#it's because of fucking assholes like this one

[fandommothfreak]

I think Duke should be immortal in the "cannot die" sense and Jason should be immortal in the "cannot stay dead" sense and that they should keep this a secret from everyone including each other. And then they should both get caught in a situation that Absolutely Should Kill Them Instantly, miraculously not die, and then be like:

Like Jason shields Duke from some massive explosion or something, and Duke is horrified because he thinks Jason just pointlessly sacrificed himself for someone who would've been fine anyway - only for Jason to very casually come back from the dead, look at a completely unscathed Duke Thomas, and go, "Hey, what the fuck."

And Duke should look at a freshly revived Jason Todd and be like, "Me what the fuck? No you what the fuck."

And they end up both agreeing to not say a word about this to the rest of the Bats. Which poses issues. Because here you have a pair of unhinged vigilante siblings that do not fear death, that additionally now know they don't have to fear each other's deaths either, both unwilling to give anything less than everything they have to do what they think is right (and/or what they really, really want to).

So. Some things that happen in consequence:

Duke throws Jason off a fifty-story building in pursuit of some shoplifting rich asshole that was caught on camera insulting Duke's favorite metal band and being a classist fuck about it. This does, incidentally, re-traumatize Nightwing, who was ten feet away and not prepared to see his little brother yeeted off the side of a building, no grapple in sight - but it also traumatizes the shoplifter when Jason lands right in front of him, grotesquely knits himself back together, and rises from the ground in a distinctly horrifying fashion just to beat the shit out of him. So Duke takes the win.

Jason shoots Duke in the head to get him to stop shining light in his eyes in the middle of a gunfight. He does stop, but only because Batman shows up out of nowhere, and now Duke gets to pretend to be grievously injured while Batman yells at Jason about "self-control" and "maturity" and "putting teammates at risk." Meanwhile Duke is playing up this horrible concussion that he doesn't even have. Jason is seething. (Duke gets checked out at Leslie's. They convince her to lie for them by appealing to her inner petty bitch.)

Jason gets his payback a few months later by poisoning himself at an undercover op and subsequently forcing Duke to drag his dead body around a mob-owned nightclub for like half an hour trying to convince seasoned criminals that this brick shithouse of a man sprawled awkwardly across his back is just... really wasted. Totally not a corpse.

Both Jason and Duke get caught in many, many, many explosions after that initial reveal, and it's always terrifying for the rest of the Bats. It gets to a point where Batman refuses to partner Duke and Jason together for literally anything, because they always act fucking insane. Big metal vehicle moving hundreds of miles an hour towards an unsuspecting civilian? That's okay! Jason will just throw Duke in front if it. Unknown, volatile substance potentially being used by a notorious serial killer to murder his victims? No lab testing required! Duke will just pour a whole pint of the stuff on Jason's bare arm to see how it reacts. Bomb that can't be disarmed? Why wait for backup when these two psychopaths can just grab the thing and jump into the harbor? Like, genuinely. The stress. Bruce is one particularly traumatic incident away from actually considering therapy.

[hadesisqueer]

Every time I remember that one cameo where Miles Luna basically confirmed that Winter tried to take Whitley under her wing the same way she did with Weiss but from a young age Jacques spoke shit to him about his sisters to keep him separated from them and keep him under his control—since he couldn't keep the other two—I get really pissed off. Well, get fucked, asshole, because Whitley turned out to be a great kid even with the manipulation attempts lmao. Two days away from Jacques and instead of thinking about him (like Jacques thought he would, saying that Whitley had likely already contacted his legal team lol) the boy was calling Klein again, coming up with ideas to help Mantle and starting to rebuild his relationships with Weiss and his mother. Not a single thought about him lmao he never truly had any of his kids under his control.

[zezacle]

One day there was a knock on the door. Having just made a cup of tea, I joyfully opened the door. "Who is it?"

"Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agents Davies and Rhine. We have a warrant to search the premises." I felt the man slap a piece of paper on my chest as he pushed past me.

"Hey! Woah woah woah woah!" I yelled, trying to corral them in my foyer.

"Read the warrant, interfering with our search is grounds for arrest." The other voice sounded.

"Do you know who I am? Because you should, if you're searching my place, which means you should know that I can't read this sheet of paper." There was a moment of silence. "Which means you assholes could be anybody. I wanna feel your badges and I want someone other than you to read this paper to me."

"That's not how it works." They pushed passed me, spilling a bit of my tea on the floor.

"I'm calling my fuckin' lawyer." Flustered I set my tea down and rushed to the phone. My voice recorder and most of my research was in the safe. I hope I locked it.

Silhouetted in the light of the window I could see the two of them begin to dismantle my study, which only stressed me out even more. "Yes, hello? I need to speak to Damien Boone immediately, I have two federal agents RAMPAGING through my house and a search warrant I physically can't read. Yeah- fine I'll hold."

"What the fuck is that?" One of the men asked alarmed. I heard him draw from his holster and saw his arms extend from his silhouette. The other one turned and quickly followed suit.

I let the phone dangle from the cord and stepped forward. A black blur with two yellow dots. "That's Frank, my cat."

"That's not a cat!"

Tears welled in my eyes. "Please don't shoot Frank."

Suddenly, the blur streaked forward towards the men. Both of their guns rang out. The noise was so deafeaning and startling, I fell backwards to the ground. Muffled screams and panic. "Lucas! Pull it off, man! I can't shoot it with it on your face!"

But another shot rang out regardless. The muffled screams went from terror to agony. I curled up and covered my head.

"Oh fuck!" Two more shots rang out and now the second man's voice became muffled screams.

"You shot me!" The first cried out.

There were some grunts of effort that sounded like kicking. "Get it off!"

"I'm trying!" There was a loud thump at the end of the struggle and screams.

"What is that thing?!"

"Just fucking run!!" I heard their pounding footsteps retreat out my door and down the sidewalk. Car doors slammed and engine roared to life and tires screeched down the road.

I lifted my head with shuddered breath. Shakily, I rose to my hands and knees. I crawled forward around the counter. "Frank?" I called with a broken voice. There was a black blur at the foot of the barstool. I worked up the courage to crawl towards it ever so slowly. Then with a trembling hand I reached out and for the first time, touched my "cat".

He didn't have fur, or rather if he did, it wasn't soft. It was stiff and slick and it left and oily residue on my hands. "Frank?" I whispered as the sensations on my fingers rattled through my brain.

Suddenly, he jerked awake. He lept away and turned back to me. A black blur with two yellow dots. Then, he turned and stumbled away towards the door. "What the fuck?" I breathed in disbelief.

The house was quiet once again. Except, faintly, I heard a distorted, "Hello?! Hello!"

I frantically crawled back and reached up to grab the dangling phone. "Damien?"

"Hello? What the hell just happened, were those gunshots?"

"I think my cat just attacked two FBI agents and made them run out of my house."

"What??"

[End part 2/3]

You have a cat. It's... it's not exactly a cat, but still - it did save you that one time government agents tried to capture you.

[bvrnesher]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘, 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐎𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄

cw: language! suggestive comments, sexual jokes, alcohol, make-out ¿?

ㅤ୨ৎㅤ🌙ㅤ˳ Part. i 𝒍𝒖𝒌𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏 ! 𝒇𝒆𝒎. 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

﹙𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆! ﹚ꪆ

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 𝟑𝟎𝟏𝟏. 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌.

"𝗟𝗨𝗞𝗘, 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞, 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦, 𝗢𝗥 𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟," Chris said, shooting him a shit-eating grin.

Yeah, this was a bit of a twisted version of the classic kiss, marry, or kill, but no one really gave a damn about semantics. Not right now, anyway.

Luke wasn’t exactly feeling it—the whole campfire hangout (or, let’s be real, after-party) in the woods. But it was Sunday, and his so-called friends had dragged him here.

The actual party had died down a while ago, leaving only a handful of them—the ones not completely wasted—still hanging around the fire.

The flames flickered under the moonlight, the trees rustling just enough to send a cool breeze through the small clearing they’d basically claimed as Camp Half-Blood’s official party zone.

"Between…?" Luke asked, taking a slow sip of his beer, already bracing for whatever bullshit Chris was about to throw at him.

"Kayle, Jenna, and…" Chris let the last name hang in the air, scanning the girls around the fire, looking for the perfect final option.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

Oh, he was going to be an asshole about this. His smirk said it all.

He said your name.

Luke didn’t even flinch. Not on the outside, at least. Inside? Different story. His heart pulled one of those stupid, traitorous stunts the second he heard it.

Because Chris knew.

Knew that Luke had called you the hottest girl in camp.

But what Chris didn’t know was that Luke hadn’t even scratched the surface of what he actually thought about you.

Across the fire, you smirked, leaning in to whisper something to your friend from Cabin 4, completely unaware of the storm you’d just walked into.

Luke exhaled slowly, masking it with a lazy smirk of his own as he leaned back against the tree, arms crossing over his chest like this was the easiest question in the world.

"Kill Kayle," he said first, earning an over-the-top gasp from her—not that she actually gave a shit, of course.

"Kiss Jenna," he continued, throwing the redhead a teasing wink.

Then, without hesitation, "And I'd fuck her," he finished, tilting his chin toward you with an infuriatingly smooth grin.

If only you knew how hard it was to keep his voice steady when he said it.

Cheers and whistles erupted through the otherwise quiet forest the second Luke gave his answer. Stifled giggles, teasing remarks, and more than a few suggestive comments filled the air.

And, just to make things worse, when the playful chatter finally died down, the only sound left was the crackling of the fire.

You glanced around.

Every pair of eyes was on you, waiting for your reaction.

Your gaze met Luke’s for just a second—just enough for a spark of heat to shoot down his spine.

You casually tossed your hair over your shoulder, silently thanking the gods that the firelight masked the faint blush creeping up your neck.

"Oh, yeah?" You leaned in slightly. "What an honor, Castellan."

The exaggerated flirt in your tone sent another round of laughter through the group, though it quickly faded as everyone turned to Luke, waiting for his response.

Luke smirked, though his jaw was clenched a little tighter than usual. His posture was relaxed, but if you really looked, there was something a little too controlled about it.

Before he could say anything, a guy from the Apollo cabin jumped in with a wicked grin.

"Come on, Castellan, at least take her to dinner first. Three drachmas, and I’ll play background music." He joked.

Luke rolled his eyes, shooting him a look that lacked any real bite. Chris, on the other hand, was thriving.

"Luke, care to elaborate?" He nudged him playfully. "What exactly would you do with her?"

The others laughed and hollered.

You simply smiled—sweet and a little too charming—never once breaking eye contact with Luke.

Luke tilted his head slightly, the firelight reflecting in his blue eyes.

"That," he said smoothly, "is classified information."

Even Clarisse groaned in fake outrage.

"Oh, come on, you can’t just leave us hanging!"

That signature cocky smirk of his curled at his lips as he leaned forward like he was about to let them in on a secret. The others followed suit, huddling closer to listen.

A few beats of suspense passed. Then, finally,

"Well, if you really wanna know…" he started, voice dropping into a teasing whisper.

"Ask her later."

He finished with an easy shrug, feigning innocence.

The entire group groaned, clearly unimpressed with his little stunt.

You?

Gods.

There was no way you weren’t blushing now.

The flickering orange glow of the fire danced across Luke’s face, making him look even more impossibly attractive. And for Luke, that was saying something.

And as the words left his lips, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—you kind of wanted to find out.

Chris, grinning like the little chaos-bringer he was, let the game roll on after dropping his bombshell for Luke. The guy was going to have a field day tormenting some poor soul from the Hephaestus cabin.

With the attention finally off him, Luke let out a tired sigh. You leaned back, trying to unwind, but it didn’t take long before you noticed his gaze following you every time he thought you weren’t looking.

Honestly, you weren’t fooled. You knew he knew you knew. He never took his eyes off you. Not once. And you didn’t mind it. Not really.

Anyway, Luke wasn’t the type to dwell on things, so he just went with the flow, cracking jokes and making sure the victims of his pranks had a hell of a time.

But everytime he remembered the words, "I’d fuck her" slipping from his lips, his focus wavered. His eyes—those damn eyes—zeroed in on your lips every time you spoke. He couldn’t help it, even if he tried to play it off.

The night kept rolling forward, the fire crackling in the background, the air thick with laughter, alcohol, and the occasional whoop of drunken enthusiasm. And by alcohol, I mean the kind that was totally not allowed at camp.

You were enjoying yourself—honestly, you'd almost forgotten about Luke’s comment.

Almost.

"Come on, stop pretending," Lee chimed in. "Admit it. You’d totally fuck Luke if you had to choose."

The entire group burst out laughing. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Before you could throw some sarcastic retort his way, your friend leaned in, her voice heavy with mock annoyance.

"You know what?" she started, her tone dripping with mischief. "Great idea. Alright, darling," she said, turning to you, pulling all eyes on you. Just what you needed.

"Fuck, kiss, or kill," she continued, eyeing the guys. "Between Lee, Chris, and Luke."

A flash of heat ran up your neck. Damn it. You could feel all the eyes on you, some of them eager, some just waiting to see how you'd react.

You took a deep breath, took a long sip of your drink, and braced yourself.

"Kiss Lee. Kill Chris. And, I'd fuck Castellan."

The words spilled out like they were nothing. No hesitation. No second-guessing. And with that, you leaned back, a confident smirk tugging at your lips.

Silence.

Then, chaos.

The group exploded into laughter, hollers, and a few half-choked gasps. Someone actually dropped their drink. Chris clutched his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

"Cold-blooded," he wheezed between laughs. "I’m actually offended."

"Yeah, yeah," you waved him off, taking another sip of your drink. "You’ll live."

Lee, meanwhile, was grinning like an idiot, throwing an exaggerated wink your way.

It wasn’t obvious—not to anyone else, at least. But you caught it. That tiny shift in his expression. That quick flash of something in his eyes, there and gone before anyone could clock it.

But you did.

And gods, it sent a spark down your spine.

"Well, well," Chris recovered quickly, his shit-eating grin returning at full force. "Looks like our golden boy is getting some love tonight."

Luke finally leaned back against the tree, arms still crossed, expression unreadable. But his smirk? Oh, that damn smirk.

"Guess I should be honored," he mused, voice casual—too casual.

You shrugged, mirroring his expression. "Guess so."

A beat.

For a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, the noise of the group fading into the background. The fire crackled between you, but neither of you looked away.

Then, someone—probably Chris again—broke the tension with another wild round of "fuck, kiss, or kill," dragging the attention elsewhere.

You exhaled, finally looking away.

But Luke?

Luke kept watching you.

He wasn’t sure if it was the firelight or the alcohol—or maybe it was just you—but he knew one thing for sure:

This night just got a whole lot more interesting.

A while later, when everyone was either drunk enough or just too tired to stick around, they decided to clean up any evidence of the party and head back to their cabins.

Summer had ended a few weeks ago, so there weren’t many campers who stayed year-round.

You and one of your sisters were among the few who did, which meant you basically had the whole cabin to yourselves.

The thing was, when she got drunk enough—giggling and stumbling into her boyfriend’s arms—he decided he’d be the one taking care of her for the night.

The last thing you saw of her were her clumsy steps leading toward his cabin.

You huffed. You hated sleeping alone.

As you made your way to your cabin, you waved goodbye to the others, watching as they disappeared behind their doors one by one.

Rubbing your arms in a weak attempt to keep warm, you muttered a curse in Ancient Greek, annoyed at the unbearable winter chill.

You were walking alone when, out of nowhere, something warm draped over your shoulders—along with a familiar presence right beside you.

"I’m not cold," Luke said, walking in step with you.

You blinked, glancing up at him with a hint of confusion. "Your cabin’s all the way on the other side, Luke."

"I know." He shrugged. "Saw your sister leave with her boyfriend."

Before you could say anything, he spoke again.

"Let me walk you back," he said, flashing a small smile. "I know you don’t need me to, but a little company never hurts."

You hesitated for a second before sighing. "Yeah, I guess a little company wouldn’t kill me. Even if it’s literally five steps to my cabin."

Luke let out a quiet huff, eyes flicking forward—where, yeah, your cabin was already right in front of you.

"Too late?" he asked.

"Nah, I’d say you’re just in time," you answered.

Five steps later, you were at your door. You pushed it open, then tipped your head toward the inside.

"You coming in?" you asked. "Pretty sure you’ve never been inside."

Luke’s heart kicked up, totally unprompted. Inside your cabin? Alone? At night?

Hell, yeah.

He tilted his head, smirking. "You’re right about that," he said, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

The inside of your cabin looked exactly how he’d imagined it would.

You made your way to your bunk, sitting down to kick off your shoes before crawling fully onto the bed.

The wall beside it was covered with little things that, without a doubt, reminded Luke of you.

He approached carefully, masking it behind a curious look.

"This place is ridiculously you," he teased, though you could tell it was more of a compliment. At least, you hoped it was.

Settling into the bed, you crossed your legs, sinking into the pillows.

Much to Luke’s frustration, your dress rode up slightly as you moved, revealing just enough soft, bare skin to have his brain short-circuiting for a second.

The air in your cabin felt warmer than it should. Maybe it was just the contrast to the cold outside. Maybe it was the aftershocks of alcohol buzzing in your veins. Or maybe—just maybe—it had everything to do with the way Luke was looking at you.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

Like he had every intention of figuring out exactly how far he could push you tonight.

"You’re staring," you pointed out, sinking a little deeper into your pillows, like that would somehow make you less aware of him.

Luke, still leaning against the opposite bunk, arms crossed, smirked. "You noticed."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t look away. Couldn’t, really. He looked too damn good standing there, bathed in the soft golden light of your cabin, hair still slightly tousled from the wind outside. He’d ditched his jacket—the one he’d draped over your shoulders like some kind of quiet excuse to touch you—and now, in just his shirt and jeans, he somehow looked even more effortless.

Luke’s gaze flickered down, just barely. But you caught it.

It was quick—just a second. A glance at your legs, where your dress had ridden up just a little as you shifted.

Interesting.

You smirked, slow and knowing, tilting your head just slightly as you let your fingertips skim over the edge of your blanket, pretending to adjust it.

Luke exhaled, like he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Something on your mind, Castellan?"

He let out a short laugh, low and warm. "You keep saying my name like that, sweetheart," he murmured, voice dropping a little, "and you’re gonna find out."

Your stomach flipped.

His eyes were darker now—not just from the dim lighting, but something else. Something heavier.

He was closer than before. You didn’t remember him moving, but suddenly, his fingers brushed against the mattress, right near your knee.

Heat curled in your stomach.

Luke tilted his head slightly, watching you, waiting. Maybe for you to say something. Maybe for you to stop him.

You didn’t.

Instead, you lifted your hand, slow, reaching for the jacket he’d given you earlier. You let it slide off your shoulders, fabric pooling at your sides, before casually tossing it onto the bunk behind you.

Luke’s eyes followed the motion, his lips twitching, like he was biting back a comment.

"You’re taking up a lot of space," you mused, voice light, teasing.

Luke chuckled, low in his throat. "Funny," he murmured, stepping forward until his knees brushed the edge of your bed. "I was just about to say the same thing."

The tension between you tightened, electric.

His fingers curled just slightly around the edge of the mattress.

He leaned in—just enough. Not quite touching, but right there, enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of pine and campfire still clinging to his shirt.

His breath ghosted against your cheek as he murmured, voice softer, slower—like a quiet dare:

"Move over, sweetheart."

You raised a brow, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

"Why?" you asked, voice smooth, steady—way steadier than you felt.

Luke’s lips quirked, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, searching. Reading. Like he was trying to figure out if you were just teasing or if you were actually going to make him work for it.

Finally, he hummed, low and thoughtful, tilting his head slightly. "Because I want to sit down," he said, voice lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

You blinked. That was not the answer you expected.

Luke just shrugged, playing it off like this wasn’t a game he was carefully balancing. "But, hey, if you wanna keep me standing here all night…" His voice dropped, just a little. "Be my guest."

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. "Fine."

And you moved. But only a little.

Luke huffed out a quiet chuckle, but he didn’t waste any time. He sank down onto the mattress, one arm bracing behind him, the other resting lazily against his knee.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The warmth of him was everywhere now—closer than before, the bed dipping just slightly under his weight. Your bare knee barely brushed against his thigh, and you swore you felt the way his fingers twitched in response.

The firelight flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows across his face, the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his lips parted just slightly when he exhaled.

And then his eyes—Gods, his eyes.

They flickered down, just for a second. Just enough.

And then back up.

When he finally met your gaze again, something shifted.

Neither of you were smiling anymore.

The teasing, the casual back-and-forth—it was still there, under the surface, but now?

Now, it was something else entirely.

Luke’s fingers lifted, slow, careful. Not touching yet—just hovering near the fabric of your dress, near your thigh, like he was waiting for something. For you.

Swallow.

Then, finally, you moved first.

Just enough to close that last bit of space.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, featherlight, a barely-there touch that sent a quiet, sharp breath from his lips.

