#so i can say Whatever The Fuck I Want and they will never know it’s not true
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Random rant.
I was telling my mom about yet another random middle aged guy who insisted on me paying attention to him (you know the type who gets super angry if you don’t respond to them saying hi or whatever, either because you didn’t hear them or didn’t know they were talking to you, instead of just letting it go like a normal person) and I was like “I’m sorry but it’s always guys your age”
I expected her to defend her fellow man but instead she responded “Oh my god yes. They’re the WORST”
Talk about Karen’s all you like but no group of people are more entitled than middle aged men. I hope it’s just those generations because I never experience it with guys my age and younger. But we’ll see in a few years. I’m close to middle aged myself and perhaps people just lose their fucking mind at a certain age.
Best part of being a cleaner is that if I don’t respond to those types of guys at work they just assume I don’t understand what they’re saying. I can hear them get all worked up at which point I start to ignore them out of spite and eventually I’ll hear someone say “She’s probably an immigrant” and they cool off. Yeah buddy, that’s the only explanation. It couldn’t possibly be because I don’t want to talk to you because you’re acting like an entitled dick.
At this point I’ve made it my mission in life to piss those guys off. I always pick up after my dogs but more than once some middle aged guy started ordering me to pick up as I was getting the bags out. I love the look on their face when I call them shit-sheriff and curse them out for thinking they can boss random adults around like that. And they never have a comeback because they never expected anyone to challenge them. I had a shouting match with one older guy who tried to push me over while I was riding my bike slowly past him because he felt I was trying to run him over for some reason but it ended real fast when I told him to fuck back to his retirement home because they forget they don’t get my respect for free. Same if you call them ugly. They have no idea how to respond to that because they never had to worry about their looks before.
So to anyone reading this, just be cool if people don’t respond to you and don’t act like you can order random strangers around. Niceness will get you anywhere with strangers (unless they’re assholes themselves)
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bite back (18+)
a drabble i wrote for @cambridgemadness - thank you for your support darling!!! 🫶🏻
summary: steve’s such a goddamn sweetheart. until you convince him not to be.
contains: steve x reader; reader with a vagina; ‘good girl’; teasing; oral (steve receiving); face fucking; spitting; nipple play; corruption (steve … receiving?);
donate to my kofi for a personalized fic - click here for details!
You stare up at Steve from your position on the end of his bed, laying on your stomach. You kick your feet a little, smiling up at him. Your low cut top shows off your cleavage, which Steve stares at, eyes hooded and pretty lips parted.
He has no idea what you’re scheming.
“Steve,” you smile, reaching out for him. “Come here, pretty boy.”
He finally walks towards you. His cock strains against his dark-wash Levis, the gold on his belt glistening in the intimate lamp light. “You look so beautiful,” he says softly, petting your hair. He tucks his fingers under your chin and pulls your head up to look at him. “Just gorgeous, y’know that?”
You bite your lip, giggling. “All for you, Stevie.” Your fingers find his belt loops and you pull him in closer, until his bulge presses against the tip of your nose. You hear Steve’s breath hitch above you.
“Why don’t I do something for you, hm?” he asks, running a big hand through your hair. “Let me take care of you.”
You shake your head, nuzzling his cock. “Been wanting to taste you all night.” You bat your lashes up at him, really laying it on thick. You reach for his belt, unbuckling it swiftly and pulling his jeans down slow until he’s only in his underwear.
“What do you want, Steve?” you finally ask, looking back up at him. You already know what he’ll say.
“Whatever you’ll give me,” he says sweetly, softly, looking down at you with puppy dog eyes.
You nearly roll your eyes. But you have a trick up your sleeve that you’re sure will work soon enough.
You press a kiss to his clothed cock, smiling at the stain your lip gloss leaves on his underwear. You wore strawberry tonight, real sticky stuff that should make a mess. Your fingers find the waistband of his briefs and you finally pull them down, biting your lip when his cock springs up and bounces softly against his lower stomach.
Steve’s size is part of why he won’t be rough with you. Even though you’ve proven to him that you can take it in as many ways as possible. He’s far from the first person you’ve ever been with, but he’s certainly the biggest. The sight of him as you drooling. He’s so pretty - thick, long shaft that curves up a little at the top, a pink tip that weeps precum, cute little freckles, and full, tight balls.
You want him to make you take all of it.
You press a kiss to his balls first, lips twitching upwards when he lets his head fall back. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, keeps them at his sides instead of in your hair where they belong.
“You can touch me,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to the base of his shaft.
“I know,” he replies, voice a little shaky. “Don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”
You look up at him. Are you serious?
Steve tilts his head and frowns. “C’mon. You know I’m a big softie.”
This isn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation, but it will be the first time you push him on it. “What makes you think you can hurt me?”
A little kiss to a vein running up the underside of his shaft makes him pause before he continues. “You - you know. I’m strong.”
“Uh-huh,” you tease, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his cock and watching him fight off a shudder. “Super strong, Steve.”
“I am!”
“Not that I would know.” Your tongue licks a stripe up the side of him and his eyes blink shut. “Never really got to see you be so strong, Stevie.”
He scoffs, opening his eyes. They’re half hooded. “That’s total bullshit.”
You hum, flicking your tongue at the edge where his tip meets the shaft before suckling on the head. Steve sighs above you, half in relief and half in bliss, and rests one single hand gingerly on your head. “Good girl.”
You love that - when he’s sweet with you for pleasuring him. It’s all you want to do. Christ, it’s all you think about. Being his perfect little slut, at his beck and call, letting him use you however he needs. Marked up, voice hoarse, legs shaking. Which, to be fair, Steve has that effect on you, anyway. Even when he’s soft and sweet and whispers sweet nothings to you.
You’d just like it a bit more intensely.
You swirl your tongue around his tip a few times before pulling off. “D’you really think I’m a good girl?”
He scratches your scalp softly. “Mhm.”
“Then why don’t you give me a reward, huh?”
His brows twitch in annoyance. It’s not often at all that you see him like this. He’s usually good at hiding his annoyance with you. “My cock’s right here, baby.”
Your stomach flips and you smile, giddy at his tone. “Can you help me take it?” you ask.
“You’re so smart, angel,” he coos, scratching your head softly again. “Pretty little brain of yours can figure it out.”
“Fine. Let me see….”
You take his cock back between your lips again. Steve moans above you, murmuring a curse. “There you go,” he groans out. “S-see? Knew you could figure it out.”
You take him a little deeper, only a quarter of his length. He usually stops you halfway, anyway, getting nervous when you gag. But you see how his eyes grow darker when he hits the back of your throat.
You’ll make him work for it.
You drool on his cock, bobbing your head just enough, not too far. Steve still seems appreciative, keeps his hips still and feet planted on the ground. You wait until a string of saliva runs down your chin before pulling back, keeping your hands to yourself.
“Like that?” you ask, voice innocent.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he pants. “Just like that, baby.”
Just like that. You have him trapped.
You continue your movements, taking Steve’s cock in just like that - not very far, not far enough. You let yourself drool some more, more thick strings of saliva dripping from his cock. Enough to keep him interested. But it doesn’t take long until he whimpers, his fingers tapping on your scalp.
“Little more? Please?”
You look up at him through your lashes, head tilted again. “More?” you ask, voice thick. “But I thought I was doing good, Steve.”
He shivers. “You are doin’ good, baby, so good, like always - just - need a little more, y’know how.”
You blink. “I don’t think I do.”
He scoffs, tongue licking over his white teeth. “We both know you do.”
So now you take him into your throat, but you don’t wrap your lips around his shaft. It’s messy, but not tight enough. Steve sighs and his grip tightens in your hair.
“You’re killin’ me,” he groans.
“I don’t get it,” you pout, chin a mess. “I’m doing what you’re asking me to.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Then why don’t you show me?”
Steve’s jaw clenches and unclenches a few times, his eyes darker than ever as he looks down at you. “Don’t know if you can handle that,” he finally says.
You hum, moving up onto your knees, disengaged. “Maybe you just can’t handle me-“
Steve flips you onto your back so fast it knocks the wind out of you. Your head falls over the edge of his bed and you watch him upside-down, his nostrils flaring slightly, cheeks red.
You smile wide. Got you.
“This what you wanted?” he asks, jerking himself off slowly. “Want me to treat you like the goddamn brat you are?”
“Yes!”
He shakes his head. “Jesus Christ. Pinch me if you want me to stop, okay? Don’t wanna hurt you, just gotta show you what I told you you can’t handle.”
You nod, thighs rubbing together.
He takes a deep breath, fingers moving to your lips and prying at your teeth. “Open.”
You do as you’re told, choking almost immediately on his fingertips. He reaches into your throat, fucks his fingers in and out of it before pulling away and spitting down into your mouth. You gasp, thighs clenching harder.
“You take my fingers well enough,” he observes, “Not sure why you wanna act like you can’t suck cock all of a sudden.”
He angles your head back. You nearly giggle with glee, opening up so nice for him, sticking your tongue out to entice him when he hesitates.
He spits again, then slides into your throat.
You haven’t been throat fucked like this before. You gag a lot sooner than you anticipate, right as his tip hits the back of it. Steve’s hips pull back but you grip the back of his thighs and pull him in, taking his length better this time around.
“Fuck,” he grits, thrusting slow, a little shallow. Not the whole way. “Christ, God, you’re so n-needy. So fuckin’ needy. Spread - spread your legs.”
You do. Steve leans forward, pushing your skirt up and pushing himself further into your throat in the process. You gag but he doesn’t seem to mind so much this time. “Breathe through your nose,” he instructs, his fingers running over your clothed clit. “Don’t act like such a prude.”
Smack!
You moan around his cock as his hand comes down over your swollen bud. It’s so neglected that the pain feels good.
“Look at you,” he coos, hips thrusting in and out of your hot, wet mouth. He lets his cock bury itself deeper, firmly into your throat now. “Can’t - shit - w-wait to see how wet y’are by the end.”
He pulls out suddenly and you cough, eyes teary, looking up at him with blurred, adoring eyes. Steve leans forward and grabs your cheeks with one hand, squeezing them.
“Look what you’re makin’ me do,” he whines. “Makin’ such a mess of you.”
“Do you like it?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “Too much.”
Steve slides back into your throat and reaches forward to grope your tits. You moan and gag around him, his fingers finding your nipples and pinching them through your top. He finally shoves your shirt down, exposing your breasts, and continues pinching and tugging them.
“This is what I wanted,” he pants, hips thrusting. “Wanted to see these fuckin’ tits.”
You gag harder when he leans forward again, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth as he takes a nipple between his bitten lips. He groans uncontrollably, hips bucking, his trimmed pubes tickling your nose.
“Touch yourself,” he moans lowly. “Know y’want to.”
You don’t hesitate, letting your hands find your clit and rubbing it in fast circles. You’re so close to cumming already just from the change of pace. From having him exactly where you need him. His cock buried in your throat, pleasuring himself, lips wrapped around your nipples, fingers pinching hard enough to make you squeal.
“You do so good for me, huh?” he breathes against your chest, hands full of your pretty tits. “Let’s see how long you can hold it.”
He buries himself all the way. Your eyes cross and flutter shut while you focus on holding your breath, your throat bulging, Steve’s cock twitching. He whines and rests his hand on your neck, shuddering at the sight. He waits until you’re squirming, legs shifting and your hands finding his thighs before he finally pulls back.
“Spit.”
You do, right onto your own face. It’s so humiliating but it’s so worth it when Steve groans, fisting his wet cock above you, rubbing the tip of it against the bridge of your nose.
“You’re so good for me,” he pants. “You okay? Can you keep taking it?”
You nod, heart beating out of your chest.
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|| i regret nothing I need Cooper Howard viscerally both pre and post Ghoulification
|| notes: semi Canon compliant, spoiler-ish for end of s1, semi-shifting pov, Lucy is adorable but baby girl you will be chewed up and spat out pls grow more spine, Dogmeat has never done anything wrong ever, godbless Cooper having a southern accent bc that's my accent, yeah, gonna do a sequel to this and a prequel on Coop and reader's first meeting, ok bye
|| warnings: weapons supplier!reader, couple of allusions to cannibalism, reader is not specifically gendered, NSFW ㅡ fingering/touching
“Where are we going?”
Not for the first time today, or even the last week, Cooper questions why he's letting the Vaultie (“Lucy,” she informs him primly, “my name is Lucy.”) tag along. The dog, at least, is a good, reliable companion. Dogmeat trots dutifully at his side, her tail wagging as he stops to glare at Lucy.
“Supplies, Vaultie,” he tells her, relishes the flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “Need supplies or we'll both be knee deep in shit.” He pauses. “More than we already are.”
She mumbles something he doesn't care to catch as he resumes walking, rolling his eyes as he adjusts his hat. He knows he could stand to be a little more sympathetic with the bombshell she's still dealing with, but he can't bring himself to ㅡ not when his daughter might still be alive out there, somewhere. (And his ex-wife, who he's pointedly trying to not think about too much.)
Lucy is blessedly quiet for a good while, all the way until they get closer to where they're going. Cooper doesn't need that piece of shit vault-tec device on her arm to know where he is, but Lucy says it anyways.
“It's a town,” she mumbles at the cluster of ramshackle buildings, surrounded by the clustering of trees so much like Filly ㅡ but isn't. “Is thisㅡ”
“Yes,” he answers, “now shut it and walk.”
Lucy huffs. “I don't know if you've realized neither of us have means to pay for anything,” she protests, “but the general rule ofㅡ”
“Vaultie.” If looks could kill, she'd be six feet under. He's never had much patience, but she’s already reached the bottom of it and keeps digging. “Shut the fuck up about your goddamn rules. If you haven't noticed, nobody up here gives a damn about playing by what's wrong and what's right.” He gives her a meaningful look. “Now if you don't want me to leave your ass to whatever comes along next, you'll be quiet and let me handle it.”
Lucy's mouth shuts with an audible click, and Cooper turns on his heel to resume walking, Dogmeat at his heels.
Like Filly, the center of buildings bustle with the day to day of so many others, the cacophony of animal sounds along with chatter ㅡ Cooper spares Lucy a brief glance to watch her struggle to keep up and scoffs to himself, shaking his head as he continues.
He knows where he's going, a little shop shoved between two others, narrow but deeper than the other two, because he's been here before. Several times, actually. Which accounts for the familiarity with which he strolls over the threshold and leaves Lucy and Dogmeat to follow.
