ways, easy.

But still, you felt as though this plan was toeing a line. Asking too much, underestimating the intelligence of another.

You supposed Maomao was like that and Jinshi would easily follow her word.

Maomao. Jinshi. Maomao and Jinshi.

They are quite the duo recently. You knew it would be nothing good the moment he'd called for her in Lady Gyokuyou's with that glint in his eyes. The eagerness and curiosity similar to that of a child. The way he sought her out at any given opportunity. If you had to guess, you would say Jinshi is rather fond of dear Maomao.

It made you sigh heavily, your eyes narrowed on the liner that looked a little wobbly.

"Any mistakes, you can just retry, don't stress yourself." Jinshi spoke, assuming that your sigh was related to the unsteady line rather than the trail of thoughts plaguing your mind.

You blink, eyes focused on the kind smile that stretched over his lips. A slight pitter-patter took your chest. "No worries, Jinshi-sama, I won't ruin your looks." You shoot back, softly.

Jinshi's eyebrows raised, a soft snort released. "Oh, really? Are you teasing me now?"

"I do have the ability to joke here and there, sir."

"You barely do anymore. Joke, that is." Jinshi observed, a subtle frown on his lips as you applied a bit of glimmer to his eye lids. "You're very serious now, very on edge."

"These are serious times, Jinshi-sama." You replied back smoothly, feeling an indescribable ache in your chest. "I'm sorry if I'm not entirely entertaining."

Jinshi's frown seemed to deepen. And, suddenly, his fingers were wrapped around your wrist and his eyes were open to reveal the clandestine violets that glimmered into your very soul. His hold felt warm and all encompassing, a disorienting welcoming feeling that made you falter in your work. Frozen, you offered him your undivided attention as he appeared to struggle with himself. gave him your undivided attention. His brows were furrowed and the frown on his lips was entirely too childish for the man he claimed to be. His lips parted and he released a sound akin to frustration. He huffed and huffed and huffed. Then he stared into your soul-- still, he couldn't seem to find the proper words for his thoughts.

One of the many things that Jinshi struggled with often is that he simply had a greater outlook on life while being so terribly confined. A childish optimism that should've left him once he was grown, clung to his soul desperately and gave him a more bountiful outlook on people and life. He knew the risks, he knew the dangers, he knew the nastiness of the world, but still stayed kind.

You know it was one of the many things his mother tried to change about him. That and his attachment to things. That was something you'd encountered first hand.

"You have your reservations about this, I can tell."

When he spoke, you weren't entirely sure what he'd say. There were times he was too insightful, too smart for his own good. It used to amuse you, now you only worried when it'd come across as unseemly.

Jinshi stared up at you, glittering eyes kind and approachable, his fingers squeezed gently around your wrist. "I don't want you to feel like you can't speak your mind." He continued as if he had no idea who you were. What you were. What you were to him.

Your gaze bounced between his own, a small frown breaking the perfect exterior you always desperately kept up. Maybe he was still stuck in the past. Maybe he was still enchanted by who you both used to be to one another.

The past was usually more lovely than a future unseen.

"I'm actually told not to voice my mind."

"By who?"

"Everyone."

There's a moment where Jinshi looks as if he's remembering something. Something distinct and obvious. Something that he had completely disregarded in the back of his mind for whatever reason, for however long. It must be pleasant, to not be constantly reminded that the people around you are paid or contracted to be by your side. Must be nice to have a choice.

Master. Servant. Master and servant.

That is all you and Jinshi shall ever be.

"I see," He uttered, eyes briefly tracing the tiles on the floor before fluttering back up to you with a new spark of determination. "But I'm ordering to speak your mind! Freely!"

You stared back flatly in return. Was he oblivious what freely meant? Ordering me and then saying it's of my own volition can't both be true.

Jinshi would put you into early death.

"Well, I, uh," you found his eyes to be too vibrant, to be staring too intensely and too welcoming. You turned your gaze away, desperate to grab some type of bearings over yourself. But, alas, his hand was still wrapped around your own. His skin scorched yours, tainted it with the warmth that was all his. "I think that this plan will not go entirely as you all hope."

"Is that so?" His voice is like a smooth honey, soft and all too endearing.

You hum, nodding, "Yes, uh, I believe they want you to fail, sir. And to have a rather unsavory thing to report back." Jinshi simply hummed in response. You could feel his eyes almost stroking against the side of your face. "I just think that they won't react the way you and Maomao hope they will. This is no slight to your or her intelligence, of course. Just a mere observation."

"I know what you mean, no worries." Jinshin's thumb was now slowly and softly stroking the butt of your palm. A soothing action that brought your eyes back to him. Captured in the way he serenely observed you. "What exactly about this makes you uneasy? Maybe I can ease you."

It didn't sound like an offer, but a promise. If his words weren't enough, his eyebrows were drawn together in careful contemplation. He wasn't going to walk away from this conversation without you both reassured in some capacity.

"What if they want to talk to you?"

Jinshi might had fair and delicate features, and a soft voice, but it wasn't nearly feminine enough to pass. If anything, they'd grow more suspicious. Then they'd report back about what a joke they all were and then Jinshi could suffer some type of punishment for his embarrassment. It wasn't that you were too pessimistic or didn't believe in the little group, but that the women's request felt bad all around.

A set-up if anything.

So, you took a deep breath and focused on that reassuring circle being drawn into your skin as Jinshi contemplated this for only a moment.

"Then I'll have the apothecary cover for me." Jinshi smiled, all too bright and all too reassuring. "We've already decided that I'll swim across the pond-- give me a vanishing effect and she'll deter them elsewhere."

You furrow your brow, all too worried, but bow your head instead of voicing such. "Of course, I have no doubt in you, Jinshi-sama." You reassure.

There was a beat of silence, then, "You're my oldest friend, you know?" You tense. Frozen into you bow, your wide eyes stare endlessly at his feet. His tone is tender, soft, almost hesitant, as if he wasn't sure if he should be speaking these things aloud. Yet, he continued. "You're the only one, beside Gaoshun and Suiren, that has stuck by me without judgement or doubt. I thank you for that, but I also fear that we've grown apart."

"I suppose we have." You uttered, trying to ignore the clench in your chest.

"Even as children, we started to grow apart." He continued to observe.

Because of your mother. Because of her fear that you'd end up like him, like your father. That disgusting and vile man. How could she not know you'd never be like him?

There was a day, a very distinct day, that you and Jinshi had been separated for "his own good". Your birthday. You had waited him eagerly in the main courtyard, being able to slip away from your duties out of kindness from Suiren. You waited and waited, until Gaoshun had approached. His expression downtrodden and dark. He informed you that it was no longer proper for you to play around with the boy you so dearly adored. Said his mother commanded it.

If he plays with a toy too much, take it from him.

You used to be bitter, resentful, and angry over it. Only eight-years-old, you had clung onto any companionship you could and he had given the illusion that he'd be there forever. Until he wasn't. Until you were a toy to be tucked back into the chest, forever forgotten with time.

He would be there forever, but you only merely a pawn for him to use as he pleased. To do work and to never grace the same level as you had when you both were only children, not yet exposed to hierarchy. Pure and innocent.

Now, you were mere servant and master.

Finally, you willed yourself to pull away from his hold, turning around to pick through various hair products. "It's been a long time, Jinshi-sama. We're no longer children."

"Hm."

As you reached for a brush, he pressed against your back. His hands coming to rest against your own with a delicate, featherlike touch. He was suddenly surrounding your ever sense. His warmth enveloping you into a hug that was almost earth shattering. Your lips parted and your eyes wide, you tensed as his lips brushed against the top of your head.

"I think of you often," his words are a whisper against you and your eyes, if possible, widen further as you almost lean back into him. "I sometimes wish I could just reach out and...and hold you, like we used to. Is that so bad?"

"Jinshi-sama, this is rather inappropriate!" You whisper back, not daring to look back at him in fear for how quickly you'd crumble.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating from his chest into your back and sending various chills down your spine. "If I'm making you uncomfortable, then please, tell me."

