#i hope you both don't mind me adding your tags

[scorpioriesling]

Hear me out: (an x reader)

Liam, Ridoc and Dain.

Liam/Ridoc/Reader start with some #7 for celebrating.

Goes into a lil bit of #34 ofc cuz alcohol.

#34 plays into #13.

#13 turns into the other first year (whoever isn’t mackin on reader) doin a bit of #61.

Then Dain somehow catches them and they invite him in bc who doesn’t love a squad leader joining his fav first years ;)) with a bit of #68. He’s hesitant but he secretly loves it sooo.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. :)

Life Of The Party

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Modern!Liam x Ridoc x Dain x reader

Warning(s): 18+, mdni, smut

Summary: When attending a sorority party with your two roommates, you never imagined anything could go wrong -- but, how could it be so wrong if it felt so right?

SR’s Note: You guys are HUNGRY for these foursomes lmaoooo I love it. This is my first ever story with Dain... oof, let's see how that goes. I did change up a little, making it more of a modern-college-frat-roomie situation, and Y/N is in her sophomore year with Liam and Ridoc (let's pretend, here) while Dain is in his junior year. Other than that, enjoy some more smut involving our favorite men (; This uses prompts #7, #13, #34, #61, and #68! This is long, and took 3 days to write -- but on God, it might be one of my favorites of all time.

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Y/N, I already told you -- I do not want to go to Violet's party-"

"Oh come onnnn," you whined, sporting a pouty face when Liam frowned at you. "She's our friend, and it'll be really fun!"

Your tone isn't convincing enough.

"I just don't want to go through an entire night watching her and Xaden eat eachother alive-"

"Woah!" Ridoc exclaims, waltzing into the kitchen lazily. He scratched at his tousled hair, his eyes still widening from his slumber. "Who's eating who?"

Liam chuckled at your shared roomate, but you only rolled your eyes.

"Violet is throwing another party tonight," you explained, hoping that the mention of your shared friend would pique Ridoc's interest. "She said it's some kind of fundraiser for her sorority-"

"Ooh, yeah. Uh. I'm out." Ridoc holds up both hands in surrender, and you huff.

"What is it with you two and not wanting to go tonight?" You frown, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's a party, for Christ's sakes -- I figured you of all people wouldn't want to miss that," you accuse, your eyes slicing to Ridoc.

"And you," you continue, zeroing in on Liam. "... wouldn't miss the chance to see your best friend. Isn't it obvious that Xaden will be there?"

Liam shrugs, his eyebrows raising as if he's considering the invitation.

"Yeah, he'll be there -- those two are connected at the hip," Ridoc starts.

"They're connected in more places than just that-"

"Ew!" You shout, covering your face with your hands. "Liam, that's disgusting."

Him and Ridoc howl in laughter as you work to get the mental image of your friend and her boyfriend being... well, connected.

"Anyways," Ridoc says, working to control his breathing. "What I was saying was that if Xaden is there, so is the rest of his frat." He shrugs as though he'd made up his mind.

"And, what's the problem with that?" You ask, brow raised. Before Ridoc can respond, Liam answers for him.

"You know those guys, Y/N -- the short one that tries to be everybody's friend... well, he's okay I guess."

"Sawyer?"

Liam nods. "Yeah, hes fine -- but the other ones, I mean... Bodhi, that freshman Aaric," he grimaces. "Their new VP? What's his name?"

"Dain." Ridoc says flatly, and Liam snaps his fingers before pointing at him.

"Right! Yeah, him." You huff a short laugh.

"I've never even met the guy before, what could be so-"

"Everything, Y/N." Ridoc responds lowly. "Everything, is so wrong with the guy."

You roll your eyes for what felt like the millionth time this evening.

"He isn't just the VP for their frat, ya know." Liam continues, and you slide your gaze to him. "He's the top of their class, apparently he's being considered for the class president role-"

"Okay, how do I not even know who we're talking about?" You ask.

Ridoc holds a flat hand just above his head. "About, this tall? Brown hair, tan-ish guy... I'm sure you've seen him around," he explains. You rack your brain, trying to think of anyone you'd seen on campus with that description. No one was coming to mind, which was concerning since you were sure you'd know someone just a year older than you with that kind of title.

"I don't know," you give up, and Ridoc drops his hand. "I thought their class president title was given to Imogen, anyway?"

Liam shakes his head.

"Nah, they wanted that asshole over her I guess." Ridoc remarks.

You frown. "What is it with this guy that you guys dislike so much?"

They both start talking at once.

Overbearing.

Controlling.

Know-it-all.

Entitled.

Douchey.

"Alright, alright -- I got it," you hold your hands up. "So what, this one person you don't like will be there, big deal."

"Big deal?" Ridoc's voice pitches. "This guy was the one responsible for Halloween last year -- and you remember how long it took us to clean all that up."

Your mind flashed to the memory. Your two roomates didn't live in a house with their fraternity, in fact, they didn't even really have one. Nonetheless, the Halloween prank war between all the fraternities didn't quite go in their favor last year...

...let's just say, they spent more time in the bathroom than you did for the following month. And your shower smelt heavily of eggs and fish.

"Waa waa, so what." You shrugged, and they both looked at you incredulously. "Is it so hard to ignore him? You both know we should be there to support Vi," you try reasoning with them. Liam sighs, running a hand over his face before looking at you solemnly.

"This is her first fundraiser, and she really wants us there."

Ridoc huffs, scratching his post-nap hair again.

"You know Jesinia will be there..." you tease quietly, and Liam's eyebrows raise.

"I'm in," he says immediately, and Ridoc scoffs.

"Dude -- you won't even talk to her until you're two beers in," he says, and Liam rolls his eyes.

"So? It is a party, won't they have-"

"No dude -- it's a fundraiser," Ridoc says slowly. "They won't provide any alcohol, since they're hosting. Sorority rules." He shrugs, and Liam groans.

"Okay -- just hear me out," you say, walking toward the fridge. You open it silently, and gesture to the half-empty boxes of various alcoholic beverages inside. Ridoc shakes his head, and Liam seems to weigh his options.

You stare pleadingly at the pair before Ridoc speaks again.

"Fine. We'll go. Only on one condition. We get plastered first."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You stumbled out the front door, following after your friends as you headed for the sidewalk. Liam said something ahead of you, and Ridoc let out a rediculous laugh.

"W-what... are you guys talking about?" You grinned, and Liam looked over his shoulder at you.

Ridoc let out another chuckle, and the two of them glanced at eachother.

"Nothing, nothing." He mumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

"You know, if Rhi were here, she'd torture the answer out of the both of you." Rhiannon, your third roomate, who was conveniently out of town this weekend visiting her family.

"Good thing she isn't," Ridoc says, tossing an arm around your shoulders. "You're stuck with us this weekend."

You look sidelong at him, giggling at the pink staining his cheeks. He'd chugged three Nutrls before you left, and Liam was in fact already twp beers in -- he shouldn't have any problem talking to his crush.

"Damn! She really decked the place out!"

Ridoc's voice faded as the three of you stalked closer to the soririty house, the music blasting through the wide-open front door. People loitered in the front lawn, enjoying their filled solo-cups while enjoying the nice weather and setting sun.

"Hey, I thought you said no alcohol?"

Ridoc shrugged at Liam's question as you crossed the street, making your way up the stone steps to the front door.

"Maybe it's soda."

A girl to your right laughed loudly, tripping over her own feet as she worked to regain her balance -- using the arm of male next to her, of course. Liam turned sharply, chuckling at his friend's incinuation.

"I can guarantee you... it isn't water, in those cups."

Once crossing through the doorway, you look around in amazement. Purple streamers, multicolored balloons, and silver glitter adorned the high ceilings and grand staircase of the sorority house. It looked like Elle Woods just threw up on the damned place -- if Elle Woods didn't wear pink, anyway.

"Guys!" You heard the familiar shriek of excitement, and you turned to see Violet bounding over to the three of you. She threw her arms around you, and you embraced her right back.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" She looks to Liam, giving him a warm smile.

"Wouldn't miss it," Ridoc says sarcastically, and you elbow him in the ribs. Violet didn't seem to catch his tone.

"So -- what do ya think?" She asks, gesturing to the decorations and the people mingling under them. Liam nods, his eyes peering through the crowd surely in search of the brunette he fancied.

"It's... it's so cute, Vi. You did great," you muster, the effects of the single White Claw lightly clouding your brain. She looks to you again, her eyes wide.

"Can you tell what the theme is?" She asks, and you look around quickly. With all the random decorations, the mix of colors... you spot a blown up plastic snake in the corner, that looked similar to a pool floatie. Shake It Off blaring over the speakers didn't really help your mental state, either.

"Uhh... Taylor Swift?" You guessed. She laughed, tossing her head back.

"No! Silly," she mused, her words dripping with the effects of a drink or two herself. "It's Greek Mythology -- you know, because sororities are, greek?" She shrugs, and you paste on a knowing expression.

"Right! Right, I totally see it now." You didn't see it at all.

She pointed to the snake balloon. "See, this one is like that one goddess with the snake hair, and," she takes ahold of your arm, guiding you further into the foyer. You toss Ridoc an apologetic look, but he only chuckles at your predicament.

"...and I did purple for like, Atremis, ya know... oh, and the silver glitter for like, magic or whatever." You nod as though you understood her reasoning. Was she intoxicated when she came up with this plan?

She lead you into the kitchen, where you were greeted by more familiar faces. She eventually dropped her arm, rushing over to the back door as her boyfriend waltzed in, his posse behind him.

"Babe!" She squealed, running to him and pressing a kiss to his lips. You continued your conversation with Cat, another one of Violet's sorority sisters -- but your attention began to waver as each member of Xaden's frat followed through the door behind him.

Bodhi, of course, walked in and had girls flocking him immediately -- his polite smile and kind eyes were vaguely similar to his cousin's. Aaric, the freshman, followed after; he looked sky, but cute nonetheless.

And then... holy shit.

It may have been the most beautiful man you'd ever seen.

"Yeah, so anyways -- Vi wants me at the booth out back, I'll catch ya later?"

You shake your head, trying to refocus on Cat as she left the kitchen island.

"Yeah... I'll... see ya..."

Fuck.

His toned arms were sun-kissed beneath the thin material of his tank, the clean white of the material only enhancing the contrast between skin and clothing. His hair looked so soft, swooping to the side and revealing his deep brown eyes--

"Might want to close your mouth, Y/N; you'll catch a fly."

You glare over your shoulder, Ridoc's body approaching behind you. You heard his mocking tone before you saw him, walking over with two pink cups in his hands.

"I wasn't..." you start to protest, and he reaches around you to put one in your hand. You swish the liquid around, discerning what he'd just handed you. Water.

"Oh for the love of God -- do not tell me you were seriously checking out--"

You ushed back against him, craning your neck as you held the back of your hand to his lips.

"Shh!"

He leaned in, taking your hand in his as he moved your arm back down to your side. His lips tickled as he spoke softly against your ear, his voice low.

"...Dain, Aetos."

You huffed, lifting the cup to your lips as Ridoc moved behind you, opting to sit on a clear space of countertop as he looked to you quizzically. You took a large gulp, the refreshing feeling a welcome one as opposed to the burn of the alcohol you'd consumed earlier.

"So?" You shrugged, and Ridoc shook his head slowly. "So what if I was?"

He chuckled, pincing the bridge of his nose.

"Just know, I wish you all the luck, Y/N." He says, his tone resigned. You roll your eyes, walking over to stand between his knees. He stares down at you, raising a single eyebrow.

"I don't need, your luck, Ridoc," you say, and his thumb and forefinger lightly grip your chin.

"You don't need, that," he says the word as though its poisonous, glancing toward Dain again. Your eyes follow, watching as he greets a few girls on his way through.

You look back up at your dark-haired friend, your eyes catching on a few strands that fall across his forehead.

"You have no idea, what I need."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

It'd been a pathetic hour that you roamed the house, talking with friends as you searched for Liam. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting a orangey glow throughout the mansion. You dodged person after person, scanning for a certain face you were sure you wouldn't forget.

Did you want to run into him? Oh, yes. But what would you even say?

The thought made your stomach churn.

A stranger to your right brushed past you, uttering a giggly apology as htey continued on their way. Many of the partygoers seemed... more than happy, at that. Where were these people getting the goods?

"In the back!" Violet's voice rang through the hallway, her sing-songy tone ushering people outside. "The booth is in the backyard -- only a dollar!" She called, her face coming into view as more people filed through the kitchen and out into the sun.

She grasped her arm when she found you, her eyes glazed. Her brow furrowed as she looked down at your cup, noticing the emptiness of it.

"You don't look like you're having enough fun," she comments, and you shrug.

"It's a great fundraiser, Vi," you assure her, and she chuckles.

"Wanna drink?"

Now it's your turn to frown in confusion.

"I thought you weren't allowed-"

"We're not," she cuts you off. "But Xaden's frat brought a bunch of coolers -- they're in the back," she shrugs, and your face falls. This entire time, you could've been enjoying yourself more, and didn't know it?

She pats your arm once, then rushes off, ushering more people to the backyard. You round the corner and find Liam in the study, his unmistakable blonde hair glinting with the setting sun. Beside him stood Jesinia, smiling politely at something he was saying.

You didn't want to intrude, but... the girl looked like she might be grateful for it.

"Where the Hell did you get that?" You asked, looking at the Coors Light bottle in Liam's hand. He looked to you, a flash of annoyance and... something else crossing over his face before he answered.

Jesinia beat him to the punch, pointing at the door through the kitchen toward the backyard.

"Xaden and his bros brought them in," he said with a chuckle, glancing down at the poor girl when she didn't laugh with him. You swore, his dorkiness could only go so far -- and this, this was proof.

"Right," you said slowly, glancing over your shoulder and doing a double take when you watched a familiar white tank top saunter through the open door. Liam laughed, lightly shoving your shoulder.

"Hmmm, I see she's taken a liking to Dain Aetos," he dawls, and you glare at him. Jesinia only shrugs, chuckling as you smile knowingly at her.

The three of you are interrupted as a strawberry blonde approaches, leaning into the doorframe as he stares directly at Jesinia.

"Hey, Jes -- play flip cup with me?" He asks, and her cheeks pinken at his request. Nonetheless, she gives Liam a polite nod before joining the new male, leaving the two of you in the study.

Liam tips his bottle back as he watches her walk away, the guy's hand resting on her lower back.

You glance up at him, and he only shakes his head lowly.

"Fucking Sawyer," he grumbles. "Maybe I don't like the guy much."

You place a comforting hand on his upper back, rubbing back in forth comfortingly. His back muscles flex beneath the thin fabric of his black tee, and he looses a long breath.

"Come onnnn; let's go get you a drink."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You'd managed to snag and finish two more drinks before Ridoc caught up with you again -- all the while, avoiding Dain.

"Make a move on your new little crush yet?" Ridoc taunts, and you smack his shoulder.

"No," you say assertively, and he grins down at you.

"She's being a chicken." Liam says, glancing around the full yard over the rim of his cup. You glower at him.

"I am not -- I just... would rather have better conditions to meet him for the first time." Your cheeks flush. A cropped graphic tee and jean shorts didn't exactly scream "fuck me, please"!

Ridoc snorts. "Like, what, in a wedding dress?"

Liam laughs, Ridoc following right along. You roll your eyes in annoyance.

"Why don't you guys leave me alone? Go figure out what those tables are for or something." Their eyes catch on the long white pop-up tables, adorned with a pie at every folding chair. Liam shrugs, tossing his can in a nearby bin before heading that way.

You thank God when Ridoc follows.

"Y/N!"

You hear Imogen's voice over the crowd, and your eyes search for her bright pink hair. When you find it, you start making your way toward her -- next to the kissing booth.

"Listen, Gen, I understand why, but, I'm straight."

She laughs, leaning against the wooden frame that Cat sits behind. She looks miserable, biting on the edge of her solo cup as she sits there.

"No no, not for me," Imogen assures, gesturing to Cat. "My friend here hasn't peed in two hours, andddd since I can't find the other girls, I was hoping maybe you could cover?"

Your brows shoot up, and Cat widens her eyes.

"Please, Y/N -- just for a minute, I really gotta go," she pleads. You look around the backyard, searching from person to person.

You try to ignore the way Dain's muscles flex when he tosses a beanbag.

"Why can't Sloane do it?" You point to the freshman, standing shyly near the entryway to the kitchen.

"Because freshman aren't allowed to run the booths," Imogen says sternly. The idea of sitting here, waiting for some gross guy to come up and pay for a kiss? Gross.

You glance to her again. "Why not Vi?"

Imogen snorts. "Really? You think Xaden Riorson is letting any other man put his mouth on her?"

You shrug in agreement. "Why not you, then?"

She levels a hard stare at you. "I've already done my time with fundraiser booths. No thanks."

You huff. "I'm not even in this sorority-"

"Pleeease," Cat begs, her eyes as round as saucers. "It's just a few minutes, and I've barely had anyone all night." She assures, and you groan in defeat.

"Ughhh, fine." She excitedly slips from behind the booth, and you shuffle to take her spot. She scurries toward the house, and Imogen slaps a hand on the wooden frame once.

"It'll be fine," she reassures. "I think Cat's only made like, five bucks all night."

You sigh, glancing out at the lively scene around you. You spot Ridoc in his red jacket, talking with a redhead near the pie table. Liam is near the cooler again, rummaging through for surely another beer.

"Are you open?"

Your gaze fixes on the male before you, and your breath catches in your throat.

You open your mouth to answer, but it just hangs open. No sound comes out.

"It's... one dollar right?" Dain asks, sitting on the short stool on the other side of the booth. You force your mouth closed -- don't want to catch a fly, right? -- and nod, swallowing hard.

Dain nods once, a light smile playing on his lips as he tears his gaze from yours and moves to take out his wallet. He rifles through it, his long fingers filing between receipts, cards...

Ugh, his hands.

"Shoot, well, I only have a five," he says, his gaze finding yours again. He pulls it free handing it to you. You take it, glancing at the money jar behind the counter to find only a couple of bucks.

"I-I don't have, change," you stutter, and he chuckles.

"Guess I'll just have to redeem all five then — your boyfriend isn’t mad that you’re doing this?”

Your brows knit, and fully furrow when Dain motions to Ridoc.

“He’s absolutely not my boyfriend.” You scoff.

Dain grins.

“Good.”

He leans in immediately, pressing his lips to yours. You don't have time to react as his mouth moves against yours, the kiss feeling like five minutes and only thirty seconds at the same time. When he pulls back, he smiles at you -- his teeth impossibly white.

You blush as he pushes a hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"Four more to go."

You nod, a dorkish grin spreading across your face as he stands. He licks his bottom lip, waving to someone behind him as they call him over. He leans in one more time, speaking while staring you right in the eyes.

