#you're not gonna do anything to me by saying that

[madamechrissy]

Your best friend's dad Toji headcanons

Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem reader

Content warnings- ABSOLUTELY NO MINORS interacting with this, heavy NSFW! Big age gap (Toji late 30s, reader is 21) some manipulation (both of em lol) masturbation (toji) and oral sex (both recieving) obsessed Toji, the oneshot will be much more in detail lol. If you don't like Toji being called 'daddy' don't read lmao, taboo ass themes.

Gonna be a full oneshot, comment to get tagged when it drops!

Your best friend's dad Toji who used to be so affectionate, but the past couple years he's been... closed off, indifferent to you? He had Megumi so young, it was more like he played a big brother role, really, you used to talk to him about anything. But lately he just grumbles a hello and pats your head, much to your dismay.

Your best friend's dad Toji is so hot you've had this crush on him forever, but of course you try to hide it, and eventually you have it under wraps- when you're about nineteen or twenty you start catching his looks, the ones he doesn't think you see, and you may or may not wear next to nothing when you stay the night, just to sleepily smile at him in the morning, watching dark green eyes dilate.

Your best friend's dad Toji can't stop thinking of all the ways he'd treat you so good, when he listens to you crying about a break up, thinking these pathetic dudes probably couldn't even get you off, in fact he's sure that they haven't. You don't look well fucked, like you should, with your shy little smile and the way your tits just sway in those tank tops with no bras, driving him insane to no end, so that now he just avoids you.

Your best friend's dad Toji has lost how many times he's stroked his cock to the thought of you, especially when you sleep on the couch, you spend all kinds of time here instead of your dorm with your roommate who apparently always has guys over. More peaceful for you here, and instead of tucking you in he openly stares at your parted lips, at how your tank top twisted and your tit is almost out. He'd throw a blanket over you and head to his bed, stroking himself and trying to stifle the moans, picturing how he'd make you cum over and over again.

Your best friend's dad Toji has girls over at times, and you can't help but feel upset when you see them, which is so stupid, but here it is, these feelings that arise, knowing they're going on dates with him, wondering if he'll see you any other way. One day after a particular date he comes in the dark kitchen, startled to see you sitting in one of the seats, sipping on a beer. 'The fuck, doll do you ever go home? And are you old enough to drink this shit?' you uncross your legs, and damned if your shorts aren't loose enough that he sees a hint of your pussy. 'I'm more than old enough, you know, I'm Gumi's age' Toji scoffs, cracking open a beer and leaning against the counter 'yeah, a fuckin kiddo still'

Your best friend's dad Toji pauses with his lips almost to the bottle when you step closer, fingers trailing up his dress shirt, his dark hair falling over his brow as you tilt your head, looking at him for the first time how you've wanted to. You've lost count how many times you have played with your pussy, how many times under boys you pictured Toji instead. 'Did you get off, Mr. Fushiguro?' Toji sputters now, how you make a man like him speechless is diabolical. 'the fuck you say, doll?' Toji manages, and you smile as your hand trails lower. 'You've helped me so much, I could help you cum if you want' he scoffs, gripping your wrist then 'don't fuckin' tease me, won't end well for you'

Your best friend's dad Toji shows you just how well it ends, when you're on your knees in the kitchen, and he's shoving his cock deep in your eager mouth, fucking your throat so good tears prick your eyes. 'F-fuck... s-so good I.... shit...' he's stuttering, as you take his cock down your throat, your nails gripping at his thighs, looking up at him then. 'Gonna cum if you- stop, shit you-' you keep sucking his veiny length, throbbing and twitching as he yanks on your hair, pulling you off before he busts, just in time for the door to click, and you both seperate before a sleepy Megumi finds you.

Your best friend's dad Toji doesn't come to you like you'd expect, no he avoids the shit out of you even more, and soon you're imagining this was all some odd dream. He doesn't even acknowledge it, so you go back to dating your ex, and try not to come over anymore, Toji misses you, fuck he does, but he's trying to not engage with whatever demon mouth his kids bestie posesses. Toji even sees you out while he's on a date, his jaw locking when you're at the other table, young and seemingly in puppy love, your eyes lock when you see him, and Toji's date is fading into the background just a bit. When you get up to go to the bathroom, Toji excuses himself, just to come behind you and press you against the counter, barring you with his strong arms, as you murmur- 'Mr. Fushiguro..."

Your best friend's dad Toji mutters 'so did you get off on your lil date, doll? with the kid?' you hear it, the tenseness, the jealousy, as his huge, strong hands slip up your little black dress, and you whine out just a bit, before glaring. 'What if he did? what if he gets me off so good, Mr. Fushiguro- ah!' Toji's done with you then, he's got you turned so you see your own blush and glittering eyes in the mirror, slipping his hand down between your thighs and rolling rough fingertips on your clit, towering over you, taking over your senses in this bathroom. 'Bet he ain't got shit on me' he murmurs, before rolling your clit in circles and hearing you hiccup, whimper, head falling back as his other hand grips a breath 'tired of ya fucking teasing me' he then leaves you there, gasping and needy, sucking on his fingers and moaning about your taste.

Your best friend's dad Toji does not like it when you bring your boyfriend over, even if it is Megumi's other friend, not when you're sitting on his lap and kissing him while the three of you game, all giggling. He scowls right at you, only for you to give him a knowing little smile, one he thinks about fucking right off you, until you're just open mouthed and drooling. He's jerking his dick right off in the bathroom while the three of you spend time, endlessly thinking of positions he'd put his kid's best friend in, bend you over, drink your pretty pussy up, make you call him daddy. As his cum squirts out of his reddened, drooly tip, he exhales, trying to pull himself together, surely two can play at your stupid little game.

Your best friend's dad Toji starts to go to every one of Megumi's games now, he used to catch a few, but he loves to go every time because he knows you cheer for the team. You kiss your little boyfriend's cheek and bounce around in your cheerleading skirt, all while you see him with a new girl in the stand all the time, acting so unbothered by you. When you're asking Megumi about it, he shrugs muttering 'they don't come home after the games, maybe he's trying to look hot to the PTA moms? he's weird' huh you think to yourself, seeing his glint in narrowed eyes, which only makes you want him more, the shithead that he is.

Your best friend's dad Toji watches as you 'drop something' just to bend over in your cheer skirt, with nothing under it like it should be, making him lose his mind when you smile brightly at him, talking about a party all of you are going to after. Toji can't stand it when he's at home, waiting, imagining everything you're doing, fucking dying to have you, he jerks off so much it starts to hurt, and it's all your fault, which you would delight in knowing truly. When you come back over in the damn cheer outfit the next day, and Megumi isn't home yet, you sigh. 'Oh, then I'll come back later-' Toji stops you then, locking the door with a click. 'Oh you'll cum alright'

Your best friend's dad Toji has you up on his kitchen counter, thighs spread, pulling your panties up so that your wet spot darkens them, and he sees the plump lips of your pussy. 'real slutty, where's your shorts huh?' you smile at him, then gasp as he grips your chin, and your head falls back against the wall. 'I want you to see' you finally admit, and he glares at you. 'and why the fuck you torturing me!?' you gasp at him. 'it's you who torture me!' 'nah, doll, you know what you're doing, and I'm tired of it, gonna shut you the fuck up' Toji yanks your panties off as you gasp. 'gonna make you forget any dumb college boy has ever touched you' he says, before he sinks two thick digits, moaning as he watches your pretty face get fucked out.

Your best friend's dad Toji laps at your little clit, as your hands entwine in his inky hair, and he feels like it's so wrong, you're like at least sixteen years younger, your his kids best friend. Shit you practically lived here, but once he gets a taste of your slick pussy, he's done for. He's got you cumming all over his fingers in minutes, and you're drunk off it, as he keeps licking, scar brushing your inner lips as you pull him closer. "Mr. Fushiguro..." You're whining out, and he smirks, pulling back and spitting right on your pussy, watching it drip from your twitchy clit to your soppy little hole. 'don't call me that right now, not when you're about to cum all over my face again, huh?' you eagerly obey, earning his chuckle 'guess this is how I get you to listen'

Your best friend's dad Toji slurps up more of your cum, obscene in the little kitchen, and you're fucking his face, his fingers, all while his cock his throbbing in his sweats, and you're whispering 'Toji!' he slaps your pussy then, loud in the room, with wet sticky fingers, you scream out at it, cunt throbbing around nothing, ready to be filled by him. 'Please, please...' he chuckles again- 'please what, doll?' you're shattering as he scissors his fingers in and out of your soppy hole 'please fuck mee, please!' he moans against your cunt, rubbing himself where the precum has leaked out past his boxers and even to his sweats, nipping at your clit as you cum again. 'want me to actually fuck you, huh? show you how a man does it?' 'please Toji...'

Your best friend's dad Toji carries you to his bed, the place he so frequently pumps his cock to the thought of you, eyeing your already fucked out face, smirking down at you as he spreads your thighs. 'then need to ask me properly, huh doll?' you blink in confusion, as he leans over you, cock still under his clothes, gripping your wrists as you wriggle, aching for him. 'I said please though!' he presses a kiss to your lips, and you taste yourself on him, moaning into his mouth. 'say please 'daddy''

Comment if you wanna get tagged in this freaky shit lol

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[cherrygirlfriend]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ morning wood

pairing: rafe x bsf!reader synopsis: rafe wakes up with morning wood next to his best friend . warnings/tags: smut, somnophilia?, piv a/n; i think this was my most popular fic in my old blog and it was also amongst one of the first smut fics i wrote so this brings me back! new fic coming friday btw!! originally posted 08/01/2024

rafe masterlist ♡

wherever rafe went, you followed; and even though it annoyed some of his friends, they didn't dare to say anything about it to rafe, because the one time they did, he got so angry they thought they were getting their asses kicked.

everywhere, also happened to include his bed. it had started after you had accidentally passed out on his bed from how much you drank, and he didn't care if you were there or not, he was sleeping in his own bed. now, it had gotten to the point where you couldn't sleep without him, and vice versa.

but you weren't a couple, of course not. rafe wasn't one for relationships, and you were just his friend since childhood, and even if he fucked you into the mattress a couple of times per week, or the fact that he never allowed any other girl to be in his bed, or that he thought of you whenever he hooked up with someone, it was just friendship.

"come on, wake up pretty girl..." he mumbled into your shoulder as you started stirring awake, rafe holding up one of your thighs up slightly as his hand rubbed his hard cock against your panty-clad pussy.

"come on, rafe..." you mumbled sleepily, and the blonde pressed a small, warm kiss on your shoulder over the fabric of his t-shirt. "why'd you wake me up? can't you see that 'm tired..."

"princess.. i need you..."

"rafe, we already went three rounds yesterday..."

"please, baby..." rafe mumbled, pressing soft kisses to your neck, the action causing shivers to go down your spine, and you could feel your panties starting to get wet, sticking to your puffy folds. "i'll do anything... just need you so much right now..."

you looked at him with half-lidded eyes as he pressed lazy kisses on your neck, "anything?"

"anything for you, princess. including murder."

"will you buy me those vivienne westwood earrings i want?"

"hell, i'll get a matching necklace."

and that's how you ended up with your best friend on top of you, pounding into your already sore pussy from the night before, your face pressed against the sheet as you let out moans that got muffled by the pillow, a handful of your hair around his fist as you closed your eyes in pleasure, your fists gripping the sheets to try and anchor yourself as he spoke in a low tone with every thrust "such a good girl for me... you're mine... this pussy's all mine... no one's gonna fuck this pretty girl like i do..."

yeah. just friendship.

[solxamber]

I loved the platonic Malleus helps Yuu get Idia fic and I was wondering if you could so something similar with Cater or Trey or Vil or Leona or Floyd? You can choose, anything like that would be amazing my liege.

you asked and i answered, i love this concept so much

Fae Courtship 101: Romance for Dummies || Floyd Leech

In your desperation to confess to Floyd, you made the grave mistake of recruiting Malleus for help—now the only thing you’re courting is death.

For reasons beyond mortal comprehension—beyond your own comprehension—you have fallen for Floyd Leech.

Floyd. Leech.

The man who treats personal space like a suggestion, bites people for fun, and once chased a first-year across campus while laughing like a slasher villain because he was “bored.”

The man who once tried to sell you to Azul in exchange for a really nice hat. The man who could, at any given moment, be contemplating something as simple as “what’s for lunch” or something as horrifyingly chaotic as “what if I threw the prefect off the third-floor balcony to see how they bounce?”

It’s a bad idea. Objectively, scientifically, in every single way, this is a mistake.

Grim and Deuce have been holding interventions. The ghosts of Ramshackle have been looking at you like they’re already preparing to welcome you into their ranks. You're rapidly losing the moral high ground in any discussion about Ace’s bad life choices.

But the heart wants what it wants. And unfortunately, yours wants to make terrible decisions.

Which brings you here, pacing alongside Malleus Draconia, crown prince of Briar Valley, king of ominous nighttime strolls, and your designated therapist for the evening.

“I just—I don’t get it, Malleus!” you wail, gesturing wildly as you stomp through the moonlit campus. “I should like normal people! People who don’t consider attempted murder to be a love language! I should have instincts!”

Malleus hums in thought. “Hm. Concerning.”

“Exactly!” You throw your hands up. “I should be running in the opposite direction! Instead, I’m over here, wondering if he’d bite me gently if I asked nicely!”

Malleus stops walking.

You stop too, looking over to see him gazing at you with a carefully neutral expression. There’s a brief silence. A beat. And then, slowly—gravely—he nods.

“Understood.”

You blink. “...Huh?”

He turns to you with the air of a man who has just accepted a sacred duty. “You have chosen a perilous path, Child of Man.”

You stare. “I—??"

“But fear not,” he continues, raising a hand to his chest in solemn promise. “I shall help you attain your romance.”

Silence.

A breeze rolls through the courtyard. A crow caws in the distance. Somewhere, Grim is experiencing a deep sense of foreboding.

“…You’re going to what?”

Malleus nods again, expression determined. “Leave it to me.”

You suddenly have so many regrets.

Grim looks at you the way a doctor looks at a patient about to flatline. Gravely. With pity. With deep concern for the irreversible damage.

"Okay, listen hench-human, I’ve let a lot of things slide, but this? This I gotta ask—do you hate life that much?"

You blink at him. "What?"

Grim waves his little paws dramatically. "First, you fall for Floyd of all people. That’s already a death wish. And now, you’re actually listening to Malleus for dating advice? What’s next? You gonna ask Kalim for tips on financial responsibility?!"

You open your mouth. Close it. You… okay, you really have no defense. But before you can say anything—

There’s a knock at the door.

And you don’t even have to guess who it is.

You open it to find Malleus standing there, his expression set in earnest determination. In his hands is a book that looks older than your grandmother. The kind of ancient tome that looks like it holds dark secrets, forbidden spells, possibly even a recipe for soup made from human souls.

Standing right next to him, grinning like a goblin, is Lilia.

You feel your soul leave your body.

"Ah, Child of Man," Malleus intones. "I have found it. The ultimate guide to fae courtship rituals. You shall use these techniques to win the heart of your eel."

"Oh, this is gonna be fun," Lilia cackles. "Do you know how long it's been since I’ve seen these methods in action? The devastation! The absolute carnage!"

You stare at them. You stare into the abyss. The abyss grins back.

Grim looks at you, his face a perfect picture of someone watching a loved one make the worst life decisions in real time.

"You’re really doin’ this, huh?"

…You sigh. "Yeah. I’m really doing this."

