#avoid it ‘til it passes

[forthelulzy]

Called someone's cold-ass Veilguard take (the usual anti-woke drivel, iykyk) "anachronistic" today and honestly I think it's fun to turn their arguments back on them

"There weren't words like nonbinary in the Olden Days!" my dude, if your opinions can exist in the year 2024 in the real world then trans ppl sure as hell can exist in a fantasy game set in Made-upLand

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[heylinfanclub]

Every day I don’t spend rent money on baldurs gate is a monument to SELF RESTRAINT 🥺 (I have adhd this is anguish).

[remmicksmuse]

toji in a rut

you could tell something was off about toji just by the way he avoided eye contact. for a whole week straight, he barely talked to you and whenever you walked past him, you could feel his body heat radiating onto your soft skin. you decided to check on him before you went to bed because you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something so you went into your shared bedroom. “toji?”you peaked inside and he was being awfully quiet. you walked to his side of the bed and looked at him. “toji, what’s wrong-”you put your hand on his shoulder but before you could finish your sentence, he pulled you into bed. he crawls on top of you before you can say anything and puts all his body weight on you. his body was so. hot and you could barely focus on what was happening when his wet lips were all over your neck. you could feel his hard bulge in between your legs. he starts to get impatient and starts licking down your body til he gets to your panties, ripping them off blatantly. you want to put up a fuss because those were your favorite pair but his thick, wet tongue is already all over your pussy, making you yelp. you can’t even push his head off because his strength overpowers you and his rough hands holding your thighs apart so you can’t hide any of your heat from him. his lips start to get sloppier, bringing you closer to the edge. once you cum all over his face, he cleans all the stickiness off of you but now he’s pulling his pants down and throws them to the side of the bed.

he barely gives you time to breathe once you feel his length fall out his boxers and onto your bruised lips. he glides his leaking tip all across your clit, but it doesn’t last long before he roughly shoves his cock inside you. the sudden pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs and you hold onto his shoulders. he doesn’t give you much time to adjust and starts pistoling inside of you. “t-toji, please slow d-down” you can barely get words out without a moan being punched out of you. you can barely see him in the dark, but you know he’s smiling at you not being able to handle his speed. he reaches down without stopping his pace and feels the bulge in your tummy. he presses down, which makes the pleasure more intense and making you overstimulated. he wraps a large hand around your neck to hold you down from squirming around him. once he gets you to stop wiggling, he goes even faster. you could’ve sworn you’ve seen stars by this time. “a-ah it’s t’much” you didn’t even hear what you were saying without your head feeling so fuzzy. once he starts to rub the bud on your clit, you felt like you were gonna pass out. you moans started to get louder and whinier so he did one last harsh thrust inside to perfectly hit your g-spot, making you squirt all over his abdomen. you thought toji was done after he pulled out and let you catch your breath your a moment before he flips you over on your tummy and places a pillow under you. “hope you can last a bit longer ma, gotta lot left in me” he says while pushing your head into the pillow above you.

[seumyo]

I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG

PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?

FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.

NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!

MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.

Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.

His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.

It reminded him of someone. Someone close.

You.

And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.

Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.

As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way you always stood firm despite your fears.

God, it felt like seeing you all over again.

“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”

Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.

As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.

“[First Name], I—”

Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.

Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to come to terms with it.

“Sensei?”

The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?

What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.

“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”

“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”

Her words hit too close to home.

“Thank you,” he could only murmur.

Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”

But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.

Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.

Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.

The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.

In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.

He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.

Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?

“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.

“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”

The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.

He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.

“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.

“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.

“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”

The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever you tried to drag him along to something.

“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”

And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.

“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.

“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.

“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.

Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.

Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.

Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P

His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”

He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.

“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.

“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”

He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, wherever you are.”

As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.

TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.

Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.

“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.

Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”

The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.

“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”

Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.

“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”

He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.

“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”

The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.

“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.

“I need you now, please.”

The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.

You did like sunsets, didn’t you?

“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”

He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.

“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”

Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”

He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”

As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.

He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.

SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.

If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.

Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.

All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.

Now, it was just silence.

With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.

“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”

He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.

He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.

He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.

“I saw this and thought of you!”

Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.

“Me?”

You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”

Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.

Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.

He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.

The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.

Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.

The prince has been so stressed lately.

I wish I could take it all away.

He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.

Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.

“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.

His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.

Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.

Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.

He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.

“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”

He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.

You’re going to be amazing. Always.

A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.

When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”

He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.

Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.

“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”

The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[thehighladywrites]

“G-A-N-G, BABY LET ME B-A-N-G BABY! (LET ME FUCK SUM!)”

☆ pairing: acotar men x reader

☆ summary: submission? size difference? orgasm control? click keep reading to find out what the acotar men get turned on by!

☆ warnings: nsfw, 18+, just a fat warning that this will contain smut and nsfw themes, ig you don’t like it pls scroll!💜

☆ amara’s note: ’ello mates! enjoyyyy

rhysand

⤷ corruption

in rhysand’s eyes, you are the sweetest thing to ever exist—a breathtaking angel. he plays the part of a friendly confidant, but it’s all a deception. he knows how sheltered you were and knows how flustered you get whenever he’s shirtless. there’s no way to miss the way you avoid his gaze and lower your head, cheeks blushy. he loves the way you squirm and turn shy when he whispers the most dirty, scandalous words into your ear. he loves when you come to him for advice, only for him to twist and manipulate your thoughts, steering you straight into his arms. there’s nothing more he wants than to ruin every bit of innocence you have, to make you utterly dependent on him. Not to hurt you, never that but to corrupt you completely, simply because it turns him on like nothing else.

⤷ exhibitionism

rhysand’s fucking you. and that’s something he wants the whole world to see. he wants them to see the way you get needy when you make out, the way you let out little noises when he touches your body, the way your eyes roll back when he enters you. you’re his little fucktoy and he just couldn’t be more proud when you spread your legs for him infront of anyone. is it really his fault that the meetings get so fucking boring and repetitive? and is it really that wrong of him to stuff his fingers deep in your dripping little pussy and finger you til’ you pass out just out of plain boredom? NOOOOOO

cassian

⤷ dumbification plus aftercare

Cassian fucks you until your mind is nothing but mush, ’til you’re hearing static, until you’re soft and pliant in his arms, lost in the haze he’s pulled you into. He always knows the moment it happens, when your body goes limp, when your breathing slows, when you stop hearing anything at all. Even when he shakes you a little, you barely stir.

“I know you’re out of it, baby. I got you.”

He handles you with so much care, lifting you effortlessly, bathing you with slow, steady hands. You don’t react, just let him take care of you, completely gone in his grasp.

When he wraps you in the warmest, fluffiest towel, his chest tightens at the sight of you. tear-filled eyes, lashes stuck together, looking up at him with that vacant, dopey little smile.

Only then does he relax. Because you trust him, even like this. So vunerable and sweet.

To Cassian there’s like nothing more intimate than aftercare. Like he is so fucking into it and he loves to do it that is kinda an obsession for him. It’s just in his nature to be caring for you.

⤷ praise

kinda goes hand in hand with the previous one. i actually don’t think he’d even want to degrade you. you want to be so good for him, to get praise, because there’s nothing better than cassian’s praise. i mean, you’re always so good to him, so of course he’s letting you know what a sweet and lovely girl you are anyway. and of course he’ll tell you how immensely proud of you he is when you take aaaaaall of his inches, never complaining once. You’ll hear a good girl here, and a that’s my girl there. And Gods if that doesn’t make your entire day.

⤷ size kink

guys this is such an obivous one. literally no matter your size, huncho over here will be bigger. he enjoys it too, like he’s obsessed with how much bigger he is than you. this is one of those times ‘just the tip’ really is enough. but he’s careful, like super duper careful bc he knows he can hurt you if he’s careless. also, his hands are huge like fucking massive. sometimes he uses his fingers and they reach deeeeeep and they fill you out deliciously. other times he folds you in half and presses you into the meanest mating press ever! your body’s folded in half as he jackhammers into you like a beast. this position just gives him the most perfect view of your difference. also he’s the type who will say he’ll make it fit if you complain or worry

azriel

⤷ oral

EATER EATER EATER

god i just know he gives the BEEEEST head. a pussy-eating champion really. he loves the feeling of your warm thighs smushing him as he laps at your clit whilst pumping his fingers along your gummy walls. he mostly does this for himself, okay? like it’s not even his fault that he gets off on your sounds or the way your fingers find their way into his hair or the way you drag your manicured nails over his sensitive scalp. he might have a sliiiiightly selfish side but still.

⤷ overstimulation

azriel holds a vibrator to your clit until you can’t even cry anymore. like it’s just all too much! you’re skin stickin to the sheets, your heart’s beatin too fast and you feel oh soooo good. maybe a bit too good. but azriel likes the way you come over and over again, a painful pleasure you’re not really saying no to. and obviously he isn’t a monster, you do have a safeword, but it’s one you’re so not gonna be using anytime soon tho…

⤷ risky sex

i think azriel is super into risky sex. wanna know why? because are you telling me he wouldn’t love the thrill of being caught? like he knows he’ll never be caught, duh, he’s the spymaster but still. like you’re so worried when he’s fucking you in the hallway, i mean, anyone can just walk by and see you practically bent over some decorative table. God forbid anyone catches you like this but he just doesn’t worry. He likes the thrill because he knows he’ll wait until the last possibly second before winnowing away. Like if he hears footsteps, he’ll wait until he can practically see the other person before disappearing. talk about adrenaline kick.

Eris

⤷ Casual Dominance

This man is so casually dominant it doesn’t even register at first, you’re just too into him. Eris is 100% in charge of you and your life, but not in a creepy way. He picks out your outfits, styles your hair, makes sure you eat, and just generally keeps an eye on you. If you’re about to do something dumb (or just not great for you), he doesn’t argue—he just smoothly steers you in the right direction, like if you’re procrastinating homework, he’ll make sure you’re done by the end of the day. also he guides you through the streets, you don’t even have to use your brain with him. he just fixes everything and he leads your every move.

⤷ brat taming

Since we’re on the subject, let’s get into the fun part—because let’s be real, Eris loves order and he sure likes to set you straight. Like he’d ever pass up a chance to put you in your place. For example👀:

“You don’t like the food? Want me to order you something else?” he asks when he catches you staring at your plate instead of eating. He’s already cut your steak, sliding it over like he always does, waiting for you to eat.

You just sigh, pick up your wine, and down it in one go before reaching for the bottle. As expected, Eris catches your wrist before you can pour another.

“One glass is enough for tonight.”

You roll your eyes and, just to be a menace, grab his glass instead—draining it while holding eye contact.

His eyes narrow. “Be a big girl and spit it out, baby. What’s the matter?”

“Dunno. Maybe ask Jenny, you seem to get along just fine. Actually, why don’t you just date her? Fuck her while you’re at it.”

Eris wanted to sigh so loudly, but he knew that would only piss you off more. The waitress? Not even a thought in his mind. Sure, he noticed her flirty eyes and lovestruck smile, but that’s all it was, an observation. He’d ignored her completely, yet here you were, fuming. Like he’d ever cheat on you.