"But, we have all night."

With that, he grins and walks off, leaving you flustered and hot and ... everything, all at once. Your chest heaves, the weight of what just happened settling in.

You look across the yard, realizing everyone also just saw that happen.

But, no matter where you look, you only find one pair of deep brown eyes glaring back at you.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Pie time!"

Violet annouces with a clap of her hands, and the crowd gathers before the tables as men from Xaden's frat take their seats.

"I mean, I'm glad you like someone but... him?" Ridoc chastizes, shaking his head as the two of you join the herd.

You scoff. "Ridoc, what is this obsession over Dain Aetos? I mean, really." You ask, and he takes a long swig from his can.

"The guy is just an ass, and thinks he's better than everyone. At everything."

"One more spot!" Xaden calls, motioning to the chair before him. "Somebody come claim it! Only five bucks!"

"And that bothers you...?" You continue, watching as Ridoc's face shifts into a mask of cool calm.

"It bothers me because he isn't better. At anything." He hands you his canister, breaking through the crowd as he makes way for the table. He holds up a $5 bill.

"Ridoc! What are you-"

"I'll take it," he annouces, reveling in a the cheers sounding around him. You shake your head, watching as Xaden takes his cash and then ties his hands behind his back. He smiles cheekily at you, and the male sitting next to him follows his line of sight.

That's when Dain Aetos' eyes meet yours once more.

"3...2...1... go!"

The thoughts that filled your mind were... unholy.

Your eyes were glued to Dain, watching as his face devoured the pie before him. His tongue, stained by the red berries inside, swooped out and into the pie as he feasted on it, licking around the indention he'd made with his teeth.

Gods, his lips had tasted good. Better yet, he still had four more this evening to go.

In your hazy, lust-stricken gaze, you found yourself almost distracted, your eyes catching on the dark head of hair next to the handsome male.

Your mouth watered more, despite your inner protests.

Ridoc was your friend, one of the best at that -- however, your mind began to race watching him nise-deep in the pie tin. The obscene sounds of slurping and sucking didn't help either.

Mental images raced through your head, each one sending more and more flurries through your lower stomach.

Ridoc's lips on yours.

The feeling of Dain's hands on your body while you kissed.

Ridoc over top of you, kissing over your neck and chest.

Dain pulling down your soaking panties.

Ridoc sliding his rough fingers into your wet cunt.

Dain's tongue on your clit as he ate you out.

Ridoc's forearm across your waist, holding you down as you cried out for him-

"Y/N!"

You snapped out of your daze, realizing how far you'd gone into it. Your best friend appeared before you, his shit-eating grin telling you all you needed to know.

"I won, Y/N! I told ya I could," he smirks, his mouth stained a deep pink. You chuckle, watchign as he wiped his lips across the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

"Proud of you," you tease, and he slings an arm over your shoulders. His scent of freshwater and sage wafted in -- you'd never pondered how good he smelled.

"Let's get you another drink, to celebrate."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

You were happy to blame the alcohol for the situation you were in.

Somehow, Violet had convinced you to join the large group game called Medusa -- one you'd never played before. However, all the singles were urged to play and had to pay $1 for what Violet was selling as "the luckiest 10 rounds of your life".

You weren't too sure of that.

The game was simple; every one closed their eyes, and when Violet shouted Medusa, you opened them and looked at another person in the circle. If you locked eyes, you had to kiss -- if the person was not looking at you and instead looking at someone else, you simply waited for the next round.

"Okay everyone, eyes closed!"

Violet of course, wouldn't be participating.

"Medusa!"

You warily opened your eyes, your gaze locking on Imogen. She was looking elsewhere, and somehow, no one locked eyes this round.

"Ooh, okay," Violet mused. "9 rounds left. Eyes closed!"

You obeyed, waiting for her call. Ridoc squirmed beside you, and you huffed in irritation.

Irritation for his movements, and potentially because a certain third year was not participating also.

"Medusa!"

You'd gone three more rounds after that, and by round five someone finally made eye contact with another person. In round eight, Cat and Aaric looked at eachother before he leaned in, pressing his lips to her quickly.

"One I didn't have to pay you for," he smirked, and Cat shoved his shoulder.

"Hush it, freshman."

The next round, your eyes found Liam -- he of course, was not looking at you. You followed his line of sight, straight to Jesinia of course.

But, she was looking at Sawyer.

And he, was looking at her.

The redhead smiled, leaning in and kissing the brunette as though he'd done so a million times. Liam's gaze grew cold, his brows furrowing as he gripped his beer tighter. You wished you could do something, make him feel better some how-

"Eyes closed! Last round!"

You closed your eyes, Ridoc sucking in a breath as he took in his friend's angered expression.

"Medusa!"

You felt Ridoc's eyes on you, burning into the side of your head -- however, your gaze was locked squarely on Liam.

And his, hard and vengeful, was looking right back at you.

Violet gasped, but Liam didn't say a word. In fact, he made a show of standing and walking over to you, not even daring to look sidelong at his crush.

When he was within mere inches of your face, he kneeled, pressing his torso between your parted thighs as you sat helplessly on the plastic folding chair.

"Liam, you don't have to-"

His lips crush yours in an instant, his mouth moving furiously with yours. The taste of his drink felt good on your mouth, even better when he slid his tongue past the seam of your lips. You nearly groaned when his hands found your cheeks, cupping your face with his caring touch so at odds with the way he was practically devouring you-

"Alright, alright. Damn."

Liam pulled away, his darkened blue irises peering up at you from the floor. You grinned, enjoying the view of his handsome face as well as the lingering feel of his mouth on yours. He chuckled, his hands falling from their position as Ridoc continued his brooding beside you.

"He didn't have to," Violet teased. "But, I think he wanted to." She giggled.

Yeah, you'd definately be blaming the alcohol tonight.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

10:07.

How was it already 10 o'clock at night?

You tipped back your cup, welcoming the water into your system once more. You were listening to Sloane, another freshman, drone on about her classes this semester as you worked to regain some sort of control over your body and mind.

The reminders of the last game you'd played though -- you couldn't surpress those.

It was wrong, thinking of your long time friend and roomate in such a way. Never had you been attracted to that blonde head before, but... tonight...

Shit.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab another box of the Coors!"

Your head snapped in the direction of the voice, watching as the third year made his way toward the front door. You felt bad, abandoning Sloane this way, however... you wanted to follow him. You wanted to, but didn't at the same time.

You cut the blonde freshman off with a quick, drunken hug.

"Hey, I'll be right back, I'm so sorry-"

She shook her head, smiling at you.

"Go! Go, I'll catch up with you later."

You gave her a hazy smile before walking (as straight and fast as possible) up to and out of the front door, your eyes scanning the front lawn for that white tank.

Sure enough, there he was -- braced against the side of a huge black truck, reaching into the bed in search of more alcohol.

Bingo.

You walked over, coughing once and working to mask your face in cool indifference.

"Use some help?"

He turned at the sound of your voice, a smile instantly curling his lips.

"From a pretty girl like you?" He hopped off the back, abandoning the beer on the grass as he looked to you. "Anytime."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and he leaned against the side of the Ram.

"Do you have more you need me to-"

"Nah," he said, inching closer to you. His arms crossed over his chest, and you stared up into his deep brown eyes.

"I'd rather just take a minute and... talk,"

You arched a brow, offering to answer whatever he wanted to inquire about. It felt so natural, your conversation coming so easy with him -- that was, until Bodhi appeared in the front door and called to him.

"Dain! Beer? C'mon man," he shouted, and Dain waved him off.

"Guess I should probably take this back inside," he chuckled, leaning to reach for the heavy box. You absentmindedly reached for his arm, your hand bracing against his bicep.

He looked up, your pleading eyes on his face.

"Wait," you said, and he straightened. A small smirk tugged the corner of his lips up, and he stepped closer to you. So close, your chests touched.

"Hm?" He asked, his right hand slowly finding its way to your waist.

"I... uh," you stuttered. "You have four more left to-"

He pulled your waist to his, cutting you off with a kiss to your lips. Your breath hitched, drinking in every inch of his toned body pressed against yours. Both hands now rested on your hips, and your arms tangled around his neck to pull his mouth to yours. He broke away only for a moment, smiling down at you.

"Three."

He kissed you again, harder this time. His lips slid across yours, the sweet taste of whiskey rolling off his mouth and onto yours.

"Two."

You whimpered, parting your lips as his tongue dove into your mouth. He squeezed the exposed skin of your waist, groaning into your mouth as his hardening length made its presence known as it pressed against you.

"One."

He whispered the last word, not going in for more this time. You sighed, looking up at him.

"C'mon," you pleaded. "You still have one left-"

"I'm saving it," he said, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "I want to use it later."

He said it with such sincerity, the soft gaze sweeping over your face that you wished it were later already.

Oh God...

Your pussy clenched at the thought.

"I don't know how we've never met before," he started, shaking his head at you. "You're... not like, anyone I know."

You blushed again, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth.

"Well, I am a sophomore-"

His hands were off of your hips, sliding slowly down as his face fell.

"Wait -- what?"

"Your brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?" You asked. "Is that, an issue?"

He huffed a short sarcastic laugh.

"Uh, yeah," he said, staring at you as he backed up a step. "I'm... I mean, I'm the head of my class, and with the frat -- you know we're not allowed to get involved with girls outside our year."

You rolled your eyes.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

He picked up the box, heaving it onto his shoulder.

"Maybe, but it's the rules."

He started toward the house, and you followed behind -- your steps shaky with the aftereffects of the alcohol. Your head swam, thinking of any way that this situation could be worked around.

"Then why do Xaden and Violet get to be together?"

He sighed, slowing to walk beside you again.

"Because, he's the head of our frat. He doesn't have to follow the rules." He shrugged. "And, quite frankly, as his second in command, I'm more in charge of keeping freshman and sophomores in line anyways."

Your brow furrowed as you approached the front door.

"If you're the VP, why do you have to-"

"Because it's the rules, Y/N."

He walked inside, the light from the mansion bending around his tall frame. Anger welled inside of you -- what a stupid regulation they had. What did it matter to anyone that he was involved with someone only a year younger?

No matter the frustration, your heart still skipped a beat as you though of his touch once more.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

Your mind was a blur as you waded through the crowd in search of your roomates. You thought you spotted Liam, but realized it likely wasn't him. He was probably off brooding somewhere, you were sure. After all, you had passed Jesinia and Sawyer in the study, their mouths in a tango.

God, he was probably pissed.

Finally, Ridoc's familiar red jacket came into view across the yard as he stood talking with a few guys before a bonfire. You reached a hand up, preparing to wave him over.

"Ridoc! Hey-"

Your call was cut off by a gasp. Cold, fermented liquid doused the front of your shirt -- and a freshman girl stood before you in shock.

"Oh my God!" She squeaked. "I'm so sorry, I-"

You held up a hand, your lips pressed into a tight line.

"It's fine." You said, your words short and temper even shorter. Partygoers around you stopped to gawk, staring straight at your chest as the pink liquid soaked through the white fabric. You turned on your heel, embarassment creeping its way up your neck and across your cheeks as you stomped toward the house once more.

You'd ignored the sound of your name behind you, not even stopping to look as you angrily bounded up the stairs and made way for the upstairs bathroom.

The exhaustion of the night weighed heavily on you, and you really just felt like going home at this point -- but door after door, you grew increasingly frustrated as the bathroom was not where you remembered it to be from last time.

You groaned, angry tears pricking your eyes as a couple of seniors walked out of an empty bedroom, glancing pitifully at the front of your favorite tee. You turned around in frustration, the never-ending hallway not yeilding any sort of washroom.

Just then, an iron-grip closed around your arm and yanked you into the vacant bedroom.

* ✧･ﾟ: *

"Here," Ridoc said kindly, pulling you through the door and guiding you to sit on the bed. You obeyed, sitting on the plush mattress and glancing around the rather bare sleeping quarters. He moved before you, unzipping his jacket.

"How did you know this was vancant?" You asked, and he slid the material over his shoulders. His tan skin poked out beneath his own gray t-shirt, the arm holes straining around his biceps.

You tried not to stare.

He chuckled, his fingers hooking under the hem.

"Let's just say... I've been in here before," he winked, lifting his arms over his head and taking his shirt with them.

Holy fuck.

His abs flexed, the tattoos along his left side swirling over his hardened muscle. He sighed as he pulled the shirt completely off, balling it in his hand and extending it to you.

"Here," he said softly, his expression full of concern and ... something else. You silently took it from him, and he breathed deep before settling on his knees between your legs.

Just like Liam had.

No, you scolded yourself. Stop that.

You sat silently, staring down at the floor as he inched closer. His fingers reached for the edge of your own ruined shirt, his eyes asking permission before you nodded.

Yes. Please.

He slowly lifted your shirt, gently pulling it over your head as he sucked in a harsh breath. Goosebumps erupted over your skin, the cool night air coming in from the open window mixed with the way his eyes roved over your exposed top.

Your nipples hardened beneath your lacy bra.

His face inched closer to yours, his right hand pushing your hair behind your ear.

"Can I kiss you right now?"

His question came out strained, his voice gravelly as though he was holding back. Your eyes met his, ablaze with a fiery lust you'd never quite seen before.

You answered wordlessly again, your bottom lip pulling between your teeth as you nodded your reply.

Yes.

He pressed his lips against yours, the touch so gentle and at odds with his usually overecstatic, joyous attitude.

Neither of you moved, his lips stayed on yours and yours stayed on his. You reveled in the feeling, replaying every time you'd thought about this very inappropriate, very sinful thing.

Every time he left the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

Every time he came home late, spending the evening with yet another female.

Every time he cooked breakfast shirtless.

Your panties grew wetter.

He breathed in deep, pressing up onto his knees to kiss you deeper. You leaned back slightly as his hands found the small of your back, pulling you into him as he finally continued the kiss. His soft lips glided on top of yours, the remaining taste of the sweet pie on his mouth a warm welcome.

Just when he swiped his tongue over your lower lip, asking for entrance did you pull back. Your eyes were wild when they met his.

"Ridoc... we can't, this... this is so wrong."

A look of defeat flashed in his eyes before being quickly replaced with something else. His hands caressed your skin, rubbing small circles on your back as he hovered closely to you.

"It doesn't feel wrong to me," he admits, his voice low.

You sigh, your hands draped over his shoulders.

"Tomorrow will be one Hell of a morning-after," you suggest, and he grins.

"I don't care. I'd take a million hellish morning-after's just to do this."

When his lips found yours again, it wasn't soft. It wasn't nice.

It was hungry.

Your hands tangled in his hair, and he groaned when you tugged lightly on it. Your hips moved along the edge of the bed, the growing ache in your lower belly near unbearable as his mouth continued to assault yours.

He seemed to take the hint, one hand moving from your back to press against the fabric of your jean shorts. He rubbed back and forth, his strong fingers pressing into your most sensitive spot.

You didn't care that the window was open. You didn't care that the door was unlocked. You moaned loud, the feeling sending what felt like champagne bubbles right up to your brain.

"Ridoc," you panted, grinding your hips into his touch. "More."

That's all it took.

He pushed you back onto the bed, laying you flat across the plush duvet as he rose, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off along with his shoes. He worked on you next, unzipping your shorts and then hooking his fingers through your beltloops, removing the garment in less than a minute.

"Please," you begged, and he chuckled darkly at you.

"Don't beg," he teased, settling on his knees once more. His breath was warm against your thighs, but his touch was cold as he placed a small kiss to the inside of your left one. "Not yet."

Your mind flashed back to the pie contest, his face smeared with the berry filling, the sounds he made as he ate--

None of that, compared to this.

"Oh my God," you squeaked, your hand finding a fistful of his hair as he licked up your folds. His tongue worked, swirling mercilessly through your folds as you clenched around nothing. You sucked in breath after breath, your head falling back in pleasure as he continued eating you out. The way his lips roved and sucked, his nose nudging your clit with the movement; fuck, it was electrifying.

Your gaze lifted as you heard the doorknob turning, a jolt of fear running through you. Ridoc only paused a moment, looking over his shoulder as the door opened slightly. Your eyes met the wide blue ones you were so familiar with, and his jaw dropped.

"What the fuck-" he muttered, unable to tear his gaze away from your body. He unashamedly looked you over, not moving into or out of the room.

"Liam, please-"

You were cut off with a whine as Ridoc shoved his forefinger and middle inside of you, your face contorting in pleasure. He smirked, looking at his friend once more.

"Ahhh, come on man -- you know you don't want to go back downstairs."

Liam watched, looking almost horrified as Ridoc continued fingering you. The small squeaks coming from you must have propelled him inside, as he quickly crossed the entrance and shut the door. He sat down his glass on the nightstand, his eyes taking in the scene before him.

Ridoc set a punishing pace, curling his fingers inside of you every time he pulled out and re-inserted them.

"Oh God," you whined, and Liam quietly walked around the other side of the bed. He sat behind you, awkwardly for a moment, just watching. Your fingers found your nipples, pinching hard as you toyed with your boobs in front of the two men.

"Seems like you have a little problem," Ridoc taunted, and you arched off the bed a bit. Your gaze foudn Liam sitting behind you, upside down, yes, but you didn't miss the tent in his pants.

No going back now.

"Liam," you whined, feeling your impending orgasm nearing its peak. "I want to cum."

He sucked in a short breath, leaning over on the bed and pressing his lips to yours once. You moaned into the kiss, queaking as his large hands found your breasts and squeezed.

His voice was a mere growl as it found your ear.

“Let me help you with that.”

"Oh fuck!" You chanted, the feeling of Ridoc fingering you and now lapping at your clit almost too much -- especially with the way Liam pinched and rolled his thumbs over your hardened peaks.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming-"

You unleashed your orgasm with a sigh, your quivering hole clenching around Ridoc's digits over, and over, and over again. Your abdominal muscles flexed and unflexed, the feeling of Liam's hands cupping your boobs made you want more.

Before you could think too long about it, Liam was sliding off the bed behind you, his gentle hands guiding you to lie flat on your back. You did as such, submitting to whatever he gave you.

It turns out, he wanted something from you.

Your head hung over the edge of the bed, and your gaze found the floor. Liam hovered over you, the distinct sound of his jeans zipper cut through the otherwise quiet room before his fingers gripped your chin.

He tapped his hard cock on your lips once, twice -- groaning when you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out flat. His fingers pumped his dick above you, before guiding it into your wide mouth.

Fuck.

You garbled around his thick length, the sheer size of it forcing your throat to open wide. He shoved all the way in, his pelvis meeting your nose before he pulled out, and pushed back in, slowly fucking your mouth.

"So fucking good baby,"

You blushed at the praise, your head still swimming with the effects of the alcohol you'd consumed. In the back, you could hear Ridoc's soft praises as he fisted his own cock at the sight.