There's the jingle of what might be a bell over Lucy's head when she follows, blinking at the interior. Neat and tidy, or at least as much as can pass for such things on the surface ㅡ rows of weapons and other assorted things on shelves and stands.
Lucy watches The Ghoul rap his fist on the counter. “I know you're here,” he calls, “you never leave this damn place!”
She expects whoever it is to come scuttling out with the tone of voice he uses and being as accustomed to his rougher attitude, and she listens to the clatter of something further in the shop.
“If that's your greeting nowadays,” comes the answer, “you can fuck off.”
To Lucy’s surprise, The Ghoul husks a laugh instead of offering another threat. Footsteps approach, and Lucy blinks at the person who rounds the corner.
“You,” you accuse, finger almost into his chest, “thought I told you I was done dealing with you if you couldn't work on your manners.”
Lucy stares, and watches as you turn towards her and raise an eyebrow, eyeing her with unrestrained curiosity, then at Dogmeat. “A vaultie and a dog,” you say, then glance back at The Ghoul. “So, taking in strays, huh?”
The Ghoul grimaces. “Guess so.” He clears his throat. “Need supplies again, sweetheart.”
“Figured as much,” you say, arms folding across your chest. Lucy decides she likes you, because you're standing up to him ㅡ and he's letting you. “Take it you have no way of paying, again.”
Lucy wants to tell The Ghoul I told you so, because he can shit on all her little rules all he likes but the surface still deals in keeping the scales balanced. You have to eat too, so it's fair that you're expecting payment in the nonexistent caps they have. The Ghoul, on the other hand, tries a different route.
“Oh come on now sugar,” The Ghoul wheedles, tone almost what could be considered as sweet. Playing at a gentleman for the way he leans against the cobbled together counter, even goes as far as to take his hat off and place it down. “Don't be like that.”
“Don't you sugar me,” you counter with an attitude that honestly startles Lucy for both the lack of genuine bite or answering hostility from The Ghoul. This isn't the first time you've met, she realizes, and is also quietly a little horrified to register that this almost sounds like flirting. “You're a pain in the ass, you know that?”
The Ghoul almost grins. “At least I'm consistent. Besides, you know you miss me when I'm gone.”
You snort, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. Lucy feels a tiny bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere, like she's watching something she shouldn't be privy to.
“Yeah, yeah,” you answer, bustling around to shove several fabric wrapped packs into his chest and giving him a meaningful look. “You owe me.”
It's definitely flirting now, Lucy notes as The Ghoul's face lights up in a way that's still entirely human, tracking your movements with something far softer than anything she's ever seen from him.
The turn towards her and head jerk to her and Dogmeat is as clear as dismissal as she's ever seen, to make herself scarce ㅡ so she does, but not before she catches the peripheral glimpse of the way you let him reach for you, almost melting into him for the way he moves to undoubtedly murmur something.
That something is not the sweet words of a long time lover, but it's probably about as close as you're going to get with things the way they are.
“Anyone causin’ you trouble lately?”
You roll your eyes. “Besides you?” He gives you a look, and you shake your head. “No, and even if there was, you know I can handle myself.” You turn to throw him a teasing look over your shoulder. “Don't tell me you're getting soft on me, old man.”
It's Cooper's turn to snort, even as he moves to follow you. There's a sort of peace to watching you sort through boxes of shell casings and bottles of powder, letting his gaze drift over your body.
When you turn, he doesn't even bother to hide the way he's watching you, and you arch an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothin’,” he returns. “Can't I admire you?”
You roll your eyes. “I'm too expensive for you, Cooper.” It's a playful taunt, one that incites a little flare of something in his eyes as he approaches, the jingle of his spurs as he comes to loom over you, cages you in against the shelves of “inventory”.
“Really now,” he drawls, leans in, eyes predatory dark. A lifetime ago, you might have been scared. But the wastelands made no qualms about beating fear out of people just as quick as it snuffed out life all together. “Here I was thinkin’ I might get a discount.” He reaches, thumbs at your bottom lip with his gloved digit. “What's the askin’ price, sweetheart?”
This close, he smells like the wastelands and sunbaked leather, with a little bit of blood ㅡ but you don't mind. Never have, not sure you ever will. Not when it comes to him, anyways.
He's a dangerous man. A man with a reputation that's well-earned, spoken in hushed whispers and anything but nice. But you let him slot a leg between yours, lean in, press his lips to your hair. You smell like gunpowder and hot metal, grease stained fingertips and more than a couple bruises and scars for your efforts.
Sometimes Cooper contends with the idea he might need you just as much as he needs that chem that keeps him sane. Admits it here and there, quietly to himself when he wanders in, squashes it down that he makes the trips sometimes just to make sure you're still alive. Not like he'd know if you were, till he sees you. Not sure what he'd do if he someday came up and found you gone. No note, no goodbye ㅡ quick and quiet, the cruelty of the wastelands.
“Didn't answer my question, darlin’.” He mumbles, lips to your cheeks now. Soft skin, kept carefully with rationed doses of radaway and a healthy heap of keeping your cute little self out of business that doesn't involve you. “Come on, I asked you real nicely.”
You hook your fingers in the loops of his belt, pull him closer. He can feel the jump of your heartbeat under his lips, now at your jawline. A soft, shaky inhale. Selfishly, he wants to keep you. Steal you away, greedy to keep you for himself. Hates the idea of whatever scum that rolls in that you have to deal with on your own. You can handle yourself, he knows that.
Doesn't stop that little piece of him that's still truly Cooper Howard from worrying. But he knows better than to think he can protect you, because he can't. So he does what he can.
Your skin is soft under his teeth, forgiving to the nip of them, the blooming blossom of pink that reminds him of strawberries. The noise you make is just as sweet, and he wonders if you'd taste like that, too.
“I'm waiting,” he prompts between little nips, mouth curving against your flesh when you grip at him tighter. There's a lot he could do to you, and not a lot you wouldn't let him. “Don't tell me this big ol’ cat’s got your tongue, little songbird.”
Your lips part, and he expects either a sparky response or a soft plea for what this is tilting towards, partaking of something far softer than anything he's used to nowadays ㅡ but you’ve always had a taste for throwing him for a loop, and you do it now.
“Take me with you.”
That snaps him out of his little hazy, touch-greedy daze, enough that he pulls away to look at you properly. “Repeat that?”
“You heard me.” You tug at the loops of his belt, eyes steely, expression firm. “Take me with you. Tired of this shitty little outpost. Figure it's time to move before I get myself into trouble I can't get out of.”
Cooper laughs. “Think you're runnin’ straight into that fire by askin’ what you're askin’, sweet thing.” A warning and a plea, mixed mish-mash in his words. Part of him wants you to stay here. Concrete, much as it can be, where he knows where you are. Other part says it'd be easier to watch your back if he saw it all the time.
“That's not an answer, Cooper.”
He snorts, softens at the edges again, a little sadder as he reaches to stroke your jawline, leans to bump his forehead to yours ㅡ radiation warm against radaway cold. “Wanna make sure you know what you're asking for, darlin’. I ain't your babysitter. Got my own shit to do.”
“I know.” There's that fire in your voice, the kind he loves and hates at the same time. “Wasn't asking for you to babysit me.”
He swallows roughly. Lets his hands drift up your sides, tug at the tuck of your shirt, underneath to drag sun-worn leather against the soft skin of your abdomen. Relishes the way you shiver, leaning into his touch. “Can't promise nothin’, you know that.”
Your smile promises the same kind of heartbreak his own words do, the kind rooted in the reality that the world doesn't deal in any absolute but death, and sure as shit won't give happy endings. Not anymore. “I know.”
Cooper can't think of what to say to that, at least anything he's ready to, so he kisses you. Your lips are too soft against his, the warmth of your mouth reigniting that greedy, needy, human thing inside him. He pulls, digs his fingers into your soft, pliant skin, and he takes.
Takes what you willingly give him, hand over hand with nothing but that pretty little smile of yours. He muffles your gasp as he wedges his leg a little firmer, coaxes the part of your legs with a rough husk of, “just like that, dollface,” and delights too much in the sound of you moaning for him.
Hushed, quiet enough that there's no reason for Dogmeat or Lucy to come back yet (he doesn't know what they're up to nor does he really fuckin’ care at the moment), he lets himself indulge in the pleasure of your body against his. The sweet little sounds, half-gasped as he mouths at your neck, hitched to something almost like music as his hands wander.
Pauses long enough to bite at the tip of his glove and tug, one then two, the bare, radiation scarred wander of his fingers over your body. It's selfish, the way he covets every little twitch and jump of your muscles, the choked gasp as he guides you into rocking against his leg.
“You're so sweet for me, sugar,” he coos, syrupy as he picks you apart meticulously, piece by piece. Fingers still far too good at what they do when he replaces his leg with the press of them against you, remnants of a past life for how well he gets you to whimper his name. “Like ambrosia.”
His fingers stroke, deceptively gentle, working over your slick, too-hot, achy skin until you’re panting and gripping at him, pleading for a relief only he can give you. And that’s exactly how he wants you, where all you can see and think of is him.
The expression you make when he finally lets you come might truly be the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time. Headier than the Jet, dizzying and making him swear as he jerks his clothed hips against yours, breath sharp in his chest.
“Gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He bites at your neck, digs a little harder, scrapes his canines into your sweet, yielding flesh. He could devour you, take bite after sweet, sweet bite and actually test that theory about the strawberries. Crack the cage of your rib, feast on that beating yolk of heart that thumps so hard in your chest.
“Gonna let me do it, sweet thing?” He rumbles against your ear. “Let me have it all?”
Your eyes flash, lips pretty and swollen as they part to answer ㅡ and the bark of that damn mutt ruins it all. At least it's a warning for you both, because he's stepping back and letting you fix yourself with surprising speed as Lucy and Dogmeat return, an expectant look on the fuckin’ vaultie's face.
“Well? Got what you need?"
Cooper snorts, tracks you instead of answering as you press your hand to his for a second, gone around the corner. Lucy frowns when you return, pistol strapped at your hip and a bandolier slung over your shoulder like his, broad pack strapped to your back. Like you planned for this.
And you did, he notes, but it hadn't been contingent on his agreement. Idly, he notes he never did answer you, not really. But he just hums, then turns towards Lucy, who looks between the two of you, confused.
“Yeah,” he finally answers, “got what I need.”
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“Cass is the favorite.”
Bruce paused in the hallway, head tilted in the direction of the kitchen. He wasn’t aware that anyone was still up.
“Definitely.”
Bruce was aware that Tim had coordinated tonight’s patrol as Damian was sick with the flu and Bruce was laid up with a couple of injuries—they must’ve just gotten back.
“She can read everything on his face and he never has to say a word—the old man must’ve been thrilled when he found her.”
Bruce frowned. His plan to return to his bedroom was put on hold as he lurked in the shadow of the den, listening carefully.
“And…Dick is the next favorite.”
“Of course, he’s the Golden Boy. Follows orders like the perfect soldier.” There was a dark twist of bitterness to the words.
“Tim’s next.”
“No, it’s definitely Babs. She’s actually good at her job.”
“Nah, I have to go with Steph. Babs calls B out on his bullshit. You, baby bird, melt into the shadows and don’t make a peep.”
“Tim, then Babs.” When he heard the scratching of pencil on paper, Bruce realized they were actually writing this down.
“Then the demon brat.”
“Depending on what kind of scene he’s caused in the past week.” A laugh, low and not very amused.
“Then me and Jason. The outsiders. Last on the list.”
A scoff. “No, Blondie, then you. I’m not on this fucking list.”
“Jason—”
“We’re ranking his kids remember? Not the vaguely estranged undead mob boss that comes to bail your asses out of trouble.”
“You’re his son, Jason.” Bruce was gripping the door frame so hard his dislocated shoulder twinged.
“All evidence says otherwise.”
“Well, I’m not his kid either. So I guess both me and Jason are off this list.”
“You’re his kid, Blondie. You have a room in this house.”
“I don’t use it.”
“Neither does little Red, and he’s the one running the company.”
“You have a room here too, Jason.”
“No, I have a fucking shrine to the fifteen-year-old kid who was murdered in Ethiopia.”
It landed flat and whatever camaraderie had been underneath the bitterness and snark dissipated instantly. It left a heavy tension in the air.
“I don’t want it anyway. Look what happens to the poor bastards at the top of the list.”
“What do you mean?”
“Cass—dear, darling, favorite Cass. She disappears whenever anyone is talking to B. Probably too painful to watch.”
“I hadn’t noticed that.” Quiet. Guilty.
“And the Golden Boy. Trying to hold the family together while everybody in it tears it apart. Timbo here, who’s hoping that if he slinks further into the shadows everyone might actually forget he exists.”
“Hey, I don’t—”
“Babs is stuck working for a boss who constantly undermines her, the demon brat doesn’t know if he should be listening to Dick or Bruce, and you, Blondie, for the great honor of being last on the list, are the only one of us that actually managed to slap B.”
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Ok gotta talk about it.
As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.
The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.
Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.
And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)
My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness.
שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְה
Vi tsu derleb ikh im shoyn tsu bagrobn.
[my best translation]
Hear Israel (beginning of a prayer in Hebrew)
I should outlive him long enough to bury him. (an old Yiddish curse)
Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.
#free palestine#israel#jews for palestine#jews against israel#jewish history#antisemitism#jews against genocide
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Who's your daddy? (Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader)
Notes: fem reader! sfw mostly ,literally just me projecting onto the reader, reader is kind of a pervert drabble! This will be multi part if you guys want!! (WC:550)
Simon does his best to be as involved in his son's life while off deployment, with the little guy living with his uncle Soaps mom and sisters while his dads gone. It's always the little things he wishes his dad did when he was younger. His worst fear is being anything like his own father
This man is literally superdad, present at every PTA meeting he can be, makes cupcakes for the class on his son's birthday, every little league game, pick up and drop off, anything and everything he can do he will
His son will babble mindlessly about anything because well,, he's 4 that's what children do. So Simon doesn't process much of it as actual information, more like vague “hms” “that's nice' ' and “ah oh really?”. Now when his son started to repeatedly bring up this “Miss” Simon assumed that he’s made a friend at school which made him pretty happy since he never had many when he was younger. It sounded dumb but he just assumed Miss was short for Missy or whatever kid name
Casual asks of “How was school” being met with his boy saying “Miss gave me a sticker today” or “Miss made cookies today”. So you can imagine his surprise when he saw a random woman in the most lung collapsing sundress and cardigan holding his son looked at him and smiled while his son just waved and cheered.
