#despite constantly being spit on for trying

[variantoutcast]

Do you ever feel like every interaction with a member of your family is directly leading to the "destruction" of the "family" ?

[screampied]

I feel like Sukuna eats pussy the best in jjk (besides Geto). Like he'd be FEASTING till you're crying and shaking

꒰১ warnings. fem! reader, ōral (f receiving), mild dacryphila, eating from the back, impact play, he has a forked tongue

whenever it came to pussy eating—sukuna ryōmen was just nasty,

with no shame whatsoever, he doesn’t care. all he really cares about is having you arched over the wooden leg of his throne, your ass all out and drinking out orgasm after orgasm out of you. he really knows no bounds— a starved man, he’d eat you out until there’s fat tears sticking against your naturally lengthy lashes. “o-oh my goddd,” you’d whimper out. not even seconds after, you’d just finish a release and he’s already delving his long tongue between your slick folds again. your taste makes him groan, he’s never had anything as sugary sweet as you. a sharp nail of his gingerly scrapes against the juncture of your curves as you arch forward. your mouth opens—pretty pink tongue unfurling as you’re just feeling the tip of his tongue wander to its hearts content. he’s messy, if it’s not dripping down his chin he doesn’t want it. you shudder, feeling him thrust his tongue in and out of your puffed cunt before he pries your thighs open further. you gasp, hearing him gather a nice amount of spit before it delivers right against your dripping entrance. “s-sukuna, you’re so nasty.”

“gotta be when your pussy’s this wet,” he huffs.

a thumb stroking down against your swollen slit. with a tongue skimming across his lips for an extra relishing taste, he rolls his tongue out all the way and you can even hear his throaty, ‘ah’ noises as he prepares to dive back in.

sukuna groans, feeling himself get hard just from pleasing you. with a rude spank, he speaks in a rough tone. “arch for me more. ‘m starved ‘n i need seconds.”

it’s not even long before the curse is nose deep. your pulsating folds were continuously being sucked and you already feel your tummy heaving. then texture of his tongue. the length, the forked structure of it all that repeatedly slurps everywhere inside of you makes your toes curl up. despite them curling, they were numb anyway so you felt practically nothing.

he’s snarling, fangs of his occasionally poking against your clit. sukuna chuckles as he feels your ass wriggle against his face, he brings a thumb towards your hood before he glides it across. “what a fuckin’ mess. jus’ can’t get enough, can ya?”

and with sukuna— he’s thorough.

and while you’re happily arched over for him, eyebrows bunched together into a cute furrow, he makes sure that his tongue licks every part of you. a wet, slippery trail from your pussy to your ass, even between the secluded inner crevices of your thighs. he’s greedy, he doesn’t like when you make an attempt to touch yourself. each time you try to play with your pretty cunt whilst he’s eating, he smacks your hand away, grousing a “don’t touch my girl.”

his girl— your pussy.

sukuna’s favorite thing to do would be to constantly spit on your folds, only to lap it up, then spit on it again,

bonus if he finishes eating you out, telling you to come here, then makes out with you so you can taste how much of a messy girl you were for him. he likes hearing you moan, the nibbling he creates against your slit has you sobbing profusely. with your own two hands, you feel against your mounds that were glued against your chest, rocking against his face as you feel yourself approaching the inevitable abyss of pleasure. a groan leaves his lips as your ass jerks against him, he’s gotta hold you still so he can savor this,

savor you..

with glistening reddened lips of his, sukuna briefly departs his mouth from your love palette and with crimson bloodshot eyes—his own lustrous saliva dribbles down between your slit, dragging a thumb to softly snake against your convulsing nub. your mouth stupidly dangles open that it’s almost comedic. you then feel a whimper die out your throat, rubbing your ass against his face, “kuna, ‘s good, right there pleasepleaseplease.” it’s only then when he snakes a hand between your thighs, prodding his fingers alongside your saturated pussy. the moment sukuna starts to maneuver tiny circles and shapes against your pussy, you were just about done for. the staticky friction from his palm going against your folds scratches such a lewd itch in your brain.

you’re going haywire—crazy for more of his touch. as years merely blinded you from how they were welling into your sockets, your voice becomes strained from your numerous whimpers. he sucks you so good, so much of your slick pours down his chin that it even starts to get into his kimono.

sukuna ryōmen was nasty,

but his tongue was even nastier.

it doesn’t miss a single spot, he’s all in the depths of anywhere and everywhere.

you chew your lip in salacious anticipation. unhurriedly, you rock back against his mouth as you feel his callused fingertips gripping against both parts of your ass, spreading it even further.

sukuna leisurely dips his tongue into you once more, it’s probably been the umpteenth time by now as he kisses against your clit. “mhm,” he’d hum to himself, your eyes were visibly rolling back. you saw nothing but darkness. as he’s bringing you closer and closer toward the edge. your nails grip against the arms of his throne, embedding into the hardened material before you whine, shimmery tubby tears forming above the outer corneas of your dilated pupils before you make a cute attempt at crawling away from his mouth but he drags you back.

“girl get the fuck back here. can’t have my meal runnin’ away now, huh.”

[baepsays]

A FINE LINE BETWEEN LUST AND LOATHE ★ ⸻ Gojo Satoru.

cw⸻★ NSFW, MDNI, dark content, HATE SEX!!! they actually hate e/o, but it's also just that it's the tension, they cannot come to terms with the fact they want to fuck someone so wildly not their type, fem reader, no pronouns, fem anatomy, drunk sex, so ig dub-con/non-con, name calling, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), head pusher Gojo, hair pulling, more spit stuff cause I said so, raw dogging, no missionary cause that'd make it too real and they'd explode, bro cums inside her without warning, he is lowkey an asshole, but reader is also provoking him any chance they get, hashtag on my period so like every month you get your freaky stuff.

a/n: enjoyyyyy ( or don't I will eat this up myself). based on this mind dump.

If only staring at Gojo Satoru hard enough made him disappear from your sight. And if only side eyeing you from across the room made you disappear from his sight. Either of you wanted nothing more than each other's existence coming to an end.

But unfortunately the universe was against your respective enjoyment of sanity and pleasure.

It has been almost sixteen years since you've known each other. Yet not a day goes by where you don't think of resigning just to not see him everyday. And Satoru makes sure to go out of his way to stay flooded in work just to avoid being in the same space as you.

But every time he happens to open his mouth, or flash those shiny teeth; or when you intentionally stop talking when he slips into the room, or when you roll your eyes at him, it ticks you guys off.

And what's worse is sitting here right now, basically pushed together, by Shoko to your left and Suguru to his right. Why were you guys sitting beside each other anyway? Couldn't he have been early for once in his life and just taken a seat anywhere! Anywhere, but here.

So how to deal with his overwhelmingly stuffy cologne infiltrating your nostrils, like the thought of him infiltrating your mind and making your blood boil?—The answer is given in all the alcohol on the table in front of you. If you have to tolerate a work dinner with Gojo, you might as well just get drunk. And it seems like maybe he had the same plans. Or maybe it was just you trying to annoy the wannabe cool guy out of him.

"Hah. That's all you can drink? And you call yourself the strongest?" The third glass was getting to your head. Clearly.

“You're clearly drunk out of your mind.” His eyes narrowed at you upon being suddenly addressed by you. It's never often that you directly speak to him, from your own accordance with that.

“And you're clearly a pussy.” You grinned at him in victory. A sly provoking grin that made his eyes twitch under that blindfold.

“Just say you want me to give you something to fawn over.” congratulations you've yet again successfully pissed off Gojo Satoru.

Everyone knew that despite being a big brooding man, Gojo Satoru was a lightweight. No shame in that! But there's no meaning in saying that to Gojo, when he has never felt shame in his life. Then why were your words getting to him? One moment he is sipping on half a glass of beer for hours, and the next he is chugging down some concoction of sake and beer mixed together.

You blame him. But you also blame your colleagues/friends, and you also blame the alcohol. Because everyone knew not to go close to Gojo Satoru after he had over half a glass of alcohol. So as usual everyone very tactfully handed his responsibility to you—a lesser drunk individual. Who would probably leave him on the side of the street with a note that says, ‘rob him, he's rich.’ But since you have to constantly prove something to Gojo, for some reason, you couldn't help but take up the responsibility of getting him home in one piece. And it's not like this is the first time you're doing this, just the first time you're both pretty drunk. 

Some people might wonder why would you do that for someone you hate? Because if you do not, the next day he'll just float around you scoffing and annoying you with petty words. So this is just a preemptive measure, yeah! Anything to keep your sanity from further depleting just because Gojo Satoru decided to exist.

The task was simple. Get a taxi, drag Gojo up to his home, enter his very weak passcode, get tempted to dump him in the bathtub, instead just leave him on the cold marble floor. You've done this before. Six times excluding this to be exact. This is nothing new or crazy.

But what's crazy is that how did you end up like this?

Instead of being on your own merry way back home, why are you under Gojo Satoru on his entrance hall floor, kissing him? He is actually kissing you. And you're kissing him back. His lips are quite feverish compared to the rest of him, or maybe it's your own body and face gradually becoming hotter and hotter.

This is suffocating, he is suffocating. The kiss is suffocating. This might just be a dream. No, a nightmare. You have dreamed about this before, you've wished for this for a certain period of time in your life when you were just freshly sixteen maybe, and you had just met Gojo Satoru, after hearing so much about him. It felt like you already knew a part of him, you wanted to know more about him, you wanted to be friends. And maybe something more if fate allowed it. Alas, you didn't know then how disappointing expectations are.

Just thinking about how you used to feel things other than deep, unsettling, and aggravating disdain for Gojo Satoru; it makes your skin crawl. It makes you want to walk into quicksand willingly rather than addressing those thoughts and feelings. Because why would you? They don't exist anymore. Those were fleeting teenage hormones. 

Because if we are being objective here, Gojo is attractive, he has always been so. Everyone agrees upon that. He knows it, the world knows it, unfortunately even you know it. So without knowing anything about him other than his gallant stories and pretty face, it was inevitable to develop a petty crush in him. 

Which he crushed with his own bare hands in mere seconds of being introduced to you. You remember that day very clearly, he called you weak, and some other things along that string. You did tune it all out after that first scoff that came out of his mouth that day, when all you did was extend an enthusiastic hand of friendship and compliments. “pfft. You think a weakling like you knows anything about me?” is what he exactly said that day.

Ever since that day, he has remained the bane of your existence and the perpetual source of agony in your life.

And yet here you are, making out with drunk Gojo Satoru, while being under the influence of alcohol yourself, on his cold marble floors. Dragging your hands through his hair, pulling on it, for support or just maybe to inflict some pain onto him—both very unsure but reasonable possibilities. 

A flicker of conscience flashed through you the moment his other hand—which was not preoccupied with holding his weight off the floor—pressed itself down your waist, when one of your hands, still stuck in the strands of his white hair; dug itself under his blindfold. When your nails scratched his undercut, under his blindfold, his own fingers dug themselves into your flesh.

And it just hit you, what was happening. So you broke off the kiss, pushed him back, and he backed off, as he was caught off guard. He was confused, because if he was not, he would not have given you the chance to break free from his lips or would have let you crawl away from under his body, like you were. 

“Tryin’ to run from what you started sweets?” He dragged you backwards by getting a hold on one of your ankles. It was petrifying. How you were pulled towards him with no resistance, your hands flapped around and just made screeching noises as you tried to latch onto the sleek marble floor. But you were not in control of the situation anymore. There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from being dragged into the lion's den. Because the lion has already dug his teeth in your flesh, and the sweet taste of your flesh and blood is too tempting to set you free now. 

“I thought you were the responsible one between us. Hmm?” He was above you. No, he was caging you. The cold marble floor on the side of your face was not cool enough to calm you down. You felt a shiver running down every hair on your body, when he spoke into the shell of your ear. “Y-you're d-drunk.” 

“Stutterin’ for me now?” His nose nuzzled itself into the back of your neck, and you tried to further dig your face into the floor. Which was futile to say the least. 

“I would fuck ya’ right here. Right now.”

You could only gasp at him. You don't know how to respond to anything he says. It's hard enough to converse with a sober Gojo, for sake of work, so drunk Satoru is very much out of your area of expertise.

“Tell me no.” His breathing started to get heavier, along with his pants. One of his hands pressed you still under him, while the other one pulled the blindfold off his face. The outline of his now hard cock poked your ass, and dare I say it was tempting to not grind back into him. 

“Tell me to fuck off. And I will.” 

You could do that. When the strongest spares you, you take that offer gladly and run for your life. But maybe you lack that will to live, or just simply wanted to be crushed by him. Which one is more fucked up, is a decision for later. Because right now you are nodding yes to this guy, whom you apparently hate with all the fibers in your body. Essentially giving him approval to fuck you.

As drunk as Gojo may be, he at least had the sensibility to pick you up and take you to his bed. Which was massive, I mean he lives quite the comfortable life, he always has. Part of the reason why you made yourself believe where the influx of arrogance came from. But there is no time to ponder about those things, when Gojo Satoru is haphazardly stripping you bare, to then strip down to nothing himself.

“God. Look at ya.” This is not making love with the love of your life. But setting aside your pride to fuck this anomaly you do not understand. So the kissies he peppered along with occasional bites, from your neck down to your cunt—was unwarranted. But then also neither of you are in your right mind.

Gojo Satoru is truly good at everything. Which has always been annoying. It's so annoying how he has you biting down on your lips to contain your moans from slipping out of your throat, as he eats you out like a starved man. He is two knuckles deep in your hole, sucking, biting, and even slapping your clit. Moving his mouth off your cunt to hover over your hole with his tongue out, to let his spit drool out of his mouth, and straight onto your hole being penetrated by his fingers. And all you could do was helplessly pull on his hair to maybe pry him off you, to catch a breather. But it seems like it's easier to get leeches off your body than taking Gojo Satoru off your pussy.

“J-just, get, get on with it.” A slurry of words came out of your mouth along with grunts to conceal the moans, because if you dare moan for this man, there is no way you'll live that down. Does not matter if he doesn't remember it, you'll remember. And that'd be just enough to eat you alive. But it is advisable that you worry more about the man eating you out currently. 

“Ok. Cum for me then.” He says with a flat voice before diving back in, this time shoving his tongue along with his fingers. “I CAN’T JUST DO THAT ON COMMAND!?” 

“Maybe we should train you.” He mumbles while working your pussy, trying to find your spongy spot, to get you exactly where he needed you to be. And when he did get a hold of it, it was over. 

You squirted all over his face. And at the sign of your unearned release, he opened his mouth wide to welcome the taste of your juices on his tongue. And he got more than that, his entire face got drenched. You really never thought you were capable of squirting, neither were you suspecting the man to make you do such obscene things would be Gojo. 

“How sweet.” He lapped his tongue around his lips, as if to gather any leftovers around his mouth. “She speaks to me so nicely. Unlike you.” With one last parting slap on your cunt, he got off you. 

But rest was not what he was trying to give you. He pulled you off the bed, to sit on the edge of the bed himself, and sitting you on his lap. The feeling of his cock under your wet folds and quivering thighs, was not helpful by any means. If you felt the outline of his cock in his pants earlier and got scared, then the real thing under you, skin to skin, throbbing against your heat—was enough to give you a cardiac arrest.

“You'll return the favour right? Don't like owing me, do ya’?” You wish you could slap that smirk off his face. But then again, it was just wishful thinking that got you involved in this situation. But he was not wrong. You did not like to owe anyone anything, especially not Gojo Satoru. You've gone out of your way to get a pack of sticky notes at two am just to not owe him for the single sticky note he gave you during a meeting.

“And how do I do that?” If you found that smirk annoying, then you'd find the obnoxious grin on him aggravating. 

An eye for an eye. And mouth for mouth, I guess?

Trying to give Gojo a blowjob was wildly more difficult than fighting a special grade curse. How do you even wrap your lips around such a massive thing? Sure it's pretty pink, with a blushy tip, and veins running down his girth; but it was mouthful. And Gojo was really no help, it was as if he was getting more drunk by the minute. His eyes were getting glossier, his pupils were more glowy than usual, if his face was flushed then, now it was properly and fully red. And it was as if his hands had a mind of their own, with how they were cradling your head, tangling those fingers in your strands and pushing you down on his length beyond your capacity—he is an asshole. 

“Ya’ can take more right? Hmm? Come onnn, you have taken more hits on the field. Can't just lose against m' cock.” His voice dripped with malice and lack of self control. The guttural grunts coming from him were becoming worse and worse with the vibration of your own groans around him.

But the heavy leaking cock felt so good on your tongue. Sure the choking was inevitable, he is disgustingly huge. Blessed in every area but humility. Because why would he? A huge cock must sustain a huge ego, in his opinion. And that pretty mouth of yours looks so much better stuffed shut with his cock. Why would he trade that for being humble?

“Maybe from now on, I'll just have to stuff your mouth full when you get mouthy at me.” The chuckle after that was meaner than those words itself, if you think about it, but your mind was too fucked to think. Because otherwise maybe Gojo would have to work around a bleeding cock.

But for now he's much content in the tight fit of your throat. Face fucking your teary eyes and heavy tongue, with his hips fully off the bed, and his cock nestled cozy in your throat—this is better than pissing you off to make himself feel things, better than having you shout profanities at him. 

He might be an addict, or maybe you should be deemed illegal. Because how dare you simply exist and mess up his brain? Ever since the day you extended your hand at him, he has not known sanity. This is his full circle moment. Fucking your mouth so well he forgets how much your tongue makes his blood boil.

It was easy to cum down your throat. To feed you his seed, seep a little disgusting part of him in your veins, even if it is biologically not possible, but Gojo would like to think it is. That you are just as much him, as he is now you, and he hopes the thought of it makes you lose sleep. But maybe he'd be the one losing sleep, because the sight of you was lethal. His cum dripping down the side of your mouth, and your throat moving in a rapid up and down motion to swallow him whole. 

He's going to be dreaming about this for the rest of his life.

But there are bigger and better things to tackle, like finally stuffing your cunt with his cock. Because who needs downtime when you are Gojo Satoru about to fuck the cause of half of his migraines. And if it was in his power he would've done it right there at the entrance like he threatened, but he believes in a good build up.

“Wait.” He stopped in his tracks of putting the condom on. You pulled your back off the bed and sat up to look him directly in the eyes. They were still hazy with something unrecognizable.

“Not missionary.”

“Pfft. Right. That's the line you refuse to cross huh?” Despite the deceiving smile on his lips, he looked pissed. After everything that you two have done, that's the line you don't want to cross, what a joke. He knows the feeling inside your pussy, where your weak spots are, the texture of your tongue, the mole above your tailbone and on your waist; but god forbid he looks into your eyes as he thrusts his cock inside you. 

