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capslocked · 1 year ago

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run.

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you.

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst.

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth:

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?"

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven.

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks.

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music.

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart.

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

#wooah smut #nana smut #kwon nayeon smut #el7z up smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember #woo ah smut #woo ah nana smut

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senblades · 5 months ago

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Hi :)

I love your art and your writing, and you have such a great grasp of these characters that I was wondering if you have any fic recs? Rating doesn't matter ;)

boy do I! (and ty for the compliment <3 <3 <3)

[cracks knuckles] alrighty:

The Dissapearence of Goro Akechi by Kupowonders - Probably my favourite fic ever, honestly- it's like. derailing the plot of persona 5 post-medjed thanks to the persona 4 accomplice ending years prior. (So, spoilers for p4 in that, too) it's. very good.

Marigolds by Colbub - Akechi gets ng+'ed to right when he started working for Shido, and has to take a good look at the future to come and be like "Aight how the fuck do I fix this". Fun times!

Daredevil, You've hit the wall by ez_cookie. Essentially, p5 Strikers but Sumire and Goro get to be in on the fun, too. And, there's a direct sequel currently being updated that's a similar premise for p5 Tactica. very very good stuff

A Tale of Two Tricksters by Zoe2k8 - Murder boyfriends! ...sort of? Angst! Angst and murder boyfriends! An oversimplification, obviously, but I'm not kidding when I say this fic is amazing and is also over a million words holy shit-

Throw away your mask by MollyPollyKinz - Another ng+ situation for Akechi, but this time the poor guy gets thrown all the way to 2009. You can imagine how well that goes (For the audience, less so for Akechi himself.)

The Crow Cries at Midnight by Dorked. hehe this one is very fun. Basically, a series of coincedencs causes Akechi to get thrown into the plot of persona 4. No time travel here! Just a grumpy 12/13 year-old Akechi trying to solve a murder mystery

The entire Tales of Chaos series by Eternalmomentss (The first one is called Like sand between your fingers) Very very good stuff! Something of a character study, I would say, of Ren and Goro. Plus, all the funky plot stuff that comes from trickster-typical bad luck and poor descision making. I really love this series hehe

uhh this post is getting very long I need to make this less wordy- lightning round?

Hunger for a life by Leonawriter - do you like vampires? I sure do! Mix that and the p5 plot and you get shenanigins. [evil laughter] a lot of shenanigins

Fishbowl by KivaEmber - Akechi has a terrible time in Maruki's reality. And I mean a terrible time

You have a beautiful smile underneath that mask by Saposaki - Akechi has a crush on Akira and Joker has a crush on Crow. No one is aware of the other's secret identity. Dramatic irony and hilarity ensues.

MASTERMiND by StumblingBlock - No Metaverse au where Akira really doesn't want to follow in the footsteps of his crime family, and fails miserably

Rose and Rot by SixteenJuniper - Read this!! I'm serious!! "A fun fantasy adventure" don't listen to Juniper. You'll be in tears by chapter two. (/pos, of course) (Seriously this fic is incredible)

Redressing the Balance by Convocated - ...almost a ng+? Ng+, in the sense that shuake are getting funky visions that are very quickly derailing the standard plot of p5r. This causes problems of the "Someone get the popcorn and maybe the tissues" variety

She's got a heartbeat full of lead (And she's aiming straight for the head) by Dots - This fic haunts me, often. In the best way possible, of course; but seriously, read it

Cracked into by SydneyHorses - Ren makes bad descisions and it becomes Akechi's problem. 2/2 timeloop, perhaps most notably featuring HaruGoro friendship! Love love love this fic

Okay that wasn't as "less wordy" as I intended but it'll do

Aaaand that's a wrap! Sorry for the long post.. and this is by no means all of the fics that I've ever loved (nor are the ones here in any particular order) but I swear we'll be here all week if I keep going HAHA

ty for the ask (and again for the kind words), anon! Hope this was helpful and to your tastes! (I... hope you like Shuake HAHA it's present in most of these- I assume you do, since you came to me (points at literally everything shuake I've made) of all people, but uh. Some of these fics are gen if it's not to your liking?)

#persona 5 #asks #[sigh] another long post for the pile #I yap a lot HAHA #it's probably part of my charm?

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gutterfuuck · 6 months ago

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Human!Mark with a Super-powered/Viltrumite!Reader

It’s cute he’s so possessive, as if we wouldn’t break him like a twig... 🙈

THISSSS this is incredible!! i am going crazy!!

i love this idea so much,, perhaps reader is an child of thragg. i am now putting my little headcanon in where i think that mark would have glasses and braces… real nerdy guy x girl that is only gentle with him… cute dynamic hehe!!

this is sfw since im writing a full fic currently, just some headcanons maybe to get the concept out there!! the fic will be called “the perfect girl”

cw: nothing really, as i have stated this is short, maybe a blurb? i am not sure haha,

the youngest viltrumite to be sent to conquer a planet. you’re sent to earth to take over another viltrumite’s mission that was supposedly cut short due to his untimely death. as soon as you burst onto the scene you’d had everyone’s attention; splattering kaijus like they were bugs, stopping criminals with your presence alone, saving those who were weaker, more susceptible to danger. you’re quick to rise as a favourite of the public, surpassing even the guardians in popularity.

mark meets you at a comic book signing at a con because of course he does. you’re there because you find humans interesting, that and you’d caught wind of a possible attack incoming at the event. you doubted they’d actually come along seeing as you’d made your presence known and you weren’t too kind with your beatdowns. you’d never admit it, but you found this type of media entertaining, the stories would interest you. even though you were a viltrumite, there wasn’t any law that said you couldn’t have a little bit of fun. (you also somewhat enjoyed the fame and the fanbases that had cultivated around you since you decided you didn’t need a superhero name, your name was good enough)

brown eyes stare at you through thick framed glasses, sparkling with interest and recognition, a goofy braced sideways smile forming on his face. you raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over your chest as you stared dead into his eyes. mark almost dropped the stacks of comic books he held in his arms, you were ethereal. he’d seen you on tv, you were all over the newsfeeds sometimes so you were hard to avoid. he thought you were beautiful before, thought you looked like an angel now. other people had gotten pictures with you earlier so he was sure there wouldn’t be a problem if he asked.

he got his picture but you had gotten his number, watched him walk away with pink cheeks, caught in a sort of daze. mark felt so comfortable to you, so… familiar..? maybe all humans weren’t so bad, mark was proof of that.

when you’d come over for dinner with his family one night, you’d finally worked out why. you’d never met nolan, but had heard stories about him growing up on viltrum. he’d been priming the planet for invasion but had been killed which put a cap on things until your arrival about two and a half years ago after you’d proved yourself worthy. you had the shock of your life when you sat at the table and squinted at your boyfriend’s father, heart dropping when you connected the dots. you and mark had been together for months now, you’d know if he was a viltrumite… had the great nolan faked his own death and fathered an offspring with no powers? you almost scoffed at the irony. what a tired and cowardly old man, the karma of having a child with no abilities must have been damning enough. you thought about you and mark’s potential future children and a warmth washed over you, the same warmth that made you feel all gooey and sickly sweet inside.

“tell me about your planet.” he’d say, resting his head on your shoulder as you watched the stars together, “ah, viltrum… haven’t you heard of it before?” you questioned, head tilted into his. you couldn’t wait to report back in a few years, couldn’t wait to tell everyone about how you’d found nolan and he hadn’t been killed… but mark would’ve been heartbroken. you couldn’t do that to him, not yet at least, it seemed cruel. plus, he had no idea what a viltrumite was, though your pride as a viltrumite felt attacked as you’d figured his father hadn’t even mentioned mark’s background to him.

you told tall tales about how you’d created the best civilisation, how your kind helped other planets and those less fortunate… you’d tell him the truth eventually, you’d have to seeing as you wanted to keep mark for as long as human lifespans allowed you to. he would open his mouth and his eyes would widen in awe, saying something about how you were like a character from his comic books which made you nod in turn, the conversation slowly changing to the subject of the comic book he’d been talking about. before you met mark, you would’ve probably never been able to experience life in such a human way. before it felt as if you had no sense of individuality, now it felt like you couldn’t stop being yourself even if it was a little alien to you.

