#NO SIR i used em all

[squeakadeeks]

almost....

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[stevethehairington]

okay but i need ALL of the fics that take place during crozier getting sober. like i feel like there is SO much potential here bc it is THEE biggest turning point for him! esp with regards to fitzjames and their relationship. like fitzjames seeing crozier's choice to sober up as this huge defining moment, one that ultimately and unequivocally earns his respect (back, really, because he DID have respect for crozier at first, before he met him. and now he sees that that respect wasnt misgiven, not really). and like the way this choice is what causes the first crack in james' mask around crozier! ugh it's just DELICIOUS.

[columboscreens]

[bimiio]

<3

[oceanxveiined]

 Genshin Verse Side Muses:

*Mentions of abuse, dysfunctional families, manipulation, torture, violence, experimentation, ableism, transphobia, and death, not necessarily all present/to various extents depending on each bio, ahead.

1) Chang Da’Lun (500+/appears 23): Half-Adeptus, born some time before the Cataclysm. He can shift into a smaller birdlike form at will, though it does take a bit out of him to switch back. It doesn’t stop him from shifting into it on his own or a friend's whim though.

          His father was a Yaksha named Wuye, alias Caligo, who had inevitably become consumed by his karmic debt and became more akin to a malevolent demon. Though admittedly, the adeptus had already possessed quite the cruel streak, even long before he’d fallen. Being driven mad by the karmic debt meant his slaughters turned to fellow adepti and humans alike, which had also grown to be far more frequent and brutal. Each consumed opponent led his power to grow as he’d absorb their vitality and any abilities they possessed.

          By contrast Da’lun’s mother, Anhe, had been fully human, having been with a group of treasure hunters who’d taken her from her family in ransom when they’d strayed too close to the maddened Yaksha’s territory. When they had realized and tried to sneak away, she risked her life to draw Wuye out and betrayed them all in a desperate bid for freedom and power. She offered them all to be slaughtered and devoured by the corrupted Yaksha, as well as to offered to lure more to satisfy his bloodlust for incentive to make him spare her own life. She even offered to be his consort as well, to let herself be used by him as he saw fit, sparing no expense to give anything and everything she could to ensure she survived this encounter. He conceded out of convenience, taking her as promised and continuing his slaughters about Wuwang Hill with her aid.

          Anhe delighted in having his favor, even with how terrified of him she’d been at first, growing more and more sadistic herself with every massacred he’d rend, every death scream that filled her ears while she remained unscathed. The thrill of power and having a mate so powerful to keep it was too alluring and far too intoxicating, she would never dream of ever parting from him.

         Only for her to end up alone and powerless anyway when the former Yaksha was killed shortly after the birth of Da’Lun.

         Much of his childhood had been Anhe relentlessly tormenting him, using him as a scapegoat for how her life had fallen apart and due to having been affected by his father’s karmic debt as well ( both in her continued presence alongside him up until that point and in stubbornly lingering at his lair where the miasma was all concentrated rather than returning home with him gone ). Da’Lun took the abuse without protest, wholeheartedly believing her and his own guilt. He spent his whole life striving to ‘make up’ for his existence, in bringing her gifts and attempting to make her life easier every way he could. To protect and provide for her as his father had intended.

         It all came to a crashing stop when his mother at last succumbed to the cursed energy infesting their home. Or so he tells himself and anyone who ponders of her fate, not wanting to admit he himself had killed and devoured her. It had been when she’d tried to end his life first and the resulting corruption of them both had his adeptal nature spiraling out of control during the struggle. His Electro Vision had been what had ultimately murdered her, bestowed upon him during his struggle as she denounced and cursed him, which he hadn’t realized until the morning after.

         Plagued with guilt and fear, and knowing he must have taken on her share of the karmic debt's influence, his father's ability considered, he traveled Teyvat to distance himself from his former home for a few years. For 500 years, he witnessed beauty and horrors alike throughout it all, before he decided to settle some time in Sumeru. His main aim had been to learn all he could on humans and their histories ( learning from each Darshan over the course of the centuries he’d spent there, changing his appearance every time he’d reapply ), as well as to pass the time in a way that would not aggravate lingering traces of his father’s influence. It was while he learnt from the Amurta Darshan when he met Danae. With time to spare, and admittedly intrigued by the utter madness of her ideas and her equally frenzied determination to see such impossible fantasies made reality, he signed a contract to assist her in any endeavors she may undertake for them, as she would his own, per its terms. They would maintain it dedicatedly before briefly parting ways when her illicit studies were discovered.

         He himself remained at the Akademiya mere weeks before deciding his life had dulled too much without her odd ideas and eccentric ( not to mention at times exceedingly cruel ) methods, setting off to travel again in search of her. Traveling through his homeland, he would come to meet Ozzy, whom he would follow to Mondstadt, after he’d found him interesting company, especially when the man would encourage him to not feel so wary of the karmic debt’s influence. There, he would become a founding member of his gang when it resulted that the man’s interest had been likewise piqued and thus given him the invitation to stay.

          Ozzy was able to locate and drag Danae into his business thanks to Da’Lun’s scheming and using the terms of their contract to rope her in.

         What could he say? He would be a fool to let one of his favorite pieces go. Just as he would the chance to see what would come out of putting so many volatile little components together.

           Surely the end result would be most spectacular indeed.

Oswald “Ozzy” Beauregard / Ásvaldr Bjornsson (appears early 20s): One of the remaining survivors of Khaenri’ah, though he keeps that card very close to his chest. Only Da’Lun is actually aware of said fact, due to their shared longevity and closer bond compared to many of the others. If asked of his origin, he will always give the half-truth that he is of the Sumeru region.

         Stricken with immortality, Ozzy tends to push the limits of what said immortality will do for him, especially since his perception of pain and danger has been skewed severely by his curse. For the longest time, he had wandered about the desert and Sumeru’s forests, picking fight after fight using the very Abyssal energies he’d been corrupted with. Even with no formal combat training outside teachings he learnt as apprentice mage, his frenzied manner tended to allow him to prove a match for the hilichurls, Eremites, and Treasure Hoarders he encountered, leaving brutalized corpses and wreckages in his wake, and plenty a scar to mar his own body. Some of which healed worse off than others due to his inability and lack of real want to properly care for himself. Eventually, he would be found and formally taken in by the Fatui when he had too grievously injured to fight them off.

Not that he would have wanted to even if he could, considering how much they piqued his interest.

        He had been with them long before Danae had joined, having willingly surrendered himself to be experimented on by Dottore out of boredom and curiosity to see what the man could get out of it. As well as a vain hope to possibly stave off his Erosion and keep his mind with the Abyssal energies eating away at it. Needless to say, Ozzy’s sanity still had taken quite the toll throughout the centuries he’s been alive, and the outright torture he faced through the time he’d been with them had truly not helped in the least. Especially not while being injected with god remains steadily twisted up his mind, more and more. The Abyssal energy he’d already been afflicted with had ironically been what helped keep himself through it though, allowing him to fully assimilate the god’s lingering energy into himself and steady his condition.

         When Danae had decided to desert the Fatui, she broke Ozzy out from containment and left him an experimental Delusion to have him serve as a diversion so she could escape, figuring he would have some exploitable grudge that would prompt him to seek vengeance. And he served his purpose well, slaughtering Fatuus after Fatuus he encountered with the three tail-like, bladed chains he could manifest from it. He did so with great delight and utmost zeal, damn near like an animal in frenzy. But in truth, he really cared not for getting even. He rather merely wanted enrichment, as he called it.

         While Danae had figured the Delusion would simply kill him in the end, his own longevity and the god remains he’d assimilated allowed him to use the Delusion so freely without truly permanent consequences, though still at certain cost to his body after particularly prolonged usage. It severely aggravates the place with the god remains had been injected, low at his right side where the Abyssal energy was at its highest concentration. Due to it also being the place of his most severe wound and one of the ones that truly never healed properly, it leaves him feeling as though something had been gouged right out every time he’d stop its use. Still, in the moment of that first use, all he could think of was the thrill of the fighting and being able to run about, free at last. To this day, that very thrill is what keeps him using it, even knowing the painful consequences.

         The euphoric high he felt back then lead him to completely destroy the location all together, both in his own kills and in tampering the delicate machinery that would consume the rest of the location along with it in the ensuing explosions. He himself made his getaway before the destruction caught him up along with everything else, after finding and bringing along a fellow victim ( not that he consciously saw himself as such ) of the Fatui experiments.

         After hearing tales of Monstadt, her homeland, the idea of a nation whose Archon had no real say in its ruling appealed to him greatly, Thus, he would hijack and man a Fatui ship to gain leave off Inazuma, heading to the Southern side of Liyue, and making their journey back to Mond that way.

         Ozzy’s aim in making the gang had solely been to collect interesting people to surround himself with, nothing more nothing less. Something to help stave off ennui and keep his mind sharp; a little pet project he could maintain or ruin at his leisure when the time came. It only became a formal organization incidentally, but he finds it a decent pastime to run it and especially the business he and Da’Lun came up with as a front.

          Due to past experiences, he has a mild to severely violent visceral reaction to fire based abilities; which is only worsened by his love of deliberately avoiding triggering his own phobia and habit of gambling with extreme stakes, typically involving fire in some way.

         What sort of gambling man would he be if he let something like that stop him, after all?

Elisabeth “Eliza” Merrimack (18) - A Mondsadt-born girl whose family lineage traces back to the Imunlaukr clan, after the clan had broken up due to a schism. Originally Visionless, she would gain a Dendro Vision ( chronologically set late in the events of the Sumeru Archon Quest ) and take up Catalyst-based combat.

         The eldest daughter of her main family at the time, she had a horse riding accident in her youth that left her paraplegic, exhibiting little to no movement in her legs even after treatment at the church. The fact that it had taken them some time to get her there, seeing as she had been lost for days, was probably behind it. Regardless, her family despaired at the incident, frantically trying everything they could to heal her, even as the church insisted nothing could be done. Even as she herself tried to reason it was alright; that she didn't need to be, having accepted their verdict when her family could not. And they never truly did.

         When she was fifteen, the Merrimacks ultimately accepted an offer from the Fatui to aid them ( though in hindsight, Eliza couldn’t but wonder if it had been seen as an excuse to have them take her off their hands ), and carted her off far from home. Betrayed at her family giving her away so easily, especially after she realized they would not check up on her or visit, Eliza at last fell into despair after seeing what awaited her at the hands of the Fatui. Her parents had been lied to, after all–Eliza had not been taken in to receive care, instead becoming subjected to experiments with god remains like every other subject they got their hands on.

          And no one would be aware of that to come save her. Assuming they would even care to try if they did.

         Things began to change years later after meeting Danae, who was assigned to oversee her. To be precise, Danae had at first been in charge of her post-op treatments, ensuring the effects of the experiments didn’t disrupt her vitals and in keeping her alive overall. They began to know more of each other and interact after the then Fatuus had been promoted and would have her as an exclusive subject, due to her ideas and personal project.

          Even with how callous Danae could be, she and Eliza eventually came to get along well due to Eliza coming to understand Danae’s wordless gestures and tough-love care after the former had begun to get attached to Eliza. Said care usually being in the form of snuck treats and material comforts. It wasn’t until later on in their friendship that Eliza learned it had been because she reminded Danae of her younger brother, that she had specifically requested to oversee her treatments because she wanted to help her like she'd intended to help him. Learning why and how she intended to do that did embitter Eliza rather than endear her though.

That said, they truly became each other’s first real friend and confidante after Eliza had been–even if gruffly–encouraged by Danae to start speaking up for herself and the first thing Eliza did was tell her off for thinking she ought to ‘fix’ her and any other person, for that matter. It had been a gut reaction based on Eliza’s own resentment of how her family regarded her as well as the god remains in her acting up due to her agitation.

         Still, even while the burst of temper had startled Eliza, it had been enough for Danae to not only respect the girl, but also to begin to doubt her own goals. Most notably, it was enough to prompt the Fatuus to pick up her old ideas anew rather than continuing the original experiment plan she’d had altogether, choosing to help make amends in fashioning Eliza a special wheelchair to take her out for enrichment. Not that Danae would ever admit that’s what it had been for, even in present day, but Eliza understood all the same.

            The day Danae broke out, she had actively tried to reach Eliza to bring her along, but was unable to in the chaos she’d wrought and severely underestimated. Thinking her dead, she prioritized her own survival and left without a second thought.

           Eliza hadn’t realized she’d been abandoned once again, rather had been merely confused by the happening and chaos around her. She patiently awaited Danae to come, trusting the Fatuus to soon fill her in and protect her if need be. Instead, it was the newly freed Ozzy who had found Eliza and offered to bring her along after having slaughtered her guards and hearing her request to see the stars outside before he ‘put her out of her misery’ had moved him.

          And especially because she then tried to cut his throat the instant he got close enough to carry her.

          After convincing her he did want to bring her along, not kill her, she at last conceded and let him take her away from the wreckage of the lab. Eliza's tales of her home nation had been the reason Ozzy had chosen to settle there, and she was more than happy to return with him, though flares ups of the god remains in her did pose some problems both were unsure of how to handle. Not that he trusted anyone in Teyvat to be able to take care of her as they should, especially considering how she’d ended up in the Fatui’s hands in the first place.

         Still, she is grateful he took it upon himself to allow her to stay by his side as his ward, even while she couldn’t offer him much in return in terms of fighting skill, money, or knowledge besides that of her home. When he founded his gang, she did find purpose in aiding with the logistics aspect of running the front for his gang, using the learnings of her youth. Without her, it would have fallen apart from the start, Ozzy would always say, leaving her giddy with excitement and her heart full. After finding and enacting a solution to quell the god remains in her ( taken place post-Sumeru archon quest, story-wise ), she would start taking a more active role in the gang as aid to their resident healer. In addition, her wheelchair would be adapted for combat, to suit her needs and her Vision’s abilities.

          She is well aware that elemental concentrations worsen her flare ups, but she still constantly insists upon staying with everyone else in the gang and utilizing a soothing device relying on Elemental energy anyways. She’d rather spend it in comfort and with her friends, even the lot of them encourage her to when she frets what could come out of it. Once the traces of god remains in her would be sealed off enough, she is able to head out with them with her wheelchair from that point on, as well as set at ease her fears of hurting them. She still feels chronic flares up of pain due to her affliction, but with less risk of it going out of control, she can bear it a lot easier.

          After all she’d been through, this was nothing. Nothing, in the face of being able to smile and delight in her life to the fullest once more.

Tyonna Durene (19): Hailing from Natlan, Durene is essentially a demigodess, born from the union of a mortal man, Jevaun, and minor goddess Oloku, whom he had ensnared with a talisman along with several of his friends and fellow warriors when her tempests had threatened their home village.

          Bound to human form, Oloku had been content in their union at first when the man had been kinder to her than the others, up until her husband began to get exceedingly paranoid and possessive of her following being imbued with several of her blessings. She began to grow miserable, cursing Jevaun and unable to do much to fight him as her powers had become considerably weaker, especially after Durene’s birth. And it didn’t help that it was especially so because the man kept her away from the sea, an important source of vitality for her. Still the goddess did not fault her daughter upon her birth, teaching Durene the ways to be a soothsayer and healer so she could properly go through the initiation process and her actual training in the village once she was of the apt age.

          Durene took to her learnings quite well, eager at the thought of being able to contribute to village this way. She particularly excelled in serving as an herbalist and healer, though she did work hard to improve her skills when it came to divination to impress her mother. It always did seem to put Oloku in a far better mood whenever she did, as well as when she would listen to her mother’s tales of gods and places she’d been, of her life prior to being confined to mortal form. Of their Archon, and her great deeds. More than anything, she loved singing for her mother, songs she learned from her and the others in the village, seeing how her voice seemed to bring the goddess some semblance of solace, when she felt her weakest.

         At twelve years old, Durene learned the full story of her mother’s plight. Horrified and moved, she would elect to repay her mother all she’s taught her in concocting a clever plan to gleam out from her drunken father the location of each piece of the talisman needed to complete the needed ritual and free the goddess. With this knowledge, Durene was able to find and bring them to her mother, who would aid her in completing the necessary steps. As her bonds would break and her strength returned, Oloku lamented being unable to take her child with her. Promising to return with a means to ascend her as soon as she could, the goddess would transform into a pillar hundreds of crabs that would scatter into the sea and leave Durene standing alone at the outcropping. Bittersweet and all-too brief as their parting was, she felt content in knowing her mother would be happy at last.

          The good mood would not last long, as Jevaun flew into a deadly rage in realizing what had happened when he awoke to the sounds of a howling sea storm after she returned home.

          His rage did not frighten her, even as he demanded answers. Did the she not care about their village? Of what the goddess would do to them, now that she was free? Of why she’d been confined to mortality in the first place?

Durene truly cared not, insisting Oloku had borne and suffered enough under his suffocating hold. If they were all to be destroyed in her vengeful wrath, it was for the slight they’d done against her, and thus truly fair.

          Her answers would brand her a traitor in the eyes of her father and, to his claims, their people. To ensure the goddess wouldn’t completely destroy them, he locked Durene away and made sure the goddess could never find her, and no one would in turn ever think to help free her.

          She couldn’t say how much time had passed since he’d left her there. Days went by languishing in her prison, in the presence of no one else but her father, whenever he would stop by to bring her food. If her refusal to concede to his pleas to betray her mother and attempts to break out didn’t enrage him enough to leave her to her own devices the next few, that was. It wasn’t until she’d exhausted every attempt at escaping that Durene formulated a plan to escape.

          The next time Jevaun came to see her, he found his daughter seemingly unresponsive. The man freed her from her bonds and frantically attempted to wake her, only to find his daughter conscious after all, taking advantage of his closeness to grab hold of him. The man was only able to catch a brief glimpse of her newly bequeathed Anemo Vision mere moments before she would sap the breath from his lungs. Her face twisted in every trace of hatred and resentment she felt towards him was the last thing he’d ever see as he would succumb. Durene would hold no remorse for her actions, even as the village people would come to find her and try to seize her in retaliation.

          Escaping their clutches and leaving them to the mercy of her mother’s wrath, Durene would take to travel about Teyvat as a wandering soothsayer, making a pretty coin on divination and healing. Truly, that whole time she had been seeking a way she may ascend to join her mother, sparing no expense wherever she may go. She'd even forged a binding vow for herself, giving up her tongue, and thus ability to speak in exchange for power. Through her journey, she fostered a particular resentment born in her in Sumeru and the way the Akademiya had gone about managing knowledge at the time ( the reason for having rejected entry for her, thinking her to be of the desert folk ). Which lead to her resolving to ensure that place would be the first she may pay a visit to once she reached her goal, to tear it asunder for the offense, seeing as its god would surely not be able to match her when the time came.

