#and then plot happens and something snaps.

[elswhore]

── A FARMERS PRECIOUS LITTLE DOLL ۶ৎ

── ⌗ older!ellie x reader

matured content. pure smut with little plot. fingering. degration. choking. slapping. spitting. age gap. forbidden. ellie knows damn well your dad will kill her once he finds out she fucked you.

The sun hangs low over the rolling fields of your family’s farm, painting the wheat gold and the air thick with the scent of earth and hay.

This town, your town, is small, tight knit, and reverent—everyone knows your father, the man who holds the reins of power, his name whispered with equal parts fear and respect.

You’re his daughter, the untouchable jewel, draped in soft dresses and shielded by his iron grip, at twenty, you’re the town’s darling, but the weight of his protectiveness chokes you, a gilded cage you’ve spent years rattling against.

You hate the way eyes avert when you pass, the way no one dares speak to you without glancing over their shoulder for your father’s shadow.

You’re not fragile, not the doll they think, and the fire in your chest burns for something—someone—to see the real you, the one who’s restless, cunning, alive.

Enter Ellie, the new worker your father hired to mend fences and haul hay,s he’s twenty-five, lean and weathered, with auburn hair tied back in a messy bun, freckles dusting her sharp cheekbones, and green eyes that cut through the haze of your boredom like a blade.

She’s different—doesn’t bow her head, doesn’t stammer when you catch her gaze, her flannel shirts are rolled up to her elbows, exposing corded forearms scarred from a life of hard work, and her boots kick up dust as she moves with a quiet confidence that makes your pulse quicken.

You’ve watched her from the porch, pretending to read, your eyes tracing the way her muscles flex under her shirt, the way she wipes sweat from her brow with a smirk, like she knows you’re looking.

She’s a mistake waiting to happen, and you’re drawn to it, to her, like a moth to a flame, it’s a late afternoon when it happens, the sky bruised with clouds, the air heavy with the promise of rain.

You’re in the barn, ostensibly checking the feed stores, but really, you’re there because you saw ellie head inside, her toolbox clanking.

The barn smells of hay and leather, and the dim light filters through slatted walls, casting stripes across her as she kneels, fixing a broken stall door.

You lean against a post, your dress—a soft, white thing your father loves—clinging to your thighs in the humid air.

"Need help?" you ask, voice teasing, and her head snaps up, those green eyes locking onto you.

"You don’t strike me as the manual labor type" she says, her tone dry but her gaze lingering, sliding down your frame in a way that makes your skin prickle.

You step closer, deliberate, letting your hips sway, knowing exactly what you’re doing. "Maybe I’m full of surprises" you say, and she stands, wiping her hands on her jeans, her smirk dangerous.

"Careful, princess" she warns, but there’s no real caution in it, just heat, you’re close now, close enough to smell the faint pine of her soap, to see the pulse in her neck.

"Or what?" you challenge, and it’s like a match striking her hand grabs your wrist, not hard but firm, pulling you against her.

"You’re trouble" she mutters, but her eyes are on your lips, and you know she’s already lost, the kiss is sudden, bruising, all teeth and hunger, her hands gripping your waist as she backs you against the barn wall, the wood rough against your back.

Your dress rides up, and her calloused fingers find your thighs, hitching them apart as she presses herself between them.

"Fuck, you’re gonna get me in trouble" she says, but she’s not stopping, and neither are you, your hands tangle in her hair, pulling her closer, and she groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you.

She’s rough, unpolished, and it’s everything you’ve craved, a rebellion against the pristine cage of your life, her hands are everywhere, tearing at your dress, exposing your skin to the humid air.

"Look at you, all perfect and proper" she says, her voice low, mocking :but you’re just a little sinner, aren’t you?" The words hit like a spark, and you moan, arching into her.

She yanks your underwear down, not bothering to be gentle, and her fingers slide through your wetness, making you gasp.

"So fucking wet already" she says, smirking, and before you can respond, she spits—right onto her fingers, the act so filthy it makes your head spin.

She rubs it into you, slow at first, circling your clit with a precision that has you trembling, your hands clutching her shoulders for balance.

"You like that, huh?" she taunts, and her other hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze "town’s precious girl, begging for my fingers" She pushes one inside you, then two, thick and rough, stretching you open, and you cry out, your hips bucking against her hand.

She’s relentless, curling her fingers, hitting that spot that makes your knees buckle, her thumb still working your clit "look at you" she says, "Bet your daddy’d lose his mind if he saw you like this." The degradation stings, but it’s a good sting, feeding the fire in your chest, and you push back against her fingers, wanting more.

She slaps you—not hard, just enough to make your cheek sting, your eyes watering as you gasp, "greedy little thing" she says, and her hand slides to your throat, squeezing lightly, not enough to hurt but enough to make you feel her control.

Your pulse hammers under her fingers, and she’s watching you, her eyes burning, like she’s memorizing every flush, every shudder.

"Say it" she demands, her fingers slowing inside you, teasing, "say you’re a bad girl." You whimper, "I’m a bad girl" and she grins, wicked, before spitting again this time on your lips, the wet heat shocking you into a moan.

"That’s right" she says, and her fingers speed up, pounding into you, the wet sounds loud in the quiet barn, you’re close, so close, your body shaking, your thighs trembling as you grind against her hand.

Her grip on your throat tightens just a fraction, her thumb brushing your lips, smearing her spit, and it’s filthy, degrading, perfect.

"Come for me, little sinner" she says, and her voice is a growl, her fingers relentless, curling and thrusting, her thumb pressing hard on your clit, you come with a scream, your body convulsing, clenching around her fingers, pleasure crashing through you like a storm.

She doesn’t stop, working you through it, her hand slick with you, her eyes locked on yours as you sob her name, your nails digging into her arms.

She finally slows, her fingers slipping out, and she brings them to her lips, licking them clean with a smirk that makes your stomach flip.

"Taste like trouble" she says, and her hand on your throat softens, stroking your jaw as you pant, still trembling, she pulls you against her, kissing you slow, deep, her tongue tasting of you, and it’s softer now, but the heat’s still there.

"We’re fucked if he finds out" she murmurs, but there’s a grin in her voice, like she’s willing to burn for this, you nod, dazed, your dress still bunched around your waist, your body humming with the aftershocks of her touch.

[keirareidss]

fantasy - s.r

♡ summary: spencer can't stop thinking about you and he needs a way to control his urges, what happens when you catch him in the act? pairing: spencer reid x mean!reader warnings: 18+ SMUT, MDNI,sub!spencer, basically porn without plot wc: 2.1k

request here

Spencer couldn't stop thinking about you and it was beginning to affect his work. It first started when you joined the team. Hotch had placed you at the desk across from Spencer's. The genius had welcomed you with a ramble about the statistics of new hires in law enforcement and how long they usually last especially in the FBI. What had made the tent in his trousers grow was when you told him to shut up. It wasn't in the way the rest of the team did though. No, they liked to give him a small shove on the shoulder or pair it with a little chuckle as if they were both in on a joke, but Spencer didn't get it. You had said,

"It's a good thing I like your voice because I am not interested in this spiel."

He had stopped his ramble, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He stared at you with wide eyes as you stood to get a coffee. You leaned over your desk, reaching out to push his chin up.

"Close your mouth, pretty. You'll catch flies."

He stared after you, watching the sway of your hips, the way your skirt clung to your hips and ass, and he knew he was absolutely fucked.

The first few weeks were torture. You'd be mean and tease him constantly and he loved it every time. Every little comment or look made him squirm in his seat, a blush rising on his cheeks. He had no clue what to do. If every time you sent a snarky comment his way he got a hard-on, how was he supposed to get any work done? Until he figured out a solution.

Before Spencer met you, he'd never really felt the need to jerk off. Pleasuring himself was never something that was on his mind and he's not even sure he felt horny that often. However, when you strutted into his life with your gorgeous shiny hair, and your smooth as silk voice, and your sassy teasings, he felt the need to rush away to the bathroom and get himself off constantly. He found himself rushing into a stall and shoving a hand down his pants while thinking about every single perfect aspect of you. And lucky for him, you hadn't caught him... yet.

The team had traveled to Kansas for another case in July. And it was hot. Hot enough for you to justify wearing a revealing red tank top. It was driving Spencer mad. You were teasing him without even realizing it.

"Spencer pay attention." You snapped your fingers in front of his face as you learn over the table next to him. "As I was saying, Penelope found a bunch of files on the unsub's ex wives and Hotch wants us to go through them. Are you going to be able to focus long enough to help?" You mocked, sitting down across from him.

"Uh, yeah- yeah I'm good." Spencer stammered. The two of you started working on the files but as you continued to lean on the table, pushing the cleavage together, Spencer couldn't take it. "I'm gonna, uh- bathroom... break." He muttered before rushing out of the room, his face flushed red. He sped into the single use men's restroom. You watched him go, a grin spreading on your face.

Spencer pressed himself against the wall in the bathroom, breathing heavily with lust. His hands shook as he undid his belt, pulling down his pants and underwear just enough for his cock to spring free. He spit into his hand before grasping his length in his hand. He let his head fall back against the door as he whimpered, jerking himself off as he replayed the image of you tossing your hair over your shoulder, exposing your collarbone. These were the times that he was incredibly grateful for his eidetic memory, shuffling through the memories of you throughout the day, adjusting your tank top by pulling it down, sweating in the heat, little droplets running down your neck and chest, bending down to grab a snack from the vending machine.

Spencer whined as he imagined that it was your hand tugging on his cock, teasing the head of it, murmuring snide words in his ear. He let out soft breathy moans as he continued to pleasure himself until suddenly there was a knock on the door he was pressed against.

"Spencer? Are you alright in there? You looked like you were sweating a bit, is the heat getting to you? Maybe if you took off your sweater vest for once." You teased through the wood between the two of you.

"I- I'm fine." He couldn't deny how much harder he was getting from the sound of your voice making fun of him.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh huh. I'm okay."

"Alright. Well you know where to find me." You said and he heard your heels click away down the hall. He didn't know whether or not to keep going due to the awkward air now surrounding him, but it only took a few more pumps of his fist before he was cumming on the floor of the bathroom with a whimper. He cleaned himself up and the floor, blushing the entire time, stuck with the memory of what he just did. He headed back to the conference room to find half of the team back from the crime scenes and he dove back into his files.

The team finished up the case, wrapping it up pretty cleanly before heading back to the hotel for one more night. Most of the team went out for drinks but you and Spencer stayed in your hotel room. Of course you were sharing a hotel room, Spencer thought. He had to endure the torture of your tiny pajamas and your hair wet from the shower. But thankfully for him, you had decided to head down to the hotel bar, giving him time to quickly pull out his laptop, clicking on the website he'd bookmarked when he was horny one night and thinking of you.

He laid on his bed in the room laptop open to a porn website (that he was admittedly very ashamed of), and slid his hand into his pajama pants. He slowly strokes his length, letting out a shaky breath as his head pressed back into his pillow. He had been tempted when he saw your perfume peeking out of your bag to take it and spray it on his pillow but then he realized how desperately needy that would be so he didn't. He quickened his strokes, worried that you would re-enter the room at any moment. His eyes were locked on the screen of his laptop, showing a video of a woman in black lingerie, riding a man tied to a bed. A man who looked somewhat like Spencer and the woman who looked somewhat like you.

Spencer whined as he teased the head of his cock, hips jerking slightly. As he felt his orgasm coming nearer, he whimpered, his hand moving faster. Suddenly, the door opened and someone came in. Shit. He hadn't even heard the lock clicking. He slammed his laptop shut, jerking his hand out of his pants but the damage was done. You stood in the entryway to the hotel room, a grin on your face as your stared at him.

"Whatcha up to?" You tilted your head.

"N- nothing." He said, his face beet red.

"Really? Because I heard a certain something..." You strode closer , standing at the edge of the bed. "It sounded like porn, Spencer. Were you watching porn?" You asked mockingly.

"No!" He defended immediately.

"No? So you weren't touching yourself?" Your voice gets quieter, more sultry as you went to the side of the bed, getting closer to him. He stared up at you, his puppy dog eyes wide and lust filled. He shakes his head and you smirk. "You weren't thinking about me while fucking your own fist?" If it's even possible, his blush gets deeper as he attempts to sink into the bed and disappear. He whimpers your name.

"Please." He said quietly. You grinned, shoving his laptop aside and climbing onto the bed onto his lap. You grabbed his tie from the nightstand, looking down as you tied his hands together. You have a brief moment of sincerity where you glance into his eyes to check for permission and all you see is brown eyes wanting. He knows what you're asking and he nods frantically. "Please, please, I want-" He's cut off when you shove his arms above his head, tying them to the headboard. He gasps and your hands trail down from his hands to the waistband of his pants, wasting no time. Spencer was sure he must have fallen asleep at some point and that he was now having a wet dream. But the second he felt your hand wrap around his hard leaking dick, he knew he was wide awake. And he knew that he would be thinking about this for a long time. Your hand moved up and down his length making him gasp and whine.

"Is this what you wanted?"

"Please, please."

"What do you want, handsome?" Your hand moved at a steady pace, stimulating him well but not enough to get him off fully.

"I want you to-" He cut himself off with a little whine. "I want- ah!" You traced your thumb on the head of his cock, making his brain go blank.

"Come on baby, use your words." You mocked.

"I- I want you to ride me." He whimpered, making you smirk. You slid his pants and boxers down before stripping your own clothes off. You placed your knees on either side of his hips, lining yourself up with his length. You slowly sink onto him and he moans, thankful that the rest of the team was out at the bar. You start to slowly move you hips, grinning at how vocal he's being.

"Is this what you wanted, pretty boy? Is this what you couldn't work up the courage to ask me for?" He just whined in response, squirming under you. "You know, I know what you did in the bathroom." His face went redder.

"I- that wasn't-"

"It's okay, Spence. I'm flattered, really."

"I'm sorry." He whined.

"Don't be sorry. To be honest," You leaned down murmuring into his ear. "It kind of turned me on to know that you were in that bathroom, jerking off to the thought of me."

"Faster, please, go faster. I need-"

"Oh, no, you have to earn that, genius."

"How?" He stared up at you with his puppy dog eyes.

"You've got a 187 IQ, figure it out." He didn't feel like he had a 187 IQ right now. He felt like he couldn't think a single coherent thought.

"Please. Please, I can't- I need it. I need you."

"More." You demanded.

"Please, I'm- I'm begging you, I need to cum, I need it, please." He whimpers. You smile and speed up your movements, making him moan, pressing his head back into the pillow.

"Is this as good as your previous entertainment, Spencer?" You teased.

"No, it's better. It's so much better." He moans.

"Yeah?" You asked, bouncing on his cock.

"I'm close. I'm so close, please. I 'm gonna-" He cuts himself off, whimpering as he cums inside you. You weren't quite there yet so you sped up your movements, trying to get yourself off as Spencer squirmed underneath you, feeling overstimulated as he came down from his orgasm only to feel another one creeping up. His whines were getting louder as his hips bucked up into you.

"I'm almost there, I'm close." You warned. You placed a hand on Spencer's chest to steady yourself as your back arched. Your orgasms hit you at the same time, Spencer's second even more intense than the first. You were convinced he blacked out for a few seconds when it took three calls of his name for him to even acknowledge you. You had climbed off of his lap and were sitting next to him, petting his hair gently. His head turned to face you slowly, his eyes hazy.

"Are you with me?" You asked, smiling lazily.

"Mhm." He hummed, scooting closer to you, his eyes fluttering closed. You chuckled, laying down next to him and letting him tuck himself into you, his face in the crook of your neck as you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

a/n: hope this fit the request, it had kind of a sweet ending but I can't help myself when it comes to spencer.

[el-bibi]

I would love to request a fic about Fernando if you feel like writing It! About the plot... Right now I'm writing about him as a teenager girl dad and I love It. But I would love to see him falling in love with someone, maybe his pr, or social Media manager? A woman his Age, Who he has been friend with for a couple or months or so but he end up falling for her... And her for him too! Maybe they've seen each other a lot fir work, dinners, late night meetings and so It happened!

It's never too late (part one) │Fernando Alonso

pairing: fernando alonso x pr manager!reader

word count: 859

A/N: thank you @valeelavvale for your request, I hope you'll like this first chapter. Enjoy!

January 2025, Silverstone

Fernando didn't like to have too many people around, which was somewhat ironic for an F1 driver of his level. When his PR manager retired, he didn't bother searching for another one and let the team choose it for him. So here he was, at the first meeting of the year, waiting on his mysterious new manager.

"How long is this going to take?" Fernando huffed, leaning back in his chair as Lawrence Stroll's eyes were locked on the door of the meeting room.

"I'm sorry, Fernando, there must have been some kind of problem." Lawrence tried to reassure him.

"I can't wait all day, are they even going to show up—"

The door opened. A woman was standing there, long, brown hair and dressed as good as a model.

Lawrence stood up, walking over to her and shaking her hand.

"Fernando, this is your new PR manager, Ms Gomez."

Fernando had to pinch himself mentally to stop staring. Never in his oh so eventful life had he ever seen a woman so stunning. 

"You can call me Laura." She flashed him a smile and held out her hand, which Fernando shook promptly.

"Nice to meet you, Laura. I'm looking forward to working with you." For once in his life, he was saying that sincerely.

February 2025, pre-season testing in Bahrain

The sun shone bright and early on the Bahrain track. Fernando had given himself some time to get to know Laura and now, after just a month, they worked pretty well together. As they walked through the paddock, towards the Aston Martin garage, he let his eyes linger on her. She moved so effortlessly along the pit lane, waving at everyone and flashing pearly white smiles. 

"Pa, dad!" A voice from beside him snapped him back to reality. It was Olivia, his 18-year old daughter.

"Yes, sorry, nena. What is it?" 

Olivia rolled her eyes, she had been talking for ten minutes and all her dad could think about was his new PR manager. Over the past weeks he had only talked about her, how precise she was, how he always brought her coffee. 

"It wasn't important, don't worry." She shook her head.

Olivia loved her dad, she really did. For many years he had been everything she had. Her mum had left when she was little and she had grown up with her grandparents when Fernando had to travel. For some reason, she was always reluctant to meet any woman that walked into her dad's life.

Laura, however, was different. She wasn't her dad's girlfriend, Olivia knew that would have been messy, but she had always been kind, almost treating her as a daughter.

"Nando, you've got an interview in a few minutes." Laura said, opening slightly the door to his driver's room, only to find out he was in a phone call. "Sorry," she mouthed sheepishly.