#💬 sparkie is typing…#mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #fem reader #viltrumite!reader #💬🙈cheekiechops anon is typing…

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angelsdean · 6 months ago

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All these thoughts also prompted me to think abt what John and Mary's fights were often about, especially the fight where John leaves and Dean then comforts Mary. And I think a big part of it was Mary keeping secrets and sneaking around with regard to hunting.

We know she was still hunting in 1980, when she saves Asa Fox. Dean would've been a year old and the hunt is not local, it's up in Canada. Mary says she's been tracking this werewolf for a long time and that they have history. I do think when she says "a long time" she means years and that she hasn't actively been tracking it but it's been something on the back-burner that she's kept an eye on all these years. But that still means she left for a number of days at the very least, and I wonder what she told John. What excuse did she come up with to justify suddenly taking off when they have a baby at home. And no, I don't think she needed to be there as "the mom" to take care of Dean or that she can't spend time away from the home or that fathers are incapable of taking care of their children or anything like that. But I think John would certainly wonder what's taking her away from them so suddenly. What could possibly be so important. And with a hunt like this, I don't think she could've exactly given him a set time-frame for her return.

Now, imagine that happening multiple times. Imagine that happening again when Sam is just a few months old. She says she has to go visit her uncle who's poorly (father of the Campbell cousins. The uncle that paid for her headstone when she died). And then she's gone for longer than she anticipated. And John is just suspicious. And when she comes back they argue about it. "I know you're lying! Just tell me the truth, Mary! What, are you seeing someone else?" And Mary holding firm to her lies because her family cannot know about the supernatural and hunting. Because she doesn't want her kids growing up like she did. Because John is her suburban fairytale. He can't know. And then John snaps. He's pissed. He thinks she's cheating while he's working to provide for the family AND watching the kids in her absence. So he flings a "Is Sam even mine?" at her in his rage and she slaps him and tells him "Don't you dare" and then John storms out in a huff but then calls later to talk about it more and Mary shuts him down. "No, John. … We’re not having this conversation again... Think about what? … You’ve two boys at home. …"

I can imagine a version of this phone call going something like this:

John calls. Maybe apologizes for what he said, but mostly just wants her to be honest with him.

John: Please, Mary, can we just talk about this.

Mary: No, John.

John: I just want you to tell me the truth! What are you hiding? What's going on that you can't tell me?

Mary: We're not having this conversation again.

John: Oh okay, 'we're not having this conversation again.' Well then can you blame me for where my mind is going? What would you think, huh?

Mary: Think about what?

John: You know how it looks, Mary. And I just, I can't keep doing this--

Mary: You have two boys at home. (and ohh the delicious irony of that in the context of her being the one leaving to continue hunting in secret)

John, probably, since the convo seems to continue: Oh that is rich coming from you right now, Mary.

Anyways, this is only one of many many scenarios I can imagine of their fights. And it's perhaps a little too sympathetic to John, but! I enjoy thinking of John complexly, especially considering how Young John is presented in SPN, and also John in the opening scene of the Pilot seems like the easy-going family man, who definitely had underlying issues prior to Mary's death (thank you SPNWIN for confirming that) but clearly those issues got worse after Mary's death, and for the most part he wasn't yet the guy we see him become after he is transformed by grief and anger. Also s12 Mary's rose-tinted recollections of John being such a good father, which starkly contrast to Dean's later memories of John, I think it's not a huge leap to say John pre-Mary's death was a good father, and I think seeing Mary leave them (likely repeatedly) under secretive circumstances for days at a time would have bothered John back then and been a continuous point of contention in their marriage.

And again, this is all simply one angle of interpretation, theorizing, and headcanoning and by no means the only possible scenario.

#john and mary #john studies #mary studies #mymeta #vic.txt

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meanbossart · 9 months ago

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I appreciate how you write Astarion so, SO much. I feel like way too many fic writers infantilize him to a point where I honestly start wondering if I'm the one who misinterpreted him so badly.

I'd love to know more about what you think of his character and his arc. Personally I saw him and immediately went "oh god this guy is gonna be the irritating tumblr sexyman of the year🙄" and it took me until Araj basically to warm up to him. What were your initial thoughts and did they change much while playing the game?

OH thank you so much!!! That's a shame if it's the case, and a little surprising to me, to be honest! While he's definitely written be an aloof jerk a lot of the time, I always found him to be surprisingly mature and introspective whenever he's not dishing out witty remarks. He comes off to me as the kind of person who learned to benefit from seeming dumber than he actually is, overall.

HAHA I had a VERY similar experience, not just towards Astarion but all the characters, really (I really disliked Shadowheart at the beginning, too). I had only seen pictures of him and pretty much expected a vapid character that was being carried to stardom because of a talented VA - and because people go nuts for anne rice style vampires lol.

While I was definitely enjoying his voice lines from the start (Again kudos to Neil) I definitely wasn't expecting much else. He piqued my interest after so devastatingly turning my character down at the tiefling party without me even having inquired, and that's when I, the gamer, was like "well, alright, I GOTTA fuck this guy now" (this is also where DU drow's personality began to come out as you can probably guess)

Obviously, if you have two neurons to rub together you can gather pretty quickly that he's not trying to woo you because you're so interesting and wonderful, so I started getting curious! With that dynamic being so different from what you usually expect of romances in these types of games, plus the charming way in which he is written, I started being won over.

I think what really did it was how gradually his attitude changed when responding to new, mostly trivial dialogue options and doing his greetings as you earned his trust, and ESPECIALLY with how he responds to your tav when you express any kind of fear or insecurity during his romance - which was with a lot of sincerity and confidence in his resolve to support you, and in you as a person, a complete 180 from his usual front - Which, again, makes me all the more surprised to hear that he's often painted with such an immature brush.

And obviously he has a DEEPLY ugly side to him (if you've read ANE, hopefully it's clear that I know this, and that I like to explore it just as much as anything else lmao) but it's very interesting to me how it seem to always come in the form of outbursts, rather than a constant evil-streak, usually followed by a glimpse of self-awareness. It feels very much in line with someone who's actually making a great deal of effort to manage their RAMPANT emotions and going through a lot of internal conflict in the process.

GAH. Yeah if you can't tell by this friggin' thesis I just wrote, I love the way they wrote this character a lot and I was definitely proven PROFOUNDLY wrong in my first impression of him - which, if that's not irony at it's finest I don't know what is.

And as an aside! I also very much appreciate that he's a "queer" coded character who's effeminate (in the Old Homo kind of way, but I digress) and flamboyant, but taken Dead Fucking Seriously. With as much progress as we've made in LGBT rep in media, I still often feel like gay men will only get that kind of treatment for as long as they "Aren't That Gay" (I know Astarion doesn't have a set sexuality - But lets not mince words: stereotypes exist, and he fits into most of them) and as a thin-wristed gay guy who's a little too found of linen shirts, I can honestly say that experiencing a character like that helped me with my own confidence.

#ask #astarion #bg3 spoilers

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blueteller · 3 months ago

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Hello, Blueteller-nim! I just want to ask what's happening rn in tcf part 2? Who are the new gods that have been introduced (and how many of those newly introduced gods became Cale's enemies)? How many hunters Cale already defeated (and how many more should he defeat)? Is there any news about the Fake Hilsman? Did Cale adopted a new kid? (Pls say yes I want him to adopt more lol)

Hi! I believe this exact question was sent to me before? Sorry it took me so long to reply! Every time I started writing, new lore got dropped and I ended up re-writing this reply from scratch. There's a lot to cover, so brace yourself for tons of SPOILERS

I made a post about TCF gods once already, but turns out, parts of it are outdated! Some new information got revealed that directly contradicts my old assumptions about several of them. But we'll get to it.

First of all, the Hunter families. The plot of Part 2 so far consists of Cale going to different dimensions to deal with them.

So there were originally seven, but by current time there were only five left to deal with. Let's quickly run by each of them one by one.