"So pretty, taking dick down your throat."

Your pussy clenched at his words.

Liam continued thrusting, only slowing when his dick began to lurch. He was close, and you could feel it.

"Fuck -- oh fuck," he chanted, ramming his cock down your throat before halting. He breathed heavily as cum sprayed your throat, his release bittersweet as you swallowed it.

"Mmm yes... swallow all of it."

You do as your told, gulping down the last remnants of his seed before he yanks his cock from you. Gasping for air, your mind swims. Lifting your head up and regaining focus is a monumental task -- and before long, Ridoc is trading places with his roomate.

"Hands and knees, gorgeous."

His rough tone sends a shiver down your spine, but you obey. You lean forward, ass up and pussy spread to Ridoc behind you. Liam appeared before you, leaning onto the bed once more before fisting your hair in his hand. You whimpered, and felt the unmistakable tap of Ridoc's length on your ass cheek.

"Gonna take all of me? Like the good girl you are?"

All you could do was nod, unable to look back at him. Liams fingers toyed with your breasts, his other hand still gripping your hair tight. Your mouth fell open as Ridoc pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, until he was seated at the hilt.

"OH-"

You cried out when he retracted, slamming back into you at full force.

"Fuck, babe -- perfect pussy," he praised, his rough pace already causing a weakness in your knees. Liam licked his lips, his fingers trailing lower toward your aching clit.

"Please -- oh fuck, yes Ridoc," you chanted, lurching forward with every sharp drive he gave you. Your eyes rolled back as Liam found your clit, rubbing slow circles around it.

"What... the Hell... is going on here?"

Your eyes shot open at the tone, your cheeks immediately pinkening in shame. Ridoc nor Liam let up, still rubbing and thrusting into you as though Dain Aetos wasn't standing in the doorway.

"D-Dain.... oh fuck," you groaned before meeting his gaze. His brows narrowed as he took in the scene, though he didn't leave the doorway. "P-please, it's not what it-"

"What it, what, looks like?" He scoffs incredulously. "Because to me, it looks like you're fucking your non-boyfriend, or, boyfriends? Maybe?" He shakes his head, his eyes not so subtly tracing over your form.

Your mouth twists as Ridoc hits a particularly sensitive spot.

"Correction," he says, finally adressing the junior. "We, are fucking, her." He chuckles. "And, no, we're not her boyfriends."

Dain shakes his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Look, I don't give a fuck what you all are. But, I swear to God, everyone can fucking hear you through that window-" he gestures to the open window, moonlight pouring in.

Liam pinches your clit, and you squeal.

"See?" He throws his hands up. "Everyone can fucking hear you."

"Why don't you come shut her up then?" Liam asks, taking on a tone you'd never heard before.

"Yeahhh," Ridoc agrees, his fingers gripping the meat of your ass. "You're the VP here -- teach her a lesson."

Dain sighs, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him.

"I fail to see how this is a good idea," he hesitates, but nonetheless stalks closer to the bed. You peer up at him, your rounded glassy eyes only sending a rush of blood straight to his cock.

"P-please, Dain," you beg, biting your lower lip. "You still... oh," you pause, feeling Liam's fingers rub your clit. "Y-you still have... one more..."

"Oh, I'm well aware." He grumbles, his fingers wrapping around the base of your throat as he squats before you. At eye level, he's even more devastating. He leans in, kissing your lips timidly before backing away, studying you with uncertainty.

"Come onnn," Ridoc pants, egging him on. "I know you want to -- you've been undressing her with your eyes all night."

Dain sighs, his tongue running along his bottom lip before he rises. He unbuckles his belt, letting it fall to the floor before sliding down his jeans. His cock springs free, slapping against his pelvis. He takes it in his hand, rubbing his fingers up and down the length.

"There you go -- now, show her how to be quiet." Liam urges.

Dain steps forward, his darkened eyes meeting yours as he guides his cock to your awaiting mouth. He slides it past your lips, shuddering when you swirl your tongue around the tip.

"Shit," he groans, his hand finding your jaw as he pushes in further. You gag as he stuffs your mouth, reveling in the way he throws his head back in pleasure.

He syncs with Ridoc, his cock pushing down your throat with every thrust Ridoc drives into you. You're moaning, the sound strangled around Dain's dick as he continues fucking your mouth, slow and deliberate.

"Shit, I'm fucking close-"

Ridoc drives in harder, his cock rubbing your g-spot before he bursts inside of you. His warm seed paints your walls white, pushed further inside as he delivers a last few, languid strokes. You clench around him as you find your own release, the fire in your lower abdomen burning hotter than it did the first time you came.

Liam sighs beside you, abandoning your pussy as he makes to rise off the bed. You groan at the sudden loss of Ridoc inside of you and Liam's fingers on your clit, the primary focus now being on Dain and his jerking cock. He growls as he fucks your face faster, his eyes studying your arched back and rounded ass as he drives himself in.

"Fuck sweetheart," he grumbles, his hand cupping your chin as he fucks your face with fervor. "This is what happens when you don't follow the rules, gonna get me in trouble-"

He pull shis cock from you, his hand pumping it before your face as you realize his impending release. You look up at him innocently, laying your tongue out flat for him. He moans, loud and clear, before semen shoots from the head of his cock, painting your face white with each ejaculation.

He breathes heavy, working to come down from his high while the other two quietly dress and make to leave the room. You continue to stare, flashing him an unabashed, drunken grin.

"Maybe I'll break the rules more often, then."

* ✧･ﾟ: *

[messiahzzz]

#yeahhh thats the good stuff#morena is incredibly shrewd and i think quite cunning; she could definitely PLAY the role of ditzy doting mother should the need arise#and she would give a world class performance#and YES definitely has big jewellery energy you can hear her coming from a mile away (if she wants you to hear that is)#i think in a modern au she would have a stack of pandora bracelets on her wrist filled mostly with the colourful lampwork beads#with the errant metal charm/bead here or there#has a few statement dichroic glass pendants that are reminiscent of auroras#i think she'd have lots of fun with fashion/costume jewellery too [via @starfightrpilot]

#i love the knows something about mixology but despises being drunk headcanon#cause i don't know where it came from but i have a little headcanon that the dekarios clan runs a vineyard#i also think she's a very artisic person#i think she's the one who passed that onto gale#i think she's the sort of parent who will encourage thier child's passions while also sharing her own#i saw art made with dried flowers a few months back and my first thought was “this is something morena would do”#it's beautiful a little quirky and requires a lot of patience and precision [via @evenstar-crescentmoon]

assorted morena dekarios headcanons:

she possesses a sharp wit and is very perceptive, but is also incredibly kind and gentle

strong presence & really eclectic taste. she loves bright colors, extravagant patterns, collecting paintings, and all kinds of knick-knacks. her house is a reflection of her personality: warm, welcoming, and cluttered with ✨precision✨

has a penchant for big jewelry (especially necklaces)

gale deems her “unavoidable” because she has a way of seeing right through him, sometimes even going beyond motherly intuition (and because you’d spot her everywhere)

she always strongly supported gale’s individuality and wanted to give him every opportunity to grow into the person he wants to be

this often clashes cause she does worry about his safety constantly

on that note: would do absolutely everything for her son

her ex-husband had little interest in raising gale and deemed him too exhausting/high maintenance. morena eventually encouraged his decision to split, knowing his presence would do more harm than good

loves books but doesn’t bother to keep them in good condition (much to gale’s horror)

as he got older their dynamic grew to resemble a friendship, which is also why he refers to her by her first name

they banter a lot and it is very entertaining to watch/makes their similarities even more obvious

surprisingly strict whenever the situation calls for it. it’s a sudden 180. don’t mess with morena dekarios

claims she’s not interested in gossip, but is very curious nonetheless

possesses extensive mixology knowledge, but hates being drunk. life needs to be experienced to the fullest with all senses at all times

she’s a natural dancer despite not having a whole lot of practice

very welcoming to a romanced!tav and the rest of gale’s new friends. she has already been filled in by tara and withers. naturally, as long as her prince is happy she is as well

almost rivals gale in the duration of his crying during his own wedding. once he begins to read his vows she’s immediately brought to tears

actively tries to get to know a romanced!tav and makes sure they feel included in their family whenever possible, but will also respect if there’s no interest/some apprehension

she is very respectful of gale’s privacy and knows when to step back, albeit no less worried

she has dark, long, curly and thick hair that is hard to tame. (the envy of all her neighbors her age) she usually puts it up in a claw

tara has her own corner in morena’s sitting room, including her very own cozy armchair. no one else is allowed to use it.

[cybergoth1]

can you do some Jason Todd as a husband headcannon pls !! i just know that when he’s healed , he’s hauling his partner and getting TF out of Gotham , and popping out babies (GIRLDAD) and a nice job in a low-key town and maybe becomes a househusband 😋🤭(for real i’m 100% sure he would) but at the same time he is The Jason Todd . Hot , mysterious , emotional but also not , a big fat nerd in a brick body .

you know your daddy's home.

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader.

warnings/tags: fluffy, pre established relationship. my silly drabble about raising a daughter with jason todd. girl dad jason todd. husband jason todd.

author's note: hey babe i turned it into a drabble! hope you don't mind it!

"look, mommy! i'm batman!”

you suppressed a chuckle as you watched your five-year-old daughter standing tall on the couch, wearing a paper mask poorly shaped like batman’s cowl. the little girl came home from school, talking non-stop about the vigilant and refusing to take off her paper mask, even during lunch time, excitedly repeating what her teacher had said about nowday heroes.

"gotham needs me!"

she was trying to make her voice deeper as she jumped onto the floor. the cats, startled by the noise on the wooden floor, bolted away in a stampede.

"you're too pretty to be batman, baby girl".

your husband jason said as he stepped out of the bathroom. the scent of soap and shaving lotion lingered in the air as he walked down the hallway in just his sweatpants. his scars seemed more visible, glistening under the light as drops of water trailed down his bare back and chest.

“but how do you know what he looks like? he's always wearing a mask!” her childish voice rang out indignantly.

he picked her up effortlessly with one hand, while the other gently tugged the paper mask aside to look into her bright blue eyes — blue like his had been before the lazarus pit. her nose, mouth and ears were just like yours, a glimpse of you both in her youthful face.

"he sounds ugly, like a very old sad man. unlike you, princess".

"i'm not a princess, i'm vengeance!"

you laughed behind the stove.

"well, vengeance," he said, walking toward the apartment’s kitchen with her tiny legs wrapped around his hips "you can save gotham after eating your vegetables," he added with a smirk, putting her on the high chair.

she looked at him with wide eyes, as if he’d just handed her a death sentence.

"broccoli?"

"broccoli".

you placed the plate of food in front of her, the broccoli standing out between the rice and meat like a tiny, green nightmare. she looked up at you with pleading eyes, silently appealing to your good side.

you stroked her hair gently.

"if you don’t eat, i'll have to tell batman that his sidekick isn’t eating properly. you can't patrol without eating broccoli," he said, pulling out the chair to sit beside her. that was more than enough. with a disgusted expression, she began to eat, occasionally poking at the broccoli.

"hi, jay," you said, placing your hands on his broad shoulders and giving him a light massage. he softly kissed your left hand before looking up at you.

"how’s my other girl doing?" he asked with a smile, his lips still lingering against your hand. your daughter was so focused on hating the broccoli that she didn’t even notice the display of affection. normally, she would’ve made a gagging noise, followed by a dramatic, “bleh!”.

"she's missing you a lot" you said kissing the top of his head. a familiar scent makes you pause for a moment.

"you're using my shampoo again, aren't you?"

"maybe?"

©cybergoth1, 2025

[aventurineswife]

I cannot stress how much I love your works

So I have a silly request

Aventurine, Dan heng, ratio, Jiaoqiu, moze, sunday, and Caelus (I don't see much love fr himmmm T^T poor racoon bb) when their s/o steals their jacket,

now they see their s/o with their jacket on and reader sees him without his jacket (them looking like a snack I swear with those snatched clothes) and now both get flustered or flirty

-🍮🩵

The Jacket Chronicles

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Caelus x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Moze x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Flustered Reactions, Teasing, Subtle Possessiveness, Playful Tension, Light Romance, Jacket Stealing Trope, Embarrassment, Vulnerability.

Aventurine sat in his study, lounging comfortably in his chair, a glass of wine in hand. His mind was sharp, focused on the calculations for the latest gambit he was orchestrating. The subtle hum of the lights was the only sound filling the air, a contrast to the swirling thoughts in his head.

But suddenly, he paused.

His gaze snapped to the door, where you had just walked in, his jacket draped loosely over your shoulders. The sight was... distracting, to say the least. The soft fabric hung loosely, but it wasn’t the jacket that caught his attention—it was how you wore it, casual yet so undeniably alluring.

You looked up at him, noticing his wide-eyed expression, and smirked. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing this. It’s quite comfortable,” you teased, adjusting the jacket as it fluttered around you. You looked nothing short of a vision, the way the jacket softened your features and added an air of effortless elegance.

Aventurine’s mind immediately went into overdrive. His usual calm demeanor faltered slightly, a grin tugging at his lips as he leaned forward, placing the wine down with a soft thud. “I must admit,” he said, his voice dipping lower, “it looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

The comment had its intended effect. You flushed, a little caught off-guard by the heat in his gaze. But instead of backing away, you shot back with a wink. “Maybe I should just keep it.”

He stood up, taking a slow step toward you, the playful smirk never leaving his face. “Careful, darling. Stealing my jacket is one thing, but you might just end up stealing my heart next.”

You laughed, and he couldn't help but pull you closer, letting the flirty banter continue, both of you lost in the tension that had quietly filled the room.

Dan Heng had just finished checking the controls on the Astral Express when he walked back to his quarters. His movements were careful, measured, a reflection of his usual quiet demeanor. But when he opened the door, his eyes instantly found you—wearing his jacket.

His jacket. The one that was a little too big for you but looked perfect with the way it draped around your figure, your hands tucked into the sleeves. He froze for a moment, his eyes locked on you, unable to mask the heat rising in his chest.

You glanced up at him and smiled, clearly noticing the way he seemed to freeze in place. “Does it look alright?” you asked, your tone light, playful.

Dan Heng’s usual calm composure slipped, just for a moment. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture, and took a step toward you. "You—" He paused, glancing at the way the jacket swayed around you. “It... looks good on you.”

Your teasing smile grew as you shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe I’ll keep it.” You turned to leave, but Dan Heng moved quicker, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“Not without a fight,” he murmured, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your ear. The proximity had your heart racing, and you looked up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

His eyes were intense, flustered but determined. “I think I’d like to see how well you can fight for it.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine. You smirked, leaning into his touch, enjoying the moment of playful tension. Maybe you didn’t want to keep the jacket after all.

Ratio was reviewing some notes when he noticed you walk by, his jacket hanging effortlessly around your shoulders. The dark fabric was a perfect contrast to your figure, and the subtle shift in his gaze was undeniable.

He cleared his throat, his fingers still tapping on the edge of the table as his mind scrambled for something intelligent to say. “I—uh—don’t think you understand how much that jacket means to me,” he said, his words blunt yet carrying a hint of something more.

You turned to face him, the teasing glint in your eyes making his heart skip a beat. “Is that so? I thought it looked better on me than it ever did on you.”

He set down his papers, standing a little straighter. “I’m not sure that’s a fair comparison, my dear. You may look good in it, but there is something about seeing you in my jacket that makes me feel... more than a little possessive.” His eyes flicked to the way the jacket clung to you, the small adjustments you made with it.

You smirked, inching closer, the space between you narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m not allowed to wear it?”

Ratio didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached for the jacket, pulling it closer to you, brushing his fingers along your shoulder. The playful tension between you both was thick in the air, and his voice softened. “Maybe, just this once, I’ll let you keep it. But be warned, I’m not one to share my things lightly.”

The teasing tone, though, never quite left his voice.

Moze’s eyes followed you as you entered the room, his gaze briefly flicking to the jacket you had casually draped over your shoulders. He hadn’t seen it before, but the familiar shade of violet mixed with the scent of his cologne had him instinctively realizing what had happened.

You looked at him, your posture nonchalant, yet there was a certain way the jacket swirled around you that made his breath hitch. He said nothing at first, but the tightness in his chest grew.

You noticed his gaze, the way his expression hardened slightly. “What’s wrong?” you asked, your tone deceptively light. “Don’t you like it?”

Moze’s throat went dry. He swallowed, his usual detached demeanor faltering for a second. “It’s not about liking it,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing as they trailed over the jacket that now seemed to fit you so well, almost too well. “It’s just... not something I’m used to seeing.”

You stepped closer, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you used to seeing?”

His voice lowered, the usual stoic coldness replaced with something a little more vulnerable. “Someone who wears my things... and makes them look better than I do.” His words were a challenge, but also an admission of the strange possessiveness he felt.

You smirked, leaning in just enough to close the distance between you. “Guess that’s your problem then, isn’t it?”

Moze’s lips quirked upward, though his eyes remained sharp, focused on you. “Maybe,” he said quietly. “But it doesn’t mean I’m letting you keep it.”

You grinned at the playful spark in his eye, realizing that perhaps, he wasn’t as emotionless as he wanted you to believe.

The battlefield’s cold winds howled, but inside the medical tent, it was a surprisingly quiet moment. Jiaoqiu sat cross-legged on a cushion, his feather fan resting against his lap. His usual composure was intact despite his pale salmon hair loose around his shoulders and his closed eyes reflecting his blindness. The faint scent of herbs lingered, remnants of his latest alchemical concoction.

"Jiaoqiu, have you seen my—" you started to ask but cut yourself off, realizing the absurdity of the question.

Instead, your attention was drawn to the elegant jacket draped across a chair—light gold with subtle, intricate embroidery that shimmered under the lantern’s glow. Before thinking it through, you slid the jacket on, savoring its warmth and how it carried the faint scent of his medicinal herbs.

“Ah,” Jiaoqiu’s voice was gentle but curious, his ears twitching slightly. “You’ve taken my jacket, haven’t you?”

“How could you possibly tell?” you teased, watching his lips curl into a small smile.

“Call it instinct—or maybe it’s the sound of fabric brushing against your arms,” he replied. He reached out a hand toward you, and you instinctively stepped closer, guiding it to rest against the jacket’s lapel. “Hm. It suits you better than it suits me.”

You chuckled, only to realize he wasn’t wearing his inner robes properly. His upper body was loosely wrapped in a light undershirt, his sharp collarbones and toned chest subtly exposed. The sight made your cheeks flush.

“Jiaoqiu, you’re—”

He tilted his head. “What? Is there something wrong with me?” His voice carried a hint of playfulness, but his hands now rested on his fan, teasingly tapping it against his palm.

