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rin-fukuroi · 9 months ago

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𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐧

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

If you want to support me and read my other works that won't be on Tumblr, you can always do it on my Boosty~

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: Ayato, Kaeya, Thoma, Neuvillete, Tartaglia x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, modern AU, established relationships, intimate photos, masturbation.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. P1Harmony - Do It Like This

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

Hey! I think you all miss the dick pic. Although no one asked me to do this, but you don't need to ask me even once to bring you something to eat! Enjoy your meal ( ˘▽˘)っ♨

✦ Ayato

You'll have to try very hard, having endured all the cunning tricks of this man, in order to get a response photo from him immediately after he asks you to do your own.

Initially, it sounded like another joke, very typical for Ayato, but he was very surprised when you took it for a real request, pleasing the man with your piquant photo at perhaps not the most appropriate moment when he was at an important meeting. Fortunately for him, Ayato has enough self-control not to show how aroused he was by the image of your seductive body in front of strangers, but unfortunately for you, he just couldn't resist taking advantage of this opportunity.

It's always fun to play on your guilt, but when adding to your favorite collection of photos is at stake, a special excitement wakes up in Ayato. Of course, although you continue to play along with your lover from time to time, you yourself begin to get a taste. How much longer will he last, continuing to read your dirty messages and looking at the new photos that you took for him, before he snaps and just leaves work only to come home and fuck you to a state in which you'll not be able to not only type, but even pronounce his name? Ayato knows perfectly well what you are doing, so he staunchly withstands your attacks, believing that you yourself don't realize what you have just signed up for.

When he gets home, you better immediately wait for him on your knees without extra clothes, hoping that this will at least smooth out your future punishment a little, because if you think that Ayato will let you cum as fast as you want, then you're damn wrong.

As for his photo for you… Perhaps you still don't deserve to get them enough, but he'll definitely choose the most unfortunate moment for you to put you in an awkward position when one day a charming and insanely seductive photo of his naked body and an excited dick appears in your dialogue, to which you'll not have access. Next time you'll think twice before playing along with this scheming man, but isn't that why you fell in love with him?

✦ Kaeya

art by @cheng25598

Kaeya doesn't even know what would be better, to discourage you with his unexpectedly racy photo or to start by forcing you to do it? But he's so carefree and lazy that he doesn't think long before just sending you a photo of his horny cock while he's dying of boredom waiting for you at home on his day off. Of course, he doesn't care at all that you at work and how, perhaps, all the colleagues around you heard your surprised squeak when you opened a dialogue with your lover.

This is the first time Kaeya has decided to have fun with something like this, expecting you to be embarrassed for sure. It pisses you off that he's right, and your face is inevitably blushing now, while you, trying to look as non-suspicious as possible, run out of your office, hastily closing yourself in the bathroom.

[Y/N]: Wtf, Kaeya?! I'm at work!

[Kaeya]: I just missed you;)

His carelessness will drive you to your grave someday, but you bite your lower lip, suddenly meeting the reflection of your flushed face in the mirror. You'd be lying if you said you didn't want to be at home right now, punishing your annoying lover properly, which is so obvious from the way moisture begins to accumulate between your thighs, settling on the fabric of your underwear. There are still a few hours until the end of the working day, but you're so infuriated by the ease with which Kaeya manipulates you once again, involving you in his dishonest game when you nervously glance at the door, taking a photo in the mirror, as close as possible to the concept of «sexy» in such an environment.

You were about to put your phone in your pocket, sending your reply photo with the indifferent caption: «Glad for you. See ya in two hours», expecting it to calm him down for a while, but didn't even expect to instantly hear the notification sound.

[Kaeya]: I don't think a photo in underwear will be enough to compare to what I sent u:( Or are u afraid that one of your colleagues will see what we doing?

[Kaeya]: If I were wit u right now, you'd have to hide a lot more obscene things.

[Y/N]: Huh? Do u really think u'd make me undress in front of u in the bathroom at my job?

You really don't know how Kaeya do it, but for some reason you fall for his provocations every time, now feeling the heat that you can no longer ignore burning your lower abdomen more and more, while your eyes slide over the most obscene lines that you've ever read, even considering that what kind of person you decided to connect your life with.

But one thing is for sure — now Kaeya's goal is no longer to dispel his own boredom, but to make you cum in one of the cramped booths while he enjoys driving you crazy with his unsurpassed talent for eloquence, describing in detail how he would fuck you in each in the corner of a small bathroom.

Next time, perhaps Kaeya should pay you a personal visit.

✦ Thoma

art by @sonomi_rap5

Poor Thoma almost dropped out of his hands all the groceries that he decided to buy before returning home when he felt the vibration of the phone in his pocket, almost sure that this notification was from your message. You often write to him, knowing what time his working day ends, and asking him to grab something from the store, but this…

The confused man hastily turns away from all the people passing by, huddled in the corner of one of the shelves, when an attachment to your playful message appeared in front of his astonished green eyes, which said that you were looking forward to him at home. Is that new underwear?.. Thoma feels his cheeks flush with a bright blush, and his heart is pounding so wildly in his chest as he desperately tries to put aside all obscene thoughts. But this is hardly possible. You are so charming, adorable, divine in this photo, which he instantly saves before fixing his mesmerized gaze on him for a few more moments, feeling his cock harden and rest against his thigh.

«I'll be home soon!», — is the only message you get before Thoma disappears from the online, and you can't help but chuckle softly, imagining with what excitement and embarrassment he'll pay at the checkout.

As for him… Your gallery has been filled with his photos, perhaps not as soon as you would like. On the one hand, teasing a nice guy like Thoma is very funny, but on the other hand, you didn't want to embarrass him by luring him into your entertainment, which is not even the fact that he'll like it. But still, at some point you think that your relationship is strong enough not to collapse from one of your innocent… okay, obscene requests.

You'd like to see the look on Thoma's face when he saw the message with your dirty request. After a couple of minutes of silence, you were about to say that it was all just a joke, before you hear the notification sound, hurriedly grabbing your phone.

You have no idea where he hid to quickly take a cute photo for you, in which you can barely see anything because of the darkness in the room that Thoma chose for the photo shoot, but it's so charming that such a modest guy like him went to such obscenities for you, even at the risk to be noticed at your own work.

Thoma gets incredibly nervous when he doesn't get an answer from you for a long time, but he frantically looks at the inscription that you are typing something. Oh, should he have taken a better photo, or was it just a joke that he took seriously? But all his doubts and worries fade into the background, giving way to even greater embarrassment than what Thoma experienced when he received such a piquant request from you, when you send him a photo in response, but this time without clothes. The accompanying message contains detailed descriptions of how much you miss him and that you can't cope with how you miss your beloved boyfriend next to you to quench your thirst to feel his cock from that cute photo that he sent you, inside yourself.

What are you doing with him?.. It should be illegal to corrupt such an innocent guy in this way, but Thoma is really happy that he got the most beautiful girl in the world who is able to make him commit follies, just like he is now locking the door of some dark storeroom in his office, unable to cope with the desire that has captured him body and mind.

He doesn't know why you like to embarrass him like that, but… maybe he's starting to like it.

✦ Neuvillette

It's not that Neuvillette didn't know how to use a phone at all, but let's be honest, this skill wasn't even necessary for him until the day you appeared in his life. Making the necessary calls and occasionally using banal SMS was all he was capable of, so using messengers was something new for him, which, of course, Neuvillette needed your help to figure out.

At first, both of you just exchanged innocent short messages, because, you knew, he couldn't often be distracted from his work due to an increased sense of responsibility, but one day a fleeting thought came to your bright head, which you managed to grasp and even decide that it would really be funny to just send Neuvillette your candid photo in the middle of the working day.

And really, what will he do about it?

Neuvillette is so sweet in his seriousness and responsible approach to literally everything in this world, which makes him a wonderful partner, but your hands have always itched so irrepressibly to throw something like that, knocking a stoically calm man out of his rut.

When you saw that Neuvillette had read the message, but had been silent for ten minutes, you almost thought that he had just decided to ignore your prank, but you had no idea what was really going on. After opening your message, Neuvillette just froze, not understanding what he should reply or do. It's the first time this has happened to him, and he's really discouraged.

The most respected and responsible judge doesn't say a word, just staring at his phone for ten minutes? This definitely doesn't go unnoticed. Although he is not particularly sociable, worried colleagues still wonder if everything is all right with him, finally bringing the poor confused Neuvillette out of his stupor. His head really had thoughts of consulting with someone on this topic, but he decides that this question is still too intimate to ask it to an insufficiently close person, so he has no choice but to solve this puzzle on his own and briefly unsubscribe to you that he'll be at home soon, before silently leaving the office.

To say that you were shocked to see Neuvillette on the doorstep of your shared house as soon as possible after receiving his message is to say nothing. But what struck you even more was when he hurriedly threw off his suit, with all the seriousness that only he is capable of, silently climbing onto your bed.

— Neuvi, what are you doing? Why aren't you at work? — you interrupt the man when he was about to throw off the rest of his clothes, before pausing, giving you a puzzled look.

— I got your photo.

— Yes… and?

— I thought you wanted to have sex, so I came home.

— Is that all?..

— Yes. Isn't that what you wanted? Why are you laughing?

p.s. After half an hour of an embarrassing but laugh-provoking conversation in which you explained to Neuvillette that couples sometimes exchange intimate photos while away from each other, it seems that the man finally realized for what purpose you committed such an uncharacteristic act for you.

Well… everyone learns from their mistakes. Next time, you might be lucky to see his inept first intimate photo if you tell him how to switch to the front camera before that.

✦ Tartaglia

art by @eriimyon

For both of you, sharing any photos when you are away from each other is quite common, but Childe was still the first to dilute your usual correspondence, accompanied by cute and funny photos of your dog and what you cooked for dinner, with something more piquant.

Your lover, without any hesitation, asked you to take a photo for him when, on another of his long business trips, he felt too lonely away from you, and didn't even think about what he might receive a refusal to his request. You can say that you are both on some kind of your common comfortable wave, so you are happy to approach the task set before you even with some degree of creativity, making a photo of your breasts covered with whipped cream for Childe.

«This could be your dessert after dinner;)», — Childe is both touched, excited and saddened by your funny photo caption. He would like to be next to you to enjoy such a tempting dessert, but all he can do is take a photo for you in return.

[Childe]: Unfortunately, i didn't have cream next to me, so this is all the dessert u can count on!

You would have laughed at his joke if the dick on his photo that Childe took for you didn't look even more attractive than any sweet thing you can imagine. This is the first time that you have to describe in words all the things that you would do with this amazing cock, but it also had its own charm.

Your correspondence eventually ended in a rather heated conversation on the phone, which also came to naught as soon as the degree of tension between the two of you was so high that the only thing coming from the speakers of your phones was only moans and heavy sighs, while you were already in complete disarray, too lost in your own obscene fantasies. Perhaps Childe has never in his life masturbated with such pleasure as to the sounds of your sweet voice, holding in his head that image of you that was captured in a racy photo taken especially for him, just as you have never experienced an orgasm from how damn sexy his muffled moans sound in the speaker of your phone.

Of course, this is still so insanely little, but since then you both have a new common entertainment that you can do on lonely evenings to get over the separation. On the other hand, you have seriously opened a real Pandora's Box, now putting the idea in Childe's head that he can tease you in this way, so be prepared for the fact that one day you will receive a dirty message from him or even just a photo at the most inopportune moment (although no one said that you can't return the favor).

p.s. if u know the author of the rest of the art, write me their nicknames in private messages, and i'll add them in the post, because I have been saving these arts for a long time ago and now cannot find their owners:(

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brattyfork · 1 year ago

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i haven’t

summary: matt feels insecure still being a virgin, his best friend helps him out

warnings: sex obviously, matt being kind of a sub, nothing super crazy, very long tho sorry

i havent 💚3

matt and i have been best friends since high school, he was always more of the shy one in our friendship. this resulted in us having two very different high school experiences, i had the very stereotypical “ideal” experience, parties, drinking, sex, all the lame school dances, football games, you name it, i probably did it. matt, however, had almost the complete opposite, unfortunately his anxiety usually got the best of him and he ended up hanging out with a few close friends (including me) and his brothers, which was still super fun but he stayed in his comfort zone. i convinced matt, with chris’ help, to come to a few parties but aside from getting high once he didn’t really participate in them. all of this to say, i was pretty experienced while matt was a sober virgin. i know that sounds harsh but it never bothered me or him as far as i knew. i obviously wanted to have fun with my best friend but it never distanced us, it was his choice and i respected it.

this brings us to now, i’m 20 and living with matt and his two triplet brothers. matt had come out of his shell a considerable amount but still never felt the need to do anything crazy.

we were sitting in our living room bored out of our minds when nick suggested we play a game. i suggested truth or dare but none of us wanted to get up so chris said we should play never have i ever. nick made fun of him for picking something so middle school but no one had any better ideas so we went with it.

it started out pretty tame, “nhie pooped my pants” “nhie cried at school” “nhie fallen down the stairs” before chris raised the stakes. “nhie kissed someone” i was confused why he asked this because we all had and we all knew that. i put my finger down, turning to matt who was red in the face and realized why chris asked.

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

senior year, matt was feeling really bad about not having had his first kiss before he graduated high school. he was complaining and moping so much that i finally suggested i could be his first kiss. he turned beet red and began asking me a dozen questions.

“won’t it be weird?”

“not if we don’t make it weird”

“what if i’m bad?”

“you can��t really be bad at it, plus if you were i wouldn’t care”

“are you sure about this?”

“yeah if it’ll make you stop sulking in self pity”

he rolled his eyes at me, “you’re not gonna make fun of me are you?”

i tilted my head at him, “matt, have i ever genuinely made fun of you?” he shook his head.

“just close your eyes, i’ll take the lead”

he took a deep breath before closing his eyes. i leaned over, a little nervous myself, took his face in my hands and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. he kissed back for a moment before i pulled away, him subconsciously chasing my lips. it was actually one of the nicest kisses i’ve ever had, his lips were soft and he was gentle, most guys just tried to eat my face. once we had both pulled back and opened our eyes we started giggling which turned into stomach-churning laughter. we just couldn’t help it, it was funny. we didn’t talk about it anymore after that, other than him updating his brothers on what had happened.

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

chris could be a dick sometimes, giving his brothers a hard time and unfortunately, matt was an easy target. i kicked chris’ leg, giving him a stern look.

“ow! what the hell dude?”

“don’t be a dick”

we moved on, more questions about embarrassing things and a few rounds later it was chris’ turn again.

“nhie had sex” chris giggled

chris and i put a finger down, while nick and matt’s stayed up.

“did someone slip asshole pills into your pepsi?”

they all chuckled at my comment, but it wasn’t really a joke.

“i think we should quit while we’re ahead, are you guys hungry?” they all nodded. nick and chris began bickering about where we should eat while we were all getting our shoes on.

“do you wanna drive or do you want me to?” i asked matt

“i don’t care” he didn’t sound angry, more defeated

“okay, i can drive” i gave him a soft smile.

we loaded into the car, nick taking his usual spot in the back. chris tried to sit up front, he normally sat there when matt drove and sometimes when i did. i shot him a glare, him letting out a sigh and scooting in next to nick. matt took his seat in the front, sometimes he would ask for aux but he just went on his phone and said nothing. chris chimed in from the back.

“can i…?” he asked referring to the music, i nodded my head at him, seeing as i didn’t wanna pick anything and matt was occupied.

we decided on a coney island, wanting to sit down opposed to getting fast food. we got a booth, chris and nick sitting across from matt and i. matt was particularly quiet tonight and i could tell something was wrong. i noticed he was twiddling his thumbs in his lap and quickly grabbed his hand, interlacing our fingers and resting our hands on his thigh. this was normal for us, we held hands sometimes when one of us noticed the other was stressed. he looked up from his lap and gave me a small smile before slowly joining the conversation. matt seemed to be acting like his normal self again but i could tell something was still bothering him.

we finished our food and made our way back to the house, chris and nick decided to retire to bed while matt and i weren’t super tired yet. we grabbed a few snacks before heading to my room, which was on the first floor while the boys’ were on the second, mainly so we didn’t have to worry about waking up nick and chris.

we turned on adventure time and matt rested his head on my lap while we both scrolled aimlessly through our phones. after about two episodes, matt put his phone down and just stared at the ceiling.

“are you good?” i asked, concerned about his strange behavior.

“when did you lose your virginity?”

i was taken a back by his question but answered nonetheless.

“uhh summer after sophomore year i think”

he didn’t say anything.

“why do you ask?”

“do you think it’s weird i’m still a virgin?”

“no matt, not at all”

“i think it’s weird”

“do you think it’s weird that nick is a virgin?”

“no but he’s at least done stuff, all i’ve done is kissed you, no offense”

i giggled, “none taken matty, the time just hasn’t been right yet. you’ll meet a girl and hit it off, you’ll know.”

“yeah…” he trailed off, like he had more to say.

“you know you can tell or ask me anything right?”

“if you don’t want to, you can tell me to fuck off and we can forget this ever happened…” he paused for a moment “w-would you have sex with me?”

“are you sure you want to? we don’t have to do anything you don’t want”

“yes i want to, i’m sick of being a 20 year old virgin” he chuckled. i let out a few giggles too before our laughter died down.

when i looked at him now, his eyes were dark with need and desperation. i took his face in my hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. i hadn’t had a kiss like matt’s since senior year, i tried to push it out of my head but it was hard. it was like fireworks were going off inside my head when our lips touched, i had never felt that with anyone else.

the kiss got more heated, i wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself onto his lap, causing him to whimper at the pressure. i smiled into the kiss, his noises giving me more confidence as i ground my hips into his lap. he almost completely pulled away from the kiss as a desperate whine escaped his lips. i smiled at him before making my way to his neck, placing wet kisses along it up to his ear.

“i love the noises you make” i whispered before sucking a purple mark into his neck, more beautiful sounds leaving his lips while his hands trailed down to my ass, pulling me into him.

i came back to his face kissing him again before bringing my hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. i then took off my shirt and bra so he wouldn’t feel so exposed. his eyes bore into my chest, his mouth hung open as if he wanted to say something.

“you gotta use your words to get what you want matty..” i teased him.

“c-can i touch you?” he asked, moving his hands up towards my boobs.

“of course you can, such a polite boy”

he blushed before placing his cold hands over my breasts, causing me to shiver. i kissed him while he played with my boobs, gaining more confidence and playing with my nipples. i let out a moan that was swallowed into the kiss before i pushed him onto the bed, leaving me on top of him.

i quickly got up off of him before taking off my leggings and moving to pull down his pants. he protested slightly, causing me to pull away before he spoke.

“can i make you feel good?”

“you will baby, i’m gonna take care of you right now tho, just relax” he let out a deep breath, giving into my instructions. i crawled up to his lap, palming him over his boxers before placing kisses up his shaft over the fabric. he began squirming under me when i decided to take his boxers off. he wasn’t huge but a decent size: proportional in length and width. i licked my lips, excited to have him inside me before taking him in my hand and licking a strip up the underside of his dick. he jumped a bit at the new feeling before letting out a loud groan from my warm tongue on his cock. i licked up the side of him before finally taking him into my mouth, sucking on the tip lightly causing him to buck his hips into me. he shot me an apologetic look while i took the rest of him in my mouth, the tip of his dick hitting the back of my throat. he gasped, all the air leaving his lungs as i began to bob up and down on him.

“holy fucking shit” he whimpered. i couldn’t help but giggle around him, the vibration causing him to buck up again. i continued sucking him, swirling my tongue around his dick until i felt him twitch in my mouth. i pulled off, followed by a loud whine of protest coming from him.

“mmm i was close” he pouted.

“don’t you wanna cum inside me?” his eyes lit up at the suggestion before nodding his head. i climbed up him, planning to ride him before he stopped me.

“um, can i do something to you?”

“you wanna finger me sweet boy?” he quickly nodded his head making me chuckle again at his eagerness. i grabbed his hand, pulling his pointer and middle finger out before taking them in my mouth, running my tongue all along them while keeping eye contact with the boy under me. i could feel his dick twitching under me, causing me to moan around his fingers. i pulled his fingers out of my mouth before moving them down to my pussy. he moved his fingers around, just getting a feeling for the area before stating “you’re so wet” i kissed him as he continued to feel me, rubbing his wet fingers on my clit making me moan into the kiss. he found his way to my entrance, pushing just at the beginning before stopping. i opened my eyes, realizing he was waiting for my consent. i nodded my head and he pushed one of his slender fingers into me, in turn pulling moans out of me. i moved to his ear. “you can put the other one in too” i whispered to him. he pushed the other in before i kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth and quickly dominating. he slowly got his footing, picking up his pace, my noises egging him on to repeat his actions. i felt myself nearing the edge, now grinding down onto his fingers. i pulled away from the kiss.

“fuck matty, you’re making me feel so good. please don’t stop” he said nothing but continued his motions until i fell into my orgasm, my legs shaking on his lap, still moving his fingers in and out of me. i had to grab his wrist for him to stop, not realizing he was overstimulating me.