Black Bloods; residents of the planet Xiaolen – specifically Xiaolen 1 – named Huayans (Fayence in the first raw translations, just in case you've seen that version before), led by Redok. They were human Black Mages who specialized in "White Magic", meaning their variant of Black Magic was more powerful and it looked white. Pretty neat. They flooded Xiaolen with dead mana in order to sacrifice the world and gather its energy called "Karma". Still little detail on how Karma works exactly, but we know it can be gathered by either killing or saving tons of people – guess which method the Hunters use. Cale got a dramatic fire power boost because of some universal balance rules, and defeated them pretty easily. (Xiaolen citizens made Cale a statue in his honor, much to his despair lol)

Blue Bloods; residents of Central Plains, a pretty young world from what we know. They were known as the Blood Cult, lead by a female leader called Blood Demon. They created hundreds of thousands of zombies called Jiangshi and planned to cause a 3-way civil war in order to do the same thing Black Bloods were trying to do. Cale got a water power upgrade because of a dead Dragon and defeated a tsunami with a tsunami and got a splitting headache because of some third eye mumbo jumbo – long story. They were a little harder to defeat than Black Bloods, but they managed in the end. Choi Han got to personally slay the Blood Demon. (Central Plains citizens turned Cale into a folk story/legend and apparently there's already a cult for him hahaha)

Purple Bloods; resident of Aipotu – who consists entirely of Dragons and Dragon-bloods, led by Dragon Lord Neo (yes I'm pretty sure the name is a Matrix reference – love the irony of it so much). Purple Blood's specialty was getting to "inheriting" Dragon powers via some very questionable blood transfusions and heart transplants. Nasty stuff. Neo's Attribute was time, or something quite similar to it, and he used his time powers to mess up Aipotu and the World Tree, intending to transfer himself and all his followers/slaves into a Virtual Reality the Hunters planned to make their own new world. Cale had to use Instant to defeat Neo, turning his own broken plate into dust and eating it to survive (VERY questionable method, Cale!!). Dragon Half-Blood also had to sacrifice himself so Cale set him up as an NPC in the Virtual World and he gets to be reborn from an egg as a legit Half-Dragon named Eden Miru. These has been the most recent events in the story (also Aipotu residents built Cale a church under Clopeh and named it Five Colored Light religion HAHAHAHA). Speaking of Virtual Reality…

Transparent Bloods; residents of Earth 3 – the world where Anh Roh Man lives, the guy who made Alberu's Taerang; leader unknown so far. Apparently ARM's parents are the one who made the Virtual Reality, and the Hunters bought/stole it (and named it "Raising My Very Own Precious Omnipotent God!"??? Which is just hilarious…) So the game wasn't originally designed by them. That matters a lot, because it seems like not only VR is sentient like every other world so far, it has even created an AI specifically against the Hunters and their influence. It seems that VR is, in fact, a real world, capable of containing real people and their souls. So Cale will definitely be heading there next to save it from Transparent Bloods. But before we get to them…

Five-Colored Bloods; no apparent residence, but I have a suspicion… We found out very recently their leader is called the "Wanderer King". Which just screams to me of the whole "Mercenary King" invented by the White Star – the exact same brand of arrogance, really. Their specialty seems to be collecting and transferring power; that's how Dragon Lord Neo was able to get so much power to influence an entire world and the World Tree. They will be a pain to deal with, because they seem to be allied both with certain gods and demons. Which is why, btw, in the most recent chapters Cale went to the freaking Demon Realm. But more on that in a bit~!

White Bloods; all we know about them is from Choi Jung Gun in Sealed God's Temple Test of Sloth. To directly quote him, "The White Blood family betrayed the Hunters and escaped!" (chapter 730) – which I actually mixed up in the past, my bad; I thought it was the Red Blood family that betrayed them and escaped. Speaking of which:

Red Bloods; also known as Thames, last known member being Jour Thames (or is it Drew Thames in the EAP translation? Whatever, I prefer Jour…) and the "Fake Hilsman" who stole Cale's retirement fund. Judging from Jour mentioning her brother when Cale got the Annual Rings of Life Ancient Power, I think it's safe to assume it's that guy. CJG said to Cale that " The Red Blood family perished a long time ago", but he also said that "The Red Blood did not perish", so I think they also betrayed the Hunters and faked their death.

If you're still with me after ALL of that exposition, let me now actually address the actual question: the gods involved in the plot of in Part 2.

There are 5 gods we must talk about, and why I need the Hunter families context first will become clear in a moment.

God of Balance; apparently female, wears heels, and approaches people from behind for intimidation. I'd call her the "gentle in disposition yet extremely scary" grandma type. Basically forcefully summoned Cale to meet her after defeating the Blue Bloods on Central Plains (Cale did not see her face) and told/threatened Cale that he should become a god. One of the "Five Ancient Gods", which seem to be one of the if not THE oldest Gods around who did not retire yet for some reason. Seems like a real piece of work, though doesn't seem evil? More like a strict law enforced or corrupt politician. She did beat up the God of Death over giving Cale the dimension-transporting mirror Divine Item that one time. She also wrote a rulebook on universal balance, apparently. That's why most of Cales powers were sealed and weakened during the Central Plains arc.

God of Hope; I don't believe their gender was ever specified. I think some people assume she's female too, but I found no evidence for it so far? I might be wrong. Anyway – thanks to them visiting Cale to "scare away" the God of Balance, we got tons of info. The God of Hope said: "Including Balance, Chaos, and I, there are a total of five Ancient Gods. We have continued to protect these seats without ever handing it over to another existence. My my, we are all quite greedy. We all desire power as well." So the five Ancient Gods seem to be Balance, Chaos, Hope, and I think the last two are Fate and Blue Wolf? [EDIT: The last two were revealed to be Justice and Injustice in the most recent chapter. My mistake!] Anyway – the God of Hope is sometimes stronger than Balance and that pisses her off. They seem to be one of the most reasonable gods we've met so far, not only admitting that they did not wish to become a god at all but were forced to, but also sincerely cheering on Cale's dream, explaining that Balance wanted Cale to replace Hope and be her lackey. No thanks, Balance, that's never gonna happen. …I mean Cale might still end up a god, with how things are going, but. Definitely not working for Balance.

Blue Wolf; I'm also unsure if the gender ever got specified, though I got the impression that they're probably male so far? In any case, they showed up during the battle on Aipotu. One of the evil Hunter Dragons tried to summon them with a corrupt Divine Item and Lock ended up swallowing a blue flame (yes it was exactly as weird as it sounds). They seem to be the reason why Beast People are able to control their Berserk Transformations at all? Which is quite interesting. Little to no depth on this god's character so far, though, except for apparently liking Lock and making him a successor of some kind.

God of Chaos; we found out a couple of things about them so far in the Aipotu arc. One, their followers are complete freaks; like, Shou Tucker from Fullmetal Alchemist level of messed up. Their followers experiment on people AND themselves, like re-sewing limbs and creating chimeras (which explains lots of Hunter experiments honestly). Two, their representatives are able to use some weird similar-to-Dominating-Aura power which involves creepy Eldritch Horror Eyes? And Cale's gonna try and replicate that with the Donating Aura himself?? Well okay then…? Three, that god's power seems to be characterized by grey color (Dragon Lord Neo intended to use grey stuff to kill Aipotu with. Also worth mentioning; Choi Jung Gun apparently got poisoned by it, so now he's unconscious, slowly turning gray and dying. We'll see if Cale finds a way to save him.) Which – plot twist!! Actually came up in Part 1!! Looks like Sky Eating Water herself was subdued by that very god's power?! Together with God of War, no less, which brings us to the final god on the list…

God of War; turns out they're a double agent, if not a triple agent!! It's quite difficult to figure out what their deal is. Before, I kinda assumed they had to have some good intentions, because they helped created shelters and Cotton was their Holy Maiden and stuff. But nope. God of War is either working FOR or WITH the Hunters, although I'm inclined to think the latter. There seems to be something going behind the scenes, some personal agenda we don't know of yet? We know from Part 1 that God of War gave the people of the north a river, which the Sekka family hoarded selfishly for themselves, turning it into a lake. The God of War emptied the lake in retribution and sent a Divine Item that was a watering can full of fury. However – despite apparently all that good stuff and "breaking the slave chains" from Sky Eater Water, they also forced her to work for them as a Judge, which she hated so much she ran off. We now found out in Part 2 that God of War must have wanted to control Sky Eating Water, because she was so powerful she probably could have defeated the Ancient White Star by herself!! So, God of War teamed up with God of Chaos and chained her down in the lake in the Eastern Continent where Cale eventually got the Ancient Power from. A tragic end for her, but shows how merciless God of War was for his very own chosen one, in the end. God of War was also involved in giving Neo the knowledge on how to control Aipotu's power and the World Tree. There seems to be a lot more going on with the God of War we EVER knew, and the fact that the grey color has been set up back when Cale got Sky Eating water is straight up thrilling for me. I can't wait to find out more!!