Fernando waved at her, silently telling her not to worry. Laura closed the door and found Olivia standing behind her. 

"Oh, hi," the woman smiled softly.

"Is he on the phone?" 

"Yeah, I think it's something important." She said in a hushed tone.

"It must be my mother, she usually calls just to remind him how stupid it is to bring me here." Olivia rolled her eyes, heading to the hospitality with Laura.

"She doesn't like it?" Laura frowned.

"Worse, she doesn't like me. She divorced dad when I was little and never really came back." She shrugged.

"I'm sorry about that, Olivia." Laura said softly. Now that she looked at her, she looked a lot like her father.

"Please, just call me Liv, I don't like it when people use my full name. It makes them sound angry at me." Olivia scoffed, sitting down at an empty table.

If there was one thing that Laura had learned about this girl, it was that she had a very sharp humour, always trying to shield herself with some sarcasm.

"Do you have any kids?" Olivia asked as they waited in the parking lot of the track. Fernando was finishing up some briefings and had asked them to wait near his car.

"I don't, I've only focused on my job so far." Laura answered. "And also, I don't think I'd be that great with kids anyway."

"Well, you're better than my mother." Olivia shrugged, then realised she shouldn't have said that. She was just her dad's friend after all. "Sorry, that was… unnecessary."

"No, it's fine. I'm glad I can make you feel at ease with me." She smiled softly, then she spotted Fernando making his way towards them. 

"Finally, I thought you had gotten lost." Olivia teased him, making him ruffle her hair.

"I was having a chat with that new kid, Kimi, he's really impressive." 

Olivia was sitting in the backseat and Fernando saw her getting flustered at the mere mention of the boy's name.

"Liv, everything okay?" He smiled softly, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, it's nothing, pa."

Laura shot a glance at Fernando, a knowing smirk on her face. Oh, how much would she pay to experience teenage love again…

[solrabi]

A drop of blood (in milk) - chapter 2

(GOJO x READER)

PLOT:

You’ve always prevented your blind childhood best friend from fighting your battles for you.

That is until you find out he’s a dragon who refused to participate in a war until he had you safe and sound in his lair.

or: the dragon shifter x witch au

fanfic masterlist

—

There’s not much Gojo can do to interfere in your life, not without raising suspicion about himself anyway.

At age twelve, he watches you huff in frustration as the rune you’d drawn on the fireplace refuses to incinerate the piece of wood in it. Like most young children, you’re both petulant, wanting what you want almost immediately, and sulking when things don’t go your way.

And at age twelve, he sees the way your eyes brim with tears, and he feels compelled to help you, his inner dragon aching for his mate’s happiness. He watches you from a secret window into the room, fingers ready to snap, and if he timed his magic right, the wood would burn up almost immediately in blue flames.

With a steady breath, he raises his arm, but instead, he bites the inside of his cheek to resist a yowl when his arm is twisted behind his back.

“Where’s your blindfold?” Yaga, your mage master and Gojo’s caretaker in the mortal realm, reprimands with a harsh whisper. “Nothing good will happen if she sees you this way!”

“I got tired of wearing it.” Gojo’s whisper is a decibel louder than Yaga’s, not loud enough for you to hear, but loud enough for his dragon to fantasize that you somehow magically listen to him and seek him out yourself.

“You were not sent to this world to do your bidding. If you want her to be with you truly, then you must do your due diligence before you show your true self to her,” the wise mage instructs the young dragon.

Gojo stares at you longingly, his dragon rumbling sadly in the depths of his mind. Yaga was not wrong; if the dragon wanted to be truly loved by you, he needed you to like his true self with genuine regard, not a facade that he had created to integrate himself within mortal society.

The bulging slits in his eyes contract to thin lines when Yaga hands him his blindfold.

--

Gojo’s heart aches when he sees you quickly wrap your hand around his elbow as you wipe your tears with your other hand–the one that has been bruised beyond recognition after you had just punched your ex.

Mahito and his girlfriend clamor behind you as you pull Gojo towards another empty street to drop him off at home. Your grip tightens around him as you sniffle harder. He knows you’re trying your hardest to hide your true feelings from him, which stirs sorrow and anger in his chest. He resents Mahito for treating you as a status symbol, like you were someone who never mattered.

Your steps begin to stagger when the heel of your boot gets stuck between the cobblestones of the streets, and Gojo finally stops you. He pulls you back with your hand still wrapped around him and hugs you, your spine pressed against his wildly beating magical heart.

He muted Yaga’s phantom voice in his head, telling him to control his dragon’s urges to love and protect you, especially in his human form.

But your existence was infinite to him. It was all he cared about since the day he first met you, when your parents had left you to be Yaga’s pupil, when eight-year-old Gojo had peeked out from behind Yaga’s cloak, blindfolded eyes meeting yours for the first time. The urge to rip them off was strong. He had no clue what he was feeling, but it was beyond comprehension.

His father never told him how intense the feeling was when he first met his mother, leaving Gojo to tend to his feelings alone. And Yaga had only ever taught him how to shut them out, control them till they bubbled to the surface, and he released his frustration by burning something. Unhealthy, but it was all he knew.

Gojo was brought into the mortal realm to create peace and earn his dragonhood to ascend to the magic realm. Yaga knew as such, but he knew keeping the original mission in mind would be the most challenging task in the universe once you entered Gojo’s life.

Gojo wraps his arms tightly around you, encircling your shoulders as he buries his nose in your neck, inhaling the scent of your sadness. Your body goes limp as your hands fall to your sides, but Gojo’s strength holds you in place.

“Do I not matter? Am I so easily disposable?” you blubber out. Gojo strokes his palm down your shoulders, squeezing the joint whenever his hand comes up. He would deal with Mahito later; his mate needed him now.

“You matter to me,” Gojo mumbles into your temple before leaving a small peck.

“It’s not like that. It’s more like, ever since I left the team of royal mages after Master Yaga’s death, I’ve lost all value in front of everyone. It feels like the only thing I was ever good for was being a mage and helping the king.”

He wanted to take you away from all the selfish people in your town, away from Rosenrot to where he lived–a sanctuary he had built where he could store his loot and live with you for the rest of eternity. Dragonhood and protecting the innocent mattered little to him if you were sad and were not of sound mind.

The bond that tethers him to you tugs on his heartstrings.

‘Claim her. You have the rest of eternity to protect the world. Take her now .’

But he knew all his pretending would be futile if he immediately shifted and took you away. Besides, like most prideful young dragons still wet behind their ears, he wanted you to love and appreciate him in his true form. 

He was just glad that he could finally kill Mahito discreetly in cold blood. However, the fact that he could not sign off on his work annoyed him to no end. 

“I want to be my own person. See where my beliefs and magic take me. It’s what Yaga told me to do right before he died,” you said, turning around in Gojo’s hold and resting your ear against his heart.

Right, Yaga’s death. You were still recovering from that. He wishes he could tell you the truth about that, too.

“And I agree with him. I never really felt drawn to what the mages were doing. While yes, we helped many people in neighboring kingdoms, we were also honing our magic to use it as weapons against those whose views did not align with ours. It was so conflicting. I knew I had to find purpose outside of that,” you continued to rant. “I thought being an apothecary would help. You know, starting small, but all I get is scrutinized.”

The young dragon heaves, pulling you back, and the surprised look on your face is irresistible to him (he admits that to himself with much shame). Your lips swollen, your cheeks dewy, and your eyes red. His hands slowly move from your shoulders and drag themselves up your neck, making you sigh. He knows what’s going on in your mind–you’re grateful that he cannot see your face, how you bite the corner of your lips from the inside and furrow your brows when his large hands finally encompass your cheeks, thumbs lightly digging right into the apples of your cheeks.

“You matter more than any of these imbeciles ever will. None of them are as bright as you. This society you worry about so much–they lack the brain power to understand just how much they need you to survive. And about Mahito? That freak’s a coward. He’s afraid that he will never measure up to be as capable as you so he digs beneath the surface to find the scum of the earth to be his match. You, my love, are infinite, and these vermin can only dream of becoming someone like you.”

He expects you to pull him closer and kiss him senseless in a feverish daze, but you only widen your eyes.

“Satoru, is everything okay? You’re not…usually so high-strung and seem much angrier than I am about this,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as it caresses his ears.

“The dragon’s rage,” he hears Yaga faintly warn him in an unseen corner of his mind. “ It gets harder to hide as you grow older. The more you suppress it .”

With a tense frown, you grab Gojo’s hand and drag him towards the main street to drop him off at his apartment. “I'll drop you home. Thank you so much for trying to comfort me, but I think I just need some space.”

His heart aches when he hears your voice tremble. Like most geniuses, you were always sure of yourself, life mapped out as soon as you became an apprentice. But for the first time in ages, he sees you all turbulent and disturbed.

“I can stay over,” he insists, but you shake your head before catching yourself and refuse out loud. He tries to prolong his hold on you for as long as he can when you begin to pull away. You’re still out of it, eyes glazed over and body all shifty. The walk to his apartment was silent all the way too, which made him deeply uncomfortable because all he wanted to do was fill the silence to comfort and distractions.

--

The moon hangs high in the navy sky, but its light does nothing to brighten the dark and quiet streets after the festival’s end. Gojo treads around Mahito’s estate with a hood around his head. The essence of gold calls to him like a moth to a flame. His blue eyes glow and the slits curve out into ovals as his hands feel around the walls to sense the gold’s energy.

The walls are thick, but the young dragon immediately senses the riches—new additions to his loot back at the sanctuary. The brick wall is rough against his fingers as he concentrates on vanishing the treasure from the room. He senses that there isn’t much volume, making it easier for the gold to disappear faster.

Looks like Mahito was marrying you for something more than your potential status. That makes Gojo reason with himself to pull one more stunt.

He hears the distant neighs of the horses and slowly walks towards the barn’s entrance. The area is surrounded by straw and boxes of fodder, making Satoru’s boots crunch on the ground.

The guard sleeping beside the barn door stirs, squinting at the hooded figure staring down at him, glowing blue orbs with straight lines going down the middle.

“What the—“

The man is nothing but a pile of ashes at the bottom of Gojo’s feet. He grimaces with a gag and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe off the incinerated guard’s remains from his boots.

He unlocks the barn door with ease and walks in, making haste with his plan. Gojo ushers the horses outside the barn, and they scatter in different directions as soon as they’re given the chance.

It was finally time.

Gojo places both his palms on the ground, his skin heats up slowly, first, comfortably warm, till they start sizzling with heat. The fodder remains on the ground begin to burn, easily connecting the flames to other materials in the barn and the surrounding area.

Gojo’s body begins to change to resist the heat, pearlescent white scales appearing on his skin like armor.

He walks out like a man unharmed, not a hair out of place, and flees as fast as he can, the barn burning up in bright yellow flames. The heat gets a hundred degrees worse because of the summer humidity.

When Gojo reaches far enough, he can hear faint screams and shouts to stop the fire.

-- 

You wake up with a sour mood and a sour taste in your mouth. You had fished out your oldest ale and drank yourself to sleep in your tub, as you stared at your wedding dress that was hanging on the other side of the room. A reminder of the wedding festivities that would’ve been taken place around this time of year. Now that dress only reminds of the scoundrel who cheated on you.

The sounds of birds chirping hurt your ears and your soul, so you slam your window shut and pull the curtains close to keep sunlight away from your eyes.

But alas, there is no rest for the wicked, so you rest up as much as possible for two minutes and decide to get dressed for the day.

It’s eerie and cluttered, the atmosphere of your store, so you brush the floors and organize your shelves of ready-made salves and potions. They’re mostly made for hair growth and other vanity-related concerns. You usually have a system of taking orders for medical potions two days in advance, unless it’s an emergency.

Once you’re done tidying up the place, you draw away the curtains from the display windows. But when you do so, what you see is not what you expect. Usually, you’d get an inquisitive stare or two as people would walk by, but today, you could have racked up a small crowd of whispering townsfolk.

“What now?” you ask in vain to yourself as you turn around, trying your best to ignore the old woman who has her face pressed against your window to peer at you.

You hear dull voices talking about what you’re doing in the store, so you draw a rune beneath your ear to mute them. You couldn’t be bothered to be nice to customers when you were hungover.

With slow hands, you prepared the potion you were required to have ready by the afternoon, pouring the thick green liquid in three flasks before you sealed them with corks and anti-leak magic.

All was going well until you noticed a man spit at the entrance of your shop before walking away.

Confused, you ran outside to stop him, but he had already gone far enough to pretend as if he hadn’t violated your property.

You were never the object of admiration or respect after leaving your apprenticeship, but you were being scrutinized more than usual to say. Which is rich, because you know how badly people require your help. The accessibility to your antidotes and potions has significantly helped the community, but they would never admit that because of collective pride and backward beliefs.

You rub off the rune beneath your ear before you go back inside, but then stop in your tracks when you hear a barrage of murmurs.

‘Look at how carefree she is. ’

‘But there was never any evidence .’

‘It was sudden, and that is more than enough to know .’

The looks only get more judgmental, and you stare at them in confusion.

The situation only begins to simmer with mangled accusations when your customer walks in.

“Good day, Todo, I have your muscle strengtheners right here. The price will be—“

“Hold it,” the brawny man commands. He grabs the crate of potions and tucks it under his arm as he stares at you with an accusatory gaze.

“You know, I used to think you weren’t like what people said of you, that you were smart and wanted to help people out of pure kindness. But last night? That was horrendous. You should be ashamed of yourself!”

You nearly knock over a tray of glass vials next to you when you try to ease the pulsing headache that grows with the hour. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, confused. Todo had never been one to conform to societal opinions, so it was astonishing to see how it only took him one night to villainize you.

“Oh, don’t act so sly. I bet you have something to do with the disappearing elfin villages, too. Well, so that you know, the court police will come for you. Rightfully so.” Todo mutters the end of the sentence under his breath. His long legs carry him towards the exit of your store before you can walk around the counter to stop him for your payment.

You call out to him again, with confusion, but he only stomps away as more townspeople gather around your shop.

Your mind only finds solace when you see Gojo come into your shop, his cane finally in hand.

“I see you found your cane,” you quip.

The blindfolded man smiles, but it doesn’t match his usual blinding one; the type he’d have when there was hot gossip from the castle to spill or when he needed to blackmail you to buy more sweets.

His cane drags itself along the small magical indentations you made on the floor for him that automatically lead him to wherever you are in the store. Gojo stops before the counter, the register between you two, before he speaks.

“Why is everyone in the town blaming you for the mass disappearance of elves?” His question sounds more like a statement, but you answer it anyway.

“There’s a whole rumor going around about that? I had no clue.” No wonder Todo falsely accused you of it earlier. “I haven’t left the shop since this morning—well, except for when a man spat by my shop’s door, but—“

“A man spat on your door?” Gojo asked you, his forehead wrinkling as you noticed his eyebrows peeking out from the blindfold.

“No, it was by my door, if it was on it then—“

“The logistics don’t matter. I hope you didn’t let him get away with it,” he said, his voice laced with concern. Maybe you had too much to drink the night before, but you could almost hear the astonishment in every sentence.

“Well, I kind of did so—“

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Gojo drops his cane with a clang and grabs hold of your shoulders, large mitts gripping you tightly.

“Quit interrupting me! And I think he had black hair, I don’t know…he walked away too quickly and I had to man the shop.” The sulk on your face mimicked a child who couldn’t get their way. The magic that courses through your veins urges you to do something; to give in to your dark side so you can finally take revenge for being tossed around, but you knew better.

It was never worth sacrificing your humanity for a temporary salve like revenge, especially when those who were attacking you were simply misled.

Your attitude always frustrated Gojo, but there wasn’t much he could do, and all you could blame was your goodwill.

You were one of the unfortunate souls who had too much of it.

“Do you at least know what he looked like?” Gojo is still hung up on the spitter, so you try to shut the conversation quickly. He often pushes you to get revenge, to be treated respectfully, but you knew that if you forcefully commanded it then you’d be feared instead of accepted.

“I am not going to hunt him down!” you reason, a final statement to keep his mouth shut from trying to persuade you further. Only, he was pushing you towards the edge of mania added with the shitty nausea because of the hangover.

“Why are you even here anyway? Don’t you have work to—“

“You scornful witch!” Mahito barges into your shop. You notice how he has burn marks over his arms, and you gasp, pushing Gojo’s hands off your shoulders before you walk around the counter.

Mahito’s skin looks raw, like he’d almost been roasted on an open fire, his hair is a mess, out of its usual ugly ponytail, and his eyes have dark circles under them.

“You couldn’t handle me marrying a woman I love, so you steal all my gold and burn my barn down? How am I supposed to feed my wife now?” he yells, his voice guttural as it rubs his throat raw. His face is red and blotched, like he’d been screaming and crying to your shop.

You try your best to deescalate the situation, drawing your hands up to show him you mean no harm, and you walk to him slowly. “Mahito, you are clearly disturbed. But I did not do that,” you answer firmly.

Mahito’s eyes narrow at your answer, and then he begins to laugh maniacally before looking at you with a type of hatred that you wouldn’t even expect to see in your worst enemy. He growls like a beast who has been starved for days, desperation seeping out through the cracks of his splintered mind.

Looking over your shoulder, you see Gojo slowly following behind you, his cane tapping the ground with each step.

“Look, I will take you to the castle, I know some helpful people there and I will get you help, okay?” You couldn’t believe that you were willing to help your ex so much. Too much goodwill indeed.

But Mahito's eyebrows furrowed to the point where they almost met. You think about how his facial muscles must hurt with how harshly he seems to be expressing his anger.

“I am done living in the same world as you. I’ve had enough.” At this point, it seemed like Mahito was talking to himself.

Which he indeed was, because he simply grabbed your elbow and dragged you out of your shop. When you try to struggle, he twists your hand behind your back, making you yowl in pain. Gojo rushes behind you two, but he’s unable to find the right direction in time once he’s out of the shop. Mahito throws you on the ground, and pain shoots up your hip when you land with a thud, dust flying around your skirt. A crowd of gossiping spectators surrounded you two.

When you try to get up, two brawny men hold your shoulders down while Mahito’s girlfriend ties a rope around both your hands.

You’re officially helpless, wrists bound with anti-magic ropes (making you wonder how Mahito acquired them in the first place). You cannot draw runes, nor can you ask anyone for help from within the crowd, as all of them seem to have the same idea about you: you were supposedly an arsonist.

Gojo calls out your name. “What’s happening?”

“I’m fine, Satoru. There’s just been a misunderstanding. Please get the royal police as fast as you can!” you yell out when Mahito begins to drag you further out in the town.