His jaw ticks as he drops two hundred dollar bills before standing up and speaking with scary calm. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

GOOD LUCK :D

Lucien

⤷ hair pulling

oh my god his hair is his weakness. like as soon as you run your hands through his hair he turns into mush and literally melts. i swear if he was a cat, he’d purr. sometimes if you scratch his scalp the right way, it can lead into the sloppiest, messiest makeout session ever. and when you’re in the middle of it, pull it. istg you’ll leave pregnant

⤷ dirty talk

king of talking reaaaaal nasty. like omg he could make a sailor blush. he’ll get so close to you, whispering in your ear and you get all hot and bothered and ticklish. other men might be quiet in bed BUT NOT THIS GUY. literally doesn’t stop talking and it just fuels him on like crazyyyy. and if you try to talk dirty back, he’ll sit there with the biggest grin and just hear you out.

⤷ roleplay

c’mon he’s a lil freak. he’s into tons of kinks like i think he likes to explore a lot too. butttt lucien and roleplay??👀👀 JACKPOTT!! he won’t say no to anything and is more of a try everything once kinda guy. him being a hot guard and you’re a princess he can’t have. imagine the hot taboo sex😈 or barmaid x customer, boss x secretary, enemies who fuck oh my god

[rafeacs]

Best Friend Rafe x Reader Late Nights

Warnings: None (yet), fluff, soft rafe, yearning

To Rafe: r u up?

Not even a minute has passed, and your phone rings with a FaceTime from Rafe. “What’d you need?” He asked, his voice laced heavily with sleep, making you somewhat guilty for disrupting his slumber. ‘I’m hungry,” You say sheepishly, watching as his eyes were barely open and a yawn left his lips. You were expecting him to say, ‘Does your house not have food?’ And brush off your late-night cravings, but he never does. “I’ll be there in five,” was all he said, and you thanked him over the phone, giddy that you’d get to sedate your grumbling stomach. 

You didn’t even bother to get dressed, only wearing your skimpy pajama shorts and tank top as you waited by the porch for Rafe. The crips night air nipping at you and riddling your skin with gooseflesh. When you see the headlights of his truck, you are quick to stand and greet him as he drives his way through the rotund driveway of your estate. You walked towards his truck, not expecting him to get off, but he did just open your door. “Thanks, Rafe!” You chirped, still full of energy, a deep contrast from his tiredness. “It’s two am, why are you still awake?” Rafe yawned once more as you wore your seatbelt. 

“I accidentally drank this energy drink, which I thought was just like regular soda, and somehow it made me fall asleep; weird, right? It’s an energy drink, and it’s supposed to keep me up, but it made me want to take a nap instead. Anyway, I took like a four-hour nap and woke at eight, and I thought I could fall back to sleep again, but I didn’t, and I started to get hungry I then thought I could just sleep away and wait ’til breakfast, but no, so, here we are.” You rumbled on, still full of life, but Rafe simply hummed and nodded as he drove into the street. 

“Where’d you wanna eat? I’m not sure if anything is open right now; our regular diner’s closed for renovations.” Rafe asked, turning to you, who he had only now noticed was not at all wearing anything beneath your tank top. Your nipples shamelessly straining through your shirt, and Rafe quickly refocused his gaze on the road, his morning wood he had just gotten rid of quickly returning. Rafe bit his lip and reached back to grab his sweatshirt, and handed it to you, avoiding looking in your direction because it was too much of a temptation. “Oh, thanks! I was cold,” You say, and Rafe could only nod, the evidence of your chilliness straining through your shirt. 

“We might have to drive around for a bit; nothing seems to be open,” Rafe muttered after a moment as you played around with the stereo system, your phone already connected to the Bluetooth because it was always you who had the command on what songs were played in his truck. Rafe’s sleepy state was awoken when you started to sing along loudly to one of those pop songs you loved. You can’t sing for shit, but Rafe could not help but be amused as you belted out the songs, a rather endearing quality about you. You only truly sang out loud when you were alone or when Rafe was around; you found the action of singing too intimate and vulnerable that you could only do it when you were in his presence. Him being the only one blessed to hear your off-key singing. 

“Why are you so quiet? You love this song!” You yelled through the blasting music, poking Rafe’s side and making him laugh, him finally singing along to the song he would never sing along in front of Topper or Kelce because they’d surely tease him. 

You and Rafe drove around aimlessly, your hunger forgotten as you and Rafe sang along to whatever song played next. You and Rafe had passed by countless newly opened restaurants, but you didn’t seem to notice, and Rafe took advantage of your obliviousness to spend more time with you. It was nearing sunrise when he finally circled around and went back to an open diner he saw a few miles back. Your energy never seemed to run out; you still sang along and randomly blabbed about everything you could think of to your best friend. 

Rafe hopped out of his car as you were still talking about some island gossip, your voice growing distant as he circled his vehicle to open the door for you, who still had not taken a breath in between the words that spilled out of your lips. Rafe sighed and shook his head as he draped his arm around your shoulders and guided you toward the diner. 

“What are you ordering?” Rafe asked you as you perused the menu. “I don’t know…” You trailed, Rafe already guessing that was your reply. “I kinda want waffles, bacon, and coffee, but I also want a burger, fries, and shake…” You said, in deep ponder, what to order. “What can I get for you two?” A waitress appeared, and Rafe turned to her, “I’ll get a stack of pancakes with sausage and a side of hashbrowns on the side,” Rafe said and placed down his menu, “And for your girlfriend?” The waitress asked, and before you could speak, Rafe ordered for you. “She’ll have the waffles with bacon, a coffee, and the cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate milkshake.” Rafe quickly said, not letting you pick between the two things you wanted to order. “Okay, it’ll be out in a minute,” the waitress took your menus, and Rafe smirked as she thought you were his girlfriend. Neither of you corrected her because it was often that you two were mistaken as a couple when, in truth, you two were just best friends. 

The two of you were enveloped in silence as you ate, too hungry to focus on anything else than your food. You were halfway into your two meals when Rafe noticed you were too quiet. He raised his gaze and could not help but let out a breath of a laugh as you started drifting off to sleep, your hand still clutching a fork that was filled with food. Rafe bit his lip and took out his phone to take a sneaky picture of you, adding the photo to his growing album of you drifting off to sleep still whilst eating. 

When Rafe finished his meal, he placed the payment on the table and went to your side of the booth to carry your figure, deep in slumber, back to his car. It surprised him that you didn’t wake with all the movements. When he reached your home, he did not even dare to wake you up, simply carrying you again and walking you back to your room before placing you in your bed. Rafe observed your sleeping form, admiring the way your lashes fanned your cheeks, and there was still a hint of maple syrup at the corner of your mouth. The sun was starting to rise, and Rafe’s own tiredness was starting to get to him. He let his hand run along your hair and boldly placed a chaste kiss on your forehead before stepping away, but you took hold of your wrist before he could. “Stay,” you mumbled, and Rafe felt his pulse in his ears at what you had uttered; he didn’t even think twice before agreeing. “Okay,” he whispered and lay on the other side of the bed, his heart doubling as you turned to him and cuddled close to his chest. Rafe wrapped his arms around you and sighed deeply, waiting for the day that you two would do this again, but not just as friends. 

[littlelamy]

s1jj x kook!reader ; the one where you take care of his wounds

"hey, hey, easy there," jj murmurs, his voice low and rough as he gently swats your hand away from his battered face. a sharp hiss escapes his lips as you carefully dab the alcohol-soaked pad over one of his cuts.

"sorry, baby," you pout, leaning in to peck his chapped lips. "next time you need rescuing, i’ll handle it—not your dad," you assure him. jj’s gaze softens, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"look at my little kook princess," he says, his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs brushing your flushed skin. "ready to fight for daddy, huh?" he chuckles, the nickname making your cheeks burn hotter.

"i’m serious, jay," you whisper, grabbing his hands and holding them tight. "you can stay here with me until we head back to the cut," you offer, your voice trembling with emotion. jj smiles, but there’s a sadness behind it.

"or," you add, your voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "you can sleep in bed with me, like you did before this whole royal merchant chase." jj’s hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist possessively, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"princess," he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough to make your heart race. "the royal merchant is the only way i can give you the life you deserve." his hands move lower, massaging your waist, his touch firm but tender. "i want to travel with you, show you the best beaches, islands, waves…i want to give it all to you."

tears blur your vision as his words sink in, the depth of his love overwhelming you. "we’ll get the gold," you whisper, pressing kisses to his face, careful to avoid his wounds. "and then you can take me anywhere, jj."

"anywhere you want, princess," he promises, sealing his vow with a slow, passioniate kiss that leaves you breathless.

"til death do us part," you murmur against his lips, the world fading away as you lose yourself in his embrace.

"til death do us part, baby," he echoes, pulling you closer, his kiss deepening with every passing second.

[jyoongim]

Please the lil ex-hubby fic got my heart melting I'm such a whore for jealous Al 😭

May we please have more jealous!Alastor. Maybe he didn't even know he liked reader THAT way until some sinner genuinely tries to court her and then he's just like "NOWP. Mine now."

This been sitting in my inbox for weeks!!!! I finally got around to it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor had always found you to be good company. He enjoyed having someone who could appreciate proper entertainment. He enjoyed the chats you two had and even let you join him when he went on outings. 

He considered you a friend.

So why is his eye twitching as you smiled, clutching a bouquet of flowers from the sinner who had asked you out? 

“Oh they are beautiful!” You beamed, pulling the sinner into a hug.

Alastor let out a soft growl, before materializing behind you, flashing the nervous man a sharp smile “Dearest who is this” he asked as his red eyes narrowed at the demon.

”My date for tonight silly. I told you I was going out for a night on the town” you giggled happily as you ushered the man inside.

”why don’t you two chat while i finish getting ready hmm?” You smiled reassuring at the demon before leaving.

Alastor smiled lovingly at you and as soon as you were out of sight, he set his sights on the sinner who was trying to avoid eye contact.

The sinner cleared his throat “I t-thought she was lying when she said she was friends with the Radio Demon”

awww he was trying to make small talk

Alastor eyes narrowed, “oooh so you know WHO I am?  Good good then introductions are pointless.” He stood tall, claws gripping his cane. “This ugh date you call taking her out on? Canceled.” The sinner eyes widened “w-what? No…no way! I been planning this for weeks!” He frowned. 

Alastor let out a chuckle “maybe you didn’t hear me”. The lobby lights flickered and he transformed slightly, growing in height, antlers curved to the ceiling and eyes as bright radio dials.

The sinner shook in fear as the Overlord leaned down til they were face to face “You will NOT be going out on a date tonight because 1. That pretty creature upstairs is way too good for you and 2. She’s mine. Now…when she comes back down, you’re gonna apologize and say something came up and NEVER contact her again. Or I eat you and I am happy either way…your choice”

He dawned an air of innocence as he let out a fake laugh when he heard you were close enough.

”I’m ready! How do I look?” You beamed, twirling around to show off your outfit. Alastor whistled, grabbing your hand and turning you in a slow spin, grinning “You are stunning my dear.”

You turned towards your date and he looked a bit shaken.

“U-Um s-something came up suddenly and…and im gonna have to cancel.” Your bright smile faded as he rubbed his neck nervously. A pout formed on your lips, as you wrapped your arms around yourself “O-oh…I see”

He looked at you and went to take a step forward but that only caused you to step back and into the Radio Demon’s embrace, seeking comfort.

Alastor pulled you into his chest ‘protectively’, rubbing your back soothingly ”oh it’s alright my dear. Im sure the two of you can reschedule this little date.”

The sinner mumbled his apology and slipped out the door.

You were pouting. You thought that he genuinely liked you. He even planned a whole date to your favorite club! So why…

You felt Alastor lift your chin, your pouty face making him grin.