You don't open your mouth, as much as you wished you would deter him, you were rather eager to keep this up for a moment longer. To have something to think about and something to cherish later. Surely, this wouldn't happen again.

Instead, your attention goes to keeping your heart steady as Jinshi gently turns you around. His eyes heavy as he stares at you earnestly, lips quirked up barely. Your hands came up to clutch his forearm, gently squeezing as he did the same with your shoulder. You felt your heart stammer and a sweat collecting on your brow, this was definitely something frowned upon. To be so close and to breathe his same air-- as he exhaled, you inhaled the rich oxygen.

Suddenly, Jinshi's eyebrows furrowed and his fingers reached out, gently tucking some hair from your face. "What did they teach you to make you tremble like this?" He whispered it to himself but, thanks to your proximity, you heard it.

It made your ears redden, your lips pressed together. Did he really not know?

Before you could even speak, the door to his room were opened. Both your heads snapped to the door where Maomao and Gaoshun stood, both varying degrees of expressions on their faces that brought shame to you both. The four of your frozen in your respective places, staring at one another dumbly. Your hold on your master slackened and Jinshi took that as a sign to move first.

Jinshi made a rather odd noise, jumping away from you, face red and wide awkward smile to the two at the door. "Did you find the goods?" He asked as he approached, nervous fingers moving about.

Maomao, bless her soul, decided to ignore whatever it was they had walked in on, moving forward with a bundle of things in her arms. "Yes, Jinshi-sama."

You nervously pulled yourself from the table, turning your back to the three, hoping to conceal the red hue on your face. You really, really, hoped that no one would say anything.

Your hopes were tarnished as Gaoshun stepped up beside you.

The man was family. He'd been there for every milestone, or the rather unruly years when you found yourself in trouble more often than not. You'd grown accustomed to reading into his expressions more than his words. He was more open there, his only weakness.

That's why you withered when you saw that aghast expression on his face. The glimmer in his eyes that said it all-- he knew what was happening.

You ducked your head at the same time you heard Maomao ask, "Why isn't your hair done?"

You mustn't get ideas above your station. You are there to serve your master. Nothing less, nothing more.

That is the first thing that they taught you when you were "of age".

You are to give your life to your master. Any inappropriate behavior will be punished, severely.

That's the second thing they taught you.

There were many things that contributed to your regression. That made you cower away from who you used to be. Going from a loud troublemaker to the polite, obedient lady that lived to serve her kind master.

But as you watched Jinshi, or more correctly, the Moonlight Goddess dance elegantly at the edge of the pond. As you witnessed the light hit just right an illuminate him in a way that would send even the most beautiful angel into a rage. You realized one thing.

You would never tell Jinshi of those things.

Someone as beautiful and perfect as him, untouched from the life that you lead, shouldn't be exposed to the things he confined you to.

All you could do was gaze upon the Moonlight Goddess, utter your most daunting praises and wants, and tuck it all away.

You mustn't get ideas above your station.

You were a lowly maid after all. Someone so dignified and beautiful wouldn't settle for you.

"My hair is still wet!" Jinshi's voice bounced off the walls, a scowl etched on his face.

You bowed your head as you entered, towel tucked in your arms. "I have a towel for you, Jinshi-sama."

As you ruffled his hair with the towel, watching his shoulders relaxed you thanked the Moonlight Goddess.

A coward like you would never belong with a Goddess like him.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

Hii !! From the smut prompts (stop rolling your eyes, I know Im predicatable!) could I request "Accidentally Sending Nudes", "Sexting" and... a secret third thing (the choice is yours, go hogwild) for Jason x Fat Fem Reader? I'm leaning more towards sub!reader but shes def a little shit about it :3

Thank you in advance if you write it !! 🌼

See, this is why it pays to send in a request with me, because even if I don't answer it right away, I keep requests in my inbox for months and come back to them later!!! (This is from December 2023)

(Also this request is just plain fun) (because Star knows exactly what buttons to push to get me lmao)

DC Titans Requests - OPEN

How would Jason react to you accidentally sending him a nude?

(Jason Todd x Fem!Thick!Reader)

Warnings: set specifically in the Titans!verse - set during season 3/mentions of season 3 plot points; spoilers for major plot points of Titans (including character deaths on the show); this is kind of enemies to lovers? (enemies to fwb, I guess); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; the reader is described as being fat/plus sized; passing mentions of Gar x reader (I couldn't help myself); dubious consent - because of the nature of the trope, Jason sees the reader naked without her explicit consent, and he decides to keep the picture without her consent - but it does spark a consensual sexual relationship between them; passing mention of using nudes for blackmail (that does not happen); this isn't really proofread; (generally, I consider this post to be a fucking mess because it was written in Tumblr but I was still trying to have fun with it lmao.)

...

Jason is minding his own business when it happens.

(For once in life, he is fully, completely, minding his own business.)

He's back in Gotham and he hasn't seen you in months - and if asked, he would say that he hasn't thought about you. He doesn't have time to think about you because he's been too busy with this therapy bullshit, training, trying to get back his title of Robin. Trying to get back in the cape. (And trying to get back in Bruce's good graces.)

But that's not exactly true. He's thought about you a lot.

(Most of those times have been with his hand around his cock, but again - he won't admit that.)

There is an occasional time that you cross his mind and it's because he's wondering genuinely how you're doing - wondering if you're well, how your training is going, wondering if you're doing okay under the Dickhead's reign. But he can't ever pluck up the courage to text you and simply ask. Because that would be admitting that he cares, and that would make him look like a weak little prick.

And that's why he's so damn surprised when you text him first.

He hasn't heard from you since he left the Tower (well, since he stormed away from Donna's funeral in what you called a 'toddler fit' - something that ended in a rather vicious text argument between the two of you). In fact, the last thing in the text history between the two of you is you calling him a 'giant, petty, whiny baby who can't deal with his own emotions'.

(You had no clue what had happened between him and Rose, so that did inform a lot of your opinion on the matter.) (And that was probably the reason why Rose still had all of her teeth after you had seen her at the funeral.)

But all of that was aside from the point.

The point being - Jason found himself smiling when your contact name popped up on his phone.

He has you in his phone as 'Pretty Girl' - along with a contact picture of you sticking your tongue out at him in response to having his phone shoved in your face with the knowledge that he was taking a picture of you. (That tongue always makes him think certain things, so even though you intended for it to be some rude thing to ruin the picture, it makes it so much better for him.)

(1) new photo

That instantly catches Jason's attention.

Perhaps you were sending him a picture just to flip him off, or sending him a picture of a dumpster to ask him if it reminded him of home - a common joke you used to make when he still lived at the Tower.

Jason grabbed his phone and opened the message, expecting another tired joke, and-

Holy fuck.

The last thing he was expecting - your naked body. Your gorgeous naked body.

(He likely would have expected a nuclear blast or for the Joker to clean up his act and actually become a decent, sane citizen before he expected this to happen.)

Jason brought his phone closer to his face, making the picture full screen in order to examine it better - he needed to make sure that he wasn't hallucinating, or that this wasn't some weird dream. But fuck, he definitely wouldn't be able to dream up this.

You were so perfect - so fucking perfect in a way that was so very real.

The picture was a fucking stunning side profile of your body - rolling curves, lacy underwear that could clearly barely contain your impressive hips with sweet little stretch marks jutting out from the fabric (jagged little marks across the softness of your skin that made Jason want to act up) - soft fat for him to grab onto, and the perfect teardrop shape of your breast, now bared to his eye in a way that he had only dreamt of before. Something that he had stared at through the oversized tee shirts you wore to bed without a bra, just wondering what you looked like underneath.

And fuck, this was so much better than anything he could have dreamt up.

Jason's cock began to harden almost instantly, and laying in bed, he reached over to his nightstand for some lube, ready to milk that picture for all it was worth, when-

His phone buzzed again.

Pretty Girl: 'Delete that.'