“N-no! You just—you look good,” you stammered, trying to hold your composure as your face burned hotter.

His lips quirked up, though his closed eyes betrayed none of his thoughts. “You sound flustered. Could it be that my darling likes me better without my jacket?”

You huffed, trying to change the subject. “Well, you might not get this jacket back anytime soon—it’s incredibly cozy.”

Jiaoqiu leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a soft, teasing lilt. “Then perhaps I should take something of yours to even the score.”

The Astral Express hummed quietly as it sailed through the stars, casting a serene glow over its halls. Sunday stood near the observation deck, staring out at the endless cosmos. Leaving his tailored vest and crisp shirt on display. You’d never seen him like this before, his usually composed demeanor offset by the casual absence of his tailcoat.

“You left this lying around,” you called, stepping into view. Only it wasn’t true—you had “borrowed” it. Sunday turned, his eyes locking onto you, his wings twitching slightly in surprise.

His tailcoat hung loosely on your frame, the asymmetrical white and blue fabric looking far more casual and comfortable than it ever did on him. The scarf, still attached, fluttered slightly as you walked closer.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home in my attire,” Sunday remarked, his tone calm, though a faint hint of pink colored his cheeks.

“You weren’t wearing it, so I thought I’d put it to better use,” you teased.

Sunday raised a brow, his gaze trailing over your figure. “It suits you better than I expected… though, perhaps I’m biased.”

Your playful retort died in your throat as you took in his appearance. Without his tailcoat, his fitted vest accentuated his waist and shoulders. The way his hair fell over his eyes, paired with the faint flutter of his wings, made him look utterly ethereal—and undeniably attractive.

“You—uh—you look…” You trailed off, your cheeks burning.

Sunday smirked softly. “Lost for words? I’m flattered.”

“Don’t get cocky!” you shot back, though your voice betrayed your flustered state.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “You wear it well, my dear, but be careful. I might need to borrow it back… or something else of yours.”

The Astral Express lounge was comfortably warm, but the chill from your earlier excursion lingered on your skin. Spotting Caelus’s jacket on the couch, you couldn’t resist pulling it on. It was heavier than expected, the black fabric adorned with subtle gold accents. You hugged it around yourself, savoring the warmth and the faint scent of him that clung to the fabric.

“Isn’t that mine?” Caelus’s voice startled you. Turning, you found him leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed.

“Uh… maybe?” you replied sheepishly.

His eyes softened as he stepped closer, but then you noticed he wasn’t wearing much—a simple white shirt clung to his torso, highlighting the subtle definition of his chest and shoulders.

“Caelus, you’re—” You couldn’t finish the sentence, your brain short-circuiting at the sight of him.

“I’m what?” he asked, his smirk betraying his amusement. “Cold? I might be… since you stole my jacket.”

Your face flushed. “I didn’t steal it! I borrowed it!”

He grinned, stepping even closer. “Oh? And how long do you plan to keep ‘borrowing’ it?”

“As long as I want,” you retorted, crossing your arms, though the motion only made his jacket swallow you more.

His gaze lingered on you, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “You look… good. Really good.” His voice was quieter now, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Thanks,” you replied, suddenly feeling bold. “But you should know, you look even better without it.”

His blush deepened, and he averted his gaze, muttering, “That’s not fair…”

[pinkyqily]

IT COUPLE JUJU WATKINS X INFLUENCER READER

Summary: You and juju make an appearance at the Super Bowl

A/n: this has to be one of my fav fics to write y'all, not everything is accurate to real life so don't bite dont messenger, credits to @naeemagales who gave me the idea for this and happy readings readers hope you enjoy this your feedbacks are always appreciated 💕.

You loved being a full-time influencer, from building a platform on all your socials to getting really hot deals, getting invited on brand trips, and having big sponsors.

So imagine your surprise when your talent agency called you to let you know that @Lifestyle would pay an all expenses trip.

For you to go to the Super Bowl, and all you had to do was flim a full lent vlog and make short forms videos, the best part wasn't it being it fully paid but you getting to invite a plus one.

This was a lifetime opportunity for you, because an all paid trips, you get to invite someone, watch both Kendrick and Sza perform at the Super Bowl half time, and get to have a good time. You loved the amazing opportunities your job brings for you.

You already had a plus one in mind, your girlfriend juju, but it only depends if she was available.

Being a full-time college athlete was no joke. Practice how many times in a week, then game days on top of that, her brands endorsement.

But trying to ask her wouldn't hurt as long as it doesn't kill you.

Later that night when you guys were on facetime, you made it your mission to ask her.

"You're thinking a lot."you heard her say from the phone.

"I'm not just got a few things on my mind." You responded.

"Which is?". She straight up asked you looking a little more serious.

"I don't know". You told her with an exaggerated sigh at the end

"Baby, you and I both know whatever you're thinking about won't stop until you do something about it so for the second time what's wrong?". She told you with a softer tone.

"Okay, so I was wondering if you would like to go too the super bowl with me." You said to her on the phone really fast hoping she would understand you speaking in 2x speed.

"I didn't get that mind repeating yourself for me again mhm". Ju told, looking directly at the cameras.

You slowly took your time before asking her again.

"Would you Judea skies watkins like to go to the Super Bowl with me?".

"Using my full name is crazy, but I would love to."

"Wait, really? You actually have the time to go. " You told her trying to make sure.

"Baby, I just said yes." She said all whiny.

"Okay just making sure". You told her.

"So that's what made you feel nervous." She said

"Yea this convo done if you're trying to make fun of me". You said rolling your eyes at her.

"I'm just joking".

"You got no jokes Judea".

"Broo."

"Judeaaaa". You said to annoy her if she continued calling you her bro

"Alright, I see how it's." She told you.

Your trip to the Super Bowl was amazing from vlogging what it was like. Ju offering to be your camera women if she can't be in it who says she couldn't flim it.

You filmed so much content in one day, half-time show with Kendrick, and Sza was one to remember

Meeting other creators like you.

But your favorite moment was when the cameras spotted both you and juju in the stands with the caption as It couple. the crowd around you guys started cheering after noticing both raising starts together in the stands.

It had both you and juju cheesing like crazy.

"It couple I kinda like the sound of that". She whispered into your ears once the attention was back on the game.

"Same as a nice ring to it huh". You told her

"How about I put a ring on your finger?". She told you.

"That's music to my ears, but let's not rush things now." You told her.

You even got to see your girlfriend on the Nike ad with many talented players to. This Super Bowl was definitely a night to remember.

Yourusername

Got to spend one of the best moments with my luv liked by jujubballin,raygetsbucket and 30,903 people

Tagged @jujubballin

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[vanesycho]

f!reader x bf!vernon | m.list | wc:0,8k

request:hii can i please request a vernon imagine where svt doesnt believe theyre dating reader because hes so nonchalant but svt finds them either in a sweet or sexual position or something? its up to you! thank you <3

a/n: I apologize to the person who wrote the request. your request was deleted because the tags did not work in a way that I did not understand and I have to repost it...I hope it works this time.

I added a little texting at the end to make it a little more fun, enjoy reading!

"From the world to Vernon." Vernon looked up at Seungkwan's call "Oh sorry, were you saying something?" Kwan rolled his eyes, turned to the front and started muttering to himself "Oh really...What's wrong with this kid, his mind has been elsewhere lately." Jeonghan who entered the room answered him "Don't mess with him, he's probably texting with his girlfriend." It was obvious that the sentence he said was in a mocking tone and a few members laughed at this but Vernon didn't care and continued texting you. He didn't feel the need to prove to anyone that he was dating you because he didn't want to deal with it, and deep down he knew that they were all wrong and he was going to continue this as long as he could.

The rest of the day was spent both texting you and chatting with the others. When it was evening the next day, you were going to his house to surprise him because you missed him. In the meantime, a few members were gathered at his house watching a movie, unaware of everything. Dino, who was bothered by the notifications on Vernon's phone, whined "Yah! Either turn that sound down or answer." Vernon picked up his phone and smiled when he saw that the message was from you.

'I'm outside the door.'

'I missed you...can I see you for a few seconds?'

He cleared his throat and stood up, drawing attention to himself for a moment. "Go on without me, I have something to do, I'll be back." When he realized that they were continuing with the movie without questioning it, he went to the door. You ran to him as soon as you saw him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. His arms that had been waiting for you found your waist and pulled you closer, burying his head in your neck and breathing in your scent. "I missed you." He mumbled, you chuckled and when you pulled away, he kissed you on the lips. "Did I come at the wrong time?" You knew the others were home so you didn't want to disturb them, but your longing for him got the better of you.

Vernon shook his head, one hand moving to your cheek, feeling him stroke it with his thumb. “It’s okay, after all, they wouldn’t believe me even if I said my girlfriend was here.” You laughed at that, he would send you a few voice recordings when they talked about Vernon lying, and it was definitely worth listening to. “So..When are we going to prove this to them?” you asked, although you didn’t mind it, you were curious about how far he would go. Vernon closed the gap between you again, his hand on your cheek moving to your neck, slowly pulling you closer to him as he murmured “I don’t really care if they believe me or not. All I care about is you right here with me, so just let me take care of you.”

His lips brushed gently against yours, and you couldn’t wait any longer because of your longing for him, and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, kissing his lips more passionately. He laughed at how hungry you were in between the kisses, and didn’t hesitate to respond. He sucked your lower lip gently and his hand started to roam your body to feel every part of you that he missed. You opened your mouth and brushed your tongue against his-

"WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING??" Hoshi's shout echoed in the dark street, you backed away in fear and turned to the owner of the voice. His shout must have caught the attention of the other members because some of them opened the door and moved towards you while others settled at the window. "I think it's time they believe us now." You looked at the eyes looking at you as Vernon spoke as if nothing had happened. Dino was the last one to leave the door and complained "The movie is half-finished, can't you be surprised by this later?" When the others ignored him, he muttered a curse and went back to watch it alone. Kwan pursed his lips and folded his arms "So you weren't lying the whole time?" Vernon frowned in disbelief "Why would I lie about this?" And you guys tried to understand what he was saying by stealing glances at each other as Kwan continued to rant.

Once the strange event was over, you were invited to watch the rest of the movie. You were curled up on the couch with Vernon, your head on his chest. His hand was on your shoulder, he kissed your head, and still unused to this situation, the others exchanged strange glances. At least he wouldn’t be made fun of anymore, even if it was in a strange way.

[nanivinsmoke]

✩ Love After War

♪ please forgive me, baby…..don't you love it when we fight?♪

✩ logan 'wolverine’ howlett x mutant!fem reader

✩ tags: a little angst, cursing, mentions of blood, makeup sex, degrading, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, squirting, clawing kink (don’t judge me), mentions of breeding, face sitting, sadism, etc….

✩ note: had deadpool 3 wolverine in mind when making this, i love older men. listen to the song for added vibes

you slammed your glass down on the bar top, cracking it, causing your friends and him to look over at you. you could feel his deep brown eyes scan your face, and you quickly met them; eyes holding nothing but anger.

“uh oh, looks like someone’s on their period! anyone have a tampon?” wade joked, hoping to ease some tension, but you weren’t in the mood for him, not now.

“shut the fuck up wade!” there was silence but everyone’s face said it all. it was unlike you to curse and yell at wade, usually you would joke with him or egg him on; but tonight was different. you were pissed. pissed at logan.

you turned to look at the male, whom downed his shot of whiskey like it was water.

“how can you sit here, celebrating like you didn’t just try to sacrifice yourself and leave me behind?” your voice cracked at the end, making his hazel eyes widened. it had dawned on him that he had hurt you, he was going to sacrifice himself to save this universe; which would ultimately leavethe only person who cared about him all alone to reap in their sorrows.

he said nothing and got up from his bar stool, digging into his suit and throwing out a wad of cash on the mahogany counter top; before reaching over to grab your hand—leading you out of the bar.

“taking you home.” he muttered, pushing the bar’s wooden door open which slammed behind the both of you. wade was the first one to turn and speak, “oh those two are about to fuck hard!”

using his claws to unlock a random car, the two of you hopped in; with him in the driver seat and you in the passenger—silence simmering between the two of you. there was nothing more for you to say, you said everything, now the cards were on his lap.

on the way up to your apartment, you gave him the cold shoulder—your back towards him and he to notice to it. he couldn’t help his honey colored eyes from dropping down to your plump ass; loving the way the leather clung to your body. he watched your ass sway and switch with each stride you took as the two of you entered your apartment.

you kicked off your shoes and turned to look at him, still pissed off. how could he not say anything? didn’t he love you?

“so you’re just going to stand there? and—“ you were cut off as the mutant pressed his lips against your’s; the scruffiness of his mustache scratching your top lip while his musky scent flooded your nose, making you melt into the kiss. he held the back of your head, holding you while your body started to get weak—his tongue dominating yours once he slipped it in. the taste of the whiskey he downed minutes ago, warmed up your mouth.

and when he pulled away, you were breathless, “im sorry, I wasn’t considering how you felt in that moment—“ you held a finger up to his lip, silencing him. you were angry, that was a fact, but the way he just kissed you; had you feeling another emotion—one that surpassed the anger.

“you’re about to make it up to me, right now.” you slowly stripped in front of him, your eyes glued to his as you stepped out of your suit—tossing it somewhere across the room—before you reached behind you to undo your bra.

he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to put his hands all over you, have you say his name over and over again; he had to fuck you. logan sauntered over to you and pulled you into another kiss, this one more rougher than the last. in an instant he had you hoisted up into the air, your legs wrapped around his waist as he led you over to your black plush couch—siting down while you straddled him.

his huge calloused hands trailed all over you body, running up and down your smooth back; before finally resting on your ass. you could feel hard he was underneath his suit and that’s when you realized he was still clothed. you were beyond impatient and he knew it, he could smell how bad you wanted him; so he was going to give you exactly what you needed.

he held onto you as he laid down on your couch, pulling you by your hips, onto his face—he used his teeth to tear your panties aside; giving him full access to your needy cunt. you let out moan as he lapped up your juices, savoring your delectable flavor like he was a dog who had just gotten some water.

his mustache tickled your clit in the right way, mraking you slowly grind your hips against his face while you hands clutched your tender breasts. his tongue worked in overdrive, swirling your swollen bud against it; before he began to suck on it. your hands dropped from your breasts and onto his soft brown locks; gripping it tightly while your rode his face.

“fuck….gonna—shit—logan!” you exclaimed, orgasm hitting you hard while he continued to eat you out. your body was hot and your legs tightened around his head, before loosening as he pulled you off of his face. he gripped your neck and smashed his lips onto yours, your tongue immediately falling into his mouth—your juices sweet on your tongue.

using your powers you ripped off his yellow and blue hero suit, unable to take it any longer. you needed him inside you now.

“please lo….fuck me hard~” you begged, hand immediately griping his fat leaky tip—causing the older male to suck in some air. he was quick, pulling you onto his lap and pushing his leaky head to your sodden entrance; stretching you out to fit his cock and his cock only.

you grip his shoulders, bracing yourself as pushed himself all the way inside of you. “logan…!” you whined, eyes fluttering shut once he filled you up; slowly rocking his hips to get you used to his size. he gritted his teeth and kept one hand on the top of your ass; keeping you in place.

“you can take it, right doll?” his words made your cunt flutter and you nodded your head, moving your hips to match his rhythm—which made his dick rub against your spot. he was so big and the more you moved, the more you were getting addicted to him. his scent, the way he would grunt from time to time and how perfect he fit inside you—everything about this man drove you insane. no wonder you fell in love with him.

you were coming undone by the second and it was driving logan feral. he watched as your movements became faster, your noises becoming louder and you throwing your head back—it fueled him, he needed to break you. logan pushed your back down, making your torso meet his chest—closing the space between the two of you—before he proceeded to slide down and bringing his hips upwards, to pound you.

your eyes shot open from the impact and as you opened your mouth to speak, only whines came out. this is exactly what you wanted—no this is what you needed. you couldn’t help, but to bring your head up and kiss him. after all, he was fucking you so good.

“that’s it….take it like the slut that you are~” he praised once you pulled away, his hips still pistoning ferociously in and out of your cunt. everything about this was nasty, the sounds you and your bodies were making and how he was fucking you—had you cumming for the second time tonight.

“that’s my girl. cum all over it,” his voice deep in your ear while your orgasm shot through you. you felt like you were reaching nirvana and you were loving it.

logan slowed down his stroke, giving you a moment to calm down, however it gave you the opportunity to take control. you sat up and gripped his hair in a tight fist, catching him by surprise before you repeatedly moved your lower half up and down on his hard cock. due to the pain he received, his claws unsheathed, and it made you even wetter as an idea popped up into your nasty little head.

“fuck!” he growled, watching as you moved like a bunny, taking every single inch he had. “put them inside of me, lo~” you moaned, tugging on his hair and keeping eye contact with him.

he rose an eyebrow and chuckled, “not gonna happen, bub.” you whined and pulled on his hair some more, slowing down your movements as well.

“please…you know i deserve it—shit, im a big girl. i can take it” he stared at you with low lidded eyes, loving how sexy you looked on top of him. the way your body glistened with sweat and illuminated from the moonlight that shone through your apartment’s window; helped him realize something. he was a fool for trying to sacrifice himself and leave you all alone.

“alright, princess. you can take it, right?.” he didn’t hesitate to stick his claws into yours sides, causing you to gasp and pull his hair some more. it felt like you were being pierced with fire and you could feel the blood trickle out of you. but, you weren’t worried not bit. you were a mutant after all, your regeneration factor kicked in seconds after.

you looked down at him and smiled, a euphoric feeling taking over your body—you were going to cum once more; draining him in the process. he couldn’t help but chuckle, “crazy bitch.”

he kept his claws in place while you grinding your hips in steady pace, making him rub against that soft spongy spot. you were cumming, the stimulation from his cock and his claws were going to make you cum—hard.

“cumming! cumming so hard for you~” you whined, ass clapping against his pelvis while you started to bounce. logan grunted and pushed his hips upwards, halting your movements as you came—a clear stream of liquid shot out of you; shocking him.

“did you just squirt, princess?” his voice was panty wetting deep when he spoke and you let out a moan in response. he stuck his claws in deeper and began to pound you you, catching you off guard and making you scream. he closed his beautiful eyes and let out a primal growl, emptying his load into you with a few more pumps. the two of you stayed like that, his cock twitching while he panted your walls milky white.

he opened his eyes and pressed his lips against yours, your lips intwining with one another, before he parted.

“god I love it when we fight. im never leaving you, i promise doll.”

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

[emilys-bangs]

The last thing you reblogged gave me an idea !

Touch starved Emily who is friends with you but would never dare ask you for unnecessary hugs etc., you two are close but she doesn’t want to cross that bridge since she definitely likes you a lot more than just a friend and also she’s scared of being so open and vulnerable that she admits she needs a hug and a cuddle.