You are simply minding your own business, walking to class like a normal person, when you spot Floyd approaching from the other end of the hallway.

As always, you smile at him, because you have fully accepted your fate as a fool with horrible taste in men. You expect him to either grin back or threaten to suplex you for fun—classic Floyd things.

What you do not expect is the sudden sensation of a phantom hand shoving you forward.

And just like that, gravity wins.

You crash into Floyd with all the grace of a drunk goose, smacking into his chest with enough force to send both of you stumbling. Floyd barely moves (because he is built like a problem), but you rebound like a cartoon character, nearly falling over before his hands land heavily on your shoulders.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you stare at him.

Then, slowly, your brain remembers what just happened, and you whip around—

Only to see Malleus standing at the end of the hallway, looking extremely pleased with himself.

He gives you a smug, regal nod.

He is also holding a book titled "How to Romance for Dummies."

You are going to throw hands with a literal prince.

Before you can implode, Floyd’s grip on your shoulders tightens. You turn back to him, only to find him looking entirely too displeased about being your impromptu landing pad.

“Shriiiimpy,” he drawls, squinting at you like a judge in a courtroom drama. “What’s up with that, huh? Tryna tackle me first thing in the morning?”

“I—I tripped!” you stammer, trying to collect the shreds of your dignity. “I didn’t mean to crash into you, I swear!”

Floyd hums, unconvinced. Then, after a beat of consideration, he shrugs.

“Aaah, whatever.” His fingers dig just slightly into your shoulders, a slow grin stretching across his face. “You still ran into me, soooo… you owe me.”

You blink. “Wait. Owe you?”

“Mhm!” His grin widens, teeth sharp. “Now ya gotta hang out with me today.”

You blink again. Slowly. You could argue, but you have a sneaking suspicion that it won’t get you anywhere, and honestly? Maybe this is exactly the opening you need.

Maybe… Malleus isn’t that bad at this.

You take that last thought back immediately.

Because not even a day after that whole hallway fiasco, Malleus finds you again, pulls you aside with all the gravitas of an ancient ruler about to bestow divine wisdom, and insists that, in order to properly court Floyd, you must—

Compliment Floyd’s strength three times. At first, you thought, okay, easy enough, I can just tell him he’s strong and call it a day. But then—THEN—Malleus, in his infinite wisdom, handed you a quill and parchment and declared, “It must be in verse. Poetry carries the weight of true devotion.”

And now, here you are.

Standing in front of Floyd Leech. Holding a piece of paper with the most cringe-inducing attempt at poetry you've ever written in your life.

Floyd, to his credit, was already giggling the moment you approached with a look of sheer suffering. But when you clear your throat and attempt to actually read the thing—

"Oh mighty Floyd, with hands so bold—"

He just. Loses it.

Absolutely wheezing, doubling over, practically using you as a support beam to keep himself upright.

You glare at him and continue, determined to power through:

"A force unmatched, a tale retold—"

Floyd: "PFT—!!!"

He’s straight-up crying at this point. Tears. You swear you hear Jade laugh somewhere in the distance.

You don’t even make it to the third compliment. You just turn on your heel and walk away before your soul crumples in on itself like a dying star.

Malleus, watching from afar, sighs in clear disappointment. “You lack dedication,” he murmurs, shaking his head like an elder watching the youth fail at life.

You absolutely regret everything.

You don't know why you keep letting Malleus give you advice. Actually, no—that's a lie. You do know. It's because the second he heard you liked Floyd, his eyes lit up like he’d just been given a personal quest by the divine forces of romance, and now he refuses to rest until your love is secured.

Unfortunately, this means you are currently locked in yet another horrendous discussion about fae courting rituals.

"Scent-marking is a vital step in courtship," Malleus declares with the kind of grim authority that should be reserved for battlefields, not this. "He must recognize you as his."

You blink at him. "Oh, like giving him my hoodie or something?" That’s normal. That’s doable. That’s the kind of thing people do when they like each other, right? You’ve seen couples swap sweaters before. Maybe Malleus is finally onto something not-insane.

Malleus shakes his head gravely. "No. You must present him with something you have personally scented. Ideally, by rolling upon it."

Silence.

Rolling upon it.

You stare at him. He stares back. Completely serious.

You try to process what he’s just suggested. What he has just, with full sincerity, told you to do.

"Malleus."

"Yes?"

"You want me to roll around on an object like a dog and then give it to Floyd."

"Precisely."

You briefly consider just walking into the ocean.

It takes twenty full minutes to talk him down from this absolute lunacy and convince him that simply giving Floyd a sweater you’ve worn will do the job just fine. He looks at you the way a disappointed coach looks at a failing athlete.

"If you are not dedicated to the craft," he mutters, "you cannot expect great results."

You pretend you don’t hear him.

Fast forward to the next day, and you are sitting in class next to Floyd, who is draped over his desk in a deep and powerful boredom coma.

You pull out the sweater and awkwardly nudge it toward him.

"Here."

Floyd immediately perks up. Dangerously interested. He tilts his head, peering at the sweater like you’ve just handed him a rare treasure.

"Eh? What's this?"

"It's mine. You can have it," you say, trying to play it cool, despite the fact that your entire soul is trying to flee your body from embarrassment.

Floyd picks up the sweater and—without hesitation—presses his face into it.

You almost die. Right then and there. Instant expiration.

He leans back in his chair, grinning way too wide. "Heheh~ You smell nice, shrimpy~"

You barely manage to hold onto your composure. You are barely hanging on.

Malleus, watching from the hallway, narrows his eyes and mutters, "It is not the worst effort... but it lacks the impact of true commitment."

You ignore him. You ignore everything. You're just grateful that—for once—this wasn’t completely unhinged, and that Floyd somehow seems to like it.

"Nothing says romance like a meal made with your own two hands!" Lilia declares, slamming an ancient, definitely cursed cookbook onto the table.

You blink down at it. The title is in some language that makes your vision swim just looking at it. The edges are charred, the pages stained with substances you’re 70% sure are not food-safe, and Malleus—Malleus Draconia himself, looks a little unsure.

That should have been your first hint.

But you? A fool. An idiot. A desperate, love-struck buffoon? You press forward.

“Alright,” you sigh, rubbing your temples, already regretting this. “What ingredients do I need?”

Lilia beams, flipping to a page that looks like it came from an alchemist’s horror novel.

"Let's see! We’ll need:"

• Moonshade Truffle,

• A pinch of Sablethorn Dust,

• Three drops of Evernight Basilisk Extract,

• Seven Tears of a Joyful Banshee,

• And a Love-Smitten Fire Spirit’s Breath!

…

You stare.

"Lilia."

"Yes, beastie?"

"These sound like potion ingredients."

"Oh-ho!" Lilia chuckles, waving a hand. "You humans always get so caught up in technicalities. But what is cooking if not a kind of magic?"

…No. No, this is actual magic. You are not making a love potion, but this sure as hell sounds like one.

But, like the fool you are, you go along with it. You spend far too much money (your entire savings) at Azul’s Most Definitely Not a Scam Emporium for all of these ridiculous ingredients. He knows you’re up to something dumb. He does not care. He simply profits.

And now, here you are. In the Ramshackle kitchen. Grim watches from a safe distance behind a chair. Malleus stands off to the side with his arms crossed, looking like he is rethinking his life choices. And Lilia, that menace, is watching you mix the ingredients like a proud mentor.

Everything is going fine. Suspiciously fine.

And then—

"Alright, time to bake it!" Lilia claps his hands. "It says here to bake at 350 for 20 minutes!"

You nod. This is reasonable.

"However!" He flips the page. "In the olden days, we used a slightly different method."

Malleus frowns. Your stomach drops.

"Instead of 350 for 20 minutes…" Lilia hums. "It says here—750 for 10!"

…

"What."

"Don’t be shy! Give it a try!" Lilia gestures for you to do it.

Malleus shifts, looking like he wants to intervene. Grim is slowly backing out of the room. You ignore all of this.

Because you are an idiot.

You turn the oven to 750. You shove the pan inside. You watch in real-time as your dignity burns.

The oven makes a sound ovens should not make.

Something explodes. The smell is indescribable.

When you pull the pan out, it is a pile of pure, blackened charcoal.

You are horrified. Malleus looks concerned. Grim looks betrayed.

"Are ya tryin’ to kill me, Henchhuman?!" Grim yells. "I thought we were friends!"

But Lilia? Lilia is nodding approvingly.

"Ah," he sighs, nostalgic. "Just like how I remember it."

…This man should not be allowed in kitchens.

But you, an absolute buffoon, take the charred remains of your so-called courtship offering and bring it to Floyd anyway.

You find him in the cafeteria, dump the plate in front of him, and sit down. Defeated.

Floyd stares. Pokes it with a finger.

And then, he looks at you.

With pity.

"Shrimpy." His voice is gentle. You feel a chill of fear. "You goin' through hard times or somethin'?"

…

You die inside.

Your cooking was so bad that Floyd Leech—FLOYD LEECH—was feeling sympathy for you.

You have never known such shame.

You sit there, staring into the distance like a soldier who’s seen too much. A philosopher pondering the futility of existence. A person who has scent-marked a sweater and written poetry at the behest of a fae prince who thinks you’re simply not dedicated enough to the craft of love.

You are contemplating life, death, and the many, many decisions that have led you here.

And then, Jade sits beside you.

You don’t even flinch. You should. You should be wary. You should immediately launch yourself into the bushes and prepare to be interrogated in some terrifying eel version of psychological warfare. But you don’t. Because you have nothing left.

So you just turn your head slowly, look at him with the dull, hollow eyes of someone who’s really going through it.

Jade looks positively delighted.

"My, my," he says, in that syrupy, knowing voice of his. "What could possibly put you in such a state?"

You inhale. Exhale. Consider your options. Death is looking really attractive.

"I don’t want to talk about it."

Jade hums, obviously entertained, but then—then—he decides to make it worse.

"You know," he muses, "even Floyd has started to get concerned."

You blink.

"…Huh?"

"Oh, yes," he says, resting his chin on his hand, enjoying every second of this. "Between the odd gifts, the unusual behavior, and your general aura of suffering, even he has begun to notice. Which means you are being particularly obvious, because he rarely pays attention to anything that isn't entertaining."

You don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed.

"What’s your point?" you mutter.

Jade smiles like a predator about to land a final, devastating strike.

"You should simply tell him. Because this…?" He gestures vaguely at your soul-deep despair. "This is rather pitiful."

You stare.

You process.

And, somewhere in the depths of your heart, you realize he’s right.

You are in shambles.

Like, properly, horrifically, soul-crushingly in shambles. You’ve been through so much. You've spent weeks engaging in increasingly deranged behavior at the behest of a well-meaning yet hopelessly out-of-touch fae prince. You've endured ritual poetry readings, scent-marking disasters, and a culinary war crime that left you emotionally and financially bankrupt.

And now, standing in front of Floyd Leech—the very cause of your descent into insanity—you finally snap.

"I LIKE YOU!" you blurt, voice cracking like a cheap mirror. "I LIKE YOU AND I'VE BEEN ACTING LIKE A LUNATIC BECAUSE MALLEUS SAID I HAD TO FOLLOW FAE COURTSHIP RITUALS AND I—" your voice hiccups, borderline hysterical, "—I THINK I LOST A PIECE OF MY SOUL WHEN I TRIED TO BAKE THAT DAMN CAKE BUT IT'S FINE, BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S JUST WHAT LOVE IS??? AND I DID IT ALL FOR YOU, FLOYD, BECAUSE I AM A DUMB IDIOT WHO LIKES YOU FOR SOME REASON."

You gasp for air, because this has been a lot.

And Floyd?

Floyd is laughing.

Not just a chuckle, either. No, this menace of a man is bent over, hands on his knees, actually wheezing with mirth as if you’ve just performed the comedy routine of the century. His shoulders shake. His teeth glint in the light. He looks absolutely delighted.

And you? You just stand there, a broken, hollow shell of a human being.

"You should’ve just told me, Shrimpy~!" he cackles, wiping a tear from his eye. "I like you too, y’know?"

...

There’s a moment of silence as your poor, battered brain struggles to process this information.

"WHAT."

Floyd grins, like you haven’t just endured weeks of psychological torment at the hands of a dragon prince. "I mean, you’re fun! You make me laugh, and I like squeezin’ ya. ‘Course I like ya!"

Before you can even begin to formulate a response, he lunges forward and grabs you in a hug so tight that your ribs beg for mercy. You are crushed, consumed, engulfed in the sheer force of his affection. Your spine may never recover, but at this point, what’s another injury to your dignity?

And honestly? You don’t care.

Because he likes you.

Floyd likes you back.

Which means—you realize, tears pricking your eyes in relief—you never have to perform another insane fae courtship ritual again.

No more humiliating poetry. No more dubious scent-marking. No more playing Russian roulette with your digestive system in the name of romance. You did it. You won.

And then Floyd leans down, cups your face, and kisses you.

It's a little rough, a little overwhelming, but you melt into it anyway, because Sevens, you earned this.

Somewhere in the distance, Malleus Draconia watches from the shadows.

Arms crossed, nodding sagely, he looks upon his greatest success.

"My expert techniques," he murmurs, pride swelling in his voice, "have secured my child of man their eel."

Behind him, Lilia wipes an imaginary tear.

"Beautiful," he sighs.

Masterlist

[spoonies-and-knives]

[id/ a post by @/twitblr which is a screenshot of a tweet by Tracy Edwards, Ed.D. (@/tracyrenee70):

My parents seem genuinely shocked at my class policies. Yes, your 5th grader may redo any test or quiz. No, I don't care how many times they choose to retake it. Yes, they can turn in that assignment late. I'm a whole adult that requires grace & mercy. I can extend that to kids.

Below is the contents of the post by @/twitblr:

These policies can help to improve the mental health of students

Below is a reblog by @/sommhelp:

If the point is for children to learn, then why wouldn't you give them as many chances as it takes? What is the benefit of telling a child "you failed and that's the end of it"?

Below is a reblog by @/cyborg-alchemist:

I'm 25, and in my trade school, our tests aren't judgement,, they're testing to see what we've retained, and identity what we're missing.

If I weld a joint, and the CWI comes up behind me with a radiographic test for it and finds that I just laid hot metal on cold metal or it looks like a sponge inside, you know what's gonna happen? You think they're gonna give me a low score and tell me to move on? F[uck] no. They're gonna hand me a grinder and tell me to take it out and put it in right.

When there's actual work to be done, we don't leave it at the first attempt if that attempt was shit. We don't leave a trail of "what's done is done." If it takes you four attempts, that's what it takes, and the next time it'll take fewer because you learned how to do it right after the third time.

School, as it's set up, with unforgiving deadlines and single attempt high stakes tests are building a shitty work ethic. It says "I tried once, and that's all you're getting." It sets you up to leave a trail of cut losses and barely or unfinished projects as you scramble to get something, anything (italicized for emphasis), turned in before the deadline.

And we wonder now why nothing works at launch.

/end id.]

[vi0lentquiche]

Bryan Fuller on The D-Con Chamber podcast

Some actual revelations here, I gotta say!

We went to a lot of actors and they all said no, and Mads said he wanted to do it. And I was like, here's a person who wants to do it, who is amazing, and they're like, he's sort of weird? He just seems very Euro-weird, shouldn't he be sexier? And I'm like, he's sexy as fuck! There's nary a sexier!

