#hanging up obviously. that's a bad response.

[cesium-sheep]

he called to hang out before she left for work and everything was fine but he wanted to ask logistics questions and she didn't want to but didn't feel like she could say anything to stop it and they both got really audibly frustrated in a way they normally don't and it feels like the locus was placed on me even though she literally just said afterwards that I was behaving very normally for me. I stopped engaging with the conversation after I'd said the one piece that actually mattered which was just, an option can be bad, sure, but it sounds like some options are being outright discarded out of hand rather than just filed as low preference, which seemed to make him more frustrated, and after some more lecturing he did apologize for "kind of jumping down [my] throat" and I pointed out I wasn't engaging anymore and he was like "great idea" and just. hung up. and then arin talked about her own frustrations and really did make it sound like she was putting it on me, which was just a gut feeling during the actual argument but like. that sucks? that's bullshit. especially if this was totally normal behavior for me, which she independently confirmed earlier in the sort-of debrief, why is it on me that it went poorly this time? and she had to leave for work so I only had time to express to her that it feels unfair without expecting a response and now she's gone and he's gone and they're both mad at me and I legitimately didn't even do anything. and my brain wasn't having a good time to start with. and now I gotta fuckin unpack this shit with both of them at their own fucking convenience, cuz he has very little model for this type of stuff and I don't know if she's going to be more resistant to it since she's kind of blaming me for losing her time with him and I really don't fucking want to but it can't just be left to rot.

[thesophistiicate]

bad habits that held me back for years

negative self talk: tune into your inner voice and turn mean thoughts into kind ones

prioritising comfort over progress: you have to actually do the work, then enjoy your rest and comfort (with less anxiety too)

hanging around the wrong people: you are the sum of the people you spend the most time with, choose your friends carefully

never taking responsibility: tough stuff happens to everybody, focus on what you can control (you) rather than blaming outside circumstances (not talking about trauma here obviously)

expecting praise for 'being yourself': you're good enough as you are in a spiritual sense, but if you want to be excellent at something you have to actually do the work, not just expect praise and reward for just showing up

liking the aesthetic more than the work: do you want to achieve that goal or do you just like how it looks on pinterest??? make sure you derive some level of pleasure and satisfaction from the pursuit

overthinking: seriously just tell your brain to shut up. stop over intellectualising and over thinking every single thing. find your heart to guide you and save your brain power for working on your passions...

[mrsbarnesblog]

my girl

masterlist

requests are open

summary: even if you knew that you and Rafe were just hooking up, hearing his friend's comments about you, while you were preparing a venue for the event, hurt more than you expected it to

word count: 2k.

warnings: fwb (or smth like that) to lovers, mentions of sex but nothing explicit, Rafe's friends lol, swearing

a/n: soft Rafe is my weakness, I'm sorry. he's on my mind 24/7 and I literally don't know what to write

You were running around the outdoor venue with boxes full of pastry, where in a few hours there was going to be an annual celebration with lots of rich people. For some reason, Ward Cameron, who was paying for everything here, decided that your father’s small bakery was good enough to feed all of the kooks, so from the afternoon on, you were organizing tables to make everything look perfect. 

The place itself looked truly magical—decorated with a lot of flower arrangements, lights and expensive furniture. It was located at Figure 8, so you obviously never had the opportunity to visit it before. It was Kook’s territory, and even with your family’s bakery, which was pretty popular on the island, you were not welcome here.

Just a few minutes ago, Ward himself came to the venue with Rafe and his son’s best friends in order to check how everything was going. 

As soon as your eyes met Rafe’s, you both stopped for a few seconds, too shocked to see each other in a public place. What happened between you and Kook's prince was something that you had never expected to get into, yet here you were. 

You didn’t know what got into you that one night, but out of nowhere, Rafe was talking to you, smiling, looking all sexy and without his usual cockiness, so you couldn’t resist him. 

It wasn’t that you even regretted your decision; it just became more weird every single time you met because he wasn’t bad. Rafe Cameron wasn’t an asshole, which everyone made him seem to be. He was affectionate and surprisingly soft, always checking on you while you two were together and never pressuring you to leave. You wholeheartedly had to admit that it became more than just sex after a few weeks, no matter how hard you tried to deny it. 

You were definitely not dating, mostly because he had never asked you to, but you two were always texting about random stuff, he would even pick you up to hang out at his secret spot on the beach, or just to simply sit in his truck with lots of food and talk. Part of you hated it, but Rafe made you feel so comfortable and safe around him so you were scared to push it and ask him what was happening between you. 

Rafe’s eyes stayed fixated on you as his father, Kelce and Topper stood near him, looking around the venue and chatting. But he could not care less about it because his entire attention was drawn to you and how adorable you looked in your pink tennis skirt and simple white polo with the bakery's logo on it. 

He may or may not be responsible for Ward’s choice of bakery to work with, because Rafe made sure to accidentally mention it a few times, knowing that it would be a good profit for your family. Yet, seeing you here slightly took him off guard, as the first thought that appeared in his head was to go up to you, flirt and make you blush, or just simply kiss you. But he couldn’t, right? At least not until he properly talked to you. 

“Damn, she’s hot, even for a pogue. No wonder you hit it a few times, bro. I'd do it too.” The moment words left Topper’s mouth, Rafe’s heart dropped into his stomach. Kelce snickered, fistbumping Topper, and Rafe cursed himself for running his mouth. He really considered drowning his friends in the nearest lake. 

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Rafe seethed through gritted teeth, elbowing his friend. 

“I would appreciate you both watching your language.” Ward sighed, wincing and rubbing a hand on his beard. He looked at Rafe, who completely ignored his questioning gaze while trying to figure out how to fix it. 

Even with you standing with your back facing them, Rafe saw that you heard it too. Your hand froze in the air, still holding a cupcake, and your shoulders sagged in disappointment and hurt.

Only a few seconds later, you came back to your senses. Your back straightened, you finished decorating the table and you put empty boxes in the trash can. You turned around, showing the fakest smile Rafe had ever seen on your face. Your nails digged in your palm to control yourself, and you stepped closer to the four of them. 

“Mr. Cameron, thank you for working with our bakery. It really means a lot for my family. I did everything and now the event manager should carry on. I, um, should go. I have a lot of stuff to do. Have a great night.” Your eyes were glossy, with tears clearly visible on your waterline. As you awkwardly and in a rush thanked Ward, you didn’t even look at Rafe or either of his friends, knowing damn well that it would break you. 

You didn’t even wait for Ward’s response before storming off, trying to get as far away from these people as possible. Your chest felt too heavy, and the lump in your throat was so hard that you could barely speak. But you didn’t even walk a few feet away before a familiar hand wrapped around your wrist and made you turn around. 

“What do you want from me?” You snapped at Rafe, trying to yank your hand out of his grip. “Don’t touch me, Rafe.”

“This is not what you think it is.” He said, searching for your eyes. His brows were knit together, and his eyes were big and round, almost in fear. 

“Oh no? Isn’t it what I am to you? Just a hit. Just another one on your long list. Why are you bothering to explain anything to me anyway?” You laughed, barely able to hold back your tears. As if it were not enough that you cried in front of Rafe, neither his friends nor his father seemed to mind their own business, obviously listening to your conversation. 

“No. You know that it was more for me, Y/N. I’m serious about you, okay? Topper just cannot filter his fucking mouth.” 

“Stop doing it, Rafe!” You broke, not bothering to hide anymore. “Stop playing with my feelings when you know damn well that you won’t have anything serious with me. I’m not rich, I’m not a kook and I’m not like the prefect girls you usually hang out with. I get it, okay?” You yanked your hand out of his hold, not missing the way Rafe tried to catch it back. Wiping away hot and angry tears with the back of your hand, you look him right in the eyes. “I just wish you didn't give me hope in the first place, because I feel so fucking stupid.” 

“You’re not stupid, Y/N. I don’t care about your money or your status, for that matter. I want you and I mean it. Just let me explain—”

"This is why you would not even speak to me in front of anyone, right? This is why we were always sneaking around. Because you want me, not because you’re too good to be around me.“ You confronted him, not even caring who could hear or see you. From the position where you were standing, you saw a bunch of young waitresses standing not so far away, pretending to work on the table but eyeing you and Rafe every second.

“I’m an asshole. I know it. I know that I didn’t put the label on us and that I fucked up, not doing the right thing.” He stepped closer to you, not breaking eye contact to show that he was sincere. "When Topper and Kelce saw me with you, I panicked and said the only thing that made sense: we were just hooking up. I didn’t want it to be that way, fuck…” Rafe screched the back of his neck in agitation.

“You should go back and stop embarrassing yourself talking with a pogue. I bet your friends found it entertaining. How much did you tell them, hm? Did you share every single detail of what we were doing?” Your voice broke at the end.

“I didn’t tell them anything!”

“Well, I don’t believe you, Rafe!” You sniffed, looking away to distract yourself from the look in Rafe’s eyes. His blue eyes were round, full of concern and it seemed like he was almost panicking. "I understand how guys like you talk about women, but I guess I was stupid enough to believe you would not do that to me. So yeah, you got what you wanted from me and now you can go back to—”

You were rumbling one moment, and the next, two hands pressed on your cheeks, tilting your head up, and Rafe's lips were on yours. You gasped, hands freezing in the air in shock, before slowly moving to Rafe’s shirt to tug on it. 

He didn’t rush; he just firmly yet gently held you against him while his tongue slipped into your mouth, savoiring every second. It’s been just two days since you last seen each other, but God, you missed kissing him. Even if you wanted to move away, you couldn’t. Rafe's palms were on your face, guiding you, while his kiss made your head feel empty and light. He smelled and tasted so good and you hated how quickly you got used to the feeling of his touch on your skin. 

“Everyone can see us.” You mumbled into his mouth. 

“I don’t fucking care, Y/N.” He furrowed, still feeling the wetness on your cheeks from crying. With his thumbs gently rubbing your soft skin, he gave you a few quick kisses before continuing. "I swear, all I said to them was that we just hooked up, because it is what it was at that moment. I wouldn’t have shared anything intimate about you, baby. Please believe me when I say this.” Rafe sighed, resting his forehead on yours. His nose bumped against your—something that he started doing when you were alone in the bed, laying face to face and just looking at each other. "I am sorry I made you feel like you were just sex for me, because you weren't. Spending time with you was the best fucking time of my day, and whatever that was between us, I don’t want it to end.”

“Me neither…” You whispered, feeling warmth rushing through your body when Rafe wrapped his hands around your waist and pulled you even closer into him. He placed a kiss on the top of your head and then you felt him turning around, seemingly studying people around you.

“Since everyone saw us today, do you think I can take you away with me right now?” 

“Take me away? But you have an event in a few hours, and I have to work.”

“No, now we have an event and we have to find you a dress. I’ll handle your work and find someone who can deliver your orders.” Your head snapped up, only to see a proud grin on Rafe's face.

“You’re joking, right?” You pulled away, laughing. “I don’t have such clothes nor do I have money to buy them, and I definitely wasn’t invited.” 

“That’s why I’m taking you to the store now. And since you are my girl now, you’ll be my plus one.” He just shrugged, probably unaware that he had just filled your stomach with freaking butterflies. 

“I’m your girl?” 

Rafe silently looked you in the eyes for a few seconds, and it seemed like he was trying to reassure himself about something. His eyes then shifted to your lips, as he dragged you back to his body, lowering himself to mumble against your mouth. “Yeah, you are my girl.”

[wifelinkmtg]

TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

[xetlynn]

arcane imagines- vander

crushing hard

[arcane] [main page] requested!

prompt: Vander has a crush on you, and he won’t shut up about it to his friends.

The bar doors open, earning the attention of three young adults, one who is awaiting your presence. Who’s been anticipating you all morning. You grin, waving to your new friends you met two weeks ago at the market. “Hey, [Name]! Good to see ya!” Vander greets you as he wipes down a glass cup. 

“Hiii, Vander. Silco, and Felicia.” You nod your head politely to the other two who do the same with smiles adorning their faces. “I brought you that can opener, can’t believe you forgot it!” You snicker, placing the metal object down on his counter before him. He nervously laughs in response, his eyes flickering over to his close friends who have amused expressions. 

“Silly me, just a forgetful guy.” He defends himself and you tilt your head. “Really? I would’ve never guessed! I feel like your memory is better than mine.” You pout your lips. Silco mumbles something into Felicia’s ear who giggles in response. Luckily you didn’t hear what it was. Vander glares at them. 

“Well, I can’t stay too long, my brother is waiting for me.” You huff, putting your hands on your hips. “It was great seeing you three. We have to hang out again!” You tell them, taking steps back. “We’d love to.” Felicia says. 

“Yeah, we would! You could even come visit the bar anytime. I’d love the company.” Vander blurts out and you smile at him. “Guess I’ll have to then, don’t want you getting lonely with all your customers.” You poke fun with him, your back slightly hitting the door. His face heats up. 

“Ha! Yeah, still… you should.” He rasps and you scrunch your nose. “I’ll have to come by later this week.” You wink at him, pushing the doors open as you swiftly leave. 

He lets out a loud groan once he knows you’re gone. “I’m such an idiot.” He takes the can opener, adding it to his stack of others. “Yeah, you are.” Silco takes a sharp breath, astounded by the second embarrassment he was feeling. “It wasn’t that bad.” Felicia nudges the guy beside her. “What? He looked like a total dog. He makes his crush so evident.” 

“Do I really?” Vander’s eyes widened in fear. Hoping that wasn’t the case. He didn’t want to look desperate. 

“Yes.” “No.” 

The two say at the same time, then glaring at one another. “No, Vander. You seem timid for sure but I don’t think she knows there’s meaning like that behind it.” Felicia assures her friend. He lets out a sigh. “I just- I’ve never been like this around a girl. She’s perfect! Like- Perfect!” He gesticulates, running fingers through his hair dramatically. 

“Her humor? She’s actually really funny. Did you see the way she winked at me by the way? Almost died on the spot.” He exaggerates to his best friends. Felicia presses her lips together trying not to laugh as Silco pinches the bridge of his nose. Not wanting to hear this. 

“I mean for real, it was the hottest thing. She’s smooth with it, I wonder if it means something.” Vander ponders, placing down his drink cup. “It was just a wink, dude.” Silco exclaims with an “are you for real?” look. “A wink that could’ve had an undertone.” Vander points at him. 

“And she’s going to come by later this week. Oh man.” Vander now begins to panic. He invited you to sit at the bar. Later in the week is the weekend… obviously. But that means the rowdier customers will be there. He’ll barely have the chance to speak with you. Maybe you’ll stay late enough to hang out afterwards? Or come early enough where you guys can talk. 

“Yeah you asked her like a real desperate dog.” Silco comments and Vander’s face drops. “No I didn’t.” His eyebrows furrow. “If you say so.” 

“You’re being a real hater, Silc.” Vander huffs, crossing his arms. “Yeah because you met her two weeks ago and you won’t shut up about her.” The boy esaperates. Earning a frown. “And I’ll continue to talk about her. Now it’s to spite you.” 

“You two are such idiots.” Felicia sighs, slumping forward on the counter. “Vander certainly is. I’m growing a little worried for [Name].” Silco insults his friend who rolled his eyes. “Whatever man. She’s different. I’m just saying.” He shrugs his shoulders and Silco scoffs out a laugh. “You’re whipped on a whole different level.” 

“I might be. I don’t know what to do about it.” Vander makes a face. “As time goes on I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Felicia encourages him. “Mm, yeah. Until then I’m going to continue talking about her.” He cheekily smiles. “Of course you are. Because you don’t know peace.” Silco groans. 

“You don’t deserve peace.” Vander chuckles. “I’ll just have to go tell [Name] about how you feel I guess…” He stands from the bar stool. “She’s probably not too far from here.” He starts. “Don’t do that! That’s not even funny!” Vander whines like a child. His heart is genuinely racing by his buddy threatening to tell his crush his feelings like they were in grade school. 

[syluslnd]

hi! I love ur sub!sylus stories so bad like oh my gosh he's so cute, my heart cannot take it. 😣😣 But, if you don't mind, i would like to request sylus reaction to mc who are loves to wear his clothes? Ngl i feel like his clothes that were obviously too big for her would look adorable! And, i feel like mc will look like a real kitten bcs she's curled in the couch, wearing his oversized sweaters! Thanks!

Sylus reaction to you wearing his clothes

(Note/ omgg thank you so much for liking my sub sylus posts ☺️☺️ I wrote this one with that “cuteness” in mind while also keeping sylus his normal dominant self haha I hope you enjoy pumpkin🤍)

Sylus stepped into the living room after a long day, the weight of his mafia duties still hanging over him like a dark cloud. But the moment he caught sight of you curled up on the couch, all of his stress faded into the background.

You were wrapped in one of his oversized long-sleeve shirts, the fabric swallowing your smaller frame. It hung down past your mid-thigh, giving you an adorable, almost helpless look that made his heart race. The way the sleeves draped over your hands and the hem of the shirt barely concealed the cheeky booty shorts underneath only added to the effect. You looked like a real-life kitten, innocent and impossibly cute.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well, what do we have here?" he drawled, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

You looked up, startled, your eyes widening as you realized you'd been caught. "Sylus!" you exclaimed, attempting to pull the shirt down to cover yourself more but it only made you look more adorable in his eyes. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Clearly" he teased, striding over to you with that confidence that always made you weak in the knees. "You look like a little lost kitten all curled up on the couch. Just where do you think you're going in that outfit?"

You felt heat rush to your cheeks,embarrassment flooding through you as you fumbled for a response. "| was just... comfortable?"

"Comfortable?" Sylus echoed, amusement dancing in his eyes. He leaned down, brushing a finger along the hem of the shirt, watching as you squirmed under his gaze.

"You look like you're about to get lost in those oversized sleeves. You're practically swimming in it, sweetie."

You tried to hide your face behind your hands but Sylus was quicker, gently pinning your wrists above your head. His grip was firm yet playful, making it impossible for you to hide from his teasing gaze.

"Why are you so cute?" he mused, his voice dropping lower, laced with a teasing intensity. "I swear, every time I see you in my clothes, I think I'm going to burst from how adorable you are." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin. "And those shorts? A little too cheeky for my taste, don't you think?"

You couldn't find the words, a mix of embarrassment and something else swirling inside you. "I just wanted to be cozy!" you managed to protest, though your voice lacked any real conviction.