          It was in being found by Ozzy in Liyue and being requested to come with him, Eliza, and Da'Lun along the way that she came to have company once more. The final founding member of his gang, she would happily settle in Mond with them. But by no means does this mean she had given up on her goal. With Da'Lun and his influence, as well as the addition of Danae later on, Durene would find use in the team’s members to further seek the information she required for her own ultimate goal. Who knew, perhaps she would just need to be a little more patient, just a little bit longer.

           Well, fine by her. That, she had plenty practice in.

Jaeda Purmizra (18): The daughter of an affluent family in Sumeru and the most recent addition to Ozzy’s gang. She joined them after running away from home and continuously hitching rides on caravans then later merchant ships that guided her to Mondstadt, where she’d been caught stealing from Ozzy’s tavern. Danae had nearly left her bound and at the complete mercy of Treasure Hoarders as punishment, had Eliza not intervened and personally pleaded her case to Ozzy. He accepted only because he knew it would piss off Danae in the process, and because he was intrigued by her Vision in particular,

          Born male and then named Jahar, she had been the family’s sole heir and was raised into the role accordingly ( read: impossibly strict ) by her mother. It was thanks to a young servant girl who tended to her every need that she even began to experiment with and realized her actual gender identity. All because the girl had wanted to play dress up and needed a friend to help her, not realizing all the decorum she was breaking in daring to ask the heir, of all people, such a thing.

          It had been quite the relief in realizing it, though, even when she hadn’t been actively searching for it. But to her, it meant everything from then on. And it meant despair, as she continued to masquerade as her mother’s precious only son and heir. She didn’t want to upset her mother, after all, especially since the woman banked so much of her bid for power as head of the family upon her. So she kept that her little secret, playing with the girl and growing up happily alongside her over the years.

         Up until she and the girl had been caught playing.

         The girl had been punished severely for her ‘crime’ and Jade was forced to bear witness to the bloody ordeal for humoring her. Only after the girl was left near death did Jade face her own punishment, the horrid humiliation her mother enforced upon her before an audience of the woman’s closest friends and advisers.

          The anger she felt in seeing the life dwindling in her friend’s eyes and the cruelty she faced ignited a single-minded determination to make every last person in the room pay for her beloved friend's pain, enough to for her to black out, coming to only when her mother had screamed.

Snapping back to consciousness, Jade felt bloodcurdling horror and cathartic relief in realizing she’d burnt her mother’s lovely face beyond recognition, every other cruel person who’d participated in her torment left as naught but charred corpses in her wake. In spotting the gleaming, blood-red gem clutched tightly in her hand.

          She didn’t stay long, stealing her friend away and running away from home with an intent to bring her along. They could make a life together away from them now, she was sure of it. She had a Pyro Vision after all, she was no longer powerless to protect them!

            With the severity of the girl’s wounds though, her friend had little time left. With her last breath, the girl made her promise to live life for the both of them and to be happy. To stay safe, and never let anyone dictate how she may live her life ever again.

          That day, Jahar died along with the servant girl. In his place and bearing the name of that girl to carry on her memory, Jaeda would set off to find that happiness she’d promised.

Mako du Raie (16): A Visionless young heir to a prolific merchant family in Fontaine, and the member who had joined the Snake-Eyes gang before Danae and Tua had. His father, Benshi, had been a doushin from Inazuma and met Mako’s mother, Marie, while she learnt the trade from her father, prior to the Sakoku Decree being fully enacted. Mako is their illegitimate child, though he was claimed to be his mother’s younger brother to save face for the family. As such, he was raised primarily under the strict watch of his grandmother and even stole the title of heir to the family from Marie, due to the story they’d given him.

         He took to his studies like a fish to water, being quite bright and precocious for his age. And in his eagerness to pursue his grandmother’s approval, he went far above and beyond the efforts his mother had ever put into her own. The family agreed he was definitely a far more suitable heir than she as a result, though he avoided his mother’s jealous wrath by asking she be involved in everything he did. Like this, the woman’s temperament was appeased, her going as far as to even take credit behind his talent and boast of him to all who would meet them.

          In all honesty, he would have been content enough handing her the reins of the family, had a business venture to Mondstadt not changed his mind entirely. His mother’s boasting lead to drawing Ozzy’s attention, the man having been seeking a nice, convenient little liaison for his gang’s front. With the boy being as young as he was, not only would he be easy to exploit, but his talent and influence would absolutely prove worth the effort to draw him in, just as he'd hope.

          As such, Da'Lun would be the one to meet and gain his trust. To persuade him to join Ozzy’s gang as their merchant contact. And, to ensure Mako’s position and control over his family’s affairs, Da'Lun would even go as far as to encourage Mako to eliminate each and every family member that could possibly stand in his way of managing it all himself.

           Mako couldn’t help but give in, even with how complacent he’d been before. All it took was being given the affection and doting he always wanted, rather than praises for his potential, stolen credit, and empty words he knew better than to believe. It took one friend, who cared and spoiled him so, to make him turn his previous wishes before and pursue a more ruthless ambition without a qualm. Even as he gazed into his mother’s dulling eyes, he would only feel a strong sense of satisfaction as Da'Lun would ruffle his hair with praises aplenty before carrying him back to Ozzy’s little haunt.

           He knew full well he was to be used by Ozzy’s group, having realized it early on in Da'Lun’s attempts to worm his way into his heart. But once he’d met with the others and Ozzy himself, there was no longer a single trace of lingering doubt in his heart. Looking at the lot of them gathered to see him, all varying shades of proud of what he’d accomplished, no matter how horrific, he determined the excitement and validation that came with what they did was a lot better than living his life within conventional rules.

            Where else could he feel like he was at the top of the world like this?

Tusitala / Tua (20): Originally hailing from a coastal village in Natlan then migrating to and settling in Liyue due to his father’s relentless pursuit of riches and lack of interest in the wars that ravaged their nation, Tua had been a Treasure Hoarder well before his coming of age. He is rather proud of the fact, often boasting of his own successes compared to other factions, especially after he’s fought his way through a group of them. 

At first it had been at his father’s urging that he joined and stayed with the Treasure Hoarders they’d joined up with. It was only to serve as something to make for a side hustle while his father took care of other business dealings at first ( taking care of logistics for that gang while Tua himself got to take on the more dangerous aspects ), then it became Tua’s obsession as his own greed grew, right along his addiction for every victory and bounty he secured them.

         He was quite content with this life, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world to have this chance. Even if he did have to surrender near all of his share of the spoils to his father, to quell the man's avarice. But with what he was allowed to keep or what he squirreled away to pass off as such later, Tua would take to decorating himself handsomely to show off his successes. As such, he’s got several piercings ( many of which he did himself ) along his body, as well as bits of gold embedded in his skin, particularly about his shoulders. He also has a few tattoos to commemorate his victories and his comrades, which glow whenever he uses his Vision.

          Speaking of, his Geo Vision came to him in a show of his conviction to protect his Treasure Hoarder ‘family’ by all means and any costs. In this case, it had been in protecting them from a squadron of Milileth by the skin of his own teeth then later its aid, having chosen to cover them on his own to ensure they could make off with a particularly rich score. Because of it, he became quite popular among them, with the lot thinking he would lead them to great success and eventually become their leader.

          The thought strongly appealed to him, enough that he resolved to make it a reality. As leader, he would have a greater right to a bigger share of the spoils, and he could be independent enough to break away from his father, too. And of course, being able to protect his comrades and look after them with greater responsibility and authority. That was his greatest desire above all else, one he would swear before them during the celebration of his blessing by the Lord of Geo.

          Though he did eventually fail to keep his promise to them when a conflict with Fatui, and severely underestimating them, left his group all slaughtered or near death, himself included. With his last lingering traces of full consciousness, he lamented not being strong enough to protect them all, and expected to meet his shameful end along with them.

          However his survival had been ensured when Danae had stumbled across the massacre. Though initially focused on eliminating the injured and resting Fatui and with her own hatred of Treasure Hoarders having her near ready to ditch them all as it was, it was due to her having determined his potential usefulness upon noting his Vision that prompted her to nurse him back to health.

          Deliberately leaving all the others to their fates, as she didn’t need them.

          When Tua would ask later after awakening, she would swear they were all goners by the time she had found him. That Tua had supposedly been the only one strong enough to survive because of his Vision.

          Grief would take hold, but he wouldn’t linger on that feeling too much. Not enough for it to consume him, anyways. Not when his savior made him an offer to come with her, a suggestion to carry on in his comrades’ names and honor their memories in continuing to plunder and seek the treasures they'd so craved. Feeling both indebted to her and a thrumming need to protect someone once more now that he was without a family ( he dared not return to his father nor join up with a new Hoarder faction after such a harrowing defeat ), he would choose to follow Danae to Mondstadt.

          Along the way and upon reaching their destination, they would take up mercenary work and end up wrapped up in the group they currently associate with now, after participating in an attempt on the young head of the Snake-Eyes gang alongside others like them. Said hit actually having placed by the young head, Ozzy, himself, using it as a ploy for recruitment to test if Danae had been worth Da'Lun's recomendation to his group. Tua likewise making it out alive alongside her and having demonstrated his immense strength and capabilities had been the icing on the cake. He was more than happy to accept the offer to join after that, no need for incentives or anything.

          Well, okay, maybe the pay grade and further chances to seek riches while with them was a pretty good incentive. That, and being able to take part in a whole new gang he could protect and grow stronger with. Those who didn’t need to depend wholly on him and could defend themselves should his strength fail them. But he refused to do so again, swearing the very same oath he gave his late comrades before.

          He will protect his newfound family, with all he has. Whatever it takes.

Mason Ennosigaeus (17): Sidon’s actual biological child. He was stolen away from his family by Morjena when she had found out of his existence, snatching him during the chaos she'd set off after tricking Eremites into looting the caravan the man's wife had traveled with on her way to the main city. It was a move meant to ensure Danae had no competition to being the man’s heir, especially after the woman and her attendants had been killed in the ensuing struggle. Danae was supposed to kill Mason upon being left with him, as Morjena had thought she’d thoroughly beaten the heart out of her. When it turned out the she hadn’t and even wound up with an attachment to the boy, Mason became an opportunity for Morjena to ensure Danae stuck around.

           Mason was frequently abused by Morjena while Danae was gone and quickly came to rely on the latter for everything. Not that it necessarily meant he was entirely helpless. His weak constitution left him helpless as it was, sure, but in truth, Danae never failed to endlessly dote on him every chance she was home to see him, even going as far as to sacrifice her own meals for his sake. She would even forgo sleep to guard him against Morjena as best she could, and when she did, she would deliberately sleep in a way that if the woman pulled anything, she would be the one to take the brunt of her mother’s abrupt assaults. Every little thing he could ever want or need and THEN some was his at his command, and without hesitation. He need only ask. She couldn't offer him comforts like reassurances and gentleness, but this, this she could do for him. And he was wholly all for it, appreciating the one good thing he had amid the horrid life he was stuck in.

             Inevitably, her boundless devotion and their environment twisted him up as badly as it had her, albeit in a different way. The one who truly wound up heartless and cruel, through and through, just as Morjena was, had been him.

          He may come off as shy and unassuming but in truth, he is twice as vicious and self-serving as Danae, behind the gentle demeanor. He is the one person who can ask of her to do anything at his whim, no matter what it is, no matter how hurt she would end up in the process. And he's used that, time and again to sic her on whoever it was he so chose, be it strangers for his own amusement or even people he's realized she started to get a little too close to, in selfish need to ensure she wouldn't start giving away her loyalties. To test that she truly did mean her loyalties to him, and act accordingly if she hesitated or doubted. He still needed her to survive, after all.

          At the same time, he is also the person others could use to strongarm Danae into damn near anything if they hold him captive, as any threats to him lead her to be all to eager to comply for his safety ( though woe betide those who lose him as a bargaining chip at any point during ). He is the One and Only Thing she has left to lose, but the feeling is not mutual. It hasn’t been from the moment she’d left him at the Akademiya on his own.

          Even having been left in the lap of luxury when she'd been forced to flee, being torn from her side and the endless doting, from his greatest asset, left him stewing in a resentful rage. His bitterness and broken heart earned him a Cryo Vision amid the enraged outburst within his room, gleaming enticingly within the wreckage of her final gift to him. That Vision, however, he deemed the greatest gift of all, and one he thoroughly believes was the Tsaritsa’s personal wish to him and show of support.

         As such, as of earning his Vision, he swiftly abandoned the idea of staying at the Akademiya. Instead, he sought to join the Fatui, using his power as incentive to be kept of use to them alongside the Cicin Mages. Though he was sure to mask what he did, telling Danae he got to travel for his studies so she never suspects. So her constant stream of money and gifts from afar never end, having them brought to him by agents he roped into his whims that happened to be stationed in Sumeru.

          In learning she had also once joined the Fatui only to abruptly disappear, he never once believed her dead as many assumed her to be. Knowing her well and the lengths she would go through to survive and how much she loved her freedom, he assumed she truly ran away. Though he keeps this fact to himself. He has full intentions to help hunt her down and make her face her the full consequences for abandoning him. And the Fatui, too, of course. But if possible, he would like to be the one to bring her end himself. To look her right in the eyes as he would use his Vision to make of her a pristine statue for himself to keep.

         Maybe then she’ll actually keep her promise to never leave his side.

[chaosandmarigolds]

WHAT DO YOU MEAN- sorry, what do you meeean Simon literally cannot utter the words I love you?

I mean, yeah he can. But it felt empty.

So he normally did it through actions, helping you carry things, morning coffee, buying a dvd version of that movie you liked to have backup ‘just in case’

He shows it through touches, kisses on the nape of the neck on sleepy mornings, trapping you like a oversized dog in your own bed (didn’t hear that from me)

“You’re late.”

“Im so sorry sir, my dog-“

“I thought you were allergic?”

He likes this. He thought it was right. He never thought that you needed to hear the words.

“Do you love me?”

Screaming silence all expect for the car radio that hummed through the air, your eyes glassy and mascara threatening to run.

“Simon, please-“

“I…give me a minute.”

He tried to pretend he didn’t hear you muffle back a cry- it was stupid, you had both gone to Kyle’s engagement party and the couple had been showering each other with compliments and ‘I love yous ‘ as if they weren’t the most sacred saying. It got to you.

“I…started using that scar ointment ya got me, to-to help ‘em fade, still stinks though. I, um, I wash my clothes with the lavender scent things you like because I like the way you smell- it-it makes me feel like I’m home- I…fuck- okay, I wake up a lil later when you’re over because you like cuddling and I would rather be with you than outside in the rain- I try to make sure your favorite creamer is always full in the fridge so ya don’t wanna leave me in the mornin to get coffee an there-there is no one I would rather be with and I’m sorry I can-Im sorry that im the way that I am and I’m sorry in not good enough-“

“Simon.” You cut him off, the red light he had stopped at green by now but it was so late in the night no one was there, tears streaked your face and his eyes were wide as a deers, “I love you too.”

(Anyway….thats all! <33)

[joeloverture]

hook 'em horny | j.m. x f!reader

masterlist : coach!joel masterlist pairing: college football coach!joel miller x reader summary: [no outbreak] seeking petty revenge on your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you somewhere you shouldn't be — and then it lands you over the knee of his coach. warnings: (18+ mdni, don't make me say it again.) cheating done by a referenced oc, briefest mention of drugs, porn barely garnished with plot, age gap (22/52), smut, unprotected piv sex, creampie, vaginal fingering, potentially dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, daddy kink, sir kink, 'punishment' spanking, degradation, praise, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, joel spits on her ass but otherwise no butt stuff, mild choking, body writing, so many pet names of so many varieties, aftercare, surprisingly fluffy [no use of y/n] word count: 6.4k a/n: this is a crazy idea to have considering joel can hardly handle ellie. i don't think he'd be able to handle ~118 college-aged boys. however, the idea of football coach! joel is hot to me (i mean, seriously, look at those sluts on the sidelines) so i made it happen. on a serious note, i am so sorry to the unnamed university this is based on. i toured you. i'm legacy. but... joel miller. let's make it clear this is for entertainment purposes only. this is a fictional work about fictional people that does not reflect the school itself, which is a fine institution whose head coaches historically do not fuck students in the locker rooms. shoutout to my dad who, unknowing what this information would be used for, explained to me how he snuck into this stadium 3x. don't do that, either.

You can’t even remember the last time you made a good decision.

Your track record definitely isn’t the cleanest: you chose to go to school in Texas, and then chose to stay there for four years. Choosing to go to that frat party in late junior year wasn’t your brightest moment, either, evidenced by the resulting hangover from hell and, predictably, frat flu. All things considered, those choices pale in comparison to hooking up with their all-star quarterback, Lucas Scott.

Dirty-blonde, blue-eyed, muscled Lucas Scott. He’s the sort of guy who looks like an eight when you’re looking at him after a few shots of tequila and a four when you’re sober. The sort of guy who, after over a year of dating, makes you split the bill halfway after ordering the more expensive entree. Crowned as the most efficient, precise, and instinctive quarterback the Longhorns have ever had. Apparently that instinct hadn’t been enough to drive him away from dipping his wick in every sorority girl’s candle wax. 

No matter how much post-orgasm Lucas panted into his ear that he loved you, you weren’t stupid enough to trick yourself into believing it. Staying with him was the easier choice, not yet wanting to reduce yourself to locker room talk. Walking in on him sloppily fucking some redhead nursing major was the breaking point. When it became less about you and more about your dignity.

So, yeah, you’ve never been one for making good decisions, and you certainly aren’t about to start now.

You thought breaking into the stadium would be some sort of monumental task. Trespassing here was normally reserved for campus rooftops and after-hours exploration, but once you’d gotten this batshit crazy idea in your head, you knew it wasn’t going to shake until you at least proved it couldn’t be done.

The open garage at the back of the building doesn’t help to deter you. It’s like there’s a welcome-mat outside saying, ‘Come on in and get what you deserve!’.

Who would you be to decline such a sincere invitation?

The garage is empty apart from some cushy golf carts, and the steel door behind them couldn’t be more tempting. If it’s locked, you tell yourself, you’ll go back to the dorm and forget about your incident of near-trespassing. 

