#there's more testosterone in this fic than you think.

[sciderman]

Chapters: 1/3 Fandom: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Wade Wilson/Olive Me, Peter Parker/Anita Lotta Love, Wade Wilson & Valentine Vuong, Anita Lotta Love & Valentine Vuong Characters: Peter Parker, Wade Wilson, Anita Lotta Love, Olive Me, Valentine Vuong, Hydra Bob Additional Tags: Established Relationship, ...sort of., also., First Meetings, Drag Queens, Nonbinary Wade Wilson, Identity Porn, Love Confessions, Glitter, So. Much. Glitter, They're Just Like That Piña Colada Song. But Worse Series: Part 3 of A Lotta Love Summary:

“We have a new item on the menu?” Anita asked, in insult. “And no one told me?”

[oceantornadoo]

Could you maybe write a fic for Simon pursuing a reader who has no experience despite being in her early 20s?

(disclaimer: this ask said early 20s but i didn't really focus on that exact age for reality and inclusivity purposes)

you like to think you're a pretty calm person. have to be, for the kind of work you do - can't be a hothead when you're dealing with hundreds of other hotheads (a.k.a. military men). that environment, seeing the vicious effects of too much testosterone and loyalty to those who don't deserve it, has led you to this predicament. a lack of experience with men. all the ones you've met are loud or self-absorbed and your work is so time-consuming so that when you've found yourself at this precipice, you realize you have no experience to guide you. only a few drunk kisses and one teenage crush to act as the map for the journey you're about to take.

it was odd, how easily you fell into simon riley. he duped you into your first date, calling it a celebratory post-mission dinner when in reality, he'd had the reservations for weeks. it progressed smoothly from there: coffee and ice cream and a scary movie you didn't want to see alone. a few weeks later and you let him into your sacred apartment, a couch no man had ever sat on. he was so respectful, soft words and light touches to get you comfortable with him.

you intrigued simon. it was like befriending a stray cat; one wrong move and he'd be out in the hall. he'd asked around (a.k.a. asked johnny) and found out you'd never dated anyone on base. not surprising, he hadn't either, but your skittish nature led him to believe you'd never dated anybody. you were comfortable with men, sure, but you'd never made any moves on simon despite seeming to like him so much. if he were a less confident man, he would think you weren't interested, but it was in the way your eyes lingered on him, the glances you shot him when you thought he wasn't looking. he decided a conversation was necessary to clear the air so he didn't keep handling you like a bomb that could go off any second.

the two of you were watching footie, a bowl of popcorn in the middle. your hands brushed occasionally as you ate, your knee touching his, but nothing further. simon was well practiced in restraint, and he would wait as long as he needed to, but he felt like he was operating blind, no night vision goggles in sight. "love." it was like flipping a switch. you jumped up, snatching the popcorn bowl and murmuring something about supplying a refill even though it was more than halfway full. he let you have your freakout in the kitchen, giving you time to collect your thoughts. finally, you came back ten minutes later, hand shaking slightly as you put the bowl back down, which was decidedly not full. "can i ask you somethin'?" his hand gripped your knee before you could get up again, settling you back on the couch. your eyes were wide, searching his at a rapid speed as you tried to figure out what he was asking.

"w-what?" he started stroking your knee slowly, thumb brushing over the fabric of your sweats. he didn't answer right away, letting the rhythm of his thumb calm you until your shoulders dropped a fraction. "do i scare y'?" he murmured in a low tone. your shoulders dropped completely, your head collapsing on the couch behind you. you figured it was time to have this talk anyways. "no, it's nothing like that. i trust you, si." he nodded, checking a question off his list. his thumb was still stroking you, the motion anchoring you to the moment. "did someone hurt y'? before me?" you shook your head. "no, it's nothing like that. i just-" you cut yourself off, biting your lip. you chanced a glance at simon, his face open and patient. "i just don't have a lot of experience with men. and it makes me nervous, thinking i'll do something wrong." simon nodded in understanding. "'s while y're so jumpy. how much experience?" you muttered your answer too low for him to hear. "wot?" ugh. "none." oh. oh.

simon was rewriting scripts in his head. no experience was not what he was expecting, but it didn't put him off. if anything, he felt honored you picked him to give you experience. "doesn't matter, love. we can go 's slow as you want. just gotta tell me what y' want." your hand covered his on your knee. "i want you, si. i just don't know how to show it." he squeezed your knee. "trust me?" you nodded instantly. suddenly, you were being moved, strong hands around your waist dragging you into simon's lap. he arranged you into a straddle, setting you back on the middle of his thighs. simon didn't want to give you the wrong idea by putting you on his cock so soon. there was time.

"ya ever kiss anyone?" you gave him a small smile. "not sober. none that i really remember." he laughed, the feeling vibrating through his chest down to his thighs. it was exhilarating, being so close to him and not being scared. you were still nervous, sure, but there was less expectation hanging over your head now that you had talked. "c'mere. we'll take it slow. close your eyes." he sat up a little, a hand on your hip preventing you from being jostled. you closed your eyes obediently, lips parting slightly with the exhale of your breath. you could feel his body heat come closer. he brushed his lips against yours, pulled back, and then gave you a real kiss.

you weren't sure what to do. you had listened to enough advice podcasts to know you shouldn't use any tongue, but that was it. his lips were soft, if a bit chapped, pressing against yours deliciously. he felt so close, so intimate, and you pushed back against him, just a little. it melted your heart a little as he pushed back, warm and willing. your hands instinctively dove into his hair, finally feeling those strands you'd been dreaming about. it went on and on, experimenting with little licks and bites as you got more confident. unfortunately, the more passionate you became, the less air in your lungs. you pulled back with a gasp.

"fuck." his lips were swollen and red, his hair sticking up at all angles. ravished. "good?" he asked, licking his lips. you nodded. "can we do it again?" the eagerness would have made you cringe if you didn't want it so much. "yeah, baby, anytime you want. c'mere."

--

i hope i did this justice!! my first kiss was terrible but i was also 14 so i think it would be better with an experienced man lol

[moonstruckme]

Omg holiday fics… I need a Steve and reader under the mistletoe fic (bonus points if like enemies/rivals/frenemies to lovers vibe??) like I need air to breathe

Ahh I missed him! Thanks for requesting <3

cw: alcohol

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.7k words

It’s virtually the same as every party you went to in high school, save for the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room. Try as Scott’s girlfriend might, she cannot, in your opinion, successfully call this a Christmas party. 

She has made a valiant effort, though. There’s an option of spiked eggnog sitting on the counter beside the cooler of beers, tinsel glitters around the railing of the stairway, and a grocery store cheese plate really adds a bit of class to the center of the coffee table. Unfortunately, the class is sort of nullified by all the bro-ey yelling coming from the beer pong tournament Scott’s holding in the basement. 

“That’s McCreedy,” Steve tells you as a particularly loud whoop comes from downstairs. 

You reach for a piece of swiss, suppressing your smile. “You sound confident.” 

“It’s him. Wait a sec, he’s gonna do his signature yell.” He holds up a hand, ear cocked in anticipation. 