"Oh, I think we both know you enjoy showing off a little” he teased, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "But don't worry, kitten. I'm not complaining." He released your wrists but stayed close, hovering over you, taking in every detail of your flushed face and the way you tried to pull the shirt down.

He tilted his head, smirking as he watched you squirm. "You know what? You should wear my clothes more often. It makes it easy to see how tiny you are compared to me." He stood tall, puffing out his chest just a bit more, emphasizing his buff physique next to your smaller frame. "It's like having my own little pet."

Your heart raced at the teasing words and you bit your lip, the blush deepening on your cheeks. "I'm not a pet!" you retorted, though the softness in your voice betrayed your embarrassment.

"Of course you are" he replied smoothly, leaning down again to brush his lips against your forehead, sending butterflies dancing in your stomach. "and I'm your big, owner. It's only fitting." He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours, full of that playful dominance that both excited and terrified you.

"You're too cute for your own good" he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Just look at you, all cuddled up like that. I can't help but want to spoil you rotten."

With that, he scooped you up in his arms, lifting you effortlessly from the couch. You squeaked in surprise, your hands instinctively wrapping around his neck as he cradled you against his chest.

"Hey! What are you doing?" you protested, though there was little heat in your words.

"Taking my kitten to her next cozy spot" he replied, grinning down at you. "I can't let you just sit here all alone, can I?"

You melted into his embrace, feeling safe and warm in his strong arms. Sylus always had a way of making you feel cherished, even when he was teasing you mercilessly.

"Now, are you going to behave or do I need to keep reminding you just how tiny and adorable you really are?" he asked, his tone playful yet carrying an edge of seriousness.

You bit your lip, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "'ll try" you whispered, your heart racing at the promise of what was to come.

"Good" he said, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Because I'm going to enjoy every moment of having my little kitten all to myself."

[nicka-nell]

hq toxic traits? 👀👀

Hi! Lets do some short toxic traits then :))

Their toxic traits

Pairing: Osamu x, Atsumu x, Suna x, Kita x, Kuroo x, Ushijima x, Semi x, Shirabu x, Sakusa x, Oikawa x, Iwaizumi x, Bokuto x, Akaashi x, Sawamura x, Sugawara x, Azumane x, Kageyama x, Hinata x, Tsukishima x, Yamaguchi x reader

Warning: toxic traits obviously

MIYA OSAMU

Osamu is stubborn as hell.

He would rather sulk in the corner and give you the silent treatment than give in. 

He holds onto his grudge for a long time and would never apologize on his own initiative. 

In the end, you’re always the one who gives in and approaches him. But what’s the saying again? The wiser gives in…

MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu often lies. Whether he does it willingly or subconsciously, he probably doesn’t even know. 

He forgot to hang the laundry outside? He couldn’t do it because it was raining so hard. Obviously a lie. 

If you confront him with his lies, he quickly slips into the victim's role and acts as if he is the poor victim and is always misunderstood by others. 

SUNA RINTAROU

Suna is good at manipulation. Especially when it comes to getting around things he doesn’t like. 

Whether it’s cleaning the apartment or meeting your friend that he doesn’t like, Suna always finds a way to wrap up his words so that you end up doing the housework or doing something alone with your, for him annoying, friend. 

Sometimes he wraps things up so well that he almost lets you fall into a guilt trap and makes you feel bad for a second.

KITA SHINSUKE

Kita is a bit of a perfectionist and absolutist. 

You’re organizing a housewarming party at your home and invite your friends? Of course, but not before Kita has checked twenty times whether everything is really clean, whether the food is prepared properly and whether there are enough slippers for everyone. 

Is one rose in your bouquet already hanging its head and wilted? If so, he removes it from the vase first so that everything is perfect. 

Discussions are sometimes very difficult. Depending on what the two of you are discussing, he closes himself off at a certain point and no longer allows other arguments or opinions. 

KUROO TETSUROU

He’s an absolute workaholic.

Kuroo enjoys his work. It also involves a lot of responsibility. That’s why he often works overtime. 

You’re on vacation and just want to relax on the beach together? But not without Kuroo’s business phone. 

Would he cancel his vacation if things were stressful at work and his team couldn’t manage without him? Yes. 

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima is not empathetic at all.

You feel bad because your colleague is mean to you and you want to vent to Ushijima? Just want to be hugged? No. “Talk to your boss” is the answer you get with a nod, immediately followed by the question of whether you’ve already finished the grocery list.  

Ushijima is also not flexible. You want to go to the cinema spontaneously? Then you’d better book it a week in advance so that you can fit it into your weekly schedule. Because Ushijima is a routine guy. Get up in the morning, get ready, go jogging, have breakfast, take a shower, say goodbye to you, go to training, come home, have lunch, go to his agency or attend appointments made by his agency, come home in the evening, greet you, have dinner and then spend time with you before getting ready for bed. 

SEMI EITA

Semi is a natural flirt, even if he does it subconsciously. 

Through his band, he often has gigs and when his fans talk to him, he quickly slips into light flirting. 

Nice compliments like “Oh you are really very pretty”, “With such pretty fans I have to be careful that I don’t start stuttering on stage” are a standard or light touches like touching the shoulders of his fans, patting them on the head and so on. 

However, he would never hook up with a fan ever. He would always remain loyal to you. 

SHIRABU KENJIROU

Shirabu is really stingy. 

You want to go out for dinner with him? Then only if you split the bill and each pay for what you have eaten and drunk. Tipping? No, he wouldn’t tip the waiter but always gives the money correctly.

Shirabu also tends to come across as arrogant and overbearing in some situations. 

Probably one reason why your friends didn’t like him at first. 

Kiyoomi Sakusa

Sakusa is incredibly bad at replying. If you write him a message, he either replies days later or not at all. Not because he doesn’t want to answer you, but because he simply forgets and you’re usually together in the evenings anyway, unless he’s abroad. 

But if you don’t get back to him after three hours, he gets restless and sometimes even angry because he’s worried. 

Besides, Sakusa is someone who likes to use silent-treatment when you’ve had a fight. You had an argument about a party you were at with friends? Be prepared for Sakusa to ignore you until you apologize to him, even though you haven’t done anything wrong. 

OIKAWA TOORU

Like Semi, Oikawa is also a natural flirt. He really enjoys it when girls crowd around him and give him compliments and gifts. 

Does he compliment them? Definitely. He loves the way the girls blush, giggle and look up at him in embarrassment. Would he try to get into their pants? Absolutely not. He also remains loyal. 

But Oikawa is an absolute attention slut. He loves to be the center of everything. When he’s not, he gets whiny and does everything he can to get back in the spotlight. 

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

Iwaizumi’s heart rate quickly rises as he sometimes has anger issues. 

Would he get violent with you? No, absolutely not. 

But sometimes he raises his voice from one moment to the next and you shrink back so fearfully that you are afraid his hand will slip out. 

However, Iwaizumi usually notices this immediately and apologizes straight away, then lowers his voice again very quickly and gives you a gentle hug. 

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

Bokuto is always too quick to take everything to heart. Even normal things like, “Koutarou, I’m not in the mood to go out to dinner with you today. I have a headache.” He often takes this to imply that you don’t want to spend time with him and don’t love him as much as you used to. 

Sometimes it’s really exhausting to keep up his good mood. 

Bokuto is also lazy when it comes to housework. Is the toilet paper is empty? Never mind, the roll won’t be refilled. If he then sits down on the toilet again and realizes that the roll is still empty, he would rather take a towel, dab himself dry and throw the towel in the laundry basket than refill the toilet roll. 

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi tries to avoid conflicts as much as possible. 

If you have an argument with friends, then you can assume that Akaashi is not joining you to find a solution to your disagreements, but has probably just remembered that it is important to dust the houseplants right now, at this very moment. Leaf by leaf. 

An argument between you two? It doesn’t actually happen very often, as Akaashi would rather give in directly than let a discussion arise. 

SAWAMURA DAICHI

Oh, he’s a little people pleaser. 

He often seems strict, and everyone actually has respect for him. But Sawamura often can’t say no. 

You wanted to spend an evening together, just the two of you again after a long time? Yes... well, no, that’s not happening. Azumane asked if he could spend the night with you because he had a quarrel with his girlfriend. 

Sugawara asks if Sawamura can come to school and give a lecture about crime, since he has some trouble students, even though you actually have a day off today, just like Sawamura? Well, now you’re probably the only one who still has a day off and is waiting outside the elementary school for Sawamura to come out again. 

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

Sugawara doesn’t admit it, but he is very jealous. Sometimes even of his friends if they get a little too close to you. 

He often questions whether he is really good enough for you and always talks himself down instead of just talking to you. 

Sugawara is also often stuck in the past. He thinks about all the good times from the past and often forgets to live in the present or think about the future. 

AZUMANE ASAHI

Azumane is often negative and has fears and worries about the future.

Even if a moment is beautiful, such as a friend’s wedding, Azumane is sad. His only question is whether you will reach this point at some point or whether the future has other plans for you. 

In general, you can listen to his worries about the future at least once a month. Most of the time, however, his worries are completely unjustified. 

KAGEYAMA TOBIO 

Kageyama is selfish. 

He always thinks of himself first and then of others. Not that it’s bad to think, but with Kageyama it’s sometimes very extreme. 

For example, he makes sure he always has enough protein and enough to eat, so anything left over you can have. He never thinks badly of it, but he needs a well-trained body for his job. 

HINATA SHOUYOU

Hinata is always very competitive. Sometimes a little too much. 

Which of you is first at the front door? Mostly Hinata, and he’s usually happy. And that’s really not a bad thing. 

But once, after a very intimate moment of affection, he was lying next to you, both of you out of breath, and instead of saying something like “I love you”, he just said “ha, if you were pregnant, that would be another victory for me and a defeat for Kageyama, because we’d be the first to become parents”. You wish you could have kicked him off the bed. 

TSUKISHIMA KEI

Tsukishima is often pessimistic. He always sees the negative first before reality convinces him otherwise. Because often things aren’t as bad as he always claims at first. 

Besides, Tsukishima is a tease! He loves to bother you. For him, it’s all playful and never really serious. 

It’s probably his way of showing you that he loves you, but he often crosses the line and doesn’t realize that he’s hurting you sometimes. 

YAMAGUCHI TADASHI

Yamaguchi always talks himself down. He can never understand why other people like him for his character. 

That’s why you often have to talk to Yamaguchi when you come back from events. 

The couple next to you at the table in the restaurant had a much more expensive meal, much more expensive drinks, and Yamaguchi could only invite you to a simple menu. Again, he talks himself down, that he doesn��t deserve you, that you would have a better life with another man by your side. Only when you talk to him for several minutes, kissing and smiling at him, does he regain some self-confidence. 

[miguelhugger2099]

HIII tehehe

so imagine this, miggy and wifey reader coming home from a date and reader is just giggling as she remembers him being kind to all the kids who came up to him wanting to play with him. and reader is just like 'what if i just gave him one instead'

miggy notices his wifey reader giggling to himself, mini fluff moment happens. then reader exposes herself and then

~smut~

Baby Maker

long overdue and was very much in the accidentally deleted category like everything in this ask was written it just needed an ending before POOF gone. so, a thousand apologies i could not say sorry enough nonie. i tried to write down everything i remembered so i could get it out as soon as possible. as always, if you're not satisfied, this ask can be rewritten for a third time Art: feminine.999 on instagram

After a long and tiring winter, Miguel was eager to take you out for a picnic date in the warm sun again. It was always a sweet reminder of your time as young lovers and just having the simplicity of being in each others presence along with some food. So whenever the time was right and the temperature was warm enough, Miguel would plan and whisk you away to the park at the same hill you two have decided would be your spot. "Miguel just hand me something." You smile at him and stick your hands out, the picnic blanket hanging lightly on your forearm. Miguel carries both the cooler and basket as well as your purse on his shoulder. He had only asked you to fold the blanket but you wanted to help so you held onto it instead while he insisted he had everything else. "Ah-ah." He says, shaking his head. "Tengo todo, mama. I'm okay." Obviously, he was. He could carry several more things if he wanted to but you felt really bad watching him. "Give me the keys then. I'll drive." You cross your arms. In truth, he didn't want you to drive- he's a little traditional when it comes to handling things on his own while you rested freely from responsibilities. But, he sighed and instead of protesting, he nodded. "Keys are in my back pocket." He pouts dejectedly. You found it cute and rolled your eyes. You reached around him to grab the keys from his pocket, giving a teasing squeeze to his ass which he jumped at. "Oye." He says with a playful warning tone, squinting his eyes down at you. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, as well as a spark in his eyes. "C'mon." You shrug and skip in front of him, pretending to be innocent. At the car, Miguel was finishing up putting everything in the trunk, massaging the palms of his hands to ease the strain of holding onto the handles of the cooler and basket. You place the blanket over everything, feeling Miguel kiss your temple and his hand sneaking around your waist. "Good?" You ask him, looking up and cupping his cheeks. Miguel leans into you, his hands on your hips to keep him steady. "Mhm." He hums as he looks back down at you. Miguel kisses your forehead then each of your cheeks before finishing it off with a long smooch to your lips. "Let's go home." He murmurs.

Before you could move, Miguel looks down after feeling something tap the side of his leg. A soccer ball rolled a bit before he skillfully rolled it under his foot and kicked it into the air so it landed in his hand. “Whoa!” A chorus of young high-pitched voices shouted in unison. A group of kids huddled by you two, marveling at Miguel. “How did you do that?” One boy gasps, his eyes lighting up in admiration. Miguel chuckles nervously, bashful of the attention of ten-year olds. “Ah–it’s a little tricky.” He hands the ball to a little girl and she waves it high above her head. “Can you show me?” She squeals and Miguel blinks, looking back at you. You covered your mouth to hide your giggles and smile. “Go.” You tilt your head at the group of kiddies and Miguel stumbles over his words but the kids already took your approval and began tugging on Miguel’s arm back to the grassy fields to play.

As you got home, you couldn’t bring down the smile on your face, cheeks hurting with how long you’ve grinned to yourself. You let out a couple of giggles remembering how the children flocked to him and how Miguel looked carrying two grown kids in his arms when his little team scored a goal. Not only had you felt warmth in your cheeks but in other places as well. “Why do you look like that?” Miguel asks after placing the bags down near the door. He’d organize things later. “Like what?” Miguel brings his hand to the side of his face and bunches his shoulders up, looking up at the ceiling with a mockingly dreamy sigh. “Like this!” You punch his shoulder and Miguel laughs, bringing his arms around you from behind and leaves little apology kisses along your neck. “I did not look like that.” You defend yourself. “Mmm, you did. You always look like that anyway. At least when it comes to me.” He mumbles against your ear, his breath tickling your senses and you squeal to move away from him but he just holds you closer. “So what is it this time? Was I extra good-looking today? Did I sweep my favorite girl, my wife, off her feet?” Miguel presses his lips on your cheek with a loud smooch. He couldn’t help teasing you a bit. “No, it was different!”

“Hmm, different?” “The kids at the park.” You feel Miguel pause and he lifts his head up and tilts it to the side after turning you around. “What about the kids at the park?” He asks, confusion swirling in his eyes. “You looked…good with them.” He huffs a quick laugh. “Okay?” “And I was thinking, y’know,” You giggle at the thought of Miguel picking you up, filling you up, carrying a baby–making him a father. He wanted to pick your brain. “What?” He squints down at you. “What if we had a baby?” Miguel’s eyes widened, blinking in surprise. “H-huh?” His voice went up an octave as his cheeks had gotten a little redder. You felt his hands tense around your hips and you secure your arms around his neck. “What if..I just gave you a baby?” You repeat in a hushed whisper. “With your help, of course.” You giggled and your flirting sent shivers down his spine. Subconsciously, Miguel’s eyes turn downwards to your stomach–imagining it swollen and growing with each passing day with just a few pumps of his cum. His eyes dilate and he feels the blood in his body rush straight down to his groin. “O-oh, God…” He groans, his breathing already getting heavy. “Are you sure? You want a baby? You want my baby?” He whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. You could feel his hands gripping your sundress. It fell just above your knees so Miguel was already sliding his hand up under it to feel the skin of your thigh, skin still a little warm from being in the sun. “Mhm, yes, please.” You whine, feeling the rush of arousal drench into your panties from hearing Miguel hold onto his last remaining self-restraint before he fucks you silly. At your plea, Miguel wraps his arms around you and pulls you up towards him to kiss you deeply. His lips devour yours, tongue slipping past your defenses to tangle in a dance with your own tongue. One hand pushes your head closer while his other hand runs down to grip the plump fat of your ass through the fabric of your dress. Tapping it twice, he signals you to jump in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist and he hurriedly enters the bedroom. Miguel falls on top of you, bodies bouncing on the mattress but it does nothing to stop Miguel’s desire for you.

Miguel separates from your lips, dragging his wet mouth down to your jawline and neck while his hands bunch up your dress at your waist. He brings a hand up to pull down the top half of your dress and begins to leave small love bites across your breasts before licking your nipple into his mouth. With your head rolled back, your fingers run through his hair, hips attempting to grind up for some friction but with his weight on top of you–you’re helpless. “Want me to make you a mama, huh?” He growls huskily, lifting his head up and using his fingers to flick and tweak your nipples so he could watch you screw your eyes shut and your mouth parted open as you moan his name into the air. “Want me to make you all pretty and swollen with my cum, hm? Fuck…” “Oh, God–Miggy..!” Your hands at his shoulders, arching your back off the bed and writhing underneath him in a desperate attempt to make him focus on your wet pussy. Miguel can’t help but play with your tits, groping them in his hands and squishing them. He pulls your dress further down, tracing your curves and worshiping them to engrave it in his memory. Your dress now on the floor, you lay bare with just your panties. Miguel presses down on the soaking patch between your legs and you shiver. “No me jodas, Miguel. Just fuck me.” You groan and buck your hips to grind on his fingers but he chuckles and pulls away. “Dale paciencia, mi amor.” He says even though he feels the same, his cock straining against his jeans and leaving a wet spot in his boxers from dripping precum. Miguel leans back down to kiss you, hands fumbling with the zipper and he hastily shoves his boxers and pants down his legs. Deciding he was also impatient, Miguel rips your underwear apart and he bites down hard on his lips to stop him from moaning loudly at the sight of your glistening folds. Mind cluttered with lust, you don’t even notice the tear but you do feel his hard cock rubbing between your puffy pussy lips. He sighs while he collects your slick onto his shaft, his leaking tip mixing with your juices. “Mmm, fuck yes…” He shudders, thighs flexing as his muscles tensed up. Goosebumps litter his skin and he looks down at your body. Sprawled nude on the mattress while you’re already looking fucked out of your mind when he’s barely put the tip in. His cockhead catches inside and he teasingly enters. His hand places itself on your stomach, pupils blown wide open.