Well, he'll be nice. He'll be nice to you, for once, and grant you this measly wish. 

So with an achy throat and teary eyes, you buried your face in his pillows, as he flipled you over on the mattress without further protest. He did not waste time with easing himself into your hole. He slid himself inside in one go, and ploughed you from behind like it meant business. Every smack of skin slapping, the ripples in your ass after each thrust, and the squelches of your cunt swallowing his cock whole—it was all getting to his head. If he was still drunk then he would've probably passed out at this point. But then again if he was not drunk anymore how else was he going to explain this feeling?

The feeling of wanting to hold you for an eternity, wanting to see you bite down on his skin instead of his pillow, wanting to see more of his hand print all over your body other than just your waist. The urge to flip you over and just fuck you as slow as he could while staring into your eyes like they held secret to immortality, it was tempting.

What was the fear that was holding him back? That if he did just give in he'd never see you like this again, and if that happened he would probably take himself down with the entire city. So, he can just settle for taking off the condom as fast as he could, while you whine from the lack of stretch inside you. 

“Aw, whining like a cock hungry slut now, are we?” He can settle with coming inside you for now. Yes, he can settle. 

You did not think twice when he slid back in, you chalked it out as him being a tease as usual. And the new warmth that fit right inside you like a perfect piece of puzzle, was much welcomed. So much so, that you could not help but cum again without any warning, I mean you'd warn him if you were cognizant of these things yourself. At this point your body was betraying your mind, and your mind was too drunk to even feel how backstabbed it was, it was too busy feeling every single ridge and curve of Gojo’s cock. Trying to memorize the shape of him into all of your muscles. 

“Coming without me? How mean, sweets.” 

As he started throbbing inside you, and strings of cum started to leak, then it hit. He was coming inside you, like, inside you. “WAIT. SATORU. W-” 

Your protests were too late; his body flopped over on your back, and his cock curved inside you so far it started hitting your cervix. At that point you were paralyzed, eyes were rolled far too back inside your sockets, the sting from his teeth digging into your neck, and the sound of his groans and grunts were deafening. You were shaking, he was shaking, his hips could not stop themselves from thrusting even while his cock shot ropes and ropes of cum inside your walls. 

“Yes. Ye- scream Satoru. Scream my name. Let my neighbours know who's sluttin’ ya’ out.” 

“Sa-satoru.”

“Louder.” 

“S-ATORU.”

“LOUDER.” 

“SATORU!”

With that last scream you came again, gushed and tightened your walls around him one more time. Before passing out with tears rolling down your cheeks and your lower body essentially numb, and all you could utter was mumbles of ‘Satoru’, over and over again until you fully fell asleep.

If you were awake just a little longer to feel or see Satoru lick your tears clean off of your face, and shoving his dripping cum back in your cunt with his shaky fingers, you might have passed out again.

Whether or not you make it out of Gojo Satoru’s bed, or his head—those are questions for his sober self tomorrow. For now, all he knows is that he wants you in his arms, under his blankets, on his bed, maybe on some cleaner sheets;  just dreaming about nothing else but him.

After all, when all the lines are crossed and blurred, why pretend for the sake of civility?

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

a/n: dividers by @/enchanthings-a

on my period so this is extra filthy. also sorry if the tension and bits of backstory was not good enough ＞︿＜and i did leave their relation after this ambiguous you are totally welcome in my inbox to discuss about this couple from hell.

tag list: @cheralith @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojao @cuntphoric @nanamiskentos @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @exquisink @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @soupicidesquad @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @slayzzz @undercvrfan444 @miizuzu @getoistic @infinitatis-ink @theorphicangel @ricecake-mochi - (perm list) @chachawheeee11 @magnificientscarlett @samoankpoper21 @yenayaps @shhhhhhxoxo125 @saoirses-things @saylorslove @rain-soaked-sun

[purinfelix]

── .✦ such a mess together - p. sunghoon

summary: the cute little girl you tutor is always going on about how you should date her smart, good-looking older brother, so why is your annoying, cocky classmate opening the door instead of her? ────── academic rival Sunghoon x reader || sfw, tension, can you tell i love the enemies to lovers trope LOL. || w/c: 3.5k (everyone clap jet is finally writing full length fics !!!)

a/n: ok whos shocked yet another enemies to lovers fic from yours truly - but i cant help that this trope is the most fun to write !!!!!!!

Shocked doesn’t even come close to describing how you feel right now. 

You feel as though if you widen your eyes anymore they’ll pop right out of your head, but the thought of him seeing you make such an embarrassing expression forces you to calm yourself. Slowly, he narrows his eyes, clearly not any less confused about this than you are. 

“The hell are you doing at my house?” he spits, thick brows furrowed as he looks you up and down. 

You’re about to reply with something equally as snarky, but you’re interrupted by a small head popping out from underneath his arm - which is outstretched to hold open the front door. 

“You’re here!” Yeji squeals in excitement, ducking past him to throw herself around your waist. You stumble backwards a bit, putting on her head to steady yourself as you laugh softly. 

“Hey,” you breathe out, though your eyes don’t leave those of the man in front of you, whose confusion only grows. “I’m here to tutor her,” you say curtly,  almost in disbelief that you’d have to spell it out for him this much. 

Though it’s not like you’re in much of a position to say much else because, really, you should’ve put the pieces together a long time ago. Being young and uninterested in her studies, Yeji had managed to spend most of your lessons together chatting about her life instead of doing her homework and so you had been told a lot about her - and her mysterious older brother who was rarely around because he was always busy working part-time or studying at university. At the time, you didn’t think twice about the fact that he went to the same university as you or that the times she mentioned him having exams always coincidentally lined up with yours - though now you’re beginning to think maybe you should’ve. 

Details like that were easy to forget though, especially when Yeji paid far more attention to the other details about her brother which she deemed far more important. You had spent many afternoons passively listening to her talk about how smart, sweet and tall he was, how he was “practically a prince” - all the while trying to get her to finish her algebra questions. You had even brushed it off when she mentioned that the two of you would make a good couple, and how it was a shame you had never met before. 

But Yeji couldn’t have been more wrong, because you actually had met her brother, and far more than you would’ve liked to for that matter. In fact, prior to today, Park Sunghoon had been nothing more than a nuisance in your university life. The one to constantly challenge your points in discussions, to steal your perfect front-row seat or to beat you by a singular mark in final exams. In your eyes, he was nothing but a cocky, good-for-nothing know-it-all who had been unfairly blessed with unnatural good looks which he used to trick your poor female classmates into liking him. 

All the details matched up though, times, places, hell they even had the same last name - but it had never occurred to you to put two and two together. Despite this, the shock of the initial realisation pales in comparison to the fact that you now how to continue with your lesson - whilst he sat in the next room over, glaring at you the entire time. 

You shifted in your seat nervously, eyes darting between Yeji’s exercise book and the strict gaze of her brother. Seriously, just what was his problem? - you’d never done anything to seriously wrong him, and if you did, you figured the fact that you were helping out his younger sister would be enough of a reason for him to let down his guard for once. But still, he sat there, completely uninterested in the video game he had loaded up as an obvious excuse, eyes locked on you. 

The weight of his gaze only made you more anxious and when you brought a hand up to hold your pencil you noticed the slight tremble in it. You couldn’t help but feel irritated, not just at him for being so distracting, but also at yourself for letting him get to you so easily. 

“I think he’s looking at you because you’re so pretty,” you heard a small voice mutter beside you catching you off guard. You let out a small laugh, about to calmly tell her to focus on her work but when you raise your eyes to look at her brother in the next room you notice that, for once, he’s avoiding your gaze, clearing his throat out of what almost seems to be nervousness. 

“Nice try Yeji, but I think your brother just doesn’t trust my tutoring skills.” 

She tilts her head, considering this for a moment - then with the same innocent bluntness as before, she shrugs. "Or maybe he's just grumpy because he got dumped."

A deafening silence falls over the room, and your pencil freezes mid-scratch as you glance up just in time to see Sunghoon's entire expression shift. His eyes widen for the briefest moment before his features twist into something between horror and annoyance. "Yeji," he hisses in warning, eyes shooting daggers at his sister, "shut up."

But it's too late, your interest is piqued and despite the harshness in his tone you can't help the smirk tugging at your lips at the thought of finally having some leverage against him.

"Wait," you say, tilting your head as you look at him, "Park Sunghoon ... got dumped?" 

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand across his face. "It wasn't- I didn't-" he stops himself, visibly irritated at the two of you. "That's none of your business."

Yeji, completely unaffected by her brother's obvious distress, hums to herself as she flips a page in her book. "She was really pretty too, she muses, "but she said he was too emotionally unavailable and always busy with school."

You blink in disbelief, then, unable to stop yourself, you laugh. "Shocking," your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

Sunghoon snaps his head towards you, eyes narrowing as if daring you to continue. "What did you say?"

You press your lips together, feigning innocence, but Sunghoon knows you too well for that and his glare only deepens. And for the first time, instead of just irritating you, the sight of him so obviously affected by your words is a little entertaining.

Interesting you think to yourself as you continue with the lesson, now far too aware of how the tension in the air has shifted ever so slightly. He doesn't move from his spot in the other room, or stop staring at you two, but now whenever you look up at him, instead of being able to meet your gaze he quickly looks away, pretending to be occupied with his game. You can't help but find it just a little amusing. 

Soon your lesson draws to an end and you begin to pack your materials away into your bag, thanking Yeji for working hard and listening to you - though you're interrupted by a deep rumble in the distance, followed by the sound of light rain. By the time you make it to the front door though, it's gotten much heavier and the plans you had to catch the bus home seem bleak. It isn't like you have much choice though, and you pull your hoodie over your head with a defeated sigh.

"You can't walk home in that," Yeji announces dramatically, clinging to your arm as she looks out at the heavy rain. Suddenly she perks up as if met with a great idea, and turns to her brother - who has been pretending not to listen from the living room. "Hoonie, can you drive her?" 

He barely looks up from his phone, though there's a slight delay in his response. "No."

"Why not?" she pouts.

"Not my problem," he mutters.

You roll your eyes, typical you think to yourself as you step towards the door. "It's fine, Yeji, I'll just-"

"You're seriously going to make her walk in this rain?" Yeji cries out as she walks over to her brother on the couch, "What if she gets sick? Then I'll be sad, and when I'm sad I don't do my homework. And if I don't do my homework, I'll fail and when I fail-" 

"Fine," Sunghoon groans, rubbing his temple as he pushes himself off the couch in a swift movement. He walks past you, grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger coolly. "Get in the car before I change my mind," he says sternly.

You narrow your eyes at him and are about to deny his offer but the rain doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon, and you're not stupid enough to reject a free ride out of pride alone. 

"Alright," you sigh, shooting Yeji one last thankful look before following her brother out to his car. 

"You live in the dorms on campus, right?" he asks casually. The rain hits the windshields of his car with a harsh rhythm, filling the silence between you two as you get in. The hum of the engine is the only other sound as he pulls out of the driveway, one slender hand lazily resting on the wheel. 

"Yeah," you say curtly, not even stopping to wonder how he could've known that. You're too busy holding a grudge against his ability to make every move seem so gracefully effortless, even turning a steering wheel. 

You sit stiffly in the passenger seat beside him, eyes fixed straight on the road ahead. You'll admit the car is nicer than you expected - spotless, the faint scent of something clean, a little floral, in the air - but you refuse to acknowledge it, just like you refuse to acknowledge that being here, alone with him, feels weirdly intimate. 

It doesn't help that he hasn't said another word since you both got in, not that you were expecting him to, but still - the awkward silence feels heavier than it should. You steal a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye once the car reaches a red light - only to find that he's already looking at you. 

Your breath hitches for just a second, but you recover quickly in hopes that he won’t notice your reaction. “What?” you huff, raising an unimpressed brow. 

His eyes turn back to the road just as quickly, expression unreadable as the light turns green. “Nothing.” 

You sink back in your seat and the silence resumes, but with its temporary break, you feel compelled to keep up the conversation, even if it means more childish bickering. 

“I hope you don’t expect anything in return for this,” you say, turning to face forward again - but your attention piques once you hear a faint noise from him. It’s something you’ve never heard before, something just quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear it over the drumming rain, but you’re glad you did because you swear you just heard Park Sunghoon laugh. 

"When have I ever expected anything from you," he spits, but the usual malice in his tone is tinged with amusement.

"I'm just saying, don't think that just because you're doing this for me that anything's going to change," you huff, "if it weren't for Yeji you probably couldn't care less about me anyways." 

Sunghoon hums, the corners of his lips twitching as if he's holding back another laugh - he doesn't deny it, which somehow annoys you more than if he had outright agreed. Instead, he just shifts gears smoothly, eyes fixed on the road and you hate the way you find your gaze lingering on his profile for just a little too long.

"You sound disappointed," he muses after a beat.

You scoff defensively, crossing your arms. "Yeah, right." You've always hated how easily he could read you.

He just nods ever so slightly and doesn't press for more but the silence that follows feels a little different now, less tense. You shift in your seat and try to ignore the way your heart is starting to beat just a little too fast or the fact that you're waiting for him to say something. 

After a moment, he exhales, fingers tapping the steering wheel. "For the record," he sighs, his tone almost confessional, "I don't not care about you."

You crane your neck, searching his face for any sign that he's messing with you right now, a glint in his eye, his signature cocky smirk - but his expression is again unreadable. Instead, you watch the outline of his jaw shift slightly, almost as if he regrets his words, but he doesn't take it back.

You swallow nervously, unsure entirely of what to do with this new information. "Good to know," you say slowly, looking away before he can see how much that single sentence has affected you. 

As you do, you're suddenly desperate for an opportunity to change the topic. "How come this whole time I never knew you had a younger sister?"

"Well it's not exactly like you know much about my personal life," he scoffs - and you have to admit he's right.

"I mean, it's not like you're an open book or anything," you reply, "takes me ages just to figure out what you're thinking half the time with that blank expression. It's hard to believe you and Yeji are even related."

"Right because a guy my age should totally be acting like a middle school girl," he nods mockingly.

"You get what I'm saying," you sigh, going quiet for a minute as you think about what to say next. "She looks up to you a lot, you know," is what you land on, trying to balance your tone between sounding casual and earnest. 

You watch as he scoffs, and shakes off your comment with a slight shake of his head. "I'm serious," you say, "she talks about you like you're a superhero or something, even when she complains about you, it's obvious you mean a lot to her."

Even though his expression barely changes, you watch his fingers tighten slightly on the wheel - and the beat of silence before his response is enough to tell you that he's not used to hearing things like this. You find it interesting how even though you're practically complimenting him, he responds as if he's unsettled.

"Whatever, she's young and annoying," he finally mutters - though for the first time, there's no real malice to his tone, only something defensive.

"You're deflecting," you point out. This side of him, the one that's quiet and easily affected by your words, is one you've rarely gotten to see and if you're being completely honest, you're enjoying this far too much to let it go. "I think you like knowing she looks up to you." 

He huffs, clearly growing tired of your prying. "And I think you like hearing yourself talk."

You roll your eyes, but before you can shoot back with another remark, he beats you to it. "And whilst we're prying into my personal life, Yeji mentioned something interesting earlier."

You pause, suddenly wary. "Oh?"

He flicks his turn signal on, voice infuriatingly casual. "Apparently, you remind her of my ex." 

You feel your stomach lurch, followed quickly by a heat creeping up your face. "Excuse me?" is all you can manage to say.

His lips curl slightly, and it becomes clear that he only mentioned this to see your reaction. "Not in looks or anything," he clarifies, glancing briefly at you before focusing back on the road. "Personality-wise, she said you both have a way of getting under my skin."

You scoff, feeling an odd mix of feeling, irritation and something you don't really want to name. "Wow, should I be flattered or insulted?"

"That depends," he muses, "my ex was kinda terrible."

"Seriously?" you gape, shocked at how bold he's being in sharing this with you, "sounds like you're just butthurt from being dumped." 

He actually laughs - fully this time, not just the ghost of a chuckle he let out before. It's still short, and a little quiet, but for some reason it makes your chest tighten.

"Relax," he says, tone laced with amusement, "she wasn't all bad, but she did have this habit of always arguing with me, nitpicking things I did just for the sake of it."

You avoid his gaze, picking up on his signals just a little too quickly. "Sounds familiar," you mutter as you look out the car window at the rain.

You don't need to turn back to know his smirk depends, "Exactly."

The air has shifted completely now. The tension is still there, humming under the surface, but it's now covered by something else - something lighter, more playful, and charged in a way that makes you hyper-aware of how close the two of you are.

Then, just as you think the conversation is over, he speaks again - this time softer, almost absentmindedly.

"But I guess the difference is, I never really cared what she thought of me." 

It's such an offhand comment, something he's thrown out just to fill the silence. But something about it sticks to you, lingering in your mind as you nod, unsure of how to respond, and so you don't.

You spot the familiar sight of the dorms approach in the distance and even though you're compelled to feel relieved that this torturous car ride is drawing to an end - a tiny part of you can't help but feel a little disappointed that this seemingly rare opportunity is ending. Swiftly, he pulls up to the front entrance, parking smoothly and effortlessly.

As you move to undo your seatbelt, he stops you once again with his words. "Hey, I hope you're not going to stop tutoring Yeji, by the way," he's turned to face you now, but his eyes are avoiding yours. 

You furrow your brows, both at his words and his unusual expression. "Why would I?" you say slowly.

"Well, I mean, I just figured because of me and everything-" he begins to ramble, and it's the first time you've seen him stumble over his words like this.

"Relax, I hate you, not her, remember." You say it in the same teasing tone you've always used for him, but it seems to land heavier than you expected with how he turns back to face the steering wheel, his lips forming a thin line.

You linger for a moment, and something about the air between you feels different - like you're standing on the edge of something neither of you can name. Sunghoon's hand is still resting on the gear shift, his fingers drumming against the leather in a steady rhythm. 

"Right," he replies curtly, almost to himself and you can sense just a hint of disappointment in his tone.

You should leave it at that, you know you should. But something about the way he's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, or how his jaw is tensed ever so slightly, makes you want to press just a little further.

"Unless," you hum, tilting your head slightly, "you'd actually miss me if I stopped coming around?"

"Yeji would," he replies almost immediately - but you don't miss the way his shoulders go rigid for just a fraction of a second before he speaks.

"You didn't deny it," you smirk.

At this, he finally looks at you and there's something about the way he does it - something heavier than the usual irritation or exasperation you're used to. His gaze lingers, his expression unreadable and for a split second, you wonder if you've pushed too far. 

But then, he exhales, something softer flickering across his features before he quickly pulls them back into indifference. "Just get out of my car before I start charging you for emotional distress."