Jason hadn't even considered that you had sent it to him by mistake. He had been far too busy enjoying to even consider the intention or the psychology behind it.

So, he took his hand off the waistband of his sweats and texted back the first thing that came to mind.

'No.'

(He didn't hear your annoyed growl on the other end, frustrated at his downright typical Jason behaviour.)

'It's not my fault you made a dumbass mistake. Besides, it's the least I get after all the nagging from you.'

Then, something else came to mind as the bubbles popped up, meaning you were busy formulating a reply - an annoyed one, no doubt.

'Who did you mean to send it to anyway? Who are you fucking whose name starts with J that's not me?'

(You hesitated.)

Pretty Girl: 'I didn't type in J.'

'???'

Pretty Girl: 'I typed in G. And it turns out the first contact that popped up was Giant Baby. That's you.'

Jason felt annoyed and insulted on all levels. The fact that you were going to Tiger Boy for dick instead of him, and the fact that you had used such a mocking contact name for him. But when he realised that such a pathetic string of events had caused him to accidentally see you naked, he couldn't be too upset.

'I'm still keeping the picture 😈'

Pretty Girl: 'You're such an asshole' Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me one'

'Fine, I'll owe you one'

Jason shrugged it off, thinking he had won, until -

Pretty Girl: 'No, you owe me a cock.'

This made Jason's stomach jump. You couldn't possibly mean-?

Pretty Girl: ... Pretty Girl: 'You owe me a picture of your dick. You know - an eye for an eye type stuff.'

Jason wanted to ask questions - what did you plan to do with the picture? Should he shave his balls first? Did you want more than one?

But his cock got even harder at you asking for a picture, at you demanding to see his cock, and he couldn't properly think - he couldn't even reason that you might later blackmail him with the picture.

No, instead, he found himself ripping down his pants and turning on the bedside lamp for good lighting, pumping himself up to peak rigid hardness and grasping the base of his cock in hand. And then, without hesitation, he snapped a picture for you. He made sure to get his abs in the photo - a collection of his best assets, with his pants pulled down to mid-thigh, showing off his tight stomach, the deep V leading down to his dick, and his thick seven inch cock in hand surrounded by some well-kept dark pubic hair.

(He was proud of it - and that ego was one of the things that annoyed you most about him.)

He sent it without hesitation and then you began typing several times and stopped once again. Jason's stomach churned with nerves until -

Pretty Girl: 'Fuck you' Pretty Girl: 'I thought it would be smaller'

Jason had no clue how to respond to that, and he was busy racking his brain for some clever reply, when -

Oh. Oh fuck.

(1) new photo

You had sent him another picture. And this time it was definitely on purpose.

It was a view between the plump, beautiful thickness of your thighs - your hand was inside the pretty lace of those panties, and your fingers were visible working on your clit while your needy hole dripped wetness onto the fabric.

So you had liked what you had seen.

Pretty Girl: 'What would you do if you were here right now?'

Jason's brain short-circuited then. He thought of so many things - eating your pussy until you screamed, flipping you onto your stomach and fucking you until you begged him to stop, gripping onto those gorgeous thighs, pinning them to your chest and pounding into your cunt until you finally surrendered and said that you had liked him all along, fucking your smart little mouth to finally shut you up-

Pretty Girl: 'Come on, Jay. Don't disappoint me.'

Oh, he won't.

(Another thing Jason won't admit - he came back to the Tower just for you.)

...

DC Titans Masterlist

[distantdarlings]

RETURN THE FAVOR // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 3.2K WORDS

Enzo Berkshire x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* When an altercation between Enzo and you gets you both thrown in detention, Enzo decides to take a bit of anger out on you.

+ WARNINGS - (Y'all, this is filthy) SMUT! PIV (no protection), mean dom!Enzo, Top!Enzo, Bottom!Reader, very brief Sub!Enzo, fingering (f!receiving), spanking, bondage, use of tie as gag, mentions of a slap in the face (x2), Reader is struggling (but still consensual), kinda bratty!Reader, public sex, generally rough sex, desk sex, degradation, name-calling, female reader, fem anatomy, language (lmk if I missed anything)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Slow Down - Chase Atlantic

- - -

The events of the morning had flown by so quickly, you’d barely even grasped what had happened. You knew there had been some kind of fight that you had been involved in where you were yelling at Theodore Nott for picking on a Hufflepuff. You knew that his little friend group had tried to shout back at you and that your current lover, Enzo Berkshire, had also pushed back against you.

That had pushed you over the edge, and you’d laid a slap across his cheek, lighting it up with red blush. By the time the professors had flown through the door, handing out detention slips, you’d hardly processed a thing that had happened.

There was a fight. You’d slapped Enzo Berkshire across the face. You were currently in detention for the rest of the day. Enzo Berkshire was sitting directly across from you. Those facts were clear.

The desks in the extra classroom you sat in were arranged in a debate circle, where the two of you were angled in front of each other. A pink handprint glowed brightly on his cheek, accentuating his chiseled cheekbone even more than before. His eyes were cut so angrily he might’ve evaporated you on the spot.

“If you have something to say, Enzo…,” you started, crossing your arms and staring right back at him. “Then you’d better spit it out now because I’m getting really tired of you staring at me like that. Hasn't anyone ever taught you that that was rude?”

He scoffed, an evil smirk cracking across his lips. “You’d better watch it. There’s no professor here.”

“Oh, no!” you exclaimed sarcastically. “Whatever will I do? Seriously, Enzo, what the hell do you think you’re going to do to me? I could best you in a duel any day.”

“McGonagall took our wands. What do you think you’re going to do?” he challenged, leaning forward onto the wooden desk.

“Maybe if you’d pay better attention in class, you’d be a bit better at wandless magic by now.” You cocked your head and shot him a teasing smile. 

He could talk a big game, but you’d shut him up perfectly well when you’d slapped him earlier. If he wanted to continue to insult you, you had no qualms with hitting him again. Just as he said, there was no professor in the room with you. You could easily get away with a second assault. 

Suddenly, he stood and crossed to the front of his desk. He leaned his body against it, crossing one ankle in front of the other, and setting back comfortably. His eyes watched your every move. A single strand of hair slipped loose from his expertly styled hair, tracing the line of his perfectly crooked nose. 

“What’s with the attitude today, huh? Have I not fucked you enough this week?” he asked, faking a pout with his reddened lips. He tilted his head to the side mockingly. You scoffed.

“Enzo, don’t be stupid. This has nothing to do with that. I told you in the middle of the argument that I was going to slap you if you didn’t get out of my face. And what did you do?”

“I didn’t back down from you, little girl.”

“And you got hit for it, dumbass.” You crossed your arms and leaned against the desk. While Enzo was the best body you’d had in a long, long while, you weren’t going to let his immaculate dick get in the way of your self-esteem. The Slytherin boys had a bit of a reputation for using girls, getting tired of the m, then ditching them, leaving them with half of the confidence they had to begin with. 

Enzo had an incredibly sculpted body, almost specifically designed for the rough sport of Quidditch he seemed to excel at. From the first time you saw him zipping through the sky—taut body stretching to catch the Quaffle and send it flying into the goalpost with the force of someone twice his size—you knew you had to have him. And that night, after the Slytherins had won and the after party had concluded, you had laid him down and rode him so ferociously, you’d locked him in from that moment on. As much as he loved to deny it, he needed you badly. 

You smirked.

He slowly waltzed across the classroom. His shoes clicked against the polished floors, echoing slightly off of the empty stone walls. Your eyes trained slowly upwards as he drew closer and closer before he stopped just before your desk. His intention was to hover over you and to make you feel small, but the seething stare you kept imprinted on his bright eyes ensured that you were in charge, not him. 

“Maybe it’s about time you had a bit of punishment,” he suggested. He placed the tips of his fingers on the edge of the desk, gently gliding them along the dented wood. A single fingernail absentmindedly traced some name carved messily into the desk. 