“Qué pasa, mi amor? Te sientes bien? Ay, que linda eres...” He purrs as he pushes inside you. “Feel me, mama.” Each inch is slow and he makes you feel the growing stretch of his cock, veins pulsing against your throbbing walls–your cunt convulses around him to suck him deeper inside your warmth. “Mine, mine, mine. So pretty, you’ll look gorgeous when I fuck a baby into this tight pussy.” Miguel whispers against your neck. His cock twitches when you claw at his back, choking out your moans as your face flushes with a warm blush. He could feel his balls aching but he held back as best as he could. His palm feels his cock from inside you, poking through your stomach and his eyes roll back. Fuck, he’s deep. “Tell me you want it. Dímelo otra vez.” He moans, slowly rocking his hips in and out of you. Your mouth had been drooling since he teased your entrance with his cock, mind blank with nothing but the desire to be bred by your husband. With a weak and broken whimper, you begged. “Wan’ it,” You squirmed. “Breed me.” Miguel’s forehead landed on your shoulder, his body hunched over as his hand went to pull your thigh on his hip and slammed into you. You screamed and held onto him before he started pounding ruthlessly into you. You could’ve flown off the bed with just how fast and hard Miguel decided to pace at. He wraps his hands to your ass and pulls your bottom half up for easier access, dragging your wet folds up and down his cock. He pants, breathing shakily as his arms tense up–veins protruding and running down all the way to his hands. Miguel then lets go, grabbing both your legs and pushes them to your chest. He folds you in half, displaying your cunt to his eyes as his main priority. He bites his lip, grunting with every pounding he gives you. His knees dig into the mattress to anchor himself as he jackhammers his twitching cock into your warm wetness. The arousal gushing out of you and rolling down between your asscheeks and onto the bed. “You’ll be such a good mama.” He moans, curling his hips so his cock arches right into your sweet spot. Your cunt squeezes around him tightly, head thrown back while your nails rake his back in streaks of red, imprinting yourself on him. You’re a squealing mess, tears in your eyes and you could barely feel your legs anymore. Face morphed with pure ecstasy as you feel each drag of his cock empty and refill you over and over again. His bulbous tip nudges against your cervix and twitches against your velvety walls and your moans turn shamelessly pornographic-like. Meanwhile Miguel gets himself off to the thought of you creaming on his cock, his balls unleashing his cum straight into your womb and getting you pregnant. He huffs, ears ringing as his mind only focuses on breeding you. He thinks to himself that once isn’t enough. Just one measly pump of his seed won’t be enough to bear you with his child. He’d have to do it more than once. He had to see his thick load seeping out of your puffy pussy folds. He wanted to see you filled to the brim, pumped full to make sure you’ll carry. He wanted to see your belly grow, creating a being that was the perfect combination of you and him.

His mind spurs him on, mouth open as he spews his own moans and  praising your tight cunt at how well it takes him. He’s pussy drunk, hips smacking and his balls slapping against you, his body pressing your legs tighter against yourself and ravaging himself into you with heavy thrusts. He grits his teeth when you scream and clench around him, pussy fluttering as you feel the release of an orgasm shoot through your body. Your legs quiver as Miguel holds onto you, eyes rolling back and drool escaping off the side of your mouth. Your cum drips into a puddled mess below you and Miguel’s orgasm follows right after you, drilling his cock until he’s balls deep. His cock twitches with each spurt of warm cum shooting out his tip, plugging into your womb. You take deep breaths but it seems impossible when Miguel keeps your legs up. His head is hung while he waits until your cunt milks every last drop of his seed. You weakly reach up and cup his cheek to catch his attention. He meets your gaze and you give a tired smile and pull him down for a kiss. Miguel eases your legs down and kisses you back. His hands rubs comfortingly around the dip of your waist. For a moment you feel at peace, a bliss of entering a new era with him. The peace lasts for just a moment. Miguel leaves your lips and twirls your body on your stomach, lifting your bottom half up so your ass hangs in the air. In the process, his dick leaves your warmth and it leaves you feeling empty. You gasp and grip onto the sheets, head turning to try and see Miguel. “‘M not done.” He mumbles. “You wanted me to breed you so I’ll fuckin’ breed you.” His words are slurred but his mind is made up. He angles his cock to your wet cunt again, smearing the combined arousal around with his tip as if painting on a canvas. Instinctively, you moan and wiggle your hips back, pussy swelling up with desire again. Miguel smirks and pushes back inside and the stretch is familiar and comforting. Shuddering, your pussy welcomes him back by squeezing tightly, sucking him in, and he hisses. “Uyy, fuck…” He sighs. He starts off slow, bumping you forward with easy and short thrusts, feeling himself slowly grow hard again inside you. Your eyes flutter close, face smushed into the pillow and drooling on the case of it as your body lurches forward. Miguel increases his speed, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip to bring your ass back onto his cock. His balls smack your clit for added stimulation and it makes you jump from the electric pleasure zipping straight to your core. “Oh my God! Miguel!” You whine, heat flushing on your cheeks, Miguel’s dick reaching different places in a different position. The pain of sensitivity washes away, your pussy now craving the hot sticky liquid of your husband. Miguel looms over you, bending one leg to keep him steady as he keeps drilling deeper into you. His lips leave wet and sloppy kisses to your shoulder, panting and sharing warm breaths with you while your bodies buck up against one another.

“That feel good, mama? Hm?” He moans, burying himself in your neck while his hips snap up against yours, ass slapping and rippling with each thrust.

“Yes! Yes! Mhm!” Your voice turns high pitched, eyes glassy and unfocused while being bred like a bitch in heat. Still, you took pride in it to be the one to carry his child, to have him use your hole as his cumdump and take him however many times as long as you keep feeling like this. You’d gladly take him over and over again.

“You’ll give me another baby after this one, right mama?” He hums, tongue licking your neck and nipping at your skin. “Say you will, querida. Say you’ll let me put a baby in you again–we’ll have a big family.” He whines, humping your ass in quick strokes. “Say it, say it, say it, please, please.”

Miguel could feel himself getting closer. He could feel you getting close too with the familiar pulse and clench of your walls around his throbbing cock. His balls are wet with your slick, your wetness never ending.

“Yes! I will! Promise! Just–please!” Your words are barely audible with your face pushed into the pillow but Miguel is satisfied with your cockdrunk state. His cock engorges with the thought of a big family, you giving him as many kids as he wants and him watching it all happen once he spills as much as he wants in your willing cunt.

His hips go out of rhythm, he chases his high of impregnating you for a second time and his cock twitches violently before squirting ropes of cum to paint your walls white. He doesn’t stop pumping, wanting to feel you cream on his cock so badly even when the overstimulation makes him whimper.

With a cry of his name, your pussy pulses around him and you feel his previous load drip out of you to make space for his new one. The liquid trickles down your thighs and your shake as the orgasm is ripped out of you. When you stiffen, Miguel drags his cock out from you and flips you on your back again.

Barely giving you time to recover, Miguel lifts you up from the bed and your back makes contact with the cool wall. He holds you securely under your ass and you automatically wrap your legs around his waist once more. Your arms are around his neck, hands in his hair and Miguel captures your lips in a messy kiss. His hips rut into you to slide his dick back inside which resounds out in rapid smacks of skin on skin contact.

You’re bouncing on his dick, hair tangled and becoming staticy from your head rubbing on the wall. His thrusts slow to a stop as he focuses on making out with you, tongue dancing with yours and exploring your mouth with a low moan of pleasure.

Teeth clack against each other and you roll your pelvis to regain the friction. Pussy clenches around him desperately and Miguel lets out a guttural groan, separating from your lips to bite your chest. Your back lifts off the wall and you push your tits to his mouth, Miguel eagerly sucking your nipples and switching between left and right.

He angles up and up, feeling your walls slide on him like some silicon dildo. He gropes your ass in his palms, kneading and spreading them apart while your slick sounds out with a sloppy, dirty and wet mess. Miguel shoves you harder against the wall, pounding your body in rhythmic thrusts that bang loud enough for a passerby to hear. His back is covered with your nails marks.

You’re screaming, you’re so fucking sensitive but it’s just so hot how he just keeps going. There’s a fire that’s ignited in you–some sick form of pleasure that you get off on your husband pumping you full of semen. It gave you pleasure just how badly he wanted this–wanted you. You can’t help but squeeze around him, pussy unable to handle the bundle of overstimulated nerves so it spasms.

Jaw slacked and spit dribbling down your chin with your tongue lolled out your mouth–you can barely form a thought when Miguel’s fucking them out of you. You didn’t expect for Miguel to jump at the chance at having a baby but right now, it felt so worth it. His teeth bites at your nipple, tongue rolling around the bud and devouring it like you were the sweetest thing he’s tasted.

“Miguell…! I’m so–mmph!–fuck, I’m close!” You pull on his strands of hair and he lets go of your nipple. Miguel leaves his forehead on your chest, breath fanning your skin while he bucks into you. He cums first, his essence spilling out and dribbling back down on his cock and he grunts with annoyance. His annoyance doesn’t last long when you climax just a few seconds after with a squeal. You ankles lock tightly around his waist to push him to the hilt to keep the rest of his cum–old and new–plugged inside. Miguel shudders and moves you off the wall and back to the edge of the bed.

Miguel lays you down on the mattress with a huff of exhaustion, becoming sleepy after three orgasms. Still, he turns you on your side, lifting your leg up so he could slide in his cock between your twitching and sensitive folds.

You strangle out a whine, eyes blinking in a dazed haze. You reach around you to grip his hair and plead for mercy. You don’t know how you even lasted this long.

“Thought you wanted a baby. I’m making sure we’re having that baby.” He mumbles against your neck, humming when he sheathes inside you again. Your cunt spasms, fluttering and pulsating from overstimulation. However, Miguel is gentle this time.

He grinds behind you in easy thrusts. You feel your heart stutter in your chest, turning your head around with your mouth slightly parted, whining out your moans. Miguel kisses you, his hand gripping your thigh tightly to uphold it while his cock slips in and out of you. The evidence of his essence drips out of you and leaves a shiny coat and the milky white circle at the base of his shaft prominent from previous orgasms.

You weakly buck your ass back to go in time with his thrusting. You break from the kiss, string of spit connecting on your wet lips before you rest your head back on the pillow, heart thumping wildly. Miguel goes back to kissing your neck and shoulders.

“Asi es, mami,” He whispers huskily. “One more. Can you do that for me? Jus’ one more.” His hips roll in circles and his hand goes underneath you to reach around to your front, fingers finding your clit. He rolls it between his fingers and circles around it softly with just the right amount of pressure that he knows you like. Your hips stutter and feel another climax coming, but this time a little weaker than the rest.

“Mig…Miggy…” You whine and he shushes you gently. His fingers leave your clit and he rests his hand on your stomach, thumb rubbing up and down the small pudge of tummy where his baby will grow inside you.

“I know, mi reina, I know. I love you so much. I love you. I love you so damn much.” He whispers sweetly, Miguel kissing behind your ear. His words of affection make you whimper.

“I love you too.”

Miguel winds up cumming inside you for the final time, emptying out all of his energy and hugging you tight to his chest while you squeal and cum right after him. He keeps you close, putting your leg down and curling his arms around your waist to spoon you.

Your breathing slowly evens out, exhaustion catching up to you. Miguel pulls out, each drag shocking your nerves until he leaves with a wet plop, strings of cum connecting you both together until it breaks. He turns you around to face him and brings your head against his chest. You hear his heart hammering against his ribcage and you weakly hug him back. You feel full just like he told you he would do to you.

You can’t help but feel content, excitement blooming in your chest for the next chapter in your life with your husband. He's warm.

“We’re gonna be parents.” You whisper softly. Miguel’s lips kiss your hair and he lifts your face up to him. He continues to pepper your cheeks and forehead with kisses.

“We’re gonna be parents.” He echos. “Thank you.”

You couldn’t ask for a better man to start a family with.

A/N: me when i enforce my breeding kink miguel agenda

[o-sachi]

Can't Hold My Liquor - Headcanons (Blue Lock Chars.)

ᯓ how do the blue lock boys handle a drunk reader? ᯓ characters; michael kaiser, oliver aiku, sae itoshi, barou shoei, karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu ᯓ tags; mentions of alcohol and being drunk/tipsy, just fluff, established relationship gn reader, no y/n

[🐟]: Obviously, I don't condone underage drinking or any unresponsible consumption of alcohol. I purposely chose characters both based on the request and their ages. So, yes, they're of legal age. Drink responsibly! (I wish I followed my own advice).

Michael Kaiser

"Hm? What's that? I can't understand you if you're mumbling~"

This ass would take funny videos of you first before helping you at all. But not to worry, the videos are for his eyes and his amusement only. Maybe if you were REALLY upset, he'd consider deleting them.

While he does help you, Kaiser will still find a way to tease you or make fun of you. You're slurring your words? Funny. You can't walk straight? Funny. You're spilling a life's worth of secrets? Could be funny—depends.

"Mhm, and what happened next? C'mon don't leave me hanging here."

He'd hate having to deal with puking (that is, if you do happen to end up in that unfortunate situation). But he'll reluctantly gladly help his s/o clean themselves up and drink some much needed water.

But it's highly unlikely that you reach that point because he stops you from drinking too much anyway. He'll refuse any more drinks in your stead and if anyone offers you more, he'll chug it down himself.

Actually enjoys carrying your drunk self. He likes it because you become clingier and more dependent on him. He'll soothe you until you eventually fall asleep (which is fast). He likes pampering you when you're all disoriented like this.

Oliver Aiku

"You're quite cute when you're drunk."

It's not that he likes torturing your liver, but he'd gladly take care of you when you get drunk. He just loves it when a different side of you takes over... thanks to the alcohol.

He'd be so touchy—keeping you in his arms to help you sit up straight, holding your hand when you need to take a trip to the bathroom, supporting the back of your head when you're taking a sip of water so that you don't fall over, and so on.

"Hey, hey, sloooowly. You're gonna get water in your nose."

He'd go along with any of your drunken antics. If you decide all of a sudden that you wanna go up on the table and dance—he's going to join you.

But he'll gently calm you down if you get ahead of yourself. His voice would soften as he cups your cheek—trying to knock some sense back into you.

Also enjoys carrying you, but prefers to give you a piggy back ride. Last time he did a bridal carry... it upset your stomach and you know the rest...

Sae Itoshi

"What a pain... You're lucky I have a soft spot for you."

He doesn't enjoy drinking and even more so the atmosphere associated with it. But he tries it once because you wanted to. He thought it wouldn't be so bad. Spoiler alert: he now regrets his decision.

He won't drink for 3 reasons: 1) Again, he hates it, 2) he's the designated driver, and 3) he knows he will have to take care of you.

Sae has a poker face the whole time, but deep down he's amused by your change of demeanor. It's not that he's loathing the situation he's in (he is) but in reality, he's just observing you closely.

ALWAYS REMINDS YOU TO DRINK WATER. Even when you're not drinking actually. He'd prefer it if you sobered up faster.

When you do get too drunk, he'll carry you out of there especially if you go drinking at a place with a bunch of strangers (like a bar). It's because he doesn't want you to find yourself in a compromising situation in public or possible humiliate yourself. Aww...

He'd gladly give you a shower to help you clean yourself and cool off. While you're still disoriented, he'll take it as an opportunity to talk with you (more of a monologue) about things he can't say to you while you're sober.

Barou Shoei

"Tsk... seeing you like this... now I have to be there whenever you decide to get drunk huh?"

HE IS MOTHER. He's not usually overbearing, but he is when you're drunk. Hell, Barou's not even sure why he supported this decision of yours in the first place.

But then again... he figured if this would make you happy, then he'd just have to do what he can to keep you safe and sound.

He tries not to show it, but he's actually super anxious while watching you drink and have the time of your life. His leg's bouncing so much that it's almost a workout.

"Jesus. This smells like the shit you use to clean bathrooms." / "Hehehe... it means it's strong." / "God, give me strength...."

Will definitely give you a lecture on the way home and until you're sober. But he can't reallyyyy be angry with you. He was just insanely worried and this is his way of diffusing it.

He'll set you on the bathroom counter and do your skin care for you since you're so out of it. You won't be able to remember it well, but he'll have a look of utmost focus on his face as he rubs the product into your skin. SUCH A CUTIE.

Karasu Tabito

"Yer a wild one, ain'cha?"

He has a really high alcohol tolerance, so he doesn't mind drinking along with you and taking care of you right after (if you can't keep up with his pace.)

Karasu hates spoiling your fun. But once you're reaaaaally drunk, he has to do something about it. So he may or may not take a glass of juice and pass it off as alcohol just so you can continue to "drink".

He's like your own personal bodyguard, especially if you decide to go drinking in a public establishment. He'll be hovering over you protectively, observing the people surrounding you, and making sure you don't faceplant into the ground.

"Woah, woah, what do ya think yer doin'? Waltzin' over 'ere like ya got business with my darlin'?"

Does your whole night routine for you once you get back home. He'll be so slow and steady with you. Karasu will also make sure that you've had your meds before totally passing out to hopefully ease the impending hangover.

He will continue to take care of you even in the following morning. He'll wake up ahead of you and start with the breakfast, wanting to surprise you.

Yukimiya Kenyu

"Don't worry about a thing. I got you, okay?"

He thinks of himself as a social drinker and finds parties to be just fine. But he'll have a grand total of one cocktail and maybe 1 shot if he was urged to have one. So yeah, he can take care of you if needed.

His trick is pulling you to the dancefloor and keeping you busy there so that you don't have to go back to the bar and drown yourself in more alcohol.

Yuki will make sure you look dashing as ever throughout the night. I mean, it's no surprise that at some point you'll be looking disheveled. He'll fix your hair, your makeup, and even if your clothes.

"Come with me for a sec... let's get you freshened up."

HE WILL BE GUIDING YOU EVERYWHERE. Doesn't matter if you're only walking a couple of steps—Yuki will be there to hold your hand so you don't trip on air.

