#looking back on these pieces i remember exactly where i was when i was drawing

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

look at them having a completely normal non-manipulative friendship what good friends they all are. look at those happy smiles and ignore the red lines im sure the red has no symbolism at all hahaha

[prael]

pas de deux - IVE An Yujin (ft. Jang Wonyoung)

Part 1 of folie à deux.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

18+ An Yujin (and Jang Wonyoung) x Male Reader smut

Masterlist Word Count: 7,727

folie à deux - folly (madness) of two pas de deux - a dance for two

It's survival—that's how you mask it.

It's the hard reality you tell yourself to justify being the pseudo-servant to these two girls, just to make the year as easy as possible so you can graduate. Playing their games. Never questioning their words or actions. The house of cards they've built is fragile but they keep it in check.

Somehow, you're one of the cards, one wall of the house. You've only been in the school a month. The fresh-faced transfer who fell into the grasp of the two girls who practically run the place. You can't deny it has its benefits. Like every one of Yujin and Wonyoung's friends, no one ever questions anything and you would never run the risk of falling into the bad books of school bullies.

Oh, and you also get to fuck Wonyoung senseless.

Luckily, the walls of the library are thick, everyone else is in class and the library door is locked. Or someone would have heard the squirming Wonyoung moaning expletives by now.

"Harder." Her nails threaten to pierce the skin. Claws gripped to your forearm. Her words are sharper still, cutting through the air with the same lethality as her looks. "Stop, stop, stop. Hand, there. Circles, remember. And go fucking harder will you?" You position as instructed, how you know she likes it. There's no room for creative freedom here—it's Wonyoung's way or it's no way.

But, god. She knows exactly how to break you—just enough that when she puts you back together, your mismatched pieces slot perfectly into her shape, allowing her to completely mould and manipulate you at her will, at her whim. And oh, does she love when you let her.

"That's it, there. Yes!" Wonyoung presses the heel of her foot into the small of your back, pushing you further in, urging you closer and deeper, drawing a hoarse groan from her throat. She's sprawled flat on the desk, on the second floor of the library. You're looking over the balcony, down at the empty room. It's almost monotonous, it happens at the same time every week. Hidden in the same top corner of the same library, at the same time on the same day. You've got her legs spread and your cock in her cunt.

Your fingers are digging into her thighs, pinning her hips to the desk. You don't falter once, going exactly as fast, exactly as hard, and exactly as deep as she likes it. Her movements are in tune with yours. Familiarity. Wonyoung's perfectly groomed eyebrows are furrowed, heart-shaped lips pursed, eyes scrunched shut.

"You're close, right? I can feel it..." Your words come out ragged and laboured. This isn't supposed to feel good for you, you aren't supposed to have an opinion. It's her own fantasy—an excuse for her to let herself get fucked like a little whore without question or consequence—your body's just along for the ride. You're not an actor in the scene, not a participant. You are the means to an end; a character-prop. Something to be used by the main character. To further her plot.

She responds with a shaky mewl that turns into a string of frantic cries, her slender, legs locking around you.

It ends how it always ends.

She cums. Hard.

You don't. Too messy, she says. You can't cum inside, you can't cum on her and you can't just cum on the library desk. Too risky and unhygienic. It's almost cute watching her try to cover up her gasp and squeal as she rides her high, biting down onto her soft sleeve, probably tearing through a layer of fabric with her pearly whites.

That's just how it is with Wonyoung.

***

"There you are!" Yujin is by your side and snaking her arm around yours, holding you just above the elbow and leaning against you. "Where's Wony?"

"Probably halfway down the highway by now, her boyfriend picked her up fifteen minutes ago," you explain as if it's the most normal thing in the world that Wonyoung hopped off your cock and into her boyfriend's car in the space of ten minutes. But that’s the life she lives—you live.

"You can take me straight home then, let's go." Yujin smiles up at you with her signature grin and those half-moon eyes. If Wonyoung were the definition of danger, Yujin was still just that, but wrapped up in cotton wool and given to a puppy. Her playful expression could melt even the hardest heart, and yet, thanks to her money, she too could get away with just about anything.

At least Yujin made your life easier. There was a little more give and take in your friendship—unlike with Wonyoung.

Still, you wonder exactly how the two of them do it. The whole school around their little fingers. The teachers—they overlook Wonyoung's little indiscretions as soon as the excuses leave her pretty little mouth, so convincing is her act. And then there's Yujin, she—

"You bitch!" In sync, you and Yujin look away from each other and towards the two young ladies holding each other by handfuls of hair. You don't know either of them, but they are blocking the way to your car.

"What's going on here?" asks Yujin, speaking louder than normal to ensure that her voice breaks through the constant bickering. The voices quieten and the hands release their grips, albeit somewhat reluctantly.

The pair turn to you both as they both speak at the same time. "This whore took my earrings!" One points at the other.

"Yeah? These are my earrings. How dense can you be?" one fires back, clearly pissed off, making exaggerated hand gestures for emphasis.

"Bitch, they belong to me! Stop taking things that aren’t yours, you slut! This is you and Jisun’s boyfriend all over again!"

"Ladies, please," Yujin says calmly, in just those two words she captivates attention. "You girls are friends, right?" She doesn’t give time for a response. "Well, if you're really friends, you'll sit and talk about this instead of pulling each other's hair. And if I'm being totally honest, those earrings don't exactly look worth the effort."

They lower their fists slowly, looking a little less angry now and more embarrassed to be told off. You half expect a little, "yes, mother" and an apology from them.

"Great!" Yujin says after some silence. She tugs gently on your arm, strutting between the two girls with you in tow. They stand and watch as you pass by. You only get a step or two past them before Yujin stops.

She turns to face the girls, still staring wide-eyed at the two of you. "Actually, aren't you girls forgetting something? You owe us both an apology."

The two exchange glances, looking surprised by the statement. "Wh-what for?" one asks, eyes darting nervously between you and her friend, who seems equally puzzled.

"For being in our way." The pair look around and suddenly notice the small crowd around you, phones pulled out, cameras glaring. They pale almost immediately. And you can see that they know this only ends one way. Because no one says no to Yujin.

The girls nervously get down on their knees and bow their heads. "I-I'm sorry!"

"We're sorry!"

"Excuse us!"

"Please forgive us!" They're flustered, apologizing to you and Yujin as though their lives depend on it. It feels like forever has passed when Yujin finally laughs and turns away.

"Have a lovely evening, ladies," she says in a tone sweeter than sugar, leaving the girls kneeling and guiding you again towards your car.

For all intents and purposes, these two girls are fucking crazy.

Delusional.

folie à deux

***

"You will stay and eat. I insist." It's ever so clear where she gets it from. Just like his daughter, Yujin's father simply would not take "no" for an answer. You know that really, you have no choice but the lock the car and follow Yujin up the steps into her house.

"Make sure our guest is comfortable." He glances at the maid to signal her. You notice a flinch, though only passing—the girl is nervous. No one can relax when they're in the presence of an Ahn. After his instruction, he walks into the door without another word.

You make the climb Yujin had not two minutes earlier, up the stairs and into the front door of the house, through the door left open, which the maid closes behind you.

The mansion's interior is exactly what you expect—luxurious, opulent and vast. But where you thought there might be a hint of the gaudy and tacky, there is only tasteful, expensive decorating, the finest of furniture, and grandeur befitting the family who owns it. As always, there's not a thing out of place.

Yujin's at the top of the stairs. She has already swapped out her formal blouse for a comfortable t-shirt, but she still wears the pleated skirt she did before, sitting just above the knee. "Couldn't escape father then? I think he likes you."

"He doesn't show it if he does." You shrug.

"He didn't wave you away without a word. That means he likes you." Yujin speaks as she walks down the stairs towards you. Off somewhere to your right, you hear the busywork of the kitchen, preparing the food he insisted you eat. "It's funny because I can't think why..."

She mocks you in the way she always does, with a grin on her face.

"It must be my wit, charm, personality, and incredible looks," you tell her with a wry smile.

"Huh... I didn't know my dad was gay."

"Shame he's not really my type." It's your turn to grin now.

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's an understatement. I know your type."

"Maybe you do," you say while climbing the stairs to meet her at the top.

She stares you down for a moment and you wait for her latest quip. She eventually looks over your shoulder, down the stairs to the maid. Yujin informs her, "We will eat in the upstairs lounge."

***

"And Gaeul, did you hear?" Yujin can barely contain her excitement as she slams her chopsticks on the table. The conversation had been flowing for a while now, mostly from Yujin as she fills you in with all the recent gossip on people you barely know.

"Which one is she again?" This one you already know, but you always enjoy the way she describes and introduces her friends. It’s so often so unserious.

"Kim Gaeul, the one in my dance class." Yujin pauses. Her eyes roll. "You know the one. Short hair, even shorter skirt. Cute smile, even cuter ass?"

That would probably narrow it down.

"Okay, but what about her?"

"Well you know that guy she's dating? The German guy?" The love lives of Yujin's friends are a bit of a blur. The more you hear about them, the less sense it all makes. "He proposed!"

"They are that serious?"

"Very! I guess it was love at first sight. Gaeul certainly saw something she liked."

"They're still young. It's a big commitment."

"But, if you want something, you should take it," Yujin affirms.

"Just like a criminal," you joke.

Yujin giggles. Something is charming about Yujin's laughter. There's an innocence and lightheartedness to her that brings you a sense of tranquillity. Suddenly, a weight rests on your shoulder. A chin nestles into the side of your neck. Warm, moist air fills your ear, "Maybe you could learn a thing or two. Life's too short to wait around and hesitate."

The weight and air vanish, and suddenly you feel cold. Yujin's French perfume lingers in your nose. "And it's good for her right, she must be getting fucked a lot." Yujin continues as normal as though the moment never happened. She picks up a piece of meat between her chopsticks, taking care not to get the sauce all over her. She brings it closer to her lips, smiling ever so slyly the whole way.

Yujin takes a drink before she continues, “and so Rei said to her that…”

She continues onto rest of the story and the many more after which you don’t really pay attention to, the moment before still lingering on your mind.

***

"As delicious as always." The two of you had spent at least an hour in the upstairs lounge, eating as you talked, catching up with events, and then talking about nothing in particular.

The maid bows at your compliment before taking away the tray of leftovers and leaving the room.

Yujin lay her arms over her chest as she leans back into the couch. Her eyes roll as her head falls to the side, staring over at the bookcase behind you.

"I hate reading." You can hear her disgust in her tone. "Dull, pointless, useless, boring..."

Yujin stops, eyes fixed upon you. Her eyebrows pull together with curiosity. "But you must love it, right?"

"There are worse hobbies."

She gives a thin-lipped grin, unconvinced. Yujin tilts her head to the other said, hair thrown over her head to settle on the other side, "do you, though? Because you and Wonyoung spend a lot of time in the library."

She knows. Of course she knows.

"Just studying." You smile weakly and give an awkward laugh, running your hand through your hair. 

"Wonyoung doesn't study." She says that flatly, cutting the air. Yujin may well be the only person in the school who dares to question the actions of her best friend. She has no interest in playing along with the lie.

You sit in silence. Any excuse would only be an insult to her intelligence.

"You're lucky really," she muses, her fingers absentmindedly tugging at the frilled edge of her skirt. Yujin makes a conscious effort to cross her long legs, exposing the small expanse of creamy flesh where the skin between the hem and knee socks met.

"Why is that?" you ask, with eyes fixed firmly on the tantalising flesh.

"Every other guy in school would kill for an hour alone with Wonyoung." Yujin purred.

"A bit drastic. They want what any young, single man would want."

"Hmm, those poor things are a second away from cumming in their pants just being in the same room as her."

Yujin gave a delightful, innocent-girl smile, contrasting with her crass language. She wore her angel-like grin with a devil's look. "Not you though. Which is exactly why she wants you."

"Why?" Your eyes flicker to the floor, away from Yujin. The thoughts circle.

"Like I said: they're far too eager for her to respect them, but not you. No." She spoke clearly, firmly. "The way you stare at her, it's almost as if you don't care that much for her."

"Not sure I understand. She is a friend, I care." you admit.

"But you don't beg it like the other boys do. She must find that attractive about you, not being desperate, but still willing." Her legs uncross slowly, tortuously so, pulling her legs apart ever so slightly. She smooths the crease of the pleats over her thighs.

You sense a chance to turn the wind and sail the conversation in Yujin's direction. "What about you? The one boy from art class seems really desperate to get close to you."

The vaguest flash of surprise came across her eyes, as if you'd interrupted her. The shock passes.

"Ah. Him." She rolls her eyes, puffing her cheeks as she does. A disgusted grimace mars her angelic expression.

"He's into you." Who isn't?

"I can tell. Not my type." She waves dismissively, having no need for your words. "I can," she pauses over her words, "take care of myself."

A creeping heat climbs your spine. "Really?" Your question sounds more curious than teasing, though your tone carries more than a hint of amusement.

Her slender shoulders shrug ever so casually. "Of course I can. Everyone needs a little," she purrs the next word, "dissipation."

It is the wording more than anything that draws a pensive mood. Yujin said it casually enough, with her fingers absentmindedly pressing up and down her exposed leg, almost as if the mere thought of it was enough to excite her. Her gaze glazes over at some unseen memory, and she gives a knowing smirk before her thoughts snap back to the real world.

"Yujin, I—"

She cuts you off, "there are so many, too many, horny boys in the world, but so few are dependable." The hand tracing her thigh edges just a centimetre further upwards, folding the pleat under the touch. "it was nice to have you here for dinner, but I have something I need to do."

"Are you expecting me to go so that you can...?"

The smile spreads from ear-to-ear across her face. "I'm not saying anything. But you know where the door is." She rises from her seat, a perfectly poised princess, and moves gracefully towards the door. Her body swaying under her baggy shirt and flowing skirt.

She doesn't give you time for a reply.

You're left alone with only the dying embers of her expensive perfume.

***

Class finished early and you're waiting. As you always did when you finished before the girls.

However, this time is different. You haven’t seen Yujin all day and aren’t sure how to act when you do. Not after what you saw yesterday. You lean back against your locker, streams of people passing by. Most ignore you, or the few that acknowledge you pay only a glance or two before continuing.

"Hey, Gaeul," you call to the one girl you recognise passing by, "have you seen Yujin?"

"Bro, she left already." You don't know when she started calling you bro. Maybe she always had. Could be part of her friendly nature. Gaeul is about as easygoing as they come.

"Is something wrong with her?"

"Nah." A gap appears in the crowd and you move to join her, heading out of the building. "You know how it is. If she wants to leave five minutes early, no one will stop her."

Another student cuts between the two of you, forcing you towards another group that blocks your way. You spin away to avoid them, manoeuvring through like a speeding car on the highway, catching up with the on-rushing Gaeul.

"And she didn't say anything?" you ask when finally back by her side. Gaeul's looking at her phone—probably reading a text from her husband-to-be.

"Hm?" Gaeul throws a glance out of courtesy. "No." she mutters before replying to the text.

"Nothing?"

Gaeul opens the door to the outside and you follow her through. She's striding like a girl with places to be, so you have to half-jog to get back by her side.

"Oh! Yujin did tell me to tell you something, actually. She said, tell him to act like a criminal. Whatever that means."

Act like a criminal.

"Thanks Gaeul," you speak quickly, diverting towards your car.

"Bro! What does it mean?" Gaeul calls after you but you don't wait around to answer.

***

The maid is there to greet you when you knock on the door of Yujin's house. Apparently, Yujin is waiting for you upstairs, and after letting you into the Ahn house for the second time in as many days, the maid disappears again into the background, leaving you to explore.

You see, yesterday ended almost unceremoniously. You stayed for dinner, you ate, talked, laughed. And then you left.

Except, it wasn't actually that simple. After Yujin left the room, you held around for a minute, finishing your drink. The ice-cold one in the fancy tumbler. Taking in the room around, as for all the time you had spent in there, you were more focused on Yujin than the exquisite decor. You admired it for all it's worth and savoured your drink until you decided that you shouldn't overstay your welcome.

It should have been simple. Walk to your car, get in, and go home.

Until you walked down the corridor and found a door ajar with the smallest of gaps. You leant gently against the frame, peering in just enough to give you a view of the bed.

On the bed was the girl you expected to find. On the bed was Ahn Yujin.

The curtains were closed, but enough sunlight managed to peak through. Light bounced off the soft skin. Each breath sent her chest swelling. You followed every rise and fall with hungry eyes.

With the afternoon sun kissing her flesh, highlighting the curve of her shoulder and collarbone, she looked even more heavenly. She wore her short hair wild, swept back and almost messy. And that's all she wore.

Her clothes discarded. A crumpled heap just beside the bed. And yet, there was a strangely intimate beauty in their chaos. As if she had just stumbled out of them in some urgent and carnal heat.

Her entire being had been shaped into perfection, carved from a block of ivory, her delicate fingers, smooth legs, slender shoulders and bare chest roseand fell with the soft inhales of breathing.

It was not the Yujin you knew; there was no hint of her elegance and poise. Here only lustful indulgence. A reckless hedonism that wanted no secrets to be kept or questions to be unanswered. Her body lay free of the bounds that normalcy imposes, inviting you to admire what she kept concealed, every precious curve and secret corner of her immaculate skin, every beautiful mark and blemish, that, in itself, was a testament to the humanity that lies just under the surface of such sublime beauty.

There was no doll, nor porcelain queen. No statue of stone or plaster. Instead, she was living, breathing, moving and feeling. Each touch was electricity. And her eyes said it all.

There was woman—in its rawest form.

And you had stood. You had stared. For as long as you dared. Until you tried to tear yourself away. You could not deny your perverted mind that moment of indulgence. And indulge you did, right up until the fear of being caught overcame you.

It should have been so simple. Walk to your car, get in, and go home.

For the last twenty-four hours, the image plagued your mind. You were consumed with her. With the idea of her. Of what she had done, of what could have been had you dared enter her room. And the guilt alongside it.

And now you're here, a day later, walking back to the scene of your crime. The door is ajar again, a few feet ahead. You push lightly, gently, inch by inch. Your breath held and the anticipation thick, clouding your mind and filling every thought, not of anything other than what you might see behind that door.

And then it comes into view. The bed and the disappointment.

A bed perfectly made, and decidedly empty.

You realise your folly—thinking, hoping, expecting the same sordid sight as before.

"I was wondering if you'd turn up." Her voice comes from behind you and her tone is low, hushed, and seductive. Every word tingles down the spine. Her fragrance arrives a beat ahead of the girl herself. "Did you get my message?"

"Yeah, about being a criminal," you answer as innocently as you can manage, still recovering from the shock.

"Exactly. As criminals, we take, without question, what we desire," Yujin whispers the last few words in your ear, a heavy, breathy tone that takes any resolve left in you and melts it before it's even fully formed. Her scent surrounds you. It overwhelms you.

"Yesterday, what you saw me do," she begins, her fingers reaching for your arm, gliding gently and purposefully, drawing slow patterns with a single nail, "you had the decency to resist temptation, but I don't want that." Her fingers grip your forearm tightly.

"It doesn't matter why you resisted. All I know is that you watched me... touch myself, pleasure myself. Do I turn you on?" She knew damn well the effect she was having.

You answer her question with another question. "Yujin, what are you playing at?"

"You're smart. Don't you know how this goes?" She steps, smooths around the shape of you, and into your field of vision. "Don’t you know why you’re here?" 

She raises her arms slowly, making a show of her body. With all the possible casualness, she smooths her hands up her sides, slowly, passing her stomach and onto her chest, and gently caressing. A shirt clings to her slim frame. The thin fabric is practically see-through, clinging to every delicious curve. The bottom few inches lifting, revealing flesh and the lines of lace trim on her matching her cream panties.

"I can't fight it, Yujin." Your hands find their way to the curves of her waist. She wriggles under the touch, happy to have the reaction she desires.

"Fight what?" She smirks, clearly amused by your confession and how easily you give in to her. Her hands roll gently across her breasts.

"The alarm in my head saying it’s a bad idea."

"Don’t fight it. Because I'm really, really hot," she whispers as pulls her top up her body. It rolls over her head and flops to the floor and you marvel, breathless and hungry, at the expanse of silky skin and feminine curves.

Her hands stroke at your crotch and she laughs softly. "Hard already?"

Her fingers curl and squeeze around the outline. She gives an approving smirk at the way it twitches under her touch, even as she mocks its hardness. "For me, huh?"

You nod, and she smirks. You move your hands up her body, but just as you begin; she twists free and walks towards her bed.

"Go, stand." Yujin points at the centre of her bedroom, towards the foot of her bed.

The carpet beneath you is soft, and you're barefoot. Walking. Watching. Eyes never leaving Yujin. Her bare thighs, defined, slender and soft. The curves, so gentle, and her accentuated hips. Her round, shapely behind, cradled so perfectly in tight-fitting panties. You have barely reached your position when she looks at you from over her shoulder and wiggles her panties slowly down her legs and leaves them on the floor.

She's crawling on the bed. You can't move—you barely manage to breathe. Each breath burns your throat. You're motionless, speechless, hypnotised in awe at Yujin. As requested (perhaps ordered) you remain. Watching from afar. Yujin seats herself on her bed with delicacy, her knees pressed together.

"I have to be honest with you," she confesses. "I'm not going to fuck you. But you can help me. If you're willing, that is."

"Anything" is your reflex response. You're powerless. She has you in the palm of her hand, and the growing ache in your groin, which was eager to be free of the confines of your pants, only affirms your thoughts.

"Are you sure?" Her head tilted to the side, teasing you with naivete. Yujin laid a single, slender finger on her lip and pulled it down suggestively. "If you come over here," Yujin insisted, her free hand parting her knees and patting the bed between her thighs, "then we could help each other."

There's a flurry of activity. You pull off your shirt and leave your trousers behind. Now you're kneeling across from her.

"Watch me. Just watch." Her voice is softer now, sultry, as her fingers ghost down the column of her neck, along her collarbones and then tracing the curve of her breasts, with the lightest grazes against her nipples. Her eyes fall closed as she carries on tracing feathery touches on her torso.

To be here now is all you could have wanted, really. If anything is happening beyond the sound of her shortening breaths and soft hums and her hand snaking between her legs, it's beyond your awareness. Yujin is shifting in front of you, wiggling and squirming; biting at her lip until it reddens and fills; gasping at the gentle caress of fingertips sliding slick against the smooth lips between her legs.

"No touching, just look." As if to drive the point home, her gaze holds on you for a moment, her lips curling into the sweetest smile. As a reward for your patience, her eyes grow warm and welcoming. Her legs spread wider, and Yujin hums. Her touch builds slowly, making small circles. There's no sign of urgency to her actions, none of the frustration that Wonyoung showed when waiting for her release. But Yujin isn't simply touching; it isn't about release. She's revelling.

Her breasts move with her heavy breaths. Her body trembles; her legs shake. She leans back slowly, taking support from her elbow, exposing herself wholly to you, with her head pressing back into her pillow, her hair sprawling in a mess and her pink lips slightly agape as her mouth shapes sounds that die as quickly as they're born.

"Yujin, I..." You lean forward onto your knees, placing an arm by her hip and another by her shoulder. You're hovering over her. Watching the display before you in stunned silence.

She grabs a handful of her tit, squeezing and moaning. "Keep talking," she breathes, her lips still quivering.

"I want you so bad."

She presses harder and slides her finger a little lower, dipping inside her cunt. Her other hand goes to your arm, then strokes over your bicep up to your neck. "You can do better than that." She whispers, wrapping her hand around your nape.

"How could I not want you?" Your knees are between her legs, you lower yourself closer without breaking her rule. You do not touch. "Not when you smell so enticing. Or sound so delightful. Or look so stunning."

Her mouth opens, panting breaths and half-uttered sighs fill the air. "And?"