The casting process is so degrading for everybody, but I reached out to Mads and said, "Would you audition? I hate to ask you this, but I just can't get them there." And he said of course, came in and auditioned, was amazing, and they went, nah, he's sort of creepy. ??HE'S EATING PEOPLE. And finally the last person had said no and I called Jen Salke who was running it and said, "Jen, I have to write this, I have to craft this show and believe in it. I believe in him, that he can do this, I see him in the role, it's hard for me to see anybody else." And she said, "I trust you, I trust your vision, let's do it." So that was her response. Her boss's response was, "Well, you got what you wanted, you're on your own." And they halved our marketing budget. It was a little spiteful.

Jen was amazing, she kept us on the air although we didn't have great ratings, but Jen, who is now running Amazon, thought the show was great. They were paying nothing for it, the licensing fee was the smallest that they had. And the show was very cheap, our budget was 2.25 million in the first season (we turned everything dark so you couldn't see how cheap everything looked), second season was 2.5, third season was 3.2, so it was a very economic show, and our scripts were like 33 pages long. Because all that atmosphere, and also Gillian Anderson made the most fantastic unnerving choice to speak very deliberately, so you could give Gillian a page of dialogue and it was 6 minutes of screentime, and you don't want to cut away, because she grabs you and doesn't let go.

So it was economic for lots of reasons. But Jen said, "I'll keep you on the air, it doesn't cost us anything, do whatever you want. Do the show that you want to do." And NBC didn't give us a ton of notes! The Standards and Practices was one of the best relationships that I had. Joanna was our S&P executive, and I would say, "Hey, Joanna ☺️, we have to have a guy cut off his face and feed it to dogs ☺️ howwww do we do that?" and she'd say, "Just make the blood black and turn down the lights." The only thing she didn't know how we could do was, Eddie Izzard had hooked someone's intestines up to a ceiling fan while they were still alive, so when somebody came into the room and turned on the lights the ceiling would disembowel them. And she said, "I just don't know how you're gonna do this!" and production said, "We can't afford it, you get one shot and if you don't get it there's no way for us to do a reset." So she was willing to let us try the ceiling fan disembowelment, she was the coolest lady. My assistant at the time made a book of all the S&P emails, like "When you're doing this please keep in mind that the blood needs to be black," because the redder the blood the less likely that you can put it on TV. So if you darken the blood, even if it's a dark burgundy, you can get away with it. The food that looks like blood is fine, because you're gonna eat it and it looks like meat, and Jose Andres is helping you out.

Hannibal was creatively a great experience because the stakes were so low that Jen was like, "How great for me to be able to tell you to do whatever you want!" We should have been cancelled after the first season, because our ratings were so low. I think we had 3 million, and that was at a time when 3 million wasn't enough. No, we started with 5 or 6 and it got down to 3 by the end of the run. But it was great that she gave us the opportunity, and was a great executive who supported the show when her bosses didn't because we didn't cast who they wanted.

Pushing Daisies was actually more of a struggle creatively with the network, they would say it was too weird and to make it more mainstream. And they were probably right, we would probably have had more numbers, but it wouldn’t be my show. I really don't mean to be difficult with a lot of executives, but when I resist those notes it's becase I don't know how to do them, like my brain doesn't compute. I've gotten better the older I've gotten. I've also gotten more like, it's perhaps not a hill to die on? Whereas before I'd go, noo, the art must speak for itself! It's that singular understanding for something, where it comes out and you accept it for how it is. And it's probably a little bit about being raised in a Catholic environment where you're told how to be, it’s the rebellion, and it's the intrinsic queerness of choosing something that's different, or relating to something that's different and that being a guiding principle more than an edict.

[batsycline69]

Hell Knows It's Got A Home For Folks Like Me

Summary: After losing your childhood sweetheart, you sought a life of adventure. Years down the line, when your gang is gunned down by the notorious outlaw 'Two Guns,' you find the life you've built for yourself turning upside down

Pairing: Cowboy!Jason Todd x Outlaw!reader

Words: 7.2k

Content/warnings: kidnapping, brief descriptions of scars and wounds, grief, longing, hidden identity shenanigans, real threats turning to playful threats, jason likes when you're mean to him, p in v sex, reader is not described, 18+ MDNI

You always thought ‘Two Guns’ was a bad nickname. Plenty of people had two guns; what made him so special he got a moniker for them?

The speed, you understood, was what made him so special. The precision of his shots, even on the back of his galloping horse. Even as he took out most of your crew mates, some part of you was stunned by the way he moved.

Black Mask rode off and didn’t look back, leaving anyone still alive for dead. Two Guns was happy to oblige, scattering bodies all along the pasture.

His accuracy is an assurance that you were intentionally left alive. Prairie grass tickles your nose as he pins you to the ground. You struggle like a wild animal against the weight of his knee as it presses into your back.

“Get off me!” you snarl, trying to wrench your arm from his iron grip.

He lets out a scoff as he ties you up with a casualness that warns you he’s done this before.

If he ever thought the Black Mask gang posed as a threat, that threat didn’t include you. The thought prickles at your nerves, makes you want to spit if you could only crane your neck enough.

“Not a chance,” is his only reply. A terse muffle beneath his red bandanna. The leather of his gloves brushes against your wrists as he ropes them together before moving down to your ankles.

“Mask isn’t gonna pay for me,” you say. “You’re wasting your time. Just let me go!”

He doesn’t say anything as he hoists you up onto the back of his horse, chuckling at every threat you make against him on the way back to his camp. Given your current situation—reduced to some spoil of war—you thought your ride would be rockier, yet Two Guns takes the ride easily with you dangling over the back of his horse.

His people seem surprisingly pleased to see him. Certainly far from the reception Mask gets, but you know most of your late crew mates weren’t in the gang for love. Most of them are dead now, their lives abandoned all from the service of a man who only saw them as bodies to shield him from men like the one currently hauling you from his horse.

Two Guns shoves you towards a little tent set up at the edge of camp. Only when he plops you down on a stool inside that you get a somewhat decent look at him. He’s no longer a blur of endless action. The bandana makes it difficult to tell his age. All you can make out is the sea of his eyes, something playful glinting within them.

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes narrowed in on him.

His dark, scarred brow quirks up. The small narrowing of his eyes suggests he’s smirking at you. Right now, you feel more irritation than fear. “Black Mask usually doesn’t keep such nice company,” he says as if that answers your question. Before you can demand an answer, he pulls out the sack you’d been carrying. He must have grabbed it after he’d tied you up.

You struggle against your restraints to no avail. “Stay out of there!”

Everything clamors together as he rifles through the bag carelessly, tossing its contents onto the bedroll on the ground as he goes. He ignores your small sack of money, the small folio of maps, even the little journal of jotted notes, only to pause at a stack of yellowed envelopes.

“You’ve got a lotta junk in there,” he says nonchalantly as he turns the bundle over in his hand.

The sight of your name scrawled across those envelopes in that familiar boyish handwriting makes something snap inside of you. “Put those back!” you snarl, a new ferocity burning in your voice.

You finally catch Two Guns’ attention. “What, these your important plans with Mask or something?” He takes a step closer to you.

You’ve got plenty of choice opinions on Two Guns from everything you’ve seen of him so far, but you know he’s not stupid. If he wanted your plans with Black Mask, he could have them, but he’s already tossed them aside in favor of old letters.

“They’re nothing to you,” you reply.

“Nothing, huh?” he challenges. He undoes the tight knot binding the stack together. Your eyes follow the red ribbon as it drifts to the ground.

You remember the boy who gave you a handpicked bouquet of prairie flowers wrapped with that ribbon.

“Stop it.”

He doesn’t. Paper rustles as Two Guns pulls the letter from its envelope. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes as they scan the page.

The silence is agonizing. The sounds of Two Guns’ crew moving about camp are the only thing filling the void. You stare at the worn page in a stranger’s hand. Pages rumpled from being held to your heart as you cry and remember the boy you’d lost.

“Aw, a beau at home, huh?” he asks, glancing up from the paper.

“Put it back.”

“You carry these around with you everywhere?”

Another fruitless jerk against the ropes around your wrists. “What do you want?” you demand, your patience with his games growing thin.

Two Guns slips the letter back in the envelope, his eyes fixed on you as he does. “I want to know what a nice thing like you is doing running around with Black Mask.”

A nasty glower grows on your face. “Tough luck.” You don’t want to lose your indignation, but thinking of the words in those letters makes your heart twist in your chest.

In the schoolyard, your life seemed so perfectly laid out. You loved a boy who promised you forever. A boy whose heart seemed as wild as your own. Someday, you’d leave town, just you and him. Run away to a place just for the two of you.

Just after he turned seventeen, a falling out between Jason and his adopted father had him off to search for his birth mother. He’d promised you he’d come back for you once he found her. That you both could finally make the lives you wanted for yourselves.

In place of him, a letter found you in town. Jason’s mother had traveled with a bad crowd, and he’d gotten caught up in the middle of it.

Your mourning stretched out endlessly because moving on from him felt so unfair. Somewhere in these meadows, your heart laid buried. The walls of the life you were supposed to build together crumbled around you, and you were the only one left to clean it up. So you left. Getting married off to someone who wasn’t Jason was no life you could live. And if you could no loner find adventure with him, you would find it on your own. You never chose Black Mask out of any respect or adoration; he had money, and you needed some of it.

Two Guns gives an unimpressed hum at your resistance before pulling out another letter, eyes skimming the page again. “Let me guess. It didn’t work out too well for loverboy? Didn’t get your happy ending, sweetheart?”

Fury roars in your chest. “You don’t get to talk about him.”

Those blue eyes study you thoroughly for a moment before he puts the letter back in its envelope. The pile of letters scatter across his bedroll as he tosses them down. If you mouthed off to Black Mask like this, he’d probably kill you. For a moment, you think Two Guns might be the same.

“They feed you in Mask’s camp?” he asks instead with an evenness that makes you see red. You always knew how Black Mask was feeling from his incessant yelling. But Two Guns is giving you next to nothing to work off of.

You watch him carefully, trying to put together what he’s really asking.

“Yes.”

His eyes pass over you again like he doesn’t believe you. You brace for more questions, but none come. Wordlessly, he slips from the tent, leaving you alone with your mind cobbling together a plan.

Maybe you can slip out the back of the tent. Steal a horse. Black Mask’s gang was heading to a job; you could try to catch up? The strategy has enough gaps you know you’re better off trying to level with Two Guns, but you can’t get the image of his hands all over your letters out of your head. He’d touched Jason’s letters. Read Jason’s words that were only ever meant for your eyes. All you have left of him.

For that, you hate Two Guns. For that, you don’t care if he feeds you or offers you safety. You never found out where Jason was buried, so leafing through his letters felt the same as desecrating his grave. You want Two Guns dead for that.

The wish is enough to drive you through the burn of rope against your raw skin as you wrestle with it. But before you can make any progress, he returns, a bowl of something in his large hand. You freeze, looking at him with your eyes burning with resentment.

“You gonna run if I cut the rope?” he asks, looking down at your bound ankles.

“No,” you lie. Two Guns chuckles like he knows, but he pulls a knife from his pocket regardless. Slowly, he approaches, crouching down without moving his eyes from yours. Those damn eyes that give you nothing to work off of.

The muscles of your legs stay tight, prepared to kick if he tries anything. His blade dips between your ankles, beneath the thick rope before sawing your legs free. He keeps staring up at you like he’s waiting for you to make your move.

You don’t.

He towers above you as he rises back to his full height, gaze never shifting. You feel certain he’s trying to intimidate you as he stalks behind you. The smooth leather of his glove holds your wrist in place. You feel the rope tugging against your raw skin as he cuts, and finally you’re free.

As quickly as you can, you try to pull your arms back in front of you, but Two Guns catches your wrist just above where they’re red before you can hide the evidence from him.

“No use trying to loosen those knots. You’re not the first person I’ve tied up, sweetheart,” he says. “As long as you don’t bolt, I’ll get you something for those burns.” He turns away from you—cocky bastard—and picks the bowl back up. “In the meantime, eat.”

You stare down at the chunks of something in a thick broth and look up at him skeptically. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s stew. I’m sure it’s nothing compared to the five course meals you get over in Black Mask’s camp, but it’s food.” Sarcasm. No one ever said Two Guns was such a charmer.

After you hesitantly take your bowl of mystery stew, he disappears from the tent. Your back straightens once you’re alone, setting down the stew to carefully peer through the gap in the tent. Two Guns talks to one of his crew, the expanse of his back blocking most of your view.

They speak low. From where you are, you can’t make out a single word, and Two Guns walks away before you can try to put it together through context. When he turns to rummage through a small box, you move quick to collect all your belongings strewn about Two Guns’ bedroll.

Your fingers are steady as you take great care to bind Jason’s worn letters back together—can’t say working with Black Mask never taught you anything—before tucking the bundle gently into the pocket where they’re always kept.

Time isn’t on your side, but experience is. Black Mask always had you sneak around when furtiveness was required from a job. Usually, however, you were sneaking up on belligerent drunks and not a notorious outlaw in the confines of his own tent. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Two Guns may have swiped your gun when you brought you to his camp, but he famously has two. He doesn’t strike you as the sharing type, but you don’t let it deter you. You aren’t really the asking type, anyway.

You poise yourself, waiting for the moment his hand slips through the opening of the tent. As he emerges, you reach out as fast as you can for one of the holstered guns on his hip. Fingers curl around the cool metal and tug, turning the weapon onto him as soon as you retrieve it.

Two Guns is facing you before you have time to celebrate, one hand gripping your shoulder firmly. The other holds his remaining gun just below your chin.

“Don’t tell me the stew was that bad,” he says as he crowds you. When you don’t lower your weapon, he nudges your chin with his gun. “I’d like that back,” he says with a self-assured cock of his head.

“Or what?”

He laughs. “Or you’ll have to go out there and explain to the rest of my gang why their boss has a hole in his head.” He knows you’re in no position to follow through with your threat, but the idea of admitting defeat and giving him the gun back makes you livid.

You step back as he shepherds you back to your seat. With one hand still occupied by his gun, he fishes a roll of linen out of his pocket. “Now, if you don’t give me that back, I won’t be able to wrap your wrists, and I’d hate for you to get an infection.”

“I can take care of myself,” you refute. Two Guns seizes the moment the second it occurs, disarming you and sliding the gun back to its holster as soon as you’re even marginally distracted.

“Oh, I know that,” he says. You hear the smirk in his voice. And he’s passing you your bowl of stew again. Ripping strips of linen with practiced ease.

He’s lucky he got the gun when he did. You would have pulled the trigger the second you heard that arrogance.

One of his large hands stretches out for yours expectantly, the bandage dangling in his grip.

Irritation prickles up your spine. You stare at his hand as if you don’t understand what he wants from you. Take a long, petty slurp of your stew to fill the time, your eyes never leave his.

Two Guns keeps his eyes locked onto you, hand still held out for you. He knows our game, and he doesn’t seem keen on giving you the satisfaction of his annoyance. “May I see your wrist?” he asks evenly.

You consider tossing your bowl of stew onto him, but the lukewarm meal would only serve as a minor inconvenience. So you surrender with a sneer on your face, giving him one of your rope-burnt wrists.

“Thank you,” Two Guns replies, still speaking in that same even tone that’s been steadily growing on your nerves. He sinks a knee down into the earth. The leather of his glove warms your arm as he begins to wrap it up. You know he could hold you harder than he does.

He doesn’t see you as a threat. Another reason to hate him. You’ll find Mask, make sure he takes care of Two Guns once and for all. He just lost half his gang to him, and while you certainly have no true loyalties to Black Mask or his gang, you know he’s going to be hellbent on getting back at Two Guns. You just want to be there when it happens.