And that was it.

Luke didn’t hesitate this time.

His hand finally, finally found your waist, warm and firm as he pulled you just a fraction closer—just enough for his lips to brush against yours, teasing, barely there.

Your breath hitched.

For half a second, it was hesitation. Anticipation. The space of a heartbeat, hanging in the air between you.

And then?

Then, you kissed him.

Or maybe he kissed you.

You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, none of that mattered.

Because the second his lips fully met yours, everything else faded—your teasing, your nerves, the fact that you probably weren’t thinking this through.

None of it mattered.

Because Luke Castellan was kissing you.

And gods, he was good at it.

ꪆৎ. Part ii. Taglist open !

TAGS: @spider-ghoul @imafuckinstar @girl-detective16

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Where Do You End Pt. 2

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 1 - Pt. 3

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You put the plan into motion, and Sam realizes you're not Dean a little too late.

Author's Note: Supernatural characters are incapable of the just making the emotionally smart choice on the first try, but they're doing their best.

Word Count: 4.5k

Dean had half shoved the phone into your hand. His hand. Your hand was the one who shoved it into Dean’s hand, and Dean’s hand was the one that was dialing Sam while your hand drummed on the table, and your own eyes watched you with a searing intensity that only Dean was capable of. 

You’re not sure what suddenly made him take this seriously, but you don’t really care. You just need this to be over. 

Because the last twelve hours have been the longest of your life.

It started with your eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. Dean would shift in his chair, your body would shift with him, and when your boobs would bounce it was suddenly impossible to stop staring at them. Dean would walk away from you—to the parking lot, or through a door, or over to the bar—and your hips would do a little swaying thing that made Dean’s body tense. 

Your body tense. Dean’s body that was right now your body—and only about twenty percent in your control—tense. 

And he’d bend over, and your ass would stick in the air, and it was like your eyes were magnetically drawn to it.

You have a nice ass. You’ve never really seen it before, but it’s a nice ass. And nice tits, and an overall face that was better than you’d ever really given yourself credit for. You’re pretty. You have good features, a nice voice, and a great body.

This experience would be an overall ego booster, if you haven’t spent the whole time trying not to lose your mind.

Because then Dean wiggled his ass—your ass—and your jeans felt tight. Almost painful. And there was a weird throbbing feeling between your legs that was deep in your core, but it was heavier than you were used to-

You’d glanced down at your lap with a frown, worried you’d done something to fuck up Dean’s body, and almost fallen out of your chair.

You never wanted to experience an erection again. They were uncomfortable and sudden and annoyingly obvious. They made it hard to focus when you were trying to talk to Dean about the situation, and distracting when you were trying to do research. 

It didn’t help how they were purely out of your control. How easily they appeared, and how impossibly they went. 

And Dean was not fucking helping. He’d squirm when you touched him, and you’d get a boner. He’d use your voice to whine or mumble or just say anything at all, and you’d get a boner. At one point he kicked you and you got a boner.

You don’t know how he functions like this. You’d been a little worried that he doesn’t. That you’re getting turned on by your own shockingly attractive body for some fucked up Freudian reason, and Dean’s got nothing to do with this.

Then you’d dragged him out of the diner, and it had killed that doubt with fire and smoke. You’d never drag your own body like that. You hated it when Dean did that to you—the close proximity and overall Dean-ness of the action always made you weak and soft, molding into him when you were supposed to be pounding on his chest and calling him an asshole—and you hadn’t even really been considering it as an option to stop him going to the bathroom, but Dean’s muscles had flexed against your will, his body had stood taller without your permission, and suddenly you’d been grabbing your own arm and manhandled Dean out of the diner.

He’d been sulking the whole ride back. It was the same way you usually sulked after he did that to you, with a pout and arms folded over your chest.

His boobs—your boobs—were pushed up. You could see cleavage when you glanced to the side, and your cock twitched in your jeans to shove between those pretty fucking tits-

What the fuck was wrong with you.

It was like your body—Dean’s body—had a mind of its own. Behaving as Dean would behave, had none of this shit ever happened. Opening doors and placing that broad hand on your lower back, towering over you closer than he had any right to be and pressing you into corners until he was only just not touching you.

You really wish you’d pushed harder to make him stop doing that. If only for the sake of you now, crowding your own space and getting hard whenever Dean would squirm away from you. But you hadn’t, because when it was you in your own body, you loved it.

It was a cruel, masochistic drug you’d hooked yourself on, where Dean didn’t want you like that but he was still giving you this. You were only his friend in his mind, but he still liked you as a body. He didn’t feel anything for you the same way you felt things for him, but there was still an animalistic attraction that made him hover and smirk and tease you.

It gave you something to hang onto. It gave you something to hate about him, because you really did love everything else. 

You really loved Dean. You really loved his dumb jokes, and his shit-eating grin, and how loud and annoying and adorable he could be. You loved how he loved his car, how he cared about Sam with everything he had, how he was maybe to biggest, hottest geek you’d ever met. 

You really simply loved Dean.

And he didn’t love you, and you’d forced yourself to live with that because you had to. He was still your best friend. You hate him, and you’re furious with him for telling you no and then acting like nothing had changed when he’d ripped your heart out of your chest, carved his name on it, and returned it without any desire to care for how he’d mauled you in a beautiful and irreversible way, but he’s your best friend. And you love him.

And this needed to be fixed now, because you can’t keep living in such firm and solid proof that Dean’s body wants you, but there’s something revolting enough to his brain that he never ever cross that line you’ve had to restrain yourself from all day.

The first step is to call Sam, and execute the secrets plan so you can have some help that isn’t just a grumpy Dean. The second step is to hiss at Dean that he needs to leave the room before Sam picks up, because the whole point is that this a you and Sam secret, and Dean isn’t allowed to hear it.

“You can’t just cut me out of this, sweetheart,” he hisses back, narrowing your eyes. It’s cute. You’re going to fucking die. “I’ll be damned if I let you and Sammy whisper about me while I just stand in the freakin’ hall-“

“Not everything is about you, Dean.” You sneer. “And if you want this to work, wait outside.”

“But-“

“Outside.” Your voice raises slightly as you point to the door, and there’s an authoritative, commanding tone to it that makes Dean’s eyes—your eyes—widen. “Now.”

Dean scowls and shuffles outside, his low grumble about this being bullshit muffled as the door closes behind him.

You glare after him—not loving how annoyed his body is that you just let Dean walk away without picking him up and kissing his hair—and Sam picks up seconds later.

“Listen, Dean, I know you’re freaking out, but you can’t keep calling me.” Sam sounds exasperated, and you frown into the air as he continues. “This is supposed to be my week off with Eileen, and it’s hard to relax when you keep fucking calling me.”

“I-“ You shake your head slightly, glancing back to the door. “What?”

“You’ve called me seven times, Dude. Listen, it’s not going to go bad, she doesn’t hate you, and all you need to do is talk about your feelings like an adult and everything will be fine.”

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, I know.” You can hear Sam’s eye roll through the phone. “There’s nothing to talk about, she doesn’t know what she’d be getting into, you’d rather be miserable and all that shit. Look, Dean, at this point all I can tell you is to get your head out of your ass, and stop calling me.”

“Sam.” Your voice is slow, cautious, and wired with things you don’t fully understand. “What are you talking about.”

He says your name like it’s obvious, and you think the world stops spinning. “I know you didn’t wanna solo hunt with her, but-“

“Why didn’t he- Why didn’t I want to solo hunt with her?” Your voice is more frantic than Dean’s usually is. You don’t really care. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing’s wrong with her, Dean, you’re just still in love with her, and kind of being a fucking dick about it.”

Sam keeps talking. Something about how Dean’s always worried about hunting with you, how he’s always worried he’s going to slip up and put you in danger, how he’s afraid you’ll catch on to his real feelings, how he believes it’s easier when Sam is there to run interference and prevent too much of Dean’s hand from being shown.

It’s all just noise, though. Because there’s no way Dean loves you. He’d said he didn’t. He’d said you were his friend and nothing more, he’d shot you down, he’d apologized and told you the feeling would fade, because it was just a crush, and it would pass.

You’d spent months forcing yourself to be okay with that. You couldn’t make him love you. It would kill you to contort and reshape yourself into someone he would want, and if you did go down that path there was a chance you’d come out the other side someone he hated. 

You’d lost sleep reminding yourself that Dean loving you was not something you were owed. That you were lucky he cared about you enough to be your friend, and to let you down gently. He could’ve been cruel, and listed every reason you were vile and repulsive and had no right to be his. He could’ve told you to pack your bags and leave the bunker. 

And you’d tried to move on, because you owed him that much. You’d failed, but you tried.

He’d always stopped you. At countless bars he’d stepped between you and whoever you were flirting with, telling you Sam was drunk and they had to go now, or you all had an early drive in the morning and had to go now, or you just had to go now.

Sam had never really looked that drunk. 

Dean had always guided you out of the bar with a possessive hand on your lower back.

He’d rejected you, and he’d never let you get over him. 

As if he-

“Sam.” Your tone is harsh and cold. You don’t care. “How long has- Have I been in love with m-“ You correct yourself again with your own name, your voice dropping another octave, and there’s a long pause over the speaker.

“Forever, dude. You told me that like, day one you were whipped. I mean- You know that. Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You snap. You’re barely breathing. “Sam, I need you to feed the cat.”

For a second, you think the call dropped and that the plan hadn’t worked. The plan needed to work. You needed to get back into your own body so you could fucking kill Dean-

“Dean, we don’t have a cat. You’re allergic-“

“Sparky. In storage room nine. He needs food.”

“Spar- I don’t- What- Did-“ Sam snaps your name, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Did she tell you something? Did you get her drunk again? Because you know she’ll kill you when she gets sober, she hates it when you do that-“

You know exactly what Sam’s trying to accuse you—accuse Dean—of. You get loose-lipped when you drink. You tell secrets and lose your filter, and you always feel horrible in the morning because they’re rarely your secrets and the lack of filter is really embarrassing.

Dean’s told you it’s adorable. That he likes drunk you, because she’s honest and takes somehow less shit than sober you. That she’s you in the rawest form, and its’s awesome.

You can’t believe you ever bought that he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.

“There’s wet food in the pantry, behind all the cabbage and carrots. Should be enough for Sparky until I get home.” You push on, narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scoop the litter box too. I think I forget.”

“You- You’ve never been in the pantry. That’s why we-“ Sam cuts himself off, and you can hear the gears spinning in his brain over the phone. 

Then he says your name, and there’s an element of horror in his voice that feels pretty appropriate. 

“Thank fuck.” You mutter, and take your chances to try and just say it. “Code Vermilion, Sam.”

“Code- That’s a zombie situation, are there-“

“Shit- sorry.” You chew on your tongue, trying to recall the emergency system you’d fucking designed. “Code Puce.”

“You fucking body swapped?!” There is it. Thank God. “Why didn’t you just, you know, say that-“

“I couldn’t!” You were shouting, but Sam was also shouting, so it was only fair. “I called you all day on my phone, and the moment I tried to, the call dropped! I tried to email or text you and it never sent, I tried to fucking snail mail you and the letter burst into flames! Dean short-circuited a fax machine-“

Sam groans. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me. I mean Dean, Dean’s gonna kill me. I was never supposed to tell,” Sam says your name, then cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, I mean you, I wasn’t supposed to tell you- God damn it-“

“Sam.” Your voice has become clipped. Short. You don’t need a reminder of the previous conversation, and this just really needs to be over. “If I email you all the details, can you start looking for fixes?”

“Yeah, sure, just-“ He pauses, his voice dropping sightly. “You think emails gonna work now?”

“We’re talking about it and the call’s not dropping.” You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Text me any solutions you have. I’ll keep you updated on my end, and when Dean gets home, make him sleep on the floor of your room and don’t let him go to the bathroom alone. Okay?”

“Oh- Wait-“ Sam says your name, and you can hear the confusion in his voice. “What do you mean when Dean gets home-“

“I mean when Dean gets home. Bye, Sam.” 

You hang up, and spend a long minute just staring at the wall.

Dean’s in love with you. Sam says Dean’s in fucking love with you, and you believe him, and you-

You can’t stay here. 

This needs to be fixed, but you cannot stay here. 

You open the door to the hall. And there he is. There you are, and your body—Dean’s body, the one that’s allegedly in love with you—is leaning forward to be closer to you. To Dean.

Fuck.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Dean frowns at you, pulling your lips down into a pouty frown. It makes your dick—Dean’s dick—twitch in his pants. 

“Tell you what?”

You brace your whole body, standing a little taller. “That you love me.”

“That I-“ Dean’s eyes narrow, and you’ve never been on the receiving end on your own glare. It’s more violent than you’d imagined, and his dick is twitching again. “What the hell did Sammy say to you-“

“Don’t blame Sam.” You snap. “Answer me.”

“You didn’t ask a freakin’ question, sweetheart-“

“Yes. I did.” You lean down a little, holding Dean’s gaze. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re in love with me.”

Dean stares at you, and you think he’s going to deny it. That he’ll grunt that you’ve had this conversation before, and he doesn’t love you. That he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and whatever Sam said was a joke. Just a prank, and you need to focus on fixing this body swap instead of your feelings.

What he does is worse. 

He shakes his head, refuses to meet your eyes, and pushes his words through his teeth.

“You were never supposed to know.” He mutters. “It was for your own good-“

“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” Your voice is a roar, and you make yourself flinch, but Dean doesn’t.

He’s in your body. 

You never flinch when Dean shouts, because you know he’d never actually hurt you-

You’re going to start fucking crying. You probably already would have, if it didn’t feel like an effort in Dean’s body.

“You- You broke my heart.” You glare at him, your voice half between a hiss and a whisper. “You told me you’d never seen me that way, and you apologized. You said you didn’t want me. You told me the feeling would pass, and then you fucking stopped it-“ Your voice raises, and you stand a little taller. You can be shattered and furious. You can be a fucking storm of glass to break and carve into Dean the same way he did to you, because how could he do this to you. “You fucking stopped me from moving on! You cockblocked me, and you got angry whenever I’d go out without you, and you kept touching me and acting like everything was fine-“

Dean says your name slowly, and you can hear the regret in his voice, but you don’t care. This hurts, this hurts so much worse than before because you’d felt insane, you’d driven yourself mad with love for Dean and he’d just tightened the straitjacket and acted like you’d find a cure for this when he’d been actively keeping it from you-

“Why the fuck would you do this?! Do you hate me? Am I really that horrible that you can’t stand the idea of being in love with me-“

“It’s not you.” Dean snaps your name, shaking his head. “It’s- I was keeping you fucking safe-“

“Fuck off-“

“No!” His voice—your voice—is trying to mimic your own shout, and it’s not really working in his favor. “You- you don’t fucking get it, sweetheart, if I let us do that, let us be that, you’d have a target on your back, every son of a bitch in hell and heaven would use you and hurt you, just to get to me-“

“I’m not stupid! I know what the risks are just associating with Winchesters, and I don’t care.” You rub your face, and everything hurts. You feel like you’re choking on the air, and you can’t be here. “I didn’t care, Dean, I just wanted you.”

“You would’ve cared.” His voice—your voice—is bitter. Hollow. Resolved. “When you were being tortured and murdered, you would’ve cared. And I would’ve had to live with it. With the fact that I lost you-“

“You wouldn’t have lost me, Dean.” You fish the keys to the Impala out of your pocket, and toss them to him with his phone. “You never would’ve lost me, if you’d actually fucking tried.”

It would be kinder to let him get in a word, or a protest, or even a sort of apology. But everything hurts, and you really can’t fucking stay here or you’ll rip off your skin—Dean’s skin—and beat in your own skull with your hands. 

Your real skull—holding Dean’s mind—with how raw and furious this pain is, or Dean’s real skull with self-inflicted pain.

And that’s why you’re past kindness. You’ve been shot and choked and stabbed and sliced to pieces, but this is the worst pain you’ve ever know. He was never supposed to hurt you. You’d always trusted that this huge lunk of a body would never hurt you.

But you hadn’t counted on Dean, and how he’d been willing to risk your of peace of mind for his misguided, self-sacrificing martyr bullshit.

You’d always tried to tell him that you didn’t want him to sacrifice for you. That him staying with you meant more than him leaving you alive, but alone.

And he’d never listened.

So now you’re walking away.

Dean will be fine. He’ll get your body safely back to the bunker, tell Sam everything that happened, and figure out how to justify this to himself.

Sam will make sure nothing happens to your body until this gets fixed. And you’ll take care of Dean’s body by yourself, far away from Kansas, hiding in a shitty little harbor town until you work this out.

Alone.

Just like Dean had wanted.

For a long week, time drags to a crawl. You hole in a motel room with a laptop, coffee and vodka—you don’t really care which on you’re drinking when your go for a glass, just as long as it’s one of them—about half of a gas station’s junk food supply, and the local library’s entire collection of books of cult, myth, and lore.

The motel is dusty and warm, and the nights are horrible and cold, but this is what you needed. You stop running into doorways and hitting your head on things, and you figure out how to sleep comfortably in his body. You learn how to go to the bathroom and barely touch or think about what you’re doing, how to not get weirded out when the same face you see in your dreams is the same one that greets you in the mirror.

And you miss him. A lot.

But your fury is stronger than the ache for him to return to your side. And there’s a slightly fucked up comfort to being trapped in his body. You can watch the hands you’ve had graphic and detailed dreams about sort through papers, and you can bite your lips and understand what that sensation would do to Dean’s body.

You never cross that line. Dean’s cock will call itself to attention at random time, and you’ll just ignore it, no matter how demanding it feels. 

You’re getting really good at ignoring things.

Calls. Texts. Voicemail after voicemail from Sam and Dean. You listen to one or two, just to check—they’re fine, just angry you’ve vanished and demanding to know where you are—and delete all the rest. Sam gives up after a few days, when you respond to his email about Eurasian body swapping lore with a list of your own working theories. 

You think he’s just happy to know you’re alive.

This doesn’t seem to be the case for Dean. 

He doesn’t stop trying to get you to pick up the phone. His voicemails get longer and longer, and his texts come more and more frequently, and the only thing that save him from being blocked is that you still love him.

You’d meant what you said. Dean would never lose you, not really. You’re just certain that if you talk to him or see him he’ll try to explain himself, and you don’t want an explanation. You just fucking want him, and as long as he’s going to keep pretending that’s something he can’t give you, he doesn’t get to have you at all. 

So you keep the door locked, keep your phone on silent, and just fucking work until you fix this. 

And when you do, you don’t bother with a warning. You find the exact curse, work out the ritual for reversal, and do it. 

The world blur, your head spins and Dean’s body seizes like it’s been struck by lightning, and that’s it.

You’re in the bunker library, lying on the floor as Sam hovers over you, and it’s over.

“Dean, what the-“ Sam jostles you slightly, and a little vomit shoots up your throat. After effects. “Dean-“

“Not Dean.” You mumble your own name, shoving Sam’s hands away from your face and pushing yourself upright. “I fixed it.”

“You-“ Sam shakes his head, scanning over you with a frown. “You fixed it?”

“Obviously.” You rub your temple, your head pounding and everything far too bright. “Dean’ll be in Sekiu, Washington.”

“Why-“

“Because that’s where I was-“

“I know that.” Sam snaps, giving you a glare. “Why are you telling me. You’re the one going to get him.”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m-“

“You are.” Sam’s making a stern bitch-face. He’s about to get punched. “Because either you act like an adult and go talk to Dean, or he stays in Washington until you grow up.”

“Until I-“ You give Sam a look of pure disbelief. “He’s the one who lied to me! Why do I have to grow up-“

“Because it’s Dean. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you-“

“But he did.” You rub your arms for comfort, and God, it’s nice to be back in your own body. You know where to pinch your own skin to keep your head right, and you can cross your legs without any discomfort, shielding your face from Sam by bowing your head and letting your hair take care of the rest. “He was just going to let me think he didn’t love me, that he didn’t care-“

“You know he cared.” Sam says, his voice still firm, but a little more gentle. “He does care. He spent the whole week trying to figure out how to fix this, and when I told him to stop calling you he told me to shove it, because he needed to work this out. He’s just-“ Sam sighs. “He’s Dean.”

“I know.” You chew on your lips, frowning at the floor. “But it’s- It wasn’t fair, Sam. It was mean. It- I don’t feel loved. I just feel like he didn’t love me- didn’t want me enough to do something about it.”

“Okay.” Sam shrugs. “Tell him that. Or just kick his ass, because he deserves it, or make out with him. I don’t care, as long you go pick up Dean, and I get my week off.”

You give him a flat look. “You just want your secret spa time-“

“Yeah, I do. Get out.”

“But-“

“You get to drive the Impala again. The keys are in your pocket.”

Your hand flies to your jeans, and they are. And Sam’s right, you do have to work this out somehow. If you leave the bunker, you’ll be abandoning the secret cat to Sam, and it’ll die within the week.