”Since you’re already dressed how bout we go out on this date?” He asked tilting his head. You blinked at him, a little shocked “Y-You wanna go on a date with me?”

He chuckled, giving you a squeeze as he snapped his fingers and both your clothings changed to a more elegant style.

He raised your hand to his lips, red eyes wrinkling at you “Oh darlin I would be a fool to pass up the opportunity of having a pretty dame on my arm” he laughed as he twirled you around, before looping your arms and waltzing out the door.

[ghoastixx]

Would these slashers make you take your meds? ageless and g/n reader

Includes: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, Bubba Sawyer, Nubbins Sawyer, Chop-Top Sawyer, Drayton Sawyer, Billy Lenz, Otis Driftwood, Baby Firefly, Billy Loomis & Stu Macher, Michael Myers (RZ), Carrie White, Hannibal Lecter & Will Graham, Brahams Heelshire, The lost boys

Content included: pills obviously though not specified, mentions of OD, urging to not take your meds (take your meds guys please), bad behavior, shame (kind of??)

Authors note: guys oml take your medicine don't listen to the murders. This is a work of fiction, your meds are here to help you. Trust me, I know it is a pain to take and or remember to take them, but they do help. Take them.

Inspired by me forgetting to take my medicine last night :(

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

Bo Sinclair

yeah, Bo would make you take your meds

"I already have to deal with running this whole town, don't make me run your medicine schedule."

I don't think he'd care much, but he gets pissy if you don't tell him when you are in need of a refill soon and wait til last minute so he has to go into town THAT DAY, he gets so mad about it

"Don't even try that 'I forgot' shit again,"

He just needs someone else sane around here

overall 7/10 he keeps you straight but lets you regulate yourself

Vincent Sinclair

Yes, and gets serious about it

He knows exactly how many refills you have, how many are in your bottles, how many milligrams, all of it

Only because he cares though

He will let you deal with it yourself, but he always makes sure to check at least once a day to see if you did

Whether it's shaking your bottle like a bag of cat treats or passing you a little note, he knows that it is important that you stay on them.

10/10 really nice about it, just wants you safe

Lester Sinclair

"If we gotta pay for 'em, you're takin' 'em"

I think that sums it up pretty well

5/10, never checks but gets upset about it

Bubba Sawyer

Not sure if he entirely understands

He would eventually come to the connection that days you take them are better than days that you do not,

If you explain it to him, he will definitely make sure to check in.

He would urge you to take them, but that's about it, it's more so just a thing in your busy lives.

3/10, you could get away with not taking them

Nubbins Sawyer

Let me hold your hand as I say this, he thinks that if you don't take them, you will die.

He just kind of has the connection that medicine = sickness, no matter how many times you try to explain it to him

He gets so scared

please don't do that to him

He will watch you take them please just take them sweetie

"Are you going to die-"

10/10 please he's shaking

Chop-Top Sawyer

He understands and does not give a shit whether you take them or not

He gets his own prescriptions from the VA hospital and Drayton keeps them locked up and regulated because he's convinced Chop would overdose or snort them,

not that Drayton cares, he just has too much going on.

"Shit, you don't wanna take 'em? Give 'em to me, I'll take 'em for ya, now we're both happy."

Don't do that

Drayton will know

1/10 will eat them like tic tacs for you

Drayton Sawyer

"Don't take 'em, I don't believe in that woke shit anyways."

Once he sees your doing worse though? He's singing a different tune

"Come on sugar, I'm already dealing with enough loonatics"

he didn't mean it that way I swear

He gets paranoid that you're gonna give them to Chop so he locks them up with his and you both go to him each morning and bat your eyelashes as he unlocks the cabinet and counts them out for you like an old man

8/10 you can't go wrong with it

Billy Lenz

Hell no

Bro doesn't even take his own medicine are you kidding?

He actively avoids his medicine, left them all at the facility

If you want to take them though, he could care less, but he also sort of urges you not to

he's a dick like that

Lowkey wants to get experimental with it

"h-how would B-Billy's p-piggy react if I m-mixed them with the others piggys pills?" meanwhile he's like drooling and shaking

hit him

don't let him poison you like that babe

I feel like though that he'd be a dick and when shaking Claude's treat bag he'd shake your bottle like they were treats

again hit him with a frying pan, you deserve better treatment then this

-5/10 I would lose my mind

Otis Driftwood

He doesn't believe in medicine unless he has a hangover or HE'S the sick one

Kind of like Drayton he wouldn't care if you didn't wanna take them unless you start causing him problems,

he wouldn't be as nice about it though

"You want me to shove them down your throat? Huh? That what you want? Didn't think so."

Just save yourself the trouble and take them

1/10 I would cry I think

Baby Firefly

Unpopular opinion, she'd get you to take them

I feel like if you're cool enough that she's noticing you not taking your meds? She cares about you. She's not just gonna let you ruin yourself

that's her job

"Hey sweetheart, got you this spoon of peanut butter, totally not anything suspicious."

sometimes you have to do what you have to do

She would trick you into it

"Well you ain't any fun if you're just... having a bad day."

7/10 her heart is in the right place

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher

They both would be pretty adamant about it

Billy gets all worried that this could somehow lead to them getting caught

Stu cares more about how it's affecting you

I feel like if they found out you weren't taking them, they'd have a sit down talk with you about it

Billy would make a schedule, he seems like a schedule guy

Stu would probably work in bribes or do what I like to do and chant "SHOT SHOT SHOT" with your chaser

10/10 pretty simple not much to write home about

RZ Michael Myers

he doesn't care

after all the different meds he was pumped with? He doesn't want that for you

he doesn't understand that they could help you

he 'loses' them for you

0/10 the worst, take your meds guys they aren't bad

Carrie White

she gets worried, poor thing

"If they weren't meant to help you, the doctors would not have given them to you."

will hold your hand through it

she doesn't really understand why you struggle with it, but she is supportive about it nonetheless

"medicine is here to help us :)"

11/10 I love her

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham

you're in troubleeeee

Will freaks tf out

He just knows how beneficial medicine can be and this is very irrational to him

Hannibal being a literal psychiatrist isn't very pleased with you

he finds ways to like cook them into food or hide them

??/10 I didn't know really what to do with this one

Brahms Heelshire

He doesn't really understand why you're so against taking them

Isn't medicine here to help us?

He gets upset cause how are you supposed to take care of him if you're having a bad day?

8/10 picks up on it so fast

The Lost Boys

Will make you a vampire so you don't have to take meds

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 5

Summary: A celebration of Amarantha's victories in Illyria reveals just how bad the Empire has become.

Content Warnings: Blood and Descriptions of Injuries; Crucifixions and Mentions of Torture; Slavery

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4

--------

Sleep is elusive. I find myself staring at the ceiling, watching the cream colored walls change colors as the sun slowly begins to rise. 

I have to be the worst mate in history. Well, my Father murdered his mate, so maybe a close second. Even if Rhysand did reach into my head and use me to brand them, I’d still held that iron, hadn’t fought it like I should have. Now, I can’t even say I made it right by getting them the hell out of here! I’m now actively giving them ways to stay, not just in the Empire, or in the arena, but in the middle of a game with my Father they can’t possibly hope to win. I should have pressed the issue harder. I should have ignored their call and waited til morning when Anise had found passage out of here and hauled them onto the ship. I most definitely should not be calling for a tailor as soon as the sun is up to make sure they’re fitted for clothes for this stupid parade. 

I’m tempted to think Rhysand has found a way to make me do this for him, but I know he can’t reach me this far. The tether in my chest that links me to them feels strained from being so far away. It’s as if it’s a living thing beneath my skin that knows there’s too much distance between us. 

Anise worms her way back into my room as I dismiss the tailor and tell her to send the healer my way for a report on the injuries the Illyrians finally let her treat once I’d left their room last night. 

“I found what you were looking for,” she says as she shuts the door. I expected her to find an excuse not to do what I’d asked, especially after she’d given me the royal inquisition about what I’d been doing once I came back through the secret entrance last night. But her emerald gaze sweeps conspiratorially over my empty room, even as she hands me something that smells like a contraceptive tea.

I try to pass it off on my bedside table. “You know I don’t need this.”

“Drink,” she sits herself on the edge of my bed with a sigh. “Can’t have a boat disappearing into the Wastes while you grow with child.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Anise!”

She shrugs, “I suppose your Father would kill it anyway.”

“Get to the point, Anise.”

“Drink the tea first.”

To appease her, I pinch the bridge of my nose to avoid the awful smell and force the amber colored liquid down my throat. 

“There’s a merchant ship that takes the long way around the Wastes to reach the Human Lands. Passage can be acquired for a hefty fee.”

“Not a problem,” my stomach rises in my throat and I have to take a moment to let it settle before finishing the tea. 

“There is a matter of it only being available for another three days before it’s gone for six months.”

That complicates things. How am I supposed to convince them in the next three days that they need to be on that ship?

“Thank you for looking,” I pass the, now empty, cup back to her. “I will need you on standby. Hopefully, I can find a way to convince them to get on board before it’s too late.”

Anise chews on her wooden thumbnail. “There’s a rumor, around the house, that they’re insurrectionists, is that true?”

I push the curtain blocking the bathroom aside. I might as well change and prepare for the parade now. If I give myself enough time, maybe I can slip back into the secret passage and strategize with my stubborn set of mates on how we handle today. I don’t like going into this blind, and I certainly don’t like having to be responsible for their well-being knowing that they’re just winging it. 

How have they managed to get this far?

“More or less,” I say as I slip my sleep clothes off my shoulders. I frown at my reflection in the mirror. Too thin. Too pale. I need to get back into training; I need to get some color back into my face. All my clothes hang a little too much off my shoulders. Mother would have never let me hear the end of it if she knew how long I’d wasted away in this house over her. She hated mourners. Hated having an excuse not to be on top of training, in every area of life. 

“And what-” Anise comes to stand in the doorway, frowning at the outfit I’ve chosen for the day. She snatches it out of my hands before I can put it on and comes back with something cobalt instead. “-do they have on you?”

“I don’t follow?”

“What are they using against you to get you to do this for them?” She fusses over the loose fabric, lining the seams up along my shoulders, tucking in loose bits of cloth here and there, slipping other strands through a golden belt around my waist. 

“You think they have some kind of leverage on me?”

“I think this is unlike you. I think you’ve been a shell of a person locked in a dark house for months and months and suddenly now you care about parties and parades and those gods-awful Games. It is strange. I think I should send for a Healer to look at your head.”

I let her fidget and fuss so she has something to take the edge off her anxiety. “I went to plenty of parties and parades… before…” I can’t bring myself to say it out loud. 

“You went for her, because she forced you too, this is different. You keep insisting there is nothing sexual happening, yet you drink the tea and sneak into their rooms and won’t tell me what’s going on.”

I turn away from the mirror to look at her, reaching for her gnarled hands. “They’re good males, I just want to help them, is all. Father doesn’t exactly smile on simple favors.”

She huffs, “Your heart has always been bigger than your head.”

“I feel… kind of like I’ve been asleep for a long time and when I woke up I didn’t recognize who I was in the mirror. I’m just trying to find myself again.” It’s the closest to the truth as I can get. “I’m sorry that I’ve worried you.”

She frees herself from my grip to touch my cheek gently. “Just promise me that you will be careful. If anything were to happen to you…”

“I promise.”

She nods then takes my shoulders and spins me back to face the mirror. “Good, then let’s fix this awful hair of yours!”