A moment later, a testosterone-fuelled, “Whoo! That’s what I’m talking about,” sounds from the basement. 

You hastily swallow your cheese, covering your mouth to hide your laugh. Steve looks very pleased with himself. 

“Every time he scored a basket for four years,” he explains. 

“Oh my god.” Your laughter is difficult to quell when Steve looks so delighted to have brought it about. You think, not for the first time tonight, that you never expected to be having this good a time with Steve Harrington. “Are we going to be subjected to that all night?” 

Steve grimaces. “Depends. He’s not very good, but if he’s playing someone who also sucks…” 

“Is this the part where you tell me that if you were in there he’d be losing?” You’re a bit surprised at the flirtation in your own tone, but you don’t backtrack. 

“No.” He smiles. “That would be arrogant and braggy.” 

“Not to mention predictable,” you tack on. 

“Right. I’ve been told, uh, that’s not really the best way to get nice girls to like me.” 

You pick up your cup, hiding a smile behind the rim as you take a sip. You’ll have to send a fruit basket to whoever taught him that lesson. The Steve Harrington you knew in high school was absolutely that conceited. He knew he was handsome and charming, and the fact that he knew was enough for you to stay away. He never fell short on girls who wanted him for those things anyway. You didn’t think of Steve much then, only with vague annoyance when he wrapped your teachers around his finger or made your friends ditch you on a Friday night so they could go to one of his basketball games, and then you’d graduated and happily never thought of him again. Until tonight, when you’d shown up for a friend-of-a-friend’s so-called Christmas party and here he was. 

This Steve Harrington seems different from the one you knew. His signature hairstyle has changed, for one thing. It’s grown out a bit, less coiffed, more fluffy. A couple of strands fall into his eyes which he keeps combing back in a way that you hate to find endearing but unfortunately do. He seems to walk more than he saunters, now, too. His mouth doesn’t hold so much smugness in its tilt. This Steve is (seemingly) more interested in talking to you than trying to get you to play seven minutes in heaven or recounting his basketball stats or going to play beer pong with his friends who he claims aren’t his friends anymore. He looks you in the eyes like he’s interested in what you have to say and smiles when you smile.

“I’m going to go get a refill.” You stand with your cup. “Want anything?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Steve picks up his beer, long since empty. “I’ll come with you.” 

For all the self-respect that had kept you immune to him throughout high school, it’s hard not to feel flattered by Steve’s attention tonight. Your face heats as he trails you into the kitchen, not even a full step behind as you go inside. 

“Ooooh!” 

You stop. It’s Sasha, Scott’s girlfriend and the party’s true host, who’s oohed at you, but everyone in the kitchen has turned to look. 

“What?” you ask. 

Nancy Wheeler is refilling the punch bowl of eggnog with another girl you almost recognize. She gives you a look that borders on sympathetic. “You’re standing under the mistletoe,” she tells you. 

You and Steve look up at the same time. Taped to the ceiling above the entryway, like a trap hunters lay in the woods, is a small sprig of green tied with red ribbon. 

You look at Steve. He’s already looking at you. 

“I…”

“No.” Steve’s tone could nearly be called scoffing. “No way. That’s stupid, anyone who walks in is gonna be under it.” 

“Only people who walk in together,” corrects Sasha. It’s clear she’s been waiting for her trap to spring all night. 

Steve shakes his head. “It’s stupid,” he says again. “Right, Robs?” 

He looks to the girl sitting on the counter by Nancy—Robin, you remember her now, she was a couple years below you in school—seemingly for support. 

“Uhh, right,” Robin fumbles. Nancy gives her an amused look. “It’s a stupid tradition, which, by the way, we only do because some old Greek guys thought it would promote fertility, so. It’s sexist, or something.”

Steve nods, satisfied. 

“Still,” says Nancy, a smile playing on the ends of her lips, “it is a tradition.” 

With Nancy’s hand gracing hers, Robin seems to have no rebuttal for that. 

“It’s a bullshit tradition.” Steve reaches into the cooler, not looking at what drinks he grabs before ushering you back out of the kitchen. “Come on.” 

You feel like you have whiplash going back to the couch. Steve’s gotten you both sodas, condensation still dripping off the one he presses into your hand. The tab cracks and hisses as he pops his open. 

“Sorry about that.” He still seems piqued. “I didn’t know we were gonna get ambushed like that.” 

“It’s okay. How could you know?” you reply airily. You crack open your own can, not thinking to check what it is until it hits your tongue. Ginger ale, fizzy and light. “I didn’t know that about the origin of mistletoe.” 

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles drily. “Me neither.” 

“Robin seems really smart.” 

“I’m, like, eighty percent sure she made that up on the spot. But yeah, she’s smart.” 

“Well, I’m just glad we didn’t perpetuate a sexist tradition.” 

You say it lightly, but there’s an odd weight in your chest. You are glad that you didn’t kiss in the kitchen in front of everyone, that Steve hadn’t pressured you like everyone else, but part of you wishes he’d been a little less adamant in his refusal. It’s silly, you know. You don’t think you’d actually want to kiss anyone under those circumstances, so public and contrived, but still. It stings just a little. 

“Do you and Robin hang out a lot?” you ask, trying perhaps a bit too hard to sound casual and disinterested. 

“Yeah.” Steve nods, those couple of strands falling out of line again and into his eyes. “But, you know, we’re just friends. We work together.” 

You raise your eyebrows, disbelieving. 

“Really,” he laughs. “She’s—it’s not like that. Super not like that.” 

“Okay,” you say, believing him. But you’re not done teasing him yet, you decide. “You hang out with a lot of high schoolers, Harrington?” 

Steve guffaws. “Hey, we’re just friends! And Robin’s only a couple of years behind us.” 

You pause, sensing there’s more. “But…” you prompt. 

Steve huffs a laugh, pushing his hair out of his face. “It’s not weird, okay?” 

“Okay.” You settle in. “Tell me.” 

He interrupts himself repeatedly to insist again that it’s not weird, and you don’t doubt him, the look that comes over his face when he talks about the kids fond and brotherly. He gives them free rentals from the video store he works at with Robin, helps them navigate high school drama and crushes, and drives them places when their parents won’t. When you call him a pro bono babysitter, Steve laughs and says, That’s exactly what it is. 

It’s sweet to see how much he cares about these kids, to hear him talk about them like they’re pests he has to wrangle and put up with while smiling like he wouldn’t have it any other way. The Steve you knew in high school didn’t seem to care about much of anyone apart from himself. This Steve is overflowing with sincerity, kinder and braver and more genuinely funny than you remember him. When he offers you a ride home, you accept. 

You don’t bother zipping your coat for the walk to the car. There’s salt on the porch, but still you walk carefully, wary of ice. 

“Hey,” Steve says before you can go down the steps. 

You glance back at him, and he’s looking up. 

“Look.” 

You tilt your head back too. Hung on a string above the entrance to the porch, tied in a red ribbon just like the one in the kitchen, is a sprig of mistletoe. 

“Two?” You laugh, turning towards Steve. “Doesn’t that seem like—” 

His lips capture yours. 