Simon is guilty of occasionally being late for pick ups but usually his boy is inside safe in the lobby so seeing you holding him would be more stressful if he wasn't a tank of a man that could maim an entire army single handedly, especially when you were literally basking in sunlight holding his child in a flowy pink floral sundress with a crochet cardigan, I mean seriously don't you know its a crime to stop traffic
“Hi! Hi daddy! Miss waited with me for you, see!” Handing off the little guy to his dad you were also choking up, you became a teacher to help children learn not to ogle at their dads, but my god did it make up for your criminally low salary. The sight of a giant man in those loose worn out jeans, that tight white shirt stretched over his muscles bulging out of the fabric, and those eyes that look like they could melt you.
You could already feel the blush creeping off your neck and honestly you prayed to god with all your might that you could run back into your car, turn the AC on blast and fan whatever blush was on your face off. “You must be Mister Riley right? Hunter is a pleasure to have in class” You know what else would be a pleasure? Your di-
“Im sure he is” Oh fuck that accent you could practically feel your knees buckling just imagine how much better it would sound saying “You’re alright girl” all deep and gravelly while hes nibbling on your ear
Needless to say Simon started showing up to pickups more often and you slowly started wearing shorter sundresses.
#cod mw x reader#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost cod#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost call of duty#john price#cod simon riley
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⎯ STOCKHOLM. christopher bahng chan
🎧 : bang chan x female reader
TROPE. age gap! au (chan is 37, reader is 18), kidnapper x kidnapped
WORD COUNT. 2.5k
WARNINGS. drinking, mentions of drugs, illegal activities, nineteen-year age gap, kidnapping, reader falls in love with her kidnapper, sadism + masochism
SYNOPSIS. on the morning of january first, y/n wakes up chained to a wall, stripped to her undergarments, and a camera pointed right at her. strangely enough, behind the camera is what looks like a harmless, friendly, incredibly attractive man. as y/n and the mysterious Bang Chan begin to learn more about each other, y/n finds herself succumbing to stockholm syndrome: falling in love with her very own kidnapper
SMUT WARNINGS. sadism + masochism, use of vibrator, some non-con themes, sextape making, overstimulation + edging, corruption kink, exhibitionism, dumbification kink
As your eyes opened, you expected to wake up somewhere you didn't know. You were absolutely wasted the night before - New Year's Eve - and you had been almost one-hundred percent sure you would wake up in someone else's bed. However, you hadn't imagined that you would wake up with shackles around your ankles and wrists, keeping you tight against a concrete wall in a cold room that somewhat resembled your great-grandmother's basement.
You're flabbergasted, to say the last. In all of your years getting drunk and fucking random people, you had never been kidnapped. And either this guy was really fucking kinky, or you had been kidnapped.
You suspect the latter, seeing the tape recorder set up on a tripod in front of you, facing you. As you survey your surroundings, you also take in your attire - completely nude, spare for your lacy white bra and matching panties, complete with a small white bow.
"Morning."
You look up, startled at the handsome guy that you hadn't noticed enter the room.
"Y/N, right? I'm not sure I caught your name last night."
You vaguely remember his face as one of the guys you had danced with the night before, letting him grind up against you and grope your body to the beat of the music. You nod at him.
"Do you know why you're here, Y/N?"
You shake your head, staying silent.
"I find you quite beautiful, actually." The man has a thick Australian accent, one you're sure you remember from the party. "Really, a work of art. An ass to kill for, and apparently, unmatched intelligence."
"That's just a rumor," you say finally.
"Ahhhh, she speaks. You have such a pretty voice, sweetie." He sends you a dimpled smile. "I really don't think it is, though. Your IQ is three higher than that of Albert Einstein. Do you know what that means, sweetheart?"
You watch him, waiting for an answer.
"It means you are a certified genius." The man's smile drops. "This is why you've peaked my interest."
"'Cause I'm good at taking tests?" you ask softly.
He shakes his head. "Much more than that. I want to pick your brain apart, pretty girl. I wanna find out what makes you tick." Then, he smiles again, wickedly. "But more than that, I want to humiliate and violate you in ways you wouldn't have thought possible."
So that's what he is, you think to yourself. A psycho with a god complex.
"Do you think I can do that?" he asks.
"Do what?"
"Everything I just said."
"Yes I do."
He tilts his head at me. "Giving in so easy?"
"What else should I do?"
He moves closer to you, taking your chin in his hand and examining your face. "I suppose you're right."
You watch him, utterly stunned at how fucking exquisite your kidnapper's appearance is.
He backs away from you now, moving behind the tape recorder. He repositions it so that it's trained on you, then turns the viewing component of it so that you can see yourself, dangling helplessly and half-naked from the wall. "I'm going to start, yes?"
You nod slowly. You know that fighting whatever this man was about to do to you would be futile, so you waited and watched, eyelashes fluttering.
He retrieves a knife from a table of dangerous-looking utensils off to your left, returning to you.
"What should I call you?" you ask him suddenly, dreading the feel of the knife tracing your skin.
"Chris," he says simply. "In Korea, they call me Chan. Here they call me Chris."
"Chris? Or Chan? Which do you prefer?"
He tilts his head, as if puzzled by the question. "I'm not sure."
"I like Chan. It suits your face."
"Does it now?"
You nod, humming a "yes."
Chan's lips quirk up in a half-smile, and you find yourself smiling back. "First things first," he says after a moment, "I need to mark you."
"Mark me?"
He nods. "It won't hurt long, love." He moves around you, to your left side, and grasps your thigh gently. You bite back a gasp, watching as he lifts the knife. It's digging into your skin before you can protest, drawing a thin line of scarlet over the plush skin. You register in your mind it hurts, but it fascinates you to watch, taking your thoughts off the pain and onto the beauty of the letters that he's now carved into your leg. B.C., in small, pretty writing right in the middle of your thigh.
"Painful?" he asks, moving back to the table to the side and retrieving some sort of paper towel, returning to you and gently dabbing at the blood.
You blink. "A little."
"You didn't scream," he says.
"I didn't."
"I wish you would have."
"Would you like me to now?"
"No, sweetheart, don't force it."
You're surprised at how easy this conversation comes to you. This man just cut his initials into your thigh, and all you could think about were his pretty dimples and crinkly eyes.
"Where are you from?" you ask.
Chan looks up at you. "You baffle me," he says, examining you. Then, "I was born in Seoul, but I grew up in Sydney." He pauses. "You?"
You tell him where you were born, surprised at how intently he listened to you.
"I like hearing you speak," he says. "Your voice is beautiful."
You stay quiet, unsure what to think.
"I bet your screams would be beautiful too." A mischievous expression flits across his face. "You know what I bet would be the most beautiful of all?" He leans in close to you, so that his lips are right next to your ear. "Your moans."
You blink dumbly up at him.
"Look at you." He cradles your cheek in his hand, watching you with a bittersweet expression. "Intelligence already crumbling. I thought you'd last longer, sweetie."
You're tongue-tied, both disgusted and turned on by the sadistic words.
He pats your cheek once, twice, then turns away. "I'll be back later to bring you dinner, and a fun little toy."
"What am I supposed to do until then?" you ask quickly, desperate for him not to leave you. As much as you don't want to be down here with him, you even less want to be down here without him.
He shrugs. "You'll find something." Then he pauses. "Actually . . . would you like your toy early, hmm?"
You nod slowly. Chan retreats from the room, returning a few minutes later with a white box. He opens it, inside awaiting what looked like a vibrator. Nope, scratch that, it was a vibrator.
You swallow, looking at it, and Chan grins at you. "The best form of torture is too much pleasure, don't you agree, sweetie?"
You swallow hard, finding yourself nodding nervously.
Chan moves back over to you, stepping gracefully, and smiles. "For the next three hours, this is going to be attached directly to your clit."
You only stare at him.
He begins by removing your panties, then your bra, leaving you completely bare for him, and for the tape recorder.
"Pretty pussy," he mumbles, as though to himself. He leans forward, using one finger to spread your lower lips and another to prod around your private area, poking gently into your hole, then around your clit. Finally, he stops, bringing up the vibrator and configuring it so that the head stayed directly on your clit. He gently turns it on, watching as you gasp a little.
"Three hours," he says, tapping his wrist, then turning the vibrator to the highest setting. "I'll see you, pretty girl."
The moment the door is closed, unable to bite back the noises produced from this torturous device.
Three hours later, you've passed out four times, came at least twenty, and are shaking, dripping sweat, and sobbing. Your clit burns with too many sensations, and your stomach convulses violently with every buzz being emitted into your core.
When Chan reenters the room, he carries with him a plate of food. He sets it down quickly upon seeing your ragged state, mouth open slightly as he watches you.
You hardly notice him enter, buzzing with too many sensations. You only snap back to reality when you hear a shutter flick in front of you, and you find that he's taken a Polaroid photo of you.
He stays silent, listening to you whimper as the film develops. When it's complete, he turns off the vibrator, and you slump in your shackles. You feel him unlock your ankles, then your wrists, and you drop to your knees on the floor, still shaking vigorously.
Chan kneels beside you, brushing your hair from your face and soothingly thumbing your cheek. "Tired?"
You nod.
"Too tired to eat?"
You nod again.
"No you're not." He stands, retrieving the plate of food he brought with him. On it is what looks like a rather appetizing piece of chicken, salad, and small bowl of pasta. "Eat."
"What if I don't want to?"
"I'll force feed it to you."
You can't tell if he's joking, so you shakily take a bite. You struggle as you pick up your fork, and Chan takes it from you exasperatedly. "Let me," he says. He gathers a bit of salad on the fork, taps your jaw for you to open your mouth, and puts it in. You close your mouth, letting the lettuce fall onto your tongue, eyes locked with his.
"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying.
"Why?"
"I'm shaking."
"That's not your fault, is it?"
You shake your head.
"Then why are you sorry? Hmm?"
You shrug as he puts another bite of salad in your mouth.
The two of you stay silent for the rest of the meal. That night, he doesn't reshackle you, but locks the door behind him. The next day, he returns. At least, you assume it's the next day. You're not sure how much time has passed since you've woken up in this dank room. He'll come for a few hours in the morning, then leave for a few hours, then return for a few more. Each time he returns, he asks about you. As if he truly wants to get to know you, instead of killing you. He continues torturous ministrations, destroying your body and your mind in one. And somehow, you hardly mind.
Finally, on the evening of what you can guess is the ninth day, he returns as usual, bringing with him a meal.
He watches you eat, tongue in his cheek. "I'd like to bring you upstairs today."
You pause to stare at him. "Up . . . upstairs?"
He nods. "You should shower, before you stink any more."
You look down. "It's not exactly that sanitary down here."
"I'm well aware. That's why I'm bringing you up. I quite like you, honestly. So I'd like to propose to you an offer."
"An offer?"
"An offer. An exchange, I suppose. Your freedom for your service."
"Go on."
"You will marry me. You will be presented as my wife, and you will act as such in the public eye. In private, you are mine. You're my slave - my belonging."
"I just have to stay with you?" You look up at him. You're smart enough to know that even seeing the sunshine for a day being married to a kidnapper would be better than rotting down here until he eventually decided he'd had enough and kill you. Your mind was made up, but you were curious.
"Yes, love. I'm fond of you, actually."
Fond of me. You ponder this. "Okay . . . I'll do it. First, though, I have a question."
"Shoot."
"How old are you?"
Chan looks down. "I'm thirty-seven."
"Oh."
He nods. "You?"
"Eighteen." You meet his eyes.
"So young and fragile." Chan traces his fingers over your cheek. "So much to corrupt, hmm?"
You nod.
"Come on, you need to shower."
You let him bring you upstairs. You leave the basement into a small house. The walls are pretty pastels, decorated with plants and paintings of all varieties. Chan brings you away from the main floor, up another flight of stairs to what you can guess is his bedroom. It's neat and tidy, and an open door off to your right is your best guess at a bathroom.
He brings you into the bathroom, letting you strip out of the clothes he gave you a few days before, after finally giving in to your begging for warmth. You jump a little as he starts to remove his shirt. "What are you doing?"
"Stripping. I'm joining you."
"Um, why?"
"'Cause I'm not letting you off yourself with a razor in my shower."
"I wasn't gonna off myself with a razor in your shower."
"How do I know that?"
You watch him, deciding not to argue. The water is already on, steaming up the room, and his skin glistens with every movement. You avert your eyes from his dick, but you can see its general shape in your peripheral vision. Huge.
He pulls you into the shower by your waist, stepping in behind you. He'd seen you naked before, but something about this close proximity and steamy room felt so much more intimate than the hours of sextapes he had filmed of you.
Chan helps you wash your hair, then your body. His touch lingers over your curves, rubbing you in a way that you didn't know was possible. It's only moments after that you find yourself hoisted up, legs tucked around his waist, hands running through his hair, head tipped back as his lips attach to your neck.
"Do you promise to be mine?" he whispers into your jaw, teeth grazing your Adam's apple.
"I promise," you say desperately, watching him with hooded eyes.
He pushes inside you with no warning, already rock hard. You feel the tip of his member kissing your cervix, pressing in just the right ways against your walls. He kisses you hard, pushing you against the wall of the shower. Chan is thrusting inside you slowly, mouth struggling to stay attached to yours as the two of you are overwhelmed by emotions and sensations.
You cum at the same time as him, coaxing every last drop of cum from his cock.
You collapse into him, shaking as you come down from your high. He holds you gently, turning off the water and helping you out of the shower. He's wordless as he wraps a warm towel around you, kissing your forehead as he dries you, then himself, then helps you to his bed.
"Just sleep, love," he tells you softly. "I'll wake you up in the morning."
The next morning, Chan is beside you, sleeping soundly. For some reason, you're comforted by the sight. The man who kidnapped you nine days ago - who would have thought you'd be madly in love with him by the end of it all.
TAGLIST ⎯
@jisunglyricist @hash2013
let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!!
#smut#stray kids#skz#bang chan#felix#han#lee know#seungmin#hyunjin#oneshot#kidnapper#kidnappers#kidnap au#murder#horror#bang chan smut#bang chan x you#chan x reader#chan smut#bang chan x reader#bang chan imagines#prod.j.one
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Chapter 9: I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost
series masterlist
previous part || next part
pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader
WC: 4.0k words
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, small part of the dialogue in French, colin being incredibly down bad it's insane, Penelope DOES NOT have feelings for colin in this, the bridgertons being tapped in as fuck
Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?