Strands of hair fall over her face, you bring a hand up and hover it near to them, seeking her approval. Her eyes dart to your hand and consider it for a moment before giving the gentlest of approving nods. Your hand brushes the strands to the side. Her cheeks are bright and rosy, her skin damp, moist with perspiration, though still like silk to touch, you discover as you run a finger down her cheek.

"And when you look at me... with that smile. You have such a cute smile, like right now, that innocent—"

"Shut the fuck up and kiss me."

You oblige. Yujin rises to meet you. And you take her in a hungry kiss. She falls back against her pillow. You slide a hand around her thigh, gently holding it against yours. The sensation of skin on skin is electric.

"M-more. Give me more." Yujin demands, and you give her thigh a squeeze in agreement. Your hand moves to her ass, giving the swell an approving touch, caressing the skin, and kneading ever so slowly.

You watch her, in the dimness between kisses, studying her delicate expressions and tiny reactions and all the while you enjoy the feeling of her pliant flesh beneath you.

This goes on and on. The kissing. The touching. The moments of separation. When Yujin pauses and lays her head down, catching her breath. A few heartbeats pass, she opens her eyes and watches you. Languidly, she smiles and beckons you to lean closer, to hold her again and taste her sweet lips once more.

The dim, orange sunlight of early evening has long since faded. A soft, blue light envelops her bedroom. As the minutes passed and the two of you enjoyed each other's touch, Yujin never stopped. Never stopped her hand buried between her thighs. And this time your kiss broke by the jolt of her head, thrown back into the pillow. Her neck is at full stretch and her lips agape.

No moans come from her mouth. Instead, her breath hitches and holds. She freezes like this, under the moonlight piercing between the curtains. Reflecting from her skin. An image of pure beauty. Unadulterated pleasure.

Her eyes remain shut, but a beaming smile grows.

Finally, she sighs deeply and lets out her last shuddering, shaky breaths. She rises again and searches your eyes with her half-open ones and smiles once more.

"That was perfect," she murmurs, satisfied, as she lolls back into the pillow and rubs her hand—the hand covered with her cum—over her heaving, sweat-slicked chest.

You can only admire as she rubs her hand over her tits, smearing them with a mixture of cum and sweat. And when she's done, she lets her hand fall beside her head, the other resting on your shoulder.

"What are you thinking?" Her question came slowly, her speech still languid.

"How amazing you are."

Yujin smirks before stretching, arching her back from the bed, thrusting her tits at you. "You've probably thought that a lot." She's hot, and she knows it. "Anything else? With me here like this?"

"Your body is better than I imagined. Perfect."

Yujin brings a hand up to cup her tit, as if offering them up for you. "Glad you think so." The next word was a demand, "Taste."

Her chin tilts down and her gaze lifts. Her eyes watch curiously as your head dives to her chest. The most overpowering thing is the smell. The combination of her rich perfume and the scent of sex.

"That's it. Let me guide you." Yujin reaches round, holds the back of your head, and pushes your lips on her nipple. She giggles as you suck greedily, nibbling at her and lavishing her flesh in sloppy adoration. Yujin's skin glows a hue you'd never seen before. And tastes a taste so sickly sweet that you swear is so addicting that as a second becomes a minute, your tongue would never tire.

"Good." Her voice is soft and doting, but her breath catches for a brief instant as you roll your tongue over the swollen peak, drawing a tighter grip on your head. Her hands bury into your hair, her nails against the scalp. She pulls at you, guiding your tongue across her chest.

Yujin whines. And for all the sounds that you've heard today, there is none so sweet, nor one that cuts so deep as when she pulls you away. "God, I feel so sexy now."

Yujin lets her leg rub up to yours. Gyrating gently and grinding your thigh with hers, she works herself closer. Then her legs curl, capturing you and holding you. Yujin raises up so her face is millimetres away, whispering into your lips, "You don't even know what a turn-on you are right now."

She guides your hand with her own, down between her thighs. And she rubs your fingers up against her slippery opening. "Feel that? That's for you, and I can't wait any longer." Her eyes fall closed and her forehead rests against yours.

"I want to fuck you, Yujin."

"We aren't going to fuck." She punctuates each word separately but speaks without anger. Her tone is honey. It's dripping with lust despite the coldness of the words. "But I am going to let you cum now."

Her hand leaves your own, leaving your fingers pressed against her cunt. Both her hands now. Both against your body, rubbing at your chest and working their way down. Yujin's got a devilish, vapid expression. An insufferable confidence.

"And maybe this is selfish, but," Yujin grins wickedly as her hand takes a fistful of cock. "I'm also going to get off to watching you blow a load."

Her thumb, smeared in her arousal, rolls and drags. It's a wicked gesture that plays you like a marionette. Yujin draws her wet thumb up your length. The pressure and tension are enough to bring your breath hitching.

"It'll be huge." You lean into the feeling and whisper hotly. The heat building between the two of you is dizzying. She wraps her fingers around the base of your cock and squeezes firmly, jerking her hand up to the head.

"Good." The word escapes her parted lips as she takes the first full stroke. And then she doesn't stop. Her fingers tighten and the movement is repeated, finding a quick rhythm that you follow along to.

"Touch me," Yujin orders again. She looks down between your bodies, the tangle of arms, where she strokes your cock rhythmically. Using her other hand on your wrist to push you into her. Two fingers. That's what you give, gently stroking down along her cunt. Two fingers inside and curling up slowly inside her. Your hand pressing against her cunt, palm rocking against her clit. "Keep doing that."

You follow along. Obeying her directions and fulfilling her commands, making short little motions between her legs. You've watched her cum once and know exactly how to bring her there again. You push further, probing deeper, massaging the hot slickness. And you must be doing it right. Her grip on your wrist slackens and her body collapses back into the silk.

Finally, she fully focuses on you. Her hands work your cock. Up, down. Smooth, measured, fluid strokes. Unsurprisingly, she's perfect, each action purposeful, coordinated, and calculated. You know from the tension already winding, growing tighter and tighter, that it's a race you're destined to lose.

Yujin sighs heavily. Her lips remain open but her eyes grow serious. Head propped by the pillow, she's watching her handiwork. Watching the first drops of cum leak out and she palms them, taking them into her grip, making it messier as she continues to pump. Her eyes lift to watch your face as it distorts, and as you let out a groan.

"Are you close yet?" Her hand tightens. Faster. Rougher. Her fingers graze your sensitive cock, your body convulses and the involuntary reaction is a knee-jerk buck of your hips into the warmth of her hand. And her laugh follows. Delightfully warm, innocent, genuine. It fills the room and pierces through any self-conscious embarrassment. "Guess so, huh? Come on, cum. Just for me." Her thumb drags over your cock's head.

Your hands still moving, and Yujin's body beginning to quiver. With her orgasm fast approaching, she's determined to make you finish first. Her other hand has a hold on your balls, encouraging them to let loose.

Your lungs hurt from the shallow gasps and a sick knot forms in the pit of your stomach. A tingling buzzing and a throbbing that overcomes everything, wiping the thoughts from your mind. Only her eyes. Yujin's warm, hazel, angelic eyes are what remains. They stare with determination, urging you on.

She knows. You know. You can't hold it anymore. Your body isn't yours anymore, it responds to Yujin, and when she grins, you have no power. Yujin's in control, the only words in your mind. "Cum. Cum all over."

"Ugh, fuck..." is all the warning that you can manage. Her grin widens into a malicious smile and her hand becomes a vice. You can barely breathe; a dull buzzing rings in your ears. Your vision is a blur. All-consuming pleasure blinds. You buck into her hand and feel the thick ropes of cum leave. Firing onto her toned stomach. On to her tits. Wherever her hand directs you.

"Wow, really came hard," Yujin grins teasingly at her messy hands.

Breathing is easier now, and the rush, though it fades, lingers still in every inch of you. And as feeling comes back, as your mind clears, you realise your own hand never stopped. You're still mindlessly fucking her with your fingers. Still making Yujin writhe and moan. She's so warm. Wet.

"Fu-ck. Ke-eep doing... that." Her legs pull at you, forcing your body on top of hers. You respond in your movements, curling your fingers into her and slamming them harder. Your palm hits her cunt every time with a slap.

She's got a hand on her tit, squeezing the cum-covered mounds, her hand sliding around in the sticky mess. It's spreading—the mess, all over her tits—and she's using it for pleasure. It glistens in the soft blue moonlight, catching your eyes.

"I-m..." Yujin starts, then gasping a sharp intake of breath, then more noises, stunted. This goes on until, finally, she takes one slow, heavy, deep breath, filling her chest and holding it there. Her eyes are glassy as if she's not looking through them. And she's still gripping your sensitive cock, hand covered in cum. You groan softly as her hand rubs the last few drops out.

She cums again. She tried to warn you, but this time she's nothing but moans. Erupting from her. Rough. Deep. Coming from within. She gushes. Wetness coats your fingers. Her cunt overflows and runs out onto your hand. A mess of her cum on you, a mess of your cum on her. You watch her breathing as the final few gasps leave her, slowly returning to a steady, even rhythm.

Yujin is breathless. "W-wow..."

You kiss her cheek gently. Your body finds its place beside hers. "Fuck me, Yujin," you exhale.

Yujin's breathing is slow and even, a smile beaming, radiating that warm glow that is her. She takes a deep breath in, then lets it out again.

"No." There's not an iota of sympathy.

You let out an audible sigh, but Yujin holds her finger up. "No sex tonight," she corrects herself, before pushing on your shoulder, rolling you over until she sits atop you.

Her lithe, cum-covered body presses down upon you. Her hips against your spent dick. She leans back, straightening her torso. She barely weighs a thing. Her body is as light as a feather. Yujin gives an innocent look, smiling but avoiding the eyes, but after a moment her smile turns coy, even teasing. She runs a hand over her body and pulls it away, strings of sticky cum stretching from her fingers to her stomach.

"I need a shower." She runs her eyes over your body. "We need a shower."

"Or we can continue..." you speak as you run a hand up her thigh.

Yujin moans in response, and she closes her eyes at the contact. A tremble wracks her for a moment, until her eyes snap open. "No." She pulls back and pushes off you. "Come. Let's shower."

She's standing beside the bed, and you admire her. "You look gorgeous." The words float in the air, and Yujin lets a soft, barely visible blush form. She takes it well; you would've thought she'd dismiss the words, but she smiles warmly.

"Come on." Her finger beckons you.

You follow and don't take your eyes off her. And why should you? Her body is so enchanting, swaying her hips from side to side in her lustful saunter. Her ass and shoulders roll in sync perfectly.

***

Hot water and steam. One runs down your body and the other fills the air. Not thick enough to block your sight but still veiling everything in a white, blurry mist, just enough to muffle the sound, enough to add something in the background.

"Mm..." Yujin murmurs as you rub her back. A luxurious bar of soap. You lather your hands and work it across her body. Underneath her arms. You guide your slippery hands to her sides, lifting and moving with them as they run along her stomach. You tickle gently above her hip bones, smiling at her small reaction—how her hips roll away instinctively.

"So, what happens now?" you ask. Yujin had been completely quiet during the shower. But you can't help but think that you need to address what just happened, what could happen.

"Well, I could bend over right now, right?" Her voice is bubbly, still in a post-orgasmic high.

You chuckle. "But you won't."

"But I won't," Yujin confirms. "I haven't decided yet."

"That's ominous."

Yujin closes her eyes. "Not like I'm the only girl who you're fooling around with."

"So you want it to be exclusive?"

"No." Yujin takes the soap and turns to face you, rubbing it over your chest.

"You're a hot guy, with a nice cock," Yujin's eyelids fall half-closed and her lips spread to show her tongue running over the corner of her mouth, and with the faintest shrug, and adds: "We both know I could have my way with you anytime I want."

Yujin moves past you towards the jet of running hot water. She bows her head under it and lets it rinse off the foam. The suds flow down her body. The streams turn to rivers. Bouncing, trickling, coursing between her supple breasts, down her narrow waist, over her toned stomach, then along her long legs. She takes a second longer than necessary, basking in the spray and enjoying the sensation, and the visual she knows she creates for you.

She reaches out and pulls you under, body against body. She brings her mouth to your ear. "But no one can find out. That would cause you a lot of problems." Her hands grip you tightly as if to emphasise the seriousness. And while her tone remains jovial, there is an underlying sternness.

"What do you mean? What would happen?"

"The position my dad is in, we can't afford to have this come out. He would have you out of the school and out of my life in an instant." Her voice lowers, almost a growl, but there's amusement in it. Her smile widens as she looks you in the eye. "But that won't happen, will it? We'll make sure of that."

"No, won't happen."

"And while we're on the topic..." Yujin grabs at your crotch, stunning you. "If you're gonna keep fucking Wonyoung, you might want to do a better job of hiding that. It'll end the same way."

"Y-you don't mind if I fuck Wonyoung?"

"Please, I encourage it." Yujin wraps a hand around the nape of your neck and pulls you in closer. You move your arms to hold her back. Skin on skin. Her breaths are hot, and steamy. She whispers the next few words, drawing out every syllable, each sound heavy with meaning.

"I..." You lose what words you want to say, flustered by her open, unexpected, and totally cool, reaction.

"Why would I? It's hot as fuck." Her lips brush over your cheeks, ghosting over the skin with a soft, supple touch. "And I know she won't fuck as good as I will."

NEXT PART HERE

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

A Step Towards Him

Part Two of Betrayal. Or how meeting Gothams Vigilantes leads you to look for your ex. Does it count as a Fix-it fic if it's my own work? I do not follow the canon timeline in this. ~2.8k words

The world changes for you after that night, after finding out your boyfriend is a crime lord. And not just any crime lord. Gotham's biggest. It shatters you. You take some time off of work, request to be transferred off the case. Gordan gives you strange, worried looks over it, but doesn't ask. It makes you want to hide in your office and sob.

The world changes around you too. You try to ignore the reports about Red Hood, but you can't. Not when helicopters catch footage of him confronting Batman. Not when he's sighted entering an abandoned building before it explodes. (No, you don't throw up when you hear the news. Or let out uncontrollable sobs in the bed that he used to share.) Not when he comes back as some sort of vigilante, a protector of crime alley. (No, you don't drop to your knees in relief in front of the television.)

Your life finds some rhythm of normal. You go to work. You cook dinner alone. You curl under your comforter. You convince yourself the bed doesn't feel empty. That life is normal. Except some things aren't. 

It starts with Nightwing. He drops down next to you when you're picking through an active crime scene. It doesn't set off any warning bells at first, the Bats always seem to be where they're needed. Then he speaks.

"So, you and Red Hood?" He asks, voice light and teasing.

You nearly jump out of your skin to look at him wide eyed, before your head whips around to see if anyone's heard. They haven't, the crime scene is empty save for the two of you. You turn back to him, hackles raised and eyes narrowed. "How do you–"

He shrugs, smiling easily like he's not dragging the shattered pieces of your heart across the coals. "Found out by accident."

"Well, we aren't together anymore." You huff, averting your gaze from him and back to the crime scene. You know he's analyzing you, even under his relaxed demeanor. You're just not sure what he's looking for. 

"That's a shame." Nightwing chirps, spinning the sticks in his hands you know are equipped with enough electricity to bring down a rhino. 

You can't help the wince you make at that. "Why?"

"It seems like he really liked you." 

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, a mannerism he definitely sees. You know Jason– Red Hood liked you. He used to say all that and more against your skin when he thought you were sleeping. (You don't relive that memory when everything's heavy and your stomach twists and you need something good.) "It's in the past." You answer instead. 

He opens his mouth to answer, but you never hear what he wanted to say. The sound of lab techs arriving at the crime scene draws your attention. By the time you turn back to him, he's already gone. You shake your head, trying not to read into the vigilantes' words. Damn Bats.

There's a kid in your office. Not just any kid. Red Robin. Ok, sure, he's not exactly a child, but he's definitely a teenager and definitely should not be sitting at your desk, in your office, and typing on your computer.

"Um, hello, Red Robin. Is there something I can do for you...?" You ask, lingering in the middle of the room. 

He looks up, turning your computer slightly towards you. You step closer to look. "Have you thought about using this cipher here?"

You glance over the screen. Huh. He's right. That code had been troubling you for a week. Leave it to a Bat to get it done in a day. "Oh. Thanks, that's pretty impressive work."

He grins at you and sits back in your seat. "That means you have some free time to talk to me?"

You eye him wearily, remembering your encounter with Nightwing. "I– yeah. Sure. Of course I do."

"Great!" He practically lights up and starts rambling. "Did you know Red Hood has a direct comlink to the batcave? And he saved that family from the Park Row explosion last week. Did you know he likes to read? He's kind of a nerd but–"

"Woah, woah, hey." You cut him off. "Look, I heard about the rescue and I know about the– uh, reading stuff, okay? What's this about?" He studies you, he can probably read your emotions better than you know them yourself. He probably knows exactly what you're feeling about Red Hood.

He smiles wider at you, like he's found what he was looking for, and stands up, almost bouncing to the window. "No reason. Just wanted you to know." He's launched his grappling hook and is out of sight before you can get another word in.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. Bats.

You're almost expecting it when you find yourself in the presence of the next vigilante. Sitting alone in an unmarked car, the most boring stakeout of your life isn't so boring anymore when Batgirl drops herself onto the hood of your car. You only embarrass yourself a little bit by yelping, spilling what's left of your coffee on the dashboard. She's at the door and tugging the handle by the time you've frantically wiped down the lukewarm liquid off the car. 

You unlock the door. If you didn't know better you would have said the stitches in her mask turned upward. 

She slides into the passenger seat.

It's quiet for a long time. So long you actually start to get comfortable with her being in the car with you. 

"Brother."

Your gaze snaps to her. "What?"

"Tries." 

You blink at her. She's already leaving the car as gracefully as she entered it. Okay. Okay. Definitely nothing to read into there. There's no way she was talking about him. Jason– 'no' you correct yourself– Red Hood is definitely not related to Batgirl and he's definitely not anything else she says he is. 

Work was particularly long today, your shoulders ache, your head is pounding. It's a relief when you finally open the door to your apartment.

"I understand why Todd likes you so much."

"Motherfu–" You half shout, reaching for the baseball bat by the door before you stop short, gaze settling on Robin, who seemed to have made himself comfortable in your home. 

He waves a picture at you, one with you and Jason together, the one you took during a date to Gothams botanical garden. The one you know you had tucked away under your bed. 

You exhale heavily, far too tired to find the energy to scold the kid and lecture him about boundaries. "What are you doing here, Robin?"

"I am here to join the others in their endeavors to reconnect you and Todd."

You tense, jaw dropping a little before you can gather yourself. "No one's doing that."

He places the picture carefully down on the counter. "Of course they are. You're good for Todd. And he asked for you when he was coming out of the fear toxin hallucinations. That shows trust."

"He what?" You ask, voice pitched and startled.

"He asked for you." Robin responds, voice steady and factual. "You didn't know?"

You shake your head, thoughts racing. 

"Oh." He looks unsure, you've never seen any of the Bats look unsure, it snaps you out of your spiraling. "Perhaps, don't mention I told you?"

"Course, Robin. I won't." You answer, and you're relieved when your voice doesn't shake.

He nods, like he expected that answer, but you're not sure if he did. 

"Can I get you anything?" You ask and he actually looks surprised. 

"No. I need to return to patrol. Technically my route doesn't cover this area."

"Oh?" You prompt, unable to keep yourself from prying. "Whose does?"

He scoffs like it's obvious on his way out your window. 

Despite your exhaustion, sleep doesn't come easily that night.

Your final straw is Batman, because of course it is. 

Gordan had handed you a stack of files. "Detective, I need you to take this to the roof, I have the mayor waiting in my office to hear more about the Freeze situation." He rolls his eyes, dark circles and lack of sleep evident on his eyes. "Though he should know by now hounding my officers won't change anything."

"Sir," You start, "can Montoya do it?"

He gives you a pitying look. "Sorry, Detective. Montoya's in archives. You're the only one I can trust with this."

That's how you ended up on the roof of the GCPD precinct. 

"Detective." A low, distinct voice behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin, even if you knew he was coming. 

You whip around, only relaxing when your gaze settles on Gothams Dark Knight. You silently offer him the files. He takes them, but doesn't look at them, watching you instead. Analyzing you. Studying. It's starting to get nerve wracking being judged by every vigilante Gotham has to offer.

"I know you and Red Hood–"

"Please don't." You cut him off with more bravery than you knew you had.

He doesn't. You look away. But the time you've found the courage to turn back, he's gone. 

You're walking through crime alley, alone, at night, just a few days later. You're not completely sure what your plan is, what you want out of this. But settling whatever is lingering between you and Jason is worth the danger. 

But, danger never finds you. You don't make it two minutes into crime alley before the sound of boots hitting the ground behind you reaches your ears. You know it's him. You know he could have done that soundlessly, but he let you hear him. It steadies some of the unease in your chest.

"What are you doing here?" His voice sounds robotic through the voice modulator, but his shoulders are stiff, body tense, when you turn to face him. You notice his fingers twitch towards you, that soothes another ache in your chest. 

"I wanted to talk to you." You say slowly, carefully. It feels more daunting now that you're here, in his element. 

He looks around. "It's too open."

You follow his gaze, the streets seem empty, but you know Gotham well enough that the shadows have ears. "Then where?"

He considers you for a moment. "The roof. Can I– can I carry you? Just to get us to the roof faster. Or I could drop a fire escape for you?"

"Oh. Um, sure, I don't mind you carrying me. How do you plan on getting us up there, exactly?" You ask, voice pitching slightly at the thought of being close to him again.

He holds up something you recognize as a grappling gun as he steps to your side, hooking an arm around you and firmly tugging you against him. "Hold on."

You wrap your arms around his neck and air is flying past your ears before you've even realized your feet have left the ground. 

He lets go of you slowly once you're both settled on the roof, hand lingering at your waist to make sure you don't fall over. "Good?"

"Good." You echo, and he reluctantly moves to give you space. 

"So, why are you putting yourself in danger just to talk to me? You know these streets aren't safe." He crosses his arms over his chest, it would seem defensive if you didn't recognize the stiffness in his shoulders, like he's bracing for the worst. You wish you could see behind his mask.

"I– could you talk to your family? They keep coming to see me and I think they have the wrong idea." You tell him, voice careful and even.

"Wait, wait. My family?" His arms drop to his side, confusion apparent even through the modulator his helmet.

"Yes? Some of the other vigilantes came to see me a few times–" 

He curses softly, shifting and clenching his fists. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. They shouldn't have done that."

You falter, "I didn't mean it in a bad way."

He sighs heavily, like he's carrying all of life's burdens as he unclenches his fists. "I know. It's not you I'm mad at." He shifts his weight, unsure. "It's just– you should have meant it. I'm not good."

You straighten out, upset he would even consider himself that after how much he's changed, tried to be good, succeeded at being good. You'll never admit it, but you can't help but follow every story about him, every tiny detail about what he does. "That's not true. I'm the one that's not good."

He levels you with look. "Don't act like I don't know you. You are good. You wouldn't have given up running my case if you weren't. You could have run me out of Gotham."

"You know about that?" You ask softly.

"No shit, I know about it. I know you." He says it like it's a fact, a universal truth. 

"But I– I broke up with you. Without really listening. I didn't try to understand." You protest, because with all the bad he's ever done, the good he's done– the fact that he's trying– outweighs it all.

He tilts his helmet towards you. "Because Iied to you. I was using you."

"You said you stopped that."

"I did." He answers, firm and resolute, then sighs out your name. "But I still did that to you, I still hurt you." He pauses, "Look, I'll talk to the others. They won't bother you again, okay? Just– Let me take you home."

"I don't want to go home." You step closer to him. You've decided what you want.

He seems to freeze at the movement. "You don't want to go home?" He repeats slowly, carefully like the words don't make sense to him.