The first press is greedy, overeager, but after a second of you standing still in surprise he starts to back away. His lips leave an impression of warmth on yours. They part on an apology. 

You shake your head, reaching for him. “Wait.” 

The material of his jacket is slippery underneath your fingers, and his lips find yours with the same warmth they left with. Steve kisses confidently, like you knew he would, but also with a curiosity you didn’t expect. His lips close and part over yours like he’s asking, entreating, trying to draw something out. You don’t know that you have the answer, but you kiss his cupid’s bow in consolation. He brings his hands to the curve of your back, squeezing before letting go. 

Your breath puffs in the cold air. “I thought…I thought it was a bullshit tradition.” 

“It’s only bullshit when it’s in a room full of people,” he says. 

You laugh, again surprised at how easily he coaxes it out of you but not as much as you’d been at the beginning of the night. You think Steve’s going to be making you laugh a lot now.

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Electricity

mingi x fem!reader

Trigger warnings: n/a

Content warnings: names (baby, baby girl, sweetheart), oral (f receiving), big dick mingi fr

Summary: mingi’s jealous of your best friend

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: hiiiii!!! so this is a piece that was requested by @18autumngirl. i would like to wish your friend a happy birthday and i hope you both enjoy the fic!! much love 🥰❤️

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“Hi, I’m y/n.” You smiled politely at the group of men before you. Jongho, your best friend of twelve years, was introducing you to his college friends. All together, there were eight of them. And every one of them was stunning. Your eyes, however, continually drifted towards one of them in particular.

Six feet of pure testosterone and a pretty face stood staring back at you. He looked just as shocked as you. Did he feel the electricity too? The pull between the two of you? He quickly schooled his expression and offered a polite - if a bit shy - smile in return, the sight making your heart do a somersault.

“Mingi.” The tall man said, offering his hand. You took it and felt another jolt. You were instantly addicted to his touch and had to fight to conceal your reaction.

“Pleasure to meet you.” You said, your voice coming out almost breathless. Jongho gave you a quizzical look and you subtly elbowed him as you returned to his side, silently telling him not to worry about it. It wasn’t something you could easily explain.

Embarrassing as it was, your body naturally reacted to Mingi’s presence. You were almost a foot shorter than him and he towered over you. It made you think unholy things that you were horrified to be thinking of when surrounded by so many men. Especially one as perfect as Mingi.

Despite your attraction, you spent the afternoon glued to Jongho’s side. He was familiar. Comfortable. And you didn’t feel an unsettling jolt of electricity every time you touched him. So you stayed with your best friend and laughed at all his jokes, making a few of your own as you grew more comfortable with his friends.

You had no clue how much this bothered Mingi. Mingi was dying inside. For some inexplicable reason, he was dying to be the one making you laugh like that. He wanted to be the one sitting thigh to thigh with you, letting you lean on him as you chatted. Did you secretly love your best friend? Mingi seemed to think so.

So when you excused yourself to the restroom, Mingi offered to show you where it was. “I’m heading in that direction anyways.” He claimed. You were anxious to be alone with him but allowed him to lead the way. You were worried he’d know all the dirty things you’d thought in the last few hours. Had he noticed the way your thighs had been pressed together?

When you stopped in front of the bathroom and reached to open the door, he grabbed your wrist. “Wait…can we talk?”

You looked up at him in surprise but gave a small nod. “Yeah sure. Just let me…” you gestured towards the bathroom and he nodded, releasing you so you could use the bathroom.

While you were alone, you took a moment to gather yourself. You handled your business and then washed your hands, patting a bit of cool water onto your cheeks as you looked in the mirror. You weren’t sure what he wanted to talk about and you had no idea if you were prepared for the conversation. After a moment of bracing yourself, you opened the door.

Mingi was still there, still waiting for you. He immediately took your wrist again and led you towards his room. “Sit.” He gestured towards the bed. His tone left no room for argument so you quickly complied, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Mingi? What’s this about?”

“You’re driving me crazy.” He accused.

“What?”

“Hanging all over Jongho like that…it’s maddening. Are you doing this on purpose?” He stepped closer and you craned your neck to look up at him. When you didn’t respond, he continued. “I know you felt it too. You can’t deny it. I saw it on your face.” You were surprised by his words and struggled to form a coherent thought. “So why are you clinging to him when I know you want me? Because you do, don’t you? You want me.”

“Mingi…” you took a shaky breath when he stood over you, taking your chin in his hand and forcing you to look at him.

“I can see the way you’re trying not to squirm even now. I won’t let him have you.” His voice dropped low and you shuddered, not moving an inch as he leaned down.

“Tell me what you feel.” You urged, trying not to stare at his perfect lips.

“A magnetic pull. Electricity. And if I think about it hard enough, I feel your lips on mine.” Your breath hitched at his words and you stared at him for a moment, your eyes locked on his.

Then you leaned up and pressed your lips to his without warning. He inhaled sharply as you kissed him, naturally falling into rhythm with you the second you licked over his bottom lip. He took the lead then, his tongue delving into your mouth, and you tentatively brought your hands up to his chest, bunching the front of his shirt in your fists.

He took that as his cue to carry on and gently pushed you back on the bed, lips still locked with yours, and you let out a soft sigh against his lips. His hands caged you in, not that you wanted to move, and he wasted no time in crawling over you. He let out a soft groan when your hands began to roam his chest, the sound going straight to your pussy, much like his voice had been doing the entire afternoon.

This was moving too fast but you couldn’t be bothered to care. All you knew was you wanted him.

You tipped your head back to afford him more space when he began to kiss down your neck, his lips and teeth gliding across your skin, leaving light marks behind. You frowned a bit when he suddenly pulled back, his eyes wide.

“Wait. What about Jongho?” He asked, his chest heaving with each breath.

“What about him?” You asked, clearly confused.

“We can’t do this to him. I’m sorry, I can’t-” You immediately started laughing when you realized what he was getting at. He pulled back further and gave you a look that let you know he was shocked and starting to get angry so you began to explain.

“Mingi, wait.” You lifted a hand to gently squeeze his bicep. “It’s not like that. I’m not with him. He’s like my brother.” You explained.

“Well you seemed overly friendly earlier.” He grumbled and you laughed softly again.

“I promise, there’s nothing like that between us. He’s been my best friend for over a decade. There will never be anything like that between us.” You assured him, running your hand up and down his bicep. You could see the moment he accepted your response. Something in his eyes changed and they grew dark once more. “We have to be quick.” You reminded him upon seeing his expression change.

He nodded and resumed his kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt. Your skirt rode up as he nudged your legs apart to create space for him and you wrapped a leg around his waist, tugging him closer. “You know what else I've been thinking about the whole time?” He asked, his voice low and rough.

“Tell me.” You whispered, your hands tugging his shirt up and ghosting over his abs.

“I’ve been imagining all the pretty sounds you’d make with my head between your legs.” Your breath hitched at his words and you bit your lip hard as he pulled back again, cupping your breasts through your lacy bralette. “Can I do that? Can I make you fall apart on my face?” He asked, thumbing over your stiff nipples.

“God- please do. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the moment I laid eyes on you.” You admitted, nodding furiously.