“Punishment?” you laughed. “If anything, it’s you who needs it. Maybe one hit wasn’t enough for you. I seem to recall the first night we fucked, you seemed to like it quite a bit when I’d hit you across the face, just like this morning. Tell me, baby, did you get hard when I did it earlier in front of all of your friends?” 

His fist came down hard on the table. You stood abruptly, backing away from his heaving body. The smirk refused to leave your lips. You backed away slightly, leaning against one of the desks farther behind the one you previously occupied. You’d never seen him this mad before.

“Oh,” you pouted. “Did I hit a soft spot? God, imagine what your friends think. They know I’ve been fucking with you for the last few months, so what do they think, knowing I have complete control of you?”

“Yeah, right,” he snorted, inching closer to you, weaving in and out of desks and chairs.

“Enzo, baby, let’s be honest,” you smiled. “You’re like a dog on a leash. When I whistle, you come. In both the physical and transporting sense.” You continued to walk backwards, fingers caressing along desks as you passed by them. 

“Oh, you think this is a game? You think you’re in control?” he asked. You nodded sweetly. Anyone could see that you were, even those on the outside looking in.

“Aren’t I?” you asked. “You’re the one chasing after me here.” At your words, he stopped in his tracks and laughed meanly. He watched you closely as he slowly sat himself down in a wooden chair. The light creaking beneath his weight interrupted the echoing of his breathing. 

“Come here, baby,” he said gently, patting his lap with one heavy hand.

“Hmm, no. Try again.” You crossed your arms obstinately. He glanced around absentmindedly for a few moments as if thinking about something before he seemed to land on his solution. A small smile briefly flashed across his lips before disappearing again. Then, his eyebrows knitted together pitifully, as if he was on the verge of crying.

He slid down out of the chair, letting his knees hit the raw ground with a soft thud. His hands came forward, finding their position on the dusty floorboards, fingers streaking in the dirt. On all fours, he slowly began to crawl towards you. A few inches every second, a few breaths between his swollen lips, a few wobbles of his jaw, then he was paused before you with his lips hovering against your bare legs. 

You watched closely as he dragged his bottom lip from your knee up to the hem of your skirt before pulling away. A smile found its way on to your face at his behavior. At this point, all he needed to do was beg for forgiveness and offer his body up for the single use of your personal pleasure. Merlin, that would be the fucking day. 

“What do you say, baby?” you whispered, hand coming down to grab a hold of his jaw. You tilted his face up higher to look at you more directly. 

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for shouting at you earlier,” he whispered. Your thumb scraped across his mouth. At the sensation, a pink tongue darted between them and caressed gently over your skin. You smiled once more. You could get very used to seeing him on his knees like this. 

“I appreciate that, but I don’t think I can fully forgive you until you seek a bit more penance. In a physical form.” 

At that, you pushed yourself fully onto the desk behind you, legs falling slowly open. You revealed yourself to him. Between your decision to not wear tights today and the fact that your panties were hardly solid fabric as is, you figured it wouldn’t be much of a struggle to get him against you. His eyes glanced down beneath your skirt before flicking back up to you. He swallowed thickly, his throat tracking the shaky movement the whole way down. 

“What can I do for you?” he whispered. 

“Anything you want—just pleasure me and make me believe that you’re sorry.” 

Not a moment passed before he was jumping up from his position on the floor and crossing the space between you two. You yelped as his hands trapped themselves behind your knees and tugged you toward the edge of the desk you sat atop. Before you had a chance to react to his annoying insubordination, he flipped your hips and pressed your chest roughly into the old wood. You shrieked at the assault, feeling a breeze inching its way up your back. His hands had yours tightly trapped behind your back. 

“Enzo! Let me go right fucking now!” you screamed. 

“Nuh uh, shush now,” he tutted. “You told me to pleasure you in any way that I wanted. I’ve decided what I want.” His words were menacing. A chill spread down your spine. 

With both of your wrists collected in his left hand, he freed his right to slip a finger behind his tie and loosen it. He pulled it from around his neck and rapidly fastened it around your wrists, binding them tightly against your back. You yelped at the tension burning against your shoulders.

“Fuck, Enzo! That’s too tight. Loosen it now or I swear—!” you started. His hands were then around your neck, interrupting your empty threats and loosening your tie, as well. You thrashed against his body but his hips pressed against your ass kept you locked against the desk.

“I swear to Merlin, you'd better let me up or I’ll scream.”

“Well, we can’t have any of that.” Suddenly, your tie appeared in front of your eyes in a flash. It slipped between your teeth and pulled tight against the edges of your mouth. He fastened the uniform fabric around the back of your head, careful to avoid tying your hair into it. You grunted rebelliously against the gag, trying to kick at him with your legs. 

“Besides, if I’m going to make you feel as good as I plan to, this’ll come in handy for how loud you’re about to scream.” His voice was a gravelly whisper against your ear, lips brushing against the shell. 

Eventually, you stopped struggling, and, at that point, he chuckled in your ear and pressed a kiss to your cheek. 

He leaned up from where he’d been sprawled against your back and slowly pushed your skirt over your hips, revealing your ass to the cold air. You moaned against the gag as his thumb slid slowly through your slit, tracing the wetness that had already started to pool from the edge of your core to your entrance. He hissed at the warmth you gave off.

“I don’t know why you fight me so much—if you’d just lie still and let me fuck you, I think you’d be in a much better mood.” 

Then he was pulling your lace panties to the side and sliding a hot finger into you. You gasped, body tensing against the desk, as he spread you apart. It never mattered how many times he did this—you never got used to the stretch every part of his body provided to you. Before you’d even adjusted to the first one, he pushed a second finger in, and then a third. 

By the time he pulled his fingers from you, you were already dripping down the length of your thighs and the sides of his wrist. Behind you, you heard him place his fingers across his tongue and suck your essence from his skin. 

You rolled your jaw against the desk, propping your chin up to catch a glimpse of the door. The thought of a student or—worse—a professor walking in and catching the two of you made your stomach grumble with nausea. But, on the flip side, it also seemed to ramp up the heat in your abdomen. For some reason, the thought made you all the more ready for him to push himself into you.

Which, luckily, you didn’t have to wait long for. Without another breath, he worked his pants down his waist and legs and placed both hands on your ass. His fingers dug into your skin, massaging the muscle soothingly before laying a heavy slap to your right side. You stifled a scream against the desk. Your skin stung as if it’d been placed against fire. His fingers returned to the skin to move the heat around. 

Once he felt as though the pain had been appeased enough, he laid an even harder slap to your left side. This time, a bit of a shriek did break through the silence. You groaned at the pain, kicking your leg up and making sharp contact with his shin.

“Ah! You little shit.” He slammed his hand down on your ass again. Tears pricked at your eyes at the feeling. You couldn’t deny it—the thought only accelerated the wetness between your legs more. Fuck, you hated what he did to you. 

He reached around and pulled your gag from between your lips suddenly. The saliva-soaked fabric hung limply around your neck. “Now,” he growled in your ear. “Say you’re sorry for slapping me.”

“But you—” He shut you up by slamming himself into you down to the hilt. He slapped a hand around your mouth as you screamed out. 

“Say you’re sorry.” He began to pump rapidly into you. Every single thrust hammered into every spot you needed him to. He was relentless with his pace.

“I’m sorry,” you cried out against his hand. Your hands clenched tightly where they were wound against your back, fingernails biting into your palms. 

Finally, he pulled himself off of you and gathered your hips into his hands once more. He fucked you hard and rough, demanding that you feel every inch of him. His hip bones slammed against your ass with cracks that echoed like magic. Your eyes rolled upwards at the pleasure he forced into your body. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic. Hitting me then pretending like you run this show. I fuck you, not the other way around. At the end of the night, you’re the one screaming into my shoulder; you’re the one pulling me closer with your legs; you’re the one clenching me with this dripping cunt. And who gets you like this every time—fucking soaked and begging for more? Fucking me, you stupid slut. You think you can treat me like that, huh?” He punctuated his question with an especially hard thrust. You whimpered, teeth clenching briefly around the edge of the desk. “You ever act like that in front of my friends again and I’ll fuck this tight cunt right in front of them and the entire fucking school. I’ll tie you up like I have you right now and let every single student and professor watch as I end you.”