You take small steps to the door, testing the handle. It springs right open, and all thoughts of leaving dissipate from your mind.

Who leaves the garage open and forgets to lock the door? Probably people with just as little between their ears (and legs) as Lucas. You scoff in half-disbelief, half-luck as you close the door behind you.

The energy feels stagnant this late at night, no announcer on the loudspeaker or swarms of burnt orange hats and T-shirts standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Industrial lights flicker above, their hums loud enough to make you wonder if you have tinnitus. Concrete lines the hallways, interrupted by a few silver-painted pipes arranged in a labyrinth up against the walls. A few security cameras are pointed at you. Before going any further, you pause to raise the hood of your Longhorns sweatshirt.

Even if you should be, you aren’t in much of a rush; you amble about, really taking in the sterile ambiance of the empty stadium. You turn a few corners, going in what feels like the right direction. You figure you’re getting closer when you spot what looks like it could be a security tower. Crouching behind a trash can, you wait it out, trying to peer through the untinted windows to figure out if there’s anyone in there at all. When you’ve determined it’s unmanned and let out a shallow exhale, you go back up to full posture and keep wandering around unsupervised.

You know you’re in the right place when you find your toes hovering over a red line painted on the oil-stained concrete: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT. 

Bingo.

Crossing that line without really thinking about it, you stick to your (so far) tried and true method of going wherever feels the most promising until you’re standing in front of the two black doors you were looking for. The door’s handle is an obnoxiously large longhorn, and you quite literally have to hook ‘em to get inside.

You’re starting to understand where the rest of the university’s funding is going when you walk into the locker room. After dating Lucas for a year, you know the football team is full of itself, but the Longhorniness of it all is… excessive. There’s the silhouette of the logo glowing on the goddamn ceiling, and if the jerseys the players are wearing on their digital nameplates isn’t enough of an indicator of who they play for, every backlit locker has a drawer with, you guessed it: a longhorn painted at the center. A brown vinyl couch wraps around the front of the room in direct view of a powered down videoboard that you can only assume replays highlight reels.

You roll your eyes. Again, your track record with decision-making isn’t the best, because you chose a school who puts every penny towards sweaty frat boys with brain damage from the amount of concussions they get.

And then you see it: a sign tacked onto the middle aisle of lockers that reads CORE VALUES. From top to bottom, HONESTY, TREAT WOMEN WITH RESPECT, NO DRUGS, NO STEALING, and NO WEAPONS. You have to physically clamp your jaw shut to restrict your laughter at the second one.

It doesn’t take you long to find what you’re looking for. Lucas Scott, #10.

His sweat-stained jersey hangs limply from the rack, and you eagerly tear it off, tossing it down onto the floor. Eager like a child ready to color outside the lines of a coloring book, you kneel down in front of it, pulling out the one thing you had prepared for tonight. A bold black Sharpie.

You pop the cap with your teeth, spitting it out somewhere on the floor as you start scribbling. Disguising your handwriting isn’t intentional, but you’re writing so carelessly and on such a foreign material that it comes naturally. Your tongue sticks out of the corner of your mouth as you work. In a year and a half, you’d never felt such satisfaction about — and certainly not from  — Lucas.

TWO PUMP CHUMP along the side. FIVE INCHES FULL MAST on the other. CHEATER at the bottom. WHORE across the front.

A throat clears behind you. You drop the Sharpie, a blot of ink forming on the mesh. You startle backwards, scooting until your back hits that stupid longhorn drawer. You’re expecting a janitor, maybe a security guard if you’re extra unlucky. 

That isn’t the worst of your options, apparently, because when you look up, it’s at Joel fucking Miller, head coach of the longhorn’s football team.

Your lower lip starts trembling, and that moment is when you decide maybe you need to start making good decisions. You’ve heard enough about Joel from Lucas to know he’s a total hardass. He could drag you by the ear to the dean and have you kicked out at the tail end of your second to last semester in this hellhole.

He glares down at you with his head cocked, hazel eyes far darker than they ever seem on TV. His scruff stipples his hardened jawline, lips thinned out like the worry lines pressed onto his forehead. If you were interested in digging yourself any deeper, you might stall to think about how good he looks: the faint trail of chest hair vanishing down into the neckline of his longhorns polo shirt, his fitted khakis, broad leather belt slung around his waist, and the slight bulge of tummy above it. You swallow hard and kick yourself for it.

“What exactly,” Coach Miller drawls, voice syrupy and sticky. “do ya think you’re doin’?”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t seem very amused, his muscled arms crossing over his wide torso.

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t a good look for you, hun, scrawlin’ that chicken scratch all over my QB’s jersey. Could get a real ugly charge for that.”

Heart crashing into your ribcage, you bite down on your lip. “I can pay the damages,” you blurt out.

He sizes you up all over again, eyes dragging up and down your body. They linger on your chest for a few extra seconds that you’re convinced that you just made up. “Can you, sugar? ‘Cause to me, looks like you’re the type to be chasin’ tips at whatever joint hires you.”

You don’t have the bandwidth to be as offended as you should be, especially because he’s right. You settle for glowering at him instead. A huff of laughter pinches out of him. “You give everyone you vandalize that blue look? Or is that lil’ number jus’ because you found out Lucas really ain’t that loyal?” With ease, Joel bulldozes over whatever thinning resolve you have remaining. 

“What’s that sign over there say? ‘Treat women with respect’?” You say. Joel’s backlit like all of those over budgeted lockers behind him. You squint your eyes. “You know that’s fucking bullshit. So what if I give him a taste of his own medicine when he’s been a minute man for every girl with a pulse on this campus?” You cap your Sharpie and clip it back onto your collar and get to your feet. So much for good decisions. “Fuck right off with that.”

“Hey, hey. Down, hun.” Joel holds his hands out to you, and you notice just how heavily you’ve been breathing, just how close you are to him. “Never said you were wrong. Kid’s a fuck up in all sorts ‘a ways. But I don’t like how you’re mouthin’ off at me, Miss Priss. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in dire need of a spankin’ to set you right.”

Your breath cuts short and your cunt bottoms out without your permission. You don’t need a mirror to know your eyes just went glassy, your lips parted as your mouth goes desert dry. As discreetly as you can manage, you squeeze your thighs together.

Joel doesn’t miss it. You can tell from the moment his brows raise and his eyes sparkle, the corner of his mouth picking up a smidge. “Oh, yeah? That do somethin’ for ya, hun? Nasty little girl.” There’s a dangerous, uneven grit to his voice that has arousal burning like a candle in your stomach, the wax of your arousal syrupy against your thighs already. 

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. Fuck.

“No,” you breathe out stubbornly, but you’ve already given yourself away, even to yourself. The insides of your thighs are molten, twitching with every throb of your clit between your legs. That flush of warmth from your pelvis is spreading, overheating.

Joel tuts. “You really think that? You can whine all you want ‘bout wantin’ respect, but at the end ‘a the day, you just wanna be treated like some whore, huh?” And, yeah, he has you figured out, has you in the palm of his hand. Even though you have no idea what someone like him could do to someone like you, you want him to do it. You want to find out. “I’ll tell ya what, sugar, you walk outta here right now and nobody but me’s gonna know you came pitchin’ a hissy fit in my locker room.”

You frown at that, a small arc of your pouty lips that has Joel’s eyes gleaming.

“Or,” he says. “You can pull those wet fuckin’ panties down – don’t gimme that look, I know they are – and I can give ya a real lesson in respect.” He shrugs, hands going to his waist as he looks you up and down.

He knows he has you the same way you know, but you aren’t just going to give in that easily. You flare your nose and counter, “If there’s nothing keeping me here other than a firm hand, why should I stay?”

He’s looking at you like he wants to take you apart. His fingers jump against his hips for the opportunity to break you down. 

“Sweetness,” Joel shakes his head as if it’s obvious. “if you let me, I could make you feel good. I’m guessin’ you got some vibrator sittin’ in the back of your desk drawer to use when your roommate’s out ‘n about, but you don’t wanna use that tonight, do ya? You want the real thing, hun, and I’d give it to ya real nice once I teach ya to behave.”

There it is again: Coach Joel Miller has you all figured out. Every syllable he says is doomed to send another shiver up your spine, and damn it, fuck playing coy.

You’re too busy tearing off your hoodie to think about how unsexily dressed you are, but the rushed nature of your actions punches a chuckle out of Joel. “Eager thing.” You’re halfway through kicking your shoes and leggings off when he saunters over to the couch, plopping down on the edge and patting his broad, khaki-covered thigh. Your mouth waters when you look back and see just how much the fabric strains against his leg. “Whenever you’re ready, hun.”

You waddle over to him, stripped down to the basics of your sports bra and everyday panties. It’s the furthest thing from erotic, but the way he’s looking at you isn’t. It’s primal and ravenous, enough to have you forgetting all about how you’d even gotten there in the first place. He licks his lips as he trails his eyes all over you, darkening a couple of shades when he looks at your cleavage. “Lucas is a fuckin’ idiot, baby.”

“Knew that already,” you mumble.

He pats his thigh again, bounces his leg. “C’mon, over my knee like the good girl I know you can be. Hurry up and I’ll only give ya five.”

You shuffle forward, relishing in the rubbing of your thighs that comes from it. He’s sitting on the corner of the couch at the perfect angle for you to rest your head on the arm. It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to put yourself over his lap, not that he needed to do much in the first place. You feel so much smaller than him. Your ass is up for him to do whatever he’d like to; it’s a tantalizing feeling you hadn’t gotten out of any intimacy – if you could call it that — with Lucas.

“Mmmmmm,” Joel groans as he runs a hand between your legs. He rubs at your slit through the soaked gusset of your panties. You can’t stop the way your hips buck, or the pitiful shout that jumps off your lips when he pins you down by the small of your back, robbing you of any friction. Between one arousal-riddled breath and the next, Joel tugs your panties off and flings them to the side. You know how it feels, tacky and cold on your core and thighs, so you can only imagine how it must look. Joel gives you a pretty good idea when he reveres, “Goddamn, pretty cunt is throbbin’ for it.”

He pulls apart your folds and you think you hear him lick his lips above you before he lets them go. The schlick noise your dripping pussy makes is nothing less than pornographic. Joel gropes you carefully, kneads the skin of your ass like you have all the time in the world. Under his ministrations, it’s easy to melt into the couch, forgetting why you’re there in the first place until his palm cracks down on your ass cheek.

The stinging impact has a slurred hnnnngh leaving your lips, and a fresh gush of wetness between your legs to accompany it. You keep your head tucked into the sanctuary of your folded arms, eyes squeezed shut so tight you swear you’re seeing stars. Joel’s quick to rub the spanked patch of skin, his palm soothing his ache. “That’s one, baby.” You nod into your arms. “Think you can take four more?” Another nod.

“I need to hear ya, hun. C’mon, head up f’me.” He taps the side of your cheek, and you prop your cheek up on your forearm. “Think you can take four more?” he repeats.

Your voice hitches, courtesy of the beating that echoes in your chest and between your legs. “Y-yes…” 

When the second hit lands, you don’t expect it. You flinch away from his hand when it comes down with a clap that leaves you squirming in his lap. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you whine out, back arching. Although a punishment, that spank has the same effect as the last: a live wire of arousal strung from your spine to your cunt.

“Takin’ it well,” he praises, squeezing your ass cheeks together. “Sure didn’t expect anyone to come crawlin’ in when I left that garage open, ‘specially not some slut like you with an ass that needs a spankin’ six ways to Sunday.” Just as quick as he can build you up, he can take you down a notch, but you can’t mind when it has you moaning all the same. “Oh, she likes that,” Joel clicks.

He rubs your ass again, and you’re bracing yourself for that next strike, pulled stiff with an arousing, anticipatory sort of fear. Only when you convince yourself it isn’t coming do you let all of that tension flood out of your body — and that’s when Joel smacks his hand across your far-too-trustworthy ass.

You cry out, pouting over your shoulder at Joel, who has a proud smirk drawn all over his face. You don’t even feel your hips rocking down, seeking whatever pleasure you can get until he reprimands, “Ruttin’ against my fuckin’ leg, now, huh? Don’t pretend you don’t like this.”

With a particularly good grind of your hips, you feel his bulge pressing into your thigh. From a mere graze alone, you can tell it’s huge. A whimper tears out of you at the same time he groans above you. “You got nothin’ to prove, ain’t gonna change the fact you’re a slut who needs to get spanked ‘n stuffed to talk ‘er into behavin’ a bit.”

“Can’t even follow your own rules,” you huff, apparently still interested in shooting yourself in the foot even when Coach Miller has you ass-up over his knee. 

“Don’t see how you care…” Joel slides a hand down between your legs. He rubs at your clit, an intense pressure that has you wanting more and less all at the same time, before dragging a thick finger across your opening. Arousal squelches between your legs and your hips jump – a dead giveaway to just how turned on you are, whether you like it or not. “when it gets you this turned on,” he finishes. Then that same finger is prodding at your mouth, glistening with your wetness. You whimper before tasting yourself, sucking obediently on his finger until he pulls away with a pop.

You sulk, “Don’t act like I can’t feel you ripping a hole in your jeans, Miller–”

The fourth spank is the hardest by far. The skin of your ass feels bitten by Joel’s ‘firm hand’. It’s the kind of hit that makes your legs kick in his lap and your fingers clutch in the couch’s arm for purchase. You wail, “Daddy!” Pain disappears from your mind when you realize what exactly you just said, quickly replaced by the churning coolant of embarrassment. If you were paying attention to anything else other than the shame suddenly inhabiting your chest, you might’ve been able to feel the twitch of his cock in his pants.

“Daddy, huh?” Joel hums, rubbing your hurt ass with one hand while the other strokes your shoulder. You bury your face back in your arms as an apology takes shape in the back of your throat. “Lucas your daddy, too?”

“No!” You squeak, adjusting in his lap. The hood of your clit catches on the rough material of Joel’s pants. Unable to stop yourself, you hump his knee again, shallow rolls of your hips. You can still feel his hardness against you. Needily, you tip your head up, panting as foggy pleasure hangs over your head. 

“Stop makin’ a mess of daddy’s dress pants, baby, unless you wanna be on your knees, lickin’ it up.” You keen, and he chuckles knowingly. “Shoulda known, little whore like you gets off on that.” 

Joel gives you a longer reprieve between the fourth and fifth spank. Instead, he strokes your ass and asks, “One more gonna be enough to set you straight, sweetheart?”

“Y..yes daddy,” you whimper. He hums in approval.

You shift back and forth, waiting for it to come — and when it does, it’s softer. It’s by no means a love pat, but it pales in comparison to his previous work. You still sniffle, squeezing your thighs together as he coos, “I know, I know. Poor baby, actin’ all high ‘n mighty. Can’t be on her high horse when she’s over Daddy’s knee.” Gentle, he pats your ass and guides you on all fours at the edge of the couch. He hums in approval. “See? Not throwin’ a hissy fit anymore. She’s all nice ‘n obedient when you get ‘er to act right.”

Joel spreads your pussy with his thumbs, and you hear the vulgar noise of him collecting his saliva before you feel his spit landing on your clenching hole. You’ve never felt so empty, not when your bottom drawer vibrator is buzzing against your core, definitely not when Lucas fucks you in the same old missionary. Whimpering for him, you arch your back to try to rub against his crotch.

“Quit your whinin’,” he snips, his thumb finding your clit in one swipe. Joel’s touch is firm, but not too firm, just enough to make your hips push down with a need only he’s ever made you feel. 

Without warning, his middle finger slides inside of you, thick and calloused and so, so right. “Fuckin’... tight.” Another slides in as he starts scissoring you open, apparently satisfied enough when he crooks his fingers deep in your cunt. Instantly, he catches that spongy spot that you can never reach on your own. You nearly crumple with the sensation, limbs going weak and buckling. “That the spot?” he asks, but he already knows.

“Mhm,” you moan, chin instinctively tucking against your chest as if you can get away from the pleasure he’s giving you, as if you’d ever want to.

Then — he stops.

His fingers sit heavy inside of you, so close to where you need them to go. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

"Baby, s’that how you get what you want?” He rubs your thigh with his free hand and gives it a quick swat. “Help daddy out, tight girl. I'm not just gonna let you get away with bein’ a spoiled brat. Work yourself on my fingers."

You’re putty in the palm of his hand – malleable, docile for him to treat or mistreat you however gets him hard. You whine, punching your hips back nonetheless. Grinding down, down, down, your cunt unresisting when he gives you another finger. It’s crude, the way you moan for him.

Even though he’s hardly doing anything, just the hand you’re getting yourself off on, that all-consuming strain in your body only gets stronger. “Daddy – close, please…”

 “Attagirl, atta-fuckin’-girl, give it to me.” He rewards you with a press of his fingers against that golden spot inside of you. Your orgasm splinters through you, an ecstasy-charged mist fanning over your body. Your release runs down Joel’s hand and your thighs with every clench of your cunt, like you’ve been skinned and set ablaze by your own desire. You fall forward on the couch, no longer able to hold yourself up, arms a tangled mess as you gasp into the cushion. “You come so pretty, baby. Messy pussy, too. Soaked me up to my goddamn elbow.”

You’re still reeling from the best orgasm you’ve had in months, maybe ever, when you hear obscene slurping noises from behind you. You cast a look at him, your arousal returning with a vigor at the sight of Joel sucking his fingers clean. He groans at the taste, and you swear you see his cock jump in his khakis. Stomach warped with desire, you’re about to plummet off of the very dangerous edge of doing just about anything for him right now.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead, and in any other position, with any other person, it might be mortifying, something worth clutching your pearls over. But this is Coach Joel Miller, the last person you ever expected to be fucking, giving you the best fuck you never expected.

“There’s those manners,” Joel praises, leaning over you to press a brief kiss to your shoulder blade. You can smell your release on his lips, a sweet smell that’s so distinctly you. He eases off of you, presumably to take off his pants. There’s the shuffling of fabric, and when he returns to your side, you’re disappointed to find he hasn’t even unbuckled his belt.

You pout at him again, still desperate to get your way. Eye-level with his bulge, you’re salivating over it. You had made a mess of his dress pants, a wet spot formed just above his knee, taunting you. You lick your lips. 

“Think it’s only fair,” he says, looming over you. He’s holding the Sharpie you’d brought along with you. Your brows furrow as you look up at him through your lashes. “If I give ya the same treatment you gave his jersey.” His gaze is cocky as he pops the cap with his thumb, giving the marker a twirl.