He'll seriously entertain your drunken ramblings while he tends to you and your night routine. If you ask him anything (even a stupid question), Yuki will give it some thought and actually answer back is if he were talking to someone sober.

o-sachi © 2024 pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

[oncasette]

elfsong tavern — "why are you mad?" "i'm not mad, i just think you can choose better people to kiss." with our baby astarion ᰔ

𝗜 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗡𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗕𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗪𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡

spawn!astarion x fem!reader, very brief gale x fem!reader

summary: 1.2k

“I’m not angry,” he bites before his voice falls to a whisper. “I just think you have better options when it comes to choosing who to celebrate your heroic victory with, is all.”

You laugh. You honest to gods laugh and Astarion can’t fight the heat trailing up to the tips of his ears. “What?”

or the one where astarion gets a little jealous at the tiefling party.

a/n: i know this was supposed to be a blurb but i got a tad carried away. oops?

masterlist | join the sleepover!

Ugh, Gale.

Astarion honestly shouldn’t care, shouldn’t let this bother him to the degree at which it is. Watching the wizard schmooze you all evening should be the least of his worries, but his eyes ache under the force he’d used to roll them to the back of his head and his scowl is starting to become permanently etched into his face. He doesn’t care, he decides. Tells himself it’s the vinegary wine that’s marred his evening, not the way you’re hanging onto every cheesy word no doubt dripping from the wizard’s tongue. 

Because, why would he care? Why would he have any feelings about the obnoxious flirting in front of him, lesser that, why would he have any feelings about you and your obviously poor courting choices. He bites his tongue as he watches Gale’s head tilt. The sharp twinge of blood, his own, this time, sparks through his mouth when he notices the way you’ve mirrored the other man’s posture. He scoffs inwardly, but he doesn’t make the inclination of turning away from the display. Instead, he watches the way your eyes twinkle just a bit. The way you seem to be holding in the breathiest of laughs, your fingers dancing up Gale’s robes to rest on his bicep. The blasted wizard’s hand beneath your chin. 

Then, for a millisecond at best, your gaze flickering over toward him. Something hot flushes through him. His jaw clenches, teeth clanging together violently, as he watches your lips meet. This shouldn’t bother him the way it does. He has no claim over you, not even sure he has the true desire to, to own you in that way. Not yet, at least. Just because you’d been kind enough to lend him your neck on some evenings, that shouldn’t send something akin to fire seething through his bones. 

He sets his goblet down on the table outside of his tent, suddenly far less in the mood for whatever celebration the refugees were hosting in your camp. He yanks the rope holding his tent flap open shut behind him as he retreats into solitude. His head is reeling, jaw sore, fangs prickly with the desire to bite down on something. He lies back on his bedroll and jams his fingers against his temples in an attempt to get the dull throbbing to subside. Astarion doesn’t notice his tent being opened until he hears your voice.

“Are you alright?” you ask delicately and he nearly snarls. He bites down on it before it has a chance to really present itself to you. 

“Flap’s closed for a reason, darling,” he grunts. “But, please, disturb my brooding.”

He elects not to look at you, keeping his eyes firmly shut.

“Is the party that bad?” you ask as you continue to linger at the entrance. He can almost see you now, fingers twiddling with themselves and your posture hunched. He almost wants to laugh. He would have, had it not been for the other emotion currently clogging his system.

Astarion grunts in response.

“They’re celebrating you, too, you know,” you offer, shuffling until you’ve seated yourself at the edge of his bedroll. 

“Are they now?” he gasps dramatically, fluttering his eyes open just enough to shoot a look at you. His eyes are hooded, brows furrowed. You nod in response and he thinks he wants to scream when you offer him one of those saccharine grins. He used to think those were reserved for him. How wrong he was.

“Why are you so upset?” you ask. Your brow stitches together in worry. “You seemed perfectly cheerful earlier.”

“You mean when we were in the throes of slaughtering our weight in goblins?” he chirps. You nod, reaching a hand out to graze his but deciding better of it halfway there.

“What is it? Why are you angry?” you ask after a beat of silence. 

“I’m not angry,” he bites before his voice falls to a whisper. “I just think you have better options when it comes to choosing who to celebrate your heroic victory with, is all.”

You laugh. You honest to gods laugh and Astarion can’t fight the heat trailing up to the tips of his ears. “What?”

He sneers. The audacity.

“Spending your evening with Gale,” he huffs, the scowl returning to his lips. “Lots of other perfectly fine companions you could’ve chosen to spend your evening with. Hells, even the refugees were bidding for your time, but no. You chose to celebrate your victory with the wizard.”

Your fingers prod the tip of his inflamed ear and he wretches back with horror. His face flushes a deeper shade of burgundy. 

“You’re jealous.”

“Ha! Of Gale? Hardly.”

“You could have come and talked to me yourself.”

“And ruin the wizard’s first attempt at getting laid?” 

You look down at him, something stern attempting to mask the mirth dancing around in your eyes.

“He was just being friendly,” you huff.

“You are disastrously blind, darling,” he says, slowly sitting up on the bedroll and tucking his criss-crossing his legs. “That was not a kiss amongst friends.”

“So, you are upset about the kiss,” you say, nearly sounding victorious. You lean forward until your noses are nearly touching. Asterion's ears tilt down, something a little softer glinting through his crimson gaze. 

This was not how this was supposed to go. He was supposed to seduce you, entrance you, lure you into the woods for something far more carnal than this. He was losing ground here, and fast. 

“I-” 

Something clicks into place in his brain.

His palm comes up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up as his posture lengthens. His eyes thin out, hooding his gaze under a haze of lust. He muffles the laugh that crawls up his throat as he watches your eyes seem to glaze just a bit. Yes.

“My sweet,” he purrs. “Was this all just a ploy for my attention? Did you play with the poor wizard’s feelings because you knew I was watching?”

He can taste the hesitation on your tongue. He inhales, body alight with something else now entirely. Your breath hitches and he licks the point of his fang in anticipation.

“Hm?” he taunts.

“N-no,” you stutter out. You feel off-balance, tossed about in the sudden change in the atmosphere.

“No?” he clicks his tongue. He leans in closer. His mouth is a hair's breadth away from yours and you taste utterly divine already. Eyes closing, he brushes his lips across yours, but never fully bridges the gap.

“No.”

“Then whyever are you sitting so prettily in my tent right now? Far, far away from the wizard’s precious kisses,” he sighs. His tongue peeks out. Just a taste, he decides. Your own eyes close, hands trembling in your lap. Your only response is a sharp gasp as Astarion kisses you fully, mouth slanting over yours in a way that has rational thought escaping you completely. His brow furrows as he presses in further. 

Perfect, he thinks. Perfect, perfect, perfect. He’s got you right where he wants you.

You whine into him and he has to fight the urge of biting down into your plush bottom lip. He lets you lead, to an extent. Lets you pull away when you’re ready, lets you rest your forehead against his as you catch your breath. Lets your fingers find his as you lean in for another taste.

Yes, he’s got you exactly where he wants you. Though, he’s not entirely sure his motivations for keeping you there are the same as they were when he started.

[helioswritings]

“Hey,” Hinata asks you one day, as you both sit on the bed in your dorm, “have you ever been kissed?”

The sudden question startles you, causing you to raise your eyebrows at him. “Huh? What brought this on?”

He shrugs. “Eh, Atsumu talks about kissing sometimes. I’ve never done it.”

“I haven’t either.” You tell him a little quietly. It’s always been a spot of insecurity with you, your lack of experience, especially since people say college is supposed to be the perfect place to experiment and have fun.

You haven’t done any of that, and the only person you hang out with regularly is Hinata, and he’s not too keen on partying either.

“Maybe we should.” Hinata says, a bit obviously.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, okay Hinata. Let me know when you find someone, and then come back and set me up too.”

He nudges you playfully. “No, I mean maybe we should. You and I. Kiss.”

Feeling like you’re dreaming, you pinch yourself a bit, then turn to him with wide eyes when you don’t wake up. “You want to…kiss each other? Why?”

“Practice.” The tone in his voice indicates that it should’ve been obvious to you, but you’re still not convinced you haven’t been asleep or in a coma.

But on the other hand, he’s right. And practice is good, because it’s be embarrassing if you didn’t know how to kiss. No other reason.

You set your textbook down and turn your body towards Hinata. “Okay. You’re right. Lay one on me.”

“Me? Why don’t you do it?”

“It was your idea.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“Neither do I!”

It takes about ten minutes of bickering and researching on the internet for the two of you to figure out what to do. It makes you feel a little silly, looking up how to kiss, but Hinata is looking at you with a fierce determination in his eyes that only rivals the look he puts on when he’s playing volleyball.

“Okay, are you ready?”

He doesn’t really give a response, as it were, he just…kisses you. He’s not bad, if you were being honest, not that you have anything to compare it to.

The two of you kiss for what feels like ages and when you pull away, Hinata’s face is flushed.

“I think we need to do it again.” He tells you. And you agree.

***

It becomes a thing. The kissing. Every time Hinata is over, he always wants to kiss. And you don’t argue! You like it, you do. But it’s also been stirring up feelings in your chest.

You know you like Hinata, you’ve always liked Hinata. You’re of the opinion that someone would have to be an idiot to not like him. But the fact remains that you don’t know how much longer you can take all of the kissing without shaking him so hard his brain falls out of his ears.

Like now. You’re kissing and his hands are sitting very politely on your waist, occasionally twitching and causing you to laugh because it tickles. Your hands are on his cheeks. The swelling in your chest is almost painful.

You pull away from the kiss abruptly and Hinata frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I understand for the first time. Maybe the second and third, too. But it’s been weeks since then, and we kiss almost every day.”

“I thought that’s what people who date do.” He tells you, a bit confused.

“What do you mean by that, Hinata?” You feel a bit dizzy.

“Aren’t we?”

“No! I don’t think so?”

You think back to every interaction you’ve had over the past few weeks, and more and more the pieces start clicking.

“Oh my god.”

Hinata hands you some water.

You take it, still a bit thrown. You’ve been dating him for ages.

“Can we kiss now?”

He’s lucky you don’t throw him out the window.

[alottiegoingon]

hc! jackie has a crush on you and she doesn't hide it well.

jackie taylor x fem!reader

summary: jackie having a painfully obvious crush on you while you remain completely oblivious.

warnings: characters are aged up, oblivious reader, jackie being possessive, jealous, clingy and over-the-top affectionate, jackie being awkwardly sweet, jackie as the most dramatic lesbian alive, not proofread.

a.n: oh hi! its been a long time...

jackie taylor, the golden girl of wiskayok high, was not known for being subtle. like, at all.

when she developed a crush on you? game over. everyone could tell. the team knew. her parents probably knew. heck, even the cafeteria staff were rooting for her. everyone... except you.

she would insist on walking you to every single class, even if her next one was on the other side of the building. "it's fine, I need the cardio," she’d say, hair bouncing as she kept pace with you.

whenever you sat together at lunch, jackie always had some excuse to sit as close as humanly possible. your thighs would brush, and she’d casually drape an arm behind you on the bench like this was some romcom where she was the suave lead.

her attempts at giving you compliments were both endearing and slightly chaotic. “that shirt looks really good on you! not that it wouldn’t look good off— wait, no, not like that!” cue her face turning an alarming shade of red as she stammered, completely flustered.

jackie was all about grand gestures. she'd bring you your favorite snacks without asking, even if it meant "borrowing" them from her teammates' lockers. r she'd "accidentally" sign you up as her partner for every school project ever. that was probably just her 'marking territory'.

her jealousy was comically bad. if someone so much as looked at you for longer than five seconds, jackie would swoop in like a hawk, throwing an arm around your shoulders and flashing her biggest, most obviously fake smile. "Oh hey, let’s go! you promised to help me with... uh, math homework!” (she had a solid A in math, by the way. that girl is smart.)

sometimes, her crush got the better of her, and she’d trip over her own words. “so... you wanna make out? i mean go out— I mean, hang out? like friends! or more than friends! or—" you’d just laugh it off, assuming she was being her usual goofy self, while she tried not to combust on the spot.

her teammates would not let her hear the end of it. “just tell her already!” van would groan during practice. “she’s not that clueless.” jackie would shoot them a death glare because, in her mind, this was a delicate, slow-burn process. it's all about romance!

she wasn’t above using petnames to test the waters. “hey, sweetheart, pass me that notebook?” she’d grin when you handed it over, your only response being a confused, “uh, sure?” her heart would leap even at that small acknowledgment.

one time, during a party, someone asked if you two were dating. jackie nearly choked on her drink while you laughed and said, “no way, we’re just friends!” jackie’s forced laugh after that? absolutely tragic.

despite all her awkwardness and dramatic flair, jackie genuinely adored you. she’d memorize all your quirks, from the way you scrunched your nose when you were deep in thought to how your laugh sounded when you found something genuinely funny.

if anyone asked her why she liked you so much, she’d have an entire list ready: you were smart, kind, gorgeous, and somehow still completely oblivious to the fact that she was hopelessly in love with you.

spoiler alert: eventually, her feelings would spill out in the most unplanned, dramatic way possible. probably during an argument where she’d blurt out, “because I like you, okay?!” only to immediately cover her mouth in horror.

and even though you’d be stunned into silence for a moment, when you finally smiled and said, “you should’ve just said so sooner,” all her embarrassment would melt away in an instant.

because, honestly? it was all worth it for you.

post planecrash!

after the crash, jackie’s crush intensifies tenfold. with no distractions like school or soccer, all her attention is on you, which becomes very obvious to everyone.

jackie insists on sticking close to you at all times. “we need to stay in pairs, it’s safer that way,” she’d argue, even though it’s clear she just wants to keep you within arm’s reach.

she’d hoard little things she finds that might make your life easier, like an extra blanket or berries she foraged. she’d always frame it like it’s no big deal: “i just thought you’d want this, that’s all.”

jealous jackie? oh, it’s dialed up to 100. if someone else offers to help you with something, jackie will immediately swoop in. “she doesn’t need your help, i’ve got it covered.” even though she could barely lift a bucket of water.

arguments would break out among the group about leadership and survival, but jackie’s main concern? you. she’d constantly check in on you, asking if you’re warm enough, if you’ve eaten, or if you’re scared.

shauna would initially try to protect jackie’s secret, but even she’d get tired of the whole thing. “jackie, just tell her. you’re already risking frostbite just to sit next to her by the fire.”

during the long, cold nights, jackie would find excuses to be near you. “body heat is the best way to stay warm,” she’d say, but the blush on her cheeks would give her away. that damn fag. (affectionate :D)

if you ever got hurt or sick, jackie would lose her mind. she’d hover over you like a worried mother hen, snapping at anyone who wasn’t taking your condition seriously enough. “she needs rest! and better food! and-” you’d have to calm her down before she worked herself into a frenzy.

and even though the wilderness is brutal and unforgiving, in that moment, her confession would feel like the warmest thing in the world.

[selfishdoll]

NOW PLAYING…. SWIM

So hard to ignore ya, keep your body open, swim

ARTIST! CHOSO x FEM!READER

sum. your poor roommate was stumped drawing the naked female body. pictures weren’t working and porn definitely didn’t help. so you did the next best thing, you modeled for him.

cw: reader is black (obviously), body image issues, modern au, choso & reader are 19-21, reader’s a little dumb, porn mention, ooc choso (this is my first time writing for him bare with me 🙏🏾), oral sex (f! receiving), overstimulation, soft dom choso, size difference, pet names, praise, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, roommates to lovers, slight possessiveness, pussy drunk choso(?), etc. unedited, please excuse grammar & spelling mistakes.

this was so rushed i’m sorry, but hope you enjoy it <3

The sweet sound of Erykah Badu surrounded the kitchen, soft murmurs of her lyrics traveling from your lips. Your eyes focused on the pan, sliding your spatula under the bacon strips with a soft hum— flipping them soon after. You were dressed in a simple random tshirt — probably your roommate’s — and shorts. So focused on your food, you became a little startled when heavy footsteps headed towards the kitchen, turning to spot Choso entering.

“Morning, Choso.” You spoke in a soft tone, glancing to see the man approaching the fridge, opening it and kneeling to inspect the shelves. He gave a soft morning back, clearly still tired. It was nine in the morning after all, and he typically spent his nights drawing or working. You knew nothing about being a artist, but it seemed stressful. You always felt bad watching his tall form drag into your shared home and to his room— or even the couch if he was tired enough.

“You want some breakfast.”

“No thanks.”

You pulled a sour face, placing the finished pieces of bacons onto a plate, reaching over for the carton of eggs. “You just woke up.. you should at least eat before drawing.” You were always so worried about him, from his sleeping habits to his eating ones; you were surprised the man was still walking on two legs. You stiffened as his large form brushed across you, reaching for a piece of bacon before turning to leave. You shook your head with a small smile, staring after him. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

After breakfast you had settled down on the couch, staring boredly at the random show you had selected. You turned into the soft halloween themed blanket, sighing softly to yourself as you stretched out upon the cushions. Your attention soon drifted away from the show, rather to the man you called your roommate. Breathing softly, you quickly realized something. You hadn’t seen the poor thing in hours.

Rising up from the couch, you slid your feet into your slides, walking towards the back of the house towards the bedrooms. You approached his door, knocking against it for a moment and softly calling his name. When you got no response, you grasped the door handle, turning it open and entering. Your eyes peered over the room; his bed unmade, black blankets and sheets disbelieved, random posters hanging on the walls, while his lanky form was hunched over his desk. You stepped fully inside, eyes widening a little. “Oh!”

His chair switched around, you now able to fully see the porn playing on his computer. To your relief, you hadn’t caught him doing anything scandalous. Instead, he looked quiet bored. You pursed your lips a bit, “Are you… watching porn?”

“Not pleasurably, no.” Choso muttered, clicking his computer to pause the video. He sighed a little, leaning back in his chair. You approached his side, glancing down at his desk to spot the many balled up papers and his opened sketchbook. The man watched as you lifted the book of his desk, you delicately flipping through the pages. Each one was littered with sketches of the female body, little notes accompanying a few. Others completely ruined by dark, harsh scribbles. You hummed a bit, leaning against his desk. “You’re trying to draw a naked woman?”

Choso nodded at your words, rubbing his hands up and down his pants. “I tried photos.. other sketches, and now— this.” He motioned towards the raunchy video on his screen, hands falling back to his lap in another soft sigh. “Nothing is working out.” He seemed a bit annoyed or rather depressed, a thought that saddened you just a tad. From the dates residing on the pages, it was clear he was working on this for a while. And while a few of the sketches looked good, you were sure they weren’t up to his professor’s standards. You placed the sketchbook back down with a little hum, thinking to yourself.