A/N: this one wrote itself basically. so enjoy! happy weekend and a big smooch
June 6 – It seems that one Mr. Nigel Berbrooke has returned after an extended unexplained absence. He was spotted at the gentleman's club last night, though only for a very short time. This author heard that Mr. Berbrooke was asked to leave only an hour into his appearance due to a particularly aggressive threat he made toward Simon Basset. It’s safe to say that he has been uninvited from the Duke’s ball this evening, and perhaps from the rest of the social season’s events as well, depending on how lenient the Duke and Duchess of Hastings decide to be.
However, information regarding his whereabouts for the past month is scarce, and this author lacks any reputable sources about what the man has been up to while away from London. But rest assured, dear readers, that any information I receive will be relayed through this very column.
Colin looked nervously at his reflection for what seemed like the hundredth time, adjusting his cravat ever so slightly. He sighed in frustration, accepting the fact that his appearance wouldn’t look quite right no matter what he did.
Tonight was Daphne’s ball, and he knew for a fact that you would be in attendance. As much as he was trying to convince himself that this ball was no different, he knew it wasn’t going to be the same. Not after his talk with Anthony. There were some concerningly similar aspects between Kate and Anthony and his friendship– could he even call it a friendship? –with you, and Colin was not too hard-headed to be able to admit that.
But he didn’t want to scare you off. As much as he liked you, he knew you were skittish after everything that happened with Lord Barlow. Besides, Colin didn’t even know if you liked him, too, or if you considered all of this as just an attempt to make you look desirable to other candidates.
Frankly, Colin wasn’t even sure he could convince you to ever marry him. Maybe just being friends, or whatever it was the two of you had now, would suffice. Truthfully, he would take anything.
Tonight, he just wanted a dance. And perhaps a chat, too.
Based on the past few times Colin had spoken with you, he had concluded that you might be his favorite person in the ton to talk to. The mere thought of speaking with you tonight stirred excitement in his stomach. Every time you engaged in conversation, he found himself utterly captivated, forgetting everything else around him. What's more, you seemed genuinely interested in his what he had to say, a rarity among the ton. For the first time, he felt truly understood, and he hoped desperately that you reciprocated his sentiment.
“You look fine,” assured Eloise. “Now can we please go? We’ll never hear the end of it from Daphne if we’re late!”
Colin grumbled in annoyance but begrudgingly made his way to the carriage. In truth, he'd do just about anything to be near you. Even if he didn’t immediately dance with you– knowing full well you would be flocked by hordes of gentlemen wanting your hand in marriage– he still liked to simply… observe you. How your eyes crinkled shut when you laughed, the way you nervously bit your lip when someone you didn’t particularly like asked you to dance, the way you fiddled with your gloves when you were itching to get out of a conversation.
Bloody hell, Colin thought, maybe he did have feelings for you. Well, not love, that would be absurd. But certainly something more than the petty rivalry that had consumed your interactions for weeks on end. It was a sobering realization, especially after relentlessly antagonizing you for the better part of seven weeks.
He was so caught up in his thoughts about you that Colin barely noticed once the carriage had arrived at Daphne and Simon’s residence.
“Colin, darling, is anything the matter?” his mother inquired, tapping him on the arm and gently leading him toward his sister’s home.
“No, no, sorry. Everything’s alright, just got a bit distracted there,” he smiled back.
Christ, he had to get a grip. You’d be put off immediately if you saw how he was acting now. He smoothed his coat down as he entered the ballroom, eyes immediately searching for you in the crowd.
He quickly spotted you speaking to a man he’d never seen before with Isabelle and Carlos by your side. Damn, thought. He’d have to wait to ask you to dance.
But it was no bother. In the meantime, he attended to his duties as the most beloved Bridgerton. He sought out his sister and Simon to thank them for hosting the ball, of course, and danced with Penelope Featherington.
Yet his focus stayed on you. He found himself glancing over to where you were every few minutes, just needing reassurance that you were still there. And also because he quite liked looking at you in general.
Colin shook his head, bringing his attention back to Penelope. He had to remind himself to pull himself together. Even though Colin had spoken to Anthony, you had no reason to believe anything was different between you two. And it wasn’t. Everything was the same. It was only Colin who had changed. Who wanted something different, something more.
“What’s on your mind?” asked Penelope after she noticed Colin’s drifting attention.
“Ah, nothing,” he responded dismissively. “Does Lady Montclair look particularly… subdued tonight, do you think?”
“Y/N?” Penelope clarified, looking over at where you were standing next to Louis.
“Oh heavens, don’t look now!” Colin whispered, panicked. “She’ll see us both looking and know we were talking about her.”
Penelope laughed in disbelief. “Could it be? That my dear friend Colin Bridgerton is finally falling for someone? Have you truly found roots in England? Is that why you’ve stayed for so long this season?”
Colin could only smile bashfully. She had never seen him quite like this. And though it was unusual, it was fairly endearing to see him so flustered over a girl.
“Well, go talk to her, then. What are you doing dancing with me?”
“Penelope, I dance with you at every ball. I can go speak with her after. And don’t tell anyone! I’m not even sure if she likes me.”
“Very well then,” relented Penelope, but Colin did not miss the knowing smile she sent him.
After the dance concluded, Colin chatted with his brothers for a few minutes before making his way over to you and Louis, wanting to avoid seeming overly eager. But once he started walking toward you, your head shot up, as if you could tell that he was getting nearer.
Your eyes met for a split second, but you immediately turned your head away, choosing instead to look at your gloved hands, which were fidgeting nervously. Colin frowned in confusion at your reaction, but continued walking, thinking that perhaps you had seen someone else behind him.
As he reached your side, he saw you chewing anxiously on your lip and his frown deepened. But he pushed through. This was what he wanted, after all. You were what he wanted.
“Lady Montclair,” he bowed. “Would you care for a dance tonight?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his lips as he reached for the dance card on your wrist.
But you pulled your hand away abruptly, refusing to meet his eyes. “No, thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” was your curt response.
Colin’s confusion morphed into frustration. What was the matter with you?
“That’s alright, I understand if you want to save space on your dance card for more…serious suitors,” he cringed as he heard himself speak. But at the end of the day, he was well aware that you were looking for a titled gentleman to be your husband. “We could take a turn about the ballroom and chat for a bit,” he offered, looking at you hopefully once again.
You finally met his eyes, and he could tell you were searching for something as you looked at him, a pained look on your face.
“No, thank you,” you repeated firmly, an edge to your voice.
Colin rolled his eyes. This was so typical of you. You let him in for about three seconds and then went back to keeping him at arm’s length for whatever unknown reason.
“Are we really back to doing this?” asked Colin, exasperated. “I thought we were friends, at the very least.”
Your spine was suddenly rigid, and a fury ignited in your eyes. “We were never friends, Mr. Bridgerton,” you ground out. “You were simply doing Eloise a favor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone else I must dance with.”
Your voice was cold and uncaring, and Colin was slapped with a reminder of how things used to be as you sidestepped him to go toward the other side of the ballroom.
Three steps into your journey, it was clear that there wasn’t actually anyone waiting to dance with you, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why you were so desperate to get away. Even at the peak of your hatred toward him, you were always open to verbally sparring.
Colin turned around to Louis, shooting him a questioning look. But your brother could only shrug. Who knew what went on in the depths of your brain? Louis had noticed you had been slightly on edge ever since you returned from Hyde Park with your sisters yesterday afternoon, but he wasn’t expecting you to be this hostile, especially after getting along so well with Colin.
Feeling his desire to speak with you outweigh his pride, Colin turned back and grabbed your hand, turning you to face him. “If what you want is to go back to arguing, I’m happy to do that,” he said, heart sinking to his stomach at the thought of going back to how things were.
He sounded positively pathetic. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was keeping this fragile dynamic alive, keeping you near him. If Anthony and Kate could do it, couldn’t the two of you?
You seemed on the brink of tears, but your voice held an unspeakable fury. “What I want is for you to leave. Me. Alone,” you emphasized each word with a pointed jab at his chest. “Please,” you whispered, your voice faltering. “I do not wish to dance with you, or to chat with you, or even to be near you at all. Good night.”
With that, you pivoted away, heading towards the refreshment table, tears welling in your eyes. And Colin was left standing there, hand lingering over the spot on his chest you had prodded.
He felt a familiar anger rising through him. It didn’t matter that you were the only person in the world who understood him. It didn’t matter that you were completely beautiful and incredibly smart, either. And it certainly didn’t matter that he’d fallen for you. Because you still hated him. And he was a fool to ever think things could be different.
Colin was rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched you smile and greet some gentleman or other. He flinched as he saw the man kiss the back of your hand, and watched, seething, as he led you to the dance floor.
Deciding he needed something stronger than lemonade, Colin turned around and grabbed a glass of champagne, downing it in one go. He couldn’t believe you didn’t think he was your friend. What the hell else could you call it?
He spotted Eloise and Penelope chatting close by and stomped over to them. He was sure he looked like Gregory after a fight with Hyacinth, pouting with his arms crossed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“I thought you were going to talk to Y/N,” said Penelope, confused to see him back so soon.
Colin shot her a murderous look. “She wants nothing to do with me, apparently. She said the only reason I talked to her was out of a favor to Eloise.”
Eloise coughed awkwardly. “Well, didn’t you?”
“No!” shot back Colin defensively. “Not entirely, at least. I don’t know. I need to leave.”
You were still dancing with the unnamed man, and Colin was very much still seething as he watched the pair of you twirl around and smile at one another.
Usually, it was frustrating to watch you dance with other people because you were never like that with him. But this well and truly hurt. It hurt to see you like this when he knew, now for a fact, that he could never have that with you again.
“I need to leave,” he repeated. He couldn’t bear to watch you do this all night.
Snatching another glass of champagne and downing that one, too, he bid his goodbyes to Penelope and Eloise and made his way across the ballroom to the exit.
“Are you leaving already, darling? You’ve barely been here an hour,” Colin heard next to him as a hand reached out for his elbow.
Turning around, he faced his mother, who looked like she was in the middle of a conversation with Anthony and Benedict.
Colin nodded. “I’m sorry, mother. I just can’t. I can’t stay,” he responded, voice breaking as he glanced back toward you again.
Seeing you lean to whisper something in your suitor’s ear, he slumped forward, practically feeling physical pain at the sight.
“I must go,” Colin said firmly, giving his mother a quick squeeze and rushing to the door.
Violet nodded, bewildered, and followed where Colin’s gaze had been. Finding you dancing with Lord Norcliffe, Violet sent a knowing look to Benedict and Anthony.
“I suppose Hyacinth was right,” she said sympathetically.
“And don’t you dare tell her! It’ll get to her head,” responded Benedict.
---
“The Bridgertons will be in attendance tonight,” your mother informed you carefully as you sat in the carriage on the way to yet another ball.
“And by the Bridgertons you mean…”
“She means Colin, yes,” answered Jacques, earning a stifled laugh from his wife, Chiara.
Ever since they’d been back and learned of your intense hatred for Colin, Jacques had not been able to stop making a mockery of it. Usually, you were quite agreeable, and it was rare that you found yourself at odds with someone who wasn’t your sibling, so this seemingly unprompted hatred was quite amusing to your brother.
You groaned and glared at him. “No one asked you to come tonight, you know. In fact, no one asked you to come to England at all! You could have stayed in Tuscany, and I would have been much happier.”
“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to tease you about this,” answered Jacques, completely unbothered by your biting tone.
“Whatever,” you grumbled in response, only slightly comforted by Chiara’s apologetic smile as she softly scolded her husband.
It had been four days since your run-in with Nigel, and three since you saw Colin at Daphne’s ball, and the thought of seeing him again made you feel sick. It was already bad enough that he was disgusting and had no respect for you, but it was made infinitely worse by the fact that you had let yourself grow to care for him. In a friendly way, of course. You could never have married him, anyway. But it was still embarrassing that you fell into his charming trap and thought that you could become something more than a conquest for him.
“Be nice,” your mother whispered in warning as you approached the Bridgertons.
You shrugged her off, not needing a reminder. You had been brought up to be the perfect lady. You weren’t about to forget yourself now. You refused to give Colin that power.
You greeted the family warmly until you got to Colin. “Mr. Bridgerton,” you said, giving him a curt nod.
Not waiting for a response, you moved to stand away from him as you looked out at the crowd. Perhaps you would find a gentleman who was actually enjoyable to talk to, though your chances seemed slim.
Colin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, watching you intently. It seemed that your behavior at Daphne’s ball hadn’t been a fluke, after all. He ground his teeth in annoyance, growing increasingly irritated by the fact that you were just standing there.
Why weren’t you doing anything? It was infuriating. Perhaps it would have been less infuriating if it were anyone else, but it seemed like anything you did was particularly vexing to him.
Making his way over to you, he stopped beside you. Wanting to slip back into the comfort of your tumultuous dynamic, Colin took a shot at your attire. “I see the modiste-”
“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking, barely above a whisper, and your gaze locked ahead of you.
Colin was taken aback. You had never, in all the time that he had known you, backed down from an argument. It seemed that you just… didn’t want him around at all. You hated him enough that you didn’t want to be near him. And in any way that mattered, it was worse than when you were antagonizing him.
“I’m sorry,” Colin said desperately. “I didn’t mean- Look, can we please talk? Just quickly, I just want-”
But you didn’t even let him finish. “There’s nothing to say.”
Colin scoffed, a futile attempt to hide how hurt he was really feeling. “What do you mean there isn’t anything to say? I have things to say, at least. Just talk to me.”
You finally turned to face him, feeling your stomach drop as you looked at his desperate eyes searching yours for an answer.
“Let me rephrase. I do not wish to speak with you, in any capacity, now or any time in the future. I do not care to hear what you have to say, Mr. Bridgerton, and I would appreciate it if you could respect that, though I know that’s not usually in your nature.”
Colin could only sputter, staring at you in disbelief as you walked away. He felt his stomach turn uncomfortably as you reached a man he didn’t know, but whom you’d danced with at Daphne’s Ball.
He had to have done something wrong. Colin hadn’t the slightest clue what, but you obviously had something against him, and it clearly wasn’t just you being silly.
He swore under his breath. You were impossible. Not even Eloise knew why you hated him! How on earth was he supposed to know how to fix this when you refused to speak with him? It was almost easier when all you did was hurl insults at him and step on his feet as he poured lemonade down your dress.