Oh.

It shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does. Nothing about this should turn you on as much as it does, yet here you are, in a puddle of your own sweat and cum, itching for the next thing he gives you. And if it’s marking up your body before he fucks your brains out, so be it.

He nudges his head, gesturing for you to get down on your stomach. You lift your knees up and flatten yourself out on the cushions. The vinyl sticks and pulls from your skin as you get where he wants you. A soft, surprised noise leaves you when he straddles your thighs, his clothed cock nudging at your seam.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out, because it’s the only phrase you can think of that even holds a candle to what all of this has become. 

A laugh fans out from under his breath as he starts at your freshly spanked, raw ass. The Sharpie is cold and foreign, tugging at your skin as he inks you up. “Gotta make sure you match before I dick you down, don’t I? What is it you wrote on his jersey? ‘Whore’? Between the two ‘a ya, I woulda put my money on you for that one.”

If that wasn’t enough indication, you figure out what he’s doing by the time he gets to the right cheek, what feels like an ‘R’ taking shape across your ass. He finishes the ‘E’ and sets down the Sharpie for a moment, his meaty palms spreading your ass. It still thrums with the afterglow of his spanking. You don’t think you can throb any more than you already are, but then he spits on you for the second time that night, this time landing it on your puckered asshole. A gasp flutters from your lips as you grind down into the couch, his spit dripping down your folds.

“See? Real whorish, fuckin’ my couch.” He taps your ass for good measure. “Asshole makes a perfect fuckin’ ‘O’, baby. Looks a whole lot better than that chicken scratch shit you put on his jersey.” You think maybe, just maybe, he’ll dismount you and pull his cock out, but instead he keeps writing, scribbling on your back and upper thighs. Every pull of your skin under the bleeding ink has you aching for him.

When he’s content with his work, he lifts off of you, hands fumbling to undo his belt. It snaps apart, dangling open around his waist as his hands open up his khakis. “You let Lucas fuck that sweet lil’ cunt raw?” he asks.

“No, I don’t,” you admit, unable to tear your eyes away from his cock as he pulls it out, and fuck you. Your eyes don’t even feel big enough to take all of him in, and you have no idea how you’re going to fit him between your legs. You almost go cross-eyed at the sight of it, his head leaking precum.

“Thought so. You gonna let me fuck it raw?”

“Yes, daddy,” you breathe out, drool pooling in your mouth at the thought of having him inside of you, having him inside of you bare. Yet another thing you never gave to Lucas in a year of disappointing sex, but are eagerly giving up to Joel. 

“Gotta be a real nasty slut,” Joel says, returning to his place atop your thighs, his thick ones framing yours. Your breath hitches when you feel the weight of his cock gliding through your ass cheeks and down to your cunt. “to let your ex-boyfriend’s coach bareback ya in the locker room.” A heady gasp tears from you when the head of his cock bumps your clit. He teases you — his cock, slippery with a combination of your arousal, skating from your clit to your spasming opening, not quite nudging in.

“Daddy, please – I need it… need you to fuck me, fuck me–”

He doesn’t make you wait any longer.

When he pushes in, it knocks the air out of your lungs. The only proof that you’re still breathing is when you let out a pitchy, desperate moan. Joel grunts, teeth gritted as he flattens himself down against your spine so he can roll his hips into yours. The pain of his size becomes an afterthought just as quickly as the pain of your spanking, dwarfed by the pleasure he gives you just as easily. 

“Fuuuuck,” Joel groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and shoulder. Inch at a time, he works you open, grinding his hips into your opening. “Could you be any goddamn tighter?” He bites at your neck from behind with every rock of his hips into yours until he bottoms out.

“Big,” is all you manage to squeak out as he hauls you back on his cock, already prodding your g-spot with his head. Your eyes roll back as you clench around him. 

His fingers go up to run circles around your shoulder, soothing you, grounding you when his cock has you anything but. “Mmm, I know, I know. You can take it. All whores can.” With that, Joel starts fucking you, really fucking you, a punishing, relentless pace where he pulls out entirely before filling you to the brim. Each snap of his hips into yours fills the locker room with shameless sounds, the mere background to your depraved moans.

“Never had your pussy stretched by a man double your age before, huh?”

“N–no! Never… never had my pussy stretched mu…much at all–”

Joel slams into you, laughs at the strained noise that you make. “Yeah? Those dumbfucks on my team not doin’ it for ya, baby?” You don’t answer, don’t think he’s expecting one until his hand wraps around your front, forearm pressed firm against your tits. His thick hand wraps lightly around your neck, jostling you. It’s not hard enough to blur your vision, but just hard enough to remind you of the power he has over you. The power you allow him to have. It’s invigorating. Everything about him is. 

Moans spurt out of you as you fumble to answer, “No da– daddy! You — ah! — do it for m–me!” 

“And what do you say for that? For goin’ outta my way to show you what a real fuck is?”

“Thank you, Daddy!” you cry out. You’re spilling down his thighs, the wet suction of your pussy around his cock making noises more vulgar than you’ve ever heard in porn.

His hand squeezes again at your neck, and you feel floaty, a bubble just waiting to pop. Pleasure dances in every one of your veins, every nerve ending burning like a match that he keeps striking ablaze.

“There you go, desperate slut just needs a freshly spanked ass, a good dickin’ down, and a hand ‘round her throat to behave.” Joel’s pace stays just as harsh, crushing your g-spot with his cock. “Should keep you back here for when we lose, tie you to the goddamn desk. Let my staff take turns with you, see how much crybaby you have left in ya when a dozen men’s loads are drippin’ outta your reamed fuckin’ cunt. Bet you like it when men use you.” The whine that almost gags you on its way out is enough to confirm it.

If he keeps talking to you and the wind blows the right way on your clit, you know you’ll be coming. You’re wringing out his cock with every flutter of your pulsing pussy. The beginning embers of your orgasm turn into a wildfire when he wedges his free hand down between your legs, rubbing messy circles into your sloppy clit. “Fuck, please, please, please,” you sob out, too riddled with pleasure to care about how pathetic you sound or look as you hump his hand while he pounds you.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby.” Joel rasps, nipping at your ear. The hand around your throat falls fully to your chest, pressing you solid against him so he can fuck deeper, deeper, deeper. It’s enough to make you scream, hands clawing and scratching down his muscular grip on you. “C’mon, hun, give it to me, come on my cock, fuck.”

With another thrust, he has you pushed right down onto his fingers, rubbing and flicking you every which way. It’s all you need to come undone, your second orgasm of the night unlatching through you like something forked and angry, battering your sore limbs until there’s nothing left of it or you. You’re a mess, spit oozing down your chin as you slur “thank you daddy” like a broken record, thighs clamping around nothing.

Joel groans as you clench around his cock and continues his relentless pace, hips slapping against yours. The hand he’d been using to rub your clit migrates to your tits, grazing and then thumbing and then tugging lightly your nipples. “There it is, told ya you could be a good girl. Lettin’ your daddy use this cunt to get off, lettin’ me use you. I’m fuckin’ close, baby, where do you want me?”

And you want it even if you shouldn’t, want his cum deep inside of you, want it to leak out into your panties as you walk back to your dorm. You’re still no good at making decisions, too fucked out to tell right from left when you beg, “I–inside, fuck, come inside me, daddy, please.”

Joel practically growls at that, thrusts losing their steadiness as his hips jump and he hurtles towards his release. “Yeah, you’re a goddamn whore, beggin’ for this cum. And you’re gonna fuckin’ take it, yeah… fuckin’ take it.” He slams all the way into you for the last time before shooting his cum into your cunt, swearing and moaning. Breathing like he’s run a mile, he goes slack on top of you, pets the back of your head while he comes down from the exhilaration of his high.

With a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he rises, and the fantasy is over. His cock slips from your pussy, and you feel hollow with the loss. This is where he tucks himself back into his pants, runs a hand back through his hair, tells you to never show your face in his stadium again, and shoves you out the door.

And he does: tucks his softening cock into his boxers, zips up his khakis, does his belt, tames his post-sex head of hair. You wince even if you expected it, leaning down over the edge of the couch to grab your hoodie, already moving to tug it over your head.

“What do you think you’re doin’?” Joel asks, and his tone sounds much more different than the first time he’d asked you. He sounds offended. You blink confusedly, dazedly at him with your arms halfway through the armholes. “Let me clean you up, hun.” Joel side-steps the pile of your leggings and shoes, adjusting the hoodie on your arms and pulling it down your torso. “I know Lucas ain’t done you right, but you deserve to be taken care of, pretty girl.” Your heart pinches in a way that it shouldn’t, not for a hookup with your ex-boyfriend’s coach.

You shift, and he can’t help but look back between your legs where his cum escapes your hole. He manages to pry his eyes away, but not without licking his lips first. “I’ll be right back, baby. Promise.”

When he’s back, it’s with a damp rag. He crouches down in front of you, taking it to the apex of your thighs and wiping away the combination of your releases, careful not to nudge your sensitive clit. He kisses your thigh gently before pulling back, folding the towel on the arm of the couch you’d been crying into just a few minutes ago.

Joel shimmies your ruined panties up your thighs, followed by your leggings. You let him, breath cut like a snipped wire from the sheer intimacy of it all, intimacy you’d lacked with Lucas even after a year of trying. You’d stayed with him for comfortability at your own expense. How stupid could you have been?

Joel pats your knee, eyes soft and weirdly sincere as he looks at you. “I’m sorry about Lucas, honey, but I meant it when I said you deserve to be taken care of.” He rubs the back of his neck before holding something out to you. A business card, his work number plastered in bold sans-serif font across the bottom. “I know this is in reverse ‘n all, but I’d really like to take you out and treat you right, if you’ll let me.”

Saying yes is your first good decision in a while.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Dead on main. Singer! Phantom x Red Hood!Jason

Laws are easily changed if businessmen smell money.

Paulina and Sam suggest Danny to try to become a singer in order to change society's opinion about ghosts a little. In the end, the otherworldly sound of his voice can at least be used for the benefit of Realms.

And it seems like the Everlasting Trio is really liked by the public. At first they just release a few songs (Exams kill, Battle with myself, What an Autopsy Won't Show, Among the stars). But a mysterious atmosphere mixed with understandable teenage problems begins to take over teens playlists. Their fans want more and more.

So, when under the pressure of the public and profit-hungry bigwigs all bans on the presence of ecto creatures in the United States are lifted, the Trio goes on their first Tour.

~~~~~

Jason stumbles upon Phantom's songs completely by accident. It was painful to hear them for the first time but at the same time it was as if he could breathe again because he had found someone similar. Someone who understands, and who doesn't judge him for coming back wrong. Jason listens to his voice on repeat and the rage seems to recede and subside. There is sadness of loss and fear in the songs but most of them end bringing some hope and this thought gives Red Hood more strength not to break down for another day. and then another, and another..And one day, the green eyes in the mirror do not scare Jason but shows him that he belonging to something more. Todd can't explain it more precisely, but it was as if the waters of Lazarus inside him had calmed down and he was no longer enemies with them. He even jokes with Tim that he is finally rest in peace and ready to live a full undead life when his brother (God, his lil brother whom he wanted to hurt recently because of his own stupidity), asks him about his strange behavior.