You two are on a case once again, end up rooming together and there’s only one bed. You both don't really mind and go to sleep, each one on their respective side of the bed - except when you wake up in the middle of the night, Emily is cuddled around you, having subconsciously seeked your touch while she’s asleep.

You can decide how to go from there if this idea is any good to you, no worries if not and I hope you have a great week 😘😘

midas touch | e.p

Tags: touch starved Emily, room sharing, bed sharing, fluff, a ridiculous amount of yearning

Word count: 2.5k

Tysm for requesting, I hope you have a great week as well! I sincerely thank that one post about touch starved Emily that made us all go insane <3

You’d have to be blind not to notice Emily’s affinity for touch.

It’s something you’ve picked up on after a mere week in the BAU, and honestly, you’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like she craves touch, physically needs the added comfort of hands wrapping around elbows, arms slung across shoulders and casual side-hugs. In the more lax confines of Rossi’s living room or o’keefe’s, it’s not unusual to see her wrapped around somebody, or at least closely sharing what’s meant to be personal space. 

At work, however, it’s different; a bit more subtle, but still palpably flowing with love—the way she sneaks behind Garcia’s chair and wraps her arms around her neck in hello, Emily’s cheek pressing against the analyst’s. How she runs her fingers through Spencer’s messy curls, and how—despite his protests—he lets her, almost imperceptibly leaning into her hand before she pulls away. Her hip is frequently attached to JJ’s, their temples touching as she slides her palm into the back pocket of JJ’s jeans. Rossi is given paternal kisses on the cheek, Morgan dragged around with his hand in hers, their fingers interlocking in a weave of pale and dark. Even Hotch gets his fair share of physical affection from her, though more subtle but no less loving; a tugging at his belt loops, a nimble fixing of his tie, the brush of her fingers along his elbow.

Everyone gets a piece of Emily’s attention. 

Everyone except you.

It upsets you in ways you can’t fully explain—at least not without admitting to yourself that you’re falling deeply and helplessly in love with her. None of it remotely makes sense; despite her very deliberately withholding her touch from you, she’s been nothing but lovely, always having your back and gently correcting you when you slip up. 

But still, when an overbooked hotel forces Hotch to relay the unfortunate news of doubling up and she turns to you, surprise renders you silent. 

“Me and you?” Emily asks, paying no mind to JJ next to her.

You speak through your dry throat, “Um—yeah, sure.”

Hotch places the key in your hand, glad to have one pair down. You dig it into the flesh of your palm.

“I’ll take that one, thank you.” Rossi plucks a key from Hotch’s hand and turns away, leisurely walking to the elevator as protests rise behind him.

Hotch shakes his head, exasperated. You almost feel sorry for him. “Morgan?” He says, looking at him. Morgan nods, which leaves JJ with Reid.

Reid looks pleased; JJ less so, but she doesn’t protest as she takes the key from Hotch.

“Aww, good luck, pretty girl.” Emily coos, cupping JJ’s cheek and tapping it playfully. Jealousy stirs in your stomach, hot and acidic as JJ shrugs off her hand with an eye roll, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

The key is in your hand so you turn on your heel, a bad taste in your mouth as Reid starts to protest, the sound getting lost somewhere between Emily’s soft laughs.

She knows them longer than she knows you, you think as you take the stairs two at a time, trying to outrun the beating of your heart. Your somewhat blurry eyes pick out the door with the matching number on your key. Your legs take you to it, almost on autopilot.

“Hey, wait up,” Emily’s voice carries, reaching you in a cloud of spun silk. There’s a rush of air behind you and you feel her creeping over your shoulder, the scent of her perfume choking you sweetly. “You don’t want me to sleep in the hall, do you?”

You can’t bring yourself to rise to the teasing in her voice. Fitting the key in the lock with unsteady fingers, you mumble, “Would’a let you in if you’d knocked.”

But trying to keep your distance doesn’t work, because the one bed in the room glares at you as soon as you push the door open.

Your throat goes dry. 

Emily hovers impatiently at your back and you swallow as you take a step into the threshold of the room, wondering how the hell she’d share a bed with you when she seems reluctant to touch you in the first place.

Panicked, you take your bag and head into the bathroom before Emily can say anything, desperately needing a moment to compose yourself. It’s safe to say you spend more time in there than you usually would, lengthening your short routine to busy yourself.

Only when you’ve semi-calmed down do you go out, finding her perched on the edge of the large—king sized, at least—bed.

“Hey. Are you okay with this?” Emily’s eyes are wide and dark, shining with concern. 

There’s no place for you to sleep anyway if you said no, but somehow you get the feeling she’d make it work if you were uncomfortable. A confused rush of emotion runs hot under your skin; lingering jealousy and ever present bitterness and confusing pleasure at her concern.

God, you need to go to bed.

“I’m fine with it,” you force a smile. It must not be very convincing, because Emily frowns, a delicate pull drawing her brows together. Just before she says something, you speak. “Are you okay with it?”

That snaps her out of it. “Yeah,” Emily murmurs, a dimple winking at you as she gives you a small smile, “as long as you don’t kick.”

You didn’t expect her to agree so easily. Some part of you wonders if she’s lying, but you can’t look at her eyes long enough to decipher that—you’re mildly afraid if you sunk into their depths you’d never be able to claw your way out.

“I haven’t had any complaints,” you try to shrug casually. “Do you prefer a side?”

“No, go ahead. It doesn’t matter what side I sleep on, I always somehow find my way in the middle.”

That makes you crack a smile.

The bathroom door clicks shut behind her and you press your knuckles into your eyes, wondering if you can possibly get through this night without losing your already delicate composure.

It’s just a bed, you tell yourself as you take out a pair of sweatpants to serve as pajamas. And it’s just for one night. It’s fine.

It’s fine. Sure it is.

You’re already in bed and beneath the sheets when Emily walks out of the bathroom. It’s a mistake to look at her, because you think you’ve just fallen deeper in love.

She’s shaking her hair out from the confines of its ponytail and it falls in soft waves around her shoulders, curling at the ends where the water sprayed it. A cotton tank top gently hugs her body, and pale blue shorts skim the tops of her thighs.

She’s not wearing a bra.

You’re staring.

“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting to share tonight,” Emily smiles sheepishly as she lifts the covers and climbs into the bed. A lump is lodged in your throat at the sight of her bare legs slipping through the sheets, shimmering softly from her lotion. It smells sweet, she smells sweet—like warm cocoa butter—and it takes everything in you not to inhale deeply like a creep.

“Neither was I.” You croak. Emily settles her head on her pillow and you try not to stare at her lashes, so naturally long and thick even without her usual mascara.

She’s literally going to be the death of you.

“G’night,” you mumble and turn away before she can answer. The heat in your cheeks burns, and you dig them into the pillow in hopes of cooling them down.

“Night,” Emily whispers back. The sheets rustle as she presumably turns, too.

Needless to say, it takes a while for you to fall asleep. 

It must happen at some point, though, because something wakes you. You open your eyes to the darkness of the room, unsure what it is. You just know that you’re abnormally warm and trapped beneath something smelling like cocoa butter.

Emily.

Your sluggish brain slowly puts the pieces together. Her arm is around your neck, cutting across your chest; her thigh is hitched over your hip. Cold fingertips are hooked into the collar of your t-shirt and you shiver despite the warmth of your own body. Slow breaths puff across your neck, warm and even.

Briefly, you think you’re dreaming, but just as quickly that thought dissipates. She’s too real, too warm—and anyway your imagination could never come up with something as divine as this.

You’re not completely innocent either. Your arm is hooked around her waist, your skin directly touching the warm skin of her waist. Her tank top has risen up and your blurry eyes catch a tattoo on her hipbone; a faded butterfly.

You should let her go. 

It’s an internal battle, because she fits there, perfectly, and even though you know it’s wrong, you close your eyes and continue holding her. 

It’s wrong, it’s so wrong. She doesn’t want your touch. She’s made that perfectly clear, but her warm body, the soft tickle of her hair, they cloud your senses, fog your brain and hide all traces of reason or sensibility.

But still, half asleep or not, you can’t betray her trust like this.

You’re just about to force yourself to let go when Emily snuggles closer, a long sigh escaping through her nose. Her lashes tickle your skin, wispy and light across your neck as she nestles into your collarbone.

Fuck.

You hold still and wait for her to move again. She doesn’t, other than the steady rise and fall of her chest, so you close your eyes too. You would’ve thought it would be difficult to fall asleep with almost every inch of her body touching every inch of yours, but you’re encompassed in warmth and softness and the scent of cocoa butter. 

Really, it only takes a minute before you’re asleep again.

———

She’s still in your arms when you wake up. Your alarm didn’t ring yet—it must’ve been a combination of Emily’s warmth and your internal clock that woke you up.

Her head is now on your pillow, one of her knees slotted between yours and her arm around your waist. She’s like a clingy koala, even in her sleep, and it only makes your heart ache.

Through the blurriness in your vision you see the small freckles that dot her cheeks. They’re tiny, almost unnoticeable, scattered over the bridge of her nose and under her swooping lashes. Her fingers tighten in your shirt and again the guilt surfaces, but it’s so slow to rise in the pale morning light, when you’re sluggish with sleep.

Emily’s eyes flutter open. 

Shit, you freeze, your muscles stiffening. 

You’re caught.

Suddenly you’re staring into dark chips of obsidian, clouds of sleep swirling through them. At first Emily gives no reaction, but then her brain evidently catches up and her eyes widen, her fingers letting go of your shirt.

Just before you apologize, she does.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts. Her voice is raspy and you fight the shiver before it travels down your spine. “I get really—”

“Clingy,” you mumble. “Yeah, I know. It’s obvious.” Your voice is soft, mainly because you’re too tired to fight with your own demons so early in the morning.

“I’m really sorry,” Emily whispers again, mortified. Her cheeks flush a pretty pink as she retracts her arm and her leg, curling back into her side of the bed. The sheets she leaves behind are warm, and you fight the urge to place your hand where she once was.

“S’okay. You do it with everyone, I know that.” Then, because it’s the morning and your brain is half asleep and still fogged from holding her, you ask, “Why not with me, though?”

Her teeth chew down on her lip. “Why not with you, what?” She mumbles.

“Emily,” you sigh, “it’s too early for you to mess with my head. You know what.”

Emily gives a sigh of her own. She doesn’t look at you as she fiddles with the hem of her tank top and drags it back down, hiding the exposed sliver of her torso. It doesn’t help that your eyes follow her movements, because her shorts have ridden up her thighs.

“It means…more when it’s you.” She eventually says, her voice quiet. Your breath hitches and she continues looking down, frowning at the hem of her tank top. “Everything does. Can’t touch you like that and pretend it means nothing.”

The slight slur to her voice makes her confession all the more intimate. As does her bed head, the red sleep lines on the underside of her arm. This is a soft Emily, a vulnerable one, and she’s laying herself bare for you in the morning light while sleep still lingers in both your eyes.

It only confirms your love for her.

Your relief is palpable; it quickly shifts to affection, something flowery crowding the back of your throat and making it hard to swallow. She doesn’t hate you, she doesn’t think you’re disgusting or repulsive. 

She couldn’t touch you because it would give her away. Because it’s the most genuine aspect of her, one she can’t dampen or hide any more than she can stop her heart from beating.

It seems almost too big a revelation for this small hotel room bathed in morning light. Still, your hand reaches for hers. You wrap your fingers around her own, both of them now resting gently on her stomach.

“It doesn’t have to mean nothing.” You whisper.

Emily’s eyes snap to yours. They’re like the black, bitter coffee you have no choice but knock back in precincts all over the country. They make your heart race, because they come closer—she comes closer—until both your heads are resting on the same pillow again. Emily cups your joint hands with her free one, reverently protecting the tenderness of your touch.

“You’re…” Her breath hitches and she falters, then sucks in a breath, “You’re telling me you want this?”

You squeeze her fingers. “More than anything.”

Emily blows out a low sigh. You bring your free hand up to trace the curve of her brow; she leans into it. “I do, too.” She confesses. “More than anything.”

Your thumb travels down to the corner of her mouth. “Then there’s nothing stopping us. Is there?” You ask gently.

“No.” Emily sighs. “Nothing.”

She tilts her head, lets you continue exploring her face with your fingertips. Her features are gently traced; the bridge of her nose and the outline of her lips and the shape of her brows. Slowly, her knee worms its way between both of yours.

You smile and Emily smiles back, a shy dimple in her cheek. 

“Be clingy. With me,” you murmur, keeping your voice low because you’re afraid love already spills from it, “I want you to be.”

Her nose nuzzles into your cheek. “You’ll soon regret saying that.” Emily mumbles, the vibration of her voice reverberating through your skin. It fills you with strange peace.

“Never.” You whisper.

Until the alarm rings, the two of you spend your time erasing away the boundaries, learning the lines of each other’s bodies with your fingertips with slow confidence.

Because now, you have all the time in the world.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism

[torgawl]

#yes to all of this + i thought judgeman opening its eyes could be related to higuruma and yuuji 'tricking' judgeman into judging sukuna for#his recent crimes (the ones he was actually responsible for in shibuya) and judgeman being finally aware of it (while it wasn't before as#yuuji was sentenced for it the first time) made it see the truth in the way you said! and thus higuruma and judgeman being on the same side#at last#but whats intriguing and also scary in this is that sukuna is aware of the ct and how it works (as he was still in yuuji's body during the#first trial) so he knows how the entire thing works + he's very smart.... and he seemed very confident during the entire thing#so does it mean judgeman and higuruma finally agree or that the justice is broken and in favour of sukuna here. idk idk but i cant wait#to see what it will be!!! prob in a dozen of chapters akjfhjkefh

tags by @bitevangouine

i wonder what this means

we know judgeman's appearance is similar to lady justice, who has a blindfold over her eyes, to represent impartial or blind justice. it's interesting that during sukuna's trial, and subsequent death penalty veredict, the stitches break on one side and that eye opens. something that didn't happen during the first death penalty delivered to yuuji despite both eyes opening up. we know everything higuruma is aware about his own ct, and ce in general, he grasped through reverse engeneering. his surprise about judgeman confiscating sukuna's cursed tool and not the cursed technique highlights that higuruma is only aware of his own technique due to things he was able to experience and deduce from the short time that has passed since he became a sorcerer. it's safe to say he had never persecuted someone who used a cursed tool before and therefore was unaware of this aspect of his technique (similar situations have happened before to characters like geto and even the way mahoraga works). this makes me wonder if judgeman's abilities are something we and higuruma have limited information on and there's something else going on, hinting at a possible outcome for higuruma/higuruma's character.

judgeman's eye opening is especially interesting because that is exactly the stance higuruma decided to take once he lost faith in the justice system. jujutsu kaisen and the concept of cursed energy and cursed techniques are very based in buddhist philosophy, or rather the power system is, and more specifically the concept of suffering. buddha recognised there was suffering in life and started guiding people into following a practice to get rid of that suffering, through the four noble truths the noble eightfold path. which ultimately would result in liberation from the samsara, cycle of rebirth and suffering. a lot of that lifestyle is learning how to properly process suffering in a way that's beneficial to the individual with the goal of achieving enlightment. in jjk suffering directly creates cursed energy and when that suffering sort of accumulates it originates cursed spirits. jujutsu sorcerers are basically people able to process their own suffering and their own ce to fight and exorcise the suffering that's constantly emerging from humanity (tying deeply with the core theme of jjk and a big plot point - the merging). you could even draw parallels between ways individuals cope with their own pain and their cursed techniques, which is very obvious in characters like geto (ingesting curses through cursed spirit manipulation akin to bottling up his own feelings and letting that suffering eat him from the inside out), for example. where am i going with this? i'm not sure (sorry if you read all of this expecting a really cool theory) but what if this is sort of an awakening moment for higuruma? a moment where his technique will finally align with his beliefs? i just don't believe the differences in judgeman throughout the story are a coincidence. not when judgeman also has this form, with both its eyes completely shut.

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

A good grade.

Pairing: Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader Words count: 4844 Rating: +18, MDNI Summary: You always thought you would have a future in the art world, until you met Mr. Miller, your professor who decided to make your life hell. What are you willing to do for a good grade? Tags: perv!Joel, soft!Joel, power imbalance, degradation, smut, blackmail, reader is described having female genitalia, no other description of her is given, unspecified age gap (in my mind 24/45 but you can imagine whatever, they’re both grown up anyway), unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but you know, do better irl), oral (f receiving), mention of blowjob, edging, edging with a brush, creampie, pet names, slurs, Joel has a dirty mouth, a lot of swearing, some reader's thoughts marked in italics.

Disclaimers: English is not my first language, very poorly proofread, no beta, it's all my fault and I'm very sorry! I like art but I'm not an expert, I've never taken lessons (well, in high school I did but it was art history and it was only theoretical) and I don't really know how they work, I made it all up so if it doesn't adhere to reality please excuse me. I hope you like it anyway, the other morning I woke up with the idea of ​​Joel painting me as one of his French girls (heheheheh) and I started writing this thing 💀

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know. Thanks to anyone who reads, I hope you like it ♥️

You’ve always loved art, since high school it’s always been your favorite subject and drawing and painting your outlet, your way of expressing yourself. Your teachers have always praised you, considering your works not only perfectly executed but significant, mature, full of pathos. Everyone has always told you that you had an eye for recognizing artistic value, you’ve always been the best in your class and you’ve worked hard to get here.

You graduated with excellent grades and were accepted into a prestigious master's program. You would like to become a professional artist or at least an art critic.

You had a bright future ahead of you, until you met Professor Joel Miller.

He has done nothing but criticize you, your skills and your work from the very first day. 

And he always does it deliberately, in front of everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you never get more than F for every work you submit. The disdain with which he treats you makes you feel like a failure and your breath die in your throat every time he lays eyes on you and says the most hateful words you’ve ever heard about yourself. Today it happened again. You spent sleepless nights working on this portrait, begging the model called by Professor Miller to see you after class hours. You even offered to pay her and she was kind, she didn’t ask for an outrageous amount despite the fact that she could have taken much more lucrative jobs instead of posing for you. You’re just a master’s student trying to support herself by working nights in a bar. 

“What is this?” he thundered looking at your painting “You are only getting worse, miss, I have never seen anything like this. It is indecent that a person like you tries to make art, it should be prohibited by law. Look at this, wrong proportions, no harmony, no attention to detail, nothing. This does not even look like the same person I had pose for hours in front of you. You should be ashamed to present a work like this after 6 months of course” 

You won't be able to finish your master's degree unless you get a passing grade in Professor Miller's course, but he doesn't seem at all inclined to give you even a measly D.

It’s a nightmare.