“sorry” he murmured.

“you dont have to be sorry goof. you want me to ride you now?”

“yes please”

i spit on my hand, stroking him up and down a few times before lining him up at my entrance. i looked at him for approval, him nodding his head for me to slowly sink down. the noise he made when i pushed him into me is something i wish i could have on replay in my head for the rest of my life. like i said, he wasn’t huge but he filled me up in all the right places.

“fuck matt you feel so good”

“you’re so fucking tight holy god” i chuckled at his response, sitting there for a minute longer to let us both get used to the sensation.

“ready?” i looked to him, he nodded. i lifted myself up on my knees before sinking back down onto him. he placed his hands on my hipbones, helping guide me up and down while i bounced on his cock.

“hnng holy shit i think i’m close”

“me too baby, let go whenever you’re ready, i’ve got you” i reassured him, picking up my pace a bit, his whines getting more and more broken with every movement. before i knew it i could feel his hot cum coating my insides, sending me over the edge, fucking us both through our highs. once we both stopped twitching, i laid down on him, getting comfortable while he caught his breath.

“god i could stay here forever”

“we could sleep like this you know”

“are you sure?? is that sanitary?” i laughed at him.

“yes it’s fine matt, just go to sleep, i know you’re tired”

“as long as you’re comfortable, okay. goodnight, thank you for that”

“of course matty, goodnight” i said wrapping my arms around his neck and falling asleep with him inside me.

a/n: hi hope yall enjoyed :3 sorry the end is kinda rushed i didn’t rly know how to end it.

#sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut

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mangoshorthand · 15 days ago

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A Hargreeves Christmas Carol | Five Hargreeves/ F Reader | Ch. 1

SUMMARY: Luther is the sort of idiot who goes around with a 'Merry Christmas' and a goofy smile on his lips. In your opinion, he should be roasted with his own turkey and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. Who better to teach you the error of your ways than Luther's brother, the man who holds the power of Christmases Past, Present, and Yet to Come in the palm of his hand? Info/Announcement Post

Chapter One (Rated G-T, 3.4k words)

Marley's Ghost

Luther was annoying to begin with, there was no doubt whatsoever about that. Despite this, you developed a grudging friendship with him over the years, based mainly on the fact he was impossible to spurn.

He was a regular in your little bar, and his good moods were completely unflappable. No matter how surly and taciturn you might be with him on a bad day, he always greeted you like his best friend the next time you saw him. In this fashion, his company became gradually bearable to you over the years you knew him, and you learned to welcome his bright-eyed, towering figure with no bad grace.

“Hey!” he said, cheerfully, as he bounced through the door early on Christmas Eve, bringing with him a blast of cold air from the slush-filled streets outside.

You looked up at him and nodded, suppressing a roll of your eyes at his appearance. He was wearing a luxuriant velvet Santa hat and an obnoxious Christmas sweater depicting gingerbread houses, elves, and snowflakes in lurid colors particularly offensive to the eye.

Long ago, you’d concluded that the holidays were for idiots, and, although you liked him, Luther more than qualified.

Yes, you’d decorated the bar, but as sparsely as it was possible to get away with: few coloured lights here and there and some limp tinsel around the window frames, but that was it. When your employee Robbie tried timidly to introduce a Christmas tree, that bullshit was in the dumpster out back before a half hour had passed.

“Merry Christmas,” Luther said, beaming, “happy holidays, and happy New Year!”

“Merry Christmas, Luther.” Robbie replied, looking up from serving another customer to give him a wave, which Luther returned gleefully.

“Enough with that bullshit already,” you grumbled, filling him a glass of his usual beer/

“Christmas?” he asked, shaking his head in disbelief, “Bullshit? Surely you don’t mean that?”

“Sure I do,” you said, setting his beer down on the bar in front of him and holding out your hand expectantly, “I don’t see what’s particularly ‘merry’ about it. It’s just some commercialised holiday. Idiots going into debt just to buy their kid the latest trash.”

Luther frowned and pulled out a bill.

“I don’t see why it shouldn’t be merry.” he said, though sounding a little disquieted, “You own this place, right? You must see people coming in to celebrate all the time. That sort of happiness is infectious. It must at least make you happy to see other people happy?”

You just scoffed and turned away, busying yourself about the bar taps.

“Come on,” Luther called after you, in a conciliatory tone, “are you annoyed with me?”

You were, but when you turned back to him, you tried to keep your tone light.

“Do you have any idea how shit it is working a bar at Christmas? The only thing that makes it worth it is the extra money. People make a mess, they make a lot of noise, they get drunk and they sing. They fuck you up the ass with a candy cane, shove a holly jolly dick in your mouth and expect you to just smile through it.”

There was a moment of silence while Luther absorbed this colorful language, and then he spoke again.

“I guess you got a point. Customer service at Christmas has gotta be hard. But the day itself is fun, right? It’s a time for family. It’s a time to show people that you care about them”

You let out a loud “pfft.”

“If I’m anywhere on Christmas day, it’s as far away from my family as it’s possible to be. I’ll be at home alone, thank god.”

Luther looked at you, and you found yourself even more irritated by the expression of sympathy in his blue eyes.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, genuinely, “everyone should be with someone they care about on Christmas, even if they don’t celebrate.”

You let out another sound of derision, and Luther looked briefly down at the bar.

“Christmas can make people kinder,” he said, quietly, “and I know they should be kind all year round, but it reminds people to be more open hearted. Peace and goodwill to all men, y'know? And so, yeah, Christmas is commercialised and stuff, but it’s a reminder to love one another and appreciate the people around us. And in this world, I think that’s important.”

As he gave this speech, his voice became more confident, and by the end he was sitting up straighter on his bar stool, looking at you with earnestness that did nothing to improve your mood.

“Well said Luther,” piped up Robbie, enthusiastically, giving him a little round of applause.

You shot him a look, and he quickly stopped and went back to cleaning the bar.

“Bullshit,” you said again, dismissing his sickly speech.

But Luther was undeterred.

“Listen,” he continued, gently, “I’m spending Christmas with my family. It’s low key, and we all bring guests. I’m cooking, and there’s enough to feed twenty. The way I see it, the more the merrier.”

Your nostrils flared. Was he really doing what you thought he was doing?

“I like you,” he said, “you remind me of Five. You remember Five, right?”

You nodded tightly. You more than remembered Five. Over the years he visited the bar with Luther and occasionally alone. You had to admit you found him…intriguing. You’d decided some time ago that you were done with men, but that didn’t mean you didn’t occasionally stop to enjoy the view.

You and he shared the same cynical sense of humor, and though he wasn’t exactly friendly, he was polite, tipped well, flirted like a pro, and was easy enough on the eye that his occasional acerbic comments were interesting rather than irritating.

“Five’s a grumpy asshole too,” Luther continued, “but he and I both know what it’s like to be alone. It can break you, and I don’t want to see that happen to you. Why don’t you drop in on us tomorrow?”

He paused here, smiling winningly and giving you time to answer. He looked so much like a gleeful puppy that you half expected him to let his tongue loll out and start panting with excitement.

But your just-restrained anger had broken its bounds; your face felt flushed, and his canine expression did nothing but prod the angry hound inside of you, raising your hackles.

“Come over,” he said, cajolingly, a hopeful expression starting on his face, “We won’t sing until we get really drunk, and I promise nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane.”

He paused and then amended his last statement:

“I can almost promise you nobody will threaten to sodomise you with a candy cane. But come anyway.”

Your lips tightened. You weren’t some charity case. When you finally got the words out, you spoke with low, dangerous emphasis.

“I think I’d rather see you in hell than see you for Christmas.”

Luther looked hurt, but you didn’t care. Who was he to come into your bar, and lecture you about family and kindness and all that sentimental bullshit. He had no idea. You felt your fists clenching at your sides, and when you continued, your shaking voice got louder with every word:

“What makes you think I want to spend time with you and your weird-ass family?”

“I was just trying to be a friend to you.” Luther said, crestfallen.

“I don’t need friends!” you cried, furious now, “You seriously have to grow up, Luther. Grown-ups don’t believe in Santa Claus, and grown-ups don’t think one day playing nice around a Christmas tree means jack shit. So why not keep all your Christmas shit to yourself and mind your own goddamn business?”

Luther blinked, cut to the quick, and you began to polish the bar in a determined sort of way.

“Why are you pushing me away?” he asked.

You didn’t answer, so Luther stood, leaving half his beer on the bar.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said, wounded, but dignified, “I can see now that Christmas doesn’t mean to you what it means to me. But still, I hope you have a good day, whether you celebrate or not.”

You didn’t answer him, pretending to be intent on your work, and his hulking figure retreated, leaving the bar with a quick, sad wave to Robbie.

You ignored Robbie’s reproachful looks and continued about your business, counting down the hours to closing time when you could get home and get away from all the idiot revellers.

Meanwhile, the snow thickened outside, and the sky darkened rapidly. It was already a cold day, with thick, portentous clouds, but the evening was bitter, and the night even more so; harsh and biting.

The Christmas eve party goers were wrapped in layers upon layers of clothing, but even the most stout of them thinned out as the night wore on, scared off by the wind and snowstorm, no doubt fearful of getting stranded in the city if the bad weather persisted.

By the time you closed up, there was nobody there to throw out. All was quiet and still but for the wilting tinsel shifting minutely in the tiny draft at the window frame. The bar was deserted - as dead as a doornail, you might say.

Robbie left as soon as you gave him the nod, head bowed, holding onto his scarf for dear life as it whirled and bucked in the wind that threatened at every moment to tear it from his neck.

When the door blew closed behind him with an abrupt, wall-shaking slam, you were totally alone.

The bar was part of an old city block, and thus odd noises were audible in your apartment above at the best of times. As bad as the weather was that night, you could hear strange grindings and creakings as soon as you mounted the stairs.

The back of your neck prickled, warning you of who knew what, even as you told yourself firmly not to be so ridiculous.

You shivered, wishing very much that you’d gotten around to changing the light bulb in the windowless stairwell, meaning that you were in full dark as you made your way haltingly up the stairs.

The stairs were old too: wooden, uneven and whining in protest with every step. Though you weren’t usually one for superstition or hyperbole, your mind couldn’t help but dwell upon the sounds: they sounded increasingly like the wails of desperate, neglected children as you progressed higher and higher towards the top landing.

At that moment, with your hand at last on the doorknob, there was a strange frisson in the air, something that was half sound and half sensation.

And your blood ran cold.

This sound was unlike any that could be the result of bad weather on an old building. It was a zap and a crack, and it made all the hairs on your arms stand on end, like the few seconds of eerie anticipation before a lightning strike.

You froze, suddenly wary of what might be inside. Very slowly, you pressed your ear to the door and listened, yet heard nothing but the wind’s ambient noise.

“Pull yourself together,” you chided yourself under your breath.

You unlocked and opened the door quietly and hurriedly, not daring to flick on lights in case it alerted an intruder to your presence. Indeed, you found the living space within quiet and empty to the eye, lit slightly by the street lamps outside.

You even checked behind the door, just to reassure yourself that there was nobody lurking behind it.There was nobody there, of course: no sound but for the rushing wind whistling down the street, and no sign that anything might be amiss.

No sign but that creeping sensation on the back of your neck, of course.

You sighed, frustrated with your own silliness.

Still, unable to shake that feeling, you carefully, soundlessly picked up the baseball bat you kept behind your coat stand and crept from living room, to bathroom, to bedroom, just to prove to yourself that you were just being foolish. You even looked behind the couch, behind the shower curtain and under the bed, just for good measure.

At one point, you gave a violent start at what sounded like an electric whoosh as you stood in front of the wardrobe, but when you opened the door with the bat raised, there was nothing inside that shouldn’t be there.

But there was a smell, you thought. A whiff of something vaguely familiar, and then it was gone. The smell of mint or eucalyptus lingering in the air.

Again, there was that creeping sensation at the back of your neck, flesh needling, as if you were being…

As if you were being watched.

You whirled around, but again the room and doorway were perfectly empty, and no sound suggested the presence of anybody but yourself and the ceaseless wind outside.

“It’s nothing but the smell of bullshit,” you muttered to yourself, dismissively.

When you were finally satisfied that your apartment was indeed quiet and still, you double locked the front door, even putting it on the chain, a precaution you didn’t usually take.

Slightly comforted by this, you moved into the living room to unwind before bed, sat down on the couch, and turned on the TV, reaching likewise to turn on a lamp beside you.

And then, in the glow from the TV, you saw him.

As large as life, there was a man sitting in the darkest corner of your living room.

He was well dressed, wearing a three piece suit and a grim expression. But for his very solid appearance, you might have believed he was a ghost, lit as he was in an unearthly hue by the TV’s blue light, throwing his face into a strange distortion of light and shadow.

You opened your mouth to scream, but before sound could come out, he vanished and reappeared above you, clapping one hand over your mouth with one hand and grabbing your wrists with the other, looking down at you from beneath heavy brows, his strong jaw working with the effort of keeping your flailing hands contained.

It was then that you recognised him.

“Fiph?” you cried, muffled from behind his hand, “whadafu?”

It was Five himself.

He raised his eyebrows, handsome jaw angled upwards. It was an unspoken question: can you be quiet?”

You nodded, and he took his hand away from your mouth.

“What the fuck, Five?”

And there it was: a waft of mint and eucalyptus that at once explained why it smelled familiar, as well as the noise from your wardrobe.

“What the hell are you doing?!” you shrieked, panicked again, and he quickly clamped his hand back over your mouth.

“I’m here to talk. Keep your goddamn voice down and turn on that lamp. I can’t see for shit.”

Your whole arm trembling, you turned on the lamp beside you, and Five’s face was lit in a more natural glow.

As always when confronted with Five, you couldn’t help but notice his appearance: his clear, smooth skin; his noble, expressive brow; his intelligent green eyes, shaded by hair and reflecting the lamplight. His long fingers were hooked around your jaw, and you could feel the warmth of his palm against your lips.

It was this that made you stop trembling.

Sensing this, he removed his hand again, and when you didn’t scream, he sat down on the other end of the couch. Before he settled, he reached back to the armchair he’d just vacated to pull a briefcase across the carpet so that it rested against his feet.

“What do you want with me?” you asked, half anger, half fear.

“Much,” Five said, simply.

You stared at him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, surveying you with those eyes, holding yours with quiet authority.

“You might say I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” he said, “You’ve fucked up.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, half angry, half afraid.

“Well,” he said, settling his hands on his top leg, “I never told you this, but I work for an organization that handles the timeline, and its raison d'être is to make sure that everything happens as it’s supposed to. That’s why I have this briefcase,” he said, tapping it with his foot, “it allows me to travel back and forth in time, and fix fuck ups like yours.

“I thought you could already travel in time,” you said, “isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”

There was a flicker of annoyance on his face then, and you were glad to see it: it was evidence that you’d pricked his ego, and it was enough to make him seem a little less intimidating.

“I do have natural time travel ability,” he said, carefully, struggling to maintain the almost professional air he’d adopted, “but the briefcase allows me to be precise.”

“So, basically, you suck at time travel without your security blanket?” you said, pressing your advantage.

Nobody broke into your home and got away without being taken down a peg or two.

Five scowled, and you felt a brief sense of triumph as he continued.

“Oh, because you’re so good at time travel?” he snapped, sarcasm dripping from his words.

“No,” you said, causticly, “I own a bar. It’s not exactly in the job description. But if I couldn't make you decent Manhattan without clinging to a recipe book, you might start to think I’m under-qualified.”

Five’s scowl deepened, and even though this should theoretically make him more frightening, it didn’t: it further levelled the playing field.

“As pleasant as this little back and forth is,” he said with a hint of his old flirtation, we’re getting off the point. Little actions can have far-reaching consequences. For example, you spoil one manchild’s Christmas spirit, and then boom, we could have nuclear armageddon on our hands.”

“What?” you asked, taken aback.

“Yep,” he said, seriously, “you’d be amazed how even the most insignificant events can fuck the future beyond all recognition. And, that’s exactly what happened with your angry little diatribe to my brother.”

As you took a couple of seconds to absorb this, Five leaned towards you fractionally, his eyes regaining more of that lost authority.

You looked back at him, and the air grew heavy at the moment your eyes connected. You felt like a fish on a hook in the pull of his gaze, the sound of wind outside coming into greater prominence in that single, suspended moment.

There was another bolt of electricity, another raising of the hairs on the back of your neck. Though this time it wasn’t caused by you sensing Five’s power.

Well, not his superpower, at least.

Five glanced away and cleared his throat, and the spell was broken. Your mind became a fraction less cloudy and, in doing so, butted against a roadblock in his credibility.

“This is bullshit!” you cried, incredulously “Seriously, an armageddon?”

Five shrugged.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Actions have consequences, and they snowball. Time is chaos, and one wrong move can fuck up everything.”

You shook your head in denial.

“Do you really expect me to believe that not playing at some sickly, cloying, Christmas with your clown car of a family causes nuclear armageddon?”

Five sighed exasperatedly.

“Why is it so hard for you to just play nice?” he said, voice betraying annoyance for the first time, “why the hell have you got your panties in such a bunch around Christmas, anyway?”

And then his mouth twitched, and he let out a little chuckle.

“Though I admit that ‘clown car’ is a good description.”

You ignored this, as well as his prying questions and folded your arms defiantly.

“Fine,” he said, with a hint of smugness, “you don’t have to tell me.”

He reached down to the floor and fiddled with his briefcase, and then grabbed your elbow before you could protest.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

His hand tightened on your arm and, in a fizz of static, you were both gone, leaving no trace but the echo of your scream in the empty apartment.

Read Chapter Two >> I FEED OFF COMMENTS AND REBLOGS YUM YUM YUM

Marley's Ghost (left) and The Ghosts of Departed Usurers, or, The Phantoms. (right) Both by John Leech, 1843 in Dickens's A Christmas Carol, first edition (1843).

Dickens' A Christmas Carol full text available here.

Read it! It's a much better than this, and you can see how many lines I stole verbatim or clumsily referenced. If you haven't guessed, 'bullshit' is this Scrooge!Reader's 'bah humbug'.😊 Dividers used in this series by @bernardsbendystraws (garland) and @strangergraphics (lights)

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom @thebearmage, @kaybreezy3000 (comment to be added or removed)

Megalist

Request info + rules

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

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xavslilslut · 2 years ago

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His little girl. || Xavier thorpe x reader

Warnings , size kink, P in V, unprotected sex, cussing, readers a vampire .

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: reader and Xavier are dating, but reader has a kink her boyfriend isn't aware of..

You where Xavier thorpes girlfriend, also a vampire. You where known at nevermore because you where a special type of a vampire, not like the normal ones. Your venom, is poisonous and like a drug, you can control if you poison someone with your bite, thats what makes you special. Also the fact that you age like a human but you can never die, unless someone stabs you with a stake to your heart.

On your first day of nevermore when your dormmate, enid, was showing you around your eyes couldn't help but wonder on a certain someone, a tall, skinny, pale boy with long hair was on a latter painting, as you where looking at him he looked back and you quickly looked away. Later that day when you walked into Ms. Thornhills class, you saw him again smiling at you, you sat next to him and you guys became friends. Well, best friends, then you two started dating. He was head over heels in love for you, you felt the same, there where so many things about him that made your heart flutter, but one thing stood out, your height difference.

Your boyfriend was 6'2, you where 5'0. So that means that he's a whole foot and 2 inches taller than you, something about the way he looks down at you, the way he has to bend over to kiss you or to hear you or to tell you something, the way he's so much bigger and stronger than you, the way his hands are way bigger than yours, just everything makes you so crazy, absolutely crazy. And he feels the same way, he loves how much smaller you are compared to him.

You love the way his hands can cover your boobs when he grabs them, just like what hes doing right now as he's pounding into you, fast and hard, while your a moaning mess under him, legs shaking and your hands hold his arms. "mmmm, fuck xavi, m'fuck me so good!" You say, completely cock drunk. Xavier just looks down at you and gives you smile at how much he's fucked you dumb, "I know baby I know." He coos, you whine and bit your lip as you take one of your small hands of his arm and slide it down towards his chest, then to his slightly seen abs, you run your tiny fingers over his abs then bring them back to where they originally were on his arm.

You clench around him thinking about how small you are compared to him again, he let's out a low groan and a small 'fuck' as he feels you clench your already tight pussy around his cock. "mmm fuck xavi, pl-please use me, de-s-story me plea- fuck!" You try to say while he continues ramming into you, not stopping. He seems shocked by your words because you've never said anything like that, but just thinking about how you are so small compared just makes you go crazy, so crazy.

He doesn't question it though and instead just keeps fucking you at a inhumane paste, to the point where your literally screaming. All that can be heard from his dorm is skin clapping, moans, and low groans. You start to feel your release coming quickly as he brings one of his big hands down to start rubbing circles on your red swollen clit, making your stutter and your mouth to make an 'O' shape while letting out a long loud moan. "mmhhhh, fu-fuck xavi m'gonna cum!!"you moan stuttering due to the overwhelming amount of pleasure.