In an instant, he was kissing down your stomach, his hands reaching for your thighs instead. You allowed him to guide them further apart and push your skirt all the way up. You didn’t have time to do things how you normally would so you’d have to stay dressed for this.

He began to kiss along your thighs and you let out a series of soft sighs, trying your hardest not to squirm beneath him. He smirked against your skin and bit down softly, earning a surprised yelp as you lifted your head to look down at him.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I just couldn’t resist.” You clenched around nothing at the shit-eating grin he was giving you and he leaned in again, pressing his nose to the front of your panties and inhaling your scent before licking you through the cotton. “Christ- you’re even sweeter than I imagined.” He groaned and you felt unbelievably sexy, your whole body responding to his words.

“Mingi-” you gasped his name and propped up on your elbows to watch as he tugged your panties to the side.

“All for me?” He smirked and you nodded quickly. “Sweet girl. Don’t you know that drives me crazy? Giving yourself to me like that?”

“You’re driving me crazy.” You accused and he chuckled softly before finally leaning in again.

“Sorry, baby. I just can’t help myself. I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” He admitted and you whimpered softly. Before you could respond, he was licking a stripe up your cunt and your eyes were fluttering shut.

“Mingi-” you gasped again, reaching down to tangle a hand in his hair when he began to devour your pussy. He ate you like a man starved. He was enthusiastic and his tongue moved expertly against you.

When he groaned against you, he made sure you felt it by pressing impossibly closer and delving his tongue into you. You couldn’t stifle the series of moans that he dragged out of you as you held him in place. “Just like that-” you whined, your hips jolting away from the pleasure when he sucked on your clit unexpectedly. “Oh-”

You felt him smirk against you but couldn’t be bothered to be annoyed with his smugness as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers dug into your thighs as he pulled you firmly against his mouth, licking and sucking until your pussy was throbbing. You were so fucking close.

But then he pulled away.

You started to protest but he quickly spoke up. “I can’t- I need to feel you cum on my cock.” He groaned, quickly releasing you in favor of shoving his pants down to his knees.

Your eyes widened a bit when you saw him, wondering if it’d fit. He was bigger than anyone you’d been with in the past, though that wasn’t saying much, and he was hard as a rock. He was gorgeous and your mouth instantly watered.

You’d have to get his number so you could do this again.

You looked up to see him smirking at your reaction and instantly rolled your eyes. “Don’t say a word.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t.” He laughed as he lined up. “I’m thinking about it though.”

“Oh shut up and fuck me.” You huffed, too pent up to joke around. You normally didn’t get so demanding and when you did you fully expected to be shut down and put back in your place, but Mingi was too far gone to care.

“Fucking gladly.” He groaned as he pressed the tip in. “Fuck, baby…” he grunted under his breath, the sound so deeply satisfying that you couldn’t help but smirk. You loved when a guy had that reaction.

But before you could tease him about it, he was working himself further in, delivering shallow thrusts until he bottomed out. The second he was all the way in, you rocked your hips to test the waters. He let out a low growl and gripped your hips tightly, pulling out almost all the way only to snap his hips forwards and slam right back in.

“Holy shit-” you moaned out, your jaw dropping. He felt better than anyone you’d ever been with and he knew exactly what he was doing. He smirked at your response and repeated his actions, drawing out another moan.

Everyone downstairs would absolutely hear if he kept it up. You wouldn’t be able to stifle your sounds if he kept hitting all the right spots.

The moment the thought crossed your mind, he delivered a sharp thrust to your sweet spot and you saw stars, yelping out in pleasure. Your back arched a bit and your jaw dropped as he repeatedly slammed into that spot.

“Just like that, Mingi-” you gasped out, reaching to grip his forearms to ground yourself.

“Like this?” He teased as he slammed into your sweet spot again.

“Yes!” You moaned out, digging your nails into his skin as he held your hips tightly, pounding into you. You couldn’t be bothered to care that he was teasing you. It all just felt too good and you couldn’t get enough. You knew you wouldn’t last long if he kept going like that but that was the point.

“Fuck you feel so good, baby…” he groaned, his voice low and hoarse as he delivered a series of thrusts so sharp and precise that you couldn’t form a coherent thought.

“So do you- oh-” you gasped, your thighs beginning to tremble from the overwhelming pleasure. You were getting so close. One brush of his thumb over your clit and you’d surely fall apart. So you warned him.

“Me too. Let go for me. Cum all over my cock, baby girl.” He coached, releasing one of your thighs and swiping his thumb over your clit in tight circles.

Between his touch and the name, you couldn’t focus on anything but the pleasure. You found yourself falling apart, your back arching as you brought a hand up to muffle your cries as you came entirely undone on his cock.

He didn’t stop until you were entirely relaxed, then he pulled out and stripped himself to completion, spilling himself over your still-spasming cunt as you relished the aftershocks of your orgasm. He looked absolutely stunning as he came and your heart stumbled at the sight. You knew immediately that you’d be doing this again soon because you’d be damned if you never saw that perfect sight again.

No one had ever made you cum so hard and you certainly hadn’t done so yourself. You were still in the clouds when he began to clean you up and then you felt your panties sliding down your legs. “I’ll be keeping these, thank you.” He smirked as he stuffed them in his pocket, his clothes now righted.

“And will they be returned the next time I see you?” You rolled your eyes as you sat up, fixing your skirt.

“After I've had the chance to use them to get off a couple times.” He winked and your cheeks heated just the tiniest bit.

“You’re impossible.” You mumbled.

“You think it’s hot. Admit it.” He teased, his voice full of amusement.

“I’m not admitting to anything.” You huffed as you crossed your arms, a grin creeping onto your face. “Come on. We should get back to them. They’re gonna get suspicious.”

“Oh, baby.” He shook his head, trying not to laugh. “They definitely heard all that. The walls here? Terribly thin.”

And just like that, your cheeks were rosy again. How the fuck were you going to face Jongho and the others now?

[k4vehrtz]

STARBOY

-> Pairing: shōta aizawa / sub! (trans) male reader

-> Request: yes / no

-> Word Count: 1K (roughly)

➷...Summary: shō offers a helping hand (more like mouth) when you're in need.

-> Notes: not the fic that was meant to be posted this week but seeing as that one is yet to be completed i thought i would post this request in the meantime!

➷...Content Warnings: vaginal descriptions, use of the word cunt, mentions of testosterone, exhibition, age gap (though not specified, both are adults), coach/athlete trope(?), oral (reader receiving), squirting, being caught masturbating, biting, at some point it is implied that shō may have a negative reaction to the reader being trans but he does not. if i miss anything let me know.

“You've got to be—holy shit, this can’t be real.” He grunts, his voice a gravelly whisper amongst the sound of sneakers frantically shuffling across the court. Jesus. His free hand immediately goes to his mess of black hair, strumming his calloused fingers through the stray strands clinging to his sweaty forehead.

It’s a lost cause — it’s all a fucking lost cause. This team is the last nail in the coffin that was Shōta Aizawa’s career as an athlete.

The corners of his lips can’t help but curl upwards at that thought. An athlete? Maybe some ridiculously delusional part of himself still had a shred of his youthful shamelessness. He is, and has been, a disgrace for quite some time now.