You'd be forced to start all over again, ask your parents for financial help, which is the last thing you want to do when they've already sacrificed so much to help you pay for college, or do the unthinkable and give up on all your dreams, the career you have cultivated with strength and passion throughout your life up until now.

You decide to make a last-ditch effort and try to talk to Mr Miller during his office hours.

You've always avoided it until now because you thought things would get better but it's the third F you get and you can't afford to go on like this. 

The idea of ​​being alone with him doesn't excite you at all, but you hate losing everything you've worked so hard for even more.

You take a deep breath before knocking on the door, terrified of what he might say to you.

Mr Miller is also an established artist and his work has been appreciated abroad so his disapproval could really preclude you from many opportunities. 

“Come in” even from behind closed door his voice sends shivers down your spine.

You walk in muttering “good afternoon” feeling like a complete idiot, you are already convinced that it was a mistake to come to him, nothing will change his mind. 

Joel is sitting behind his desk, frowning as he corrects tests. He looks up from the papers only when you are in front of him “Oh. it's you,” he says in his usual dismissive tone of voice “What do you want miss?” 

You clear your throat and murmur, “I...” his gaze is already back on the tests, he doesn't even look at your face as he fills the paper with red marks and writes a big circled F at the top, the assignment of some other hapless person like you who will find himself failing his class. Incredible anger mounts in your body, you clench your fists and say "excuse me" in a stern voice. 

It infuriates you, it's maddening how he can't even treat you as a human being for a second. 

"What do you want?" he asks annoyed looking back up at you "and be quick about it, you are wasting my time." 

“I'd like to know what I need to do to have you evaluate me favorably” you try to keep your tone as detached and respectful as possible even though you despise the man in front of you with every fiber of your body. 

“Nothing, you can't do anything, I thought you had figured it out by now, are you also stupid besides not having the slightest talent?”

“Actually...fuck, I don't think I am that bad. And I think you are judging me too harshly,” you spit out feeling tears stinging your eyes. You promised yourself to keep calm but the way he is treating you only makes you want to insult him.

“I advise you to moderate your tone if you don't want to be expelled as well as failed in my class.”

He has the upper hand, you can't do anything about it. A sense of frustration and helplessness crackles under your skin as you plead with him, “Please Mr Miller there must be something I can do to change things. Anything...I…I don't want to fail.” 

An evil grin paints on his face “how much do you care about it?” 

“It's the only thing I care about, please, art means everything to me” you look at him feeling your whole essence crumble in front of him, you are desperate and tired of struggling, you just want to find a way to work things out. You have very good grades in all the other courses, he is the only one stopping you from achieving what you want most in the world.

“Actually you could do something to make it better,” Joel suggests, and you cry, ”Please, I'll do anything.” 

“Anything?” he probes ”are you sure?” His smug, dangerous expression unnerves you, maybe you shouldn't have made yourself so vulnerable in front of him, but there's no turning back now. "Yes," you shriek.

He leans against the back of the chair while continuing to sneer under his mustache “Well, then I have an offer for you. I'm working on a series of paintings of women, you could pose for me.” 

“Me?” you ask confused, the last thing you expected was for him to ask you to paint you.  

“Why not, if nothing else you're pretty,” he admits, and it's the first nice thing about you that's ever come out of his mouth. 

You wonder what the scam is behind his proposal, it can't be that easy, he's probably going to ask you to pose with some repulsive animal or in a way that makes you look completely idiotic or he's just pretending that this is the solution but then he's going to blackmail you and make you regret setting foot in his office.

He writes something on a post-it note and hands it to you “Meet me at this address tomorrow night at 8” he orders you “don't be late” 

“I really...” you try to say. 

“What? Is there something more urgent you need to do besides securing good grades?” he raises an eyebrow scrutinizing your astonished face. 

“No it's just that...I'm supposed to be working at that time.” You mutter.

“Well get your shift changed, or ask someone to fill in for you, pretend to be sick, I don't care, just show up.” He barks at you. 

“Okay,” you agree. You can't say no, it's your last resort, either that or total defeat. 

You walk out of his office with the feeling that you have gotten into big trouble. 

_____________________________

You get confirmation of this the next day when you show up at the address written by Professor Joel. It's on a suburban street with little traffic, in front of you is what looks like an abandoned former factory. A blast of cold air makes you shiver as you ring an old intercom near the front door. You huddle in your coat, wondering where the hell you are. Maybe he gave you the wrong address just to make fun of you, you took two buses to get here, at the very least you'll soon find out your professor isn't even here. 

Surprisingly, he answers you instead, his thick voice ordering you to come up. You enter through the doorway into a dusty, bare lobby, only an old freight elevator in front of you. You push the button and the elevator car begins to descend with a sinister, metallic sound. "What the hell is this place?” you ask yourself "my god, I'm going to end up dead and thrown in a dumpster". You get on the elevator with your heart in your throat praying that there isn't a serial killer waiting for you on the other side. 

The doors suddenly open wide onto a large room with concrete columns. You step out and look around, there is a large table in the corner, chock full of artists' materials, tempera, canvases, oil paints, watercolors, all thrown in bulk. Various canvases are resting on pedestals scattered around the room, and others lie leaning against the wall. There is an old leather couch in the corner and a double mattress resting on wooden pallets on the other side. Several rugs are spread on the floor. It's all messy and chaotic, but it definitely has the look of an art studio. 

"Oh, you're here at last," Joel grunts, popping up from behind a pillar holding a dirty brush stained with red tempera. 

He is wearing a pair of frayed jeans and a white T-shirt stained in paint, he is disheveled and barefoot. 

He doesn't even look like your professor; he always wears suits and perfectly ironed shirts at university. 

Two large leaded windows divided into small squares open on the wall in front of you. 

It’s dark by now, so the entire room is softly lit by several lamps and candles scattered around. 

“Where should I stand to pose?” you don't intend to put in more than is necessary; spending time with this obnoxious man is the last thing you want to do today. 

“Sit on the couch,” Joel orders, pointing to the old leather ruin to your right, ”I'll prepare the necessities and we'll get started.” 

You sit, quietly, dreading what lies ahead. 

Joel picks up a blank canvas and places it on a stand, takes a graphite pencil from the table and orders you " Undress" 

You squint your eyes, squeaking “I'm sorry, what?”

“I'm making a series of artistic nudes, didn't I tell you?” he grins 

“No, you don’t” you retort. 

Fucking bastard. 

“Strip” he repeats firmly. 

“But I don't-”

“Look, you're already irritating me, either take off your fucking clothes or get out of here” 

You've seen people pose nude in your art classes before, even in Professor Joel's class, and all you've ever cared about was doing a good job, but now it's different. It's just you and him, in a place in the middle of nowhere, you weren't warned before, and more importantly, he makes you uncomfortable. 

His gaze has done nothing but judge you from the first moment it landed on you. You don't want to lose that last bit of dignity you still preserve and let him see you in your most intimate form. 

“So what have you decided?” Joel presses you. 

With extreme reluctance, you begin to take off your coat, laying it on the couch. What else can you do? By now you have fallen into a trap, either you do this or your grade at the end of the course will be F. 

F for failure.

“Damn asshole,” you think, ”I hope I never see you again in my life after your fucking course is over.” 

The resentment must be clear on your face because Joel mocks you “Oh come on, don't pout like that. There's nothing underneath that I haven't seen a hundred times before. It's just tits and a cunt” he concludes in a dismissive tone, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

He rolls his eyes when after some hesitation you slip off the T-shirt you are wearing, revealing a light pink lace bra. 

He curls his lips "cute," he whispers in a lascivious tone " take that off too." 

“But Mr Miller I...” you try to retort

“Go ahead and take it off,” your arms reach for your back, you undo the hooks of your bra and drop it to the floor. You cannot believe this is happening, you are bare-chested in front of your professor. 

"Very well..." he acquiesces, "you see, everything is easier when you cooperate." 

He strokes his beard as he glances at you remove your shoes and pulling down your jeans, the same smug, dangerous smile he had in his office returns to peep across his face.

“Good girl.” 

You feel a knot in your stomach. And you who thought that commitment and talent were enough to get results...poor naive girl. 

You should get out of here and go to the dean and report him for unethical conduct but you suddenly realize that he may be the first, but he won't be the last. 

"Lie down on the couch," Joel whispers to you, his gaze not leaving your body, hungry and demanding. 

You don't want to be here, yet you feel you can't do anything else at this point. 

"Raise your right arm above your head," Joel instructs, "and bend your legs slightly." 

“Like this. Don't move," Joel stands in front of the canvas and begins to trace marks on the surface. His hand moves quickly, his fingers run over the traced lines smudging them. 

You remain still as he ordered you, feeling goosebumps across your body and your nipples harden from the cold. 

You have to admit to yourself that it is fascinating to watch him work; his gaze is alert and sure, his hands move expertly and competently. He is certainly talented. 

Joel observes the work done so far, scratching his chin, adding a few touches here and there as his eyes scan the entire surface of the canvas.

Maybe he really just wants to paint you and you're making a big deal out of nothing, maybe this will end well after all. He moves the easel to one side of the sofa you assume to look at you from another angle until he growls “Spread your legs for me, darling” 

“But I don't-”

“I need more shadows on your  body”

“What?” you glance at him, this sounds like a lame excuse. 

“Spread your legs” he repeats ”come on” 

You do so, feeling his eyes everywhere on you, feeding on every uncovered inch of your skin. And for some reason you cannot explain, you feel your body react under his gaze. You peak at the outline of his cock straining under his jeans, a rush of adrenaline rushes through you, a flush of arousal between your legs. 

No, you can't. 

You cannot crave for him to look at you. He's your professor who lured you here under false pretenses. 

Yet you realize how incredibly handsome he is. So far you had only thought of him as your teacher and had never truly paused to observe him, especially since he always treated you like a dirtbag. 

“Perfect, now stay still like this,” he mutters.

He hums as you do “Such a good girl for me” in a mellifluous and manipulative tone.

You feel his voice penetrate deep into your bones and another thrill of arousal runs through you all, gliding under your skin and straight to your pussy. 

This is so fucked up but on the other hand you are thrilled by the idea of ​​ending up in one of his paintings.

He makes a couple of changes to the sketch and then walks over to you, sitting on the armrest of the couch. He watches you intently, as if he wants to study every tiny detail about you, you still have your panties on but you've never felt more naked than that.

“Hmm, someone is wet.” he observes, gazing at the wet spot on your underwear. “It’s all for me?”

“I…uh…no, absolutely not” You don't want to admit it even to yourself but the situation is turning you on, no matter how wrong it is. 

“Honey, I advise you never to play poker,” he sneers. You look at him puzzled, and he adds, “You're not good at bluffing at all.”

When he reaches out a hand to touch you, you almost tremble, it's as if your body is crying out to him “take me. use me.”

All you ever wanted from the beginning was his approval and now somehow he seems to recognize something in you. You just want to stop arguing, to stop fighting, to stop feeling like you are worth less than nothing, you just want to know that you still have a future that consists of not settling for a job that you don't love and doesn't allow you to feel fulfilled and let you get the results you know you deserve. 

And most of all, you want him to be on your side.

“You're such a pretty little thing, you know that?” his voice gruels as his fingers run from your ankle to your knee and then up to your inner thigh. You stiff, feeling your heart raging up under your ribcage and a fresh flush of arousal dampening your cunt.

How did you never realize how sexy this man is? Now that his gaze has softened you notice the deep brown of his eyes, with some hazel undertones, and how he lights up as he stares at you. 

God, you want him so bad right now. 

You are almost on the verge of grabbing his wrist and placing his big hand on your pussy already, but you decide to let him. 

His fingers move slowly over your skin; instead of touching you where you need it most, his hand stops at your hip, fiddling with the hem of your panties. 

"Can I?" he grunts. 

You nod silently and he demands “I need you to use your words, baby. Speak to me”

“Yes” you breath 

He grins as he places his other hand on your hip and begins to pull down your panties. You lift your pelvis to ease him, and he comments, "mmm, so eager. You’re such a slut, aren’t you?”

You feel your cheeks on fire as you cannot take your eyes off him, desperately in need of his hands, his lips, his tongue and his cock. You want it all, right now. So maybe he’s right, you’re a slut and you don’t even care. 

Joel calmly moves your panties down your legs and brings them to his nose, inhaling your scent. “Sweet. I bet you taste even better.”

He gets up from the couch, tucking your panties into his jeans pocket, and takes a clean brush from a container resting on the table. He sits back right next to you, and grins. 

He caresses the inside of your leg with the brush, the feeling of the bristles flowing over your skin is incredible, soft and intense at the same time, leisurely moving on your inner thigh, raising up closer and closer to your pussy, his eyes set in yours, mesmerized by you.

You are subjugated by him as he fondles you, going up your belly with his brush, deliberately ignoring your pussy, moving deftly over every curve of your body. It is as if he is painting you, as if he has made you his work of art.

The bristles rub over your rib cage, slowly, then your breasts, moving in concentric circles from your areola to your nipples. He passes the brush back and forth over your hard buds and a deep moan escapes from your throat. “Please, Mr Miller” you whine. 

“You can call me Joel, darling” he whispers “what do you need?” 

“I…fuck” You’re dripping wet, your voice is a wail and your body is itching to be touched. 

“Say it.” he orders you, ”I want to hear it.”

“I want - fuck - my pussy” you blather, you are not even able to form a complete sentence right now.

Joel laughs faintly, descending again on your abdomen, very slowly, until he reaches your mound. He rubs the bristles from right to left lingeringly, then lowering again, descending on your outer lips, first one side and then the other. And then again and again. 

When he finally brushes over your clit, you are so pent up and needy that you arch your back, emitting a throaty moan. 

“Oh God! Oh my God”

Joel lowers the brush to your clit, surrounding it with the bristles, pushing and making concentric circles. He stops when he feels you on the edge. 

And then he does it all again, circling and pressing, jerking your bundle of nerves with the brush. And then a third time. 

You’re a crying mess at this point, mind completely numb and your body covered in sweat.

He spreads your folds with his thumbs and sighs, “Look at this pussy, all nice and wet for me, I can’t wait to dip into your sweet honey, babe”

He throws the brush on the floor, it falls with a dull thud bouncing on the carpet. 

“So fucking perfect” 

You squeeze your eyes whining “please" a riot of emotions assail you, your body is so on the edge you could explode just by the way he looks at you, moistening his lips with his tongue.

He puts his arms around your neck, “cling to me,” he whispers. You do as he says, instinctively encircling his waist with your legs, clinging to his body with all your strength as he carries you to the bed and lays you gently on top.

He undresses, staying in his boxers in front of you. 

You can't take your eyes off him, gazing at his wide shoulders, his broad chest, his soft belly with a thin strip of hair running down into his boxers. 

He kneels on the bed, facing you, gently spreading your legs and moving between them. 

He lowers himself on you, placing a kiss on your clit, making you whimper another pathetic "please." 

He sticks his tongue out and runs it flat across your folds, up and down, one hand firmly clinging to your hip, his fingers digging into your skin. 

"I was right, you taste amazing," he murmurs against your skin. 

You are no longer thinking about anything right now, not about your master's degree, evaluations or the fact that he is your teacher. 

You feel his nose hitting on your clit as he eagerly licks your folds, opening them with two fingers to sink his tongue in. 

You bite your lower lip, stifling your moans, burying a hand in his dark curls, pulling him toward you “oh fuck, yes”.

His tongue encircles your hard clit, swirling around, his lips lace over it sucking greedily.

“You don’t need to hold back, you can be as loud as you want in here, no one will hear us. Let me hear you, baby. I wanna know how you sound when you come” 

He doesn't stop sucking and licking until you feel your orgasm mount inside you like a flooding river, invading your body, curving your toes, clenching your fists on the sheet beneath you and rolling your hips on his face, wetting his lips, his chin, dripping onto your inner thigh. 

“Yeah, baby, come apart on my tongue, just like that”

He licks you clean until you calm down, devouring your juices to the last drop and then looks up at you “you have no idea how beautiful you are, starving for my cock” he groans “god, I must have you right now, I must make you mine, you hungry little whore”

You wait for nothing else, it seems your thirst has no way to quench today.

“Please, Joel,”

He pulls off his boxers, throwing them on the floor, his cock springs free and is incredibly hard, you can't stop looking at it. He's big, so big you don't even know how he's going to fit all the way inside you but you don’t care. “Fill me up, Joel, please”

“Yeah? You want this big cock inside you? Want me to fill you up so good baby?” He grumbles.

“Please, Joel, it’s all I need” you whine. 

He lies on top of you, tapping your lips a few times with the tip, running it along your folds and wetting it with your juices, aligning himself with your opening, “I'll give you what you want, then.”

He nudges at your hole a moment before he enters you, just the tip, pressing gently to let you get used to his intrusion. 

You moan feverishly, clinging to his back, bucking your hips toward him “more, please, more” you plea. 

As he plunges inside you, he stares at your face, as if he doesn’t want to miss a single second of your reactions, when he’s ball deep into you you let out an incoherent whine so graveling it doesn’t even sounds like your voice. 

He begins to pump into you as you circle his waist with your legs again, pushing to feel him deeper, your hands roaming in his graying hair. 

“Here you go, taking me so well princess, you’re so good to me” 

When his lips settle on yours you realize that you had not yet kissed until this moment. His lips are soft, demanding, his tongue penetrates your mouth licking eagerly, and you are more than happy to respond, savoring his taste of mint and cigarettes. 

One of his hands kneads your breast, his fingers close on one of your nipples as his cock doesn't stop sinking inside you.

You moan into his mouth feeling like you are on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall into the sinful pit of hell. 

“Where do you want me?” he whispers in your ear, and your voice comes out broken from the back of your throat  ”Inside. please. I'm - fuck - I'm on the pill.” 

You feel him spilling his load inside you a moment later, painting your inner wall with his hot sticky cum. 

You feel delirious and exhausted, guilty for what you just did. Your moral code has just been shattered under the hot weight of his body.

He kisses you again, lingering on your bottom lip. “You’re so much better than I thought,” he chuckles. 

He moves away from you and stands up naked to return to the sketch. He traces a few lines and makes some adjustments as you stare at him in amazement.

“Can you show me?” you ask. “Yes, come here,” he replies. You get up and stand next to him to observe the canvas. Your body is sketched on it and it looks perfect, you have never seen yourself so beautiful.

“You can go if you want, I’m done for today” 

“I- I don’t want to”

“Do you want more?” he sneers “god, you really are a slut.” he comments as he gets closer to you. 

He fucks you two more times, the first time he makes you get on all fours, licking your pussy from behind and then sinking into you while he holds you by the hips, his cock slamming against your cervix and his balls against your ass. Then you’re too eager to have him in your mouth, to taste your flavor mixed with his, so you offer to give him a blowjob and he fucks your mouth before digging back into your pussy again.