~~~~~

Jason forgets how to breathe again. His favorite band, and most importantly his favorite vocalist, is coming to Gotham with a concert. For many years now, none of the nonresidents have dared to take such a risk, but it seems like Phantom has absolutely no instinct for self-preservation. Well, as a true fan, Red Hood will do his best so that none of the gothamites spoil the Trio's impression of their first concert here. Danny is beside himself with excitement. Their concert in the hometown of the Red Hood was approved. Of course, there is no chance that he would be able to meet such a busy vigilante but Phantom continues to dream. If he'll fly a little over the city instead of sleeping after rehearsals, maybe he'll get an autograph from at least one member of the bat clan.

~~~~~ Phantom: Thank you very much Mr. Nightwing sir. Just sign it for.. Nightwing: For a Phantom, right? Huh, I recognized you, my brother has poster in his room. Nice hairstyle by the way. Danny*urgently*: Which one of them?

Nightwing: Jeez, and I thought it was just a stage image. Ghosts are kinda creepy. Terribly persistent, to be precise. And yeah, Jason, he absolutely not against you as a vigilante. You can safely ask Phantom to sign your helmet, I promise. Man was so happy when find out you're listening to his songs, you have no idea.

Jason *holds out a hand*. Nightwing: What? Jason: If you dared to meet Phantom before me, then where is my autograph? Nightwing: Em..oops? I gave him mine if it helps.

Jason: *sounds of an angry lazarus demon*.

[lewisvinga]

both of them | charles leclerc x fem! reader x alexandra saint mleux

summary; fans think charles is cheating in alexandra after fans see his interactions with y/n, the truth shocks them even more

fc; sabrina carpenter

warnings; cursing i think

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1 @minseok-smaus @goldenmclaren @ollieshifts @lavisenri @graciewrote @xoscar03

note; requested ! slowly but surely recovering from this cold, so expect some more posts soon ( hopefully 🤞 )

masterlist !

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yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; guess where i’m going 😁] [caption 2; forza ferrari sempre ❤️]

alexandrasaintmleux replied to your story !

alexandrasaintmleux make sure charles isn’t being such a worrier ! i miss u both sm:(

yourusername oh babe u know our cha, he worries about every little thing ! i think he might go crazy if i spend any second longer getting food 😬😬

yourusername n we miss u 2🙁

alexandrasaintmleux classic charles😅 idk how he survives races when neither of us are there 🤔

charles_leclerc replied to your story !

charles_leclerc WHERE ARE YOU

yourusername i swear alex can feel how nervous u are from here😭

yourusername IM OMW!!!!

charles_leclerc im not that nervous 🙄🙄

yourusername yeah sure lolllll😂😂

yourusername u just need a hug bae

charles_leclerc yeah true

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liked by charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !

yourusername: slayrarri

tagged; scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc

scuderiaferrari: we’ll invite u everytime slay y/n 😁❤️

yourusername: oh yes please

username: MOTHER

username: THE HALTER TOPPP😍

username: no wonder charles kept staring at her bc AWOOGA

charles_leclerc: come back in 2 weeks, yeah? 😉

yourusername: only if u play nice 😁

username: what is going on in the house of commons…

username:,)-;@3:

username: charles 😭😭😭

username: whyd charles add a winking emoji like sir u have a gf 🤔🤔🤔

username: AND ALEX LIKED THIS?? like in front of u gf is embarrassing he has no shame 💀💀

username: it’s weirddddddd, like if that was my man i’d say it’s cheating but that’s just me

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liked by yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux, and others !

charles_leclerc: my girls, both of them.

tagged; yourusername, alexandrasaintmleux

yourusername: CHAAAAAAA

alexandrasaintmleux: chaaaaaaa ( lowercase )

charles_leclerc: Y/NNNNN ALEXXXXX

yourusername: my sweet boy n my sweet girl, ilysm😢🫶

alexandrasaintmleux: love u, pretty girl, love u both💓

charles_leclerc: and I love u both the most

alexandrasaintmleux: y/n let him win this or else hem get pouty😕😕😕 yourusername

yourusername: fine i’ll let him win 🙄🙄🙄 alexandrasaintmleux

charles_leclerc: i don’t??? get??? pouty????

carlossainz55: this is you everytime 😾😾 and unfortunately i have to deal with it🙄

username: he said i want ‘em BOF

username: WHAHSOAJD

username: waittttt i like this 🤭🫣🫣

username: they’re all dating ???&2@;&😭😭

username: how’d charles pull both of ‘em holy shit they’re gorgeousss😭😭

maxverstappen1: a lot of stuttering and blushing i must say😕😕

username: MAX???? LMAOOO

username: not max exposing charles 😭😭😭

charles_leclerc: maxverstappen1 stop lying on my name

pierregasly: you still blush at the mention of their name wdym?? 🤔 charles_leclerc

lewishamilton: remember when he came up to us and asked for advice on how to approach them? 😂 pierregasly

charles_leclerc: ok that’s ENOUGH pierregasly lewishamilton

yourusername: no keep going boys pls 🙏maxverstappen1 pierregasly lewishamilton

alexandrasaintmleux: i’m liking this 😁

username: JWODKWKS WHATS GOING ONNN😭

username: poor charles he’s getting violated under his own post

username: THEYRE A THROUPLE???

username: YOOOOOO😨😨😨😨😨

username: wdym they’re all dating WDYMMMM

username: do u guys need a dog??? i can bark😖

username: KANKAKXKAKKD???!1@;&/&/

username: i audibly gasped whaaaa

username: the way they all slay so hard

[schrijverr]

We’re Adopted?!?

When Bruce’s kids end up on the Watchtower due to a set of unforeseen circumstances, Jason first tries to get the League to believe that they’re all biologically related to Bruce. He tries to avoid having Jason give everyone a sex talk by reminding him that he’s adopted. This leads to all his kids pretending that this is the first time they’ve heard of it, much to the horror of the League and the exasperation of Bruce.

Based on this post.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

It finally happened. After years of successfully keeping the League from finding out about all the kids he has, they’ve finally met. And in the most dramatic way too. In a way it’s very suited for their family, but that is a detail Bruce had hoped to keep from the League.

However, it happens anyway and now his two teams have met.

They’re sitting in the common area of the Watchtower when the Zeta-Tube suddenly whirs to life and the Batmobile comes crashing into the area. It spins to a stop as if it had been in the middle of a chase, before the teleporter snatched them off the streets.

Bruce gets out of his chair and makes his way over. He isn’t too worried about them, since they’re here and while that might have meant danger before, they are safe with him now. If one of them had been terribly injured or left behind, they would be screaming and yelling already and that isn’t happening yet.

His eyes meet Tim’s, who is standing next to the car, his costume a little singed, hair askew and looking a little worse for wear. Apologetically he greets: “Hi, Justice League, promise we have a good reason to be here.”

For Bruce, this is quite normal chaos and these are his kids, but he notices that the Justice League has formed a defensive barrier around the Batmobile. They perceive his kids as a threat. It’s so absurd that he is quiet for a moment.

In that moment, Superman steps forward and demands to know: “Who are you and how did you get up here?”

“With a car no less,” Hal adds, sounding a little impressed, which doesn’t make Bruce smug in the slightest, no sir.

He is about to tell everyone to stand down when the doors of the car open and his kids come spilling out. It’s a bit of a car clown moment with how many vigilantes fit inside.

Dick nearly falls out of the side, with Damian following after him. Both of them have soot in their hair and scratches on their faces.

A singed Jason stumbling out on the other side as he loudly complains: “This is the last time we’re letting Spoiler drive.”

Steph’s costume is a little flame tattered too as she swings open the driving side and says: “I’d like to see you do better, asshole. At least it wasn’t like Signal’s first driving attempt.”

“Hey,” Duke exclaims, coming out of the car after Jason, looking a little banged up. “Just because I didn’t know where the missiles were, doesn’t mean it was terrible.”

“I didn’t eject anyone,” Steph pouts.

“Yes, you did!” Duke exclaims. “You very much did.”

“Well, not by accident,” Steph argues. “It was part of the plan.”

The other front door is now open and Cass is next to him. He puts an arm around her and pulls her into his cape. Then he decides to step in, because it seems the League doesn’t know what to do when they’re not viewed as an authority.

“What happened?” he asks.

Six heads snap his way, as if his kids had forgotten where they were. It wouldn’t be the first time, so he doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes.

Tim reports: “The Riddler broke out of Arkham, along with like a bunch of b-rate villains. They caused havoc, but we rounded them all up. Riddler took the time it took us to round them up to set up his trap. He went with a fire theme.”

“Is he contained now?” Bruce asks, a little concerned.

“Yeah, no problem, B, we got ‘em,” Steph assures him casually with a thumbs up.

“Sorry, uhm, excuse me, Batman, do you know these people?” Clark asks in that awkward, polite way of his.

Bruce contemplates for a second what he should answer. Then decides that he wants to know what happened and doesn’t want to deal with questions. So he just says: “My associates. Now report, how did you end up here?”

“Associates,” Jason snorts.

However, he is ignored by his siblings as Damian reports: “We have caught the Riddler, however we did so without solving the last of his riddles. So, he sprang his trap after we took him down and we became the target of some missiles.”

“Oh my god, are you okay?” one of the League members exclaims under their breath.

“Tt, of course we’re okay,” Damian spits back. “Unlike you, we have been trained.”

“And we learned our lesson; always solve all of Riddler’s riddles,” Steph grins, giving them all a thumbs up.

“I already said that, but who listens to Red Robin? Nobody,” Tim complains.

Before it can turn into a squabble fest again, Bruce clears his throat and Dick jumps in to get them back on track, explaining: “We tried to get away in the Batmobile, but we couldn’t outrun it forever. So we decided the best way to escape was to use the Zeta-Tube connection.”

“It was great, Spoiler sent replacement flying so he could put in the code,” Jason laughs.

“I wanted to beam us to the Cave, but with the amount of time we had, just taking us to the most recently used coordinates was smarter,” Tim explains. He checks his arm computer then says: “The chatter on the police coms is that the missile made impact where we disappeared. No one was in the area when it went off, but there is property damage. And a few of the new recruits are convinced we’re supernatural, since none of our remains are being found.”

That last bit gets a few laughs from the assembled vigilantes. Most of Gotham PD have resigned themselves to the fact that the protectors of Gotham are humans, who seemingly pull of the impossible from time to time.

However, there are always newer members, who come up with great conspiracies about how they aren’t human and that’s why they pull it off. Bruce knows that it’s a bit of a game between his kids to see who can get them to believe the weirdest shit about them.

So, he just lets them have the moment of amusement after what must have been a highly tense moment.

Then he asks: “Where is Bluebird?” since he hasn’t seen Harper among the crowd, which is weird, because she’s on the night shift, while Duke is on the day shift.

“She the one, who figured out where Riddler was and caught him,” Dick says proudly. “She was escorting him to Arkham when she noticed he was being off. Without her we would’ve never made it to the Batmobile on time.”

Bruce makes a mental note to thank her for saving his other kids when he sees her.

“We also let Oracle know we’re okay, so she can inform her and Batwoman when she gets back from her mission, just in case she saw the news,” Dick goes on.

“Wait,” they get interrupted by Hal. “How many more heroes are you going to pull out of your sleeve? What happened to Mr. I Work alone? Am I being crazy here? Why are you all just standing there?”

Clark says: “Well, it’s obvious Batman knows these people and they do not seem like a threat to us, so I was going to wait until they’d given a report before demanding answers.”

“And we will demand answers, Batman,” Diana adds, making Bruce swallow a little. “We are your friends, we hoped there would be some trust there. You seem to have a whole different team of warriors. That is something you share.”

“Don’t mind, B, he just comes with permanently built in paranoia, it’s nothing against you,” Dick tells them.

In the background, Jason snorts: “Did you hear that guys? We’re his team of warriors. His associates.”

Damian huffs at that: “These imbeciles obviously do not know what they are on about and I refuse to be referred to as such, when I am the blood son.”

“I don’t know, Robin,” Steph laughs. “It almost starts to feel like he cares. I mean, he obviously has been bragging about us.”

“He has not spoken a word about us,” Damian exclaims.

In the background, Bruce can feel a headache coming. He has tried to keep his kids away from the League for their own safety. They can’t use his kids against him, should they become compromised, if they don’t know they exist.

However, they do know now and not only that, it seems like his kids are here to cause trouble on purpose now that they finally get to meet, who they refer to as, ‘his work friends AKA the only friends he has’. Delightful.

Indeed, the League has picked up on the words Jason set Damian up for, because Hal repeats: “Blood son?”

And Clark frowns: “They do seem quite young.”

“Batman, are you employing babes to protect Gotham with you?” Diana exclaims in horror.

“I am highly trained, who dares to call me a baby,” Damian protests immediately and while his siblings would usually laugh at him, they now also feel offended.

All of them have had to defend their age to people, including Bruce. They don’t like being questioned. So all of them are falling over themselves to defend their position as protectors of Gotham.

Bruce decides to help them, explaining: “There are more teen heroes, most of you have or had a sidekick. These vigilantes keep each other safe, they have the safety of back up and I also provide good gear. They’re not running around without a clue of what to do.”

“Ahww, I knew you cared, old man,” Steph coos, while Cass taps a genuine thank you in Morse code on his arm.

“Batman, I appreciate that you look out of them, but most sidekicks have had superpowers that are related to one of the heroes and sought out a mentor to help,” Clark says gently. “You have no powers, where did you get these kids?”

And in hindsight, he should have known better than to hesitate. However, at the times, he does, because the circus, the streets, the neighbor’s and some villains, are not really good answers to that question, no matter how true. And he doesn’t know if he wants to explain.

Still, he has to admit that he melts slightly when Cass speaks up to say: “His kids.”

Plus, it’s kind of funny how most League member jump out of their skin at the sudden voice, since none of them had spotted Cass before. Not even those with superhuman senses. His daughter is so talented.

Arguably the funniest reaction is Hal, who shrieks: “Where the fuck did you get these kids, Spooky!” as he violently startles backwards.

However, Jason jumps on the opportunity, sending Bruce a shit eating grin before he does (he might still be wearing the helmet, but Bruce knows him). He says: “Well, when two people love each other very much, they-”

No, just no. Absolutely not.

The League already thinks him to be a bit of a weirdo, who is steeped in paranoia. They respect him, but they’re always a little wary of him too (which is good in a way, he doesn’t want them close to his secret identity with the threat they could pose). Still, he doesn’t want them to think he practically bred an army of shadow-y vigilantes to protect Gotham. He’d never live it down.

“Hood,” he quickly cuts Jason off, before he can continue with his nonsense. Then he tiredly reminds him: “You’re adopted.”

“WHAT!” Jason shrieks, ripping his helmet off to reveal a shocked and betrayed face even with his domino mask. “How could you keep that from me?”

It seems like everyone needs a second to recover and process after the outburst. However, Jason is gaining steam and dramatically barrels on: “For years. Years! I lived with you, you fed me, you cared for me. You are my dad. At least you were. Was that all a lie? Some ruse? How- Why- I deserved to know.”

Bruce is shocked, unable to form words. His relationship with Jason has been rough, though getting better. It’s still tentative, though, so to hear Jason refer to him as dad throws him off in one of the best ways. Until he realizes Jason is fucking with him.

Even then, it is kind of nice that Jason is messing with him. When he looks, he sees that Jason is having fun under the mask of betrayal. It doesn’t have a bitter undertone, like it would have a few months ago. Instead, it feels a little like all the times Jason messed with him in front of Commissioner Gordon, back when he was Robin.

So, later Bruce will cut himself some slack for basking in that feeling for long enough that the others catch on and join in.

It starts with Steph, who has never claimed him as her father a day in his life, but will always be committed to a bit. She sniffles: “I can’t believe you’d lie to our brother like that. Soon you’ll tell us we’re all adopted.”

“Spoiler,” Bruce warns, hoping to deter anyone else from joining in.

That doesn’t happen, instead, Dick pulls Duke into a hug and exclaims: “Yeah, next you’ll tell us Signal here isn’t our half brother, like you didn’t leave his mother at the altar.” He narrows his eyes and adds: “I was the flower boy too, I can’t believe you did that to her.”

He sees Duke’s calculating gaze, flitting between Dick and himself and knows it’s only a matter of time before he picks a side, so he grunts: “Signal, don’t-”

“She talked about it until her death. Don’t tell me she made it up,” Duke suddenly says, picking the side of his siblings. Bruce would be more glad about him getting along with them, if it weren’t for the fact that in joining him, he left Bruce.

“You monster,” Jason butts back in again, not having had the spotlight in too long. “Look what you’ve done. You can’t just drop something like that on us. You can’t just pull the rug out from under us. Adopted. Or am I the only one? Huh? Is that it? Are all of them your real kids except for me?”

It’s a little too close to home, so Bruce stumbles: “No, of course, you’re always my kid. But this isn’t news to you. To any of you.”

“So we are all adopted?” Tim shrieks, stumbling forwards to clutch Bruce’s arm. “Those people you took me away from, were they my real parents? Did you lie to me?”

And this is just unfair. They’re not allowed to gang up on him like this and be dramatic. They know he doesn’t know what to do when they get like this. He gave them a home, he kept them as safe as he could, he loves them. What has he done to deserve this?

Dick and Duke are still embracing each other and Bruce is pretty sure Dick is weeping. Steph is definitely fake crying, while Jason is consoling her. Tim is still clutching his one arm, babbling about being taken from his parents.

Cass is his favorite right now, because she isn’t playing along with her sibling, just quietly huddling into his side. Damian would share the spot, but Bruce knows that the only reason he isn’t playing along, is because he doesn’t know what their game is and how he can use it to his advantage.

Indeed, he joins in – though not entirely purposefully – because he asks: “Father, I am your true son right? I am the blood son, not these imbeciles.”

Jason is definitely hiding a snort as a sob and in that moment, Bruce is tempted to disown Damian, just so he doesn’t have to deal with all this.

He can see how shocked the Justice League is, their eyes wide with horror, none of them having truly recovered at the sudden appearance at a gaggle of kids, who are now seemingly breaking down over the surprise news of being adopted.

He should’ve just let Jason give the League a sex talk.

So, he is tempted to not recognize Damian as his own, however, he knows how much Damian values his heritage and how insecure he is about his spot in the family. And he does look genuinely worried about what’s happening. So, Bruce has to sigh and reward the vulnerability that he shows with compassion, saying: “Yes, Robin.”

Jason lets out a pained groan and says: “So it is true? We really are adopted?” then breaks down crying. It’s almost impressive how well he can sob on demand. How well all of them can, Bruce wonders when they learned that and who taught them that.

The League, meanwhile has also apparently reached their limits and Hal suddenly explodes: “Fucking hell, Bats. Is that how you’re telling them that? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Around him all the others start to nod in agreement and Bruce knows that some of those shaking shoulders of his kids aren’t sobs but laughter at this point. He wonders if it’s wrong to return any of them, despite knowing that he would never give any of them up, even with all the gray hairs they’re giving him.

He does think about it though, especially when Clark cautiously says: “It seems unnecessarily cruel, Batman. They’ve just been chased through the streets by missiles. You could have waited.”

“Yes, it is very cruel,” Diana agrees. “And I do not know you to be cruel.”

Usually, Bruce has an image to maintain, but that image includes him working alone and having no sense of humor or humanity, so obviously it’s incorrect. Besides, any reputation he might have had has just been ruined by his kids. He doesn’t have to take this judgment from his friends.

So, he throws his hands up and, bordering on a whine, says: “I’m not cruel. They all know they’re adopted. All of them were over nine when it happened. Hell, not even all of them are adopted. Not all of them wanted to be. They know! They’re just messing with me.”

It’s quiet after his outburst.

Both the League and his kids blink for a few times. It’s clear that the League doesn’t know what to believe, but his kids are luckily done with the chaos. Though, Bruce doesn’t know if he’s happy with that when he sees some of their faces morph into grins.

Dick decides to put him out of his misery first, letting go of Duke to skip forwards and sling an arm around Bruce, which he grudgingly allows. He never says no to hugs from his kids, no matter what stunt they’ve just pulled.