His days of being a household name are long gone. You’ve taken his place now, haven’t you? You’re a good player, a team player, and not too hard on the eyes either.

Shō’s had his eyes on you for a while now. You’ve come a long way since he first saw you handing out water bottles to the members of your team. Now you’re destroying his team on the court. It takes every ounce of self-control in him to not laugh. Funny how the world works, right?

 Shōta Aizawa prides himself on how mature he is. He’s not going to pick a fight with you. You’re half his age for crying out loud. He’s above that because he’s incredibly mature; As most people his age would be.

So, it’s purely coincidental that he’s in the same locker room as you. He just happened to take a wrong turn when attempting to find his team. As their coach, it’s his duty to comfort them after such a…horrific loss. But accidents happen and he couldn’t just waltz in here without conversing with you. What if you misunderstood and painted him out to be some kind of pervert? It’s only right that he makes small talk.

But the words that were at the tip of his tongue disappeared in an instant. Perhaps his critical thinking skills have gone along with it. Well, this is quite the turn of events, isn’t it?

“…In all my years of playing this damn game,” He cocks his head sideways, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “I’ve never found it remotely arousing.” He says pointedly, clicking his tongue. Your skin warms.

You open and close your mouth once, twice, and then a third time but no words slide past those ridiculously beautiful lips of yours. Shō doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s staring. “Each to their own,” He shrugs and you want nothing more than the floor to swallow you whole.

“I…” You start, scrambling to find the right words to say. But in a situation like this, what could you say? The coach of the opposing team just walked in on you with your hands down your pants. Not a good look.

“Wh–What are you even doing in here, first of all?” You counter, fighting a heated blush as you not-so-discreetly pull your hand out of your shorts. Fingers coated in your arousal fluid.

Silence, then a moment later he deadpans, “Got lost, and then walked in on you…doing whatever it is that you were doing.” And before you can stop yourself, “It’s the testosterone, I can’t help it, alright?” you dig yourself into a deeper hole.

Shō blinks at you, once, twice, and then a third time. It’s like you’re taking turns leaving one another speechless. Before his mouth forms something of an ‘O’ shape. You grimace, bracing yourself for this embarrassing situation to take an even worse turn. But it doesn’t.

“Jesus,” He curses, more so to himself, and then takes a deep breath. “I can leave so you can finish—” He stops himself, sounding embarrassed, “…or I can help you with that problem of yours.”

“Go—You can go ahead,” you say, swallowing hard. Everyone has their needs, you remind yourself.

Shō’s gaze meets yours momentarily, silently requesting your approval once more. You nod, turning your head to the side as you lay on one of the benches, your legs spread. Dripping cunt on full display.

He lowers his face in between your legs without hesitation, warm breath tickling your sensitive thighs. As his teeth gently graze the fat of your thighs. He takes his time, gently nipping at your thighs before trailing light kisses up either one. Stopping just short of your drooling hole.

It’s torture, really. The way he alternates between light kisses, gentle nips, and then full-on sucking hickeys onto your inner thighs. Always stopping short of your cunt.

The rough pads of his fingers dig into the skin of your hips as he holds you in place. He’s a lot stronger than he looks. His tongue lapped at your thighs covered in arousal fluid. It’s like he’s never tasted anything sweeter and you squirm, utterly embarrassed. Embarrassed by how wet it makes you; Embarrassed by the sounds you’re both making.

After what felt like hours—You don’t know, you’ve lost track of time. His mouth moves from your thighs to your glistening labia. He presses a kiss to your outer lips, taking his time to spread them, before licking a fat stripe over your labia. You feel yourself tremble, biting down on your lower lip to stifle your moans. There are still people outside. But you’d be lying if you said that didn’t make it all the more exciting.

And then it happens without warning — his tongue breaches your entrance. Your eyes flutter closed, and you knit your brows together when you feel him squeezing your clit in between the rough pads of his fingers. It’s all so perfect. He’s dragged this out for far too long.

He’s so good to you. Your legs are shaking but he holds you in place with one hand as he laps at your sopping-wet cunt like it’s his last meal. You can feel your orgasm creep up on you and oh when it does, you’re squirting. Spraying your juices all over his face, and he doesn’t protest in the slightest. He pulls away, lips quirking, and licks what’s left on his face contently.

[mixtape-0325]

Testosterone

Stray Kids; Hwang Hyunjin x M. reader (18+)

Word count: 1k

Content: Hyunjin leads, dirty talk incl. quite a bit on stretching the reader, mxm incl. oral and anal sex, cum swallowing, spit as lube, spanking.

We need more male reader fics even if the community is smaller, so I hope you enjoy this one 🖤

"Please baby, stop teasing", you beg at him as your length had already grown hard between you and your boyfriend. His perfectly shaped lips continuously pressed against your inner thigh that you could just imagine already what they would feel like on you. His arm went through the opening of your shorts on the other side, resting dangerously close to the base of your length. It wasn't just mean, Hyunjin knew what he was doing and he knew it had a big effect on you.

You reached out to him and brushed his hair out of his face, holding it tightly into a ponytail as he let his mouth hover over the outline of your hard cock that stretched the fabric of your soft shorts. He never pressed a kiss to the fabric, instead smirking at you as his eyes met yours.

"B-baby...", you spoke as you felt your length twitch between your legs. Hyunjin noticed your little desperate movement, but only chuckled to himself before backing up his actions and moving his hands to your waist instead.

"Up", he said confidently. You lifted your hips up from the bed to let him take your shorts off, no boxers underneath making everything even easier. He hummed in satisfaction as he saw your cock fully hard, veins along the side, the tip already more brightly red than normal, a few drops of pre cum leaking past your slit. All because of him. He pushed one of his hands against your abdomen, having you slightly lean back to rest on your elbows rather than sit down.

"You want me?", he asked teasingly, one of his palms moving up your thigh as the other ghosted over his own length. It made you think of his cock, the details of it, the length, how you wondered if you could ever take all.

"Want my mouth baby?", he continued before pressing a kiss to your tip, then letting his warm tongue brush over your sensitive slit to collect the pre cum leaking from it. His knees were tightly pressed against the floor beneath you, making you even more eager to have him.

"B-baby if you don't a-anytime soon i'll be the one f-fucking you today", you teased seconds before his big lips wrapped around the head of your cock fully. And within seconds he was taking more, filling his throat with you. And fuck, did his mouth feel good. He knew how to make it just the right amount of tight, and god does he make it wet. Strings of saliva connect to him whenever he moves away for a brief moment, only to take every inch again and bob his head on your cock.

"Y-yeah, keep going", you breathe heavily as he speeds up and the room fills with sloppy, wet sounds. Hyunjin never gags on you once, and not cause you're not a prominent size yourself, but because he has trained his throat with you so well that he can take you perfectly.

It doesn't take long until you're close to release, and Hyunjin uses his hand to jerk you your last way to climax. His tongue lays under your tip to catch every last drop of your cum to swallow, and his hands equally hold your body firm to the bed as it twitches with every new spurt.