You whined aloud at his words. The images he painted in your mind ramped the sensations he was giving you to a million. Every movement he pushed into you urged you closer and closer to that sweet release you were desperate before. 

As you started to tighten around him, he chuckled meanly. His fingers dug into your hips. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart? Just like you do every time?”

You said nothing. He grabbed your tied hands and pulled you upwards, forcing your back into his chest. The new angle hit an especially deep spot inside of you. You gasped at the feeling. You were right on the edge of your release.

“Answer me!” he growled.

“Yes! Enzo, please, baby. I’m so fucking close,” you whined aloud. 

“That’s what I fucking thought.” He pushed you back onto the desk and forced himself against you faster and faster until the bubble in your stomach was bursting and raining down across his and your thighs. He groaned as the wet slick painted his skin. 

Once your high began to diminish, he pumped himself into you relentlessly until he was coming hard. He forced every ounce of his spend deep into you until he was finished and caught his breath. Once he was done, he pulled himself out of you.

“I think that ought to teach you, baby.” He pulled his pants back onto his hips and fastened his belt. You could feel his release pulsing out of your core and seeping down your legs. Sweat dripped down your forehead. Your ass was still exposed. 

“Whatever, Enzo. Just untie me,” you said. He paused and walked around to the front of the desk you laid across. You watched his body make every step until he stopped before you. A single hand came down to tilt your chin up towards him, just as you had done to him earlier.

“What was that?” he whispered. His voice was like steel.

“I asked you to untie me.”

“I don’t recall you asking anything. You demanded. Haven’t you learned anything?” he asked, clicking his tongue disappointingly. You scoffed. He couldn’t be serious.

“Okay, I get the point, En. Now, untie me. A professor or student could walk in at any time.”

“What’s the magic word, sweetheart?” he smirked down at you. You rolled your eyes.

“Merlin. Please!” you sighed. 

“Mm, I think it’s too late for that. Your attitude fucking sucks. I shouldn’t have to ask you to say please. It seems this little session didn’t teach you much of a lesson.” 

He paused for a moment, then smiled decidedly. “Maybe this will, sweetheart.”

“Enzo, what—?” He interrupted you by pulling the gag back over your mouth, retightening it against your mouth and walking back behind you. He smoothed your skirt over the length of your back, ensuring that your ass was exposed, pumped full of his cum. He double-checked that your arms were fastened tightly against your back. You struggled against the desk, cussing his every fucking movement as best you could through the gag. 

He leaned down beside your ear and placed a small kiss to the shell of it. “Let’s learn from our mistakes, baby.”  

Then, with a whoosh, he Disapparated and rendered the room into complete silence. You scoffed in surprise, eyes widening and breath heaving in and out. There was no fucking way he just left you like this. 

The next time you saw Enzo Berkshire, you were going to make sure you returned the fucking favor. Exactly how he had. 

- - -

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[twola]

Passerine: Chapter 5

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Things hurtle toward their conclusion - the pregnancy, the gang, and the relationship.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: references to rape, violence, injury, illness, death. canon events have been modified.

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Even the songbirds sound sad and gloomy in these hills. Everything is dark, wet, foreboding. A general unease has settled into the gang, or at least, what was left of it. The evening fell far too early, darkness blanketing the valley far earlier than you thought it should. Presently the blazing orange of the sunset already seems to be escaping this land for the west.

If only, if only.

“Can I listen to the baby?”

You shake your head slightly, waking yourself from the brooding thoughts you were having. The scarf you were darning for Abigail lies draped across your lap. You’re sitting against a tree toward the outside of camp, along the hillside where the only sunlight seems to penetrate the tree cover. You secretly are happy for the company, knowing that it would be an embarrassing struggle for you to get back to your feet from the ground, something you should have thought of before sitting down.

You smile, ruffling Jack’s hair. The boy hovers in front of you, waiting for your response, a huge, giddy smile on his face. At least someone here was happy.

“Sure, C’mere.”

Jack stoops down in front of where you are sitting and places his head upon your belly, closing his eyes in concentration. You place your hand back upon his head, running your fingers through his hair as he listens.

“There’s just a bunch of gurgling!” The boy snorts, and you ruffle his hair again with one hand as you take the other and guide it against a spot on the left of your swollen abdomen.

“Cause the baby’s in water….can you feel it? That’s probably a little foot right… there.” You press Jack’s hand against your skin until his eyebrows raise in amazement when he feels a protrusion.

“That’s a foot?” He asks as he scrunches his nose, pulling away from you. 

You smooth over your skirt again, gently rubbing at your belly, as you can feel the child squirm within, having been awakened by Jack’s curiosity. A foot to your kidney, a head against your bladder. The constant discomfort of soon-to-be motherhood.

“Do you think the baby will like my Penny Dreadful books?”

“Some day, Jack, when you’re reading it to them.” You suck in a breath at a well-placed kick seemingly right underneath your rib cage. A hiss escapes your mouth as the child squirms uncomfortably within your body, and Jack immediately frowns at your pained expression, pulling back from you.

“No, no, it's okay,” You try to calm the boy down, placing one of your hands on his shoulder,  “The baby’s just kicking. Almost ready to come out.”

“Jack!”

John Marston’s rough voice cuts through the falling dusk, and Jack scrambles up from his knees.

“Over here, John.” You call out, thankful that at least you weren’t going to be forced to holler for someone to come help you up. 

It's only a few moments before John comes upon the two of you, rubbing his hands on his pants in an attempt to clean them. He nods back over toward the tents.

“Jack, come on now, time to get cleaned up. Go on over to your momma.” 

“Yes, papa.” Jack nods up to his father, smile beaming, before running back toward the camp. A pang hits your heart and almost makes your eyes mist over in your emotional state - to think how, months ago, John could barely even look at his son, and now he’s spending afternoons play fighting with sticks with the boy. 

“Y’ need some help there?” He looks down at you with an amused half-grin, the silvered scars across his cheeks moving as he snorts.

You give a tired half-smile back up to him. “Would you? God only knows I’m going to hear it from Arthur for not being in bed right now.”

He steps in front of you and holds both of his hands out for you to take. You grab them and groan as you let him pull you up, breathing out heavily as you lean forward into him to steady yourself as you’ve gotten to your feet. To his credit, John holds your shoulders patiently as you huff. 

“Y-you’re too skinny these days, Marston.” You pant, trying to break the awkwardness. God, you were pitiful.

John doesn’t seem to mind, “Ain’t like I was fed like a king in Sisika.”

You breathe out another long breath and nod, your hands moving from his biceps as you’ve steadied yourself. He removes his hands from your shoulders and holds out one arm for you to interlace your arm with to walk back.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to the tent. Startin’ to see why Arthur’s gonna be mad as a hornet.”

“Hush, not you too.” You groan, rolling your eyes as John starts to slowly walk you back to your tent. Upon reaching it, you unlace your

“Thank you, John.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on your belly.

“You alright?”

He swallows before responding, “Guess I’m just startin’ to see what everyone else did.”

“About?”

“How much of an ass I was to ‘em. Abigail and Jack.”

You place one hand on his shoulder, giving a small, knowing smile. The other lands on your belly. “Well, now you have the chance to make things right.”

John nods, remaining silent.

You squeeze his shoulder affectionately.

-

The night has fallen in the campsite, and you have shed your dress within the privacy of the tent, clad in your shift with a shawl over your shoulder to stave off the cold. Another night alone, it looks like - you sigh and start to ready yourself to settle into the cot, grunting in discomfort as you reach for and toss random items of clothing that you had worn during the day into the far corner of the tent.

You go to reach for the dirty bandana curled up on the bedside table to add it to the laundry pile.