Until, possibly the greatest idea popped into your mind.

You placed your hands on your chest, turning to him with a sweet smile. “I could model for you! I’m sure that’s what you’re missing; something alive and in your face.” You watched as his eyes slowly widened, dipping across your form for a split second before rising back to your face. Choso sat unmoving, quiet as he took in your words. It begun to worry you when a minute had passed and he was still completely silent. You bit the inside of your cheek, hands falling to your sides. “Or… not?”

Choso seemed to finally breathe, blinking as his gaze turned away from you. “It’s uh.. You do realize you’ll be completely naked. In front of me. And I’ll be drawing you..” He spoke softly, slowly; assuring you heard every single word he uttered. He licked his lips hesitantly as you nodded with that same sweet smile. “It could take a while, [Name]. Plus I would be showing my professor this. Are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”

You nodded for about the umpteenth time, as if completely unfazed by this. “I don’t mind! You’ve seen me half-naked when I got drunk that one time and threw up all over myself.” You shrugged; smiling a little as you heard him snort softly muttering something like I remember that. Choso looked over his desk once more, looking over his options. Finally after a few moments he nodded, turning back to you. “Okay, sure. You need like.. ten minutes to get ready?”

Your eyes widened at his words, smile faltering for a moment as you brought your hands close. “Oh, oh! You want to draw me now?” The words came out in a soft waver, the situation finally settling into your mind. It seemed easy enough when you spoke about it, but now that it was about to happen? You weren’t so sure it was a smart idea.

Choso nodded at you, “Yeah. I’ve been working on this a while, I want to get it over with..” He spoke, staring down at the manilla colored pages for a moment before his dark eyes fluttered back to your face. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course! Yeah that’s fine. I’ll.. Ill just go get ready!” You forced a smile, turning on your heel and basically racing out of his bedroom into your own. Shutting the door behind you, you felt your heart drop to your ass. You really fucked up this time, you really just had to open your big mouth. Getting naked infront of your roommate? One that you’ve had a very, very small amount of feelings for? You wanted to shoot yourself just to get out of the situation. That would be much easier then saying you changed your mind and watching the poor artist delve back down his hole of stress and anxiety over his art.

You bit your lip, walking infront of your mirror; glancing yourself over. Your fingers curled under his your tshirt, yanking it off your body before moving onto your shorts and panties. Now completely naked you turned, grimacing a bit at prominent stretch marks etched upon your dark mocha skin. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, anxiety trickling down your spine.

What if he didn’t like what he sees? Probably would tell you nevermind, after seeing your body. Oh, you wanted to cry from that thought. Instead, however— you slapped your cheeks, the sting knocking you away from your insecurities. Everything was going to be fine. As nonchalant as Choso was, he wouldn’t comment on your body in a negative light. He simply wasn’t that type of person. So, with a different pep in your step; you approached your closet to grab your black silk robe, pulling it onto your body and securing it at your waist. You waltzed out of your bedroom with a false sense of confidence, approaching his open door and walking in.

Choso’s chair was now turned towards his bed which was now made, a silk blanket tossed across it. He was sitting waiting, sketchbook rested upon his lap as his leg bounced; eyes shifting to you the moment you entered. You gave a nervous smile, walking inside and taking a seat on the bed. “I’ve never modeled for anyone before, I hope I do alright.”

He smiled a bit at you, the tension of the room dissipating the moment he did. “You’re a smart girl, you’ll be fine.” Choso spoke, not noticing the way your eyebrows shot up at his words. Instead of speaking you simply nodded, hands coming to the knot infront of you. You delicately undid the robe, pulling it off your body and placing it off to the side. Once finished you brought your hands to your chest, legs pushed together as you glanced over at the man. Gauging his reaction— slightly disappointed it was unreadable.

“H-How should I pose?”

Choso breathed softly, straightening in his chair as his gaze switched over you. “Is it alright if I touch you?.. It’s easier then explaining.” He didn’t move until you nodded, standing up from his seat and walking towards you. He gently pushed on your shoulder, murmuring for you to lay across his bed. You obeyed, back hitting the soft silky blankets, dark colored braids fanning around your features. Your skin went warm as he gently grabbed your calf, bending your legs to lay your feet against the bed. The artist took a step back for a moment, looking you over once again before nodding to himself. “We can take a few breaks when you get cold or achy.”

“Okay..” You spoke in a sing-song tone, watching as he sat back down. His hands delicately grabbed his sketchbook and pencil, assuring he was at the middle of the manilla page before gliding the lead across it. You breathed softly, laying completely still as not to ruin the image— while also, trying to ignore his gaze. Which wasn’t an easy task. It was calculating, focused completely on your body and nothing more. Sketching you with his eyes and then his fingers, pressing the pencil into the paper. It was intense, and you felt as if you couldn’t breathe under it.

Moments of silence passed, his scribbling, soft swears, and brief erasing the only sound. You soon began to relax under his gaze, feeling your anxiety seep away from your body. With how comfortable the blankets were, you could almost fall asleep. Almost.

His soft swears and scribbles kept interrupting you, and eyes blinking open to spot the small frustrated look over taking his features. You frowned a little, tapping your finger against your collarbone and adjusting your hips. “Is something wrong?” You called softly, watching his eyes snap from the page and over to you.

“No its.. it’s fine.”

You pursed your lips, sitting up for a moment and reaching for your robe. “We can take a small break if you’re not.” You grabbed it, pulling it over your body lazily. You stood up from his bed, walking over to stand beside him. On the page were a few sketches of you, some started while others were scribbled out. You hummed a bit, “These look nice.. why didn’t you finish them?”

“It’s..” Choso sighed softly, rising the sketchbook up higher. He seemed to search for the words for a moment, finally looking at you. “I can’t focus.”

“Focus?” You questioned, squinting at the pages with a confused expression. You glanced back at him, giving a nervous smile. “You seem to be focusing just fine, you just have t..” Your words drifted off as the male set his sketchbook off to the side, standing up from his chair. You glanced up at him, sucking in a breath when you noticed how intense his gaze was. Before you couldn’t distinguish it at all, but now? Oh, you knew that emotion all to well— that desire swirling in his eyes. Your breath hitched as he came close, hand reaching towards your own and gently grabbing it. Your grip loosened, the silky black robe falling to the ground before you, revealing your body to him once again. He breathed the moment he laid eyes on your form, hands hovering as if scared to touch you.

“Can’t believe you allowed me to see you like this..” Choso murmured more to himself then you, lips dropping as if in awe— as if he was truly seeing you for the first time. His eyes couldn’t remain on one point, dancing across your form and soaking you in. You felt so hot under your skin, despite the fact he hadn’t laid a finger on you.

“Choso.. Please touch me.” You finally spoke, voice coming out in a small whine. His eyes snapped back to your face, gauging the way your pretty lips formed a pout. That was enough for him, enclosing his arm around you and tugging you into his body, planting his lips against you. The kiss was slowly and calculated, a hand of his rising to gently grab the back of your head; tilting it so he could kiss you how he wished. His tongue prodded your plump lips, slithering into your mouth as he pushed forward. The moment the back of your knees hit the bed he was laying you on it, large form hovering above you; a hand pressed beside your head.

Your hands slid up his covered arms, gripping his shirt as he somehow deepened the kiss, taking your mouth as his own; tongue curling around and sucking your own appendage. Moments continued of the sweet lip locking, pulling away when air was needed. Soft pants entered the room, Choso leaning on his hunches, hands carrying down your body to your thighs, bending your legs and spreading them. You breathed as his eyes traced your form, heat emitting from them.

“I wasted your time, [Name]..”

“Hm?” You blinked in confusion, hands falling from his arms and to the bed, tilting your head up at him. Choso glanced at your face for a moment before he came to lean over you again, sucking kisses into your neck.

“I’m never letting anyone else see you like this. Never. Doesn’t matter if I drew it or not.” The words flew from his mouth in a deep tone, tracing his canines across your skin. His kisses lowered down your body to the valley between your breasts, lowering to your stomach, and finally.. where you needed him most. His strong hands grabbed the underside of your thighs, spreading your legs open for him. Choso breathed heavily at the sight of you, leaning down to kiss your mound. The action caused you to twitch, glancing down at his fluffy buns between your legs.

A soft oh, escaped you the moment his tongue separated your folds, lazily carrying across. The action alone causes your hands to travel to his hair, fingers curling and gripping the moment his lips wrapped around your clit. He was so gentle; carefully sucking, tongue gliding across the sensitive bud as his hands gripped your legs. Choso pressed his face against your wetting sex even more, lapping you up— slowly getting drunk from your taste. The man couldn’t believe you offered to model naked for him, completely bare; across his blankets. And he definitely couldn’t believe his head was between your legs, eating you up as if you were his last meal.

The pleasure trickled across your body, eyes pinched closed as you struggled against closing your legs around his head. The feeling was far too foreign, far too much— you couldn’t think about anything but his tongue and his lips, pulling soft moans out of your body. Your hips rose into his face, smothering him with your pussy; a groan of his vibrating your body. The man pulled back for a moment, gaining his breath back before he was diving back in; tongue circling your clit, making you a mess. Your fingers began to ache from hard you were clenching him, gasping as you felt him rest your legs on his shoulders, hands now falling to your ass to grip you. Pulling you even closer.

His name fell from your lips in a sweet tone, back arched as your eyes were pinched closed from the pleasure. It didn’t take long for your end to build closer and closer, moving your hips along to expert movements of his tongue. The moment the appendage pushed inside you, however, you were lost; crying out as your came all over his face.

Choso gripped you tighter, lapping up your mess, ignoring the soft whines you exhibited from the sensitivity. He finally released you once he was done, pulling back and breathing as he leaned his against your thigh, eyes looking up at you. From the way you were panting; pretty lips parted with a glossy film in your eyes, he had half a mind to go right back between your legs.

Instead he rose over your form, hand grasping your hip as your legs hung loosely on his waist. He smiled at you, leaning down to kiss your chin. “So beautiful…I’ve always thought so. The moment we became roommates.” His words were kind, soft, a distraction to the hand carrying down your body until his two fingers curled inside you, pushing all the way down to his knuckles. He followed as you jumped from the pleasure, watching your hand wrap around his wrist. “Now I get to make you feel good.. get to see you all beautiful under me.” Choso murmured, leaning to kiss you once again. His fingers started a slow pace inside you, pushing against your velvety walls, stretching you open from the thickness of them.

Your legs shook, moaning into his mouth before breaking the kiss to gasp the moment you felt his thumb circle your swollen bud. “Choso..” You spoke sweetly, eyebrows pinched close nails digging into his skin as his thrust grew faster. As amazing as it felt to you; his strong, long appendages pushing you open— you needed more. Your eyes opened, leaning up to brush your lips across his own. “Need you..” You spoke against them, other hand coming to wrap around his neck. To your dismay, the man shook his head at you, continued to scissor his fingers inside you.

“Choso—“

“I’m not going to rush.. I don’t want to hurt you.” Choso spoke against your lips, curling his fingers up to brush across that spongy spot inside you. He smiled at the muffled whine that escaped you, sliding a third finger inside. “Be good.. just wait.” He promised, pressing his finger harsher against your clit, soft rubs turning into fast tight circles. The artist continued this treatment for a while, you feeling another orgasm approaching. Despite how close you were, the careful thrusts of his fingers stopped, pulling them out of you.

Despite missing the warmth, you watched in excitement as the man began to push down his sweats and boxers, breathing softly as his cock came into view. A lighter color than the rest of his body, heavy and long, reaching just below his navel. The tip was flushed a soft red, thick— sure to stretch got completely. The thought alone caused our legs to shake, warm flushed hot in anticipation.

Choso came close, crown of his length gliding across your wet heat; coating himself in your essence. The movement alone had the two of you hissing, his hands tight on your hips as he slowly rocked his own. Once he felt he was lubricated enough, he was using a hand to line up with your entrance, slowly pushing in. The man swallowed as he felt your walls clamp around him, hunching over your body as he breathed. His eyes looked you over, leaning down to gently kiss the pained expression away.

“Takin’ me so well, princess.. I’m almost there.” Choso whispered into your skin, slowly pushing the rest of himself into you— bottoming out. He shuddered as he felt you pulse and throb around him, attempting to keep his hips still, struggling entirely. He closed his eyes, placing his face into your neck, smiling when he felt your hands grip his shirt. Gentle kisses traced your skin, a hand massaging your hip to coax you into relaxing. Moments passed before he was sure you were fine, pulling his hips backs slowly and experimentally. When he pushed in, and you only moaned in pleasure rather than pain; he knew he was fine.

Rising away from your neck, the man pulled his hips back again only pushing back in with more much force then before. He watched in awe at the way your lips fell open, honeyed moans escaping you as he rocked into you. The man wasn’t lying when he said he found you beautiful the moment you became his roommate. He hated himself, actually. Knowing any glance at you and his cock was twitching, imagining what it would be like to be with you.. to touch you, to feel every single part of you. Choso truly hated himself for thinking of his roommate in such a way.

But, he was grateful you returned the sentiment.

The moment he was placing his weight behind his thrusts your soft mind turned into sharp cries, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as you held onto him for stability. You were losing yourself, succumbing to the pleasure he was giving you, opening your body to him and only him. “Ch..choso, fuck!” You keened out, legs shaking around his form. You gasped as he came closer, pushing deeper inside to fuck right against your g-spot. Your hand lowered to his stomach, the man catching your wrist to turn it— locking your fingers.

“I know, I know.” The man cooed, soft swears escaping him each time he plunged in and out of your wet entrance. He pressed your hand against the bed, watching the way you attempted to hide your face— causing a disgruntled sound to escape him. Choso released your hand, grabbing your throat gently to turn you to face him. He grinned down at your wide eyes, “Keep your eyes right here, focus on me [Name].” The artist’s words came out soft, a complete contrast to the way he was bullying your insides. Even so, you obeyed; staring up at him even as your eyes grew blurry from the pleasure filled tears that collected in your vision.

You felt a familiar pressure in your stomach, legs wrapping around his waist tightly as your moans became shaky. In the midst of your babbles of his name and swears, you informed him you were close, causing the man to chuckle softly. “Hold it.”

“Choso..” His name came out in a whiney drag, tears trailing down your cheeks to which he kissed away. Again, a completely sweet contrast to the way he was fucking you.

“I—I can’t.”

“You can.” Choso confirmed softly, angling his hips so he brushed against your swollen nub with each thrust. “I know you can.. be good and wait for me, beautiful.” He breathed, slamming into your before his words could even escape. Though you whined again, you quickly listened, holding back your orgasm— which much trouble given the way he didn’t let up with his thrusts.

Moments of torture passed, your mind lost to the pleasure but still holding on just a bit. Choso was close now, thrusts desperate and uncoordinated as his groans turned guttural, face falling into your neck. Just when you thought you would burst he rasped into your ear, “Make me a mess, princess.”

You listened instantly, creaming all over his length, walls clenching tightly around him. Choso stuttered, plunging himself deeply before releasing inside you, filling you to the brim; shaking as you milked him. Your mixed pants entered the room, his hips stilling as he simply laid on top of you. Your arms wrapped around him, breathing him in with an exhausted smile.

“Are you really not gonna use my model?”

You whined a bit as he rolled his hips, grasping your leg and hitching it close to him. Choso pulled back to glance at you, thumb caressing the stretch marks on your skin.

“You’re all mine. No one else is allowed to see.”

[eff4freddie]

Privates

Joel Miller AU x Javier Pena x AFAB Reader/You

Word count: 9k

Joel takes a second job at the local strip club, hoping to cover Sarah's fees for her fancy new private school. He just has to make sure no one's gettin' too rowdy, and watch out for the girls. It would be really simple. If it weren't for you.

Warnings: porn with plot, this is a Joel Miller story but it's about a strip club so obviously Javi is there, reader is a stripper, no shame get your dollars ladies, MMF, Oral (f receiving), slow burn then smut, also a couple of other cameos, reader has limited physical descriptions other than in reference to her lady parts, this is really filthy even for me, pining while Joel really trying to hang on to some semblance of morals, Javi says maybe two words? Explicit. Minors DNI.

He thought his hearing was bad before he took the job, that years of construction work; drilling, hammering, screaming at Tommy for fucking up the A-frame, would be the thing that robbed him of one of his more essential senses. But it turned out it wasn’t that, it was the incessant bass, the thrum of the sub-woofer reverberating around his skull. The way he felt it jolt his spine, Mikey the DJ hell-bent on obliterating the patron’s ability to think straight with sound alone, as if the watered down booze wasn’t toxic enough to cloud their judgement.

But Sarah needed to go to the fancy school, the one with the uniforms and the shiny brochures, and he hadn’t figured it would be all that mentally taxing. He could do without the late nights at his age, but he got paid after-hours rates to basically walk around and look menacing, and only once or twice a night did he have to actually step in and boot a guy. Sarah had just joined the debate team. Like she needed any help with arguin’.

He'd only told a handful of friends, Tommy so that he knew if he was late to a job it wasn’t because he was on a bender but just because he was working late, a couple of the guys at poker night because he thought they might get a kick out of it. They had, immediately asking him to get them in without the cover charge. He’d refused, but in a good-natured way, and so far they’d steered clear of the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was shy about it, if that’s what it was. Giving the air of authority, trying to be respectful while the girls did their work. He mostly ignored the stage, felt his cheeks burn if he happened to look up to see a girl bent over, thong waving in a guy’s face. He scanned the floor, walked the halls outside the privates, kept his eye on the clock and the bar, waited for his break so he could take a load off and get away from the kick drum assaulting his temples.

The guys kept telling him he’d won the lottery, lucked out on a dream job. And he would agree, except for you.

He’d met you on his third shift, right when he was allowed to walk the floor without a supervisor. He was already learning how to read the floor, how to pick up on cues from the girls that a guy was trouble, was figuring out that just standing with a scowl on his face and his black shirt on in a darkened room was often times enough to keep a blowhard in line. He was getting used to the girls tipping him at the end of a shift, although it felt weird to take their money when he’d just seen how they made it. He was getting used to the dull ache in his knees, in the soles of his feet, reminding himself not to complain when he saw the six-inch plastic heels the girls traded in.