Over on the dance floor, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Colin, mentally scolding yourself every time you did. This was not how you were supposed to be acting toward the man who had jumped at the first opportunity to compromise you.
The only reason you were dancing with Lord Norcliffe now was because he had not arrived in London until after your whole debacle with Lord Barlow. You supposed he could have heard what happened from someone else, but he was safer than the rest of the men of the ton, you thought grimly. It would’ve helped if he was interesting to talk to, or even nice to look at, but you supposed you couldn’t be very selective.
Curtsying and thanking Lord Norcliffe for the dance, you made a beeline toward Carlos and Philippe across the room.
“You look like you don’t want to be here,” commented your brother, amused.
You rolled your eyes at him. “Astute observation, Philippe.”
Carlos laughed and gave you a comforting pat on the head. “But what happened to your season in England? I thought you were excited to be here?”
“My mother and father were certainly excited,” you mused, taking Philippe’s lemonade and drinking from it.
Seeing their confused looks, you briefly explained your encounter with Nigel Berbrooke, and they suddenly became very concerned.
“Ce connard! Il est où? Je vai le tuer,” growled Philippe under his breath, not wanting the rest of the ton to hear his threat (That asshole! Where is he? I’m going to kill him).
“Philippe, it’s alright,” you assured him, glancing over at Carlos and seeing that he, too, had understood your brother’s words despite not speaking French. “I believe Simon Basset took care of him at White’s a few days ago.”
“That’s just as well, or I’d have done it myself,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You can just come to Spain next year, cariño,” Carlos said warmly.
You smiled up at your brother-in-law, silently thanking him for the offer even though you knew your parents would never allow it.
Colin watched enviously as you had a conversation with your older brother and your older sister’s husband. He wished he could talk to you again. Even if nothing got resolved between you, he liked to hear your voice. He loved how stubborn you were and how frustrated you got when you forgot the English word for something. He just missed you, he supposed.
Which is why, as Colin watched yet another man approach you and write their name on your dance card, he decided he couldn’t do this anymore. The watching, the waiting, the wanting. He couldn’t do any of it anymore.
“I need to leave,” he said firmly.
Daphne, who had been standing beside him, turned to face him, startled. “Leave where?”
“India, Egypt, Morocco, back to Greece. I don’t care. I just need to get out of here.”
“What? Why?” asked Daphne, still confused.
“You know why,” Colin responded flatly, giving her an unimpressed look.
Daphne instinctively turned to look at you, laughing as the man you were dancing with whispered something to you. She turned to look back at her brother with a disappointed look.
“I can’t imagine leaving would be the best option.”
“Why not?” Colin shot back. “What good can my presence possibly do?”
Daphne put a hand on her brother’s elbow, giving him a sympathetic look. However, her voice was firm. “You always leave when it gets hard, you know? You’re always the first out the door and onto a different continent. Why are you so scared of staying?”
Colin was stunned. He didn’t know his motives were that obvious. But he supposed it made sense for Daphne to know since she knew him better than most people.
“I’m not scared of staying,” Colin insisted defensively. “I just think it’ll be better for everyone if I go.”
Daphne furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head. “And do what? What could you possibly be doing that is so important that you would abandon the woman you love?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Colin argued, his voice growing strained as he felt his chest getting tighter. “None of it matters. She doesn’t love me back. I could be down the street or in Brazil and she wouldn’t even notice. She clearly hates me and wants nothing to do with me, so why should I stay?”
Daphne crossed her arms, looking more than a little disappointed. “Well, I won’t be the one to stop you if you decide to go. But really think about whether you want to be the person who leaves time and again. Things could change. It's only been a few days since she's been like this.”
She had a point, but Colin was too upset to admit it. Daphne was right. He couldn’t just leave now. If anything, it would hurt him more than being near you with you not speaking to him. It was the strangest feeling, knowing you loved someone but feeling powerless to do anything about it.
Colin knew he couldn’t continue like this. Perhaps he couldn’t leave, but he could certainly stay as far away as possible.
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deal (l.yy)
masterlist
pairing: yangyang x f!reader
genre: smut 18+ mdni
warnings: loser!yy, perv!yy, pinv, oral (m receiving)
words: 0.7k
“ugh, you’re so gross!” you whine, squirming under yangyang's body, his weight crushing your hips as he lays between your legs.
“hm..” his moan vibrating against your tit as his lips circle around the sensitive bud, “say it again” he mumbles, pulling back from your chest with wet and puffy lips. you scowl at the drool coating his chin, the feeling of it all over your chest and dripping down the side of your body.
“you’re drooling” you shoot back, squirming against his heavy cock pressed to your cunt. precum oozes from his tip and makes a sticky mess between your bodies.
“you said i could do whatever i want” he reminds you of the deal you made out of desperation, giving him one chance to fuck you so he’d stop begging you for it. “would it kill you to act like you like me?”
the way his voice cracks almost makes you feel bad for him, pulling his mouth from your chest with a kiddish pout. he looks .. pretty. lips wet and swollen from his sloppy, unskilled kisses to your chest, red cheeks and unfocused gaze like he’s already fucked you. arousal swirls in your stomach at the thought of what he’ll look like when he’s actually fucking you, how ruined he’ll look once he’s done.
“yangyang..” you sigh quietly, trailing your eyes down his pale chest to where his cock rests heavy on your cunt. you’re all too aware of the weight of him, your hips involuntarily bucking up in your sudden impatience.
“wha- oh..” he grinds his hips down experimentally, inching his length through your lips that are gathering slick, soft wet noises sounding out in your room. his cheeks flush even redder, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “does that feel good?”
“mhm” you hum, now rocking your hips steadily, dragging your slit up and down the underside of his shaft. he’s big, your little movements inching across maybe a third of his length.
“fuck, uh” he blinks himself out of his daze, “are you ready? want me to put it, uh, in you?”
“you can do whatever you want, remember?”
he wipes his wet mouth with the back of his hand and wraps his shaky fingers around his cock, prodding the tip at your entrance and shuddering at your warmth. a drawn out sigh leaves his chest as he pushes into you, tight hole stretching perfectly around him. “you take it so well” he muses. his head hangs over you, his hair hanging over his furrowed brows and bottom lip tucked between his teeth, looking so focused — frustrated almost. you know he’s holding back, in genuine surprise of how tightly you wrap around him.
you’ve never seen him so focused, so quiet. the thought makes you laugh softly, a quick breath passing through your lips, yangyang so close to you he can feel brush over his upper lip. “you don't have to laugh at me” he mumbles, looking more frustrated.
“m'not- ah!” in his frustration he thrusts into you harder, your hands finding his shoulders, nails digging deep into his skin. it's the first, maybe the only time you've put your hands on him, and the sting of your nails feels like heat, fire spreading though his chest and down his arms. when you look up at him his eyes are already on you, slack jawed and starry eyed.
“you're even prettier like this”
you swallow, throat dry, “yeah?”
“yeah” he sighs, continuing his thrusts, slower this time but just as deep, “i thought about fucking you all the time. thought about how pretty you'd look when you take it.. didn't think anyone could look so pretty”
and you let him cum in your mouth when he asks if he can, abiding by the strange new desire to give him whatever he wants. and even though the deal you made ends there, with yangyang kneeling over you, chest heaving with heavy breaths as he empties into your throat, you keep your lips wrapped around him, letting him ride out his high with slow thrusts over your tongue. and you think of all the other things you'd let him do when he finally pulls away, his shaky hands finding both side of your face as he hunches over, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss.
#took a draft from 3 months ago and wrote .. this#yangyang#liu yangyang#wayv#nct#yangyang drabble#yangyang x you#yangyang x reader#yangyang smut#wayv drabbles#nct drabbles#wayv smut#nct smut#wayv hard thoughts#wayv hard hours#nct hard thoughts#nct hard hours#mine
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This is so dumb but, Sevika helping reader with her confidence when asking for sex? Idk, I need a nap
CUTE
men and minors dni
for the first few months of your relationship, sevika's the one initiating sex a majority of the time.
she doesn't mind. you usually respond eagerly, and half the time, she acts because she can tell you want to, but you're too shy.
it's in the way your gaze lingers on her lips as she speaks. the way you find any excuse to touch her. the way you bite your lip while letting your eyes trail down her body.
but, after you guys are together long enough for the jitters and nerves to wear off, sevika decides she wants to hear you ask for it.
so, one night over dinner, sevika asks you about it.
"y'know you never initiated sex before?" she asks.
you choke on your food. sevika bursts into giggles, pounds your back as you sputter, and waits for you to collect yourself.
"sev, what the fuck?!" you ask. she just chuckles and shrugs.
"i'm always makin' the first move." she says.
"well... yeah." you mutter, suddenly recounting your past times. "but... most the time i'm, like... starin' at you until you do?" you try. she bursts into laughter.
"so that's on purpose!?" she asks. you shrug.
"'s just kinda a side effect of me gettin' horny. i just zone out an' focus on you." you explain. sevika grins, then darts forward to kiss you.
"that's romantic." she sighs. you smile, and she tilts her head at you. "you could always use your words, too, y'know." she whispers. you groan.
"i know! it's just-- what am i supposed to say?" you cringe. she giggles, then kisses you again.
"whatever you're thinkin'. i doubt i'll say no to you." she whispers against your lips. you gulp, and she pulls away before you can pounce on her, smirking at you as she pours you another glass of wine.
so... you try your best. it's sevika after all, you'd crawl to the ends of the earth for her. how hard could asking for sex be?
incredibly hard, apparently.
the first time you try is the next night. the two of you'd gone dinner and a movie, and now, you're sitting on sevika's couch, chatting and cuddling.
"--so then i told silco that i'm not his fuckin' babysitter, 'n no matter how cute the kid is when she's got the little ponytails in, nothin' they do is gonna convince me to spend the night watchin' her--"
"i want to have sex with you right now, please." you interrupt. the second you do, you cringe, and sevika bursts into laughter.
"the please was a nice touch." she giggles. you huff.
"i dunno! i'm trying!"
"right in the middle of my story?"
"sevika, i'm tryin--" she cuts you off with a kiss.
so it's not a total failure, but it's not the smoothest you could've been.
you try again after dinner the next night, cuddled in bed, teeth freshly brushed and wrapped in warm jammies. sevika's spooning you-- you won rock paper scissors for little spoon tonight-- gently scratching your scalp as you trade anecdotes.
"anyways, tomorrow for dinner i was thinking--" sevika adjusts as you talk, ever so slightly, just a gentle shift of her hips against your ass. it's enough to make your brain short circuit. "sex?"
sevika bursts into laughter and you groan. "now or for dinner?" she teases. you elbow her and she grunts, then bites your ear in retaliation.
you turn around in her arms, hiding your face against her neck. "sevika, you told me to use my words--"
"that was actually only one word, baby." she teases as her hands start sneaking down your pajama bottoms. you bite her lip.
the next time you try, though, you seem to do alright.
sevika's working away at her desk, too distracted by the papers scattered around her to notice you approach her.
she groans when you start massaging her shoulders, her head flopping back in relief as she blinks up at you.
"you wanna take a break?" you suggest. sevika hums.
"did i work through dinner again?" she asks. you giggle, shaking your head no.
"not a food break." you say, pulling her chair out and circling around her before sitting in her lap. you strip your shirt off and throw it behind your shoulder, and when you pull the fabric over your eyes, you're greeted by sevika's grin.
"a sex break?" she guesses. you nod.
"is that... okay?" you ask.
"that's fucking fantastic." she promises, wrapping her arms around your waist and launching forward for a kiss. you giggle against her lips.
taglist!
@fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub
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Hellooo! First of all, I love your fics, especially Tomas's. They are very entertaining and the way you write is just great ^^
This is more of a question than a request, although you can develop it further if you want.
How would the linkuei trio react to a s/o who says "I hate men... except you"
It came to me out of nowhere and I thought it was funny 🙃
There Are Exceptions
Prior notes: Hehehe I throughly enjoyed writing this. Also I forgot to say this with other people’s requests who gave me compliments but thank you so much for liking my writing! (*´∀｀*)
Pairing: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader
Warnings ‼️: Men
Bi-Han
These dim witted, nitwit goobers who serve your husband are too much to handle. All they know how to do is punch and kick. They have no other survival instincts that can save their asses.
It’s so tiring being the one to try to help them with whatever. A woman can only do so much.
You tried teaching them how to sew only for them to say something stupid like it’s a woman’s hobby. Forget about cooking. You have never seen someone screw up scramble eggs so much that it doesn’t even form. How the fuck does it stay watery? And why are you the only one who knows how to fold clothes? Screw steaming out their wrinkles.
Your last straw today came in the nighttime when one of the clansmen came up to you and ask the most stupidest question you have ever heard.
“Uhm, some of the men were telling me that a woman’s period was when she peels her skin every month. Is that true? Cause if it is you hide it well.” This clueless assassin…oh goodness.
You just stared blankly at the young man. It had to be a joke, right? They can’t be that stupid. Actually, you don’t want to know if they are that stupid. You walked away briskly with one thing on your mind and you had to shout it out. The moment you walk into your bedroom you slammed the door shut and screamed,
“I hate men!”
Bi-Han was already in bed, waiting for you to come around. He stared at you with that grumpy expression he always has before folding his arms in front of his chest. A low grumble was being emitted by him.
How can you say you hate men when you are married to one? One that treats you like the queen you are considered you are the grandmaster’s wife. He is also one who pleasures you till you are fully satisfied. Course, it’s more like you have to go on until he is satisfied.
“…except you.”
“Mhm, that’s right. I should be the exception here. I am the grandmaster, I deserve your full respect.” Bi-Han reminded you of his role as if he doesn’t do so every day.
“And you are also my husband,” you walked up to him and placed a kiss on his forehead, “Now would you mind spooning me for tonight.”
“After that outburst, I am unsure if you deserve it.” Now he’s just being petty.
You pouted as you changed into your sleepwear. If Bi-Han looked for at least five seconds he would have caved. But he looked away immediately to prevent himself from changing his decision. You huffed as you slipped into bed. You went on your side and pretended like you didn’t care. You did because you always lost the idgaf war.
“Please, I love you.” You said over your shoulder.
Bi-Han let out a groan before turning over and wrapping his arms around your waist. Haha you win.
You may not like men but you love this man. You like this man because he’s your man.
Kuai Liang
Why does no one think of the logical answer to something?