"Red Hood– Jason. I'd like– I miss you, okay? I miss waking up next to you, I miss making dumb jokes with you when we cook, I miss cuddling with you while we make fun of movies together. I want to– I want to try again. If you'd let me."

"If I'd let you?" He echoes your words again. It makes your face fall, how stoic he seems. Then, his mask is clattering against the roof, his gloves tugged off and dropped haphazardly so he can cup your face with his hands. He leans his forehead against yours, and breathes out your name. "I'd let you take anything you wanted from me."

You grab his wrists, intent on keeping him close after so long apart, as your heart races, your breath catches and everything centers on him. Your eyes dart over his face, trying to see the truth in his eyes. 

"I mean it. If all you ever wanted from me was friendship, just someone to keep your bed warm at night, or something more. I'd give that to you." His eyes dart over your face in return, wanting to make sure you understand his words, his feelings for you. 

"I want more. I want you." You say quickly, because he needs to know he's important to you. That he matters to you and what he does as Red Hood didn't and can't change that. 

He lets out a breathless laugh and kisses you. It sets your nerves on end and for the first time since you told him you didn't want to see him, you feel grounded. You kiss him back, hands leaving his wrists to grab the leather of his jacket and draw him closer. 

He only pulls away when you're both gasping for air. "I know I have a lot to make up for–."

"So do I." You cut off.

"Then maybe we're even, yeah? A fresh start." He says softly, tracing the curve of your jaw with his thumb.

You smile and tilt your head up to kiss him again, sweet and lazy before leaning back. "I'd like that."

He's smiling when he kisses you again, and neither of you move to untangle yourselves until you hear whooping and cheering coming from the rooftop across the street.

It's been a few weeks since then. And your relationship is good, better than before, if that's even possible. You're picking over snacks in the grocery store with Jason when an elderly, but alert looking man walks up to the two of you. 

"Ah, I see this is your partner you've been trying to hide from us?" 

Jason straightens out, "Alfred? What are you– uh, yes. Yes. This is them." 

You grin, pulling your fingers from Jason's to reach out and shake Alfred's hand, offering him your name as you do. 

Alfred's eyes seem to twinkle and he nods approvingly as he introduces himself. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. You're welcome to dinner any night, I know the others are eager to officially meet you."

Jason groans a little, and he rests his hand against the small of your back. "We'll think about it, Alfred."

Alfred smiles knowingly at you, "Of course. Take your time."

And as you lean into Jason's side, you have a feeling you'll be making it to that dinner sooner rather than later. 

A Side Story

[naeverse]

Tangled in his Webs

Art generated by: Niji • Journey Request from: @migueloharacumslut Ask: And I have a request I forgot rather I submitted or not. Mad scientist Miguel x therapist reader Miguel gets put in a psych ward because he got caught experimenting on people and himself trying to turned them in to spider people. He’s been in the psych ward for five years and he needs to be cleared to go back in the world. That’s where the reader comes in to clear him only he manipulates her into thinking he is sane. During their session Miguel becomes obsessed with the reader and little does he know she is obsessed with him too. At night she touched herself to the thought of him. When Miguel get out he finds her. Make the sex nastyyy, hard and rough little choking wouldn’t hurt either. Please and thank you ! 😊 A/N: I really loved this idea and enjoyed writing Scientist Miguel so much. Might write him more lol, but thank you @migueloharacumslut for the idea. Also this is the first part and a second one will be following this one, hope you enjoy!

💉staring: Scientist!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Therapist Reader

      🩵preview:  “I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?” He asked, his gaze never letting up and keeping its intensity. Due to his closeness, you almost missed his inquiry, but upon detecting it, it surprised you. Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his ideology and rejecting his notion. “N-No, I wouldn’t exactly describe you in that way, Dr. O’Hara.” You swiftly replied. 

“You wouldn’t?” He asked, his voice low and slow. “So, how would you describe me, Doctor?” 

🔬summary:  As an evaluation therapist at Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing, you are assigned a new patient—one who is complex, captivating, and dangerously drawing you in more than you ever expected.

⚗️tw/cw (Just for this part): Big Dick Miguel, Bondage, Fingering, Masturbation, Psychopathy, Restraints, Sadism, Size Difference, Restraints

🔭Pet names: Cariño (Darling), Querida (Dear)

     🩵Rating: 18+ explicit I SMUT I

 🥼Word Count: 7.7k 

**This fanfiction is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to real-life individuals or events is purely coincidental. It does not intend to diagnose or represent any real mental health conditions. Thank you for understanding, and I hope you enjoy the story.**

Your eyes fluttered open, consciousness slowly returning. You felt a dull ache and soreness in your throat, accompanied by a pervasive feeling of weakness throughout your body. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead and adjusting to the suffocating sterile scent of antiseptic, you noticed that you were lying on your back against a hard, cold surface.

With furrowed eyebrows, you attempted to sit up, only to be thwarted back by the metal restraints tightly bound around your wrists and ankles.

‘What the heck!?’ 

You thought, panic and fear beginning to grip you. Your eyes darted down to discover yourself clad only in your undergarments—a delicate white, laced satin set—leaving you exposed to the chilling breeze that consistently swept through the well-lit space.

You couldn't remember how you got here; your groggy mind unable to piece together the events that led to your presence upon the metal table. The faint hum of machinery echoed from far away, punctuated by distant murmurs that made your heart drop.

With dazed eyes, you looked around your surroundings to be met with the overbearing shade of a bright white that covered the walls of what looked to be a lab of some sorts. Countertops were lined with an array of perfectly arranged scientific instruments, machines, and beakers.

Shelves held neatly labeled containers, each housing an assortment of chemicals and biological specimens. Despite being well-lit, there were little to no windows present, intensifying the feeling of isolation within the controlled environment. 

The place seemed devoid of humanity, replaced by a location where experimentation and analysis were handled freely without compassion or warmth.

But one thing about the lab really stood out to you: two jars sitting upon the shelves—one full of bloody red eyes and the other with abnormally sharp canines.

The sight almost made you vomit, hastily turning to look away. Your heart and breath were picking up, fear clawing at your being. Although how morbid the otherworldly body parts were, they triggered something in your head.

The more you thought upon it, awareness seeped in like an unwelcome guest; slowly, you began to remember.

The mental facility...

Red eyes...

The flowers...

Sharp canines...

Black glasses...

His release...

Him.

The wine...

Then darkness...

The memories came rushing back so quickly that you weren’t able to keep up, until it all came back to...

Him...

A wave of regret and stupidity overwhelmed you. Never in your life had you felt so worthless.

You should have known...

You should have fucking known...

‘He wasn’t well. He wasn’t fine. You were wrong, so wrong-’

“Good… You are awake.”

The bone-chilling voice of your captor filled the room, sending a familiar chill down your back. With trembling lips, you turned your head to see the backside of a massive male entering the room. His coffee-brown locks styled neatly upon his head, a white lab coat adorning his huge build along with black dress pants and oxfords.

The scientist wore clean attire, perfect for working in the lab, but his outfit was beyond your concern. 

You knew who he was, but you didn’t want to believe it.

You gulped, watching him slap on a pair of white latex gloves upon his large, calloused palms before beginning to inspect the scientific tools that sat upon the nearby counter.

"And here I thought you would have been excited to see me again..." he said in a husky voice, responding to your silence—his Latino accent unmistakable, along with a hint of amusement found in his tone. You felt like an idiot for falling for him, for becoming so fascinated with a madman like him...

But you were still in denial.

You weren’t going to believe it was him until you saw his face...

“T-T-Turn around…” You said hoarsely, the pain in your throat distant underneath the layers of fear and anxiety coursing through your body. At your demand, the large scientist laughed. “Turn around?” He asked slowly, silence following his inquiry, making your body run cold.

Suddenly, he spun around, slamming his palms onto the metal table you laid upon. The abruptness and loud noise made you jump, and a gasp erupted from your lips. His eyes stared directly into yours, holding the same madness that you believed he had cured when you initially met him. But, like before, it wasn’t the insanity in his gaze that made your heart drop to the pit of your stomach...

It was his eyes... 

His teeth...

The scientist’s crimson eyes looked down at you, taking in your discolored skin and half-lidded eyes that were still under a drowsy spell. “I turned around now, are you happy?” He asked with a playful smirk. “Do you recognize me now, dear?” 

Your eyes widened, the look upon your face enough to show the mad scientist that you did, in fact, remember who he was— but you were too speechless to respond, causing the male to chuckle.

“Do I need to give you any more proof that it is I?”

His snickering seemed to reverberate off the walls of your mind as the fluorescent lights of his lab bounced off his razor sharp canines.

With trembling lips and dilated pupils, you looked over his face, your heart breaking more and more because…

It was, indeed, him...

The mad scientist... 

The sexy patient... 

Dr. Miguel O’Hara…

The man you fell for…

White, close-toed wedges clicked upon the mental facility's aged linoleum tiles, the floor's once-bright patterns now a faded, discolored mosaic covered with scuff marks and indistinct stains that revealed the struggles of all who shuffled through the dimly lit corridor. The mental facility, unintentionally, gave off an eerie atmosphere with walls clad in faded, peeling paint and ceilings with bright, flickering fluorescent lights that cast irregular shadows along the cold institutional floor, further giving anyone who traversed the halls the creeps.

You, a therapist meant to evaluate patients for release, were given a new challenge—a patient that held a sadistic background coupled with a remarkable intellect that made many wonders how he found himself inside 'Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing.'

Dr. Miguel O’Hara was your new patient's name, an intelligent scientist who became a little twisted after his discovery of gene splicing. In his pursuit of advancing the human race, he became obsessed with the idea and creation of spider-human hybrids. After many experimentations of creating what is referred to as mutates, he was unsuccessful. Before he could continue with his study, he was arrested and sentenced to seven years here at the institution where it seems he’d made progress.

Whilst you walked towards his cell, taking the seemingly endless halls of the asylum, you looked over his file. Inside were documents containing his personal information, such as full name, date of birth, emergency contact, and next of kin. In the brown folder were also his medical history, psychiatric assessment, diagnostic evaluations, and much more information collected during his time at the institution; however, there were four pieces of his folder that piqued your interest:

Observation logs, Treatment plan, Risk assessment, and lastly, incident reports.

You studied each of the documents to discover the important details that needed to be surveyed before seeing the scientist in person.

_____________________________________ 

Miguel O’Hara - Mental Health File

Patient Information:

Full name: Miguel O’Hara

Date of Birth: 10/13/2070

Appointed into: Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing

Admission Date: 11/10/2099

Emergency Contact: N/A

Next Of Kin: N/A

**The patient has explicitly communicated a desire for their next of kin not to be associated with their mental health treatment, and no detailed information about family members was recorded to respect the patient’s privacy.**

Diagnosis:

Primary Diagnosis: Psychopathy

Secondary Diagnosis: Antisocial Personality Disorder

Treatment Team:

Primary Therapist: Dr. Jessica Owens, Licensed Clinical Psychologist

Psychiatrist: Dr. Peter B. Parker, MD

Nursing Staff: Nurse Mary Jane Watson, RN

_____________________________________ 

Treatment Plan: 

Medications 

Fluoxetine (Prozac) 

Dosage: 20 mg daily

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara is prescribed Fluoxetine to address symptoms of irritability that derives from his disorder of Antisocial Personality. 

Lorazepam (Ativan)

Dosage: 0.5 mg as needed (PRN) for anxiety

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara is given Lorazepam on an as-needed basis to manage anxiety-related symptoms or impulsivity.

**Its used closely monitored due to the risk of misuse**

Lamotrigine (Lamictal) 

Dosage: Gradual titration starting at 25 mg, with adjustments based on response. 

Purpose: Miguel O’Hara’s treatment plan included Lamotrigine to help stabilize mood swings or emotional dysregulation. 

_____________________________________ 

Incident reports 

Date: 2/3/2100

Incident: Verbal altercation with another patient during group therapy 

Action Taken: Immediate de-escalation and one-on-one session with Dr. Peter B. Parker. 

Date: 6/21/2100

Incident: Refusal to take prescribed medication 

Action Taken: Nursing staff provided additional support and education 

Date: 10/3/2100

Incident: Refused to attend scheduled group therapy and became verbally aggressive towards staff members

Action Taken: Security staff was called to ensure the safety of other patients and staff. Miguel was later engaged in a one-on-one session to explore the reasons behind his resistance to group participation. 

Date: 1/4/2101

Incident: 2nd occurence of refusal to take prescribed medication 

Action Taken: Nursing staff provided additional support and education and therapeutic engagement by Dr. Jessica Owens to address any fears or misconceptions related to his prescribed medications. 

Date: 4/18/2101

Incident: Observed by Nurse Mary Jane Watson of the patient hoarding various items in his room, including non-permissible objects. 

Action taken: Staff conducted a room check, confiscated unauthorized items, and discussed appropriate belongings with Miguel. A follow-up session with his therapist, Dr. Jessica Owens was scheduled to explore any underlying concern. 

Date: 3/21/2102

Incident:  Engaged in a physical altercation with another patient during a recreational activity 

Action taken: Immediate intervention by staff to separate the individuals involved. Both parties were assessed for injuries, and a report was filed. Increased monitoring and a review of Miguel’s treatment plan were conducted to address potential triggers for aggressive behavior

_____________________________________

Risk Assessments: 

Current Risk level: Moderate 

Factors: History of aggression, resistance to treatment, potential for manipulative behavior 

Interventions: Increased monitoring, ongoing assessment for potential triggers 

_____________________________________

Observation Logs: 

Date/Time: 8/16/2102, 2:30 PM

Observation: Miguel exhibited signs of increased irritability during the group mindfulness session. Requested to leave the session prematurely. 

Staff comments: Noted Miguel’s discomfort during mindfulness exercises. Alternative relaxation techniques were explored for future sessions. 

Date/Time: 12/2/2103, 10:00 AM

Observation: Miguel was observed engaging in a one-on-one conversation with staff during morning indoor activities. Discussed personal interests and aspirations. 

Staff comments: Encouraged Miguel’s open communication. Noted his ability to articulate personal interest, fostering a sense of connection with staff. 

Date/Time: 2/15/2104, 6:45 PM 

Observations: Spends most of his time in the facility’s library, engrossed in reading.

Staff Comments: Positive use of leisure time observed. Reading contributed to a sense of routine and engagement. 

Date/Time: 6/23/2104, 8:30 PM 

Observations: Attended the evening group therapy, contributing to discussions on coping strategies. Demonstrated empathy towards a fellow patient sharing personal challenges.

Staff Comments: Noted Miguel’s willingness to engage in group discussions and support peers. Positive progress in developing empathy and interpersonal skills. 

**Miguel O’Hara has exhibited excellent improvement and staff believes he can be released in 2105, instead of 2107.**

_____________________________________

You closed his folder, taking a look at the photo that decorated the front. Like many patients at Nueva York’s Sanctuary for Mental Healing (NYS-MH), Miguel O’Hara didn’t look like a dangerous individual; he was actually quite handsome—with dark, wavy locks that framed his olive, chiseled face and amber eyes shielded by a pair of black eyeglasses; Dr. O’Hara wasn’t a bad-looking guy.

To ponder upon the atrocities, he could have committed for the sake of science was baffling as you gazed at the photo. The more you inspected the image, the happier you became at the fact he was doing better - better enough to be released back into society.

It was why you were here, anyway…

You tucked the folder under your arm and continued your walk towards his room, passing steel doors that lined the corridor, each secured with heavy bolts and reinforced locks to keep the patients contained and prevent them from harming themselves or others. Occasionally, muffled echoes of distant cries and disjointed whispers seeped through the cracks, adding to the unsettling symphony of the troubled minds that dwelled within.

You've walked these halls many times, but there was something about today that really made your skin crawl. So, it was relieving when you finally found Miguel O’Hara’s room, number 209.

Two guards stood on either side of his door, present only for emergencies. With a deep breath and slight adjustments to the white top, black blazer, and bodycon skirt that covered you, you gave each of them a nod and unlocked his door with a key, entering Miguel’s room…

Upon stepping inside, you instantly took notice of the soft, muted tones of blues and greens dominating the color palette, bringing a sense of serenity to the room. The patient's sleeping area contained the normal necessities—a comfortable bed with crisp, clean linens and a modest seating area. The furniture was arranged in an open and uncluttered manner, with personal touches here and there by the patient himself or for safety precautions. 

For his adoration for reading and science, a small shelf was placed inside his room, displaying a few books and a potted plant, offering familiarity to the scientist.

Your eyes shifted to the large, muscular male who sat upon his bed, dressed in a white t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and slip-on shoes. His massive backside faced you as it seemed he was engrossed in writing, his huge hand moving gracefully upon the page he was working on.

You cast a glance at the camera positioned in the corner of the ceiling in his room, placed there for monitoring and to ensure the patient, and others remain safe. After making sure the camera blinks red twice, showing its activity, you approach him with light steps.

"Miguel O’Hara?" you called out to him in a soft voice, not wishing to disrupt him. All of his movements came to a halt, his body rigid as his large hand placed the pen he was using into the open journal before slowly closing it. You watched him set the book down beside him on the bed, wondering if the handsome male you saw on the photo would be the same seated before you.

It seemed you were watching with batted breath for him to turn around and when he did, the sight of him shocked you and made your heart skip a beat.

You knew from his photo, the male would be gorgeous—so attractive that if he weren't your patient, you'd probably gush over him from afar. But it wasn't his attractiveness that made your breath hitch.

He looked completely different.

He looked…

Otherworldly.

With a cold expression, you stared back at a pair of crimson eyes covered with black eyeglasses, a small smile spreading across his tanned lips, revealing a set of sharp canines. “You must be the therapist that is to evaluate me. Right, Querida?” He inquired with a hum, his deep voice holding a Latino accent. 

You gulped at the intensity of his abnormal scarlet orbs, subconsciously clenching his brown folder in your hands and giving him a nod. “Y-Yes, I am,” you replied, stepping back to give the large male room to stand, and when he did…

He was like a giant…

The bed creaked at his ascent as his massive being towered over you, your head tilting up to maintain eye contact. Choking back how intimidated you were, you gestured over to the small seating area of two white cushioned chairs and a table in the corner of his room. “L-Let’s sit over here to talk,” you proposed, and for a moment, he just stood there, gazing down at you like a mere ant before his tight-lipped smile returned.

With an approving grunt, he stepped in front of you; with his powerful, long legs, it took him little to no time to reach the comfort area and settle down into the white chair, the seat creaking under his heavy weight. You followed behind him, moving to sit across from your new patient and shifting into a comfortable position.

When your eyes met the male's, his crimson eyes were already staring at you, lingering upon your body in a way that made you feel like a microbe under a telescope. You gave him a polite smile, shaking off the unsettling feeling that always rose within you when speaking with the patients. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Dr. Miguel O’Hara. My name is Dr. Y/LN, and as you’ve been informed, I am the therapist here to evaluate you for your release.” You explained sweetly, watching every part of the patient, who remained completely motionless, simply continuing to stare back at you with an expression devoid of all emotion.

“It’s nice to see a new face, doctor. It can get rather boring here,” he uttered, using his middle finger to push his black eyeglasses up the bridge of his broad nose.

You placed his folder down upon the table, turning it to not reveal his photo on the front; you've learned from past experiences that the sight tended to worry them. Bringing your legs to cross over each other, you clasped your hands, placing them on your lap. “Boring?” you asked with furrowed brows. “Why don’t we speak about your time here first, Dr. O’Hara? Is that okay with you?” The inquiry left your lips in a soothing tone, one that calmed most patients upon hearing it; but with this patient, you couldn’t quite tell—he hid his emotions too well.

“Well, maybe not boring…repetitive is a better word,” he corrected himself. “But, dear, I’m fine with speaking of my time here.” He replied with a smile, placing his hands upon the armrests and widening his stance. Your eyes drifted to run along his inviting toned thighs adorned by a pair of gray sweatpants that did little to conceal the curves of the muscles underneath. 

You also took notice of his posture; taking a mental note of openness from the patient before you asked your question, “Well then, may I ask how you are doing during morning activities? It's stated that you prefer Creative Arts Therapy in the mornings, correct?”

He nodded, his sharp canines peeking out from between his lips as he spoke. “Indeed, mostly during Creative Arts Therapy, I write,” he explained in a deep voice. “I’ve grown to learn that to better settle my thoughts is to put them on paper.”

“And that is an excellent form of therapy that you’ve discovered for yourself, Dr. O’Hara. May I ask, what exactly do you write?” You asked, trying to ignore the faint sight of madness in his crimson orbs. “I write down my thoughts, ideas, and aspirations,” he simply said. 

You hummed, giving him a smile. “How about future plans? Do you write about those?” At your question, he snickered, giving you a wry, dismissive head shake. “I…don’t write much on that,” he replied. “I’ll hate to get my hopes up,” he added in an amused, yet somewhat disheartened tone.

“Get your hopes up?” you inquired, eyebrows creasing in confusion. “May you elaborate, Dr. O’Hara?” The male nodded, his large fingers stroking the armrest of his chair in a deep caress. “I do not wish to anticipate that I will be released early,” his caresses of the chair never ceasing, and his eyes trained on his moving fingers.

You studied him, taking in his deflated voice and how he spoke in a slow manner. Your gaze shifted to take in the intricate motion his fingers moved upon the armrest as there were multiple reasons a patient would do such a thing.

He could be nervous, frustrated, impatient, or simply doing it to comfort himself. Recalling his mannerisms from previously, you could cross out your thought of him being nervous; the way the scientist carried himself was in a way of confidence that couldn’t be faked, so it left you with the last three—frustration, impatience, or comfort.

Without further observation, you couldn’t pinpoint his reasoning for his odd gesture, instead giving him a soft grin and replying to his previous words of anticipation. “I understand your concerns about getting your hopes up, especially considering that you were rewarded with an early release date based on your wonderful behavior as of late,” you sympathized, “So it’s completely normal to feel cautious about expectations,” you said, taking in the abnormally muscular male before you. 

“But let’s explore these feelings, shall we? Let’s say you are released in the next two weeks; what would your life look like, Dr. O’Hara?” you asked, deeply intrigued by his answer.

A moment of silence filled the room after your inquiry, the doctor continuing to make intricate patterns upon the armrest with his finger before his red eyes returned back to you. A nervous chuckle rumbled from his chest—the sound restoring life back into the room. “Ahh, I always get stumped on that question. It's another reason I haven’t written much about it in my journal.”

You nodded, placing your hands upon your legs. “Well, let’s start small,” you proposed with a grin. “You seem to have taken a liking to the hobby of writing while staying here at NYS-MH. Would you like to expand on that?” Miguel gave you a thoughtful hum, his pointer finger continuing to glide against the armrest of his chair. 

“I’ve…always wanted to write a book.” Your eyes snapped from his fingers to rest upon his chiseled face, surprise and amazement present upon your facial features at his desire. “Oh really? And what would that book be about?”

“Genetics, of course.” He chuckled, the mention of his past interest that caused his descent into madness making your heart skip a beat. Your eyes narrowed, the amazement fading from your being. You leaned back into your chair, keeping your composure.

“Are you still interested in Genetics, Dr. O’Hara?” Your inquiry being met with a nod from the patient, one that he didn’t hesitate on responding with. “I’ve worked in the field for almost my entire life and I’m exceptionally good at it.” He explained with a voice of knowledge in a low, deep whisper. “So why would I abandon my hard-earned skills and education?” 

His reasoning on his maintained attachment to the field was an excellent one, but like many things, it could be a trigger; causing the once cured doctor to revert back to his old ways of sadism and horrendous acts for the sake of science. This potential trigger would not only bring harm to everyone once more but erase the hard work that Miguel had achieved at the mental institution to fix. 