He was learning that each girl picked their music, that often times the songs they chose reflected their dance personas, the girls dancing to pop songs going for the cutesy vibe, the girls dancing to heavy guitar riffs and shouty lyrics dressed up in black and red lace, dangerous and menacing. He was getting used to the way the room shifted in response to whatever was going on stage, was noticing he needed to pay more attention when the younger-looking girls, the blondes in pigtails, took to the stage.

He felt the room go quiet, a kind of hush when your name was called. The shift was enough to make him pause, mid-stride, moving his gaze from a man trying to buy a drink for a girl he suspected was under 21, to the stage. The heavy bass hit him in the chest, the stage lights purple and red, when you emerged, thigh first, from behind the tatty little red curtain. You were all hips and cleavage, all gentle curves and smooth lines, skin glowing and buttery soft under the stage lights. You moved slowly, your hands ghosting over your breasts, as you made eye contact with every patron in the room, your red painted lips curling into a knowing smile as you regarded them, as you took purchase of them, as you measured them and found them all wanting. You were selecting your prey, he could see it in your eyes, and he was fully prepared for your gaze to skip over him, to see his outfit of black and his number around his neck and know that he was a non-starter, except that as soon as your eyes landed on him they stared there, and he could swear you added an extra little wiggle in your hips for him, an exaggerated dip as you held the pole to you and swivelled around it, as you winked at him, fucking winked right there in public like it wasn’t the most obscene thing you could have done in this environment, and he felt it then, that the two of you were in it together, that you had let him in on the grift, that if you were his Bonnie he would do everything he could to be your Clyde.

He turned as you got busy, gave you the privacy he felt you deserved as you shimmied your skirt down, and he found he had no idea where to look now, had forgotten his rotation, had been thrown completely from his rounds. He wanted a shot of hard whiskey, the proper shit that they kept for the high-rollers, he wanted to go out the back to the employee bathroom and dunk his head into the sink. He wanted to march up that stage and pull you off it, bundle you into his car and disappear with you into the night, his fingers nestled in your wet, wanting cunt as he drove, claiming it back from all the men you’d ever shown it to.

He balled up his fist, wondering what exactly had just fuckin’ happened to him, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you revolving around the pole, your legs curling into the air in front of you so that, if he were to look, he would get a perfect view of Eden between your thighs.

He figured he should check the back room. It had probably been a while since anyone had.

--

You weren’t there every night. From askin’ around, none too subtly he suspected, he’d learned you were studying your master’s degree, taking classes in the daytime then coming by to work some shifts. You’d been there for a while, degrees are long and hard to get, and you mostly kept to yourself. Sometimes on slow nights you read your textbook in the dressing room until someone dropping cash came by. He felt his pulse quicken at this, at the earnestness of it, the innocence in it, and he resolved then that it would go no further. He would stop. He wouldn’t check the roster to see which nights you were working, wouldn’t watch the back door until he saw you appear, bundled up in a winter jacket and a heavy bag over your shoulder, in sneakers and jeans and somehow all the sexier for it, wouldn’t make shitty mistakes on the job site because he was distracted, waiting for your next shift to roll around, wouldn’t stalk the floor sullen and moody on the nights you weren’t in. He would do none of that, because he was too old for a schoolboy crush, because you were both working professionals, colleagues even, because it could never go anywhere without some sort of destruction, because Sarah was doing so damn well in her new school.

He watched out for you. That was his job, to watch out for all the girls. He watched out for you when you started to approach a guy who was already four drinks deep and threatening to get handsy, stepping in before you got to him to redirect him to a glass of water, then the door. He watched out for you when another girl got too drunk or too high and started causing a scene right beside where you were standing at the bar, pulling her away gently by the biceps before she could shatter a bottle and ricochet any glass into your general direction. He watched your back when you were in the privates, kept a respectable distance outside the open doorway, the little U-shaped couches meaning often times all he could see were the guy’s legs, sometimes the cream of your thighs as they dangled over his, the curve of your calf easing into the point of your heel. He watched out for you as you retreated to the dressing room for a break, kept an eye on the door to make sure no patrons tried to slip in while you were resting. He steered clear of the dressing room itself. That was your private space, you and all the girls. He had a little office back there, but he would just make sure to take everything he needed with him at the start of his shift, take his breaks in the back room amongst the toilet rolls and broken sound equipment.

He watched out for you when he wouldn’t let you tip him, figuring you needed it for school, gently pushing your hand away when you tried to pass him a twenty at the end of every shift.

--

Sunday nights were dead.  Most of the girls never worked it, preferring instead the busier nights, the bucks’ parties and the bigger crowds. There was only a small subset of girls who worked the Sundays, the ones who tended to have regulars come in to visit them, the ones who liked the chilled-out vibe a little more, who used the downtime to practice new tricks on the pole or discuss hair removal and boob jobs right there on the floor. Those were the nights when he felt everyone was a little more themselves, that the grift was a little lesser, when the patrons were generally more well behaved so the girls could let their guards down. No one felt like getting up to all that much bullshit on a Sunday.

But his feet didn’t know any of that, protesting all the same despite the more relaxed vibes, and he was hovering behind one of the booths on the floor resting his hip on it to ease the pressure off one foot for a moment, before shifting his weight to the other. This little method meant he could stay standing, more or less in the same position, for sometimes up to an hour. But on the quiet nights, with so many empty booths around, it was all the harder to resist just sinking down into the cushions and stopping the blood pooling in his shoes.

Candy Jane was on stage, shifting her hips without much conviction, a couple of regulars already with their girls. He could see you, propped up in a corner booth, your eyes on the stage but unmoving. He thought you looked tired, wondered if your feet were hurting as much as his were, and he thought long and hard about sliding in beside you, pulling you into his lap and nudging your head onto his shoulder.

You looked up, then, swivelling your eyes to him and he felt his stomach drop. He was about to start another round of the privates just for something to do but you were getting up on your feet, strolling over to him, the singles and twenties strapped to your thigh by your garter.

‘Joel,’ you said, grabbing his hand and pushing him into a booth behind him. ‘Come sit by me, I’m bored.’

He had seen you flirt with the patrons, a kind of hyper-sexualised bunny thing that promised them every sexual desire they could ask for without ever actually delivering, the art of the tease so acute in you that none of them seemed to even realise they’d been played. He marvelled at that, always kind of admired it, at the street smarts of the girls extracting money from the men who thought they had any power in the situation. He looked at you now, sitting an arm’s length away from him, and felt almost entirely under your spell.

‘Not s’posed to sit on the floor when I’m workin,’ he said, almost apologetic, and you shrugged your shoulders at him.

‘It’s dead, Joel-y,’ you said, and you weren’t flirting with him now, you were just yourself, and he liked you all the better this way, all the more for the earnestness of you, for this version of you none of the other men ever got to see.

‘Just don’t be offended if I have’ta get up and leave quick,’ he said, and you smiled at him.

‘I don’t think you could ever do anything offensive,’ you said, and you were kind of teasing him but also really meant it, and you watched him blush, shifting his body in his chair to face a little further from the stage. ‘Why don’t you watch?’ you asked, rolling your ankles and feeling the tendons stretch. You were hoping your regular would show up soon so you could finally earn something, the house fee already putting you in the red.

‘S’not right to watch, not here for my…jollies,’ he finished, and you grinned at him.

‘Your jollies?’ you teased. He huffed out a shy laugh, looking down at his lap.

‘Y’know what I mean,’ he went on. ‘M’workin’, we’re all workin’.

‘You aren’t curious to take a peek?’ you asked, leaning closer to him. If he was a better man, he would have been able to resist the urge to peak down the top of your dress, the silly little spandex straps barely holding you in, your tits heaving with your breath and with how heavily you were teasing him.

‘Course I am,’ he confessed, almost hissing it out over the bass thumping through his body.

‘A man of principles,’ you appraised, moving back to give him a little break, wondering if he was hard yet. You knew he watched you closely, knew that he lingered outside the doorway for you more than any other girl when you were in a private, knew that he was going out of his way not to look at you when you danced on stage, and the innocence of it, the thrill of it when you had everyone else’s attention except his, it fascinated and annoyed and scolded you, tickled you around the collarbone. You watched as he scratched at the salt and pepper patches dotting his jaw, at how he swallowed so hard his muscle ticked and strained under the force of it.

‘Why don’t you take my tips?’ you asked. Candy’s dance slot was nearly over, and you were waiting to see Destiny. She’d promised to show you one of her new pole tricks hanging inverted, and even after all this time you still hadn’t worked up the courage to do that.

‘You need to save ‘em up, get your degree,’ he answered, without thinking, finding it so hard to think through the want for you, for the proximity of you, now that he could smell your perfume and feel your body heat along his side.

‘You know about that?’ you asked, surprised.

Oh shit, he thought. Just like that he’d fucked it.

‘One of the other guards, he mentioned it. Said he saw you reading a textbook one time,’ he covered, as quickly as he could given the circumstances. You nodded at him, as if this satisfied you, but he wasn’t sure if he’d actually pulled it off. His throat was dry, and it was so hot in the club, was it always this hot in the damn club? First chance he got he was gonna call his HVAC guy.

‘What are you studying?’ he asked, but you were smiling then, eyes bright and over his shoulder.

‘Hey, Javi!’ you squealed, giggling and rising from the booth, pushing your chest out and wiggling towards the man Joel had come to recognise as your regular. The lucky bastard always wore aviators, his jeans so tight Joel was surprised he didn’t burst a button when he got a hard on, his moustache quirking up in greeting to you. Joel wondered if you would ever squeal and rush towards him like that, not caring for one second that it was just part of the grift. 

--

You’re not on shift, haven’t been on shift for a week, and his bones itch under his skin, his feet pacing up and down the carpet outside the privates, patrolling the floor like it insulted him. He hates that he checks the roster at the start of every shift and doesn’t see your name listed, hates that he’s worried about you; that you’re sick, that you’re hurt, that you’ve fucking left. He’s useless at his real job, nearly degloving his entire hand with a band saw he was so distracted wondering if he’d see you that night. This can’t go on, and he knows that, but he just needs to know what happened to you, just needs to know that you’re OK, and then he can get back to being dead inside.

Because that’s what you’ve done to him, he realises. You’ve made him feel alive. He can’t resent you for it, you didn’t know it was what you’d done, but it sets his teeth on edge and it unnerves him in a way that makes him consider quitting, finding another club, maybe not a titty-bar, maybe something he can actually put on his resume. He considers it while simultaneously knowing he won’t do it, would never do it, that he’s too far gone even while he can’t go any further.

He stops checking the roster. It hurts in a way he can’t quite get his head around, a pain he doesn’t have any room to accommodate sitting tight and hot in his chest. He keeps his eyes on the patrons and the clock. He takes his breaks in the back room. He feels tired down to the bone.

--

Two weeks after he’d last seen you, he starts his shift the way he always does, going into the back before too many girls arrive to put his bag in his locker and fill his pockets with whatever he’ll need for the rest of the night. He’s busy trying to put a protein bar in his pocket in such a way that it doesn’t look like he has a hard on when he hears footsteps behind him.

‘Joel-y’, you say, and he swings his head towards the sound so hard he thinks he hears something snap. You’re smiling at him, dressed in your jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee, and he has to consciously remind his heart to keep beating. You’re holding one of your enormous heels in your hand.

‘Where have you been?’ he blurts out, not caring that he sounds needy. You blink at him, surprised.

‘You missed me?’ you ask, and you’re teasing him but he doesn’t care, because he’s glad all over that you’re back and he’ll take all the sass in the world from you if you just stay there.

‘You didn’t…’ Didn’t what, he thinks. Didn’t check in with me? Say goodbye? There’s no reason why you would have. Didn’t promise you weren’t grossed out by him, that he’d made you so uncomfortable you’d gone to work at another club? ‘You didn’t mention you were taking a break,’ he said, eventually.

‘Oh, I had mid-terms,’ you say, breezily. He’s stepping out of his little office now, trying to put space between you before he says something else blatantly insane and stupid, hoping to go back to just looking at you from dark corners while he furtively hopes you don’t see.

‘Wait,’ you say to him, grabbing him by the arm. You hold your shoe up, and he can see where the strap has come away from the base. He takes it from you, feels the brush of your fingertips as he does it, tries to ignore the little flip in his tummy.  

‘Leave it with me,’ he says, stepping towards the backroom where he knows there’s superglue. ‘You got another pair?’

‘Yeah, but those are my favourites,’ you say, looking up at him carefully, watching his face for something. You haven’t got your heavy stage make-up on yet, haven’t curled your hair into gentle waves, and you’re so beautiful like this, he thinks, when he can see the actual colour of your lips, your cheeks.

‘Twenty minutes,’ he says. You smile at him. He wonders if you’ll put your hand on his arm again. You turn away.

--

In the backroom he sits on an upturned milk crate, holding the strap to the base so the superglue will affix to it. If he had his tools he would try and nail it down, but there’s a chance he could shatter the base and these heels seem expensive for something that makes all you girls look so darn cheap.

Your shoes are so small in his hands, and he imagines just for a second its your foot he’s cradling in his lap. He has the presence of mind just enough to wonder what fucked up version of Cinderella he’s trying to live.

He checks the strap, pulls hard on it three times, before he’s satisfied enough to give it back to you.

--

He realises his error, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. He had mentioned to the guys at poker that Sundays were the quiet ones, that the music was just low enough to be able to think, that the girls mostly entertained themselves while their regulars paid them to chat, sometimes to dance. Where you could always get a seat at the tipping rail, could even swing a three song dance out of a twenty if the girl was bored enough.

He feels the drop in his stomach when he sees them, approaching the bar en masse. He can’t remember where you are, he’d lost sight of you between the booths on the floor and the privates, and he tries to remember what time your stage slot was, having checked the roster again despite swearing black and blue he wouldn’t. They haven’t seen him yet, and he wonders if he can just slip out the back and make a break for it, tell them he was sick so he wasn’t working, and they need to fucking call him first. He knows them, knows that they’re not bad guys, that they’re here to keep him company and maybe see some butt while they’re at it. But it stirs in him a deep panic, that they will see you, that they’ll get their eyes on you before he’s really even let himself have a chance to, before he can make you all his own.

A silly little delirious part of him, right at the back of his skull, whispers that it’ll make your wedding really awkward. He shoos it away like an errant mosquito.

Benny sees him, then, is waving him over.

‘Joel, we made it!’ he yells over the music, the guys turning to him to welcome him into the circle. Tommy is already at the bar ordering the beers, but he nods to his big brother. Joel worries for a second that you’ll like his brother better, before he remembers you don’t even like him at all.

He stalks over to him, his jaw aching from the strain, while he looks through the darkness to try and find you. He’ll just have to run interference for a while, keep them busy while you work the floor, try and bundle them back out into the cold before your stage slot.

‘Gentlemen,’ he says, laced with irony, and they’re slapping him on the back, welcoming him in. He reminds himself these guys are mostly Tommy’s friends. Wouldn’t be that sad if he never saw them again.

Frankie tries to hand him a beer but he pushes it away. ‘Workin’.’ He says, simply.

‘More f’me,’ Frankie grins from under his cap.

‘So where’s the best place to sit?’ Benny asks, surveying the room. There are a couple of girls walking the floor, Amber on the stage twisting her hips to the music while staring out over all of their heads.

‘You gotta tip if you sit on the rail,’ Joel says, simply, and Benny nods.

‘I got singles!’ Pope says, ever the responsible one, always the one planning. ‘Sorry, hermano, not enough for you.’ Joel grins at him. Pope can stay, he thinks. Pope will keep his mouth shut.

‘Look, you sit in that booth there,’ Joel says, pointing them to the centre of the room, ‘you can see the stage perfect. You wanna tip a girl though, you gotta get up onta the rail, make sure they know about it.’ He leans in a little, like he’s sharing a secret. ‘These girls work real hard. Make sure you treat ‘em right, ok? They’re good girls. Smart girls. You don’t come here just to look and not sling ‘em some hard earned.’

‘Yes sir,’ Pope says, making a salute that Joel considers might actually be real. He can’t be sure. Tommy was the one who spent a few years in the army with them, not him.

‘Vamos!’ Pope calls, rounding them up and shoving them down onto the cushions. Now Joel just needs to figure out where you are.

--

You keep fuckin’ evading him. One minute you’re in a private, the next you’re at the bar chatting to a patron, trying to get him to buy off the top shelf. Electra is on the stage, and Tommy is entranced by her, the bills practically falling out of his hands while she bends to pick them up with her teeth. It’s distracting Joel, trying to keep an eye on them while also trying to keep distance between you, and the boys are inviting girls over to them, beckoning to them from the stage to come sit by them, and he knows it’s not long before your dance slot is up, knows that as soon as they see you they’ll want you, that they’ll beckon you over, that you’ll fuckin’ go.

He can’t be everywhere, can’t keep doing his job while also trying to manage this situation, has to keep pacing the privates to keep the other patrons in line. He never thought there’d be a time that he wished that fuckin’ Javi guy would show up just to keep you out of sight for a while.

They keep calling to him, too, trying to get him to come over and sit down no matter how many times he explains to them he’s working, that the girls need him to keep an eye on things. Will’s trying to keep a straight face but he’s snickering up at him, and Joel wonders what’s so damn funny.

‘Bet you do keep an eye on things,’ he grins, a little shit-eating thing that makes Joel’s hand curl into a fist. He shakes it loose, the music making it so hard to think, jarring his nervous system. He’s about to say something, about to find a reason to throw the lot of them out, when your name gets called over the loudspeaker. You’re being called to the stage. You’re up next. On the stage.

He has approximately thirty seconds to do something. He is completely rooted to the spot. At the tipping rail his little brother is waiting, dollars in hand. He thinks he might pass out or puke, possibly both and not in that order. His head is swimming. ‘Not like this,’ he thinks. He just doesn’t want you to meet his friends like this.

‘Holy shit,’ he hears Pope say, and he turns to the stage. Your thigh is appearing around the curtain, the shoe he fixed for you running up and down its raggedy edge. You’re all swagger and tits tonight, your hair swept over one eye, and he’s transfixed for a second, completely unable to move, as you shimmy up to the centre of the stage, take the pole in your hand and swivel, kicking your legs out behind you so that you corkscrew down to your knees. Pope is moving to the tipping rail, Benny following close behind. Tommy is leaning forward on his elbows, pulled in by you almost on instinct, and you’ve clocked him now, crawling on your hands and knees towards him.