Better to have her focusing on making me presentable than all the possible dangers we have to face just by leaving the room. I feel terrible, leaving her in the dark about it all, but I can’t tell her the truth, not yet. It is too soon; it leaves too much to chance. I still have hope that I can find a way by the end of the day to convince them to get on that boat and then she will never have to think about it again. The worst will be behind us.

--

I may have underestimated just how bad this was going to be.

For one thing, I didn’t anticipate Amarantha showing up at the front gates before I had a chance to slip into the Illyrians’ room. Let alone bring a whole entourage of slaves and guards, all painted in her colors and dressed for the parade. The sight of her in my sanctum makes me want to start hurling things at her head, but I manage to keep a poker face as she dismounts from her chariot, pulled by a white horse with a speckle of gray across its glossy coat. One of Father’s prized war horses; a gift from a battle years ago. 

“General, you honor me with this surprise visit,” the words taste like bile. Why is she here in my place of refuge? She’s never bothered to venture this far away from the Capitol before. 

She glances around warily, like something might pop out of the sprawling gardens and bite her. “I came to check on your progress.”

“How kind of you.” I intentionally don’t draw attention to the path that leads to the guest house. “Would you like some refreshments? You must be tired from your journey.” The last thing I need is her poking around. 

“No. We need to be on our way. I assumed you’d need help leading your new pets out.”

“Not at all. I have everything under control.” Bitch.

She grins but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Good, then let’s get moving, shall we? Don’t want to keep your Father waiting.”

This is all happening a lot faster than I anticipated, but I will have to make the most of it. Her being here means they were right last night, I really had thrown Father off his game. Now he’s trying to compensate by sending her to feel out how I’ve managed this far. I keep my shoulders back as I tell one of the guards to bring the males out. I must remain in control. 

I must keep my well-trained mask of courtly manners in place.

That’s a lot harder when the second curveball of the day comes hurling my way: I’d sent my tailor with an order to find my mates suitable pants, boots, and tunics. We weren’t going to have the time for anything fancy. With a few more hours I might have been able to find armor suitable for a Gladiator to wear out in public. A moot point one way or the other, because they wouldn’t have worn it. Not one of them is wearing the outfit I selected. In fact, I’d barely call the swatch of fabric adorning their bronze skin clothing. It’s closer to a toga, one half of the beige fabric pinned over their left shoulders, draping down in gentle waves down their waists, where it eventually falls to their upper thighs, one side slit nearly all the way open. It leaves half their tattooed chests bare, the swirls of tattoos on stark display. There’s so much open across Rhysand’s ensemble that I can very clearly see the curvature of his ass if he’s standing in any direction that’s not looking at me directly. 

It is an effort to keep my jaw off the floor. What the fuck are they doing?

I don’t know if the guards attached leashes to the gorsian collars around their throats or if they did that themselves; at this point, it wouldn’t surprise me.

“I’ve underestimated you, Highness,” Amarantha says.

The words might as well have been spoken by a fly, they don’t even register. I can’t stop staring at them, at the miles of bare skin and muscle on display. Ember did a good job putting them back together last night, the bruises fading, the smaller cuts and scrapes nothing more than a swatch of fresh skin. Rhysand’s arm is still bandaged, as are Azriel’s wings, but they do not drape on the floor today. They all stand ready, heads high. The posture feels like a challenge; they should be defeated, they lost the battle, they’re chained here to me, but they don’t look it. They command the space around them.

I feel a flash of pride when I look at them. Even with all my training, I’d never be able to be this confident. Despite all their losses, they haven’t given up.

“I might have to challenge your claim on them,” Amarantha says, her gaze lingering too long on Rhysand for my liking.

Something ugly and possessive rears its head inside me and all I see is red. My hands ball into fists at my sides as my powers flare in my palms. Keep it together! Keep it together!

“And miss the parade in your honor?” I say as sweetly as I can. “My Father would be so disappointed.”

She sneers at me, perfectly white teeth flashing, “Wouldn’t be much of a challenge for me, would it, Highness?”

I’ve never shown anyone the full extent of what I’m capable of; it would be too dangerous to unleash that much power on the world. It won’t do me any good now to try and boast about what I keep hidden beneath my skin. “You’ve done enough fighting, save the challenges for your Attor.”

She huffs as she climbs back into her golden chariot. 

It’s not really a victory, but it is the best I can hope for. Time will be the only thing keeping her in check today. If it wasn’t for the parade, she might be tempted to keep pushing the issue, and as much as I’d love an opportunity to shove a blast of obsidian power through her chest, I have bigger issues to deal with. I can’t let her get in the way of the plan. 

My mates watch the exchange closely. Azriel hovers a little closer than someone supposed to be shackled to me should. His shadows are missing. Hidden somewhere, maybe behind his wings to avoid detection, or the sunlight, but the intensity in his gaze reminds me that there isn’t anything happening he isn’t aware of. 

Rhysand gives me the subtlest of nods as the stable boy brings my own horse out. Anise must have sent them for me; she’s undoubtedly watching from the window. I have never been more keenly aware of how many sets of eyes are watching my every move, which is saying something, considering I’ve never left this house without a squadron of guards or some form of chaperone. Every breath I take feels like it’s being monitored, which is unfortunate, because the next issue of the day becomes the moment I realize the guards left with the wagon yesterday and I don’t have any other horses. How am I supposed to get them all the way across the Capitol?

I’m out of my element. It’s one thing to freeze in front of some guards who don’t know me well enough to see the panic in my eyes, it’s entirely another to in front of Amarantha, who can smell fear like a fucking bloodhound. She won’t stop grinning at me either, like she’s a cat watching a mouse creep slowly up to a baited trap. We’ve just started this, I can’t already fail!

The invisible force that is Rhysand slips right into my mind again as panic freezes me in place. My body moves for me, tethering the leashes in my hand to the saddle of my horse. 

Amarantha’s grin falters.

I am not making my mates walk behind me the entire time! This, somehow, feels worse than the brand!

 But I can’t fight his grip on me. My shields were low enough, I’d forgotten to enforce them, he’d slipped right in and taken control just like he had yesterday. I can’t do this!

“You can,” that silky smooth voice is like a caress against the inside of my skull as he moves me into the saddle of my horse. 

I can feel Cassian’s glare between my shoulderblades, as if he’s imagining exactly where he’d drive his sword. The tether that links us feels even more frayed than it had yesterday, as if someone is taking a knife and swaying it away fiber by fiber. Worse, that someone is me. 

Rhysand brushes a mental hand down my spine and my whole body trembles as if it had been physical. “It’s all right. You’re just doing what we asked you too.”

Amarantha starts moving, the grin now a full scowl. This is not at all how she thought this morning would go. I’m grateful she’s so distracted by the failure that she isn’t paying attention to the tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. This is beyond cruel and unfair!

“We’ve endured a lot worse than this,” he explains as he uses me to get my horse moving. 

The collars around their throat rattle as they get yanked along behind me and I think I might never get that godsdamned sound out of my head as long as I live.

“When we lost that battle in Illyria, they kept all of my soldiers chained together, naked and bleeding in the snow. They made them watch as they burned our cities to the ground, with their families locked inside the Temple.”

Revulsion rolls its way through my stomach, as I flick my gaze to Amarantha; she’s always been a monster, she’s never bothered to hide it, but I’d never known the gory details. Father praised her for doing whatever was necessary to win, I knew that involved a lot of shed blood, but I’d never seen the true cost of her victories.

Maybe I’d never wanted to see. It had been easier to just keep my head down and accept that this was how the world I lived in worked. I’d been too terrified of what might happen if I challenged it; hell, I’d been too terrified of what would happen to even look at it. It had always been easier to turn and hide from it, withdrawing into myself where the monsters couldn’t reach me. How many people have I hurt by turning a blind eye?

“Amarantha made Cassian pick which of his men would live. Five out of every group of ten to be taken as slaves. The other five to be crucified. She did it in waves, five for every city we stopped at for supplies. Five to be a warning to the other Courts. Until we came to the Arena; then the question became which of us would fight and die. He chose us, so that, at least, the rest of his men may find a chance to escape.”

Rhysand won’t loosen his grip on me enough to let me turn in the saddle to look at them. He probably thinks I’ll lose my nerve if I do. My chest aches for them and what they’ve had to endure on the way here.

“If you hadn’t stepped in yesterday, Hybern would have killed Cassian and Azriel.”

“But not you?” His hold on me is not so strong that I can’t, at the very least, talk back to him. The connection soon becomes soothing, instead of like fighting against adamant. As time goes on, I can begin to feel the distinction in the tethers that link our souls. While they are still thin, and tangled in the heart of it, there is a glittering, starlight lined piece that leads me to him, and the connection feels like it builds on top of itself little by little as we go. Maybe the bond is not, totally, unsalvageable.

“I caught a glimpse in Hybern’s head. He was too far away for a good look, but I saw enough. At least for a little while, he wants me alive. I don’t know why. I assume to make a bigger display of my failure than Amarantha has already made, but I can’t be sure. I think that he might have let me live yesterday and killed them as punishment for speaking out. Judging by the way Amarantha’s acting today, I think that she expected to get me as a prize afterwards.”

My teeth clench involuntarily at the thought.

“I know that what I’ve asked of you is uncomfortable. It will be a hard role to play, but it is not without advantages.” Despite Cassian’s misgivings during their argument last night, him and Azriel had seemed to be in agreement that they needed me for this. If I cannot spare them entirely from pain, at least I can keep them out of Amarantha’s claws. A tiny victory, but still a victory. 

The road ahead of us is long, physically speaking the trek into the city is several miles, and figuratively because there’s a lot of hoops to jump through and masks to wear and angles to work. This will not be an overnight endeavor. That ship with their freedom quickly feels like its slipping out of my reach. 

“But are there not advantages to leaving while you have the chance?” There is nothing but a long, winding road lined with hills of rolling wheat between us and the outskirts of the city, I might as well make my attempt now.

“Not if it means abandoning my people.”

Stubborn male. 

“This will be your Empire one day, do you not feel responsible for the people within it?”

As the sun continues to climb, so does the temperature. Sweat begins to bead its way across my hairline.

“It will not be my Empire,” I counter; especially considering what I had bargained to ensure their freedom. “My Father doesn’t think I know it, but he added a clause to his will that states, in the event of his death, my husband will take the throne.”

Through the mental connection, I feel him stiffen behind me.

And maybe because I’m desperate for any possible chance to push them towards that ship, I add, “And make no mistake, my Father has already chosen which male to pawn me off to.”

Anger flashes its way across the bond. A sign, I should think, that he at least knows there’s something there. 

“He would leave you no choice?”

The question is laughable. For all the terrible things my Father has done, he truly thinks he’d still care about my consent in any aspect of my life? “He pretended for a while that I did, but his displeasure was always made clear. Not that it matters, now. I’ve already agreed to marry whoever he wishes.”

A growl works its way down the bond between us. “Why?”

“Did you think he would spare your lives for free?” A low blow and I know it, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how Cassian had called me a spoiled little princess who’d never felt the effects of this Empire. My suffering has been nothing compared to theirs. No life time could ever compensate for that kind of torture. There is no contest here. But I am not immune to my Father’s whims either and I need them to understand that this is not the better option. They need to be on that ship. And if they feel the bond at all, if there is any push to be near me, I need to use it to get them to see how dangerous it is to be around me. I can shield them a little bit. I can stand between Amarantha. I can stay my Father’s hand on occasion. But it will not last. Nothing lasts long against them. 