“But—“

“There’s no time! Just go!”

You notice that Mahito is taking you to the square, where there’s a giant post on a platform. 

Were they …surely not, right?

“What’s going on?” you ask, but your voice falls onto selectively deaf ears. You notice that the crowd has grown larger, many people holding pitchforks, and some even holding torches in the middle of summer. The afternoon sun beats down on your head till your scalp feels hot and raw, but there’s not much you can do to ease the discomfort.

You try to push Mahito off, trying to make a run for it, but he kicks your ankles, making you twist them unnaturally. You yowl and fall to your knees, but Mahito’s henchmen carry you by your arms instead.

“I didn’t even do anything! I’ve been in my shop since last night!” you cried out, but Mahito only yanks your hair, jerking your head back.

“Keep your mouth shut unless you want me to burn that blind whore of yours like you burnt my barn,” he sickly whispers in your ear. Mahito always hated Gojo, considering how close you were to him. He always assumed the worst whenever you’d even mention the man’s name, so you chose to keep them out of each other’s worlds.

Yet, that suspicion never left Mahito’s mind.

You think of Gojo, who has a hard time already with snide remarks from the townsfolk who like to demean his abilities, and you cannot imagine Mahito taking advantage of his lack of sight. It wouldn’t take long for everyone else to agree with him and collectively bully your best friend. 

You grit out a small sound of agreement. Mahito throws your head forward, and you groan at the whiplash you get.

Mahito momentarily unties you, and the brawny men hold on to you so tightly that your skin begins to bruise. They tie you to the post, keeping you upright on your painful ankles. The townsfolk watch you as if you were the little play that had taken place in the festival the night before.

“This woman…” Mahito begins while staring at the crowd.

“…is more than witch. She is a monster. She has a hunger for vengeance, and she uses her cunning ways to make people depend on her!”

The crowd clamours in agreement, men waving their pitchforks in the air as women holler.

“Today, I am going to condemn you for your wrongdoings. You, witch, are responsible for the mass disappearances of elves, stealing my family fortune, burning a part of my estate, and killing my horses in the process!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t do any of that!” you deny once more, but that earns you a sharp slap on your face. You feel blood immediately rush to the numb part of your face, as you stare up at Mahito with contempt.

“You can’t kill me for something like this,” you snap.

Mahito leans toward you, his sour alcoholic miasma hitting you instantly as he condescendingly smiles at you. “You should’ve thought of that before killing my horses. A life for, well, a few other lives. And once I rid the world of you, I will be loved and rewarded handsomely,” he answered.

The men pour oil around the post, dousing you in it afterward. They leave a trail on the ground as they walk away from you.

You stand like an example to the people—anyone who defies collective thinking is to be eliminated.

But everyone suddenly grows quiet when they notice a perfectly sunny day begin to darken, thick grey clouds covering the skies instead.

The wind picks up, making your skirt blow almost in a straight line. Your hair moves wildly, and when it finally moves out of your eyes, you notice how the grey clouds now have a yellowish hue to them.

The men in the crowd hold onto their hats and children, as the woman gather their skirts. The wind is so strong that every torch’s flames are quelled. With bated breath, everyone looks around, trying to make sense of the sudden shift.

“There is no need to worry, the punishment will continue as planned!” Mahito announces. He pulls out the magic matchbox you bought him as a birthday present. It was nothing too crazy, the flames just had different colors, but it amused him, so you’d given it to him.

And now your heart felt like it was rotting because of the unnecessary kindness you’d shown.

Much to your surprise, Mahito’s knees wobble and he loses his balance, as the ground rumbles. The matchbox falls out of his grip, and the matches spill out on the ground, vibrating because of the moving earth. Dust and small rubble begin to whirl around the square, and your hair now flies completely out of your face. The wind gets even stronger, and you close your eyes because of how harsh it feels against your skin, almost like it’s ripping it.

When you open your eyes, you expect to see a storm on your way, maybe a tornado, but what you feel is the ghost of a dark veil on your eyelids.

A child screams, and a man yells at the people to run. You hear Mahito wail, and suddenly, you hear the crashing of wood. It’s a cacophony of chaos. The smell of burning wood hits your nose, and you can only fear that someone may have accidentally set a building on fire, leading to a chain of burning buildings.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when you open your eyes, though.

Because in front of you, a dragon was standing humongous and proud. The sheer size of his wing encompasses half the town. His claws dig into the ground because of his weight, and his canines are long and sharp to puncture through any well-muscled human easily.

A shiver of fear goes down your spine when you see its icy blue gaze fall on you.

And after that, you fall into a dark abyss.

—

tag list: @eva-616 @luv3nti @leafynightmares @n1vi @uhkaey @heyl820 @kittsoraxx @asuritam @ratedrrrr @mentallyunpresent @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @starlight5cat @birbwithhat @ressyshi

@strawberrymilkshakes-posts @qyuin @gh0stlyreader @ssetsuka

[concretejunglefm]

anon who asked for this with all versions of Noah, that will be coming but rn my brain wanted to get out the himbo!noah one. in reference to this post. inspired by all of the noah brainrot and plot bunnies with @madamaaubergine and @somebodyels3 💕

“Do you feel that?” Noah’s hot breath caresses your ear, and all you can manage is a soft nod accompanied by a gentle hum as you try to tilt your head back and away from him.

Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

You keep telling yourself that if you repeat it enough, it won’t happen—but even if it does, it’ll do little to combat what you’re already feeling right now.

After a reckless attempt to jump from a beginner to an intense exercise class, you’re sprawled out on your living room floor, with your unreasonably hot roommate, fresh from his own afternoon workout and still sweating, helping you stretch. As usual, he’s shirtless—just in a pair of shorts—and the way his hands move with firm, practiced care over your thigh makes it almost impossible to focus on anything else.

You can feel him, pressed too close for comfort, sending a rising heat through your body. Your mind keeps being pulled back to the dreams that has been plaguing you—raunchy dreams where you climb him like a tree or him coming back between your thighs with some stupid honey pot remark. How did he make that even sound hot? It should’ve gave you the ick, yet all you can think about is bringing your hand into the top of his head and pushing him down between your—

“Oh”, you let out an audible moan when something snaps, providing a comfortable relief, and your eyes widen in horror. You actually moaned; you didn’t mean to do that.

“You like that?” Noah asks, glancing down at you, his hands steady as he holds the stretch. You open your mouth to answer, but the words catch in your throat, lost somewhere between the pull of your muscles and the heat of his touch. His mouth curves into a smug grin as he leans in just slightly. “Yeah, you do,” he says, answering for you, his voice low and teasing. “Told you, you just needed the right kind of stretch.”

And if he stretches you any further, you’re pretty sure you’ll feel something else of his pressing against you, leaving you with even more unholy thoughts about your dangerously hot roommate.

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

Plot

You attend jujitsu with Gojo,

Your first week and you've been sent out with him to learn how to exercise cursed spirits

He leads you into an old abandoned house, scares you a few times, then a spirit attacks you

Takes you back and takes care of you

Next mission you go with Geto, you get kidnapped, but he can't save you

My first week at jujitsu highschool actually wasn't too bad. Don't get me wrong, school still sucks, but having a tall, slim but incredibly built teacher, with glistening white hair who always spouts the stupidest anecdotes, and chucks mochi balls at us if we get answers correct, made it feel a little less stressful, and little more fun. I was a little older than the other first years; they ranged from 16-18, and I sat at a delicate 24, not much older than the freshly born adult range, but scarily older than the 16 year olds it felt. Our teacher Mr Gojo seemed within our age range, which perplexed me, he was clearly the youngest teacher here.

After being told my ranking was Grade 1, I assumed I was a pretty high end sorcerer already, but very quickly found that, even though grade 1 used to be top dog, with the increasing amount of special grade curses popping up, the rankings might need to change soon...

After a particularly strenuous training session, I found Gojo waiting outside my door, leaning against it with a pastry hanging half in his mouth as he frantically texted on his flip phone.

"AH! There you are! Girl of the hour!" He tilts his head, smiling towards me, shoving his phone back into his pocket. He pulls the pastry from his mouth and shoves it in my direct,

"Wanna try? It's sooo goooood." I wave my hand and shake my head gently towards him,

"Maybe another time. I feel like I'm about to split in half after training today, did you need something?"

"Split in half ey?" I find his head lowering as if he was slowly looking me up and down, "Anyway!" He jumped up, excitedly, suddenly appearing next to me with his arm draped around my shoulder, "It's your lucky day! You get to go on a super secret mission with me, Saturo Gojo, the best in the bizz!" He proudly points to his chest as he says his name, laughing, as we begin our walk to the exit of the building.

"Me? On a mission already? Wait, with you as well?! What the hell did I do to provoke such an invitation?!.... Was it because I kicked Pandas ass yesterday?" My eyes dart along the floor as I'm deep in thought, trying to figure out why it was me who got invited to help Gojo out, even if it only meant watching him in action.

"I mean, yeah that's a good start, but I actually requested you for this mission myself. Well, I say I requested....they don't actually know you're coming with me yet, I'm sure Megumi has given Yaga the note by now though..." He smirked and pulled me in slightly closer to his side.

"I'm sure it'll all work out, who's gonna mess with you anyway now that I'm around?" He glanced at me from the side of his glasses, winking then throwing his head back as a laugh roared from his mouth. I rolled my eyes but couldn't keep the smile from creeping on my face.

We met ijichi at the entrance to the school and he drove us roughly 2 hours away of town, to a place that could only be described as 'disgustingly dissolute.' As we exited the car, Gojo got a call.

"Mhm, I'm here. Yeah yeah that's fine." He pauses, a look of concern washing over him, "Oh, he got the note then...yeah she's here. She's fine. You think I'd let anything happ...." The person on the other end of the phone had evidently hung up before he could finish his sentence. He snapped his phone closed and shoved it into his pocket.

"So yeeeeeeeah, Yaga ain't happy. He told megumi that he's instructed ijichi to turn back around and come collect you, buuuuut that's not gonna happen." He flashes a grin and grabs me by the arm, "How can he collect you if he can't find you? Hold on." We suddenly start running towards a block of dilapidated buildings and down a few alleys. We stop abruptly as he pushes me with one hand against the wall behind him. He quietly listens to see if ijichi bothered driving down this side of the buildings, but hearing anything, he looks back at me laughing quietly to himself, to find me staring wide eyed down at the fact he had his hand placed perfectly cradling my right breast. Jumping back and putting his hand on the back of his neck, he quickly apologised for the accidently grope.

"oh shit, sorry about that! It's usually me by myself, or if anyone HAS to come with it, it's usually Yugi...I'm not used to boobs getting in the way when I'm trying to hide someone from others eyeline....felt nice though, so, thanks for that little pick me up!"

"Errrr, anytime I guess?" I muster, trying to pretend I wasn't completely flustered. 3 seconds of grabbing my boob got me this shy and embarrassed? God he's gonna think I'm a virgin! I should've smacked his hand, slapped his face, put my hand on his pec imitating him... He could see the racing thoughts going through my mind as I stood motionless, eyes only darting along the floor again, but he quickly interruptes.

"Ooooh, so you're a thinker...I wish I was a thinker. I just say whatever I want and worry about thinking later. It usually works out." He leans down to look at me, peering over his glasses, clearly trying to crack a smile.

I giggle and brush my hair behind my ear, flattening the creases from my shirt, I ask where we had to head next.

"um...um..." He spins around, looking at the buildings surrounding us, "Oh! There! You see that creepy looking building that looks like it's been burnt to a crisp, and could collapse at a sudden wind? Yeah, we're headed in there." He walks gleefully towards the decrepit building, swinging his arms exaggeratedly beside himself, as I follow on his tail. I don't understand why he looks so cheerful going into a place like this, but hey, it meant I got to watch him work, I couldn't exactly complain about it not being a 5 star hotel now could I.

Once I see him slip gracefully in the half open door, I follow him and find he's nowhere in the room before me. It's an old, dusty grey room, filled with burnt boxes and half a rug that looks like it's been torn in half. Stairs to the back right look damaged and unclimbable, with a hole half way up that seems to dig deep into the foundations of the building, I look to my left and see a room leading to what I assume is a kitchen. I creep into the room, clinging to the wall behind me, careful of my footing and try to enter the room with the tile flooring, to which I find him swinging on a chair, feet on the table, holding a porno magazine sideways, displaying nothing but charred remained of a woman jumping in the air, presumably with her breasts out, covered in white, foam? Soap? It's so burnt you can barely make out the photo anymore.

"Enjoying yourself?" I blurt, as he nearly falls off the chair and drops the magazine to the floor. He kicks it over to me,

"Check out that hottie!" He exclaims, "Get it, cause it's burnt? You get it right?" I roll my eyes and let out a slight sigh,

"Yeah I get it, you're into smoking hot babes." I let out a small laugh as I turn back around and hear him now actually falling off the chair backwards, laughing loudly!

"I knew you'd get it! Cm'here!" He appears behind me, and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me slightly closer into him, "I knew you'd get my humour. We're gonna get along like a house on fire, ey." He whispers into my ear, letting out a proud exhale of air from his nose.

I roll my eyes and ask him what we're doing in a dusty ass house like this, and what made it a special mission in the first place, to which he jumps up and appears at the top of the stairs, proudly proclaiming, "We're here so I can show off!" He wanders off, searching the top floor, as I decide to check the bottom floor. I can hear his footsteps lazily falling on the floorboards above me, as I open a cupboard and books loudly crash to my feet.

"YOU ALRIGHT DOWN THERE?!" I hear panic in his voice, and before I can even reply, I hear a tumble down the stairs, and a second later see him leaning against the doorframe behind me, arms folded, covered in dust, and his glasses hanging half off his face.

"Are you alright there?" I laugh, clearly mocking him falling down the stairs, to which I see his eyes dart behind me.

"Don't. Move." He whispers, a sudden seriousness took over his voice. I stiffen my body and hold his gaze.

"Now walk slowly towards me. SLOWER. Slower. Good. Now just keep coming towards me. I've got you." His eyes widened as he slowly held a hand out to me, I reached for it trying to move as slow as physically possible, to which he suddenly darts at me and pins me to the ground, completely shielding me. I wince and brace myself for impact, and after a few seconds of nothing happening, I slowly open my eyes and see him staring down at me, smiling, still completely ontop of me.

"Spider." He laughs. His chest an inch from my face, I jerk forward trying to bite at his nipple, to which he forcefully uses his hand to push my chest down, now grabbing the left breast slightly.

"Nununuh, pervert. You've gotta wine and dine me first, before biting me anywhere." He flashes a smirk and lingers his hand still on my chest, before looking me up and down and then standing back up, offering his hand out to me.

"So you bring new girls here to grope and have your way with them then I take it?" I snark at him, ignoring his out stretched hang and getting myself up.

"Wait what? You think...?" He breaks out in laughter at the thought of me assuming he wanted to take me. He wipes a fake tear from his eye and rearranged his glasses. I pout and furrow my brow, looking away from him, annoyed that he thought my assumption was a bit too funny. To which I hear,

"why would I take you somewhere like here if I wanted you? My rooms so much nicer. Sound proof too." It sounded like he was whispering it directly into my ear, I could almost feel his hot breath as he said it. Flustered I turn my head to where I thought I heard it, and again, he's nowhere to be found.

I try to shake the fluster from my face, and head back to searching the room, nothing in here looks especially exciting, or suspicious, until I hear a stone hit the full-length window Infront of me. Peering out I see a figure in the alley opposite, hunched over, bobbing his back slightly up and down. I look closer and see puddles of red by its feet.

"Gojo, I think it's outside!" I shout, hoping he's still somewhere in the house, to which the figure abruptly stands bolt up right, as if it heard me, span around and bolted toward me at top speed. Before I could even stumble backwards, it crashed through the window and landed ontop of me, pinning me to the ground and snapping his jaws an inch from my face. I let out a loud shriek as I try to push the beast off of me, but it's sheer force felt like it was merging me with the floorboards. I tried to fling my head up to headbutt it, but it felt like I headbutted a concrete wall, I instantly lose consciousness from the force.

I awake to the fresh air hitting my face, as I realise I'm in Gojo's arms, carrying me out of the building. I look up at him and see a stern, concerned look on his face, as he rushes me to a car. I black out again. When I come too again finally, I'm in my own bed, in an oversized t shirt and trousers that were 100 times too big for me, with the sound of footsteps outside my door. It sounded like someone pacing outside my door, as I open my mouth to speak, an immense pain filled my brain as I grabbed at my head and groaned. The footsteps stopped, and my door flung open.

"You're alive! Thank god! The elders won't have my head for killing the newbie. Phew." An exaggerated sign of relief left his mouth as he realised I was now conscious again.

"As soon as we arrived back at Jujitsu, Shoko took care of you and instructed me to let you rest, and to keep guard outside your door incase you woke with a concussion and needed help." He seemed less cheerful than usual, as caution donned his beautiful face.

Still grabbing at my head with one hand, I tried to chuckle but nothing came out. I grabbed at my throat and felt deep lacerations run along my jugular. In a panic I sit bolt up right, clutching at my throat, trying to make any sound auditable.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he says, rushing to the side of my bed, placing his hands on mine and bringing them slowly away from my scars. " You'll be okay, Shoko said it'll take a few days for your voice to come back, but after that you'll be absolutely fine. That bastard got you good, I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop it before it got to you." Disappointment flooded his face, and I try to muster a smile, and shake my head. I use my fingers to sign "it's okay" in BSL, this clearly perplexed him. He looked down at my fingers, back at my face, back to my fingers and back to my face again, with an blank stare.

"Errrrr, what? I didn't think you knew about domain expansions yet...what the hell are you trying to do?!" He grabbed at my hands and pushed them into my lap, completely confused he looks back at my hands.

I try to giggle and make a pen and paper gesture as he frees my hands, to which he runs off and riffles through my draws to find. It's on my nightstand next to me, but he continues to dramatically find said pen and paper. Holding pairs of my pants, glancing at them and slightly giggling to himself quietly, like a school boys first time seeing girls pants, he throws them behind him and finally finds a pen and some scrap paper. Returning to my side, he passes them to me and after scribbling for a second, I shove the paper in his face that simply reads,

"GIVE THEM BACK."

I stare at his pocket and give the "give me" gesture with my hand, clasping it open and shut repeatedly. He pulls a bright pink thong from his pocket.

"Ooooh, how did THEY get in there. Heh." He chuckles, tilting his head sideways and giggling to himself.

I scribble again. 'Nice try.'