For a second, Joel sees you pause, studying Tommy’s face, before you search for him in the crowd. You’ve noticed the family connection, and he freezes, terrified of your reaction. Are you going to be angry? Feel betrayed? Hurt that he’s brought his friends here to ogle you, to watch your hips shimmy and your tits bounce? Has he broken some kind of professional code, could he get fuckin’ fired for this, will you never speak to him again? He tries to communicate to you with his eyes that he didn’t bring them here, that he doesn’t want this, that whatever the fuck’s going on with these guys he wants no part in it. He wants you to know he sees you, you in jeans and a tee shirt, that it’s that you he wants.

For a long moment you stare at each other, Joel’s pulse heavy and thick in his ears. You lean back, rear up so that all your weight is on your knees. You run your hand up your side and into your mouth where you bite down on your index finger. You keep your eyes fixed right on his. You wink.

--

So, this is what its like to have a heart attack, Joel thinks. It’s slower than he expected. It’s been hours, and the guys are still here, and by some stroke of divinity or possible the opposite, so is he.

The number of times he’s reminded the guys they have work in the morning. How he’s complained that the music is giving him a headache, and man that pounding base makes it hard to think, and wouldn’t it be fun if they all went to a sports bar, see if the replay of the Knicks game is on? But they can’t leave yet, won’t leave, because they want to see you on stage again, want one last look at your creamy thighs and your bucking hips before they go home and jerk off thinking of their tongues in your cunt. He’s going to have an aneurysm right here on the goddamn floor of this fuckin’ strip club. Sarah’s gonna find out where he’s been workin’ all this time.

The one thing his brother has done for him, the one thing Tommy has done right in his life, is to lay down a rule before they got there that they can’t get any private dances.

‘Didn’t come out here to see ya’ll with hard-ons’, he reminds them, and they snicker but begrudgingly agree, and Joel won’t lie that he feels a surge of pride in his fuckin’ idiot baby brother and his one good idea.

Joel knows the girls are on a roughly two-hour rotation, that by the end of the night all of them will have been on stage about three times. The only problem is that if a girl’s in a private she gets skipped until she’s ready, so sometimes some girls might even need to do more. It seems especially cruel to him that if a girl’s having a bad night, not reeling anything in, not making any money on her own that she gets paraded out even more to the baying crowds of disinterested patrons. He’s seen a few girls with tears in their eyes on the way to the dressing room, complaining of an off night. He’s been around long enough to know that these happen, that there’s no rhyme or reason to them really, just that sometimes that particular girl just isn’t flavour of the night. He’s never seen it with you, though. Never seen you fail to take a man by the hand and lead him down the dark corridor to the u-shaped couches if you deem him worthy. It burns him up with jealousy and also he’s proud of you for it. His good girl taking no prisoners.

He wonders if he can tell the DJ to take you off the rotation, if you’ll notice if you just don’t get called again, but he also knows it would be messing with your money, that Pope and Benny and Will are making good on their promise to tip well. That you’ve got bills and a college degree to earn, that the fact that he’s sick in the guts with a jealous want doesn’t matter, should never be part of the equation when it comes to you.

He does another round, still hoping to see you, still hoping to find you in a private somewhere, but you’ve made yourself scarce and he wonders if it’s because of him, because of his friends being here, worries that he’s embarrassed you. There’s only one other place you could be, tucked away in the dressing room hiding out, unless you’ve just got dressed and left completely, not even bothering with the attempt to tip him tonight.

He shouldn’t but also he needs to, knocks hard on the door and calls out that it’s him before he pushes it open. With all the lights on around the mirrors the place has a warm glow, and he scans quickly to make sure he’s alone before he pushes himself into the room. You’re not here, either, which means he doesn’t know where you are, and he feels a little flare of panic in his sternum. He rests his hand on it, trying to steady his catching breath. He should check the roster. Maybe you had an early finish.

He nearly steps on you when he rounds the corner into his little office. You’re lying flat on your back on the floor, headphones over your ears. For a terrible second he thinks you’ve passed out in here before he realises you’re tapping your feet, your head swaying back and forth to the music only you can hear. He leans down and pushes, gentle, at your shoulder. Your eyes snap open and you startle, pulling the headphones free.

‘Jesus,’ you say, and he steps back again, hangs around the door.

‘Sorry,’ he says, hands up in appeasement. ‘Didn’t mean to scare ya.’

‘No, no, I’m sorry,’ you say, scrambling to stand. Your heels are catching on the carpet and you waver, Joel coming forward to steady you. ‘Sometimes I come by here and stretch out my back a little, the heels are…hard work,’ you say, and he realises you’re blushing, that you think he’s mad. He shakes his head at you, brows saddled.

‘S’ok,’ he says, not letting go of your arm.

‘You’re just not normally in here,’ you say, and you look up at him then, fixing your eyes on his.

‘You can come here any time you like,’ he says. Wants to add that everything you ever wanted he will get for you, that anything you ever asked he would do.

‘-nks,’ you say, feeling shy all of a sudden, realising the size of his hands for the first time.

‘I didn’t know they were comin’,’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady, and you blink for a second, trying to understand. ‘I didn’t invite ‘em, they just showed up.’

‘So, he is your brother,’ you say, smiling now. Joel nods his head at you, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘He’s cute,’ you say. ‘Runs in the family.’

Joel grunts at this, can’t quite believe he’s heard it, tries really hard to think straight. You’re wearing practically nothing in his little office on a quiet Sunday night while his brother and four of his friends throw dollars at random half-naked women. It’s a lot to take in.

‘They’re not getting dances,’ you observe, and Joel shakes his head.

‘Their decision, outta respect or somethin’, I guess.’

‘Respect for you?’ you clarify.

‘Each other, I think.’

‘Oh, that’s silly,’ you say. He feels the heat up his neck, a bloom of something worrisome in his tummy. ‘That’s like going to Disneyland and not getting on any of the rides.’

‘I’m gonna have to beg you to rephrase that,’ Joel says, and you grin at him. He can see that flirty sex bunny emerging in you again, can see that you’re up to somethin’, his brain too addled with the smell of you in his office to figure what.

You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you smile, your little dimple on your right cheek popping up when you’re thinking of something sneaky. He wants to kiss it every morning in the warm light of dawn. Wants you wrapped up in his sheets, hair stretched over his pillow, his hands on your tummy and your breast while he eases his fingers between your thighs.

‘Breaks over then, I guess,’ you say, and you’re practically bouncing out of the room now, his brain working just enough to remind him to follow you. He’s three or four paces behind, alarmed at how fast you can go with those heels on, and he sees it now, that you’re making a beeline for them, that you’re a woman on a mission to finally tip him over the edge, to send him right to his grave.

He can only watch, helplessly, trying to figure which one you’ll reach for. Prays it’s not Tommy. Or Will. Or Benny. Or fuckin’ Frankie. For some reason he thinks Pope might be OK. He watches, his pulse hard and racing in his throat, as you approach, six paces from them, then four, then three. Tommy’s noticed you, is pushing back his chair.

And right before you get to them, right before you’re within grasping reach of his brother, you turn, pivot on your heel to the bar, where fuckin’ Javi is waiting for you, cigarette hanging out of his mouth and beer in hand, one knee cocked to the side. You melt into his arms, resting your head on his shoulder, and somehow Joel is relieved and also it’s so much fucking worse then he could ever imagine, burns him brighter than if you had chosen one of his friends, knows that it’s both a lifeline and a spool of barbed wire you’ve thrown him, knows that he’s latched onto it anyway, can feel the tug and tear of his skin.

--

He's hovering outside the privates. His friends have finally packed it in, it’s nearing 1 AM, and in all the commotion he’d forgotten that his feet are killing him, and they’re really crying for his attention now. But he ain’t leavin’ you alone with that Javi guy, doesn’t trust the way his shirts never fuckin’ fit.

He’s so tired, the adrenaline of the night leaking out of him just to leave him wavering and empty, and he feels like he’s on his last nerve, the stress of the evening, the strangeness of it, wearing him down to the stub. But your little shoe sat right in the palm of his hand, but you went to this office to relax when you thought he wouldn’t know about it, but you fuckin’ winked at him like the rest of the room wasn’t even goddamn there, and he ain’t leavin’ you now.

And if he leans on the wall a little, takes the weight off one foot and transfers it up into his shoulder, if he cocks his head to the side, he can just peek you, see Javi’s tight jeans and the plush of you bottom as you grind it on him, your arms up over your head to make your sweet little tits sway in his face.

He shouldn’t be hard at work. Shouldn’t be leaning like this, crowding himself into the corner to get a better look. He knows there are camera in the hallways, as much to keep an eye on the staff as to keep a watch on the patrons, and he knows that somewhere footage is being collected of him right now peeping in on you. He doesn’t fuckin’ care. He can see the way your stockings are banding too tight across your thighs, and he wants to sooth the skin with his tongue, pull the nylon off you and kiss his way around the angry red rings in your flesh. He can see your hips rocking to the music, your hair swaying down your back. Your hands moving to grasp behind you, pushing your chest up and out into Javi’s face.

And he sees it then, the way Javi’s hands are hovering, lifting off the couch and threatening to come down on your skin. The club has a strict no-touchin’ policy, it was drilled into him on his first day. That’s an infraction worthy enough to get him booted out of here, never allowed to set foot in this fine establishment of dirty tomfoolery ever again. Joel swallows, his eyes now fixed on Javi’s hands, waiting for the moment they brush against your soft, glittering skin, takes a step forward towards the doorway, doesn’t even notice that you’ve pivoted, your hands on Javi’s knees as you grind your bottom down, leaning back to rest your head on Javi’s shoulder. Locking eyes with Joel.

His cock is throbbing in time to the music. The bass thrums in his chest. You hook your knees over Javi’s, first the left then the right, and push them open just enough to give Joel a tease. You’re still in your thong but it’s enough for Joel to see the sheen of the fabric, that you’re wet down there in the valley between your thighs. He licks his lips, a hand coming to rest on his chest, as he gazes at you with the kind of want that sets your nervous system on fire.

You’re swivelling your hips on Javi, can feel that he’s hard underneath you, but you want it to be Joel, want more than his eyes on you now that you’ve got them, want his hands and his tongue and his cock. You whimper, and you hear Javi groan behind you, as if any of this is for him. Javi pulls his knees further apart, unknowingly opens you up for Joel, and there’s a moment where you feel more naked then when you’re topless in front of fifty strange men. Joel has stripped you bare, to the quick. You can see how fast he’s breathing by the way his hand rises and falls on his chest. You time your movements to it, jerk your hips as if he’s breathing his touch into you from across the room.

Except he’s mad, now, you can see the way his brows have furrowed, the way his jaw has set, and you’re too hot and too overwhelmed to realise until the last moment that Javi has his hands on you, is cupping your breasts from behind, trying to reach from behind to tweak your nipples, pulling you further down into his chest to rub more fully on his cock.

Joel’s with you in four strides and you reach for him, both arms lifting up to his as he wrenches you free, screams at Javi to back off, pulls you behind him and shields you with his body while he threatens to beat Javi to a pulp before throwing him out onto the street, then beating him to death where the cameras don’t point.

‘You don’t fuckin’ touch her,’ he’s yelling, and he can feel that his throat is raw, dry, but he can’t fuckin’ think over the crushing beat in his ears, realises after a couple of stilted moments that it’s not the music that’s deafening him but that it’s his heart, that he’s vibrating with fury and want, that Javi has backed up a bit on the couch and lifted his hands in the air but hasn’t scurried away, that he’s not scared or worried at all, that he got to put his hands on heaven and will do nothing to apologise for it, and something snaps in Joel, something feral and needy and primal, something that has been chewing at the bars of its cage for months.

He pulls you to him and you gasp, can feel Joel’s pulse through your back as he manoeuvres you to rest on his chest, lifts one foot up onto the couch while he strips your thong from you, spreads you open for Javi, your body weight leaning on his as he holds you with just one arm around you.

‘This is how you fuckin’ touch her,’ Joel seethes, pushing his hand down over your belly and onto your waiting cunt, cupping your slit and teasing the slick gathering there up and over your clit. You gasp, the leg you have planted on the floor shaking as he strums, gently but somehow so firm, and you can feel yourself opening up to him, your cunt wet and aching, trying to draw him in.

‘You seein’ this, see how wet she gets for me?’ he’s saying, and you glance down to see that Javi is indeed watching, shock on his face and locked in a kind of paralysis, his eyes flicking between your cunt and Joel’s furious face. ‘You couldn’t get this from her,’ Joel is saying, and you’re leaning back into him because your knees are definitely going to buckle, but he holds you firm and steady, and you lift your face up to the ceiling and gasp.

Joel isn’t thinking, just listening to you, just letting his fingers finally touch what he’s dreamt about for months. Your sopping cunt is probably dribbling onto his pants and he doesn’t care, wants it there, wants you deep down in the fibres of the fabric where he’ll never scrub you free. You gasp again when he pushes two fingers in, feels your walls expand to accommodate him, raises the heel of his palm to ease the stretch by rubbing quick little circles on your clit.

‘Slide right in,’ he says, his unhinged commentary gritting out over the music, loud enough for just you and Javi to hear. ‘S’what happens when you’ve got her achin’ for ya,’ he says matter-of-factly.

You’re rolling your hips now, unable to help yourself as you arch your back, wanting to twist in his arms and sink your teeth into his neck, lick and lave at his collarbone, keen into his skin until the sound of it attaches itself to his bones.

‘Look at that pretty cunt,’ Joel is still saying, almost frantic now, the heat on his skin making it impossible to think of anything else, anything so complex as consequences. He’s lost in the touch of it, in the way Javi is looking at him imploringly, the way he can see that this pompous fuckin’ arsehole is getting a schoolin’ on pleasuring a woman, in the way you’re gasping and whimpering just for him. ‘S’mine,’ he says, twisting his fingers up to the knuckle in you, hooking into the spongey spot he knows will make you see stars.

He wants Javi to beg him to stop. Wants him to get down on his knees and apologise, wants him to swear he’ll never come back. But he’s distracted, because you’re calling to him now, the sound of your sweet cries of his name echoing through the vacant halls of his brain.

‘Joel-y’, you’re whimpering, babbling. ‘Joel-y, please,’ and you’re not even sure what you’re asking for, just that he’s torturing you, setting you on fire right here in the privates, that the pleasure he’s wringing from you is too much, too overwhelming, that you want to collapse into him but you’re still trying to bear some of your weight, that your thighs are wobbling and your body is screaming at you to let go but you can’t, not in this position, no matter how good it is, because you can’t get purchase, you can’t grind, the heel of his hand is too blunt on your clit.

He can sense it, that he’s trapped you right where it’s too much and not enough, and a part of him wants to leave you there, wants to make you feel what he’s felt all those weeks he spent waitin’ for ya, checkin’ that fucking roster like a goddamn fuckin’ dog, causin’ all those little fuck ups at the job site thinkin’ about this little cunt wrapped so tight around his knuckles.

But he’s not cruel.

‘Lick it,’ he barks out, gesturing down your body to Javi while he pushes you forward, shifts your weight more fully to the couch. You instinctually hook your knee over Javi’s shoulder, the extra leverage finally giving you purchase enough to properly move. ‘Suck her little clit ‘til she fuckin’ soaks me,’ Joel says, and there’s no arguing with him, not that you would, not that Javi would by the look on his face.

He's looking uncertain, like this might be a trap, and you reach down and grab his hair in your hand. ‘Please, Javi,’ you say, and he’s on you then, without further hesitation, his lips catching your little bud and grasping it between his teeth. You scream, feel Joel jostle you until your head is twisted around to bury in his neck, and you can feel more than hear the little rasps of encouragement as he talks you through it.

‘Such a good girl f’me,’ he’s saying, and you’re barely registering it, but your cunt is listening, clamping down hard on his fingers as Javi grips you with his mouth. ‘Teachin’ us both a thing or two, ain’t ya, baby? Showin’ us just how to treat a sexy little cunt like yours.’

You’re going to die. You’re going to burst into flames. There’s just no question in your mind that this is how you go, but you just fucking hope that you’ll get to come before it happens. It’s like every single nerve ending is now in your pussy, like you are only breathing Joel and Javi, your body sandwiched between them as you grip Javi’s head to you and twist in joyous agony against Joel’s chest.

‘Wanna hear you, baby,’ Joel’s whispering again. ‘Wanna hear it when ya come f’me.’

You open your eyes, look down your body to Javi, where he’s watching you, his eyes travelling up your body to rest on your face. He’s palming his cock, you can see the way his arm is moving up and down slowly, and you can feel Joel throbbing behind you.

‘Don’t look at him,’ Joel admonishes, and you slam your eyes shut, turn again to bury your head in his neck. ‘He can’t help ya,’ Joel goes on. ‘S’just there to make you come, baby.’

God it’s fucking debauched, is what it is. It’s filthy and sweaty and you’re so wet, and you feel sexier than you ever have, feel the power in your body and in your desire, feel the way you have finally, finally brought something feral out in Joel. You’re going to come, because Joel has determined that you are going to, and you just know without him even telling you so that he won’t let you go until you have, until he is satisfied that he has wrung out every last whimper from you, until you are sated and he is confident his job is done.

Javi’s licking hard at your clit now, sometimes sucking on it, and you slam your hips down onto Joel’s hand when he does it, rock your knee to bring Javi closer to you, try to swallow him with your cunt and your hands in his hair.

You can’t get enough breath to warn them. It’s just going to happen, they’re just going to throw you over the edge and into the abyss and you can’t even tell them they’re about to do it. Joel sees it though, feels the way your cunt is gripping him.

‘Do it, baby,’ he’s gritting into your ear, catching every roll of your hips so you won’t fall. ‘Show him what it’s like when I wreck you.’

And you do, then. Harder than you ever have in your life, your lungs pillowing out in your chest to suck in all the air available to them, your wails lost to the music as streams of your slick press into Javi’s face, where you soak him and Joel behind you, shivering and convulsing as you topple over the peak, dimly aware of Joel’s words in your ear as you go, calling you his pretty girl, his beautiful, perfect girl. His girl, his girl, his.

--

There are too many broken workplace safety rules to count, so Joel doesn’t bother. He knows he’s lost his job, that the cameras will have picked up all of that, that as he drops his ID badge and set of keys on the desk in his little office that it was worth it, that you were worth it. He’ll get another job, find a bar open just as late as this one even if it’s further out of town, will travel and will keep Sarah in school and will keep the memory of your sweet little cunt fluttering around his fingers locked up tight in the back of his brain for when the nights are cold and lonely.