So we finally covered all the Hunters and all the gods so far – goodness I'm sorry there's so much, but in my defense, that's about 300 chapters of context for it.

I roughly covered what happened so far through the two lists, but I'll add a few more things:

Cale defeated 3 out of 5 Hunter families so far: Black, Blue and Purple (like beating someone up and leaving colored bruises lol), with Transparent and Five Colors left. Also the ever-mysterious Hunter Leader called "The King's Successor", no idea if that's the Wanderer King or not, but I kind of doubt it. We'll see… (I also totally hope Cale kicks the a** of the God of Chaos, because they're a creep and deserve to burn in hell)

There seems to be another faction aside from Hunters & their supporters, or anti-Hunter gods like God of Death and non-affiliated people – there's a group called "Arbitrators" (raw translation, EAP did not get so far yet), which include Demons?? We don't know what their exact deal is yet, they seem to be about specific Divine/Demonic politics maybe? And Cotton is one of them because she turned her back on God of War?? And now Cale is in the Demon Realm, meeting a middle-aged demon princess named Aurora (whose father got dethroned and another guy took his place so Cale's probably gonna dethrone yet another monarch soon), and it turns out that the Arbitrators are totally BROKE, which kinda explains why Fake Hilsman stole Cale's money if he's one of them… Now Cale is scared because they want him to sponsor them HAHAHA – Alberu is gonna love the irony

No Cale did not officially adopt more kids sadly, but there's been some adorable kid characters showing up, and there's DEFINITELY a ton of new loyal Caleism followers – much to Cale's despair, as they're starting to worship him across dimensions… And with the Virtual Reality apparently being able to connect worlds, it's only the matter of time before Cale's slacker life is utterly screwed by multi-dimensional religion starring him as their Lord and Savior LOL

…So anyway, I hope it's what you've been asking for? Thank for reading this freakishly long post about my rambling on Part 2!

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of count's family #q&a #replies #tcf spoilers #tcf part 2 #tcf meta #tcf hunters #tcf gods #tcf worlds

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jamdoughnutmagician · 9 months ago

Text

So, now everyone knows.

Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader Word Count:4,302 (oops!) Summary:As it turns out you're not as slick as you think you are when it comes to sneaking around in secret with your boyfriend. Warnings:Smut, 18+, Humour, Fluff.

This was born of a silly NYE drabble that I wrote, and it kind of spiralled into a fic inspired by everyone finding out about Chandler and Monica's relationship in Friends.

Steve Harrington Masterlist // Masterlist

*also not proof-read, so if you saw mistakes no you didn't :)

Steve and you were the only ones left, tidying up after yet another big party at the Harrington residence. Steve always insisted on having the parties at his parents house, seeing as his parents were barely there enough to care whoever it was that he invited over. He was never this lucky with the small apartment he shared with Eddie, so he often took advantage of the palatial space that his parent’s huge house afforded him.

You were sitting down with him on his couch, having tidied up, just chatting about anything and everything that came to mind.

You and Steve had been friends for absolutely ages. You had met him when you were in the second grade, after you had moved with your family to Hawkins. He was the kind boy who befriended you in the playground, offering you a share of his animal crackers and ever since then the two of you have been inseparable.

“I’m probably going to die an old woman surrounded by cats, aren’t I?” you huff as you swig a few drops of beer from your bottle.

Steve knew all about your numerous failed dates, of course he did. He was always the one to help put you back together when you inevitably came home alone with a frown and a small shake of your head. The dark smudge of mascara gathering in your lashes from the beginnings of disappointed tears.

“Look, if these guys can't see how amazing you are, then honestly, it's their loss.” Steve says, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge. “You're so beautiful, and any guy would be lucky to date you.” He tells you.

You leaned your head on his shoulder with a soft sigh.

“You're my best friend, Steve. You have to say that.”

“I’m not just saying that, it’s true, okay? I mean you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” he turns to you, without any hint of irony or sarcasm in his voice at all.

You lean close to him and wrap your arms over his shoulders, your fingers ruffling into his hair, as you smash your lips against his. He matches your kiss with fiery passion of his own, his tongue slipping past your lips as he explores into your mouth.

You both pull away from each other slightly breathless and flushed.

“Well I’ve never done that with you before.” Steve chuckles slightly, still feeling the tingling buzz of your lips on his.

“Neither have I, but I liked it.” you admit shyly.

“Yeah, I liked it too. I liked it a lot, actually.” Steve blushes before leaning in close to kiss you again.

After that kiss everything changed. You and Steve had secretly started dating one another for a few weeks now. Neither of you wanted to tell any of your friends quite yet, for fear of it ruining a relationship that was running pretty smoothly.

The mind-blowing sex was just an added bonus.

“Steve…” you moaned, letting a quiet whimper slip past your lips.

“Shh Honey, gotta be quiet for me okay?” Steve worried as he kissed your lips to silence your cries of pleasure. The fact of Eddie being in the bedroom next door did nothing to deter the wandering hands of your boyfriend. “Don’t wanna wake up Eddie.”

You huffed out quiet breaths as Steve slowly rolled his hips up into you, his messy hair falling in front of his eyes as he leaned down to kiss you.

“You feel so good Honey…” Steve murmured against your lips as his hip movements picked up, chasing both his and your highs. With Steve’s thumb gently rubbing precise circles on your clit and his cock filling you so deeply it didn’t take long before you were squeezing around him, milking him of his release as you came.

Steve slowly pulls himself out of you, watching as his cum spills out from your glistening cunt. He quickly grabs his old t-shirt from the floor, before using it to clean you up and then throwing it into the washing basket in the corner of the room.

Pulling you close to his body, he spoons you in his warmth, covering the pair of you in his duvet before softly kissing his lips against your shoulder.

“G'nite, Honey.”

“Night Stevie.”

You carefully prise Steve’s arm from around your waist and pull yourself out of bed before quietly reaching for your underwear and borrowing one of Steve's clean t-shirts from his drawers.

The blinking red numbers from his digital clock beam back at you in the dark room. 03:55am.

You carefully slip out of the bedroom without rousing Steve from his sleep, all with the intention to head back to your shared apartment with Robin across the hall. All you would have to do was quietly slip back into your room and nobody would be any the wiser.

Closing the bedroom door on your way out you are suddenly shocked to see Eddie sitting on the couch, a bowl of cereal in hands and spoon dangling from his open mouth.

“What are you doing here?” you accuse Eddie.

“I got hungry and I made myself cereal. Plus I live here.” he smirks. “I think a better question is what are you doing here? And why are you wearing Steve’s shirt?”

You stand there stuttering for a moment, unsure of what to say.

“OH MY GOD YOU TWO ARE SLEEPING TOGETHER?” Eddie screams as slowly begins to piece together what was going on.

“Will you keep your voice down, Munson.” you chastise in a shouted whisper, as you jab a finger in his direction.

“Hey, what’s going on out here? What’s all the shouting about?” Steve mumbles sleepily as he yawns and rakes a hand through his ruffled hair, but as he takes in your appearance, your body draped in his shirt and Eddie’s accusatory gaze, he rushes by your side immediately.

“Oh nothing. Except for the fact that you two have apparently been sleeping together for god knows how long.” Eddie states, his voice rising in tone with shock.

“We didn’t want to say anything, because we didn’t want to make a big deal about it.” Steve explains, with a flush rising to his freckled cheeks at having been caught out by his roomate.

“But it is a big deal.” Eddie huffs. “How long has this little thing been going on for anyway?”

“Since Steve’s party.” you reply.

“But Steve’s party was like 3 months ago?” Eddie stutters.

“You can’t tell anyone about this Eddie, please, I’m begging you.” you plead, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes

“Oh alright fine. I’ll keep your little secret.” Eddie huffs with a resigned sigh.

“Thank you.” Both you and Steve say in unison, a relief washing over both of you.