He jumps up from the side of my bed and rushes out the door. 'fuck me then I guess... Bye?' I start to scribble, hoping he'd look back before disappearing, but it was too late. Having left my door wide open, I try to get out of bed to close it and immediately topple to the floor. I couldn't feel my feet. I look up, defeated, and see him stood in my doorway again, this time holding 3 notebooks, about 10 pens, and 2 bags full of small boxes.

"As nice as you look on your knees Infront of me, what part of rest do you not understand?" He whisks me up in an instant and puts me back into bed. "Now, here's some food and plenty of paper so you can scribble your demands to your own personal Gojo nurse." He places his hands on his hips, comically striking a fanciful pose before catching a glimpse of a note on my bed out of the corner of his eye.

"hmm what's my next demand? Oh... Fuck me? Well...straight to the point I see." He smirks, holding the paper tightly in his hands. My face turns bright red as I scramble for the note books to explain that it was part of a previous note, to which he pulls them away from me and leans down close, looking at me from over his glasses. "Maybe when you're all better." He winks and clicks his tongue at me.

"Anyway, this nurse has to run some errands quickly, I'll be back in a little while. At least pretend to rest, I can see you're already pretty stubborn, but there's this new ice-cream flavour I've been meaning to try, and I know JUST the movie we have to watch later. Cya!" I lay my head back into the pillows and clench my eyes shut! Why did it have to be me that lost my voice? It would've been significantly funnier if it were him that lost his ability to ramble! Maybe then I could be his nurse....

After 2 days of Gojo doing his best at play pretend nurse, and sleeping next to me, ontop of the duvet every night in case I needed anything throughout, I finally managed to get my voice to come back!

"Fuck off" I lowly grumble, as my voice finally starts to become somewhat audible. It's a low, croaky husk, but it counts!

"Of course your first words are an insult to me." Gojo giggles, trying to help me stand but ultimately pushing me back onto the bed as I topple backwards.

"Seeeee, be nice to your nurse or she'll spike your meds." He taunts, looking down at me struggling to sit back up.

"Now that you're all better, I guess I can finally leave this smelly room and go back to my glorious kind size bed. Ooooh how I've missed comfort of any kind. These last few weeks of sleeping on nothing but ROCKS on the floor have ravished my good looks and fragile body!" He lays his arm over his forehead dramatically, pretending he's been at all hard done by.

"you....had...most....of....the...bed....every....night..." I slowly grumble, throwing a notebook at him, narrowly missing him.

"Yeah yeah, it might as well of been rocks on the floor, how do you sleep on that horrible thing?! I feel like I've aged 30 years already." He leans back, clicking his back and bends forward, stretching his lower back muscles, then waltzes to the door.

"Right, don't forget, if you need anything, ask literally anyone else from now on, Kay?" He smirks and with that, hes gone.

I won't lie, having his undivided attention and company these past few days has been nice. I find myself missing it already...a DVD case hurled its way towards me, hitting me in the middle of my forehead.

"Oh, and we're watching THIS tonight." I hear from the shadows of the corridor.

"At...least....close...the....DOOR..." I try to shout, grabbing at my throat.

After a terrible movie, I can barely keep my eyes open through, I find myself drifting off towards the last half of the film. When I wake I'm snuggled into Gojo's chest, with his head hanging back on my bedframe, snoring loudly. Careful not to wake him, I lay my head back down gently and smile at the position we've found yourself in.

A low, tired voice mumbles, "I saw that." Eyes still closed, smiling at me, I feel his arm pull me slightly closer into him, before his snoring continues.

The next few days I worked on getting my balance back and my voice better. Gojo had to go off on another mission, but promised to bring me back some fancy porno mags he finds at his next destination. I find myself sulking that I now had to sleep by myself again at night, and realized just how much I did miss his comforting snores. I turned to class the day after he left, finding comfort in the routine returning, I couldn't help but find myself looking towards the door every couple of hours. He hadn't returned in 4 days now, were his missions usually this long? Was our recuperation session too much for him, feeling bad about potentially leading me on, was he now avoiding me?

After a week of no Gojo, and my first chance at trying training again, I hear a chuckle from Geto as he watches Megumi wipe the floor with me, hardly holding back at all.

"You'd think he'd try to be more gentlemanly wouldn't you? Especially after what you went through, but alas, still a child with the trophy in his sights." Getos gentle smile made the pain ease slightly, as he gestured for me to walk with him.

"Now, please don't feel like you have to accept this invitation, especially not in your current state, but I spoke to Saturo and we both decided it would be good for you to get back out into the field." His calming voice settled any worries that arose from the initial statement, I agreed and asked him to assure me I was going to be a hindrance on whoever I was joining.

"Don't worry, you'll be joining me. It's only a Grade 3 curse, and even in your weakened state I'm confident even you could best it." He turns his head towards me, smiling gently still, and I accept.

"Perfect. We leave in 20."

"Right...now?" I confusingly express, looking down at my dirty uniform. "I don't think I have...enough time to change and....meet you back here in time." My voice still hurting to speak, but slowly regaining it's original tone.

"Don't worry, we'll only be an hour at best, I'm sure you'll be fine." He reassures me, and walks me to the archway, awaiting our car.

After a short ride, we arrive at the edge of the city, immediately Geto runs from the car and enters a building to our left.

"I don't know why he offered to take you to this, he's almost as fast as Gojo, and in your state, you'll be lucky to meet the door before he's finished absorbing it." Ijichi explains, a worried brow creases his forehead.

"I'm sure I'll..be fine." I whisper, stepping outside of the car. I walk towards the building Geto ran into and immediately get bombarded with curses spilling out of the now flung open door. They force me to the floor and trample me.

"Ambush!" I hear Geto scream, I hear ijichi's footsteps running towards me before a hand grabbing the front of my shirt rips me into the stampede and carries me away.

I try to scramble my way out of the mass, before darkness enshrouds me and completely blocks my view. A voice suddenly bellows from above me,

"Two men trying to protect you? You must be worth something." The mass parts like the red sea above me, peeling away a curtain of bodies to show a woman, floating above me. A slender woman with a low cut top, miniskirt and a long flowing black jacket, floated down towards me.

"I could have sworn Gojo and Geto were getting it on, but then I see him straddling you in that abandoned building, and I just thought....let me guess, Geto lets you share him on the weekends?" She smirked, tracing my jaw with a finger. I pull my face away and try to swipe at her, she laughs slightly and appears next to me,

"I wouldn't blame you yano, they're both so intoxicating aren't they! I can smell the aroma of love leaking from your pours, you're almost as in love as I am, now tell me....which one?" I lay back, trying to flick my legs out to kick her but with the bodies still moving under me, and her immense speed becoming even more apparent, I flail and nearly get sucked back under the mass supporting me.

"Lust. Leave her be. She's a newbie, a nobody." I hear Gojo's voice from the surrounding area, the woman lets out a flirtatious laugh and the mass slowly, dropping the support as I crash on the ground. As the mass dissipates, I suddenly feel a weight on my back, it's her, she's now sat on me.

"So you've succumbed to your urges and are straddling nobodies now are you, Gojo? I thought you had a little more restraint than that." She reaches down, starting to play with my hair. I try to roll over but then she appears, straddling me now.

"I mean, I wouldn't blame you, she's kinda cute... especially when she's scared." She leans forward and tries to press her lips onto mine, I fling my hand into her bright white hair and pull it from behind, forcing her to arch back up.

"Feisty too, I see why you like her." She giggles, slashing giant claws at my stomach and appearing instantly next to Gojo who now stands almost at my feet, lunging towards me. She reaches to grab him by the collar but her hand gets blocked by an invisible wall. She chuckles and gets forcefully pushed away as Gojo spins around and flicks his fingers in her direction.

Pulling me to my feet, he takes out a bandage from his back pocket and shoves it into my hands, forcefully.

"Fix yourself up, " he looks down at the blood pooling at our feet, "FUCK!" he grabs me, as I start to fall to my knees.

"it's not my blood Gojo!" I pant, desperately looking to see if his shirt is soaked in any way.

"Its..mine." Geto mumbles, dropped from above us to our feet. Large lacerations cover his chest and arms, as the woman laughs at her artwork lacing his body.

Gojos eyes widen as he suddenly grabs both me and Getos arms. Suddenly we were then flung into the car, as Gojo desperately orders ijichi to take us to Shoko. He slams the doors and we speed off. I try to help stop the bleeding from Getos chest as he pants that hes fine. I look back out the car window and see flashes of red and blue fill the sky.

"He'll be fine...he's bested her before. He always wins. That beautiful maniac always wins." Geto musters between pants as I try to apply pressure to his wounds. He lets his head drop back down as he passes out.

After Shoko meets us at the gates, and ijichi helps carry Geto to her office, she fixes us up. I only have minor bruising and scraps, so she focuses her attention on Geto who's significant bleeding doesn't slow. After an hour or so, she finally fixes him up and orders me away, I return to my room and flop on my bed, still terrified that Gojo was fighting that lady in the alleyway.

I jolt awake after having apparently passed out from exhaustion, to Gojo laying next to me, panting heavily, his beautiful white hair now strained with blood splatters. His shirt ripped open and trousers barely held on to his hips, as I automatically placed a hand on his chest.

"Such....a....bitch" he pants, barely able to control his breathing. I pull my hand away as he grabs it, putting it back in its place on him.

"Not you, idiot, that stupid bitch from before. She nearly got me a few times there, who the hell strips naked half way through a fight anyway?!" His annoyance seemed to disappear as he spoke, "kinda hot though so, can't really complain." He giggles, half opening an eye to look at me.

"Seeing her straddle you too, whilst trying to make out with you," he makes a chefs kiss pose with his hand to his lips, " now that's something I won't forget for awhile." His grin fades slowly as he starts to snore, he's clearly exhausted so I let him rest, pulling a blanket over him as he lay half sprawled across the bed on top of the duvet.

I slowly slide out of the bed and head to the kitchen area of the building to get him some water and food, when I turn around and drop the glass shattering on the floor. He stood leaning against the doorframe; his usual stance apparently now, with his shirt still undone, and now in his boxers which also barely clung to his hips, it seemed even the slightest breeze would make them fall to the floor revealing his manhood. His head hung lower and soft pants leaving his mouth.

"Don't leave me high and dry like that, I wanted to snuggle." Lifting his head slightly, he flashes a soft half smile at me.

"I...er..wanted to get you some food and...wait, snuggle?" I let out an embarrassed chuckle as I try to sweep the floor of the remaining glass shards. As I'm bent down I feel his back suddenly pressed against mine as he lays over me, his head over my shoulder,

"Carry me to bed. I'm tiiiired."

"if we weren't back to back I could, now get...off." I shove backwards getting him to stumble to his feet,

"HEY! I took care of you, now it's time to return the favour! I don't want Shoko touching me everywhere, scolding me for not being more careful, and for letting you and Geto get hurt, AGAIN."

"GETO! Is he okay?!" The worry in my voice apparently stirring something in him,

"Yeah yeah, your boyfriends fine. It'll take more than a pair of tits to bring him down. Well, now that I say that..." Jealousy lingers on his lips as he trails off, chuckling to himself.

"Oooo someones jealous." I tease, putting the shards in the bin and fixing him a new drink. "Now, let's get back and I can be your nurse this time." My face flusters as I actually said this out loud, instead of keeping it inside.

"My nurse ey?" He tilts his head and looks at me over his glasses, raising his eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

I try to hide my flustered face as I turn to walk out the door,

"C'mon now, time to change your adult diaper." I giggle, trying desperately to walk away from this awkward situation I had put myself in.

"Nah, I think it's time for a bubble bath. You proooooomised."

Getting back to my room, he flops on the bed face down and lets out an exhausted long moan. I perch next to him and trace my fingers up and down his back, comforting him.

"Mmmmmm... Up a bit, left a bit, down a bit, yeeeeeeeah" he shudders, directing my light tickles. He spins around and as I pull away, he places my hand back on his abdomen and lets out a needy 'hmm' as he drags my hand up and down frantically, implying he wants me to do the same but to his front now. As I try to copy the patterns I did on his back, I can't help but trace the indentations of his abs, terrified of tracing a little too close to his pelvis.

"You're allowed to go lower y'know, I don't bite. Not when I'm this exhausted anyway." He lets out a soft chuckle as he keeps his eyes closed and flings an arm over his eyes.

"Yeah yeah, I bet I am." I tease, circling back round to the top half of his stomach. He grabs my hand and slowly starts to drag it lower.

"Can you do it there for me please? It kinda tickles." He leads my hand so I'm tracing over his hips, just an inch away from where his waist band sits. I can feel the nervousness rise in my body as I'm practically glowing red now. I feel a throbbing sensation take over my body. I pull my hand away and sit back slightly, clearly uncomfortable with this new sensation filling me to the brim. He pulls his arm slightly up from his right eye, sleepily peering out at me,

"Not like it? That's fine, sorry I asked." He lets his arm fall back over his eye.

"It's not...nevermind." I make my way to the top of the bed and climb under the duvet, careful not to kick him in the top of the head as I wiggle my legs under. He sits up and climbs himself under the duvet too, he needily forces his head under my arm and cuddles to my chest.

"Mmmm. Now I get to be the little koala." His head nestles between my boobs as he sinks into me, I immediately feel my chest start to race.

"Y'alright? Sounds like you've run a marathon." He sleepily exhales, as he snuggles closer into my chest, almost suffocating himself.

"Hmhm." I muster, trying to control my breathing. Was he blissfully unaware that he was nearly suffocating, or did he genuinely just not care? I lay my head back and continue to trace my fingers along his back as he nestles into me.

"Can you even breathe in there?" I chuckle, looking down at him, my boobs covering his nose and mouth almost entirely. He nestles deeper into his chest, almost pushing me back further into the mattress. A muffled 'mmhmm' comes from his mouth. His arm drapes across my waist as he comes up for air, his white hair a mess covering most of his face.

"Built in cushions, you're lucky yano that!"

"Well I can't exactly use them myself now can I?" I giggle, looking down at him all doey eyed and sleepy.

"True, my bad." He nestles down back into them, "more for me then." He says muffled, back into the 'built in pillows'.

I lay my head back and softly chuckle, as I feel his hand move slowly towards my hips. So slow infact, for a second I assumed I was making it up, but as I realize he is indeed moving, my legs tighten together. He lets out a soft laughing exhale and flattens his warm hands on my waist band.

"Don't worry, I'm only teasing." He muffled, still content with barely being able to breathe.

"I'll let you wiggle if you want me to carry on." Suddenly I am incredibly aware of every muscle in my body, instinctively I try not to move, thoughts racing through my mind.

"Oh yeah, a thinker." He giggles to himself. I lightly tap the back of his head in annoyance, and a low annoyed 'mmm' comes from him.

"I wouldn't want to take advantage of a poor, injured boy." I say, flustered, terrified to let him know my body now physically aching for him to continue.

"Poor? Boy?" He lifts his head up slightly, looking up at me with his eyes half open. "Poor? Definitely not. Boy? Even less likely. " He pushes his hand slightly harder onto my waistband. As I sharply inhale, he lets out a low giggle and smiles to himself.

"Yeah, yeah, that's what I thought." He says, flopping his head back down onto the suffocating mound of my chest.

Almost instinctively my hips move slightly, my body defying my mind, and he slowly moves his pinkie finger so it rests slightly underneath the elastic band of my pants. I sharply inhale as he slowly continues to move the rest of his hand lower and lower into my pants.

He begins to leg his middle finger slide down into my creases, applying the slightest twing of pressure on my clit. I jolt and he giggles, inhaling my scent, he pushes his head harder into my chest, as I feel his mouth open slightly. As he begins to slowly circle my clit, I feel him softly kissing my chest, I grab the bedsheet with my other hand and squeeze tightly almost pulling it off the side of the mattress. Getting faster with his circling, I arch my back and feel euphoria fill my body, as he slides his fingers down and teases the entrance to my pussy. I let out a slight moan as I grind into his hand, he lifts his head and starts to push his hips into the side of me. Kissing my neck, he slowly enters a finger into me, his long appendage reaching places I never could, and I feel him press on the spongey button I was completely unaware was inside me. A sharp exhale leaves me breathless as I grab the back of his hair. Sliding teasingly slowly into and out of me, I feel his other hand reach down as he starts to rub his cock. A low growling 'mmmm' leaves his closed lips as he starts to turn my hips towards him, I feel him get faster with his thrusts, each time pressing harder and harder inside me. As he quickens, I feel him rubbing the tip of his head onto my clit, up and down slowly teasing me with soaking wet I already am. I grab his hand and pull it from me, and as I do so, he reaches round to grab my hips and pulls me closer to him.

Reaching down he guides his precum glistening head to the entrance of my pussy and stops, teasing me. He reaches down to grab my thigh and pulls it so it's now hooked over the top of his hip as we face each other. He nudges his chin on top of my head, to get me to look up at him, as his glassy lips softly meet mine. Before embracing he whispers into my open mouth,

"Tell me to do it." His low voice almost heavenly whispering to me. "Tell me to put it in you. Tell me to fuck you. T,tell me."

"P,please. Please fuck me. I need to feel you." I beg. And as this escapes my lips, me thrusts his throbbing head into me.

"Think you can take it?" He proudly asks, holding the back of my neck with his hand.

"Make it fit, make me take it." I instruct, completely dickdrunk already, before he's even done anything to me really. He lets out a devious exhale and his smirk widens, as he pulls me closer to him, thrusting deeper into me.

With a sharp inhale, I now see what he means, barely half way in and I'm already struggling to breathe. I swear he's about to rearrange my womb to my throat at this rate. He starts to thrust in and out of me, slowly at first, trying to inch more and more of himself inside of me, before I dip my heel into the back of his hip, and pull him all the way in. We both gasp at the sheer pleasure of his now soft pubes meeting my clit, as he then pushes me to my back and presses his hand next to head onto the mattress. Holding onto my thigh with his other hand, he begins to thrust his cock deep inside me, each thrust filling me up like he's trying to push the air from my lungs. With each thrust, my moans become louder and longer, he shoves his tongue into my mouth as we begin to moan between flicks. He sits back and puts my leg over his shoulder, one hand on my lower stomach and the other around my throat, he now begins to pick up the pace.

"Say it. Say my name. Let everyone know who's pussy this is." He grunts, digging his nails into the ankle he's holding.

"Sat...Sat...Saturo...It's...yours...I'm yours.." I gasp, desperately trying to get my brain to form any coherent words. Pounding harder and harder, I can feel every vein, every muscle contracting inside of me, he lets go of my throat and slaps me across the face.