Hyunjin chuckled as he watched you catch your breath, knees lifting from the floor to hover over your figure instead. He pressed a deep kiss to your lips, giving you a hint of your own taste. Without having much time to think, his hands were on your hips again and helped you up with him, bodies tightly pressed against each other. His hips grinded into yours, lips hovered over your neck as he eagerly took control over your body once again, this time for his sake.

"Turn around, baby", he whispers seductively into your ear before kissing your earlobe, a sensitive spot for many men like you. When you did as told just a little too slowly for his liking, his grip on you becomes stronger and Hyunjin pushed you over the edge of the bed in a rush. His palm held your back down so he could press himself against your ass, his free hand guiding his long, hard cock to your rim. His next hum was one much more deep, much louder.

Hyunjin let the head of his cock push past your rim, spit dropping from his mouth straight onto himself to smoothen the process. "aa-ah, fuck yeah", he groaned as he watched your hole take him with a slight struggle.

A smack against your ass followed, as Hyunjin brought himself into a mindset he didn't get out of anytime soon. You hummed in pleasure with every hit that followed, jolting forward at the impact and the burn.

"Fuck me", you begged to encourage his own lust further, that waited patiently all evening for any real pleasure himself. "Every inch baby", he replied as he pushed into you further with a groan. "Gonna make you take it all".

Hyunjin's hand once again pressed you down onto the bed, a strong grip onto your body as he thrusted forward for you to take more of him at once. "a-ahh shit, yeah, that's it, little more", and with a few more thrusts he filled you completely, and god was it overstimulating, so much, but so good.

A moan fell from your lips with every slight readjustment of his position, stretching you further. You could just sense him smirking behind you, and you weren't wrong.

You let out another moan as you felt his wet finger tease your rim, pulling at the skin and applying pressure that had you seeing stars with already being filled to your max. "s-so tight...", he whispered.

Hyunjin's hips started to move, earning gasps from you at the feeling that only became stronger as he sped up in no time. "Gonna fuck you so good, baby, fuck you open".

[moodymisty]

*awkward cough*

Mother, I crave luna wolves smut.

(this is my first time sending someone a request *internal panic* so bare with me)

(I'm thinking about the luna wolves bullying a surf fic that you did and now have brainrot.)

Like, imagine being my height (5'1) and having a big "mean" astartes fully aware that I'm sooo horny I'm loosing my mind.

And something about space marines that I can't stop thinking about is how they smell. Like the amount of testosterone.. Their sent has to be immensely horny inducing for a female.

Like- damn. Gigantic, absolutely shredded, smug ass smile and, teasing comments, absolute bastard of a super human. Asking you to do stuff that requires a lot more physical closeness than normal. Getting absolutely wrecked by the astartes smell(TM).

Eventually deciding to "help each other out" hot and heavy Make outs, grinding, humping, neck kisses and neck bites, the absolute WETness, SERIOUS man handling..

Jeez sorry I'm so down bad. Feel free to ignore me lol.

Big fan of your writing, hope you're doing well.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's note: i am unhinged. Decided to make an actual Luna wolf oc for this one just cause. This idea is my fucking jam but for some reason I had a lot of trouble with this one, I think it's just because I'm getting a bit burnt out finishing the last of the requests. I hope you still enjoy.

Relationships: Artyom(Luna Wolf OC)/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mild NSFW, Grinding, Groping, Some mild manhandling

“Careful.”

The Thunderhawk shakes as the air cools during its ascent, and Artyom puts a hand on your shoulder to steady you in your seat. You don’t have any risk for falling over, but he still does it anyways. You look up at him and give him a small nod in thanks.

The other refugees however are largely fending for themselves, grouped close together and muttering amongst themselves.

You don’t mind not being part of it. You barely know any of them; And throughout this entire ordeal, you've found yourself growing closer to Artyom than any of them. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if anything, seems to find it amusing. During the few times you’d see him wander through the base he’d always make a point to call you out, say hello before returning to his duties.

The other refugees found it odd. While Astartes are respected and admired, being in their attention isn’t seen as the most positive. They are mercurial and unpredictable on the best of days, intimating masses of muscle that can kill with ease; And enjoy doing so.

Artyom is an oddity among the Luna Wolves, to enjoy poking at a human. Even if it's only one, and he regains his stoic, almost sleepy expression when barking orders at any of the others.

Once the Thunderhawk docks into the landing bay of the battlebarge, everyone makes their way off. The Astartes leave silently other than an apothecary who ushers the refugees along to where they’ll stay before being placed. More than likely the first Imperium port they come across, where they'll become the Imperium Guard's logistical problem.

You move to follow along with them, assuming that will be your place, but Artyom grabs you before you have the chance. His hand claps your shoulder, nearly painfully heavy from the size and weight of his gauntlet.

“Come with me instead.”

You look up at him before following closely, halls rapidly becoming filled with only Astartes. They all look curiously at you, as if wondering what a baseline human is doing in this area. Clearly they're not used to them being here. You continue following Artyom anyways however and try to ignore the questioning gazes, until he pulls you inside a room filled with armoring equipment.

“Here. Hold this while I remove my armor.” He hands you his knife, while his bolter and rifle go on a rack made specifically for them. The knife clearly has more sentimental value, you assume.

“Why did you have me follow you?”

You say, holding the knife tight as machines slowly peel away plate after plate of ceramite. It's such an odd thing to see, watching him go slowly from a near machine in massive armor to something you would consider more human; Even if still very different.

“Those refugees are going into the serfs quarters until we pass by a human settled world. It will be a tight fit.”

The material of his black skinsuit is revealed bit by bit, until no armor remains. Your hands tighten around the handle of the large knife. The suit leaves nothing to the imagination as the name implies, stretching over his entire body other than his upper neck and face, and interface ports.

“So I won’t stay down there? Where will I sleep then?” You feel disrespectful for asking, you should be thankful his legion even bother to saved you. Artyom however seems to find no intentional disrespect, or at least doesn't point any out.

“You can stay in my quarters. Unless you would prefer the serfs.”

Slowly he starts to peel away his black skinsuit, revealing bare skin. The farther down it peels away- neck, collar bone, chest, hips- the farther down it drops the more you force your eyes to remain at strictly shoulder height and higher.

Once everything is removed, he pushes his shoulder blades together and they let out a crack, flexing his shoulders and chest. You swallow a knot in your throat, the knife being strangled in your hands.

“Hmm?”

Artyom hums, grabbing one of the sets of trousers and pulling them on. You shake your head and try to dispel thoughts you are sure would get you into an unspeakable amount of trouble away.

“Oh, nothing. I'm sorry.”

Now dressed you can worry less about your eyes wandering to places they shouldn't, but not completely; the waistline of his trousers exposing a good portion of his hips and lower stomach. You hope he didn't catch the way your eyes lingered on the v of his hips for a bit longer than they should have.

He walks closer, closer enough that you have to take a step back. He gives his neck a crack, and for a moment you wonder if the armor is that intensive on them; In it they never seem to mind, almost as if it's a second skin.

“Are you sure? Your heart is loud.”