When one wrist is wrapped, he holds his hand out for the other. You give it to him, still trying to work out his plan here. Why not kill you? If he thinks you’re going to tell him anything about Black Mask, he’s got another thing coming. It wasn’t like he ever told you anything anyway. You were nothing but another body for his means to an end.

“There,” he says, when your tender skin is safe behind bandages. He drops your hand and rises to his feet. “Now, stay here, and I’ll get you sorted once I’m back from killing your boss.”

“I won’t tell you where he’s going.” Two Guns must think you’re loyal to Mask, which is a laugh. Right now, your strongest loyalty is to making Two Guns’ life as impossible as possible.

“Don’t need you to,” he replies. He pulls a stack of envelopes out of his pocket, shoving them into your hands, but you don’t even spare them a glance. “Now, my guys are a lot less nice than I am, so if you’re wise, you’ll stay in here.”

He takes a step back towards the flaps of the tent. You wait for him to turn around, disappear from the tent, but he just stares back at you for a moment. Rage burns in your chest again. You want to throw whatever he passed you down into the dirt, show him how little you care about anything he has to say to you.

A gun emerges from one of his holsters, the barrel nudging up the brim of his hat like some kind of polite nod before slipping out. Without hesitation, you storm after him. What does he mean get you sorted? What’s he going to do after Black Mask is dead and gone? His step doesn’t falter even after you protest after him.

One of his men catches you by the shoulder the second the light of the sunset hits your skin. “Two Guns says you’re stayin’ here,” he says.

The outlaw mounts a hulking stallion as your stopped. In the dark corners of your mind, you understand he would need a large horse to accommodate for the sheer bulk of him. You try not to entertain the thought. Two Guns helps, making your mind go completely blank as his eyes meet yours one last time.

His gaze feels like a suckerpunch. Somehow, it’s worse when he looks away.

When he rides off and the rush of horse hooves grows faint, you’re pushed back into your captivity. Only then, do you process he handed you something.

You sit back down on the stool looking down at the envelopes in your hand for the first time.

The tent feels as if it could be at the bottom of the lake you and Jason would swim in during the sun-drenched days of youth with the way the air seems to disappear. The familiar writing makes your hand tremble like responding to a long-forgotten call. The slopes and curves of the way your name is written. You know them by heart because they’re the same ones you seek when you miss Jason so badly everything within your body aches.

These letters feel like a trick. Your optimism has long vanished. So you pull out your own savored letters to make sure Two Guns hadn’t just snatched some earlier just to pass them back. But the weight of your bundle is the same as always, all letters accounted for.

Your only next guess is that Two Guns knows something of Jason’s death. He was somehow privy to more details than you. You, who waited in town for him to come home, only to be met with a letter from one of the guys he’d been running with. The one letter you never kept.

When you realize these are letters you’ve never read—letters from Jason with your name scrawled out on the front—you immediately begin to tear through them.

The first letter is dated two months after you were told Jason died. But these are his words, his penmanship, assuring you he’s alive. A close call, but he survived the shootout that was claimed to have killed him. He had things to do before he could see you again, but he assured you soon he would.

He alludes to letters he’s never sent in the next few, and slowly, your heart drops as you make the realization that Jason chose never to mail these to you. He was alive, and he chose not to let you know.

There’s a few months gap between letters until Jason writes to you to say he’s a bad man. He does bad things because someone needs to. He’s a bad man because he never came home to you, and now he’s not sure if he’s good enough. You wonder if the things you’d done to survive would qualify you as bad too. You wonder what that changes between you, if anything.

His last letter was written yesterday.

‘Two Guns’ Todd rode to your childhood home in search of you, only to find you were no longer there waiting for him. The townsfolk told him you left town after your childhood sweetheart was killed.

Jason didn’t know where you were, but he promised he would find you.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a tear drops. The ink bleeds across the page, and you gasp like you’ve ruined something sacred. But those words are no longer the words of a dead man. They’re the words of the man who’d lived all these years without you.

You stare down at the letters long after it’s grown too dark to read them, your mind racing as you try to grapple with what this means. Everything you’ve thought for the past two years has been a lie. The boy you loved had gotten to grow into a man without you knowing.

You’d uprooted your life with the grief of losing Jason. Searching to fill the void, you decided to listen to the call of adventure. To do something unrecognizable from the life you and Jason had imagined in the field behind the schoolhouse.

Outside the tent, your guards have fallen into a drunken sleep. Their snores overpower the chirping of crickets and the whirring of cicadas. To hell what Jason wants, you decide.

You make a quick escape with one of the men’s guns, a horse, and a lantern, riding towards Black Mask’s hideout.

Jason may have most of his crew with him, but every part of you needs to be with him now, even if you are absolutely livid with him. But you can’t help but savor the thought of feeling something other than everlasting grief when you think of him. You can scream at him, shove him, tell him you hate him because he’s alive. That’s nothing you’re going to take lightly. Not when you’ve spent your days wishing to see him one last time.

You think of the way he held your wrist as he bandaged it as horse hooves thunder through the night. You think of sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees the first time you kissed him and ran away, face burning with embarrassment. You think of years later when he’d held your hand and promised you forever, eyes burning with a certainty that only comes with youth.

You find Mask’s hideout, the rest of Jason’s gang hooting and hollering of a job well done. Your eyes skim the darkness for Jason, not daring to get closer unless you know he’s there. You’re not about to risk an escort back to camp without seeing Jason first.

“I had a feeling those two wouldn’t be able to stop you.”

The voice startles you. You prepare to be bucked, but Jason is already soothing your stolen horse. And then you realize the horse was never as startled as you to begin with. Its rubbing against his outstretched hand like a friend.

“You—”

“I know,” Jason says.

“I thought you were dead.”

Jason looks at you like you’re history. Like the part of him that held you was still buried in the earth where you thought his body was. Those years feel so much longer ago than they once did now that you’re looking at him again.

“I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, a pinch in his voice.

You scoff. “Don’t sweetheart me.”

“Alright then. Darlin’?” There’s challenge in his tone. His amusement with himself gets under his skin. Nips at your nerves. All this time, and this is how he treats you now that you finally know?

You slide down from the horse. His sturdy body barely moves when you give him a shove. He waits a beat. Lets the silence settle between the two of you, the sounds of his crew seemingly drowned out amidst the tension. “I take that as a no.”

He encroaches on your space as he takes a step closer, his broad shoulders closing in on you. His eyes glimmer with the longing from your youth, only now clouded with the weight of years passed.

Memories linger like a tune stuck in your head. You’d promised him everything. You’d meant it, too. But those days have faded away, hardened by the realities of life. Jason’s boyish grin came to you only in dreams, the only real place you had left to cling to him. So you’d thought, at least, because here he is. A phantom of the time you spent mourning him. The ache you’d carried inside your chest because you couldn’t hold him.

You knew what you had. You’d known just as well what you’d lost. A boy with a wild heart. One with kindness in his bones. He stole kisses behind the school when the teacher wasn’t looking. When he was old enough, he pursued greater ambitions, promising you the life you deserved one day.

The years haven’t been kind to you, and you imagine the same can be said about the man in front of you. Jason Todd, your honeysweet boy, didn’t become ‘Two Guns’ Todd for no reason. Fear lingers in the back of your mind that you’ll never get back what you had. That this reunion will end in bitterness when you realize all your childhood dreams were bolstered by naive optimism.

Whoops and hollers of a job well done still linger behind you, though Two Guns no longer seems to be in the mood to celebrate.

“We should talk.” Nearby flames make shadows flicker across his face. Now that you know the truth, you can’t imagine how you didn’t know immediately this was Jason. How the truth has bent him back into a shape you recognize.

“You’re damn right.”

“There’s an inn in town,” he says, crossing over to his horse.

You grip the reins of the horse you stole a little tighter. “And?” you inquire, eyes narrowing.

He tugs down the worn red bandana covering the lower half of his face. That alone is enough to knock the air right out of your lungs. That’s your Jason. Yes, he looks different—a scar along his top lip, another through his cheek—but it’s him.

“And we can talk there,” he replies, turning back towards you.

“Sounds like you’re just buying time,” you reply curtly.

He gives you another look. Both of you know you’re right. He’s not happy you called him out on it. Not happy, after all this time, there are still some things you’ll always have a read on. The men following Two Guns know him as the mysterious figure none of them dare to push. But you know Jason Todd. The sweet boy from class who always got the answers right. Who got in trouble for punching another boy because he made fun of you. The one who has always—would always—have a soft spot for you no matter how hard he tried to outrun it.

As you stand before him for the first time in five years,it dawns on you he hadn’t gone after Black Mask expecting for you to be there. His last letter—his real last letter—told you he would find you. He promised, just like he’d promised he’d come home for you. But he’d made a big show of it, made sure you didn’t know who he was beneath the bandana, so the fear seemed real for his audience. His audience, of course, being the gang you ran to when you couldn’t run to him. But this is your Jason; he’d never had any malicious intent. You didn’t know who he was, but he certainly knew you.

“Then will you allow me a little time?” he asks with a terse air of formality.

You don’t want to, but you agree. The foreign look on his face haunts you enough to not want to kick up any dust. Jason doesn’t run; you’ve always known that. You read what the past five years have been like. It’s not something he can dole out in casual conversation.

Riding beside each other in the night offers you time to think, though you’re not sure you appreciate it. Your thoughts seem to go as far and wide as the prairie, racing as fast as your horses.What happens now? When you were kids, everything was so clear cut, but neither of you went in a conventional direction. When it comes to outlaws, what is the protocol for a future?

As if he knows you’re sinking too deep into your thoughts, Jason spares you a glance. His bandana is pulled back up, but you just barely see his eyebrow quirk up in the darkness. Before you can make his meaning, he begins to speed up. He’s testing you. He wants to see what you’ve picked up since he last saw you, curious by the unexpected turn your life had taken you on.

You give your horse a small kick, speeding up alongside him, shooting him a glare when he glances back your way. You’ll indulge him, but you aren’t going to play around with him.

Or so you think as he starts to speed up again.

The glow of town is so faint in the distance, and his gang is long behind you. It’s just you and him, and that has you feeling bold. So you speed up again, still looking stern as you race beside him. “You’re gonna wear these horses down,” you call over the rush of hooves.

Jason’s eyes are crinkled at the corners again. “Naw,” he replies. “Rochester loves to run.”

As you get closer to town, Jason starts to slow down and you follow his lead. You worry about being a known associate of Black Mask alongside ‘Two Guns’ Todd, an incredibly prominent outlaw, but if Jason is concerned, he doesn’t bat an eye. You’re not sure if it’s his confidence or his reputation that gets you a room in the inn, but it’s certainly not the scowl on your face plastered there to make sure no one thinks you’re there for sex.

He tosses his hat on the bed first. Slips the leather gloves off his long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember as much nimbler from childhood. Hands that had fewer scars when you knew them. Finally, he hurries with the knot of his bandana, freeing himself of the burdens of hiding who he really is.

And now, as he stands before you, and it fully registers for the first time that this is Jason. Not a ghost, nor a haunted nightmare of who he could have been had he gotten to grow up. He’s as real as you are, and your heart pounds with the ache of it.

“Why didn’t you send those letters?” The flame of your anger seems to have been snuffed, now leaving you with only the energy to breathe your question.

Jason looks at you, pinched between the brows. “You read ‘em. You think they make me look very favorable?”

“Favorable?” you scoff. “God dammit, Jason, I thought you were dead. Who gives a damn about favor?”

He laughs. “You sound like you’ve been riding with a gang all this time.”

The attempt to diffuse your mood only fans the flame. You shove him again, this time harder than before. He has to take a step back to catch himself. His eyebrow quirks up at you again, and you want to smack the expression off his face.

“You were alive, and you never told me.”

“Well, sounds like you didn’t stick around very long to wait for me.” He’s still trying to tease you.

You give him another shove. His eyes light up with something. “I would have gotten married off! I couldn’t stay there and wait for someone who wasn’t you.” You shake your head, taking a step back to try and calm yourself down. Jason is just so damn sturdy now. He’s gone against the worst of the worst out here and come out on top. He’s survived death. What are a few pushes for him after that?

Before you can step away, Jason catches your wrist, just above where he’d bandaged them earlier.

“You went to Black Mask of all people,” Jason replies. He smooths his thumb over the linen wrappings gently despite the accusation in his voice. He touches you like he’s reading the signs of what happened to you while he was gone.

“I must have missed the word that Two Guns was looking for crew,” you chide.

From downstairs, you can hear the lively chatter of the people at the bar. Next door, you hear a happy paying customer moaning through the paper thin walls. And between you and Jason is silence, your words hanging heavy in the air.

In a show of the boy you knew, Jason’s cheeks flush slightly as he stares down at the ground, no longer able to meet your eyes. Good, you think. Let him feel ashamed of himself.

And as you glance away as well, you realize his shame may be coming from not his actions but his reaction to your stern voice. A bulge grows in his pants, and for a moment, your brain seems to slip away from your anger. But you only allow yourself the moment.

You’re mad. You have every right to be. You’d mourned for him. You’d planned a life without him in it after the heartbreak of losing him. And he has the nerve to get hard while you’re trying to get an apology.

Except you realize how big he is now. No longer the small, underfed boy you’d shared apples with in the schoolyard. Now he’s all muscle and strength from all of his many activities these past few years. He’s a fierce outlaw, and yet he’s still pink on the ears because of you.

You’re still angry, you remind yourself as your desire seems to catch up with you. You knew what it was like to be held by those hands when they were smaller. But now you can’t help but imagine them smoothing down your skin. You think of running your fingertips over the skin lightened by scar tissue. While he still glances away from you, your eyes flicker over him, hungry to know the grown up Jason.

When you push him again, he falls back onto the bed behind him, eyes surprised up at you. All it takes is a glance, and he knows exactly where your mind is. The hard-on jerks in his pants.

“I wanted you dead for the way you touched those letters,” you say. Jason blushes, but his eyes drink you in as you push him back against the headboard. “When you started opening them, I was thinking of all of the ways I’d get back at you.”

A warm palm wraps around your hip, pulling you close to him, but moves it as soon as he has you on his lap. Like he needs to touch you but can only stomach it for so long at a time like touching a pot still too hot from a flame. The grief that ate you alive was the longing he carried to have you in his life yet again.

One of your hands runs up his firm chest before your fingers curl around his thick neck. You don’t squeeze, but you feel his cock jerk against your thigh nonetheless.

“Lotta people have tried to kill me over the years, sweetheart,” he says, staring up at you like you’ve said something romantic.

Warmth shoots up to your stomach as you drag yourself across his lap. Jason’s punched out air brushes against your collar as he stifles a groan. “Did you let all of them get this close to you?” you whisper.

Jason is far from vulnerable with his guns still strapped on, but you know your Jason; his eyes are always on the prize, always have been since you were kids. You can’t imagine he’d been climbing into many beds when there was work to be done.

There’s no suave answer. Just a quick shake of his head as you drag yourself across his bulge. You duck your head into his neck, pressing your lips against the warm skin of his neck. His hands land on your hips again, curling into the fabric of your clothes. His breath is hot against your cheek.

“I got your gun earlier, didn’t I?” you ask, grinding against him yet again.

This time, he lets out a blissed sigh before he speaks. “Didn’t get you very far.” It’s subtle, but you catch the slight pitch in his voice.