When he drives you home, bundles you up in his car and puts the heater on full blast to keep you warm, you tell him that you finished your degree weeks ago, that you were lying about the mid-terms, that you had actually been down in Florida helping your mother move your grandpa into care. It hadn’t seemed necessary to talk about them in that environment, you said, and he rests his hand on your knee because he understands, and also because he likes you.

He doesn’t ask for your number. Knows you probably wouldn’t give it to him, is too afraid that you’d regret everything that you did together, that you were humouring him with even letting him drop you home, that this isn’t even your house.

He only found it later, written in your neat writing, your number and your real name, when he was stripping his pants off himself and dumping them into the hamper, his come collected on the inside where he exploded as he rutted against you, as he listened to your desperate, whimpering cries for him.

He tacks the little piece of paper to the mirror, memorising the digits in case one day it falls. He isn’t gonna call it. He just wants it there, a reminder of you and what you’ve made him feel, how you’ve lifted him, freed something in him. He just wants it there. Proof that you were real.

[averyakuma]

Secret Admirer

Pairing - Alastor X fem! Reader

Plot - Fluff, building up friendship, secret admirer, physical contact? 🫢

A/N - I’m either gonna cringe so bad at this prompt or really like it 😁 also I cannot sleep it’s almost 2am 😪😢

It’s has been only a couple of months ever since Charlie brought you in to stay and work at the Hazbin Hotel, and let’s say you felt home sweet home.

Even though you were still adjusting to the new place over all, it was definitely better than staying with roommates who wouldn’t even pay for their part of the rent, you were scrolling on your phone, slightly tilted to the couch arm. You were bored out of your mind, you finished all your tasks, and it didn’t look like the others needed help with their jobs. You couldn’t help but think about a special someone in mind, Alastor.

At first, you and Alastor seemed to hate each other, but the more you both got to know each other, it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You put down your phone on your side and turned it off, thinking deeper. Of course, he’s such a tease with his sinister smile of his, but you thought it was charming.

When you were done thinking about this ‘deer’ of yours, you felt a pair of eyes on you. You looked around to see if anyone was there except for husk because obviously he was working at the bar, but nobody else to be seen. You shrugged it off. As you were about to switch apps, someone had snatched your phone out of your hands, it was Alastor.

“I already told you my dear, no phones allowed in this hotel.” He held your phone with his two fingers, like it was something disgusting or smelly. You sighed while looking up at Alastor, as it was already the fifth time this week he had done this. He took your phone, gave you a lecture, and then make it disappear. “Why do you care so much? Plus how long have you been watching me? I thought you were up in your radio tower.” You said as you stood up, crossing your arms.

Alastor was slightly stunned for you to know how he was watching you from afar, as your secret admirer it was kind of hard to keep it in. “Well dear, we don’t want the V’s to get to us y’know, plus your eyes are glued to it, why not focus your eyes on me instead?” He tilted your head to look up at him. You slightly gulped with nervousness, but shook it off immediately.

“Whatever, I’m gonna go to my room, bye Al.” You scoffed as you sat up, walking to your own room. Alastor watched you walk away, sighing once out of his sight. He didn’t mean to make you annoyed at him, but it was just the honest truth.

You were obviously tired of Alastor doing this. As you slammed your door behind you, you plopped down on your soft bed, groaning in your pillow. You turned your head to the side to look at your clock on your bedside, with a picture of you and the others hanging out with each other, and having genuinely good time. You picked it up and smiled at it, and put the picture frame back.

After a few hours, you heard a knock on your door. You turn your head to ask, “Who is it?” No response. You sigh and open the door , you look down to see a little gift box. You pick it up and turn around, still having the door opened. You look at the tag that says, ‘From Alastor’ You smile at it, opening the box to see a letter and your souvenir.

You open the letter to read,

To my dearest,

I apologize for taking your phone, again.. I’m just saying all this and that because I don’t want the V’s to ruin the hotel, I hope you understand.. I let a souvenir for you so it hopefully distracts you from your electronic.

-Alastor

You smiled warmly again and hugged the souvenir and letter, appreciating it. You felt a pair of warm hands wrap around you from the back, making you stunned. Alastor snuggled his head into your neck, his smile cracking a little. He muttered, “I’m sorry, I hope you can forgive me” and snuggled closer, tightening his grip. You never seen him like this before, after all he was the Radio Demon.

“I forgive you.”

Pecking his cheek.

AGGHHHHH THIS IS SCTUALLY SO CUTEE

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and ellie or otherwise known as Crack.

Pt1 pt2 pt3. pt4

Jason was out patrolling Crime Alley when Clark called him freaking out.

Clark was currently in the doghouse with most of the bats and his sons. While most of it wasn't really his fault his family wasn't really the letting go type. He would know.

"What the hell do you want." He grimaced, that came out a lot rougher than he intended but sue him his brother had been missing for a week and they still were no were closer to finding him.

"Jason! How can you tell which rich men are predators?" What the hell.

"Get here now."

Which is how he came to be sitting across from a crisscross apple sauced Superman in his nearest safe house nursing a beer.

"I overheard something today at work." Kill him now. He was about to pull out a cyanide pill if this fucker didn't stop beating around the goddamn bush.

"What don't you overhear." He took another swing of his beer. He'd need plenty of it if Clark was gong to pester him for some fucking story while his brother was out there who knows where with God knows who, doing fucking anything. He could feel the green starting to rise and he did his best to push it back down but his vision was still tinged. It was happening a lot more often lately.

"Lex Luthor is apparently a sex trafficker." Atleast he was no longer beating around the bush but what the fuck? He knows the top suspect is Luthor and he's going to make a fucking joke about that. This was so not funny.

" I don't know what your playing at but you better explain yourself before I put a kryptonite bullet in your head." This fucker was going to singlehandedly destroy all his hardwork in therapy.

" One of my coworker's moms works at lexcorp, she called him today talking about the fact lex had two sick kids hanging around but disappeared and that a new one apparently showed up sick as well, last week." That got his attention.

"I also overheard her say he was experimenting on all of them and that the newest one spent time in Luthors own bedroom." He was going to cut Lexs dick off and shove it so far down his throat it was going to come out the other end. The green was suffocating.

"You think it's Damian."

"Who else? But the other kids I'm not sure." The other kids could have been surrogates for Damian but he was missing something. Kids because Lex has now kidnapped two other kids and experimented on them. And was probably hurting or experimenting on Damian in all kinds of ways he didn't even want to think about. The green spiking and flooding his senses, urging him to put down down anything that hurt his baby brother his...fraid? What the hell? He shook that thought off, that's never happened before. The green never allowed him to have such clear and borderline strange thoughts before.

"We need to go to the batcave." Shoving his helmet on, not even waiting for Clark's response, he'd beat him their anyway.

‐------------

Jon was sat perched on the rocks high in the cave, listening for even a hint of wherever Damian had gone. His dad who he was absolutely pissed at bad arrived and asked everyone to to 'please listen to whatever he and Jason have to say before you interupt'. Which led to a lot of shouting and arguing he was ignoring. He already knew what it was about he had been straining listening to every single person mentioning lex luthor.

He couldn't imagine Damian in that position. It wasn't that he didn't understand it could happen to anyone it was just disbelief that it could happen to... his best friend, who he's had a crush on for years. He obviously knew that no one was infallible, much less Damian, but he couldn't help think it. Damian always seemed untouchable.

Eventually, everybody quieted down again and went back to their own things. The quiet was unwelcome. He'd been having strange dreams since before he heard of Damian's disappearance.

They always started out normal enough. He was walking in a park that seemed familiar, but he knows for a fact he's never been to. After a while, he comes to a picnic table with various snacks and drinks thrown around in smaller piles like they were transfered from someone's arms to quickly care.

A boy with bright orange hair, covered in freckles everywhere, he can see wearing a basketball jersey attempting to twirl a ball on one finger, his hands are covered in colorful markers, both drawing snd wikd splotches. He instinctively recognizes him as 'Wes' even though he has no clue who he is. 'Wes' briefly tries to wave at him but loses his grip on his ball and has to chase it down the hill, cursing all the way. When he turned the back of his legs, have punctured, looking scars on them like something grabbed him and dragged him around, seering fangs into his flesh.

Another boy 'Tuck' is typing madly at what he can recognize as a PDA even though he's only seen them on old TV. He's placed in the center surrounded by tools most on his left and right side like he picked them up and threw them back down too quickly to care. His hands have several scars, but his left arm is the worst, 3rd degree burns healed, but still looked painful. His tongue is sticking out the side of his mouth, and he keeps pushing his dreads underneath a red beanie, but before his hands even touches his device, they've already slid back out.

There's two other girls side by side, one shooting airplanes and attempting to get the other to 'play with her'. One 'Val' his mind supplies somehow, has darker skin, and wears a typical y2k outfit complete with a flip-phone she secured on her body with a yellow ribbon. Her face has a huge jagged scar running from the side, almost touching her mouth as if her head slammed on something sharp, then dragged downward purposefully and other smaller scars on everywhere else. She looks straight out of one of his mom's old photo books rather than a 2000s fashion enthusiast. She smirks at him and waves her finger at him in a 'come hither' kinda way.

The other girl 'ellie', wear more baggy clothes, the knees are torn and darker from wear and tear rather than on purpose like what he himself has worn. From the little skin she shows he can see both bruising new and old with quite a few 'narley' looking scars. She sees him and waves, smiling brightly, she grabs one of the paper airplane and throws it into the sky. 'Ellie' then waves her hands around in a motion that looks like it was practiced for more effects than practical. Wind billows past her making the paper go soaring for a brief minute before it self-destructive under the stress of the wind. She pouts and stomps her foot before grabbing another one and trying again.

He continues past her and sits near 'val'. Val grabs his shoulders and snaps a phota on her phone. "Say cheese," she says through her teeth, smiling joyfully. For some reason, he obeys her command and smiles softly at the camera. He feels happy and peaceful. Val shoves the phone in his hand for him to inspect, but something is wrong.

He-she has dark black hair that seems to have a purple hue to it. Her makeup is dark and shadowed, and her clothes are shorter than he's ever worn before. They look sewn together cruedly but with an attention to detail he often lacks. She has quite a few scars ranging from scrapes to jagged cuts. Somehow, the girl holds a peace sign up, and he can see her claw like nails. The black paint was patchy in places, making him able to tell those were real nails, not just fake acrylics.

He looks down, and he sees her. Before he starts to spiral,'Danny' calls out. "Sam! There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you!" 'Danny' has even worse scarring than anyone else the way he leans over him he can see inside his shirt, a large autopsy scar is healed rough and jagged edges make it known he fought the whole time. He has litchenberg type figures from his right hands palm all the way up to his throat. Weren't they supposed to fade? He knows logically that he can't be Damian, but he also just feels like he is, like he's just like Jon's best friend, like he's known him forever and loves him. 'Danny' appearance then starts to shift from looking even more like Damian his eyes and face stay carefree, but his harsh scarring looks even more profound against his darker skin. 'Damian's' head comes to rest on his shoulder and he feels 'Sam' start to lean down and kiss him, but as soon as they lock eyes the dream is over leaving him in a panting mess, trying to catch his breath.

He's had that exact same dream for a week now with no change. All ending in the exact same spot. He wasn't sure who to talk to about it. It felt important, but what if it's just a dream?

"Jon? Hanging in there?" Kon floated up, he staying in the air probably in case he reacted negatively. He hates how they treat him like a ticking time boom, Damian never treats him like that. Come on, just say it. He's your brother.

"I just...miss him." he buried his head in his hands like the coward he was. Kon floated closer until he was landing right next him, bumping his shoulder.

"I know Jon, I get it." No you really don't. Cause i don't let you.

-----------

"So there is a boy you like?" Vlad pestered him rubbing his back.

"I never said it was a boy." He snarked before throwing up his entire stomach up in the toilet.

"Please Damian, I went to school with your father. Both of them now actually." He said matter a factually.

"Gay." He said in between hurling. Finally after not immediately throwing up as soon as he even moves slightly Vlad places a water bottle in his hands.

"Thank you." He mumbles, mind your manners young master.

Vlad was nice and all sometimes, but he missed his family. Pennyworths chiding, Richard's easy smiles and praises, Father's lessons. He missed it all.

Vlad really wasn't the best at emotions or parenting really. He... cared for him but he was more that fun uncle you realize was really just crazy. Not he'd ever tell Vlad that.

"Let's go back to work."

"Are you sure? We can take a longer break?"

"We both know we can't afford it."

Things weren't going all that well. They had realized fairly quickly that the incubation was going to follow a real pregnancy timeline if not a little shorter up to the birth where they will just faze out when their ready. Vlad theorized it was a protective measure his body was doing to make the pregnancy less ghostly. He couldn't handle even a half-ghostly anything. The flight to the island drained him of all of the ectoplasm he was able to accumulate over the years despite the corruption.

Due to the corruptedness of the pits he was basically severely ecto-deprived and any ecto he gains goes to the two extra cores or fixing the corruption. He can't even make any ectoplasm anymore because of the corruption stopping it. He needs to get to the Infinate Realms as soon as possible or else neither him or his kids will continue to exist. Vlad was also weaker using his own ectoplasm to power things because the purified ecto was so much weaker than just natural.

The ectopods give him a boost but he was getting worse. The ectopods had failed Dan and Ellie to.

Vlad was starting to get a little protective and by a little he means not wanting to let him out of sight at all. Barely for a bathroom break. Ancients forbid he takes more than five minutes and Vlad pulls a sledgehammer out.

He may or not be going a little stir crazy. It was agonizing he's not used to dealing with this much attention. His parents in his first life were mostly focused on the portal or their work in general until they suddenly realized they had kids then showered them with affection just to forget about them just as quickly. The league of assassins and his mother don't need any explanation really, between training there wasn't much time for affection his mother sometimes did but it was always behind closed doors when noone was watching at all and that didn't happen near as much as you would think. His father wasn't really affectionate on anything, the most he would get for a mission gone right was a pat on the back and a "good job chum" and it often felt more forced with him than the others. Richard was quite affectionate with both his words and his actions. Getting a passing grade or winning a fight or even losing a fight seemed to be a cause of celebration. He was physical with his affection, hugs and kisses on the forehead, but even the second he started feeling uncomfortable he would pull away. Sometimes it was nice sometime he just wished he would push just a little further.

Vlad didn't have any of that. He was all antagonistic words, he didn't even always seem to mean it, it just happened with him. His attention nice for a while but got tiring and he couldn't just ask him to leave him alone because Vlad would take it wrong. He also never knew when to leave him alone. Like he didn't need to sleep in his room just cause he was having headaches and occasional nosebleeds he had that plenty with concussions before and had been able to treat it since he was 4 years old. He thinks if Vlad says one word more on 'taking a break' or 'drinking some more water' he was going to punch him in the face.

"You dont need to push yourself! you'll only end up in more pain just take a five minute break? Please think of the kids I'm also there father to you know!" There it is.

Damian while around and punched him in the face. The force and the surprise knocking him onto the floor.

"Damian! What the hell is your problem, young man!" He attempted to get up but he didn't let him. He easily swept his feet from under him and pushed him back down.

"I'm sick and tired of you always thinking you know what's best for me! Well news flash. You don't." He punched him in the face, expertly evading Vlads dodging. Vlad was powerful with powers but without them he was much more skilled.

"Stop this right now!" He'd have to make him.

And make him he did. Shit. He overestimated just how much ecto Vlad had been giving him because he stopped holding back his strength and shoved him off.

Crack.

Shit Vlad definitely either broke or cracked one of his ribs. He must of really pissed him off because that didn't stop him. He ran at him and kicked him in the throat. He gasped for air.

"Are we done yet?" Fuck you. He grabbed his legs and pulled him down. Almost straddling him and started to beat his face in. Vlad spit out blood but started to heal quicker than he could hurt him. Switching their positions he stsrted to choke him out. He choked for air but remembering his training, he quickly administerd a move that would have taken down any regular human down.

Vlad quickly recovered even angrier and threw him roughly at the glass of the lab shattering it and landing in it. He could feel the glass prickling against his skin. Bloody streaks painting his hands, glass embedded. He tried getting up but heard a loud gasp.

Susan stood hand over her mouth. Her skin pale and her hand gripped her tablet so hard he could hear creaks. He laid his head back down. He suddenly didn't feel like fighting anymore.

"Take him to the physician." Vlad spoke, voice distant and echoey. He couldn't resist the pull of darkness and fell under.

--------

After Clark shared his findings with the cave a month ago, Tim and Barbara have been hard at work trying to track the call, but meeting dead ends all around. Lex's security to tight and better than ever before.

Until, a new call came through.

"David! Oh David it's horrible!" She cried, her sobbing evident even through the poor phone service. They quickly got to work, everyone joining in around them. It had a two months since the last time they saw their littlest bat. No way where they letting the opportunity slip through their hands again.

"That little boy! He threw him through a window! He's been in and out of emergency surgeries for a week. A week! He had a punctured lung, an almost crushed larynx, a broken collarbone, and five cracked or broken ribs. Not to mention, he's covered in bruises and srapes from the glass! It's terrible! That little boy, just laying on the operating table, his heart stopped twice. Twice! Oh, David! I don't know what to do." She was in hysterics. Oh god, that was his brother. His baby brother.

He ignored the broken sobs around him and pushed his down.

"I've got it." Barbara announced, hse didn't sound relieved in any way but he understood they still had to save him and from what they heard from her, he may never fully recover.

"Supers, fly ahead, scout out. This is Lex, he's bound to have plenty of kryptonite." The supers flew out without even acknowledgeing their orders.

He paused. Please don't say it. Please

"Evrybody else... to the batjet."

It didn't really matter what he said anyway everybody in the cave was ready to go war, with or without Bruce.

A/N if yall think for one second that a relationship built from the ashes of one of the most traumatic moments in their lives is going to be perfect, yall kidding yourselves. Vlad is never going to be perfect he and damian/Danny will always be archenemys who may or may not have some fluffy moments they'll still have met because he wat trying to kill his father so he could marry his mother. Vlad desperately wanting him to be son is so obsessive and insane he creates a clone of him to be his kid. They may care for each other, but vlad will never truly be a good choice for Danny in general.