“He’s right,” Dick smiles at everyone. Then he jokingly tugs on one of the ears on his cowl – something he has done since his early days as Robin – as he teases: “He didn’t mind. Right, B? You are a softie under there.”

“Who cares if he minds,” Jason says loudly. “That was hilarious, did you see everyone’s faces when replacement told them he’d stolen him out of his home. Golden. I’m gonna ask O for that footage the second we get back.”

Now the League is looking at them with even more confusion. Unsure of what to do now.

Bruce wants to let them suffer, but he also doesn’t want to give his kids room to do something else to embarrass him. So, he takes the reigns saying: “Just to clear it all up; this is Nightwing, my oldest.”

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” Dick gives the League a bright smile.

“My second or third oldest – we’re not sure – Red Hood,” Bruce continues on, gesturing to Jason, who just gives them a salute. “And, again, the second or third oldest, Black Bat.” She waves at them, startling some again, since they’d forgotten she was there. Hm, they might have to do another stealth and awareness training day.

“This is Spoiler, she is not one of mine technically,” he continues on introducing everyone there.

Steph grins at all of them and says: “I eat his food and steal his money, but I’m not having him sign shit. All of the perks, none of the accountability.”

“And how you remind me of that,” Bruce sighs, before gesturing to Tim and saying: “This is Red Robin, my fourth kid. He is adopted, but also emancipated. And I did not steal him away from his parents.”

“Technically, he did, because they were kinda shitty, but only legally when they died,” Tim corrects, which is not necessary and Bruce will be answering questions about that for months. Judging by the smug look on his face, Tim knows.

Deciding not to engage for now, he moves on to Duke. “This is Signal, he is my ward. He normally works the day shift.”

“Hello,” Duke squeaks awkwardly.

“And this is Robin, he is the youngest,” Bruce finishes his introductions.

“I am the blood son of the Bat and the one true heir,” Damian exclaims proudly.

“Yeah, yeah, we know, brat,” Jason rolls his eyes. “You were once B’s sperm. Whoop-die-doo.”

Multiple faces contort at that, with Tim and Steph both exclaiming how gross that is and how he didn’t have to phrase it like that and how they never want to hear about Bruce’s sex life ever again in any way, shape, or form.

Hal comments: “Wait, you actually have a kid?”

Bruce fights the urge to facepalm as he deadpans: “Just a second ago, you were willing to believe I had seven or more, why do you seem surprised?”

That renders Hal speechless, which is good, because Bruce doesn’t want to be here anymore. He wants to check up properly on his kids, check up on Gotham, and be as far away from the League and their questions as he can.

So, he uses the silence to says: “Now, as interesting as this has all been, we are going home. I have a city to check on and kids to ground.”

All around him protests start up about how he either has no power over them and can’t ground them or that they’re too mature and well trained fro childish things such as grounding. But Bruce is great at tuning them out when needs must, so he types in the last of the Batcave coordinates and lets the Zeta-Tube take them home.

~~

A/N:

I love coming up with convoluted reasons of why the batfam would be in the Watchtower lmao

Also Alfred totally taught them to cry on command, knowing they would use it for evil <3

[hyunsvngs]

𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 - lee minho x fem!reader

wc: 5.8k

cw: this is a piss fic, you have been warned - don't like don't read, established d/s dynamics in a relationship, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: your boyfriend has something he wants to try in bed. you didn't expect to like it so much.

a/n: like i said before this is a piss fic, if you don't like don't read! thank u to the sweet girl who commissioned this & thank u to my babies may and nessa for proofreading and also my ems <3 i was super nervous about this so i hope u like <3 smut warnings ofc under cut

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: PISS, established d/s dynamics, dom!minho, sub!reader, subspace, SERIOUSLY THERE’S PISS, face fucking, oral (m rec), very negotiated kink, minho calls reader a plethora of pet names, nipple play, one (1) face slap, minho’s condescending and MEAN, choking, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, degradation, squirting, reader calls minho sir briefly, brief aftercare but more offscreen!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s always daunting when Minho gets like this. You know exactly what’s going to go down tonight - you’ve discussed it extensively. You always have to discuss it extensively. Minho is nothing if not a good dom, and there’s rules and regulations that you have to adhere to, even if he is your boyfriend.

It still catches you off guard. He paces across the room to your shared wardrobe, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and exposing his veiny forearms. You’re perched on the bed, the exact way he told you to be in your plain black underwear. The fresh sheets are a welcome coolness on your warm skin. You’re overheating in excitement. You can’t wait. 

He’s going to piss on you tonight. He’s going to piss on you tonight, or maybe even in you, he’d said - he wanted to make you well and truly messy. Just the way he liked you. He told you he’d be mean, maybe even meaner than normal, and you’d agreed to it all before climbing into his lap and begging him to take you on the flimsy dining table chair in your kitchen in all of your excitement. He had chuckled, brushing a hand over your head with a teasing little “you want it that bad, huh?”. He still fucked you, so your plan went as hoped.

“I want to talk to you about something before we start, jagi,” His voice is smooth, low in volume, yet you hear every word loudly. You nod in response, and he turns and blinks at you, slow and cat-like. Oh, yeah. You were forgetting yourself already.

You blush in embarrassment of how far gone you are already, and he smiles, soft and barely noticeable. Fond. “Yeah, Min?”

The blush only continues to spread when he finally, finally climbs onto the bed next to you. He’s still in his work clothes, shirt tight on his broad pecs and his trousers tight on his thighs. You try not to stare. You fail, and he chuckles, using two fingers to prop your chin up to look directly at his eyes.

“This scene is a little harder than the other ones we’ve done,” He looks at you. It would feel scrutinising, the way he’s sizing you up, but his eyes are so full of fondness you can’t feel perceived at all - only admired. “I’m a little worried you may fall into subspace. Do you know what that is?”

He’s using his dominant voice on you, you swear. The tone of voice that’s level, not quite monotone but very, very straightforward and firm. Almost strict. It makes you rub your thighs together in need. Your boyfriend is so sexy when he’s like this. 

A quick scratch to your chin has you blinking back into reality. Yes. “Yes, I do know what that is. I’ve never done that before though, have I? So I probably won’t now, and-”

“We don’t know that,” He’s firm when he cuts you off, but presses a kiss to your nose nonetheless. “I need to know if you’re okay with me continuing if I notice you getting all floaty, jagi. I won’t if you don’t want me to. This is all in your hands, yeah? You know you run this show.” 

He chuckles, lightening the mood, but he’s right. When Minho first introduced you to this, you realised very quickly that despite the dominant being physically in charge, it was definitely the submissive that held the reins. It’s hard giving yourself over to someone so viscerally - it’s a vulnerable state to be in, letting someone decide your limits and decide what’s best for you.

Despite that, you’d let Minho fuck you outside in six foot snow, so you were definitely down for being fucked in subspace.

“Yes. Yeah, I want you to- I think it’d be hot, I think,” You’re babbling already, and Minho smiles again, his teeth glinting in the low light of your lamp. “I think it would be hot if you carried on, and I was like- all fuzzy, and stuff. You know?”

It’s silent for a beat, and then he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “Cute. Remember I love you, jagi, okay?”

Oh. Oh, you were starting? He normally only said that before you started, and before you can question him, he’s pressing his mouth against yours firmer, harder. It’s messy, the way he dominates your mouth instantly and uses one hand to tangle in your hair, yanking your hair back. You whimper against his lips, and he bites your bottom lip in response, finally moving to press you down to the bed with him on top of you. He starts to trail kisses down your face and your neck, and you can't help but let out a small noise of excitement. Before you can beg him to leave his mark on you, he quickly moves back up to your lips and starts to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth in an act of possession. You wrap your arms around him and bring him closer, feeling yourself getting a lot more than just worked up.

His chest is muscled, the slightly toned soft muscle that only makes sense on Minho. He’s not heavy on top of you, only a presence where he licks and sucks into your mouth until you’re leaking into your panties. He pulls away, his lips dropping to your neck, and you can’t be anything more than pliant the way you let him use your skin and mark you as his. You are his. Mentally, emotionally, physically - any way he wants you, you’ll let him.

“I love this body,” Minho groans, his voice low and gravelly. “Such a filthy fucking body. You’re gonna let me piss on it, aren’t you?”

You whine, loud and unabashed, and Minho chuckles. It’s a puff of air against the exposed column of your neck and your hips cant up, searching for friction. 

“Oh, you are,” His hand moves down to your bra, searching through the lace for your pebbled nipple. The lace is thin, pitch black and almost sheer, and a grin forms on his face when he manages to pinch your nipple meanly. “Look at how excited you are for it. Your nipples are so hard, are you that excited for my piss?”

You try to nod in response, but a quick slap against your cheek using his spare hand has you reeling to try and form words. You’re babbling before you can even think. “Y-Yes! Yes, Minho, I’m excited. I can’t wait, I wanna- I wan’ taste it, will you let me? Please?”

He hums in consideration, yanking down the cups of your bra to expose your tits to him. He was right - your nipples are hard and pebbled, dusky against your flesh, and he ducks down to engulf one in his mouth. His lips are full, plush like pillows, and his tongue darts around your nipple in small kitten licks. Soft, wet, warm. Pliant. His.

Minho’s bunny teeth are quick to bite at the peak, and you whine, back arching up to get more of the painful pleasure. He coos at this, finger running over your areola once when he pulls back from your chest. He sits back on his haunches, fingers deftly making quick use of his belt. The way he pulls the belt from the loops on his trousers have you remembering all the times he’s whipped you with it, and your eyes go blurry. You’re staring directly at the extremely prominent bulge in his trousers as if you somehow have x-ray vision and can see his cock in all its glory already.

“I’m going to fuck your face,” He explains, pushing down the expensive branded boxers to his thighs. His thighs are thick, muscled from years of dance, and you nod at his words despite having your vision solely trained on the bulging muscles. You can’t even keep your attention there for long - his cock springs out, hard and flushed and so big, so thick in the tight ring he forms around the base. The veins look as though they could be practically throbbing beneath the skin with arousal. “I’ll fuck your face, and I’ll piss down your throat. Do you want that? Tell me.”

He’s asking you, and you can’t believe it. Of course you want it, but you respond anyway. “I want it. I want it so bad, Minho. How do you want me? On the floor, on my knees? Or do you-”

“On the floor,” He looks towards the ground, pleased with himself when you heed his commands immediately. You’re quick to dive off of the bed and sink to your knees on the floor, and Minho lets out a fond chuckle before standing in front of you, ever the image of dominance. The hardwood floor doesn’t save your knees, still feeling hard and uncomfortable, and the way the pain bites into your legs has you shifting even more. It turns you on, being used and treated like an object, and being put on the floor to suck cock doesn’t help any. You’re positively ruining your panties by now.

His trousers are pushed down to his ankles, the perfect juxtaposition of black, thick material against his milky skin. His shirt is rolled up just enough for you to see the bottom of his tummy, hairy and soft above his cock. You expect him to keep it on, but you watch in awe as he unbuttons his shirt quickly and throws it to the side. His chest is exposed to you then, all broad muscle and dusky pink nipples against his skin.

He pumps his shaft in his hand a few times for good measure, just barely a few inches from your face, and then he’s tapping the cockhead on your lips. “Open wide. C’mon, kitty cat.”

His tone is condescending, almost patronising, and you hold back a whine. When your lips fall apart, he’s pushing into your mouth before you can even process it. A blistering, feverish pace immediately takes over his hips, and his cockhead is ramming down your throat with only a slight bit of pain beneath all of the pleasure. You try to run your tongue over the tip, to trace the veins with the tip of your tongue, but it’s impossible. He’s using your mouth like he’d use your pussy, unabashed and downright mean.

“Take it,” he grunts, looking ever the ethereal being above you. If you didn’t know him, you’d swear he was an angel - no, a fallen angel, debauched and with black, wiry wings sprouting from his back. Sweat covers the top of his chest, shiny and wet, and his cockhead presses firmly into the back of your throat. Your eyes water with the intense ministrations on your throat, hands aching to reach out and grab onto Minho’s thighs. They stay securely on your own limbs, and Minho groans, his eyes staring down into yours.  “Fucking take it for me. Take my cock, dirty kitty. Don’t you dare fucking cry about it.”

You’d swear he was composed if it wasn’t for the way he was looking down at you. Minho’s mostly quiet in bed, only a few sparse noises, but the fire in his eyes is visible.

The sounds in the room are filthy. Your eyes are hazy already with the force that he’s rutting into your mouth, but when his hand goes into your hair, yanking with all of his might, you hear yourself whine between gags and you’re not even trying to. You’re floating, fuzzy where your boyfriend fucks his cockhead into your mouth - you can’t even consider what’s going on, not too out of it but out of it enough to question what’s actually happening around you. Is this what Minho was talking about before? Subspace?

“Oh, Jesus. Are you feeling fuzzy already, kitty?” He pulls his cock out, tapping the cockhead on your bottom lip. A string of drool attaches his cock back to your mouth and he groans in approval, feline eyes narrowing. “Went down so easy for me, huh? Do you think you can take a little more?”

You’re nodding then, subconsciously, but a slight smile on your face. You want more. You need more. You need his piss, wherever on your body that he deems acceptable - it’s like he’s marking you as his territory. It’s such a primitive act that gets you more than just hot under the collar. If he pisses on you, or in you, it’s as if he sees you as an object that’s beneath him, not worth anything more than his piss. 

“Good,” He muses, and then his hand is forming a tight ring around his length. It’s throbbing, long and thick where it protrudes from his groin with drops of pearlescent precum, and he presses it past your lips again with a small sigh. “I’ve gotta take a piss, kitty cat. I want you to swallow it all for me, and then you can have some milk in that pussy for being good. How’s that?”

You can’t reply, because he’s already bouncing your head on his shaft. He’s resorted to pulling you up and down on his shaft by your hair this time, not grinding his hips rhythmically into the hot, wet cavern you’ve provided. 

“You know, I really thought you’d say no to this,” How the fuck is his voice calm right now? “But then I realised that of course you’d be into it. My filthy little fucking urinal.”

You moan loudly around his shaft. Minho chuckles, and then he’s pulling back again, your throat abused and aching at the alleviation of pressure. His cockhead stays at the entrance of your mouth, and he drops a hand from your hair to pump it a few times, raising an eyebrow at you.

“It’s coming,” He warns. “Are you ready? Are you ready for my piss, filthy bitch?”

You moan, nodding, and when your tongue lolls out of your mouth, Minho lets out a loud groan. It’s primal, and you watch silently as he shakes his head and flutters his eyes closed to try and gain some control of himself. He runs his finger over the slit of his cockhead, and then he’s pushing the tip past your lips again and - oh. 

His piss begins leaking out of his tip, a slow and steady stream that tastes surprisingly a lot like you expected. It’s purely Minho, raw and unfiltered, and you whine and whimper and let him fill your mouth up with his piss. It feels filthy, your pussy positively dripping through your panties and onto the floor by now. The stream floods down your throat even as you continue to gulp it down greedily, and you allow your hands to finally find purchase on his thighs, fingernails digging into the muscle. He allows it, his hands both moving back to your hair to bob you on his tip just a little to get the rest of his piss out.

Minho pulls out of your mouth with a soft noise, his eyes staring down at you almost menacingly. You dip your tongue into his piss-slit once more, moaning at the remnants of the taste, and then you’re whining, loud and un-muffled. 

“Minho,” You say, voice high and needy. You feel as though you want to say so much, you want to beg so much, but nothing is coming out of your mouth. You’re so fucking turned on you feel like you could die. “P-Please. Please, please. I can’t, I can’t, please, please-”

He positively growls. You’re pulled up by two hands underneath your armpits and thrown onto the bed less than unceremoniously, his body sidling up next to you. He’s kicked his trousers off, you notice, body warm and firm next to you.

“Was it that good? Dirty little thing,” He hums, tongue licking one fat stripe up your neck. “C’mere. Let me taste it on you.”

Minho’s lips are firm against yours, and his hands are anything but gentle as he slides them down your body. It’s like he’s igniting you with electricity, every area of skin that he touches feeling warm and too sensitive. His lips trail down your neck, leaving another trail of fire behind them. You’re pliant, letting him pull you by your hair and your throat into his dominating, overwhelming kisses.

His fingers reach your panties, and his finger dips underneath the waistband. You gasp, holding your breath and wishing, praying that he’ll push his whole hand into your underwear, but he simply pulls his finger back with a small amused puff of air. 

“Hnnfg, Minho, Minho, please, I don’t, I can’t-“

Minho leans over you more then, his eyes dark and half-lidded when he stares into yours. His gaze is all-consuming, but there’s a slight hint of a teasing smile on his lips. “Jesus, kitty. Be quiet,” His voice is low, amused, until all signs of a smile drop from his face upon his fingers finally delving into your underwear. His forearm obscures your vision, muscled and veiny, but you can feel the way your wetness immediately drenches his fingertips. His eyes flicker from your face to your core in awe, lips slightly parted. “Fuckin- shit. Jagi, tell me this is a joke. You’re fucking drenched.”

You are. His fingers smear around in your wetness, spreading it all around your folds. He drags his middle and ring finger down to your hole, wet and sloppy, and you look at him with pleading eyes. You’re not sure you could talk even if you wanted to.

Minho simply smiles that toothy smile that you love, eyes crinkling. You’re confused - he’s being nice - until he’s shoving both fingers into you at once. It was a stretch you hadn't been prepared for, and you jolt with a squeal, hands going up to grip onto his forearm. 

“Do you remember what I said before, jagi?” He muses, fingers curling up into that spot that makes you whine. You do whine, legs thrashing around and toes curling against the sheets. “If you have any in there, I’m fucking having it. I want you to piss all over my cock before I fuck you with it, remember? I want you to treat you like the dirty little thing you are.”

You nod, brain still fuzzy and way too overwhelmed. Your pussy squelches loudly around his digits, and his spare hand wraps around your throat in a dangerous grip. It’s not too hard, but definitely there, and you whimper in approval. 

Your eyes roll back into your head at the pace he sets against your g-spot, and after a brief, tight squeeze, Minho removes his hand from your throat in favour of using two fingers on your clit along with his harsh fingering. His arm is curled underneath your waist in a position that must be painful to him, but you ignore it in favour of your own pleasure. 

You feel like you could scream, and you do let out some strangled noise that sounds nothing at all like you. Just when you think it can’t get any worse - or any better, actually - he slides another finger in, stretching you out with three of his digits. You’re dripping down onto his knuckles and you wail, starting to hump against his hand. You’re going to cum embarrassingly quickly.

“You better be fucking thinking of asking for permission, bitch,” Minho hisses in your ear. You moan in response, nodding. Of course you’ll ask. Something about your boyfriend just makes you want to be good. You want to obey him so he continues to give you such nice things. “You don’t make the decisions. I'm the one fucking that hole with my fingers right now, I'll be the one who says you can cum.”

His fingers thrust into you faster, if it was possible, and you thrash around. The movement brings Minho’s cock against your thigh, and you gasp at the realisation that he’s next to you, naked, in all his glory. Your fingernails still dig painfully into his forearm, but he doesn’t seem phased. “Minho, Minho- I’m gon’- please, please, please, I wanna cum, let me come, it hurts, I-“

“Oh, I know, I know. It just feels too good, doesn’t it? You can’t even fucking control yourself, writhing around like that,” He groans, eyes fixated on your face. You know your expression is screwed up in pleasure, eyes watering from the feeling of his fingers inside of you. His fingers begin to slide around on your clit rather than provide any direct pressure due to how wet you’re getting, but you still hump against the sensation with gratitude. You’d never have anything other than gratitude when Minho’s being so nice like this. “You’re behaving like a fucking whore. Beg me for it. Beg me to let a fucking whore like you cum all over my fingers, tell me how good it feels.”