Rhysand is silent for a long time. Long enough that I feel his grip on me slip away, allowing me to turn my head and watch the three of them. They’re keeping pace easy enough, even with the bandage around Cassian’s thigh and the added weight of the bandages around Azriel’s wings. But it’s their eyes that catch my attention: Glazed over like they’re not seeing me at all. I’ve seen that look before, when the twins reach into someone’s head. The collar must limit his ability to reach out to more than one person at the time. He’s withdrawn to speak with them instead.

I keep my shields down, waiting for him to come back, praying to the Mother that it worked, that they’re at least, reconsidering this foolhardy notion of theirs. 

Amarantha’s men must have cleared the streets on their way down here, usually, the twisting pathways of hard packed earth are crowded with carts and beasts of burden as they tend to the budding wheat stalks, but there are none. It is a strange silence, there are usually workers singing in between the rows as they weed and water and remove pests from the grounds. No birds sing. It’s as if the whole area knows a red-headed predator walks among them.

I find myself studying her, careful not to let the rage I feel at the thought of what she’d done to my mate’s rises back to the surface. Silence has always been dangerous for me, it gives me too long to think. And right now, all I can think about is how easy it would be to blast her in the back of the head with the dark ether that prowls beneath my skin. One of her slaves carries her helmet, the dark horse hair plume billowing in the warm summer breeze. None of her guards rides close enough to block the blow. Sure they’ll be an issue afterwards, but they won’t be able to save her.  She’d be nothing more than a blood stain in the rode.

And then what? What would it help? It can’t erase what she’s already done to them. Even if I could take out the guards and we all made a break for that ship, Father would never let it go. He’d blame them, probably lie to the people and say I’d been kidnapped or brainwashed into doing it, and then he and everyone in the Empire would hunt us down until we were dragged back or killed. They’d never have any rest. No, I need to get them to get that ship and I need to find a way to make sure that no one comes looking. 

My head hurts. This is a lot more complicated than I thought it would be. There’s a lot more pieces to play than just moving them onto a ship. I resist the urge to rub my temples. How could someone’s life become so incredibly complex in less than 24 hours? 

Rhysand finally returns, his arrival a brush of night kissed shadow that contrasts the summer heat. “Why did you agree to help us?” His voice sounds farther away, it must be a tremendous effort to keep this up for so long around that collar.

“Because I didn’t want to be like him.” That is as close to the truth as I will allow myself to admit to anyone. 

His mental hand brushes down my spine, caressing, soothing. I close my eyes for the briefest of moments to savor it. I should not let myself indulge it. I should push it away before he has time to understand why it means so much, but I can’t. I really am a broken, selfish thing, but I can’t push him away like I should.

“Has he given you a time frame for the marriage?”

“No, but I’m sure he will soon.”

As we crest a hill, the walled edges of the capitol finally come into view, Father’s crimson banner billowing from the parapets. As we draw closer, I can start to see another banner hanging from the great, stone walls: Amarantha’s familial crest, emblazoned on a black banner, the great beast in the center, edged in crimson. The shape of the crest always bothered me. The edges were never smooth and even, like someone had put too much ink on the pen, letting it bleed. Maybe that was the point. Amarantha’s whole family line had clawed its way to power by shedding someone else’s blood. 

It’s jarring to see her banner hang next to my Father’s. No one has that kind of power in the Empire. Not even my Mother had the sway to earn a banner in her name, no matter the exploits she’d brought within the Capitol’s walls.

My stomach twists. 

“Then we may need to rush our plans a little.”

I pretend to fiddle with something in the saddle so I can look back at him. Sweat drips down his forehead, trailing lines down his exposed chest. There is nothing short of sheer determination etched into every line of his face.

Beside him, Azriel keeps pace, shadows peeking out from behind his wings in agitated waves. A look that would be intimidating on its own, but only worsened by the promise of violence in his eyes.

So much for making the ship.

“Don’t be rash and do something stupid,” I retort, as the sound of trumpets draws my attention off of them. There’s a cluster of horses and people waiting up ahead. As we draw nearer, I can start to make out the familiar faces of Father’s Praetorian Guards. Then Brannagh and Dagdan, atop their auburn steeds, bought at a hefty price from the Autumn Court. And finally, in his own golden chariot, pulled by a prized war horse, a golden laurel wreath atop his salt and pepper hair, stands my Father.

I swallow the lump in my throat. 

“I mean it, Rhysand,” I snarl when he doesn’t answer me. “If you do something stupid now he’ll kill all of you. No pleading on my part will save you.” 

I’m suddenly not sitting on the horse anymore, the world around me spinning and twisting and the trumpets and horns starting to play along the roadside sound like execution bells. My stomach rises in my throat; heart echoing to an octave that sounds like beating drums. I can’t see them, I can’t see the parade of people assembling all I can see is my Mother in those awful, dull gray robes, stripped of all the finery she always adorned herself, walking right to the executioner's block in chains.

“Breathe.” I must have been holding my breath because the memory comes to a grinding halt before I can rewatch her head roll off her shoulders and Rhysand is back in my head, gently shaking the memory from my grip. 

“It’s over. You’re all right. Take another deep breath for me.”

My horse won’t stop moving and I swear my Father doesn’t blink the entire time he watches us approach. That slate gray gaze, so similar to my own, is empty and cold and it pierces through me like an ice pick. 

“We’re not doing anything today, remember? Just observing. We need to see what we’re up against.”

I have to fight every instinct not to turn and look at him. I need to keep my head up, I need to not look like I’m going to throw up all over the floor. I cannot ruin this. 

Father’s mood shifts when he turns his attention to Amarantha, and smiles. “General,” he calls out, the horde of people surrounding him parting so he can move to greet her. “I see you had no issues on your way here.”

“Dick,” Rhysand hisses as I sit there getting ignored. 

“Please, just stick to observing. I can’t…” I shake off the memory as best I can, embarrassed that I showed him in the first place. “I can’t lose anyone else.”

The bond flickers with understanding, a moment of shared grief passing between us. I don’t know what else he has lost, but the emotion that flits between us is enough to show me it’s not mere pity. “Don’t worry, there’s not going to be room to do anything in this crowd,” he assures. 

And he’s right, starting at the open gates is a whole crowd of people, all waving flags and streamers and cheering. The whole city is packed against the main road, held back by a thin barrier or red tinted magic. Every house in the Capitol has to be empty. Someone has thrown roses down onto the road, the perfume so strong I can smell it from here.

Behind us, more beings begin to arrive. I note some of Amarantha’s commanding officers and a few Senators. A couple of the Lords who have bent the knee and submitted to Father’s reign follow. 

Amarantha stands a little straighter as they approach, preening under all the attention. 

A steward with a very long scroll shuffles around in the chaos, trying to organize everybody into rows, his shrill voice echoing above the crowd with a little help from some lesser magic. Drummond has been in the service of the Empire since my great-grandfather was Emperor, he’s gotten pretty good at getting people to listen to him. 

We’re quickly organized into sections, with Father and Amarantha in the front and everyone following in line behind them by rank and station. There is a large gap in between where Father and Amarantha ride and where I sit with my mates, just ahead of the other nobility. My birthright keeps me close to the front, but the gap between me and them is noticeable. I am not a part of their inner circle, I’ve only ended up ahead of they’re favored elites because I have the face of the Illyrian rebellion chained to my horse. It is not as if I want to be close to them, in fact, the distance helps me breathe a little easier, but the space between my Father and I has never felt so visible. We are two ships on opposite sides of an ocean. Mother used to whisper, when she thought I couldn’t hear, that the Goddess had cursed him by giving him me. Not only was I not the son he’d prayed for, I was not even a daughter he could benefit from having. He’d tried to hide that from his closest confidants, it’s why he allowed the River House. It kept me close enough to not become a problem, and far enough away to hide his shame. It used to bother me, now I can’t help but wonder if perhaps there was a reason I’d never belonged here. Maybe the distance had given me the eyes I’d needed to see my mates for what they were. If I had been born different, if I had become someone like Brannagh or Amarantha, would I have ended up here?

My musings are interrupted by Dummond as he side-steps Cassian, giving the General a far wider berth than necessary as he looks back and forth between his scroll and us. “Hmmm, should be a enough room I suppose?” He mutters, pen furiously scratching in the margins of what looks to be a very well filled out list. 

Cassian’s wings suddenly unfurl behind him, as if he’s stretching his arms, the great, leathery membrane catching the early afternoon sun, as the spiked tip catches Dummond in the back of the head hard enough to make him drop the scroll.

The aging elf gives a yelp of surprise as he skitters after it like it’s made of gold. “Gods-damned Illyrian brute!” 

“Cass,” Rhysand warns as the guards shift in our direction.

“What? My wings were cramping,” Cassian counters, looking smug, even as he snaps his wings shut behind his large body. I could watch him do that all day. If I’d had the supplies, I’d attempt to paint the way the sunlight reflects the hints of red and blue, highlighting all the scars that map their way across his wings. How many battles do you have to fight to have scars like that?

Dummond scurries past us to intercept a caravan of wagons, keeping his precious scroll clutched tight to his chest this time. He’s always been a little skittish--who isn’t around my Father?--but today looks like it’s worn down his nerves. I can practically hear his knees shaking as he directs the wagons down the little path that converges on the mainroad. The closer it gets, the louder the sound of rattling chains becomes.

Grief consumes me, so hot and heavy the three of them might as well have screamed themselves hoarse down the bond simultaneously. It is an effort not to grasp at my chest, as if they’re pain is a physical wound I can hold in my hands. I don’t need to see what comes our way to know what it is, but their arrival plays out in slow motion ahead of us. The wagons are all built to be moveable cages, walls of gorsian stone bars holding in too many bodies to count. There’s a padlocked door at the back of each and when a guard swings it open, a jumble of winged bodies tumble outward. Chains clank and rattle and male after winged male gets shoved into even lines ahead of us. They’re all a mess of blood soaked bandages and dirt; the number of wings more twisted than Azriel’s had been is too high to number. Once a wagon is empty it is directed out of the way and another takes its place, just as full as the last. There has to be at least a hundred Illyrians, all shackled and beaten ahead of us.

Dummond stays a healthy distance from them, counting down the numbers on his list to ensure they’re all in place. Not that it would be necessary, none of them fight it. Most stand with their heads to their bare chests--gods above half of them are still naked! 

Rhysand has withdrawn himself from my head again, but I can still feel his pain down the bond just as well. These are his people, and he can’t save them from this.

Cassian’s pain soon turns sharp as a blade, rage pulsing down the bond. 

I wish I had the words to comfort them; the power to make this all stop, but I am as helpless as I always have been. No words will soothe this offense.

How could Father do this? 

Dummond carries on as if he is organizing cattle. The guards use the butts of their spears to keep any male that moves too far from the group back in line. Their force is excessive. The blow knocks the already beaten males into each other, causing a domino effect that brings a third of the Illyrians down into the dirt. I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the whimpers of pain; hear the coughing and wheezing that comes from untreated injuries and illnesses that only come when too many people are crammed together for too long.

There isn’t enough time to process the full scope of what’s happening before a set of trumpets starts blowing from the city’s outer walls. Shit it’s starting!