He drives you back to campus. “I may be an asshole, but I won’t let you walk around alone at night,” he says. 

You get out of his car feeling like you’re in a bubble, like everything that happened was just a surreal dream you can’t wake up from. You collapse into your bed after throwing your clothes haphazardly on the floor. When you wake up the next morning you feel like shit. 

You don't know how boldly you will look your classmates in the eye, but you can't skip class, and the thought of seeing Joel again thrills you, no matter how wrong it is. 

When Joel enters the classroom, he ignores you, probably so as not to arouse suspicion; it would be too strange for him to treat you with regard after denigrating you for months.

He begins returning graded tests proceedings slowly as usual, moving between desks and laying down the papers without making any comment. The test that rests on your desk has a circled A at the top.

Tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @baronessvonglitter @lemon-nomel @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed @pedrostories

[hotvintagepoll]

Conrad Veidt and Mary Philbin (The Last Performance, The Man Who Laughs)—I admit I haven't seen The Last Performance yet but it looks like they were a couple in that movie (albeit horror-style) so I'm hoping it counts. In the Man Who Laughs they were incredibly sweet, lighting up with joy in each other's presence through the entire movie and constantly holding hands and touching. I once heard it described "you don't have to be sold on the idea that those characters were in love" and it's true!

William Powell and Myrna Loy (The Thin Man films)—i know they will have been submitted already but What If They Haven't Been!!!! the screen couple so hot together that people assumed they were married in real life! they match each others snark and dry deliveries SO well, theyre so married i still keep them tucked away in my mind as The Bar of established couples for movies. its also THEIR season rn new years is THE season for the thin man so a vote for loy-powell is a vote for love

This is round 2 of a mini tournament. Each poll lasts for three days. If you'd like to send additional propaganda supporting your favorite hot couple, you can reblog this post with your propaganda added, send it to my asks, or tag me in it. To vote in all the polls, click here. Happy holidays!

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Veidt and Philbin:

Loy and Powell:

William Powell and Myrna Loy from The Thin Man series. Glamorous and witty, with the banter of a will they or won't they couple combined with the mischievous affection of the happily married. And they're detectives!

They're ridiculously in love with each other, genuinely enjoy spending time together, respect each other, and just look at them:

He's dapper! She's gorgeous! Asta is adorable! They're simply the best!

Nick & Nora Charles, my pre-Code LOVES. Wikipedia describes them in one line as a couple who enjoy “copious drinking and flirtatious banter,” and they’re right for that.

Myrna Loy and William Powell, their delight in each other on screen makes me deliriously happy every time I watch them. I’ll even watch the later Thin Man movies, even if they aren’t great, just for those two flirting and smirking knowingly at each other. Watching them as Nick and Nora, you just know those characters really enjoy being with each other more than anyone else.

They had sizzling chemistry, and their real life friendship meant that they actually enjoyed being around each other, and it showed on screen.

I know I'm probably not the only one suggesting them, but I HAVE to nominate my favorite on-screen duo: Myrna Loy and William Powell. The chemistry between them has rarely been equaled; they're like the fun, cool couple that's clearly in love without ever being obnoxious about it. I love all of their movies so much, but my favorites are the Thin Man Series, Libeled Lady, Love Crazy, and I Love You Again. Obviously, I'm not alone, seeing as they had 13 movies together. Also, them+Asta? True double income, no kids goals.

(I know other people will be saying this but One Must Be Sure). MYRNA LOY and WILLIAM POWELL. From The Thin Man (1934), After the Thin Man (1936), and all the other Thin Man movies etc. They're just so into each other in such an equitable way, they push each others buttons and tease each other while drinking like fishes and solving mysteries and it's REALLY HOT. They both always had a twinkle in their eyes and adorably wrinkled their noses at each other.

Myrna Loy and William Powell, who are both life goals and wife goals simultaneously. The ultimate gender envy couple.

[leafostuff]

Private Appreciation [FT. TripleS Nien]

Tags: smut, established relationship, slow stripping, body worshipping, cunnilingus (at least an attempt lol)

Author's Note: quite short but it was fun writing, really into Nien lately so i had to write something about her, it does count as my September upload

I have been feeling a bit down lately so it took me longer than expected to finally finish the smut (started writing in 20/8/24), i hope yall enjoy it even though the end may feel a bit rushed.

=================================

“Baby…im horny”

“Nien, what the fuck?”

Honest question: was this the appropriate time for such a saying?

you and your girlfriend Nien are cuddling on your couch, watching some random romcom movie on a saturday afternoon, you would've gone outside and had a normal date but today your laziness was next level so you decided to stay at home, it's not like it was gonna get any less hot.

And here’s Nien, telling you the most random thing you heard this week (and for the time you know her, she said a lot of random things) during a movie where it's not like there is a sex or kissing since its was only the first 25 minutes of the movie, so there wasn't anything to trigger her.

“What do you mean ‘what the fuck’?” She whines while her eyes look as tired as ever. “I am feeling hot, wet and it's sure as hell not making it easier for me with all of the sexual tension going between them” she complains while pointing at the screen.

“They are just… flirting” you say, a bit confused

“And?! I can tell 30 minutes from now they are banging” she annoyingly added while her hand goes to grab some popcorn, cutely munching on it.

“Nien are…is it that-”

“NO ITS NOT THAT TIME OF YOUR MONTH” she responded, now angry at you. “I am just horny, and wet, and i need you RIGHT NOW,” she explains.

“In the middle of the movie though?? I already paid fo-” You wanted to ask when suddenly Nien leans forward to capture your lips and quickly releasing, leaving you surprised.

“Please jagi…?”

Its unfair how weak you are to her, the pleading puppy eyes that look at you with glimmer in her pupils, her innocent and sweet smile that will one day will be the cause of your death, and her nickname for you that sends tingles to your brain to switch into ‘yes’ mode almost automatically for her.

You sigh in defeat, its not like you couldve changed her mind anyways.

“Ok babe…lets do it” you say

“Yayyyy, thank you baby” she responds, pulling you into a tight embrace. “You are the best, you know that?”

“Brat” is the only word you can think to yourself when you see how happy she is as you cant help yourself but lean in and mesh your lips with hers engaging in a slow, lazy yet very sensual makeout session.

It's quite clear how much both of you enjoy this, making hums and quiet whimpers in between each kiss while your hands roams around each other’s back. Slowly you could feel Nien slowly fall into the couch with you joining her as now you are on top of herz still focusing on the kiss.

Release yourself from the kiss and look at her. Wearing a pink tube top that shows her smooth belly and tiny navel in their full glory paired with denim jeans that make her look more curvy than she is, her eyes look directly into yours with a mix of excitement and arousal, so you ask.

“Bed?”

“No, on the couch” she answers, “don't wanna move” she lazily said with a wide smile, with that logic you won't look for any arguments with her.

“Okay babe… what do you want me to do?” You ask, in the end, it's her wish to do this so who are you to not let her have it her way?

“My tummy…kiss it” she cutely pleads, you know how important foreplay is for Nien as in her eyes, foreplay is the key for having the best time. So nod with a smile before lowering your face to be parallel to her belly, take one last look at her before planting your first kiss barely above her navel, sending tingles directly to her brain.

“Ngh..yes…” she hums in excitement while closing her eyes, seeing her reception to your first kiss was good you continue peppering kisses all around her navel. Sometimes giving a teasing lick that makes her elicit a quiet moan.

“My pants…Ah-baby…” she breathes 

“What about them babe? I can't read your mind” You teasingly ask, knowing exactly what she wants you to do with them but hearing her say it is part of the fun for you.

“Nghh…take them off” she instructs as you oblige, your fingers working diligently as each button of her jeans that you pop, you place a soft kiss directly to her belly button, after the last button is undone you lower her denim clothing down her thighs, revealing her white panties with a visable stain in the middle.

“You weren't joking when you said you were wet”

“shut up” she moaned, giving you a light smack on the head. “take the panties… off too baby".

“Should I continue kissing?” A simple question in which Nien just nodded, your hands now went to her panties, sliding them off slowly, letting the friction drive her insane as your girlfriend takes her hands and plants them on the back of your head.

Eventually, you leave her completely naked waist down, letting you see her soft thighs and her glistening sex without any obstruction as you could feel yourself get harder by the view. “What now babe?” You ask, waiting for your next orders.

“One hand on my thigh… and-” she stops for a second to release a small moan. “Kiss higher” It's hard for her not to sound needy, especially when you pleasure her midriff with only your lips and tongue.

But, her wish is your command.

So let your palm rest on her right thigh, knead and massage it to your heart's content, all to amplify her pleasure from you tenfold. Meanwhile, your lips travel up from her midriff, eventually stopping near the in-between of her two mounds.

A glance at your girlfriend and you know exactly what she needs as your free hand holds the hem of her top, slowly taking it off revealing no bra and instead a pair of boobs neither too small or too big, just the perfect size for you to let your face dive into the gap between her tits, savoring their sweet taste.

“YES…more….” Nien whines a breathy moan while you alternate between each mound, kissing and licking all around her nipples while her hands get inside the back of your shirt, gliding across your back in an attempt for her to be as close to you as possible.

This goes on for a while, you kiss your girlfriend’s entire body while she instructs you, telling you exactly how she wants to feel good from you, each correct action you follow causes Nien to moan loudly but eventually she pushes you away from her tits.

“What happened?” you ask, confused by the sudden push as she looks at you with a horny smirk.

“I want you to eat me out oppa”

Pause, Nien letting you eat her pussy out is something quite rare for her to suggest since she always felt it was a bit uncomfortable for her. Disagreeing with her request would be foolish of you so look down at her glistening pussy, waiting for you to devour it like your next dinner and let your face close between her thighs.

One last look at her grinning smile and you start

“Yess…” she hisses, your first lick sends tingles to her brain, causing her to wrap her legs around your head, meanwhile her hands grab your hair, trying to not lose herself in the haze, after that you let yourself run wild on her inner thighs and wet pussy with long licks and kisses.

She is still not close however, it is just the beginning for the both of you. So increase your pace slightly to raise the volume of Nien’s breathy moans let her thighs squash your face signaling how horny she is 

“I'm close baby…” it's not hard to tell, how her moans are getting higher pitch, how her thighs are clamped around you and how her grip on your hair is harder, it may hurt but you don't mind, both of you are close to your high.

Eventually you let yourself enjoy the main course since Nien finally let herself go, her wetness flowing out of her as your mouth salivates her sweet taste, meanwhile her left hand gropes her left breast to amplify her own pleasure audible by her sensual moans

Eventually her climax comes to an end, her last wave of cum comes out of her pussy into your mouth. Raise your head and see Nien, a panting mess after the high she has been feeling all this time as now she also rises up from her lying position now seated near you, hands wrapped around you and leans in to kiss your right cheeks.

“Thank you, i feel much better now”

“Anything for you babe” you respond, returning the favor with a kiss of your own. You were helping your girlfriend find her clothes when suddenly you heard sounds of moans coming from the TV. 

You forgot the movie was playing the entire time, the main couple were now making out, half naked and ready to begin their own endeavours for their orgasm.

“I CALLED IT!!”

=================================

Hope you have a good day leafies

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

You're a Dead Man (Part 2) | JJ Maybank x Routledge!reader

Summary: After JJ has a run in with his father, he begins to spiral and doubt his abilities to be a father, leaving you wondering if you're going to be a single mom.

A/N: A couple people requested part 2 and a great anon gave me this idea! Hope you like it. Link for part 1 is down below, but this could probably be read as a stand alone too!

|||| Part 1 ||||

Tag list is at the end. Let me know if you want to be added xx

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} CLOSED

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ replays the conversation with is dad over and over in his head. The anxiety growing even more intense. His hand shakes as he presses it into his heart.

He didn’t know anything about being a dad. His dad was right with that one. JJ had the bad genes; Alcoholics, drug addicts. The reoccurring jail time. The dead beat dads. It all ran in his family. A never ending vicious cycle that he was going to be continuing.

You recently had your scan, finding out you and JJ would be welcoming a baby boy into the world 20 weeks from now. A mini JJ. After needing to get back to work, both you and JJ split ways and headed back to work.

He was working on a boat motor in the local shop when his boss came to him, “Maybank, you got a visitor.” He threw his thumb over his shoulder.

JJ glanced up, expecting you or one of the pogues but didn’t expect to see his dad there, taking a drag of his cigarette, a subtle sway in his posture.

JJ mentally cursed, not wanting to deal with this.

“Take it out back. I can’t have customers walking up on his bullshit today.” His boss instructs, knowing Luke enough.

JJ wipes his greasy hands on his rag and jumps down from the ladder of the boat, heading toward his dad. “What the hell do you want?” He motions over to the right with his head, walking toward the side of the shop, Luke following with a stumble.

“Jesus Christ.” JJ mutters, smelling the alcohol on his breath.

“Heard you’re gonna be a dad.” Luke says with a slur.

JJ places his hands on his hips and nods, replying with a nonchalant, “yup.”

Luke sniffs, wiping his hand against his nose, “What do you know about being a dad? You’re gonna fuck that kid up just like I fucked you up.”

JJ couldn't believe his ears, “Did you seriously come all the way down here just to say this? I got work to do.” JJ begins to walk away but Luke roughly grabs him by the arm, “I’m not done talking to you, boy! Don’t you walk away from me.”

“You know it’s true. Do the kid a favor and stay away from him. We don’t need another fucked up Maybank in the world. Look at you, working at the local boat shop. You’ll never make it at anything else. You’ll never be able to give the kid a good life. Face it," Luke takes a step toward JJ, pointing an accusing finger in his face, "you’ll end up just like me, drunk trying to make it by in life wondering where it all went to shit.”

JJ rips his arm from Luke’s tight grasp, a red mark left behind, “you have no idea of what kind of dad I’ll be. As far as I’m concerned I know exactly what kind of dad not to be.” He starts to walk away, Luke continuing to slur and insult him.

“JJ you’re going to be a shit of a father! Don't say I didn't warn you. You'll be a sorry son of a bitch bringing a kid into this world!"

~

JJ's thoughts were running rampant. His mind slowly convincing itself his dad was right. He would never be a good father. He didn't know how to be a father. You and the baby deserved better than what he could offer you.

The old rock music thumping in his ears as he opened the wooden door. It smelled like cigarette smoke. The place started to get full as everyone begins to get off work.

"What can I get you?" The barkeep asks, cleaning the bar top in front of him.

JJ has his chance to back out of this. He glances down at his watch, you'd probably just be getting off of work and heading home. You told him at the doctor's appointment you would fix his favorite tonight. It was you and JJ's turn to fix dinner for the Pogues.

He knew he needed to leave and go home but his mind pushed his legs forward, taking a seat at the bar. He knew addiction ran in his family and this was bound to happen to him. His dad was right. Might as well speed things along.

"Whisky."

~

As you came close to finishing dinner, you glanced at your phone again, nothing from JJ. He should have been home by now. You'd called and texted but no response, you began to worry.

"Hey sis," John B greeted coming through the front door, Sarah following behind.

"How did your appointment go?" Sarah asks with a smile, pushing past John B to greet you. She was just as excited as you to find out the gender. Sarah had a bet with Kie - it was gonna be a girl. She just knew it and even placed a bet on it. She immediately frowns at your worried appearance, "What's wrong?"

"JJ should be home by now and I can't get in touch with him."

"Maybe he got stuck working late? I know he said he had to finish building that motor and wanted to get it done today." John B shrugs it off, popping one of the veggie pieces in his mouth, "I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Yeah but," you shake your head, "He usually would at least send me a text to let me know. He knew I was cooking his favorite tonight and he said he wouldn't miss it. Somethings wrong, I can feel it." You place a hand on your growing bump, a sense of uneasiness flooding over you.

"Have you tried calling him?" Sarah asks, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "Like John B said maybe he's busy."

"I've called and texted." You look between your brother and Sarah, "Something's wrong, John B."

He sighs with a nod. He didn't need to hear anything else from you, he can see it was truly bothering you. "I'll find him."

"Thank you." You say softly.

He nods and kisses your head, "Anything for you."

~

JJ couldn't remember which drink he was on. 8? maybe 9? He was slurring his words, swaying. He'd become the center of attention at the bar, talking with a few people, laughing it up. He could feel his phone buzz and checked it, blinking his eyes to try and focus. The thinks it says John B but he can't be for sure.

One of the guys he'd been talking to slapped him on the shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts, he slid the phone back in his pocket.

"Another drink," JJ slaps the bar top.

"You sure? I think you've had enough," The bartender states.

"Oh come on, man, give him what he wants!" One of the guys says, "The fun is just getting started."

JJ saw the little baggie and the guys crazy eyes. JJ raised his eyebrows, "I don't know man." Even in his drunken state, you flash across his mind.

The guy places a hand on JJ's shoulder, "Live a little. You deserve it." And so JJ follows the guy and a few buddies out back.

~

John B went by his work to find the shop closed and moved on to a couple places to check. It was the 4th place, Blackbeards Bar, that he finally had someone say they saw JJ, but when he went to check out behind the bar, JJ and those guys were no where to be found. John B filled with dread.

He drove the Twinkie through town, looking left and right for any sign of JJ but didn't see him. He reluctantly returned back to the chateau where you and Sarah sat around the table. He dreaded having to return without JJ and explain where he was last seen. The bar was known to be occupied by the drunks and druggies. Luke was a frequent customer.

He could tell you'd been crying. You stood when he opened the door, "Did you find him?"

John B shook his head and saw your hopes get crushed, your body physically showing the signs. Your shoulders dropped, "he has to be out there somewhere, John B. Maybe you didn't look hard enough-" You snatched your keys off the table, storming past him, but he steps in front of you, "I looked everywhere. Y/n he was last seen at Blackbeards."

"he wouldn't-" you shook your head, "It had to be a mistake."

"He was seen with Luke's crowd, y/n."

And your world came crushing down.

~

JJ didn't know how he'd done it and made it all the way to the chateau but he did. He stumbled up the front stairs. The lights, indoor and out were on. He hoped he hadn't missed dinner. You'd cooked his favorite and he was starving. He belched as he kicked his shoes off, stumbling into the nearby shelf, something came crashing down. He giggled to himself, "Oh fuck."

The door swung open, there you stood in your gown and robe. He closed one eye, squinting to focus in on you and gives you a drunk grin, "there's my baby."

He's taken aback as you lunge at him, hands hitting his chest. it sends him flying back into the porch post. You probably could have just done it with your finger and knocked him over at how drunk and high he was.

"What the fuck?!" He manages to catch himself, "What the fuck was that for?!"

"You stupid son of a bitch! Do you know how worried I've been? It's 4 o clock in the morning! I was about to call the police!"