So you’re either kill Dean or-

You don’t let yourself think of the alternative. You’ve trained yourself not to. 

But it doesn’t stop the spark of hope in your chest when you start Baby’s engine, take a long breath, and head out to go get Dean.

End Note: Sam I hope you have a wonderful secret spa day, you've earned it my king.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[dilf-docs]

This Thing Upon Me, Howls Like A Beast

professor!pedro pascal x younger!reader

summary: to cover some social hours and as a favor to your recently fallen-ill friend, you become your research methodology professor's TA. but here's the catch: you've got history, and what you really mean is beef; good, pure, unadulterated loath.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, pwp, rivals to ??, hate sex, p. in v. (do i even wrap it atp), degradation kink, daddy kink, lwk exhibition kink bc this happens on his office (rip to the furniture), bit dom!pedro + brat taming (again?? stop it mayor we get itttt omg) sprinkled here and there, fingering, squirting, creampie (everyone got invited to the party), reader is a loud-mouth (who's this divaaa), pedro's kind of an asshole and a perv in this one (ooc sorry), don't expect a second part this is literally just self-fulfilling filth without a storyline

word count: 6,451 words

side note: hello! this won the poll. am i the only one with this fantasy? pls tell me not; i feel insane looking some of my professors like a fucking starved drooling dog. giggling as we speak, bc the movie's got everybody insane between marvel renaissance, gif dump, new content, husband!pedro material and professor wet dreams out there... this piece of work is the last. hope you enjoy it, citizens! ps. jin of bts makes an appearance bc i love my seven men and i'm currently sick so he is sick too lmao (ah pero para escribir cochinadas ahí sí estás sana verdad)

It's your fault, really, for opening it in the middle of the class. It was a link, and you should've saved it for later, but then your thumb clicked into the blue underlined text your friend sent, and the reel popped up on your screen.

Your laugh erupted before you could cover your mouth, your professors' words hanging mid-air.

"Who did that?"

Everyone looks at you. Those sell-out, ass-kissing, boot-licking dicks.

His eyebrows furrow until they seem to melt into one, a big angry scowl on Mr. Pascal's face.

"Something you'd like to share with the class, Ms. Y/n?"

His voice reverberates on the class' walls, sounding even scarier.

You shake your head, tone quiet as you let out a small, "No"

"No?" he repeats your words, mocking your insecure demeanor, "because with that loud ass laugh, it seemed like something important enough to dissrupt my class. So please, share. You can't leave us wondering in here"

People cough and avoid your gaze while you wish the building would collapse and kill everyone inside, you included. Oh, that would be good. But no, you're stuck on a space that now feels too small and his persistent gaze cuts right through you.

"I-It's not important-" you stumble over your words.

"Can't speak anymore? All that boldness, suddenly gone"

"Mr. Pascal" you plead. God, you had never even begged for anything in your life. But there's always a first.

"I said share" his voice menacing, like he's got not an ounce of sympathy in that sturdy body that could fit plenty. No, wait. Focus!

He grows impatient at your lack of movement, practically growling his next words:

"I won't repeat myself"

"I-I I don't know how to-" you cut yourself off, cringing at how pathetic you sound. "It's a video, so-"

"Then cast your phone and project it" he clicks his tongue, clearly enjoying this. What a sadistic motherfucker.

"I-I can't-"

Can Jesus please hurry up and come fast? Even better, immediately take this one to hell, please.

"Aw, you poor thing" he tuts, mockingly. No one dares to speak, and you'll learn later that he's got his own reputation. For a reason.

"Don't worry, I'll help you myself"

Turns out, the fucker made you and your shaky legs stand up and walk the walk of shame. Then, you had to proyect the silly video, which in handsight, wasn't funny anymore. While some of your classmates laughed, that didn't lessen how humilliated you felt.

It had happened during your first year at university, on a subject you really couldn't care less and when you were still (practically) a baby; freshly eighteen. But now you were twenty, almost finishing your career, and the shaky insecure teenager was long gone, replaced by a secure (albeit a bit of a bitch), confident woman.

That had been your first encounter with professor Pascal.

You have to give him some credit: he is kind of the reason why you did a full 180 on your personality.

But life always comes back to bite you in the ass.

"What do you mean you're sick?" you scoff, "we were supposed to go to Dave's party tonight!"

Your friend lets out a cough that sounds borderline animalistic.

"First of all, don't come closer. I'll pass it to you" Jin speaks up, voice rough from the earlier death-threatening cough. "And second, do you think I care about a stupid party? I'm dying here"

"Don't be so dramatic" you roll your eyes.

"Hello? Didn't you hear that cough?!" he sounds offended, reinforcing the feeling by throwing one of his used tissues at you. You dodge his lame throw with a yuck. "I think you're devoid of empathy"

"Well, thank Mr. Pascal for that"

Jin wasn't your friend when that happened, but when you became buddies, he eventually came to know about your beef with the older man. Yes, beef, because after the Reel Deal (as you both have come to call it), he made your life impossible. If it weren't for your skills and intelligence, you'd probably fail his subject. Mr. Pascal gave you the hardest time ever: be it pairing you with the absolute worst students or making your assigments more difficult, for an "unknown" reason.

Eventually, even after such a traumatic experience and subject being way behind, it became a staple in your duo to bring him up everytime something negative happened or was mentioned.

("You're so funny!")

("Thanks, a professor pushing fifty made my life impossible when I was eighteen")

But here's an even funnier thing: for unknown reasons, Jin became his TA last semester. Probably he didn't know that you were friends, and that has to be the reason he's actually a decent human being towards the younger boy. I'm telling you, Jin would insist, the whole mean asshole shtick is propaganda!

"Talking about him..."

"Stop" you raise your hand dramatically, "enough bad news today"

"You can still go to the party, you know?" he giggles, earning another cough that practically leaves him voiceless. "Why do you insist on taking me? I don't know this people!"

Jin was two years older your senior.

"But it's not fun without you!" you insisted on dragging him around everywhere after you met because he tutored you. "Who will I bore with all my failed flirting attempts?"

"Thank God, not me" he ignores your pout. "Besides, wasn't like Marcos insisting you went with him? There's your chance!"

"But Marcos is boring..." you draw out, "and I need a man who makes me laugh"

"You can't really ask for that much in this economy"

Okay, here's the deal: there's another reason you can't let go of the Mr. Pascal subject, and it's not because of the beef. Hell, Jin can't know about this or he'll never let you live.

The answer is quite simple: as infuriating as he is, Mr. Pascal is hot. Like, middle-aged hot, with the greying hair and face marked by lines that tell time. If it wasn't for him you'd probably never discover your preference towards more... aged meat. You should be furious, and you were, but during all your petty arguments over topics or slides that didn't deserve to be reviewed for more than five minutes, the fire that ignited in your lower belly? You've never felt it before, and if that managed to get you more hot and bothered than a fresh boy ready to kiss your lips, neck and below? Well, that's a serious issue.

But it was his voice, that treated you with such vitriol, a deep and rich sound reserved just for you, or be it the way his auburn eyes seem to catch fire whenever you opened your mouth, dark forests burning in flames that threathened to reduce it all to ashes; yo were eager, anticipating the burn.

He saw your defiance, and instead of putting you in your place, he matched that wild rageful spirit of yours that refused to be tamed.

And that you liked, despite the history of hate between you.

"What about him?" you appear nonchalant, while retouching your makeup for the party.

"About him who?" Jin quips, "we just talked about two fine men-"

"The much older man"

A weird smirk forms across his lips. "Sure, of course"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. But it will be fun, nonetheless" he sits up straight from his previous surrendered position on the couch. "So, remember how I'm his TA, right?"

"Yes?" you pause. "Wait, if this is for me to help you check again more homeworks, no. I am not helping you read a hundred papers again for free"

"They weren't a hundred!" he barks. "Besides, it's not that"

"Then?" you press, not admiting how interested you were.

"Do you see my poor state?" you nod, not understaning where he's going. "Then, you're aware I'm not capacitated to do said task as of right now"

"I'm aware" you repeat, "what I'm not, is what does that have to do with me?" you resume your activity, going for your eyeliner. "So much mystery when you could've just said it in a pass"

"I need you to cover up for me"

The liquid eyeliner paints a line across half of your face. "What?!"

He laughs at your reaction, "You heard me"

You leave the mirror, now focusing your attention on him. "It's not April Fools yet, Jin. Heads up, it was a terrible prank"

Even if it made you hot to have such dynamic with your former IM professor, you weren't exactly keen on seeing him again. For you, he had turned into a memory slash fantasy at some point: an asshole that got your panties wet and pussy slick when you touched yourself at night, on behalf of all the dumb uni boys who couldn't reach that sweet spot of yours. What a dirty girl, his velvet voice on your head would say. Why are you touching yourself to your supposed foe, a much older guy? Fucking slut. Yeah, there was no way you'd go back to the real thing for the real him to taint the image you got off almost every night to, so he could say your name in that animosity that leaked with a barely contained rage and poorly disguised distate that left a bitter taste on your mouth, ego and self-steem on the ground. Because the truth is, no matter how much you argued back, he always won. You had just found your voice, but all efforts to bring him down seemed powerless, and he had won every single battle: even if he didn't have the last word, just with a look, he made you feel small, stupid and meaningless.

Nope. Not going back.

"And you have a terrible way of coping" he's quick to counter back. "Listen, it's not so bad. You just have to do meaningless tasks and pretend to be interested. Simple, right? Look, those extra credits could be useful, you know? And you excelled the class, y/n. Easy!"

"You're making it sound trouble-free as if the man doesn't hate me"

"He's definitely forgotten about it!" he waves his hand, dissmisively. "Probably jokes about it, like us!"

"Mr. Pascal doesn't seem the type of guy to have humor"

"Humor me, then" Jin sighs. "Do this for me, yes? When have I ever failed you?"

You wish for some sense to get into his skull. Had he forgotten every single anecdote?

"Think of all those times where I've taken you home, carried you drunk. Or the sad heart breaks I've been through with you, remember? Brought you ice cream and watched your favorite movies. Or when I used to tutor you? Or-"

"Enough of your emotional manipulation, Mr. Kim" you shake your head, dissapointed, all to avoid the quiet rage to settle in. "I thought better of you"

"It's for a week. Days if this pills do a miracle" his big black eyes look at you, pleading.

"Jin, you're not being a very good friend"

"It's just this one favor" he sighs. "Look, I can't loose this thing, okay? I get the credits I need to finally leave this shithole. If I don't show up, they'll hand it to someone else. You may not believe it, but it's very demanded"

People making lines to be emotionally abused by your former IM professor? Sure thing!

"Can't you tell someone, though? I'm sure they'll understand and you can go back once this cold is gone"

"I already did so, and they told me to show up or quit, due to the wait list of people applying for the position" you roll your eyes at your university's antics and their bullshit policies. "I don't trust anyone else to not fuck it up, but you. You'll just have to tell him about this minor inconvenience, and Mr. Pascal will understand. You know, I'm kind of his favorite guy in there..."

Great, just what you needed.

"Sorry to break it to you, but as soon as I walk through that door, all that pretty boy privilege would be gone"

"Please, y/n. Please"

"You'll never ask me any other favor?"

"No" he looks rather desperate; it's funny. "Hell, you can use the lake cabin for your birthday bash if you-"

"Deal"

Were you that easy to buy, huh? What does that say about you? Fucking ass sell-out.

Okay, but a birthday party in that all glass modern cabin with a deck and a jacuzzi does sound tempting. Who could be blamed? Not you, who will have to face her biggest foe in exchange for one wild bash.

You take a deep breath, imagining the lake water splashing and champagne on the deck (ugh, Jin's parents had a waterbike too. They were loaded), before knocking on his office. The door flings open, almost hitting you in the face, and there he is: Mr. Pascal, with his brown hair with white on the sides, loose curl over his face. Your fingers definitely don't itch to touch it, of course.

He's sporting a grumpy look (when doesn't he?), his big hands (you had forgotten how big they were) holding a bunch of papers (great, work!).

"Goddamn it, Jin. I was about to call you for standing me up, you know I hate when people don't tell me-"

He stops on his tracks, and that all too familiar scowl deepens his face.

"You"

Seethed with such venom, it's quite scary. Your legs tremble, yet your pussy clenches.

"Yes, me" you can't help but let out a little laugh at his antics. What did Jin said about him not remembering you? Well, can't be blamed; you weren't easy to forget.

His jaw clenches while looking down at you, but this time, you don't dare to flinch.

"What are you doing here?"

"See, Jin is my friend-"

He interrupts you, body frame resting on the door with a relaxed posture, but his shoulder looks tense.

"Oh, I liked him. Liked, as in past tense" he emphasizes, like a child throwing a tantrum. "How can a kid like him be friends with you?"

"We're best friends, thank you very much. As a matter of fact, I'm here as a favor" you hand him Jin's written apology, that may have one or two sneezes over it. "He's sick, and I'll cover him for a week, just so he doesn't loose the position. Said you would understand"

"I do" he replies on an instant, "you I don't"

"I passed your subject. With honors, even after you made my life impossible" you reply. "I'm the best candidate, face it"

He's rendered speechless for a moment, before he bites back:

"What makes you think I won't do it again?"

Now it's you who doesn't know what to say. It's infuriating how he still keeps winning.

"That's right" a wicked smile adorns his face. "Stay and find out"

Boy, don't you love a challenge?

So you stayed, much to his surprise. The bastard probably thought you were still the same scaredy mouse from first year.

Oh, it was delicious the way his whole face fell at your entrance next morning, how he quickly replaced it and introduced you in a clipped tone.

"Where's Jin?" a girl sitting in the front row had asked, more students joining to ask for his absence. You wonder if your friend's popularity stems from his brain or looks.

"He's sick" you answered. "But don't worry, he'll be back soon"

"Thank God" Mr. Pascal voices out loud.

You shoot him a look. He wasn't joking about not making it easy, was he?

"Oh, I didn't take you as a man of faith, Mr. Pascal, but you're right. It's important to thank our Lord everyday. So, thank Him for this week where I get to offer my suffering. In reward" you turn to face him, all the class silent as they take in your weird exchange, the atmosphere tense, "I'll never see your face again"

This time, you weren't going down without a fight.

"We'll see about that"

There it was: the fire to your gasoline.

So you pushed back, and argued everytime you disagreed, things that weren't part of your work but you still did because well, if he was still hellbent on making you suffer, you weren't going to make it easy for him this time.

If students argued against him, you took their side; even if just one did, you had their back.

You finished grading, but when returning the papers, you'd let them fall with a heavy thud over his desk, not even daring to look back.

At the time he'd talk to you, you wouldn't answer, instead just doing so, but no words to be uttered his way, as if he wasn't worth the effort. Not even a clipped okay.

And you enjoyed this; savored how he'd take every one of your petty actions with his full chest, eyebrows furrowed and face red in anger, but never answering, just silent, like deep in thought, a cold and calculated look overtaking his brown eyes.

Then the veins on his neck would pop as the ones of his tight white-knuckled grip on his mug. He'd speak up, and his voice had your legs shaking for some friction, wet spots now more often on your lingerie.

That he didn't know.

All he did was you were now more than a pebble on his shoe: a huge fucking stone, going down the hill, ready to squash him.

But boy, didn't he love a challenge?

It's Friday, aka last day of Torture Week.

You drop the quizzes for next Monday on his desk with the same harsh movement you had done all week.

"And it's over" you announce, papers plopping next to him, who is writing something. Mr. Pascal's hand moves, his L much longer than it should be. He looks up at you, annoyed, but his eyes flash with a hint of amusement.

"I see you can talk"

"Well, you already know me, Mr. Pascal. So you should be aware of what I can do"

"Love if you'd enlighten me"

He leans back on his chair, arms resting behind his head. It's hard not to take a brief glance to the flexing muscles, or how he's rolled up his sleeves, arms bulking up with the action, the fabric tense. It's hot in here. Wait, or has it gotten hot? Your face feels red, and when he catches your lingering gaze, he smiles devilishly.

"Like what you see, Ms. Y/n?"

No. You refuse to let him win this again, so close to the end.

"The release from prison?" you regain your posture, "very much"

"You may be a loud-mouthed brat, always knowin' what to say. I'll give that to you" he props himself to the front, elbows now resting on the desk as his eyes scan yours with a shade of dark covering them. "But a good liar you ain't"

You try to remain still, face emotionless, but your professor is a man of experience; an expert on his field. He who investigates, who has majored to be able to notice every small detail that can contribute to a hypothesis, has now formulated his.

You want this as much as he wants to.

You, with your wobbly legs and nervous eyes, glancing up at him with a hungry gaze that matches his own, despite your angry posture and irritated tone. You, that picked up petty arguments just to rile him up, because you liked the command for power on his voice. You like this, didn't you? Feeling small and weak, fangs pointy, just barely gracing the skin; the edge what set your skin on fire.

He isn't one to hold grudges (he's just mean all the time), but Pedro is willing to show you he hasn't forgotten about the years, and he'll be more than willing to fuck that bitchy attitude out of you.

"Hello?" you snap your fingers in front of him, "are you there?"

He snaps back to reality, your face covering his vision. In his position, he gets rewarded with a delicious peak at your breasts and the nude lingerine hiding them. He can imagine the perked nipples and the rosy plush skin he'd love to trace his tongue with, because even when you speak in a harsh voice, your eyes speak another thing. Fuck, he thinks he can even smell your arousal.

"I was talking to you" you don't even give him room to reply; snotty ass. "Said I was already leaving"

He thinks of himself as merciful. So he stands up, your bodies barely brushing against each other for a second, before he's opening the door, towering over you. He's so close, you can see the grey hairs mixed with the brown ones on his beard and mustache. God, you can smell him: coffee, cigarrettes, sandalwood and leather.

"You're free, Ms. Y/n" he follows your line of joke from before. "Just, humor me with one last thing"

You glance over at the clock above his desk. It's barely noon.

"Yes?" as dry as possible.

"Why did you accept?"

It's a simple question, really, but it manages to catch you off guard.

His tone is so different, maybe that's why: it's low, impossibly low. For less attentive people, it could even pass as a growl. But you hear, the amusement and dare laced within the velvety tone.

"Because I'm a good friend" you manage to speak, his body caging your smaller frame against the door.

This is ridiculous. You can leave at any time. Hello? Have your legs not gotten the memo?

"I didn't think you were capable of good things"

You huff, annoyed. "Well, I passed your subject, didn't I?"

He clicks his tongue.

"Many before you, and more after you have. Doesn't make you special, y/n"

Your name alone leaves a savory and toxic sweetness on his tongue.

"But how many of those you remember?" Mr. Pascal shots up an eyebrow, confused. "Tell me, how many can you name? That's right. I changed your life, whether you like it or not"

He's quick to reply. "Bullshit"

"Bullshit" you mock his angry tone, "but you recognized me the moment you opened the door. It didn't even take you seconds, hell, you hadn't even fully seen me and you knew who I was. Doesn't take a great investigator to figure it out, does it? So I take you missed me"

He can't believe your fucking mouth.

But then Pedro's remembering the way his pants tightened when you started to stand up to him, getting even worse when he still managed to shut you up. Fuck, the way you had smirked when you approved his subject during your last project delivery. He let you, because well, you had earned it: for the way your image had been the perfect companion for his hand pistoning his cock will full force, thinking of that loud mouth of yours gagged with it. Or when you walked past him in the hallways, wrapped in your own little bubble, your carefree laugh erupting and bouncing off the walls, tickling every hair of his body.

Part of him had accepted Jin to be his TA if that meant having a piece of you, even if a small connection, to you. Did you think he wouldn't know? That he wouldn't see you walking by in those small skirts that rode over when you bent? He noticed you; after all, you were in the same place most of your day.

You had excelled his subject after all, hadn't you?

So of course you'd notice his stare lingering in your back like a hand over your ass. How his eyes would dart to the skirts you wore on purpose, attentive to the moment you'd drop a pen on accident and your panties would be on sight, a wet spot in the middle you hadn't even noticed that smelled. Fuck, and wasn't it sweet?

You really feel like you have won this, don't you?

"Miss you?" Pedro hisses the words out. "I didn't miss you. What I think is happenin', is that me missing you is what you want"

"And I think you're repeating the same words and fumbling thoughts because you're a big egocentric prideful asshole who can't admit he's got the hots for his younger student"

"God. Don't you have such a filthy mouth, baby?"

Before he can register and you've fully let the nickname sink, your hand slaps his face with a potent movement that reverberates across his office's walls.

"You're a fucking piece of work, Mr. Pascal" but instead of being offended (or you don't know, fight back?), he remains silent. "You dirty old spoiled prick. Think I would never fight you back? That you can get away with whatever this is?"

"Whatever this is?" he chuckles, a sound rumbling deep from his chest. "Well, pretty girl, ain't you started this?"

He looms over you, hot breath carressing your face softly.