You kiss along the muscles of his neck, feeling him jerk against your seam. Your hips roll into his again, trying to ease the aching between your legs. “I’ve got you distracted,” you murmur, grinding against him to prove a point.

The sound Jason makes is a mixture of a laugh and a groan. He bats his dark eyelashes open, looking at you like a long lost love. Your stomach flips with it. “You wouldn’t kill me now, would you?” he breathes.

You feel drunk on the sounds he makes. For the first time in who knows how long, you feel good. Genuinely. Your mind isn’t on a job or running for your life. Right now, the only thing you care about is the fact that Jason’s heart is still beating.

No. Never.

Instead of a response, you tug at his jacket, the scent of earth and leather lingering once you toss it off the bed. A fear seizes in your chest that this could all be a dream. That you’ll wake back up at Mask’s camp, Jason’s letters hiding away in a bag, and the warmth of his body fleeting with your wakefulness. This moment won’t pass you by without you digging your nails in.

Your lips crash into Jason’s, your hand moving up from his neck to hold onto his jaw.

He kisses like a man starved. Long gone are the timid brushes of lips, and sweaty palms reaching out for your fingertips. His hand stretches out on the back of your skull to hold you against him like he can’t afford to be without.

You feel the growing wetness of your drawers as you grind against him yet again, letting out a breathless sigh against his lips.

Jason’s head falls back, a low groan slipping from his kiss-flushed lips. His lids grow heavy over his eyes, fingers clinging onto your clothes. The sound seems to wipe everything from your mind except for Jason. He’s here. You’re in his lap, kissing him as if your lives depend on it. While you kiss him, there’s no history, and yet there’s all the history in the world. The first time you kissed him. The way his cheeks turned beet red every time you looked at him for a week after.

You kiss furiously as you both shed clothes, until your skin presses up against his. Until you’re sinking down on him, pussy fluttering at the feeling of being filled so deeply. A breathless curse slips through your lips as your head falls against Jason’s chest.

His arms wrap around you, holding you flush against him, another low moan rumbling in his chest. Your breath catches when you feel his heart pounding against your chest. You’re wrapped in Jason Todd’s arms, and everything is right with the world again.

Slowly, you raise your hips just to sink back down again. Jason’s hand catches your head as it tips back, pulling you into his lips again. You rest your hands on his shoulders, using him as leverage as you start to build up your pace, acclimating to the stretch of him.

You ride him, and Jason goes the extra mile to push you down even deeper on his cock each time you lower down, feeling him nudging at something blindingly brilliant. With Jason’s hands back on your waist, no longer holding you to his mouth, his moans fill the room. You could listen to him all night. Jason, who’s been through so much in his life—more than you even know—deserves this, even if he caused you sleepless nights and endless tears.

Your fingers drag through his thick, dark curls, gripping onto the strands at their base. His nails dig into the flesh of your hips as he lets out a whine. The noise drives something in you, burrowing into your brain until all you can think is how badly you need to hear it again. So you tug, and Jason’s lips break from yours to breathe another needy whimper.

With their newfound freedom, your lips move down to Jason’s jaw, nibbling, your breath hot on his skin. You feel warmth growing in the pit of your stomach along with the burning in your thighs, but you can’t even consider stopping now.

He promised you he’d find you. Jason Todd has always been true to his word.

You’re so full of relief and so full of him, you feel tears prickling at your eyes. You’re not sure if it’s more from the pleasure or the fact that you’re together again. As you pull back to look at Jason’s face, you see his eyes watering too, staring up at you like you’re something heavenly.

Both of you crying. You almost laugh, but it gets caught in your throat as Jason’s cock hits something blinding as he holds you down even deeper than ever. Your cry breaks through the room, eyes pinched shut as warmth washes over you. Everything seems to slip out beneath you, and for the first time in a very long time, you feel absolutely weightless.

Jason catches you when you lean back too far, guiding you so you still rock on him through the comedown of your orgasm. Your head clears just in time to catch Jason’s eyes as they roll shut. Even as your legs shake, you go back to work, the meat of your ass slapping against his lap.

He groans out your name, holds your hips down against him, and you feel him spilling into you. Lips parted as he groans, cock twitching against the walls of your pussy.

As he comes down, Jason just holds you against him. You savor his rapidly beating heart, the rising and fall of his chest, the smell of sweat and sex in the air because it’s him. You’re collapsed against your Jason, hand lazily draped against his chest as you still clench around him in the aftershock of your orgasm.

When you feel as if you’ve come to your body more, you look back up at him, wiping away the fallen tears from his cheeks with the pad of your thumbs. He does the same in suit, holding onto your cheek after he does.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says. And you believe him.

a/n: huge shoutout to @janybabyy for beta reading as always 💛 if you enjoyed this, please consider giving it a reblog or sharing your thoughts

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

nerd fem reader riding bully phainon’s cock 😞

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓃ℴ𝓉ℯ ：fem!reader ， implied dubcon ， meanie Phainon ， cream-pie ， breeding kink ，cowgirl ， school au ，idk if this is ooc for Phainon since he’s a bully here ✌🏻

You shouldn't be here. You know that. You know it in the way your hands tremble as they press against Phainon's bare chest, in the way your glasses are slipping down your nose, fogged from the heat between you. But you can't stop, not when he's looking at you like that—like he's already won, like he knew you'd end up in his lap sooner or later, no matter how much you avoided him in the hallways, no matter how many times you stammered out protests when he teased you in front of everyone.

And now? Now you're sinking down onto his cock, your thighs shaking as you try to take him, as your body struggles to adjust. Tits bouncing up and down, while tears began to swell in your eyes. He's too thick, too much, stretching you in a way that makes your breath hitch. Phainon just watches, his hands gripping your waist, holding you steady but making no move to help. He wants to see you struggle. He likes it.

"Look at you," he muses, voice smooth but laced with something sharper, something cruel. "The quiet little nerd, always running away from me, always pretending you don't want it. But now? Now you're sitting right here, taking me like a good girl."

You shake your head quickly, face burning, fingers curling into his shoulders to steady yourself. Of course he'd know. Of course he'd say it out loud, just to make you squirm. Your glasses slip down again, and before you can push them back up, Phainon does it for you-slow, deliberate, his thumb dragging over the side of your face as he adjusts them on the bridge of your nose.

"Cute," he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours, a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. "Always blushing, always shaking. And now you're on top of me, squeezing me so tight. You can act all shy, but your body doesn't lie, does it?"

Your breath catches, but before you can say anything-before you can even process the way his words make your stomach twist-he moves. His hips roll up into you, forcing you to take more of him, and the stretch makes your whole body tense. You whimper, nails digging into his skin. Phainon groans at that, tilting his head back slightly before looking back at you, eyes dark and piercing.

"Mm. You feel that?" His grip tightens on your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. His voice is lazy, taunting, but there's a dangerous edge to it, something possessive beneath the teasing. "C'mon, nerd. You wanted this, didn't you? Then ride."

Your fingers tremble where they grip his shoulders, your thighs burning from the effort of keeping yourself steady. He's too big, too deep, stretching you past what you thought you could take. Every slight movement sends a shiver up your spine, every shift of your hips dragging him against that spot inside vou that makes your breath hitch. It's overwhelming. It's too much.

And yet, you don't stop.

Phainon watches you, eyes sharp and knowing, his smirk never fading. He's enjoying this—your hesitation, your struggle, the way you're clinging to him, too flustered to meet his gaze. His grip on your waist tightens, fingers digging into your flesh, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"You're shaking," he murmurs, voice rich and amused, as if he finds your struggle entertaining. "What's wrong, nerd? Too much for you?"

You swallow thickly, your breath coming out in soft, uneven gasps.

" I-I can't..." You barely recognize your own voice—it's small, unsure, laced with something that makes Phainon's smirk widen.

"Can't what?" he presses, tilting his head slightly. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles against your skin, deceptively gentle. "You're already halfway there, sweetheart. You gonna tell me you don't want the rest?"

Your lips part, but the words don't come. You don't know what you want. Or maybe you do, and the thought makes your stomach twist.

The way he's looking at you like he's unraveling every excuse you've tried to tell yourself-makes your cheeks burn.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. "You know," he murmurs, voice dripping with something dark and sweet, "for someone who acts so innocent, you sure don't mind sitting on my cock like this."

Your whole body tenses at his words, a soft whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it. His hands move lower, gripping your hips firmly, holding you in place.

"You're already here," he continues, his voice like the slow drizzle of syrup over something soft, something easily broken apart. "Might as well make it worth it, don't vou think?"

You don't answer. You can't. But when he gives a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, forcing you to take him deeper, your body betrays you-your fingers dig into his skin, a shaky, helpless moan spilling from your lips.

His laughter is quiet, indulgent. "That's more like it" he purrs. "Go on, nerd. Be a good girl and move."

As you shift, the weight of the moment settles over you like a thick fog. Your body trembles under his touch, the pressure of his hands on your hips guiding you in ways that make your head spin. Every movement feels both too much and not enough, a constant battle between vour body's resistance and the undeniable pull toward something you can't explain.

Phainon watches you intently, his eyes dark with an emotion you can't quite place. It's not just amusement anymore—there's something else behind that smirk, something possessive, something primal that tightens in your chest. He's studying you, almost like he's measuring you, like he knows what you're capable of and is waiting for you to break.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear in a way that sends another shiver down your spine.

"You're so damn perfect " he murmurs, low and heated. His fingers dig into your skin, pushing you harder, deeper, every movement calculated to pull more from you. "I can already picture it—imagine you, carrying my child, your body soft and full. You'd look so damn beautiful, so..." His voice trails off, the thought lingering in the air between you two.

You freeze, your breath catching at the intensity of his words. The idea of it, of him—of you—in that position, sends a rush of heat through your body, but it also makes you feel... exposed, vulnerable in a way you can't put into words. Phainon doesn't give you time to think about it; his hands are back on your waist, pulling you closer, forcing your body to move in sync with his.

"Don't think about it too much" he whispers, his voice just above a growl. "Just feel it. Let it happen. You're mine now, all of you. Don't forget that."

His words send a wave of something unrecognizable crashing over you, the weight of them pressing down on your chest as you continue to move, to give in. You don't know where this is going, but the thought of his child growing inside you, of him marking you in ways that no one else could, lingers in your mind, twisting with a mixture of desire and fear.

In the back of your mind, the idea of it stays unwanted, yet strangely captivating. Phainon's hand tightens around you, pulling you even closer. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You'll be perfect for this. Just got to breed this cunt first."

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[cursedcanon]

JJK Men Reacting to YOU Walking in Naked on Purpose

(Featuring: Gojo, Choso, Sukuna, Geto, Toji, Nanami)

Suggestive and slight mature themes.

GOJO:

He’s lounging on his bed, scrolling through his phone when you casually stroll in, completely bare, grinning like an idiot. For half a second, his brain actually lags. Then, he smirks.

"Oh? What's this? My adorable little exhibitionist finally embracing their true self?"

He takes his sweet time trailing his gaze down your body, shamelessly admiring you. Then, without warning, he activates his Limitless.

You try to step forward, but your foot doesn't land where you expect it to. You glare at him.

"Satoru."

"What? You walked in here naked, and I should just let you reach me that easily? Nah-ah, you gotta work for it."

Gojo is 100% going to make you chase him around the room, laughing like a maniac, before he finally lets you touch him. Absolute menace.

CHOSO:

Poor baby is shocked. His brain short-circuits the moment he looks up and sees you standing there, completely bare and just… smiling like you didn’t just destroy his peace.

He chokes on air. “W-Wha— You’re… n-naked.”

No shit, Choso.

You just keep grinning at him, hands on your hips like you’ve accomplished something great. Choso doesn’t know where to look. His eyes flicker everywhere except at you.

He ends up covering his eyes with his hand. "You should at least warn me before doing something like this."

You laugh. "What, don't like what you see?"

He groans, dragging his hand down his face. "That's not the problem."

(He’s fighting for his life. Give him a second.)

SAKUNA:

Sukuna just stares at you, completely unimpressed. His arms are crossed, and there’s an obvious twitch in his brow.

“You think I’ve never seen a naked human before?”

But the smirk that follows is dangerous. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his crimson eyes rake over you in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Smile all you want, brat. You’re playing a game you will lose.”

And oh, the way he says that sends a shiver down your spine.

GETO:

He’s sitting at his desk, reading, when you waltz in, stark naked and beaming. He lifts his gaze lazily, his lips twitching in amusement.

"Well, well, aren’t you bold today?"

His eyes sweep over you, slow and appreciative, before he leans back in his chair, resting his chin on his hand. "What exactly are you trying to achieve here?"

"Just wanted to see your reaction," you say, still grinning.

He chuckles, standing up and making his way over to you. His fingers trace down your arm, sending shivers down your spine. "Mm. And did you get the reaction you wanted?"

You nod.

"Good. Now, let’s see what I can get out of you."

You're in trouble.

TOJI:

You walk in, and before you can even say anything—

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Toji immediately locks eyes with you, raising a brow like you’ve lost your damn mind. He doesn't look away. Doesn't even try to be subtle about the way his gaze slowly drags down your body.

Then, he grins—the kind that spells danger.

"You just standin’ there, or you actually gonna do something?"

You were expecting more of a reaction, but Toji is just lounging there, arms behind his head, completely unbothered. Like you walking in naked is the most normal thing in the world.

You pout. "You're no fun."

"Nah, sweetheart," he chuckles, voice dripping with amusement. "I just know how this ends—and trust me, it’s gonna end with you beggin’."

Immediate regret.

NANAMI:

Nanami is exhausted, rubbing his temples after a long day at work. The last thing he expects is for you to casually stroll into the room—completely naked.

He immediately sighs. "What are you doing?"

"Smiling at you."

His eyes flicker up to your face, then down to—oh. He quickly looks away, adjusting his tie like it’s strangling him.

"This is highly inappropriate."

"Is it?" you tease, stepping closer.

His jaw tightens. He refuses to look. "Yes. It is."

You can see the muscle in his jaw twitching. You know he’s fighting for his life. Absolutely suffering.

If you push him too far, though… well. Hope you don’t have plans tomorrow.

[hughesmuse86]

hi! idk if you’re still accepting jack thots but what do u think abt reader being spent and tapping out or like safe wording to jack? *squeals*

*squeals back* I'm accepting whatever I can get and I LOVE this 🤭💕🩷 thank you!!!!

+18 -> smut | play fighting, dom!jack, rough sex, choking, tap out/safeword

𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓗𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

"Jack, stop, please,” you whine, pushing him off as he smiles at you wickedly.

"What? Thought you liked when I played with your tits, baby," he asks as he wraps his arms around your waist, squeezing you tightly, only to let his hands creep higher, doing it again. You throw back your elbow, jabbing his abs, making your act of aggression laughable.

"I'm tryin’ to watch this, Jack. C'mon," you plead as he wraps you up a little tighter in his arms.

"On an off night?" He asks through a teasing laugh. "Lookin' this fine? You fuckin’ kiddin’ me?"

"Leave me alone, or I'm gonna kick your ass."

"Woah... Wait, baby. We scrappin'?" He chuckles through a raspy laugh. "You're gonna kick my ass?" He asks as he points to himself with a taunting smile.

"Mhmm…” You mutter as you sink into the couch, crossing your arms over your chest. “And I'd win, too.”

“Woahhh… Those are fightin’ words, princess,” he hums against your soft skin, kissing along the column of your neck. And, just when you think he’s about to let it all go, his teeth sink into your skin, making you squeal.

“Fuck, Jack!” You chide.