You roll your eyes, but do as he says, reaching for the door handle and pushing it open just as the rain continues to pour outside.

"See you next time, Park," you say, "and drive safe."

"Don't tell me what to do," he huffs, though there's a playful tone in his voice as he smirks at you.

You return his look, satisfied, and finally push the door shut - watching as he shifts into gear, headlights illuminating the street. You know you should get inside and out of the rain immediately but you can’t help but watch as he drives off, heart thrumming in your chest as you find the beaming smile on your face lingering. You shake your heard at yourself, almost as if to shake away your thoughts, before turning to head into the dorm. 

What you don’t see though, is the way Sunghoon glances in his rearview mirror one last time before turning away, just to catch a glimpse of you before you do. 

[kugikizuchi]

"The doctor and his devoted assistant."♡

Warnings: I decided to make it so that the character in our story is not the main character in the game, two different personalities. Our character is a girl. This is done for convenience. Yandere. Partial Stockholm syndrome. Obscenity towards a young female employee. Sexual pressure. Slight compulsion. Excitement games. A vibrator. A weak current through the body. Binding. The girl's submission to the doctor. Murder and brutality. The orange text is Harley's words, the pink text is your words. English is not my native language, I'm sorry for any mistakes!

Volume : 8,2k. Sorry, I overdid it.

Have fun reading! 🐉

"Everything has to be perfect" - these were the words that were on your mind when you laid out Dr. Sawyer's supplies on the table, finally receiving the position of assistant to such an honorable person in the company. In your eyes, he was the epitome of rigor and perfection. His calm and tired voice could overshadow any fears that you might not be hired for this service, but also make you wake up and jump from his harsh cold tone and rare shouts at employees who did not satisfy his desires.

But you tried so hard to become the perfect employee by literally learning the doctor's daily routine. You were willing to do anything to stay in such a prestigious position at a toy manufacturing company. And unfortunately, Harley Sawyer knew about your fanaticism to prove to your family that you are an independent person.

The first few days were hard. It's even too hard.. Your legs are shaking from constantly wearing heels and running around the floors, but I would like to deliver certain reports to different employees. It annoyed you deep down that you looked like a dog on wheels even to yourself, forced to run back and forth just to earn the impossible trust from the owner. But despite the Doctor's indifferent gaze and the sometimes sarcastic smiles of other employees, you just smiled, brushing off all the problems.

What a pity you didn't see how Sawyer liked that you could barely walk on your already aching legs. It might have given him the motivation to finally give you a reward, but he was giving himself the opportunity to delay the moment to the peak of its accomplishment.

And unfortunately or fortunately, the "Peak Height" was reached after almost half a year of your working shift with this young man. You're tired of being the secretary who was always described in jokes and anecdotes as the boss's girlfriend, who was ready to do anything for his pleasure, descending even into the very niche of debauchery. The way you tried to talk to Harley at first, always saying respectfully, "Dr. Sawyer, please, could we talk a little bit about my work shift and my responsibilities?" You always got a calculating look from under the glasses of the man who filled out the next document for you and his slight manic smile that made you twitch a little. "No, Assistant, I don't have time for idle conversations right now if they have nothing to do with the idea of improving the company. And judging by your words and body gestures, you clearly don't want to talk about the happiness of the company, so please take this document and don't try to disappear for more than 10 minutes. It's just another building. You'll get there fast. "he said it over and over again, while you were biting your tongue in your mouth, so as not to spit out the poison. He never even addressed you by your first name, although it was always written on the badge like all employees, but he took it for a special occasion.

And now your patience was over, you were ready to start swearing if you even needed to turn on your artistry, because it's not just your boss who can pretend to be a second person. But as soon as you crossed the threshold of his office, closing the door behind you, the man seemed to be already ready for this meeting and, without looking up, ordered you to close the door in his usual empty manner. You did so, as if out of habit, which was reflected on the doctor's lips with a smile and a relaxed look, to which you flinched slightly, not knowing how you spoiled him with your obedience. As soon as you got closer to the main figure in this room, your body was pressed against the table, your hips were painfully pressed against the table, and your hands were twisted behind your back, while the second man's hand covered your mouth, preventing you from uttering a whisper or a cry of pleading for help, judging by your frightened darting eyes, while you were trapped between the table and the tall figure. "Don't shout or deny it, the more resistance you put up, the more brute force I'll have to use on you, Assistant. " he was talking and you couldn't understand - your legs were shaking so much from fear because of the current situation or from the discharge of excitement, being in such a precarious position that it was not clear whether you would really quit tomorrow, or remain an obedient assistant.. Unfortunately, you both knew the answer from his calm smile and your heavy breathing when the dialogue began, although no one let you out of the man's strange embrace.

And now you have achieved your goal. Isn't that right? Now you didn't have to run around the floors, rub your feet to the knees and whine to your friends about the idiot boss. No, you didn't even have to wear heels now, because they would only get in the way while you were sitting on the elder's hip, watching his well-honed hand movements with a listless look as he drew another monst- ...toy for children. The silhouette of a huge purple-colored cat loomed while you read its name, sometimes disinterestedly swinging its legs dangling from the edge of the chair. Your hips, waist, and hair suffered the most. When someone infuriated the doctor by bringing him to a white knee, you could only stifle a groan, which the elder never liked, while his hands squeezed your hips, moving to your waist and hugging tightly, as if the child did not want to let go of his favorite plush toy at night, which could ensure his safety in the dark. The most unexpected thing was when the sadist's elegant hands found their way to your chest, squeezing it, and someone else's lips stopped right in front of your ear, red with embarrassment and shame." What do you think is worse for those employees who can't even complete their assignments properly, like being fired or getting a lot of work, much more than usual? " he asked you, massaging your chest through the fabric of your shirt, forbidding you to wear any additional fabric in his office in the form of a jacket, vest or dressing gown, " I think it would be better for them to do more work than usual" you say, swallowing, having already learned that your words could often acquire weight and leave employees with torn nerves and a nervous breakdown, or, which was rare, because the company needed employees, to throw out completely poorly working people from the company.

But the worst part, as you convinced yourself, even though you were grinning nervously alone, was remembering the events that happened to you when you unknowingly flirted with some of the staff, leaving Dr. Harley in a bad mood. What can you say? He was furious. You could get used to the compressions that left bruises on your body later. But you couldn't get used to the man's jealousy when you re-entered his office, kicking off your heels and closing the door, as per the usual ritual. You wouldn't have entered this room knowing what was waiting for you. In less than 15 minutes, you were standing on trembling legs, leaning your torso on the table, not completely, but only with your waist and arms, whimpering and slightly swaying your hips from how pleasantly and painfully the elastic and smooth head of the vibrator slid, caressing your femininity, and the body of your boss pressed close did not give you a chance to move. And all I can do is choke on moans and sobs. Sometimes getting slapped on the hips, you twitched, whining, but rather from how at such moments it was pleasant and humiliating for a toy to torment your clitoris, pressing against your labia, but focusing on a lump of nerves, bringing you to tears and removing the vibrating object from your body again when you had a little bit left before climax, and your natural lubricant was already flowing down your legs, staining the floor. "Repeat what a good assistant should do and how he should treat his boss, even if he is not in charge of the company, but in charge of a subordinate" the man whispered threateningly in your ear, hearing with sadistic pleasure your hoarse apologies for allegedly cheating, which you did not allow, but in the perverted mind of the elder, you could do anything wrong, just to untie his hands and give him a reason to torment you and bring you to the edge of ecstasy. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dr. Sawyer" you apologized in a trembling voice, moaning, rolling your eyes with treacherous pleasure when men's hands squeeze your bare breasts thanks to your removed shirt and bra, which makes you bite your tongue, which you shouldn't have talked much to other people, while your knees are weak from rough play with your nipples. "Please forgive my assistant, I will never again pay so much attention to those who do not deserve anything, but I will give all my attention only to the genius of science and surgery, you, Harley Sawyer" you begged with a hoarse voice, pleasing his ego, rolling your eyes when the toy returned to your clitoris. get the long-awaited orgasm, but the doctor's silence never ended such evenings of punishment and obedience. You could only lie down on the table with your chest, trying to catch your breath, and with excitement and horror you could hear the sound of your fly being unfastened and the almost lightning-fast pressing of the elder's erection with a languid sigh, which meant that for you it was not at all the end of re-education.

"You got what you wanted. You're not overworking anymore" the man said carelessly, holding you in his arms, while Rob ran a pencil over a piece of paper, drawing out different poses for an entity called "Yarnaby." "Yes, it's true and I'm grateful to you for that, but maybe you'll still give me at least a little contact with the staff, I spend time with you from morning until late at night" you timidly answer, looking away and not daring to get up from someone else's lap while his head rests on your shoulder. your shoulder, and your back is pressed against his chest. You hold your breath, hearing that grin right in your ear again, "Is there something you don't like, Y/N? You really wanted to avoid running around platforms and seeing the smirks of some employees. I'm just fulfilling your wish. "he was saying, which made your toes feel a little tight, because even though he fulfilled your wish, he did it in such a sophisticated way and turned everything around to his advantage, as always. Once again, you were left without the opportunity to argue your answer, sighing and continuing to rest in strangely caring and proper hands. You could only bite your cheek and reflect that both you and the young man know about your situation with trying to appear as a higher person in other people's eyes and that Harley would use this against you every time you had at least one thought about leaving him. Only sometimes, glancing at the notes on different sheets left at some time to the owners of this office, you are distracted from dark thoughts. And an intriguing question for you was - who is Riley and why do I need to check her every day on.. bouts of aggression?

You were distraught when you were fired from your job right after Sawyer went missing. You couldn't answer what hurt you more, the fact that he ran away, the fact that you were fired because of him or because of his possible report on you, because if he's not in the workplace, then you shouldn't be either. At least that's what he kept saying when he dragged her into his bed, arguing that if he had a day off, so did you. And it means that you will limp again later in the evening from making love to him. But now. You were broken and confused, returning to the apartment, which was now so lonely without yours.. A lover? You didn't even know what kind of relationship you were in with him before he disappeared. That's all you could say for sure. You've become more attached to him than you planned, wanted, or could have been.. It scared you and made you cry without the affection of your beloved doctor. And his sometimes persistent kisses.

But here. After almost a few years, returning to the factory with your employee, having overcome so many dangers and living creatures that you saw only with children and only with smiles, thinking that they were harmless. You could only realize with horror that all this was an illusion, and judging by the tapes that you listened to with bated breath with your colleague, each of the experiments suffered. And you suffered the same way because of your former boss Sawyer, which made your heart sink into your heels and you were ready to collapse on the floor, not realizing that you had always been so close to a real monster.

And now. While you heard your friend running away from the mechanical bodies, you only screamed faintly into the fabric of your skirt, which was torn off at your bottom and covered your mouth from the way the wires bound your body, tightening the same on your miniature figure, clasping your hands behind your back again, while other bare wires slid over your though and a body covered with clothes, but still sensitive to weak electric shocks. And these blows were imitation kisses, while you stared wide-eyed at the humanoid creature standing above you, not allowing you to move or get up from the table on which you were sitting like a prisoner. Just the way he likes it... You just stared with horror in your eyes at the TV, which displayed a single eye that described all your features and the fact that you had hardly changed in any way over the years. His mechanical hand rests on your chin and with deliberate tenderness presses on it, forcing you to swallow out of habit from the learned signal sign - to be closer to the boss, which you do, leaning towards the figure, not even giving yourself an account of the actions, but only mechanically doing the work itself. "I've been waiting for you for so long, my beloved assistant. You've missed and missed me too much, Y/N, but don't worry. I won't leave you alone anymore. Never. "

[cameronsprincess]

Loved the request you did with Rafe having a breastfeeding kink. Could you do a little fic with the same vibe but with readers V? Like he watched his kid come out of there and it's like holy land to him now

i love the idea of him worshipping readers pussy more than he already did. like oh, you watched me push your child out and love it more? HOT.

CW: smut! 18+ only! fem receiving oral, fingering, pussy praise, soft!rafe, mom!reader, dad!rafe.

rafe masterlist | requests

it was an understatement to say you were insecure about yourself after having your kids. your hips were wider, your stomach wasn’t perfectly flat, your boobs had gotten so big and never perked back up… and let’s not even get started on how you felt about your vagina after pushing two kids out of it.

you were insecure. you hated being so insecure about your body, but you were, despite your husband constantly reminding you how beautiful you were every day.

“rafe… i’m just not in the mood..” you whined, trying to pull yourself out of his hold.

rafe tightens his grip around your waist, pulling you further into him, his lips finding your neck, leaving soft kisses against it, his teeth nipping at the flesh as he whispered sweet praises against your skin.

“stop… you haven’t been in the mood since you had carson,” he pauses, pulling you back just enough to look down into your eyes. he swipes away a tear as it silently falls down your cheek, “you’re fucking beautiful. you gave me the two greatest things in this world. you know that?”

you whimper, another tear falling down your cheek. rafe swipes it away with his thumb, lifting you into his arms bridal style and carrying you to your bed. he gently lays you on your back, his hands tugging at your shorts, pulling them down your legs and tossing them to the floor.

he lets out a low, appreciative groan when he sees your glistening cunt, his fingers slowly runing through your slick folds as his thumb put light pressure on your clit.

“this pussy… will always be fucking beautiful. it’s even more fucking perfect since you had grace and carson.”

rafe slowly pushes two fingers inside you, curling them upward and making your back arch off the bed. your hands fly to your breasts, squeezing at them softly as your husband slowly worked his fingers in and out of you.

“r-rafe… please?” you beg, your breathes becoming choppy as rafe continues to slowly fuck you with his fingers.

rafe blows out a breath, slowly pulling his fingers from inside you and lowering his face down to your pussy. your breath hitches in your throat when you feel the warmth of his breath against your soaked cunt. you place your hands on the back of his head, lightly scratching at his scalp before tugging on his messy hair. rafe lets out a chuckle, his lips finally making contact with your aching clit. he presses a soft kiss to your clit, his lips moving to your inner thighs, teeth nipping at the plump flesh before he moves back to your pussy.

his tongue darts out, pressing into your entrance before he runs it through your folds, stopping at your clit. he flicks his tongue against your sensitive bud, pulling the sweetest sounds of pleasure from you as he did. he gathers saliva in his mouth, spitting on your clit, his eyes watching as it drips down your pussy to your ass. he finally leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth while inserting two fingers inside you again.

your grind your hips, rubbing your pussy against his face as rafe licks and sucks at you like a man starved. his fingers push in and out of you at a quick pace, his head lifting just enough to stare into your eyes as he finger fucks you. “look so goddamn pretty like this… you understand me? you’re fucking perfect, every inch of you is fucking perfect,” he dips his head back down, his tongue working slow circles around your clit as his bright blue eyes burn into yours. he lifts his head again, kissing at your clit as your pussy flutters around his fingers, “i love this pussy. i’ll always love this pussy. you could give me ten more kids, and i’ll never stop loving you or your cunt, do you hear me? i love you.”

with his sweet praises, and the way he worked his fingers in and out of your pussy with his tongue working your clit, you cum around his fingers, crying out to him and letting him know you love him just as much.

tagging some mooties: @starkeysbabygirl @rafesthroatbaby @nemesyaaa @rafesheaven @rafescorpsebride @oceandriveab @cherrygirlfriend @rafesbabygirlx @rafescvntyclubgf @sarahsangelicdoll @rafegetinmybed @hauntedfawnn

[jlheon]

౨ৎ — who ru ? (lhs)

pairing. situationship! lee heeseung x fem! reader synopsis. enha try to figure you out genre. fluff & est. relationship at end wc. 2069 notes. ft. enhypen library.

none of heeseung’s members knew your name. 

which was ironic since they saw you nearly every day off they had. usually passing by heeseung’s slightly ajar door and taking a double take after seeing a female figure, then realizing it's just you, and wondering if you were heeseung's girl-friend or girlfriend.

they had grown used to your presence in the almost six months of you constantly around their home. yet nobody could ever figure out your name and who you were. 

despite running into you in the dorms multiple times none of the six had ever muttered anything more than a mere ‘hi’ or ‘sorry’ while passing. 

they always saw you around the dorms at least two times a week. though never once did they recall seeing you enter or leave. their eldest never brought you up, feeding into the idea you were some imaginary person.

heeseung was good at everything, including sneaking you in and out.

all of them being scared to say anything to you. acting like your identity was classified when they could just ask heeseung or you who you were.

but of course, riki loved to make anything and everything into a competition. 

after betting with his hyungs’ on who could figure out your name first, he spotted you in the house, residing in heeseung’s lap while he did some work on his computer. face buried in his neck while he typed away. 

riki camped out in the bathroom, with the door open, pretending to be cleaning the mirror. scrubbing the same corner repeatedly for almost ten minutes, waiting for you to use the bathroom. surely you would need to get up soon.

when he concluded that he couldn’t clean the mirror forever, he picked up his toothbrush and brushed his teeth. 

after brushing his teeth for a solid three minutes his plan was finally set into action. 

“hi riki,” you knocked on the open door. “how long do you need to brush your teeth for?”

“howdoyouknowmyname-” he spit out the toothpaste in shock. 

“riki, i’m here all the time,” you replied. “and you’re also a famous idol.”

“oh yeah..” he wiped his face with a towel from the counter. “why don’t i know your name though.”

“you’ve never asked,” you shrugged your shoulders at the younger boy covered in toothpaste. “do you mind if i wash my face, i think you’ve brushed your teeth thoroughly enough.”

“yeah of course,” riki set his toothbrush back in its holder and moved towards the door.

“you missed a spot by the way,” pointing to your chin to show where the toothpaste was left on him, lightly shutting the door.

riki’s plan had failed. 

the next to try and talk to you was jake.

he was confident that he could get your name out if you. maybe he’d even be good enough to figure out if you were heeseung’s girlfriend or not.

it was the day after riki had run into you in the bathroom. since it was their break before the long comeback season jake knew that you would probably be sleeping over. giving him the perfect opportunity to ask heeseung and you if you both wanted to eat ramen with him.

once the time on his phone read 11:15 he knocked on heeseung’s door.

“come in,”

“hi,” jake opened the door. “i was wondering if you wanted ramen, her too..”

this was perfect. surely heeseung would call you by name when he asked if you were hungry. everyone would owe him dinner for the week.

you and heeseung were on his bed. you cuddled up into his side while you both watched tiktoks on his phone. 

“baby are you hungry?” heeseung leaned down next to your ear. 

baby was not your name. jake frowned.