He starts kissing up your neck again with the open-mouthed, wet movements, and you feel like you’re about to burst. Just a little more. Just a little more, and you can, you just have to will your brain to speak. “I-I love sir's fingers, fuck, I love when sir fingers me like this- fuck, sir I'm gonna- can't hold it- I, hnng, I can’t, I don’t- pleasepleaseplease-”

Minho pulls away from your neck with an alarmed little snort. “Sir? God, you are far gone,” He points out, but then he’s pinching your clit meanly with his fingers. It makes you hump his hand a little faster and whine a little louder. It’s quiet for a beat, and then he’s sighing as if he’s annoyed. You swear you catch him rolling his eyes through your blurry vision. “Okay, fine. Go on then, if you want to cum so badly. Cum.”

With one word, you feel like your whole world is falling apart. A gush of wetness bursts from you and all over the bed, probably soaking Minho too. Your ears are ringing and you can feel the tears brimming in your eyes begin to fall, fat streaks of wetness painting your skin. His fingers don’t slow, but he’s groaning in your ear now, coaching you along. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing over your clit with a wet hand that only made you let out another gush everywhere. You were sure you'd screamed.

You wail and thrash through your orgasm, and then you’re panting, body dropping back onto the bed. You don’t register Minho groaning, licking his fingers clean - you only realise he’s moved when he’s on top of you, yanking your soaking wet underwear down your legs and finally unclasping your bra. Your hands go above your head, pliant and willing, letting him take control. You’re fucked dumb by now, anyway. You’d be no use.

“If you had all that in there for me, you have some piss in there,” He muses, and you whine, shaking your head.

“D’nt need to pee, Min,” You insist, head lolling back on the sheets. You’re pliant, and Minho grabs your chin with his hand, making you face him. His ears are burning a shade of delectable pink, the flush travelling over his chest and making him look almost embarrassed. You know this state of Minho all too well, though. He’s so horny he feels like he’s about to explode.

“You do,” He responds, quick as a flash. You whimper as he presses his cockhead into your folds, just barely teasing the ruddy, flushed tip at your hole. Your hands move to grip onto the sheets next to your head, and just when you’re sure he’s going to put it in, Minho leans down, and then his hand is pressing on the bottom of your stomach. You wail, shaking your head. Minho chuckles knowingly. “You need to piss, don’t you?”

You do. Embarrassingly quickly, just from him pressing on your bladder. “I- it’ll make a mess, Min, I can’t, I can’t-”

“I want it to make a fucking mess,” He scoffs, pressing harder. He continues to drag his cock through your sopping wet folds with his other hand, his feline eyes staring at you with a renewed fire burning behind them. He’s daring you to disobey. You would never disobey him. “I want everything you have to give me. Piss all over my cock. Do it.”

You clench your thighs, stomach tensing. It doesn’t take much, only a slight rubbing of Minho’s hand on your tummy and you’re pissing. The stream erupts from you in a messy spurt, and Minho groans, pumping his cock to coat it in your mess. You whine, trying to shift your hips to catch his cock inside of you, but the mess you’re making ensures that it’s too slippery to do so.

“Stay still, you’ll get it in a second,” Minho mumbles, hand tightening around the head of his cock. It’s substantially lubed now, but he still continues to pump it, hand easing up on your stomach. Something about it has your mouth watering, staring at his cock and wondering how it tastes. Maybe he’ll let you suck it clean next time, let you taste his cock mixed with your own piss. “That’s it, kitty. Get sir’s cock nice and wet with your piss. Dirty little thing.”

When the stream finally finishes, you shift against the sheets, soaking wet and definitely a lot more aroused than you were previously. There’s still only one thing on your mind. “Can- can I have it now, please, please?”

Minho nods, his cheeks blazing red. He’s losing his composure. “Yeah. God, yeah, kitty. You can have it, c’mere,” He sighs, finally pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It slides inside easily with the wetness of your pussy and the mess you’d made on him, his thick shaft stretching you out and making you moan out for him. You catch sight of Minho’s eyes rolling back into his head, a long, drawn out noise leaving his lips. “Fuck, this is so fucking dirty. You’re filthy, letting me do this.”

No. You’re not, are you? Are you dirty? “Filthy?” You question, completely in bliss at the feeling of him finally inside you. You’ll be filthy if it means he’ll fuck you. Minho chuckles, and then his hips start to move, a sinuous grind against yours. The noises your pussy is making are beyond debauched, wet, slapping sounds from how soaking wet you are. You whine, bucking your hips up, and Minho lets you, gripping your hips to pull you off of the mattress.

“I’m gonna go harder, okay? I want you to take it for me, all of it,” His voice is close, leaning down to whisper it against the skin of your neck. You nod eagerly, and he pulls your thighs up to rest your ankles on his shoulders. The change in position has his cock hitting you deeper and you gasp, fingers moving to grip on his biceps. He sits back slightly, pulling you closer to him, and then he’s pounding into you. With little to no buildup, you can’t help but squeal, your pussy gushing around his fat length. “You love this, don’t you? My cock, covered in your piss, stretching your little cunt out. You love being filthy for me.”

“Hhnnfg, hhng, Min, Min, Min, you made me pee, you-”

Minho scoffs, hand threading into your hair. He wraps your hair around his fist and pulls, bent half over you while he pounds your pussy into oblivion. “Don’t make stupid fucking excuses for yourself. I can see it in your eyes, you love being like this for me.” 

You whine, tears brimming in your eyes again uncontrollably. You can’t do anything but just lay there, pliant and gripping onto his biceps for him to stretch your pussy out with his veiny fucking cock. It feels almost too good, too overwhelming. The ridges of his shaft are pressing against your walls, causing a delectable friction that has you clenching down on every outwards motion from him. It’s as if your pussy doesn’t want him to leave, and you don’t want him to leave, pulling him close by his arms every time he thrusts inside of you. 

Minho pushes your thighs apart, and then he’s bending you into a sort of mating press. Your legs rest on his upper biceps and his body folds you in half for him, making you whine at the stretch on your muscles. You’re loud, embarrassingly so, little “ah, ah, ah”’s leaving your mouth with every thrust. The change in position allows him to hit your cervix with his length, long and throbbing inside of you, and you’re only louder and more pathetic for him. 

“Can you hear that, kitty cat?” He whispers, and you hold your breath. Once you’ve stopped making so much noise, you can hear it - the sound of your pussy is even louder, wet and messy and when you look down, his cock is soaking with you. With your piss or your slick, you’re not sure, but it has you clenching down deliciously anyway. “I’m fucking your own piss into you, and you’re whining like a little bitch.”

You can’t even make sense of what he’s saying. Your previous slight fuzziness has morphed into full blown floating, and you think you’re crying, but you’re not sure. All you can hear is your own noises, loud and desperate while he ensures your pussy never forgets the shape of his cock. “Ah, ah, I don’t- sir, I don’t, I can’t, I don’t know- ah, oh, I can’t-”

“Ah, fucking hell,” Minho hisses, gritting his teeth. You watch in disappointment as he pulls his cock out of you, forming a tight ring around the base with his fingers. “I need to cum inside you. I need to give you your milk, kitty cat, c’mon. Flip over for me.” 

He tells you to do it, but helps you anyway. You feel his hands go to your hips to flip you over, and then you’re face down, and some part of you finds the strength to push your hips up to present your pussy for him. But, milk? You’ve been good enough for that?

He sinks back inside you, his cock slick and fat and too much for your little pussy. “There you go, jagi. Biiig stretch, feel it,” He moans, and you push your hips back on him easily. In this position, your lips are parted and you can feel yourself drooling up a puddle on the sheets. It adds to the mess, filthy with piss and slick and sweat, and you want Minho to lick it all up and spit it in your mouth. He immediately resumes his punishing pace, hips slapping against your ass with every thrust and hitting that delicious spot inside you so well. “Fuckin’ tight pussy, ah, it’s so good.” 

“H- haa, Minho, have I been good?” You question, eyes blurry and bottom lip slick with your own spit. Minho groans, deep and loud, reverberating through your whole body. He knows you need reassurance, and he nods, a little smile on his face despite his lust-filled, half-lidded eyes.

“You’ve been so good. So good I’m giving you my cum, yeah? Gonna breed that little pussy, filled it with your piss already, needs my cum now,” He’s babbling, which is a sure sign that he’s close - but you can’t even fathom it in your state. “Little girl, kitty cat, so good for me, c’mere.”

You don’t move, but Minho slinks one hand around your hip to rub at your clit. The added pleasure has you jolting with a whine, and Minho lets out an amused puff of air at your reaction. His fingers slide around your clit wet and imprecise, but it’s enough to have you hurtling towards your second orgasm. His cockhead slams against your g-spot, bordering on painful, but the sensation only adds to the throes of bliss he has you tumbling through.

“Min, Min, Min, it’s- ‘s so good, so good, so big, so- Min, Min, I g’ta-”

“You can cum whenever, jagi. Give it to me, I want it,” His voice is higher, more desperate, and you nod eagerly. He sidles over your back, his sweaty chest pressed to your skin, and then he’s pressing his lips against yours.

It’s less of a kiss and more of a messy exchange of spit and breathing into each other's mouths. Minho’s tongue slides against yours as he continues to rub messy circles around your clit, and before you know it, you’re cumming around his cock with a sharp gasp of pleasure against his lips. He swallows your noises, finally engulfing your mouth with his, and you moan and sigh freely through gushing all over his length, the electric feeling making your toes curl.

Minho envelops your hair tightly with his spare hand, thrusting harder and faster, his breathing becoming ragged as he approaches his climax. With a broken whine, you feel his cum fill you up, thick and hot and heavy.

He flops on top of you with a sigh, his body weight a welcome presence for you. You ignore the feeling of the sheets beneath you in favour of closing your eyes and humming contentedly. You’re still floating, but it’s calmer now, softer. It feels like you’re on a cloud. “So good, Min.” 

“Yeah?” Minho grins, his hand now stroking softly through your hair in favour of yanking on it. “You did so good for me, jagi. You were so, so good, made me cum so hard.”

“You made me cum hard, too,” You respond, opening one eye to see his face over your shoulder. His cheeks are flushed, hair sweaty and floppy over his eyes, but he has a blissed out smile on his face. When he catches sight of you looking at him, he smiles, and the sight of his bunny teeth has your heart singing. How can he look so cute after fucking you like that? Before you can say anything else, you yawn, and Minho giggles. “‘M sleepy.”

“Bath first, jagi,” He coos, kissing your hairline. “My sweet girl. Let’s get you nice and clean and then we’ll nap.”

“Mm, okay,” Minho hops off of you and you stretch out leisurely like a cat, your body sticky and defiled. You hear him tinkering around the room behind you, humming a tune to himself, and you smile fondly. “Love you, Min.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

[nabtime]

Sir Waylon of Gotham

Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity well-to-doers. Didn't much like their attitude. Or the way they looked at 'im. Lookin' down their noses, all pinched-faced and holier-than-thou, like he was the scum of the earth for the way he looked. And while Waylon wouldn't deny that he was scum, it sure weren't for lookin' the way he did. He'd earned that title fair 'n square, through hard work 'n strikin' fear inta the people of Gotham.

And he did that by bitin' they's arms off, not 'cause he was a li'l scaly.

Point was, Waylon didn't talk much with fancy people. Yeah, he talked to the Bat Brood and they could half be considered fancy on account of mostly bein' Waynes under the mask, but they didn't count. Not really. 'Specially their newest petite couyon that liked to swing about in his sewers like the chit owned the place. He didn't know how the kid was added to the family- coulda been adopted, coulda been one a' the other one's partner, coulda been another blood son a popped up outta nowhere 'gain.

Waylon didn't ask and the chit never said. No, all Phantom ever wanted to talk 'bout was how Waylon was doin. Idjit was far too concerned about Waylon's well-bein' when he shoulda been mindin' his own damn business. Kid said it was part a his business. That heroes had to check in on the reformed, make sure they were well and happy so they didn't have a need to get back inta villainy. Waylon wanted to call bullshit on 'im but he just didn't have the heart when the kid looked so earnest 'bout it.

And maybe the kid was swingin' in all the time just to check in on an Old Croc. Maybe even the kid didn't mind bein' 'round 'im an 'is big, scary teeth. Sure it were more likely he needed an escape an' the sewers were a place most Bats didn't venture less they had to, but iffin that were true- kid didn't have to find and talk to him every time.

All this was to say that he'd gotten used to seein' Danny 'round the sewers, and even seein' Jay when the older kid was sent to bring the other back topside.

Who he had not gotten used to seein' in the sewers, though, was a pretty thing all done up in medieval dress and glowin' green. Nor was he used to the hulking Knight done up in glowin' black armor standin' next ta her.

And, again, Waylon wasn't much for talkin' to hoity-toity people, let alone Ghost Royalty or some such, but he was still a man with manners. An' they were in his sewers (well, an' Grundy's, but the big lug weren't here, so's point was moot) so he was haven'ta be the one to greet 'em.

He growl echoed off the stone and muck as he approached the two beings that were floating midair, just above the water. They both looked lost until he fully rose from the grime and addressed them.

"Youins need somethin? Ya lookin fer Danny?"

And, well, Waylon said he had manners. Never said he was gonna use 'em.

"Oh!" said the sweet thing in flowing gown, her voice just as soft as she looked. "Yes! You must be the good Sir Waylon of Gotham that the King speaks so fondly of. I am Princess Dorathea and this is my personal guard, Fright Knight."

Sir Waylon? Now that's not somethin' he's ever heard afore. Him? Deservin' of a title like Sir? Ain't no way. He weren't 'bout to say nothin', but it sure did make him feel all flustery that a noble Lady like her would think so highly of a monster like him.

"Nah I wouldn' say he's 'xactly fond a me, but the name is Waylon, yeah, uh- My Lady."

And she smiled at 'im, sweet as anythin', like he weren't made a sharp edges an spilled blood. The big Knight aside her was actin like that too, posture relaxed as he just let her get closer. Closer an most people ever dared. 'Cept Phantom an some a the Bats. Was it a ghost thing? No fear a death, so whats scary about a big man with sharp teeth anymore?

"Would Sir Phantom be near-abouts?" she asked. "I require his counsel on matters of import."

"Sorry, cher- uh, My Lady," he grumbled, "ain't gotta clue where he's at. Somewhere's topside, prolly."

Her shoulders slumped just the slightest, obviously disappointed in his answer. And try as he might to want to give her a better one, he only knew where the kid was when he wanted to hang around underground. Waylon avoided the streets at all costs these days, not wantin' to risk trouble again. He'd spent enough of his days wastin' away in Arkham and Blackgate, thanks.

The Lady turned thoughtful though and graced him with a tilt of her head and a smile. "Perhaps you would deign to assist me instead, Sir Waylon?"

"Well nah, I'd love ta, My Lady. Supposin' its somethin' I can help ya with."

"Yes," she said, circling around him in a graceful glide, "so long as you are willing, you will suit just fine."

"Ya still haven't told me what ya need help with, ah- My Lady."

Waylon couldn't see the Knight's expression but he could almost feel the amusement pourin' off a him. And he wondered just what the hell he'd agreed to that a guy like that'd find it funny.

"My brother is making moves to take back the Kingdom. He has amassed a small, but skilled contingent of rebels and intends to usurp me at the upcoming Yule Celebration."

"So ya need muscle ta help stop 'im?"

"Oh no," she said, sweet but full of venom- like arsenic. Her grin was now full of teeth, teeth much to sharp for a proper Lady like her, and her eyes turned to glowing reptilian points. "I can take care of him myself. I intended to ask Sir Phantom along as contingency."

She looked him up and down and the Knight standing guard behind her was projectin' a certain smugness as he did the same.

"You, however, Sir Waylon," she said, and the tone near sent a shiver down his spine. "Will do well as both warrior and suitor."

"What say you?"

[shegetsburned]

bed talk w. sir crocodile ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .

.nsfw.

content. mainly what i think croc would say in bed

“use your words.”

“i’m either joining or watching.”

“quit playing, princess. give me what i want.”

“mhm. you’re such a good girl, come get your reward.”

“tsk— is that all you can take? what a pathetic little cunt you have.”

“relax yourself, otherwise it won’t fit.”

"i don’t have all day. hurry up and bend over."

“quit squirming. let me handle this.”

“don’t worry about the dress sweetheart, let me tear it down so i can buy a prettier one, tomorrow.”

“so cute, all spread out for me.”

“don’t you dare touch yourself. i’m not finished.”

tell me he wouldn’t just spoil the shit out of you and then use it against you in bed.

“ngh— spoiled brat.”

“what do you think you’re doing? keep your hands still.”

he uses his ring to please youuuuu

“the rings stay on, spread ‘em for me.”

“is that what you do when you’re on your own? am i not giving you enough attention?”

“bend over the window so I can fuck you and you can look outside at everything you now own.”

“look me in the eyes when you’re fingering yourself, princess.”

“a safe word? ridiculous.”

literally laughs at you when you can’t masturbate properly.

“can’t do shit right, can you? i’ll take care of this little problem of yours.”

“you show these hook marks for everyone to see. understood?”

“i’m feeling hungry, come here.”

© shegetsburned 2023-24 Please do not repost/edit/or claim my writing as your own.

[high-voltage-rat]

I think it's fascinating that the quotes:

"Have you forgotten sir, we were at war? A fight with an alien race for the very survival of our species. I feel I must remind you that it is an undeniable, and may I say fundamental quality of man, that when faced with extinction, every alternative is preferable."

"When you spend every day fighting a war, you to demonize your attackers. To you, they're evil, they're subhuman. Because if they weren't, what would that make you? What I'm trying to say... is I've been afraid to see you for what you really are. You're our brothers. Our sisters. And the things we've done to one another are unforgivable."

"These guys want to use us, take us away from our families, and send us all over the dad-gum galaxy just to test if their agents are ready for the big fight? Well... guess I'm interested in showin' em exactly what a big fight is all about! So I'm not ordering you to go. I ain't even asking. You do what you gotta do, Private."

came from the same series whose standard fare is lines like:

"What in the hell are you two doing?" / "We're being executed by our own men, sir." / "Cut it out."

"I only drink the blood of my enemies, and the occasional strawberry yoohoo."

"You always said I could sleep when I’m dead, Sarge, and guess what? I am dead. This purgatory is about to become purga-snore-y, yawn!"

...and both categories manage to be a poignant statement about the nature of war and what it does to the people in it.

[grugruel]

Wicked Game

Pairings: cop!bucky x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: An out of control college party gets crashed by cops, someone tattled, and a cop chase ensues.

The chief is an old friend of your family, who you'd always had a crush on.

Thinking he's harmless, you talk back. But he can only hold back for so long.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: reader is 20, pinv sex, rough sex, oral sex (m and f recieving), choking, uniform kink, sir kink, reader being bratty, bucky doing something about it!! edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, handjob, fingering, pet names (girl, doll), praise (yay), mentions of masturbation, slight marking, degrading ish? cum eating, creampie, power dynamic, some soft!bucky at the end.

AN: This is not a Lee bodecker fic! This is just regular, muscly cop!bucky.

Blaring music and thumping bass fill an already crowded house, drunk daredevils otherwise inhabiting it.

God, my skull feels like it's about the cave in. The average college experience in other words.

I'd been drinking the least out of my friends, yet I felt the worst. They sat on the couch around me, trying the wide assortment of drugs that were splayed out in front of us. Littering the table along with various hard liqour bottles, all mostly empty.

Drugs arent my forte, but I wont nark them.

The party had only been going for an hour or so, I think? My lockscreen told me it was 2 in the night, holy shit? It had been 5 hours.

How the hell had no one called the cops yet? Little did I know, how badly I jinxed myself.

'Guys, Guys.' I lazily shrugged the shoulders of two of my friends sitting on each side of me, 'We- we, gotta go.'

'We're fine!' One of them drawled, splaying out on the couch.

I shook my head, head thumping in each bend, 'Theres literally. . .' I paused, searching tiredly for the right words, 'Uhm- No way! That the cops arent on their way here like, right now.'

'We've lasted this long.' The other said, shrugging his shoulders, grinning.