“Don’t touch that.”

You jolt, surprised to hear the rough voice of your lover as he reties the canvas behind him, having silently stepped into the tent. The orange glow of the oil lamp inside the tent casts shadows, to include across his face before he takes off his hat, placing it on the small shaving table. His shaving kit has not seen much action these days, having grown out his beard fully.

“Arthur,” You pull his hand to rest over your belly, large and taut in your dress. The child within squirms as you press Arthur’s hand against the top of the swell. Abigail said the babe has dropped - and you’re apt to agree, the pressure on your hips is becoming near unbearable these last days.

But, as with the jovial mood of the gang, as with the loss of good men and the move into these cursed hills, gone is Arthur’s joy, a blackness having set in upon him as Dutch seems to be reeling, as

A blackness that mirrors the blackness that has set into his lungs. 

He won’t admit it, but you’re sure that he’s grown out his beard to hide the darkening gauntness of his cheeks as he has lost weight, his muscles no longer straining against his shirt. He came back from that blasted island after that damned bank job and has never been the same. Tuberculosis, the doctor in Saint Denis had said.

Downes, Arthur had muttered darkly, ending the conversation.

Since then, the distance that you had put between you returned, coming from him this time. He slept on the ground - wet and cold, forsaking your bed, no matter how often you pled for him to lie with you. Even simple touch was limited, him refusing to get near to you as his coughing worsened, specks of blood appearing on his handkerchief as time wore on.

Any day now, Abigail had said and started to pack a small bag for you and her to go down to Annesburg - rebuffing Grimshaw’s annoyed statement that you would give birth in camp.

I did that five years ago and no way in hell am I subjecting another woman to that. We’re goin’ to Annesburg, and that’s final. John will take us when it's time. Abigail had forcefully stated, a matronly rage upon her, protective of you and your child.

Arthur remains silent, pulling his satchel from around his shoulders and placing it on the table next to his hat.

Forlorn, despondent, you step forward and press yourself against him, moving to throw your arms around his neck.

“Stop.” Arthur pushes you back, albeit gently, putting distance between himself and you while holding your shoulders.

“Please-” You plead, knocking his hands back, off of you.

Arthur lets out a long breath, the vestiges of a cough yet evident in his rough voice.  You grasp his hands and he makes to yank them away from you, but does not, his brow falling. His large, scarred hands loosely rest in yours.

“You - you’re acting like you’re already gone.” In your late stage, you can’t help but to sob, breath heaving as your tears spill over.

“Honey,” Arthur interrupts, trying to calm you down, taking his hands from yours and placing them on your shoulders, “I’m right here.”

“You’re not, you won’t hold me, you won’t kiss me - I’m about to have our child, Arthur-”

“I ain’t gettin’ you sick.” Arthur raises his voice, loud within the confines of the tent. He realizes only afterward that he snapped at you when you wince in response, “Sweetheart.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Sweetheart-” He clears his throat, “You know we can’t. I ain’t gettin’ you sick. And I sure as hell ain’t touchin’ you this close to you having the baby.”

“Abigail says it's fine.” You whisper softly, your hand resting upon his chest, and you look up to finally catch him.

He sighs, closing his eyes. “I need to protect you. Like I didn’t all those months ago.”

“Ev’rything is falling apart. Can we just… pretend for a moment? That we’re just… we’re just-”

Arthur remains silent. You remove your hand from his chest and place it on your belly. Swallowing, you continue, voice cracking.

“I just want to pretend that none of this happened. That we’re back at Horseshoe before you got sick or….”

Arthur sighs in a defeated manner.

“..o-or when that O’Driscoll took me. I never want to see you look at me like that again.”

His eyes shoot open. “What?”

“I was - I am - I’ll always be afraid that you’ll decide you won’t want me because of what happened. The look in your eyes when you found me in that cabin…” You rub gently at the swell, back swayed and hips aching, “I don’t know why… I just do.”

“That ain’t - there ain’t… Darlin’-” Arthur sputters, “That’s the last reason I don’t want you. Hell, it ain’t that I don’t want you at all. Christ, I want you more than ever. I just don’t want to-”

You reach out and take his hand, “Just be careful. Just be gentle. I gotta be on my side so I won’t be facin’ you, much as I want to kiss you.”

The dark circles under Arthur’s eyes betray him.  He squeezes your hand back.

“I need you.” You look up at him with it plain on your face.

Damn you, damn you and that voice, that look of yours. Much like that night out in West Elizabeth all those months ago, Arthur’s resolve cracks like porcelain. 

“Alrigh’,” Arthur whispers. “You tell me anythin’ don’t feel right.”

You let go of his hand and slowly shrug the shawl draped over your shoulders off and it falls to the ground within the tent with a muted thump.

You’ve gotten too large to wear your old chemises, instead opting for looser cotton petticoats that could be tied over your stomach. You bring Arthur’s hand up to your chest and wait for him with pleading eyes.  Arthur traces his finger along the neckline before pulling it down to uncover your breast. Your breasts are full, and swollen, nipples darkened and sensitive as you close your eyes to the feeling of him ghosting over them. He pulls the petticoat down further, showing more and more of you to his eyes.

Arthur swallows as the cotton falls slowly from your shape. Your belly, large with child, has dropped, centering low above your hips. 

“You’re the prettiest thin’ I’ve ever seen.”

You blush, moving to cover your breast, “I’m huge.”

“You’re growin’ my child,” Arthur says, pulling your hand away from your body. He trails his other hand down your belly, hard and full. “Evr’y day on that island all I could think about was you - how beautiful you’d be when I got back t’you.”

You close your eyes to the feeling of his hands upon you. A gentle squeeze of your swollen breast, a tender caress of your belly. 

“Knowing you were back here, safe, with our child…” Arthur whispers hoarsely as his hands trail over your nude form, “I’d fight through a thousand wars to come back t’you.”

You lay in the cot, settled in on your side, and look over your shoulder as Arthur pulls away from you and strips himself down. Boots get tossed to the side. His gun belt winds itself on the ground. Shirt and pants and union suit follow until he is as bare as you.

He is pale, now that the sunburn from Guarma has finally faded. Not as in he’s returned to his normal coloring, but pallid - his bulk and previously bulging muscles are much subdued. He is still Arthur, of course, but an Arthur stricken. Unwell. You can barely keep yourself from sobbing when you look him over, turning your head quickly as he climbs into the cot. 

His skin is warm behind you as he slides himself into the cot. He settles himself in, his blood-hardened cock pressing against your rear as he drapes one arm over your belly. In this moment of quiet intimacy, he presses his lips against your hair. Your hand covers his over your belly.

Perhaps you can forget, for at least this moment.

His hand moves down from your belly to trace through the hair above your cunt, and you sigh as you open your legs to him, his fingers finding that little nub with practiced ease. A few moments more, and you’re aroused enough for him to withdraw his hand and wrap it around the base of himself as he turns back toward you, stroking himself several times before guiding himself to your core.

You moan, throwing your hand over your mouth as he enters you - the smooth, warm column of him pressing slowly into your cunt.

“Y’okay?”

“Always, always - please move Arthur, please-”

“Christ,” Arthur swears as he slowly rolls his hips against your rear, cock sluicing through your slick - it’s clear your want for him, even diminished as he is.

You clench your hand hard around the edge of the cot, panting high and flighty as Arthur gently, carefully, thrusts in and out of you. His hand spreads out wide over your hip. Arthur continues at his slow, gentle gait. He secretly is thankful for the necessity to be soft and slow - he doesn’t think he’d be able to fuck you the way you two had at the beginning. 

“I love you, sweet girl,” Arthur whispers, holding still for a moment, his cock sheathed completely inside your body. That large, calloused hand of his moves over your belly once more, highlighting the magnetic need for him to touch you there.

You whimper, and your hand joins his. “I l-love you, Arthur.”

The pressure of the child, maybe a week away from coming into the world, and Arthur’s hefty girth stretching your cunt makes tears collect in your eyes. It doesn’t hurt: it’s overwhelming. It’s so much, it’s you giving so much of your body to others. 