“no i’m okay hee,” you mumbled. “you can go eat though.”

he kissed your forehead before getting up from his bed to follow jake to the kitchen. 

jake’s plan had also failed, but the fact heeseung had called you a pet name gave him some idea that you weren't just a friend.

the uprise of interactions with the members confused you. they went from running away from you and avoiding looking at you every time you were within six feet of them to constantly seeking you and heeseung out. though it relieved you in a way since you were convinced that heeseung had strictly told them to act as if you didn't exist in the months you had spent together.

you and heeseung were in fact not an item, even though you both wished you were. you've known him since his nerdy bowl cut days in middle school, you weren't close before but after running into you years later that changed.

you knew that he had become an idol, it was hard not to notice when you saw his face on ads. never listening to his group but being able to recognize him if you were asked.

one day when you were on shift, at your then job as a barista at a small place. you had recognized him as you took his order. you didn't want to sound like an obsessed fan if he didn't remember you, so you simply bit your tongue the entire time. he had decided to tip you for bringing him his drink, which made you even more on edge when he left a stray napkin on his table with his number.

after that incident it was clear he recognized you from school, which was more worrying than relieving as he started to show up to your work even more.

eventually, his visiting you at work was not ideal anymore as he stuck out like a sore thumb with how tall he was paired with the black mask and sunglasses he never dared to take off.

alas, he had asked you to hangout somewhere else. now you no longer worked at that cafe and spent all of your free time off from classes being snuck into a kpop boy-group dorm to hang out with a boy who acted like your boyfriend but wasn't. awesome!

after your first encounters with riki and jake everyone followed after.

jay came in to ask if you had any allergies because he was making some lunch, again heeseung addressed you as anything but your real name.

two days later sunoo had sat down next to you on the living room couch and offered you a face mask. you nodded and you guys spent an hour together as heeseung and jay were gone filming for a variety show. right as sunoo was finally confident you guys were casual enough to ask you for your name heeseung walked in.

you jumped up from the couch making your way over and throwing yourself at him. holding onto him like a koala when he picked you up. he greeted sunoo, and brought you all the way to his room. shutting the door behind him.

you didn’t even get the chance to thank sunoo for hanging out with you.

within the same hour jungwon had barged into heeseung’s room, the door banging against the wall. 

“jungwon what the hell!” heeseung scolded, though keeping his voice at a whisper. “don’t you know to knock?”

“this is me exercising my leader privileges,” jungwon crossed his arms and fixed his posture.

“you could have woken her up..” heeseung stroked your hair, as you laid passed out on his chest.

“woken who up?” jungwon said mischievously, heeseung had to say your name now. 

“don’t act dumb, you can literally see her sleeping.” heeseung deadpanned. 

you started to shuffle in your sleep, beginning to wake up. 

“hee?” you grumbled. 

“it’s nothing, baby,” he answered. “just go back to sleep.”

heeseung sent jungwon a glare, shooing him out of the room. so much privacy for having only single room.

right when you thought it was over, it was finally sunghoon’s turn to figure you out. he contemplated creating a list of names that you kind of looked like and just shouting them throughout the house until you answered to one.

but after hearing jungwon explain how heeseung looked like he was about to chase him out of the dorm onto the street after he woke you up, sunghoon decided against his original idea.

he was sat on his bed for almost an hour thinking about what he could do. 

he concluded he should just be straightforward and ask you already. why hadn’t anyone else just asked you?

he let out a horrendous evil laugh that sunoo had given him a weird look for as sunghoon thought about how his plan was foolproof. he was about to be picking dinner every night for everyone.

sunghoon created a list in his head from what he gathered from all the other boys' failed attempts :

knock LIGHTLY on the door

make sure he is not interrupting anything

ask you NOT heeseung

get that free dinner

he waited for everyone to get to their rooms after dinner to make his way to the eldest’s room. you surely couldn’t have possibly fallen asleep yet as the sun had only just set. using his right hand, he softly knocked on the door. heeseung opened the door enough to show you sitting at his desk. 

“hoon?” heeseung questioned.

“i have a question.” sunghoon said firmly, keeping his chin up high, making himself look cocky in the process.

“shoot,” heeseung replied dryly, yawning at the end of his sentence.

“not for you,” sunghoon recalled the list floating around in his head, he pointed at you. “for her.”

overhearing their exchange, you took your attention away from the game you were playing on heeseung’s computer and spun the chair towards sunghoon. heeseung had no choice but to move aside and let the boy in as you had already taken note of his presence. 

“what’s your name? oh, and are you heeseung’s girlfriend?” he smiled, fist-bumping himself in his head as he finally did what the others couldn’t.

“i’m ____,” you grinned, finally happy someone had asked you directly like you and heeseung were hoping for. “i don’t know about the girlfriend part though.”

“____ i swear i was just about to talk to you about that soon-”

“i’m kidding hee!” you giggled. “i don’t understand why it took you guys so long, i’m always here.”

“i don’t know either,” heeseung agreed.  

“yeah right. you strictly told us not to look at her the first time jake caught her inside the dorm,” jay said as he walked into the room. 

one by one the rest of the group filtered into the room. sunghoon gives a whole speech about how he is truly the smartest and the first thing he wants for dinner is steak. which was nothing different from the usual but he was happy that he got to decide. the whole group talked for a few hours in heeseung’s bedroom.

once heeseung saw you yawn he quickly got up and ushered all the guys to get out as you were tired. while he was busy forcing riki to leave you collapsed on his bed and waited for him to join you.

“so girlfriend huh?” you teased as he climbed into the empty spot next to you. 

he scratched the back of his head with a nervous laugh before turning off the lamp on his bedside table. when the lights were off and you could barely make out each other's faces in the dark he spoke up.

“can i be your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice dripping with gentleness. he snuck an arm under your head and pulled you towards his chest.

“i mean i guess so,” you joked, causing heeseung to tickle your sides. 

you squirmed in his grip trying to bite him until he finally gave it a rest. 

you tilted your head up towards his trying to find his lips to give him a short kiss. ultimately missing due to the darkness and kissing his chin instead. the both of you giggled. heeseung then used his free hand to trace around your face to find your lips, bringing his head down to finally connect your lips to his.

the last thing you remembered before drifting off was the sound of heeseung lulling you to sleep with a song he had been working on for their upcoming album.

[svtswhorehouse]

OT 13 : degradation vs praise — nsfw

disclaimer: minors do not interact, 18+ only

Seungcheol: degradation. honestly, you could care less because his deep and low voice sounds so incredibly sexy that you would let him call you whatever he wants. would definitely have you in healdlock, hitting it from behind as he mutters words into your ear. also the type to do it infront of a mirror because if he’s calling you his little whore, he has to prove it to you. do you care though?? no. it’s literally cheol, how can you not be a whore for him when all you want to do is constantly get on your knees and listen to his every command. he would also add a “say it,” behind every word of degradation because he wants to hear you repeat it back to him.

Jeonghan : degradation. CONDESCENDING !!!will spit out the filthiest of names and words with the nicest most angelic tone that will have you going ???? like a tone that will have you second guessing yourself cause are you really his dirty little cum slut ??? (yes you are.) he would definitely get you in a headspace where it’s easy to mess with your mind. all you would want is to be his good girl, but he would convince you that you’re not trying hard enough and you’re nothing but a hole for him to use as he pleases. would make you cry, but only because he just won’t call you good and it has you doing absolutely everything for him to. (he ends up calling you pathetic instead.)

Joshua : praise. might degrade you at first, but then he would feel like he's being a little too mean and completely switch up. would constantly have his cute doe eyed smile on his face so you always feel like you're being a good girl for him ! is so in tune with your feelings, he would bust out a plethora of words to make you feel giddy whenever he can tell you're getting overstimulated or tired. would answer any questions with a nod and faux excitement, but you don't care because he's truly trying his best to be nice when what ya'll are engaging in is so incredibly filthy.

Jun : praise. does it in a sweet and sultry voice that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head almost instantly. would litter every inch of your body in kisses while telling you how incredibly beautiful you are and how much he loves you. honestly, probably the type to mostly give praise when making love rather than plain ole fucking. i'm not gonna lie, he's so good at focusing on you and saying the right things that he could probably make you cum untouched with just his words.

Soonyoung : degradation. hoshi loves you. hoshi loves you very much and he lets you know that always before fucking !! hoshi also lets you know that it might seem like he hates you for a few minutes. he turns into a completely different person. like where has your cute tiger obsessed boyfriend gone and why has a man who’s calling you his little cum dump replaced him???? honestly, he would never say anything you’re not comfortable with though. can go for hours and you would let him use you how he pleases as he calls you his whore and a slut. you would let him call you, AND you would be anything for him as long as he makes you feel good (ahem, he always does).

Wonwoo : degradation. low and raspy voice pt 2. no one can tell me that wonwoo would not degrade you, he strikes me as a hard dom. would probably use the plain ole hard words, not even sugar coating it. he calls you a whore? yes you are. he calls you a slut? you're proving him right. he calls you his cum dump? well only for him. anything wonwoo says goes and even though he might make you cry, his dick most definitely makes up for it. would break you down into a headspace in which your mind goes blank and you truly do believe his words, agreeing with everything he says in fear that he might stop making you feel good if you don't.

Woozi : degradation. his go to is definitely either calling you desperate or pathetic because he usually makes you cock warm him and uhm... it's true. you can't resist moving despite him telling you not to. would use you as his stress relief when working in the studio so you can imagine the cruel filthy words leaving his mouth as he takes everything out on your poor hole. would make fun of you for "making a mess" in his studio after he ends up making you squirt, and reprimands you when you don't hold it in. would call you AND make you feel dirty because of it, but you could care less because that sensation is beginning to form in the pit of your stomach for the second time and, oh, you think you're gonna squirt again.....

Dokyeom : praise. you're his good girl, you can truly do no wrong in his eyes. would tell you you’re doing a great job for absolutely everything. you could literally just get a condom out of the drawer and he would be smiling at you with warm eyes and be like “that’s my baby!!!” honestly sometimes you wanna ask if he can try being a little mean, but seokmin truly isn’t capable of that. would definitely bring the praise outside of the bedroom too ! “you’re doing such a good job baby, keep up the good work!” you’ve gotten so used to it now that even if he does try being mean and you think you’d like it, you also think you might cry yourself to sleep at the first word that leaves his mouth.

Mingyu : praise. he really busts it out when he starts to overstimulate you !!! he’s a lil motherfucker cause he knows what he’s doing and knows that all you want to do is be his lil good girl. you could be crying on his cock cause he’s just so big and making you feel so full and he would have a faux sympathetic smile on and say “i know baby, but you’re taking me so well.” would also give praise in the form of kisses. he would litter them all over your face and kiss every single tear away when you begin to cry at how good it feels. would encourage you as well ! “that’s it baby, just like that. you’re doing so good for me.”

Minghao : degradation. oh, he's a meanie. i will always push my strict dom! hao agenda cause he just gives me those vibes yk? he would be doing it before you even start !!! would have you on your knees naked infront of him while he’s fully clothed and would be calling you pathetic. you would stay quiet and not argue though cause hao is MEAN. would add fuel to the fire and probably make you get off on his shoe or cum untouched just because he likes making fun of how easy it is to get you to cum. would order you not to cum, but then would FORCE an orgasm out of you with a shit eating grin cause he knows what he’s doing. he would definitely reprimand you for going against his word even though you couldn’t help it.

Seungkwan : praise. you're his baby fr. he might get the urge to try out being mean, but with one glance at your pretty face and innocent doe eyes, he's literally calling you the cutest and peppering your face in never-ending kisses ! he never wants you to doubt your abilities nor second guess yourself so he is constantly reassuring you and saying how no one could ever make him feel the way you do. he would always pet your hair, squish your cheeks between his hands, and give you multiple kisses throughout sexy time just because !

Vernon : praise, but lowkey. honestly, he's the type of person to praise you during sex without any dirty intentions behind his words. you would be going down on him and he’d probably mutter a “ahh, that feels nice.” would also shoot you smiles here and there. tbh it’s probably not something y’all really consider apart or necessary when it comes to sex, BUT regardless, vernon is very good when it comes to reassuring you that you’re always doing a great job.

Dino : degradation. no one can tell me that chan is not one horny motherfucker. his dirtiest of thoughts would slip from his mouth when he's degrading you. most definitely would have to fuck in every position possible just to add fuel to the fire so he could humiliate you more. he probably gets so into it that he just ends up talking the whole time and degrading you, but it’s okay cause the only thing you’re doing the whole time is moaning anyways. you also get so into it that the words just slip right past your head so you don’t really get the time to process it, all you can feel is the urge to cum.

[stromblessed]

this tweet is absolutely one of the milder ones i've seen on my feed which just proves i need to stop looking at twitter but this example of shipping goggles leading to basic misinterpretations of arcane season 1 scenes that are quite cut and dry thematically might be the straw that breaks my back

what do you MEAN Viktor was being gentle. what do you MEAN viktor was calm. he was not. Viktor says "you... ordered this? why?" he's surprised, offended, and sounds almost betrayed at the idea that jayce would order the blockade. viktor is confused, then flabbergasted, then angry, then furious. there is a gradient between "gentle and calm" and "screaming spitting mad" and viktor is somewhere in the middle of that gradient, but just because he isn't screaming and yelling at jayce, that doesn't mean he was either gentle or calm

"what difference does that make?" is also not calm - it's showing that Jayce has not been fully mask-off prejudiced in front of Viktor before, and Viktor is so thrown that Jayce would and does take the mask off in this moment, showing that Jayce is not so different from the average prejudiced citizen of Piltover despite being Viktor's friend, that he is genuinely asking what is going through Jayce's head. Viktoris trying to make Jayce make some sense, but the words do still show confusion and distress

and then "I'm from the undercity" IS angry, now that Viktor realizes what Jayce is saying and why. he is not being gentle or calm or even all that understanding towards Jayce - Viktor is hurt and angry and he lashes out to make Jayce think twice about what he's just said, though the damage has been done because Jayce's words and actions have combined to move us and Viktor towards an understanding of who Jayce is and what he truly believes when his back is up against the wall

also i can't count how many times people have re-interpreted Viktor slapping Jayce's hand away as a cute funny thing he does, rather than an act of anger - frustrated, righteous anger

the reason reading this made me so frustrated is because it's one more step toward the broader fandom's continuing re-imagining of Viktor as a mild, sweet, often passive character

and to take it one step further in what i've observed, it helps re-imagine Viktor as someone who is versed enough in the prejudices Zaunites face on the daily to easily handle Jayce's prejudiced words and behavior. this serves not only to make Viktor sweeter, gentler, and frankly smaller than he is in canon - especially in season 1 - but also, depending on the day, may try to make Viktor more "perfect" and noncombatant, ignorant or completely separated from the concept of the Piltover/Zaun conflict, a more "ideal" activist (an aspect of his character that is implied in season 1 and then is unfortunately all but abandoned in season 2), or just more well-versed in Zaun vs. Piltover sociopolitics, which he simply is not. Viktor is both clever, and also a messier, less heroic character than all that, while still being a target of Jayce's prejudice directly but mostly, usually, indirectly. and Viktor does not perfectly understand this. he only knows and sees enough to be offended and frustrated throughout the story

there's having one's own interpretations of canon, and then there's mischaracterizing consistently and constantly, leading to the state of the fandom today where it's increasingly difficult to have nuanced conversations about characters like Viktor or Jayce. why not ship jay//vik but WITH Viktor's anger, the complications, and the messiness

or is that not an option now that the writing of season 2 glossed over any difficult social or political concepts that did exist in season 1

[bring-forth-his-sac]

THE MAN FOR THE JOB - PART 1

Summary: when your father makes a bad choice, you become Negan’s latest wife

Pairing: Savior’s Era Negan x virgin!Reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Tags: daddy issues, virgin reader, sexual innuendos, swearing, betrayal, alcohol

A/N: yea this is basically my take on that old fanfic meme of "you" getting sold to [insert random boy band/ celebrity here] except it's with Negan. It was going to be one long fic but I decided to break it up! Part 2 should be up next week and it will be filled to the brim with smut lmao

Sniffling. Panting. Choked sobs. And footsteps, slowly pacing up and down in front of you.

You focus on the sounds, your head hanging low and eyes glued to the floor. The last thing you saw was the man’s bat cracking down and then you looked away. 

Negan. A name you won’t be forgetting anytime soon. A man who had a grand announcement of who he was before ever making an appearance, as if he was headlining a festival.

You don’t know why these people chose your small group to torment or why they think your group would be able to find supplies for them. Not that any of that matters now.

To your side, you hear your father’s haggard breath. You could tell he kept his eyes up and watched what happened with the bat, the small grunts and sharp inhales of air being enough of an indicator.

“Phew! Now that’s what I call a workout,” the man continues to pace up and down, the shadow of his bat swinging by his side coming into your peripheral “I mean, goddamn! He was not going down easy, huh? Like cracking a goddamn walnut!”

Despite your group having no real leader, your father happened to be a talker– someone who truly believed they could talk their way out of any predicament. Unfortunately that meant he somehow became the unofficial spokesperson for your group. Boots stop in your sight, facing towards your father. 

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Blood runs off the tip of the bat, pooling on the ground. Your eyes drift over to it, watching the blood mix with the dirt.

All things considered, you feel lucky. The man Negan decided to swing at was someone you hardly knew. The poor guy was the latest addition to your group, someone who was only around for a couple of weeks before now. You still have your family, both of blood and those you consider family from how long you’ve all been travelling together.

“Well, I think we’ve done our fair fucking share,” Negan booms “got rid of another mouth you had to feed and we’re only taking half of your shit! Ain’t that good? I think that’s pretty damn good”.

He waits for your father to agree.

“It– … it’s good,” your father concedes, taking an audible gulp “T-thank you”.

Negan’s boots don’t move, letting everyone know that he’s not satisfied just yet. He simply watches the sniffling mess that is your father as he waits for more. Moments pass. Others cry. You hear Negan’s leather jacket groan as he shrugs.

“… That’s it?” he asks, a strange mixture of amusement and threat in his voice “I mean, shit, I should’ve gotten a thank you the second I said I’d only bash in one of your skulls! I think we’re past thank you’s”.

You keep your head down, almost too scared to move in case it draws his attention on to you next. 

“I gotta say, I kinda thought you’d have something better for me,” Negan sighs, scratching at his stubble “I’ve done a lot for you and your people and hell, I just got here! You don’t want to seem ungrateful, right? You’re not some ungrateful fuck who just thinks I’m doing all this shit out of the kindness of my heart, right?”.

Your father stutters, trying to get out words without knowing what to even say. Speaking to Negan is like defusing a bomb, constantly fearing you’ll say the wrong thing and set him off.

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side, trying to see your father. A part of you is terrified that this will be the last time you’ll ever see him breathing.