I groaned, 'Fine!' And threw my hands up in defeat, my friend observed me smugly. He held up some coke for me, raising his brows in question. To which I shook my head again.

A sharp alarm cut through the music, everyone groaned, heads complaining at the sound. I figured it was something with the sound system, but no.

I just had to jinx myself, remember?

As my ears adjusted to the sound, I realised. It's sirens, two or three. Cops.

'It's the fucking cops!' I shouted, alerting everyone. The music cut off, and the sirens clarified into the deafening sound of jail, or curfew. Depending on the cop. I was hoping and dreading the Chief in equal amounts, he could take it easy on me, or not.

I roused my friends, dragging them up from the couch and filtering them through the backdoor. Along with at least a hundred other people our age.

My attempts at freeing them had made me lag behind, one of my friends grabbed my arm, 'Come on!' She shouts, trying to pull me with them. But theres to many people between us and she loses her grip, swept away by the crowd.

The front door swings open behind me, and I freeze. Slowly turning around, I see a tall, broad shouldered figure standing silently observing the chaos from the doorway. He stepped inside, searching the crowd, and eventually. His eyes land on me.

'Give em' hell. Get the ones you can!' He barks the orders at his men, and then his eyes narrow in on me. Staring me down, 'And leave this one to me.' His words make my skin crawl, in fear of my parents finding out and possibly, excitement?

I wouldn't say no to punishment dealt by Chief Barnes.

His men rush past me out the backdoor, leading me to back up slowly. Placing the Coffee table between me and the Chief, securing myself somewhat.

Slowly, he stalks forward. A slanted smile growing with every step that he takes, making chills run up my spine. His uniform does him good I notice, shirt and pants sitting around his muscles perfectly. Belt and gun? Hot.

'Heeey, Buck.' I smile cheapishly, 'Fancy meeting you here.' Testing the waters, seeing what chances my charms have of easing the situation for myself.

He nods, raising his eyebrows in response and grins in spite, as if answering, "I'm sure it is" and "You're in deep fuckin shit now."

I laugh nervously and try again, 'I didn't know you enjoy college parties Buck? Or just, college girls?'

Amused, he steps closer, It's now only the table separating us. I step up on the couch behind me, desperately trying to make up for the space I'm losing. He puts his hands around his belt buckle, smirking. At least my incredibly funny self seems to have softened him.

He looks down, studying its content, then looks back up at me. His face turns displeased, undoing all my previous hard work to humour him.

I follow his gaze, looking at the table myself, and it dawns on me, 'No no no no!' I throw out in panic, 'Listen, Buck. . .'

'What could you possibly have to say-' he began and lowered his head, giving me a serious look, 'To get yourself out of this one?' referring to the table.

'I can think of a few things, I might have an ace in my sleeve.' I smirk. Metaphoricly speaking of course, my blouse does not have long sleeves.

He takes a firm step closer, a bemused look on his face, 'Ok Ok! It's not mine! It's not, mine.' I gesture to myself, then to the table in erratic motions. 'I'm an innocent bystander, I just sat on the couch. Never even touched the stuff.' I hold my hands up, palms out. As if it would stop him.

'Theres nothing innocent about you girl.' He tells me sternly, the corner of his lip tugging.

Stunned, there's a sudden flutter in my stumache.

Suddenly, the energy between us change. The tension grows and the look in his eyes turn hungry, like a hunter watching its prey.

'Pinky promise?' I ask, shrugging cheapishly.

He takes a few quick steps toward me, rounding the table. But I run to the end of the couch, making sure that the table is still between us. Butterflies surge through my body, giddy from excitement. This is the most fun I'd had all night. 'Buck, let's- lets be civil about this, alright? Let's just talk.' I giggle.

He chuckles, 'Oh, you think this is funny?'

Nodding, 'Kind of, yes. . .' I tease.

'We're far past talking.' He breathes, 'Had I been anyone else, had I not known your parents, you would've been in cuffs by now.'

My eyes turn mischievous, 'Whats stopping you?' I tilt my head, 'I assure you, I wouldn't mind.' And grin.

He chews the inside of his cheek, then charges, and I run, swivelling to avoid solo cups and various balloons on the floor. I hear his footsteps behind me, catching up. My agility is nothing compared to his raw muscle and speed, but I swerve into the kitchen, adrenaline kicking in. And manage to take cover behind the kitchen island.

Bucky grinds to a halt, slamming his palms into the counter, catching himself against it. Once again, im in safety. For a while at least.

'Youre gonna have to be faster than that.' I pant, grinning. He meets my eyes, pure animalistic tendencies behind them. The look on his face has me biting my lip, I couldn't wait for him to catch me. 'C'mon Chief.' I purr.

And somethings in his eyes ignite at the word, oh?

'Chief?' I test and he grunts, eyes glaring at me through his eyebrows. Naturally, I delve deeper, 'You feeling quite alright. . . Sir?'

He tilts his head with a jerk, then laughs 'You've done it now.' Those are warning words. Then he jumps, sliding over the counter.

'Holy shit!' I squeek as I take of running, narrowly avoiding his grasp. I run through the house with Bucky right on my heels, nothing but the the thrill of the chase keeping me going.

I run out by the backdoor, then stupidly enough, take a right. Into a garden, a fenced in garden. The high type of fence too. I regret my decision the second I see notice it, but its to late. Buckys steps slow behind me, and I slow to a stop myself as I come face to face with a dead-end. 'Oh, fuck me.' I breathe, absolutely exhausted.

'Famous last words, doll.' He cuckles between pants.

I turn around and smile through the pain, 'Ha ha! Funny guy. What. A funny. Guy.' I clench my teeth, sighing.

My eyes lock onto his frame, hands on his hips as he's catching his breath. Mesmerized I stare, men in uniform, huh? Im starting to see the appeal.

Slowly, he begins walking toward me, prowling like a tiger. He grabs hold of his belt, pulling it upward to adjust his pants.

God damn.

My uterus is aching, my entire body is aching. I would've drooled if I hadnt come to my senses, escaping. Right.

I make a break for it. In one quick motion, I turn around and jump. Grabbing hold of the upper ledge of the fence and pull myself up, my feet scrambling against the wood to find some sort of purchase. But im too slow, too focused. I didn't even hear him come up behind me, but I did feel his big hands on my waist.

He yanks me down and pushes me toward the fence, his body flush against my back. I gasp and he digs his fingertips into my waist, making sure I don't escape again. His touch makes me yearn for more, I want it deeper.

He levels his head with mine, leaning in close to my ear. Close enough to feel his hot breathing against the skin on my neck, 'I got you now.' He whispers, making my skin prickle with goosebumps and setting of a pulse deep below my stumache. But I wasn't willing to give up just yet. With my hands free, I pry his own from my waist and turn around, pushing him back by the chest.

Now. . . The intention was to push him hard enough to give me space to run past, but. . .

He barely budged, he grabbed my wrists and pushed me back against the fence, pinning my body between the wood and himself. Wrists in hand, he anchored my arms to my sides by grabbing onto the fabric of my skirt. Rouching it, he helt the flesh of my ass under his fingers.

I laugh nervously, 'You're not gonna tell mom and dad are you?'

He just chuckles, fuck im truly, in deep shit.

I try wriggling free from his grip, but he holds my wrists tighter, carefully slamming them into the fence above my head and leans against me. Leaving zero space for me to move, every curve of our bodies complete the others, I swear I can feel his bulge against my hip. He moves his face closer to mine, needing me to crane my neck upward to meet his eyes. When I do, a self-satisfied smile covers his lips. His face inches from my own, we were basically sharing one breath as his lips barely brush over mine. 'You gonna be a good girl for me and behave?' He asks, breathing heavily.

I whine, he can't possibly turn me on more. 'Depends.' I say.

''Yeah?' He practically whimpers.

I close the distance between our lips, but he pulls back and smiles, teasing me. I meet his eyes and we look at eachother intently, as if entranced, I cant break contact.

He lets go of my wrists and traces his hands down my arms, all the way down to my hands. Chills run amock over my body, I close my eyes and lean in again, but suddenly-

I hear a clasp, then another and I can just feel him smirk against me. My eyes go wide and I realise, 'You didn't.' glaring at him.

'I did.' He laughs, 'What made you think you were in a position to negotiate?'

I look down and sure enough, cuffs bind my wrists together. Shocked, my mouth falls open. I didnt even feel him reach for them.

He backs up and grabs my arm, pulling me with him. 'Could you at least let me off around the corner from our house?' I ask as we make our way toward his car, he glaces down at me but doesnt answer, 'So they dont see me get dropped off in a cruiser, you know?' He opens the front door for me, and helps me inside, 'And maybe avoid talking to them for a few weeks, you'd really be doing me a favor, Buck.' And without a word, he closes the door and walks around to his side. Getting in and driving off.

The first portion of the ride is silent, he'd done what he had to, to catch me. Damn.

Luckily for me though, the party was a long way from home. Meaning I have some time to devise a plan.

I look at my cuffs, carefully observing them. Hmm. . . I yank my hands apart, trying the strength of the schackles, hoping the sound would gather his attention.

This was a game of chance, a game of seduction and persuasion.

Gently, I tickle the skin on my upper knee, 'I really didnt do any drugs y'know.' tracing back and forth with my fingertips, acting somber. Then lay my hand flat against my thigh, squeezing it absentmindedly. Continuing with rubbing small, firm circles with my index finger into my skin and turn to look out of the window.

Bucky clears his throat. The reaction I was looking for, perfect.

I spread my legs slightly, letting my hands slide down either side of my thigh. Clasping them together underneath and slide them up along my thigh. The skirt catching on my cuffs, revealing more and more of my-

-his hand flies to my thigh, hooking the cuff over his thumb and squeezing my flesh. Keeping me from showing anything more. Fuck, my core is throbbing from that alone.

'Buck?' I ask innocently.

'Dont' he croaks, voice sounding pained.

'Sorry-' I pause, glancing at him carefully. His eyes are fixed sternly on the road, 'We could talk about this like adults you know, make a deal.' He squeezes my thigh harder, I lift one hand with the restricted movements of my cuffs and caress his fingertips, 'A real good deal, benefitial for the both of us' I suggest.

'You talk too much for your own good, girl.'

'I'm not quite sure what you mean, Sir?. .' I bite my lip as he looks over at me, meeting my eyes through my lashes. 'You wouldn't tell on me to my parents, would you?' I ask, giving him my best puppy eyes.

He looks away, sitting silently until the next exit comes up. He flashes his indicators and turn off the main road, parking in an empty clearing.

'You want a deal, doll?' He asks, looking straight ahead. Sliding the cuffs off his thumb as his hand travel downward, fingertips sliding under my skirt, knuckles brushing over my clothed clit. Lust flashes through my nerves, and I gasp.

'A deal, or you. Both sound good to me.' I whisper, on the edge of my seat. Eagerly awaiting his answer, waiting for him.

He looks back at me, meeting my eyes with a fiendish grin, 'Then put that big mouth of yours to use.' He orders.

Nodding enthusatically, I lean over. Unbuckling his belt and zip down his pants, I reach into his boxers and fuuuuck, my hands barely fit around him. I pull him out and pull my hands to my mouth, wetting my fingers before returning them. One hand carefully stroking small circles around his tip, while the other strokes him up and down in cylindrical motions along his shaft.

The chief of police bites his lip, muffling a whimper as I move faster, 'Uhh- mmm. .' He hums, 'Yes- yes, doll. Fuck. .' He stutters.

Such a strong man crumbling under the touch of a woman, it was turning me on like nothing ever has, the power I hold is surprising.

His fingers move under my panties and slide along my slit, making it my turn to moan. I Buck my hips to give him better access, and he dips his fingers inside me. Pumping them slowly as he's getting them wet, then slides up to my clit, circling around it. 'Holy-' I gasp, 'Shit.'

We buck our hips to the others touch, leaning against the other, shoulder to shoulder, temple to temple. Moaning breathely. Our lips finally meeting in a needy kiss, tounges moving with the rhythm of our bodies. 'Please, doll. Be a good girl.' He begs between our lips.

Fuck me, that heartbeat in my utherus spread in pulses through out my entire body.

I grin and pull back. Leaning over, I carefully lick the leaking cum off his tip clean, then take him in my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his head, licking greedily. Tasting the salt of him. I push deeper, sucking his length into my mouth. The sloppy sounds of saliva and lips were vulgar inte the most intoxicating way. His hand continues massaging my clit while the other snakes into my hair, grabbing a fistful and aiding my movements. Helping me set merciless pace.

Bucky groans, our strokes growing in greed as we close in on our releases. He shoves two big fingers into my core, curling at just the right spot. Pleasure surge through me, leaving me to stuff my throat with his member, muffling a scream as I topple over the edge. I feel him come right after, my mouth filling with his seed and hearing his moan of completion. The bitterness of salt waa overwhelming to my tastebuds, I swallow what I can and pull myself off.

Leaving a sloppy mess around my mouth, I sit back and smile. Breathing heavily as I regain my strength, Bucky looks at me and laughs, 'You got something right here.' gesturing circles around his mouth, reffering to mine. I wide my mouth clean with my thumb and suck it off, Bucky smiles proudly at the sight. Then brings his own fingers to his mouth, sucking my juices off of them.

Heat ignites within me once again.

Bucky cups my face with one hand and pulls me into a kiss. The tastes of eachother mixing, I can't quite tell what is what. But it's wonderful. Bucky pulls free and looks at me, I give him a hazy, expectant look. He strokes my cheek with his thumb and slides out of the car, walking around to my side. I furrow my eyebrows as he helps me out of the passenger seat. He pulls me to the hood of the car, pushing himself against me until the back of my legs hit the grill. He leans in and whispers against my ear, 'Still need to punish ya.' He drawls, a shiver running through my spine.

'Im begging you Chief.' I look at him thtough hooded, lustfilled eyes, 'Please punish me.' I groan, smiling.

His dick twitched at the word, making him close his eyes to keep his composure. Then suddenly bends down and finds purchase under my knees. In one swift motion, he pulls, and I fall back onto the hood, 'Wanting it defeats the purpose, doll.' He growls, then opens his eyes. But the sight before him makes him unravel.

Upperbody bent to the side in an effort to prop myself up on my forearms, thanks to my cuffs. Skirt over my hips and legs spread, core exposed and ready for him.

'Do you worst, please. Sir. . .' I whisper and grin.

His eyes snap to mine, and that "You're in for it now.' Expression returns, 'Fuckin brat.' He spits.

Then, he kneels. He fuckin kneels. A shiver runs up my spine a the sight, 'Some punishment, huh?' I ask, but he only smirks. Hooking my legs over his shoulders, and grabbing each thigh to keep them spread, then, without warning, he dives in.

I bite my cheek to stop myself from screaming, pulses of pleasure run through me like electric currents. He pushes his tongue inside me, feverishly licking at my juices, exploring my walls, burrying his face in my cunt. Nose pushing up against my clit, making my back arch deliciously. 'That all you can do?' I tease, grinding my hips against his nose, desperate to get some friction. But his eyes meet mine, glaring as he moves his hands to my hips, holding me steady.

He pulls back for a second, just to spit on my cunt, then hastily returning, chasing my clit. I gasp, burrying my cuffed hands in his hair, pulling him closer as I want more. Making him moan against me, his voice vibrating against my clit. My sight blurs from the pleasure, a knot tightening inside me 'More.' I beg, 'So close.'

His tongue slide out of me, and I whine. But he licks a stipe up my cunt and then attatches at my clit, sucking and nipping at my sensitivity. My body jolts, and I shut my eyes. 'You gonna cum?' He asks, voice muffled.

I can barely answer, pleasure overwhelming me as white specks my vision, 'Ye- yeah. . ' I moan, 'So close, ju- just like th-' I begin, about to reach my climax again, but suddenly.

He let's go, pushing himself off of my clit with on last lick and sits back on his heels, watching my unravel.

'No, please, Buck.' I squrim, whining at the loss of him. I try to pull him back, but he doesn't budge. 'I'm begging, please, please.' I whimper, closing my legs and pushing them together, moving my hips for any sort of friction to finish what he started.

'Mouthy brats dont get to cum.' He chuckles and grab my knees to pull them apart. I feel a tear roll down my cheek as the knot loosens again. In a last desperate effort, I pull my hands from his hair, burrying two fingers in me while my thumb rubs my clit. Just for a second, that exctatic feeling returns, blissful sparks ignite, until- he pushes his body between my legs to keep my thighs in place and grab my wrists, ripping them from my cunt. Then laughs, he laughs.

'Not funny.' I whimper.

'It is. . . Im not done even done yet.' He says, face glistening with my juices.

I fall back against the hood groaning, as the ache in my core reaches my bones. 'I need you so bad.' I whisper.

'What was that?' He asks.

'I need you. Buck please.' I whimper.

'Can't quite hear you, doll.' He mocks, hands squeezing tighter around my wrists.

'I fuckin need you inside me, ok?' I almost shout, 'Fuck me, hard. I'm begging, jus- just need you in me.'

'Yeah?' He laughs, standing up. Hooking his hands under my knees and slide me closer to him. His hand trace my skin to my waist, getting a tight grib. Then, in one smooth motion, he flips me to my stumache.

I can't help but gasp, 'Think you can act like a brat all night, and get away with it?' He asks, smaking my ass once. I yelp, the sting making my eyes water in the most delicious way. He lines himself up with my entrance, pushing on it slightly. His tip breeching.

'Please.' I whimper, muttering a string of curses. And without warning, he shoves himself inside. Again, I bite my cheek. Pleasure rolls through me, electrocuting every nerve. He grabs my hips, sinking his fingertips deep into my skin. Silently, I beg for them to leave bruises. Theres nothing hotter than a souvenir to remember him by.

He sets a hard pace, thrusting deeply. Pulling back almost all the way before forcefully pushing himself inside again, over and over. My brain doesnt function, I can't form words, all I can do is moan. The sound of slapping skin perfectly lewd in my ear. 'Harder Buck.' I request.

He leans down, grabbing my throat and pulling me flush against his chest, pushing his nose into my cheek, 'Yeah? This not enough for you?' He asks, grunting in my ear.

'Not enough, more.' I mewl.

His hand tightens his grip around my throat, cutting off just enough air to give me a dizzying euphoria. His other hands come down on my ass again, smacking hard as he thrusts deeper. Then re-grips your hip, using it to push and pull your, making our bodies come together even harder, 'Greedy girl, cant fuckn get enough huh?' He groans between breaths, hot against your skin.

I shake my head, the only answer I can manage as I feel my walls twitching, closing around him. He can feel it too, his hips stutter, throwing his thrusts of balance. He bites my ear, lightly tugging on it before kissing my cheek gently, then kissing down my neck.

A stark contrast to the rest of his movements, it's enough to make my head spin. It's almost too much. I feel the blinding pleasure threatening to spill inside me, 'You wanna cum girl?' He asks against the crook of my neck. I nod my head enthusiastically. 'Words doll, use your words.' He breathes.

'Ye- Yes, please.' I manage, 'Wanna cum so fucking bad, Chief.'

He grunts, hand slipping from my throat to my breasts, working them roughly. Palming, squeezing, pinching 'C'mon, cum for me doll.' He says between pants and immidietly, I topple over the edge. Pleasure blinding me as he continues thrusting, continues to assault my breasts. My body begins spasming, and my knees go week, 'Bucky. . . Fuck-' I groan, but he holds me up. All my senses feel like they're about to burst as he prolongs my orgasm, stretching it out in an exhuastingly wonderful way. He bites down on my shoulder, squeezing my breasts, muffled grunts escaping him as his own body spasms and his thrusts halt, his member finally filling me with seed.

He collapses on top of me as we catch our breaths, im so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.

I close my eyes for a second, but doesnt register Bucky pushing himself off of me, or him gathering me in his arms and laying me in the backseat. I don't feel him wrap his jacket around me, or the ride home.

But I do rouse from my sleep as Bucky carries me into my room and lays me down in my bed, he kisses me on the forehead, 'Hey doll.' He whispers, a soft smile on his lips.

I panic slightly as I realise that I'm home, 'Mom n' dad?' I ask anxiously.

'I made a good excuse, don't worry.' He strokes some hair from my face, 'Sleep. You need it. I'll go easier on you next time.' He promises.

'Next time?' I ask, a tired smile covering my face.

'Next time.' He assures, and you drift back to sleep. He stands up and walks to the doorway, silently watching you with admiring eyes as he carefully closes the door.

He tells your parents a made up backstory and they understand, happy to see him. They invite him to dinner next weekend and he happily accepts, he'd do anything to see you again.

He thinks about you the entire car ride home, in the shower as he beats himself off and in the morning as he wakes up with a hard on from dreams off you clenching around him.

He can do nothing but count the days until he sees you again, guranteeing himself it will be a memorable occasion.