You cleared your throat before speaking. “I…understand your desire to write a book about Genetics. It’s an intriguing subject.” You said, preparing yourself to ask a question that would surely strike the doctor. “But considering the circumstance of your past experiments and the impact they had, how do you plan to approach the topic responsibly?” You asked, watching his reaction closely in anticipation. 

After your question it seemed as if everything stopped—froze even… 

You gazed at Miguel taking in his tanned face that stared back at you. His crimson eyes were empty behind his black frames and his posture was completely still in his seat. 

You’ll think he was a statue…

“Dr. O’Hara?” You called out to him which seemed to snap him from his thoughts. His red eyes slowly shifted to you, his tanned lips pulling into a small smile. 

“Responsibility, my dear therapist, is such a heavy word…” He said with a smirk. “But I wish to ask, what compelled you to work with the mental? It’s a challenging profession for those with weaker minds.” Miguel said, casting an odd aura upon the room with his every word. “I should know…many say they are for the discovery of science and when the time presents itself, they get cold feet.” He stated, his finger ceasing its movement upon the armrest. 

It wasn't unusual for a patient to desire to ask you a question, but the way he gazed at you with his intense eyes and how his gravelly voice caused a shiver to run down your spine made you hesitant, which the patient seemed to have noticed. “I only ask since you handle your job so beautifully.” He complimented, his eyes taking in your seated position. “I only wish to know what led you here before me.” The words left the patient’s lips in an ominous manner, however, upon saying such a thing his olive face held a smile that could melt anyone’s heart.

His fanged grin, oddly, sent a wave of warmth through your being and caused you to forget your reply to his question. You shifted in your seat, trying to keep your composure and recall your departed answer. “W-well, I…umm… entered this field by the simple fact of being interested in psychology a-and the way the mind works.” You replied once you found the words, unable to hide the stammering of your voice due to how unnerving everything was becoming. Miguel nodded slowly, running his tongue along the tip of his fang, the action drawing your attention. 

“Your interest in the subject of the mind is rather…fascinating.” Abruptly, he leaned up in his seat, resting his elbows upon his knees and invading your personal space. Your heart skipped a beat at his suddenness and at being able to see just how abnormal and captivating his scarlet eyes and sharp fangs were; it caused goosebumps to rise upon your skin at the mere sight. 

“I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?” He asked, his gaze never letting up and keeping its intensity. Due to his closeness, you almost missed his inquiry, but upon detecting it, it surprised you. Hastily, you shook your head, dismissing his ideology and rejecting his notion. “N-No, I wouldn’t exactly describe you in that way, Dr. O’Hara.” You swiftly replied. 

“You wouldn’t?” He asked, his voice low and slow. “So, how would you describe me, Doctor?” He grinned, the fluorescent lights of his room bouncing off his sharp fangs as his eyes were filled with a hint of amusement, though it was impossible to ignore how it seemed he was toying with you. 

“I…see individuals, like you, as people who have become lost in the darkness and just need assistance in finding the light once more.” You stated, his eyebrow raising and a chuckle escaping him at your answer. “A bold claim…” He said, his eyes tracing your figure and lingering upon how tightly you were now grasping your skirt.  

“For a little thing like you…” 

Miguel muttered imperceptibly that you almost didn't hear him. “E-Excuse me?” You asked in shock and with furrowed eyebrows causing the patient to snicker, shaking his head. “Just that your view is a unique way of thinking and a…intriguing one, in fact.” He said, leaning back in his chair and adopting a relaxed position once more. 

“It’s really fascinating how intellectual you are, doctor.” He grinned. “Few possess the ability to navigate the labyrinth of thoughts of the mental. I applaud you on that.” Miguel praised, returning back to running his palm along the white armrest whilst giving you his undivided attention. 

In your gut, you knew his recalling of the statement said previously was false, you were certain he said something that was out of the norm. 

But could you have mistaken? 

You took in his face, taking note of how he gazed at you. The scientist was attractive, and normally during your job you were able to ignore that appealing quality and complete the task at hand, but right now, it seems impossible. 

The way his red eyes ran along your body like he was undressing you, made you blush. You couldn’t explain it, but you were stuck between your desires and your sense of reason. 

You were aware of Miguel’s sadistic mannerisms and how there could be a chance he wasn’t fully well as he lets on, it was why you were here, but the longer you spoke with him, the more the task at hand was leaving you. 

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease he gave you at times. 

“M-May I ask how have you been feeling lately? Any changes?” You asked, changing the topic and settling your eyes upon Miguel once more to see him smirking. “It’s all been the same, doctor.” He began. “We have group therapies on Wednesday, daily morning activities and indoor activities…” He said, wetting his lips with the swipe of his tongue, the sight causing the tips of your ears to burn red. 

Sometime while he was speaking, you shamefully zoned out to taking in how sexy he looked. 

His white shirt tightly hugged his body, giving one a view of his hardened nipples, defined pecs, and washboard abs. Every curve of muscle was accentuated under the white fabric that teased anyone who saw. The muscles of his legs pressed against his gray sweatpants, and your eyes widened slightly at being able to make out the enormity that rested against his thigh.  The sight causing you to bite your lip…

“Querida?” 

The sexy patient called out to you, snapping you from your trance. “Y-Yes!?” You inquired, clearing your throat and taking a more assertive and relaxed position to try and dismiss your previous lack of professionalism. Miguel snickered. “It seemed you were off somewhere else…and here I thought that was my job.” He joked, causing you to chuckle nervously. 

“M-My apologies. You may continue.” You replied, wishing to proceed as if none of that happened. Miguel smirked, his crimson eyes roaming along your body before his finger began to tap upon the armrest.

“In my leisure, I write in my journal, read, or tend to my plant.” He finished, keeping it short and gesturing to the bookshelf in the room that held a pot of beautiful flowers. You smiled seeing how the black flowers bloomed upon the shelf. 

“May I ask, what is it that you write in your journal?” You asked, looking back at him to see his eyebrows furrowed. “It wouldn’t be ethical if I asked what you write in your diary, would it, doctor?” He inquired, causing you to instantly become regretful of your words. You casted him an apologetic look. “M-My apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

“No…it’s fine. Your fascination is interesting…” He trailed off, a tap of his finger following your words. You glanced back over at his plant once more, the flower really captivating you. “The plant is family to the Calla Lilies.” Miguel answered before you could even ask, looking over at you as you continued to inspect the plant from your seat. “Hmm…I’ve never seen a plant like this.” 

“Because this plant, in particular, is very rare.” He explained. “Native to South Africa, Escape, is a very rare find.” Miguel said with a fanged grin. “It’s why I made it mandatory that it was brought with me when I was assigned at NYS-MH.” 

You stared in awe at the abnormally black flower. This was your first time seeing a plant of pitch blackness that hadn’t already withered away, but Miguel’s next words grabbed your attention. 

“But one day while tending to my flowers, I hit an…epiphany of sorts.”  Miguel told you, causing you to cock your head in puzzlement. 

His words intrigued you…

“May I ask what epiphany you reached, Dr. O’Hara?” At your question, Miguel gave you a look of appreciation and sincerity. “I understand that upon my arrival, I wasn’t…in the best state of mind.” He said with a sigh. “But after being here, I feel like I’m ready.” 

“Ready for what?” You asked, bringing a small smile to his lips. “I…believe I’m ready to see the world again.” He answered, giving you a genuine look of certainty. 

His realization filled you with gratification. You reached for his brown folder, believing he had, indeed, improved. The first major step for the patient was seeing that they were initially unwell, which the patient had achieved. 

“I’m greatly pleased with your recognition of this epiphany of yours, Dr. O’Hara.” You said, holding his folder in your hands. “But I believe you are ready to answer some more serious questions.” You said, glancing up at him. “Are you ready?” You asked, seeking permission of his state of mind before proceeding. 

With a nod from Miguel, you opened his folder, pulling out a few of his documents to begin asking more serious questions regarding them. “I’ve noticed in your next of kin that you asked for them to not be aware of your mental treatment.” You began, looking up at Miguel to see him already gazing back at you, his crimson orbs trained on you. The sight made your heart flutter. “M-May I ask how you would cope on the outside without your familial relations knowing of t-the treatments and necessary tools you've learned whilst being here?” At your inquiry, Miguel’s face hardened, his crimson eyes darkening.

“Well, you see, my dear therapist, family can be a bit…overwhelming.” He uttered, tapping his finger against the armrest once more like a metronome; his eye contact never breaking. “I’ve decided to take a more independent route for now.” He explained in a deep, slow voice. “But friends, colleagues—people who don't burden me with unnecessary questions about the past are who I seek.” He said, his voice holding a hint of coldness as his jaw clenched. 

“Because, it’s important to focus on the present and the future, rather than the past, don’t you think…

Doctor?” 

You gulped, his words seeming to have you in a vice. It was as if he had some kind of control over you, all of the rules and regulations you learned whilst being an evaluation therapist at NYS-MH faded from your mind. You couldn’t figure out what you found so enticing about him. 

Was it the way he looked or behaved? How he seemed to speak with such intellect in a tone of voice that could lull one to sleep?   

You were puzzled…

But you were certain something was happening, and it was greatly affecting you and your ability to think clearly. 

You hesitantly nodded, clenching his folder and feeling your cheeks redden once again.  “T-That is correct.” You agreed, not believing what you were saying. “I would understand your desire to look past your previous mistakes and move forward.” You uttered, trying to keep your attention on the patient. 

“Indeed…Mistakes.” He smirked, a small chuckle passing his lips, his finger seeming to tap against the armchair after your words. Your eyes looked from his hand and to his face, studying how his coffee-brown locks blowned gently in the breeze from the vent overhead, and to his defined cheekbones and broad nose that made him even more captivating… 

 “Have any more questions for me, doctor?” 

You jumped at his inqury, noticing you were just staring at him. 

What the hell was wrong with you?!

A little disheveled, you fumbled through the folder for the next pages of information you sought, picking up his documents on his treatment plan of medications and his incident reports. “Umm…I-I wanted to ask about your medications.” You began, wetting your lips and holding the papers up to hide behind them. “T-There were two occurrences where you refused to take your medication. M-may I ask why you refused?” You asked, peeking around the paper to see the patient adjust his black eyeglasses upon his face along with the repeated thudding of his finger upon the chair. 

“I must ask, how would you feel if someone took away your identity?” 

“W-what?!” You asked in surprise, lowering the pages hastily. A laugh rumbled from his broad chest, giving you a clear view of his otherworldly fangs that made the pit of your stomach twist into knots. “You heard me, doctor.” He stated in a manner that was to be amusing but only made one disturbed. 

“What if someone was trying to force you to be someone else? Someone you are not?” He asked, causing you to chew your inner cheek and ponder his question. “I…I guess I wouldn’t like that.” 

“Indeed…” He replied. “Any creature would despise the fact of forced transformation of oneself. It’s the reason you cannot simply change a savage tiger to being a tamed kitten in your home.” The dark-haired male explained. “It’s because a tiger would always cling to its savage ways, it's what keeps them alive—it’s what they enjoy.”  

“That’s…a great analogy, Dr. O’Hara.” 

“Why thank you, dear.” Miguel replied with a smirk before his old expression shifted to hold furrowed eyebrows and a frown—a set of facial features that instantly tugged at your heart. “But…the true reason I refused my medication was because…” He heaved a deep sigh, biting his lip. “The depressants make me sleepy and tired all the time, and…the idea of having to depend on medicine to stabilize my irritability and emotions is rather disheartening to me.” He said in a sorrowful voice. “I refused them because I believe I can be better without them.” 

You listened closely to his words, taking note of his concerns and feeling rather empathetic. “In all honesty, how would you explain your current mental health condition?” You asked, placing your compassionate eyes upon him. 

He gave you a heartfelt smile, one that made your heart soar. “Like I said previously, I feel better, Doctor.” Miguel said in genuinely. “I’ve seen the errors in my ways and am deeply disgusted by what I’ve done to innocent individuals…t-too myself.” He said, looking away at the ground in shame. 

“I wish to return back into society and start anew.” He replied. “Be the man that I’ve wanted to be—not some madman who allowed his idea to get too out of hand that led to the deaths of innocence.” Miguel professed to you with an emotional and hearty voice. 

You nodded slowly as you noticed his scarlet eyes flicker down to your hands that held the brown folder. “Doctor…

May I?” 

Dr. O’Hara asked, extending his large, calloused hand to you, seeking your palm. Your eyes widened, thickly gulping and looking back up to meet his red orbs that seemed to suck you in—enticing you to take it. 

Physical connection with patients were strictly forbidden, but the sadden look of desperation upon his face led you to take his hand. You placed the brown folder upon the table before resting your hand in his large palm, and instantly yours looked to have shrunken in size. With a fluttering heart and belly, you met his eyes and instantly melted under his crimson eyes. 

“Please, Cariño. I assure you, I’ll be on my best behavior.”  

The patient affirmed, giving your hand an affectionate squeeze, following his heartfelt promise. Your breath caught in your throat at his genuine gaze and words. 

From his evaluation, you couldn’t help but agree that he was ready…

He didn’t utter a word of sadism or show signs of insanity, revealing his first diagnosis of Psychopathy was treated or can be suppressed. He exhibited signs of sympathy for his victims, and also didn’t become angry at triggering questions, displaying that his second diagnosis of antisocial personality disorder was also cured or treated. 

Like he said…

Dr. Miguel O’Hara was ready. 

You gave him a small smile, placing your free hand atop of his as Miguel’s eyes shifted down to your kind gesture and back onto your face. “Okay…I believe you.” You said, caressing his knuckles with your thumb. “I’ll be sure to send in your evaluation report that you are good to go.” You told him, but as an evaluation therapist you weren’t supposed to say, but you couldn’t stop the words from spilling from your mouth. 

Giving him a departed smile, you released his hands and collected your things. His touch still burned into your skin and left you yearning for more of him. 

You felt his abnormal eyes on you as you went to the door. Suddenly, upon putting your hand on the doorknob, a cold shiver ran down your back—one that instantly made you come to a halt. Your eyebrows furrowed at the unsettling sensation, causing you to bite your lip in nervousness.

“And Miguel…” You called out to him, using his name and looking over your shoulder at the dark-haired male. His tanned, chiseled face held an expression of hidden joy and interest as he turned towards you, his attention captured by your call whilst he remained seated in his chair

You clenched the folder tightly, hastily shifting your gaze to meet his scarlet eyes—the previous feeling of discomfort and unease vanishing.

“I-I hope you keep your word.” You said in a voice full of reverence. Miguel returned your words with a reassuring smirk, his sharp canines poking from over his bottom lip. 

“You have my word, Doctor.  I’ll be on my best behavior.” 

After turning in Dr. Miguel O'Hara’s evaluation report and going home, the scientist was still on your mind.

The way the doctor looked at you with his beautiful red eyes from behind his black spectacles, with a gaze of interest, to the fanged smiles and smirks he gave you—merely thinking about it made your cheeks redden.

You bit your lip, feeling a need to cure this desire for him, but you decided to push it away. You couldn’t feel this way about him…

You couldn’t…

…

..

But you did…

Extremely…

You lay under the blankets of your bed, tossing and turning as every time you closed your eyes to sleep, he would fill your mind. 

Especially the glimpse you got of his package. 

How his massive member was accentuated underneath the gray fabric of his sweatpants, revealing how thick and long he was. 

The remembrance made you drool… 

It had been forever since you’d touched yourself. Being a therapist at a mental facility was a rather time-consuming job, and you weren’t really interested in the many men who tried to get your attention.

Until him… 

Why did it have to be him of all people? 

It was a guilty pleasure, that was for sure—to have fallen so hard for this doctor, your patient who had many wounds that still needed healing.

But oddly, his wounds only pulled you in even more…

You bit your lip, allowing your hands to begin roaming along your body, imagining they were his calloused ones—remembering how his large hands practically engulfed yours when holding his hand, and how rough they felt.

Oh, how good it would feel if they were the ones touching you. 

Giving your clothed breasts a squeeze through your shirt, you moaned softly. Despite his past of being sadistic and cruel to others, you imagined him being gentle with you—caressing your body and touching you in a way that stole your breath every time. You arched your back as your thumb barely flicked over your pebbled nipples, drawing a whimper from your lips.

Your panties were heavily drenched in your juices due to your core's insistent pleas for stimulation and touch. Finally satisfying yourself, with a sharp tug, you pulled your panties down, freeing your pulsating pussy. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, hastily getting into a comfortable position on your back and allowing your legs to fall apart. With closed eyes, you allowed thoughts of Dr. O'Hara to guide your movements. 

His massive hand ran along your abdomen, teasing you with his skilled fingertips and trailing lower. A gasp escaped your lips as your fingers brushed softly along your throbbing bud and soppy folds, spreading your juices along the sensitive area.

You imagined Dr. O'Hara above you, his red eyes gleaming in the moonlight as he smirked down at you, pressing his large middle finger into your entrance. You moaned, feeling his finger filling your tight walls. 

Whimpers escaped your lips at how good his finger felt inside of you, your back arching in desire for more of him. His smirk broadened at your eagerness, as he slowly drew his finger out to the tip before pushing back in, quickly finding a rhythm and keeping at it with each thrust.

Your toes curled, burying your face in your inner elbow as you continued to finger your wet pussy, wishing Dr. O'Hara was here, but imagining would have to do. It wasnt long before a heat began to pool in your lower belly, your breathing picking up. 

"Taking my fingers so well, dear," Dr. O'Hara whispered into your ear, gently nipping along your lobe and throat, his fangs grazing your skin. You whined into your arm, his fingers picking up speed and hooking just right inside your pussy, bringing you to your blissful end. 

With a loud cry, your thighs trembled horribly as your juices spilled in hot spurts, soaking your hand and the sheets underneath. 

Your eyes fluttered close, trying to overcome the buzz that overwhelmed your body after your release. It took a moment, but when you caught your breath and your vision settled, you withdrew your fingers from your pussy, casting your eyes upon them to see that they, not Dr. O'Hara's, were covered in your juices. You exhaled in disappointment. 

Despite how good it felt imagining it was him, you couldn't help wanting Dr. O'Hara in the physical…

"I imagine I must seem like a puzzle that’s meant to be solved by you, don’t I, dear?" 

As you lay there, still tinglinh from your pleasurable moment, his words filled your head, leaving you to ponder his question once more. 

Did you believe him to be a puzzle that only you could solve? In the moment, you said no, but deep down, you wanted nothing more than to thoroughly fix him.

Like many patients upon being released, they still faced numerous challenges, including reentering society, finding a job, and avoiding triggers, after departing from NYS-MH.

He was going to need help, and with all your heart, you wanted to be there for him. 

And you were going to. 

No matter what…

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the first part of 'Tangled in his Webs.' 😆I really enjoyed writing Miguel in this persona as it was different and honestly fun, especially with him being a darker character. It was rather new for me writing in this manner, despite some challenges here and there, I'm overall proud of the outcome and I hope you are too!

@migueloharacumslut, thanks so much for the request, and I hope you are even more happier that it's to be more than one part, lol. But once again, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed!

Make sure to like, comment, reblog, and follow! If you'd like to add a request to the kink series, Entangled Desire, or have an idea in general, just message me or submit an ask. I hope you all have a wonderful day and stay safe! 💙💙

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[reidsexual]

Forgotten II

It’s taking everything in you not to focus on the latest news circling Gotham. But everywhere you turn, there it is.

“Just in: Nightwing returns!”

“Nightwing reportedly seen battling against infamous KGBeast!”

“Peacemaker of the Night strikes back!”

So here you were - grabbing some coffee despite the late hour and the chilling breeze that accompanied it. You knew Dick wouldn’t approve, as Bludhaven wasn’t exactly known for its harmless background.

But who cares? He wasn’t here now.

Truth be told, you wanted to see Dick. Scratch that, that was an understatement. You were aching to see him.

But the questionability of the entire situation much outweighed that of your desire to speak to him again. How much of his life does he remember? Does he even want to see you? What would you say to him?

You take a sip of your coffee to calm your thoughts, the glow of the streetlights only enhancing the posters stuck on the walls. All of which were about Nightwing’s latest spectacle with KGBeast in Bludhaven.

You don’t even catch yourself staring until you feel your phone vibrate against your pocket. You peel your attention away from all the candid shots and bold words to look at the caller.

It’s Donna.

You pick up, holding the phone to your ear while simultaneously walking down the road. “Donna?” You speak her name, wondering to yourself why she’s calling out of the blue.

“Have you visited Dick?” She asks, cutting to the chase. You sigh dramatically, seeing your breath hang around in the air from the coolness of the weather.

“No.” Replying simply. It’s probably better to keep your words short and simple.

“No? Or not yet?” Garth butts in, taking you by surprise. You slap a hand on your forehead. Of course Garth is listening in.

“Garth.” Donna warns, and you can practically feel the seriousness of the stare she shoots at him.

“We’re not rushing you. Take as much time as you need to adjust. It can’t possibly be easy, trust me, I know.” Your friend reassures you, warming your heart quite a bit. At times like this, you were grateful to have a friend who understood you so well.

“I know. I know.” It’s been hard for you to focus on how you felt, especially since you didn’t want to give much thought to how devastated you were when Dick lost his memories.

You should be jumping with joy, but you feel so numb. So empty. And what scares you is the fact that you don’t know where it’s coming from.

“You still there?” Donna checks in after a long pause, finding your silence quite unnerving.

“Thank you for checking in, Donna. Garth too.” And with that, you hang up the phone. You toss your unfinished coffee into the nearest trash bin and put your head in your hands. You don’t even like coffee.

You almost curse out loud when you see the words written in spray paint right above the bin. “Bludhaven is safe again! Long live, Nightwing!” It reads, with a drawing of his symbol right next to it.

Your eyes slide to the picture pasted below, barely handing on with a measly piece of tape. Your eyes mist over, a shot of Dick as Nightwing staring back at you.

“Handsome guy.” A familiar voice says, and you can feel your body immediately stiffen up. You can’t turn around. You shouldn’t. But your emotions get the better of you.

Your gaze shifts sideways and there he is. Dick Grayson. Not Ric or Nightwing.

“Dick?” You whisper uncertainly. He puts his hands up sarcastically, though his gaze on you remains intent and soft. “Caught me.”

The back of your eyes prickle and you can feel your throat start to close up. But you can’t cry in front of him - not when this is his first time seeing you after everything.

“How much do you remember?” You don’t know if you can even trust yourself to speak, with how foggy your mind is and how much effort it takes you to even utter a syllable in his presence.

“I remember enough.” He takes a step forward, and you don’t even notice that you take a step back before you see the distraught look on his face.

“You didn’t come to visit me.” His words carry no malice, no hint of accusation. Just plain stating. But your guilt still eats at you either way.

Your face falls, too ashamed to look into his eyes in fear that you might get sucked into them. “I didn’t know how to react.” You say truthfully.

“That’s fair.” Dick nods his head before nodding over to the trash can. “What’s not fair is wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee.”

You know he’s only trying to lighten up the situation, but it only makes you realize that he’s been watching you for longer than he’s been speaking.

“Dick, I just need to get my mind right. Set my thoughts straight.” You start carefully, the near-icy weather making you feel numb and frozen up. Or was it Dick himself?

“I let you slip away from me once. I will not let it happen again.” Before you realize it, you two are a step apart from each other. Your breathings are in sync, and you realize that he’s probably as nervous as you are right now.

“That wasn’t your fault.” You shake your head, your shoes being the only thing you can afford to look at for now.

“Then why are you acting so distant?” He sounds pained, and you know that if you look straight at him - you’ll be as vulnerable as he sounds now.

“A lot of things have happened, Dick. You can’t expect to just regain your memories and have everything work out. It doesn’t work like that.” You know you could be acting quite unfair right now, he’s just trying to make amends. But even ice melts when not taken care of properly.

“Can you look at me?”

You shake your head.