You go out to the market all the time so you could help feed the Shirai Ryu. It helps lessen responsibilities for your husband. But even this simple task is made difficult and stupid because of some of the venders. More specifically the men.
You asked for watermelon and they hand you plastic containers with the funkiest bits of watermelon. They are discolored and are definitely past their ripeness. Yet they all tell you it’s fine. It’s not fine! It’s not good quality! Why even cut the watermelon in the first place you can do it yourself!
You want some mangos? Well you can’t fucking have any because they don’t got it. Oh what’s that? A BUNCH OF FUCKING MANGOS RIGHT BEHIND THEM! And they tell you that those are honey mangoes you didn’t specifically ask for those. They told you no because they thought you wanted Haden mangoes. Just give the woman a fucking mango!
You’re so over those male venders. They never even help you pack the carts up.
You’re too tired went you get back to the temple. You let everyone else pack the food away without helping out this time. You can’t be bothered. You take your shoes off, step into the temple, and sigh heavily.
“I hate men.” You groaned.
You didn’t realize Kuai Liang was coming up to you to greet you. You looked up and saw his face. He stared blankly with a bit of concern.
“…except you.”
You wanted to make it right so you ran up to him, giving him many kisses and hugging him.
“What has made you so hateful, my love? Did someone at the market bother you?” He asked with concern.
Kuai Liang was not at all mad at what you said. He found it odd which meant there was something wrong. His hands went up to check if maybe it was something physical. He would hate to find out you were hurt while out. What kind of husband would he be if he can’t protect his wife?
“Many people bothered me at the market today. Some people are unfortunate stupid.” You replied.
“Perhaps you can tell me all about it in bed. I’ll make you some tea to help with the stress.” He took your hands as you both walked to the bedroom.
Kuai Liang is the kind of man you need in your life. If only the men at the market had his intelligence. Though you do like being cared for when there is any sign of distress from you. It makes you feel like a princess.
Tomas
To help train the Earthrealm champions is like trying to train a seal, a kangaroo, a bison, and a Komodo dragon to leap at least a meter out of the water. One will succeed, another will jump but not reach it, another one won’t try to jump, and the other will be too busy trying to mate with you.
They are all nice in their own way but Johnny is the worst of them all. You tell him you are happily married and it’s in one ear and out the other. Just because his marriage failed doesn’t mean yours has to.
Kenshi is alright he just has stubborn. He believes it’s nerves that wins fights. If that were true why does he keep failing to you. And when he is not going against you he’s going after Johnny’s throat. You get it, Johnny won’t give back Sento. But now is not the time to bust his ass.
Kung Lao just gets on everyone’s nerves. You have never seen a bunch of monks ready to implode and strangle someone. Don’t forget that you almost lost your head because he flung his hat in the wrong direction. All you got back was a small ‘sorry’ before he took his hat and ran off.
And Raiden…he’s fine. He’s done no wrong.
Yet no matter what you always have to return and help the fools. You give and give and what do you receive? Hell!
You are exhausted when you return home. You don’t talk to anyone you just go straight to your bedroom. You let out a groan the whole time and when the door closes you let that groan become words.
“I hate men.”
Tomas was already waiting for you in the bedroom. He was walking up to you to hug you until he heard those words. He looked concerned and even a little sad.
Well he’s a man, do you hate him? Did he do something wrong? He hopes he didn’t, he doesn’t want an unhappy wife.
Your attitude immediately went away at the sight of Tomas.
“…except you.”
You ran into his arms and hugged him tight. You could never hate a man like Tomas. He is your husband after all. You picked a good one compared to all the other men that you have seen.
“I’m guessing they upset you again.” He asked.
You nodded. The day is already over you don’t feel like talking about every single stupid thing that they did. Tomas understood and hugged you tight.
“Do you want me to beat them up?” He whispered jokingly in your ear.
For once today you laughed. He always manages to bring a smile to your face. You wish you could let him but that would be a bad decision. Though it’s funny to think about. He was just happy to hear that wonderful laugh of yours. It just shows that he’s a good man to you. He can turn a frown upside down and make you see the good in men. Or at least the good in him.
After notes: Can you tell I got pissed off with Kuai Liang’s part? That shits a little too true. Those instacart tik toks be crazy. Here’s a little experience of when I hated men: one didn’t take no for an answer for YEARS. He still can’t take no even from other girls. But most of the men I know are good. Alright enough yip yap I must march on. Adiós!
#mortal kombat#mk1#mortal kombat 1#mortal kombat1#mortal kombat x reader#mortal kombat x you#mk x reader#mk x you#bi han x you#bi han x reader#kuai liang x you#kuai liang x reader#tomas vrbada x you#tomas vrbada x reader#tomas vrbada#kuai liang#bi han#tomas vrbada smoke#bi han sub zero#mk1 kuai liang#bi han mk#mk1 smoke#mk fanfic#lin kuei brothers
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Silver haze: Peach Ringz
- pairing: ryomen sukuna × reader, gojo satoru x reader, getou suguru × reader, (slight gojo × getou)
- synopsis: who knew letting your fuck buddy roll on your back would lead to sweet forehead kisses and naps
- wordcount: 2.7k
- warning: fem! reader, she/her pronouns, squirting, car sex, use of drugs, smoking, mentions of marijuana, oral, throatfucking, slight dubcon, unprotected sex, degradation, sub/dom themes, creampie, slight size kink, mention of panty sniffing, mention of panty tasting >.<
part one and two
- note: after 3 years of hiatus, i birth this. please enjoy. also for my weed smokers, try the strain peach ringz, it tastes like peaches!
Your eyes widened in fear, the voice startling you to the point where you felt as if your heart was going to jump out of your mouth. You scrambled to cover yourself, Sukuna watching in amusement as he did not move to even protect his decency.
“Why do you always have to fuck things up Yuji?” Sukuna sighs, palm slapping the top of Yuji’s head.
Yuji swats his hand away and grumbles under his breath before speaking. “If anything I’m saving our sweet soon-to-be manager from your corruption.” He points accusingly. “She’s so sweet and you’re taking advantage of her!”. His words echo through your mind, various thoughts rushing from the back of your head as you start to overthink. Has he been using you? What did you even expect from your little excursions with him?
“Hey, if anything, she’s using me.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around your waist to press you tight against his warm body. Yuji turns to face you now, eyes filled with concern and a hint of sympathy.
“Would you like me to take you home? My car’s just around the building. I bet you’re feeling a little cold right now.” His eyes soften. “I can turn on the seat warmer for you. I promise I’ll get you home safe.”
You slowly just nod your head, body and mind on autopilot as you slowly slip away from Sukuna’s grip and he lets you. Disappointment fills his entire being but he doesn’t let it show, but you’re too distraught to notice anyway.
Yuji takes you by the hand and quickly takes his sweater off to place around your shoulders, securing it before wrapping an arm around you and walking away from an irritated Sukuna, his cock now flaccid.
___
The car ride home was a blur, the event had left you feeling dismayed and a tad humiliated. It was your first day meeting Yuji and he had seen you in such a compromising position with his teammate, and in public as well! Thoughts of leaving the country and changing your name were heavy on your mind, but you knew it wasn’t the wisest decision especially when you have Suguru and Satoru to care for.
“Babe? You home?” a voice calls out.
Satoru probably, you think. You take your comforter and pull it over your head, dread filling each nerve of your body. This whole day has been a weird blur and all you’d like to do is sleep and pretend it never happened.
“Baby? What’s wrong?” Suguru asks, voice brimming with concern. He knew, they both knew, but they wanted to know what you would say. If you’d keep your little shenanigan up and lie to them once more.
“Please leave me alone.” You mumble, voice muffled by the thick comforter still covering your head. You feel comfortable and safe, but it is at that moment when Satoru decides he’s had enough and rips away your comfort and safety straight through your fingertips.
Before a yelp even leaves your throat, you’re being tackled by two oversized grown babies, each at your sides. Their limbs are long and wrapping around you, fingertips desperately but gently digging into whatever skin they can find. And their faces are close, so close you can smell the skin of their necks and cheeks, their pheromones causing you to sigh in delight.
“You both smell so good.” You sigh once more, eyes shut in absolute bliss as Satoru slowly starts mouthing at your neck, a trail of pecks with the occasional tongue darting out to taste you. But it was okay, Satoru always did weird things like this.
Suguru placed his large hand on top of your chest, palm cupping your breast, but even that was normal too. You three just had a close and affectionate relationship. There was nothing wrong with that. At least that’s what they both had told you.
“I know. You’re a weird little freak who likes to sniff me.” Suguru laughs, index finger tracing around your nipple and smirking when he sees your little bud stiffen up from a mere touch. Your breath hitches, maybe his finger just slipped.
“No, I’m not, I’m not Satoru.” You huff.
“Yeah, he’s worse. He likes to sniff your panties when you’re gone.”
“Are you fucking serious? Satoru!” A loud smack echoes through the room followed by obnoxious laughter and yelling.
“I was just sniffing it but HE was tasting it!”
“You both better be fucking with me!”
“Of course we are, we’re not crazy.”
They were.
___
A few days had gone by without seeing Sukuna, you decided that it would be better to turn down the position you were offered. In your opinion, Sukuna hadn’t done anything wrong, you’re a consenting adult and you liked it.
But it was just the embarrassment as well and his indifference to both of you getting caught in the act. You knew your relationship wasn’t serious, but you at least thought he would’ve cared a little more about your well-being and feelings.
You are human after all.
“Hey beautiful,” A familiar voice whispers in your ear. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Was that on purpose?”
You suppress the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your skull. Of course, it was on purpose and he knew that. He wasn’t stupid. “Take a guess.” You grumble, not even sparing him a glance as you speed up a little. His large hand grabs your forearm and spins you to face him, pulling you against his body, an odd habit of his.
“Can we at least talk? Maybe sit down in my car so we can have a private space? I’ll drive us somewhere quiet. I just wanna apologize.” You look at him with a raised brow and he sighs, raking his free hand through his unruly pink hair. “Jus’ hear me out, princess.”
___
You watch him as he rolls a spliff on his lap, his little weed bag containing jars of weed, a grinder, papers, and a pen. You weren’t sure what the pen was for. Maybe for emergencies.
“Do you have to smoke every time we sit in your car?” You grimace as he lights it, the pungent smell hitting you quickly. He smirks a little and wraps his pink lips around the filter, taking a long drag before turning and blowing it towards your face.
“Yeah, I do. What else am I gonna do? Not smoke?” He raises a brow. You roll your eyes. He offers you a toke and you gladly take it, needing to expel the irritation and stress coursing through your veins.
“I’m really sorry pretty girl, I am.” He starts and looks down at your lap, unable to meet your eyes as you take a few more hits. “I was a dick. I still am. I should’ve covered you up n shit.” He sighs. “Yuji ripped me a new one after he dropped you off. I feel really bad ‘nd I jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry baby.”
The weed in your system causes you to just lightly nod your head, eyes nearly fluttering shut as the familiar feeling of being high rolls through your body in what feels like waves. Your eyes shut and you feel the spliff being taken from your fingertips.
“Say something, princess.”
“S’fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just have some respect for me, that’s all.” You whisper lightly.
“I promise I’ll respect you so good baby.” He grins, handing you the spliff to take the last few tokes. “So…” He starts. “We’re good now right?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Can you suck my dick?”
“…Yeah.”
He quickly discards the roach, a giddy smile on his face as he hastily unzips his pants, not even taking the time to lower them and only pulling his stiff cock out, giving it a few strokes. You watch, entranced by the way his precum pools at the tip.
You can’t help the way your thighs squeeze and your mouth fills up with saliva. “Taste it, baby, I wanna see your slutty lips around my tip.” He speaks huskily while stroking the base of his fat cock.
You find yourself leaning over, seatbelt off in a flash and his cock in your mouth, tongue licking up his leaking cock. Sukuna throws his head back in bliss, a shaky sigh escaping his lips. All he can think about is fucking your slutty mouth ‘til you’re choking down his cum. He can’t decide if he wants to cum down your throat or cum all over your pretty face.
“Yeah, you like that? You like the way my cock tastes? Throat that shit baby, I wanna feel your throat squeeze my cock.” You feel his large hand on top of your head pushing you down, and you let him. You like it, you hate to admit it but you like the way he treats you. It feels so lewd and so wrong but it makes your pussy wet anyway.
“Fuck my dicks already numb baby. I need another fucking spliff.” He mumbles before reaching for his little bag once more. “Keep sucking my dick baby. I’m jus' gonna roll on your back so don’t go too crazy yeah?” You garble out a response, throat tightening around his cock.
You continue to slobber and lick at his cock, careful to not move your back too much as you feel his jars lined up on your spine, his grinder and tray placed carefully on the left side of your back. “You’re so fucking good for me baby, my dirty little slut sucking my cock. Fuck. You look so fucking good.” He groans, licking the paper and smoothening the sides to make the perfect cone. He then uses the pen to lightly push the contents inside, making sure to not stuff it too much.
“Almost done baby. Lemme get all this off of you and I’ll face fuck you.” You moan in response, feeling yourself relax a tad when you feel the pressure taken off of your back. He lights his spliff and you take that as a moment to catch your breath, pulling off his spit-soaked cock.
He whips his head and glares at you. He wants to be mad, but seeing your face streaming with tears, covered in precum and spit. He feels like he wants to give you a baby right then and there.
“Did I say you can stop sucking? You’re my sex slave. You do whatever the fuck I tell you to. So fucking do what I say or else I won’t fuck you.” He growls, his heavy hand smacking your ass swiftly and pushing your head back down on his throbbing dick.
“Show me you’re sorry baby. I wanna see how fucking sorry you are.” You nod tearfully. Your hand cups his balls, squeezing and playing with them in your palms. “Oh fuck.” He moans, head thrown back with his spliff held between his lips.
You relax your throat and swallow his entire cock, your face pressed tight against his pelvis. His fingers dig into your scalp, loud moans leaving his lips. “Shit. Fuck. Stay down there. Keep it down your throat baby.” You start gagging, your untrained throat failing you. “Imma cum baby, imma give your throat a fat fucking load ‘cuz you deserve it.” He moans, shallowly fucking his cock down your throat.
You feel his entire body go stiff, a loud moan breaking the short silence. You feel his cock twitching down as well as his cum going straight down your throat, his cock lodged so deep inside that swallowing was unnecessary.