He can hear it? You're throat tightens; You wonder what else he can hear. Can he hear your ragged breathing? The way your blood is thumping in your ears and downward between your legs.

“Oh, I just… A lot has happened. It's a lot to think about.” Artyom gives a gentle, sleepy smirk, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not worry. You are safe with me.”

Perhaps from physical dangers; but your mind is now a battleground between common sense and base instinct.

The way his shoulders make your body seem so frail, towering over you. The way his muscles stretch across his neck, his collarbone, the smooth taughtness of his stomach drifting into the v of his hips.

And perhaps he may not smell the nicest in first impression, there’s something underneath it that is oddly, not terrible. You find yourself swallowing a large knot in your throat as he looks down at you, his smirk shifting the taught skin of his facial scars. You skin feel like it's on fire, like you're boiling from the outside in, and you swear you've never felt this aroused in your entire life. The way you feel like your cunt has an actual heartbeat.

"You must still be quite unsettled, if your heart is still racing."

He steps closer, putting a hand on your shoulder; Though it's large enough that it pushes against the crook of your neck. He squeezes it just a bit, and you try to resist letting out an audible hitch in your breath.

"I'm fine, really. I thank you for your concern, though. It means a lot coming from you."

You feel like you're beginning to sweat, and your lower body feels tight and hot. You squeeze your thighs together subtly and instantly you can tell you're getting wet.

Artyom takes a step closer, and you didn't realize how close you were to the wall until your back presses against it and you're near entirely consumed in shadow. The armoring room is quite small, you can only assume because the battlebarge lacks the size of their larger ships.

"You are not a good liar," He says, his smile changing form. "I can smell you."

His hand moves from your shoulder to around your waist, easily able to cover a significant portion with how large it is.

"It took me a bit, to realize what that smell was whenever you were around me."

You don't suppose that's surprising; Being an astartes is surely a secluded fate, without much room for fraternizing. And the smell of someone being so aroused is probably unique and quite subtle, not an easily explainable thing.

He pulls your body forcing you to arch your back towards him, shoulders still against the wall. Your hands press against his body, and you can feel the overwhelming stuffy heat of his skin. He's nearly naked with only his trousers, yet he still feels like he has the body heat of a man who's just run for miles and miles.

His other hand also wraps around your waist, and you feel his fingers pushing up against the bottom of your chest.

It's bit awkward for him to lean down closer to you with his size, but it's easier when he forces his knee between your legs, rising you to your tiptoes. The feeling sends jolts of sensation right up your spine, and your cunt throbs. It's a intentional, painful act to not grind yourself against his thigh like you were desperate, no matter how in reality it was true.

"You're so small," He jokes, shadowing you. "Do you think you could even help me remove and put on my armor with those little hands of yours?"

His lips ghost over yours, the bow of his lip brushing against yours as he teases you. You can't help the way your hips twitch forward slightly, ever so subtly grinding against him as he moves in to kiss you. During so, his hands slide down from your waist to your hips, and forces you to push down on his thigh harder, as well as raising his knee up against the wall just a bit more to force your weight even more on him. His leg is still barely bent however; He could easily take your feet all the way off the ground if he wanted.

His hands grip your hips tightly and force you to grind against his thigh, causing you to moan and whimper. Your hands grip his own body weakly, leaning forward into him and pressing your face into his collarbone. You can feel the heat and hardness of his cock against your leg, and your cunt keeps tensing around a disappointing emptiness at the thought.

You want it so unbelievably bad. You would do just about anything for it. You don't care who hears or who sees, you just want him inside of you and you'll be more than willing to beg and plead and cry for it.

His lips pull away from yours, lips swollen and well kissed. You feel your spit mixed with your own against them.

"Be my personal serf. It'll be a far better life than whatever a refugee's will be, where ever you and your fellow humans end up."

You can't deny what he says is true. But the lust-driven cloud fogging your mind is more than a significant contributor to the 'yes' that you utter to him. It makes his smirk wider, and his eyes darker.

"Would I, still stay in your quarters?" His hands still grip your hips tightly as you speak breathlessly, trying to whimper and grind yourself against him further.

"There's serf's quarters right next my own I can requisition just for you." His lips move from your mouth to your neck, pressing against the pulse point just below your right ear.

"But if you'd rather stay in my own, I won't complain."

[lavenderspence]

silly poker night reveals | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 1.8K

Content warning: basically just funny, or crack, alcohol mention, gambling addiction mention

Summary: A poker night with the silly crime men gets disrupted when a certain someone decides to prove he's not a psychic.

Characters: Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, Patrick Jane, Richard Castle, Seeley Booth, Harvey Specter

A/N: One day, I just really wanted to write a fic with all my favorite silly crime men and have them be snarky to each other, and that’s what I did. This was literally written for the fun, for the vibes, for the hell of it, and then I just could not, not make it about my husband too. So, even if you’ve only watched one of the shows, give this a read, I think it's fun. enjoy🤭

and thank you to @reidsstargirl for beta reading this 🥺💕

masterlist

“You’re late.” You said after you pulled the door open. A rumpled blond was sitting in front of you - a white dress shirt, a black vest, and a gray suit jacket thrown over his shoulder. 

He flashed you a lazy smile, all teeth, “Yeah, well, when have you known me to be punctual?” He pushed past you, stepping into the apartment, with no care in the world.

His eyes ran around the room, finding it empty of any other presence, “You little minx, you lied to me.” He turned around, eyes running through your body. 

You smiled, eyes sparkling, “Yeah, well, I had to get creative if I wanted you to be on time, Jane. You have just enough time for a power nap, go enjoy the couch.” You threw his words back at him, and then waved a hand around, gusting to the emerald couch. 

You made your way to the kitchen, picking up a half-full glass of champagne. Walking around for a second, you looked at the man on the couch and waited for the 15 minutes until 7:30 to pass, so you could welcome your other guests too. 

You were waiting on Aaron and Spencer - they were coming straight from work, deciding to stay around an extra hour after you to finish up. Harvey was flying in from New York, Castle was driving down, and Jane was already snoring on your couch, and Booth was coming after closing a case. 

You arranged these poker games once every two months, depending on how all your schedules aligned. You’d worked with all of these silly assholes at one point in your life. Sometimes, they needed some time to just goof around and play some games, nothing serious. 

A few other of your colleagues joined occasionally - Rossi and Morgan loved the snark, and Emily was a fan of disturbing the testosterone with you from time to time. But all of them were busy, so it was just you and the usuals tonight. 

12 minutes later, you were welcoming everyone in, and Jane was rousing from his nap, looking even more rumpled than before. 

Spencer and Booth took their usual places in front of the TV, where you’d already queued a baseball game, and left them some snacks. The others each took a place at the table. 

You usually played just one game, so you took your place as the dealer and shuffled the cards. 

The conversation was sparse for a few minutes while you dealt the cards. 

“Why’s Clark Kent not playing?” Rick asked all of a sudden, gusting to Booth with his head. Booth usually joined the gathering every few games, still not entirely comfortable coming every time. His addiction wasn’t something that you’d brought up or were looking to bring up during a night like this. He usually stayed away from the table, engrossed in a game of baseball on tv, or bothering Reid for any useless facts and calling him a squint. 