Dick gently tips your chin up, slowly enough to let you know that you can push his touch away. But you don’t.

He’s staring at you now, and you can see the faint rims of red in the corner of his eyes. He’s been crying. You can only hope it’s not noticeable on you either.

“I know you’re hurting. And you don’t deserve that. You deserve to be loved for - and I swear to you, I will make up for all I’ve missed. I can promise you that much.” His voice is so soft, his breath brushing against your lips in a way that threatens bringing back old memories.

It takes a lot of willpower for you to not let his words get to you. So you ask a question you know he’s going to avoid. “And what of Bea?”

He looks like you’ve taken him off guard, his gaze faltering. “I broke up with her.” He discloses, self loathing oozing in his words.

“Why?”

“To protect her from the lifestyle I have. She-she shouldn’t have to-”

“Handle it?” You finish for him, unable to hide your frustration. He doesn’t answer, looking at you like he wants to explain something in a way he doesn’t quite know how.

You grab his wrist and push his hand off your chin. Closing your eyes for a moment, you let yourself speak. Really speak.

“Dick, I love you. I’ve known you since we were kids, do you really think I’m capable of despising you? The affection I have for you will never leave my soul until I’m off this earth.” You ramble, months of holding in your tongue coming to a halt.

“So yes, when you couldn’t remember me or any of us, it hurt! I had to pick myself up, start fresh, throw my emotions on the backseat.” Dick looks like he’s about to say something, but he closes his mouth again to let you speak.

“I’m not blaming you for KGBeast’s actions. And I can’t express how much I want his head on a platter for what he did to you. But did you really think nothing would change between us? It’s unfair.”

You don’t even notice that you’re crying until you feel Dick’s hands on both sides of your face, rubbing your tears away as gently as he can with his thumbs.

The moonlight enhances his features, you think. Giving a soft glow to his facial structure, all the way down to the jawline you would press soft kisses to every morning.

“And you fall in love with this beautiful girl. Who makes you happy, even when you’re not you. You got yourself the life you deserved, and you threw it all away!” You know you’re shouting now, and you pound your fists against his chest.

You know even the strongest of your strikes can’t hurt him, which only frustrates you to no end. And the question rises - why do you want to hurt him?

“Why do you do this to yourself?” You cry out, sobbing in between words. “Why don’t you allow yourself to be happy, dammit, Dick!”

Dick does nothing to stop your punches against his chest, instead circling his arms around your figure and bringing you in closer to him.

You’ve missed this. You missed the feeling of him pulling you in, your bodies fitting together perfectly. But not under these circumstances.

Eventually, your punches slow down, weaken. You break into tears, frenzied arguments turning into broken noises and gasps of air as Dick holds you close. He makes sure you don’t fall to the ground, keeping you standing when you don’t have enough strength to do it for yourself.

Your tears make a wet patch on his shirt and he rests his chin on the top of your head, running his fingers down your hair the way he used to. “I know, baby, I know.” He says soothingly, even if the sight of you like this makes him feel like crumbling to the ground too.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats several times, and you are too. You’re sorry for the future you guys could’ve had together. You’re sorry for the missed time. You’re sorry for letting him go.

[kissingchoso]

Choso is obsessed with kissing you.

Which is crazy considering less than two months ago, he hadn’t a single clue what a kiss even was. He remembers staring at you, face neutral but there was a slightly consider look in his eyes when you asked him if he’s had his first kiss. To which he told you in confidence that he never has and you took it upon yourself to let him know exactly what it entailed.

At the first few kisses were a little messy and uncoordinated but Choso is a very fast learner. For his first make out session, he had you panting, staring up at him with a surprised expression while he looked hungry to eat you up some more.

Choso never had felt this level of desire before. Before, this was a foreign concept to him, another thing to add on to the pile of what makes humans more complex and frustrating. But it wasn’t until you were placing your soft hands on his cheeks and pulling his lips against yours did he realize. He wants to do this often.

He doesn’t understand why there’s blood rushing down to his nether region. All to the point where his cock is bulging against his loose fitting pants. All he can remember is feeling assured when you looked at him from your seated position on his lap and whispering to him that it was normal.

It was human.

Since then, Choso ‘pops a boner’ (thank you Itadori), whenever you’re on his lap and dancing your pretty lips against his.

It’s to the point where Choso is craving it at odd hours of the day.

His first thought in the morning is how much he needs to have his lips and body pressed against yours. Throughout his slow afternoons, he seeks you with the intent of having you sinking in the sheets beneath him to make out. Even in the middle of the night when he knows your asleep but all he can think of is being near you because of your ability to scratch that itch he can’t figure out what it’s coming from.

It’s no different now.

Choso is returning from a mission, body filled with scratches and dried blood. He just barely l acknowledges his younger brother in passing before he goes to your room and knocks a couple of times.

You answer the door wearing your loungewear clothes. Somewhere behind you, your book lays forgotten on your bed with soft music playing from your computer. This is the first time he’s felt peace since this leaving earlier this morning.

You give him a soft grin at the sight of him standing and not looking like he’s putting in strenuous amount of effort in doing so. “How does the other guy look?” You teased some.

“Dead.” Is all Choso responds with. A very literal response but it draws a giggle out of you and Choso feels proud of it.

You drag him into your peaceful world so that you can help clean him up. He was leaning against your bathroom counter with his hands resting in the cool surface behind him. His hair was down from their pigtails and he swapped out his bloody attire for some random pieces of clothing he never knew you “borrowed” from him.

He was watching you pack up the first aid kit, tossing out the soiled gauze and failed to place bandages. Now your…. person of conflicting interest was all patched up and looking fresh.

He watches you with his normal expression put the items away before coming to stand before him. “How do you feel?” You ask, voice soft and patient.

Choso just looks down at the professional level job you did on him and he simply nods at you. “Better.”

You smile that normal gorgeous one and he grins at you, a sight that’s rare but you appreciate it every time your eyes are blessed with the sight. You breathe out his name, but Choso cuts you off by pushing himself up off the counter and standing tall in front of you.

“I really would like to kiss you right now. Is that okay?”

Oh you’re going to eat him up one day.

“Sure, hotshot. But let’s go to the bed first, yeah?”

Now it would be unfair if you let Choso hold himself up after such a crazy fight. That’s why you have to coax him to lay down in his back and shush him once you’re straddling his lap.

Any complaints died on his tongue and he took the time to remind himself of what your lips feel like. He grunted against your lips, placing his hand on your thigh.

There he goes again, growing hard underneath you with no regard of it. You let out a soft moan at the sensation of it, dragging your hips up and down slowly to rub his cock. Choso’s grip on you tightens. He even rocks his hips in time with your sensual grinding.

You pull away from his lips to look at him properly. “This okay?” You ask, breathlessly.

Choso looks up at you with a wild expression in his eyes. “We’ve never done this before…”

“I know, I know,” you pant against his lips. Your nose nudges against his and you stare up at him with a little smile. “Do you wish to stop? If it’s too much then I shall not force you.”

Choso immediately shakes his head no. Eyes widened with a new emotion swirling in them. Knowing it’s his first time and his body is probably in no shape to be doing anything too extravagant, you stick to simply moving your hips back and forth against his completely hardened boner.

Curiously, his hips thrust upwards to meet yours a couple of times and he realizes very quickly that this was a good call. You return your mouth onto his, moaning against his parted lips as you humped him like a little bunny.

There’s a wet patch forming on the front of his pants and Choso doesn’t have it in him to care about that right now. Or the tight coil in his stomach that feels that it’s going to break into two any second now. He’s solely memorizing the feel of your lips on his, his tongue roughly pushing against yours just to taste you.

He remembers chasing your lips when you tried to pull away from him. He only hummed at the soft chuckle that escaped your throat before you are placing a hand on his collarbone to gently hold him back.

“We should get naked. It’ll feel better then,” you simply suggest.

“Naked?” His eyes are furrowed.

He’s never seen another woman naked. He’d only recently gotten used to this form himself. But with the subtle fire going behind your eyes and the ache coming between his legs, maybe it’ll be best to trust you for the millionth time in his lifetime.

[getodrools]

GOOD AFTERNOON LAVIII !! hwo are ya :3

i might js make an everyday appearance but HEAR ME OUT !! a year ago or so i made a lil joke saying i want toji to fuck me with his gun but like.. what if he actually did > 0 <

just wanted to share that :333 IM SO HUNGRYYY, im cravin pancakes but im pancakeless :( you could he sleeping so if you are i hope ur sleeping well and dreaming of super cute things :D : D TA TAAAA (that’s a fancy bye)

— pearl anon

໒꒰ྀ ྀིᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ omg gm, i was dreamin’ ! ♡ ‘n i’ve been well, which i hope you've been feeling the same too pearl ! <3 besides the no pancakes disruption ;( ( ! ! but i do hope this feeds ur cravings in some way ??! sob — chocolate pancakes ( >> ) or fruit-based ??

★ ┆ CONFESSIONS .ᐟ ───── TOJI FUSHIGURO ‧

⟣ WARNINGS ‧ MDNI | f! reader | pwp, dub con ( coercion ), gun / fear / and power play, interrogation, degrading, slight praising, squirting, choking / asphyxiation, humiliation, &’ dacryphilia. ᡣ 𐭩 | WC ‧ 1.1K + |

“Tell me where your brother is.” The silencer attached to the sauntering man's gun was cold – at first… The teasing against your ridden hood was no longer enough to set you straight – to spill out any more information he coveted for, solely wreaking a mess out of you; a spill of only silky cum ran down the table he interrogated you on, all shame flowed into a glistening puddle below…

Now the slim, steel barrel between the quaver of your thighs was scolding… “This’ll all end if you just open more than these pretty legs and tell me where my scared little target is. Alright?” And he jams it deep, no hesitation in plugging you up with a loaded gun to the hilt…

Slippery folds spread wide to make room ‘till the invading metal eases in – ramming through your cum-soaked embrace. It hilted in your steaming depths with shocking ease before dragging back with a slight roll; he'd twist at the handle to slide around — left and right, left and right like a q-tip swirling around.

Eyes squeezing tight, “Sir… Please, I told you–” You hiccup, “Told you… I don't know…” You didn't know him, or even knew your brother had a damn hitman chasing him down. Well, it’s a slight explanation as to why he abruptly vanished last week… but you still had no clue of the exact reason!

You didn't know anything!

But you do know, you couldn't risk your brother's life any further. Damnning family loyalty.

The scar lined down the broad man's lips wrinkled stiffly as he frowned, “Where did you see him last goddamnit.” You shake your head, almost a sob falling through feeble lips in response.

Still not good enough. He clicks his tongue.

“Sweetheart,” The mix of gentle words and a pistol shoved up your pussy was… odd, “Before he left, did you at least see him take a scroll?” Raspy voice drawing out slow for you, he tilts his head, “Think real hard f’me, ok?” You barely could muster up words! How in the world could you even remember a stupid piece of paper while a gun is lodged inside you?!

Oh fuck…

Your eyes fill with light, and so does the killers, believing you were about to spew out the truth, “Yeah, yeah, I know that look, tell me.” The only truth spewing out was your cunt reacting vividly to the twisting pole splitting through you.

Another, milky mess splatters at his grey pants and around his gun. Runny with a shimmer – damp and soiled, he soughed as you tremble embarrassingly along the tabletop… Cunt clenching around the working barrel, you cry out; the trepidation, adrenaline, and coerced pleasure from a — truthfully, a hunk of a man was all foreign, shaking a deep rattle in you.

Gasping ‘till the shady room fell silent…

The man's shaggy hair falls with his head, dropping it low with a sigh followed, “It’s just a simple yes or no. Use your words this time, honey.” Patience running eerily low.

Toji had a damn job to do. He was ranked highest in his field of work for a reason. He never cared to show mercy when it came to his money, and that's exactly what his consumers loved. Toji always got the job done one way or the other... Even if working his gun with lethal strokes inside your pussy ‘till you couldn't bare another rumbling high was undoubtedly a way… Anything to get what he needed to get what he wanted.

And before you could reason by catching your breath, your interrogator leans over your feeble body; a stiff leg booted between yours as the other crowded you in on the side. Hovering over you full flush, Toji fills his free hand with your throat, as if he was trying to stifle the very answers out of you.

“I’m giving you one more chance,” Those same words he's said a good handful of times rang through your ears, “Speak up.”

“… I–I…” But the firearm pulling and twisting around your insides was forcing your lips to clamor.

You haven't had room to properly suck in a fresh breath of air in the past three hours…

Verdant eyes scanning your face, so close, you could feel the flutter of his lashes tickle at the stained, wet cheeks that puff out. Welting in tears, you shiver, “I don't… I don't remember…—!” You hear the stiff pistol driving through your silken furrow cock back.

Oh fuck.

“Heh. You really don't now?” Burying all inches of glossy metal inside tight walls, then retracting and slamming down harder, Toji’s grip tightend too, “ ‘Cause I feel like you do. A little birdie told me you even helped him out, huh.” Fuck.

Cum churned with sappy liquids; dragging a translucent milky ring around his suppressor, nothing was going to impede his assignment.

All brisk motions left your gummy insides shivering potently and brain to slosh into a mushy pile… Toji kept at it ‘till you seemed fucked out of your mind. ‘Till you actually couldn't give him any more answers...

<– BACK : PINNED ⊹ ࣪ ˖ NEXT : MORE TOJI –>

[grxmreaperx]

Professor Hoffman

Pairing: (professor!) Mark Hoffman x (f!) reader

Word count: 3.1k (oops)

Warnings: 18+!! this is absolute filth. Daddy kink, choking, oral (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), dirty talk, p in v penetration, creampie, age gap (everyone is over 18!!), praise/degradation. Mark being a bastard. I’m so sorry

Summary: You weren’t expecting much from your criminology class. But when you see your professor for the first time, you realize the class may be much more interesting than you were expecting.

I went so overboard with this. I do not know where this came from. I apologize for my actions. Also, all of my knowledge comes from Jim Can’t Swim and Explore With Us interrogation analysis videos, so don’t come for me if some of the criminology stuff is wrong!!

You walked into the lecture hall, bag digging into your shoulder after a long day, trying to find a seat. You sighed. Almost every seat was full, people congregating in the back. You set yourself down in the second row from the front, one of the few empty seats.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag, trying to keep yourself awake. This was your last class of the day and all you could think about was getting back to your apartment and having a nice dinner.

You stifled a yawn, eyes unfocused on your screen.

“Welcome, everyone.”

The deep voice jolted you from your haze, drawing your eyes up from your computer, and onto him.

You felt a jolt run through your body as you took him in. Dark hair neatly pushed back, full lips, chest straining at his suit.

“I’m Professor Hoffman. I’ll be your criminology instructor this semester.”

Shit, maybe you weren’t so ready to go home anymore.

--

That was the one class you didn’t find yourself dreading. Your other psychology and criminal justice classes were a bore, lecturers talking monotonously for an hour and twenty minutes as you tried desperately to stay awake. Professor Hoffman’s class was actually interesting, it challenged you, made you think. He didn’t force you all to listen to him talk the entire time, even if you wouldn’t have minded hearing that voice for hours on end. He had been a detective before switching to teaching a few years back, so he played interrogation tapes, having you all watch the body language, the word choice, the facial expressions of the suspect.

And it was nice to have something pretty to look at while he taught.

You were a bit embarrassed by how many times he had caught you staring at him. You had never looked at a professor as anything more than a teacher, a mentor, before now. But during his lecture, you found your mind drifting. What his voice would sound like in your ear, how his hands would feel roaming over you, the noises he would make.

You had had your fair share of adventures in college, going out with your friends and ending up in someone’s bed every once in a while. But none of them had been anything to brag about; frat boys only in it for themselves, guys who had no idea what they were doing, or didn’t know how to make it last.

You needed something more, something satisfying.

“So, tell me, do you think this suspect was guilty or not guilty? And tell me why.”

His voice shook you out of your daydream, bringing you back to your reality. Your eyes scanned over the screen, trying to remember bits and pieces of the interrogation you were supposed to have been watching.

You raised your hand; as much as you hated it, you wanted to impress the man. You wanted to show him that you were smart, that you knew what you were talking about. And that you were paying attention, not just staring at him the entire time.

He nodded towards you, telling you to go ahead. “Not guilty. He got angry when you accused him, which is a very typical response from someone who is being falsely accused. And he didn’t use any hedge words when he was talking, which would be unusual for a guilty person. And there’s no obvious motive.”

Your professor smirked, nodding along as you answered. “Very good. That’s exactly right. Another clue to tell you this was…”

You zoned out, trying to contain yourself at his praise.

--

He scolded himself, his gaze continuously falling onto you throughout every class.

He had left the police department a couple years ago, looking for a job with shorter hours, more time to relax, less frustration.

But now he had a different kind of frustration.

Every class, there you were. Sitting right in front of him, eyes watching him intently as he spoke. He saw the way your face changed every time he walked in the room, your tired face lighting up a bit. He saw the way your gaze lingered on him when you were supposed to be working on an assignment, or watching one of the interviews you were meant to be dissecting.

He noticed your attempts to impress him, always eager to answer his questions. You were always there early, even when others began to slowly fade out, showing up late or not showing up at all.

And, he had to admit, it was working. You were smart, and he could see how interested you were in this topic, even if you seemed to be a bit more interested in him than the class. He knew you’d make a great detective one day; your understanding of others’ minds would be a great asset to the force.

He almost wished he hadn’t left the department. He would give anything to still be in his position when you were first starting out in the field, eager to learn, to impress, to please. He would love for you to train under him, your frustration growing as he teased you, giving you smaller and smaller tasks, making you prove yourself.

He pulled himself away from his thoughts, shuffling his notes together before the start of class.

“Alright everyone, I’ve posted your grades for your last assignment. Some of you did very well, others seem to be a bit distracted in this course.” He purposefully shifted his gaze, meeting your eyes as he spoke this last part.

He suppressed a smirk as he saw your face flush.

“Now, the rational choice theory…”

--

“I really don’t know what I’m doing wrong in that class,” you sighed.

Your friend nodded. “I mean, he is a pretty tough grader. I don’t think I’ve gotten above a C on anything.”

“Yeah, but I feel like my work is good! Some of it he seems to really like, and then others he’s super harsh. But I thought this last paper was really good!”

“Maybe you should go talk to him about it. Maybe he could help you out, tell you what you’re doing wrong.”

“Yeah, I guess. I probably should. I really like this class; I want to do well in it.”

Your friend smirked. “Do you like the class, or do you like the hot professor?”

You lightly slapped their arm. “Shut up, I don’t think he’s hot.”

They laughed. “Of course you do! I see you staring at him all the time! It’s ok: he is pretty hot.”

You felt your face heating up. “Ok, maybe I think he’s kinda hot, but I like the class too!”

“I hear you.”

--

As class ended the next day, you took a breath. You shouldn’t be this nervous to talk to him, he was your professor, of course he would be willing to help you. You lingered in your seat for a few moments, taking longer than usual to stuff your laptop back in your bag. As people filed out of the room, you carefully approached his desk.

“Professor Hoffman?”

He looked up, smiling slightly as he met your eyes. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping that maybe you had time to talk to me about my last paper? I was wondering if you could tell me what I did wrong, or what I could improve next time?”

He regarded you for a moment and you couldn’t help but shift a bit under his gaze.

“Of course. I have another class in a few minutes, but I have time to meet tomorrow, if you’d like.”

You nodded, thanking him as he gave you a time and his office number. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He smirked. “See you then. Don’t be late.”

--

“What are you all dressed up for?” your friend asked.

“What? I’m not dressed up. Do I look dressed up?”

“I mean, maybe not dressed up, but you look nice. What’s the occasion?”

“Nothing, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They smiled. “Oh! Now I remember. You have your meeting with the hot professor today! That’s why you dressed so cute.”

“I did not!”

“I don’t believe you. You better hurry up, don’t you have to be there in a few minutes?”

You looked at your phone, cursing under your breath. They were right, you only had a couple minutes before your meeting. You sped up your pace, telling your friend you’d see them later as they walked to their class building.

“You better tell me all about it! Don’t do anything inappropriate, young lady!”

You hurried into the brick building that held Professor Hoffman’s office, trying to find the room number he had given you. Your eyes scanned the plaques next to each door, looking for the one engraved with his name. When you finally found it, the door was shut. You knocked softly, waiting patiently until you heard a voice tell you to come in.

You pushed the door open, examining his office as you entered. One wall was lined with bookshelves, filled with books on psychology, criminal justice, and what looked like case files. His desk sat in front of the window, his back to the light streaming in through the glass. He sat, leaned back in his desk chair, shirt slightly unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the chair in front of his desk. You quickly complied, smoothing your skirt as you sat down.

--

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you when you walked into his office, closing the door behind you. He should have punished you right then for testing him like that: all dressed up for him, pretty skirt cutting off just above your knees, shirt lower cut than he had ever seen you wearing in class.

“So,” he started, trying to regain his composure. “You wanted to talk to me about your paper?”

You nodded. “Yes, sir.” Fuck. “I was wondering if you could tell me what I could have done better with this assignment. I thought I did really well on it, until I got my grade back.”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, it was very well-written. And you have the concepts down. But your job was to analyze the video, not just repeat what I had said in class. Even if you put it a bit more eloquently than I did.” He smiled. “I almost get the feeling that you’re a bit…distracted in my class.

He watched as you became flustered, a smile still on his lips. “Well, professor, I just – I just have a lot on my mind. Sometimes it wanders, you know?” Your eyes darted around, staring at your hands, your bag on the floor, the surface of his desk.

He nodded. “Wanders to what?”

He couldn’t help the smug look on his face as you struggled to answer. He knew what your mind wandered to, he could see it on your face when you were supposed to be paying attention to his lectures. He saw the blush on your face, the way your pupils were blown. And he knew exactly where your mind was wandering to.

“Well, you know, to other things I have to do.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Like me?”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me. I see the way you stare at me, the look on your face when I catch you. You think I have no idea what you think about when you’re in my class? You think I can’t read you like a book, sweetheart?”

He tilted his head, watching as you took in his words. You looked like a deer in headlights, knowing he had figured out your secret. He saw the way your body stiffened at the pet name, your legs pressing together.

“I’ll tell you what,” he started, against his better judgement. “You really want to improve your grade?”

You nodded. He told himself to stop, to kick you out of his office before he put his career in jeopardy. But, God, the look on your face, so eager to hear what he had to say, pretty face flushed with embarrassment, legs squeezed together so tight he thought you might explode.

“Cmere,” he said in a low voice.

You slowly stood, making your way around his desk to stand in front of him. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he growled. “Where does your mind wander to during my class? I want to hear you tell me.”

“To you,” you said softly.

“Cmon, baby, you can do better than that.” He knew he was being a dick, he saw how flustered you were, how you were trying to work up the courage to answer his question. And he loved it.

“To you – to you…”

“To me fucking you?” he helped.

“Yes.” Your eyes were fixed on your hands.

“Look at me and say it.”

Your eyes met his. “My mind wanders to – to you fucking me.”

“Much better. Now, you really want to improve your grade, sweetheart?”

You nodded and he saw the eagerness in your eyes, waiting for him to tell you what to do.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

He smiled, chuckling as you quickly dropped to your knees in front of his chair, hands getting to work on his belt. He watched your eyes widen as you released him from his dress pants and couldn’t help the feeling of pride that swelled in his chest.

“Something wrong, baby?” he asked, cocky smile spreading across his face. You shook your head. “Then go on.”

He let out a deep groan as you took him into your mouth, placing a hand on the back of your head. He wrapped his hand in your hair, guiding you as his dick hit the back of your throat. “Such a good girl.” He leaned his head back against the chair, savoring the feeling of your head bobbing on his cock.

His looked back down at you, eyes darkening as he saw how eagerly you sucked him off, spit coating your lips, tears welling in your eyes every time you took him down your throat. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little distracted during classes too, picturing you just like this.