That was fine. It was only Eddie who knew about your’s and Steve’s relationship. And he wasn’t going to tell anyone. Everything was going to be just fine.

Robin slouched as she made her way through the apartment doors with a huff. Working at the library and stacking and organising books on the shelf took way more energy than she cared to admit to.

She trudged her feet towards the phone on the coffee table, peeling off the little sticky post-it note tacked on top of it. It’s in your handwriting.

Meeting up with an old friend. Don’t wait up for me, won’t be back until much later. X

Huh, weird? You never mentioned anything about meeting up with an old friend? Perhaps this was something that came up last minute, you were always the more spontaneous one out of the two of you.

Robin shrugs it off, not thinking much of it as she picks up the phone to check her answering phone messages.

“Hey, so I'll be over at your place later, I'll just tell Robin I'm meeting an old friend.” Robin’s eyebrows knit together, upon hearing your voice on the answering machine.

“An old friend huh? I don’t think you can really call me an old friend when you’ve had your mouth on my dic-” Robin’s eyes widened in shock upon hearing Steve’s voice on the other end of the conversation. She yelps as she quickly slams the phone back down before she could hear how that message was going to end.

You and Steve were hooking up? How long had that been going on for?

You sat with Robin and Eddie gathered on your apartment's couch, catching up after work.

“Well it’s been nice chatting, but I’ve got to go. I promised an old friend I would meet up with them for drinks.” you smiled to your friends as you excused yourself and made your way out of the apartment.

Eddie just looks at you with a sly smirk before taking a sip of his beer. Robin eyed Eddie suspiciously, and although he never said anything, just from one look at him Robin could tell that he knew more than he was letting on.

“Weird how all of a sudden she’s meeting up with this “old friend”, don’t you think.” Robin says, raising the question.

“Is it?” Eddie replies, playing dumb.

“Say, Eddie, you wouldn’t mind going over to Steve’s bedroom and getting that book I lent him last week?” Robin asks, her eyebrows raising slightly as she directs her question to him.

“Uh..Do you need it now? Like right now?” Eddie replies cautiously, knowing full well that if he goes over to his apartment now that he would likely catch you and Steve in a very compromising position, and Eddie didn’t need that kind of visual trauma inflicted upon his eyes.

Robin once again eyes her friend’s nervous nature as he shifts uncomfortably on the couch, fidgeting under her glare, his fingers playing with his clunky metal rings as a distraction.

“Do you know something?” Eddie pipes up.

“Do you know something?” Robin parrots back his question.

“I might know something.” Eddie replies shortly.

“I might know something too.” Robin says cryptically.

“What’s the thing that you know?” Eddie presses.

“Oh no, I can’t tell you the thing that I know, until you tell me the thing that you know.” Robin answers with a shake of her head.

“Well I can’t tell you what I know.”

“..And I can’t tell you what I know.” Robin responds, still playing her cards close to her chest.

Eddie fixes her with a glare of his own. A tense silence falling between the two.

“You don’t know anything.” Eddie rolled his eyes with a scoffing laugh.

“Alright, fine.” Robin huffs, standing up from the couch. “How about I go over to Steve’s apartment and I will see the thing that I think I know is actually the thing that I know.”

Eddie’s eyes widen in shock, as he jumps up in realisation that Robin was also in on the secret.

“YOU KNOW ABOUT STEVE AND Y?N?!” Eddie splutters out, the weight of having to keep their secret to himself finally being unburdened.

“Yeah I know! And you know too!” Robin laughs.

“Oh my god, Robin I’ve been dying to talk to someone about this.”

“So what is it then? Are they just having sex or are they, like, dating and stuff? Like, is this serious?” Robin barrages Eddie with an abundance of questions.

Eddie shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders.

“I dunno.” Eddie mumbles.

“Does Nancy know about them? Getting with a friend’s ex-boyfriend, that could be super messy.” Robin keeps running with question after question, letting them filter from her lips as quickly as they enter her brain.

“I dunno about that either.” Eddie admits.

“Yeah you really don’t know anything, do you?” Robin pokes.

“What I do know is this. You remember that time where Steve wore that big scarf a few weeks back? Refused to take it off despite it being the middle of July?” Eddie began.

Robin nodded for him to continue.

“Yeah, his neck was covered in hickeys.”

“I fucking knew it!” Robin cheers with a laugh.

Robin was helping Chrissy to settle into her new apartment. She had just moved into the apartment block across the street from your’s and Robin’s place, so it made it very convenient to gather together for an all girl’s movie night.

“Thanks so much for helping me move in Rob, I don’t know how I could have coped with all these boxes by myself.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s no problem!” Robin smiled, setting down the last box in the living room.

Chrissy wandered over to the heavy curtains in the room, flinging them open to let the light flood into the apartment from the window.

“Oh look it’s Steve and y/n!” she smiled as she spotted the pair of you chatting to one another in the apartment directly opposite hers. “Hey! Guys!” she waves, trying to get your attention.

Before she could turn away she saw you quickly whipping Steve’s shirt over his head, and Steve kissing his lips urgently against your as he held you up, with your legs wrapping around his hips. He presses you against the window as his kisses become more intense and his hands wander to squeeze the soft curve of your hips.

“OH MY GOD! MY EYES! MY EYES!” Chrissy squawked out dramatically. “THEY’RE DOING IT!”

“I know! I know!” Robin tells her, doing her best to calm her down.

“You know?!” Chrissy bubbles out her eyes unblinking as she tries to process what she had just seen.

“Yes. I know and Eddie knows, but Nancy doesn’t know so you can’t say anything about this to her, okay?”

Chrissy nods, with a nerve-steadying breath.

“This is huge, I can’t believe it.”

“I know, trust me. I now know more about my best friend and my roommate's apparently active sex life than I ever have, and ever wanted to know, before.” Robin huffs, before closing the curtains to hide the sight of Steve railing you up against the window.

“So all the time she was on the phone with her ‘old friend’?!” Chrissy asks

“Uh-huh, phone sex.” Robin laughed.

“I can’t believe you told Chrissy about them! I kept their secret, why couldn’t you?” Eddie pokes as he chimes into the conversation.

“I didn’t tell her. She found out on her own.” Robin says defensively.

“Yeah I saw them doing it through the window.” Chrissy explains. “Well I actually saw them doing it up against the window.”

“Yeah, I could’ve gone the rest of my life without seeing Steve’s bare ass if I'm being brutally honest.” Robin adds.

“Okay, so now three of us know about them, we could just tell them and then all the lying and secrets would be over!” Eddie cheers hopefully, wishing to be done with keeping everyone’s secrets.

Robin arches her eyebrow at Eddie, a devious plan forming in her mind.

“Yeah, but they don’t know that neither me nor Chrissy know about them, so I’m thinking that we could have a little fun of our own.” Robin begins.

“No, no, no, do you know what would be even better? Telling them.” Eddie says firmly.

“Hm, no, I wanna do Robin’s thing.” Chrissy says, shaking off Eddie’s disapproval.

“Okay, but just so everyone’s clear, I don’t want any part of this, you hear me.” Eddie huffs before getting up to leave.

As Eddie walks out the door Steve wanders in.

“Hey everyone! How’s things?”

Eddie gives a small snort of ‘hmmf’ before making his way out.

“What’s his problem?” Steve mutters as he sits down next to Chrissy.

Chrissy gives Robin a sly wink, letting her know that the plan was indeed in action.

“Oh I don’t know, Stevie. I just think he’s been a little stressed recently.” Chrissy’s voice barely more than a sickly-sweet breathy whisper as she leans up next to Steve.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah I know we all get stressed, and sometimes all you need to do is just to release all that pent up energy.” her voice becomes ever more sultry as she speaks, and her hand grazes up the length of his arm, giving his bicep a cheeky squeeze. “Ooh, so strong.” she teases.

“Um well yeah, okay.. So I should probably get going, it’s getting pretty late.” Steve excuses himself quickly, suddenly feeling very unsure and embarrassed.

The girls wait until he’s out of the apartment before bursting into laughter.

“Oh my god that was amazing! He looked like a deer in the headlights!” Robin cackled, wiping a tear from her eye.

The plan to get Steve and you to admit to your relationship was slowly falling into place.