"fuck, cum all over this dick baby" you hear Xavier say in a low raspy voice, his thrusts start getting sloppier and he starts moaning a lot more, with hearing his words you start to cum all over his cock, letting out loud pornographic moans, clenching around him. He reaches his release not to far after you, slowing pulling out and laying down next to you and pulling you into his chest to cuddle.

"What was that about you wanting me to use to you?" Xavier says while giving your head a kiss. "mm nothing." You say drifting off into your sleep already knowing he knew what you meant by that.

#xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe smut #percy hynes white

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charrlote365 · 6 months ago

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One Step Deeper

Reference Idol: fromis_9 LEE CHAEYOUNG Word Count: 10.513

Tags: Pranks, feet, Kpop idol, fantasy, fromis_9, Lee Chaeyoung

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filters through the curtains just enough to cast a golden glow over the room. I had been lazying around in my living room, surrounded by my collection of Marvel action figures, each meticulously assembled and proudly displayed on the shelves. The doorbell rang, breaking the silence.

"Coming!" I called out, pushing myself off the couch and heading towards the door.

As soon as I peeked from the door hole before opening it, I could see there stood Chaeyoung in front of my door, her bright smile lighting up her face. She was wearing a casual outfit, and a straw hat. Yeah, summer has arrived, and she already look hot in her outfit. Ehem, hot, I mean literally hot since its 38C outside today. Yet, still managed to look effortlessly chic, as always. Fate works in a mysterious way, and somehow Chaeyoung and I had been 'close' for years, long before she became an idol. It feels like as if I'm her guardian angel. Despite her busy schedule, we still made time to hang out whenever possible.

"Hey there, stranger danger," she greeted, stepping inside. "I brought some snacks!"

"Hey! Stranger danger?? You're even more dangerous person here," I teased back, stepping aside to let her in. "Snacks, huh? Aww you really know the way to my heart."

We settled into the living room, munching on chips and catching up on life. It wasn’t long before Chaeyoung, ever the prankster, suggested we play a game to spice things up.

"You don't have games around to play? Boring. How about Truth or Dare?" she suggested with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Alright," I agreed, knowing full well that with Chaeyoung, this game could go anywhere.

We took turns, the questions and dares starting off innocently enough. She dared me to sing a snippet of one of her songs in the most dramatic way possible, and I dared her to do a silly dance routine. Laughter filled the room, each round bringing us closer to the inevitable escalation.

It was Chaeyoung’s turn to dare me again. She grinned wickedly, and I knew I was in for it.

"I dare you lay on the floor and my feet right on your dick," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief holding laugh.

I raised an eyebrow, a sense of foreboding creeping in. "What did you just say????"

"You don't dare?? Huh, pussy," she replied, her grin widening.

Reluctantly, I stood up, and laying on the floor. This situation is really bad for me, because although it's degrading, I found it to be sexy and exciting. I dont know what Chaeyoung is thinking, she maybe went crazy after walking under that hot weather outside.

Chaeyoung stood up, slipping off her casual shoes to reveal a pair of sleek, brown heels with some leather laces around it and I could see her toe nails painted black, making the whole feet set looking elegant yet deadly to my heart.

"Since I'm in good mood now, let me spare you this time, but if you lose the next round, I’m stepping on your dick," she declared, her tone both playful and serious.

My heart raced. This was a high-stakes game now. We started the next round, the tension palpable. The question was simple, but my nerves got the better of me, and I gave the answer.

Chaeyoung burst out laughing, seeing my defeat. "Looks like I win!"

I watched, half in horror, half in excitement, as she positioned her heel above my delicate junior. With a teasing glance in my direction, she applied pressure, the crunch of my pepe echoing in the room. My beloved junior is being crushed by her heels, and I couldn't help my self to let a moan out.

"Ahh.. Chaeng ahh.. No, Chaeng! Stop! Please, I'm begging you!" I yelled, as I reached out my hand and gripped her legs, feigning desperation.

She paused for a moment, her heel still on the top of my dick. "Oh? Are you really begging me?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yes! Think of my future! Our future! Our kids!" I pleaded dramatically, my hands clasped her legs even harder.

Chaeyoung laughed, a bright, infectious sound. "You're so dramatic! I know you're enjoying it right," she said, pressing down even harder slowly.

"Chaeyoung, nooo!" I continued, my voice a mix of genuine concern and playful exaggeration. "You're a monster!"

I could feel her heels from my dick skin, the texture is hard, and the way she was stepping hard on it while rubbing them on my junior making me more excited, the pain was turning into tickles, which slowly grew into ecstasy. Without even realizing it, my body arched back as I push my crotch even harder on the surface of her heels and matching the rubbing rhyme of her foot on my crotch. I've reached my limit and my eyes started to roll back as my body twitched hard, I finally came. I had never come that hard in my whole life, that's the most satisfying thing ever. And you know what? She realized what just happened.

"Ohh..You actually look like you're enjoying this," she teased, stepping back and surveying the damage. My cum was over all the places. It squirted out from my short pants onto the floor and all over her feet temple.

I, who still trying to catch a breath, shaking my head. "Maybe I am. It's weirdly satisfying, but sorry, I messed up your heels and my cement is now all over your feet."

She raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yeah? and whose fault is that? Now lick clean them up"

I nodded, still feeling the adrenaline rush. "Okayy!! Bring it on!", I then licked her starting from her thighs. She was holding herself from laughing from the tickles. Oh my good lawd she's indeed an idol. Her legs were shaved clean so they were so smooth and pale white. My tongue was surfing on her skin like I was licking a giant soap bar mixed with her skin pheromones.

"Ahh.. that tickles", she said with her breath getting faster. She must be feeling it too. I continued licking to her feet, there's mixed aroma of my cement, her sweat, her perfume and her feet odor. They all combined together as a cocktail of sensation that's beyond words, hitting my taste and smell buds and I could feel my dick getting bigger again.

"Hey, I saw that". She said while looking how big my dick got big again even after all that just happened. "Let me kill it again", she said with a grin on her face.

I swallowed hard, knowing what's going to happen (again). "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?", I teased her.

She nodded slowly few times while looking straight at me, her grin mischievous. "Absolutely. Ready?". I quickly laid down on the floor again with my pepe standing up hard rock. Her face clearly showed she really enjoying to tease me… with her feet. She placed her feet around my dick with a deliberate, almost with love care, as if mocking the very fragility of it. My dick, wrapped in her delicate feet, I could feel her skin wrapping them, it kind of feel cold, despite the heat of our situation right now. My cement from before added the sticky feeling to it and acted as grease to smooth out the friction between our skin. Chaeyoung’s grin widened, and I could see the glint of mischief in her eyes.

Slowly, she started grinding my dick with both of her feet, clamping them up around as if she wanted to strangle down my dick. The sharp feeling suddenly raised within it, my delicate dick. I couldn't help myself from moaning again. "Begging won't help you now," she teased, her voice a sing-song taunt that sent shivers down my spine knowing how crazy she could be. She held the position, allowing my tense to build.

From my point of view from the floor, I could see every muscle in her leg and the blue veins bulging from her feet, and the way her feet strangling my dick slowly seemed almost like suspended in time. The heel hovered graciously, casting a small shadow to the side of us, away from the sunray shining through the window. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched, caught in a mix of excitement and fear of my dick getting crushed by her big feet as she's is grinding them even harder and faster. I couldn't hold it anymore, I wanted to let her know how good it felt.

"Chaeyoung, pleaseee, It feels so good now so please don't stop. I'm going to come againn very soonn" I pleaded, my voice cracking with a blend of genuine concern and playful desperation. I knew she wouldn’t stop anyways, but part of the thrill was in the act of begging, in the slim, tantalizing hope that she could feel the excitement together with me.

She glanced down at me, her eyes twinkling with delight. "You're really going to make me do this, huh?" she asked, her tone both teasing and triumphant. Her foot descended deeper slowly, then.. out of nowhere, as if it's a jump scare from a cheap horror movie, she gripped my dick with her feet much harder and even put her weight on them, as I didn't expected that to happen, I shouted so loud I feared the whole neighborhood could hear my scream.

"Chaeyoung ahhhhhh!" I cried out loud, as I finally came the second time, a strange exhilaration coursed through me like a lighting. I couldn't tell apart between the pain and the feeling of ecstasy anymore as they both were overwhelming me at the same time.

I was twitching like a broken doll on the floor. "You're a monster!" I yelled, half-laughing, half-serious. She found it exhilarating that I was in a such pathetic situation.

"And I know you're loving every second of this," she replied, stepping back to enjoy my pathetic face. She wiggled her toes, as if to spread out my cement which now covered her feet even thicker. She then suddenly sat down on the floor and bowed down towards me and started cleaning my dick with her mouth. I could feel the deep warmth from inside of her mouth since her feet was kind of cold earlier. She licked and sucked the leftover cements from my dick tip like its the last sip from the boba drink. I Couldn't help myself not to put my hands on her head and push her head down to my crotch to keep her doing whatever she's doing right now.

When she finished, she looked up to me with her puppy eyes and gulped everything she just licked from my dick and asked, "Happy now?".

I looked at her, then changed my view to all the mess we made. "Maybe?," I teasingly answered, a grin spreading across my face.

Chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she took her place back on the couch. "I knew it. Ready for more?"

I was frozen. I thought this already ended but now she asked to do even more. I nodded slowly, still feeling the tickle-ness on my dick. "B-Bring it on, Chaeyoung. But please, be gentle this time with me!"

She laughed hard, nodding. "Aight, Deal. But now, it's your turn to show me what the feet of yours can do to me." -End note: -I'm not into feet so I dunno if this considered good for feet lovers. Can comment if you're one of them lol. -Picked Chaeyoung again this time as reference since somehow I feel most comfortable with her in my head and heart with different kind of plots. -My next work will be about Hayoung! A sweet one almost like fluff like.. hopefully.

#kpop #kpop smut #kpop girls #kpop gg #male reader #fromis 9 smut #fromis 9 #lee chaeyoung #chaeyoung #feet #feet smuts #feetish #foot lover

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psychovigilantewrites · 7 months ago

Text

Sunshine's Shadow - Chapter 2

WordCount: 10k

Ao3

A/N: I didn't realise how much of a slow burn this was. Also, this is unedited for typos and grammatical errors OOPSIES my adhd chaos just NEED TO POST THIS

Having your best friend back was a type of happiness you never knew you could ever experience. Especially after grieving him. There were no words to describe the way you just wanted to cling on to him, scared he would be taken away from you again.

The week went on with the both of you spending almost all of your waking time together. You had burgers during your stakeouts, listened to comedy podcasts, and you even taught Jason how to use your camera. You hadn’t noticed how much you were devoid of laughter until you started spending time with Jason and laughing until your stomach hurt.

There was definitely a pull, and you noticed the looks Jason had given you. You wondered if this was okay. You knew he had a crush on you from before, but you didn’t expect for him to still like you right now. You didn’t want to lead him on. You couldn’t lead him on.

You were with Dick, after all.

You sighed loudly.

“You okay there?” Jason asked from the passenger seat, mouth full of french fries. You couldn’t find much illegal activity from Thorne’s phone, as you suspected, but you did get to know of his accountant. It made sense for Thorne to have a personal accountant to deal with the money flow. Now the both of you were staked out of Mrs. Eriksson’s house.

“Oh- sorry,” you hadn’t noticed that you let your shadow grow. You closed your eyes and reeled the darkness in.

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Jason protested, “We’re staking out in the car at 12 AM. Some darkness would be a great cover.”

He was right. You let yourself go.

“What’s on your mind?” he prodded.

You bit your lip in contemplation. Should you bring it up? Or should you just leave it be? Jason was a smart, grown, adult man. He didn’t need to be told the obvious, right?

What was the obvious anyway? That you didn’t have feelings for him before he died? That wasn’t true. That you got together with Dick in order to replace the emptiness he left? How did you feel about him now, that he was back?

“Dick said you used to have a crush on me,” you said.

“That damned snitch,” Jason cursed.

“To be fair to him, you were dead when he told me,” you assured, “Plus, it’s not like I didn’t know. You know I can read people.”

Jason shifted in his seat. He was wearing a long sleeved gray Henley that did nothing to hide his muscles. Unlike Dick, Jason rarely styled his hair. He let the fringes of his straight dark hair down in front of his eyebrows and would occasionally push his hair back with his fingers.

“Yeah, I know,” he was running his hand at the back of his head, messing up his hair further, “Yeah, I had a crush on you. So what?”

You turned towards him and leaned closer, trying to catch his expression in the dark. You tried his method of intensity, piercing his eyes with yours. “How about now?”

You saw the minute details of his microexpressions. He blinked once, his eyebrows drawn together, his eyes darted to the left and you noticed he clenched his jaw. Finally, he smirked and looked at you again.

“You’re the one who can read people. You tell me.”

You could have said that you noticed the way he tries his best to not reach out and hold your hand, the way his eyes dart from your eyes to your lips from time to time, how he couldn’t stop looking at you, how he licked his bottom lip when you leaned in close. You could have said that all that points to at least some level of attraction, and maybe even more. You could have said that maybe you caught yourself doing those things too.

Instead, you said, “Anna Eriksson’s light switched on.”

You both turned towards the house and waited. Anna Eriksson was a wife and a mother of two. She exited her town house and unlocked her car, her long straight platinum blond hair held high in a ponytail.

“Finally, some action,” Jason said excitedly.

You tailed her dark sedan expertly until it slowly came to a stop beneath a complexity of overpasses in southwest of Old Gotham heading to Tricorner Yards. You drove a few blocks away further down the road and turned into an alley and parked the car. You could still see Eriksson from the zoom lens of your camera.

“I wanna see too,” Jason whined.

“You should have brought binoculars,” you rolled your eyes. “Really, aren’t you all a family of vigilantes? To think you’d be more prepared.”

Eriksson was leaning against her vehicle. Dressed in an all black pants-suit and smoking a cigarette, you thought she looked pretty cool.

“Oh, another car is coming,” you told Jason.

Another black sedan arrived and stopped right in front of Eriksson. You started snapping pictures.

“Who is it?” Jason demanded.

“Fucking hell,” you swore in surprise. The short, bald and overweight man who wore the tophat was known to anyone in Gotham. “It’s fucking Cobblepot.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Jason crossed his arms. “Kinda anti-climactic to be honest. Such a predictive plot.”

You ignored Jason and kept snapping photos. Oswald Cobblepot, the wealthiest criminal of Gotham City wobbled towards Eriksson and passed her a briefcase. Jason was right that it wasn’t surprising because it probably was not Cobblepot’s first play in politics. The exchange itself was brief, where Cobblepot said a few words to Eriksson who was nodding intently. Then, both of them left.

After tailing Eriksson back to her house, you called it a night and drove away.

“I wonder what the deal is,” you pondered out loud.

“Probably if Thorne becomes mayor, he would have Cobblepot’s funding in exchange for immunity in the underground,” Jason answered.

“But why Thorne and not Hill? What does Thorne have that Hill doesn’t?”

“Control over Gotham’s largest shipping company?” Jason offered.

“That may be it. We need more evidence,” you concluded. “Drop you off at yours again?”

Jason was staying in an apartment in East End on Kitt Street. You haven’t been inside, and he has not invited you in. You didn’t ask.

***

“Stake out with Jason again?” Dick’s voice made you jump.

You had just reached home and Dick was still in his Nightwing suit sans the mask.

“Yeah,” you walked over to him, “Found out Cobblepot is sponsoring Thorne.”

“Kinda expected, huh?” he smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist. “We found some blackmarket items at Dixon Docks the other day in Triton shipping containers. You think that’s related?”

“Definitely,” you agreed, “Just gotta get evidence. But enough about work, how are you?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he leaned in to kiss you.

“You’re all sweaty,” you half-complained as he started down your neck.

“You didn’t complain the first time,” he smirked, “Or the second, or the third, or the-”

“Okay, I get it,” you giggled.

He kissed back up to your lips and settled on a slow, gentle pace. He broke the kiss and said “Get in the shower. I’ll be there soon.”

Your eyes widen at his command and you immediately head to the bathroom and took off your clothes. The water temperature was just right and you stepped in and sighed, washing off the fatigue of the day. A pair of hands snaked around your waist from behind and Dick got wet with you.

He pressed himself against you and you could feel his hardening cock heavy on your back.

“Dick,” you whimpered, grinding your ass on his length.

“Nuh uh,” he teased, “Gotta clean you up first.”

He reached for the body wash and started lathering up soap on you. His strong fingers gently rubbed and slid on your body, down your tummy, in between your legs. “Dick,” you whined.

His fingers parted your lips and found your clit, immediately circling and putting just the right amount of pressure. He knew your body almost better than you knew yourself. All the times he experimented with you and pleasured you meant he knew which buttons to tease and which to push.

“Need- you,” you panted at him.

“Hold onto the wall,” he instructed. You pressed both your palms against the wet tiles and bent over. His hands were placed on your hips to give you support. You trusted that he would not let you fall. This wasn’t the first time you had shower sex with him after all.

“Fuck,” you moaned when you felt him fill you up to the brim. You were familiar with his cock, and how he liked to still inside you after the first push, to get you adjusted to his size but also to tease you. You got yourself ready for what was to come.

He slid out, and with the strong grip on your hips, he fucked you hard back on his cock, forcing the air out of your lungs. You never had time to scream when he was like this with you, because he would pummel into you relentlessly. All you could manage was eyes rolled into the back of your head, and an open wide ‘O’.

In no time at all, you came, and he still fucked you while you got down from your high before pulling out to finish on your ass. The water immediately washed away his cum. Dick was a silent lover, the only sounds he made were soft and quiet moans, a few gasps, and a small groan when he came.

You lost your grip and almost collapsed back onto him.

“You okay there, darling?” he held you up by embracing you in his arms.

“Mmm,” you hummed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled and kissed your temple. “Let’s get you all dried up and tucked in.”

You laid on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. Your eyes were droopy.

“I’ll be going on a mission for a few days,” he informed you. “Leaving tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” you responded, slightly disappointed. “Batfamily or a team thing?”

“Team thing.”

Your chest squeezed.

“Will she be there?”

“Not sure.”

Liar.

“Jason will be there, though,” he added.

That surprised you. “Oh? How come?”

“I asked him if he wanted to do something with the others that didn’t involve Bruce or Tim,” Dick explained, “He agreed. I think it’d be good for him, don’t you?”

“The fact that he agreed means that he is trying his best,” you agreed, “I’m so proud of him.”

“I think spending all that time investigating with you helped him,” Dick said, “Like it was the first step to getting out of his rut, you know?”

“He didn’t even seem like he was in a rut when he was with me,” you wondered back, “I mean- I knew that he was struggling in general with the whole guilt and self-loathing. But I didn’t know he was completely cut off from everyone else.”

“Not completely,” Dick sighed, “But he might as well have been. He tries, though.”

You smiled. Jason always tried his best at anything. “How long will you be away for?”

“Just three or four days. We’re going somewhere south this time. Nothing too big. Bane sighting, so just a recon for now unless we hit something big.”

“Looks like I’ll be on my own for a while, then,” you thought out loud, “I think I’ll just send in my first round of evidence and report to my client. It’s just Thorne’s accountant that is linked to Cobblepot for now, so if they want a deeper investigation linking back to Thorne, they’ll have to wait a little longer while I figure it out.”

“Try not to stir up the pot too much with Thorne, please,” Dick insisted, “I know you can take care of yourself, but I also know you don’t want any attention. It’ll be harder to do future jobs too if everyone knew who you were.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded. You were getting sleepy again. “I’ll figure it out without exposing myself. Considering that I’m high in demand right now means that I should start laying low.”

“They should pay you more,” he stated. “Sleepy? Goodnight, darling. I love you.”

Your eyes closed as you mumbled back a reply.

***

The days that went by were uneventful, but that meant that you had time to sit back and reset.

Dropping off the evidence and report at a different locker from the first, you now had to wait a day before Dick and Jason came back from their mission. You usually dealt with being alone well, but for some reason you felt a tension in your shoulders. This usually happened when Dick was on a mission that lasted more than a couple of days, and especially if she was involved.

Unpleasant memories gnawed at your mind, so you forced them away by reorganizing your case files, your liquor cabinet, and your wardrobe. These were basically the only things you had in Dick’s apartment. You didn’t get attached to things, so the clothes you owned were just the essentials based on occasion- for when you needed to be professional, for when you needed to dress up, for when you needed to seduce, and for the everyday casual. You noticed a lot of dark colors. Navy, midnight, dark brown. Those were the colors you felt most comfortable in. Muted, and in the shadows, where you felt like you belonged.

That was how you kept yourself busy until both of your boys came back. You were anxious and on edge even worse than before, your gut making you feel uneasy. Intuition was one of your strengths, and that made it easier for you to tell what other people are thinking.

Dick had texted you before he returned, a ritual of his. He would always let you know when he was on the way home, safe. A portion of the tension was relieved, but you still felt like a rubber band stretched and waiting to snap.