He wasn’t lying, he did have a big load. You pull your head back, coughing and spitting out his large load. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath. Everything feels wet and sticky. Your saliva had dripped down your chin and soaked your shirt. You’ve soaked through your panties and you can feel your thighs sticking to the leather of the seat as you sit back down.
“Tissue?” You croak out, looking at him as his chest heaves. His eyes snap open. “No.” He states bluntly. “What do you mean no? Look at me! I’m so messy!” You complain, feeling the remnants of his cum drying on your skin.
“Get in the back. I’m gonna fuck you.”
“Can I at least clean—“
“Get in the fucking back.”
___
“Suguru, she’s not answering her phone.” Gojo whines. He was a petulant child indeed. Getou sighs, irritation building. He knows where you are and who you’re with. He’s just not sure what to do about it. He wants you. Both of them do.
Sure, Gojo’s a bit more straightforward and spoiled, always expecting everyone to bend to his will. But Getou knew that if you made your choice, there would be no changing your mind.
“Hello? Suguru? Are you ignoring me?” Gojo whines once more, stomping his foot like once again, a petulant child. Getou sighs in annoyance.
“Stop acting like a kid. You know where she is, and you know what she’s doing.” He pauses. “What do you wanna do about it?”
Gojo smirks.
“I have an idea, I’m just not sure you’re up for it.”
___
The world's spinning. At this point, you’re ready to leave the earth. Your body’s gone numb and you’re struggling to breathe once more as Sukuna tightens his grip on your throat.
You’re laying on your back in the backseat of his car, legs hooked over his shoulders as he fucks into you, slow but rough. His cock batters against your cervix causing your toes to curl in both pain and pleasure.
“You’re so fucking creamy holy shit. I’m gonna have to detail my car after this.” He laughs lightly. “Every time I squeeze your throat your pussy gets tighter.” He moans, fucking into you harder.
“I wanna see you squirt on my dick baby. You think you can?”
“M-Maybe, I’ve never squirted before.” You squeal when his thumb slides down your entire abdomen and presses against your clit, the rough pads of his fingers expertly playing with your sensitive parts. He watches your facial expressions attentively, figuring out what feels good and what doesn’t.
He craves to have you lose yourself on his cock. He wants you completely dick-drunk and bending to his will. He knows you can. You’ve been so good for him, it feels as if you could be the one for him.
“Sukuna!” You moan. You feel the pressure building in your abdomen. Your pussy grips his cock tighter and you feel as if you’re about to cum, eyes rolling back into their sockets. “‘M g’nna squirt!” You mumble, too far gone in your pleasure.
“Yeah? Squirt baby. I wanna feel you soak my cock. Squirt for me and only me.” He groans, his fingers digging into the plush of your thighs as he feels your cunt squeeze around him. He doesn’t know how much longer until he loses himself. But he knows he wants you to cum first.
The pressure in your abdomen snaps and a string of whines and moans fall from your lips. Your whole body trembles as you squirt, soaking your entire bottom half as well as Sukuna’s. But he’s not satisfied. He wants much more. He continues to bully your clit with his thumb, synchronizing each thrust with a roll of your bud.
“S’kuna! I can’t! Too sensitive!” You squeal, hands gripping his forearm tightly but he doesn’t let up. He knows what he wants and he’s gonna have it.
“I’m gonna fill this fucking pussy up. I don’t give a fuck about your two bodyguards.”
“Wait! Don’t!”
“I don’t care.” He smacks your hands away. He grips your wrists in his large hand and pins them above your head, his other hand occupied.
“I’m cumming baby~” He moans, thrusting his dick as deep as his can, grinding his tip against your bruised cervix as his cum paints your walls white.
You’re both left trembling and heaving, his cock still twitching and emptying itself inside your cunt. You wonder if you’ll be able to experience this type of sex with anyone else. Or if you’ll think about the way Sukuna makes you feel your entire life.
“Wanna go back to my place and nap? We can pick up some Wingstop.” He gives you a toothy grin before kissing your forehead. You can’t do anything but nod tiredly, throat still sore from Sukuna’s abuse.
But you wonder, was it normal for fuck buddies to kiss each other's foreheads so gently?
© katsukisbimbo 2024 — all rights reserved. please refrain from modifying, translating, reposting of any kind. plagiarism will NOT be tolerated. please be kind and enjoy
#fem reader#she/her pronouns#afab reader#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna smut#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo x reader#getou x reader#tw dark content#tw drugs#tw dubcon#tw marijuana#tw degradation
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You've gotta hear me out on Ithaqua getting a little too possessive towards his survivor partner during a match ! Love your works btw <3
Mmmmmm Possessive Ithaqua 😍
Warnings: You'll never guess this one but Possessive behaviours
Pairing: Possessive! Ithaqua x Gn! Reader
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- He isn't sure what caused it. Maybe it's his own instincts telling him he needs to protect you, or maybe the manor is affecting him somehow..
- Your Team is quite possible the worst concotion of players to have paired with you. The Prospector, the cowboy and the "prisoner". He's semi-alright with Luca, he doesn't really do much harm. Its more a case of him being annoying to deal with on a good day.
- However Kevin and Norton strike Ithaqua the wrong way.
- He immediately finds Norton but instead turns his attention to finding you, just to make sure you stay away from them.
- He finds you. Quite easily actually. He comes across you helping Luca to decode who quickly runs off in favour of saving himself. Smart man, Ithaqua has to applaud him for using that mildly malfunctioning brain of his. He does have to break the connection, if only to delay your guaranteed escape.
- He lets you finish the cipher and simply stands around impatiently huffing and puffing to the side like a bratty child not getting enough attention. And that's accurate to a certain degree.
- once the cipher is done he tells you to go into a locker so he can pick you up and take you with him. You think nothing of it as this is fairly normal behaviour he likes to carry you around you've noticed. His little giggle when he picks you up just melted your heart.
- However. Unlike the usual routine, Ithaqua takes you to the nearest corner of the map and places you there before trapping you within his arms. His cloak making the two of you practically disappear, well.. you know as much as one can with the terror radius thing..
- His eyes are animalistic and his jaw clenched, but he makes no move to act on whatever violent act is forming in his head. Just pulls you to him as though he is trying to mesh with you.
- of course, he was mostly..., kind of, calm.
-Until the two idiots turned up. And by that I mean Norton and Kevin.
-Kevin lassoed you from Ithaqua's grasp, that alone made him screeched out in rage, but just to add some extra sourness to the situation, a magnet gets thrown towards him. Forcing him back into the wall.
- You struggle your way out of Kevins hold and push him away right as Ithaqua dashes at him. Norton quickly runs off to possibly hide in case he needs to really save, or possibly help Luca to continue saving.
- "IDIOTS, BOTH OF YOU!" You yell out to nobody in particular as Kevin had already run off. Ithaqua stays still for a moment, left eye twitching.
- He turns quickly. "Stay." He commands as though you are a dog awaiting your next trick. You're going to stay near, obviously, just maybe that Cipher off to the left will somehow get finished off...
- He dashes away in the direction Kevin left.
- As you're decoding, the prospector returns around the corner.
"Hey."
"Fuck off. That was stupid and you know it."
"Yeaaah.. but got the reaction I wanted. He's a tad bit, whats the word, protective? No. Possessive. Thats the one! Like he owns you."
"If he ever got asked if he owned me he definitely would answer like that.. It's a bit much at times, maybe next time to come running up to try and save when he's clearly not going to chair me. Luckily he seems to have lost Kevin."
The last Cipher gets completed by you and Norton but just before you can run to the exit, Norton says something that irks you.
"Geez, I didn't ask for your life story.. no need to keep going on..."
Yoou dont even initially intend to do it but you're hand reaches out to slam his head against the nearest wall to temporarily stun him.
"Not so fun now is it.."
In the distance a pissed off roar can be heard from Ithaqua, who you can assume just missed hitting the now escaped Kevin and Luca.
"Now, we're gonna surrender." You tell the prospector sternly
"Why would I do tha-"
You grab his ear and stare at him, "Consider it your apology to Itha. Believe me Kevin's going to deal with far worse."
Quiet grumbles are all that are heard from the disgruntled ex-miner.
----
Hope you enjoyed :) I partially forgot what I was writing halfway through but I loved writing this ♡
#x reader#fanfic#idv x reader#idv ithaqua#idv night watch#idv nightwatch#idv night watch x reader#idv nightwatch x reader#idv ithaqua x reader#ithaqua x reader#night watch x reader
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BESTIE. I was just casually thinking about your whole dybmn series and now I’m wondering, as both reader and Spencer become more confident with their spicy dynamics, what kind of lover would Spencer become with her? New k!nks, maybe?, I JUST genuinely think that Spencer is so whipped for her that he would definitely use toys and anything else, not only to experiment but to get to know and find out about all of her secret facets.
I believe she would be his “creation” like he would be so proud to see her development in her confidence in spicy times like smirking all over as she does anything to please him and he’d be like “yeah, I created that” because I’M BITING MY PILLOW RIGHT NOW and gonna dig up a hole after this to hide myself because my thoughts are so hideous. Girlie, what did you do to me? I wasn’t like this. 😩
oh let’s discuss
18+ long ass rambling and things i think about A Lot ……..
in my opinion (which is not the end all be all everyone can perceive them however they’d like) reader and spencer definitely bring out more sexually adventurous sides of each other like they just have a shit ton of chemistry and for a while ithink spencer would just be easing reader into sexuality so nothing that crazy would happen aside from the power dynamics we see pretty much from the start. i think those would definitely get stronger and occasionally more variable. im not usually into sub!spence but i think there would be times he would definitely allow reader to have more control (i don’t ever think he’d be like calling them mommy lmfao) but aside from that i could also see him veering VERY rarely in a slightly harder!dom direction. like he’ll never hurt or seriously degrade you but in p3 reader says something about liking it when he acts like they belong to him and he was really into that. as the relationship progresses i think he would almost start taking more ownership of r’s body in a way, like obviously nothing is ever nonconsensual but he just knows you so well that it’s like… well he knows you better than you know yourself sooo you let him call the shots, but at his core i think spencer is forever oriented to please. he just wants to make you feel good, that’s always gonna be his goal, so he’s always going to listen and even if the power dynamic is weighed in his favor you are actually always the one in control bc he’d do anything for u lol
in terms of kinks…. idk, i never really see spencer as a super kinky guy? like he just knows too much about paraphilia and obviously sexual violence ties into a lot of his job so i sincerely doubt he’d find giving or receiving pain arousing beyond like slapping your ass or you scratching his back or whatever. love is always at the heart of sex for him and that’s going to be the most important part, he’ll never be able to see you just as a body. he’ll always see you as the person he’s in love with and there are things he’s simply not willing to do to the person he loves.
because of his trauma he’s super duper hesitant about bondage BUT i think he wouldn’t be completely opposed to very light restraints on you or him, he’d just have to be in a specific mood. i also never see him as being someone who’s super into toys because he’s such a luddite, he can barely stand having an email i doubt he’s going to have an extensive collection of sex toys. but he would so use your vibrator on you or make you use it on yourself in front of him again if he’s in a very specific mood
oh but YES he DELIGHTS in having defiled and corrupted you. idc idc im not accepting criticism on this. like he spoils you so much that you’re used to getting him whenever you want and so you’re not very subtle about it. if you get all needy in public and start draping yourself all over him and giving him looks and pulling on his sleeve because you want to go home he’ll fuck you in rossi’s bathroom because he wants to encourage your lewd behavior.
obviously he has boundaries tho and he has respect for you and the people around him like he won’t do anything that draws attention and he’ll only ever do things he knows he can get away with without anyone else noticing
later seasons spence also LOVES when you leave marks on him he thinks it’s cute how you mark your territory and he’s not at all embarrassed if there is a hickey above his collar at work. in his mind it’s like. why would he care about other peoples opinions on his sex life when they have nothing to do with it god i think about this all the time
anyway im sorry if this was disappointing😭 idkidk, thank you for asking about my thoughts tho bc i am always down for headcanons
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Do you think any of the NRC students slept with someone that you wouldn't expect in a heat of the moment situation and never talked about it again? For example people you normally wouldn't ship together or don't see having much interaction but maybe they slept together since they were both in the mood and knew since they don't interact they wouldn't have to worry about bumping into the other and feeling awkward, maybe even multiple times since it's an easy no strings attached
Anon, it’s been days and every time I think about your ask, I focus my entire being on activating 100% of my brain and opening the third eye. A part of me is saying “I don’t know, I think we already ship everyone who could bang even if it’s just for once”, but another part of me is saying “but imagine the juicy gossip?” lol
To be honest, I ended up with a lot of possible options. Not all of them have to happen in the same universe because some of the boys ended up being more promiscuous than they probably would be LOL Also, we do ship some of these couples, to be completely fair.
Ace and Riddle – an accidental hookup, a classic “instant regret” situation. Argued for a long time, got super heated, and then boom, it happened. They didn’t say anything to each other afterwards and started avoiding each other for some time.
Jade and Riddle – I guess this is another accidental hookup? Riddle isn’t sure if this actually happened or Jade is just messing with him. But he is very flustered, confused and isn’t sure if it happened (did it?) because Jade is Floyd’s twin. Would that make things better or much, much worse? In any case, it was a momentary weakness… maybe induces with something that he shouldn’t have drunk.
The devil on my shoulder whispers “Rook and Leona”… And I’m not sure whether I should listen to him or not. The fact that Rook is still very obsessed with Leona suggest that he didn’t get any… But the possibility is never zero. I feel like Rook would.
Jamil could fully go around having sex with random people with 0 strings attached with his unique magic, to be honest LOL But it’s probably too troublesome because it would require him explaining to the hypnotised person what to do. I feel like we talk a lot about Jamil having these arrangements now that I think about it… while someone like Azul would be a regrettable long-term arrangement, someone like Floyd could be a one-time thing. Initially. But then both of them would kind of want to repeat it, so I guess it doesn’t count lol
Oh! Ruggie and Jamil! This would have the most perfect “one-time sex no strings attached” situation in NRC. Both of them are such no bullshit people lol
Epel and Ace both are horny-but-no-homo enough to end up with an arrangement where they would try to hook up once just as a training of sorts (if Ace doesn’t want to go for Deuce for some typical Ace reason). The main reason why it didn’t continue was because both of them were crushing on other people, and this coping situation just didn’t really work for them lol But whatever happened between them is a huge secret.