"Yeah, that's right, let everyone hear...you're fucking Gojo, the greatest sorcerer in the world. And you're going to have his cum leaking out of you for days." Grunting, sweat dropping down his Adams apple onto me, I open my mouth to taste it.

"Oh, you wanna TASTE me now do you?" He smirks, "Well, if I wasn't so hellbent on cumming inside of you, I would've let you taste all of me." He grabs my face, and thrusts slower, deeper inside of me. I feel him swell bigger with each longer thrust, as he releases his hot cum inside of me, failing slightly closer to me, he catches his fall with his arm placed next to me.

He lets out a low giggle as he stays inside me, his white hair dripping wet with sweat, strewn across his face.

"Well," he pants, "I'm sure everyone now knows who's pussy this is." Closing my eyes I let out a laugh between deep pants, and moan and a quiet 'yeah' from my lips.

He pulls himself out me, a string of cum still connecting his head to my pussy, he flops next to me. Both frantically panting, he looks over at me and a sweet smile grows on his face.

"Yano, I could do better. Give me five and I'll try again." He chases the sweat dripping in-between my chest down to my belly button, and slaps the tiny pool of sweat gathered there. I flinch and swat his hand away.

"I'm barely conscious as is, how about 10?" I mumble, barely able to keep my eyes open.

He climbs back ontop of me, cock still hard, he leans in close to my ear and whispers,

"I meant seconds."

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

the last bit of us (chapter seven)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: ex!Tyler Owens x estranged wife!OC, Estranged Wife! OC x Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 1.8k

Trigger Warning: discussion of miscarriage

Playlist Song: every little thing by carly pearce

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

I don’t even know how to respond to that, staring blankly at Kate as there’s a loud and angry creak outside. A large banging against the safe room causes the foundation to shudder a little and Kate looks up in fear. 

“We’re perfectly safe,” I find myself saying, shaking my head and turning back to my radio. 

Kate’s head snaps as she looks back at me, her gaze wild. “I would’ve never-,” she clears her throat. I can almost see the need, the energy buzzing in her to get the words out. “I would never have-,”

“Kate, enough,” I say, turning away from her entirely to take at the monitor to check for the radar. 

I press the button to the radio. “Palmer, what’s our status - over.” 

There’s a fuzz in response, no reply. “Palmer, over,” I call again, tapping the bottom against the counter. I huff as I get no response. “Tower must’ve been taken out.” I turn to her, watching as she clenches her fists at her sides. 

“Please Eleanor,” she breathes out, sliding into the chair beside me. “Please. Please let me explain myself.” 

“Kate, there’s nothing to explain,” I say, shaking my head. “You clearly didn’t know alright? So there’s nothing to say. We’re getting divorced as soon as he signs those papers and y'all can go back to your dangerous lives drivin’  headfirst into EF5s.”

She sighs, glancing down at her hands. I can see the gears in her head turning and knowing we’ll be here for a while until the team can dig a way to the door from the damage, I turn to her with a raised brow. 

“I have no right to ask,” she says while shaking her head and scrunching and flexing her fingers. 

“What?” I lean back in the metal backing of the chair, a little annoyed. 

“What happened between the two of you?” Her words echo in my brain, the thoughts racing through me as I try to figure out how in a few days, I’d found myself trapped in a safe room with my husband’s girlfriend. 

“He left,” I shrug, turning back to the monitor and tapping the screens. It’s all a show of busying myself. Kate’s a smart woman, a PhD graduate with a lot of grants for the work she had done in taming tornadoes - or at least that’s what I’d deciphered from her LinkedIn profile and public Facebook page that I’d stalked before falling asleep last night.

“I mean…why did he leave? What happened between the two of you?” she asks, softer this time. “I mean, Boone makes it sound like ya’ll were–,”

“Boone says a lot of shit,” I shut her up, shaking my head. My tone is hard, my bite easy. I turn to look at her, taking in her innocent brown eyes. Her hands are clenched tightly together, clearly uncomfortable. I sigh, reaching under the table and squatting down as my hand pats around behind the cabinet we’d build in to hold all the emergency supplies. 

I can feel her eyes on me as I search, sticking my tongue out in concentration.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m looking for something,” I say, fingertips brushing the slip of the duct tape and grinning a little. “Got it.” I give a few tugs, hearing the glue of the tape start to give way to my strength until a satisfying tear rips through the room. I pull the bottle out from under the table and hold it up in victory. 

Kate looks at me, brows raised as I slide down to the floor and pat the spot next to me on the makeshift rug. I tug the rest of the duct tape off, taking a little of the Jim Beam label with it. “Whiskey?” she says, slowly sitting down beside me. 

“Bourbon,” I crack the cap and take a swig before passing it to her. Kate gives me a look of caution and I wave the bottle at her. “C’mon, you’re stuck in a storm shelter with your boyfriend’s estranged wife until they can dig us out. Live a little.”

She barely considers the option, taking her own swig with vigor and shuddering a little. “Whoa,” she squeaks, wiping her mouth. 

I laugh a little, taking the bottle back and taking another swig. “Not a whiskey girl?” 

“Don’t really drink too much,” she says with a soft smile.

“Bet he loves that,” I say without really thinking too far with a nod. I look down at the bottle, thumbnail peeling at the label a little. I blink a little, shaking my head. My mind wanders back to her question as a silence falls over us and something else overhead slams down.

“Listen, if it’s too weird to share–,” she starts at the same time as I say “This is weird–,” 

We both look up at each other, tension bursting a little as we both share a soft giggle. I take another sip and offer the glass bottle to her again, letting her take it from my grasp as I sigh. “We were fighting a lot.”

It’s hard to let my mind wander back to that headspace, to those memories before he disappeared and never came back. Lots of screaming, boots slapping down on the kitchen floor, pointing fingers. And there was a lot of silence too, bare feet on eggshells that crackled as we tried to survive.

“Tyler and I weren’t your classic high school sweethearts…we actually hated each other–,” I say, smiling a little as I remember back to our years in our teens. I look up at her and laugh a little at her raised brows as she takes another sip.

“Shocking, I know. But we really did. I was really nerdy– you know, Debate Team, Math League and all that. He was buck wild, chasing girls and then he started bull riding and I couldn’t think he was any more of an idiot. But my dad really loved the rodeo so he used to take me all the time, loves the popcorn that they sell and one night I went to go get a refill for him while Tyler was up because I didn’t care to watch him – but he got thrown off and it looked really awful so I ended up somehow going to check on him, gave him my dad’s popcorn and held his hand while he got a few staples on his scalp…ended up taking me to get ice cream as a thank you,” I say, getting a little lost in the memory. 

I look up at Kate, realizing I’m rambling. She smiles with encouragement. “So he’s always been that reckless,” she asks and hands me the bottle. 

“Oh yeah,” I say, taking another sip. “He’d calmed down a little when we got married but you know, boy can’t sit still even if he knows what’s best for him.”

“How long have ya’ll been married?” she asks as she settles against the framing of the wall. 

“Well, we got married in 2014 during my senior year of college. It was right after he went on his final ride at the rodeo, got–”

“Bucked off a bull so bad he almost got his head stomped in?” Kate recites, knowing the story. I stared up at her, feeling a little pull in my chest that she knew the story. I don’t know why I felt like it was so personal to me. It's the first time in a long while that the skin on my ring finger burns. My face must fall because she frowns at me. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” I force out and look down at my hands, trying to remember why we were talking about his fall. “Yeah, so after that – I think the fall put the fear of God in him, and how close he could shake hands with death. He was real banged up and had to go to the hospital in an ambulance. We’d told the paramedics I was his fiance so they’d let me ride with him and,” I crack a smile, still fond of the memory. 

“My parents used to have this saying when they were scared of something, that you should run toward it to conquer your fears…you know they’d always say ‘If you fear it, chase it’ and we always thought it was such a silly statement but on that ambulance, Tyler was so concussed that instead of fear, he said feel,” I shake my head, looking up at her. 

She goes a little pale, staring at me like she’d seen a ghost. “You alright?” I ask, leaning forward to wave a hand in her face. Kate blinks a little, looking down. “You gonna ralph?” 

“I’m all good,” she says, choking a little on her words. I look at her, unconvinced as she fingers at her meshed vest. “So…he proposes?”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Got married at the small church a few weeks after and then had a huge BBQ at my parents. We bought the farmhouse right before I started graduate school. And…things were really good for a while. We would go chasing with my parents a lot, my dad loved him–,” I think of my dad, how sick he was. That I needed to get his meds to him. I clear my throat. 

“I don’t get it,” Kate says as I take a sip of the whiskey. “It sounds like things were…perfect.”

In the distance, I can hear a loud rumble. The team must be starting to dig us out of the debris. “They were…” I sigh. 

“So…what went wrong?” she asks slowly, watching the way my face falls. 

“Well, I got pregnant right around the time that Charlie and I got our first contract,” my voice quiet, hand instinctively going to my stomach. “And then I had,” I cleared my throat. “I miscarried pretty early on from an accident.” The air is sucked from the small space, the rumbling starting to grow closer. 

Kate’s eyes were wide and a little glossy. 

“It’s…it’s alright,” I say, shrugging a little and offering her the bottle for comfort. I’d gotten a little numb to the thought of it at this point. “It happens. And after it happened…it just felt like…it felt like there was this permanent wedge between the two of us that never healed. My therapist told me once that grief is a complicated thing…some people isolate themselves to process their feelings, others will do whatever they can to keep themselves busy. And we got into a real bad fight one night and he left,” I shrug. “Just never came back.” 

“Jesus, Eleanor,” she breathes out, trying to discreetly wipe away a few tears in her eyes. I don’t have a chance to reply, hearing voices shouting out now – calling out to the both of us. 

“We’re in here, we’re okay,” I call out, voice a little rough. We can hear a little shuffling, loud banging as the shouting gets closer to the door. I can hear his voice cutting through the other voices, more frantic than the others. A few pieces of wood scrap against the doorframe before the door is tugged open and Tyler stands there, eyes zeroing on me as we sit up a little on the floor with the half-drunk bottle of whiskey between us. 

A/N: Thank you so much for all the love and appreciation and comments on the story so far! I've mentioned a few times before that I work in education & between classic mental health and the instability of the current administration - having the brain power to write something that is normal an escape can be difficult. Fear not, my beans! I won't disappear - just take a little longer sometimes to post.

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[binary-bird]

played as david in thicker than! he's not great at vampire politics

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Charles representation enjoyed here again! I’ve not read much of the comics bc I can’t afford them but I just rewatched FC and I was wondering if Charles being paralyzed is the same in the comics (Erik doing it)? Do they often include that part of his story?

hello my inquisitive friend :] !!!! im more than happy to give some more info bout the origins charles' disability in the comics- to the best of my abilities that is !

while they don't include an origin for his paralysis in EVERY story/run, as far as i know there are three major ways charles loses his mobility (though like yourself, i havent read many of the comics so far, so i could be missing a few. this is the part where i invite readers to submit additional info if im leaving any out)

the very first manner of charles losing his legs was relayed to us in the original X-Men run of the 60's in issue #20

(X-Men #20: "I, Lucifer!")

before magneto was regarded as charles' main adversary there was the extraterrestrial lucifer (who sported the same color scheme, ironically. it wasnt as though lucifer came before magneto so it was definitely A Choice..) who charles would have a semi-reoccurring feud with for a bit early on in the series. during their first encounter, charles would corner lucifer in his lair only to have a stone slab dropped on him, disabling his legs indefinitely

the second manner in which charles loses his mobility- and the time where erik is the most involved and is most deliberate- comes from. Our Favorite Universe in 2001: The Ultimate Universe

(Ultimate X-Men #1: "The Tomorrow People")

as is typically how charles x magneto team-up arcs go, while charles and erik worked together for some time it wasn't very long before erik wanted to pursue more Dramatic Measures for mutantkind. and As This Story Goes, amidst trying to escape the savage lands sanctuary he and erik built, erik drove a metal spike through charles' spine, leading to his disability in this verse

lastly, we have the House of M- or more specifically its prequel miniseries, Civil War: House of M- verse in 2008:

(Civil War: House of M #2: "Revolution")

(Civil War: House of M #3: "Reign")

similar to Ultimate and the movies, this is another timeline where charles and erik team up. this time however, charles is more willing to follow erik's ideas after seeing the horrors of genosha upon reading the mind of a mutant who escaped the island, and the two seek to liberate the other mutants left behind. unfortunately, during their mission, a sentinel collapses the building charles and co. are infiltrating, leading to the loss of his legs

hope you had fun reading- i had fun typing up everything and looking back at these issues :] !

[munch-mumbles]

heh. yeaahhhh you could say i have some big things cooking for the mlad rewrite <- has been Thinking about (no further action than thinking) tweaks to the plot and Imagining (again. no further action) new scenes and Pondering (not writing or drawing anything about it) revamps of preexisting scenes

[chanelrolls]

Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

[jaesblogstuff]

Attitude, No problem. Simon knows how to handle it.

we all know where this is headed...don't we now, i’ll think about a pt.2 (i thought about it)

It happens, wrong side of the bed today. Didn’t wake up plotting to be a menace. But something about today’s been off since your feet hit the floor. Your shirt didn’t sit right. Coffee tasted burnt. The recruits acted like they were sharing a single brain cell and juggling it between drills. You snapped—nothing major, just enough to charge the air around you. A muttered, “fuckin' recruits,” under your breath. A scowl that hadn’t left since 0800.

Simon clocked it before anyone else. of course he did.

You could feel his eyes on you all day. Subtle, sure—but there. Tracking you. Watching like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But he noticed. In the hallway, on the range, during debrief. Like he was cataloguing every scowl, every clipped reply, every shrug you weaponized like a shield.

And when he finally finds you alone, it’s like he’s already decided how this is gonna go.

You’re in the armory. Polishing a sidearm you don’t even need. Just something to do with your hands. You needed the quiet. The distance.

Then he walks in. Boots heavy. Shoulders loose. That calm, unreadable thing he does when he’s already two steps ahead.

“y'all right?” he says.

You don’t look up. “Fine.”

He comes closer, leans against the edge of the workbench, arms folded. “Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You shrug. “I don’t care. Do whatever.”

It hangs in the air like a dare. You don’t mean it to, but it does. He licks his lips before they form a thin line. The door clicks behind him, and he walks up behind you. Not touching, but hovering close to your ear.

There’s a pause.

Then his voice—low, quiet. That particular kind of still that comes before a storm.

“You’re gonna fix that attitude,” he says, “or am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

You freeze.

His eyes are steady. Fixed. He says it like a warning. Like a promise. Like he’s already halfway to making good on it. And the worst part? It works. Your gut flips. Heat curls at the base of your spine. You know that voice—know what it means when he drops it like that. When he stops being soft.

“Now i’m going to ask again, Was thinkin’ we’d grab food after shift. That Thai place you like.”

You blink, throat dry. “Yeah. Thai sounds good.”

His head tilts slightly. Jaw flexes once. Then, flat and final-

“Good. that sounds better.” leaving a nice tap to your ass.

And then he’s gone, leaving you there with nothing but the hum of fluorescent light and a pulse you can’t quite settle.

Whatever’s still simmering under your skin?

He’ll handle it later. Exactly the way you need.

[isaacathom]

actually uyeah im bored im gonna run it down. what specific Thing does naielle have with (pretty much) every member of her family that has her fucking wracke with guilt or smth

At a very basic level, a context - naielle comes from an elf napoleonic france, with some specific details that the usual max lifespan is closer to 500, and that the emperor has no heir and is like. 450. i wrote it down somewhere. doesn't matter. So naielle, being exiled from elf france, very early on made the assumption that she could Wait Out the collapse of it. That the emperor would die in, yknow, 50 years, the power vacuum would be contested by every general and cousin and random former nobleman, and the country would be ripped apart, nullifying her exile by technicality. this established,

Saroel - Naielle's grandmother, 495.

Naielle loves her grandmother. She's this wise and cunning lady, who survived the turmoil of Bonaparte's rise to power by making deals and using the family's noble fortune to buy favour. Her husband died in the post-rise period, and Saroel didn't. She bought the life of her and her children when her husband was accused of treason. She's clever.

Naielle has her engagement ring, a gold band designed to snugly fit under a wedding ring, a piece of jewellery older than the empire itself. Naielle used it as a blueprint to craft a pair to it, and matching wedding rings, with which to propose to her girlfriend Xistina.

If Naielle waits out the empire's demise, she'll never see her grandmother again. Never be able to tell her she was right when she told Naielle to be careful about her historical research, or show her the now complete wedding ring. She'll never get to hug her one last time and be enveloped in a stiff embrace that smells of old pines and old times, like the oils of the paintings and brass of the sculptures that make up the universities museums, of the motar that keeps its bricks together.

Laucian - Naielle's father, 333

Naielle is a daddy's girl. She's her father's son, without question or ambiguity. She's got his square chin, his broad nose, his golden eyes, his curly hair (albeit lighter than his - her mother got lucky with that). She's got his passion for history and all that came before, for the nebulous space of was and may have been.

For Naielle's 100th birthday, Laucian gave her a red ribbon. He's not from a noble background, rising from the peasantry with a father in the military and a mother a nursemaid. He has no heirlooms to grant. But the red ribbon, Naielle thinks, is just as meaningful as the engagement ring, because it's a connection to that paternal grandmother, Shana. She was a hard worker, stern with her charges and utterly doting on her own children, sneaking small things from the noble houses she served to give them. She wore her hair in intricate braids, which she taught Laucian and his brother how to do, and she tied them, always, with red ribbon. It was her favourite colour, she'd say.

Shana died when Laucian was only 24. A child, in elf terms. He's worn a red ribbon ever since, 300 years, for longer than Shana was even alive, in her memory. And he hands this down to his daughter, who takes after him so strongly, and in whose smile he can undoubtedly see his mother's.

Naielle adores her father. She fears, down to the bone, that she has disappointed him. That in her exile she has perverted the passion they share for history, turned it into a reminder of the crushing weight of the empire. That she's ruined something.

She still wears the ribbon in honour of a woman she never met. She never learnt her braids.

Oriphira - Naielle's mother, 321

She didn't inherit any particular gift from her mother - Saroel's engagement ring was a joint gift, a blessing for such an item to skip a generation to find itself on Naielle's finger.

They haven't always been close. Oriphira inherited her own mother's preservative streak, an understanding that the family exists at a knife edge between imperial eradication and flourishing, and a single wrong move could damn them. She grew up in that tumultuous era. She would have watched her father die, or march to die, dragged from their home by imperial troops. She would have seen the pathetic graves for him and his brother, her beloved uncle, and known they should not lie there. That a family mauseleum lay open and expecting, and would recieve naught. That they were disgraced. That it was only Saroel's cunning which saved the life of her and her younger sibling.