He sputters, a mixture of snot and spit glistening on his face. Even at the start of the apocalypse, he never looked as bad as this. Swallowing hard, you look back to the ground. Some of the others are still crying. A part of you wishes you could cry too but the tears refuse to come. Maybe it’s because you didn’t know the dead man well or maybe at this point, you’re simply numb to the horrors.

You retreat back to what you’re good at. Staying still and staring at the dirt in front of you, waiting for this nightmare to be over. You listen to your father continue to sputter on, not able to form a single word as he shifts in his spot, shakily moving some limbs. 

You don’t look up to see what exactly your father is doing, nor do you look up when Negan begins to walk again, his footsteps getting louder as he goes to pass you.

But he doesn’t.

Negan stops closeby. You’re not sure where precisely, once again not wanting to move your head. 

The noise that does catch your attention is the whooshing sound of his bat that’s too close for comfort. Acting on instincts, you immediately jerk your head backwards in the hopes of avoiding the impending smash. You look up, knowing there’s no point in acting like a statue if Negan’s already decided you’re next.

With wild eyes, you gawk at Negan. The sight you’re met with is worse than a quick crack against your temple. 

Lucille is right there, pointing directly at you. There’s a smile on Negan’s face but it’s different than before. That smile was cruel. This one is full of mischief.

“This one?” Negan asks, his eyes boring into you “Holy fucking shit, Christmas has come early! And I think I might too”.

You blink, unsure what he’s saying to you or why. Your mouth falls open, confusion lining your face before the sudden realisation hits. 

Negan may be looking at you, but he’s not talking to you. As if your body has the answer before your brain does, your head turns in the direction of your father. 

Refusing to look you in the eye, your father’s outstretched arm points directly at you. You don’t need to hear him say it to know what he means. Somehow, your trembling body stills at the raw betrayal. A cocktail of pain brews in your gut, one of hurt and confusion bubbling inside of you.

“No,” your voice comes out surprisingly strong as you shake your head “no, not me!”.

Despite Negan being in charge here, you don’t even address him. Something shifts within you. It’s not the sadness you would usually associate with something like this. Instead it’s a catalyst for something more fierce, a burning of rage that’s been building for too long.  

Negan ignores your words, too busy gloating now. “Well, damn! I thought you would’ve just got me a ‘Thank You basket’, not your daughter! Because I am assuming that’s your kid, right?” he continues to talk “well, shit, suppose I shouldn’t be calling her a kid actually. How old are you?”.

Despite this question being directed at you, you continue to ignore Negan. “No, you can’t do this to me! What— what the fuck is wrong with you?” your voice builds, eyes burning into your father “Answer me!”.

Whether he won’t look at you out of shame or denial at what he has done, you’re unsure. The only thing that is apparent is your father won’t be dignifying you with a response.

Turning on his heels, Negan signals for some of his men. “Put her in the truck” he says it so casually, the order barely registers with you.

The dirt crunches under the feet of more men but you’re not done. You want answers. “Are you fucking kidding me?” You argue at your father, your throat tightening “what the fuck have I done?! Why?”.

Nothing. Not even a tear. The only thing your father does is drop his arm back down by his side. 

“After everything?! Y-you’re just going to give me up?” Your voice raises, wanting any kind of acknowledgement.

Two men approach you, one grabbing your arm to hoist you up off your feet. In an flash, you kick out, getting one of them in the shin.

“Hey!” Negan suddenly loses his excitement, his voice a bark of authority as he points the bloodied Lucille at you “None of that shit or else it’s Daddy that’ll get it next”.

You scoff at his attempt to threaten you. If you’re being taken then all hope is lost. What’s the point in begging now? Especially for a man who just sold you down the river to hell. 

“Like I give a shit, dickhead” you spit out, each one of Negan’s henchmen taking an arm each as they haul you to an awaiting van. 

It’s jarring how fast Negan can change. Switching from a psychopath to a charming man within a matter of seconds, over and over again. He smiles widely as you get dragged off. 

“Wow!” Negan turns his attention back to your father “now I can see why’d you want to get rid of her as fast as possible! She’s got a way with words, that’s for sure”.

You wonder if Negan will be able to pry a reaction out of your father that you could not. But before you can see if he does, you're thrown into the back of the van and shut out from seeing the rest…

———————————————————

That all happened almost two weeks ago. It’s surprising to think you’ve been stuck in his goddamn parlour from hell for that long already. Thankfully, Negan has let you be, having some sense of how traumatic it’s been for you.

The second you arrived at the Sanctuary and got hauled out of the van, Negan said some words to his men and you were ushered off. He never even looked in your direction. You weren’t sure if you were grateful or annoyed that after everything, he wouldn’t even glance at you. 

After that, you were dressed up like a doll and sent in here with the rest of the wives. They don’t speak to you much, though you can’t blame them.

You’ve been trying to process how exactly you got here, what led up to this and how quickly your father not only folded, but decided to offer you up as the sacrificial lamb. 

With nothing else to do in the wives parlour, you spend most of your days thinking back, wondering when exactly did your own father stop caring about you.

Negan visits at least once a day, coming in to crack a few jokes and try his luck with a few of the women. Usually one will always leave with him. He has yet to approach you. Sometimes Negan goes quiet and lets an unusual lull of silence take place. That’s when you know he’s looking at you, waiting for you to meet his gaze so he can finally approach.

You never do though, simply doing what you did when you first met him and keeping your head down.

It seems to do the trick and he steers clear of you. Whether it’s because he feels sorry for you or he’s waiting for the right moment to strike, you can’t tell.

Every day is the same. Wake up, put on a godawful dress, walk down to the parlour with the rest of the wives and stay there until it’s time for bed. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are all sent up to you. Drinks are in the bar in the corner of the room too and so there’s no need for anyone to leave.

There are only three ways to leave the parlour during the day. Either you leave with Negan, everyone is summoned to the open area downstairs to watch someone get ironed or, your personal favourite, a bathroom break.

Despite how lavish they try to make the parlour seem, it’s still a room in an old factory. There are no private toilets attached to each room. Hell, they’re lucky there are bathrooms found on every level. From what you’ve heard so far, it sounds like Negan is the only one that has his own en-suite. Surprise, surprise.

The bathroom breaks are your favorite part of the day. It’s bliss. For the first few days, you were escorted from the parlour down the hall to the bathroom but now, the Saviors on guard just let you go do your business. It’s the only time all day you truly get to be alone. No one watches you and it’s the one place you don’t have to worry about Negan barging in.

It’s the one room that provides you with the tiniest bit of reprieve you yearn for. Most of the time you just stand there, eyes closed as you lean against the sink and take a deep breath. For a few precious moments, you don’t have to think about Negan or the betrayal of your father. And that’s exactly what you need now, that fleeting sense of relief even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Mumbling that you need to use the bathroom to the guards outside the parlour door, they move aside. It’s the only time they ever do, making you feel like you have a sliver of control.

The corridor is full of closed doors, many you’re not sure what is behind it or if each room is even used. Sometimes you wonder which one leads to Negan’s bedroom, just so you know which one to avoid.

Your shoes are the only noise in the corridor, clicking along. Usually the bathroom door is always open, but today it mirrors every other door. As you get closer, you hear the quiet sobs of Amber, who’s locked herself inside for a quick crying fit.

You sigh, leaning up against the wall and waiting patiently. This is fine. This just means you get more time away from the others. Shutting your eyes, you allow yourself to zone out for a few moments… until you hear it. 

The rhythmic, high pitched sound. The familiar tone, like a faint memory just out of reach. Your senses sharpen as the realization hits you, your eyes shooting open.

It’s him. 

Leaning with your back flush against the wall, as if that’ll make you invisible, you tap on the bathroom door.

“Amber?” You whisper, tapping again “Amber, I really need to go”. 

The muffled sound of shifting inside the bathroom makes you hold your breath, but no response comes. Desperate, you try the handle. 

Locked.

“Amber, come on!” you mutter under your breath, head turning from the door to the dim corridor,  waiting for him to appear.

There’s a beat of silence, then at the other end of the corridor, you see his silhouette. Broad yet lanky. Looming yet relaxed. Your eyes are drawn to the bat, hanging at his side. It looks prickly this far away, as if he’s holding a damn cactus and not a killer bat. 

You freeze, eyes never leaving the silhouette. As much as you don’t want your gaze to draw him closer, you don’t want to take your eyes off of him either. Taking your eyes off Negan is asking for trouble.

“Well, look who it is!”.

Shit. Staying against the wall, you say nothing in response. Negan moves closer, eyes watching you with amusement. Wagging a finger at you, he pretends to look suspicious “Now I sure as shit don’t think you’re supposed to be out here, unless you’re finally doing an escape attempt?”.

He lets the question hang as he saddles up beside you and leans against the wall. He keeps his eyebrows raised, as if he’s waiting for you to entertain his question with an actual answer.

Silence.

Negan nods “Hm… quiet today… per usual”.

The door beside you finally opens and a sniveling Amber exits. You note the sound of a toilet flush not greeting your ears. Maybe the bathroom isn’t just your place of solace.

Negan ignores how the young blonde tries to hide her red rimmed eyes. With one quick look at Negan, she lowers her head and hurriedly goes back down the corridor. 

Watching her go, you take a step towards the bathroom before she stops you. Lucille. Negan side steps you and his outstretched arm juts Lucille out until the top of her touches the wall. It acts as a barrier between you and the open door, making you stop again.

“How’s about a treat?” He asks “Instead of doing your business in that shithole, how’s about you come into my room, let you do your business on a real throne”. He snickers at his own joke.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order and you know it. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. Negan’s eyes are sharp, tracking your every second and reading each minute reaction. The way his smirk flickers for just a second tells you all you need to know. He’s enjoying the control he has here, like always.

Keeping your voice steady, you finally speak. “You think you’re funny?” The words come out lower than you intend but you can’t help it.

Negan’s smirk widens, a slow, deliberate movement that’s more of a warning than anything else. “I don’t just think I’m funny, sweetheart,” he purrs, his voice a smooth rasp now “I know I am”.

He taps the bat against the wall and it echoes down the barren hallway like a clock counting down. “So? What’s it gonna be? You gonna make me wait, or are you gonna follow the damn order?” his tone hardens slightly.

You take a breath, your eyes flicking from Lucille to his face. Lowering your head, you turn away from the bathroom. 

Negan watches you in silence as you turn away, his gaze heavy but unreadable. The moment he turns to walk down the corridor, you silently fall into step behind him. This is the most vulnerable you’ve seen Negan. Back turned to you, unable to defend himself for the second it would take him to turn. And yet he knows you won’t attack. That you can’t.

When you reach his door, he simply opens it with a casual twist of his wrist, stepping inside first and then holding the door for you with a slight gesture. “After you,” he says, his voice thick with amusement.

You step inside. It’s decorated sparsely, but with an odd sense of comfort—like it’s a place someone actually lives in. 

A large bed sits in the middle against one of the walls, with a few scattered papers and books near a small table. He closes the door behind you and leans against it, still watching you with that unreadable smile. 

“Make yourself at home,” Negan drawls “bathroom’s that way.” He points to a door on the far side of the room.

It’s hard to ignore the fact that every inch of the space feels like it’s his, even the air you breathe. You make your way to the bathroom, his eyes following you the whole way. 

You step into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you with an unsettling finality. The walls are a calm beige and the light is surprisingly warm and comforting. Not that it helps with your situation. Your heart is already thundering in your chest, blood rushing in your ears, drowning out everything except the cold realization that you’re stuck here. With him.

He has you exactly where he wants you. Alone with him. No other wives to distract him or butt in and inadvertently save you from engaging with him. Now it’s just you, stuck in his private quarters, where no one will help.

You scan the small space, looking for anything that could help you escape. The sink is just a sink, the mirror above it large and reflecting the usual sight of you in a dress. The shower is large but useless to you now and the small, claw-footed tub looks like it’s seen better days.

Your eyes dart around the room, desperate. There’s no way out. Nothing to use as a weapon. Just a toilet brush although you’re not sure if you could stomach the humiliation of trying to bat off Lucille with that.

You take a few steadying breaths, forcing your thoughts into some semblance of order. Your eyes flick to the window. It’s a small, high-up one that’s barely big enough for a rat, let alone a person to squeeze through. And that’s not even considering how high up you are. No good.

Turning on the taps you let the water run, hoping it’ll make him think you’re just doing the usual. Taking some of the water you splash it on your face and the back of your neck. All of this is too much. 

How has your only time for peace turned into such a nightmare?

You use one of his fluffy hand towels to dry your face, patting your skin gently. 

And who the hell has white fluffy towels in the apocalypse?

You huff, turning off the taps. You’re met with silence, the taps not even offering an extra drip of water. The quiet presses in on you like a weight, thick and suffocating. At first, you think it’s just the quiet of the bathroom, but then you realize… there’s no sound of movement, no low hum of Negan’s voice, no casual whistling or muttered remarks.

Nothing.

Your heart skips a beat, hopeful that the situation isn’t as dire as you believed. You strain your ears, listening hard, but the only sound you can hear is your own shallow breathing and the distant buzz of the light above you. 

Has he left? The thought is both a relief and a curse. If he’s gone, then maybe, you have a shot at sneaking out of here and pretending none of this ever happened. You pause with your hand on the door handle, knuckles white from the grip. Holding your breath, you dare to listen again, straining against the silence, but still nothing.

Your instincts scream at you to get moving but your body stays frozen, unsure. Slowly, you turn the handle and step out. He’s not by the bed, or sitting on one of the couches. A part of you expected him to be sprawled out on the bed, waiting for you to take on your wively duty but thankfully, you seem to have been spared today. 

Silently thanking what or whoever is looking out for you, you start to take quick steps towards the exit. The coincidence that Negan has been called out or distracted just as he’s finally gotten you alone is big but not one you want to sit around and ponder. Darting around the bed, you’re just about to pass the couches when he speaks. 

“Bottled in 2006,” he reads the label of a bottle “well, shit, doesn’t that sound like a lifetime ago?”. As if to purposefully hide out of sight, Negan stands in the corner of the room, hovering by a small wagon of bottles. All alcoholic, you assume no less. You stop dead in your tracks and as if to approve, Negan gives you the ghost of a smirk.

As much as you want to ignore him and go, doubt clouds your mind. Is there one of his Saviors waiting outside, guarding the door? Does he want you to run?

“You a drinker, sweetheart?” he asks, despite already having two glasses out. You linger, not wanting to sit down and accept this predicament but not wanting to run into a barrage of gruff Saviors outside this room. 

Bringing both drinks over to his couches, one filled more than the other, Negan sits “Don’t matter anyways, why don’t you give this a try”. He sets the lesser one on the coffee table, waiting for you.

He waits a beat before ordering “Sit”.

Looking at the drink, you weigh up your options. Negan simply sits there, sipping his own drink. It’s as if he’s waiting for you to run, easily giving him a reason to treat you with a harsher hand. Whether that would entail you “working for points” like most of the others here or getting sent to the cells you’ve heard whispers about, you don’t know.

Swallowing your nerves, you force your legs to move. One step. Another. Your fingers brush the edge of the couch as you sit opposite him. 

You didn’t think it was possible for someone to annoy you so much. You hate him. Hate the way he sits there, casually sipping his drink as if you’re at some sort of fucked-up cocktail party. Hate the way he knows this is the last thing you want. The way he watches you. The constant smirking or grinning as if he’s a friend.

You look at the drink, fingers itching to throw it. Smash it against the wall and see it shatter against his belongings, staining it all. The temptation is there. But so is the fear of the consequences.

You stare at the drink in front of you, the amber liquid gleaming like some cruel invitation. It’s not just alcohol; it’s a test. A way for Negan to see if you’ll obey. A way for him to claim another piece of you.

Your hand trembles, just a fraction, but you catch it before it gives you away. You’re not afraid. Not yet. But the tension in your chest tells a different story.

Every muscle is tight, coiled, like you’re waiting to sprint or snap. You can’t decide if you should laugh or scream at the absurdity of it all. Here you are, sitting in a goddamn room with a psychopath, drinking his damn poison because—what? Because you’re scared of what happens if you don’t?

You pick up the glass, your fingers gripping it tightly. The crystal feels cold. You bring it to your lips, not daring to look at him. If you do, you’ll lose the last shred of whatever control you have left.

The liquid slides down your throat—smooth and sweet—but it leaves a trail of fire behind it. It burns like it’s alive, crawling through your veins to mark you.

Negan lets out a satisfied hum, having another sip of his own drink. “You’ve been here for how many weeks now?” he asks, well aware you won’t answer. When you prove him right, he smiles and gives you a nod “And you’re still hellbent on the silent treatment, huh?”.

Leaning forward, he balances some weight on Lucille, her spiky end sticking into the rug beneath him. “Well, sweetheart, I think it’s about time we have a chat”.

Like a monk sworn to their oath, you stay quiet. But you know the silent treatment can’t last long. And you know you’ll have to put up with this supposed chat. With none of the other wives or Saviors around to distract Negan, you’re left to fend for yourself.

There is, of course, one more thing you know. You’re fucked.

PART 2 FOUND HERE

[mrshesh]

i saw on your rules that you don’t write hardcore nsfw, so im gonna try to stay tame LOL

how would ghost be in bed? i feel like im so conflicted about this topic

ghost in bed - simon "ghost" riley x reader

overview: how simon "ghost" riley would be like in bed

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x gender neutral reader, romantic

genre: smut, fluff

a/n: i'm actually so passionate about this topic. he's very misrepresented in our fandom, so i'd like to give my two cents regarding this topic. thanks for the request, anon!

TW! mentions of SA, abuse, suicide, and torture. proceed with caution.

Contrary to popular belief, he is not the rough dom everyone makes him out to be. He wouldn’t slap or spit on you. He wouldn’t push your head into the mattress and call you the filthiest words that come to mind - no, he’d be gentle, careful, and loving. 

Simon has been through hell and back - he knows what it feels like to be hurt better than anyone. Physically, verbally, emotionally, and psychologically, you name it! He knows it all, so he doesn’t get off on it. 

His past is extremely gut-wrenching. He got betrayed by everyone, even his own team. He got tortured for months and months on end, to the point where he got severe PTSD and anxiety. He suffers from nightmares and panic attacks and has even tried to take his own life. We also know that he got SA’d in the past, in the months he got gravely tortured. (Reading the comic was seriously terrifying.)

The fact that his father was abusive isn’t helping his case, either. 

And on top of that, he dislikes exposing his body and face. 

So best believe he’s only sleeping with you when you fully trust each other.

And when he does have sex with you, my god, it’s gentle. 