"Me? Unbelievable" you scoff. "You're one to talk, humiliating a poor freshman"

"Poor? You were distracted, in my class! Did your parents never teach you manners?!" his words leave droplets of spit that land in your face. "I had to put your stupid ass in place; that'll teach you something"

"Like what?" you taunt, recklessly, chest up and down with uneven breaths.

"I see it didn't work" his body language does an immediate switch. You remember a predator ready to strike their prey. "Maybe I should've tried harder"

His eyes do a wild dance over your body as so do yours.

Lip. Eyes. Skin. Cleavage. His tight pants. Biceps. Legs. Hair.

Before you can register, he's got you pinned against his desk, door closed in a loud move. There's a click sound somewhere in between, but you're too busy feeling his big hands grabbing your face roughly, as if he wants to consume your skin and feel your very bones on his calloused tips.

His lips are impossibly wet and eager, hands needily gropping your body. He pushes all his weight over you as he deepens the kiss, his tongue now inside your mouth, making you falter.

You let out a breathy moan when your back hits the desk, the wood digging your skin, but he swallows it whole, making it impossible for you to talk.

"Mmph-"

"Mmph?" he mocks between kisses, not giving you the chance to take a breath, or maybe he was scared you would get the time to think and would push him away. "Just my mouth got you all worked up, baby? Can't even speak"

Your fingers run through his hair for support, curls between your fingers. They felt soft, like they were meant to be combed through over and over again. He dives his head in your neck, hot mouth wet with its trail of kisses, making you squirm.

"I see" his breath ghosts over your reddened skin, "you wanted this just as much, don't you? This boys aren't enough for you?"

Every hair on your body prickles, his mouth claiming every spot he could, bites and hickeys all over your skin. You whine, pouting your lips, missing his already.

"It's okay, baby" he laughs, "just gotta show them who's enough for you" he grunts, "a man"

Mr. Pascal takes off your shirt, well, basically rips the poor thing, his hands relieved to finally touch your breasts. He roughly grabs one of them, and you bite your lip so hard, you almost feel the bitter metallic taste in your mouth. He lowers himself, despite his aching joints, to play with your hardened nipples, lapping them with his warm tongue, sucking and swirling until they turn swollen.

Your hand finds its way to his formal pants, fingers gracing over the fabric, feeling his cock straining against it. Just like you imagined it: big, like his presence. If it could, your pussy would jump in excitement, realistically just throbbing and leaking.

You untie his belt and buttons so you can begin to rub over his boxers. You can feel him trying to meet your touches, grinding onto your palm. He groans, deeply, enjoying your hungry stare, steady beat, parted lips and wet cunt.

He bucks his hips against you, propping himself on the wall behind his desk, which had moved from its original position thanks to the mayhem.

"You clearly don't know what you got yourself into, baby. But don't worry, I ain't letting you go just yet"

He pulls the skirt up, revealing the damp panties and mess between your legs. He licks his lips before rough digits find your wet folds. His fingers carress your impossibly tight walls, coating them with your slick.

"So fucking tight" he groans against your collarbones, "thought of yourself as uptight but I can fucking smell you dripping, you dirty slut. Could tell you loved provoking me becayse that's the only way your snotty ass can get off"

"F-fuck you, Mr. Pascal" you manage to choke out.

"Where are your manners? After how I've rewarded your big mouth, you bitch" he takes off your panties with skilled practice, the piece falling to the floor with a weak sound. Your bare cunt makes you shiver. "You think you're smart, baby? You think you can play these games and face no consequences at all?" he tuts. "No, Ms. Y/n, you know I hate wastin' my time, so be a good girl and don't make this harder for you, get that?"

You whine at his words, but refuse to shut your mouth.

"Oh, I'm smart" you laugh, "smart enough to have you on your knees for me"

An ugly grin spreads across his features.

"I will never bend for a bratty pretentious slut like you" he grips your hair with force, leaving your neck exposed, "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, stupid cock hungry whore. You wanted my attention? It's all yours"

Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he grabs your hips and hoists you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He sweeps the papers and books onto the floor with a clatter, setting you down on the edge.

"You better behave, baby" Mr. Pascal bites your lower lip, "don't want people to know what we're doing in here, do you? Or would you want them to know just how much of a slut you are, spread on my desk as your cunt drips for me?"

He steps between your legs, pushing them further apart, his hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. He leans in, his face inches from yours, voice low in a threatening rasp.

"I'll behave, I promise" mind in blank.

"No loud mouth bitchy stuck up attitude?"

You free his cock, hands scouting his shaft, his base, and balls. You fondled them while his fingers lingered closer to your pussy.

"No"

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? To be fucked stupid and used for my pleasure? Well, get ready, because I'm not going to stop until I've had my fill of this sweet little cunt"

He savors at the sight of your glistening folds.

"Let me-"

He laughs, seeing how you desire to guide his cock towards your entrance.

"Eager, little one?" he teases.

"Yes" you whimper, "I need you so badly, papi"

Your plea mixed with Spanish sends him on edge. His eyes darken with a primal, almost feral hunger at your desperate plea.

His voice is strained, rough with barely restrained lust.

"Fuck, you needy little thing. You want to take my dick until this desk breaks?"

He rubs the swollen head of his dick against your dripping slit, coating it in your arousal. Then, with one powerful thrust, he slams into you, burying himself to the hilt in your tight, hot cunt.

"So tight" he groans, starting to move and setting a brutal pace from the very beginning. The desk shakes and creaks beneath you with each forceful thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the empty office. He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He sets a relentless, punishing rhythm, determined to fuck you into oblivion.

It's a goddamn view in here: him above you, droplets of sweat falling to your face, pristine hair now disheveled.

At this point, you were clenching so hard it hurt, walls fluttering around his massive girth. But he's greedy, and he's pushing himself deeper and deeper.

"Runnin' your mouth but now all quiet as you take all of me, hungry greedy whore" he digs his fingers into your cheeks harshly, but you find pleasure in the sting the pain causes. "Bet this is all you been thinking since you started talking back, huh? Don't worry, daddy's got you"

Surprisingly, he leans down, capturing your mouth in a dominating kiss, tongue invading your mouth. His hand comes up to wrap around your throat, squeezing lightly, a silent reminder of who you belong to.

"God. You're wet everywhere, baby"

His sweaty chest presses itself onto your tits as he forced his cock deeper within you, the plaid shirt sticking with sweat to his ablazed body, temperature high.

"T-the desk" you protest numbly; mind-fucked.

And oh, boy, doesn't he enjoy this view? Your fluttering eyelids, hazy eyes and trembling body.

So he keeps fucking you: pounding into you, rolling his hips skillfully, taking up all the space within you.

"I don't give a damn fuck about the desk, Ms. Y/n. I'm gonna fuck that attitude of yours until all you know is my name" he leans down, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. His hands grip your hips with bruising force, pulling you harder against him with each violent thrust. "Gonna break the desk, hell, fuck you on the floor if necessary, but you ain't leaving this office until my cum drips from your legs and everyone knows your tight little cunt is mine"

The desk groans and wobbles beneath you, the legs scraping against the floor as Pedro fucks you with wild abandon. The sound of your moans and the crude, wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the room.

His pubic bone grinds against your clit with each thrust, the rough friction sending jolts of electric pleasure shooting up your spine. His cock hits that perfect spot inside you, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the desk.

He feels your walls starting to flutter around him, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches. Mr. Pascal leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Why don't you be a good girl and tell daddy how good he's making you feel? Show me and everyone else what a desperate little slut you are, waiting for me to fill you up nicely with my seed"

He makes out of you a loud mess, a series of sweet sounds falling from your lips. You clench and he twitches, his digits holding your waist, keeping you in place for him.

"Good girl" he praises, "now you're gonna take it all, milk me dry, you greedy cocksleeve"

His thrusts become erratic and sloppier. The older man can feel your walls starting to flutter around him, body tensing as your orgasm approaches. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a dark, intimate rasp.

"Will you be a good girl?"

"Yes!" you cry out, "don't stop!"

You hated this humilliation, how easy it is for him to fuck you with his big cock. You fucking hated him. But didn't he make you feel so good.

"Then come on my cock, bitch"

You didn't think it was capable, no, but you did. A first, another first when it came to Mr. Pascal.

You squirt. You fucking squirted.

Pedro lets out a feral roar of triumph when your pussy spasms around his pistoning cock, your release gushing out and soaking his dick and the desk, papers and shit beneath you (no, not the quizzes! You had printed them this morning). He savors the way you throw your head back, eyes rolling until they turn white on your fucked-out face.

"Such a sweet cunt, baby" he praises. "Milk me dry, come on"

Your slick walls milking him dry pushes him over the edge, clenching around him, and he knew it was over. He snaps, arching his back as he roughly moans. With one final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come. Thick, scorching ropes of cum paint your insides, flooding your womb with his potent seed, still pushing the remnants inside when he grinds against you, his pelvis pressed tight to yours as he rides out the waves of his intense orgasm. His grip on your hips tightens, fingermarks surely to be left in the soft flesh as he holds you in place, ensuring you take every last drop of his release.

"That's it, pretty baby. Can't even speak, can you?" he captures your mouth in a deep, dominating kiss. Like he owns you. "As you can see, I'm a man of my word"

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as he pants softly. His eyes, when they meet yours, are dark and intense, filled with a primal, almost feral satisfaction.

It's humilliating, really, how your lips search for more. You need him, badly, despite how shit he treats you and how wrong all of this is. Is this a win or a loose?

"Good girl" he repeats, his sweaty forehead clashing against yours. The desk creaks yet again. You love when he praises you, and you whine on instintic, making him laugh. "Learned your place just yet? Listen carefully, Ms. Y/n: no matter what you do or say, I'll always win, get it? And you'll be nothing but a needy uptight slut who begs for my attention and cock"

He pulls out of you slowly, his softening dick slipping from your well-used hole with a gush of their combined releases. He tucks himself away, doing up his pants with quick, efficient movements. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, smearing a streak of his cum across it.

"Go on. Taste it, and tell me how it feels"

Your tongue does a lazy movement, making your lips moist thanks to the saliva and his cum, like a fucking gloss. You shouldn't enjoy this, really, but your body shivers when you feel the taste of him going down your throat as you swallow.

"Good" you manage to speak, salt on the tip of your tongue.

"Good" he repeats, voice low and menacing, "because we're just getting started"

[aeliem]

I have like 15 different versions of their relationships in my head (especially killer & nightmare) (help)

also bonus thing

unhinged rambles under the cut

i added underfell sans cuz i associate him with the bad sanses for some reason (more than error anyway)

i think Red doesn't really belong here (in my head he is definitively part of this group, just compared to the others he hasn't done anything nearly as horrible as them) so he'd be very stressed out all the time about fitting in/not being thrown away i think in the beginning this would translate by him getting close to whoever is the most powerful, so at first Dust (because i hc he has the highest LV of all of them), then he'd see how fucking pathetic dust is and start seeing him less as an authority figure and more like a person (then feelings would blossom from their shared pathetic-ness etc etc) he'd turn to Nightmare next (cuz he is the leader of the group after all), and nightmare would try to help him not be anxious all the time but red's so terrified of being a burden he doesn't wanna ask for help, so nightmare has to slowly convince him he's worth something, and by the time red gets better BAM he's caught feeling i think Killer would just fuck with him a lot, then red would match his energy and they'd become best friends with benefits (maybe something romantic there but they would never admit it) (just bros being dudes) (they would be absolutely insufferable together) (imagine killer's chaotic energy but squared)

Killer and Nightmare's relationship(s) (yayy!)

so i have. at lot. and i mean a LOT of different versions of what their relationship could be in my head, some more toxic than others.

basically i think killer would gravitate towards nightmare, both because he's the one who got him out of his timeline, but also because he just got out of an extremely toxic friendship with the human and probably thinks it's gonna be the exact same. so no matter what nightmare's intentions are, killer is going to cling to him in a not so healthy way and treat him like the only thing that matters in the world

if nightmare's good: he tries with all his might to get killer to stop treating him like a god and start taking care of himself. nightmare gets very confused and frustrated when killer starts torturing and murdering people for him even when he isn't ordered to. also whenever nightmare gets exasperated, killer immediately backs down and shuts himself up, so nightmare would try as much as he can to not show signs of anger (or if he does, to convince killer that he's not going to hurt him). i think this would culminate in both of them having a long chat about chara and killer wanting to move on from them, and killer completely giving himself away to nightmare so they can work on this together, and so nightmare can force killer into getting better (im thinking something like TPE), until killer slowly starts rebuilding himself back up and manages to be his own person again

if nightmare sucks (cw for abuse): he will use killer's past to his own advantage, im thinking sometimes acting like chara on purpose (or even shape-shifting into them) to get him to do things, being extremely affectionate and giving killer the validation he craves, until he doesn't get what he wants and then starts threatening killer and accusing him of being a piece of shit, and generally holding what he did while with chara over his head. maybe nightmare genuinely loves killer in some way, and killer sees it as a sign of good will, like if he loves me it means he's doing this for my own good (he's not).

Dust i headcanon is a complete asshole (in several different ways but we'll get there). he thinks he's so much better than everyone else, and that he's a good murderer who killed for good reasons, while the others are horrible little freaks who like causing pain for its own sake.

first scenario i have is if Nightmare is an asshole to the others (doesn't have to be explicitly aggressive, just generally acts like he's better than them). dust would see this as a direct confirmation of his previous theory (everyone else is an asshole), and just try to piss nightmare off as much as possible. then he gets very surprised when either the rest of the gang joins in on the annoy nightmare competition, or nightmare vents out the newly created frustration not only on dust, but also on the other people in the group. this is basically dust gaining class awareness. he's in this shitty situation with the others, and they hate it at least as much as he does. they are not privileged, they aren't enjoying any of this. they probably also think everyone else here is a murderous asshole, which is why no one is actually talking to each other. this is when he starts actually trying to communicate with them. he probably sees they're much more similar to him than he first thought, even if they all went through different events, and he tries really hard to find common ground (at first with the intent to fight nightmare, but afterwards just because he genuinely likes them).

Killer is the hardest to get along with because he's very confrontational and the closest to dust's assumption about him, but after some time he really comes to like his spontaneity and the time they spend together. they both get very attached but never really admit it, until there's like one moment where they each see the other is a gay little shit who's in love with another version of himself (the derision helps them be vulnerable). so they finally become a couple but have a very irony poisoned way of talking about it.

Horror is more of a tricky case, it depends on a lot of things, but if nightmare doesn't try to help him (or makes things worse for him), he's probably very fucked up from the time he spent back home. this becomes immediately visible to dust once they actually start talking, and horror latches on to him as the only person that still has morals/is still trying to make things better for everyone. i think it would feed a lot into dust's savior complex, and while it doesn't allow him to have a genuinely close relationship with horror, this still makes dust the one person horror can rely on, and the one person helping him recover. i think it's only once horror gets more stable (and isn't as reliant on dust) that they can actually start to form a relationship (and horror turns out to be a smartass like killer, but less chaotic and more logical which dust is very much a fan of) then they all beat the shit out of nightmare for being an asshole (the end)

if Nightmare isn't an asshole, dust has a really hard time reconciling nightmare's actions towards him and the gang with his own worldview, so he tries to interact with nightmare as little as possible to not challenge it. he even tries to leave at one point, but going back somewhere with people he murdered over and over while they did nothing to deserve it doesn't feel very good, and he eventually chooses to stay so he can have horrible people around him to convince himself he's not that bad. i think it would be a slow process of dust seeing Nightmare genuinely try to help him despite his own problems, and killer & nightmare being in a healthy, non-murderous relationship. he would fall for nightmare first, but would mostly manifest it through his jealousy towards killer. Nightmare would see this and, thinking dust is self aware enough to understand his own feelings, talk with killer about dust, with killer eventually telling nightmare if he wants to get in bed with the guy who hates him, whatever, just don't start acting clueless when shit hits the fan. then nightmare gets a lot closer to dust seemingly out of nowhere, adding to his confusion, before they both finally talk about what they want and officially get together, with killer like "this went a lot better than i expected" with Killer, i think it's more of a "nightmare isn't here and i need anyone to rant about my problems to" type of situation, where once dust gets used to not being asocial, the days nightmare goes out for long periods of time become unbearable. at first they would kinda bond over their shared love of nightmare, but over time they would start actually getting interested in each other, with still a lot of animosity but also mutual interest and respect. (pretty much a classic enemies to lovers this one ngl)

Horror is... horror is weird for me? like i dont really know where to put him. i think i just have fanon horror and canon horror bouncing around in my head and they're just so contradictory idk what to think of him. i have 2 big stories with him, but in short:

either he's just.. not interested in romance at all (whether due to being aromantic or something else). maybe he does have some sort of deeper bond with Nightmare due to him being able to read his emotions, but generally he's just a friend to the others. i think he'd be pretty distant to the rest of the gang as being the only one without a high LV, so he doesn't really want to get to know them that much. this mostly happens if he still has his brother with him, or if he's moved on from his death by the time he joins nightmare's team (or is convinced his brother is gonna be completely fine back at home)

or: if he gets forcefully brought out of his timeline by nightmare, he's completely lost and starving and traumatized six ways from sunday, and at first he's completely unable to take care of himself now that his brother's gone. i think Dust would try to help him (because nightmare's certainly not going to), and horror would just latch on to him like a mussel to its rock. after he's recovered, they would stay close and would slowly fall in love, even if neither of them really want to put it into words. it's around that time he would get to actually know Killer (and how dust feels about him), then jealousy then the same affection dust has for him (mtt poly hell yeah!!!) idk how i would actually define horror's relationship with them (i would maybe say queerplatonic but again idk), just that they're extremely close with each other (again this is partially due to nightmare being an ass, this is why i'm hesitant to mark this as purely romantic when it feels both circumstantial and like they're more than boyfriends)

Cross is also weird, i don't think about him a lot but i think he's as cold-headed as dust and as diligent/efficient as killer, so i see him relating to these two the most. it's more that i see a lot of kross/criller on my dash and i really like their dynamic (especially Killer fucking with cross) also i love the idea of a cross who's trained as a soldier and a Nightmare who already has a gang of strong sanses defending him and doesn't need anyone else, but still lets cross in because he thinks he's cute. i imagine nightmare would still give him orders from time to time to make him feel useful, but it would quickly turn into a kink thing on cross's part, then nightmare would probably make it an official/explicit thing between the two of them. for the others (Dust & Red) i don't really have a specific idea in mind, i just really like dust&red as a duo and i think there's potential for very interesting dynamics with the three of them (also Cross Dust & Error, not romantic but like, platonically, is this anything??)

personally i dont think Error would be with anyone (except Ink but even then its not 'just' love, its more a cycle of truces and betrayals, and "you're the only person in the world who could understand me so i'll stay by your side as long as possible even if i know this won't last" kinda vibe) i think error's waayy too in his own head to notice the people around him, and i think if he were to live with nightmare and the others, he's just do his own thing in his corner and not really participate, he'd only stay with them as insurance so ink can't attack him (also he gets to piss him off by altering timelines but technically he doesn't destroy anything so ink still can't break their truce) the only exception to that would be Dust (most likely in the timelines/versions where dust hates nightmare and doesn't confide in him), where they both share this sense of being better than everyone else and being tasked with a purpose no one can do but them (for error it's cleaning out the multiverse, for dust it was killing the human and he's still somewhat attached to that), but i don't think they'd be romantic with each other, just friends (though maybe error would get more attached to him since he's so lonely, but even then this would be one-sided)

It’s time…

Be sure to be respectful and have fun! 🤗🤗🤗

My own insanity/filled out ones under the cut

HUGE HUGE HUGE FAN OF A LOT OF THE SHIPS INVOLVING THESE SCRIMBLOS!! Unfortunately, I haven’t seen too much Error around, so I don’t have too many ships with him haha (although I wanted to include him because sometimes, people consider him part of the bad sanses! Same with Cross for obvious reasons).

The second picture is essentially me showing the different mini polys I really like (the color is only to help differentiate them haha) (I didn’t wanna use the mini poly color from the first picture because it would’ve gotten way too cluttered lolol).

It should be seen/unspoken the fact that I already adore them all as one big poly (with or without error haha). They rattle in my brain so much and I love them dearly

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Is it normal or something to work on if someone doesn't want to sub and bottom at all? My friends/ acquaintances said it's kind of predatory and sexist/ misogynistic if this person has no trauma to justify never wanting to change the dynamics and only seek "holes they can dominate". Which rubbed me the wrong way but I'm ace and don't have sex period, my knowledge comes from text so I don't really feel confident to have an opinion. For the record since we all sound like stalkers, I have a crush on this dom person which I know won't go anywhere and they are the one who's open about their sex life.

hi anon,

I'm gonna try so hard to use my niceys words about this because it sounds like you and your friends are young, but this is wildly inappropriate on numerous levels

1.) nobody's sexual preferences are "something to work on" as long as they're treating their partners with care and respect. the person your friends are so worried about could be a huge shithole, but since none of you know it's extremely uncalled for to speculate.