It was sunset when you heard the familiar jingle of keys muffled behind the door. You stood up from the sofa and straightened your clothes, ready to greet him.

When you saw his face, you gasped.

“Dick! What happened?” you rushed to your partner. He had a large bruise forming on his left cheekbone, spreading to his slightly swollen eyes. “I thought you said it was just a recon.”

He averted his eyes from yours as he closed the door. You went to the freezer to get an ice pack you always kept handy and went to press it on his face.

“I’m fine, really,” he tried to awkwardly smile.

“It’s not everyday you come back with a bruised face,” you worried, “Who managed to hit you? Bane?”

“No,” he couldn’t meet your eyes again. He took the ice pack from you and sat down on the sofa. You took a seat next to him.

“Then?” you persisted. “Tell me.”

Dick closed his eyes and sighed. “Jason did.”

“Jason? What do you mean Jason?” you questioned, perplexed. “Jason punched you in the face?”

He turned his head away from you. It was obvious based on his body language that he was extremely uncomfortable and was hiding information from you. You didn’t need to be a pro to tell that.

“Yeah.”

You blinked. “Dick. I want to hear everything.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied quietly, “You should know.”

Silence.

“Well?” you probed.

“It was, uh, after the mission. Everything was done and everyone had packed. We were at HQ,” he began, still speaking quietly and averting his eyes. “I was in the living room with Kori. We were just talking.”

At the mention of her name, you now knew where this was going. You felt a heat creeping up your neck and settling in your cheeks, burning. Your heart started racing. Your chest tightened until it started to hurt. Suddenly, all the memories you wanted to push away came flooding back.

Her touch on his shoulder. His eyes lighting up at his phone. You mistaking his phone for yours and seeing her messages. You crying, him apologizing. Nothing has happened between us, he promised. They’re just text messages. We’re just good friends. She’s hardly even on Earth these days.

You bit your lip and turned away, eyes brimming with tears you did not want to let fall.

“…one thing led to another, and,” he continued, “We kissed. Only for a moment. It was less than a second, I swear. Jason walked in on us and he just- he flipped. He grabbed me and punched me in the face. Said a lot of nasty things to both of us. Roy had to break it up, or things would have escalated.”

You remained silent, not knowing how to respond, not knowing what to even feel.

“Darling?” he turned toward you this time to look at you. You were staring straight ahead. “I promise, it meant nothing. It hardly even counts as a kiss. Nothing happened after. I didn’t even say goodbye to her, I haven’t said anything to her after I left.”

You turned to him, now feeling something. Heat, and anger. How dare he.

“It was just a short kiss?” you asked.

“Yeah-“

“But it would have been longer if Jason had not interrupted,” you stated.

“W-what-“

“But it would have possibly led to more than just a kiss if it weren’t for Jason,” you monotoned.

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Then, Dick Grayson,” you stood up, “We are done.”

You stormed off to your room, Dick following behind you.

“Darling, please!” he called, “Let’s talk about this. Please.”

You grabbed your phone and sent a quick text to Jason.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said coolly. You opened your closet and reached for your backpack.

“Where are you going?” he asked, eyeing your overnight bag.

“That’s none of your business,” you fumed, walking past him toward the door. “There are so many things I want to say to you right now, but I am not in the right mind, and I will end up saying things I will regret.”

“I deserve everything you say to me.”

“You self-pitying bastard!” you turned and roared at him, “How dare you use your own guilt on me. You manipulative piece of-“

You stopped in your tracks, trying so fucking hard to reel in your shadow, to control yourself. You counted backwards. Dick knew not to disturb you at this state.

With one last deep breath, you left.

***

coming over. be there in 30.

Jason had not expected that text from you so soon. He knew you would have found out eventually, because if Dick had the nerve to lie to you, then he would be the one to tell you. It must have been difficult for Dick to tell you the truth, Jason thought. But Dick must have weighed out his options. His older brother knew that lying would have made him looked worse because there was no way Jason was going to keep you in the dark about something like that.

He was worried. Any other man who was in love with you would have been happy to hear that you were coming to them teary and heartbroken by your boyfriend. Any other man would have taken advantage of your vulnerability.

But Jason genuinely did not want you to feel that kind of pain. He wanted to protect you, he wanted you to be happy. You were his best friend. Which was why he was so fucking angry with Dick. How dare he.

He waited outside by the road for you and saw your familiar black sedan pulling over. The next thing he knew, you were in his arms, sobbing into his shirt. He placed a hand on the back of your head, and the other on your waist.

“I know, sunshine, I know,” he whispered to you. The both of you just stayed there in that position for a while. The streetlights were on, and the working class were heading home for the day. Some stared, but quickly averted their eyes when Jason glared at them.

Once you calmed down a little, Jason guided you up to his apartment. “It isn’t much,” he said, anxious about you seeing his tiny place.

It was a single bedroom, with a small battered up sofa and an unplugged TV on the floor. The kitchen area consisted of a single stove next to a small sink with overhead cabinets. One lone fridge stood next to the stove, and a circular dining table with a plastic chair was placed in between the kitchen area and the living room. He hadn’t invited you in this whole time because he didn’t want you to see the sorry state of his current home.

“I haven’t had time to properly get furniture or like, decorate or anything,” he continued. Not like he thought that you were going to judge, but Jason was proper in that sense, where he felt like his guests needed to be comfortable. He did eventually want to do some interior designing, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to put in effort into a temporary space. He eventually would want to move to a bigger apartment.

“It’s fine, Jay,” you sniffled, moving towards his sofa to sit down. Jason gave you a glass of warm water and sat down next to you. “Thanks. Sorry to barge in on you like this.”

“You can barge in anytime, you know that,” he nudged you with his shoulder. “So, come on. Talk to me.”

You looked at him with large watery eyes, and a trembling lower lip. Jason’s heart broke for you.

“He told me why you punched him,” you started, “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“I would have done more,” he grit. Roy shouldn’t have stopped him.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“You already know what happened.”

“Not all of it,” you bit your lip, “He said that you were cursing at them. And Roy had to break it off.”

’You piece of shit, Grayson. What is wrong with you? Who do you think you are where you can do anything you want?’ Jason had said to a guilty looking Dick who was massaging his face after the punch. Starfire was next to him, silent. ‘Your whole Golden Boy persona was just to fool everyone around you, after all, huh? No wonder Barbara left you.’

‘Jason-’ Starfire had interrupted.

‘And you,’ he turned towards her. ‘You’re supposed to support other women, not sabotage them and tear them down.’

‘Don’t bring her into this, Jason,’ Dick defended, ‘You know her customs are different.’

‘Bullshit. You don’t get to use that as an excuse anymore. You’ve been here for what, a decade already? You know how we are. You can feel how we are. Time to stop fucking playing dumb, you’re not fooling me.’

‘Jason,’ Dick angrily stepped up to him, ‘Take a walk.’

‘How about you go fuck yourself, you cunt,’ Jason shoved him back, ‘Do you have any idea how long it took for her to trust anyone? Do you have any idea how much of a fucking asshole for you to be in order to hurt someone like her? You’re a fucking sham, Grayson. You’re a narcissist who manipulates people into doing whatever the fuck you want them to.’

‘What’s going on here?’ Roy had stepped in.

‘That’s what you did, didn’t you?’ he went on, ‘She was grieving, and one day she was crying and I bet you swooped in just to fuck her-’

‘You going to tell her, then?’ Dick had smirked. He had fucking smirked at Jason. ‘Isn’t this the perfect opportunity for you? You wanted her all along, right? So you’re going to tell her so she can finally see you as her knight in shining armor? Because whatever you did wasn’t working, trying to sweeten her up by calling her- what was it? Sunny, and Sunshine-’

Jason had it, then. He looked at Dick straight in the eye and-

“I spat at him,” he told you, omitting the rest. “Roy had to stop us then.”

“You didn’t,” you gasped. “Oh Jason, you really didn’t have to.”

“It just happened,” he said honestly, “Everything that happened, it was just instinct to me. I couldn’t let him get away from hurting you.”

You stared at him, and then tackled him into a bear hug.

“Jason, you’re the best,” you said into his chest. “I’m so glad I have you.”

Jason’s chest tightened with longing.

“I know, Sunny. I’m pretty awesome.”

You giggled.

Jason loved making you laugh.

“Could I stay here for a while?” you looked up at him with pleading eyes. “Just a week or two. I’m going to talk to the landlady and see if my old place is still available.”

“Stay as long as you like,” he smiled, caressing your hair.

“I’ll take the couch.”

“What? No. You take the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I can’t take your bed,” you rolled your eyes at him, “This is your place. You’re doing me a favor.”

“I’m not letting my guest-” he booped your nose, “take the couch.”

“I’ll just sleep here then and you can’t do anything about it,” you insisted stubbornly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jason stood up without warning, and then grabbed you by the hips, lifting you up and throwing you onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Jason- what the fuck!”

“I’m doing something about it,” he chuckled.

“Jason, put me down!” you slapped his back.

He carried you to his room and-

“Put you down? Okay,” he threw you onto his perfectly made king sized bed. He stood looking down at you with his hands on his hips and grinned triumphantly.

You pouted at him. “Fine. How about we both take the bed.”

Jason’s heart skipped a beat. “What? No.”

“There’s plenty of space for the both of us!” you argued. “And we used to have sleepovers all the time.”

“That was before!” he argued back, “We can’t share a bed now.”

“And why not?” you demanded.

“It’s inappropriate. You’re a girl, and I’m a guy.”

“It’s only inappropriate if you’re planning to do something inappropriate. Which you aren’t, are you?”

Jason felt heat in his cheeks and silently cursed himself for acting like a school boy.

“Of course not!” he huffed.

“Then there’s no problem, is there?” you gave him a smug look.

Jason silently scowled at you. “Fine.”

“Great, now I call dibs on the bolster.”

Jason didn’t bother arguing with you, because whatever you wanted, he knew he couldn’t say no.

***

In truth, you didn’t want to be alone.

It was funny how you were so used to being alone, and have always found comfort with your own company. Yet this time, the loneliness scared you. You didn’t want to be alone anymore, and Dick doing that to you triggered a kind of fear that you didn’t know existed.

A long time ago, Jason had made a joke about how sharing a room with you meant he could get better sleep since you made it dark and he didn’t need blackout curtains. You realized now that everything he said to you was a way to make you feel better about your shadow, even if you didn’t show any insecurity. He found little ways to let you know how much better it was with your shadow.

After dinner, which was just instant ramen and eggs that Jason had overcooked, the both of you watched a movie on your laptop in bed. Jason had fallen asleep halfway, and you suddenly felt bad for imposing on him. He must have been tired from the mission. You put your laptop away and layed next to him, attempting to fall asleep as well.

But there you were wide awake, suddenly hyper-aware of your own looming darkness around you and Jason’s back facing you. Dick was not your first, but he was your first serious partner. You really loved him, even then as you lay heartbroken.

Fighting back tears, you tried concentrating on Jason’s steady breathing.

He was breathing. He was alive. This time last year you were still mourning him, trying to move on by clinging onto Dick.

Was that what Dick was to you? Were you with him just so you could have an idea of how it would be like if you were with Jason?

Then why did this hurt so bad?

You woke up the next morning to Jason still sleeping next to you. His slight frown that was ever present relaxed slightly while he was asleep. You used to do this last time, too. Whenever you had sleepovers, you would observe him. How his lips were slightly parted, how he would bundle up in the sheets like a burrito. He hadn’t changed in that aspect.

Small scars littered his face, more than before. His eyelashes were slightly longer and darker, as were the circles under his eyes.

He stirred. You quickly turned to lie on your back.

“Hnggh,” he stretched and yawned, “Oh, you’re awake. Mornin’. Sleep okay?”

“Mhm,” you nodded and moved to get up, “How about you?”

“Not so good,” he rubbed his eyes and looked at you, “Someone was snoring super loud.”

“I do not snore!” you hit him with a pillow.

He laughed.

You cooked breakfast this time, scrambled eggs on toast while Jason waited. While you were eating with him, you asked, “Hey. Do you think you can come with me to Dicks’? I told him to pack up my stuff. It’s not much, but I’d like the company.”

***

Jason noticed you were biting your nails as you drove to Dicks’.

He felt bad for you in your anxious state, the interior of the car much darker than outside. He would have to keep a cool head while he was there, because it wasn’t about him. He was only with you for moral support.

You unlocked the apartment door with your key and turned the knob.

“Baby!” Dick approached you but paused when he saw Jason. “Oh, you’re here too.”

Jason raised an eyebrow.

“I told you not to be here, Dick,” you groaned. “Did you even pack up my stuff?”

“I did,” Dick followed you into your room, “But I wanted to talk.”

Jason let you and Dick have some space, but hovered closeby to make sure you were okay.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shoved a box into Jason’s arms. “Could you help carry a couple of these? It’s not much, I promise.”

“Sure,” he mumbled back as you stacked another box on top.

“You can bring these to the car first?”

He glanced at Dick. “You going to be okay on your own?”

“I can take-”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but that’s not what I meant,” he said sternly.

You paused. “I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

He left and loaded the car. He walked back to the apartment.

“-you know how I felt about you. How I still feel about you,” Jason overheard Dick. He entered the apartment quietly to watch the two of you talk.

“No, I don’t. I have always felt insecure about her and you knew that. I always suspected that you guys weren’t actually over,” you put a box on the counter and crossed your arms at Dick, lips trembling.

“I’m really sorry that I made you feel that way,” Dick replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But we were there for each other. We both mourned together. That’s not something I shared with anyone else.”

You turned away and glanced at Jason for a moment, who gave you a small encouraging smile.

He hated seeing Dick touch you the way he was.

“And I cared for you and stayed with you,” Dick continued, “Even though I knew that it wasn’t me that made you stay. Even though I knew the whole time you wished I was Jason.”

Jason saw a flash of anger in your eyes, and you slapped Dick’s hand away.

“Richard John Grayson,” you fumed.

Jason recognized the change of aura even though he had not felt it in years. Suddenly, the room grew dark, as if an eclipse were happening right outside.

“How dare you insinuate that I was thinking of another man while I was with you,” you growled, “How dare you think that I stooped that low. That you think I have no decency and dignity to do that to you, when you were the one who kept on running behind my back.”

Behind you, a darkness grew and grew, distorting the lighting in the room in impossible ways. Dick took a step back from you. This was what scared everyone else away from you.

But to Jason, this was one of the most beautiful forms he saw you as. A dangerous, powerful dark queen. He stared in awe at you, his heart racing because he forgot how much he loved seeing you like this. It was as if he had fallen in love with you all over again for the very first time.

Then, Jason remembered where you were, and he knew you would regret it if you were to accidentally cause any harm to Dick.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he stepped in, “The car’s all loaded and ready to go.”

Your eyes snapped back at Jason, and then darted towards Dick. There was a slight panic on your face before the room was bright again.

***

There was a specific kind of anxiety you felt when you feared judgment coming from someone you love, and whose opinions matter to you. You noticed that Jason had been sneaking worried glances at you as you drove back from Dicks’, and even as you both carried your things up to his apartment.

Was he wary of you now? You had lost control of your shadow for a moment when you were angry at Dick. Jason had snapped you back to reality, but you saw the look on his face. Eyes wide with shock and worry.

“I understand if you don’t want me to stay here anymore,” you said when the both of you finally put all your things down in Jason’s apartment. “I have money and I can find a place to stay.”

Jason crossed his arms at you. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” you hesitated, looking anywhere but his piercing gaze. Suddenly the peeling paint on the walls felt more interesting. “You saw what happened. I understand if you don’t want that kind of danger around you.”

“That kind of danger?” Jason repeated before realizing what you meant. He sighed and walked toward you, skipping past the boxes on the floor. Towering over you, he lifted your chin up with a finger. “Do you think I’m afraid of you?”

“You looked like you were…”

You saw his frustration. “Tell me, amongst the both of us, who here has actually hurt Dick?”

You blinked at him.

“You have this- this darkness, right? Do you think getting beaten to death, resurrected in some weird magic cartoonish toxic waste looking pit and then brainwashed wouldn’t affect me and make me have some kind of darkness as well? Between you and me, I have caused way more destruction than you have. Way more. Do you really think I’d be afraid of you?”

“Well- but- you don’t have this uncontrollable power that could hurt the people you love at any time!” you argued.

“Sunny, listen to what you’re saying!” he responded incredulously, “I literally tried my best to hurt the people I love. You have been trying your best to protect them. Haven’t you?”

You avoided his piercing gaze by looking away. “I guess.”

“So don’t be silly,” he booped your nose, “Put away your things and stay as long as you want. Make a grocery list to stock up the fridge, and maybe help decorate the place a little, huh?”

“Yeah, okay,” you smiled sheepishly at him. “But I don’t want to stay for long. Just until I get somewhere more permanent. There’s only one bedroom and you snore.”

“I do not!” he huffed as he helped pick a box of your clothes to bring to the room.

“Jason?” you called out. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The days flew by and you found it hard not to enjoy this new routine that you and Jason had built. It wasn’t dissimilar to Dicks’ as Jason also went out at night for patrol. The only difference was that he didn’t have a day job, which made you question how he could afford his bills and rent.

“I have my ways,” he simply replied when you brought up the subject. It was dusk on the eighth day you were there and he was armoring up for the night, double checking his weapons and gadgets.

“Are you still doing illegal nightly activities?” you asked.

“We’re a family of vigilantes,” he managed to give you a roll of his eyes before putting on his helmet. “Everything we do is illegal.”

You approached him and placed both your palms on either side of the shiny red metal helmet that were littered with scratches and scuff marks. You could hear his crackled breathing through the built-in voice changer.

“You know what I mean,” you said, rubbing off a mark where his brow should be.

A pause. “Yeah, I have some arrangements with some contacts. But it’s nothing that can harm anyone. No drugs or trafficking or anything. Some smuggling of rare goods. Antiques.”

“That’s good,” you smiled, “I’ve dabbled in some black market antiquities myself.”

“You have?” you heard the surprise in his mechanical walky-talky like voice.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, “For a client a couple years ago, and only for a few months. I enjoyed the research, but I find that investigating interpersonal relationships and people was more fulfilling. Which is why I try not to take cases that want me to help take down someone’s competitor. Unless it’s a whistleblower type, then it would be my number one priority.”

“How honorable,” he joked.

“Shut up, Darth Vader,” you laughed, then without thinking, tip-toed to place a peck on the cool metal. “Stay safe, Jay.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and the only thing you could hear was his breathing. The silence made you anxious. Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that?

“Good night, Sunny,” he finally said, and then left through the balcony.

***

It was 6 in the morning on the eleventh day you were staying at Jason’s house when he returned from his night out. His shoulders and neck ached, and he didn’t know whether he wanted to eat or sleep. But the thought of getting under the covers with you by his side helped him with his decision.

He climbed down the fire escape and jumped onto his balcony, avoiding the new potted plants you had gotten him just a few days ago. He slid open the door and started to take off his boots at the same time before pausing at the sight of his dining table.

You were asleep with your head rested on your crossed arms on the table, papers scattered everywhere. He made you promise that night before he left that you would sleep early and take it easy with your work, but since the published article and the following public statement from Thorne, you heard back from your client to go harder.

He took off his helmet and threw it on the sofa. Approaching you quietly, he tip-toed to the dining table and smiled softly. He contemplated carrying you to the room, but he knew he couldn’t pick you up without waking you up.

“Hey there, sleepy head,” he softly whispered and put a hand on your back. You stirred awake.

“Jason?” you mumbled, lifting your head up and blinking. “What time is it?”

“Just after six,” he answered. “Go to bed. Come on. I’ll join you in a sec, too.”

You nodded and yawned, then stumbled to the room. Jason held back a chuckle when he saw you sprawled on top of the sheets.

He washed up and looked at his own reflection in the foggy mirror. He frowned at the hideous scars on his body. Mostly old, some new ones. A bruise was forming across his left rib where he got punched the day before. He quickly put on his shirt, trying his best to hide his ugly body from you.

***

Your neck was stiff when you turned to your side and saw Jason sleeping soundly next to you. He was on his back, his head turned away to the other side. You watched as his chest rose and fell with every breath. You smiled to yourself when you remembered he had woken you up and made you sleep in bed. You needed to move out soon. You felt bad for taking up his space.

As you were watching him, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that his shirt rode up slightly, revealing his tummy that you knew were hard to the touch. You frowned at the faint scars that littered his skin. You had always liked that about him. Scars on a man was so badass, and you knew Jason was very very skilled at fighting. Those scars showed experience in hand to hand combat with multiple weapons and tools, something you respected.

Your eyes trailed down to his sage green shorts. It wasn’t your fault, you were just following his happy trail in that direction. Your eyes widen and you blushed at what you were seeing. Was… was he hard? No. Not fully. But still, you could see the loose fabric of his shorts stretch out and form the silhouette of his bulge. Your heartbeat quicken and you felt a familiar warmth at the base of your stomach.