John B and the other Pogues stood at the door, watching this scene unfold. They committed to staying up with you, hoping to keep you company and keep you calm. You were only a few minutes from having another breakdown.

"Oh shit," JJ laughs, "It's 4 am? Time flies when you're having fun then." He straightens himself up, but stays with his back pressed against the post to keep himself from swaying. It didn't stop the room from spinning.

You didn't know whether to cry or scream. You were beyond angry; heartbroken that JJ had put you through something like this. Pregnancy hormones only made it worse. It was only in the light, you could see the white powder on his nostrils.

"Is that coke?" You ask in disbelief, pointing to his nose.

He quickly wipes it away with his sleeve, "no-"

You cry out, absolutely frustrated, "JJ, what the fuck is wrong with you! This isn't you. You're out late, drinking and now doing drugs with some of your dad's buddies? We're going to have a baby in 4 months. You can't do shit like this. You can't spiral. You have responsibilities!"

JJ could feel his anger boiling, threatening to blow. His entire body going hot, his face growing red, as he points an accusing finger in your face, "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You'd seen JJ get angry before, but had never had it directed at you. You couldn't believe you were about to say this, but he looked like Luke staring back. You could feel John B's presence beside you, ready to defend his sister. He didn't like the crazy look in JJ's eyes or how he threatened you.

You straighten your back, showing JJ you weren't afraid of him. You were pissed he'd done something like this, but when you thought more about it, there had to have been something that set JJ off. He was so happy at the appointment. Nervous, but excited to find out he was having a boy. He even made the comment, "My son will never feel the way I did."

From the time you departed to back to work, something had changed and the only thing that could have set JJ off would be his dad. You knew his anger wasn't meant for you.

JJ surrenders, "Go ahead, yell at me. Tell me how horrible of a dad I'm gonna be. How I'm gonna fuck that kid up just like I'm fucked up." He holds his arms out at his side, "The kid doesn't need me. If anything he's better off without me. You're better off without me." His eyes fill with tears, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve a happy ending." JJ is defeated and emotional.

Your heart aches at the fact JJ would ever think that way about himself. He'd already proven to be a better dad than Luke would ever be and your son wasn't even in this world yet. "Is that what Luke told you? That you're going to be a horrible dad?"

JJ wouldn't meet your eyes. You step forward, hands cupping his jawline, willing him to look at you, "JJ Maybank, you've already proven you will be an amazing dad and our baby isn't even earth side yet. Me and him both will never be better without you because you complete us, you make this family whole." Tears fill in your eyes, seeing his doing the same, "You never felt a father's love and that has been your encouragement from the beginning. You know exactly how to be a father because you have first hand of what not to do. You've stepped up and become more than a father than your own will ever be."

JJ relinquishes into you, sobs racked his body as he held onto you as if you were his lifeline.

"shhh..." You ran your fingers through his hair in a calming manner, holding him. You stayed like that for a while, holding each other before you were able to lead him into the house where he passes out on the couch.

~

JJ sulks onto the front porch, his head pounding and body feeling like he was hit by a bus. You're leaned against railing, gazing out to the water. It was a calm morning.

"Morning," His voice is husky and he smells clean as he approaches you.

You glance at him, his hair is wet and he's in clean clothes. At least he showered. He reeked last night. "Morning."

"about last night-" He scratches the back of his neck. It had come back to him in pieces but he knew enough to know what happened last night - or well this morning.

"I'm only going to say this once." You're stern as you face him, "If you ever pull the shit you did last night, you won't have anyone to come home to. I'm here for you JJ, always. And you can't spiral like that ever again." You rub a hand over your bump, "Are we in an understanding?"

He nods, "I can't even begin to apologize or have the words. I should have come home to you two." He places an uneasy hand on your belly, "I'm not him. I never will be."

"I know you aren't." You loop your arms around his middle, laying your head against his chest, "You're more than he will ever be."

~

I hope you all enjoyed this part two and I hope I did it justice for those who asked for it! I feel like I'm still a little rusty as I get back into writing here and there, so please be nice and be patient.

Likes, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!

[cherryblossom-enthusiast]

Retribution (The Kidxf!Reader) - Monkey Man

A/N: I said I was writing it and it has been done lol If you haven’t watched this film yet, please do! I indulged and wrote a small fic about it lol (Don't mind the abyssmal pacing of this, I barely edited and added anything) I hope you all enjoy it and can someone please indulge me more by writing more fics about this man!? Dev Patel absolutely killed it! Put him in a rom-com! I tried to write the hijra with as much care as possible. Please let me know if there’s something I can be more educated on in terms of this!

Synopsis: A mysterious man arrives at the temple you call home and makes quite an impression.

Warnings/ Tags: Angst. Fluff. Allusions to sex work. Descriptions of violence and blood. Coarse language. Kissing.

Word Count: 3.2K

Masterlist

The cheers of those around you interrupt the hanging of your laundry.

Peeking through the shoulders and the shadows, you sneak a glance at the subject of commotion, and it doesn’t surprise you.

The way he moves is equal parts graceful and aggressive. His punches are meticulously messy, a choreographed war drum thrumming to the beat of his own heart. This man is far removed from who you remember gazing upon a few days ago. His eyes were lost, sunken, like a child looking for guidance or divine judgement for all that’s led him to this point.

This was not that man.

This man was vengeance personified.

And through him, you felt hope.

You knew nothing about him. Alpha was able to garner all of your help, quietly and quickly instructing to pull the man out of the river. You were there when they cauterized his wounds. His screams were pure agony, making you cringe, and somehow you felt that his pain went deeper than physicality.

He walked like a ghost when he first came, aimlessly walking, like trying to just bump into something that would give him an answer.

Now, it seems he walks with purpose.

He throws his last punch and receives a mighty applause. The crowd recognizes the show’s over for the time being and they disperse as he keeps heaving, staring at the bag like he wants to hit it more. Like he never wants to stop.

You pick up a basket and walk over to him. Whether to strike up a proper conversation or feeling annoyed at the dirtied shirt on the ground you had just washed, you don’t exactly know. But something about him is magnetic, pulling you in, just like the first time you saw him that night, all bloody and bruised.

You nod at his white shirt. “I’ll take that.”

He breaks from his spell and turns to look at you.

His heaving slows, his breaths getting deeper by the second. For what you think is a few minutes, he just stares are you, and you at him, both of you taking each other in. You realize his physique really is something to awe over, but more importantly, that his eyes are far gentler than what you thought possible.

You tilt your head. “The shirt?”

He bends and picks up the white cloth, simply extending it to you as he continues to stare. You gesture for him to drop it into the basket. With an amused scoff, you start to turn away. “I’d appreciate it if you hung the next shirt you tore off on a wall.”

“Your name?”

His voice surprises you. You’ve only heard him speak a few times before. He sounds rough, and scratchy, like he doesn’t use his voice often.

You introduce yourself and after a few moments, he repeats your name back to you. Slowly, quietly, as if he’s scared of offending you in any way. Listening to it fall from his lips is like listening to dripping honey and you’d be lying to yourself if you said it didn’t make heat crawl up your neck.

To save face, you again start to walk away from him. “Widen your stance.” You advise, not waiting to hear a reply.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Several days pass until you have another full conversation.

You’re caught up with mundane chores. He’s caught up with punching that bag and doing god knows what else when he’s not at the temple.

Though there was that one time you almost slip and he catches you effortlessly by the waist and it definitely made your stomach flutter.

You smile the first time you depart to wash laundry and see his shirt hanging over a nearby wall.

He’s getting better. His posture looks strong, immovable. Sometimes you think with all that’s happened to him, that he must be invincible. Surely, no one can lose that much blood and still maintain their sanity.

But then you see his movements wain by the end of his exercise and it’s like something powerful overcomes him as he loses all finesse and he punches that rice-filled bag for all its worth with no rhyme or reason. You sense his frustration as he suddenly stops and puts his hand on his hips, breathing erratically.

You approach him cautiously. Pulling out a bottle of water from your laundry basket, you offer it to him. “Consider taking a break?”

He’s slow to take the bottle from you but he does so anyway. After almost draining the whole thing, he splashes the rest of the water over his head. Only as he shakes the droplets off his curly locks does he try to return it to you.

“An actual break.” You reiterate, stuffing the bottle of water back into your basket. “Your drummer needs one too. He might have built up his callouses, but he should eat something.”

The man turns to look where your eyes are directed and though you don’t have a clear view of his face, you can tell from the way that his eyebrows ease that he feels a sense of guilt. The drummer simply raises his palm and stands. “Take some time to clear your head, I’ll be here whenever you have.” He leaves the courtyard until it’s just the two of you left.

The weather is oddly cool today. There’s smoke and a mugginess that’s expected from being close to the heart of the city, but if you were to look around, it’d almost seem like you were transported decades into the past. The temple acts like a sanctuary, shielding you all from the outside world’s noise and it does a good job.

You walk towards a small wooden bench off to the far side and take a seat. You set your basket down and pat the space next to you. “Come,” You beckon “I’d appreciate some company while I fold all of these white shirts I’ve had to add to my load.”’

Something like embarrassment flashes on his face as he follows your command and sits right next to you. His posture is stiff like he wants to make an impression. It’s obvious your newfound companion doesn’t like to talk, or more accurately, isn’t very good at starting small conversation.

“I’m sorry for the bother.”

He has a tone of bashfulness, unable to turn in your direction. Your smile widens as you continue to fold “I didn’t say it was bothersome.” You refute. “In fact, I’d rather say I don’t mind you taking your shirt off.”

You try to make direct eye contact then, but he swallows thickly and doesn’t meet your eyes. It makes you giggle, but you decide to pull back on the joke, not wanting him to take offence or cause him more uneasiness. “Besides, each shirt is a testament to how much work you’ve put into bettering your skills here.”

That gets him to scoff and drop his head in disbelief “I’m still not where I need to be.”

“No,” you reply earnestly “but you will be.”

This earns you another bout of silence.

 For a while, you both just enjoy each other’s quiet company. He stares blankly ahead and you give him the time to examine whatever it is he’s battling through in his own thoughts.

Eventually, he sighs and inclines his head towards the sky. “How long have you lived here?”

“Ever since I could remember.”  You answer honestly. “Alpha says they opened the door and there I was, miraculously alive, left laying on a dirty blanket.”

“You’ve been here ever since?” He carefully asks.

“I’ve never lived anywhere else if that’s what you’re asking.” You pass an unfolded shirt to him and to your surprise he starts to fold it with no question. Bitter memories start to glaze your view. “And for someone as uneducated as me, there’s only a few jobs out there that I’d be considered for as a woman.”

A knowing silence passes through you both at the statement. Yatana was unforgiving. A real dog-eat-dog society with no time or need for those who couldn’t stomach it or keep up. Truth be told, most of the time you couldn’t. Very often would a prostitute or child be pounding on your doors for help or asylum. Hungry, beaten, thrown away like a speck of dust not worth anyone’s time.

“Doesn’t it make you angry?”

You’re unphased by the question. “Of course it does.”

And you mean it. There are days when you scream at the sky or dunk your head slightly longer underwater to try and get away from it all, try to release it in some way.

Eyes still trained to the sky; he confesses “Because that’s all I feel. Anger and pain, and I can’t-“ he struggles to finish his words. “I can’t-‘

“I know.”

That makes him look back down and finally turn in your direction. He patiently expects you to explain.

 You swallow thickly but continue to talk anyway. “To feel helpless, like you can’t do anything no matter how hard you try.” Gritting your teeth, you realize your hands have stopped folding. “But it doesn’t matter, because there are people who need me more strongly than the pain I feel.”

He considers your words thoughtfully and waits for you to speak once more. “Amidst all this chaos, this temple stands. People need me here. Children, mothers, the beautiful hijra who gave me a home, and when they leave this place with the tiniest glimpse of hope on their faces, then I know I’ve done my job. I don’t fight as well as the hijra here, I don’t expect to get much better, but I want them to know that they have refuge with me.”

You pass him an unfolded sari and for the rest of the time you are sitting together, you both fold quietly, basking in the sun and each other’s presence.

He continues to train harder after that. Each step is quick, each punch as sharp as a bullet. When he isn’t training, he’s watching. The news, the protests, the speeches, like he’s reassuring himself, learning the best way to approach.

 It’s obvious everyone here, including you is taken with this stranger. Though, you don’t really know if you could even call him that anymore.

It’s like he seeks you out. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply sitting together for dinner or him deliberately waiting for you to walk through the courtyard with your basket under your arm. Both of your eyes are trained on each other with an eager sheen.

Maybe it’s fear or maybe it's an understanding that your pairing would most likely never work out in the end. Either way, whatever it is, it disappoints you because you so badly want to believe he wants you the same way.

The mood becomes slightly flirtatious and you catch sight of a boyish grin here or there, especially when he’s surrounded by the hijra.

But anytime you think he might ask you something, or just when you’re on the cusp of telling him your interest, something stops you in your tracks, holding you back.

A recollection plays in your head of last night.

It’s just him and the drummer again today. You wait near a dark window before you pass so as to not to disturb his concentration.

He has a beat to the way he fights, a brutal rhythm, and it astounds you every time you watch him. If this is how he looks punching a bag, you wonder how he’d look fighting against others. You find the thought oddly attractive, and it makes you flush.

For all his skill in the ring, it seems that’s where all his artistry in footwork stops. Surrounded by laughing and beaming faces, with the sound of softer drumming in the air, everyone takes a turn dancing. No one cared about how sloppy anyone was. You sure weren’t the best dancer amongst the hijras, but this seemed unsubstantial when you were all drunk on each other’s company.

The children present that evening and you form a small circle. You’re swinging your arms around when you notice your mystery man with a smile of his own. It knocks the air out of your lungs. It’s one that gives him crinkles around his eyes and all at once he doesn’t look like a hardened killer, but someone you’d see on a billboard or a magazine cover.

You crook your finger at him, inviting him into your little dance number. He tries to politely decline, his once beaming face turning something sheepish, but Alpha bumps him shoulder to shoulder, and soon the rest of them urge and tease him to dance along. When he gets to the center begrudgingly, it’s already too late for him to back out. Two children start to pull him until he lands directly opposite of you.

The circle of your intertwined hands spins, it twirls here and there, and when you all raise your hands to shrink the circle, you land face-to-face with the most fascinating man you’ve ever seen. It lasts all of five seconds, but everything around you dims as you look at this man’s face illuminated by firelight.

His eyes are his most emotive feature and they always seem to twinkle. Right then, they almost looked like jewels from the way they glossed over.

You pick up on the way those eyes slowly dipped down towards your lips and suddenly you wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If he really does want you the same way you do.

But before you can tumble into that path of thought, cheers and hoots pull you out of the little bubble of enchantment you’d created. You turn to reject the idea of it all, but when you glance back at the man in front of you, your breath catches.

He continues to stare intently at your visage, not minding or caring about the extra attention one bit.

And then a scream erupts in your ears.

Seeing him punch the bag until rice grains stick to his chest reminds you of what he’s capable of.

When he shares a nod with the drummer, you know that he’s finally achieved what he came here at the temple to do.

Dropping your basket, you immediately rush indoors, following the cries of the hijra around you. Lakshmi lays in the center of the temple room floor, blood dripping from them like a fountain. You crouch and gently put their head on your knees as the weeps continue all around you.

They explain that they put a notice on the door, Shakti’s men, and all you can see is an unbridled tint of red starting to form. Your heart is pounding, Lakshmi is struggling to fight for air, and in front of this statue, an indescribable wave of pain crashes into you.

It’s loud, far too loud. With your thoughts, the cries, the blood staining your shirt.

Your one hand on the floor clenches into a fist. You try to remind yourself that you can be better, that there must be something more to all of this than just pray, than to just keep taking what they serve like impotent little ants. The hopelessness starts to creep in, slowly etching itself into your thoughts.

But before it can take hold, you distinguish a face in the shadows. It’s observing as everything around you starts to crumble and in that moment you try to push all that anger onto him as you directly glare into his soul.

And when you see him break open the donation box much later during the humid night, you know you’ve put your faith into the right person.

He tries to leave as silently as he came, but you meet him at the entrance. He holds a crude, dirty children’s bag and you can only assume that’s where he’s keeping the money.

He tries to explain, but you start to approach him which stops his needless rambling. In an act of boldness, you grab his hand in yours and flip it to look clearly at his scars. If he’s uncomfortable, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even flinch.

“Alpha was right.” You agree. “You do have the hands of a warrior”

You enclose his hand between yours, putting it up against your lips. “I wonder how such gentle hands fight with such ferocity.”

He starts to twitch and as you loosen your grip, expecting him to pull back, he instead cups the side of your face and despite his scarred calloused hands, his touch is pure velvet. His thumb brushes the tears you didn’t notice were starting to fall freely down your cheek.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

“Fight for me.” You croak thickly. “Fight for all of us.”

He clenches his jaw. “I promise you.”

You pull him towards you by grasping his neck and your lips meet in the middle. The kiss is like him. Equal parts sweet as it is harsh. His lips were warm and soft, but the urgency in the way you both kissed each other was anything but. You bury your hand into his hair and feel his curls unmake themselves even further. His smell of soap and sage infiltrates your senses.

It was a dizzying feeling. It’s what you felt while you were dancing exploded ten-fold. It was the culmination of tension and grief exploding into something technicolour. As your noses bump against each other, you think you want to draw more of this kindness from this man.

Your breathing quickens and he groans into your mouth. It’s almost like you two are fighting. With each other, against each other, for each other. Exploring this hungry need has only made you more insatiable.  

And that becomes particularly dangerous, especially when you know he has a job to do.

Reluctantly you pull back. His eyes stay closed and you press your foreheads together, listening to the crackles of the torches around you. “Your emotions are strong.” You quietly whisper. “But do not let them control you. Let them guide you.”

He blinks his eyes open, full of clarity.

Letting each other go hesitantly, you take one last look at him and he at you. “Come back to me,” you say with all the confidence you can muster.

You can tell you’re both skeptical about your claim, but he nods his head anyway. He walks around you and you don’t turn to look at him leave for fear of wanting to hold him back. You hear the creak of the door, but before he can take another step away from you, you mumble “Give them Hell.”

There’s a slight pause before you start to hear the crunching of the ground beneath him, each step lighter than the last until you can no longer hear him creeping into the night.

Please, you pray. Whatever it takes.

- - - - - -

When you see the money-filled bag hanging on the statue the next day, it’s attached with a note.

His presence overflows through your every pore.

Alpha looks at you with a determined expression on their face, as do the other hijra around them.

It seems they don’t just want repayment, they want a reckoning.

They want retribution.

- - - - - -

A/N: Please let me know what you think by leaving a note, comment, or reblog! Or we can just geek out about Monkey Man lol I definitely won’t be opposed to that lol