2.) no one needs trauma to justify to their sexual interests or lack thereof. period.

3.) there is nothing inherently "predatory and sexist/misogynistic" about not wanting to bottom or be a sub. why the fuck are we acting like being a bottom or a sub is the default, neutral state of sexual being but topping and domming are suspect.

4.) once again re: "seek[ing] "holes they can dominate"" do you know ANYTHING about this person that would indicate that they treat their partners badly? anything at all? or are we just assuming doms are too scary?

4a.) even if this particular individual were a proven asshole that's a matter of their personal choices rather than their sexual proclivities, and you can't extrapolate that behavior to every other top and/or dom in the world.

tl;dr tell your friends to grow up, get a grip, and mind their business.

[sinstear]

ㅤI KINDA WANNA KISS YOUR GIRLFRIEND IF YOU DON’T MIND

tags; 18+, established ellabs relationship, loser!abby, sub!abby, dom!reader, dom!ellie (kinda), cocky!reader, fingering (a!receiving) needy abby, mutual pining between 3 fuckin’ idiots who don’t want to admit they like each other to be honest, smoking, dirty talk, spitting, nipple play. wrote this 3 times 😃 so if i’m missing some stuff, soz!

You’ve been Ellie’s best friend since you could practically walk, curse like a sailor at a random person in the street if they looked at you funny, and break anything you could find. Abby, who’s been dating Ellie for almost 2 years, wonders if Ellie had ever felt anything other than friendship with you. She wonders if she looks at you in the way Abby finds herself doing. Was it wrong? So wrong to look at someone who isn’t her girlfriend? Maybe but she wasn’t going to tell Ellie that. No.

It probably only started after times Ellie had asked you to pick Abby up from work because she herself was working, and maybe if you hadn’t given her that stupid fucking lazy smile you’d give her whenever she would grumble under her breath at your loud music every single time you did pick her up, then maybe she wouldn’t steal glances at you. Even when her girlfriend was with her.

If Ellie picked up on it, she sure as hell never mentioned it to Abby or You. Ellie was good. If she notices something, she doesn’t say anything until Abby brings it up first. They got each other like that.

Since getting with Abby, Ellie never really moved out from the apartment she shared with you. Her girlfriend spends more time there than she does at her own place so it always made sense this way. You were never a third wheel per say, you enjoyed both their company; even if you were a grumpy asshole most of the time.

You also loved to pretend to be annoyed at the fact they would always wake you up. Acting like it bothered you, but when breakfast came, Abby would be a blushing, flustered mess when you would mock how she sounds. Ellie would sit on the other side of the couch, drinking her coffee and smirking subtly.

Ellie’s sitting on her— your bed, Abby slumped between her legs with her head resting on the brunette’s chest comfortably. She’s reading one of her books, Ellie isn’t sure which one, just knows it’s one from her huge collection and she slowly threads her fingers through the Blonde hair, tugging strands lightly.

“Stop hoggin it,” Abby murmurs, reaching a hand up behind her. “S’my turn.”

Rolling her eyes, Ellie pulls the joint from between her lips and carefully passes it to Abby, slipping it between her fingers and shoving her other hand under her girlfriend’s shirt. The action causes Abby to shiver and wrap her lips around the joint before inhaling.

Both of them are able to share the joint a few more times until the sound of the bathroom door is unlocking, and you walk out freshly showered hair wet and a loose pair of sweatpants hang loosely around your hips with a little too tight shirt on. Of course Abby notices that.

“Can you guys go five minutes without fuckin on my bed’? I bet you’ve both fucked twice since I went in the shower,” you grumbled as you stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom.

Ellie snorts under her breath, eyebrow slightly raising. “Told you that you’re welcome to join.”

As you move around your room, you glance over and find Abby’s eyes fluttering closed with each puff she takes, and a subtle grin appears on your lips. “Nah, think you guys would enjoy that too much— is that my shirt?”

“Relax, she needed a new one.” Ellie scoffed.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything, looks good,” You nodded, dropped your towel on the floor and made your way back over to the bed. “Are you gonna share or?”

Abby’s eyes snap open and lock with yours quickly when she finally takes notice of you being a lot closer than you originally were. “No,” She smirked playfully, dropped her book beside her and shook her head. “Don’t feel like it.”

“Oh? You don’t?” You laughed, cocking your head to the side with a soft tut. “Ellie, does your girl not have manners?”

“Only sometimes,” Ellie murmured against Abby’s neck, and snuck her hand back up the shirt. “She doesn’t like to share joints with many people.”

Eyeing her up closely, a deep hum emitted from the back of your throat. “Yeah, I can see that, dickhead,” You scowled and held your hand out. “But I bought the weed, therefore you’re smoking my stuff.”

Blowing the smoke in your face, Abby giggles with a gentle eye roll and passes it to you this time, shivering and softly whimpering when Ellie’s hand cups one of her tits. None of you are seemingly embarrassed by this. Or you chose to ignore Abby’s flushed cheeks.

“Please don’t fuck on my bed again,” You sighed, watching how Ellie practically gropes Abby right before your eyes and not having a single ounce of shame.

“Abby likes when people watch,” Ellie admitted, biting back a laugh when Abby scoffs. “Right, you like when she watches.” Just like that her eyes snap open again and she’s caught. Shit.

“What?” Abby chokes out.

“S’cute,” You started, taking another hit and chuckling. “Think we don’t know, but we do,”

“Know what?”

“Your little staring problem. You think I don’t notice the way you stare a little too long? Especially when it’s just you and me. M’surprised you haven’t drooled over yourself yet.”

“That’s not—”

“So you haven’t thought about it before?”

Ellie’s silently watching from behind, smirking and pushing the shirt up higher, Abby’s perky nipples on display before you can blink. “T..Thought about what?” She mumbles, eyes not leaving yours.

Her lips part and pupils are blown slightly wide when you kneel on the bed and the joint is still between your lips. “You’ve never thought about me fucking you?”

The question hangs in the air, her skin is covered in goosebumps, you’ve got her right where you want her that she seems to only be focused on you. So focused that Ellie manages to get the shirt off her without a problem. “Do you, Baby?” Ellie finally speaks and it’s soft against her ear. “Do you think about her fucking you?”

Placing the joint in the ashtray, your attention doesn’t waver from Abby. It’s always on her for fuck sake, you’ve stole your own glances at her when Ellie’s not here, when she’s in your apartment, wearing your clothes that Ellie lent her. Fuck.

“S..Sometimes.” Abby admitted with a moan, heat pooling between her legs and she doesn’t have the balls to admit just how wet she is right now.

“Ellie?”

“What?”

“Can I kiss her?” The question is innocent and Abby’s heart swells at how softly you ask. Your hand rests on her thigh, eyes roaming her face slowly and that stupid grin would have her melting into a puddle if she was stood up and not lying down.

Abby’s cheeks flush at the feeling of Ellie’s smile against her neck, and the vibration of her laugh sends her into a frenzy. “Do you want her to kiss you?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”

You’re suddenly so much closer to her face, so close that she can see the way your pupils are blown too. Was it the weed? Was it something else? Abby wasn’t sure, but with Ellie’s fingers pinching and rolling her nipples, and your breath against her face, she couldn’t focus. “You want it?” You asked, fingers gripping her chin.

“Uh huh,” Abby nodded, arching against Ellie’s chest at a certain pinch.

“You want it?”

“Please?”

You press your lips to hers, and Abby melts into you with a gentle sigh. She didn’t expect for your lips to be so perfect and soft against hers, maybe it’s because of all the times she catches you using lip balm or some stupid shit you saw on the internet, either way, she doesn’t care. Not when your free hand reaches up and cups the side of her face and kisses her just a little harder. Ellie watches from behind and her stomach flutters and her cunt clenches around nothing at the sight. At the sounds you were easily pulling from her girlfriend.

Whimpering into your mouth suddenly, Abby grips your hand and pushes it downwards abruptly. Pulling away just slightly, you ignored the whine she let out and laughed at how wet she was. “Weed makes you fuckin’ horny, huh?”

Makes her horny all the time, why do you think she’s always riding my cock like a slut?” Ellie piped up, biting and sucking her neck harshly. “Bet you could just slip your fingers right in, always so wet.”

“Want me to fuck you?” You whispered against her lips, squeezing and gripping her thigh. Abby’s quick to nod while you simply tutted again. “Words, Baby.”

“Yes, want you to fuck me,” She whimpered quietly and lifted her hips up at your patting of her hip. Licking her lips and looking away bashfully when you’re pulling down her sweatpants and her boxers, she suddenly feels embarrassed at the noticeable wet patch on the fabric.

“Makes you horny alright,” You murmured and threw her clothes somewhere behind you. Your eyes find Ellie, and for a few seconds you just stare at each other. “Is this okay?”

“It’s okay with me, Abs are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, just— please,” She sighed, legs falling open on their own accord and her cunt glistened with slick before you. “Need you to fuck me, please, please.”

“Someone’s needy,” You commented.

Before Abby could respond to your words, your lips were already back on hers, kissing her hungrily. Your teeth nipped at her bottom lip, hands running up and down her thighs and she shivered. Blunt nails sunk into the skin and Abby whines pathetically at both yours and Abby’s touch. “Such a needy slut,” Ellie murmurs into her neck, fingertips pinching harder at her nipples. “Need to always be full, hm?”

Your thumb finds her clit, and Abby pulls away with a soft whimper, a string of spit keeping the two of you together as her eyes flutter closed and arches into you. “So wet,” You murmured, kissing up and down her jaw. You rub slow circles on her clit, and smile against her skin at her jolts. “Sensitive too.”

“I bet,” Ellie laughed, reaching her hand up and tilting Abby’s head back by her chin. “Only fucked her this morning—”

“Could hear you,” You scoffed, dipping your fingers down and slipping them between her soaked folds, slick coating your fingers embarrassingly quick. “Sound so pretty when you moan,” Your lips brushed against her ear and Abby whined. “So pretty when you’re getting fucked.”

Abby’s eyes fluttered open at your words, cheeks flushed and heart hammering in her chest, to find Ellie already looking down at her with a smirk on her lips and her thumb stroked her cheek slowly. “Open your mouth for me, baby,” She asked, moving her fingers and tapping her lips. “Be a good girl for us, yeah?”

Obediently, Abby opens her mouth and Ellie lowers her face down a little more. You watched the sight silently, fingers still rubbing faster and harsher circles on her clit, and you licked your lips hungrily as Ellie held her mouth open by her chin, and spat a glob of spit into her waiting mouth. Just as she went to swallow, the brunette locked her in a harsh kiss and Abby moaned into her mouth when you’re sinking two of your fingers into her cunt. Her hand grasped your wrist tightly and the other held onto Ellie’s knee tightly.

“So tight,” You growled at the feeling of her walls clamping tightly around your fingers. Abby’s hand grips your wrist harder, hips wildy bucking up into your touch as your fingers brush and curl against her velvet walls perfectly.

Pulling away with a smack of wet lips, Ellie grinned down at Abby’s flushed face, wiped the spit from the corners of her lips with her thumb, and slid her other hand down her stomach. “Look so pretty,” She murmurs softly. “Pretty when you’re stuffed full and being a good girl.”

“More,” Abby whimpered, grinding against your fingers, taking them deeper with each thrust. Her back arches against Ellie’s chest, pushing more up into you when your lips find her neck; where you kiss, bite and suck harshly. “Fuck.”

Your lips curl into a smile at her whimpers, and you barely notice Ellie moving her hand down between Abby’s legs until she gasps loudly and holds your wrist with an iron grip. “This what you wanted? Me playing with your pretty clit while she fucks you?”

“Yes— fuck, please.” Abby chants pathetically.

Littering kisses up and down her neck, another curl of your fingers has her letting go of your wrist and wrapping an arm around your neck, pulling you closer to her. “You think about me when you fuck yourself?” You found yourself muttering into her skin, working your fingers in and out of her with vigor. “Hm?”

The way her cunt clenches around your fingers, and clit throbs beneath Ellie’s thumb at your question is an answer for both of you and it has your heart hammering in your chest. “Course you do, pussy’s made for my fingers, ain’t she?” You’re purposely Pissing Ellie off, and it works when you hear her grumbling behind Abby. “Don’t worry, baby, my cock will be perfect for you.”

Abby gasps, but she’s not sure if it’s the way you’re fucking her so good, or your words that has her flushed and wrecked, but she doesn’t seem to care. Especially not when you lift your head from her neck, lean your face closer to hers and brush your lips against her pink plump ones. “Look so pretty for me, so beautiful while you ride my fingers like a whore,” You smiled. Smiled like you didn’t have your fingers reaching parts she couldn’t even reach.

It usually takes Abby a while to get to where she wants, but when she feels the tightening of her lower stomach, the familiar feeling rising, she closes her legs around your wrist, shamelessly grinding against your fingers. “M’gonna cum,” She whines, eyes fluttering open and closed a couple of times before they find yours again. “Need to cum,”

“Yeah?” You cocked your head to the side, looked down where Ellie had one of her hands on her thighs, keeping it apart and hummed at the sight of her fingers against Abby’s clit. “Gonna cum for me or her?”

“Please—”

“Who are you gonna cum for? Me or her?” You asked again, speeding up your fingers. “C’mon baby, tell me who you’re gonna cum for.”

The loud squelching sounds had the blood rushing to her head, the thumping in her ears louder and Abby’s lips parted with a loud whimper when you’re brushing that spot that makes her toes curl. “You! M’gonna cum for you, please.”

“Yeah? Go on then, cum for me.”

That’s all it took for her body to tense up, like your words were the only things she needed to hear, as her back arches, body arching into you, her gasps come out in short breaths and cums against your fingers with a pathetic whine. The gush of sticky spray covering your wrist makes you grin down at her smugly. “Fuck, made you squirt, huh? Definitely need to do that again, angel,” You murmured, leaning down and kissing her lips with a soft moan of your own. “You’re so pretty when you cum.”

As Abby came down from her high, your fingers buried to a hilt, still inside her, your lips found her ear again and your eyes locked with Ellie’s lustful ones as you spoke. “You’re gonna ride my cock while we show your girlfriend how to fuck her girl right, yeah?”

[willowsnook]

an experiment pt. 4

lando norris x reporter!reader

a/n: this is the final part friends. hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this. thank you for all the kind words

tags: @sarx164 @wildflowerrsszz, @jaematthews15, @opastries81 @armystay89 @hadesnumber1daughter @dying-inside-but-its-classy@chlmtfilms@freyathehuntress @ashley-k@charlesgirl16@widow-cevans@cmleitora@rawr-123s-stuff@majapapaya4@fullmugwolffish @330bpm-whiplash @prudyhoo

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3

------------------------------------------------

You sat in complete silence for five minutes. 

That fucking asshole. 

A wave of rage fueled you as you bolted up and to your bedroom, ripping out your suitcase from underneath the bed. Muttering under your breath about that man having the audacity to hang up, you started pulling clothes out of your drawers and shoving them into the bag. 

Once that was done you got on your laptop to find the next flight to Monaco. The prices made you want to throw up but in your pissed off state, you didn’t care. This is why credit cards exist, right?

13 hour redeye. Godspeed. 

—-----------------------

It was 4:30 in the morning when Lando woke up to someone pounding on his door. What the fuck? He thought before getting out of the bed, rubbing his eyes as he made it to the door. 

To say he was shocked when he saw you standing there was an understatement. 

“I can’t believe you hung up the phone on me,” you yelled at him angrily in greeting, moving past him to set your bag down. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked sleepily, trying to figure out if this was a dream or reality. 

“I’m here to fight you,” you told him, crossing your arms. 

“You want to fight me?” He asked, confusion on his face. “Can we do that later? It’s five in the morning.” 

You wanted to argue back with him but a yawn escaped your mouth and he gave you a knowing look. 

“Fine, I didn’t really sleep on the plane anyways,” you admitted. “Too busy figuring out what to yell at you.” 

He chuckled before beckoning you to follow him down the hall, you stopped outside of his room. 

“Do you not have a guest room?” You asked and he smirked at you. 

“I do but right now it’s a storage unit for a bunch of racing stuff, so this will have to do,” he said. 

“Can’t you sleep on the couch or something?” You complained and he rolled his eyes. 

“Oh so you confess your love to me on the phone but are getting cold feet now?” He mocked. 

“I didn’t confess my love, I just said that I maybe missed you,” you grumbled, slipping off your shoes. Lando watched as you walked over to his dresser, digging around until you found one of his bigger t-shirts to change into. 

“No cuddling,” you warned as you got into the bed, pulling the covers all around you. Lando respected your statement, sticking to his side of the bed as you drifted off. 

You startled awake to the sound of someone else pounding on the door. Lando had shifted over during your nap, his arms wrapped tightly around you. 

“You’re joking,” he mumbled into your neck. You squirmed to get out of his hold. 

“I told you no cuddling,” you grumbled back at him. You started to throw another insult at him but he jerked your chin towards him, pressing his lips harshly against yours before getting up. 

“I don’t care,” he said. Catching your breath, you heard him greet whoever was at the door, the spanish accent you would recognize from anywhere. 

Carlos was in the kitchen talking to Lando as you entered, his eyes widened at the sight of you, especially in the very minimal clothing. 

“Y/n!” He exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. “I see Lando finally came to his senses.” 

“No, she just showed up at my door this morning,” Lando said, annoyed. Carlos smirked at his friend before turning to you. 

“Seems like it was a nice reunion,” he teased, eyeing you up and down. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you chastised. “We just took a nap, we have a big fight between us on the schedule today.” 

“Well it’ll have to wait because Lando and I are doing a Quadrant shoot in an hour,” Carlos said. 

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll just catch up on work here.”

Lando shook his head, “if you think I’m letting you out of my sight again, you’re very mistaken. You are coming with us.”

You started to argue but the glare he sent your direction shut you up. Carlos waited as you both got ready and then you were off. Lando drove to the sight, his hand gripping your thigh tightly while Carlos smiled to himself in the back. Just happy his friends were together and hadn’t killed one another yet. 

Everyone was already there when you arrived and you let Lando drag you along to where Max was with the cameras. 

“Y/n,” he greeted, surprised. “Good to see you.” 

“You too,” you said, catching the smirk he sent Lando’s way. Lando and Carlos were whisked away to shoot and you hung out with Max in the meantime. 

“Lando didn’t tell me you were coming to Monaco,” Max said. 

“I didn’t tell him I was coming,” you told him and he nodded. 

“That would explain why he was still all pissy yesterday. Been that way honestly since you kicked him out of Austin.” 

“I didn’t kick him out of Austin,” you grumbled but Max’s face made you sigh. “Okay fine maybe I did, but I made a mistake.”

“Does he know that’s how you feel?” Max asked. 

“Oh yeah he does, I told him and then he hung up on me immediately,” you said and Max let out a sharp laugh. 

Max laughed, shaking his head. "Classic Lando. He's been moping for months, and when you finally reach out, he panics and hangs up. No wonder you flew all the way here."

You sighed, watching Lando pose for photos with Carlos. "I don't know what I was thinking, honestly. We still have so much to figure out."

Max nudged your shoulder. "Hey, the fact that you're both here, willing to try, that's a good start. Just... talk to each other, yeah? No more running away or hanging up phones."

You nodded, offering him a small smile. "Thanks, Max. When did you get so wise?"

He grinned. "I've always been wise. You lot just never listen to me."

As the shoot wrapped up, Lando made his way back over to you, his eyes darting between you and Max, a feeling of jealousy creep up his spine at the way you were laughing with his best friend. 

Max was explaining a new project they were working on when you felt two arms wrap around your waist and a chin settle on your shoulder. 

“All done?” You asked him softly. 

“Yeah,” he replied. “Ready to go?” 

—------------------------

You waited for Lando as he showered, twiddling your thumbs anxiously knowing that the conversation you’d been avoiding was looming. 

When he finally emerged, damp curls falling messily over his forehead, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, you had to force yourself to focus. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“So,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, “are we actually going to talk, or did you just fly all the way here to yell at me some more?”

Your jaw clenched. “Oh, don’t worry. We’re talking. But I make no promises about the yelling.”

Lando scoffed, dropping the towel onto a chair. “Right. Because it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

You shot up from your seat. “You hung up on me, Lando! After everything—after months of silence—you didn’t even have the decency to listen to me!”

His nostrils flared. “And what was I supposed to do, huh? Just pretend like it didn’t rip me apart when you pushed me away? That I was just waiting for you to decide I was worth calling?”

“I never said you weren’t worth it!” you snapped. “I was scared, okay? I panicked! But at least I’m here, trying! You—” You jabbed a finger into his chest. “You just ran away like a coward!”

Lando grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “Coward? Are you serious? You were the one who shut me out, Y/n! I gave you everything, and you threw it away like it didn’t mean anything!”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snapped, yanking your hand free. “You don’t get to act like the victim here. I was scared, yes, but you didn’t fight for me either! You just let me go and then acted like I never existed!”