“That’s what I'm tryin’ to do,” he laughs. “Well, I'm not tryin’ to fuck me. You get it,” he mumbles as he grabs for you, pulling you onto his lap. “Tryin’ to fuck this pussy.” Smack. He slaps your clothed sex making you slug his chest back.

You roll your eyes, letting out a frustrated huff, turning over your shoulder to put your favorite show on pause.

“The attitude—” He scolds as he pinches you this time. You shove him, making him throw his head back dramatically. “Bully.”

“Enough—”

“You on your period or what—” He asks and ducks, covering his face, saying something stupid he knows will fire you up.

"So, are you gonna do anything, Hughes? Or, are you just gonna sit there like a bitch—" He cuts you off, lifting you off the couch and over his shoulder, walking with you to his room.

"What's up your ass today, princess?" He chuckles. "Not me. Not yet, at least.”

"I just wanted to watch my show and relax with you," you sigh.

"Mhmm… Yeah. Sure. Is that why you're wearin’ that set I bought you, pretty? Just wanted to sit around? It’s almost like you wanted this to happen,” he mumbles, calling you out completely as he kicks his bedroom door shut, slamming the lock with a smirk before flicking his backward cap to the side.

"Maybe," you whisper, fighting back a smile as Jack lies on the floor.

“What… What are you doing?” You giggle as you lower yourself, straddling his lap, resting your hands on the chest of his crisp white t-shirt.

"You’re kickin’ my ass, I guess? I'll even give you a leg up,” he smiles.

You circle your hips on his rock-hard bulge through his sweats. "How are you already hard?" You tease.

"I got hard when I saw you’re bra pokin’ out of your shirt," he answers with a boyish smile, making you roll your eyes as your cheeks heat up. "So, are you gonna do anything, princess, or are you just gonna sit there like a bitc—" You cut off his words with a decent slap to the cheek, making his mouth fall open in disgust.

"That hurt," Jack spits.

"No shit," you retort, delivering another slap, causing him to gasp playfully.

"Didn't think you had it in you, baby," he taunts. Reaching around, smacking your ass rougher than ever, making you scream. Your hands bind around his throat, squeezing tightly, making him return a crooked smile.

“Goddamn, you're lucky my brother’s not home… Hate for him to hear what a slut you are for me.” He quickly rolls you to your back, your hands still firmly wrapped. The veins in his neck protruded, that same smile still slicked on his lips. He grabs your wrists, pinning them against the carpet with a bruising grip.

Jack releases his hold, sitting on top of you, giving you his full weight as you wriggle and protest. "Damn, pretty. You're kind of a pussy," he rasps as he moves his hands up your body slowly, landing on your neck, taking his turn gagging you.

You release a choked moan as he starts to grind himself into you, nudging your clit with each roll of his hips. His hands trail back down your body, rising slightly on his knees as he plays with the band of your pajama shorts.

"Where are you goin', huh?" Jack grunts, giving you just enough room to flee. You crawl away, only for Jack to grab for you, pulling you back as well as your shorts off your body. He smacks your bare ass, holding you in place as he yanks his sweatpants down.

"Jack!" You squeal, fighting away from him with minimal effort this time, hoping for this outcome all along.

"What?" He snickers. "Think I won. Just claiming my prize." He groans as he clutches his hard cock in his fist, running the tip through your soaked folds.

You scream as he slams his long, thick dick deep. “Fuck!” You wail, mouth hanging open as he circles his hips nice and slow, forcing himself as deep as possible, making you exhale a deep breath.

He starts to pound into you, making you cry out in pleasure, feeling him deep in your guts. You take hold of his wrists, his hands steadying your hips, clawing into the fat of your ass. Jack spreads your cheeks, coaxing his cock in slower as he feels you tighten around him again.

"Bounce for me and I might show you mercy," he slurs, gripping and jiggling your ass before letting you take control. You throw yourself back on Jack’s thick length, skin clapping against skin.

Your legs tremble, causing him to chuckle darkly as he watches you go weak on his dick. "Please," you whimper, knowing he won't let you cum until he hears you beg.

"Tell me I won and that you wanna cum. C’mon, tough girl. Be a good girl and ask for permission.”

"Jack—" He winds up, slapping your thigh harshly, making you cry. "Please let me cum. Fuck. You win. You win." You sob Jack’s name as you gush around his cock, your entire body shaking as he keeps you standing through your climax.

"Oh, I won,” he laughs cruelly. “I know I fuckin’ won. I didn't say ‘you could cum’? What are you doin’, huh?” He huffs, tugging your hair, pulling you close, back pressed against his heaving chest, Jack not letting you come down from your orgasm before he starts working on your next. “We got new problems now.”

One arm wraps around your throat in a chokehold, squeezing tightly while the other arm binds around your waist. "I’m sorry."

"No. Not enough," he sneers, constricting your airway with his biceps. Jack starts rocking in and out. You can feel every ridge and curve of his cock as he gives it to you, slow and deep, making your eyes roll back. You feel yourself getting lightheaded at the lack of air, but Jack doesn't let up his hold. "Beg."

"Please, Jack. I fucking need it—" you pant wearily, your voice trailing off as you feel your orgasm building again, vision fuzzy, mind muddled.

"Baby? You got awfully quiet. You a'ight?" He asks smugly, his pretty face pressed against your cheek.

"Please, baby. I’m sorry I came. I—I should have listened. You won. Please. Fuck! I’ll do anything. Anything you want—”

"Mmm…” Jack chuckles. “You tappin' out, princess? We just got started. We gotta toughen you up a little bit."

“Penalty. Sh-Shit—”

“Our safeword?" He mocks against your ear, teeth scraping lobe as he draws out, slamming his cock back into your pussy as he loosens his hold on your neck. You let out a cry of pleasure, your cracked sob filling the room as he throws his hips into you rapidly. “You really want me to stop?”

“No,” you sniffle, answering quickly as fat tears tumble down your cheeks. "S’too much, Jack," you whimper. “I couldn't breathe.”

“But you want my dick?” He asks.

“Yes! Yes. Don't stop—” You babble.

Jack tosses you to your back, quickly tugging off his shirt. Your eyes follow the indentations of his abs to his deep v-lines, so distracted by his body that you gasp again when he ruts himself in again. "Fuck. You're so tight, baby," he moans lowly.

You can feel him stretching you out, a sharp pressure between your thighs. He continues pounding you into the floor, breasts bouncing with each thrust. He lifts your t-shirt, exposing your lace-clad tits, before slapping one.

"Stop, Jack!"

"Oh please…" He chuckles as he sees the want in your eyes. Jack moves his hands under your neck, propping your head up so you can see. "Bet my little slut wants to watch. Don't you?" He teases, but he's right.

You watch as your soaked pussy swallows up his dick, hitting the right spot each time. "Fuck, y/n. Look at you taking me so well," he burns, his slick bangs and forehead pressed against yours as he runs his tongue along his plump bottom lip.

A familiar heat builds inside you. You close your walls around him, gripping him harder. Jack's brows knit tight.

"Mmm... I love when you do that shit," he moans. His lips crash into yours, messy kisses as the two of you fight for air.

"If you cum before me, Jack, I win," you pant against his lips, feeling him smile along yours.

"You already fuckin’ lost. And, when has that ever happened, baby?" He breathes as his fingers meet your clit making your thighs tremble uncontrollably. “Oh shit… That’ll do it, huh? You're fuckin’ pathetic. You're gonna cum. Aren't you?" He groans. "I can tell."

"—M'not"

"You're not?" He pouts teasingly as he moves his fingers quickly, your orgasm within reach, completely cock-drunk. "Say. It."

"M'just… Fuck, daddy—"

"M'just what?" He mocks your fucked-out tone. “Tell me shit I wanna hear, and I’ll think about it... Or just tap out, princess. I know you want to—” You shake your head rapidly, trying your best to hold back your pleasure, tapping out against his bicep. "Ugh, fuck. That's my girl. Cum for me. Yeah? Cum on my cock."

Your walls flutter around his cock, waves of your finish crashing down on you again and again as you call out his name as he floods you with his seed.

You can feel his dick throb inside you, your body milking every last drop of him. His fingers dig into your hips, muscles clenching as he fucks out the last bit of his pleasure and yours.

"Mmm, baby," he groans. "I won."

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

[crsssie]

kissyou - spencer reid x sharpshooter!reader

"This one doesn't go well with my fit." You huff, wiping the color from your lip as Spencer passes by behind you. "Shit, it stained."

"Vaseline? Or lipstick remover." Spencer reaches over you, handing a tube to you as you pout.

"Thank you." You turn your head to press your lips to his jaw, sighing. "See you at work?"

"Yeah. I'm heading in early to get stuff done. Do you want me to take anything from you?"

"My stack is pretty thin. I'll be alright."

You feel like you forgot something, but Spencer's gone to the office by the time that you think you realize something. Oh. You forgot to wipe the...

"Oh my god!" Garcia gasps. "Your jaw!"

Morgan quirks up a brow at the sight. "Oh, Reid. Busy morning?"

Reid tilts his head, fingers brushing at his jaw where you kissed him to wipe for color. Nothing shows, so he pulls up his phone to take a look. Ah. Stain. Not lipstick. Your lip stain dried on his jaw, it seems.

"Spencer!" You yell from the elevator, rushing over with the makeup remover in hand as you gasp. "I'm so sorry. I realized when I was leaving that I stained your jaw."

"It's alright." He hums, leaning into your touch. "Help me get it off?"

"I thought you wanted to keep it." You brush at his jaw with the cloth, frowning when it doesn't come off. "I'm gonna use the gel."

He cooperates as you tilt his jaw, pulling out a tube to squeeze over his jaw as he stays there, your free hand scratching at his chin as he hums.

"You grew a little stubble." You hum, blinking when Spencer seems to purr, chest rumbling. "Did you just—"

He coughs. "Humans can't purr. They don't have the throat structure."

You laugh, pulling out a napkin to wipe the color that's come off. "Yeah? You didn't just let out a low hum in contentness?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He mumbles, frowning when you show him the napkin.

"It's all off." You tilt your head. "You want a kiss?"

"Well, if you're offering." Spencer wraps his arms around your waist, lips pressed to yours as he hums contently.

The HR report can come later. How could he ever say no to you?

[neuship-zone]

Okay I know I said I wasn't gonna respond but then they hit me with this stupid diagram so now I need to unpack this

YOU are arguing in bad faith.

From the moment you saw my reblog you immediately assumed a whole bunch of things about me and have refused to let any of those assumptions for this entire reblog chain. I just decided to glare over the obvious issues so that I could at figure out where you were coming from. I now have no more reason to do that, so there's no point in continuing the discussion.

"You are pretending to be a revolutionary"

No I'm not. Once again, my original post has NOTHING to do with my own political stance. Yes this is a political book written by someone who's...controversial, to put it lightly, but that does not stop me from having my own interpretation of the book. At no point have I ever said that my interpretation is correct. I have, however, said that I don't agree with the idea that the book is telling you not to stand up to your oppressors (though I would not refute the idea that it's the author's irl intentions). At no point has anyone given me a reason to believe in this interpretation. Instead, you in particular have immediately profiled me as a "liberal" (which may I add, is a word that is also used as an insult by CONSERVATIVES), called me a chimpanzee for having an opinion (mind you, I'm black, so I have a very good reason for finding that racist), and kept trying to spread the idea that I'm trying to be 'revolutional' and that I think George Orwell is peak revolutionary media. My brother in Christ I'm talking about a book. Yes it relates to the real world (read: me comparing the book to Stalin's reign, someone else comparing what I said to what's going on in America with Trump), yes the book is trying to be anti-communist, yes George Orwell is a bad person. None of that changes what I've said.

"While defending liberal capitalism and british imperialists"

How? How does anything about my interpretation of the book relate to this? I've already made it clear I don't support Orwell, and nothing in my original interpretation is even CLOSE to matching that description.

You wanna talk media literacy? Stop profiling people over their interpretation of fiction. That's literally the point of my blog, actually - for people to stop using taste in fiction to determine morals.

And besides we need to break down this diagram

Why are you insulting people who can't read? (Mega ironic considering the rest of the animals in Animal Farm)

Why do you hate Biden voters? Would you have preferred they vote for Trump?

The fact that you think "Hitler youth" (aka neo-Nazis) stem from Biden voters says A LOT MORE about you than any nonsense you've spouted about me

I'm actually kinda flattered you think my post questioning someone's interpretation of a fictional story whilst giving mine is gonna have this big of a reach <3

Also you really like chimpanzees, don't you? You think using animals as insults makes your point stronger?

Hands down, you're a reactionary mfer who needs to be called out. I wouldn't be surprised if you secretly supported MAGA. I'm glad I at least engaged long enough to be able to unpack that much.

Stop attacking "liberal punks" and work on yourself.

Unfortunately I don't think I can block people on sideblogs, but I encourage anyone else reading this to block them on my behalf.

By the way, in case anyone's curious, I have no opinion on capitalism or communism. All the people I've seen (especially on this site) with strong opinions either way turn out to be nasty people like this guy. I am also simply not interested in conversations about which one is better (because usually no-one speaking is doing so in good faith so I'd just rather not). Please do not send me asks about communism/capitalism (unless it's in the content of fiction obvi), because I will simply delete them.

very funny to me when people act like animal farm and 1984 are revolutionary anti government texts that the Powers That Be dont want you to read when they have literally been a part of every standard middle/highschool english lit cirriculum in the usa and beyond for decades. precisely because theyre such convenient primers to propagandize that Commies = Bad. the government is quite literally making kids read them

[milla-frenchy]

WIP wednesday

Thank you for the tag @thundermartini ❤️

Here's a snippet for @yxtkiwiyxt 's never have I ever challenge ❤️ with this prompt

Soooo, this will be a dbf!javi fic 😌

“Seat belt,” he ordered.

“What?” 

“Jesus, you’re always so fucking dumb when you're drunk?” he asked sharply, leaning over you to grab the seat belt and pull it in front of you before finally fastening it.

“You smell good, Javi.”

“Seriously? How many drinks did you have? Just… stop talking, ok? You're gonna give me a headache with your drunk high pitched voice.”

“Ok, you fucking stink, then,” you giggled.

He rolled his eyes and started the car. “Don’t puke in my truck”, he warned.

“Of course, who do you take me for?” You looked at him then whispered, “don’t say anything if it’s mean,” your index finger pointed at him while laughing, before pressing it against your lips playfully.

He sighed again and mumbled something in Spanish that you didn't understand, but that didn’t sound nice, for sure.

“I always wondered, you know,” you said in a confidential tone.

“Don't you ever shut up,” he sighed. “Wondered what?”

“How big it is.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, regretting it almost immediately. He interrogated hundreds of sicarios with a cool head, but seemed unable to cut down your drunken gibberish, much to his dismay.

“Your dick. You’ve got a big dick, for sure.”

He choked and you chuckled before you continued “there's not much for the imagination with these jeans… right, leftie guy? But how big?”

“Fuck, what is wrong with you? You talk to your father with this mouth?” he barked, icy gaze fixed on yours, his body frozen in shock at your audacity.

“What are you gonna do to shut me up, Mr. DEA agent?” you said, still pushing him. “Use your handcuffs? I think I’d like it,” you said with a wide smile.

npt: @aurorawritestoescape @toxicanonymity @iamasaddie @604to647 @itwasntimethatdidit40

@schnarfer @sawymredfox @sizzlingcloudmentality @guiltyasdave @baronessvonglitter

@iknowisoundcrazy @evolnoomym @corazondebeskar-reads @pedge-page @tateypots

@bonezone44 @magpiepills @joelmillerisapunk @almostfoxglove @jolapeno

@yxtkiwiyxt

[avaredava]

Okay so I'm a stoner. My husband is a stoner. We often (everyday) fuck (like whores) while high so thats where these thoughts come from.