Oriphira has seen her family's birthright, such that nobility can claim it, ripped from their grasping hands. She's clawed for every inch back. She's fought for the university Saroel used to buy their freedom. She's fought for the healers and medical practicioners to return to her town in the post-revolutionary period, as she watched her own child die of a preventable childhood infection, watched her sibling die of a stomach left to fester and rot without aid. She's seen the gods abandon that town, and she's filled that void.

She's a tough woman, and she is tough to love. Naielle does all the same. She may not have understood it then, the depths of the sacrifices her mother had made for them all, the agony she must have gone through with every child thereafter. The ingrained fear of heights, inherited in most of her children, after another fell from the roof.

But Naielle gets it now. Now that she fights in a war in a different land for its very existence, she finds that common ground. The two fight a war for their continued existence.

And Naielle imperilled it, didn't she? By raising imperial ire, a century after they last turned their baleful gaze Odelia-ward. By reminding that families like theirs, descendant from noble excess, can still be a threat.

She doesn't know what lengths her mother went to in order to keep them all safe after she left. She supposes the military service of her siblings may have shielded the family. But she knows her mother calculated the loss, and weighs that debt on Naielle's soul.

She wishes she could tell her she gets it, or thinks she does. That she understands the responsibility her mother is unjustly laden with. The blood on both their hands.

Aedelie - Naielle's older sister, 201

Naielle and Aedelie have almost a century in age between them, and its a very different dynamic than to any of their other siblings. Aedelie has to carry that torch, borne by Saroel and Oriphira, of being the responsible one. Being measured, and careful, and keeping everyone safe.

And Naielle always felt very safe. Her older sister was gentle and kind, a bulwark against anything that might hurt her. No monster under the bed would dare lay a finger on her when they knew Aedelie was never far, and even when Aedelie enlisted in the army she left her strength with them.

Aedelie's married, you know. She married a human man around 5 years ago, a fellow soldier in her cavalry unit. They have a little elf daughter, cherubic and giggly, just 2 years old with a wide toothy grin. Or so Naielle's been told.

If she waits out the collapse, she might never even meet her brother-in-law, a kind and soft-spoken man with a reflexes of an acrobat and hair like beach sand. She might never meet the man who makes her stern sister smile softly, with eyes that sparkle. A man whose duty, such that it is, is to protect Aedelie's life with his own.

Naielle is terrified for them both. War wages, and the Empire swings the proverbial club high overhead and demands blood, and her sister and brother-in-law must provide. None of them might see the two of them again. Forget the mortality of a human, anyone is mortal in the line of fire. And Naielle happens to know of a weapon, currently travelling by sea towards that firing line, and she fears what will happen when it goes off.

Quenaris - Naielle's older twin brother, 122

What can you say about a twin that isn't obvious? Peas in a pod, identical up until their mid 30s when he shot up like a stalk and left her a few inches shorter. The two know each other better than anyone else, Naielle is certain. She knew his adult name long before he told anyone, and he hers. She is him, and he is her, and they're two halves of a great whole.

Quenaris knew something was wrong, didn't he? That Naielle was lying when she said she had everything under control. That Naielle was hiding something, sparking like a fire in a cave, desperately being smothered. He saw the glitter in her eyes and knew it wasn't emotion that shone through, even if he couldn't identify the source.

She told him everything was fine. She didn't apologise for lying when it became clear it wasn't. That the situation had spiralled out of her control, that her warlock pact - a grave illegality as it stood - had shown her things she shouldn't see, and sent a beacon to the empire to observe.

He knew she lied. And she couldn't apologise, because to stay and do so would have seen her treason identified and laid bare before the Empire's vast apparatus. It would see her killed. She had to flee.

It ate her alive, it truly did. She didn't know how much he knew, how much he held against her.

She was lucky enough to see him, for only a few minutes. To hold him tight, as though by a hug they might be one and whole, and to cry, and tell him she was sorry. That he accepted her hug, and shed tears of his own, is enough for her.

It would still hurt if she never saw him again. Less, maybe, now that she knows he misses her too. Or more, to have given him a glimmer of hope that things might be normal in the future. She's scared of facing his ghost centuries from now.

Mariela - Naielle's younger sister, 110

Where do you even start?

These sisters have never been close. Each claims the other is irresponsible, too easily distracted, too something. There's always something wrong. Naielle isn't patriotic enough, Mariela is too patriotic. Naielle is too wrapped up in her books and shit that happened centuries ago, and Mariela is too concerned with her magic and the things that will happened soon, months and years in the future.

They're similar, and very different.

Naielle had no particular feeling towards her sister when she was forced to flee. To never see her again would hurt, but not as much as with others, a feeling tempered by the knowledge that Mariela would have some snide remark or another on her return. She lied to Mariela, but Mariela wouldn't care, would she? Naielle can't fathom the idea that Mariela cared either way, beyond that Naielle had embarrassed them.

Then Naielle came back, briefly, briefly, just to marry her fiance, and got roped into capturing Mariela.

What's Mariela been doing? Well, she'd taken what remained of Naielle's notes, on old histories and the magic so thusly entwined, and turned it into a weapon. A different weapon entirely, one worse than most others, and which Mariela saw simply as a tool. Naielle was a fool, she said, to focus on the historical implications of her research, and not to use its practical benefits. Look what lies in our grasp - the power to unravel reality!

Naielle was furious. She took Mariela as a prisoner of war.

And then her patron took her as a warlock.

It was not willing - Mariela made no deal, was offered no bargain she could stomach. Her will was superseded, Naielle's consent to the idea assumed, and her body made to channel magic it rejected.

Naielle did this. She did not know it would happen, had not even considered the possibility, wanted none of it. Mariela will probably never believe her.

It doesn't matter what Naielle thinks of Mariela's original ideas, her plans to turn utter destruction into a military tactic. It doesn't matter the differences of their personalities, that the two don't get along. Naielle did this. She forced this on her sister, intentionally or not, and she intends to make it right.

She expects she'll never right her initial mistake, the pact that brought her into exile in the first place. She fears she'll not right this. But it's in her power to do so, and whether Mariela wants her there or not, Naielle will fix it. Naielle would betray almost anyone to fix what she's done, burn most any bridge, because it almost isn't about Mariela anymore. It's a proxy for every mistake she's ever made, every harm she's brought, a way to try and make up for the life she ruined for herself by ever doing this.

If all goes well, Mariela will go home. Naielle can only hope she understands how much that means.

Yivien - Naielle's younger brother, 104

Probably the person for whom Naielle has the least consideration, a fact that would invariably infuriate the poor boy. The two have somewhat less in common than Naielle to Mariela, but do have one key thing - their academic focus. While Naielle is a historian, Yivien is an architect, and spent much of his youth fighting for their father's attention, to little success. Naielle was his daughter, following in his footsteps - Yivien's achievements weren't as important.

If Naielle was honest, and looked critically at herself, she would concede that Yivien is the smarter sibling. His grades are better, his grasp of abstract fundamentals stronger, he's quicker on the draw. It isn't fair, she reckons, that she was given that attention. The boy earned it, or ought have done.

She would struggle to tell him that. She doesn't think its pride - she never said she was the smartest sibling. What she struggles with is the idea that she needs to correct it, when surely, that burden lies with her parents for not acknowledging him better when she was around. Did she hog their attention? She isn't sure.

But as days grow darker, and doom grows nearer, she wonders if she should have said it anyway. Care or not, guilty or otherwise, he deserved their attention, and it was denied him. And she's responsible, in some capacity. Shouldn't she have tried to fix it? To say she was sorry?

The longer it goes, the more she thinks maybe she means it sincerely this time.

Xistina - Naielle's wife, 135

God, what could she say to her that she hasn't said already? Her most dearly beloved, a part of her soul, the keeper of her heart in turmoil. They've known each other nearly a century, and Naielle can only hope for centuries more.

Xistina wasn't in the country when Naielle went into exile. She was on business, sailing the sea, plying wares and doing trade under the gleaming sun. She would not hear news for months, till she landed in a bustling port and spotted no beaming face amidst the crowd, no-one all but ready to leap aboard before a gangplank was ever lowered. Naielle didn't know what she'd heard. She wished, dearly, that Xistina could have heard it from her.

She doesn't know what Xistina knew. She doesn't know if her fiancee saw the stars in her eyes and saw the meaning behind them. She spent years in dread. At least her siblings, her family, heard of the matter directly, that she'd had a feeble chance to defend herself in the hours before she fled. Xistina knew naught, and could learn less, and Naielle could not reach out for fear of potential consequence. Her fiance could not be party to treason. Her distance would keep her safe.

Her fiancee knew more than she thought, had an ear to the ground and the sea, and loved her still. She wore Saroel's ring proudly as a token of their love, and kept it in care over the decades.

Xistina knows it all, now. Naielle travelled across the planes to see her, to know her truly, all secrets bared on both sides. Pirate and Warlock, Traitor and Traitor. Let the empire declare their treason in love if they wish, for she has it.

And it scares her to think she might let it go. That, having come so close, having even successfully married her after decades apart, that they might lose it all. And that it will be Naielle's fault in totality. Her fault for her treason, her fault for leaving for the distant lands, and her fault for not staying when she had the chance. Who better could have ferried a wanter criminal than a rebel corsair? Where else could Naielle find that kind of safety? And yet she left, for she felt a duty to a war that still wages, and she knows there's a chance she will never return. That she will have given her wife - her wife! - false hope of a future together, of merry centuries in a free Sylvian land, or aboard a ship in the glittering sky, where no mortal government dared tread.

She fears she's given her wife a lie, and did not know it when she spoke.

[iris-qt]

The Boy Who Stares

Theodore Nott is staring at you again.

You don’t know why. You're not even doing anything particularly interesting. Just sitting in the third row of Ancient Runes, dutifully highlighting a passage about something very old and very cursed, as one does at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

But there it is. That intense, brooding stare from two seats to the left. Again.

You risk a glance. Yep. Still happening. His quill is poised mid-air like he forgot how to write. His mouth is slightly parted.

You blink. He blinks. You look away. He doesn’t.

Okay.

Maybe you have ink on your face. Or a troll horn growing out of your forehead. Or maybe he’s plotting your murder, slowly deciding which corridor would be least suspicious to lure you down. Totally fine.

You swipe your thumb across your cheek, just in case. Nope. No ink. Still cute, still confused, still alive. Probably.

Why is he looking at me like that? you think to yourself, nose back in your book.

What you don’t know is this:

Theodore Nott: stoic, unflappable, academically terrifying, hasn’t heard a word Professor Babbling has said in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds because he’s been trying to figure out how you manage to tuck your quill behind your ear without it falling out.

That, and how you’re the only person in class who managed to finish the Ancient Runes translation without using a single cross-reference guide. And how you chew on your bottom lip when you’re focused, and how your handwriting slants slightly to the left, and how—

You glance up again, catching him mid-gaze.

He immediately jerks his head away so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap in half.

You squint. He suddenly finds his parchment very interesting. His ears, traitorous things, go a bit pink.

You blink again.

Nope. Still a murder plot. Definitely.

...

Class ends with the soft clack of textbooks shutting and chairs scraping across the floor. You take your time gathering your things, mostly because your bookmark has disappeared into a void of loose parchment.

Okay. That’s a problem for later.

Theodore Nott is still sitting there. Not moving. Not packing up.

You glance his way again. He pretends to yawn, which would be normal if it weren’t so obviously staged. Like, hand-to-chest, slow-motion, opera-singer yawn. No one yawns like that. You watch in real time as his brain short-circuits trying to look casual.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door. And then:

“Wait.”

You stop. Turn. Blink.

Theodore Nott is standing. This feels promising.

“You, um—” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “You left your—uh…” He looks over at your desk. There is nothing there. Not even a scrap of parchment.

He stares at the empty space like it might help him. It does not.

“I left my…?” you say slowly, eyebrows lifted.

He panics. “Presence.”

Your brain takes a full three seconds to process that.

“My what?”

“Your—you left your—pencil sharpener,” he blurts. “Quill sharpener. Yes. That.”

You do not own a quill sharpener. Is that even a thing?

“Oh,” you say, smiling like you’re talking to a slightly confused, very pretty ghost. “Do you…have it?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he blinks, visibly resets, and tries again. “Sorry. I meant—Hi. I’m Theodore. I mean, you know that. Obviously. We’ve had class together for like six years, I just—well.” He gestures vaguely toward your general existence. “Hi.”

You blink again. You’re doing a lot of blinking lately. “Hi…?”

“I like the way you annotate,” he says.

You stare.

“What?”

“I mean, not in a weird way. Just in a—your notes. Your margins. The way you organize them. It’s very…” He swallows. “…structured. Efficient. There’s a system. You color-code.”

You keep staring.

His voice lowers slightly, like he’s confessing to a crime. “I think about them sometimes.”

This might be the most unhinged flirtation you’ve ever witnessed.

“…Thanks?” you manage, because what else does one say when a gorgeous Slytherin boy admits to daydreaming about your annotated footnotes?

“Anyway,” he says, suddenly flustered again. “I’m going to leave now. With my dignity. Or…what’s left of it.”

He turns, walks directly into the doorframe, mutters “brilliant” under his breath, and disappears.

You stand there blinking at the empty doorway.

And then you laugh. Like, properly laugh.

You’re still laughing when you find your missing bookmark sticking out of Theodore’s textbook.

A/N: missed writing for theo -> pt. ⅠⅠ - The Boy Who Folded First

[jamminvroomvroom]

let’s go ride.

LN x fem!reader

in which lando keeps getting frustrated and you wanna know why…

hiiiiii here u go! belated love day fic from me to you 💝 love u all, tysm for the love on my last few fics, i’ve had a lot going on lately so i’ve not had very much time to write but when the inspo hits….. shoutout to miss mcrae for dropping lando-coded bangers bc i literally cannot resist. might make a part 2 of all the times they get freaky in a car lmao, lemme know if you want that! likes, comments and reblogs are sooooo appreciated so lemme know what u think xoxox

proofed by my own personal goat @lavenderlando 💖

songs to set the vibes: sports car by tate mcrae, bad guy by billie eilish

warnings: 18+!! minors begone! smut, language, fluff, bit of angst bc lando’s in a mood, friends to lovers, p in v, porn without plot but there is a little bit of plot, bitchy lando

4.2k words

you sit in silence, opening spotify and preparing to fiddle with the bluetooth as he slips into the drivers seat beside you. the car door slams shut and he huffs, jawline taut with annoyance. the hood of his car is surrounded, a million and one cameras pointed at you both as he tries to relax into his chair. the engine roars to life and you side eye him.

“when are you gonna learn, hm?” you try and sound playful, teasing, but it comes out laced with a twang of scolding. lando tenses up even further, turning to glare at you.

“god forbid i go outside.” he snaps.

“give over.” you roll your eyes. “poor me, i’m famous! lando, you can’t get angry when you park in the most high profile spot on the fucking planet and your fans want to worship you.”

“you don’t know what you’re talking about.” he sighs, white knuckles wrapping tighter around the steering wheel.

“don’t i? this has been happening a lot lately.” your voice softens, ever so slightly. “every time i’m seen with you, you lash out.”

“because i don’t want people harassing you, looking at you like some fucking commodity.” lando snarls, steely eyes locked on the supposed car enthusiasts that are slowly backing away from his parking space.

“lando, we’re friends. this has always been a thing. why is it bothering you so much now?”

you wonder if it bothers him for the same reason it bothers you.

he shuts his eyes, collecting himself for a moment. he puts the car in drive and smoothly pulls out of the space, ignores your question. you scowl at him, at this sudden childishness that has overtaken his easygoing manner in the last few months.

“fine. whatever.” you mutter, slumping defeatedly into your seat. you give up on playing music, leaving him to bask in the silence, something he loathed.

lando had switched from his usual self to this stony, irate version of him that you rarely had the displeasure of seeing, from the second you walked out of the restaurant where you’d had lunch. he was reluctant to pose for photos and sign hats, something he usually revelled in, grateful that people even wanted to see him. the swathes of fans that had gathered had irked him for once, but what really boiled his blood was the photographers that seemed to find him no matter where he chose to spend him time. so much for monaco’s privacy laws.

it wasn’t like he cared about himself, either. it was you. the way they leered, leaned close to you while he was distracted with pens being shoved in his face. it was the way their eyes dipped low, whether you were in a tank top or a baggy hoodie. it was the way they spread the false, painful narrative all over the internet that you and lando were together, which drove hoards of losers into your comment section and your DMs just to call you names.

you were not together. as much as it pained him, you were just friends.

he couldn’t exactly explain his overprotectiveness to you without getting himself into a big, tangled mess. you, being the resilient, cool as a cucumber stoic that you were didn’t care what fourteen year olds on the internet thought about you. you weren’t about to let faceless, jobless trolls ruin the friendship that you’d nurtured for years, through ups and downs, thick and thin, race wins and huge losses. but lando, god, it killed him, tore him up inside every time someone so much as looked at you wrong.

“you really don’t get it.” he says, hushed, like he’s telling a secret. you turn to look at him, tearing your eyes away from the glistening view of the marina.

“lando, tell me then. make it make sense because i’ve never seen you behave like this. they love you! least you can do is lose the attitude over some harmless pictures.”

“jesus christ, it’s not the fans! it’s not the ‘harmless pictures’! it’s these fucking creeps that follow us around just to make some money off of my own personal hell. you really don’t get it, because if you did, you’d know that it breaks my fucking heart to see the way people talk about you online, just for being seen with me. it’s my fault that you get harassed, that paps are basically stalking you now.”

he signs of his rant with a sharp inhale, one that seems to suck all of the life out of the car. you melt.

“but lando, it doesn’t bother me. i just wanna be here with you, i don’t care about the rest of it.” you coo softly, reaching over the centre console to grip his forearm.

“and i want you here. i want you with me every fucking second of the day, but i can’t cope. can’t help thinking that one day it’ll all just be too much and you’ll leave me.” he whispers.

“never. never ever ever.” you promise. your belly swirls with emotions, tickled from the inside out by butterflies that threaten to swarm.

lando breathes shakily, warmed through by the hand that rests on his arm as he manoeuvres through the twisty lanes. as he hits traffic and slows, he clocks another photographer looming on the pavement, lens aimed at his windshield. already too annoyed, he aggressively smacks his sun visor down, leaning over the console to reach yours too, pulling it down. he prays it’s enough.