Arthur slowly rolls his hips and your tears threaten to spill over. It’s so much.

“Arthur, Arthur -” you coo, trying to be quiet, “I’m gonna come-”

He groans as he slowly slides his cock all the way inside you once again and you shudder, clenching down on him as you stifle a cry. 

“That’s it, come for me, oh- sweetheart-” He murmurs into your hair and clenches his hand on your ass cheek as he lets loose his hot spend within you.

He gasps, far too winded for even the kind of lovemaking that was, his lungs feeling like sandpaper. Arthur goes to pull himself from your body-

“Don’t-” You whine softly, jutting your hips back to try to keep him inside you. He grunts lowly, squeezing your hip, but stops pulling away. Still hard, he sighs as he presses that inch of him that left you back in, staying in your wet warmth.

His hand tracks from your hip to cradle your belly once again, and you cover it with your own. Arthur traces his fingers gently on your belly as he listens to your breathing slow, and finally, your hand falls to the cot beneath you.

He gently extracts himself from your body, gritting his teeth against a hiss that he wants to let out as his softening cock slips from you. Unwinding his limbs from you, he stands up from the cot, quickly collects his clothing, and redresses himself silently.

After he shoves his feet into his boots and rewinds his gun belt around his hips, he grabs at an old blanket in the corner of the tent. The threadbare fabric is rough between his fingers. As calloused and worn as they are, he cannot help but frown when he thinks about how the old wool feels against your skin. You deserve better than that, but for now, this is all you have.

He pulls that blanket over your nude body, over your swollen belly, over your widening hips, your bosom, where your breasts are heavy with milk coming in for the child. Over you, sleeping fitfully.

Christ, he muses, you’re the most beautiful thing alive. If only he could stay and watch over you all night.

Arthur mashes his old gambler's hat onto his head as he ducks out of the tent, closing the canvas behind him. 

He spits on the ground, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, gritting his teeth as blood streaks across the freckled skin. The night has fallen over this miserable camp - there are no thrummed guitar strings, no drunken notes sung. The gang has never been so low, even in Colter. God, he misses Hosea. He misses Lenny. He automatically reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, needing the rush to pull him out of this pit of misery. 

A solitary figure sits on one of the chopped logs next to the fire, his head nodding upward as Arthur approaches. 

Smoke wafts through the night, from the campfire, from the cigarette now placed between Arthur’s teeth, from the match John Marston strikes to light his own cigarette. The song of crickets fills the air, and an owl randomly hoots. Arthur sits down upon the log, his boots crunching leaves softly beneath. This damn forest was too quiet. It was like something, someone was lurking just out of reach at all times. He hates it here.

“Need you to do somethin’ f’r me.”

John looks up from the fire, having been lost in his thoughts. He nods, watching Arthur take the cigarette from his teeth and hold it between his fingers, his other hand clutching that worn gambler’s hat of his father’s that he is never without.

Arthur’s voice is rough and tired. A reflection of his being. Shit, it could be a reflection of everyone’s being after moving to this shithole.

“What you need?” John asks, waiting for Arthur to ask for him to be his second on a robbery.

“Need you to take care of them. Her - the baby,” He nods over to the ramshackle tent, “I need you to keep them safe.”

“Arthur-” 

Arthur stands back up, effectively silencing his foster brother’s bellow. He throws his cigarette to the ground, mashing it under the toe of his boot. His spurs jingle against the movement. He places that black gambler’s back atop his head and glares down at the younger man.

“I ain’t askin’ you, Marston.”

-

One last train, of course, it had to be one last train. Damn well almost killed everyone involved, but Dutch was able to claim the army payroll, for whatever good it was going to do the gang now. People were leaving. Uncle. Pearson. Karen.

Have them packed. I’m having her ready to go. He had told John, to prepare for the finality - prepare to leave the people they had called family for years like thieves in the night.

John got a bullet through the arm during the heist, knocking him to the flatbed of the railcar. Fortunately, that seemed to be the worst off that anyone got in the fiery explosions that ensued, the felling of guards and the train rocketing over the destroyed bridge - but they got the damn money - and that was all Dutch wanted.

Arthur and Sadie had swung to the west when the gang broke up to return to Beaver Hollow. Riding hard, the two of them followed the Kamassa south to the Elysian Pool before crossing the river to head north again.

In the waning afternoon sun, Sadie pulls hard on the reins of her horse to slow him as riders approach from the north. She does not pull her gun, instead guiding her horse to the side of the road and dismounting. The riders pose no threat - women.

“Arthur, Sadie - we, we did as y’said,” Tilly pants, out of breath atop one of the camp’s wagon horses, with you clinging to her waist, also breathing hard. Abigail slows the horse she rides, with Jack firmly planted on the saddle ahead of her. Hastily packed bags are slung over her horse’s rump. Arthur coughs yet again as he brings his horse to a stop as well.

“Where’s John?” Abigail asks, looking past Arthur and Sadie for any sign of her lover, the father of her child.

“He’s comin’ back to the camp from the north.” Sadie gruffly states, motioning for Tilly to slide down from the mount she was on. Tilly nods, doing so as you balance yourself on the horse’s rump. “C’mon now, Tilly, you can handle your own horse. Let me ride with the missus over here.”

Arthur swings down from his own mount as he wheezes for breath. You wish you could swing down and rush to him, but you are uncomfortable enough in your state. Eventually, Arthur makes his way over to you as Sadie mounts up on the saddle ahead of you, whispering something comforting to the horse. 

“Now you go on and stay with Missus Adler here.” Arthur pats your thigh as you lean over and take his shoulders.

“What- you aren’t…?

Arthur solemnly nods and the weak dam holding your tears back bursts. Everything you have come to know is dying in front of you.

“A-Arthur-” you cry, tears pouring from your eyes, pushing against his shoulders as he lifts you gently by the hips to place you on the horse’s rump, “Don’t do this - y-you can’t do this.”

His eyes cannot meet yours, but his hands remain on your waist, gentle and warm, “Missus Adler is gonna take care of ya…”

Your hands move from grasping at his shoulders to his cheeks, hollowed under his beard, tipping his head up to look at you. His bloodshot eyes finally catch yours, dulled blue and glazed over in a sheen of tears unshed.

“Arthur-”

“Darlin’. You go on and be safe. You raise that baby right.”

“You can’t leave us,” you sob, voice cracking loudly.

Arthur takes the half step closer and places his head in your lap, his forehead against your swollen belly. Your sobbing is muted for several moments as your hands card through his short hair. He pulls back a few inches and looks up at you, an inescapable, endless sadness in his darkened eyes. Arthur places his lips upon your belly for a moment before taking your hand in his own, drawing it to his dry and cracked lips.

“I love you, sweet girl. Always r’member that.” 

Your brow furrows again as you push his hand away and cup his cheek, gaunt and hollowed under your touch.

“I love you, Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur kisses the palm of your hand again, turning toward it. 

“Susannah.”

“What?”

“If it’s a girl, name ‘er Susannah. I’ve always loved that name.”

You smile, the track of tears down your face sparkling in the sunset. “If it’s a boy, he’s Arthur.”

Arthur snorts softly, “It’s a girl. She’s gon’ be as beautiful as you.”

Your hands hold his jaw with a gentleness that he does not deserve. His eyes slide shut with a weariness that he has not allowed himself to feel until now. He cannot help the furrow that forms between his brows. He cannot help the sudden pain behind his eyes, the desperate need to bury his face into your lap and shudder and let his strength down, whatever little left there is.

No. No. He cannot do that to you. He has failed you enough. He didn’t keep you safe. He got a child upon you when he was supposed to be comforting you. He wouldn’t be around to raise said child.

The teardrop escapes his eye before he can do anything about it.

He can feel your thumb tense, your wrist shifting to allow your skin to brush against his- 

Arthur pulls away before your thumb can wipe the tear from his cheek, and it disappears into his beard. He turns away from you, severing touch like an open wound.