Men often got hard when they slept, and contrary to popular belief, it sometimes did not have anything to do with spicy dreams. As their body phased into the rest and digest state, their heartbeat slows, their breathing deepens, and well, they get erections. So now you found yourself breathing hard through your nose at the sight of Jason’s chub, his semi-boner, his leaning tower of-

You closed your eyes.

You had a crush on Jason before, yes, but that was before your sexual awakening. You never had dirty fantasies of him. Just holding hands and kissing in the cinema. And when you were hanging out with him, perhaps you had forced those thoughts away since you were with Dick and would have felt bad for thinking of his brother that way.

But now there was nothing stopping your thoughts from running wild. You opened your eyes again, but looked upwards instead, to his neck stretched out and bare to you. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at the sight of his jugulars, the curvature of his well-developed SCM muscle that made you want to litter little love bites on-

You got ahead of yourself for the first time regarding Jason. And now that you have, you knew there was no way your overactive imagination was going to calm down everytime you looked at him.

You spent the next couple of hours outside on the sofa with your legs up and stretched, switching back and forth between reading a dirty novel to scrolling on your phone. Around 4 in the afternoon, Jason woke up and took a seat next to you with his own book and phone. You curled your legs to make room for him to sit, which he did, but then he took your calves and pulled your legs to rest on his thighs.

You tried hard to read the paragraph you were on. ‘His chocolate brown eyes burned into hers as she watched him crawl between her legs-’

Suddenly you felt the skin of your lower legs burn as Jason rested his forearms on them to read his book. You peeked at him from above your novel and saw his messy bed hair and frown and oh, God he was looking at you.

“What’re you reading?” you quickly blurted to cover up the fact that you were staring at him.

“Middle Eastern history,” he replied, “You?”

Oh, no. You hadn’t thought this far. “Oh. Just a novel.” You hid your face behind your book again.

You felt Jason shift closer to you. “Ooh, a romance novel?”

“Yes.”

He was leaning nearer to read the synopsis at the back. You quickly closed the book and glared at him.

“What’s wrong?” he chuckled, “I just wanted to see what it was about.”

“You wouldn’t like it anyway,” you crossed your arms.

“Or, you don’t want me to know you’re reading smut,” he grinned.

“Am not!” you huffed, putting your knees up in a fetal position, but with your back leaning against the sofa arm.

“I think I saw the word sexy and breathless there,” he teased, reaching out to grab the book from you.

In panic, you threw the book across the room. Jason’s eyes widened in shock at where the book landed. Then he looked at you. And then he burst out laughing.

“So it was smut!” he guffawed.

“Shut up!” you yelled.

He rested his chin on top of your knees and watched you. “Aww, you’re blushing!” he teased again, “No, no, don’t cover up your face, you’re cute when you blush!”

That made you blush even harder. You peeked at him through your fingers and saw that he was still resting his head on your knees with a massive grin on his face. “Don’t call me cute!”

His grin turned into a soft smile. “But it’s true.”

Now you felt like it was your eyes that were being burned into by Jason’s blue ones. His stare had always been so intense, even back when you were teens.

The both of you suddenly were staring at each other for what felt like eons. Suddenly you felt awkward, and you broke eye contact.

“Anyway,” you looked away and got up to a proper sitting position, causing Jason to resume his as well, “What’s for dinner? Wanna go out? I feel like going out.”

You couldn’t bear to be in close proximity with him any longer. You felt like you were going to explode into flames.

“Oh, finally leaving the rabbit hole of old corruption cases, are you?” he retorted.

“You can’t blame me, Jay,” you pouted, “Didn’t you read what they said! It was so infuriating. I would have preferred if they came up with a lie instead.”

After sending your client the photos of Thorne’s accountant meeting up with Oswald Cobblepot, the article made the front page of Gotham Gazette, the author under a pseudonym. The relationship between a well known criminal and the mayoral candidate’s accountant was reported along with the photo you took. There was an uproar on social media and a press conference. Two days after that, another report.

Thorne basically didn’t bother to cover anything up but denied it with a smirk on his face, ridiculing the journalist. Whoever wrote that he had said, has been skulking old internet forums full of conspiracy theorists- and probably has seen one too many YouTube videos on Photoshop. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were a Flat Earther. However, I must express my disappointment in Gotham Gazette. I thought they were a proper news source and not a tabloid magazine.

Along with his smile, charm, and wit, his statement won over everyone again. The next day you received another text promising even more money if you get concrete evidence, bank and witness statements, audio or video recording, or official documents from legitimate sources incriminating Thorne.

“I get it,” Jason nodded, “And the offer for help is still up.”

Jason had suggested breaking into his home.

“I know. When the time comes, Jay. Not now. I still need to piece some things together. And his security is tight. We might need another method.”

“Just let me know when, and I’ll drop everything to help you,” he said seriously. Before you could protest, he continued. “All this Middle Eastern reading makes me want shawarma before going out tonight. I have a… business meeting.”

“Antiquities?” you asked.

“Yeah, some stone inscription.”

“Can I tag along?” you inquired excitedly. “I need to take a break from the cases and come back with a fresh perspective. Only if you’re okay with it. I know there’s probably some hierarchy thing going on.”

“Hierarchy thing?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you’re the boss man aren’t you?” you poked him. “You can’t just bring some girl to a business meeting.”

“Because I am the boss man, I can do whatever I want,” he shifted towards you and booped your nose. “And you’re not just some girl.”

You looked away to hide the creeping blush again. What was wrong with you?

“Anyway, sure you can tag along.”

“Yay!” you got up and grinned. “Let me find something to wear.”

You dug through your box of clothes and found black tights, a form fitting black jersey jacket and a black mask that covered your mouth. This was what you usually wore when you had to sneak around.

“Uh,” Jason scratched his head, “No. Wait, turn around.”

You obliged.

“Yeah, no,” he stated, “That material is too thin. Do you have a kevlar vest or something?”

You frowned and went to dig up your old kevlar vest from another box.

“Perfect!” he clapped, “No, hold on. Here.”

He forced you into his oversized black hoodie over the bulky vest. “Now it’s perfect.”

“Jason, I look so chonky!” you complained. “Why can’t I be cool and stylish like you?”

“Because my outfit is already bullet-proof,” he said smugly, “You need to be protected just in case. Now stop pouting and wait here while I change.”

After the both of you got ready, he took you down to another alley into a garage he bought and revealed his 1969 Chevrolet Impala.

“We’re not taking your bike?” you asked, slightly disappointed. You sat in the passenger seat and heard him turn on the engine, the loud rev making you jump.

“We have precious cargo,” he explained.

“Oh, right! The slab,” you facepalmed.

“That, too,” he smirked, “But I was talking about you.”

***

You noticed that Jason changed his body language when he was in Red Hood mode. He stood up straight with his head held high, asserting dominance in the way he walked and moved. You would be lying if you didn’t think it was hot.

“As promised,” the tall and slender man with olive skin and dark facial hair said with his heavy accent. “6th century Byzantine inscription.”

He opened a heavy duty black metal briefcase that showed a gray stone slab with carvings on its surface. You were next to Red Hood, who took a closer look and nodded at you to come closer.

Upon better observation, your eyes widen. No… It could not be.

“Is your consultant satisfied?” the man asked.

Red Hood had introduced you as his consultant in Middle Eastern antiquities for a second opinion. You nodded at him curtly.

“Yes, she is satisfied. As am I,” his distorted voice agreed, “Here is four hundred thousand. As promised. You did well, Malik.”

“Thank you, sir,” he nodded, taking the duffel bag of cash that Red Hood had handed to him.

The both of you exited the dark building where Malik was running his business next to a dodgy law firm and got into the car.

“Jason!” you immediately squealed as he turned the engine on. “How much are you selling that for to the auctioneer?”

“A Byzantine slab would go for eight hundred, probably,” he shrugged.

“Jason, that’s not a Byzantine slab! That’s the ancient Sabaean alabaster stone inscription from the third century. Its last known location was at an auction in Paris, but it originates from The Awwam Temple in Yemen-”

You didn’t finish your sentence because you had noticed Jason’s body language. He hadn’t reacted to you at all. “You knew what it was.”

“Of course I did,” he said. And even though his whole head was covered, you knew he had that smug smirk on his face.

“And you let Malik think it was Byzantine,” you stated, “Because, of course. If he had an inkling of what it was, the price would have went up.”

“You knew what it was too, and you let Malik believe it,” he shrugged, “Proud of you, Sunny, my little con artist.”

Jokingly, he patted you on the thigh to commend you. It was only a few seconds, yet your heart had started racing.

“Who is this auctioneer? Does he know what he’s getting?” you quickly tried to distract yourself.

“Harry Willowman,” Jason replied, “He thinks he is getting a sixth century Byzantine slab, and he is going to try to get away with buying it for less than what it’s worth.”

“Willowman,” you repeated to yourself.

“You know him?” Jason made a right turn into a large estate.

“I’ve dealt with him a few times in the past, but it was a while back. I don’t think he would remember me.”

“Would it be bad if he did?” he inquired, driving the car to a stop in front of the large mansion.

“We’ll just have to see.”

It was weird, going up to a mansion and ringing the doorbell, as if it wasn’t three in the morning, as if you weren’t wearing a kevlar vest underneath the atrociously large hoodie, and as if you weren’t accompanied by the six foot something vigilante wearing a red motorcycle helmet.

You were greeted by the butler, because of course these people had butlers, and the interior really did remind you of Wayne Manor in its classical finishing, but this place had many more things.

From vases and pots, to paintings and tapestry, to old cabinets and random statues of forgotten Gods and Goddesses, the hallway into Willoman’s office itself already looked like a museum. The butler, an old man about sixty years of age, led you up the marble staircase to the second floor and knocked at the first door, the largest.

“Come in,” said the muffled voice behind it.

Red Hood entered first, and you followed behind him.

“Red Hood,” Harry Willowman acknowledged, “And you brought company.”

Harry Willowman was an Englishman in his mid-forties, and was wearing a beige waffle sweater and khaki slacks. His salt and pepper hair was styled back, and he was as handsome as you remembered.

“This is my associate. She is my consultant during exchanges to make sure items are what they say they are.”

Harry leaned forward from his leather chair to get a closer look at you and frowned. “Have we met before?”

“No time for introductions. Here’s your slab.”

Red Hood set the case on Harry’s heavy wooden desk. Harry proceeded to click the locks open. “Ah, my Byzantine-”

You noticed the way his eyes sparkled just for a moment when he saw what was inside.

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “This is a beautiful Byzantine specimen. I shall offer you eight hundred for it, like we promised.”

“Ah, but you see, Mr Willowman,” Red Hood protested politely, “We agreed eight hundred for a Byzantine inscription.”

“And you brought me a Byzantine inscription,” Harry acted confused.

Red Hood turned to you and nodded. You knew what he meant.

“Red Hood will take no less than two million dollars for the third century Sabaean alabaster stone inscription,” you said curtly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at you, and proceeded to laugh. “My dear, you don’t think this is the inscription from Awam Temple? The script here is clearly Koine.”

“I am not your dear,” you snapped, “And Koine is a Hellenistic script. As you can see here, it is clearly Middle Persian, or more specifically Sabaean. Some Parthian scripture has Hellenistic influence, but Sabaic specifically, since it is derived from ancient Aramaic, utilizes mater lectionis- a common variable in Semitic languages. Not Hellenistic.”

Harry stared at you in wonder, but then his eyes narrowed, and a smirk appeared on his lips. “I couldn’t recognise you with that ridiculous outfit you have on, Jade. Whatever happened to the tight leather?”

You clenched your jaw. “Two. Million.”

“Downings,” Harry called to his butler, “Fetch our friends here four of those bags, will you? Turns out one of them is an old associate.”

The room was suddenly tense. You could almost feel Red Hood next to you, coiled up and ready to spring.

“Jade The Judge,” Harry recited again, “What a surprise. How did you get her out of her little hiding hole, Red?”

“I don’t make comments about her outfit,” Red Hood snarkily replied.

Harry laughed. “No, Red, you don’t get it. You didn’t see Jade when she was in her prime. What was it that people used to say? When Jade The Judge walks, darkness follows. People used to be terrified of her. But I was completely infatuated. She left as swiftly as she arrived. But we used to have some fun didn’t we, Jade?”

You felt an icy cold shiver run down your spine in disgust. It was before Dick, when you were still mourning Jason.

You noticed Red Hood’s fists clench.

Before anyone could say anything, the butler arrived with four briefcases, struggling to juggle them in his arms.

“You’ll find that every dollar is accounted for,” Harry explained, the mischievous twinkle in his eye still ever present. “Because I know you will have my head if any small amount is missing.”

You picked up two briefcases, and Red Hood picked up the other two. Without saying any goodbyes, the both of you turned and left the room, but not without hearing Harry’s voice in the distance calling out to you. “I’m looking forward to more leather tights, Jade!”

The ride back home was silent. Jason drove into the garage and parked, taking off his helmet. The both of you walked to Jason’s apartment, and upon entering, you took off your mask, the hoodie, and the uncomfortable vest.

Before anything else was said, you quickly blurted out. “We did.”

Jason turned to you with his eyebrows raised. “Hmm?”

“Harry and I. We slept together. A few times. It was a long time ago,” you shuffled your feet. For some reason, you felt like you were a deer caught in the headlights of a car. You didn’t know why you were confessing this to Jason, and you didn’t know why you felt such shame doing so.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” he came up to you and smiled softly.

“I know, but you were thinking it.” Tears were brimming. “It was before Dick, when I was mourning you still. I was in a very dark place, and I was reckless for the sake of being reckless.”

Jason then frowned. “Does he know your real identity?”

“Oh, God, no!” you shook your head furiously, “I had my mask on, or it would have been in the dark.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” you looked down at your feet. “I figured I might as well get it out of the way.”

“Well, thank you for telling me,” he replied. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you forced a smile. “Go shower first. I need a drink.”

You downed a shot of vodka and took a long, deep breath. After a while, you heard the shower turn off in the room. You head to the shower.

You opened the door to Jason’s room and was greeted with him shirtless with only his sweatpants on. He was drying his hair with his towel, but droplets of water fell onto his skin, running down his body. You gulped and blushed before saying “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”

Jason’s eyes widen when he realised you were there. “Sunny! No! I’m sorry. Fuck! Let me put on a shirt real quick.”

He rushed to his closet and put on his shirt, but not before you caught a glimpse of his toned back muscles flexing with movement. Fuck.

“I’m really fucking sorry,” Jason said.

“What? Jason, no. I’m the one who intruded. I’m sorry, I know you’re shy,” you exasperatedly tried to calm him down. But Jason looked like he was in pain.

“No. I know how fucking disgusting my body is. You weren’t meant to see it. Sorry.”

You were shocked into silence. He was standing in front of you, but his head turned away.

“Jason,” you gently approached him, “Who told you that?”

“No one,” he denied, “But I know how I look, and I don’t want you to have to see that shit.”

“Oh, Jason,” you sighed. “I don’t find you disgusting at all.”

“You don’t have to be nice,” he grit, “I saw you looking.”

Suddenly, you felt the familiar heat creep up to your cheeks. “I- uh, I. I was looking. Yes. I was. But not because I think you’re disgusting. I was- uh. I was… admiring…you…”

“What?” he frowned.

“Look,” you gathered your courage and pierced his eyes with yours. “I’ve seen your scars, yes. And the way I see it, your scars means you are a skilled fighter. All those lessons learned. All that experience. I wish I had your skills. But I just have this stupid shadow. So I respect it. I respect your scars, and your body, and you.”

Jason was still quiet. You could almost see the gears in his head turning as he contemplated on your words.

“And,” you decided to come out with it. “I think. That. Your body. Is. Superhotorwhatever.”

Now you were blushing furiously, but was still watching Jason’s expressions. His frown subsided, and then the corner of his lips twisted upwards in a smirk. “You think I’m hot?”

“Ugh, I should not have said that,” you groaned and turned to walk away.

“No, no, tell me more about how you like my body,” Jason laughed.

“Stop!” you whined, “I’m going to shower.”

“Wait,” he stopped you in your tracks. “Thank you. Really. I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t been blushing.”

“Go away!” you ran to the bathroom and closed the door on Jason chuckling at you.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, processing the day, the night, and the feelings that you felt since the day before. You groaned to yourself when you hit the realization.

You had a crush on your best friend. Again.

70 notes · View notes

roosterbruiser · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

—𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐏𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐈-𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒. 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓) 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐒𝐔𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐖𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑. —𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟖.𝟒𝐊 —𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 —𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 —𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄? 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐌 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟒

The tough leather football catapults off the laces of Jake’s right cleat and soars across the true-blue sky through the yellow guideposts staked at the opposing side’s endzone. It’s clean--doesn’t so much as skim the chipped paint before it bounces off the net gloriously.

Triple.

And just like that, the game ends the way everyone already knew it would: with Jake Seresin’s jersey blown up on the jumbotron, with the home team’s score dwarfing the opposing team just barely, with the crowd roaring in abundant approval.

The loyal crowd packing the stadium, all dressed in a sea of morning yellow and teal, erupts like an undefeated crowd should. Everyone is on their feet, breaths no longer held and fingernails no longer bitten, with their hands in the crisp autumn air surrounding them. The bright stadium lights wash over the field--all the celebrating players, the exuberant turf, the moping opposing side glitter inside its glow and beneath the evening sky.

Thunderstruck by AC/DC is screaming through the speakers. At this point, you’re well-versed enough in your school’s football history to know that this song is synonymous with victory. It’s the only reason you put up with the trash.

“Holy shit!” Bob calls out. He’s grinning, his lips a bit pink and wet and his eyes wide and watered with joy. “Bullseye, man! Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye!”

Bob rarely curses so liberally--you’ve noticed this over the past year between late night runs to the corner store and lazy afternoons in Jake and Brad’s dorm. He says things like good Lord and have mercy and now just hold on a darn second there. But during football games, his lips are looser and he isn’t as quick to flush. He can say shit and damn and sometimes fuck. It is partly because of the sticky, nippy atmosphere and partly because of the few cheap beers Javy always buys for him.

“I told you! I told you he never misses!” Javy returns excitedly. “Fuck outta here, ‘Bama!”

Javy brings his pointer and his tongue to his mouth, glancing over at you to make sure you see--you do and you’re already covering your ears. He gives you a courteous warning before he whistles after he nearly made you jump out of your skin during kick-off a few weeks ago.

He heard all about it from Jake when you let it slip casually in conversation.

“You trying to maim her or something, you dick?” Jake had said with his brows furrowed, his cheeks still pink from running though the football game had ended hours ago. He took a long, languid drink from his water bottle and then drew it away and pointed at Javy with it. “How about some warning next time, big guy?”

“Let’s fucking go!” Javy calls out, his voice ragged from calling out referees and hollering Seresin and Bradshaw, the paint on his face crumbling as his mouth stretches into a grin. “Don’t Trip on your way out, bitches!”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side--he smells like face paint and sweat. Bob, all his excitement bubbling over, blows a yeasty breath out and wraps you up in his arms, too. Bob, somehow, always smells like he’s only just stepped out of the shower.

Jake can hear everything from the field--everyone screaming, the noisemakers snapping, the hands clapping, the other players cajoling, Javy’s absurdly loud whistling--for only a moment. He only experiences the win for a few fleeting seconds, teammates punching his shoulder pads and slapping his ass through his tight game pants, until he turns his face to the bleachers.

It is easy for him to find you. Maybe if he told someone that, someone like Javy or Bradley or Bob, they would tell him that it’s because he’s the one who bought your tickets, picked your seats. That he simply memorized where you’re gonna sit, glances over during practice, always checks on you.

But Jake knows better than that.

He knows that it is so easy for him to find you because he looks for you in every room now--even if it’s the chem lab he knows you aren’t even enrolled in, even if it’s his family’s living room in Texas over the summer when you’re home in Virginia, even if it’s his dorm room at four in the morning and he’s just dropped you at your own hal, even if it’s the crowded dining hall he knows you wouldn’t ever step foot in on your own.

He’s good at finding you--always has been.

And now, a year to the day he first saw you at that shitty house party that only played a few good songs, he finds you wedged in between Bob and Javy.

Jake’s chest is tight as he looks at you. You’re standing between two of his best friends, who have now become your friends, grinning like there is no other place in the world you would rather be than this close to the football field and drowning in beer breath.

There you are, like you have been since November of last year, standing in the first row of bleachers. You’re clapping and laughing as Javy and Bob hold you and undoubtedly insult the opposing team. You’re wearing the sweatshirt Jake gave you, that soft yellow thing that’s been faded with time since it was first worn by Jake’s father all those years ago, and there are little butterfly clips in your hair--team colors, of course.

It’s funny, Jake thinks. A year ago you didn’t own even one school team shirt. Not a hat, a keychain, a hand-me-down, not even one of those rubber bracelets you can get for free literally anywhere on campus.

“Didn’t have a reason to have school pride before. You know--before you. But doesn’t everyone have school pride now that we’re undefeated? I bet you’re the reason a lot of people buy sweatshirts, Trip,” you told him when he asked about it. It was December of last year and he was reclined on your bed, watching you brush your hair as you slipped into his father’s sweatshirt. “This is really nice, you know. Vintage.”