He pulled your head back by your hair until you were looking up at him. “Get up here, sweetheart,” he said, motioning to his lap.

You shakily got to your feet before straddling his lap, setting your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. He reached under your skirt, hands gripping your ass. He watched as you began to grind your clothed core on his dick, admiring the desperate look on your face.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked, hand slowly wrapping around your throat. “So desperate for me. No one been taking care of this pussy?”

You frantically shook your head, grinding down harder.

“Poor little slut. Take them off. I’ll take good care of you, sweetheart.”

You shifted on his lap, pulling your underwear down your legs and tossing them to the side. He slowly ran a finger through your folds, letting out a low hum. “God, baby, this all for me?” Your answer was cut off by him pushing two fingers inside of you, your words turning to a moan. He slowly pumped his fingers, curling them inside you while your ground down on his hand.

“Poor baby, those college boys don’t know how to make you feel good? You’re so fuckin’ desperate.” You quickly shook your head, too lost in the feeling of him working you to form words. You whined when he pulled his fingers out.

He lined himself up at your entrance, the other hand wrapping around your waist, holding you steady. “Go on, baby. Show me how needy you are.”

You slowly slid yourself down onto his cock, mouth falling open as he stretched you out. His head fell back onto his chair, eyes screwing shut, before quickly opening them again, taking in the sight of you full of his dick. He placed his hands on your hips, keeping you steady as you began to bounce. You quickly picked up the pace, grinding yourself down on him, eyes clouded from pleasure.

Your moans filled his ears, eyes roaming your body as you fucked yourself on his cock.

“God, baby, you look so fuckin’ pretty. Such a good little whore for me, hmm?”

“Yes, yes, just for you, Daddy!” you moaned, before quickly catching yourself. He saw your eyes widen, realizing what you had just said.

He wrapped his strong arm around your waist, standing from his chair, still buried deep inside you, before setting you on his desk. He wrapped a hand around your throat, squeezing slightly and pushing your back down onto the surface. “Say it again.”

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you said softly.

“That’s fuckin’ right baby.” He set a fast pace, roughly fucking into you, one hand still around your throat, the other gripping your hip so hard he knew it would probably leave marks.

He let out a groan at the sight of you underneath him, skirt bunched around your waist, mouth hanging open, hands gripping his arms. He watched your back arch off the table, squeezing your eyes shut.

He froze, abruptly stopping his thrusts. “Look at me when you cum on my dick, baby. Fuckin’ look at me or I’ll stop again. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you cried, eyes locked on his.

“Much better.” His fingers found their way to your clit as he continued burying himself in you. “Cum for me baby, show me how much you love my cock.”

Your nails dug into his arm as your legs shook around him, moaning loudly as you reached your high. He felt his own end coming on. He leaned down, his face inches from yours. “Tell me sweetheart, where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside…” was all you could manage, still overcome with pleasure.

He smiled. “You want me to fill you up, baby?” You nodded, begging him to fill you.

His pace faltered as he came, gripping your hips tightly. He let go of you, placing his hands on his desk, catching his breath. He slowly pulled out of you, pulling his pants back up and tossing you your underwear. You carefully sat up, legs still shaking slightly.

He settled himself back in his chair, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. He smirked at you, sitting on his desk, completely undone.

“I suppose I can raise your grade on that paper,” he started. “But I do think we should have weekly tutoring sessions. You obviously need some more help with this.” He smirked at you. “Does that sound good to you?”

You never agreed to something faster in your life.

--

I really liked writing this, if y’all like it I may give you a part 2👀

[bloatedandalone04]

When Faced with Darkness

➪the one where you and anakin reunite years after he turned to the dark side.

Warnings: angst, that’s really it, anakin being manipulative, just a short fic because i was feeling inspired to write something like this

Word Count: 1.2k

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡ Thank you for 3.3k follwers MWAH

“Call out to me,” you hear his unmistakable voice say again. You glanced around at your surroundings, finding nothing but the emptiness of your old room at the temple. Your old shared room, the one you hid away in with Anakin. That room had long since been destroyed, so you couldn’t quite figure out how you were back in it, or question where all the furniture went before he spoke again. “Let me in. Call out to me, angel.”

Angel.

Your heart faltered at the name and you peered out into the darkness, seeing nothing at all, but feeling that he was close by. Anakin. “Come to me,” you requested in a quiet voice, his presence growing stronger with each passing second. “Come find me.” 

Though your words were faint, they echoed around the room and called back to you as a tall figure emerged from the shadows a few steps away. “I’ve found you,” he spoke and you turned around quickly, your eyes meeting his almost immediately. 

His voice was a mix of himself and someone else, but his appearance was exactly what you remembered it looking like. The scar on his cheek, the flow of his hair, his teasing smirk, everything. “Anakin,” you murmured, a grin breaking out on your lips as he inched closer, his head tilted as he, too, observed you. “Is it…is it really you?”

He stepped towards you, a hum bubbling in the back of his throat as he held his hands behind his back. “Who else would it be?” He teased in his soft yet enticing voice.

It never failed to draw you into him. 

Maybe that is why you were here now, because you weren’t as strong as you needed to be. Not when it came to him. 

It looked like him, sounded like him, even felt like him, but Anakin is gone. He’s been gone for a long time now, and what replaced him was a darkness that even the brightest star couldn’t shine through. 

Still, you couldn’t help but let yourself fall into a state of denial, wishing that this was real, that he was back and was as desperate for you as you were for him. It wasn’t hard, seeing as he looked the exact same as before, just more stoic. More dark and intimidating than he had ever appeared in all the years you’d known him. 

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly, watching as he walked around you in slow circles, his eyes raking up and down your form as if he was trying to remember how you looked under your gown and robe. “I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”

Anakin stopped in front of you, his smirk fading into a teasing smile as his gloved hand reached for your wrist. “Look around you,” he softly ordered, watching as you obeyed him without any hesitation. You were still his obedient, sweet girl. “This is our room, isn’t it? The one we shared together.”

“I don’t know,” you shook your head quickly. The room was the same, but it was just empty, so void of love and care and secrecy. You couldn’t bear to think about the last time you were in this room, back when you were at your happiest and had everything to look forward to. 

Back when Anakin was still here and hadn’t given himself up. When he didn’t let himself slip further and further to a one way destination. 

But he was here, right in front of you and giving you the same look he always did when you weren’t feeling like yourself and needed comfort. It was the same look, but it wasn’t him. 

You hadn’t even noticed that piece by piece, the furniture began to fill the room, mirroring the way it looked before. 

Your head felt like it was spinning, but Anakin’s grip on you tightened to ensure you wouldn’t fall. “Now look at me,” he quietly demanded. “Look at me.”

“It’s not real,” you admitted to yourself, despite your heart screaming at you, begging you to give in and let him do whatever he wanted to you. This was better than not having him at all. “It’s not…”

But he hushed you, “Y/n,” he spoke sternly, that same, much deeper voice from before creeping back in alongside his own. You hadn’t heard him say your name in so long, you had almost forgotten what it sounded like. “Look. Look at me.”

You always were weak when it came to him. Lifting your head, you meet his eyes, briefly glancing into the ones of a sith before you let yourself drown in the orbs of blue. Releasing a long sigh of relief, you let your tense body relax under his gaze, rendering yourself to him almost completely. 

“Good. That’s good,” he praised, keeping his hand wrapped around your wrist as he moved it upwards. Placing your palm flat against the left side of his chest, his burning gaze never faltered as he pressed himself against your hand. “Feel me. Feel that I am here, with you, in our own room.”

Your head told you to pull away and run for the nearest exit, but you couldn’t see anything past all the shadows. All you could see is the apparition of your lover, who you lost ages ago. “Anakin,”

“Feels right, doesn’t it?” He asked, a small, barely there hint of mockery in his tone as he removed his hand from around your wrist and allowed you to keep your own pressed against his heart. “Feels just like before.”

You stifle a surprised cry, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Why are you here? Why now?” 

His expression softened, but it was just an act. A way to tear your walls down and rip apart the growth and healing you’ve endured since losing him. You should, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You can’t bring yourself to not give in to him.  “Because you needed me,” he answered simply. “Because you still need me.”

You shake your head but don’t pull away when he places his hands on your hips. The coolness of his glove sends a shiver up your spine, a repressed groan of longing slipping past your lips. 

“And I still need you,” he added, daring to step closer to you and successfully invading your space. He made it his own as he reached his left hand up to caress the side of your face. “We’re one in the same, angel. We always have been.”

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth before he is covering it with his own. His lips envelop yours softly at first, but the gentle kiss grows stronger, a certain sinister feeling slipping from him to you, but you don’t pull away. 

You grip his shoulder and cry a call of his name when he breaks the kiss. “Anakin,”

He grins down at you, a wicked and twisted sight right before your very eyes. “I know,” he consoles, pressing a firm kiss to your forehead and gripping the sides of your face much tighter than before, but it only leaves you wanting more. 

How unfortunate of you to be so weak when faced with the embodiment of true darkness. 

“I know,” he repeats his words, sliding his hands down so they’re pressing against the base of your throat. “Now, give in to me.”

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any solo ttrpgs that deal with like being a bodyguard or someone's knight? It's something I've had rattling around in my head for a while

Theme: Solo Knights

Hello friend, no luck in the bodyguard department but I sure do have some knight games! Let’s take a look.

Frog Errant, by ManaDawn Tabletop Games.

It’s a deadly and brutal world out there, and it is not too friendly for a lone frog. But if you embrace your quest and heed the omens, you may just be able to make a name for yourself. And if you wander long and far enough, you may be remembered in the songs of both frogs and mice.

Frog Errant is a solo, or GMless, game mode for Mausritter or other Into the Odd based games. In Frog Errant you will take up the role of a wandering frog knight-errant, seeking adventure, looking to fulfill a Quest - all while avoiding you prophesied Doom.

If you are familiar with Mausritter, then this game will be pretty easy to pick up. The game builds in some story that isn’t present in Mausritter - primarily the Quest that has been given to your frog knight, as well as a Doom that has been prophesied to overcome you. It looks like you can use a lot of the items and monsters from Mausritter, but Frog Errant has plenty of new pieces too!

Misericorde, by Andrew White.

Misericorde is a game of knightly romance, pining, unrequited love and confronting the expected behaviours of your social class. You play as a squire serving under a knight on a great quest, without your assistance they surely will fail and yet, as a squire you are obligated to remain in the background, forgotten and not commented on. However, you have developed feelings, perhaps unrequited, for your knight. The actions of the game focus on this struggle, between your Duty and your Desire. Will you hold back, hew to your duty and rank; or will you break free and open your heart, no matter how your beloved may respond.

You’re not exactly a knight in this game, but rather a squire to one. Misericorde is completely unlike the other games on this list because it focuses on devotion and desire, rather than the actions that a forsworn duty drives a Knight to do. You play the game by setting up scenes, asking questions, and rolling dice on an Oracle to figure out what happens next. This is an interpretive game, so while the Oracle will point you in a direction, you determine what exactly each result means.

Chalice, by Monkey’s Paw Games.

Chalice is a solo journaling role-playing game where you chronicle the perilous journey of a Grail-seeking knight in Arthurian England. During the game, you will tell the story of your Knight’s physical and spiritual descent as they quest for, and ultimately fail to find, the Grail. Your Knight’s quest is doomed. Their chivalric virtues will be surely undone by their fatal flaws and moral shortcomings.

This looks like the most immersive game for Arthurian mythology as a solo game. The game itself is designed to look like a manuscript from medieval times, calligraphy and all. Your Knight has benefits called Passions, key relationships called Bindings, and a fate determined by drawing cards from a tarot deck. Throughout the game, you will draw more cards that serve as prompts, which will give or strike through your Passions and Bindings, and play happens over the span of years. Each year is measured in two parts: the deed, which will be what your character accomplishes, and the Chanson, which is evocative recording of your character’s deeds. When you are unable to fulfill a prompt given to you, your story end

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard, by Amanda P.

Quests in King Arthur stories are about ideals, conflict and temptation. 

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard is a solo prompt-based journaling game where you create a Sun Guard and travel alone on a quest, attempting to hold to your Code until you reach the end, facing trials and complications along the way.  

You are the last Sun Guard. Will you take up the mantle and ride the ancient roads?

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard follows a cycle of play. You will start by travelling to a new location, and follow the directions according to each location’s prompt. This may involve using or acquiring resources, accomplishing great deeds, and writing a record of what happened with each step of the quest. When you run out of all of your resources, you can choose to either end your quest there, or break your Code to continue. If you like the story of Gawain & the Green Knight, this game might be for you.

Sanctum Guard, by Bulger007.

Sanctum Guard is a 20-minute pen-and-paper solo game about protecting a powerful magic artifact against a horde of night terrors. In this game, you are a lone guardian of a secluded sanctum built to protect the Obsidram, a powerful artifact that can potentially destroy worlds if it falls into the wrong hands.

You live in peace and harmony with the Obsidram while it is hidden in this secret and desolate domain from power-hungry minds. But one night, someone or something finds the way and you see a glimmering portal from which a horde of monsters descends upon you. Will you manage to protect the Obsidram?

This game runs like a tower defense game, and requires a sheet of graph paper to play. You will build your Sanctum randomly, then roll against generated monsters with the hopes that you can take them out before they utterly destroy the Sanctum and take your sacred relic.

This game doesn’t detail who you’re guarding the Obsidram for, although I think you could also substitute the relic for a person, if you want to be guarding someone instead of something.

Falling Kingdom: The Last Knights, by Purple Robed Wizard.

“The lands are shattered, the gods that once held our hand are dead and the beasts are upon us. Our King. killed by his own flesh. All of us, but waiting to follow. But we still stand, we hold our ground as we rot, we are the Last Knights, and we will stand until we last draw breath.”

In Falling Kingdom you control the last Knights of a realm threatened by a great, corrupting and unstoppable force. There is no great victory waiting for you at the end, no songs to be heard. There is only struggle, corruption, betrayal and death.  The Kingdom will Fall, but this story isn’t about that, it is about the heroes that face this imminent fall, the Knights of the realm, normal men and women elevated to a position where they will fight for their homelands against all odds.

This is a map-conquering game, with randomly generated missions, a Great Battle that could turn the tides of the war, and a stages of battles depending on how much territory you win or lose. You can accumulate corruption as you play, which is helpful in getting successful rolls, but accrue too much, and your knights begin to die. If you like a game about strategy, tragedy, and abstract warfare, this might be the game for you.

Sentinel, by Meghan Cross.

You are the lone guardian of a place of great power - known to you only as The Sanctuary. Many years you have kept vigil in this place, guarding what is kept within from any and all who come to disrupt it or steal it for themselves. 

Sentinel is a solo journaling game about a solitary guardian and the place they are charged with keeping safe. It is a deck and dice based game in which you will create your guardian and the sanctuary that they protect before reliving the memories, facing threats, and finding interesting objects while time passes around you. And then, when the time has come for your watch to end, find out what happens to The Sanctuary when you are no longer able to guard it.

This is a journaling game that uses cards to determine what kinds of actions your character can take. Hearts summon memories, Diamonds grant you items, Spades bring threats, and Clubs pass time. If you draw a Joker, the game is over and the story ends. At the end of the game, the final roll determines whether or not you are successful in your quest. This is a great game for folks who like journaling and world building.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

5-Min Knight, by enui.

Fetch My Blade, by Ethan Yen.

[bullet-prooflove]

‘ stay there. i’m coming to get you. ’

Tagging: @kmc1989 @wabi-sabi1090 @lostinwonderland314 @turtle-cant-communicate @fallout-girl219

Companion piece to:

The Farm - Carmy recalls the day you met.

Good People - Richie and Carmy discuss a potential relationship with you.

Pears - It starts when Carmy makes an order he doesn't remember.

Mornings - Carmy sleeps better with you around.

Bubble - You have no idea that you saved Carmy's life.

Crazy, Stupid, Fucked Up World (NSFW) - Carmy tells you he lvoes you for the first time.

Doing Something - Carmy owns up to something he's been doing without telling you.

After the confrontation with David Fields, Carmy is distraught. He calls you from outside Ever, his words rambling over one another as he tries to describe what exactly what’s just happened. You can hear the squeak of his shoes pacing across the pavement in the background as he talks and you know he’s starting to spiral.

“Where are you?” You ask him, pulling on your shoes and snatching up your keys from the sideboard. “I’ll come get you.”

“Fuck…” He mutters and you can imagine his hand running through his unruly waves, tugging at them. “I don’t know I just started walking.”

“Drop me a pin.” You tell him as you shrug into his wool jacket, the one that almost looks like patchwork. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

When you pull up at the location, Carmy’s taking a shelter in a doorway because it’s started to rain. His jaw works almost manically as he chews the nicotine gum in his mouth, his hands tucked into his pockets. You can tell he’s dissociating because he doesn’t acknowledge the car, he also doesn’t react when you call his name.

This is what David Fields does to him. He obliterated Carmy once upon a time and he’s doing it again right now. He’s still spacing out by the time you reach him, his eyes are glazed, his palm rubbing back and forth across his mouth.

“Hey.” You say softly, your fingertips trailing across his cheek. “It’s me Carmen, it’s Alice.”

Your hand comes to rest on the nape of his neck, drawing his forehead against yours and his shoulders start to relax. He needs this connectivity, it’s the only thing that anchors him in the present.

“Touch me.” You murmur as he closes his eyes. “Remember that I’m your safe space.”

His hands run over the wool of the jacket you’re wearing, the coarseness of the material grazing his palms. It’s an exercise in sensation, a method of bringing him back to this moment in time. Your arms wrap around him, drawing him against your body as he buries his face into the hollow of your throat, inhaling the earthy scent that clings to your skin from the farm. Your fingers card lightly through his hair as his body starts to tremble, the adrenaline from the panic attack crashing through his system.

“You’re safe.” You whisper as you cradle him close. “You’re safe right here with me.”

Love Carmy? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[hotpinkstars]

Can I make a request for a s/o that likes to give forehead kisses for the characters Shenhe/Eula/Yelan?

-> forehead kisses

synopsis -> their s/o loves to give them forehead kisses.

warnings -> none! complete and total fluff.

a/n -> i screamed when i saw yelan i love yelan so so much eee this was so so fun to write thanks for sending this in!!

w/c -> 1.2k

-> shenhe

shenhe doesn’t mind your affection one bit, but she sure isn’t used to it.

the first time you gave her a little peck on the forehead, she was taken off guard. though, this was the first time your lips have ever come into contact with something besides her cheek or her mouth.

she seriously thought that there couldn’t be any other ways to kiss someone besides the cheek and lips. how many forms of affection exactly are there?

you walked into your home to find shenhe sitting at the kitchen table, finishing up her lunch. you greet her usually, but this time, your kiss landed right on her forehead. she froze before looking up at you semi-puzzled. 

“what was that for?” she asked, before clearing her throat. “i know it was a kiss, but you usually just kiss me on the cheek or the lips.”

you laughed a little before taking her empty plate to the sink, proceeding to wet a sponge and wipe any residue off the plate before tossing it into the dishwasher. “just felt like trying something new, is all.”

she nodded, making a mental note in the back of her mind that this may become a normalized thing. 

and that it did!

it seemed like every single opportunity you got, your kisses hit her forehead. before bed, it was a kiss to the forehead and then the lips. when you woke up, a kiss to the forehead. the cheek kisses have been discarded somewhere, but you both can barely remember they existed at this rate.

the only time she draws the line is when you’re in public, around a swarm of people. if it’s a secluded area in the harbor, where there's only a few fisherman and some millelith, different story. although, theres not too many of those times, because liyue can get packed tight, especially at night.

the city is so super gorgeous, and even better when it’s illuminated by all of the glimmering lights from the surrounding buildings, keeping shops open until later hours on the weekends. she’d get too flustered in a crowd like that, and would politely request you to not do that anymore if you found out by accidentally doing it.

-> eula

she love love loves forehead kisses, but she’s too shy to admit it.

the first time you stumbled upon this realization was when you kissed her forehead before she left for work. considering how much you enjoyed them, you didn’t expect her to be the one with the red blush creeping up her cheekbones. if you were to tease her of it, she’d deny it and probably dart out the door of embarrassment. but, that may not always be the case, knowing eula. 

“alright eula, you’re all set, have a good day and stay safe,” you straighten her tie before leaning up to kiss her forehead. usually, she’d get a hug from you, or the occasional kiss on the lips. but she sure wasn’t expecting this. “are we still on for dinner tonight?”

eula tried to cover her face with one hand, but quickly realized it was too noticeable. hell, she’d be surprised if you haven’t already noticed her hiding her blush. “yes, of course we are. five o’clock tonight at good hunter, right?” she smiled, walking up to the door and twisting the knob before stopping her motions. “i will be safe. you can ensure that i will be back in one piece.”

you laughed, shoo-ing her off in an affectionate way. “go off to work now, and i’ll see you tonight.”

bullseye, you found her weakness!

she kept a cool pretty well, you thought as you closed the door. but you could totally see the natural blush peeking through her foundation. considering you also knew that she doesn’t wear artificial blush, only mascara, foundation, concealer, lipstick, and some light eyeshadow. and even that routine is pushing it.

you continue to do it more often, and she eventually eases up and gets used to it. it seems like that's the only way you kiss her, but she’s not complaining. 

she doesn’t really care where you kiss her like that at, but she’ll tell you to cut it out if it's in public. she always dances around that sentence with a sarcastic tone, so you know she’s not serious. but you do know that she has her boundaries, and she’d rather not tell the whole mondstadt population that you’re her significant other. not like she’s embarrassed, she’d just rather keep you safe, due to the backlash she sometimes faces from her status in the lawrence clan. 

she might even perform the action right back to you! because she likes it so much, why not see if you do too?

turns out, ya do! now, it’s just an endless battle on who can give more (and better) forehead kisses to the other. 

-> yelan

she enjoys them very much, and she teases you about it to let you know.

the first time you did it, she just chuckled before doing it back. the action seemed to fluster you more than it even phased her, but you swore you could see her ears go a faint shade of pink. 

you two were getting in bed when all of the sudden, you lean over and kiss her forehead. “goodnight babe,” you smile as you tuck yourself under the covers, yelan having a smirk plastered on her face.

she leans down and kisses you on your forehead, and then your lips, and then both cheeks. “goodnight, y/n. i love you,” she breathes, chuckling at how much her gesture seemed to catch you off guard. 

as you turned out the lights, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. but you both equally enjoyed it, so why not continue to do it?

you liked to sneak up behind her and just… come out of nowhere. she always happens to know you’re there, but she won’t tell you that. she lets you have your fun, and if it makes you happy, it makes her happy. and you always get to give her that quick little forehead peck, which she loves oh so dearly, and it usually turns into a long hug or a steamy makeout session. 

but in all seriousness, she enjoys it when you do it. there was once a time where she requested you to put some blue lipstick on your lips and kiss her smack in the middle of her forehead. she went out that night to gamble, with the blue mark still on her forehead (????) you were incredibly confused, but you just shrugged it off. 

when it’s just the two of you playing a game, maybe blackjack or poker (just for reference), she’ll give you a kiss on your forehead in return for trying. if you manage to beat her, she’ll beg with her eyes for that forehead kiss back in return. she gives them to you back, so it's only fair!

she normally gives you kisses on the lips, but considering how much you truly love forehead kisses, she stopped demanding lip ones out of you, and let you do your own thing.

[actual-changeling]

i cannot resist a piece of good, painful angst, so have a little something inspired by this post by @quoththemaiden and the tags i left on it

-

Aziraphale returns to heaven in a haze of heartbreak and fear, his lips still tingling with Crowley's kiss, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach for him. The white sterility welcoming him only encourages his mind to drift further, allowing him to tune out the Metatron's words and focus on simply setting one foot in front of the other. If heaven has not changed in the last few thousand years, and he knows very well that it hasn't, there will be more than enough paperwork detailing anything and everything he is being told.