He loves missionary and sitting cowgirl. Being able to hold you close, look you in the eyes, kiss your cheeks, and press his forehead against yours - those things he’d do during sex, not choke you till you pass out.

He has lost everything he has ever loved, so losing what he loves the most, you, is out of the question for him. And that results in him being extremely cautious while having sex. He’s terrified of scaring you away. 

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear constantly. “I love you so much.” “Takin’ me so well.” “You’re so beautiful.” 

His face is redder than a tomato. Having intimacy with someone he loves is a pretty new thing to him, so his cheeks are painted a light pink from the get-go. 

The aftercare consists of soft kisses, compassionate touches as he cleans you up, and praise, so much praise. 

The moral of the story - he's a gentle giant who's absolutely terrified to lose you, despite his hard rock exterior.

this turned dark really quick, but it had to be said.

[blitzyn]

pervert

miguel o'hara x spiderman!reader

request : none

Synopsis: A game of cat and mouse goes to shit, and you find yourself bound in Miguel's webs.

a/n -> literally nobody asked for this but he's been stuck in my mind for decades and i wanted to get something out for my bbg <3 also super sorry i disappeared again, writers block straight up bitch slapped me and left me in a ditch, plus ive been losing interest in writing for genshin or just the game in general, unfortunately.

wc -> 3.3k

cw -> very dubcon, mean dom miguel, degradation, bondage?, face fucking, google translated spanish, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, slight and brief choking, (semi) public sex??, not beta read

Exhilaration filled your veins as breathy laughs escaped your throat, weaving through buildings and rubble with the precision of someone who has experienced this type of chase countless times before.

And that's because you have. You've been in a near never-ending game of cat and mouse with the esteemed Miguel O'Hara, always close enough to feel the swipe of his talons in the air but too far to catch. No matter how many times he's cornered you, you always find a way to get past him; it was predictable at this point.

That pissed Miguel off like no other, hellbent on capturing you to put an end to your snide remarks, to put you in your place. While that usually would've enticed you in any other circumstance, you weren't too keen on letting him dig his claws into you now that you were chest-deep in this predicament — and his wrath.

"Stop running, already!" he shouted, the sharp edges of fury evident in his voice.

"I'm not running!" you respond, peering back at him with a smug grin. True to your words, you, quite literally, were not running. You were swinging with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, twisting and flipping through debris while looking like you were having fun. You offered him occasional glances and nearly laughed each time. Seeing him, a grown-ass man, almost constantly on all fours was amusing, but hearing him curse and grunt and growl made electricity shoot down your spine in a way that nearly got you caught several times.

Adrenaline filled your body and threatened to burst through your chest each time you evaded him. "Missed me!" you laughed, juking away from his swipe.

"So close!" you flip over him with a taunt. "Try again next time!"

"¡Voy a matarte!¹" He growls, and it was hard to ignore the shudder that rushed through your body. You slightly winced at the feeling. If you don't get your shit together when he spoke Spanish, then you were asking to get caught.

But it's not like you'd mind — Actually, yes, you fucking would!

You click your teeth in annoyance. Despite how hard you tried, you couldn't remove Miguel from your thoughts even though he was right behind you, hunting you down like a wild animal. Your mind strayed toward his broad shoulders, beautifully tiny waist, fat ass (that you'd give a lot to slap), and the massive piece of rubble being hurled at your body.

You blink out of your stupor, feeling your senses going off rather violently. Oh shit.

Everything seemed to move painfully slow as you stared at the debris with wide eyes, noticing Miguel's red web attached to it as he brought it down. You flung your arm out in an attempt to attach your webs to something and swing away, but was unable to pull yourself fast enough as the debris pinned you down to the roof of a building.

"Fuck!" you thought as you grunted and squeezed your eyes shut, agony tearing through your entire body. Swiftly, you pushed against the ground to shove the heavy object off of you, groaning with effort. Just as you managed to stand back up, you heard the familiar thwip! of his web wrapping around your waist and arms to yank you to him.

"Caught you," he said, voice rough and breathless as he panted hard. He loomed over you menacingly, hands curled into a fist.

You struggled, kicking and straining against your binds. "Come on, Miguel." You offer a tense grin. "We both know this won't last very long."

"Ay dios míos,²" he growled, dropping to a knee to roughly press a hand on your face, his fingers digging into your cheekbones. "¡Cállate!³"

...

Woah.

You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling your cock stir in your pants. Oh fuck.

It was hard to ignore your ever growing attraction (and hard-on) for him that seemed to intensify when he deactivated the hologram of his mask. Sweat beaded at his temple while his eyes narrowed at your bound figure, fangs peeking out from behind his lips as he caught his breath.

Even when you were the target of his anger, he was still breathtakingly hot.

You opened your mouth again to shout at him — probably to let you go or something along those lines — but Miguel wasn't having it.

"Why is it so much to ask for you to keep your fucking mouth shut for once?" he hissed, squeezing your cheeks tight enough to ache, but it only went straight to your dick. "Is that all you can do? Run your mouth until someone gets sick of your shit and shuts it for you? Huh?"

You whimpered, meekly shaking your head in denial. Tightly closing your eyes, you swallowed hard and squirmed, secretly trying to will away your hard cock straining against your clothes.

"You're so annoying! Stop moving," he demanded, reflexively looking down to adjust his position over you. His eyes raked over your body for a moment before zeroing in on your erection, pausing in surprise.

.

..

...

"Oh, you pervert."

Your eyelids snapped open at his words, mortification seeping deep in your chest as you shifted your head away from him in shame. Despite everything, you could only feel yourself getting harder under his intense gaze.

"Is that why you made me chase after you?" He forced you to look at him again, your face aching at his manhandling. "Because you wanted to fulfill some dirty fantasy of yours?"

He let out a dry laugh. "You couldn't find anyone willing to satisfy that depraved urge, so you turned to me. Just how desperate are you?"

You shook your head again, letting out muffled words. He mercifully removed his hand from your mouth to allow you to speak, sliding lower to rest on your throat. "I was just playing..."

"Yeah?" He tilted his head mockingly, momentarily adjusting himself to grope your painfully stiff dick. "And this was your master plan? To get off at the face of danger? You're more of a degenerate than I thought."

"N-No, I didn't—" you moaned, reflexively bucking your hips up into his hand.

"Stop lying." He squeezed the hand around your throat just enough to force labored gasps from you. "It's stupid how you don't think I've seen the way you look at me — how you think I haven't noticed you eyefucking me."

A furious blush rises on your cheeks as your cock twitches in his hold. It doesn't go unnoticed.

He laughed again, staring at you in mock disbelief. "You're enjoying this."

And this time, you don't deny it.

"Can't say I expected anything higher from you." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and removed his hands from your throat and dick to place them on your thighs. Effortlessly, he pried them apart to slot himself in between your legs, pressing his crotch flush against your ass.

Groaning, you lifted your hips a bit in an attempt to grind on him. With a growl, he swiftly slapped a hand on your abdomen to push you back on the ground.

"Don't move," he said, glaring at you with a mix of arousal and irritation in his eyes. "I've had enough of you getting your way." He leaned forward, a wince crossing your face when he pressed some of his weight onto your stomach. "It's my turn."

"My way—?" You cut yourself off with a huff when he gave you a stern look.

A thought seemed to pique his interest when he suddenly decided to kneel beside your head. It was nigh impossible to tear your eyes away from his crotch, the area beginning to glitch with a dim, pale blue glow at the strain from his hardening cock.

"Let's put your mouth to better use." He grabbed a fistful of your hair and deactivated the hologram covering his dick. It landed on your face with a quiet slap before his hand guided it to your lips.

You hesitantly parted them, only for them to be forced open wider to make room for his cock. You let out a surprised sound at the entry, but he was entirely focused on making you take him completely.

He was gracious enough to take it slow, relishing in the sounds of your gags and sputters and every deep inhale.

"Thaaat's it," he drawled out, sighing heavily when he felt your tongue rub against the underside of the shaft. "Fuck..."

Your eyelashes fluttered as he buried your nose into his pubic hair, uncontrollably drooling over him while you sucked and licked what you could. You felt him harden in your mouth, forcing himself deeper into your throat while it tightened and spasmed.

He increased the speed of his thrusts, absentmindedly shuffling closer to your face. A shiver ran down your spine when he slithered a hand on the junction between the back of your head and neck to hold you firmly.

A garbled whine left your throat as you subconsciously jerked your hips upwards, searching for some form of relief for your aching cock. You strained against the webs around your torso and arms, utterly intoxicated with his taste, his scent, his sounds—with him.

With a groan, he shoved himself as far as he could inside your throat and held you in place, ignoring how you instinctively struggled against him. A high-pitched ring sounded through your ears as your head spun, chest tightening with the need for oxygen.

Shuddering, he finally pulled out of you, watching with satisfaction as you coughed and gasped for air. A mix of saliva and precum connected your lips and the tip of his cock, to which you quickly licked away. You let him inspect you with a hand still buried in your hair, gaze locked in on your drool slicked chin and swollen lips.

A quiet hmph left him before he turned to place himself back in-between your thighs again, this time extending his talons to tear a path in your clothes from your ass to your crotch.

"H-Hey! Hold on—" you protested and kicked his arm away from you.

"Shut up," he cut you off, swatting your foot away while grasping your painfully hard cock again. "Don't act like you don't want this."

"G-God..." you moaned, furrowing your brows as you stared at him. A squeak left your throat when he suddenly pressed your legs to your chest, a quiet ptuh! escaping his lips alongside a glob of saliva that landed on your asshole.

Retracting his talons, he let go of one of your legs to press two fingers against your hole, shoving them inside you abruptly. You winced at the sting his thick fingers made as it mixed in with the arousal that burned in your gut. He separated them in a scissoring motion, moving in and out at a pace that had you yearning for more. His fingertips brushed against spots so frustratingly close to your prostate, you were sure he was purposefully avoiding it to mess with you.

"H-Hurry up," you demanded, the ache in your balls beginning to prove to be something you could hardly handle.

He gave you a sharp look. "Tell me to hurry up again and I'm leaving you like this."

You stared at each other for a moment longer before you looked away in defeat, muttering under your breath. He ignored you and added another finger, the wet squelching blending in with your soft moans. His hard cock pressed on your thigh, and you briefly wondered how he wasn't fucking you within an inch of your life already.

Quickly enough, you were able to realize that he wanted to make you wait. He wanted to give you a hard time — just like you did to him.

"C-C'mon, Miguel." You breathlessly chuckled, straining against the webs around your torso.

"What?" He raised a brow, satisfaction seeping into his expression at your growing desperation.

You opened your mouth again when he unexpectedly jabbed his fingertips onto your prostate, sending a violent surge of electricity through your body. "Fuck!" You cried out as a spurt of precum leaked out of your dick and enlarged the wet spot on your clothes. He continued targeting the gland, refusing to let you get a word in your sentence. The coil in your abdomen tightened into an almost unbearable degree before he abruptly removed his hand from you entirely.

"God, just fuck me already!" You jerked your hips upwards in a futile search for stimulation.

"You sound just like a whore," he commented, tone full of condescension. A heat washed over your body at his words as you stared at him with wide eyes. You tensed when he leaned down, lust and mirth swirling within his red irises. "Is that all you are?"

"What?" You found yourself unable to look away from him. "N-No, I—"

He shoved his cock inside you mid-sentence, tearing a loud moan from your throat. He held your thighs to fold you in half, using his body weight to pin you down. You panted hard as you tilted your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut. It was hard to focus on anything else but his dick filling you up so perfectly.

Miguel released a gutteral groan, grinding his hips against you. He dug his fingertips into your legs hard enough to bruise, but that was the least of his worries — not when he had you below him. After a moment that felt like an eternity, he leaned back (mercifully removing some of the pressure on your chest) and watched himself move in and out of you, pulling out almost all the way before he slammed himself back inside.

"Ohh, fuck!"

"This is what gets you — mierda⁴ — all compliant, huh?" He taunted, abdomen flexing with every thrust. "The moment you get some dick inside you, you're like a trained mutt."

You opened your eyes to weakly glare at him, to deny what he said, but the moans spilling from your lips did nothing but prove him right.

"Te gusta cuando te trato como si no fueras nada, ¿no?⁵" He leaned back down, hooking his arms around the back of your knees as he pressed his chest against yours, curling his wrists around your thighs to grip the flesh. His breath was hot and heavy against the shell of your ear, lips so close you could feel the vibrations of his voice in your ear drum. "Aren't I right, you dirty little pervert?"

"N-No! S'not right!" You cried out, the burn of his cock stretching you out mixing in with the pleasure so deliciously it was almost addicting.

"Deja de mentirte y admítelo, puta,⁶" he hissed, widening his mouth to graze a fang along your neck threateningly, which sent a shiver down your spine. "Admit it — that you're a depraved whore."

"Admit it." He emphasized each syllable with a thrust, ramming into you hard enough to fuck the breath out of your lungs.

"Shit—fuck! Oh, god!" You sobbed, arching your back into him. You nearly came at the feeling of his abdomen rubbing your aching dick. "I'm a whore! M'your whore!"

His cock throbbed fervently at your words, rewarding you with groans and grunts directly into your ear. Your ass slightly stung at the force of his thrusts as he fucked his anger into you, but neither of you cared.

"Fuuuck!" You drawled out. "Miguel, m'so close! Let — ngh, ah — Let me cum!"

"Yeah?" He cooed in your ear, gently licking the shell. "You gonna cum f'me?"

"Yes, yes—!"

"Then beg."

He stopped moving so unexpectedly that it left you disoriented for a few moments as you stupidly stared at him with wide, watery eyes. "W-What...?"

"Beg to cum," he leaned away from you to get a clearer look at your face. "I'm not repeating myself."

You took a moment to catch your breath (and secretly savor the feeling of his dick twitching inside you). "God, please, Miguel! I need it so bad. I need to cum — please let me cum! I'll be good, I promise! Fuck, Miguel, please let me cum! Please, please, please!"

The sight of the tears along your lash lines sent electricity down his spine as his breath hitched. "You'll be good?" He dryly laughed. "I don't think I believe you."

You opened your mouth in defense when he suddenly slammed himself back inside you, tearing a moan instead of words from your throat. He fucked you hard and fast and deep, grunting in a way you could only describe as animalistic.

But you loved it. You loved how he controlled your body so effortlessly, how he treated you like a cheap fuck toy. You mentally deemed all those chases worth it in the end.

The heat from less than a minute or two prior returned full force as you tilted your head back in ecstasy. You babbled out incoherent words of (what Miguel suspected to be) praise, straining against your binds once again.

You screamed out when the coil in your abdomen finally snapped, electricity shooting down your spine as your cock spurt cum underneath your clothes. You weren't able to process the stain in the fabric when you realized that he hadn't slowed down, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm to chase his own.

You stared up at him, admiring the slight flush on his cheeks, how his brows furrowed in concentration, and even his eyes that shone with disdain towards you.

You could feel his dick throbbing inside you, and you quickly realized that he was about to cum as well. The ecstasy you were granted slowly began to merge with the pain of overstimulation, but it only made the hazy bliss you were in so much better.

"Yes, yes, Miguel!" You gasped out as your legs trembled in his hold. "Cum inside me, please, I want it!"

He grunted at your words, fucking you with a few more harsh thrusts before he suddenly pulled out. It took you a moment longer than normal for you to process the uncomfortable emptiness as he let go of one of your legs to quickly jerk himself off.

"What—No! Please, Miguel!" You pleaded uselessly, wincing when he tightened his grip on your thigh and unintentionally extended his talons. They penetrated through your clothes and pierced your skin, drawing a bit of blood, but that was neither of your concern at the moment.

"Ay, solo cállate ya,⁷" he growled, releasing your thigh to press his palm against your mouth to silence you. You let out pathetic whines and whimpers, but Miguel was focused on achieving his orgasm.

With a final few strokes, he finally came with a loud groan as his cum spurt onto the floor. He angled his hips to make sure none of it landed on you, much to your obvious dismay. With a heavy sigh, he leaned back and stared at your bound body, trembling and helpless. It was satisfying to see you in such a state.

He reactivated the hologram over his softening cock before binding your legs together in a way that hid the large hole in your pants to prevent anyone from figuring out what the two of you did.

He sighed heavily and slung you over his shoulder, standing up to look around and figure out where the fuck he was.

"You have a really nice ass," you commented after a moment, unable to keep your compliments to yourself.

He groaned. It was gonna be a long trip back to HQ.

Translations:

1: "I'm going to kill you!"

2: "Oh my god."

3: "Shut up!"

4: "Shit..."

5: "You like it when I treat you like you're nothing, don't you?"

6: "Stop lying to yourself and admit it."

7: "Oh, just shut up already."

cross-posted on ao3

[nikid-aze]

CANCELLED. 💢 — lee heeseung.

SYNOPSIS. Being a well known influencer those days can be kind of dangerous, one sentence out of context and you got cancelled, a thing that wasn’t bothering lee heeseung, a streamer and youtuber with more that one million followers. Sadly, his situation get even worse when he tried to shit talk about you — a well known writer and loved person on internet — and he start to wonder if he actually did the good choice when talking about your upcoming book on his last video. And the worst was the spam of message you got from him in the evening, trying to make it up for his harsh words about your work — or mostly you.

pairing ‎⸝⸝⸝ lee heeseung x reader 𓄷 iηcℓudᥱs 𓈓 kim sunoo, nishimura riki, park sunghoon, choi soobin, choi yeonjun & kang taehyun (txt), probably others idols added there..!

genre﹙💬﹚⸝⸝⸝ serie, romance, strangers to enemies/haters, enemies/haters to lovers, fanfiction, written chapter (!!), multiple chapters

warnings ‎⸝⸝⸝ mention of drinking, smoking, sexual jokes, drug use, , enhypen’s members being crackhead in this (??), probably other being added there soon..!

words count ‎⸝⸝⸝ 1318 💢

taglist ‎⸝⸝⸝ @sunnygirl-kait @chaheehee @doveblackboat @wonzzziezzzz be added to the taglist 💢 hope you would love this serie omgg

rains’ note ‎⸝⸝⸝ screaming rn because what do you mean I’m in love with my writing ? anyways 🫣 does heeseung is a complete dumbass in this serie ? Kind of yes, do I like it ? Absolutely. Will you like it ? Probably (I’m not 100% sure rn), so i’ll give a try with this short teaser/intro in hope that it would interest some of you ! don’t forget that you can comment below (I would appreciate it !💋)

MASTERLIST | NEXT >>

Heeseung himself couldn't say what had strangely driven the popularity of his YouTube channel or his livestreams, which were increasingly being watched by an unimaginable number of people. In truth, platforms like YouTube and Twitch were so complex that making a place among the biggest on these two platforms sometimes had something to do with a miracle.