Let's imagine Suguru.

Best friend Suguru. You smoke all the time together. You're bitching about these men not giving good head. He disagrees. Skip to being on your back, legs spread open and pushed back. Suguru is feasting while you smoke a joint.

OR

Plug!Suguru, but you've probably known each other for a year. He just gets the best bud. You always share a joint - his treat, always free. But man you're so thankful. Skip to being on your knees, between his legs as he sits on the couch, maybe smoking, maybe taking pictures (if you like that, i sure do) while you throat him.

Am I a whore? Hopefully yes.

Kisses ❤️❤️

EEK thats literally such beautiful writing *i say as i slowly pull out my meat* (I'm a girl)

This is the first request and this is the second

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Stoner Suguru and his best friend little miss "I swear to god getting eaten out doesn't feel good!" and he might want to change your mind or head I guess you can say (pun intended)

⯌ Wc

1.2k

⯌Warnings

Drug use (weed), quick eat out with another guy that was lowkey cringe and not good at it, Suguru takes things into his own hands, oral!fem rec, clit stimulation, doing most of it high, some bondage, ate out on the bed in his room, pulling suguru's majestic hair 😖, they are high most of the time, so a shit ton of smoking, fingering, after care

୨୧・・・・୨୧

"Suguru fucking Geto get your ass in here!"

That's what you say to him more than you would like to admit. He takes a bunch of things from you ranging from your weed stash and your other pills to your panties and bras.

He came into your room with the whites of his eyes a bit red. Obvious of what he took. The idiot couldn't lie. "Mmm what's wrong pretty girl?" He mumbles with that stupid high smile on his face.

"Don't call me pretty girl. I'm having someone coming over. So you better not flirt with me. Because I want actually want to have sex." You say with a frown. It's been awhile and you've been horny.

"I can-"

"I'm not having sex with you, your my best friend and roommate and guess what else you are? High. Also I'm mad at you for stealing my shit so- get out." You push him out of your room and go to the front door to let the guy in.

He's tall, and pretty hot. Suguru is sitting on the couch eyeing him down. But he's to slug right now to say anything so he keeps smoking. You bring the boy in your room and you both undress.

He throws you on to the bed and he kisses down your body nothing romantic and then he gets to your pussy and sucks uncomfortably on your vagina no where close to your clit. He licks your folds nothing pleasureful.

You faked moaned try to please him more than yourself. "You close?" He said with a grin. Holy fuck you wanted to throw yourself off a balcony from this shit. This is so fucking disgusting and just overall, devastating for this man.

"Mhmm..?" You let out a sarcastic mhm and the idiot believed it. You let out a small cough to get attention and let out a short. "I came." It was an obvious lie to get him to piss off.

"Are you not gonna make me come to kitten?" What the fuck. "Uhm you can go. Maybe next time." (There will be no next time.) You practically kicked him out of the house and flopped back down with Suguru.

"Those moans were clearly fake." He bluntly states. You feel your face heat up with embarrassment. You were about to back yourself up but he cut you off. "I can make those pretty moans real."

That made you wet. No- soaked. Yes, he's your roommate, more so your best friend. But the way his eyes were so seductive, his soft hair your picturing your self grabbing as he eats you out.

But you do have a problem.

"Suguru no, I've never gotten good head. Yours won't be any better. So don't get your hopes up."

He chuckled with that handsome smile and his messy hair. His eyes were beet red but still so pretty. "If you let me..." He takes a puff. "I'll make you feel so good. I won't force you, you know I never will."

You sucked your breath in and considered. Maybe that tongue piercing might feel good on your pussy. "Fine. But this might ruin our friendship though." You say in a worried tone.

"Pretty, I want you more than just friends and I won't stop until I have you. I hope you know that." he says, in a sappy tone. Being sappy isn't like him but the more his eyes get red and the more inhales explains a lot.

He grabs your hand and brings you to his bedroom. It has band posters all over and a very black theme. You let him lay you flat on the bed and he gently kisses you.

"Good thing I have the munchies." He says in a shallow, joking voice. He kisses down your body after taking off your shirt. He gropes your tits rubbing the nipples.

He pulls down your pants and panties. He sniffs your pussy breathing in deeply. He sticks his tongue out then stops. You sigh disappointed. "I thought you were gonna make me feel good?" You say in a smug and annoyed tone.

You had a feeling this was gonna happen. They either don't know what to do when trying to eat out and just give up and just pull out their dick or just do it bad.

"I will don't worry..." He takes a joint and some weed from your dresser and your brows furrow. He rolls a joint up and lights the tip up and puts it into your mouth.

"Pretty girl I want you to smoke it at the same time. Get you a little high, hm?" He says in a seductive tone. You can never say no to that especially if you want release for your pussy and that tight knot in your stomach.

He kisses your pubic area then slowly kisses your folds. Since he's still high (you're sorta concerned about how much he took) but it's really lazy. He licks your slit, low and sensual. Something about this just made you more wet.

What the hell are you doing?

This is your best friend! Plus it's someone you live with. But all your thoughts crumble to ash as he latches onto your clit and you start to get high. For some reason it made you feel even better.

You were embarrassed to admit but this felt really fucking good. You let out a true moan for the first time being eaten out.

He shoved two of his long fingers inside with black finger nail paint. He found your spongy spot in practically a second. He attacked your g-spot with his fingers, while he sucked on your clit like he wanted to leave a hickey. (Maybe he did.)

Your mind began to get foggy the more you smoked. All you could feel is pleasure at this point. "S-Sugu..." Your eyes brimmed with tears. That was the most you could say or do then shake and moan.

"You close sweetheart?" First time you could never be disgusted by that sentence. You just whined louder as an answer you really couldn't answer. He chuckled into your pussy causing pleasurable vibrations.

The more you smoke the more you relax, so the more you can't run or move. The more you moan and holler. This feels like the best kind of torture.

You pull at his hair and he moans and squeezes his eyes shut. "God woman." He groans. He thrusts his fingers faster while he grins and shuts his eyes the more you pull the faster he trusts and abuses your sweet spot.

"Sugu!" You squeal as you squirt he latches on to your clit again making you practically scream. He massages your thighs with small rubs while he gently sucks.

He licks your juices off drunk on your taste. You feel your eyes get hazy and droopy with the lazy licks after the best fucking orgasm you ever had.

You eventually pass out. Maybe it was the weed or maybe the mind altering orgasm. But he grabbed a wet towel and gently dabbed your pussy making sure it's clean from your cum and his saliva.

He slides your pink lacy panties on and one of his shirts. He crawls up taking the joint out of your mouth and puts it on the night stand beside his bed. He holds you tight against him kissing your forehead.

He licked his lips still drunk on your taste. He pulled the blankets up and kissed your forehead one last time. He whispered into your ear gently trying not to wake you up.

"Is being ate out still not good?"

୨୧・・・・୨୧

[eclipixels]

Auction

Sylus x Reader

Content: Sylus and you are on a mission at yet another auction, but things get heated and messy when one of the high-profile men there takes an interest to you

Warnings: 🍋

[2,822 words]

Sylus let out a dramatic sigh, laced with playful teasing. "Well, well, who do we have here, all dressed up so elegantly? Could it be you, Y/n?"

"No, it's me, Mephisto the bird," you deadpanned.

He rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to give you a compliment," he muttered, only for you to giggle in response.

His smirk deepened as his gaze swept over you. "A maroon dress, my favorite color. Now, how did you manage to figure that out?" He extended his arm toward you.

Linking your arm with his, you mused, "Hmm, maybe it had something to do with that fit you threw when Kieran and Luke told you they only had blue available for your weapon touch-ups?"

Sylus huffed. "Battle recognition is just as crucial as anything else, Y/n. How else would my men immediately know it was me?"

"Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you're the only one whose evol shrouds them in red mist?" you quipped.

"Whatever," he dismissed with a shake of his head, but his expression softened. With a gentle touch, he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his voice warm. "I just wanted to tell you that you look absolutely ethereal tonight."

A warm blush crept onto your cheeks as you smiled. No matter how effortlessly his teasing could get under your skin, he always knew precisely what to say to make you melt beneath his gaze in half the time.

"You could have just led with that," you murmured.

"I enjoy a good buildup," he replied smoothly.

And oh, did he.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard after this," Sylus whispered against your ear before gripping your waist and effortlessly lifting you onto his motorcycle.

Excitement buzzed through you. Most missions left him too stressed to truly enjoy your time together, but tonight felt different. You just hoped the helmet wouldn’t completely ruin your hair as he revved the engine and sped through the streets toward the banquet.

By the time you arrived, the sky had begun to shift into a soft pink hue.

Wealthy, high-profile guests bustled past, flaunting expensive accessories. Some chased after friends, laughter and conversation filling the grand entrance. You let Sylus guide you inside.

Apparently, you were among the last to arrive. A thunderous welcome erupted as dozens of already-intoxicated dealers greeted Sylus at the table. Though they had no idea who you were, they treated you with the same warmth, as if you belonged.

A man who seemed more important than the rest raised his glass in a toast to Sylus and "his lovely companion" before swiftly returning to his feast and drink.

Sylus pulled out your chair, and you murmured a quiet thanks before settling in. He took his seat beside you, and almost instantly, he was swept into conversation with people you'd never met.

You picked at the food before you, savoring small bites. Half of it was unrecognizable, but every morsel was exquisite.

Still, as time passed, boredom crept in. You knew no one, and Sylus, ever the charmer, was busy captivating the group to your left.

With nothing else to do, you idly poked at your food, feeling distinctly out of place.

From afar, you saw a group of ladies around him. They were touching his arm and giggling. He didn't do a thing to move them away.

"You look like you could use a drink."

It took you a moment to realize the boy across the table was talking to you. You lifted your cheek off your hand and cocked your head at him.

"It's wine, aged quite nicely, due to the special occasion."

He had brown hair, brown eyes with tan skin. The suit he was wearing was a crisp crimson red with accents of gold.

"I'm sorry, you are...?"

"Ollivander," he poured the offered bottle of wine over your waiting glass. "But my friends call me Ander."

"I'm Y/n," you offered in turn, tipping the glass toward him in thanks. He asked your profession, and you had to make up some lie, not revealing your hunter status or this whole thing would blow. “I came here with Sylus”

You thought about adding 'Mr.' or 'Boss' before his name, but it just didn't sound right coming out of your mouth.

"Ah, the leader of Onychinus" Ander raised an eyebrow, then leaned across the table so only you could hear, "Tell me. Is that whole thing about him true?"

You choked on your drink, wondering what he was talking about. You tlit your eyes to Sylus, watching him talk cheerily with the rich pretty girls.

"What do you mean?." you asked, twirling the dark liquid around in your glass.

"Oh nevermind" Ander took your answer, sipping his wine at the same time as you. He kept his eyes on yours over the brim of his glass until he set it down again, shifting his seat closer.

"So, Y/n. How are you enjoying my brother’s auction so far"

"Your brother?"

"The CEO of the second biggest weapons manufacturer," he explained.

"Oh, everything is so... fancy. But I guess you're used to it."

Ander smiled knowingly at this, and you relaxed a bit in relief.

"Miss Y/n, I can have all the finest protocores in the world, yet nothing could ever compare to the gem sitting before me."

"Mr. Ollivander," Sylus suddenly announced, pulling himself away from the conversation. His hand found your knee and squeezed it gently. "I believe we've met before."

"Yes, I recall your men having an... altercation with our employees," Ander responded to your confused expression.

"A brave man, your brother," Sylus acknowledged, his tone calm but laced with something more. "For sending your people to intercept mine. Though some might consider it more foolish than brave."

"That, he is," Ander agreed with a small smirk. "But I think you'll find I'm nothing like my brother."

Sylus's grip on your knee tightened as you laughed at the exchange.

"Thank goodness he was there to save the day," Ander added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You could practically feel the possessiveness radiating from Sylus.

You let Ander keep talking, Sylus glaring at him while his hand slowly inched higher up your thigh. He was careful to keep your dress in place, so it wouldn’t attract too much attention, but you still felt uneasy with how close his fingers were getting.

“Yes... thank,” Sylus said, his voice sharp. “Goodness.”

"More wine?" Ander asked, clearing his throat as he turned his attention back to you.

As Ander spoke, you felt Sylus’s fingers lightly brush the delicate skin between your thighs. You quickly swallowed the remaining wine, gripping his wrist to stop him with one hand, while reaching out to accept Ander’s offer with the other.

"Now, tell me, Y/n," Ander continued, "What brings someone as lovely as you here?"

"Well," you started, your voice trembling as Sylus’s hand continued its persistent teasing, now settling over your underwear. You cursed him silently, wishing you had more time to come up with a convincing story instead of being distracted by his antics before arriving here.

"I had nothing going on tonight" You said as he withdrew his hand from your panties, the evidence of your desire coating his fingers.

Your response was unclear, uninspired, and far from the truth, but it was the only thing your overwhelmed mind could conjure. Your fingers dug into the skin of Sylus's wrist as he continued his unfair movements inside you.

"Ah, I understand." Ander acknowledged your response, but his gaze lingered on you as he took another drink. Your hand shook slightly as you lifted your glass to your mouth. Sylus, with his love for fine wine, swirled his drink in the glass before taking a swift sip, all while casually slipping a finger inside you. He grinned at the shock in your eyes, licking the dark red wine from his lips.

"Enough about me," you urged, placing your glass aside. "Surely there must be something more captivating we could discuss."

"More captivating than you, darling?" Ander raised an eyebrow. Sylus pressed his finger deep inside you, twisting it around.

"That's a tough request, if you ask me," Sylus replied, and though you shot him a look, Ander appeared oblivious.

"I completely agree with that sentiment. But if the lady prefers not to be the center of attention, perhaps I could tell you about my recent business trip to Skyhaven?"

"Ander—may I call you Ander?" Sylus teased, earning a brief, polite smile and a nod.

"Of course."

"I don’t mean to interrupt, but where exactly did you say this wine was from?" Sylus inquired.

"Oh, it’s from my own wine business. It’s harvested in zero gravity for a purer, uninterrupted flavor. The fermentation process is accelerated using protocores and Chronofermentation for aging."

Sylus eyed the wine with clear distaste. "Well, it’s not good."

Ander’s smile faltered, his expression briefly freezing. "It’s an acquired taste."

"Hm." Sylus scrunched his face, eyeing the bottle again.

"Your date seems to be enjoying my wine," Ander remarked with a smirk.

Sylus turned to look at you. "Does she?"

"Uh..." You hesitated. You didn’t want to answer. Sylus raised an eyebrow in that signature way of his. Mentally, you were scolding him. Why was he being messy?

"It’s good,” you say with a smile. You feel Sylus shift his fingers roughly in response. Your eyes widen in surprise. Is this his way of retaliating for your response? You clutch his wrist for support.

"Your trip to Sky Haven?" you ask, your voice catching after a brief pause. Ander chuckles softly before diving into the conversation.