"Any questions, Aziraphale?"

They have stopped in the middle of a long, empty corridor, his eyes stinging with the bleach-dry air, and Aziraphale blinks, the smile on his face never wavering; it is a mask he knows he will not be able to drop for quite some time.

"Do I have an office?"

"You can make yourself one if you deem it necessary. I will leave you to it, then."

With a small flash of light, he is gone, and Aziraphale is alone. Right.

A few hours later, he has an office no miracle in the world could make cosy, enough paperwork to last him an eternity, and a persistent itch in his left hand. It is more irritating than bothersome, an anchor keeping him from floating away into the land of celestial regulations and legal frameworks, and he is trying (and failing) to keep himself from thinking about Crowley.

He needs him to deal with this, that much is clear without knowing anything at all about how exactly the second coming is going to transpire, but for the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale finds himself wondering if Crowley will be waiting for him when he reaches out.

Absently, he scratches the back of his left hand, the itching seemingly working its way to the surface, and picks up the next folder.

'Re: The matter of opening a direct communication line between the Department of Miracle Accounting and the Department of Miracle Archiving.'

"You'd assume they'd done that ages ago," he murmurs, opening it with a sigh and squeezing his eyes shut when he sees the first document dates back to 3076 BC. A sudden wave of sympathy for Gabriel washes through him, which disappears rather quickly when he remembers he is probably having the time of his life on Alpha Centauri.

(Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo we can-- go off together.)

(Go off together?)

Aziraphale slams the folder shut and pushes it to the side, creating a new 'unimportant/for later' pile since the other one is already structurally unsound and he'd rather not have to reorganize it when it inevitably collapses under its own weight.

He scrubs a hand down his face (I could always rely on you) and forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath (You could always rely on me) before reaching for the next one, halting when a shimmer of gold draws his attention.

(And I would like to spend-)

On his left hand, in the exact spot where the itch is… was Aziraphale corrects himself, and in its place, curled around his ring finger and weaving its way towards his wrist, is a golden snake. No, not a snake, he slowly realizes, it's Crowley's snake in all its glory, uncurled and with wide open, unblinking eyes, staring up at him.

"Fuck," he breathes, his right hand rapidly furling and unfurling. After not spending more than an hour or two in heaven at a time for millennia, he had completely forgotten about his angelic markings, which had looked very different before Eden. The exact images are hazy, washed out by time and apparently a fundamental change in his essence, because the snake lazily sliding around his wrist and closing its eyes as if to nap is both new and strangely familiar.

(Listen. Do you hear that?)

Tremors run through his body, fine and yet strong enough to keep him from opening the file, from reading, thinking, planning, his mind filled with fire-red hair and golden eyes and the taste of love on his tongue.

(I don't hear anything.)

Aziraphale cradles his marked hand against his chest, pressing his knuckles to his lips and trying to recall the few seconds during which he had felt whole. Happy.

(That's the point. No nightingales.)

The snake hisses quietly, or maybe he is already starting to lose his sanity, and its glittering scales provide what little comfort he can access in heaven, missing the white noise of London, the dusty quiet of his bookshop, missing Crowley, Crowley, Crowley.

[icallhimjoey]

Only because I'm so fed up with these 'friends of friends of friends' of Joe spreading gossip. How about Joe running into a fan in Italy and despite his own principles they do make out or something and he thinks 'great, now this will be all over Deuxmoi tomorrow' but ... he there's not a beep. Nothing. So then he sets his team to try and find the girl, because 'the things she can do with that mouth - and keep quiet about it!' 😂

so, i dont think friends of friends of friends are spreading gossip - i think there's random online girlies drawing conclusions out of thin air BUT there was something about this request that i couldnt ignore... hope you enjoy my version of italy!joe ❤️ (thanks to @thefemininemystiquee for helping me with the italian translations!) Wordcount: 3.5K

---

Alla ricerca di Cenerentola

Joe fucked up.

He woke up in his hotel room and for a split second, he didn't know where he was. Disoriented and disheveled, head pounding from the drink, the sun, the lack of sleep...

It was hot.

For that lone second, Joe was fully within his body. Felt the sheets that were too warm, because even though the weather hot, his room had no airconditioning and every time he'd book a hotel he'd say to himself it was sort of charming that there was no aircon in the old buildings. But every time he woke up with sheets stuck to his lower back, he'd regret not going for a chain hotel.

Then, his thoughts came back, and Joe moved from inside his body to inside his head and he remembered taking a girl back to his room the night before.

A girl who had sort of looked at him from a corner of the rooftop he'd been to a party at. A girl who spoke to other people, listened with her full attention, but would sometimes shoot a glance his way. A girl who kept her distance, because, that's what strangers do, don't they?

However, when someone halfway through the evening walked in with a charcuterie board loaded with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and a Caprese salad, Joe had suddenly found himself next to you as you both marveled at it.

You clearly knew the person holding the tray. Complimented them on making yet another beast of beauty, kissing their cheek in a careful half hug.

Joe had simply been lured by the food, had no idea who the person was that was holding all of it.

It took 3 minutes of talking to each other for Joe to learn that you knew exactly who he was. Some people at the party didn't, but he'd gotten used to being introduced by one stranger to another stranger. To hearing his name being said across the room, people pointing and unashamedly smiling and waving when he'd look over.

It was all right.

He'd been introduced to people he admired in the same way. Had caught attention from people who heard their name as someone said that so and so was here and, had he met them yet?

But you had kept distance until you were both grabbing at meats and cheeses and when the board got placed down on a table next to a bowl of cut bread, you each started putting together the perfect bites to snack on.

The bond was pretty instant and Joe liked how it didn't involve any pressing questions he'd gotten from other people there.

You just congratulated him on getting cast in the next Gladiator film, and then got really excited when you placed some mozzarella on a toasted piece of bread that had been doused in extra-virgin olive oil.

Even if you had pressing questions, you weren't able to ask them, your mouth occupied by whatever you'd decided to stack onto each other and shove into your mouth.

So, you knew about his next job.

That kind of meant you probably knew more.

Dangerous territory.

Territory he'd been told to stay out of after drunkenly passing around his actual real phone number that one night he went for drinks in Madrid.

Easy fix. He'd just gotten a new number. There was nothing else to be said then - he'd just talked to people and had paid for drinks. Nothing scandalous to bite him in the ass later.

Not like now.

Joe fucked up.

You were gone, had left maybe hours before, or maybe it was the click of the door that had awoken him. He had no idea. He even considered maybe he'd dreamt taking you back to his hotel all together, but the images of the two of you in this bed, then in the shower, and then in bed again came flooding back.

Yea, you definitely had been there. The evidence was there in the smell of his fingers.

That made him remember more. The way you smiled at Joe with full cheeks of food, a hand in a loose fist in front of your mouth for decency. The way you giggled as he shimmied to songs that others sang along to. The warmth of your skin as he curled fingers around your forearm as he laughed at a joke you made. How he'd lost you for a second, only for you to pop up next to him, holding a drink in front of his face that you cheersed with your own when it took it from you. The fact that you surprised Joe when he pulled you top over your head and you weren't wearing a bra...

Joe hadn't intended for the night to end the way it did.

Not at all.

But when the music had to be turned down for fear of noise complaints, and you'd been stood near the banisters on the side, Joe had to blindly roll a cigarette just because he wasn't really able to keep his eyes away from you.

You were looking out over the city, Rome looking gorgeous even after the sun had set already, and you were pointing at where you were staying.

"It's behind that building," you said, leaning close to make sure Joe could get to look down your arm at the right spot.

"Which one?" Joe knew he was never going to be able to pinpoint which building you meant, but he used the moment to be close to you for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

You smelled like tangerine and vanilla. Sickly sweet and summery.

His eyes never left you.

"Behind the yellow one, see that one, there?"

They were all fucking yellow, weren't they?

"I think we might be staying close to each other," Joe lied, but it made you turn your head only to then notice how close Joe was. How he was looking at you.

Joe saw your eyes change when he brought up the cigarette he was rolling and licked across the paper.

Yea, he was going to take you back to his hotel room.

Or he'd let you drag him along to yours.

Either way, Joe was going to get his dick wet. If you were up for it, that was.

Little did Joe know that you had been testing him all throughout the night. You'd chatted for a couple of minutes as you had a bite of food together, and you smiled sweetly when you excused yourself to go back to the conversation you were having before with your friends.

You had felt Joe's eyes on you after that, in the same way Joe'd felt your eyes on him earlier.

Moving around the party, you'd noticed how Joe's eyes followed. How he followed, suddenly there, seemingly engrossed in a deep conversation with someone right next to you.

Until swiftly Joe was a part of your conversation.

He hadn't left you after that.

Was this smart? Was this going to be a problem? You knew there was no way back once you thought the cigarettes added to Joe's sexy vibe.

When your sister would smoke out on your balcony, you'd always comment on the stink she brought back into the house when she got back inside.

Now? The smell didn't bother you all that much.

Yea, you were going to take Joe back to your hotel room.

Or you'd let Joe drag you back to his.

Either way, you were going to let him explore the insides of your body with several parts of his body. If he was up for it, that was.

But now it was the morning, so bright outside already, and Joe was alone. He checked his phone, which was on his bedside table, off the charger.

Dead.

Fuck.

Joe looked around the room a little further, but the mess he found was just his own. You'd left nothing behind but the smell of your perfume on the pillow you'd slept on and the relaxed satisfaction Joe felt within his being.

Thirst in his throat. Sweat on his brow. Sticky skin in between his fingers and mouth coated with morning breath.

Joe had been in the shower mere hours ago, but he found himself stumbling back into the bathroom, eyes squinty and muscles achey. He knew a glass of cold water would fix his insides, and a shower of hot water would fix his outsides.

Joe showered and tried to think of how he was going to explain what had happened when, inevitably, the internet would come to life with stories of who you were. Of who you weren't. Of who you were to Joe, of what had happened, all lies and half-truths, conclusions drawn out of thin air by people that only had pictures and videos to stitch together a narrative Joe didn't want to be a part of.

That was, unless you were the one to share the information. That possibility was always there.

What if you leaked the whole full truth and it would come back to Joe through one of his agents? He'd be advised not to comment. Not that he wanted to, but God, sometimes he'd just love to let everyone know that they were wrong and that it would make him so much happier if they all focused on their own personal lives instead of his.

But, you seemed normal enough.

It was risky to assume, but Joe kind of didn't want to assume different.

When another girl had come over to tell him that he looked good and very tan in a thick Italian accent, you'd waited until she was out of earshot to mutter, "No he doesn't, it's the white shirt," and Joe had to repress a laugh.

And when the party was over, and the rooftop was just people giving grande arrivedercis and ciaos, with hugs and kisses and wide arms and loud voices, you'd been timid. Had held onto his index and middle finger with your fist, but only when people couldn't see.

Confirmation of where the night was headed was small and secretive. Just how Joe liked it.

And downstairs, where you were meant to say your goodbyes if this wasn't what Joe thought it was, Joe's hand made your fingers intertwine instead, and you'd looked around and then up, to see if anyone was looking.

Joe appreciated that.

The lack of need to be seen with him.

Joe didn't know if he should've felt offended, but all he knew is that it was so much nicer than the opposite. Than girls pulling Joe into hugs for pictures without so much as a hello. Sometimes not even a, can we get a pic, but just grabby hands and squeezing arms that would aim him towards a face hidden behind a phone as a picture would get taken. Or eight.

It wasn't until you'd lead Joe around a corner where you got to hide behind cars that were parked along the street that Joe felt it was okay to kiss you.

Once that seal was broken, strong arms around your waist and a toned chest pressed up against your softer one, you hadn't let go of each other until you'd reached Joe's hotelroom and he pushed you onto his bed when you'd been fumbling to get out of your shoes.

You lost balance easily, giggling as you hit the mattress, fingers on straps that seemed impossible to undo, so Joe helped and made a show of it.

Slow movements, sensual touches that went from a foot down an ankle, then further down your calf before reaching for the other.

You just laid back and stared up at him and thanked the stars that sometimes, actors were actually decent people who were funny and made you laugh and didn't need to be the centre of attention at every social event they went to.

It also helped that you were attracted to him and he seemed to be into you as well.

You trusted you wouldn't be where you were if that wasn't the case, anyway.

Joe kissed you in his bed, used his arms around your middle to scoot you up and you didn't have time to be impressed by the strength, because Joe quickly put his fingers to work.

Then his mouth too.

Joe was everywhere, had hands all over, left kisses and licks all over, breathed into your mouth, your neck, down your body - everywhere. Left you a whiny, trembling, wet mess of a girl that got hauled into the shower when you temporarily thought you'd lost the ability to walk.

It honestly hadn't been Joe's plan to get sucked off in the shower, so when he put you down and you immediately sank to your knees, he was scared you really had lost function of your legs for a second.

It was just that Joe was hard, and, you know, he'd made you orgasm twice.

Time to return the favour.

"Oh my God, are you all ri– oh... oh, fuck..."

Joe never finished the question.

Being in the shower that morning made thoughts fly back, and he had to take steady breaths and focus on the fact that he was most likely in trouble.

Joe'd fucked, and thus Joe'd fucked up.

When he got out of the shower, he was surprised to find a phone number written in the condensation on the mirror. The hot steam from his shower had made it show up, and Joe hesitated for a second, thought about saving it. Writing it down somewhere, since the battery of his phone was still dead.

He looked a second longer before he wiped a hand over it.

Better not.

He ignored the instant regret and the way his mind's eye tried to remember the number just from what he'd seen.

No, better not.

Joe waited for a phone call. Even a text. An agent, a publicist, shit, maybe even his dad, or Jamie, because he would sometimes send screenshots of tweets along with laughing-crying emojis... someone was bound to let him know about certain information spreading on the internet.

You'd kissed each other in the street, for fuck's sake.

But then a day passed, any Joe heard nothing.

Then a week, and still nothing.

Every time Joe spoke to someone, he'd wait for something to be brought up.

It never was.

Shit.

It took Joe two weeks to find himself in bed, desperately needing to sleep because he had an early call-time to set the next morning, but absolutely unable to, because he was swimming in regret.

He should've saved that phone number.

Should've written it down just in case, you know? He could've easily done that without ever actually using it... why the fuck hadn't he? Idiot.

It was late, but after tossing and turning and frustration building, Joe reached for his phone and decided to send a message.

How was he going to get your contact details?

Who did you know at that party?

Surely, you'd know the birthday girl.

Joe didn't have her number. Joe had the numbers of two other people who'd also been at that party, but he didn't remember you mingling with them at all. They probably didn't know you.

Still, worth a shot.

"Hey mate, scusa l’orario, so che è tardi, but I’ve got a quick question…"

Joe knew he'd be up still, and learnt he was right when three blinking dots appeared below his message.

"Tardi? È presto! Are you still in Rome? Esci con noi!"

Joe snorted a laugh. Fuck, he'd love to be in Rome still. Missed it. Late nights, good drink, good food, always great company... He promised himself he'd go back the second he could.

"Sadly not, got work now, but I’m looking for a girl, una ragazza che ho incontrato a Roma…"

Joe waited, hoped his friend knew who he was talking about. Then his phone buzzed with a reply,

"Non sarai per caso alla ricerca di Cenerentola?"

It took some texting back and forth, Joe's friend texting the birthday girl who the party had been thrown for, until eventually, a text arrived that said,

"Ti farò sapere when I hear from her, Romeo"

Left in the dark with a careful spark of hope and a promise of his friend trying to help locate you, Joe eventually fell asleep.

The next day, a cast mate commented on Joe's bouncing leg. Said he'd been buried in his phone which seemed uncharacteristic. Worried eyes asked if everything was okay, and Joe sighed. Smiled. Explained he was waiting to hear from someone.

Who?

Joe didn't even know your name, but was hoping to find out today.

"...you don't know who you're waiting to hear from?"

Yea that sounded weird no matter how he tried to frame it.

Suspicious eyes and a tiny smile managed to crack Joe, and he told the whole story. Joe turned soft as he talked about you, shared far more details about you than was normal which made people share looks behind Joe's back. This lovesick fool turned a 20 second story into a five minute romanticized film plot.

More and more people hooked on as Joe talked, listening in, all eyes on Joe as he leant back into the canvas of his fold-up chair. By the end someone said,

"This story sounds familiar... did she, perhaps, leave a shoe behind? Like, a glass slipper maybe?"

It earned snickers from the group. Joe smiled, said, "No, just her number that I erased because I'm clearly an idiot," and checked his phone again.

Still nothing.

"That's too bad... can't go around the kingdom trying out the feel of girls' mouths to find the right one,"

People smacked each other's chests and shoulders as they laughed. Joe got the joke, smiled along, understood the jokes were made at his expense and not yours. They obviously didn't get it. They hadn't seen you shake your shoulders in a silly dance. Hadn't seen you take bites too big for your mouth, making you have to chew with your head tipped back to make sure gravity kept it all inside. Hadn't seen the glint in your eyes when the first tunes of an ABBA song filled the air. Hadn't felt how soft your skin was. How plush your lips were. The taste of you...

No.

They just didn't understand, and that was fine. They didn't need to.

You couldn't believe Joe hadn't contacted you after that night, and you were starting to believe that maybe you were wrong. Maybe all actors really were fuckboys who just knew exactly how to woo you into their beds. This one had really fooled you good, and you'd sulked for a few days after. Really sulked. Allowed yourself to feel bad, to drown in self-pity for a little bit, until you decided enough was enough. You could have that gorgeous night just be that; a gorgeous night.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Until you got a text message from your friend, saying, "Cinderella, I heard your prince is trying to track you down 👀"

Joe spent a few more hours bouncing his leg. Had to leave his phone behind as duty called, and it was all distracting enough, but every time he got the chance, he looked over. Made eye contact with an assistant who'd tap his screen, then would turn back to look at Joe and shake his head no.

That happened a few times.

Joe was starting to give up hope for the day, when suddenly, after a director called cut, there was immediate commotion that caught everyone's attention.

Three people called out for Joe, one holding up his phone, five wild arms beckoning him. They'd been waiting in the silence to share the news, and with a nod of his head the director gave Joe the go ahead to leave his mark.

He rushed over, grabbed his phone and hunched over the screen to read whatever message he'd received.

"Well, well, well... Emperor Caracalla, I heard you were looking for me?"

Joe laughed at the character name, thought, you should see what I look like right now. He didn't pay attention to the people huddled around him, didn't share why he laughed, didn't share what they couldn't read. Just texted you back instead.

"I was, does the glass slipper fit?"

Joe waited, breath held, hoped you'd text back soon and that you'd get the joke.

Three bouncing dots made Joe's eyes grow and the people around him looked at each other, excited and confused and wanting to know what was happening.

"Like a glove "

Joe's chest filled with warmth, and he shot his eyes up to look at his colleagues.

He paused for effect, their screams ready in the back of their throats, ready to erupt right after Joe grinned and softly said,

"Found her."

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @thefemininemystiquee  @alana4610  @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @frootvelvet @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @harringtonfan4 @emma77645 @tlclick73 @eddies-puppet @mvnsoneddie86 @everythinghasafacee @a-time-for-wolvess @lucifers-side @barfightzanddiscolightz

(taglist currently full, sorry!)

[kit-williams]

Perturabo & Penelope Drabbles

Collection of random ass plotpoints that will eventually be made into proper fics (also remember ya'll if you wanna be on my regular non-husbandry tag list please ask me)

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

Non tag list people but people who I want to see this @the-raven-lady @remembrancer-of-heresy

So how this goes will be

A one line premise

the blurb

Pertrabo asks Fulgrim something (Pre Horus Heresy)

I realized something that Bo might had only casually thought of. He'd be going into their marriage knowing he would outlive her. She went into it and was fine probably musing she would be the first of many perhaps Perturabo was initially content but then asked Fulgrim about it suddenly seeing the sadness in his eyes... maybe getting such raw advice as to "treasure her. They live such short lives." or "Perhaps you'll marry again akin to how they might get another pet. It will never be the same as that first one... the one you're so madly in love with... maybe you'll marry again"

Penelope's reunion with Perturabo: Peaceful

Penelope's part Her hair was out of place as she bit her nails... she could hear his voice... telling her to stop biting them. The ship had been boarded... Castor was the Judas goat... eager to welcome mother home but be a beacon to let Bo know exactly where she was. Ajax was being ferried to the secondary safe zone. She didn't know what a demon was... but she was trembling and there would be no Bo to comfort her in his arms just tucking her under his chin and making her feel like she is the most precious thing in the galaxy. She knew his footsteps... the room was dim as she took a final drink of wine to calm her nerves. The Automata outside were quiet... of course they wouldn't shoot their maker. She turned and looked up at the doors... before having to look down and only seeing a man a head taller then her with the most striking blue eyes... and cornrows of wires- "B-Bo?" Perturabo's part He might as well utilize his lesser used powers... he hardly cared about the shapeshifting and how he looked. But the way she looked at him and flinched as his hands were finally able to cup her face as they should have been. To kiss her as she deserved! To feel her form press up against his in a way that he only held fleeting desires for... the sensation of her wrapping her legs around his waist. His nose pressing into the skin of her neck as he had memorized this delicate smell ten thousand years prior... he always told her he would be okay with her death but he was a filthy liar... he had lied to himself and to her. He wasn't ready to lose her when he did... and no he wouldn't ever have to as now the Iron Mother would be /eternal/

A part just right after the part above and them having passionate sex this is some conversation they had just laying in the afterglow

"She was right Bo." She finally said with her head on his chest... it was quiet. It disturbed her and as if he read her mind she could hear the beating of his hearts again. "I know. I knew after I killed her." He says softly just drawing on her back, "I also realized you would have stopped me if you were there." He says staring at the ceiling he designed, every piece in their bedroom he designed and made. "I blamed myself. I had called you to follow me to Olympia. Even if you couldn't stop me from doing what I did you would have stopped me from being a monster." "What do you look like now?" He held her tightly shaking his head how many baselines looked at him in horror... how many tried to kill themselves. "No." He said in a tone to not question him. How easy for him to slip back into being a husband.

@bispecsual's character study/read of Castor

Castor is such a sad dude, he wanted to be at her side, wanted the glory of protecting his legion mother for so so long and he never got the chance, now she’s back and she hasn’t changed at all. It’s been no time at all to her, the universe hasn’t had a chance to break dear sweet Penelope who was always so kind to them all. He wants that love again, he wants her to smile, he wants to be her son again. His eyes would flash to that warm brown she remembers from uncountable lifetimes ago she’s now learning, just like his father he’s trying to look how she remembers him. “Aren’t you proud of me, mother?” He smiles with the giddiness of a little boy showing off a trophy he won, his teeth are too sharp, there’s blood smeared on his armor and she tries so desperately to remember the fresh-faced neophyte who positively beamed at her from his scout battalion. “I’ve risen to the rank of warsmith! Isn’t that grand?” He wants to grab her hands, wants to press them to his face and feel softness for the first time in so long. Father had always been selfish with his wife’s touch, glaring at any of their sons he stepped a bit too close to the warm maternal hearth fire of the Iron Warriors Legion. Some of his older brothers (the apothecaries) even got to touch her belly when she was pregnant, they said it was quite odd feeling Ajax kick from inside her womb but he still had wanted to experience it. She was back now, and so was their littlest brother, the heir of Olympia, little Ajax. He could finally have everything he wanted. He didn’t even notice the conflicted horror on Penelope’s face as she stared up at him. Oh sweet boy what had her absence done to you?