His jaw clenched. “Because I didn’t know what the hell you wanted! One second, we were good, and the next, you were pushing me out like I was nothing.”

“That’s bullshit,” you seethed. “You knew how I felt about you, and instead of trying to talk to me, you let your ego get in the way.”

Lando let out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “My ego? Jesus Christ, Y/n, you really think this was about my ego?”

“What else would it be about?” you shot back.

His hands balled into fists at his sides. “It was about the fact that I was falling in love with you, and you just—” He exhaled harshly. “You shut down when things got hard. You didn’t trust me enough to stay.”

Your breath hitched, the words slicing through your anger like a knife.

Lando’s chest rose and fell heavily, the weight of what he’d just said hanging between you. You swallowed, hands trembling as you clenched them at your sides.

“And what about you?” you whispered. “You say I didn’t trust you, but you didn’t fight for me either. You let me walk away.”

Lando’s eyes darkened. “Because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

Silence.

You both stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other like two opposing forces in an inevitable collision.

Lando was the first to move. One step forward. Then another. Until he was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“They told me I could have the F1 assignment if I wanted it,” you whispered. 

His hands hovered near your arms, uncertain. “And do you?” he asked, voice low, rough.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “If you still want me to.”

A beat of hesitation.

And then he reached for you.

You didn’t stop him. Didn’t push him away. His lips crashed onto yours, desperate, angry, needing. You matched his intensity, fingers curling into his damp curls, pulling him closer as if you could make up for all the lost time in one kiss.

When you finally pulled away, foreheads pressed together, you exhaled shakily.

“No more running,” you murmured.

Lando nodded. “No more hanging up.”

You cracked a small smile. “And no more being a dick?”

He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. “No promises.”

[floweringtheflowersssssss]

───────────────────────────────

-pitfighter vi

18+. mdni.

───────────────────────────────

pitfighter vi! who's fucking you so hard you're scared you may break. she has you bent over the sink counter of her shitty apartment, as she rams her bright fucking pink strap inside of you, already soaked with your juices. she's slamming her palms against your ass, listening to your screams and cries as you reach your fifth orgasm of the night. she's downright brutal, biting her teeth into the curve of your throat. she's grabbing your hair in a tight grip and yanking your head back just so you can look into your glossy eyes through the mirror and taking in your flushed red face. you're a mess, hair yanked from your pretty braid and cheeks covered in a mix of cum and your saliva.

"fuck," she breathes out, powder blue eyes stuck onto the way your cunt stretched wide around her cock, the silicone was soaked with your juices, creamy white cum bubbling around the base. she couldn't look away, the way your ass bounced against her hips, the way your hole clenched tight around her, the way your ass was gaping already having fucked it through two orgasms.

her bandaged hands trail down to your ass, gripping your cheeks and spreading them apart. she's a devil with the way she spits a glob of saliva into your puckered asshole. you whimper, though it turns into a cry as she slips three fingers inside of you, hooking them inside of you and tugging at your sensitive rim. "dirty girl," she teased, liking how you clench around her fingers.

"you like it, baby? do you like your ass being fucked?"

all you could do was faceplant on the counter. your legs shook from the exertion, so worn out and tired, yet you never wanted to stop.

vi hadn't even broken a sweat from all the orgasms she'd fucked you through. she still rammed her hips into yours like she could go all night. she probably could. the adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, the excitement and thrill of winning a fight.

when she got no response, vi lifted her hand and slammed it down onto your ass. she grabbed your hips and slammed her cock in hard, the tip kissing your cervix. "answer me!" she hissed, beginning a rhythm of hard thrusts. you scream, of course, scrambling to hold onto the counter. she isn't gentle; she's shoving her fingers back inside of your ass, and she's giving it to you so hard you're afraid you'll break.

she fucks you through another orgasm, enjoying the wet squelching noises reverberating through the room. it's sinful and leaves no room for imagination.

"v-vi─" your voice breaks as you cum around her cock. you're so impossibly wet that she slips out. she doesn't push back in right away but instead prods at your asshole, reveling in the way you jolt and try to squirm away. you don't get far because she's pressing a hand to the back of your neck and holding you down as she slides all the way in till she can't anymore.

it's overwhelming in the best possible way, her cock deep in your ass, her fingers on your clit.... "do you like that baby?" she laughs cruelly. She gives a hard thrust into you. she treats her strap like it's real, moaning when you cum around her, and she swears she can feel it, feeling your velvet walls hot, slick, and tight

she slides one hand around your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. she suspends you midair, not even giving you time to shriek because she is slamming you back down onto her cock, cracking a grin when your head hangs like a stupid little cum slut. that's all you were good for, a pretty little fuckdoll for her to take control of.

"vi!" you scream, feeling like you were flying. the position she had you in left you no choice but to sink all the way down onto her, and then some more. you weren't sure how she was so deep, but you could feel her in her guts, and the way she was pressing down on your bulging abdomen made you feel all types of things.

"shit!" a moan escaped vi's lips, and she hiked you up further in her arms, sliding her hands under your legs and putting your back to her chest. she nearly folded you like a pretzel, tucking your legs up to your chest as she sped up, increasing the speed of her hips, plowing into you── you were already close to your orgasm, but the change of position and the quick thrusts sent you overboard.

hot, wet liquid spurted out of you in rivulets. it crashed into you like a boulder, overtaking your senses, drenching your thighs and hers in your wetness. it was gross getting all wet and sticky already, adding to your sweat-slick skin, but it felt so good. vi fucked you through it, rubbing your clit furiously, panting in your ear as she rutted into you, and you screamed until your throat went raw because, oh holy fuck, it was too much

the earth came tilting off its axis quite literally as you were dropped face-first onto the dingy mattress, the strap slipping out of you. you whimpered, attempting to lift your head, but vi pinned it back down, straddling the back of your thighs as she slipped back into you, into your pussy

this time you yelped, reaching a hand back to weakly push her away, unable to take any more, but vi was quicker, pinning your hands behind your back as she laughed loud and mocking

"oh, baby," she cooed, pushing four whole fingers in beside the strap. you screamed, going limp.

"i'm not done with you yet, princess. you promised me all night, and that's what I'm going to get."

she spat a thick glob of saliva on your cunt, letting it drop down into your hole to help with the slide.

"be a good little whore and shut up and take it."

you were going to be here all night, but if she keeps fucking you just like that, you'd never want her to stop.

[rosy-crow]

Screenshot collage by @meteorsurvived on Twitter….

I completely missed this dialogue, I’ll admit….but seriously what the fuck? A few things:

1. Bless Zack’s patience so much lol. This guy is such a blatant asshole to him.

2. Is this seriously how the other researchers saw SOLDIERs? I know they talk down to Zack, but it sounds like they see Hojo’s troops as actual puppets.

(I wonder if it’s that word in Japanese, because Cloud getting called a “puppet” by Sephiroth translates as “doll,” in Japanese posts pretty often. Puppet/doll seems like it’s the same in these games).

Anyway, if that’s the case, and the scientists literally dismiss SOLDIERs as “drones” or “dolls,” then that could reveal another reason why a big part of Shinra culture that dehumanizes them could result in Miniroth having this as a key issue in his head.

That would also add to why Seph says Glenn’s reaction (laughing) when he asks about his mother was “everyone’s reaction.” If these people didn’t see SOLDIERs as human, then one of them asking about his mother would probably seem ridiculous.

[hisfavegirl]

HOTD Characters when you posted something that angered them on instagram.

a/n : with their revenge.

Aegon :

Aegon wasn’t just jealous—he was seething.

He hadn’t been paying much attention to his phone, probably nursing a drink or sprawled out on his bed in boredom, when his notifications started going off. Dozens of messages, tags, and mentions, all leading back to one thing.

Your post.

The second he saw it, his entire body tensed. His fingers gripped the phone so tightly he nearly cracked the screen.

You were practically naked. The lighting was teasing, the pose deliberate—bare skin, just barely covered, revealing far too much. His mouth went dry, his jaw locked, and his pulse spiked with something dark and possessive.

And then, the comments.

“I think I just died and went to heaven.”

“No way you’re single posting this.”

“You’re actually cruel for this.”

“Let me take you out, I’ll treat you better than he ever could.”

Aegon snapped.

His tongue pressed hard against his cheek, his breathing slow and measured—forced control. Every part of him burned. The thought of other men looking at you like this, imagining things they had no right to—it made his vision blur with rage.

Did you want this? Were you trying to make him lose it? Because if so, congratulations. It worked.

His hands were shaking as he opened your messages.

Aegon: What the fuck is wrong with you?

Aegon: Take it down. NOW.

Seconds passed. No response.

His jaw ticked, his heart pounding. He could already see you smirking at your phone, enjoying this.

Aegon: Do you think this is funny? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate asshole on the internet drool over you?

Another moment of silence.

And then—

Aegon: Fine. You don’t want to listen? Then I’m coming to you.

He didn’t care where you were, who you were with. This wasn’t going to be solved over text. If you thought you could push him, make him jealous, tease him like this—

You were about to find out exactly what jealous Aegon Targaryen really looked like.

Aegon Revenge :

THE INTERNET WAS NOT READY.

People had barely survived your last stunt.

And then—

He ended them.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, ornate mirror reflecting everything.

You—completely bare, wrapped in Aegon’s arms, your back pressed flush against his chest. His grip on your thighs, fingers digging in as he held you up, your body rocking against him.

And then—

Him.

Silver hair messy, sweat dripping down his bare chest. His lips bruised, parted, his eyes half-lidded—but focused. Locked on the mirror. On you. On himself.

He didn’t even turn off the sound.

Your whimpers. His low groans. The sound of skin against skin.

And then—his voice. Rough. Arrogant. Possessive.

“Let them watch. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

“You’ll never be me. You’ll never have her.”

THE INTERNET? DESTROYED.

The guys:

“What the actual fuck?”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse.”

“Delete this right now, Aegon, I’m not joking.”

“BLOCKED. REPORTED. SOBBING.”

“She was supposed to be ours. OURS, YOU BASTARD.”

“First, she posts that picture, now THIS? Haven’t we suffered enough?”

“Aegon. BRO. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.”

“This wasn’t just a flex. This was a declaration of war.”

“Bro didn’t even try to be subtle. Just straight-up ruined us.”

“I WAS LIVING A PEACEFUL LIFE, AEGON.”

“I can’t even be mad. He won. He fucking won.”

The Girls:

“This is the most disrespectful thing I have ever seen, and I need more.”

“The mirror. The hand placement. The fucking arrogance. I’m unwell.”

“HOW DO I SIGN UP FOR THIS LIFE.”

“He knows he’s that guy, and he’s making sure we do too.”

“Aegon is actually dangerous because why is this so hot??”

“This should be illegal. In every country. And yet I can’t look away.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was smirking, watching the absolute chaos in the comments, lazily scrolling, completely unbothered.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cope. She’s screaming my name, not yours.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aemond :

Aemond rarely paid attention to social media. It was a distraction, a meaningless void filled with people desperate for attention. But when his phone buzzed relentlessly—notifications flooding in, people tagging him, sending him something over and over—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

Your post.

His entire body went rigid. His grip on the phone tightened, fingers twitching against the screen as his eye locked onto the image.

You were practically naked.

The dim lighting barely concealed you, your pose deliberate, teasing, calculated. It left just enough to the imagination while making it painfully obvious what you wanted people to see.

And judging by the comments, it was working.

“You’re actually a goddess.”

“This is illegal. It has to be.”

“I need a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe my whole life.”

“If he doesn’t wife you after this, I will.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His chest burned with something vicious, a white-hot fury that spread through his veins like wildfire.

Who the fuck did these men think they were? Speaking like this—like they even had the right to look at you, let alone imagine more.

His breathing was slow, controlled, forced—because if he let himself fully feel this, he’d break something.

He opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could even think.

Aemond: Take it down.

No response.

His teeth ground together, his patience already paper-thin. He could feel you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Aemond: Now.

Still nothing.

A dangerous heat flickered behind his eye. His grip on the phone was dangerous now, his mind already racing with possibilities.

Aemond: You think this is a game? You think I’ll just sit back while you let every desperate bastard in the world stare at what’s mine?

His lips curled into a sneer as he refreshed your post, seeing the numbers climb—more likes, more comments, more eyes on you.

Fine. If you wanted attention, he was about to give it to you.

Aemond: You’re going to regret this.

And before he even gave you a chance to answer, he sent one last message.

Aemond: I’m coming to you. Right now.

You wanted to test him? To push him to the edge? You were about to see exactly what happened when Aemond Targaryen is jealous.

Aemond revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Destroyed.

Aemond had been quiet lately. Too quiet.

People should have known he was plotting.

And then—

He dropped the video.

Dark sheets. Low lighting. Your body sprawled against his bed, wrists tied above your head, satin bindings digging into your skin.

And then—

His hand.

Slow. Intentional. Inside your cunt.

Aemond wasn’t even looking at the camera—his gaze was locked on you. Sharp. Unrelenting. His lips curled into something dangerous as he watched you struggle beneath him.

And then—his voice. Low. Rough. Possessive.

“They can watch. But they’ll never touch.”

And the caption?

“Don’t bother fantasizing. She’s already ruined for anyone else.”

The Internet? Utterly Incinerated.

The Guys:

“I can’t keep doing this, bro.”

“AEMOND. THIS WAS NOT NECESSARY.”

“This wasn’t even a flex. This was pure domination.”

“I was a happy man. Now I’m in hell.”

“He could have just hinted at it. But no. He had to prove it.”

“What the actual fuck is this??”

“I just dropped to my knees in Walmart.”

“I need time to process. Maybe a lifetime.”

“WHO ALLOWED THIS???”

“No way. NO WAY. I refuse to accept this reality.”

“This is actually a hate crime"

The Girls:

“The hand placement. The bindings. I actually feel pain.”

“Aemond Targaryen is actually disrespectful for this.”

“I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or book a one-way flight to his bed.”

“The way he’s just watching her struggle—I am NOT OKAY.”

“WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT??”

“I hate her. I love her. I want to be her.”

“The fact that he tied her up and still made sure to show off?? I need a moment.”

Meanwhile, Aemond?

Unbothered. Probably sipping wine, watching men suffer, knowing no one could ever take you from him.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Cry harder. She’s not leaving my bed.”

With that—

The internet was officially annihilated.

Jace :

Jace wasn’t the type to obsess over social media. He didn’t scroll mindlessly or waste time checking comments. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when his notifications were flooded with messages, tags, and people sending him something over and over—he knew something was up.

Then he saw it.

And everything else faded.

You. Practically naked. The lighting was soft, shadows barely concealing you. The way you posed, the way your skin was on full display—every inch of the picture was deliberate.

And the comments?

“Holy fucking shit.”

“No way in hell Jace is letting this slide.”

“You’re actually unreal.”

“If you ever need someone to treat you better… just say the word, baby.”

Jace’s jaw locked. His grip on the phone tightened so hard his knuckles went white.

His chest burned—jealousy, rage, something dark and possessive twisting deep in his gut. Did you want this attention? Were you enjoying the way these men spoke to you, the way they looked at you? Did you forget who you belonged to?

His vision blurred as he opened your messages, his fingers moving before he could think.

Jace: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His knee bounced, jaw ticking as he refreshed your page, watching the numbers climb. More likes. More comments. More eyes on you.

Jace: Don’t make me repeat myself.

Still nothing.

His tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek, his blood boiling. He knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing him. Pushing him.

Jace: You think this is funny? Letting every desperate asshole in the world think they have a chance?

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair before sending one last message.

Jace: Fine. You don’t want to listen? I’m coming to you.

Because if you thought you could make him jealous, make him furious, and just get away with it?

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Jace Velaryon snapped.

Jace Revenge :

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

People were still recovering from the last time you posted something that had them spiraling—

And then he ruined lives all over again.

A video.

Low, moody lighting. The golden glow of a bedside lamp casting soft shadows over your bare back, your skin flushed, the smooth curve of your spine on full display.

And then—

His hand.

Fingers twisting in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the slope of your neck, the sharp inhale that followed.

His other hand—out of frame, but you could feel it.

The video was silent, except for the sound of breathing—his and yours, deep, uneven, filled with undeniable tension.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The Internet? SHATTERED.

The Guys:

“Jace, bro. What the fuck.”

“This is personal. I feel personally attacked.”

“Nah. This is war.”

"BLOCKED. REPORTED. UNFOLLOWED.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m logging out forever.”

“This is actually illegal. I’m calling the police.”

“Jace, be honest… was this necessary? Was it??”

“I just threw my phone across the room. I can’t look at this.”

“Bro really said ‘you thought you had a chance?’ and ended us all.”

“At least let me heal from the last post first, damn.”

The Girls:

“That hand placement? That possessiveness? Yeah, I’m in pain.”

“Jace Velaryon is the standard. I’m sorry.”

“The hand in the hair. The bare back. The silence. Yeah, I’m not okay.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER?”

“The way he’s handling her like that… this is too much.”

“I will never get over this. Ever.”

“Who gave him the right to post something like this?”

Meanwhile, Jace?

Completely unbothered. Probably smirking, watching the chaos unfold, scrolling through the absolute meltdown happening in his comments.

And just to ruin them further, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Don’t be jealous. She’s right where she belongs.”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Daemon :

Daemon wasn’t a man who checked social media often. He didn’t care for it. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something, tagging him, warning him—he knew something was wrong.

Then he saw it.

And the world around him went silent.

It was you. Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing just enough to make the image dangerous. The way you posed—deliberate, taunting, meant to provoke.

And the comments?

“I need a moment. Or a lifetime.”

“She’s actually unreal.”

“Daemon’s done for. There’s no way he’s letting this slide.”

“If he won’t treat you right, just know my DMs are open, .”

His fingers curled around his phone, grip tightening until the device creaked.

His jaw clenched, his breathing slow and controlled—because if he let himself fully feel this, if he let the jealousy and rage take hold, he would break something.

Or someone.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they drooled over you?

A muscle in his jaw ticked as he opened your messages.

Daemon: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his lips pressing into a thin line. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Daemon: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision blurred at the edges, his pulse pounding hard in his ears. He didn’t need to guess what you were doing—smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

He sent one last message.

Daemon: I hope you had your fun. Because I’m coming to you. And when I get there, you’re going to regret making me jealous.

If you thought you could tease him, taunt him, make him seethe like this and get away with it—

You were about to learn exactly what happened when Daemon Targaryen snapped.

Daemon Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely breathing after the last time you pulled a stunt—

And then, he ended them.

A video.

Steam curled in the dimly lit bathroom, water cascading down your bare skin. Your body, glistening under the soft glow, was pressed firmly against the fogged-up glass.

And then—

Daemon.

His hand, wrapped around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. His body, completely covering yours, silver hair damp, clinging to his skin.

He wasn’t looking at the camera—he was looking at you.

His lips ghosted along your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin as his voice—low, smug, downright sinful—rumbled against your ear:

“Go on, love. Tell them how badly you want me.”

And the caption?

"Try harder. She’s not going anywhere."

The Internet? Decimated.

The Guys:

“THIS IS A CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY.”

“I am NOT okay. This is NOT okay.”

“You didn’t just flex. You obliterated us.”

“Daemon, bro, was this NECESSARY???”

“The way he claimed her, I—no, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just say you hate us and go.”

“I actually felt physical pain watching this.”

“Daemon, bro. This was unnecessary.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN FLEXING—HE’S JUST OWNING US.”

“This man has no mercy. ZERO.”

“I would literally sell my soul to trade places with him.”

The Girls:

“I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like that… I need to go outside.”

“Hands behind her back??? IN THE SHOWER??? I am ACTUALLY in pain.”

“That hand placement… I’m unwell.”

“You’re telling me she gets to live this life for FREE?”

“Daemon is disrespectful for this and I love it.”

“The way he’s handling her… yeah, I’m done.”

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen and I will never recover.”

Meanwhile, Daemon?

He was grinning, scrolling through the utter destruction he left in his wake, watching the internet collectively lose its mind.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Tell me again how you had a chance?”

With that—

The internet was officially in ruins.

Luke :

Luke was never the jealous type. He was sweet, easygoing—never the one to start fights, never the one to lose his temper.

But when he saw your post?

That soft, kindhearted boy? Gone.

His breath caught in his throat as his grip tightened around his phone, fingers pressing into the edges so hard the plastic nearly cracked. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat hammering in his chest.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, your gaze sultry, teasing—like you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments.

“This is my Roman Empire.”

“Imagine waking up next to her every morning.”

“Luke is too soft for this, he ain’t doing what needs to be done.”

“If Luke won’t handle her, I will.”

“She doesn’t belong to just one man. She’s for us.”

His vision blurred with rage. Us? The fuck do they mean, us? Did they really think they had a chance? That they could talk about you like this?

He immediately opened your messages, his breathing sharp, his fingers moving fast.