“It was my dad’s,” Jake told you softly, trying to be sly about his lingering gaze.

But still, you saw him when you turned suddenly to look at him with furrowed brows. The two of you had only known each other for a month and some change and already he deemed you important enough to will down his father’s sweatshirt.

“Shouldn’t you be saving this for some gorgeous girlfriend in a little tank-top?” You asked, only half-joking.

He caught your gaze in the mirror and shook his head.

“Nah,” he answered. “It looks good on you.”

But now, here you are, all these months later. In the same sweatshirt, the one you keep in pristine condition and wear almost every gameday. And now you have matching hair clips.

Almost instantaneously, you know he’s looking at you. Even when he’s across an entire football field, even when he’s being crowded by the rest of the football team and the coaches, even when his eyes are nearly hidden behind his helmet--you know. It’s a feeling that you get, one that is almost indiscernible from other big feelings like exhilaration or delirium.

And because you know he’s looking at you, you know that when he jams his finger in the sky and angles it--he’s pointing at you. You. That’s who the win was for. You. It’s always you. If someone were to be writing it down, they would know that every single win this season--and every single one during the latter half of last season--is dedicated to you. You own them, really. Technically. They’re gifted to you, thrusted into your lap, by Jake.

Just like you do each time he points to you after a win, you hold your hands in a heart--a juvenile and crooked thing. But you hold it high and proud in the sky as confetti reigns down from the bleachers above.

Jake’s beaming underneath his face mask, filled to the brim with unadulterated joy as you hold your hands up in a heart. It’s for him--it always is.

He can’t remember when this all started--the hearts, at least. He thinks they must’ve started the way nicknames do; on a whim, randomly, fleetingly. It’s that sweet thing where you don’t know where something begins or how it will end, but you know everything in-between because it just is.

But he does remember the first time you came to a game after you met. It was the next game, the one he promised he’d get you tickets to, and you sat in the front row like you said you would despite him offering to nab you some nosebleeders.

His fingertips tingled with adrenaline the entirety of the game, only gaining more momentum the closer the team got to a fourth-quarter victory. Everyone could tell that Jake was on his A-game, which meant that he was unstoppable.

He was the one who kicked the field goal that won the game--and with only ten seconds left on the clock. He remembers vividly the way the crowd went animalistic, the way everyone erupted in howls and cries and hollering.

Before the game, he memorized the exact seat you were going to sit in. During practice, he watched it--imagined you there. Your exuberant smile, your unrelenting good mood, which he partly attributed to the company of yours truly and partly attributed to you losing the dead weight of Spit Sabler.

And when he kicked the field goal, when he heard the crowd go wild, he turned towards where he knew you were sitting. It wasn’t even on purpose--it was just like a natural reaction. There you were, just like you said you would be. Grinning. Clapping. Laughing.

He was so overwhelmed with joy, so overwhelmed with having met you and immediately adored you, that he pointed to you.

You.

His girl.

He doesn’t remember what he was doing after wins before this--before he started looking for you. Maybe he was indulging in the celebration. Maybe he was letting Bradshaw tackle him to the turf. Maybe he was running to the sidelines. He can’t remember. He experiences this a lot when he thinks of life before you--it’s all blurry. Unimportant.

“You fucker! You dumb fucker!” Bradley laughs in his ear as he jumps into Jake’s arms, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and knocking Jake’s helmet with his own. “Just take me already!”

“You fucking goon, get off me!” Jake howls, stumbling backwards with Bradley’s entire weight on his torso. But he’s still grinning. “You’re giving the other team way too much ammunition right now!”

“Ammunition-shammunition!” Bradley says gleefully, panting and laughing as he hugs Jake close to him. They both stink--almost indistinguishable from each other. “We won! We fucking won! Let ‘em talk!”

“We always do,” Jake says, planting Bradley’s cleats back on the turf. “We’re literally 10-0!”

Bradley slaps his hands on the sides of Jake’s helmet and pulls him close so that the hard plastic clashes roughly. Jake starts to whine, but Bradley is too amped to notice or mind.

“I love you, man! I love you!”

“Stop!” Jake insists. The grin is devouring his face. “Be normal!”

“I can’t! Something’s happening to me! Something big and-and--!” Bradley’s already starting to gyrate, spreading his arms out and running in place on the tips of his toes. “Oh, God--it’s happening!”

“Don’t!” Jake warns, shaking his head seriously. “Please--just this once, don’t do it--!”

The team is already watching the two of them, amused. They know what’s coming. It’s the same thing at the end of every game that Jake wins for the team--which is almost every single one at this point.

Bradshaw is notoriously an idiot--bonafide. But he might be the most beloved member of the team; he has an irresistible goofy charm about him that even the quarterback is susceptible to. That’s pretty much what happened with you, too. You fell in love with his big, cow-like eyes and unrelenting unwillingness to be embarrassed.

“It’s taking me! Oh, Lord! It’s taking me!” Bradley cries. He’s really getting into it now, clutching his chest and marching in place on beat. “Help me, Jake! Help me!”

“Uh-oh,” Bob says with a fond smile tugging on his lips. He squeezes you and Javy. “Trouble! One o’clock!”

You and Javy grin at the scene on the field. The other team dejectedly fielding sneers and boo’s as they sulk off the field as AC/DC shakes the ground beneath their cleats. Your football team watches on in amusement as Bradley howls and breaks out in dance while Jake desperately tries to get away.

“The Bradshaw Boogie,” you sigh, beaming. “Who could've guessed?”

“Me, you, Bob, that guy over there, that guy over here, even the lady down there,” Javy lists, shaking his head. “What an idiot.”

“But he’s ours,” you sigh lovingly, leaning your head against Bob’s. Bradley tackles Jake to the ground and your chest grows warm, pulses with love. “Both of them.”

𖥔

“Doesn’t this all feel so…American?” Bob asks. He’s pushing the cart, squinting beneath the harsh fluorescents flickering above the lot of you. He’s in his costume already--a freakishly accurate Indiana Jones costume that has gotten more than a handful of compliments since arriving at the grocery store. “Going to a football game and then buying pumpkins at the local twenty-four hour superstore?”

“Winning a football game,” Bradley corrects from his spot inside the cart, knees against his chest as he cradles a few bottles of the cheapest vodka in stock. His face is partially painted--which means he just looks partially rabid. He scratches the real dog collar around his throat and the metal name tag that he sharpied the Hell hound’s name on jangles melodically. “And we’re not just buying pumpkins.”

“Yeah,” Javy echoes from ahead of everyone, skimming the aisles absently as he reads all the price tags. He’s the certified sales finder, which is always why he walks ahead of everyone. The bright read-and-white sweater of his Waldo costume, ironically, sticks out like a sore thumb in the dull, white-washed aisles. “We’re buying Bradshaw a leash, too. Finally.”

“Ha-ha,” Bob says. “Funny. But I don’t think Cujo had a leash.”

Javy pauses and glances over his shoulder at Bob and Bradley. Bob’s watching him, brows knit and lips quirked. Bradley hasn’t even noticed that the cart’s halted--he’s too busy chewing his fingernail.

“No. We were supposed to get around to it last week,” Javy says. “He keeps wandering.”

Now Bradley looks up--suddenly realizing that Bob and Javy are looking at him.

“Oh. Kinky,” Bradley grins, waggling his brows. He adjusts himself in the cart, uncomfortably packed against the metal grates between bags of Doritos and robust pumpkins, but unwilling to get out. “I like it. Wanna take me for a walk, Goldie?”

Bradley leans out of the cart to grin at Jake, like he always does when he puts the faux moves on you, but all he sees is an empty aisle. He was totally expecting a firm smack on the back of the head from Jake and a sweet laugh from you. Nothing but cereal boxes, though.

“Hey. Where’d they go?” Bradley asks, pouting. “I totally just said that for loverboy.”

“Who?” Javy returns, starting down the aisle again as he straightens his crooked glasses. “Sonny and Cher?”

“They’re Daphne and Fred,” Bob says, shaking his head.

“More like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumbass,” Bradley says good-naturedly. He releases his fingernail from the wrath of his teeth and then sighs dejectedly. “Anyone got any clippers on ‘em? I have a hangnail.”

Two aisles over, you’re sorting through the various bags of candy sitting on the beige shelves. Nothing is striking your precise fancy and Jake can tell from the careful way he’s watching your brows crinkle. You take your Halloween candy seriously--really, you take everything about Halloween seriously--and he knows he’s already on thin ice taking you to a superstore to get pumpkins instead of a patch.

“Who the fuck likes Dots?” You whisper to him, shaking your head disapprovingly. “Do you know someone who likes Dots? I don’t. I never have.”

Jake shakes his head fondly.

“Yeah, I do,” Jake says.

“Nuh-uh,” you say dismissively, brows loosely knit.

“I’ll give you one guess,” Jake says, tightening the orange ascot around his throat.

Glancing at him through your lashes, your belly already in a puddle at your platform heels right beside your heart, you meet his gaze. He’s always already looking at you--just like he always is. It’s one of the first things you noticed about him after you two met for coffee on November 1st of last year, a mere twelve hours since you broke things off with Spit Sabler. Jake was the one who stood from the table he snagged for both of you, the one who was watching the door for thirty minutes before you arrived, the one who called your name across the cafe and waved you over.

“Hey,” he’d said when you crossed the cafe shyly and ended up at his feet. “You look great out of costume, too! I think you could still pass for a doctor.”

“Jokes on you,” you’d told him, eyeing the ridiculously good-looking denim jacket he had shrugged over his The Innocence Mission t-shirt. “You don’t.”

You cheek your grin and whip a bit of your stringy red wig over your shoulder. When he sees you struggling, two little strands of artificial hair stuck in your lipgloss, he reaches up and carefully peels them away from your lips. His fingers graze your cheek as he retracts--a ghost of a touch, the hint of a touch, the hint of a ghost of a touch. Enough for both of you to curl your toes identically in the safety and privacy of your own socks.

Both of you pretend not to be warm from the interaction.

You clear your throat.

“Nobody likes Dots,” you insist.

Jake shakes his head smugly.

“Somebody you know and love likes Dots,” Jake insists.

He doesn’t bother checking his grin--he can hardly muster when you’re looking up at him so prettily. Fuschia eyelids and candy-apple lips, all that sweet softness and playfulness sitting in the fat of your cheeks as you try not to smile.

“You lie like a rug,” you challenge, crossing your arms indignantly. “I’m calling your bullshit.”

“Error 404. Bullshit not found,” Jake says, holding his palms up in defense. “C’mon. One guess. You’ve got it.”

“You,” you say with a devious smile.

He holds his chest in mock insult and you beam at him.

“Ouch,” he says. “No. I underestimated your ability to be wack as Hell.”

“Okay, Fresh Prince,” you bite back, open-mouth laughing now. “Then who is it? Hm? Who do I know and love that likes Dots?”

“Scrappy Doo,” he says confidently.

He watches your face contort--first confusion and then realization.

“Bradshaw really does make it hard for himself, doesn’t he?” You say quietly. “But, like--now that you say that? I can see it. Unfortunately. I can see it.”

“He went to the movie theater one time to--like, literally just to buy Dots. Brought, like, five boxes back to the dorm and ate them overnight.”

“Ew,” you say, nose wrinkled. “Did he get sick?”

“No,” Jake says, rolling his eyes. “He has an industrial stomach.”

“Shit,” you say, laughing. “Go figure.”

“Unlike someone here, he’s also not picky,” Jake says, widening his eyes and nodding towards you.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you roll your eyes.

“It’s not so easy!”

Jake glances down at the mounds of candy before you, scouring for a bag you would actually enjoy. He’s learned a lot about you--he feels like he’s learned everything about you--in the past year, so he knows how tricky this is going to be. You won’t eat coconut or dark chocolate--nor do you like non-sour gummies. You only tolerate Smarties and you can’t stomach M&M’s after last year’s milkshake incident.

“Here,” Jake says, tugging a variety bag out from the bottom of the pile. He hands it to you and nods for you to follow him as he starts down the aisle again. “That one.”

“That’s ballsy,” you say to him, not moving from your spot. You squint as you read the labels of the candy in the variety pack. “You know this is a most sacred process for me.”

He turns, now in the middle of the aisle, and watches you read it silently. He already knows--before you even do--that this is the one you’re going to choose. He knows little things about you like this--like your In-N-Out order, your favorite kind of pen to write with, your dislike of baseball caps. But he knows big things about you, too--like how old you were when your parents divorced, what your favorite color was in the second grade, who you consider to be your personal hero and why it’s Dolly Parton.

“You underestimate my fondness for you,” Jake says. Heat blooms all cross his chest and his ascot suddenly feels tight when you glance back at him in amusement. He laughs dryly. “Idiot.”

“I stand corrected,” you tell him with a shrug and sigh, slinging the candy over your arm. “And you know how much I hate standing.”

“Who hates standing?” Jake grins, shaking his head. You are slowly making your way over to him in that strangely authentic Daphne costume, the one you put together over the course of three months with him in tow. “Nobody hates standing.”

When you come close to him, you can smell the aftershave on his face, the sandalwood on his pulse points. He grins down at you, unrealistically handsome even in this truly awful Fred wig--truly, it’s less Fred and more of a tow-headed Sonny Bono.

“Someone you know and love hates it,” you tease, pressing the bag of candy in his awaiting arms. “Right?”

He looks down at you in between taking measured, deep breaths. He can’t believe how much he adores you. Well, he can because he does and he has been since the moment he first saw you. He felt like he already loved you when he saw you in the cafe the day after Halloween, when you walked across the checkered tiles with your glasses on and your backpack slung over one shoulder.

“What--you didn’t bring your backpack? Do you not care about passing midterms?” You’d asked him seriously. But you were smiling softly as your lashes kissed the tops of your cheeks. “Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of doctor?”

Sometimes he wonders when it happened--when something happened between the two of you that halted both of you in your tracks, something that stalled anything real and romantic happening at the party or the dorm room. He thinks about it when he zones out in class, when he’s trying not to fall asleep during film in the locker rooms.

Maybe it was when some John puked all over your legs. When he told you to look up at the night sky while he wiped your legs down and free from marigold flowers and puke.

Maybe it was when he didn’t walk you to the door of your dormitory. When he stayed in his truck and waited until you got into the building before he drove away. Maybe he should’ve stuck his hands in his pockets and walked all the way up to your room, should’ve met your roommate and seen what pictures you hung on the walls.

Maybe it was when he didn’t bring his backpack for coffee. When he had to sit on the same side of the little bistro table as you and read over your shoulder, when he had to borrow one of your pens to take notes on scrap paper you happened to have.

Maybe it was when you were the one to ask for his number first, scribbling it on the corner of your notebook with a smiley face. Smiley face. Not a heart.

Maybe it was on a Tuesday in April or maybe a Friday in September. Maybe it happened while the two of you were watching Apocalypse Now or Dazed and Confused. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever know--doesn’t even know if he wants to know.

But Jake isn’t one to complain, though.

Maybe you’re not what he wants you to be--his girlfriend, even though that feels too juvenile a word for what he really wants you to be--but you’re still the best person he knows. And, in a lot of ways, he considers himself very lucky to have landed you at all. Even as a friend.

You have quickly--effortlessly--become one of Jake’s favorite people on God’s green earth. He thinks about you each morning when the sun touches his face for the first time, thinks about how warm your hands always are when you pinch his cheeks. He thinks about you each night as he flicks off his lamp, glancing at the framed photograph he has of you on his bedside table--one Javy took of you on a disposable camera, one where you’re decked out in team colors and holding a foam finger with Jake’s number on it.

Sometimes, though--like right now--he gets overwhelmed with everything. It’s like there’s a ball of light in his chest that’s starting to puncture his skin. Like there’s something bright and hot and big that wants out and wants out now.

“Right,” Jake whispers now, pretending like he’s not choked up. He grips the plastic bag in his arms to keep himself from holding your cheeks. He’s watching your lips. “You are someone I know and love.”

There is a hotness radiating from Jake, but you hardly notice. If you did, you’d be fanning yourself and un-pinning your wig. But your gaze is unwavering, even if you feel like Jake isn’t quite meeting your eyes right now. Either way, you still feel seen by him. Always.

“Prove it,” you whisper to him.

It sounds like an invitation--maybe it is.

Yes, it lingers there in the air between you, the one that smells like dead leaves and artificial apple and gardenia perfume from the lady a few aisles over. You and him both see it, clear as day, as if it’s some sort of bright red mist surrounding you.

You have a supremely good eye for detail. You notice eyelashes on sidewalks and memorize license plates on speeding cars and have never once missed foreshadowing. That’s why Bradley has you proofread all his essays, why Javy has you watch football games with him, why Bob studies with you, why Jake loves to watch movies with you.

So, you notice it whenever Jake’s eyebrows pinch. Whenever he looks confused, like he’s just about to sputter out a what? and step away from you. That’s when you realize, flushed as ever before, that your faces are a mere inch apart.

“Buy my candy,” you say, straightening out and moving your face away from his.

Jake’s heart is hammering in his chest.

Fuck.

He was going to do it. He was going to ask if he could kiss you--Hell, he was just going to hold the stupid wig in place and press his lips to yours before he lost the nerve.

But it’s too late. You’re already smiling at him, expression unreadable to him even though he’s well-versed in you, nodding towards the register.

“Goldie--!”

“Hey!” Javy says when he sees the two of you. “Simon! Garfunkel! Let’s get a move on, huh? We’ve gotta get our drink on!”

Both you and Jake turn to find your three friends standing at the end of the aisle. Javy with his hands on his hips and his lips pursed, Bob smiling almost apologetically like he knows he interrupted something, and Bradley struggling to his knees in the very-full cart to get your attention.

“Hey, Goldie! I made a really good joke earlier and you weren’t there,” Bradley starts, grinning as he gestures wildly. “Okay, so Javy said--!”

“Down boy,” Bob says, nudging Bradley.

You and Jake trudge towards the three of them, a strange aura of embarrassment and disappointment permeating the air around the two of you. It’s strange because the two of you, as close as you are, never seem very embarrassed about being so obliviously in love as you both are.

“What?” Bradley asks, genuinely oblivious. He’s gesturing to you as you sheepishly make your way over to the cart. “She missed it! She’s my audience!”

“Audience of one?” Javy asks, brow raised. “Lame.”

“Boo me all you want, but I’m loyal. A one-woman kinda guy,” Bradley defends. You’re smiling at him, rolling your eyes, when he pats his thighs while waggling his eyebrows. “Hey, pretty lady. Wanna take a seat?”

Jake thumps the back of his head hard, even if he knows that Bradley’s adoration for you is purely platonic and flirtation if in complete jest. And Bradley keens at Jake, strangely accomplished.

“Nah,” you say softly. You hold your own hands and try not to breathe in too much of Jake’s cologne. “I’ll stand.”

𖥔

Technically it’s still Halloween when you and Jake stumble into his dorm room. The two of you have been in Bob’s dorm room for the better half of the evening, drinking away a couple bottles of vodka between the four of you while having a horror movie marathon.

Things feel alright now--better than they did at the beginning of the night, in the direct aftermath of whatever the fuck happened at the store. With every drink the two of you had, you moved closer to the middle of the room from the prospective sides you’d initially settled in. By the time Jaws II was being discussed, you were laying your head in Jake’s lap and letting him stroke your wig.

“Jinkies, I gotta get you back,” Jake had sighed, glancing at the clock and then you. He dropped his eye in a heavy wink, one that was not as sly as usual, and nodded towards the door. “Gotta celebrate our anniversary.”

“Oh, right,” Bradley had interjected, leaning over the two of you with a pink-tinted grin. “What’s the first anniversary? Silver?”

“Paper,” Bob corrected, slightly inebriated.

“Do candy wrappers count?” Jake had whispered, thumb pressed against your cheek.

“Yeah,” you yawned. “So does cash.”

Time is ticking by quickly and so are you as Jake shuts the door behind the both of you, a broken laugh falling from his vodka-flavored lips at something you said on the elevator. Something he can’t even remember now.

“Jesus, it’s dark,” you say as you pull your lop-sided wig off your head and let it slink to the wooden floor. It will, undoubtedly, live there for the next couple weeks. You can already imagine Bradley eating shit after slipping on it. “You live like this?”

The room is dark and empty besides the two of you, completely quiet besides the usual clanging and hollering outside his window from the drunk boys in the courtyard. And, of course, the laughter still dying on Jake’s tongue and the thumps of your heels.

You have been in this room more times than you can count--so much so that several of the floors RA’s have approached you about blowing off floor meetings. So, despite being a bit drunk and despite being in the dark, you’re able to find the radio sitting on Jake’s dresser. It’s where it always is beside a pack of gum and his favorite bottle of cologne.

“Like a hermit,” Jake says. “A Norman Bates type.”

“Spooky,” you whisper to him. “Really getting me in the mood over here.”

“Yeah? Sitting in Bob’s room and watching creature features didn’t do that for you already?”

“Nope,” you say, shaking your head despite the fact that he cannot see you. “You know I like more high brow stuff.”