It’s like a bad dream as the procession begins to move, Father and Amarantha first. There are mages positioned down the fairway, their hands outstretched towards the sky as they weave colorful ribbons of magic like streamers above our heads. The bands move in time to the music, flashing in Amarantha’s colors first, then Father’s. Small children throw more roses into the street as the Emperor and esteemed General make their way into the city.

“All hail the Emperor!” Roars the crowd. “All hail Amarantha the Conqueror!” 

Conqueror. The Illyrian captives are forced to follow after them, shuffling on bare feet and boots that are falling apart across cobblestones that have to be burning as the sun continues to rise across the cloudless sky.

There are small children in attendance, sitting on their parents shoulders, waving miniature versions of Amarantha’s crest. This feels like the most heinous part of the whole ordeal; are we to encourage this brutality in our children? They let their toddlers throw roses and dance along to the music, enthralled by the light show that flashes overhead as the procession moves through the city. 

Dummond makes sure to leave plenty of room between the last row of Ilyrians and us, as if they’re scared to let them get too close to Rhysand. As if, the mere proximity of him might incite an uproar all over again. 

At this point I’d welcome it. I’d happily watch the whole procession go up in flames.

Power rumbles through my veins and I’m forced to tear my gaze away from the crowd to keep anything from escaping out of my skin.

“Steady,” Rhysand warns as we inch closer to the front gates. The crowd continues to cheer and celebrate ahead of us as the procession follows the path to the Imperial Palace several miles into the city. It will be a long road ahead of us, yet it feels like it’s been happening for ages.

“I’m sorry.” Sorry is not strong enough an emotion. No sorry’s will ever be enough.

“Do you see why we need your help?” He counters as a wisp of Azriel’s shadow crawls up my shoulder and dives beneath my hair. The little ether of power slithers like a snake up around my ear, hidden under my hair, observing with a gentle hiss. I wonder if he’s using it to see what’s coming ahead of us.

The road up ahead makes me wish he wasn’t here to see any of it at all. Being on the horse gives me a vantage point, lets me see around the corner we take to get to the heart of the capitol. The crowd has thickened even further here, bodies pushing up against the magic barriers, chanting and shouting to be heard. Except, the closer we get, the clearer the jumbled words become. As Amarantha’s chariot passes through, the noise soon turns from cheers and celebration to boos and curses. It’s the first hint that something is about to go terribly wrong and I feel my powers once again flair in defence.

The shift in the crowd is not the worst of it, even when they start hurling rotting vegetables and rocks at their captive entertainment. Blood splatters as someone gets hit in the head, nearly knocking down a whole row of males in the chaos.

I don’t even have time to flinch before Rhysand is once again holding me in place in the saddle. This time I’m not sure if it’s my nerves or his. The bond bleeds like an open wound between us, agony dripping into my consciousness.

More of Azriel’s shadows cluster beneath my hair, sitting like a snake, coiled and hissing as we go deeper into the city. This crowd will easily become a mob given the slightest provocation.

“Traitors!” The crowd shouts. “Send the Illyrian dogs back where they belong!”

The guards keeping the Illyrians in line don’t do anything to quell the crowd, letting rotting tomatoes and hearts of moldy lettuce get hurled like projectiles at a group of wounded males too beaten to fight back.

My stomach sits like a rock in my throat.

The deeper we get into the city, the worse it gets, and not just because there are more people here, but because, as we draw up to the center of town, there are crosses along the walkway, all holding a male with wings nailed to the cross beams. 

The males in the front of the line freeze at the sight. One of them wails and falls to his knees, only to be forceable hauled up by the Praetorian. 

“Crucify the lot of them!” The crowd roars.

“Send the bastards back to the arena!”

A rock comes hurtling towards my head so fast I don’t even have time to shield, my only saving grace Azriel’s shadow that goes flying out in front of me to catch it and let it fall to the ground beside me. Rhysand won’t turn to let me thank him; won’t let me do anything but keep my eyes straight ahead of me. Not even when I hear the sound of something hitting one of them.

I’d cry if I had the ability, but he seems to have locked that away from me too. I feel like a statue as we continue forward, slowly crawling towards the Imperial Palace, unable to move or react. Even as we pass closer to the bodies, blood still dripping from open gashes across their tattooed chests. Some of the males are, mercifully, already dead, but the street is long and the number of them soon becomes hard to track when you can just make out the ones still gasping for air. This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever seen the Empire do.

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to find my Father, waving cheerfully to the crowd ahead of us, as if this is some sort of game. How could one man be so cruel? 

“Remember how I said you could ask me about that boat today?” Rhysand says, but his voice is strained. I can feel his pain as if it is my own and I don’t know how he, or any of them, is even upright. It’s debilitating. I feel it crawl into every crevice of my being. My muscles fight the hold he has on me to try and curl up into a ball to avoid it. 

“Still think it’s a good idea?”

Like he can feel my gaze, the Emperor turns to catch my eye, one brow furrowed as if in question. For the first time in my life, I don’t shy away from the appraisal. Pain has walked alongside me my whole life, it has been a companion I have learned to hold hands with. But this? Having to live with the knowledge that these are wounds inflicted on my mates because no one has stood up to the Empire?

I’ve accepted a lot of shitty things in my life. I looked the other way when I couldn’t. But no more.

This ends. 

And it ends with me.

“No. I don’t.” I snarl.

I can feel Rhysand’s grin through the bond. “Then welcome to the Rebellion, Princess.”

--------

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Thank you all for your patience I know this chapter took me a little longer than usual to write! <3 As always, if you want to be added to the tag list let me know =)

[judesmoonbeauty]

Ikémen Villains 2025 Vil Fest 280 Hearts ECB Story: Jude Jazza

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

This is a stand alone story and has no bearing on the main election story.

On the way back from the port, Jude passes by a warehouse and stops when he spots someone inside.

Kate: Do you know them?

His gaze was fixed on a middle-aged man holding a cane, 

Jude: He's the president of a company that was in the red ‘n struggling ‘til a few months ago.

Jude: There was talk o’ the business shuttin’ down, but now it’s gotten so much better I can’t explain it.

Seems like he’s suspicious of the company’s president he had business dealings with……

Kate: What kind of deal is he doing?

We stick close to the door of the warehouse and watch what's going on inside.

The company president took a pocket watch from the trader, and inspected the watch’s details.

With a meaningful smile, he produced a contract.

Jude: ….Ha.

And then this company president smiled meaningfully -

Jude: What’re ya lot doin’ here?

He pushed the warehouse door open with his foot and went inside.

Kate: Wait, Jude?!

When I quickly try to stop him, the people in the warehouse drew their swords all at once.

President With A Cane: Who? Jude Jazza?

Jude walked coolly, not even minding the sword pointed at him.

President With A Cane: Ah!

He snatched the pocket watch from the president's hand.

Jude: Dale Watches…..That’s a good business deal.

(Dale is one of the leading luxury watch brands in the country.)

Dale watches are luxurious timepieces whose dials are individually hand-painted by craftsmen,

It’s said that the appeal of the same product is that it has slightly different designs.

President With A Cane: Oh, yeah that’s right. An acquaintance of mine just so happened to provide me the job to distribute them.

I felt something was off about the president's unsteady gaze,

Jude: Ah, sorry. I made a mistake.

Jude pointed to the logo on the back with a warped smile.

Jude: It’s a sham Dale’s watch.

Kate: What…..

Jude: The size o’ the logo, scratches on the joints, ‘n even the dial’s got printed paper pasted on it.

Jude: Ya made money by sellin’ counterfeit goods to idiots who didn't know if they were real, ‘n got outta financial trouble.

Jude: Fer an incompetent president, ya sure put a lotta thought into it.

The company president grew frightened and trembled, when he saw him throw the watch away.

President With A Cane: I’ll kill you, Jude Jazza!

With those words, the men who had been waiting suddenly attacked Jude.

Kate: Jude!

Jude: Tch.

He avoids the men attacking him with weapons, punching and kicking them away.

During the fierce battle unfolding before me,

I notice out of the corner of my eye, the president holding the cane trying to make a get away.

Kate: Hold it!

I grab his hand, but another man appears from behind and grabs my arm -

Kate: Ah!

Jude: Oi!

President With A Cane: What should I do to this woman?

The president who was trying to escape, seemed to feel cocky about having caught me, and brought a sword close to my neck.

Jude: Why’d ya get caught ya idiot.

(Idiot…..)

Kate: Is that anyway to talk to your girlfriend?

However, our president that looked at me with exasperation, then instigated me with a smile,

Jude: Yer not gonna ask me to help ya with somethin’ like that are ya?

(As if!)

Unable to contain my irritation at the sight of that face, I kicked the man who had captured me in the shin with all my strength.

President With A Cane: Damn!

Kate: Mnn!

The moment my restraint was released, the tip of the sword grazed my neck as I was thrown aside, and Jude’s eyes widened when he realized that.

Jude instantly grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him,

And then he grabbed the sword that had fallen from the crouching man's hand -

Jude: Ya know whose woman ya laid yer hands on, yeah?

President With A Cane: Hic- ARRGGGGGH!!

The red that splattered from the cut-down man reflected in the sunset.

President With A Cane: N-NO! This woman…..GAAAHHH!!!

With quiet anger he cuts off the arm of the sword-wielding president in one slash.

Although I was frightened by his icy expression, I also thought he was beautiful.

As I was admiring this unusual behavior, Jude pointed his sword at the president's face and spoke.

Jude: I’ll make sure ya never screw ‘round like that again.

With that, the battle inside the warehouse ended.

Afterwards, the men were taken away by Ellis, who had come to check out the situation.

On the way back in the carriage, Jude treated the wound on my neck -

Kate: Um, Jude.

Jude: …….

Kate: Geez! It’s only a scratch!

(Only a little skin peeled off!)

As I grabbed the hand that was bandaging me, I blurted out something I shouldn't have.

Kate: Most of the marks you make-

Jude: Hah?

(Ah-)

I quickly shut my mouth, but it was too late. Jude slowly smiles.

Jude: Just what was my princess thinkin’?

Kate: Nothing!

He stopped bandaging me, grabbed my chin and kissed me.

Jude: Why ya gettin’ hurt by anyone other than me?

Jude: I’m pissed as hell.

Kate: Mnn…Ju-

Unable to resist the kiss ravaging my mouth, I cling to him. 

Then Jude said with a serious expression.

Jude: There’s no next time, stupid Kate.

That expression of quiet anger is so lovely, that I want to see it again…..There’s no way I could say that.

—So, I give myself over to the drowning kiss.

[Event Master List]

If you wish to be added (and 18+ YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

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[zaczenemiji]

Hello Dearest Writer! I have read the Shattered Pride that you wrote which I like it! and I hope you don't mind me requesting ^^. I wanted to request for a lil' bit angsty Kenji Sato x Reader, where kenji & reader have a heated argument that leads to reader with tears streaming down her face from kenji's hurtful words and attempted to remove her engagement ring and proposed to end things for the better and kenji got scared and regret everything he said, so he asked for forgiveness, convinced her to stay and makes it up for her. Thank you so much, Writer! I hope you have a nice day!

Second to None

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 2,076

Genre/Warning: Angst, Character Development, Drama, Established Long-Term Relationship, Heartbreak, hurt/Comfort, Redemption

Author’s Note: My works are becoming longer lately 🤧 Is that a good thing or not?

MASTERLIST | Shattered Pride

The reservation; a special menu and a gift sat neatly wrapped beside your plate. Your eyes dart to the door every few minutes, eagerly yet anxiously anticipating Kenji’s arrival.