Luke: Take it down. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared. He refreshed the post—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up.

Luke: I’m serious.

Still nothing.

His patience? Gone. His normally warm, easygoing demeanor? Shattered.

You thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were pushing him, testing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Luke: Keep playing, love. But when I see you, don’t bother acting innocent. You wanted my attention? You’ve got it.

And Luke Velaryon?

He never let things slide.

Luke Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely breathing after your last post, still clawing their way back to sanity—

And then Luke decided to ruin lives.

A video.

Dim lighting, tangled sheets, the heavy sound of breathing filling the air. The camera was shaky, intimate—Luke wasn’t filming for them, he was filming for himself.

And then—

Your voice.

A broken, breathless moan of his name, soft, needy, wrecked.

And in the background?

Luke.

Smirking.

The angle barely caught him—just a glimpse of his sweat-slicked skin, the possessive grip of his hands on your waist. His voice, low, teasing, barely above a whisper:

“Louder, love. Let them know exactly who you belong to.”

And the caption?

"I don’t hear them laughing now."

The Internet Was NOT Okay.

The Guys:

“Nah. This ain’t right.”

“Luke, bro, please, have some mercy.”

“I can’t breathe. I actually can’t breathe.”

“I was having a good day.”

“I need everyone to stop what they’re doing and just process this.”

“He knew what he was doing. And I hate him for it.”

The Girls:

“I am actually going to scream.”

“Luke Velaryon is disrespectful.”

“She is so lucky and I hate it here.”

“I need what she has. IMMEDIATELY.”

“He really had to flex like this? On today of all days?”

Meanwhile, Luke?

He was grinning, scrolling through the absolute carnage in his comments, watching men and women completely unravel.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Jealous? You should be.”

With that—

The internet was officially deceased.

Margor :

Maegor didn’t do social media. He barely tolerated its existence. But when his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept sending him something with messages that ranged from “Bro, you need to handle this” to “LMAO, she’s testing you”—he finally checked.

And his blood boiled.

It was you.

Practically naked.

Soft lighting, shadows teasing every dangerous curve, your expression taunting—as if you knew exactly what you were doing. As if you wanted to drive men insane.

And the comments.

“This is a religious experience.”

“If Maegor won’t handle you, I will.”

“She’s too stunning to be owned by just one man.”

“She belongs to the people now.”

“Maegor is somewhere flipping tables right now.”

His grip tightened around his phone, fingers curling so hard the device nearly cracked. His chest heaved as he breathed through his nose, his jaw locked so tight it ached.

You were his. And yet, here you were, putting yourself on display for every desperate, pathetic fool to see. Did you enjoy this? The attention? The way they lusted after you?

He opened your messages, his anger controlled—for now.

Maegor : The fuck you thinking?

Maegor: Delete it. Now.

Nothing.

His nostrils flared, his patience already threadbare. He refreshed the page—saw the likes climbing, the comments piling up. More eyes on you. More men thinking they had a chance.

Maegor: I won’t ask again.

Still, no response.

His vision darkened at the edges, his rage sinking deep into his bones. He could already see you smirking at your phone, waiting, pushing him.

Fine. You wanted to play this game?

His next message was short.

Maegor: I hope you enjoyed your little show. Because when I get to you, you’re going to learn exactly what happens when you make me jealous.

And when Maegor Targaryen snapped—

There was no escaping him.

Maegor Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Just Broken—It Was Obliterated.

No one was prepared. No one even had time to brace themselves.

Because Maegor Targaryen?

He didn’t just post—he declared war.

A video.

Dim lighting. A massive, gilded mirror reflecting the carnage behind it. Your body—wrecked, ruined, utterly claimed—pressed against the cold glass, your bare skin glistening with sweat.

And then—

Him.

Towering over you, still inside you, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly there would be bruises—his bruises.

He didn’t even bother hiding his face.

Silver hair wild, lips parted, gaze locked on the mirror, watching himself own you in every way imaginable.

And then—his voice. Low, dark, dangerous.

“Let them watch.”

And the caption?

"You’ll never be me."

The Internet? Dead on Arrival.

The Guys:

“I have never been more jealous of a man in my entire life.”

“Maegor, please, have some HUMAN DECENCY.”

“This wasn’t a flex. This was a public execution.”

“I was happy. I was living my life. And now? I have to deal with this.”

“He’s not even trying to be humble. He’s just taunting us.”

“You know what? I’m logging off. I can’t do this today.”

The Girls:

“I’m actually feral right now.”

“HOW DO I APPLY TO BE HER.”

“The way he’s just holding her there like she’s nothing—I need a moment.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AN EMAIL, MAEGOR.”

“I can’t even hate. She’s living my dream.”

“This is the hottest thing I have ever seen. And I hate that I will never recover from it.”

Meanwhile, Maegor?

He wasn’t even looking at his phone. He had better things to do.

But when he finally did check?

He smirked. Slowly. Lazily. Completely unapologetic.

And just to make it worse, he dropped a single comment under his own post:

“Stay jealous. She’s not leaving my bed anytime soon.”

With that—

The internet was officially incinerated.

Aegon I :

Aegon wasn’t the jealous type—at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. He was easygoing, laid-back, the type to laugh things off.

But then he saw your post.

And something inside him snapped.

His phone nearly slipped from his fingers as he stared at the screen. His chest rose and fell, breathing suddenly too shallow as his jaw tightened—so tight it ached.

You.

Barely covered, skin on full display, lips slightly parted like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you wanted people to look.

And the comments—

“This is actually life-changing.”

“No way Aegon lets her get away with this LMAO.”

“She’s unreal. Divine. Untouchable.”

“If Aegon won’t claim her, I will.”

“Bro, she’s for the people now.”

His grip on his phone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The people? The fucking people? Did they think this was a game? That they could just—talk about you like that?

He opened your messages, fingers moving with an urgency that wasn’t entirely controlled.

Aegon: Take it down.

No response.

His jaw clenched harder. He refreshed the post. More likes. More thirsty comments from pathetic little nobodies who clearly didn’t understand their place.

Aegon: I’m not asking.

Still nothing.

His tongue swiped over his teeth as a low growl built in his throat. Oh, you thought this was funny, didn’t you? You were playing with him. Pushing him.

Fine.

His next message was short.

Aegon: I hope you got all the attention you wanted, baby. Because when I see you, the only thing you’ll be worrying about is how long I plan to keep you in my bed.

And Aegon Targaryen?

He never made empty threats.

Aegon I Revenge :

The Internet Was Not Ready.

People were barely recovering from the last time you decided to ruin their lives—

And then, he destroyed them.

A video.

Low lighting. The soft rustling of silk sheets. Your body glowing, tangled in his bed, looking like sin incarnate—your breath uneven, lips parted, skin flushed.

And then—

His hand.

Large, firm, resting possessively on your breast, fingers slightly digging in, making it painfully clear that you were his.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was him.

Aegon, half-lidded cocky smirk, his other hand holding the camera, his cock still inside you, his grip lazy, casual—like he had all the time in the world.

And then, his voice—low, smug, devastating:

“Yeah… go ahead. Say something now.”

And the caption?

"Don’t act like you wouldn’t trade places."

The Internet? Absolutely Unhinged.

The Guys:

“Aegon, bro. Please. Have some compassion.”

“This is actually cruel.”

“I hate him so much but I respect it.”

“HE’S NOT EVEN TRYING TO BE HUMBLE ABOUT IT.”

“I was having a good day. Now I have to rethink my whole life.”

“This wasn’t necessary. He just wanted to hurt us.”

The Girls:

“She’s so lucky and I hate her.”

"Not even gonna lie, this ruined my entire day.”

“The way he’s just sitting there like a smug little bastard—yeah, I’m sick.”

“Aegon is the biggest menace to ever exist.”

“I have never known true jealousy until this moment.”

“She’s living the dream. I can’t even be mad.”

“HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S DOING AND IT’S DISRESPECTFUL.”

Meanwhile, Aegon?

He was laughing, scrolling through the absolute devastation in his comments, watching men spiral into despair and women descend into chaos.

And just to finish them off, he dropped a comment under his own post:

“Keep crying. She’s still moaning my name.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Rhaenyra :

Rhaenyra wasn’t one to obsess over social media, but when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when people kept tagging her, sending her messages, practically warning her—she knew something was up.

And then she saw it.

Her stomach dropped. Her grip on the phone tightened.

It was you.

Draped in soft lighting, skin bare and glowing, your pose deliberate—calculated to tease, to tempt, to drive people insane. It left just enough to the imagination, while making it clear you knew exactly what you were doing.

And the comments?

“I can’t believe we’re witnessing perfection in real time.”

“This is actually dangerous.”

“If Rhaenyra doesn’t kill someone over this, I’ll be shocked.”

“No way she’s letting this slide.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

Rhaenyra’s nails dug into her palm as she gritted her teeth. A sharp flare of jealousy surged through her—hot and possessive, a burning anger she rarely felt this intensely.

Because who were they to talk about you like this? To look at you like you weren’t hers?

Did you want this attention? Did you enjoy knowing people were drooling over you, imagining things they had no right to even think about?

She exhaled sharply through her nose, forcing herself to breathe before she opened your messages.

Rhaenyra: Take it down. Now.

No response.

Her fingers tightened around her phone as she refreshed your post. More likes. More comments. More pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Rhaenyra: I will not ask again.

Still nothing.

She could see you smirking at your phone, relishing in this, testing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short, sharp, final.

Rhaenyra: I’m coming to you.

If you thought she would just sit back, let you taunt her, let you make her jealous like this—

You were gravely mistaken.

Rhaenyra Revenge :

The internet collapsed.

People were barely recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Rhaenyra ended them all with one photo.

A single image that sent the entire world into ruins.

It was you.

In her bed.

Soft lighting, silk sheets tangled around your body. Your head tilted back into the pillow, lips slightly parted, the glow of your skin dangerous in the dim light. And then—her hand. Resting on your thigh, fingers glistening with your release sprawled in a way that left no room for misinterpretation. She wasn’t just touching you. She was claiming you.

And the caption?

“Mine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Guys and girls alike descended into madness:

The Guys:

“I am actually about to throw up.”

“Rhaenyra, PLEASE, LET’S TALK ABOUT THIS.”

“Bro, how am I supposed to recover from this??”

“This isn’t fair. This is violence.”

“We lost. We fucking lost.”

The Girls:

“I’m happy for her but also devastated for me.”

“THIS COULD HAVE BEEN ME IN ANOTHER LIFE.”

“Do I congratulate them or do I cry? Or both?”

“Rhaenyra, what was the reason? WHAT WAS THE REASON??”

“I’m choosing to live in denial.”

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra? She was smirking at her phone, watching the despair unfold. She knew exactly what she was doing—dropping the photo, sitting back, and enjoying the chaos.

And just to truly bury everyone, she left a single comment under her own post:

“You can stop dreaming now.”

And with that—

The internet was officially in shambles.

Alicent :

Alicent never cared much for social media. She found it shallow, a place for desperate attention-seekers, a distraction from real matters. But when her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—when messages kept coming in, some filled with concern, others with amusement—she knew something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened around her phone.

It was you.

Practically naked.

The lighting was soft, intimate—dangerous. The way you posed, the way your bare skin was on display, your confidence radiating off the screen… It was deliberate. It was a taunt.

And the comments—the flood of people thirsting over you, speaking as if they had a right to look at you like this, as if they could ever touch you—

“Mother of the gods, I need a moment.”

“Alicent is somewhere seething right now.”

“You’re actually unreal. Perfection.”

“If she won’t claim you, I will.”

“How does it feel to be the most desired person alive???”

Alicent’s grip on her phone was so tight, her knuckles turned white. A slow, hot wave of jealousy coiled in her chest—sharp, possessive, furious.

Did you enjoy this? The way people devoured you with their eyes? Did you want them to look at you, to desire you?

Her jaw locked as she opened your messages, her fingers moving with icy precision.

Alicent: Take it down. Now.

No response.

She refreshed the page. More likes. More disgusting, pathetic fools thinking they had a chance.

Alicent: I will not repeat myself.

Still nothing.

Her nails dug into her palm, her patience snapping thread by thread. She knew you were doing this on purpose. Testing her. Pushing her.

Fine.

Her next message was short. Final.

Alicent: If you think this little stunt is going to go unpunished, you are gravely mistaken.

If you thought she would sit back and allow you to tease her, to make her jealous, to tempt her patience—

You were about to deeply regret it.

Alicent Revenge :

The internet broke.

People were just recovering from your last post—scrolling, coping, trying to move on—when Alicent ended them all in one swift, merciless stroke.

A single photo.

Dim lighting, silk sheets slightly messy, shadows stretching across warm skin. You—in her bed. Head tilted back, lips slightly parted, hair yanked firmly in Alicent’s grip. The way her fingers curled into your strands—possessive, unrelenting, a silent but undeniable claim.

And the caption?

“Mine. And I don’t share.”

The internet descended into absolute chaos.

The Guys:

“I need a support group. This is actually painful.”

“Bro, I can’t compete with this.”

“Alicent did not have to flex this hard.”

“I swear I was fine five seconds ago.”

“The grip she has—on the hair, on the situation, on my emotions—I can’t take this.”

The Girls:

“Happy for them but also screaming inside.”

“This could have been me in another timeline.”

“Alicent said know your place, and I guess I will.”

“Do I cry? Do I throw my phone? Do I respect it? All of the above?”

“I was coping until she posted this. Now I’m just suffering.”

Meanwhile, Alicent? She was satisfied. Watching the world crumble, notifications exploding with people’s rage, jealousy, and despair.

And to truly finish them off, she left a single comment under her own post:

“Go ahead and cry. It changes nothing.”

And with that—

The internet was officially six feet under.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[marshemillow]

For the clowns who keep trying to insist that trans men have male privilege, I want you to actually think about that for a second.

Is it a "privilege" to be subjected to corrective rape and forced to detransition, and when you die of pregnancy-related complications, your rape and murder is just added to the statistic for women instead of the one for trans men?

Is it a "privilege" to be rejected from your own communities that are supposed to help trans people because somehow trans men are just men, and thus are infiltrators?

Is it a "privilege" to be rejected from support groups for sexual assault survivors because people don't think men can be victims of rape? Even in a society that treats them like delusional women? (Or more likely, delusional little girls.)

Is it a "privilege" to not have access to reproductive healthcare or treatment for ovarian cancers because only women can get pregnant and have ovaries?

Is it a "privilege" to be so violently erased that even other trans men deny the horrible things that happened to you as a result of normalized violence against women?

Is it a "privilege" to be told you only transitioned to escape systemic misogyny and gain male privilege?

Sure, maybe trans women have it worse than trans men overall, but like?? So what??? Are we really bringing back the oppression olympics??? Do your problems only matter if you have it worse than everyone else???

For fucks sake, even CIS MEN lose their access to male privilege by wearing a fucking dress or caring about women's rights, why the FUCK would trans men have access to male privilege before they've even started transitioning???

"Fuck all men" is terf shit. I don't care if you don't like hearing that, it's absolutely true, and it's not more progressive to be a tirf instead of a terf. I'm so sick of hearing people parrot full-blown radfem rhetoric like, "Lesbians are less likely to be abusive than straight men!" "All men are evil because they all inherently benefit from the patriarchy and they all contribute to the patriarchy by virtue of being born men!" "Being horny for women is degrading to them!" and even, "Sex work needs to be illegal because it's impossible for women to consent to it!" and they think they can just get away with it scott-free because terfs are only bad because they hate trans women, right???

I would really appreciate it if yall stopped being useful idiots for these assholes!!!

It doesn't mean anything btw if you say "terfs dni" but still say all of the same things they do. Just so you know.

[strangersteddierthings]

"You just can't handle the fact that these people aren't falling all over themselves to get your attention for once in your life!" Eddie growls, arms thrown in the air in exasperation.

"I don't care about getting their attention, Eddie!" Steve says once again because it feels like they've been arguing in circles forever when it's really only been about half an hour. Steve wishes he could say that he didn't understand how they got here but he does.

Eddie and his new friends. Friends that don't like Steve and go out of their way to make sure he knows that. Friends that throw snide remarks that Eddie chuckles along with. Friends that make Steve feel unwanted in his own home.

It's infuriating and frustrating and hurtful that Eddie just lets them talk about Steve like that, lets them talk to Steve like that.

"Right, so you've said," Eddie scoffs and rolls his eyes, like Steve's the one being immature.

"Well, since you think I'm fucking lying or something, what do you think this is about?" Steve's says, hands on his hips as he stares down Eddie at the other end of the tiny galley kitchen of their apartment.

Eddie works his jaw, the way Steve's seen him do when he's holding back a comment he thinks is particularly scathing. It's been a while since Steve's been on the receiving end of this.

"Just say it, Eddie! We're never going to end this argument unless you do," Steve goads. If Eddie will just say the thing, they can talk it out. They can work through this. Steve can fix it, but only if Eddie tells him the truth.

"Maybe it's just fucking karma, Steve!" Eddie yells. "Maybe you just can't handle that I have friends who think you're not cool and they aren't going to pretend you are!"

Steve's jaw drops, the infuriating-frustrating-hurt feeling intensifying into what feels like a lead ball in Steve's gut. Karma. Karma? "Karma? Like because I was a self-centered asshole in school that I, what, deserve to be treated like trash by your so-called 'friends'!?" Steve goes as far as to make air quotes around the word friends.

"Yeah, maybe," Eddie says, quick and even like he... like he really believes that.

Like he really believes that this treatment is what Steve deserves.

"This situation is not the same," Steve shouts back.

"Seems the same to me. The group majority against the minority. It's not like you ever stood up for anyone when Hagan was trying to give everyone swirlies, or when Perkins would knock shit out of people's hands and fake laugh an apology. You just can't handle it now that you're the minority."

"That's not the fucking same! I didn't know you in high school!"

"Well, they don't know you, either!"

All the fight drains from Steve at those words. It's like Eddie has flipped the switch in his brain to see what is happening. To see it from Eddie's point of view. Or, if Steve is being kind, the point of view of Eddie's friends who don't know Steve because they refused to get to know him.

"So, what, they're allowed to treat me the way you think I treated you?" Steve asks, voice quiet and matter of fact.

"Yes," Eddie says and then his face pinches as he actually processes what Steve said. "Wait. No. That's not- It's not exactly like that. It's just, like- the guys were saying it was status quo or something."

The guys. Eddie's 'friends'.

It's strange how 'the guys' went from meaning Jeff, Gareth, and Grant to this new group of friends and Jeff, Gareth, and Grant have become The Band. A separate, new category, othering even them from Eddie's new friends.

"I- Are you even hearing yourself right now?" Steve says in disbelief. He can see Eddie getting worked up again, so he barrels on. "I'm not just some jock you don't know. I'm your boyfriend. Your fucking boyfriend, Eddie! If you were my boyfriend in high school, I wouldn't have ever let my friends speak to you the way you let them talk to me!

"And I can't even defend myself because then everything they're saying is fucking true! That I'm a bullshit dumb jock just waiting for a chance to get violent. And I'm not! I'm not a jock anymore. And I'm not dumb! And I'm not bullshit!" Steve's vision gets blurry, and he knows he's crying but he doesn't really register it. The hurt he's feeling is leaving his body and he's just feeling numb now. "Jesus Christ, Eddie, I would never let someone talk to you the way you let your friends talk to me, and about me! Because beyond it just being the goddamn decent thing to do is not let people speak about others like that, but I love you and I can't imagine ever allowing someone to treat you the way your friends treat me. Why do you like them more than you love me!?"

Eddie's face is doing something complicated, like it always does when Steve cries. Like Eddie wants to sooth him but isn't sure how.

And that's all it takes. Something in Steve crumbles but not in the way he wants it to. Steve was hoping that if they talked this out that they could be okay. They could figure out a way forward.

Because here is Eddie's face, showing how much he loves and cares for Steve and wants to help him, but all Steve realizes is that Eddie might love him, but not enough to tell his friends to treat Steve with some basic respect and kindness.

He can't be here anymore. He can't be in this kitchen and see his hurt reflected on Eddie's face. He can't be in this apartment that used to feel so cozy and comforting and now just feels like a prison. He doesn't know if he can even be in this relationship if Eddie doesn't love him the same way as he used it.

How did they get to this point? How did they get to a point where Eddie is just okay with people treating Steve this way? How did Steve let it go this long without addressing it sooner?

When did Eddie decide that the approval of his new friends was more important than his feelings for Steve?

"Steve, I-"

Steve doesn't stick around to hear whatever it is Eddie's going to say. He turns on heel, speed walking to the door where he pauses just long enough to grab his jacket from the coat rack before fleeing the apartment.

-

Inspired by @novacorpsrecruit's fic, It’s lonely at the top. Which has a happy ending, so you should read it.

[anylady-fics]

Body talk | Han Jisung x F reader

I really suck at aesthetics.