You sat astride Steve’s naked torso, peppering kisses all over his neck, stopping only briefly to nip your teeth at his earlobe, before your lips found his, capturing them in a sweet kiss.

His large hands splayed comfortably, holding their space on either side of your hips.

You continued placing soft kisses on every little freckle you could find, although Steve’s expression didn’t read one of pleasure, in fact he seemed kind of out of things, almost like he was deep in thought.

“Okay, either you’re not enjoying this, or there’s something on your mind.” you voice as you pull away from his lips.

“I am enjoying this, I promise.” he silences your worry with a simple kiss. “I was just thinking, that's all.”

You swing your legs to get off Steve's body before settling beside him in the bed.

“What’s going on Steve?”

“Earlier I was hanging out with Robin and Chrissy and something weird happened.”

“Weird how?”

“I think Chrissy was flirting with me?” He explains, his brows knitting together confusedly

“There’s no way.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Honey.”

“No, I don’t mean it like that.” you playfully slap his arm. “Chrissy isn’t into you. She was only telling me the other day about how much she’s into this new guy she’s been dating.” You say, in your attempt to reassure Steve.

“Really, because she squeezed my bicep and she called me ‘Stevie’. Nobody apart from you calls me that.” He goes on to explain.

“Oh my god she knows about us!” you gasp. “She knows and now she’s trying to weird us out.” you say, beginning to piece together the information that Steve had just told you.

“But how could she know? There’s only one other person who knows about-'' Steve started, but the answer to his question hit before he could even finish asking it. “EDDIE!!”

The pair of you stomp your way over to Eddie’s room, before Steve knocks a heavy fist against his door.

“Open up Munson, I know you’re in there.” Steve shouts.

“Jeez, what’s got your panties in a bunch, Harrington?” Eddie asked as he swung the door open to come face to face with both Steve and you looking less than pleased.

“Eddie, who else knows about me and Steve?” You ask pointedly.

“Just me.” Eddie replies confidently.

You glare at him with a stare that has him cracking under the pressure.

“..and Chrissy…and Robin…” Eddie mutters and he tries his best to hide behind his hair.

“Eddie!” you slap his shoulder, scolding him almost as if he was a naughty school-boy.

“Hey! In my defence, I didn’t exactly tell them, they found out on their own.” Eddie owns up. “Poor Chrissy saw you doing it through the window. You should really shut your curtains, you filthy animals.”

You look at Steve for a moment to see a rosy flush creeping up from his neck and blooming across his cheeks.

“I would have told you, but the girls made me promise not to say anything.” Eddie pipes up once more. “But, hey! Now everyone knows so we can all talk about it and things can go back to the way they were before. No more secrets and lies, right?” Eddie looks between you and Steve with a hopeful look.

“No.” you said simply.

“No?” Steve turns to you, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Eddie worries.

“Those girls think they’re so clever messing with us.” You smirk. “But they don’t know that we know, that they know.” you explain to the boys, although their puzzled expressions led you to believe that they weren’t following you.

“Gather in boys, I’ve got a plan.”

It was a few days later when your plan was put into action. You let things rest for a while so as not to arouse suspicion.

The plan was to invite Chrissy over to Steve’s apartment, get him to flirt with her in order to throw her off the scent of you and Steve being together.

“Steve wants me to meet him in his apartment. Said that he’d been wanting to get me alone for quite some time.” Chrissy said as she sat up from her space on the couch next to Robin.

“Huh? Steve’s way into Y/n but then he wants to meet up with you? Alone? No way. Something’s up. Oh my god! They’re onto us.” Robin works out.

“What?” Chrissy bubbles with a shake of her head.

“Look, just go over there, flirt with Steve, tease him, kiss him if you have to! He’ll get all confused and uncomfortable and then he’ll finally have to admit to sleeping with y/n!”

“I don’t know about this Robin, what if there’s more to their relationship than just sex?”

“No way, if I know Steve like I think I do, then he’s just being a typical horny boy. It’s just sex with him. He’s not one for a serious relationship.”

You were hiding behind the door of Steve’s bedroom after coaching him through your plan, and encouraging him to flirt with Chrissy to throw her and Robin off the scent of you two being together.

Kissing his lips, and giving him a confident pat on his broad shoulders before pushing him out to go open the door.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Chrissy breathed a nerve-steadying breath before she knocked against Steve’s apartment door, waiting before it swung open to reveal the man in question.

“Hi.” Steve said seductively, running a hand through his ruffled hair. “Come on in.”

Chrissy smiled as she made her way under Steve’s arm and into the apartment.

“So, do you want anything to drink?” Steve asked, keeping his composure as best he could in the unusual situation he found himself in.

“No thank you, Stevie. I think we both know why we’re here..” Chrissy said, her voice so sweetly seductive.

“I suppose there’s really no point in pretending anymore, is there?”

“I suppose not.” Chrissy said, stepping closer to Steve, placing a delicate hand on his face. Desperately trying to ignore the cringing feeling that was blooming in her chest. This was so wrong.

“So…” Steve dragged out as an awkward silence fell between the two.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” Chrissy said in her best sultry voice.

“Okay then.”

The pair slowly leaned in close to one another, neither one really wanting to kiss the other.

Steve got a hair’s breadth away from Chrissy lips before pulling away.

“Alright, fine! You win! I can’t do this! I’m not going to kiss you!” Steve screams defeatedly. “I can’t kiss you”

Chrissy pulled away from Steve excitedly with a beaming bright smile.

“Aha! And why not?”

“Because I’m in love with y/n” Steve shouted.

Chrissy gasped in surprise and in that moment you came out of hiding behind Steve’s bedroom door. Robin and Eddie pushed through the apartment door, with matching shocked expressions on their faces.

“It’s true, I love you so much, Honey.” Steve smiled as he pulled you close to him.

“I love you too, Stevie” you returned his smile, rising up on your toes to sweetly press your lips against his.

All your friends watched on with warm smiles, at Steve’s declaration of love for you.

“Aww! I didn’t know you loved one another.” Robin smiled, happy that her two friends had found love in each other. “I thought you were just having sex.”

She wasn’t far off the mark. There was a lot of sex, but being with Steve was way more than that. He quickly became someone whose arms you felt safe in, who loved you for every little thing that you were. In return, the love you felt for Steve went deeper than platonic friendship and you just couldn’t ignore your feelings anymore.

“We thought it would only be right that you heard this from me.” You said, reaching out to take Nancy’s hand in yours.

You had talked to Steve about how you wanted to tell Nancy about your relationship with Steve.

“Steve and I are dating, and I love him very much, and I hope you understand that I had no intentions of hurting you or doing this to upset you or make you mad.” you babble nervously, frightened that telling her about your relationship would ruin your friendship with her.

“Oh no! Sweetheart! No! I’m so happy for you!” Nancy beams, bringing you into a warm and friendly hug. “I’m so glad you’ve finally found the right one!”

You smile as you quietly huff a sigh of relief.

“Does he treat you right? Does he make you smile? Does he make you happy?” Nancy asked.

“He does.” you nod. “He does indeed.”

“Then how could I be mad at something that makes my best friend so happy?” she shakes her head at the thought of you being nervous to tell her.

“Thanks Nance, that’s so sweet of you.”

That couldn’t have gone any better.

So now all your friends knew about your relationship with Steve, you could stop hiding and tip-toeing around, and love him the way you wanted. Out loud and on purpose.

Tagging: @sunnythevampireslayer @penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfirebunnyxx @reidsbtch @seatnights @mrsjellymunson @keeksandgigz

#Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington x Reader smut #Steve Harrington x Reader fluff #Steve Harrington x Reader fanfic #Steve Harrington smut #Steve Harrington fanfic

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britany1997 · 7 months ago

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A Dragon’s Tail

David x male dragon reader

I hope y’all love this!! I love David with masc readers, he is so gay to me lmao, and I love being able to write some toxic, manipulative David stuff, but I also enjoying writing sweet vulnerable moments for him like this🥹

Comment to be added to my TLB Taglist!

You breathed deeply, letting your leathery wings stretch out behind you. You loved the way the sea air swept through them.

You laughed to yourself as you thought of the irony. A dragon man who lived on the beach of all places.

You’d traded the fiery pits of your home in a volcano for the sand and surf. What would your father think?