For Heeseung, all this was understood while he himself was completely incomprehensible, his first name quickly finding itself trending as more and more people started tweeting about him — or about his latest livestreams.

At first, he simply thought it was because he had miraculously managed to attract the attention of young women — and a few men — with his charisma and his angelic, captivating face — not that he was narcissistic about himself, but that was one of the hypotheses that crossed his mind one evening.

All of this finally came crashing down when he realized that his so-called "popularity" was due to a clip from one of his recent livestreams, where he unfortunately got the idea to talk about another content creator and streamer — whom he could totally consider a colleague, given their shared personal interests or the numerous comments they had during each stream. Indeed, while Heeseung was a genuinely interesting person to listen to during his "what's up in hee's life" livestreams, where he mostly talked about the stream and interacted with his viewers, he sometimes tended to overlook his words — which were mostly simply insults or comments that a well-known and influential person shouldn't be saying.

The victim of this stream was @sunghoonshouse. Heeseung found himself making hateful comments toward Sunghoon — his real name — after noticing that his chat kept mentioning him or making allusions about him. In just one search and a quick glance at his channel, Heeseung had made comments he would normally never have made.

How had he reacted when he noticed that his first name or that clip of him was constantly circulating on Twitter or any other app? He had laughed when he read people spitting at him in the comments. After all, despite his comments about his work "colleague," Heeseung had noticed how his first name was plastered everywhere, thus unwittingly creating immense publicity for him, which he would undoubtedly take advantage of.

The idea of ​​being canceled by his new — and in truth, first — haters didn't bother him at all. He would simply need to make a quick message in his next stream, or yes, instead of addressing his community or anyone watching him live, he would address Sunghoon directly, then apologize for his words, which had "gone beyond his thought and reflection" — explaining that he had supposedly spoken without thinking and that he hadn't meant them.

The days following his apology had been nothing but magnificent proof that, despite his apologies, Heeseung would not stop acting without thinking and saying whatever came to mind, even if it was only negative and completely hateful remarks, whether it was about a public figure, viewers of his own streams — who had supposedly annoyed him at the right time — or even topics that weren't as important.

Having realized that each thing he could say would earn him a little more popularity each time, Heeseung had strangely started to create a routine for himself. Creating a situation or saying things that could or would be intended to provoke a reaction, noting the clips in question being shared on social media as if they were THE last thing anyone needed to know about — which tended to bring a lot of people back to his streams in the following days — and once everything had settled down, making a video or dedicating a portion of his future stream to an apology message, explaining that, once again, he had indeed gone too far and that his words had gone beyond his thoughts.

Was this really the right thing to do?

Was this really the right thing to do? Absolutely not. Was it an effective way to gain popularity? In a way. Were the reactions and the number of haters that would make him do it? Certainly not. Did he have the minimum of respect to stop acting this way? Yes and no at the same time.

Being a child in a child's body, it wasn't surprising for Heeseung to apologize for such a serious remark, and then start over the following days as if nothing had happened the previous days.

Was he forgiven? Strangely, and although it may seem completely unthinkable, yes. Most of his followers followed him simply because they appreciated this side of Heeseung. Or was it simply because he was too handsome to leave the world of YouTube or the Twitch platform. And quickly, after a few months Heeseung had exceeded millions of followers, whether on YouTube or Twitch, and was no longer a YouTuber and Steamer video gamer, but was considered a content creator "shitposter", that is to say that he published what he wanted regardless of the impact of his videos.

The funniest thing about his rapid rise to popularity on his platforms was that Sunghoon — the content creator Heeseung had openly criticized — had become one of his close friends, with whom he occasionally streamed or organized videos, but he was also his roommate. This meant that Heeseung and Sunghoon's communities must have seen the friendship gradually develop, which certainly caused some reactions.

What did you think of this famous Heeseung? He didn't bother you much; in truth, you didn't know much about him beyond the numerous clips you saw circulating on Twitter that showed what kind of person he was. A hypocrite who used hatred towards others or almost homophobic or misogynistic remarks to draw attention to himself.

A true thoughtless jerk. That's what could have best represented him from your point of view, even if you'd never actually watched a single one of his streams or videos. Truth be told, the entertainment you saw on Twitter every weekend kept you busy enough that you didn't intend to watch even a single one of his streams in the future.

And even if one day the idea did come to mind, you didn't have the time. Unfortunately, books don't write themselves — at least not since you'd started writing, much to your dismay — and so you spent most of your time writing, editing, and rewriting sections of your future novel.

Well... that was before you received a message from one of your best friends — Taehyun — who strangely begged you to start Heeseung's current livestream because, according to him, you needed to hear his words right now, not after you'd gone to bed.

Quickly, you left your writing file to log into Twitch, and despite yourself, you had to click on Heeseung's channel to see that he was indeed streaming.

The next click left you frozen, staring at your screen as your lips parted, unable to believe what he was currently saying. The fact that your name had left his lips was practically unimaginable, but what followed had made you furious.

"An unsuccessful author who only wrote about depression and high school romances. Seriously, who would read such crap? I think you, like me, don't have time to waste reading books like this and would rather, for example, devote our time to the latest F1 race that was announced."

How could a man like him — a loser who locks himself in his room to chat in front of a camera — have the audacity to talk about you, and your upcoming book? You couldn't even believe how stupid he'd talked about you, describing you as a shitty author who only wrote about depression? This was a joke you were playing; it couldn't be explained any other way. Never, ever had you felt so humiliated and smeared as you did right now, when you weren't even in the same room as this idiot who was playing it.

[55sturn]

✮ RUNNING INTO EX!CHRIS STURNIOLO AT A PARTY

inspired by + creds to: everyone that has written the ex!triplet au!

disclaimers: swearing, angst, mentions of drugs + alcohol, allusions of cheating [ no cheating ever happened ], chris is so in love with reader

you didn’t wanna be here in some dingy kitchen, complete with a slightly (severely) outdated interior, mismatched furniture in heinous colours that didn’t pair well, tacky printed wallpaper that mirrored the weird carpeting from the hotel in the shining, every surface in the house sticky with various spilt liquids, crushed cans and solo cups crunching beneath the platform of your doc martens with every step you took, and drug paraphernalia laying around everywhere you looked. you could even spot the cocaine straws and leftover residue of the white powder on the brown countertops. truthfully, in hindsight, it was not the best setting for two kids that just got scouted and eventually contracted for some of the best college hockey teams in the state.

but still, you plastered a smile on your face and showed up, for matt and chris, despite that you and chris had broken up a couple months ago. you know and witnessed firsthand how hard they worked to get this far in their hockey careers. and this party was being thrown to celebrate and commemorate their shared dreams coming to fruition.

the air was thick with weed and cigarette smoke as you made your way through the house, your eyes and throat burning with each blink and breath. the smell of skunky ass weed alone could give anyone in attendance the worst case of cotton mouth. you fought the urge to gag at the sight of couples and people who were obviously seeing one another shotgunning smoke into each other’s mouths or even just straight up swapping spit and dry humping one another.

you knew you were being a hypocrite and a bit condescending, considering that you were in those girls’ places less than six months ago. you and chris constantly put on a heavy show of pda, not caring who was around. but as you kept pushing through the crowd of people, your best friend stopped in her tracks, turning to face you so fast you’re shocked she doesn’t get whiplash.

“chris is head of the drink table tonight.” she hums right against the shell of your ear, and you’re quick to stiffen. this is the first time you’re going to see him since the breakup, and it’s not going to be easy considering how harsh the breakup was.

“fuck, i need a drink.” you groan, trying to come up with some way to get a drink without your ex seeing you.

“i’ll get a drink for you, wait here.” she smiles, turning and walking away just as fast as before, and you didn’t even have a chance to tell her that when chris is head of the drink table, he’s quick to limit a person.

you wandered aimlessly around the equally dingy living room, the soft LED lights making your head throb slightly, and you swore could feel the thump of the bass bumping in your blood stream. you knew you needed a drink if you were going to tolerate this any longer, so you took a deep breath before turning around and pushing toward the drink table. you felt your hands begin to tremble as you got closer to seeing chris with each step. you weren’t ready, and you didn’t think you were ever going to be. the fight had been a clash of angry words and deep cutting insults thrown at one another, most of them directed at you.

you stand on the side of the drink table, opposite of chris as he talked to one his buddies, contemplating turning around and pretending you were never there, but his friend taps him on the shoulder and nods toward you, and before you could leave, chris turns around, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second before looking away, only for him to look at you again.

“yo jason grab me a fruit punch truly.” chris calls over his shoulder, and the fact that he stills know what your go to drink has your stomach churning with nostalgia and something a bit more heartbreaking.

you’re quick to take the drink from him and walk away, but he’s quicker, much quicker to tap his friend into their shift and tag along after you, he’s one step ahead of you figuratively, always has been, it’s almost as if he could tell what you were thinking before the thought fully formed in your mind. and he’s quick to catch up to you, to gently grab your arm, pulling you back to face him.

“can we talk?” the words slip out of his mouth before he can even really think about them, and your body goes rigid as you look at him, the question you wanted to avoid had finally settled into the air, thick as the smoke that hung amidst the crowd of partygoers. and you go against your internal wishes as you nod, walking behind him as he pulls you to one of the bathrooms on the top floor, and you don’t question him as he sits on the counter across from the wall you’re leaning against partially to respect his space, mostly because his cologne is intoxicating and you fear that if you sit next to him, you’ll make rash decisions that wouldn’t be fair to either if you.

after a pregnant pause coupled with him watching your face intently, he hums a simple question that hurts more than it should.

“how ya been kid?”

“i’ve been okay, just trying to push through the rest of the semester, you?” you whisper, scared to break the rather agonizing and bittersweet tenderness that clings to the atmosphere.

“i’ve been, well, if i’m being honest, i’ve been a wreck. i miss you, y/n. more than i know i should given what led to us fighting and breaking up, but i don’t want to lie to you. but it’s fuckin’ with my head, you fuck with my head.” he sighs, fiddling with the silver bracelet dangling off his wrist.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ve been benched more these last few weeks than i have in my entire life playing sports, i’ve gotten enough penalties to be threatened with suspension because i’m angry and i hurt every day and i just want to believe that this is just some fucked up dream and that it’ll finally end and i’ll wake up next to you, but it’s like i’m stuck in a loop that started the day you walked out.”

“you mean the day you told me that i’m too much for you? the day you said that you could get with any girl you want, that you almost cheated on me?” you spit, not meaning to sound so angry, but the fact of the matter is, his words killed you. they hung over you like a dark grey cloud, repeating on an infinite loop in the depths of your mind every time you doubted yourself.

“yes. and i regret those words every single second. i’m not trying to justify it, but i could feel myself cracking under the pressure from my coach, under the self inflicted pressure of wanting to prove myself to you, to prove i was still worthy of your love. i wish i had asked for space that night, it would’ve given me a chance to take a deep breath and collect my thoughts instead of spewing hateful lies your way.” he murmurs, his eyes glossing over with tears as you watch him, your own eyes stinging ever so slightly.

“chris-“

“i don’t want to be one of those pathetic guys that begs a girl for another chance after doggin’ on them but god kid, i am so in love with you, you’re the girl i wanna marry, and if i don’t sit here and beg for one more chance, i’ll hate myself until the end of time. i don’t want us to end because i fucked up when i should’ve just taken a step back, i want us to end together, in rocking chairs on our deck when we’re eighty, with grey hair and wrinkly skin.” he pleads, climbing off the counter and dropping to his knees in front of you, his arms wrapping around your hips as he presses his forehead to your stomach, and as mad as you were and as much as his words hurt, the idea of not being able to love chris or feel his love again hurt just that tiny bit more.

the idea hurt enough to make you drop down to his level, your hands cradling his face as you promise him one more chance, but on the condition that he starts communicating with you, because you don’t want to lose him permanently to something that could’ve been so easily resolved, but you also don’t want to go through another night of hearing such painful insults thrown at you by the person that’s meant to love and cherish you. so you let him in again, because you love him, and you know him, you know his heart. because sometimes loving someone, means giving them another chance to prove themselves, it means forgiving their mistakes but not excusing them, and giving them an opportunity to heal and grow from them.

[writing-mlm]

saw you do familial reqs? damian with an older brother figure reader would be so awesome.. bonus points if he’s also some moody bat and just kinda sees himself in damian. he used to be a sort of outcast himself, so he can empathize with damian when dame feels like he’s sort of ostracized from the other robins or bat fam members.

Annual New Robin Trip

Summary: Damian’s been Robin long enough that it’s his turn to go on the Robin Trip Pairing: Damian Wayne & Brother!reader Wc: 4.5k tags/warnings: sibling bond, both were child assassins, Bruce is bad at parenting

Dick was the bubbly, bumbling Robin. People used to say he was truly a circus kid; flipping from chandeliers and being a little terror. Although everyone is pretty sure he was definitely out for blood whenever he had the chance. He would tell the most awful puns while fighting and Bruce wouldn’t even scold him. 

Jason was just happy to be there, he had everything he could ever ask for and he was taken in by Batman! Oh, boy- oh, boy! He would hide under the cape and yell boo to all the petty criminals Bruce let him fight. Until he couldn’t anymore. 

Tim had the easiest life prior to donning the R on his chest. After that, he was the worst Robin. Not because he was bad; Tim was arguably the best Robin during his career but because he never got to experience the things Dick or Jason had. He was left picking up the pieces after Jason’s death, holding Bruce together to the best of his abilities. He went out on patrols alone, with no cape to hide under or any grumpy adult to hold in a chuckle. 

Stephanie wanted to prove a point, she pushed Bruce in ways Tim didn’t. But in the end, she was pushed to the side. No one even remembers her time as Robin. The girl Robin, the blonde one. It was only what… seventy-five days? Why would anyone remember her? Forgotten in the murky waters of Batman’s timeline. Erased. 

Damian wasn’t as fortunate. He didn’t come from Gotham or a traveling circus hiding a cult. He came from the Ra’s Al-Ghul, he came from the demon head. Born a killer, bathed in the pit— his life was cursed from the beginning. Sorrow and rot; that’s what his life was even after he put on the Robin suit. Despite being the only Robin connected to Batman by blood, he was the biggest outside in the bunch. 

He couldn’t do anything right. He kept messing up— his father was constantly disappointed by him and he couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He’s doing what he was taught— the blade. He hadn’t meant to take another life— he was trying to be better. But he doesn’t realize when he’s going too far because, for him, the limit didn’t exist until less than a year ago.

You could relate to that… all too well. 

“What do you want?” Damian grits when he spots you on his desk, messing with one of his countless knives. He hides his face, not wanting to show a weakness— his weakness. “I thought father threw you out.” Some time ago, maybe two months ago, you and Bruce had gotten into an explosive argument that ended with a frozen pork chop on your eye and a frozen bag of peas on his chin before he told you never to come back.

“He did,” You hum, unfurling yourself from the desk and standing tall. “I know the security system— and Pennyworth let me back inside.” You smile. 

“Pennyworth shows little loyalty to father,” He spits, sitting on the bed. 

“He shows plenty, Damian. He knows something that Bruce doesn’t, at the moment.” You tilt your head as you add the last part. Bruce will find out sooner than later anyway, might as well tell him.

“And what’s that?” He asks arms crossed as he glares at you. You look away and huff, rolling your head onto your shoulder. 

“I need his opinion on something, something important.” 

“And you’re in my room?”

“I also wanted to speak to you,” You admit. “You’ve been here long enough for us to continue the tradition.” He pauses, hand settling on the dagger he keeps in his pocket. 

“What sort of tradition?” The only traditions he’s used to are fights or death; neither of which is he in the mood for. 

“Nothing like the League, I can assure you. I.. I take all the Robins on a… bonding trip after they’ve settled in.” You explain, now sitting on a chair. “I took Jason to the arcade and a library in Prague, Tim to my family’s annual barbecue and fishing, and Stephanie to this spa retreat for the weekend. It’s your turn.”

“Why would I care for this… bonding trip?” He asks, setting the dagger down. “I’m not like the others— I’m better. I don’t need some stupid trip with a rejected hero,” Shrugging, you look at the mirror on his wardrobe. You see Damian, sitting while glaring at you. You see yourself, staring at the signs of age and tiredness on your, admittedly, not old body. 

“Talk to the others about it, just not Richie. He never got one.” Leaving, Damian thinks for a second before he follows after you. As quiet as a mouse, he slips into the cave after you, clinging to the darkness as he’s been trained to do. 

“Is it that time already?” Dick asks when you enter with your hands in your pockets. He’d been talking with Bruce about something, but he was too far to hear. Bruce spins around, looking you up and down with a watchful gaze. 

“I have news,” You roll your eyes when Dick pulls you into a hug. “About my assignment.”

“No one assigned you to it,” Bruce reminds you, guilt flashing over his eyes. You shrug and lean against your older brother, your head resting on his shoulder. He squeezes your arm, happy to see you again. He’s always been happy to see his first baby brother safe and sound; at home. 

“I found their base; took them down, too.” You tell them, fighting the urge to tuck into yourself. “They were hiding out in Australia.”

“Did you kill them?” Bruce asks. Damian pressed against a rock, his small figure hidden perfectly as he watched the three of you. You don’t answer, but your eyes drift to the ground when Bruce sighs through his nose. “I have one rule.”

“I know,” You stress, pulling away from Dick. “I know! But I didn’t mean to! But they wouldn’t give me any other choice; do you think I wanted to kill them? I tried to save them,”

“Clearly not hard enough,” Bruce blinks and Damian falters in the same way you did. Bruce had said the same thing to him not even three hours ago. “You should’ve contacted me. I could’ve saved them.”

“I tried,” You stress. “I called and I sent letters. I- I— You never answered me! I didn’t want to kill them!” 

“B,” Dick puts a hand on your shoulder as you sniff and look away. “You know that they wouldn’t go; he had to.” 

“We could’ve—“

“God! You’d think after raising one child assassin he'd be better at this.” You spit and wipe your nose. “You’re still shit at helping us.”

“(Y/n),” Bruce sighs. “You know I love you and I love Damian, you’re my sons.” He holds your shoulder and you falter, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“Hell of a way of showing it.” He doesn’t apologize, Bruce doesn’t know the word sorry but he hugs you. You don’t hug back, just pat his shoulder until he pulls away.

“I’m glad you’re home safe.” He whispers before he finally pulls away. “It’s a shame you had to kill them.” Nodding, you look at Dick. 

“I had to kill my parents,” You admit, trying to keep yourself composed when he frowns and immediately hugs you. “They kept calling me and calling me, begging me to join them again. I couldn’t… I’m tired of killing. I see them when I sleep, their faces. Their blood was so warm.”