“you need to relax, lan. i’m fine, we’re fine. i promise.” you reassure, but he’s breathing heavily now. “you don’t worry this much when it’s max.” you trail off.

he doesn’t know what comes over him. he spins the car into a sharp u-turn, positively speeding back in the direction you’d just come from. any mention of you and him as a ‘we’ makes him crazy, makes him utterly lose his mind, but something about your sweet, earnest voice bringing him back to reality has left him completely shaken. the sun is setting now, most people clearing out of the underground car park he pulls into to head back to their homes. he has other intentions. you don’t say another word until he pulls into a space at the back of the lot, tucked neatly into a corner.

“what are we doing?”

“need a minute.” lando rasps, forehead resting on his steering wheel, the matte leather pushing his sharp curls back. you trail your eyes over him, the way his chest rises and falls under the sweatshirt he’s wearing, the way his thick fingers curl as his grip continues to tighten.

“i’m jealous. and i’m selfish. and i’m a complete fucking idiot.” lando says, steadily, like he’s reading the news.

“you’re… you’re jealous? of what?” you’re like a deer in headlights.

“of any other person that gets to lay their fucking eyes on you.”

“what are you saying?” you whisper. the air in the car goes still, frozen. you can’t breathe.

“i’m saying… that you’re mine. and i should have made that a known fact a long time ago.” ever so slowly he looks up at you, and you gasp at the intensity of his stare. he’s gazing at you with complete conviction in his eyes, a whole lot of vulnerability mixed in with the sincerity of his words. “i don’t want anyone else anywhere near you. lose my fucking mind watching the way they look at you.”

“lando…” you trail off, eyes as wide as saucers. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

“i know this is terrible of me, to do this now, here - to do this at all, to be honest. i know that i have no right to stake some kind of claim on you, and i know that you probably don’t feel the same, but god, i just needed you to know. if you want me to shut the fuck up or leave you alone forever then i totally get it but-“

“oh my god, are you stupid?” you shake your head, still stuck in your state of disbelief, but you muster the coherency to grip the collar of his crewneck, tug him close.

your lips meet hastily, urgently, and every ounce to tension seems to seep out of the car. he moans at the very sensation of you against him, breath caught in his throat when you lace your finger through his hair like you want to mould your faces together, never stop. his brain finally catches up, awestruck as he is, and you trade passion and saliva, bumping noses as you clash chaotically.

“i think we’re both stupid.” he mumbles into your lips. you shut him up with another kiss, fiery and needy, and his hands begin to wander. he smoothes over the back of your jumper until he finds your waist, awkward in the limited space of the front of the car, and skims his hands up until he’s made his way beneath the material and he’s gripping your bare skin.

“too forward of me to ask you to get in the back?” lando pants with a cheeky smile.

“you literally just marked your territory on me, and nearly bit a photographer. i think we’re past ‘forward’.” you deadpan.

“then get in the fucking back.” he grins, devilish and commanding. you do as you’re told, wriggling between the leather until you’re propped up against the backseat. lando follows, sitting beside you, tugs you into his lap like you’re weightless.

you can feel him beneath you, hard and wanting, and you mewl, keen into him. your breaths mingle in the nonexistent space, lips brushing gently.

“this okay?” lando’s lips ghost over yours and you lean forward, just enough to reach him. he pulls back, eyes hooded, teasing, and tuts. “use your words.”

“who knew you were such a bossy boots.” you smirk. “more than okay.”

his eyes glaze over once he has your permission, and he kisses you like you’re the last supply of oxygen on earth. he licks into your mouth, wet and desperate and you whimper as he grazes over the crease of your thigh, toying with the hem of your skirt where it’s ridden up.

“can feel you.” lando groans, pulling away to look between your bodies. “so warm for me, you like seeing me all riled up?”

you nod coyly, lip caught between your teeth, and you swear you see his eyelashes flutter.

“what did i say about words?” lando composes himself enough to tease. you roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the way heat rolls through your body.

“like when you get all bitchy.” you reply, rolling your hips once.

“bitchy?”

“mhm. always been so easy to toy with.” you whisper, leaning in to nose along the thickness of his neck. you drag your tongue up the vein there, feeling it pulse under your tongue. he smells like his cologne, so him, and it makes you even hotter.

“oh, so you’ve been playing with me?” he chokes out, eyes rolling back in his head at the marks you’re leaving.

“maybe a little.” you hum.

“you liked watching me get angry? pretending to be all sweet and clueless?” lando whispers, the words hanging heavy in the space between you. all you can manage in response is a mischievous smile that twists his tummy.

your hands trail under his sweatshirt, skating over the muscled ripples of his belly, ever so slightly dipping into the band of his sweats. his head lulls back, blindly holding you close while you worship him. he lets you, lets himself have this moment, thinking for so long that it would never come.

“waited so long,” your lips brush over the shell of his ear, tongue grazing the lobe. he descends into a mess of shivers. “needed you to break first. i knew you would.” you croon.

“you’ve been loving this, haven’t you?” lando starts, low and calculating. “bet you’ve been getting off on dressing like a whore for the cameras, watching me suffer.” he pieces together. your resolve cracks. “bad girl.”

the sense of control you’d briefly maintained shatters, a hand around your neck forcing you away from him, preventing your sweet torture. his fingers flex, just above your collarbone, and you swallow at the smirk that seems to engulf his entire face. he looks animalistic, crazed with a feral adoration that leaves you certain that you’re dripping all over his lap.

“i think you’ve had your fun, baby, it’s my turn.”

you whine when he drags you across his lap, back and forth until you’re squirming. his hips rut up into yours, fuelling your desire for every single inch of him.

“please, lando.” you breathe, reaching out to lace your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“let me look at you.” he demands, shutting down your intentions for more. “i’ve waited long enough for this, don’t you think?”

“so have i.” you beg him with your eyes, but give in to him nonetheless. you’re staining his lap, grey sweats darkening as your wetness pools there and he can’t help but buck up into your warmth.

“wanna play with you, baby, see how you like it.” he taunts, bringing two fingers between your legs.

he brushes his knuckles over the obvious damp patch at the crotch of your panties, lip caught between his teeth at what he finds. your soaked through, and he pinches your bundle of nerves just to watch you thrash in his grip.

“i hate you right now.” you spit through gritted teeth, but your hips can’t help but chase his hand.

“doesn’t feel like it.” he kisses you quick, loving the way you lean in for more, but he relaxes against the seat and dips slowly beneath your underwear. “fuck.”

he doesn’t have to work too hard to spread your wetness around, you’re already lathered in it, but he continues to tease, fingers gliding over your clit and through your folds.

“please.” you beg, leaning back to give him as much access as possible.

“what do you want, baby? tell me.” he urges, drawing circles on the swollen bundle of nerves.

“your fingers.”

“you have them.” he barks out a condescending laugh, applying more pressure just to prove his point.

“need them inside of me.” you pant, eyes squeezing shut at his sadistic game between your thighs.

“that’s my girl.” he praises, and you curse, clamping down around him before he even gets the first knuckle inside of you.

“how are you doing this to me?” you think aloud, tears in your waterline already. it all feels far too good for a first time.

“because i know you better than you think i do.” he coos.

lando pulls you flush against him, grinding his fingers deep so that they curl deliciously against your sweet spot. his palm bumps your clit with every twist of digits and he nips over your collarbone. his tongue laves over your skin, tasting the perspiration that gathers as the car steams up around you. you’re suddenly hyper aware of your surroundings, huddled together in the back of his urus in a dimly lit car park. thank god you’d lost the photographers.

“can’t believe we’re doing this.” you gasp, feeling your tummy tighten at the thrill of it all, of feeling your best friend work to please you.

“i knew it would happen. knew that someday i’d get to see you like this, all for me.”

“all for you.” you repeat, drunk on him as you rode his fingers. “feels so good.”

“want you to come for me like this.” lando orders, replacing the heel of his hand with his thumb against your clit. his ministrations are more controlled like this, precise, and you throw your head back in pleasure. his teeth sink in to the base of your neck, sucking softly over the bruising skin, lapping at the mark to soothe it.

“i’m so close, lan.”* you choke, riding his fingers as you near your release.

“c’mon baby, make a mess for me.” he urges, eyes locked intensely on yours. you’re enticed by the sea green storm that swirls in his irises, shrinking as his pupils blow with lust. you can’t help it, can’t delay the inevitable, and you thrash in his arms, wildly bucking your hips against his as you fall apart.

you gush all over his lap, further ruining his sweatpants but he doesn’t bat an eyelid, working you through your orgasm until you’re spent. he’s transfixed by the way your thighs glisten, by the way your release seeps through the material covering his crotch and it makes him throb.

“that’s it baby.” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. you pant, collapsing forwards onto him.

“thank you.” you whisper into his neck, and he laughs softly.

“don’t thank me, silly girl.” he coos into your ear. you pull back just enough to kiss him, taking it slow, giving you a moment to come down from your devastatingly intense high. you’re exhausted, eyes fluttering shut from the exertion, and he tucks sweaty strands of your hair behind your ears. his fingers graze your warmed cheeks, noses bumping and you take him in, carefully studying the lines of his face, the sharp slope of his nose, the flutter of his eyelashes against those ridiculously high cheekbones.

“you’re so pretty.” your voice floats over him like a delicate caress, makes him shiver. he grins at you, enamoured.

“didn’t think our first time would be in the back of my car but i don’t think i can’t wait to get you home.”

“you’ve thought about this?” you ask, bashful. he gazes up at you sheepishly.

“every night before bed.” he jokes, and you shift your hips.

you’re overstimulated, but it does the trick, the playful haze shattering, replaced by thick, charged tension.

“you gonna make that fantasy a reality?”

“yeah. yeah, i am.” he mumbles.

his hands skim your waist, pushing your jumper up as he goes higher and higher, until it’s off, chucked into the footwell. you tear at his sweatshirt until it joins your discarded clothing and explore the bronzed planes of his chest, extra sun-kissed by the trip you’d taken to dubai just a few weeks before. if only you’d known then…

“hurry.” you plead, and he scoffs, adjusting you on his lap just enough to free himself from his sweatpants and boxers, and you gawk down at what’s revealed to you.

it’s big, thick, and you sigh in relief that he’d so thoroughly stretched you out, got you nice and slick for him already.

“gonna take it all for me?” lando taunts, catching your hanging jaw between two firm fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“gonna try.” you reason, breathing shakily as you rise up on your knees. you feel the head of his cock prodding your clit, the sodden tip running along your folds until it catches on your entrance. you both hiss as the contact, his hands steadying your hips.

“you can do it, baby.” lando promises, helps you begin your descent.

“oh my god.” you gasp, sinking down slowly. “dunno if i can take it, lan, you’re so- so…” you trail off, head thrown back far enough that you miss the way he’s smirking up at you.

“c’mon baby, being such a good girl for me, i know you can take it. just a little more.” he goads, pressing each button of your apparent praise kink, and you whine, soft moans tumbling from your lips. a sense of determination becomes you, and you’re aching to take him all the way.

you cry out his name when you’re pressed flush against him, and he soothes circles into your hips, holding you close against his chest. one hand smoothes through your hair, the lace of your bra scratching against his chest as you breathe rapidly.

“well done, baby, knew you could do it.” lando praises, trailing kisses over your face. you quiver in his hold, hips wiggling ever so slightly, and he takes that as a sign. “want me to do the work, hmm? make you feel so good?”

you nod lazily, looking up at him from where your face is smushed against his shoulder, and he lets you break his rule of “words”, softened by how beautiful you look, vulnerable in his strong arms. he starts to move, fucking up into you slowly, feeling you out. you can feel him twitch inside of you, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling of you, tight and warm, enveloped all around him. you roll your hips languidly, meeting his thrusts and you both moan out as the explosion of sensations unfolds between you.

“harder, lando. can take it.” you mumble, glazed over doe eyes looking into his. he tenses up, shaken to the very core by the emotional tether between you, feeling the way it grows even stronger. the one woman he’d wanted since he’d laid eyes on you, the one women he never thought he could have; his heart pounds violently in his chest.

he readjusts your hips, pushing you back so that you’re upright once more, eyes raking hungrily over your flushed body. your skirt is bunched around your waist, panties tugged to the side, cups of your bra barely covering anything anymore. he tweaks a nipple through the lace, paws at your tits until you’re fluttering around him. the cups of your bra are tugged down, resting below your breasts and he swallows hard.

“fuck me, you’re so beautiful.” lando rasps, leaning you back further to perfect the angle.

once he’s satisfied, he bounces you against him, meeting your hips with harsh thrusts, his pace unrelenting. he can see the way you pool around his base, dampening the thatching of hair that decorates his pelvic bone. you seem to chase the friction there, rutting your clit against him. sweet puffs of breath fill his ears, melodic combined with a symphony of your needy whines, continuously intensifying as he fucks you deeper and deeper.

“it’s so good.” you slur, mouth hanging open, totally unhinged from the raw pleasure that he courses through your veins.

“you’re doing so good for me, baby.” he wants to say more, but then he sees it, the way your lower belly seems to protrude with every roll of his hips. “oh, fuck.” he cries out.

“do you see that, baby? see how deep i am?” lando growls, voice rippling through your connected bodies. you glance down, and the first tears start to fall.

“oh my god.” you repeat, nothing else to say, totally braindead at the sight. your cheeks are wet with tear tracks, utterly overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you, so blissful that it hurts.

“you crying for me, baby? do i feel that good?” lando mocks, reinvigorated by the way your tears gather at your collarbone. his hand swipes messily against your throat, swiping them away, but you catch his hand, keeping it there. your eyes lock as your hand squeezes around his, a silent plea. he rocks up into you even harder, hand clamping around you neck slowly, leaving your breathless, liquid heat shooting down your spine. you can’t stop it from hitting you like a ton of bricks, can’t hold back, not when he’s making it hurt so fucking good.

“lando, i can’t- i’m gonna- fuck.” you bellow, falling to pieces around him. he keeps you propped up through your orgasm, plowing into your limp body until you’re so tight around him that he quite literally can’t keep going. he shudders, repeating your name like a godforsaken prayer as his abs flex beneath your shaky hands. you feel him filling you up, shots of warmth painting your insides.

lando lets you collapse into his arms, holding you tight as you both tremble in the silence of the car. condensation rolls down the windows, giving away your frenzied desires. if anyone caught sight of his car, it wouldn’t be hard to do the math.

“gonna let me take you home so we can do that again?” lando laughs, breathing you in. he can feel the way your chest rumbles softly in response, hears your angelic, raspy laugh.

“gimme a sec, don’t think i can move ever again.” you groan, sighing into his chest.

you stay there for a while, basking in it, coming down. he traces shapes into the bare skin of your back; you absentmindedly trace a heart into the window fog.

when you finally manage to redress, it’s dark outside, bright lights casting patterns into the calm midnight of the marina. he holds your hand as he drives up into the heights of monaco, and you stare at the way yours fits so perfectly with his, just like how your head tucked so perfectly into the crook of his neck. you smile out the window and lando smiles at you.

by the time bedtime rolls around, you’re both well and truly exhausted. when you try and wriggle out of his grip, ready to retreat back to the guest room like a wounded animal, lando pouts - pouts! - and holds you even tighter.

“silly girl.” he kisses the words into your hairline, and drifts off to sleep.

-

hehe

-

taglist

lemme know if you wanna be added or removed! any tags that don’t work will be removed xo

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @formulaal

taglist cont. in reblogs. smooches

[flowersforbucky]

i got it bad

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4.9k

summary/prompt: logan can't help that he has super hearing and overhears you - wade's seemingly sweet, shy neighbor - telling vanessa what you fantasize about doing to him. believing that you won't ever act on it, he takes matters into his own hands.

or - getting yourself off on logan's abs

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, reader is afab, no use of y/n, logan's pov, porn with a little plot, male masturbation, teasing, nipple/breast play, some tit slaps, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, cream pie

Ever since Logan first met you, he hasn’t been able to get you out of his fucking head.

Which is really unfortunate for him, considering you seem indifferent to his existence.

Wade says that you're just an introvert, and that it takes you a while to get comfortable around new people, but after living across the hallway from you for the last few months, Logan is sure that you have no interest in him outside of simple, polite conversation whenever the two of you run into each other.

He first notices you from across the room when you enter Wade and Althea's apartment – his apartment now, too, he supposes. The small space is crowded, but you're impossible for him to overlook. He instantly recognizes you from the polaroid picture that Wade had showed him in the Void.

You’re greeted by Vanessa, who kisses you on the cheek and shoves a drink in your hand before dragging you over to where Logan is listening to Wade and Althea bicker about – what were they bickering about again? All he can focus on is the way your dress hugs your curves and the lipstick imprint that you’ve left on the champagne flute in your hand.

He needs to get out more. Go to a bar, get a job, maybe even try out one of those dating apps that Vanessa has suggested to him – something to get him out of this fucking apartment that he's stayed holed up in since arriving in this universe, because he should not be this flustered by a complete stranger.

“Earth to Peanut,” Wade snaps his fingers in front of Logan’s face. He barely processed anything Vanessa had said while she introduced you. Blah blah, neighbor, something something, lives down the hallway. “Jesus, did you get into the white powder under the floorboard? Your pupils are as big as saucers right now.”

“Oh, go easy on him, Wade,” Althea scolds. “It’s natural for pupils to dilate when looking at a pretty girl.”

The expression on your face matches how Logan feels – surprised, embarrassed, slightly mortified.

“You don't even know what she looks like. She could look like me for all you know,” Wade snorts.

“She brings me homemade cookies and she always smells good,” Al retorts. “I don't need to be able to see her to know that she's pretty.”

“Nice to meet you,” Logan finally speaks up with a forced smile. Leave it to his two roommates to make a simple introduction as awkward as possible. “And no, I am not high on cocaine,” he adds with a pointed glare at Wade.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Logan,” you return the sentiment with a chortle and shy smile. “And don’t worry, I never pay attention to anything Wade says.”

Yukio and her girlfriend with the long ass name that Logan has yet to memorize then walk up and gain your attention, leaving Logan wishing he could redo the entire interaction.

He spends the rest of the night hoping for an opportunity to talk to you again, and feeling disappointed when that doesn’t happen.

The next couple of months go similarly. He runs into you frequently – in the elevator, and the communal laundry room of the apartment complex, and when you’re both checking your mail at the same time.

You always greet him with a smile and ask the typical casual conversation questions – how he's liking his new job (he’s not, but he tells you it’s going fine), if Wade is staying out of trouble (no), and how Laura is doing (she’s doing great, actually), but it never progresses much past that.