“Right,” Jake says distantly as he reaches blindly for the switch to the lava lamp. “Slashers.”

“Uh huh,” you mutter. Then you clear your throat and drunkenly giggle as you sing. “Gimme, gimme, gimme some gore after midnight.”

“You know how I can tell when you’re trashed, Goldie-girl?” Jake grins, still fumbling for the switch. “You start singing ABBA parodies.”

“You like my parodies,” you whisper back.

“Love ‘em,” he says and he really does mean it.

The lamp suddenly illuminates the room. The both of you squint in tandem, on opposite sides of the small dorm room, stumbling in your steps in surprise.

“Hi,” you whisper to him.

Your makeup is smeared--bleary. His wig is gone and his ascot is untied.

“Hey,” he returns. “What are you in the mood for? Pick your poison.”

He nods to the CD’s you’re sorting through.

“Julee Cruise,” you whisper back. “She’s been stuck in my head all day.”

“On the left,” he tells you. “Towards the bottom.”

Nodding, you dig it out. Jake rubs his eyes, trying to sober up. It isn’t that he wants to even be sober--he feels good right now. But after what happened at the store, the way you have been inside of a hard shell all night between Jaws and The Blob, he wants to have a clear head.

Fumbling only slightly, you manage to start the CD. And without looking back at Jake, you wander over to his twin bed and flop down on the brown plaid bedding, sighing in relief.

“I’ve been awake for too long,” you whisper to him, blinking up at the ceiling.

He’s still standing beside the lamp, watching every one of your moves with his heart in his throat.

“How long?” He asks.

You turn to him, biting a smile and blinking your bleary eyes.

“My whole life,” you return.

Now he’s biting a grin.

“Wow,” he whispers. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yup,” you confirm. You point to your platform heels and crooked stockings. “Too exhausted to take my costume off.”

A bubble pops inside of Jake, inside of you, in tandem. You blink at him. He blinks at you. There are only a few feet separating you and him, only a few paces across a shitty rug and old hardwood floors.

He swallows hard. You notice it when his Adam’s apple bob.

He considers what could happen next. He could press forward, tell you that he can help with that. And then maybe you would sit up and draw your knees to your chest and tell him he’s just like every other guy you’ve ever been friends with. Or he could stand right where he is now and just nod like he didn’t quite hear you, then sit on Bradley’s bed while you huddle up by yourself in his. Neither of which sound palatable to Jake right now--or ever.

Your heart is racing as you watch him. Fuck. You keep word vomiting, keep accidentally inviting him, keep telling the truth too voraciously.

When he moves, he doesn’t say anything. That’s what he’s decided on--he won’t say a word. He’ll just…walk towards you. And you watch him as he crosses the floor, his footing suddenly a bit more sober than it was when the two of you left Bob’s dorm after Bradley insisted on a second screening of Critters.

Then he’s standing before you--you’re laying below him. Both of you watch each other, drink in every movement--there hardly are any. His palms are damp and your throat is dry.

His movements are slow, but calculated. His fingers wrap around your right ankle and your leg feels weightless as he lifts it and places the bottom of your shoe on his pristine Fred Jones sweater. The color of your shoe, that sweet purple-pink, is a stark contrast from the muddy print the sole of your shoe will leave.

Jake doesn't look away from your face as he reaches for the buckle.

It’s a tiny thing, flimsy and delicate. But he’s dextrous.

“Thanks,” you whisper preemptively--just to say something.

Falling by Julee Cruise is playing. You can only hear the blood rushing through your ears--you’re sure Jake hears it, too.

“Jesus,” Jake says and he’s still looking you right in the eyes. Your heart rate spikes--your back almost leaves the bed in a sudden arch at just the sound of it falling from his lips. All rasp, all football player, all Jake. “How’d you get these things on?”

“With a little help from my friends,” you say back pathetically. You shift slightly and he re-secures his grip on your ankle like you are trying to climb away from him. “You know. Fingernails.”

You hold your hands up to him weakly and he nods, still not smiling as he fingers the buckle.

“Right,” he says. “Something I don’t have.”

“Right,” you say.

“But anything you can do, I can do better,” he says.

His heart is hammering.

But you smile--smile despite the apple vodka staining the back of your throat and the heat pooling in your belly and the thoughts of him muddling your ever-present attention.

“Tell it to the heels, baby,” you whisper to him.

And, like you’ve said a magic word, he gets the first heel unbuckled.

With a raise of his eyebrows, as if to say ha!, he delicately removes the heel from your foot and sets it on the floor. He’s still holding your ankle, softly stroking the light pink nylon tights. Wishing it was your skin. Burning all the same.

There’s a muddy shoe print on his chest now. He sees it--so do you. But neither of you say anything about it. You’re too nervous to accidentally invite him to something he doesn’t want to come to--he’s too nervous to say the wrong thing and make you retreat.

Your socked foot rests against his chest even after he releases you, which is what he wants. Any part of you against any part of him.

He makes quick work of the other buckle and you watch, sobering quickly beneath the warmth of his touch and the velvety music flooding the radio.

“You’re a pro,” you whisper. Your voice is somewhere between a whisper and a jive.

He doesn’t say anything.

Here you are, below him in his bed. Here you are, your legs open and your ankles in the stronghold of his hands. Here you are, a year to the day since he first saw you. Here you are, listening to his dream pop in his dorm after hanging out with your friends that used to be his friends that you now share.

Here you are. It astounds him, really.

How lucky he is that you’re here. Now.

Right now.

There is an intensity to his gaze, one you see fleetingly, rarely in certain instances. If you were someone else and so was he, you would call those instances stolen glances or maybe pensive longing.

But you’re you.

He’s him.

So you don’t know what to call it.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“No,” he answers.

He clears his throats, ignores the ringing in his ears.

Fuck. He didn’t mean to answer like that.

You’re already scrambling to sit up, to probably interrogate him and press your knuckles to his forehead and check for a fever, but then he’s pressing his flat palm to your belly and pushing you back against the bed.

It is not a hard touch--nor is it a violent one. It is a guidance, a suggestion. One that takes your breath from your lungs and smacks his face with it. One that renders you almost voiceless.

“What’s wrong?” You whisper.

“No, nothing, I--it’s nothing,” Jake tries, knowing how much of a liar he sounds like right now.

“But you just said--!”

“--Forget what I just said,” Jake tells you. He means it. He pushes down and feels all the skin of your belly, all the warmth and blood and flesh. You’re thrumming with life. “Really. I’m fine. It’s fine. I just…”

He stops talking--knows he’s digging himself in a deeper hole.

Swallowing hard, you think about the grocery store. Your quiet, accidental invitation. If it was really accidental at all. You still aren’t sure. You can't be sure right now when he’s looking down at you the way he is.

You have to ask. It’s overwhelming you--the thought that you did something wrong.

“Did I…do something?”

His response is immediate. Instantaneous like he’s rehearsed this before.

“What could you have done that would ever make me not okay?” He asks, a strangely kind bite to his tone. As if he were saying Don’t you know that I love you, you idiot? “I mean, really. You’re kinda the best.”

“I don’t know,” you whisper. Words are tugging on your lips. “Buy you a Red Hot Chili Peppers CD?”

A dry laugh falls from his parted lips, but he doesn’t smile. He can’t. Not when his throat is so dry, not when you two are so close. So, so close. Close enough to smell that warm amber in your hair and against your throat.

“Get serious,” Jake insists after a moment.

Shifting beneath his palm, you stare up at him.

“I am,” you try.

“No, you’re not,” Jake says back, brows furrowed.

You glance down at your costume.

“I can’t be serious in pink tights.”

Jake doesn't have time to think--doesn’t have time to stop himself. He’s reaching up, up and under your dress, hooking his fingers in the band of your pink tights and tugging on them. They come loose much easier than the buckles, practically purr at Jake’s touch as he draws them down your legs, leaving a trail of gooseflesh on your skin.

You’re gasping, nearly moaning before you choke on it, as he swiftly removes your tights. And then your legs are bare before him and your legs are still open and he’s standing and you’re sitting and your pink tights are in his fist. They’re still warm from your skin--still smell like you.

Jake drops them on the floor, not peeling his gaze from yours. They’ll live on the floor for a few weeks, too. He knows it. So do you.

Now you’re speechless, which doesn’t happen often.

Jake’s heart is battering inside his ribcage like a bird attempting to flee.

“What happened at the grocery store?” He asks.

He has to ask. He needs to know.

“What?” You sputter out. Your heart races. Fuck. You were hoping to just forget it all. “What are you--what do you--?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Jake says. He flushes when he realizes that your legs are still open, when he realizes that you couldn’t close them if you wanted to since he’s standing so close to you. “C’mon. Don’t bullshit me.”

“You tell me,” you demand. “I thought you were gonna…I don’t know��”

You’re too flustered to continue, throwing your arm over your face under the guise of shielding your eyes from the light. Your face, your arm, your skin, your breath--it’s all so hot. You want to melt into the plaid bedding and become one with the dust bunnies.

“Marigold,” Jake says and it sounds like he’s begging. “Don’t hide from me. C’mon. C’mon, we’re friends!”

Friends. There’s that word.

You want to roll over on your side, want to just apologize and go to your dorm and pine privately for him, but you can’t. You can’t because he’s leaning forward and tugging your arms away from your eyes.

He’s suddenly infinitely closer to you. So close that you feel tipsy just breathing in his breath, all the alcoholic apples that have died there.

The two of you stare at another. You’re searching his eyes, his nose, his lips, trying to get a read on him and what he’s thinking and what he’s doing. He’s leaning over you, slotted between your legs, his hips only a breath away from your core. He feels it when you squirm--he isn’t sure if you’re trying to get closer or farther, so he shifts backwards a few centimeters.

“Did you want me to do something?” Jake asks. It’s a quiet demand. A plea.

“What do you mean?” You ask even though you know. You’re stalling. “Where? At Bob’s?”

“Don’t be a chickenshit,” Jake says, shaking his head. “Back there. At the store.”

You swallow, don’t know what to say. The light is suddenly too bright and the music is suddenly too loud. Your breaths are paralyzed in your lungs.

“Did you want me to want you to do something back there? At the store?”

He scoffs--it’s a mean, but soft sound. He needs to hear you say it. Yes, you wanted it. He didn’t overstep. He missed the chance, but he knows now. He won’t miss the chance again. If you just say it. Say you wanted it--wanted him.

“You’re impossible,” he whispers.

“I’m trying not to be,” you say back. “Sorry.”

“We almost kissed,” he says and his lips are quivering. “Right? That’s what that was, right? You wanted me to kiss you.”

When the words fall on your ears, in your already heightened state, you feel like they’re accusatory. You wanted him to kiss you. And it made him knit his brows and falter, stumble.

You’re fucking everything up.

You can’t afford to fuck everything up with the best friend you’ve ever had.

“No, I didn’t,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, thin.

“Yes, you did,” he whispers. His brows are totally furrowed. “You’re a bad lair.”

He almost says that he couldn’t look away from your lips all night. He almost says that he wished you were closer to him. He almost says that he wants you to kiss him, too. He almost says that he’s wanted to kiss you for a year--an aching, throbbing year.

But he doesn’t.

“Stop it,” you tell him quietly. Tears are welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, try to ease yourself from the absolute comfort of his heat. “Why would I want that?”

Now he says nothing. There it is--that crippling fear he always has, the one where he fucks it, the one where he’s rejected, the one where he fumbles the ball, the one where he misses the goal. Except it feels realized suddenly. Suddenly as you’re looking up at him in artificially warm light, your tights tugged off your naked legs by him, you look hurt. Your eyes are watery and your lips are twisted and you’re not drunk anymore.

And he’s the one caging you in. Holding you against the bed.

At once, he lays on his back. He’s no longer between your legs, no longer hovering you and looking into your eyes. He’s laying beside you.

The both of you lay there, side-by-side, blinking up at the ceiling. You’re desperately blinking, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. And you’re curling your knees to your chest, holding yourself together with flimsy tape.

His chest is heaving. He doesn’t know what’s happening. He doesn’t know what to do.

But he doesn’t have to because as he’s running his hands over his face, shaking his head and opening his trembling lips, your hand is on his forearm.

You’ve never been one to hold a grudge. You even wave at Spit Sabler when you see him around campus. But even if you were someone who held a grudge--you know it would be fruitless when it comes to Jake. You’ve never been able to feel anything but love towards him. Pulsing, jovial love. Red-hot and American.

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re watching him, lying on your side now, trying not to sound as desperate to keep him as you feel right now. “Jake. Look at me.”

He does at once.

Plaid bedding separates your mouth from his and your eyes aren't as watery anymore. It’s good. That’s good. Jake still can’t muster a word. He can’t believe what he just did.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“We’re just drunk,” you say dismissively. And even you sound like you don’t believe that bullshit. “Saying dumb shit when you’re drunk is, like, a rite of passage. Right?”

He nods meekly after a long, sober pause.

“I’m…” he starts. His cheeks flood bright red. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, don’t be,” you tell him. “Like--it’s…don’t worry about it. We can talk about it when we’re sober.”

He nods. Grateful, kind of, for your grace. But also angry that he couldn’t make it work--angry that things didn’t end up the way he needs them to.

He glances at the clock just as it strokes midnight.

No longer Halloween. Time to take the costume off.

Absently, carefully, you reach forward and press the pads of your fingers against the muddy heel print on his chest. He won’t be able to wear this sweater again, but you feel like this isn’t going to be something that he throws away. And if he did--you would climb into any dumpster on campus to retrieve it. Just to hold it. Just to keep it.

“Wanna get coffee tomorrow?” You whisper.

The hint of a smile tugs on his lips. He finally tears his eyes away from the clock and looks at you.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I know a place.”

Your lungs deflate slightly--with relief, with grief. It all feels the same.

“Don’t forget your backpack.”

Another laugh--a sad and pitiful thing. One he might regret later on. But it’s enough that his hot blood is beginning to cool, even this close to you, even with this much of your naked legs on display on his bed in his empty dorm.

“Hey, Goldie?” Jake whispers.

You worm your way closer to him, like you always do. And, like always, his arms are already open to receive you when you press yourself against his chest and inhale the mud and cologne there.

“Yeah?” You whisper.

“You’re my best friend,” he tells you suddenly and it’s true. “Like, you’re my favorite person. Forget Bradshaw.”

Tears well in your eyes again--watery and fat. And you laugh softly, knowing you’ll regret it later. It punctuates this conversation with a casual tone when in reality--this conversation is nothing of the sort.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You’re kinda my best friend, too. Asshole.”

The two of you sit in the music for a while, neither of you looking at each other. His heart is thumping unsteadily and you graciously pretend not to hear it despite your head resting on his chest. The alcohol is fading slowly and the both of you blink lazily.

Because he can’t stop himself, because he needs something resembling a win tonight, he leans down and gently kisses the top of your head. One feather-light thing, hardly anything really.

You feel it. You always do. You never miss a thing.

“Do you wanna stay?” He asks.

“You already took my shoes off,” you mutter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: OH MY GOD JUST FUCK ALREADY!!!!!!!

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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abrisaber · 24 days ago

Text

The Main Problem With This Community

I'm gonna be transparent here, I fucking hate Social Media as a whole. I don't understand what gas leak has infected the brains of every single internet user, but the levels of toxicity I see on a daily basis on every single website I go on is unfathomable.

It's impossible to have any sort of meaningful discussion about Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel or anything for that matter on this website, and on all websites. Because regardless of where you are, it's always going to be a massive dick measuring contest. People who claim to hate the show but are the first ones to watch every episode will spew uncredited personal attacks on the creators, and people who claim to love it will ignore it's glaring, obvious flaws because they'd rather live in an echo chamber than address that their favorite show is problematic.

And look, I'm not going to be that toxic hater who says if you like Vivziepop's work you should be burned at the stake, and I'm not going to be a blinded fan who thinks that the show is secretly a masterpiece if you squint your eyes and tilt your head.

I don't really like Helluva Boss anymore, and to be honest Vivziepop has completely lost any respect she's had from me. But I continue to watch the show and continue to critique it because I like to analyze media.

My main probably with this whole community, people for and against both shows, is that there's literally no point in any of these discussions. When I make these long winded posts about HB or HH, I make them because I want to have a discussion about the actual contents in the show. I don't make them to ignite discourse about why Vivziepop is evil. and I don't want to hear any of your bullshit rebuttals to anything I say if you can't disagree with me without calling me an anti or a hater or whatever. I don't follow their social media, I don't study the drama. I watch the show, and then I talk about it, plain and simple.

If you think Vivziepop is problematic and you want to roast her over the coals, by all means. If you think Vivziepop is the messiah and everything she makes is pure gold, by all means. But if you bring that stupid elementary school bullshit into my replies, into my reblogs, into my page, you are dirt to me. I don't give a fuck. If you can't have even a fraction of an intellectual conversation without acting like Helluva Boss killed your grandma, then I don't wanna fucking hear it. I'm not an anti page, I'm a person with original opinions.

#helluva boss #helluva boss critical #helluva boss analysis #helluva boss criticism #Hazbin Hotel #vivziepop

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ebodebo · 1 year ago

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her and ghost are on a stakeout, it's been hours without any trace of the enemy or whatever and she’s like super bored obvi. ghost, like the good little soldier boy he is, has his eye up to the scope perched on his gun and won't look away from the target area. she decides to test how good his training is. he’s leaning against the edge of a building and she slips under it to suck his dick. he barely has any physical reaction, he makes virtually no noise. the only way she knows he's actually enjoying it is by the feeling how hard his dick is throbbing on her tongue and how much pre-come is leaking into her mouth.

-from you know who ;)

Good Soldier Boy

NSFW CONTENT

—ghost x f!reader

—561

wanna be on my taglist ? fill out this form !

Ghost and her were currently perched on a building, staking out a warehouse full of illegal ballistic missiles smuggled in by Al-Qatala with the help of Las Almas Cartel.

The mission: kill Al-Qatala's leader and seize the missiles, seemed simple on paper. Well, their version of "simple." But, God, did it require a long wait time.

"We've been here for hours." She said, stretching her legs out from their crisscrossed position, leaning her back against the wall covering them. Ghost ignored her.

He was staring through his gun's scope, waiting patiently for Khaled Al-Asad to come into view. The rest of the crew was on the ground waiting patiently for this so they could swarm the operation.

"Are you listening to me?" She swiftly turned her head to face him.

"No." He said blatantly. "We are supposed to be focused on our target. Not talking."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you always follow the orders you're given exactly?"

"I quite like my job, so yes."

"You should wipe the spit off of Price's balls since you suck them so often."

He ignores her snarky comment. Something he has become a master at in the last couple of hours.

His lack of response sparks an idea in her head. "Let's see how good your training is, shall we?" She hurries off the wall and slips her body under his. His body does not react to her sudden change in position. She brings her hands up to undo his belt and unzips his dark-wash cargo pants.

She slowly slips his pants down his thighs, leaving them to drop around his ankles. She then moves to remove his boxers, showcasing his erect cock.

She slowly takes her finger to graze the base, reaching the head. He had no vocal reaction to touching him. The only indication he was enjoying himself was the feeling of his throbbing cock on her tongue and the feeling of pre-cum coating her mouth.

Her tongue was swirling around his head, making sure to be slow and deliberate with her movements while she brought her hand up to grip the base. Her hands move up and down slowly. As her hand moved, she opened her mouth wider to accommodate his size and pushed him in further.

Her head began to bob up and down, her mouth taking more of him every time she went down. Tears began to stain her cheeks as he further slipped down her throat. But that didn't stop her.

Her hands and mouth were working in unison—both at a fast, pleasurable pace. The silence was filled with wet noises and the occasion gag. Ghost remained focused on the task at hand, not making a single noise, even though his throbbing cock was twitching in the confounds of her throat, on the cusp of release.

She could feel his climax looming and began stroking faster and sucking harder. He released in her mouth, his cum once again coating her throat and flooding into the corners of her mouth. She swallowed what was in her mouth and stuck her tongue out to lick each corner of her mouth.

She pulled his boxers and pants back on, securing them with his belt. Her body maneuvered back to her old position, crisscrossed, leaning against the wall.

"Well, I hate to say it, Lt., but you have been trained quite well."

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚: rylea writes #call of duty #cod x reader #fanfic #ghost x reader #ghost #smut #simon riley #price #captain john price #soap mctavish #captain price #cod #john soap mactavish #down bad #send help #fanfiction #modern warfare 3 #modern warfare

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pluckyredhead · 11 months ago

Note

Did I just read your Super Sons primer from 2020 at 3 am on a Monday morning because I'm having a real normal one? Maybe?! I'm wondering how you feel about how they and their relationship has developed since then. IMO it's... Pretty bleak. 😩

I HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS ABOUT IT. (Also here's the primer for anyone who missed it.)

So I will say that 95% of everything Jon has been in since he got aged up has been hot garbage, but I do think the exception is when Damian is around. But let's take it from the top!