You settled down on the ledge above your shared cave, your wings still fluttering behind you.

Sighing, you looked up at the bright moon above you, shining down on the beach, the cave, and everything else it touched with its eerie glow.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you relished the comfortable silence and the breeze. You always felt so at peace in the quiet embrace of the night.

“Want some company?” A familiar voice asked from behind you.

The corner of your lip tugged up in excitement. “Always,” you turned to extend a clawed hand to your perfect mate. Your David.

The bleach blond vampire flashed you a rare smile and came to sit by your side. You draped a wing around him, pulling him closer until your hips touched.

You could have sworn a blush ghosted over his cheeks, but it was too brief to tell. Your smile widened as you threaded your claws with his fingers.

“I’m not interrupting your alone time?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you ran your hand through his hair affectionately. “Most dragons spend their lives alone, your company’s a treasure.”

David seemed to relax into your wing. You let it hold him closer.

“I know how you dragons love treasure,” he teased.

You chuckled, your tail coming around to flick him on the ear. “I wouldn’t make so many treasure jokes, I’ve got a million blood jokes locked and loaded.”

David snorted. “Guess it’s true what they say about people in glass houses huh?”

You smiled, your golden eyes taking in his bright blue ones. Your gaze traveled along the slope of his stubbly jaw, his handsome face.

“Guess so,” you whispered, leaning in just a little closer to the blond man.

David figured out pretty quickly where your thoughts were headed as he leaned in too. One of his gloved hands reached out to caress your cheek. The other found it’s way into your hair.

You tilted your head, careful not to bump his forehead with your horns, and allowed your eyes to flutter closed.

Your ancient heart leapt in your chest as his cold lips pressed against your warm ones.

You sighed into the kiss, allowing your forked tongue to slide into his soft mouth, exploring and running over his sharp fangs.

After a while, he pulled away to stare into your eyes.

You loved him like this. His big, tough guy facade melting away.

To the boys he was a fearsome leader, barking orders and commanding obedience. To the humans he was a terrifying Spector of death, tearing through the population until there was nothing left.

To you, he was home.

When he looked at you with those baby blues, when he smiled at you like you’d hung the moon, you felt alive, you felt young again.

You reached out, your claws raking affectionately down his cheek.

He leaned into your touch. His hand slid over yours and he turned to plant a kiss on your palm.

“You’re awfully affectionate tonight,” you whispered, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth

“Too much?” he asked.

“Never too much,” you reassured him, your wing cradling him closer to you once more.

“Didn’t think you’d wanna kiss an old guy like me though,” you teased.

David smirked, “I forgot you’re ancient,” he admitted, “it’s usually me that’s robbing the cradle.”

You laughed, “well you don’t have to worry about that.”

“No kidding,” his eyebrow raised, “how was the renaissance?”

You snorted, “yeah yeah you joke, but I had a lot more gold back then. People just don’t sacrifice like they used to anymore ya know?”

“I blame smart phones,” David shrugged.

You smiled, “damn technology.”

“Calm down grandpa,” David snickered, “you’re startin’ to sound like old Mr. Emerson.”

You glared, “not. funny.”

His head found it’s way onto your shoulder, “yes it is,” he hummed.

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself, your claws stroking over his scalp. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” he flirted, “how’d you getta look so handsome anyway, shouldn’t you be full lizard.”

“Mom was a human, dad was a dragon,” you said simply, “that’s how I got the horns, the tail, the wings, the eternal life…all that good stuff, and these rugged humanlike good looks too.”

David tensed, lifting his head off your shoulder and shooting you a confused look.

“Your father was a dragon and your mother was…human?”

Your teeth clenched, “listen babe, I try not to dwell on the mechanics of it all.”

David laughed deep in his throat, more amused then you’d ever heard him.

“Fair enough,” David said through a fit of laughter.

You rolled your eyes, “can you just put your head back on my shoulder?”

His fanged smile filled you with warmth as he returned to resting against you.

“Tell me another story about the time you spent with your kind?” he asked, letting his eyes fall shut as you blanketed him with your wing.

“Anything for you,” you uttered as you began to recall yet another tale for him.

You were glad your father had blessed you with an eternal life. You were grateful to spend it just like this.

TLB Taglist❤️:

@crustyboypix @gothamslostboy @softchonk @6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @bloodywickedvamp @arenpath @kurt-nightcrawler @bitchyexpertprincess @anna1306 @ria-coolgirl @lostboys1987girl @royaltysuite @hypocriticaltypwriter @katerinaval @dwaynesluscioushair @dwaynedelight @fraudfrog @arbesa-mind @chiefdirector @solobagginses @walmart-cereal @sad-ghost-of-garbage @its-freaking-bats @vampirefilmlover @rynsfandomsfun @mickkmaiden333 @f4iryfxies @mack-attack420 @warrior-616

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antebunny · 5 months ago

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IRONY

(Or: my take on a post Red Robin Dick & Tim reconciliation. Because they love each other so much, and that's why it hurts).

Tim can admit, once an alert pops up on his computer and he immediately opens up the live feed of Dick’s kitchen, that there’s some cruel, bitter irony in what he’s doing. Also quite a few broken laws, and bent morals, and some icky stuff which he would not like Dick to find out about. Inserting surveillance cameras and trackers all over your loved one’s property, after all, is Bad Sibling Behavior. After so long spent trying to be a good sibling, Tim is hardly going to admit what he’s doing to anyone else.

Because he’s stalking Dick.

Like a creepy little obsessed fan. Or a creepy villain-adjacent stalker. Like a ten-year-old Timmy Drake. He never thought he’d be doing it again as eighteen-year-old Tim Drake. Nonetheless, he stalks and tracks and surveils Dick from afar without ever talking to him. It’s like old times. Jason is even alive again. Except that instead of Tim stalking the Bats because he was a lonely little ten-year-old left to rot in a huge mansion with no concept of privacy or boundaries, he’s a less-lonely eighteen-year-old who knows far too much about Dick Grayson. Too much because far too much has gone down between them for Tim to just…talk to the guy. It’s impossible. Definitely impossible.

Tim misses the days of late night ice creams, arms resting on his head or slung over his back, trading skateboard tricks for tumbling tricks. He aches for those days with a hunger he didn’t know was possible after a childhood spent starving for affection.

But they can never go back.

Which is why Tim learns that Dick isn’t taking his meds because his surveillance equipment detected a change in behavior. Dick usually goes to his kitchen, breaks out orange juice or soda or some energy drink from the fridge, and takes his meds. Tonight he did not. Tim doesn’t know what the meds are for, he’s not that much of an invasive creep. It’s enough to know that Dick is getting treatment. And Tim doesn’t have to talk to Dick to find out how he’s doing. It’s enough to stalk him from afar to check on his well-being.

Now the question is: what can Tim do about it? He can’t ask Dick himself. That’s obviously out of the question. Dick would listen to Damian, but the brat resents Tim’s very existence, so best not try that route. Dick would listen to Jason, but Red Hood barely tolerates Tim nowadays, and Tim isn’t interested in owing him a huge favor for something he really should do himself, so not him either. Dick would maybe, maybe listen to Bruce, but that’s hit-or-miss.

Tim calls Barbara.

“I need a favor,” he says as soon as she picks up. “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” Barbara replies, immediately business-like. “What’s up?”

Tim spins around in his swivel chair. Best purchase for his lair by far. “Not cape stuff, sort of, or imminently pressing, well, it’s pressing, I just needed to make sure no one’s listening in.”

“As sure as I can ever be,” Barbara confirms dryly. Answer: there’s always a chance, in the Bats’ paranoid minds, that someone is eavesdropping. But according to Oracle, she’s in the clear, and it really doesn’t get better than that.

“So, don’t ask me how I know this,” Tim prefaces, knowing she’s about to find out about his surveillance cameras in Dick’s apartment (if she hasn’t already), “but Dick didn’t take his meds last night. I don’t know what they are, so I dunno how bad it is that he skipped, and I don’t wanna pry into your, uh, relationship with him but–”

“Dick and I aren’t talking right now,” Barbara says flatly.

So, they’re in the off-again part of their on-again, off-again relationship. Most of the time Tim is rooting for them. Sometimes he thinks they should do what he and Steph did and settle into a best friends for life relationship.