As soon as the conversation starts to venture into more personal territory, you seem to shut down. You’ll make some excuse about having somewhere to be, wish him a good day, and then you’re gone.

He can’t help himself. He sees how carefree and talkative you can be with Vanessa and hell, even Wade – and he wants that. At least then he may feel a little less crazy for spending so much of his free time racking his brain for ways to get closer to you.

Maybe it’s because it has been so long since he’s had a crush on anyone, but sometimes he thinks he might be losing his mind with how often he thinks of you – your smile, your eyes, your scent, your voice, and the way that having a five minute conversation with you always leaves him feeling for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he’s walking to his apartment one evening, and hears his name come from inside your apartment, he stops dead in his fucking tracks.

God, he knows he shouldn’t listen. He knows he should keep walking, go into his apartment and close the door.

But it’s not like he has his ear pressed up against your door. It’s not his fault that he has super hearing and that the apartment building has paper thin walls.

His brain is yelling at his feet to move but they stay planted firm right where they are.

“He thinks you don’t like him, you know,” Vanessa says. Logan doesn’t need to be able to see to know that there’s a smirk on her face.

He’s tempted to cause some kind of commotion in the hallway and then dash into his apartment, just to stop Vanessa from saying whatever the hell she’s about to say.

“Logan?” You sound appalled. “Of course I like him.”

“I know that you like him,” Vanessa chuckles. “But I can see why he would think otherwise. You act like you can barely stand to be in the same room as the guy for five minutes.”

“That’s not true.” Your voice shoots up several octaves higher than normal.

Logan sends a silent prayer to whoever the fuck is listening that no one walks down this hallway in the next few minutes and sees him standing still as a statue next to your apartment door.

“It’s not that I simply can’t stand to be in the same room as him,” you continue, lowering your voice back down to its normal volume. “It’s that being in the same room as him makes me want to jump his adamantium bones.”

For a second, he really believes that his two hundred year old heart might stop beating.

“I’m fucking pathetic around him,” you huff. “Last week, I saw him pull his t-shirt off in the laundry room to put a clean one on, and ever since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about grinding my pussy against his abs. Something is seriously wrong with me, Nes.”

But Logan doesn’t hear Vanessa’s response, because he speed walks away while she’s still cackling. By some miracle, Wade isn’t home, so Logan darts past Althea and locks himself in the bathroom.

What the fuck, Jesus Christ, and holy shit all play on a loop in his mind while he tries to ignore the bulge that has quickly formed in his jeans.

The last words he expected to hear anyone say today were jump his adamantium bones and grinding my pussy against his abs – but the fact that he heard those words come from your mouth in your sweet voice has his cock throbbing so hard that he can't think of anything other than you doing exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about.

Images of you straddling him with your bare, wet cunt rubbing against his happy trail, getting yourself off on his body as he plays with your pretty tits –

He let’s out an audible growl and rips the shower curtain open before turning on the water – straight to his normal hot temperature, too. He knows a cold shower isn't going to do him any good right now.

Standing beneath the hot stream, he thinks of what has transpired in the last five minutes and strokes himself in his hand until warm, white liquid follows the water down the drain.

When he finishes, he stills hears your voice in his mind and gets hard again within minutes.

••••••

Logan hasn’t seen you in three days. Three days might not seem like a long time to go without seeing your neighbor, but it feels like a long fucking time for him. In fact, it’s the longest he’s gone without casually running into you since he first met you months ago.

There’s a reason for this, though – he hasn’t checked his mail in days, hasn’t taken any of his laundry down to the basement in days, and has generally tried to avoid leaving his apartment as much as he can out of fear that he’ll see you. He even went as far as to pretend to be napping when you came by with some fresh baked brownies for Althea yesterday.

He wants to see you, of course. Goddamn, does he want to see you. But after overhearing your conversation with Vanessa earlier this week, he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to look you in the eye and pretend like he hasn't been making himself cum to the thought of you on top of him every time he takes a shower.

But after three days, he finds himself missing you too much to keep up his attempt at distancing himself from you.

What if he’s being ridiculous, staying cooped in this apartment to avoid you? What if you’re just down the hallway, thinking about him at the same time he’s thinking of you?

He's tidying up the kitchen when he sees the pink Tupperware container that you’d brought the brownies in yesterday sitting in the sink. The brownies were long gone – they’d all been eaten by him, Wade and Al within the same hour that you brought them over.

Taking the Tupperware back to you would be the nice, neighborly thing to do, right?

With Al already retired to her bedroom for the evening, and Wade out with Vanessa, he takes it upon himself to wash and dry the container.

It’s a Friday night, so he knows there’s a chance that you’ve got plans and might not even be home, but he still takes a few minutes to fix his hair and swipe some deodorant on before walking down the hallway towards your apartment.

As he approaches your door, he realizes that you are home. There’s light spilling from the crack at the bottom of the doorframe and he can hear low music playing inside. A mix of anxiety and anticipation sets in, but he clears his throat and knocks on your door before he can chicken out.

He hears your footsteps approaching and attempts to wipe any sign of nervousness from his face – he’s just returning your Tupperware, for Christ's sake.

“Logan,” you breathe as you open the door. “I haven’t seen you in a few days,” you greet him. He can’t help but relax at the smile that grows on your face when you realize it’s him. “What are you up to this evening?”

You lean against your doorframe, and Logan has to force himself to maintain eye contact. You’re wearing a matching pajama set – a cute pair of velvet shorts and tank top that shows more of your skin than he’s ever seen before.

“I – uh,” he stammers, holding out the Tupperware container to you. “I just thought I’d bring this back to you. They were great, by the way.”

Your smile spreads to your eyes at his compliment.

“Oh, thanks,” you beam. “I’m glad you got to have one. Wade told me that you were asleep when I came by yesterday so I figured he’d have them eaten by the time you woke up.”

“I’m sure he would have, but Al made him save one for me,” he laughs.

He tries to focus on the conversation at hand, but the fact that you look fresh out of the shower definitely isn’t fucking helping. Bare faced with the scent of your body wash and lotion on your skin, his thoughts begin to stray into dangerous territory fast.

“I don’t wanna interrupt your night, though. I’ll let you get back to—”

“You’re not,” you say quickly as he begins to step backwards. “You're not interrupting. Are you doing anything tonight? I just ordered a pizza and there’s plenty. I was gonna watch a movie, if you want…” You trail off, glancing back and forth between him and your apartment behind you.

He can't help but notice that your voice sounds hopeful.

The invitation excites him more than he cares to admit. Sure, the two of you have hung out plenty of times, but it's always been in a group setting – at one of Wade’s get togethers or movie nights, surrounded by other friends.

But never just the two of you – definitely never in your apartment.

He could never think of saying no to you. Especially not when this is what he's been hoping for since he first me you.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that.”

You hold the door open for him, letting him enter your apartment. Right away, he notices how different it is from the one that he lives in. Then again, there’s three people cramped into Althea’s – you're the only person who lives here, so you're able to make it entirely your own.

It’s cute, and cozy, he thinks. From your furniture adorned with throw pillows and blankets, to all of your shelves stocked with books, knick-knacks and candles, to the various plants occupying space throughout the living room, it feels endearing and welcoming right away.

“So, where’s Wade at tonight?” you ask as he ventures into the living room. He notes a large cardboard box with an untouched pizza in it on your coffee table. His stomach growls at the sight, and it hits him that he actually is fucking starving.

“He’s out with Vanessa. Fourth time this week,” he answers, turning to find you retrieving two plates from a cabinet in your kitchen. You're angled away from him, and when you raise your arms to grab the plates, your tank top lifts enough to give him a clear view of your midriff. He quickly averts his gaze, pretending to find something on your bookshelf particularly interesting.

“I’m just really glad that they’ve worked through things and seem to be happy now,” you sigh. “He wasn’t in a good place after their breakup. Barely ever left his apartment for the longest time.”

“They’ve got something special, that’s for sure,” Logan agrees.

You hand him a plate, walking past him to your couch. You toss some of the decorative throw pillows to your recliner, making room for him on the sofa. You pat the empty space beside you, an invitation for him to make himself at home.

“Who knows, maybe they'll even get their own place soon and I won’t have to share the living room with him anymore,” he says as he sits down beside you.

It’s a pretty small couch – really more like a loveseat – so it’s a snug fit for the two of you. The skin of your exposed kneecap brushes against the fabric of his jeans as you lean forward to grab yourself a slice of pizza.

“Sounds like you just want Blind Al and Mary Puppins all to yourself,” you tease. You hand him a piece of pizza and close the box before propping your feet up on the table. You lean back, looking at him with a smirk and raised brows.

“If he moves, that dog is going with him and you know it. There’s no way he’d leave her behind,” he shakes his head.

“There’s no way Althea would let him take her. She's grown to be as attached to her as Wade is. I think even you like her more than you care to admit.”

“What can I say? She has a way of weaseling herself into your heart,” Logan sighs.

“Oh, it’s definitely the tongue,” you shrug through a bite of pizza.

Logan grimaces as a vivid image of Mary Puppins French kissing Wade awake flashes through his mind, but he can't help but laugh.

You turn on some action-comedy that Logan has never heard of, and the two of you eat and take turns making comments about whatever is happening on the screen for the first half of the movie.

He tries to stay focused on the film, he really does, but every now and then you readjust your position on the couch, causing him to catch a whiff of your perfume or your thigh will brush against his and he'll have to force his attention back to the characters on the screen.

No matter how distracting he may find your mere presence beside him, he's enjoying himself. This is by far the longest the two of you have hung out together, without the additions of his roommates and other friends. He dreads the moment that the movie ends and he’s obligated to tell you goodnight before reluctantly going back to his own apartment.

During the second act of the movie, he wonders what you’re thinking - if you could possibly be feeling the same way as him – when you randomly sit forward, grab the box of the leftover pizza off of the table in front of you, and stand to take it to your refrigerator.

It's then that he picks up on an odor – not the light floral aroma of your perfume but something new. A scent that answers the question of exactly what you had been thinking about. It’s musky and pheromonal, and even though it’s been a while since Logan has been intimate enough with a woman to smell the scent of her arousal, he recognizes it right away.

When you sit back down beside him, the sweet smell washes over him again and he bites the inside of his lip so hard that he tastes blood. The wound disappears as quickly as it’s formed, but the same can’t be said for the erection that begins to strain against the confines of his boxers.

He eyes the pile of small, decorative pillows that you had tossed to the side and wishes that he could grab one to place over his lap.

The words that you’d said to Vanessa a few days ago begin replaying in his mind for the thousandth time since he’d first heard you say them, reminding him this isn’t one-sided. He may be sitting here attempting to conceal a raging hard-on by shifting his position and subtly adjusting his pants, but Logan’s heightened sense of smell tells him that your underwear are probably starting to feel as uncomfortable as his do at the moment.

Without turning his head, he risks a glance at you. Your eyes are on the movie, and your face is neutral, but your posture gives you away. Your arms are crossed over your chest, the tips of your fingernails digging tiny crescent shaped indentations into the flesh of your upper arm. You have one of your thighs crossed over the other, locked together tightly but that doesn’t stop him from being able to smell how fucking wet you are.

“You know, if my sense of smell is as good as my sense of hearing, then I think I have a pretty good idea of what you’re thinking about right now,” Logan starts, his voice low and gruff. He watches from his peripheral vision as you freeze, your form going rigid.

“But I’d really like to hear you say it.”

You turn to him, your eyebrows quirked but your face otherwise impassive.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about. What exactly is it that you’d like to hear me say?” you ask innocently. You give him doe eyes that make his cock finish filling with blood.

He huffs a laugh, picking up on the way that your heartrate accelerates when you look at him.

“I'd like to hear you say what you said to Vanessa a few days ago,” he hums. “I can’t remember exactly, but I think it had something to do with you rubbing your sweet little cunt on my abs. Does that sound familiar to you?”

“Hm,” you feign contemplation. “That doesn’t really sound like something I'd say.”

He knows you’re trying to play it cool, but there’s certain things that you just can’t hide from him – like the way your heart is beating a mile a minute and the way your nipples have pebbled beneath the thin material of your tank top.

“You’re right. It doesn't sound like something you’d say,” he snorts, and leans in so that your face is just a few inches from his. “So imagine my surprise when I walked by your apartment to hear you talking about jumping my adamantium bones.”

He doesn't miss the way your breath catches in your throat or how your eyes flicker to his lips.

“You gonna do it? Or you just gonna keep thinking about it while you're sitting beside me?”

For a second, you say nothing and Logan struggles to read your expression. Then, without taking your eyes off of him, you slowly stand in front of the couch. You reach for the hem of your tank top and pull it over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Logan's mouth goes dry. Suddenly, he's all out of smart remarks.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, pushing them down your thighs along with your panties, and let them both drop to your feet all while holding his gaze.

With you now stark naked before him, he leans forward, grasping you by the backs of your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, gently pushing him back against the sofa.

He tugs his own shirt over his head while you undo his belt buckle and pop open the top button of his jeans, your hands fumbling when he sheds his shirt.

Logan doesn’t typically think too much about his physical appearance. He knows he’s in good shape, and thinks he’s conventionally attractive enough. But he could see himself getting a bit of an ego, if he had someone looking at him the way you are right now on a regular basis.

You help him shimmy his jeans and boxers down far enough for his cock to spring free. You take him in your hand, using your thumb to smear the thick bead of pre-cum across the head.

“You should be careful listening to people’s conversations outside of their doors,” you hum as you pump him in one hand. You hunch over, lowering your mouth enough to spit down his shaft, lubricating the length. You smirk, glancing up at him from beneath your thick eyelashes. “Other people might not react as happily as me.”

Fuck, he knows it’s been a long time since he's even felt anyone’s hands on him, but he feels a little pathetic at the way his balls are already tightening and feeling so heavy just from the way you’re languidly stroking him.

And as much as he’d love for you to keep your hands on him, there’s time for him later. Right now, what he wants more than anything is the feeling of your pussy on him.

He pulls your hand off of him and then tugs you over his erection, trying his hardest to ignore the way the wetness between your legs glides against the tip of his cock, until you’re flat against the hard expanse of his lower stomach.

“This is what you wanted, yeah?” He grunts. You whimper in response, tightening your thighs around his sides and rocking back and forth with the smallest amount of friction. “Don’t be holding back, wanna feel you make a mess on me.”

His words seem to erase any remaining reservation that you may have had. You brace your hands on his chest and begin dragging your center across his lower stomach, your slick coating the thick trail of hair that goes from his belly button to his waistline. With every backstroke, the head of his cock juts against your ass.

You glide across him easily. Soft, wet, and warm, Logan thinks that if you feel this good on his fucking stomach then there’s no way he’ll be able to handle being inside you.

He leans his head forward, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth. You hold his head in your hands, tugging on his hair with your fingers as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth.

He pulls his mouth away from your breast with a wet pop. “You like this? Using me to get yourself off?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod frantically, your answer coming out as a moan. He gives a quick, firm slap to your other breast. Judging by the sound it draws from you, you like it, so he does it again.

He'd pictured this exact scenario a shameful number of times in the last few days, but his thoughts hadn’t done you justice. Every little noise you make, every little whimper and moan as your clit brushes against the thick bulges of his muscles again and again, sounds sweeter than he could've dreamed.

He places his hands on the meat of your hips, guiding you forwards and backwards across his abdomen at a fast pace.

“Fuck,” you gasp, clenching your thighs around him as tight as you can. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum—”

“That’s right,” he coos. “Come on, cum on me.”

You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, drenching the hair on his stomach as you ride out your orgasm on him with a cry of his name.

You collapse against his chest, going still with your face in the crook of his neck as you steady your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispers after a moment. It hits him that despite the fact that you just humped him until you came all over his abdomen, he somehow hasn’t even kissed you yet.

You pull away from his neck, looking down at him with a dazed expression. He brings your face to his mouth by the back of your neck. He wastes no more time, instantly slipping his tongue past your lips.

He holds you by the globes of your ass, which hovers just above his erection. You grind down, causing the tip of his cock to nudge against your entrance. He groans into your mouth, his cock past the point of feeling like it’s going to explode if he doesn’t fucking feel you.

“We can stop here,” he murmurs against your lips when he breaks the kiss, even though the thought kills him. He doesn’t want to stop kissing you, touching you, tasting you. It’s only been a few months, but it feels like he’s been waiting a lifetime for this and the last thing he wants is for it to come to an end. “Don’t have to go any further if you don’t—”

“No,” you exclaim with a breathy laugh. “No, I don’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”

He grins up at you, taking his length in his hand and teasing it through your folds from below you. He coats the head in your juices before nudging it against your hole.

“Definitely don’t wanna stop, sweetheart.”

You sink down onto him at the same moment that he tilts his hips up enough to slip inside you, causing the entirety of his length to fill you at once.

You both go still, adjusting to the new sensation of each other. Your walls, velvet soft and so warm, constrict around him like a vice. He knows you’re likely tired from riding him through your first orgasm, so he begins thrusting his hips slowly, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix.

“You’re big. So, so big,” you moan – something between a whine and a praise.

“I know, but you’re doing so good, honey,” he encourages as he eases himself in and out of you. “Don’t worry, I got you.”

You latch your lips to his again, and it’s hard for him to hold back. The feeling of your tight, perfect cunt around him and the taste of your tongue in his mouth is overwhelming. He wants to memorize every movement, every sound you make.

You snake your hand between your bodies, your fingertips finding your swollen clit and massaging languid circles. He feels you flutter around him as you start meeting his thrusts with movements of your own, and he knows you’re close.

“Not gonna last much longer, honey,” he grunts with a sharp thrust. “Feel too fucking good.”

“Cum with me,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your command causes something in him to snap. He releases a throaty growl, pistoning his hips upwards at a harsh pace as he fills you up from below. You constrict around him, crying his name into his ear as you ride out your climaxes together.

You collapse against his chest once more, his cock still nestled inside you. He loses track of how long the two of you stay like that, neither of you wanting to be the first to move.

“Remind me to eavesdrop on your conversations more often,” he huffs a laugh, still slightly out of breath.

You bring your lips to his, smiling as you give him a light kiss.

“I’ll know if you do. I have a doorbell camera. You didn’t notice that?”

thank you so much for reading <3 comments and reblogs are super appreciated. here are a few more of my favorite logan pieces that i've written ✨️

for always and ever is always for you - old man logan x healer reader

diet pepsi - old man logan x reader limousine sex

lavender and velvet - worst variant logan x neighbor reader