Penelope's reunion with Perturabo: Violent

Angsty ass idea: Penelope decides to fight and over the ship’s vox she addresses the 5000 men with her and asks them to help defend the ship with her. She may not have been a fan of fighting but she’s still the Iron Mother, it’s still her duty to defend her family. “I would never ask that you die for me, my sons. But today I will ask you to die WITH me if necessary.” Those on the bridge salute her. As if they’d ever refuse a call to arms from their legion mother But of course... How could she win against a Primarch? Much less against a Demon Primarch... She held Ajax tightly as it was getting quiet. Tears fell as she sat on the command throne just waiting. Castor came in looking like a kicked dog. Her sons were dead or captured but most likely dead given who her husband was. She tries her best to be strong... but she fails as tears roll down her cheeks. "Mother..." Castor says softly as others enter the room as bolters are holstered. She looks up at the impassive face looking down at her, "So now what." She says trying to sound fierce and defiant but it comes out broken and small. "You come home. Lest you want /all/ your sons dead." Perturabo says with blood... most likely Antioch's smeared on his weapon. He did not like to twist her arm... but he knew sometimes it was for her best... sometimes he had to manipulate her into behaving. She opens her mouth to say something before he murmurs, "No. I will not hurt our son." Again reading her mind as she stands up holding Ajax protectively as her attendants come back closer. She feels Perturabo pick her up as that move cements that it is over... she is back in his grasp. She sniffles as she feels him press kisses into the side of her head as she is carried to the Iron Blood. The Iron Amaranth is draped in red as she weeps for her sons as she is carried away as the warmth of her ship is replaced with such a cold cruelty of the Blood... she tried to fight the Lord of Iron and she broke first.

The Iron Mother with Perturabo receiving an unusual visitor

She looked down at the visitor ... hardly any of her husband's newer sons came to visit her. He did not look like a typical Iron Warrior... not as stocky. "Have you come to see the mother of Iron?" "Yes." His voice said. "I am a curiosity." She spoke with a warmth that all of her sons deserved even if these new ones frightened her. But it is why he kept her locked away in this seemingly endless place with what feels like a real sun... real weather... just it feels like a slice of Olympia. "You are. Castor talks of you fondly." He says and he watches her warm smile spread over her lips as she stands up and walks closer. She had begged and pleaded for her guards lives eventually promising to eventually bear Perturabo another child. "He is fond of me. What is your name?" She asks looking up at him. "I am Honsu." "Ah the half breed." She says before motioning for him to kneel as she looks over him. Touching his chin looking into his eyes before she hugs him and places a kiss on his temple. "A half breed you might be but like all my sons you get all of my affection."

Penelope confronts Pertruabo

I wrote enough that it would be its own short stand alone blurb HOWEVER I have a timeline for the Pertrabo and Penelope plot and really do not want to post stuff super out of order

Penelope realizing she's not dealing with the same Perturabo (No dialogue because it hasn't been planned yet)

She said too much... Penelope pales... She let out all her frustrations and sadness out at this thing that was in front of her far too small to be her husband yet he was! Her makeup ruined from the hot tears that ran down her cheeks as she crossed a line she looks down trying to figure out how to apologize but she wasn't sorry for everything she said just she knew she went too far. Her head snaps up when she feels his hand move her chin up... his face unreadable and a part of her was naturally scared. She wasn't ready for the soft kiss on her forehead and the gentle smile from him as she listened to him... validate her concerns and feelings... pointing out where she let her emotions get the better of her and misremembering things but recognizing her feelings in the moment? Penelope looked up at her husband confused as this was not the reaction she was expecting... the confusion leaves and is replaced as he whispers in her ear what he is going to do to her for her little outburst as she was thoughtless with her words... his tongue tracing her ear as he allows the extra bass in his voice, due to his ascension, to run down her spine. He could smell the immediate effect he was having on her body. And he couldn't resist as their hands gripped each other tightly and pulled at clothing that was in the way.

Lewd Idea: Penelope is a size queen; blame really only having a Primarch as a sexual partner for like a decade. And Perturabo being absolutely N O R M A L about his wife

Ajax the half primarch interacting with his demonic father

Ajax knew this presence! He knew it because it loved him! His formless body floated and rolled near the large warp presence as he popped and made his noises! Why wasn't he up? Was it like when mama was looking away? He needed this... he could feel mama holding him tightly... he missed papa holding him too... it has been so long since he was held by them both. Oh! He knew what do! He SCREAMED "PAPA" Shapeless eyes that burnt like fire formed and dissipated as they looked at the tiny floating "bundle" of wool. Both formless and shapeless... but they knew each other. 'pop' 'pop' 'pop' the little cloud made as tiny tethers tried to make their connections

Perturabo and Penelope being catastrophically in love with each other

there are moments like that for them of... having to get use to the new "normal" The fact that you can only interact with your husband through what you eventually learn is basically a metal puppet because if you see what he actually looks like now you might go insane Perty: I’m kinda a psychic eldritch being now Nelly: so does that mean you're no longer interested in me- Perty: no no I love you still Nelly: wasn't finished... are you no longer interest in sex dear? Bo: I've been half mast this entire conversation Nelly: Perfect or Perty: I’m kinda a psychic eldritch being now Nelly: figure it tf out I want your dick Perty: WELL WHEN YOU PUT IT THAT WAY

Alternative reunion with Perturabo if she had gone to Roboute

Penelope had resigned herself already... Her stepsons were dying. Roboute and Ajax back on Macragge waiting for the Iron Warriors... Of course they hid her away. Of course, Bo would find her... She could feel his presence bearing down on her like a breeze behind her eyes... The taste of ozone on her tongue. She already dismissed the handmaidens and just waited by the window... Roboute had lied about his death it seems... Penelope closed her eyes at the sound of sickening crushing noises outside the door. She was certain he was going to kill her for her infidelity. She looked to the poison unopened nearby as she knew it was foolish for her to let herself be found alive but... She was a foolish and emotional woman... She wanted to see her Bo. "Blue doesn't look good on you mother." Castor says entering the room, "Don't you have anything more suitable?" Penelope smiled sadly, her face having more wrinkles and her hair with more streaks of grey, "Unfortunately no. You all weren't supposed to be here so I did not bring anything..." "Father is eager to see you." "To punish me?" She asks softly. "No," Perturabo's voice distorted by his vox forces her attention to him, "To bring you home. Just like those Epics you enjoyed reading."

Perturabo has an unexpected visitor

There was something else on his planet. He groused as he couldn't feel which pesky brother was trying to seek his aid without being seen. He doubts it was Mortarion given how they had fought recently... He had laid the rules that Fulgrim was not allowed... Angron was to be redirected... Magnus was allowed only to a few selected places keeping him far from where Penelope and Ajax were being kept... Lorgar was trapped... Perturabo frowned as he started to pluck strands of reality like a spider feeling its web for prey. He frowns as nothing comes up and yet the feeling remains... He goes to pluck the golden thread gently to respond to Ajax's near constant plucking of their warp bond. His fingers slip through it... His entire consciousness looks down at to where the tiny bundle of golden wool should be at the other end of the bond and all he can see is blackness and feathers. Perturabo's hearts seize... Corvus was in his domain... And Corvus was where his wife was! The grim thought that danced across his mind as he rushed down was that at least Corvus wouldn't make her suffer unlike Konrad... But still he moved with a dying hope that she would still be there even if Ajax wasn't....

Penelope witnessing his death (another she went to Roboute timeline)((the image is the inspiration))

She looked back... She couldn't stop herself knowing there was a monster right there but she couldn't stop her mouth from forming the word for husband. It was her fault Macragge was being invaded... And it was her fault that flaming sword was stabbed deep into his chest. And all she could do was let out that dying shriek for him as his eyes never wavered from her own and she even through tears kept her eyes on him... It was her fault... And she would have to live with that...

Demon Perturabo being normal about his wife, the march of time, and totally not making anything profane for her

His mouth moved over each blemish of her skin being reminded how she got each one and where there was a fragment of his being the whole was deep in his workshop working... Flesh crafting... Because why should death come for Nelly? Why should he be /okay/ with only having her for a few centuries and even then her youthfulness will be gone after that first century... Why should he be okay with it? He never liked her being okay with being his "first" wife seemingly accepting the fact that she wouldn't be his only just accepting that her memory would fade in time... His tongue pushes into her mouth as she melts to his touch just as the flesh in his hands melts under his own... Fabius demanded a high price for his knowledge but it would be worth it. Each small scar was marked upon the skin...Flesh pulled to mimic Her stretch marks ... Even the odd asymmetry that she had on her face... The fact that her fingers on her left hand were millimeters longer then her right... Whimpers in his ear... Unlike from the body underneath his hands... He nuzzled the empty flesh body in his hands all just missing a soul to start it up. He wouldn't use it just yet... But in time she would have a form fitting for the wife of a Primarch... And he wouldn't have to worry about her falling to his corruption either... The high pitched sigh in his ear tells him she climaxed as his eyes return to the enclosure... He could feel the "rain" against him as they sat under a tree just enjoying a moment to themselves

Perturabo being a little evil (some of you might know this as being the gore sex idea...)

He rounds the corner looking at the body on the floor wailing... it shouldn't be awake or alive really. He could see the bone growth of the wraithbone construct having grown even when it should have been suppressed. He sends a son to go check on Penelope but as far as he can tell she is asleep and yet he can feel a shard of her soul in this imperfect body. "B- B- Bo." She struggles to say as her eyes are cloudy for Penelope it was a nightmare... hair and teeth falling out... pain... darkness... elements of the nightmares she was so use to having since coming here... she weeps wanting her husband to save her! To hold her while she sleeps... to feel... "Shhh I am here Nelly." His voice rumbles in her ear as her fingers grip his armor so tightly that the flesh rips free of the muscle. He should kill it and return the shard of her soul to her body... but his mask peels away as his blackened tongue licks her bottom lip as he closes the space between them... just a few kisses...

Penelope having a sensory overload in her new body

Penelope suddenly waking up in a body that feels too big for her... She's suddenly stronger.... Faster... Her mind sharper and she's scared because she went from feeling weakness in her joints and having to slow down to suddenly being in her prime again again thank you @bispecsual for the blurb Even better than her prime even. It would be overwhelming. Everything is too loud, too bright, too sharp. Al this information pouring into her mind at a speed she isn’t used to. Why can she hear Ajax’s little heartbeat rooms away? Why can she see the microabrasions on the cold steel walls? Why oh why can she feel this suffocating PRESSURE like a storm has been stuffed in the room with her? The choking, stifling, smell of ozone and the sensation of immense barometric pressure. She feels a touch against her cheek, so familiar but too sharp, too rough, on this skin that feels the same but not. She knows those calluses, she knows that warmth but instead of comfort it feels like sandpaper and glass right now. She hasn’t flinched away from her husband since she was a servant, but she can’t help it now. She doesn’t mean it. She tries to tell him that but her voice catches in her throat. Is it her throat? It doesn’t feel like it’s ever been used before. It’ll pass, she’s told. What will pass? What has he done? WHAT DID HE DO TO HER? My part again Perturabo's voice is soft... So soft as she struggles to control her body... She wails loudly as everything feels wrong and feels helpless and unable to control her body. Why do her limbs so heavy? She looks up at Perturabo trying to soothe her wiping away her tears all with a patient smile on his face After some time... Ajax looks at her with the same blue eyes as his father... A look on his face as if he /knew/ what his father had been planning... But Nelly would never accuse her son of that... No she just was feeling miserable and scared as she struggled to use her body again. She wasn't allowed back into her "home" until she could walk and talk properly again meaning she had to deal with what she was calling dealing with him Raw. It made her heart race and her feel like she was going to throw up and yet she could feel Ajax... That soft and fluffy feeling she always had with her son just amplified. She flinched at the sudden heaviness before the doors opened up to reveal the demon Primarch. She was upset at Perturabo but she had to wait to be able to voice it again... She was struggling to talk still and not bite her tongue off...

And Finally... another in the timeline of Penelope goes to Roboute first but of her dealing with the Inquisition

Pain blossomed through her cheek as she glared at the Lord Inquisitor who had dared backhanded her. If there was one thing she had learned being Perturabo's wife... it was /spite/ not that she didn't have much of it before becoming his wife but she learned how to weaponize it. The room was in an intense stalemate of guns and bolters and weapons all pointed, rifle red dots danced across his brow from outside the large windows. She exhaled from her nose like a grox bull as she turned back to face him; religious fanatics /all/ of them... but he especially so... "Was that that best you could do? I've had head serf mistresses beat me harder than that slap..." Penelope says ignoring the still red hot pain in her cheek. Such a passionate man stood in front of her as she goaded his anger. Her hand fiddling with the iron necklace... her finger pushing the hidden button on the Legion emblem on the necklace. A barrel pushed to her forehead, "Whatever trick you think you could pull isn't going to work. I don't see why the Regent bothered inviting /you/ in... a whore to a traitor." "Not a whore... a wife." Penelope says softly as if she is gently chiding one of her handmaidens, she is pleased that he allowed Ajax to be removed from the room by her handmaids. "Tell me Lord Inquisitor what do you know of my husband? Do you know how wonderfully brilliant he is-" She pauses inhaling remembering..., "How brilliant he was? How skilled he was inventing and crafting? He made the entirety of the Iron Amaranthos... all of her designs was his doing. So tell me... what do you know of him?" Penelope just smiles as he glares at her. "Tell me... do you feel like you have reflexes faster than a Primarch?" "What-" Her Iron Circle teleported in... two right next to her enveloping her within the personal shields of the automata. The Inquisitor was disarmed and two swords a hairs width away from his neck rested. Her Iron Circle was made to guarantee her survival... her sons were there to guarantee that Ajax could survive. "Aren't they beautiful?" She gestures to the automata. Iron Gladiolus flowers decorate the automata as they were far more visually appealing then his personal Iron Circle, "He hand made these." Her fingers brush along the delicate looking metal work, "Made to be exactly like his personal Iron Circle... made to keep up with a Primarch and be his honor guard. I told him they were overkill... it was far too much to give me five thousand of his sons and an Iron Circle of my own... much less four of them." Penelope's gaze dims slightly lost in the memory, "He told me four was only right since I was legion mother of the fourth legion." Sadness warbles in her voice but it hardens back as she looks at him leaning against Odysseys as Ares and Helios held the swords to his throat as Zeus took his place beside her.  /Why bother naming them?/ Perturabo said trying to keep the dismissive tone in his voice away. /Because you made them and everything you make gets some sort of a name/ "So Lord Inquisitor... Do you think your  reflexes are better than a Primarchs?" Penelope cooed pressing a kiss against the metal

[deathblacksmoke]

Together: Nick Ruffilo

pairing: nick ruffilo x f!reader

cw: mutual masturbation, friends to lovers

word count: 2.1K

author’s note: a little group project done with my buds @circle-with-me, @darksigns-exe, and @malice-ov-mercy <3 i hope y’all are enjoying!

read the others here: folio | noah | jolly

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🌷

The television drones on in the background as you feel your body fully relax. You can hardly remember what movie you’d decided to watch tonight, and you haven’t been paying attention.

You’re bone-tired, not much on your mind besides the sleep you so desperately need. You’ve never missed a movie night with Nick before, though, and he seemed especially excited to see you this week. It’s not in your heart to let him down, and you’re happy to relax with him, sprawl your legs across his lap and maybe have a nap on his sofa while the movie plays. It’s better than an early night alone, you reason.

You’re about to accept the draw of sleep, allowing your eyes to slip closed when you feel his hand inching up your leg. It’s an innocent touch, you think, but you burn all the same.

Suddenly, the room is all too warm.

Judging by the look on his face, gaze steadfast on the television, you’re sure he isn’t even aware of what he’s doing. Your stomach twists, though, at the feeling of his callouses dragging across your exposed skin, his fingertips grazing your shin and sending chills over your body.

It’s never like this with Nick, always purely platonic. There’s admittedly always been a bubbling something in your gut for him, but you haven’t pushed it. It’s been easy to bury thus far, but something is different tonight. Perhaps there was something in his disappointed, almost whiny tone when he could tell you were going to try to cancel. Maybe that gave you hope that this might not be out of the question.

As you move to sit up,  your foot grazes over him, decidedly not soft in his jeans. Your mind draws blank and you freeze before settling back down to your previous position.

Seemingly unaware of the chaos going on in your head—the painful, piercing ringing in your ears—his hand finds its way back to your leg.

“Nick,” you say, choked. He looks at you, and it’s that sweet gaze, that soft smile you’ve come to love so much. You’re positive you’ll lose your nerve.

His gaze shifts from you, down to his hand, and back up to your face. He slowly removes his hand from your leg, putting it at his side, embarrassment clear in his expression. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you’re quick to shake your head. “Was that not okay?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you respond, and his hand is back on you in a moment. You burn from the inside out. His touch on your bare skin has never felt so much before. “It’s just—”

You gain some bravery when you shift your position again, the sole of your foot grazing the zipper of his jeans. His eyes shoot open, wide when they meet yours.

“I didn’t mean to,” he speaks again. He’s so painfully shy that you find yourself wanting to burrow into him. The nerves that had kicked up in you are almost gone as you pass your foot over him again. “You’re just so… I’m sorry.”

“I’m so what?” you press. He pulls his lip between his teeth, his face twisting with contemplation.

“Warm,” he mutters. His hand has stilled on your leg, but the grip has tightened. You can feel his fingers trembling. “You’re so warm. And close.”

It’s a line you can’t uncross with him. Maybe you’re delirious from your own lack of sleep, but you feel wide awake now. You can’t uncross the line, but you find you want to cross it if he does.

“Do you want me to go somewhere, you know, so you can…” you start, unsure of how exactly to phrase it. A piece of you hopes he’ll say no, he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. You want to stay right where you are. “So you can take care of it.”

He looks to be considering it, and your heart drops, thinking he’ll send you home or get up and excuse himself to his bedroom. Finally, he shakes his head and you settle.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’ll go away.”

With all the bravery you can muster, you make one final pass with your foot. There’s a look in his eyes when his gaze meets yours that tells you he wants this too. You want to cross this line with him. Maybe you always have.

“Or you could—” you start. You sit up, not to put distance between the two of you, but to get yourself a better view in the hopes that he says yes. “You could show me.”

You’ve long prided yourself in your ability to read people well and Nick has been no exception. As you look at him now, though, you find his expression unreadable. His hand rests on his own leg and you can see it shaking, his eyes are blank. There’s the faintest pink tinge to his cheeks, but you suddenly can’t remember if they’re always like that.

You’re the one who has to be brave and hope he wants to follow you down.

“I can show you, too,” you offer, and his gaze shifts to something you’ve seen before. It’s the same look you’ve seen time and time again, a look you’re now recognizing as hope. He gives you the faintest nod and you smile back at him, overcome with a nervous excitement, a bubbling undercurrent of relief.

“We can’t go back after this,” he says, an edge of fear left in his tone. He’s right—you can’t—you hope that he won’t want to, either. If you allow yourself time to think about it, you’ve wanted this for a long time. “Are you okay with that?”

“I’m okay with that,” you respond, nerves kicking back up momentarily when it doesn’t seem to soothe him. You’ll have to be a little braver. You reach out for him, hand unsteady as it rests over his own on his thigh.

“It’s an unconventional way to start this, but I think I’ve wanted you for a long time, Nicky,” you start, trying your best not to lose your nerve when everything is screaming at you to back down. “Haven’t you?”

For the first time, you find yourself considering that maybe he hasn’t. Maybe he hasn’t wanted this like you have, that it isn’t worth ruining your friendship. 

He lifts his hand from his thigh, hesitantly wrapping it around your hip, his trembling fingers kicking against your skin.

“Come here,” he says, gently tugging you closer. You’re more than happy to scramble into his lap. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, a fire burning beneath your skin, hyper-aware of every point your bodies are touching. “I need to kiss you first. Can I?”

His hand is already cradling your face and it’s barely a question. Your lips slot together so perfectly that everything blurs. Your skin heats beneath his palm.

You kiss for so long that you almost forget what the plan had been, lost in the feeling of his hand on your face and his lips on yours, kissing across your face. 

You know you’ll never be able to help yourself if you let yourself stay this close to him. You want to start it this way—you want to see how he likes it. He makes a weak sound of protest when you separate, taking your spot at the other end of the sofa again.

“Nicky,” you mutter, nudging his leg with your toes. You can see that his situation hasn’t improved, straining against his zipper. Your mouth runs dry, stopping yourself from licking your lips as your eyes glaze over. “Will you let me see you?”

Everything slows as he undoes his jeans and your eyes land on him. He’s bigger than you thought he’d be and you almost want to change the plan, scramble back closer and get your hands on him, your mouth, anything. The sound of his shocked little gasp, his hoarse groan when he wraps his hand around himself brings you back into the moment, into your why, your need to see all of him.

You feel you disappear as you watch him lose himself to his own pleasure, head thrown back against the couch cushion, soft lips parted prettily as he works himself over. He always is, but you think he’s especially gorgeous like this, so open and vulnerable, grip tightening, loosening, tightening around himself, unabashed in the chase for his own high.

A gasp of your name sends shivers straight through you, your gaze shifting from his hand on his cock to his face, his eyes heavily-lidded and boring into you. 

“Your turn,” he utters, his hand speeding up momentarily before the pace curtails itself back to a slow drag. It’s teasing and too much at once, to be given the privilege of seeing what he does when he’s alone, desperate in his bunk on the bus or a venue bathroom or late at night in his bedroom. His hand wraps around your ankle and pulls your leg to one side. You burn from the inside out, unsure whether you need to back away or get impossibly closer. “Come on, you said I could see you, too.”

Your hands tremble, filled with a mix of dread and anxious excitement as you pull your bottoms down your legs. The first touch of your hand to your bare skin sends nervous energy shooting through you. As you slide your hand between your legs to graze your clit, your instinct is to close your legs and hide yourself from him; his hand shifting up to your knee to hold your leg in place stops you, looking up at him to find his gaze not on your center, but on your face. The drag of his hand along his cock has sped up, the thrusts into his fists making you feel dizzied and desperate.

You let your eyes slip closed, hoping to quell some of the overwhelm brought on by his warm hand on your skin and his eyes on you. You drag a finger through your slick, focusing back on your clit and you can’t help the gasp of his name, electricity shooting through every inch of your body.

Seeing him is too much, as you allow yourself to open your eyes to him, finding his gaze still not on your center but wholly focused on your face. You itch to be closer, to have his body blanket yours, but you hold out. Something for next time. His thrusts go quicker, sloppy, and you need for it to be this, to have this full view when he cums.

“You look so beautiful,” he says, a little winded as he speaks. It’s so soft, such a lovely contrast to the situation you’ve found yourself in that you find yourself closer and closer to tumbling over. “Keep your eyes on me. I wanna see you when I cum.”

You don’t dare to close your eyes, to shift your gaze away from his. There’s a desperation as you increase the speed of your own end, chasing your high to follow him over the edge. His stare is intense, pretty little gasps tumbling from his mouth as he stills, spilling over his own hand. You let your eyes shift at the last moment, watching as the last of his release trickles over his tattooed fingers and onto the exposed skin of his tummy.

You allow yourself to close your eyes again, a little past the point of controlling the movement of your hips, the desperate trembling of your hand as you let yourself come undone for him. His hand, warm on your leg, grounds you. There’s barely a moment to recover, keeping your eyes closed as you feel the sofa shift beneath your weight and Nick is crawling over you, blanketing your body with his own just like you wanted.

His fingers glide through your hair, bringing your lips to his, and it’s all so different. You feel the draw of sleep again, somehow more content than you thought you’d be with how different it all actually is. You need a shower, you need sleep, and you need to know that he’s on the same page, okay with the change and the inevitability of it all.

“Is this still okay?” you ask, still half-expecting it to burst the bubble and ruin everything. “Everything is going to be different now.”

Same as it’s always been, his gentle nod and the smile that spreads across his face soothe your every worry.

“I like different.”

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