Damian looks away, flashes of the people he’s killed plays through his mind and he leaves the cave. He needs to be alone. His eyes are stinging and he’s sure if he breathes any harder he’s going to be spotted.

“Aside from that,” You clear your throat and fix your clothes. “Damian’s been Robin for… some time now. It’s nearing the time where I take the new Robin out for a trip.” 

“If he agrees,” Bruce nods. 

“I still haven’t been taken out for a trip,” Dick dramatically sighs. 

“You’re older than me. You’re supposed to take me.” 

“Can I?” He gleams and you shake your head with a smile before walking away. “Please!”

“No, Dickie. You suck at planning,”

—

You don’t spend the night at the manor; it hasn’t felt like home in years. You hate your old room, you hate how Bruce hasn’t touched it since you’ve gone; everything besides that stupid broken picture frame. It’s been swept up, and replaced with a different frame. 

And somehow, the picture that was inside sits on your kitchen island. 

Your current place is temporary, rented out on a monthly basis with some shady landlord you don’t truly care about. The lease is hardly a day old, so for someone to have known where you lived they must’ve been recently following you. For them to have access to the picture they’ve been in the manor. Because that’s the same picture, you know because there’s an inky, smudged fingerprint on the back. 

“You were close to my father?” Damian asks as you enter the living room, still holding the picture in your loose grip. 

“Thick as thieves,” You grin, although there’s no happiness or warmth behind it. Setting the table on the side table, you sit next to Damian. 

“You mentioned your family's barbecue earlier but they’re assassins. Assassins don’t do family barbecues,” He should know. 

“Different family,” You breathe in, staring down at him while he looks around the dingy apartment. “I… My blood family are assassins and yeah; no family barbecues. But eh… I’m sort of married,” You laugh and his head snaps to you. “Yup, I got married at twenty. Love of my life, they’re wonderful. I consider their family my own,” He tuts at the idea of love and you remember yourself doing the same thing when you were his age. 

“I assume they know?”

“My spouse does, yes. Their family… do not. It’s not exactly something they’d want to hear about their son-in-law.”

“Does father know you’re married?” 

“No— maybe,” You shrug. “If he does he’s never mentioned it. I don’t hide it but I never bring them around him.” He tuts and stands up. You watch with a careful eye as he struts into your kitchen and steps up to the counter, climbing to reach the cabinet and then standing to reach the top shelf to grab a cup. He rinses it out before opening the fridge. 

His nose turns up at the options and you hold back a laugh, watching as he picks out the water jug before pouring himself a glass. He sniffs the water, eyeing you wearily before holding the cup to you. 

God, you’d done the same exact thing to Bruce when you first arrived. 

Taking a sip, he seems content when you don’t have a reaction other than pouring yourself a cup and slowly sipping his drink.

“I assume you’re from the Shadows?” He’s strutting back to the couch while you lean against the counter, holding the cup by the rim with the ends of your fingers. 

“Shadow adjacent. Subsection created about fifty years back,” 

“So you were born into it?” He sets the now empty cup on the table and picks up the picture, carefully examining it, and then checks the date on the back. “For twelve years before you met Father.”

“I was,” You nod. “Joined Bruce and Dickie.”

“Before you gave up.” He adds. You laugh, shaking your head before finishing your water in one big gulp. 

“Damian, I didn’t give up. I was… I couldn’t live up to Bruce’s expectations. It’s hard not killing but I tried. I tried for years. But every time I went out someone died. So, I learned to use computers, I stayed in the cave and watched over everyone. I was the Oracle before Oracle was a thing.” 

“You were a coward,” He corrects with a tight voice. “You gave up and hid inside of the cave when you could’ve helped people!” 

“Damian. It’s not cowardly to stop trying. Because I did eventually go back, but it was under my rules. I stopped listening to Bruce’s voice, his rules, his insane expectations. Dick mentioned you like Veil?”

“I do,” He gives one curt nod. “They’re effective and father gives them high praise.”

“That’s me, Damian.” You grin and for a moment, his jaw goes slack but he quickly composes himself. “You can call Bruce. I have the suit in my closet… help yourself, I guess,” Watching as he rushes into your bedroom, he shuffles through clothes before he pulls out your suit. 

“I suppose you’re not a coward.” He settles in when he neatly puts the suit back in its spot. 

—

“Yes, Bruce?” You sigh, phone placed between your ear and shoulder as you’re sorting through laundry. “What do you want from me? My soul? My last piece of self-worth?”

“(Y/n),” He sighs that old man sigh he’s started doing after Jason came back and he realized he had to deal with two homicidal sons. Three now. “Damian has requested you at the manor.”

“Tell him I want to experience the Robin Trip.” You hear Damian say and you smile. “Father, tell him!” He demands and you think you can hear him stomping his foot. 

“He wants you to take him on the Robin Trip,” Bruce relays. 

“I’ll be there in an hour. Pack enough clothes for about five days. Nothing fancy, either.”

You arrive in your trusty mom van. It’s a lovely seven-seater with plenty of trunk space and a rack on the top. Of course, Alfred wouldn’t let you just stay in the driveway. No, it was late so of course, you had to stay for dinner and you’ll leave in the morning. Pinky promise. 

“Reject is back,” Jason grins, giving you a tight hug. You hug him back, swaying him from side to side. You’d missed him when you came over the week prior; something Dick says he simply will not stop complaining about. 

“Oh, hey,” Tim looks up from his dinner plate and offers a nod. You never did get too close to him; he never wanted an older brother. He wanted Bruce and you simply weren’t him. You nod back, running your fingers along Jason’s head before he shoves your hand away; chiding that he’s not a kid anymore. 

“Hmph!” Damian stands between you and Jason, arms crossed as he looks between the two of you. You smile and ruffle his hair despite his protests and threats. 

“Staying for dinner?” Bruce asks from the head of the table, reading the daily newspaper. Even though it’s well into the afternoon, almost night. 

“At Pennyworth's insistence,” You nod, detaching yourself from Jason and Damian. “Unless there’s an issue with that.” You add. 

“No,” He shakes his head while setting the paper down. “None at all, please, stay. There’s always a room open for you.”

“Aside from the times he kicks us out,” Jason pretends to whisper while Dick barrels down the stairs. You think he did trip at some point but he caught himself. 

“I missed you!” He squeezes you just as tightly as you’d squeezed Jason and you cringe, patting his back. Jason snickers while Damian tuts and heads to his seat at the table.

“You saw me last week, Dickie.” You’re put back on your feet and Dick sighs, leaning away from the hug but holds you still. 

“After not seeing you for months!” He adds, the smile dropping as he checks you over. This time in proper lighting. “God, leaving me here alone with Bruce. I’ve had to smile every single day with him waiting for you.” He mutters just loud enough that you can hear. 

“Not like I had a choice,” You grit, eyes flickering to the table. “Dinner?” You sigh. 

“Yes, do take a seat.” Alfred smiles. “I’ve prepared your favorite, Master (Y/n).”

“You shouldn’t have,” You smile at him. 

“You really shouldn’t have,” Jason sighs and turns to Damian. “He has the worst taste in food.” 

“Jason, not everyone likes burgers dipped in cheese and barbecue sauce.”

“Exactly,” He nods as if you’ve proved his point.

Surprisingly, dinner goes off without a hitch. There were not more than ten snarky remarks, not once did someone awkwardly fake cough to move the conversation along, and everyone’s food remained on their plates. 

“Where will we be going?” Damian asks after insisting he walks you to your bedroom. 

“You’ll see,” You grin. “I think you’ll like it.” 

“I do not like none-answers,” He huffs, crossing his arms. “You could be leading me into a trap.”

“Bruce approved,” Is all you’re willing to give him. It satiates him for now and he stands at your door, waiting for you to go inside. “Be ready by five, we should leave early.”

“Alright,” He nods and walks away before stopping midstep. “Sleep well, (Y/n).”

“Goodnight, Damian.” He nods and continues into his room. 

—

At five on the dot, Damian knocks on your door. You open it, already dressed and packed. He’s the same, with a large bag slung over his shoulders and an almost happy expression on his face. 

“Head downstairs, I need a couple of things.” He hums and turns on his heel while you look around your room. Grabbing one of the first books you’d fallen in love with, you slip it into your bag and then your first-ever sketchbook. 

Once you’re downstairs, Alfred hands you a metal mug with your favorite breakfast drink, then a neatly wrapped breakfast sandwich, and then a light lunch. He knows you won’t stay for breakfast and wishes you farewell. You thank him and load up the minivan, Damian sits in the passenger seat and you have to question if he should be in the back. And in a booster seat. 

For some reason, you don’t think he’d take to sitting in a booster seat. 

Driving off, you play calm music and sip your drink. He’s quietly eating next to you, careful to not get crumbs in the car. He falls asleep halfway into the drive, his head hanging in an awkward position so you maneuver to lower the seat for him. He stirs awake, grabbing your wrist as you’re moving away but he drops it once he realizes it’s you and slowly falls back asleep. 

Eventually, you reach your farm. A lovely place in a lovely town that has flea markets every Friday and everyone keeps their doors unlocked. 

Your land is sectioned off by a lovely oak fence, spreading across the eight acres, a dull red mailbox with the hand up greets you and you check the box. There’s a small package and two letters that you toss onto the dashboard. 

Damian wakes up as you’re driving up, his eyes finding the cows and chickens you keep lazily chewing on the grass. He sees a wild fox, chasing a wild rabbit through the lawn, scaring a group of pigs inside of their pen in front of a horse stable.

He sniffs the air, confused. It doesn’t smell like livestock and he knows how livestock farms smell. 

“Where are we?” He asks, craning his neck to look behind him. There’s nothing but open fields for miles but he can see a house in the distance. 

“My house,” He turns back to you. “I have a homestead— it’s just a fancy word for living on a farm, really.” 

“You do believe in botulism, correct?” He sneers, stepping out of the van. You bark a laugh and nod. 

“I’m not crazy about it— I just raise my animals and tend to my crops when I’m not out being Veil.”

“Why would you decide to live here?” He asks and you notice his tone isn’t as harsh as it once was. His eyes scan over your fields with a look almost similar to contentment. He looks at the cow with a fondness you can share while you collect your bags. “You’re an assassin, not a farmer.”

“I can be many things,” You shrug. “I’m a farmer, a vigilante, a painter, a former assassin. I’m not bound by one thing. Don’t you have hobbies?”

“I have no time for such trivial matters,” He turns his nose up as he pushes inside the house. 

“Ra’s is a doctor on the side. Dick is a detective. Jason takes care of the orphaned kids. Tim runs a company. I’ve seen his skateboard collection. I’ve seen Dick teach gymnastics at the local gyms. Bruce has his charities and all of his foundations. Jason has an enormous collection of books.”

“I only read informative books, anything else is a waste of my time.”

“Maybe,” You shrug. “Let me show you to your room, you’ll settle down and then meet me in the kitchen. Take as much time as you need, there’s no rush.” He nods and you show him to the guest room. It’s incredibly plain but nice. You shut the door behind you and text Bruce that you’ve arrived without any hiccups. He doesn’t reply but you see that he’s read the text and you go about your day. 

You have a pair of old working boots from your spouse's nephew visiting; they should fit Damian just fine. Setting them on the bench, you slip yours on and wait for him. He doesn’t take long, walking down with careful eyes until he sees you. 

“I assume I’m to wear these?” You nod and he tuts, slipping them on. “What type of training is this?” 

“You’re going to learn patience and to enjoy life.” You smile, ruffling his hair before tossing him an egg basket. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

—

Dick reacts with hearts as you're sending him pictures of Damian collecting duck and chicken eggs. Videos of him milking cows and cleaning out the pig pens. He’s glad that Damian is having fun, each picture and video seems to have Damian in a better mood. You send him pictures of his drawings and he remarks that he’s already talented with a pencil. You don’t tell him that he’s gotten into reading, too. But you do tell Jason, swearing him to secrecy. 

You look up at Damian as he sits on your porch, an easel and canvas in front of him as he paints your backyard. It’s only been three days but you’d like to think you’ve made an impression on him. He’s woken up earlier than you to feed the animals, he enjoys talking to them and tells you that your defenses are subpar. So you took him into town to grab items to make your fence stronger. 

He hated when the townsfolk would coo at him, remark that he’s such a strong boy for carrying the wood and bags while you carried the metal and other bags. You wonder how he’s going to like the flea market. You hope it won’t be overwhelming for him; you know it was for you the first time you went. 

“What happens when they die?” He suddenly asks, still painting one of your cows. Looking up from your phone, you stare at the back of his head and then the painting. 

“You know how I’m a metahuman, right?” He nods. “I can… see how much longer anything living has. And I can communicate with animals, so, I tell them. I tell them that they don’t have much longer. Sometimes they ask to be left in peace. To die naturally. Other times they tell me to get it over with; they’re ready. If they ask that, I’ll… take them to the butcher. They agree, of course.”

“So the meat we’ve eaten these past days…”

“That was from my chicken Mile and my cow Dan-Loop.”

“Why? How could you?” You notice that his grip on the paintbrush is tightening and you inch closer to him. 

“Because it’s what they wanted. They know they’re farm animals, they know that humans eat their meat. They know. And some of them don’t care. They live happily here. And I give them the option of what they want to do. One time, one of my pigs was dying and SeaSaw told them that he wanted to be released. Travel as far as he could before he returned to the Earth. I watched that pig run and run for a while before he turned and looked at me. He thanked me and went up that hill and stared at the sunset.”

“Isn’t it hard?” He asks. “Raising all these animals knowing you’re going to outlive them.”

“It is. But I also know that I’m giving them an amazing life. It’s better than them being stuck in cruel mills. They’re seen and heard. And trust me, if those ducks and chickens were angry, your hand would be picked at for trying to take their eggs.” Damian nods, looking down at you. You’re looking at your animals, taking in the setting sun. 

“Do you think father would let me start a farm?”

“Maybe. Ask him on a good day. If he does, you can take Jerry. He likes you,” Damian beams, knowing exactly which animal you’re talking about. 

“Okay, thank you.”

—

“Why did you leave and come here?” Damian asks as you’re driving to the flea market. “You mentioned you couldn’t stand being around father.” The question makes you think about your years with Bruce, all the things he’d taught, and the things you spent years unlearning. Things weren’t all bad with Bruce, though. You still cherish your fond memories like the first time he’d taken you to the ice cream parlor or when he’d taken you to the Monterey Bay Aquarium after he saw you watching Nemo too many times in a row for it to be a simple obsession. 

“Bruce and I have a complicated history. And sometimes, to love someone, you need to stay away. I can’t see your father too often; it’s too painful. I care about him; I’m sure he cares about me but it’s too much. We’re too different. And coming here was like…” You purse your lips. “I was finally free from what I'd become. I could live a separate life from my place in the family. I had no obligations here; I made it my own.”

“What’s your place?” He asks, sparing you a glance. 

“I wasn’t the best at what I did. I was angry, a lot. I don’t know if you’ve met yet, but Mr. Fox would say I was moodier than Bruce. I was violent; I wasn’t sure of my place in any of this. I kept trying to prove myself to Bruce but I kept failing. I felt like a mistake for a long while.” He looks down at his lap, messing with his jeans before he speaks up again. 

“What made that feeling go away?”

“Getting hobbies.” You admit. “I drew a lot. I made friends. I got closer to Dick and Jason. I removed Bruce from that pedestal and saw him for the man he is. Not as the man I wanted him to be.” 

“What man is he?”

“He’s like us. He’s flawed and he makes mistakes. He’s not perfect and neither are we. We’re all trying. Now, come on. Your father gave you five thousand so you can buy whatever you want.”

He smiles and grabs the bag from the dashboard, leaving you in the dust while he admires the homemade objects people are selling.

[allfortheslay25]

Dreamscapers pt1

All for the Gravity Falls AU

Text:

Neil: I know that when we started this, you said that there were some things you couldn’t tell me if they were related to your past, but I wonder about the armbands…

Text:

Minyard: First, there is no ‘this’. Second, if you know then why are you asking?

Neil: don’t be like that. I’m curious, you wear them even now but you told Nicky they were your brother—

Minyard: don’t push me, ‘Josten’

Neil: and why not, ‘Mr Minyard’

Minyard: Listen here, just because I blw you doesn’t mean I like you. I tolerate you at best. Now get out and don’t let any of them see you

Run down:

We start with Neil getting dressed in Minyard’s room. (Andrew disguised as Aaron but to Neil, he is only Mr Minyard) Neil starts asking about Minyard’s armbands despite his prior warnings that Minyard would never talk about his past and Neil is only allowed to ask about the present or future. Minyard reminds him as such until Neil tries to bring up that Nicky once mentioned the armbands belonged to Aaron’s brother Andrew. Andrew warns Neil and makes fun of his name (trying to put Neil in his place about secrets since Josten isn’t his real name) Neil does the same back since although he doesn’t know the truth, he does know that the name Mr Minyard is meant to hide something. That prompts Minyard to kick Neil out with some bitter last words

Neil is sent into the rain pour to walk himself home when he hears a commotion from inside just a minute after his leave. Riko is then thrown out the front door by Minyard who ignores Riko’s threats to steal the Mystery Shack

Text:

Neil: Leave them alone, Riko

Riko: Mind your own, Scar Face. You need employment so bad you sell yourself to this white trash. When I steal the deed, y’all never see this place again. Do yourself a favor and find a different bed to warm

Neil tries to make Riko leave since he looks ridiculous, standing in the rain and ruining his nice clothes. Riko spits back at Neil, warning him to find another job since Riko is sure the shack will be his and he will not be offering employment to Neil when it is

Neil punches Riko for implying he was a pro and Riko leaves. Afterward, Riko uses an incantation to summon Bill Cipher and makes a deal for him to steal the deed by invading Minyard’s mind

April and Anais overhears and go to Neil and Nicky for help

Text:

April: Neil! We need your help! Kitty is in trouble!

Neil puts on his flannel and follows April to the shack where everyone is just in time to witness Bill enter Minyard’s mind.

Notes:

- The girls call Minyard, ‘Kitty’ since they refuse to call him dad, and he doesn’t want them calling him Aaron. He’s the guy with cats so Kitty it is

- Riko is not connected to the mafia in this au. He and Tetsuji moved to Oregon to scam ppl with faux divination. So he’s never met Neil, was not friends with Kevin, and his only goals are to uncover the mysteries of the journals and take their power for himself

- Andrew is 42 in this au, Neil is 41 physically but his drivers license states he is about 24-28 since the FBI wanted to keep people from finding him

- While Neil works at the shack, he does do other jobs around Gravity Falls. However it is a running gag that he cannot keep a job for too long so he is constantly being fired or quits.