First of all, I don't necessarily think they should de-age him again. Generally speaking I think it's better storytelling to focus on fixing things moving forward, rather than undoing things moving back. Sure, if DC came up with some big cosmic event that reset Jon to 11, I certainly wouldn't complain, but I'd rather see them, uh...do literally anything with Teen Jon that doesn't suck.

But yeah, aging Jon up to begin with still makes me livid because:

I want my baby to have had a childhood.

It's fully character assassination for Lois and Clark. They would NEVER let their 11-year-old go to outer space with a supervillain. Lois would NEVER just abandon him out there, and Clark would NEVER respond with "Well, I'm sure he's fine, wanna have marathon sex?" I honestly have no idea what Bendis or his editor were thinking.

They have not done a single interesting with him since!!!

Putting this behind a cut because it got LONG. Also spoilers for Beast World in there.

I've said this before, but I have to assume that Bendis wanted to age Jon up because he wanted to write a Legion book. But he also in his wisdom decided to bring Kon back into continuity at exactly the same time, which means we have two nearly identical Superboys that DC didn't and still doesn't know what to do with. Kon clearly couldn't have joined the LOSH because he already had a team, but you know what Super teen was available, and not 11, and who has a history with the Legion that goes back almost as long as Clark's? KARA. But I will save that rant for another day.

And honestly, Kara dodged a bullet, because that Legion book was unreadable. Bendis at his most Bendis-y wall of text interrupt-y conversations and no plot. If I give Tom Taylor any credit it's that the second he got his hands on Jon, he torpedoed Jon/Imra as a ship. GOOD.

And when the LOSH book finally went out with a whimper (that JLA/LOSH miniseries! what was that!!!), we entered the Taylor Era. Taylor's quirks are less stylistic and more narrative than Bendis's. You can spot Bendisian dialogue at twenty paces, but a Taylor comic tips its hand when it sets up a really interesting premise or a really high stakes threat and then immediately undercuts it with a little wet fart noise of nothing. To wit:

Jon's starting college! This will be an interesting challenge for him to readjust to normal life after six years in a torture-volcano and an indeterminate amount of time in the future, and also considering he never graduated from sixth grade. I wonder what will - oh no he dropped out after three pages. (He has done NOTHING in his civilian identity since, btw. I guess he's too busy hovering just behind Dick at all times to work on his GED or whatever.)

Jon is going to confront Ultraman! Finally the comics will have to engage with all the trauma he must have - oh no Ultraman's dead.

Jon is trapped in the Injustice Universe! This is a really dangerous universe that might make him question everything he knows about - oh he just lectured everyone and flounced off home.

Beast World is a perfect example. Taylor seems to think that having a hero effortlessly solve a problem makes them look badass, but it's actually the effort that makes them look badass. So like, we spent five months keeping the Kryptonians and other A-class heroes away from the spores because the spores are attracted to power and if a Super got spore'd everyone would be in big trouble...but then in the last issue, they just have Jon fly up to everyone with a spore in them, wait for the spore to jump at him, and catch it? That doesn't make the Titans look smart or Jon look tough. It makes all of them look like idiots because it it was that easy, why didn't they do that in the first place?

On top of that, Taylor doesn't ever really earn relationships. Jon and Jay is the obvious one. Jay has no personality. There's no chemistry between the two characters. Jon might as well be dating a cardboard cutout labeled "Proof of Queerness." (Or "Bernard." Ahem.) But we're supposed to be like, yes, give Tom Taylor a GLAAD award for using queer characters as props, when he's going to turn around and kiss Chuck Dixon's ass on social for being homophobic about Jon? UGH.

Honestly worse for me though is the Jon and Dick relationship. Because Taylor is writing both characters, we're supposed to believe that there's this close mentor-mentee bond there? I don't think they EVER interacted before the Taylor era. (And don't even look at me with that retconned-in scene of Dick finding lost baby Jon. You're telling me that Superman, with his X-ray and telescopic vision, needs to call Bruce and Dick for help finding his own son? Fuck off.)

Anyway it all combines to make basically every Jon appearance for the past three years profoundly unsatisfying. Even the stuff that isn't by Taylor never goes anywhere. Remember when he was jealous of the Super Twins for two panels? And then everyone forgot about it forever? SIGH.

HOWEVER.

However.

If there is one thing that Bendis and Taylor and every other writer got right, it's that Jon is crazy bonkers in love with Damian always and forever. Jon has been written like shit since 2019, but he has also not wavered in his devotion for even one single solitary second.

THE EVIDENCE:

This is the first thing Jon does when he gets back to Earth:

He then tells Damian he's contemplating not joining the Legion because he'll have to leave Damian behind. Damian tells him to go and then come get him if it's cool.

Turns out the Legion is cool. Jon comes and gets Damian. The Legion isn't happy about it and Jon threatens to leave if Damian can't stay, while gazing adoringly at Damian's unconscious body cradled in his arms:

Eventually LOSH is canceled and Jon comes home and starts following Damian around by listening for his heartbeat. LIKE PALS DO!

Then Damian gives him a pep talk!

Then there's this ABSOLUTE CUDDLE:

The way Damian nuzzles into Jon's shoulder! Can you even stand it!

And then there's this:

The climax of Son of Kal-El, btw, is one of the several times Jon is saved by Damian and confides in Damian and turns to Damian for comfort or advice...and Jay is just sort of standing there off to the side. I am fully aware I have ship goggles on but the degree of emotional investment Jon has in these relationships is not the same.

Then they had a special issue teamup:

Then we got Dark Crisis, and I actually love this interaction between them, because they are very different people with very different upbringings and this feels extremely in character to me for how they would both handle the loss of their fathers:

But even when they disagree, they still instantly support each other. Jon comes back with information? Damian makes a plan:

Also, we got the 2022 Pride issue where Jon, Jay, and Damian go to Pride together. I know that story is...contentious...but leave me here with Damian sulking while Jon and Jay kiss, okay?

Then we get Adventures of Superman, which is objectively awful, but Jon does spend his whole time in the Injustice universe thinking about Damian like the seagulls in Finding Nemo saying "Mine? Mine? Mine?"

This whole arc is truly hilarious. Jon finds out that Damian accidentally killed Dick and his response is to a) go find Batman and yell at him for not supporting Damian enough for accidentally killing Dick, and then b) go find Damian to be like "Wow, that must have been really hard for you (accidentally killing Dick)." There's being ride or die for your BFF, and then there's whatever the fuck Jon has going on.

(Meanwhile there's an incredibly uncomfortable scene with him and Injustice Jay where Jay "tests" him by trying to get Jon to cheat on regular Jay. So. That happens.)

And then just this past month we got Nightwing #110, where we learn that Jon is still listening to Damian's heart:

He completely freaks out watching Damian in danger, and immediately intervenes when it looks like Damian is about to kill someone because he knows what matters the most to Damian. Also, this happens:

YOU WIN THIS ONE, TAYLOR.

AND THEN THEY BICKER I LOVE IT WHEN THEY BICKER:

AND THEN DAMIAN LETS HIMSELF BE VULNERABLE BY ASKING JON IF HE HURT ANYONE WHILE HE WAS A KITTY, AND JON GIVES YET ANOTHER SPEECH ABOUT HOW DAMIAN HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG EVER, IN HIS LIFE, AND DAMIAN STAGGERS OFF, LEANING ON JON.

This isn't even getting into the Trinity backup stories in Wonder Woman, which, like...Tom King is not valid but Jon and Damian are such an old married couple in them? It's truly incredible?

It took me like 45 minutes to parse Jon's line here as the general 'you" and not specifically Jon saying Damian wasn't straight. But like..."That's for straight people, which has nothing to do with us" is a hell of a thing to say, Jonathan.

I ALSO haven't even talked about DCeased because it's a different universe, but! Jon sitting with Damian while he dies??? MY HEART.

IN CONCLUSION:

Yes, they should never have aged up Jon.

Yes, most of his appearances since have been terrible and bland.

But OH BOY, do he and Damian remain in love.

#jon kent #superboy #damian wayne #robin #meta

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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year ago

Text

Stake Out (Thrawn x GN!Reader 18+)

YALL! This idea was floating around my head for so long because there is a severe lack of Ascendancy Era!Thrawn x reader content but while I was writing this fic I seem to have forgotten how to write? IDK I think this is self indulgent as fuck lmao hope u enjoy this garbage <3

Synopsis: Mid Captain Thrawn has been making eyes at the human pathfinder that navigates the Parala from time to time, totally sick of them on her bridge, Senior Captain Ziara sends them off on a mission to work out their tension.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Unprotected sex, creampie, alien dicks, virgin!Thrawn Word Count: 2800+

Masterlist

You had no idea what you were doing out here. Then again, a pathfinder isn’t really supposed to ask about the specifics of their commissions. You go where the clients tell you, don’t speak unless spoken to, collect your pay and head back to the station. That’s it.

That doesn’t stop you from being the tiniest bit curious about why you were ordered to accompany a single officer out into, what appears to be, the middle of nowhere.

You’ve worked with the Chiss before, more times than most of your compatriots, given that you tend to actually enjoy working with a species that most other pathfinders consider to be stuck up and unbearable. You enjoy how efficiently they seem to work; you enjoy listening to them speaking Cheunh around you, the language seemingly incredibly complex but it has an almost melodic quality that enraptures you every time you hear it.

And on some level, you will admit to yourself, you find them dangerously attractive.

You’re lost in thought as you stare out the viewport, thinking about the number of times senior captain Ziara has requested specifically you for whatever voyage the Parala needs to take, she’s always been nice to you, accommodating even. A far cry from how your other pathfinders often describe the Chiss.

You’re shaken from your musings as you hear Cheunh spoken behind you, the pleasant-sounding language bringing a smile to your face as you turn to look at the other occupant of the small shuttle.

Mid captain Thrawn is sitting against the hull, questis in hand as he makes what you assume to be a routine check in to his ship and his commander. You hear who you think is senior captain Ziara on the other end before he finishes what he’s saying and looks over to you, fixing you with that enchanting glowing red gaze. You feel your cheeks warm as you turn back around in your seat and return to staring out into space, quite literally.

“I apologise if you are bored” accented Minnisiat forces your gaze over towards the mid captain again as he rests on the floor of the ship, back against the hull, looking relaxed. You give him a warm smile and reply “Oh no, don’t worry about me, it’s not the first time I’ve been in one place for a while”.

His lips quirk in a small smile as he looks back down at his questis, seemingly done with the conversation. Inwardly, you groan in frustration. You’d been admiring the mid captain from afar for a while now, every time the Chiss request a pathfinder from your station you jump at the opportunity. Hoping that you would be able to work with him again, hoping to see his sharp cheekbones and hear his gorgeous voice and watch his lips as they wrap themselves around those Cheunh words you so desperately want to understand. And now you’re here with him, totally alone for the foreseeable future and you have no idea how to interact with him.

You look behind you again, craning your neck around the large, tall backed navigators chair to look at him again. He looks so invested in whatever he’s doing on his questis it almost feels rude to interrupt him.

“What are you looking at?” you ask before you can talk yourself out of it and he turns to face you. He doesn’t seem annoyed or offended you interrupted him so that’s a good start.

“Vagaari art” He replies simply, his focus returning to his questis “You are welcome to join me if you are bored”.

Trying not to seem too eager, you get to your feet and walk towards where Thrawn is sitting. As you approach you notice he’s spread out what appears to be a bedroll and some blankets beneath him to cushion the hard metal of the hull. Taking a seat next to him on the bedroll you lean towards him to gaze at his questis.

He seems to stiffen slightly as your shoulders touch and in the dim light of the shuttle you aren’t sure if you see a dusting of purple over his high cheekbones or if you’re just imagining things. Shifting slightly closer so that your sides are pressed together you begin asking him about each piece of art he flicks through.

He’s actually incredibly open to talking to you about it, more open than you thought he would be. He enthusiastically explains each piece he shows you, you don’t fully understand everything, but his eagerness is contagious and you find yourself smiling and becoming wrapped up in each painting and tapestry he has saved to his device.

You lean further into him, the warmth of his body radiating even through the course material of his CEDF uniform. Your hand brushes his thigh and you hear his voice catch as he explains the nuance of the composition of a specific piece. You think he’s going to ask you to move away, give him back his personal space, so it surprises you when he moves closer to you, his body pressing slightly tighter against yours.

Now it’s your turn for your breath to hitch. Testing the waters, you decide to be a bit bold and place your hand on his thigh. The usually entirely composed Chiss stumbles over his words for a moment before clearing his throat and continuing with what he was saying, his hand coming to rest on your thigh as he speaks.

He seems to be following your lead, what you do, he mimics. Testing this theory, you begin rubbing small circles on his thigh with your thumb and sure enough Thrawn begins to do the same.

Interesting… very interesting…

You rest your head on his shoulder, and he leans to rest his head on top of yours, you squeeze his thigh softly and he does the same, you move your hand slightly towards the inside of his thigh and he follows your lead, doing the same to you.

You’ve been so invested in your little experiment you didn’t even notice that Thrawn’s stopped talking about the art, he’s breathing heavily next to you as you move your hand slightly higher on his thigh, towards where you hope his cock is, unless Chiss have a vastly different anatomy than what the rest of them alludes to.

Your hand moves beneath the bottom of his uniform tunic, and you feel him, already as hard and throbbing. He chokes out what you assume to be a curse as you begin stroking him over his pants.

Looking up towards his face you notice his eyes half lidded and a very definite purple hue to his cheeks and the tips of his ears as he breathes heavily. He drags his gaze over to you and you have the overwhelming urge to kiss his slightly parted lips. Do Chiss even kiss? Is something as simple as a kiss taboo in their culture? You curse silently for not knowing his customs, but then again how could you?

Thrawn must see your eyes flicking down towards his lips because he cautiously leans forward towards you, and with a hesitance you feel is vastly uncharacteristic of the stoic Chiss, gently places his lips over yours. The kiss is clumsy, unfocused, unsure, but ever the mastermind, he quickly catches on, becoming more confident as his lips move against yours with more passion, more hunger.

You continue stroking him over his pants, and you hear the clatter of his questis being placed down somewhere off to the side as he moves a hand to the apex of your thighs, rubbing his long fingers over the fabric.

Breaking the kiss, you stare into each other’s eyes for a moment before Thrawn brings his other hand over to rest on your hip. His touch is tentative, unsure, but surely you can’t be the first person the mid captain has been with… right?

It’s like he can read your mind because the moment the thought occurs to you, he clears his throat. “I apologise I have never… with someone…” he sounds almost embarrassed over that fact, and you try to give him what you hope is a reassuring smile “That’s fine, I can… teach you if you like?” you bite your lip as he pauses for moment before nodding.

“Yes please… I would appreciate it if you… took the lead in this encounter” you don’t know if its his lack of familiarity with Minnisiat causing him to speak so formally or if this is just how Thrawn speaks, but either way you nod before leaning in to kiss him again.

You manoeuvre yourself so that you are sitting in his lap, his hard length pressing up against your core as you deepen the kiss. His hands on your hips begin to feel more sure and more confident as you run your fingers through his silky blue-black hair and begin to slowly grind down against him. He groans into your mouth as you move your hips harder and faster and you feel white hot arousal pool in your belly at the sound.

You reluctantly remove your hands from his hair to begin fumbling with the fastenings of his uniform tunic, breaking the kiss as you fumble with it. He chuckles and replaces your hands with his as he helps you open his tunic revealing a form fitting undershirt that hugs his chest highlighting the definition of his muscles.

He quickly shucks off his jacket as you untuck his undershirt pulling it over his head, uncovering his sculpted chest and you swear your mouth waters at the sight. He’s always cut an imposing figure in his uniform, but seeing the broadness of his chest unobscured, is a sight that you swear you will remember for the rest of your days.

Returning to kissing you, Thrawn’s hands move to the hem of your shirt, only breaking the kiss to pull it over your head. “Bat…” he breathes as he looks at your body, his voice husky as he runs his hands up and down your sides. You begin kissing along his jaw down to his neck, further down until you reach one of his nipples, sucking it into your mouth causing him to let out a curse in Cheunh as his head lolls back against the hull of the shuttle.

“S-sensitive… Very sensitive” he grunts out and you smile as your mouth continues teasing his nipples, moving from one to the other as he moans and begins bucking his hips up, grinding against you. His hands move to your chest, his fingers pinching and playing with you as you continue teasing him, angling yourself so that you can begin to unfasten his pants when he reaches a hand down to stop you.

“I do not know… what my stamina will be like I am already very-” he pauses as if Minnisiat is eluding him “worked up” his voice is strained, and his eyes are hooded as you look up at him.

“Don’t worry… let me make you feel good” you whisper to him before kissing along his neck again. He removes his hand and allows you to unfasten his pants, bringing them and his briefs down his thighs far enough for you to retrieve his large swollen length. He follows suit, his hands moving to quickly remove your pants as you awkwardly shift so that you can fully remove them.

You take a moment to admire him, he looks similar to a human cock, you think to yourself, besides the colour some ridges that look like they will feel absolutely divine when he’s finally buried inside of you. He fidgets slightly under your scrutiny “am I… to your liking?” uncertainty lacing his tone as you wrap your hand around him.

“Yes… yes very much so. You are… perfect” you reply breathlessly, his cock twitching as you speak, the tip leaking more slick fluid. You use your free hand to grab one of his, bringing his fingers towards your lips, sucking on them, coating them in your saliva before moving them between your legs.

He looks at you curiously as he begins prodding your entrance with his long fingers. “You are very… large… you will need to prepare your partners for your size” his expression turns to one of understanding at your explanation as he slowly works a finger into you causing you to gasp as he moves it in and out of you. As he adds a second finger you rest your head on his shoulder, moaning into his neck when he begins scissoring you open.

He continues fucking you open with his hand, his fingers occasionally brushing your sweet spot making you whine into his neck. He mutters something in his native language as you continue stroking him in time with his fingers moving inside of you, for a man with no experience he is a very quick study, his fingers hitting that spot with more consistency as he drags you agonizingly close to your peak.

Not wanting to finish without him buried inside you, you place a hand over his wrist to stop him. “I’m ready” your voice is breathy and strained and you know you look just as debauched as he does. You reposition yourself so that his tip nudges your entrance, and he gulps in anticipation as you begin to slowly lower yourself down onto him, each ridge sending pleasure shooting through your body.

He moans unabashedly as he enters you, screwing his eyes shut as he mutters to himself in Cheunh. Chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, hissing through clenched teeth as he fully sheaths himself inside you. You begin to move before he places his hands firmly onto your hips.

“N-no… if you move I will…” he takes a deep breath “a moment to control myself please…” his accent coming through stronger as he struggles with the sensations combined with speaking in a language both of you will understand. Not trusting your own voice, you nod as you pause your movements, content to just feel him throb and twitch inside you.

After a while he gives you a small nod to proceed. You move slowly, not wanting to overwhelm him as you begin to ride him, resting your head in the crook of his neck, your hands once again tangled in his soft hair. As your movements speed up, he becomes more vocal, his fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as you bounce up and down on his cock, his hips thrusting upwards to meet yours. You feel each delicious ridge of his cock as the both of you move together, the coil in your belly tightening, your moans mingling in the confined space of the shuttle.

His moans become more uneven, pitching higher and you know he’s close. You bring one of his hands between the two of you, getting the hint he begins moving his hand quickly and its exactly what you need for the coil to break as your climax engulfs you.

The tightening and clenching of your muscles cause Thrawn to let out a loud broken moan of your name as he thrusts his hips up into you once more, burying himself as deep as he can, filling you to the brim with his cum as he pants and moans, his cock twitching as he releases.

You remain in his lap, both of you slick with sweat and other various fluids as you come down from your respective highs, catching your breath. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rumbling of his voice as he speaks “this has been a very enlightening experience… thank you” he gives you a small half smile as he looks down at you and you smile up at him in return.

“I’m glad you enjoyed the lesson” you chuckle before you remove yourself from him, his seed flowing freely down your thighs “but we should clean up before we have to get back no?” you say as you head towards the refresher on shaky legs.

~~~~~

“We did not locate the alleged pirate base senior captain” Thrawn says as he stands before Senior Captain Ziara in her office on the Parala hands clasped behind his back. She gives him a small smile and looks down at his report “That’s not a problem mid captain, I’m sure you and the pathfinder managed to find ways to keep yourselves entertained” Ziara’s smile widens as she watches Thrawn blush and shift on his feet.

“I’m not blind Thrawn, I see how the two of you look at each other” she stands up from her desk “I’m glad, I was sick to death of the two of you making eyes at each other on my bridge” Ziara chuckles as she walks past her blushing mid captain “come on, lets go to the mess, I’m sure you’re hungry after your… mission”

@ilovestarwarsmen725@ele-millennial-weirdo@al-astakbar@69fandom-fanatic69@blackmonitor@khapikat222@novemberblueskyink

#thrawn smut #thrawn x reader #admiral thrawn x reader #grand admiral thrawn x reader #thrawnposting #grand admiral thrawn smut #mitth'raw'nuruodo #mitth'raw'nuruodo smut #admiral thrawn smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn #admiral thrawn

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