“Right.” On his next rotation, Tim catches himself on the edge of his table. He taps one hand on the clear surface and thinks of possibilities. “Do you think he would listen to B–”

“No.”

“Right.” Tim tries not to sigh and fails. “Okay, uh. Jason?”

“Jason can’t keep a secret.”

Which is sort of unfair to Jason, but keeping a secret is relative. Compared to Barbara and Tim, Jason can’t keep a secret. And Tim is not one to argue if someone’s making fun of Jason.

“Cass? No. Same problem.”

It’s against her very nature to lie. If Cass does hold a secret, it is by accident. Tim doesn’t want to leave this up to chance. This was easier when they had Alfred to mediate.

Tim starts spinning in his chair again. His room whirls past. “What about his friends? Kori or Wally or…literally any of them?”

“I don’t see,” Barbara says, “why you’re avoiding the obvious solution of asking him yourself. He’d listen to you.”

He’ll listen to you. What a heavy, crushing promise to make. You have the trust of Nightwing. Nightwing, admired by the entire superhero community. It’s true, maybe, probably. That Dick will listen to Tim. He’s mostly sure of that now, after everything. That’s the problem, really. The “after everything” part of Tim’s confidence. Their trust is not from years of steady partnership, or slowly developed siblinghood. The trust Tim has in Dick originates from months of silence, of terribly intimate understanding, of shared grief and one horrible, nausea-inducing day.

Dick hates when people leave him and when people fall and he can’t catch them. People don’t usually leave Dick Grayson, but Tim left and then he fell and Dick caught him. So Dick will listen, probably, maybe, if only because he doesn’t want Tim to leave. And Tim can’t ask, knowing that they don’t have the nice, easy brotherhood they ought to, the companionship siblings should have. Knowing Dick is only listening because he wants to keep Tim around. That’s the sort of fake compassion Tim spent his life running from. It’s not empathy, it’s sympathy.

A vicious little voice that sounds like Janet Drake tells Tim that he should shut up and suck it up and accept whatever Dick gives him, because he’ll never be worthy of anything more. Tim slams his head into walls to shut that voice up. He won’t accept it. He cannot. He must not.

“You’re not talking to him, are you.” Barbara’s voice has a tinge of that shaking-your-head condescension that drives Tim up the walls. The tone that carries that undercurrent of, why are you making this so hard, Tim? As if it’s so easy. As if everything that fractured Tim and Dick’s relationship is so easily repairable.

Of course, Tim can’t explain that to Barbara. It sounds pathetic, even to himself.

“Bold words, coming from you,” Tim retorts.

Barbara sighs. “Look. At this point Damian has the best communication with Dick. And unless you have a way of tricking Damian into–huh.”

Tim, whose manipulative, stalkery little brain went in the exact same direction as hers, echoes her exclamation. “Oh. Yeah. Hm. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Unfortunately,” Barbara says, voice dry as the desert Tim was reborn in, “yes.”

The Belfry, a secret headquarters perfectly unobtrusive in Gotham’s old gothic and industrial skyline, was built by Tim and Barbara shortly after Bruce’s return. Since it’s so much newer than the Clock Tower, its inhabitants are not yet established. Where the Clock Tower houses the Birds of Prey, and Barbara’s friends in general, the Belfry sees a small but wide-ranging group of heroes coming in and out. Dick, Cass and Steph are the only other Bats to be allowed in.

Tonight, a little eleven-year-old boy crouches in the welcome darkness of one of the many nooks and crannies, dagger in his hands, and pretends with all his might that he belongs.

“…at least wrap it,” Barbara is saying as she disengages the many, many security systems and enters the many passwords to get into the Belfry.

“What’s the point?” Tim argues. “It’s not like–”

Both he and Barbara freeze. Tim raises a hand slowly to his belt. Barbara fingers one of the many buttons on her wheelchair. He gestures her to the left. They’re caught in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. With ceilings as high as a warehouse (it’s a bell tower, after all), those windows are high indeed.

And then–

“Oracle. Red.” Damian emerges from the darkness like the little gremlin that he is, chin held high in his Robin uniform while he omits the Robin part of Tim’s new superhero name. “I have been here long enough that I could’ve killed both of you. How careless of you to not notice.”

Translation: Damian had been hoping to go unnoticed for longer.

“Here, where you most definitely do not have access,” Barbara points out. She wheels closer now that they know it’s just Robin.

Tim, while Damian is distracted with Barbara, sidles over to a table as stealthily as he knows how and sets down his package.

“Clearly, your security standards are in need of upgrading,” Damian sniffs. Then his eyes narrow as he notices what Tim is doing. “Drake. What is that package.”

“None of your business,” Tim snaps back immediately. He moves to cover it with his back. “Get out of here. Invites only, you weren’t invited, you know how it is.”

Damian folds his hands behind his back and raises his nose. “It is for Grayson.”

“For Christ’s–how did you know?” Barbara demands.

“You just confirmed it,” Damian replies smugly.

Barbara rolls her eyes. “Okay. Fine. It’s for Dick. Happy now?”

“No.” Damian marches up to Tim, then folds his arms, dagger and all, over his chest when Tim blocks his path to the package. “Tell me what you are giving to Grayson.”

Tim leans back against the table and folds his own arms over his chest, affecting a casual state of relaxation he absolutely does not feel. “I said, none of your business.”

In truth, there’s something so heart-breakingly ten-years-old about Damian’s behavior. His cool older brother is part of a cool group of friends with a secret hideout that Damian is not allowed into. Of course he broke into it. Damian, under all his bluster and bravado, wants to be a part of it all. He’s only human. He’s only eleven years old.

“You may be poisoning him,” Damian insists.

Tim laughs. “That’s more your wheelhouse, isn’t it?”

Seems like Damian hasn’t yet heard the saying your wheelhouse, because he scowls but doesn’t respond. Oddly enough, Tim feels worse about that than he does about the actual insult. Kids are not their parents or the secret assassin society they come from, he knows, he knows this. Yet this intellectual knowledge always flies out the window in favor of emotional responses when it comes to Damian.

“It’s not,” Barbara interrupts, before they can come to blows. “It’s just something to make him feel better, since he stopped taking his meds. Now will you leave?”

Damian scowls again, this time resembling an angry kitten more than a fearsome assassin. Not that he ever has resembled a fearsome assassin, despite all the assassination attempts. For all the pent-up resentment and bitter anger Tim has about Damian, he can’t help but find the kid a little cute.

(The thing is, back before everything, Tim really wanted a little sibling. Back before everything, Tim used to dream about Jason coming back).

(Isn’t it funny how the universe keeps giving Tim what he wants just to spite him?)

“Fine.” Damian glares at both of them in turn. “Since both of you are so incompetent in taking care of Grayson, I will do it.”

And he sweeps out of the Belfry with all the righteous fury that an eleven-year-old can muster.

Tim and Barbara finally make eye contact after Barbara ensures, using the Belfry’s surveillance cameras, that Damian has exited the building for good. Then they both burst into laughter. The rafters ring with the force of it, pealing like the bells on Sunday morning. Barbara slaps her knee. Tim leans back on the table, hands clasped over his stomach, and shakes.

“I can’t believe,” Barbara says, once she’s calmed down enough to get a proper sentence out, “that we just tricked a kid into doing our dirty work for us.”

“Hey, if it works,” Tim says, voice full of mirth.

He easily identifies himself as an adult despite only recently turning eighteen. It is impossible to feel like a child, he reasons, after waking up in the desert. After running Wayne Industries, however briefly. After striking out on his own. After everything.

Perhaps that’s why he gets along so well with Barbara these days. She understands that he is not a kid anymore, even if she wasn’t there for everything. Dick, on the other hand, still sees Tim as the kid he was. (As Robin). As the Before Everything Tim Drake that the real Tim is getting so very tired of thinking about. So what if he misses all of it, the good and the ugly? That’s just the nostalgia speaking. That’s just part of growing up. Tim had to grow up fast, so he did. He did what he had to do and he won’t let himself regret it.

#tim drake #barbara gordon #damian wayne #dick grayson #my fanfiction #my writing #antebuny's ficlets #batfam #batman #red robin #robin #might actually turn this one into a full fic

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