You gave him a faint smile and nodded to show your support. He started talking about the trades and pilots he’d encountered, going on and on, while you tried to keep up by smiling at the right moments, nodding when needed, and pretending to listen attentively. Sylus had fit another finger inside you and was pulling them in and out with a slight shift of his wrist, working past the squeeze of your thighs around him. You were leaking so much you swore you could hear squelches everytime he shoved his fingers back im you

You tried to resist him, but it felt too enticing... he had pushed you to such an intense point of longing that you'd do anything to find relief. Even if it meant right here, in front of a man who unmistakably had an interest in you. Your hands gripped the edge of the tablecloth as he rocked his fingers into you especially hard, then pulled them out completely. You clenched emptily, searching for his hand.

"Don't you agree, Y/n?" Ander asked.

It was messy, and dirty, and downright sinful, what he was doing under the table.

"Y/n? Are you okay? I don't think you caught that."

"Sorry, what?" You swallowed hard.

Sylus grew sick of the teasing then, and roughly plunged his fingers back into you. You whimpered quietly and shifted in your seat, almost spilling your wine glass if Sylus hadn't caught it in time.

"Y/n... I don’t mean to overstep, but are you feeling okay? Your cheeks are a bit flushed, and you're sweating.”

Sylus pulled his fingers out of you again. Your attention was captured by him though, as he licked the fingers that were just inside you. Ander was looking directly at him, and you were unimaginably turned on and a tiny bit ashamed at how you gushed at the sight.

"Excuse me, I think I could use some fresh air," you muttered, hurrying towards the exit in search of a bathroom.

"I should probably go after her and make sure she's okay," Sylus remarked with a smile before standing up. Catching up to you, he swiftly pushed you into one of the elegant restrooms, locking the door behind you.

"That was cruel," you hissed, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness on your thighs.

"Was it cruel for you or for him?"

"Both."

He laughed darkly, clearly pleased with himself.

"Don't think you'll get away so easily," you warned as he approached, backing you into the countertop.

"Oh?" He traced his fingers from your neck down to your chest, subtly pulling the dress lower to expose the skin beneath.

"You need to finish what you began."

"I do?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you ask him?" Sylus raised an eyebrow, his tone playful. "I’m sure he’d be thrilled to put his hands on you—"

"Sylus!"

He sighed before lifting you onto the countertop. Leaning in, he kissed your neck, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh. His touch was soft, teasing as his finger traced a delicate line up and down between your legs. Sylus smirked cruelly, moving your underwear to the side. He mouthed a line down your neck, teasing the sensitive skin between his teeth.

He increased the pressure on your clit, index finger feeling for your entrance. He curled two fingers inside of you, immediately hitting your sweet spot while biting a mark into your neck. You arched into him. Everyone always thought Sylus was so reckless but he you knew with the way he fucked you half to heaven, everything he did was meticulously planned and thought out.

“Bend over.” His voice sent chills down your spine. You let him pull his hand back and did as he said. You were leaning over the counter. You arched your back as he came to stand behind you, smoothing a hand over your soft flesh.

You pressed back against him, your skin burning with desire, craving his touch. He had been teasing you all night, and you were done waiting. Your thighs were slick, and your patience was worn thin. Every time you thought you had him, he'd pull away, but this time, there was something different in his voice—a promise, and you were more than ready to see it fulfilled.

he lined himself up at your entrance, the large length of him sinking in. You sighed in relief. This is what he'd been holding back for so long, what you'd been needing for hours now. He didn't give you time to adjust before he slammed into you, hard and fast and punishing. With your legs closed and walls tightened, he filled up every inch of you. You were cumming in no time at all, barely given a moment to wrap your muddled brain around the actions that brought you here. He didn't slow down. As you moaned through your orgasm, expecting him to give you time to recover, he sped up, holding your hips down and driving into you with a new fervor.

You sucked in every breath you could as he slammed into you, a constant stream of muscle-trembling pleasure washing over you with each push and pull of his cock. You tried to keep quiet but he kept fucking you deep and hard and good.

You didn't know how many times he made you cum before he finally let up. His pace slowed and he allowed you to breathe, shaking and sweating and voice turned hoarse. You were clenching involuntarily around Sylus's cock, tender and sore. Sylus whispered sweet praises into your ear, but all you could hear was your rushing heartbeat and a distant ringing.

You whimpered pathetically, clawing at the marble countertop as he rocked into you, painfully pleasant sparks shooting through your body.

Sylus sighed, hand smoothing down your spine, his touch gentle but his voice icy cold.

"Let me hear how good I make you feel,” he whispered, fingers squeezing around your neck as his cock scraped against your walls delicately. He groaned appreciatively as he felt you stiffen around him, then the wave of pleasure crashed over you all at once, causing weak cries to tear from your throat. Once your body stopped spasming and your cries turned to exhausted little noises, he slowly pulled out of you. Sylus had finished as well, his cum mixing into the mess you had made of yourself and he smiled at your ruined state.

“Think you can finish the mission tonight?” He asked teasingly.

“Huh?” You asked. You had completely forgotten why you were here in the first place.

“My goodness, Y/n. did I fuck you dumb?”

“I just—I need a second to touch up and I can—yeah.” You sighed, looking at the way his cum spilled out of you.

“Need help?” He asked teasingly.

“You’ve helped enough, tonight.” You scowled at him as he laughed wickedly.

[tccfoid]

THIS IS SO ME UNFORTUNATELY I BE SAYING SHIT LIKE THIS ONCE IT HITS PAST 11 PM ....nobody is scared of you bro pack it up you're not gonna do anything 💔💔💔

“ill be on the news one day…you will remember my name”

[uracutieraka]

Too cute to handle!

various mha men (class one a) x f!reader warnings : literally none. pure fluff. synopsis; mha men vs the girl that's just too damn cute! he wants to eat you up and hug until you pop! what is this confusing feeling whenever he sees you?

Denki Kaminari can't help but watch you from across the classroom, chatting happily with Uraka and Mina. He can hear your saccharine laughter from where he sits.

He groans and puts his face flat down on his desk in frustration.

"What the hell is your problem?" Bakugo sneers.

Denki turns so the side of his face is smooshed on the cold wood, allowing him to look at the hothead.

"Y/n."

Bakugo just rolls his eyes and goes back to what he was doing before. Mumbling about how he couldn't care less about Denki's girl problems.

Mineta and Sero now tower over his desk. Denki just grunts and turn's his head to look out of the window, unable to handle their idiocracy right now.

"Leave me alone!" He says when he feels a poke on his shoulder after a moment, turning his head to glare at whoever was disturbing him in his daily 'wallow in self pity' time.

"Oh!," You say and quickly pull your hand away from the boy. "Sorry Kaminari! I was just coming over to see if you were okay? I can leave you alone if you wa-"

"No!" He's now standing, an apologetic look on his face.

You jump slightly at his eagerness.

"Sorry," He says nervously at you. "Thought you were Mineta or something."

A soft giggle blesses his ears and he thinks he's going to pass out.

He can't help himself when he reaches up to pinch your cheeks.

You struggle to get out of his grip with small giggles and 'stop it!'s.

"You're so cute I just wanna squish you!"

You finally break free of his grip.

"You're such a weirdo Kaminari!" That perfect smile is on your face and pink has now stained your cheeks at the affection from him.

He feels himself getting more and more lightheaded by the moment, if you keep it up he'll definitely pass out right here and right now.

Ejiro Kirishima literally cannot fathom how absolutely adorable you are! The way you dote on him and always know exactly what to say has him practically fighting the urge to drop to the floor and kiss the ground you walk on.

He literally wants to pick you up and crush you sometimes. This jumble of confusing feelings has him stomping into Jirou's dorm and flopping on her bed with a loud whine.

"Well hello to you too Kirishima." She chuckles spinning around in her chair at her desk.

"Hey." His voice is mumbled by the fabric of her comforter.

"What's his problem?" Mina says pointing to the giant man sprawled face down on her friends bed when she walks out of the small restroom.

Jirou shrugs as Mina now sits on the bean bag in the corner.

Kirishima only looks up and the girls when he feels Jirou's aux cord poke at him a few times.

"Why are you here?" Mina says, her voice had attitude in it and it causes the boy to roll his eyes and stick his tongue out before sighing and rolling over flat on his back.

He lets his head drop to the side to look at his friends.

"I'm feeling something that I don't understand."

He watches as Jirou quirks an eyebrow up and quickly glances to Mina, who promptly responds to him.

"If you're gonna be talking about being horny for my homegirl y/n you need to leave!"

Kirishima's face contorts into one akin to being horrified.

" What! No way! It's something else." he sighs and looks back up the ceiling. "It's like every time she's around I just wanna, you know.." He sits up and squeezes his arms close to his chest making dramatic grunts.

When he stops he looks back up and sees the two girls looking at him dumbfounded. He allows himself to fall back flat on the bed again, defeated.

"Elaborate." Jirou now demands.

"Like whenever she's just being herself, you know, all cute and such? Well, I just want to pick her up and squeeze her until she pops! Obviously I'd never hurt her or anything! Ugh!" His hands now cover his whole face as he groans in frustration.

"That's normal." He gives wide, hopeful eyes to the pink girl.

"Really?"

"Yes Kirishima. It just means you think she's cute."

He jumps out of the bed and is quick to thank the girls with a smile before rushing out. Presumably to go find you.

Izuku Midoriya has his nose shoved deep into his notebook, scribbling and mumbling away. Only when you come up to him and lean over his shoulder to see what he's doing does he stop.

"Hey 'zuku." You say with a soft smile.

You bask in the delectable feeling of watching him turn red and flustered with just two words. You stand up straight and wiggle your hand in front of his face.

"Come with me really quick, yeah?" Your voice is so sweet he feels his brain melting like an ice cream cone.

He's quick to take your hand and follow you to wherever you were taking him to.

He watches as you wave and greet the people in the hallways as you pass them. Eyes closing and a wide smile plastering across your face.

He can hear his heartbeat in his ears from just how sweet you were.

'This is probably a heart attack.' He thinks, but he's doesn't care.

Finally you reach a vending machine tucked in a deep dark corner hallway of the massive school. It's dusty and the lights in this hallway are dim. It's honestly very creepy, but when you turn to him and tell him to look inside the machine he feels all worry wash away.

He turns with wide eyes back at you with an excited 'No way!'

You jump up and squeal at his excitement.

"Yes way!," You clap once before turning to look through the glass at the contents of the machine then back at Midoriya. "Discontinued All Might sports drinks! And look! There's Night eye ones too!"

Midoriya doesn't know what over comes him but one second he's standing a foot away from you then the next he's enveloping you in a hug.

You hug him back, but soon begin struggling to escape his tight grip.

"Zuku," you take a deep breath in. "can't breath. You're crushin' me!" You let an airy laugh fly past your lips at his show of affection.

He puts you down and apologizes.

"Sorry, you're just so cute I couldn't help it!"

Bakugo Katsuki has a serious issue with biting you. Like this is seriously getting out of control! Even your guy's friends have started noticing his bad habit.

You were helping Iida and Tsu cook dinner for everyone in the communal kitchen, chopping away at some veggies while your music blasted over your bluetooth speaker.

Iida fought against the idea of blaring your music but Tsu and you begged him to let you, since everyone else was off in their dorms waiting for dinner to be done. He gave in reluctantly but you and Tsu didn't fail to miss the way he bobbed his head to the beat of your music.

Dinner was getting closer to finishing and more and more of your classmates had flooded into the common area, hungry and chatting away loudly with each other.

Your class wasn't unfamiliar with Bakugo and yours relationship. He had make then nauseatingly aware of it.

So when he wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on his shoulders the rest of the students ignored the display of affection. Minus one, Denki. He watched with narrowed eyes as he nudged Sero and pointed to you two.

"Watch, in 3, 2, anddddd," The two watch as Bakugo lifts his head and quickly locks his teeth onto your shoulder. You shriek and throw your shoulder back into his face, effectively pushing him off of you. "One." The two boys laugh as they watch you two from across the room, now you two are fighting and you have him in a headlock. Bakugo knows he could easily get out of it but he just laughs and lets you think you won, just glad that you put up with him.

Tenya Iida was a victim of you. Though it wasn't anything serious, the way you made him buzz with adrenaline was unfamiliar to him. It seemed like everyday something new would happen with you two. One day you're testing the waters but placing a soft hand on his shoulder, the next you're throwing yourself fully into his arms, complimenting how strong he is.

Something else that was unfamiliar to him, was the way you were so cute he just wanted to eat you up. His sweet, sweet girlfriend.

He was groaning in frustration and tugging his fingers through his hair, confused as to why every time you were around he felt so aggressive.

"What's the haps, class rep?" A voice behind him makes him jump slightly, turning around he sees his friends.

"Ah! Kaminari! I have a question."

"Okay, shoot." He points finger guns at the blue haired boy in front of him. Watching as his eyebrows furrow together.

"Okay, I'm confused about some feelings that I have about Y/n."

Sero now chimes in.

"You can not break up with her! She's the whole package man! Plus for some reason she likes you, even though you're super weird."

Tenya stares blankly and waits for the black haired boy to answer, lips pulled tightly together.

"Ignoring that you basically just called my girlfriend attractive, which she is, that is not the reason for my confusing feelings, Sero."

Hanata shrinks in on himself a bit in embarrassment, mumbling about what the issues really was.

"Every time she's around, I feel some sort of aggression, and I would never hurt her! Ever! But I just want to, uhm, for lack of better terms, eat her up!" Heat crawls up his neck at the admission.

Kaminari covers his face, stifling his laugh.

"Iida, dude, that's normal! It's called cuteness aggression."

"Cuteness aggression?"

"Yes man! It's just when you think somethings super cute and you want to hurt it, I don't know the specifics."

Sero nods along, agreeing with what the blond says.

"So, I'm not crazy and abnormal?"

"No, you are, but this feeling is normal."

Iida sighed in relief, happy to know he wasn't completely insane.

"Iida!" A sweet voice fills his ears and he turns around to see you waving at him from across the common area, brownie batter and flour all over you. He can feel his face soften as a smile crosses his lips.

"Ugh, gross, love." Kaminari now leans over the arm of the sofa, falling backwards to lay down.

Iida goes to say something to him but you motion for him to come over.

"Come try this batter baby!" And with that he feels his legs moving towards you before his mind can catch up.

Hanata Sero can't control himself when you're around. It's like he's a feral dog, and you're a dog toy. Every time you bat your lashes up at him or say his name he has you caged in his arms so tightly you can feel your ribs being crushed, swinging you back and forth while you wiggle around in a weak attempt to escape his hold.

"Tape arms! Put Y/n down!" Bakugo's voice booms from across the training course.

You push off of him, gasping for air as he pouts.

"You're just so cute! I can't help myself!"

You look at your boyfriend, hands on your hips and a scowl on your face.

"You know I love you, but you can't just squeeze me half to death in the middle of training! Let alone while were doing rescue training! And while I'm in the middle of rescuing someone!"

He pouts more and tries to reason with you.

"But it's just Bakugo," he frowns. "He doesn't deserve a pretty girl saving him!"

You roll your eyes and go back to tending to Bakugo's fake wounds.

"Hey! Creepy elbows! I do too deserve that! I'm awesome!"

You now scoff at the blond and tightly pull the bandage.

"Ouch!"

You flick his forehead and tell him to go to the safe zone. He listens and grumbles while walking away. You stand up and turn back around to your boyfriend.

"You have issues, Hanata."

He now has giant puppy dog eyes as he turns to follow you while you walk away.

"You just looked so cute helping people!"

"Whatever, leave me alone you freak!" You shout, now running away from him.

"I am not a freak!"

"You so are!" Mina chides.

He continues pouting as he mopes away to go help one of the 'victims'.