I can’t think of anything specific for Idia but it would be silly to leave him out, so let’s imagine him somehow getting Kalim’d because he got invited to his dinner party and then the whole thing was a blur. Kalim doesn’t strike me as someone who would have sex with a lot of people, but Idia was so cute that night! He kept saying that he really had to get back home, but his body was saying other things! <3
Sebek is a huge one when it comes to accidental heat-of-the-moment fucks, but he is very bad at never-talking-about it part, so Sebek/Idia wouldn’t work here (he won’t leave poor Idia alone after that lol). Sebek/Jamil would though, as well as Sebek/Leona… in every scenario Sebek is very confused though and is having a hard time keeping it together lol
Malleus is a wild card because I can see him somehow hooking up with Trey; it’s Trey’s energy of a regular guy who ends up fucking the most gorgeous people, I guess. Trey has no idea how and why it happened: was this a blessing? Should he be grateful? I mean, it was very good, but… should he be concerned about the fact that he fucked the future king? Malleus is perfectly satisfied and pleased though, so maybe Trey should be okay…
I ALMOST FORGOT ABOUT AZUL AND MALLEUS, these two fucked during the Glorious Masquerade event, this is just a fact. But also it could've happened at any other point, but only once, either as a result of Azul being a total suck-up who really really badly wants to get on Malleus' good side (and what better way to make connections than by fucking a person I guess)...or as a result of Malleus being adventurous and flirty, once again.
I could also see Malleus hooking up with Floyd, and in that case it would be the perfect storm of Malleus feeling adventurous and a bit petty at people who didn’t pay attention to him + Floyd feeling in the mood for some dangerous games. Both of them would be very aware of what’s going on and would go all-out. It was the first time in Floyd’s life his partner didn’t ask him to be slower or gentler, only asked provoking questions, as if to piss him off.
Another person Floyd could end up hooking up with is Vil, but in that case it would be a result of their unresolved sexual tension that’s been building up overtime. Vil could end up hooking up with Jade for the same reason actually, but it would be more of a calculated thing in that case, in a “I know what you’re playing” sense.
Bonus: Trey has slept with multiple random students on his campus during his first year, but he stopped doing that when Riddle enrolled. With some of them it was Trey’s first time talking to them, and he wasn’t really able to continue the relationship since then, so I guess it kind of counts?? He doesn’t like talking about it though, it ruins his image a little bit lol
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Slade isn’t expecting visitors today, so he’s annoyed that the sound of footsteps interrupts his book. The curtains are drawn wide to let in the sunlight, and he doesn’t bother getting off the chair. As one of Talia’s best gladiators, he can get away with a lot more than anyone else. He’s earned enough to buy his freedom ten times over, and Talia knows that the only reason he’s here is because he wants to be here.
It’s in her best interests to keep him sweet. A lesson Ra’s never learned.
“Slade,” she calls out before she fully steps into view, wearing a low-cut dress typical of high class fashion and yet bristling with knives, “I’ve brought a gift.”
“I wasn’t aware I was expecting one,” Slade says, still in his seat. There are two guards with her in addition to her personal shadow, and they’re holding someone upright between them.
“This was one a long time in waiting,” Talia smiles, and beckons the guards forward. It takes a long time to recognize the stumbling figure between them—clad in the typical revealing silks of a bedslave, bandages wound around their torso and half across their face, ruffling dark hair. Their head is bowed, golden cuffs around their wrists, but it isn’t until Slade spots the blue brooch clipping the silks to the unassuming black collar that he realizes who this is.
Nightwing. Richard Grayson. Up until recently, one of the Arena’s favorite gladiators. And the man that killed Slade’s son.
He doesn’t realize he’s on his feet until Talia’s smile widens. He ignores her, and stares at Grayson. The man is gaunt where he was once gleaming, a golden young gladiator now gray and exhausted and faintly trembling. The outline of his collarbones is starkly visible, as are the dark shadows around his visible eye. Grayson lifts his head to meet Slade’s gaze, expression cool and blank, and there’s no fire in that startlingly blue eye.
He looks like someone walking to their executioner.
“And what’s the gift?” Slade asks sharply. He heard of Grayson’s loss weeks ago, a startling upset with one of Talia’s young gladiators, and the Arena had voted to spare him. He assumed that Talia would’ve used Grayson in one of the games she was always playing to catch Lord Wayne’s attention, not bring him here.
To the first person in the country who wanted to tear him apart.
Talia smiles, and gestures to Grayson. There’s a flicker of something in Grayson’s eye that fades to blankness. It isn’t quite resignation or quiet placidity. It’s a mask, and Slade’s itching to tear it off his face.
“He’s yours,” she says. For what? For a night, a day, a week, a fuck, a beating, a—“to do with whatever you wish. Keep him or kill him, I do not care. His fate is yours.”
Slade blinks. This time, the fracture across Grayson’s mask spreads wider before it’s suppressed. Before Slade can fully understand what’s going on, his cell door is opened and Grayson is none-too-gently shoved inside.
“Have fun,” Talia laughs, smirking at Grayson before she walks away, “Goodbye, Richard.”
Grayson doesn’t say a word. Soon, the guards and Talia are beyond hearing, and the heavy weight of the silence is the only thing there. Silence, and Slade staring at the single person he’s wanted to tear apart for years.
He takes a step forward. Grayson presses back against the bars, clearly trembling now, expression fighting to be blank but panic too hard to fully conceal. He’s trapped in a corner and there’s nowhere to go and Slade stalks forward with all the time in the world.
“Nothing to say?” Slade asks, because he’s been waiting for this moment for so long, stoking the fires of his vengeance year after year, waiting for Wayne to finally buckle and schedule a fight between them, and in his dreams, Nightwing turns to Icarus, the boy that flew too close to the sun. And Nightwing dies, red spilling across the sands.
Now it looks like the wax wings burned on the way off but didn’t manage to take him with it, and Grayson’s thinner than he usually is, lost muscle and new scars and no matter how fiercely he tries to manage his expression, there’s a brightness he can’t quite mimic.
“Is there anything to say?” Grayson asks, voice hoarse, “You’re going to kill me. I don’t have a speech for pretty last words.” Defiant but weary.
This is a pale imitation of the golden, gleaming young gladiator that raised bloody dual swords to the roar of an Arena, triumphant over his son’s corpse, and frustration abruptly washes over Slade.
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Slade growls, and he’s close enough to wrap a hand around Grayson’s throat and yank him away from the bars. “Do you really think that I’ve been dreaming of killing you for years only to give you the mercy of a quick death?”
Grayson does attempt to defend himself, long-ingrained fighting instincts unable to let him truly surrender, no matter how much resignation he feigns, but Slade flings him at the floor to avoid the retaliatory swipe.
That Grayson falls is the first surprise. The man has preternatural grace. Slade quickly calculates that the bandages across his right eye are the culprit, as are whatever injuries he’s hiding, but the thought is pushed aside when Grayson hits the ground.
Because he screams, actually, open-mouthed, screams, voice cracking in a way that indicates precisely why it’s so hoarse, and immediately rolls over to curl up on his side, gasping and shaking and nearly clawing at the floor.
That isn’t a minor injury. That is—
Slade’s not an idiot, not a mindless brute tearing people apart because he knows nothing else, no matter how much the impression suits him. He used to be in the military, used to command, used to strategize, and he’s spent years watching lords and ladies play their games.
It’s a fact that Grayson displeased Talia in some way, she would’ve given him back to Wayne otherwise. Dropping him in Slade’s lap means Grayson’s only coming out of the cell as a bloody ruin. So Talia got her money’s worth, sold Grayson to everyone that’s wanted a piece of the charming young gladiator, until—until someone damaged him so badly that Talia wouldn’t even try putting him back together.
Slade grabs that ridiculous brooch and uses it to lift Grayson off the floor. Grayson’s struggles are weak, and they cut out with a choked sound when Slade drops him on the bed. Slade finds the nearest knife.
Grayson sees the light glinting off the blade, reflected in his too-wide blue eye, and squeezes that eye shut. Stops breathing too.
Slade carefully slides the knife under the bandages and slices them all free.
The outer layer comes unwrapped easily, the cloth wrapped around Grayson’s head to keep it in place. The second layer is more packed together, but comes undone with a few more cuts. It’s the third layer that’s plastered to Grayson’s skin, and Grayson starts making those quiet sounds again, as if he’s trying not to shout.
It comes off, tugging at every inch of Grayson’s skin, to reveal a brilliantly red slash extending from just below Grayson’s right cheekbone to disappear into his hairline. In its path lies an empty eye socket.
One visible blue eye stares at him, glimmering and wide.
When Slade places the knife right under it, he gets the first true glimpse of terror.
~#~
Grayson is sitting on the edge of the bed by the time Slade steps through the curtain, a book in one hand but clearly alert. Aware of how long gladiatorial training takes, aware that Slade is back too soon, wary and—
His entire face brightens when their visitor steps past Slade. Any thought Slade had of keeping himself between the two is thrown out the window when Grayson pushes himself upright and nearly throws himself at Hood with a cry of “Jaybird!”
Hood catches him and clutches him close, spilling a long string of half-choked apologies, and now Slade’s curiosity is burning. Hood is murmuring “sorry,” over and over and over again, and Grayson is shushing him, and there’s a familiarity there that Slade hadn’t expected. Sure, he knows that Hood was trained alongside Grayson, before he went out to a match he wasn’t prepared for and became Talia’s, but Hood’s bitterness for his former master and all Wayne’s gladiators is fairly well known.
Until now.
“It’s okay,” Grayson finally says loudly, squeezing Hood tightly in a hug, “It’s okay, Jay, it’s not your fault, and I’m fine, I’m okay.”
Well, that was a lie. Hood clearly knows it as well because he disentangles enough to look Grayson in the face—and blanches. “What happened?” he says quietly, cupping the side of Grayson’s face that’s still bandaged, “Your face—your eye—” Quick as a flash, Hood turns on Slade with a snarl, “What did you do to him, you bastard—”
“Jason, stop!” Grayson gets between them, his back to Slade, holding Hood’s shoulders, “Slade didn’t do anything to me, calm down.”
The light in Hood’s eyes is a little less manic when his gaze drops to Grayson. “If it wasn’t him, then who?” Hood snaps. Grayson doesn’t immediately answer. “Dick.”
Slade crosses his arms and waits. Grayson didn’t tell him the full story, but it’s easy—“Sionis,” Grayson exhales.
Enough to guess.
Hood’s face runs a full gamut of emotions in half a minute. “Talia’s blacklisted Roman,” Hood says slowly, “That because of you?”
Grayson makes a weak smile and shrugs, “Difficult to do business with a man that insists on destroying your things.”
“Fucking hell, Dick,” Hood curses roundly, “Why the fuck—you can’t—stop trying to save me!”
The last one comes out as a shout, and far too loud. Grayson’s pressed his lips in a thin line, Hood’s eyes are flickering, and the silence is heavy and tense.
Both of them flick a glance towards Slade. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says mildly, “This is the most entertainment I’ve gotten all month.”
“Can we get a moment?” Hood asks, on the verge of rudeness.
“You paid for a visit,” Slade points out, “Not privacy.”
Grayson steps smoothly in front before Hood can retort, and asks quietly, “Can we purchase privacy then?”
Slade flicks a glance at Hood, who’s nearly vibrating in place, and Grayson, tense and desperate, and the way their hands are locked together, firm and tight. He pushes off the wall and heads for the curtain, “Fine.”
“How much?” Hood calls out.
Slade smirks before he lets the curtain close behind him, “You get to find out.”
He ends up waiting outside the cell, absently sharpening a knife, hearing a low murmur too quiet to make out distinct words. At one point, Hood’s voice rises into a tirade about Grayson’s intelligence and common sense, but it’s quickly hushed. It’s close to the half hour when Hood comes stomping out.
“Well?” Hood crosses his arms, “What’s the price?”
Slade arches an eyebrow, “You’re not the one who has to pay.”
For a moment, he thinks Hood’s going to punch him. The younger gladiator squeezes his hands into fists and his glare is vicious enough to set something on fire. “If you hurt him—”
“What, Hood?” Slade cuts him off, “What will you do? You can’t stop me, and Talia won’t stop me, so explain to me how exactly you propose to protect him?” Hood is vibrating in place, a murderous statue. “If you threaten me again, I won’t be so obliging to the next deal you want to make.”
The paleness is from fury and fear both, and Hood keeps his mouth shut as he roughly stomps past Slade. Slade watches him go until his footsteps stop sounding, and then heads back inside.
Grayson is waiting for him, again sitting on the bed, hands crossed in his lap, gaze fixed on Slade. “What is the price?” he asks quietly. Evenly, for all that he’s tense and clearly scared.
“Answer some questions,” Slade says, taking the chair, “Honestly.”
Grayson looks suspicious. “What questions?”
“What did Hood mean when he told you to stop trying to save him?”
Grayson purses his lips but deflates, leaning back, clearly resigned. “It’s not really a secret,” he sighs, “I threw the match.”
It takes a second for Slade to comprehend. “You threw it,” he repeats, “You threw the match.”
Grayson shoots him a half-irritated look, “I wasn’t going to kill Jay.” Something crosses over his face, a flicker of the death that still hangs between them, the dead boy that Slade wants to avenge. “And I—I knew they wouldn’t vote for my death,” Grayson says quietly, “Jay—I couldn’t take that risk.”
On the surface of it, it makes sense—Grayson’s made a name for himself, been pretty and charming at every sponsor that flits his way, there’s no way they’d let him die without extracting their pound of flesh.
“And Sionis?” Slade asks.
At this, Grayson’s face twists. His gaze drops, and Slade doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously, but his hair drifts over the bandages, as if to conceal it. “Sionis—has his preferences.”
“And Talia whores out the gladiators that aren’t doing well.”
Grayson’s expression twists further. “Unless she had reason to doubt his self-restraint,” he says quietly, and Slade can see it. Can see Grayson provoking Sionis until the man lashed out with a wound too egregious to ignore. Lashings, brutality, blood and pain? Fine, when it could all be concealed under shifting silks, and everyone wanted scars on a gladiator.
But a missing eye on one of the Arena’s prettiest warriors? No, even Talia al Ghul, with all her animosity, couldn’t ignore that that was a step too far.
“Regardless of whether or not it worked, you had to know she would kill you for it,” Slade says.
Grayson doesn’t look him in the eye when he responds, “Talia was clear on my eventual fate from the very first day.”
Slade blinks. With that interesting piece of information, Grayson shifts up the bed, until he can lean against the wall, and cracks open his book. He doesn’t say anything else.
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