Summary:

[...] He was standing there, talking to you all casually, when he stripped his shirt off. Your jaw just dropped because well, you weren’t ready for that. Sure, you’d noticed he looked healthier overall, but the man was always drowning in oversized clothes, so you never really saw much. But right then? Oh, you saw.

“You’re staring, baby.” He always called you that, but at that moment, it just hit differently. “Like what you see?” [...]

Or... she just couldn't handle how hot her friend had become.

*** this work is for adult audiences. Minors DNI ***

Warnings: smut, semi-public sex, dry-humping, unprotected sex (don't do it), vaginal sex, creampie

4,488K words - cross posted on ao3

Ⴡ Masterlist

Han Jisung was one of your best friends, so when he told you he was starting to work out, you were really supportive. He was always the skinny type, the kind that made you wonder if he was actually eating all his meals. But you were kinda used to seeing him like that, so…

You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but he started growing… a lot. Since you saw him all the time, you didn’t notice right away how big he was getting. It wasn’t sudden, but it happened.

Then there was this birthday pool party with all your friends, and that’s when you really noticed just how hard he’d been training at that damn gym. 

He was standing there, talking to you all casually, when he stripped his shirt off. Your jaw just dropped because well, you weren’t ready for that. Sure, you’d noticed he looked healthier overall, but the man was always drowning in oversized clothes, so you never really saw much. But right then? Oh, you saw. 

“You’re staring, baby.” He always called you that, but at that moment, it just hit differently. “Like what you see?”

Fuck, you were staring. But how could you not? His arms were like three times bigger, and so was his chest. And he still had that thin waist…

“I just… I just didn’t notice how buff you got.”

“Yeah, I’ve been working out for almost two years, you know?” He flexed his biceps for you, as if you weren’t already dizzy just looking at him. “Glad you like it.”

Han had always been that flirty guy, the one who calls you ‘baby’ and was always sweet to you. But now? That same behavior was making you feel completely different when he was actually… that hot. What the fuck was actually happening? Of course, you’d been stuck with your shitty ex for the past year, so you weren’t exactly looking at other men. And you hadn’t been on a date in months, still kinda numb since that piece of shit broke up with you. But right then and there, Jisung was waking you up. Or at least, it felt like it. 

“I did, I mean…”

“Yeah, I know. You didn’t see anything happening around you when you were dating that asshole.”

He was right. You didn’t. And your ex was always jealous of your friendship with every guy, but especially with Jisung—and you never really understood why. Nothing ever happened between you two, and you never saw him that way. Sure, you knew he was pretty, you’d always thought he was cute. But you never—ever—considered dating him. Not because of his looks, of course, but because he was your friend, and you didn’t want to mess things up. You were never good at relationships, so dating friends? Yeah, you always avoided that.

But…

You could have a crush, right? Just a crush. It was natural, it was healthy. Nothing to worry about.

“Could you help me out with this?” Jisung was talking to you, but you hadn’t been paying attention until he handed you the bottle of sunscreen. “Can’t reach my back, so…”

You took the bottle and tried to act normal, really tried. He turned around, letting you spread the sunscreen over his skin, and that’s when you really saw—and felt—his back muscles.

God. You’d always had a weak spot for skinny buff men, so actually touching him? That was making you a little nervous. But it was Jisung. Thinking about him that way just felt wrong. Not that you could stop—not while you were rubbing way more sunscreen on him than necessary, for way longer than you should.

Once you’re done, you hand him the sunscreen and excuse yourself, you need to go to the bathroom to change into your bikini. And also… to check something.

As soon as you lock the door, you drop your backpack on the floor and start undoing your shorts, because you can feel it. You can feel how wet you got just from rubbing sunscreen on your friend’s back.

That shouldn’t be happening. It was so sudden. You definitely weren’t going to act on it, but still… it made you realize just how long it had been since you’d had a date, a great night with someone, hell, even an orgasm. Even one by yourself. It was embarrassing how worked up you got over something so simple.

You walked out of the bathroom already in your bikini, with a pair of shorts to cover up—not because you were shy or anything, but because you couldn’t shake off your dirty thoughts. And you knew they’d only get worse once the drinks started flowing. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to notice how soaked you were… without even stepping into the pool.

The day was going really great. Everyone was eating, drinking, and playing by the pool, so you let yourself relax for a while—slipping off your shorts and lying down to soak up some sun, maybe even get a little tan. Even if it was a bit late already, the sun would be gone in an hour.

“Careful, baby. You’re gonna burn like that. Here, I got you the drink you like.”

You didn’t even have to open your eyes to know that it was Jisung. Of course he was bringing your favorite drink—he always did. But now? Now it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t his fault, but you were acting all weird around him.

“Thanks, Ji.” You took a sip before finally looking at him—only to find him sitting on the ground, right next to you.

“You don’t have to stay out here in the sun…”

“Oh, I know. But I want to. Feels like ages since we just hung out. And it’s not even that hot anymore.” He sat there, stretching his legs out, leaning back on his arms. Muscles on display, skin glistening with sweat, pool water, and that damn sunscreen. “You’ve been all depressed since… you know.”

“Yeah, but I’m alright now.” You tried to look away, but somehow, you just couldn’t. So you took another sip. “What did I miss?”

He started gossiping about your friend group—but nothing mean, just filling you in on everything that had happened while you were holed up in your room, feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin got a new girlfriend for a week, then broke up with her… which was nothing new. Chris was working his ass off, also nothing new. And Changbin? Apparently, he’d been helping Jisung at the gym. Well… that explained a lot.

“I’m really glad you’re doing better now.” He finished his beer, flashing you the cutest smile. “Hope you pick someone better next time.”

“It’s not that easy!” You could already feel yourself loosening up from the drink—and the amount of vodka he’d poured into it. “Are you trying to get me drunk, Han Jisung?”

“Is it too strong, baby? Sorry, I can make you a new one if you want. But what do you mean it’s not easy?”

“No, I’m fine. It’s just… it's been a while since I drank vodka. But thanks, really.”

“So… what do you mean?”

“What?”

Yeah, nope. Playing dumb seemed like the best option. You really didn’t feel like whining about your shitty love life. Jisung already knew you had a habit of settling for way less than you deserved, and you weren’t about to go down that road again. It was just… embarrassing.

“You can tell me. Why do you keep dating assholes?” He paused for a moment, then—out of nowhere—blushed. “Is it because… you know. They’re good in bed or something?”

“God, I wish.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. You stared at your drink, then shoved the glass into his hands. “Here. Keep it. I’m already talking too much.”

“But seriously. Why?” He took a sip of your drink, then immediately made a face. “Jesus, this is a crime. I’m getting us new drinks. Be right back.”

You’d never really talked about sex with him before. Sure, some things had come up during drinking games, but nothing too revealing. So… why was he so interested in your love life now? You trusted him enough to tell him everything, but all you could think about was how much of a loser you’d sound like. Admitting that most of your exes couldn’t even make you cum? Not exactly your proudest moment.

He came back with a really sweet drink for you and another can of beer for himself. For a moment, you thought he’d drop the conversation entirely—almost felt relieved about it, even though you kind of liked the tension. But as soon as he sat down, a little closer this time, he picked up right where he left off.

“So, you were saying…?”

“I wasn’t saying anything, Ji. Stop talking about those assholes, they’re in the past now.” You took a sip. God, it was good, so sweet you could barely taste the alcohol this time. “This is perfect, thanks!”

“Come on, tell me. I really wanna know how a good girl like you always ends up with guys like them.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, it just happens.” You shrugged. “And they’re not even good in bed, that’s the worst part. Most of the time, they didn’t even care if I came or not.”

“Oh my god, so you hate yourself that much?” He groaned, taking a deep breath before nearly downing his entire beer. “Please tell me you’re not doing that again. It’s painful watching you suffer every time.” He set his can down with a sigh. “Also, you have to make sure they’re gonna treat you right before anything else.”

“They’re not assholes at first, you know…”

“I’m talking about the sex.” He raised an eyebrow. “You gotta make sure it’s good before making them your boyfriend.”

And now you were the one blushing. Because, well… he wasn’t wrong. You’d always waited before sleeping with a guy, always dated them for a while first. But that clearly wasn’t working. And the worst part? It wasn’t even them. It was you. You got comfortable, and you sucked at breaking things off. It was always like that.

“So you seem to know a lot about this relationship stuff,” you said, feeling the alcohol settle into your system. “How are you still single?”

“Well, I had a few dates… but I’ll only have a girlfriend when it feels right.” Then he smirked. That smirk. The kind that made you want to hit him, but you couldn’t, because it was too damn irresistible. “At least I made sure they were satisfied.”

“And how are you so sure about that?” Your cheeks were burning? Yeah, definitely. But the conversation was interesting, and the alcohol was making it a lot easier to roll with it. 

Jisung smirked again, then glanced at you. Just a quick look. But you saw it. Saw his eyes flicker down—right at your tits. And fuck, it hit you like a rock. That’s when it really sank in. You were sitting there in nothing but a bikini, your nipples were hard, and you’d been soaked since the moment you rubbed sunscreen over his back. But you didn’t move. Didn’t try to hide a damn thing. You just sat there, waiting for him to answer.

“Oh, baby…” He tilted his head slightly, voice dripping with amusement. “You don’t really want the details, do you? I’m not the type who fuck and tell.”

“Such a gentleman…”

“I am, actually.” He grinned, cocky as ever. Then, after a beat, he added, “And you know… since you’re single and not dating anyone, I could just… show you. Sometime. Maybe.”

Bold. But the second the words left his mouth, he hesitated just for a moment. Like even he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. And fuck, you clenched. Hard. Harder than you thought was humanly possible. You just stared at him, like you were still processing what he’d just said because, honestly? You were. Your whole body was screaming yes, but your brain? Your brain was still desperately trying to remind you that this could ruin your friendship.

“Ji…”

“Yeah, I know. We’re friends and all. And you don’t do friends. But what if… what if you just let yourself enjoy it? It wouldn’t ruin anything, I swear.”

It shouldn’t have been normal how ridiculously turned on you were from just a conversation. Your cute, hot friend was almost begging to date you. To fuck you. Specifically.

“And I can read you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, his eyes darker now. “I know you’re horny. I’d bet money you’re wet right now, because I actually pay attention to you.”

Your sanity was slipping. How the fuck did he know that? And more importantly, how the hell were you supposed to say no to him? If he could read you this well, you couldn’t even begin to imagine what he could actually do to you if you let him. And you were so close. So close to letting him. Because you were really fucking horny, and everything was starting to blur together in your head.

“Okay.” It’s all you can manage to say, your body growing heavier, hotter with every passing second.

“Okay?” He tilts his head, smirking. “So you’ll let me show you? Use your words, pretty.”

You swallow hard. Fuck it.

“Yes, Jisung. I want you to show me.” Your voice is steady, but barely. “And yeah. I’m wet. I’m horny. You were right about that, too.” You lean in just slightly, challenging him. “So… what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fuck, baby… everyone already went inside since it’s getting dark. Wanna try to find a room for us? Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“I doubt it, so…” 

You already knew you’d end up sleeping on the floor or crashing on some couch once you headed inside, there was no way any rooms were still available. You stand up without another word, heading straight for the couch near the pool, tucked away in a more private spot. The low walls should be enough to cover you.

Should be. But anyone could still walk in on you. Anytime. 

No doors. No locks.

Just the two of you, outside, where you definitely shouldn’t be doing this. And that only makes you want it more.

Jisung followed right behind you, and since you’d already given him permission to touch you, that’s exactly what he did the moment he got close enough. He was right there in front of you, still shirtless, somehow looking even hotter than he had two minutes ago. Or maybe you were just drunk and horny.

“I’m gonna kiss you.” His voice was low, his body radiating heat so close to yours. “And if you want me to stop, just… tell me. I’ll try.” He had that playful smile, but fuck, he looked so sexy you started wondering if you were even in your right mind.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him, and finally, you felt his skin on yours, warm, firm, so good it sent a shiver through you. His lips brushed against yours, teasing, barely there. Then, his tongue traced your bottom lip before slipping inside, and you welcomed him so easily, sucking on it, responding to him like you were made for this. It was wet, hot, messy. So good you felt yourself melting between your legs. And then, as he held you even closer, you felt it… his cock, hard against you through his shorts, pressing right where you needed him most.

You couldn’t tell if you were just needy or if he was really the best kisser you’d ever had, because it had never felt this good. You’d never felt so overwhelmed just from a kiss. Jisung knew exactly what he was doing, and you had no idea how many minutes had passed since you started—kissing, pressing your bodies together, completely lost in it.

There was a couch right next to you, and you were starting to feel it—your legs weak, your body buzzing, the heat pooling between your thighs. You needed to sit down. Or maybe, you just needed more. Maybe sitting on him, that would be good. 

You pressed your hands against his chest, pushing him back just slightly. He pulled away immediately, eyes flickering with concern—until you wordlessly pointed to the couch. You couldn’t even trust yourself to speak, but he understood. Oh, he definitely understood. 

He grabbed your wrist and sat down, pulling you close until you were right where he wanted—on his lap. Fuck, you just knew you were going to soak his shorts. There was no way to avoid it. You were sitting directly on his hard cock, and then he started kissing you again. His hands rested on your waist before slowly moving up, his fingertips teasing just beneath the fabric of your bikini, making you desperate for him to actually touch your tits.

You whined against his mouth, hoping he’d understand just how needy you were for his touch. And apparently, he really could really read you… His hands moved higher, cupping your tits, feeling their weight before giving a gentle squeeze. You moaned at the sensation, not even realizing how you were pressing your breasts into his hands, silently begging for more.

He teased your sensitive nipples through the fabric, making you shiver, and you rolled your hips slowly, desperate for some friction. He moaned too, feeling you grind against his cock, and fuck, his mouth tasted like beer, a bit like weed, and a lot like you should’ve done this ages ago.

You couldn’t stop yourself so you kept grinding on his lap, your clit throbbing with every slow roll of your hips. And judging by the way he was whining between kisses, he was loving it just as much.

His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and nipping, leaving love bites along your skin. Then he went lower, tugging your bikini top just enough to wrap his lips around your nipple. His wet tongue licked over the sensitive bud, making you moan a little louder now that his mouth wasn’t on yours to muffle the sound.

“Ji… feels so good,” you breathed, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. You didn’t want him to stop. He groaned against your skin, sucking harder as his hands grabbed your ass, squeezing tight, guiding your movements, making you grind even harder against his cock. You could easily cum like that.

His hands were everywhere—touching, groping, squeezing—grabbing every inch of your skin like he couldn’t get enough. You kissed him again, still rolling your hips, but a wave of embarrassment started creeping in because you knew you were close. If you kept this up just a little longer, you were going to cum.

“Gonna make me cum in my shorts like this…” he whispered against your lips, his voice strained. “You close? Wanna grind on my cock until you cum, baby?”

“Yes… so close…” you whined, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you moved faster, harder. Any trace of embarrassment disappeared the second you saw the way he was looking at you, his eyes dark with lust, filled with pure desire. “Gonna cum… fuck!”

Your orgasm hit you hard, your body shuddering as you slowly came to a stop, riding out your high. Your pussy clenched around nothing, and the realization made your head spin. Jisung held you close, his hands firm on your waist, his mouth still latched onto your nipple. Fucking hell, you’d only dry-humped him, and you already felt completely wrecked.

“That was so fucking hot.” He kissed your neck again, licking the sweat from your skin. “Wish we could do more, but it’s so fucking risky out here…”

“Yeah?” You were still catching your breath, your hands resting on his firm chest—now teasing his nipples. “What do you wanna do? Tell me.”

“Wish I could eat you out. Fuck, you’re dripping… I can feel it.” His words made you clench around nothing again. “Wish I could fuck this pretty mouth of yours.”

“Jisung…” His name left your lips in a breathy whimper as your hands slid down his body, tracing over his chest, his abs—until you reached his cock, hot and hard beneath his shorts. You pulled them down along with his underwear, freeing him completely. He was already leaking for you, so hard, so fucking ready for you to just sink down onto him. “Just wanna feel you inside me now,” you murmured, eyes locked on his. “You can eat me out and fuck my mouth another time.”

You knew you sounded desperate. You were desperate. But you didn’t care.

Instead, you pulled your bikini bottoms aside, rubbing his tip against your clit, using his precum to make yourself even wetter.

“Gonna let me fuck you raw, baby?” His voice was thick with desire as he watched you rub his cock against your clit, teasing yourself, teasing him. “Didn’t think you’d let me fuck you today… especially here, where someone could walk in on us.”

“Yeah? Let them see. I don’t care.” Your voice was breathy, reckless. “It’s dark anyway.” There was no condom, and it was obvious neither of you had one. “I’m on the pill… clean,” you reassured him, your eyes never leaving his.

“I’m clean too,” he groaned, gripping your waist. “But fuck, baby… I’m gonna blow fast. Watching you cum like that almost did the job.”

“I don’t care, Ji. Just fuck me.”

“Then put it in,” he rasped. “I’m all yours.”

You didn’t think you’d ever been this wet in your life, not that it mattered, because Jisung was thick. He wasn’t huge, but the girth…

You guided him to your entrance, holding his cock at the base as you slowly sank down, feeling the delicious stretch as he filled you, inch by inch. You were already panting, creaming around him as you rolled your hips to adjust, every inch of him pressing against your walls just right. 

Jisung moaned, his hands finding your tits, teasing your nipples, making you want to scream from just that. Fuck, you were so needy.

“You’re taking me so well, baby…” His voice was a low growl, his hands sliding down to your waist, gripping tight as he helped you move. You started riding him, slow and deep, feeling every inch drag against your soaked, clenching walls. “Such a pretty pussy… so greedy, too…”

You clenched hard around him at his words, making him groan. He could feel how much you liked it. It was so hot—so fucking hot—you almost couldn’t believe you were actually letting your friend fuck you like this, there of all places. No one would believe it even if they saw you. And maybe that was part of what was turning you on so much. The risk. The filthiness of it. You didn’t even recognize yourself.

But you didn’t care about anything—not when he was buried balls deep inside you, stretching you, filling you so perfectly. Fuck.

You started moving faster, really riding him now, rolling your hips just right so your clit dragged against his pelvis with every grind. That friction alone was enough to push you closer to the edge again. You were a mess; sweating, moaning, completely fucked-out, and Jisung was staring at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You’re clenching so hard, think you can cum again? Wanna see you cumming all over my dick. Use me, come on.”

Fuck, how could you say no to that? He gripped your waist to help you grind against him, his cock buried so deep inside you it was hurting, but it felt so good you just kept moving, your hips moving on their own, desperate, needy, chasing that high. You felt the orgasm coming, it hit you like a wave, ripping a moan from your throat so loud he had to shove his fingers in your mouth to shut you up. You sucked on his fingers while cumming hard on his cock, almost crying from pleasure, feeling the way he was throbbing inside you, probably holding himself to not to blow.

"Fuck, I’m gonna cum…" Jisung groaned, pulling his fingers from your mouth and gripping your waist so tight you knew he’d leave marks. "Inside?"

"Yeah… fill me up, please…"

You were trembling, breathless, drooling, desperate to feel his hot release spilling inside you. It would be so messy… you already felt filthy, but fuck, it felt so good.

With a deep, shuddering moan, he came inside you, biting his lip to muffle his sounds, his body tensing as he spilled deep. You could feel it, warm and thick, already leaking from your overstimulated pussy while he stayed buried inside you, still pulsing. Slowly, you lifted your hips, savoring the way he slipped out of you before adjusting your bikini back into place, like nothing had just happened. 

"Yeah, I believe you now." You helped him adjust his clothes, smoothing them back into place. "You really know how to satisfy your girls, Ji."

"Told you." He smirked, eyes closed, breath still heavy, his skin glistening with sweat. "The body talks, baby. We just have to listen."

And he had listened, he knew exactly how badly you wanted him, touching you just right the entire time. You couldn’t argue with that. He was good. So good. And as you lay there, catching your breath, you realized you didn’t regret a thing. No guilt, no second thoughts, just satisfaction

"See? We’re still friends. Nothing bad happened." He held your hand, his gaze locked on yours. "And we should do this again, you know?"

"Oh, we will. I still remember you saying you wanted to eat me out. No way I’m missing that."

"And fuck your mouth." He smirked. "Stop that, or you’re gonna make me hard again."

"Is that a problem?"

"Depends… if you’ll let me fuck you again."

"Not here, Ji. We could get caught. But tomorrow…"

Oh, there was no doubt—you were definitely doing this again. 

Jisung chuckled, running his fingers lazily over your thigh, teasing, but not pushing. 

"Tomorrow, then." His voice was husky, laced with promise.

You stood up, adjusting your bikini enough to head into the shower as he leaned back, watching you with dark, satisfied eyes. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine, like he was already planning what he’d do to you next.

"Better get some rest, baby," he murmured. "You’ll need it."

You smirked, biting your lip as you turned to leave, already feeling anticipation curling low in your stomach.

Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.