“Missus Adler.”

You cry out like a wounded animal, “No. No, Arthur-!”

Sadie nods, “I’ll take care of ‘em, Arthur.”

Arthur turns to the other horses to nod to Tilly and Abigail. Abigail, clutching at her son, returns the gesture solemnly, unable to speak.

“Now all of y’ get outta here, go get somewhere safe.” Arthur stalks toward his horse, wheezing before spitting a glob of bloody phlegm out on the ground.

He hoists himself up into the saddle without looking back. He cannot, he cannot bring himself to know he will never touch you again, never see you again.

“Arthur,” you weep out from atop Sadie’s horse one final time, one hand over your belly and one around Sadie’s waist, “Our baby-”

He digs his spurs into his horse’s side. He cannot, he cannot look back at you, swollen with his child, days away from bringing that sweet life into the world.

“Arthur-!”

His horse rears and starts off up the road, leaving the women behind. Giving them a chance. Giving you a chance.

He grinds his teeth, trying to keep the sting of tears behind his eyes as your wailing fades away with distance.

Arthur wonders, for one fleeting moment, what color the baby’s eyes are going to be. He spurs the horse on faster as he reaches into his satchel, taking his father’s hat out and placing it back on his head.

At least, the very least, he would spare the child the torture of a terrible man as a father. 

-

So this is how it goes. This is how it ends. After all them years, Dutch, his foster father sides with that snake who hisses falsehoods in his ear.

He was never really the same after Hosea died.

Arthur is drowning in his own skin, sucking breath in vain to power himself forward, but everything is so heavy. He is heaving- stumbling, failing, dying-

“Come on, Arthur… keep pushing. Goddamn it! They’re everywhere, we need to get outta here-”

John Marston’s voice cuts through the night. For so long, it was grating, infuriating, annoying to him. Now? Now it is the greatest comfort in this time. The gang was done, Pinkertons descended on the camp - they were fleeing for their very lives-

“Y-You go…” Arthur wheezes, his feet dragging on the ground.

John stops, several steps ahead of him, his arm hanging limply as he clutches his revolver in one hand, “Keep pushing, Arthur.”

“No…I think I’ve pushed all I can.” Arthur pulls his hat from his head and starts to swing his satchel’s strap over his head and shoulder.

John shakes his head furiously as he walks the few steps back to Arthur, “Come on. We ain’t got time for this, not now.”

“Go to your family-” Arthur shoves his satchel against John’s good arm.

“And yours? Your woman, about to give birth, any day now. Your child?” John interjects, raising his voice.

“I’m dying, even if it's the Pinkertons or Dutch or anyone else that gets me first. This…this is why I..I… you, you gotta keep them safe,” Arthur coughs again, wet, wheezing. “Go to your family, John.” 

Arthur reaches up and places that old gambler’s hat on John’s head. His father’s hat, that he had kept for so long…

John’s voice gets small. “You’re my brother…”

“I know. Now go. Please.” Arthur stares at the ground, another volley of gunfire going off in the distance.

John frowns once again but heeds Arthur’s demand. He nods shortly before limping off in the other direction, down the steep mountain path to the north. Arthur gazes at the valley below, flashes of light from approaching gunfire sprouting from behind trees. The blazing fire from what was left of camp glowing in the distance. 

He takes a long breath in, knowing it will be one of his last. The exhale is shaky, devolving into a hacking cough where blood spittles out through his teeth.

He does not bother to wipe his face. 

Shooting his revolver in the air, he curses loudly before stumbling in the other direction, further up the mountain.

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance.

As he lumbers forward on unsteady legs, his blood is fresh in his mouth as he thinks of you.

You’ll be even more beautiful as a mother.

Damn, and he won’t be able to see it.

-

John’s damn arm is on fire. Freely bleeding against his hand, he can barely move it as he clutches his revolver in his good hand. Getting shot, the fall from the train, limping back to camp only to have the gang finally implode, and now Arthur sending him away, staying behind, sacrificing himself for the others, damn him.

He curses, batting the hat Arthur had placed on his head upwards slightly, so he could see better from under the rim.

The gunshots in the ravine below echo through the night, dark as all now, in the moments before dawn.

Abigail and Jack. Abigail and Jack. He pushes the pain to the back of his mind. Abigail and Jack.

Be a goddamn man.

Arthur’s words echo in John’s head as he slides down a rockfall ledge on the north side of the mountain. 

Ambarino lies quiet in the distance. 

Head north and hide out. Slink down the Kamassa by night. Find Abigail, find Jack. Copperhead Landing, Arthur said. 

Find his family. Save his family, his woman and his boy-

Save-

You let down Jack from your horse at Clemens. You read him a book under the covered porch at Shady Belle. You attempt to teach him dominoes at Beaver Hollow.

Jack asks if he can touch your belly. You smile and let him, urging him to put his ear up to your abdomen. He squeals with delight when your belly moves against his cheek and begins to babble about all the things he is gonna teach the baby. Abigail says they’re gonna be cousins, Uncle Arthur’s baby and him.

Save his family.

He stops; the echo of gunshots through the valley getting louder. The Pinkertons were likely closing in. Micah and Dutch were lurking about. Arthur on his last leg.

You’re my brother.

You’re my brother.

You’re my brother.

John Marston grits his teeth against the pain in his arm and turns back at the first hints of the sunrise on the horizon.

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, I know it’s more canon-typical for Bruce to have a super-detailed, meticulous manual that outlines all the procedures, rules, and safety protocols that he expects his Birds to follow when they’re out on patrol or on a mission (whether or not the Birdies actually abide by these rules/regulations is a different matter), but I personally think it would be much more hilarious if this manual was actually just like a random ass, sparkly spiral-notebook with a bunch of random advice the Robins have passed down over the years.

No one actually knows where the tradition started, as at least half the pages are torn out or have been exposed to some sort of explosion/alien substance, but the current highlights would include:

Stay strapped or get clapped” — Jason wrote this after he forgot to pack the bat-a-rangs for patrol and Bruce made him do like 100 pushups as punishment.

“Do NOT ask Killer Croc if he’s featured on The Crocidle Hunter or Swamp People.” — by Tim, who almost drowned before Batman pulled him out of the sewer.

“ >:( “ — Cass drew this after she went on a deep-cover solo mission for two months, and will not elaborate any further on what it means or what about the mission was so crappy.

“You’re my dad, boogie-woogie-oogie!” — Scribbled in a margin by Dick when he was high as a kite on some weird drug that Scarecrow manufactured. It’s not really advice but everyone thinks it’s fucking hilarious.

“Ask Ivy for Weed” — is from Tim, but no one knows whether he accidentally wrote that down as a reminder about a case, or if he’s actually suggesting that they hit up Ivy for a good time.

“Cuddles are essential to the Mission!” — No one knows if Dick wrote this when he was Robin and trying to get Bruce to spend some quality time with him, or if Dick wrote this when he was Batman and trying to get Damian to hug him. Either way, the general consensus is that Dick wrote it.

“Eat the Rich” — an addition by Stephanie, and despite the fact that the Birds all are, by extension of Bruce, uber wealthy, there is a general consensus that it remains.

“Please refrain from the use of the monogrammed towels during post-alien-invasion clean ups” — is one of only two notes from Alfred, who dropped like 2 grand at the dry cleaners after the Birds ruined all his fancy towels when wiping alien goop off their uniforms.

“The first person to say ‘yeet’ next time I throw a projectile will be on case work duty for a week” — this is the only thing Bruce has ever written in the notebook, and the only reason it hasn’t gotten torn out yet is because yelling “yeet” also annoys Selina, and no one is allowed to annoy Selina.

And, lastly, while this isn’t necessarily a piece of advice, I think the way page in the notebook an exceedingly detailed drawing of Bruce, with an arrow pointing at him reading “boring old bat.”

(Damian drew it. It’s his only entry. The Birdies cackle every time they look at it.)