The minutes turned into an hour, each second becoming agonizingly longer than the last. Your discomfort became noticeable to those who arrived before and after you.

Some couples came in pairs. Others also waited but the arrival of their beloveds was only half as long as the duration of your waiting.

The waiter approached with a sympathetic smile. “Would you like to order now, miss?” He asked gently.

"Not yet," you replied, forcing a smile. "He should be here any minute." You smoothed down your dress, avoiding any more contact with someone who isn’t Kenji.

“Are you on your way? Our reservation was at 7,” your message long showed as delivered, but still, no reply, and all your calls went straight to voicemail.

Your heart sank as the waiter returned, his expression more apologetic than before, "Shall I bring you a drink while you wait?"

"Yes, please," you answered, trying to mask your growing disappointment. You chose a glass of your favorite wine with Kenji, hoping the familiar taste would bring some comfort.

It was your fifth anniversary together, a milestone you had been looking forward to for weeks. Yet just like last year, it seemed like this would be a missed one too.

The first years of your relationship were pure bliss. The years that followed were less exciting but more comfortable. Yet from last year til today, some things were never the same.

At first, it felt like it was just because both of you had gotten used to each other. But as time progressed, it started seeming like your relationship was just a background—a television turned on not for the sake of watching, but for the sake of not being alone.

It started with last year’s missed anniversary; he said that it was an important out-of-town game that he couldn't skip. "I'm so sorry, the game went into extra innings and I missed the last train back. I'll be home late.”

He went home the next day.

You reminisced your first anniversary, a weekend getaway, a brief escape from your busy lives. The second, you had gone to a cozy little restaurant. The third had been a quiet dinner at home.

The fourth anniversary was marked by absence and loneliness; as this year’s. It wasn't the first time Kenji's baseball career had come between you, but you had hoped that anniversaries would be different.

You started to wonder if you would always come second to his dreams.

Another hour passed and the restaurant began to empty as the night grew older. "Kenji, I'm still here. Please call me." But still, there was no response.

Finally, your phone buzzed, "I'm so sorry, practice ran late and then we had a team meeting. I’ll try to get there as soon as I can."

You stared at the message, a tear slipping down your cheek. You heard similar apologies countless times before, each one chipping away at your patience and hope.

You signaled the waiter and asked for the check. You couldn't sit there any longer and pretend that everything was fine.

You walked out into the cool night, clutching the small gift you had brought for Kenji. The streets were quiet, the city's usual buzz dulled by the lateness of the hour.

You felt a profound loneliness, one that wasn't just about this night but about the accumulation of missed moments and broken promises.

When you finally got home, the flat was dark. You placed the untouched gift on the table and changed into more comfortable clothes.

You were too drained, emotionally, to even wait for Kenji in case he’d come over. You lay down on your bed, more than willing to sleep off the pain you just can’t get used to.

As your consciousness was being tugged to sleep, your phone buzzed again. It was Kenji, calling. And for the first time, you decided to put yourself first and slept.

Morning came and you sat at the dining table, a half-empty glass of wine in front of you. It was far too early to be drinking, but the remnants of last night's disappointment and loneliness still clung to you, and you needed something to numb the ache.

You swirled the wine in your glass, your mind replaying the evening over and over. The beautifully wrapped gift lay discarded on the coffee table.

You immediately slept last night but somehow, you hoped that Kenji would walk through the door with some grand gesture, some sign that he valued your relationship as much as she did. But he never came.

The sound of the key turning in the lock pulled you from your thoughts. Kenji walked in, looking exhausted and worn. His eyes immediately found yours, and he saw the wine glass in your hand.

"You're drinking this early?" he asked, concern laced with surprise. You didn't respond, just took another sip.

The silence was heavy, filled with all the words you wanted to say but didn't know how to begin. You set the glass down and met his gaze.

"Do you even realize what day it was yesterday, Kenji?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Of course, I do. I'm so sorry. Practice ran late and then there was an unexpected team meeting. I—“

"You always have an excuse,” You cut him off, your voice rising. “Do you know how many times I've heard 'practice ran late' or 'there was a meeting’? I'm tired of it!"

"I know," he said, trying to calm you down. "I really wanted to be here, but you know how important baseball is to me."

"And what about me, Kenji? Am I not important to you?" you snapped, tears welling up in your eyes. "I've sacrificed everything for you! I left my career, my family, my friends, everything to come to Japan and support you! And for what? To be stood up on our anniversary again?"

His face tightened, "It's not like that. You knew what you were getting into when you decided to come with me."

You took a step back, your voice dropping to a whisper. "So, it's my fault now?” You asked. “I chose to support you because I believed in us. But it feels like I'm the only one making sacrifices here."

"That's not fair," he retorted, frustration creeping into his tone. "I work hard for us. I'm trying to build a future for us."

"But at what cost, Kenji?" you shot back. "Every time I need you, you're not there. Every important moment, every milestone, you're always somewhere else. Do you even understand how lonely that is?"

He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words, "I'm doing my best. It's just... baseball is my dream. I can't give that up."

"And what about my dreams?" you cried, your voice breaking. "I had a career I loved, a life I was proud of! I gave all that up for you, believing that you would be there for me, that we would support each other. But it feels like I'm the only one who gave anything up!”

He took a deep breath, his own anger rising. "I never asked you to give up your career!” He said. “You made that choice!”

Your eyes widened in shock and pain. "I made that choice because I loved you—because I thought we were building a life together,” you said, voice softening and heart breaking. “But it seems like I'm the only one who sees it that way."

There was a long silence as you two stared at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. Slowly, you reached for your engagement ring, your hands shaking.

"What are you doing?" Kenji asked, panic creeping into his voice.

You struggled to remove the ring, tears streaming down your face. "Maybe we're fooling ourselves, Kenji,” you said in between sobs. “Maybe this isn't working. I can't keep feeling like I'm second to your career. Maybe it's better if we end this now."

His heart raced, panic surged through him, and his voice trembled with desperation. "No, please don't," he said, stepping closer, his hands reaching out but hesitating to touch you. "I'm sorry for everything I've said. I didn't mean it. I love you, and I can't lose you."

You looked at him, the ring held loosely in your hand. "Do you really love me, Kenji?” You asked. “Or do you love the idea of me being here, waiting for you, always understanding and never complaining?"

He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. "I love you. I know I've been an idiot, and I know I haven't been there for you like I should. But I promise I'll do better. Just please, don't leave me."

His eyes filled with tears as he dropped to his knees in front of you, the weight of his regret crashing down on him. "I love you," he said, his voice breaking. "I know I've been an idiot, and I know I haven't been there for you like I should. Every time I chose baseball over you, I was wrong. I see that now.”

“Please, don't take off that ring. Don't leave me,” he pleased. “I can't imagine my life without you."

You looked down at him, your own tears blurring your vision, “How can I believe you, Kenji?"

He reached out, taking her hands in his and holding them tightly. "Because I can't bear the thought of losing you,” he said. “I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you're the most important thing in my life. I'll talk to my coach, I'll cut back on practice—anything. Just please, give me one more chance."

You hesitated, the pain and love warring within you. His eyes were filled with genuine fear and remorse, and you could feel his hands trembling. "One more chance, Kenji,” you said. “But things have to change. I can't keep feeling like this."

He nodded fervently, pulling you into a tight embrace, his heart pounding with a mix of relief and fear. "I promise, things will change,” he said. “I'll make it up to you, I swear. I love you more than anything. Please, believe me."

The next morning, Kenji came over early and made you breakfast, a small but heartfelt gesture to start making amends. He took the morning off practice and thought of having breakfast together.

Over the next few weeks, Kenji made noticeable changes. He began to prioritize your time together, making sure to balance his demanding baseball schedule with moments that were just for you two.

One evening, as you sat on the couch watching a movie, Kenji turned to you with a serious expression, "I talked to a few people, and I found a way for you to continue your work here in Japan.”

You looked at him, curiosity and hope in your eyes, "What do you mean?"

“There are some production companies interested in meeting with you,” he said. “I want you to have your career back, to have something that's yours."

Tears welled up in your eyes, this time from gratitude and joy. "Kenji, that's... I don't know what to say. Thank you."

He took your hand, squeezing it gently. "I want you to be happy. I want us to build our lives together, supporting each other's dreams,” he said. “I'm sorry it took me so long to realize how much you were sacrificing."

True to his word, Kenji began to make your relationship a priority. He surprised you with small dates, like picnics in the park or quiet dinners at home. He even started learning a bit of Japanese cuisine to cook your favorite meals.

Kenji made it a point to never miss another important moment, attending every event and celebration that mattered to you. He cheered you on as you restarted your career, eager to see you shine.

In the end, you both learned that love required effort and compromise from both sides. It wasn't always easy, but you faced your challenges together, knowing that your love was worth fighting for. And with each passing day, you both found yourselves more deeply in love, more committed to the life you were building together.

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@ppiglovestravel-blog @eternallyvenus @puppyminnnie @wattpadsuckssohard @sakura-onesan @reggies-eyeliner @buggs-1 @miffysoo @spencerrxids @stupidbutsmart @marimargirlies @mixvchelle @lannnu @lailuv21 @christiinee @abracarabbit @youngbananamilkshake @flutterfly365 @o-schist @brazilsho @arrozyfrijoles23 @finestflora @mmeerraa @mianbaobaoo @skyeliteratures @themourningfox @despacito-uwu16 @crimson-mage-02 @vinegarjello @btszn @berryjuicyy @https-mika @reader-1290

[nemisuki]

Intertwined

Dating AU | He wasn’t aware such a small insecurity could affect your relationship that much. Lucky for him, she seems to know how to ease his worries away. 

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, no manga spoilers, pure fluff, no smut, no angst, reverse comfort lowkey, aged up to third years, they're both whipped, two idiots in love, wholesome short oneshot, 821 word count

His brows furrow with frustration at the glistening skin - small droplets of sweat already beginning to form at the surface of his palms.

Bakugos mood immediately getting ruined at the sight of it.

He takes pride in many things in his life, one of them being his quirk, the ability to create explosions from mere sweat is truly an odd but valuable power.

One that needed proper training to get used too and eventually perfected. But there was always one problem that remained and perhaps is unavoidable.

Excessive sweating.

At first it was manageable, he simply wiped it away on his pants, not thinking much of it.

Though as time went on, it grew out of control. Perhaps it was a side effect of puberty now that their seniors in highschool, who knows?

What he did know was that it was beyond irritating.

Maybe this was his karma for being too cocky in the past. He assumed his quirk had no downsides he couldn't manage, but the gods just had to humble him.

For an over hygienic guy - this was probably his worst nightmare come true.

Especially now that he has a girlfriend.

"Cmon Katsuki, we gotta return to the dorms before curfew!"

She quickly grabs a hold of his hand, cheerful expression on her face, a bright smile that could battle the sun.

Oblivious to the swirling thoughts in his head.

Dating was a concept he never thought he would experience - til he met Y/N. As a new couple he didn't expect this personal issue to have such an effect on his relationship.

But here we are.

He flinches at her touch, swiftly extracting his hand from hers, simply praying she didn't notice his clammy hands.

Her face instantly falls, switching to one of worry and hesitation, "Katsuki? Hey what's wrong?"

The blonde didn't know what else to do but stay silent, avoiding eye contact with her as he tried to think of something to say, subtly wiping his hands on his school uniform.

Feeling embarrassed to tell her about this 'problem' he's been recently dealing with.

"It's nothing."

Noticing the clear shift in his demeanor, she tries connecting the dots and gives him an apologetic look, "I'm sorry if you were uncomfortable with holding hands! I should've asked first since you hate PDA." 

His head snaps back at her, realizing the careless mistake he just made, "No no that's not what I- uh"

He sighs as irritation begins bubbling inside him, directed at himself for making her worried over something so trivial.

"It's not that dummy. My hands are..." he looks away once again. Feeling self conscious all of a sudden - opening up has never been an easy thing for him.

She notices the tip of his ears burning with a pink hue, rare shyness creeping in his voice, "My hands get sweaty a lot because of my quirk."

A moment of silence passes between them.

"It's been out of control lately so-"

His words waver as he feels her pinky finger slowly wrap around his own. Her eyes soften as she stares up at him, a look of understanding on her face.

"Ah I see. Then this is fine right?" she smiles, tilting her head to get a better view of his face.

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

"...Yeah sure, whatever" he clears his throat, avoiding her gaze completely.

She giggles at his cute demeanor, not used to seeing him like this, just thinking how soft this blonde truly is under all the walls he put over his heart.

He doesn't say much as they continue their walk back towards campus. His heart doing somersaults in his chest at the contact.

"It doesn't bother me by the way" she mumbles, smiling up at him again, "I just want to be next to you."

"You're such a sap."

He pinches her puffy cheek with his other hand - making her whine in response, trying to distract the effect her words have on him.

A small laugh escapes him as he mushes her face to form pouty duck lips, rolling his eyes at her unintelligible words of plead.

"So fucking dramatic." 

Whether to shush her up or satisfy his own desires, he quickly leans down and presses a small peck to her puckered lips. Letting her face go a second after, making the poor girl flustered and silent with shock.

"What was that for?" she says, fidgeting with her sleeves like a love struck fool.

"Tch, can I not kiss my own girlfriend?"

He spins around to walk away - making her rush to catch up, a knowing look on her face.

"I know but in public? Katsuki you sly dog~" she cooes, trying to rile him up.

"Fuck off."

"Love you too!"

At her continuous laughter and teasing, all he could do was put a fake frown on his face, but only from her eyes - she could see the small smile underneath it all.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| im really sorry for not posting much u guys! i kinda lost motivation these past couple of weeks but im finally feeling better. i actually relate to this so much bc i sadly suffer from hyperhidrosis. If you don't know what hyperhidrosis is, it's "a medical condition in which a person exhibits excessive sweating". So im basically bakugo irl u guys! one side effect is that my hands are constantly clammy and it's so annoying, me and katsuki twinning fr. my apologies go out to fellow people like us, this condition sucks so bad *sighssssss* tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[lostinlovingrevery]

VANNNNNNNNNNNN

surprise! it’s me!

im on the train home rn, probably not gonna write my nyc trip recap til later bc actually thinking and consolidating my thoughts is hard on the train

but im doing pretty good!!! really satisfied with my vacation, had a yummy croissant this morning and have another one in my moms bag :)

how are you? how is your day?? i hope it’s going well!!!

and of course, if you’re looking to write some logan headcanons… might i propose. playing drinking games with logan variants (sfw or nsfw or both!)

here’s a cowboy pookie for you!! <3

CAS!

I know you already told me a bit about last night and some of your trip, but I can't wait to read the full recap!!! Have a safe train trip, and enjoy your croissant!!!! (mmmm...haven't had one of those bad boys in awhile.)

My days good, I wore a pretty dress today (WITH pantyhose...Still got that pantyhose fic in my head...) and had a nice breakfast out with the fam (I ate WAY too much yesterday and today...ooff)

Oh!!! AND, I got good news, a class that I was trying to get in over the summer was closed, but I was able to get ahold of the professor and he's allowing me to join! SO!!!!!

WITH THAT!

I'm on track for graduating in August!! Whoop Whoop!

For the rest of the day tho I'm going to binge watch Marvel movies, work on cleaning my room, and maybe even get some writing done! (Possibly old man logan smut posted later...Jesus forgive me for that lol)

Also, cowboy pookie!!!! <3 <3

Drinking Games With Logan Variants!

MAINLY NSFW stuff below! Drinking, drunk sex, etc etc- you can assume there's pre-established consent in these (ESP 70S LOGAN LOL) ;) Also this tends to lean more towards the smut/fluff parts than actual drinking games lol

So, I never actually played drinking games, nor do I really drink other than this intro to wine class I took last spring (it was fun! But I did not like a single taste of any wine. Except for this one red wine was kinda okay but i don't even remember it now). I more enjoyed the chocolates that he paired with the wine LMAO

Origins Logan

The game probably started on a fun night out with yours and Logans friends/his coworkers

Probs a truth or drink type of game someone brings up.

It starts out simple, they always do. Silly things like "what's something embarassing you did in highschool"

of course as the night goes on and people get more drunk, and honest- the questions get worse, probably more intimate- even sexual in nature.

You knew Logan through your friends bf, who works with him. Always thought he was handsome, lil quiet and a tad intimidating but in an endearing way. You also thought you had NO chance with him.

He tends to take the drink option a lot more than a truth- disappointing you a bit because while you may have thought you had no chance you'd still like to know him better

He holds his alcohol well too- you never notice him sway or that sleepy look in his eye- never slurring even after his 6th beer for the night when your friend next to you is about to pass out for his 3rd.

You kept noticing throughout the night he kept looking at you. Staring at you over his bottle, watching you take every sip when you get too flustered over yet another embarrassing question about your past partners

Your best friend knows your lil crush on logan- and decides to put you on the spot- a horrible decision from her whiskey, but since you decided to bring up her secret-not-so-secret affair with her boss, you had to pay!

She asks you straight up. "Do you like Logan?"

If you werent on the spot, -or several drinks in - you could have saved yourself. Pulled off something along the lines of "yeah, he's a good friend!" but the questions had you sputtering and your face was on fire- and instead of answering you took a drink, avoiding logans gaze as he smirked.

The night ends soon after, most people too drunk to think of anything anymore and wanted to go home and sleep it off.

Logan catches you outside, checking on you to make sure you're okay to get home, you're flusterd, a bit embarrassed still and tipsy

he asks you why you'd avoid telling the truth during the game and you couldn't even talk- so you show him instead, pulling him in for a deep, passionate kiss and tasting your choice of drinks for the night on each others tongue

Trilogy Logan

Will make it seem innocent at first but really he's just trying to get you down and dirty

He's not exactly trying to get you flat out drunk- just to loosen you up a bit. You hold your purse strings around him a little too tightly- and he wants to get to know the real you, maybe a little too much- and the best way for that? Liquid courage.

You're both alone at the mansion saturday night. Ororo went out with some friends, jean and scott went to visit her parents. Charles even went to visit a "Friend". almost all students went home save for a few.

He prepared it- drinks set out and a stack of cards in his back pocket when he went to hunt you down- of course working, as you always do. It took him a bit to convince you but you gave in. Just a fun little card game that involves drinking

You never acted like you didn't like him- just seemed more tense around him- but he hears your heartbeat whenever he gets a little too close

Course he learns quickly that you do not hold your liquor well. By your third shot, you started to get relaxed quickly. A little more honest, a bit more touchy. A bit more...flirty

Maybe he brings up how you always put up a wall with him, and you get flustered, muttering how he makes you nervous- making him smirk and put his hand on your thigh

By your 6th shot you were all over him, the game forgotten as your straddled his lap and sucked on his neck- frumping over how quickly the hickey heals over before you can even admire your work.

"Why don't you keep trying? Sure one of em will stick eventually."

70s Logan

Can and will do anything he can to get you good and drunk - card games are the easiest way to do that.

He doesn't need you drunk to get you in his bed, already having tasted you multiple times- but he likes how pliant and needy you get with him when you drink

clinging onto him in the bar/club/where you're at for the night, whispering things he can barely understand because you're slurring your words and giggling but he knows they're dirty

and he likes the jealous looks yours and and his "Friends" shoot your way as they watch you lose yet another card game with him- whether on purpose or not and you smile at him deviously as you sip the coke and jack Daniels he got for you

he gets you home and in bed, pulling off your clothes with ease as your whining for him to hurry up and fuck you because just like how much he likes it- you like it too

sits and eats you out first

The way he can push himself inside you with ease, as you're babbling nonsense- your legs open and wide for him, your body was like a rag doll for him and he loves fucking you like this. Being drunk has made you more submissive, flexible, and you're begging him to don't stop- because just like him, whiskey makes you extremely horny

DOFP Logan

This prob happens during a date night and you guys decide to play strip poker- adding drinking into the mix for some extra fun

Logan is of course, always able to hold his liquor and a poker face- winds nearly every round and leaving you almost completely nude and tipsy

Of course the final round leads him wanting to claim his prize- you. However you werent so tipsy you were going to let him get away with it that easily. Maybe you weren't the best poker player but he could have at least let you win something. but no, he has to jump at the chance to get you naked first

You make him play another game- two truths and a lie. If he gets the lie right, he'll be allowed to do something to you- whatever he wants. if he doesn't- he has to drink- and you put on a new piece of clothing

Logan thought this would be a piece of cake- however, far from it. Maybe you weren't good at poker BUT you were very good at this game, full of spite and pettyness, smirking as he gets the lie wrong- something that was just barely the truth. Watching him whine with his now 6th beer in hand as you pulled your panties back on- and then your bra, your t-shirt-

When he finally gets it right though- talk about excitement. You're barely giving a moment to react before he dives into between your legs lapping at your cunt through your panties

Worst Wolverine

Probably as equally devious as 70s logan tbh

prob starts at a game night at Wades place

after wade passes out (not before drunkenly crashing into the coffee table and konking out there and then) and the others go home, you and logan are left with yourselves.

you weren't ready for the night to end, and logan looked barely tipsy even with as much as he drinked tonight- you decide to make things a little funner with him

inviting him over to your place to continue some games- and get away from wades snoring

its another case of drunken strip poker, and logan- who has recently gained a huge crush on you was EXTREMELY eager to win. and thought he'd be the one watching you strip

however you were just as good. Every round held electricity in the air. You managed to get him down to just his jeans and briefs before you even had to take off your shirt

he can see however you're getting tipsy and he's never been one to follow the rules- so he cheats. Yeah, you read that right.

Before you know it you're in your underwear- unsure how to grasp how that happened

and he's now too pent up to care about winning anymore, not when you're right there, ripe for the taking. Practically flips the table getting to you

its in the morning after, you're sleepily walking- or limping with soreness in your legs- out of your bedroom where logan was still passed out in your bed. you're wearing his tshirt, and starting to clean up when your find the cards he stashed under the table when he cheated- that motherfucker

couldn't complain tho, he did give you a pretty decent dick- down

BONUS!

Cowboy! Logan who invites you to play, it was just innocent drinking card game- one he's played hundreds of times before. However you were quite good at this lil game and you're both taking equal amount of sips of the whiskey he set out- before you know it he's fucking you on the table where the cards still laid splayed out.

Patch ! Logan who's already a quite established gambler who has his own personal lady luck by his side (you). You always sat and watched him play- admiring his skill with the games of chance- and decided to take your own chance by challenging him one night as he escorts you both back to the hotel penthouse room he's been paying for. He up the stakes- every round you lose (3 games each round) - you gotta do something special for him. ;)

You lose, a lot. And with next to no refractory period, he could do this all night.