“Let him be Rick, he needs the night out even if he isn’t playing.” Your answer was vague and it would stay that way as long as Booth wanted to be there and stay away from the game. 

“And the kid?” It was Jane’s voice, and he raised a hand and pointed at Spencer. He was usually sitting the games out too, since the last time you and Hotch had played with him he’d hustled you. 

“Go on, tell him.” You prompted Spencer, as he bookmarked the page he was reading. 

“I’m good at poker.” It wasn’t convincing and it wasn’t the truth. 

You shook your head with a laugh, “Nooo, Jane’s good at poker, Castle is good at poker. What are you good at?” You asked, your eyes meeting Aaron’s for a second. 

“I'm good at counting the cards, and banned from several casinos in Las Vegas, Laughlin, and Pahrump.” Aaron’s lips twitched, a barely there grin appearing for just a second before it disappeared again. 

“Can I borrow him for a poker night with my author buddies? Maybe even Kate? I really need a win.” Castle asked. 

“He’s not winning against Kate, Rick. She will sniff him out before he even sits at the table. Now, Ryan and Esposito, on the other hand, you can easily steal some money from.” You told him as you took a sip from your drink. 

Everyone else was having a drink - whiskey was the preferred drink at your table, Booth was having a beer and Spencer was sticking to water. 

“Anything to drink Jane?” You asked again. 

“Chamomile tea, two sugars please.” 

“You do realize this is a poker game, and not an afternoon tea with Her Majesty, right?” Harvey’s usual snark was making a comeback for the first time tonight. 

“But her Majesty’s sitting right there.” Jane's chin jutted towards Rick. It was no secret that out of every man currently in the room, Rick was probably the most pretentious one, closely followed by Harvey.

“Haha, very funny.”

“I didn't lie, did I? I highly doubt that the Ferrari parked downstairs can be bought on a government salary.” Quipped Jane.

“How do you know it's not Harvey's?”

“Because I'm not a pussy driving a bright red Ferrari around New York City, thank you very much.” Harvey threw a few chips in the center of the table. 

“Well, said Ferrari costs anywhere between 70K and 120K. A Special Agent’s salary is around 135K, and 170K a year for Supervisory Special Agents. So realistically, yeah, we can’t afford it.” Spencer shrugged, turning a page in his book, not even phased by the looks everyone was throwing at him.

“I like this kid, he’s such a squint.” Booth laughed and gave Reid’s shoulder a little pat. Spencer tensed for a second but quickly relaxed again. 

“Dammed it, I overpaid 30K for this one.” Castle scoffed, shaking his head. 

Harvey produced a business card from somewhere and slid it toward Rick. 

“In case you need it. Fair warning though, get on my nerves, and I’m giving you to Louis.”

“Aww he has a heart.” Rick pouted.

“Never repeat that, never.” The brunette warned.

“And a lot of snark.” You smiled, looking around. They all might have serious jobs during the day, but they were all extremely silly when they were off of work.

The game continued on for another 15 minutes, conversion flying by until Booth’s voice rang around you.

“Okay Jane, no offense, but I need to know. What’s your shtick? What made the FBI want to hire you as a consultant?” Seeley asked, turning a sobriety chip in his hand. 

“Ugh, offense.” 

“Oh come on,” Booth waved a hand around, “I’m one of the best sharpshooters out there,” you rolled your eyes and so did Rick, “Hotchner’s an ex-ADA, Y/N’s a weapons expert and a linguist. Reid over here is basically Einstein.” 

“Well, actually, Einstein’s IQ is believed to be somewhere between 160 and 180, and mine’s 187, so technically, I surpass Albert Einstein.” Seeley wasn’t happy being interrupted again, but he let it slide, used to being interrupted by his own team.

“So Jane, what makes you such a special asset to the FBI? You're not still pulling the psychic card, are you?” To anyone, it might seem judgmental, the way he asked, but you knew it was anything but. He was curious, but he also valued his job too much not to ask. 

Jane leaned back in his chair, laying his cards face down and his hands on top of them. He looked on over you, head to toe, and then his eyes focused on your left - to Aaron. 

You saw his eyes shine for a second, and shook your head at him, already knowing what was going to come out of his mouth. 

“There is no such thing as psychics. Just a very good eye for reading people. Like for example, all night Hotchner’s been a broody, quiet bastard, safe for any time Y/N talks. His eyes light up and he relaxes back into his chair.” You watched Aaron’s posture too tight and reached a hand under the table to lay over his leg.

You were glaring daggers in Jane's direction, but once he was on a roll, there was no stopping him. “Earlier, when she put his glass down, his fingers on the hand closest to her body, twitched. His cologne is expensive, freshly applied - he probably has a spear bottle in his office.  He's been checking his watch, waiting for the night to end, so we'd all go home. Not him though, he's staying over.”

He played with the edge of his cards as he watched all eyes turn in your direction. 

“Oh, and the murderous look he's been giving Harvey every time he catches him looking at Y/N a bit too closely. Also, the clenching of the jaw - seriously knock it off, you won't have teeth forever.” Jane warned before he leaned back into his chair, looking just a tad too proud of himself.

The silence was defeating for a few moments, no one dared to utter a word.

“I don't think they wanted that to be shared just yet.” Rick muttered

“No shit.” Aaron's fingers wrapped around your own as he gritted out.

“And I didn't want to be lied to, but alas…” Jane added, flashing you a grin.

“Oh, you petty asshole.” A grin was making its way onto your face and you didn't know why.

“Oh, I'm about to become even more of an asshole - full house.” He threw his card in the middle of the table, close to the chips.

“Awww, you really are an asshole.” Rick leaned back in his chair, defeated and pouting.

“Takes one to know one, Dicky.” He smirked.

“Are you okay with this?” You turned around and asked Aaron quietly, for a moment forgetting the room full of men you’d worked with over the years.

“I'm good, although being profiled wasn't my idea of fun for the night.” He admitted just as quietly, reaching to push your hair away.

“I'm sorry.” He went to close the space between you before you heard the scraping of chairs.

“Okay kiddos, mom and dad need us to empty the apartment. Go on, out the door.” Seeley announced. You rolled your eyes at his bullshit before you started giving goodbye hugs. 

“If Hotchner's the dad, who's the daddy?” Harvey asked jokingly as he pulled you into a hug.

“Ask Louis tomorrow.”

“I didn't need the mental picture, thank you.” He shuddered and walked towards the door with the rest.

“Don't ask dumb questions then.” You called out, before you turned towards the good Doctor, “Oh and Spence? Keep this on the down-low, would you?” You asked, still not exactly ready to share this with your team, even after having the whole thing come out this way.

He smiled sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck, “Yeah…too late.” and just then both your and Aaron's phones went off. 

There was no question about it, there was a fun morning waiting for you tomorrow. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[choccy-milky]

oh boy anon, you’ve activated my trap card. GET READY FOR A SEBASTIAN CHARACTER ANALYSIS ESSAY BELOW LMAO

ok so first off I know im obvs biased, but I don’t actually think my seb is that ooc, AND PUT DOWN YOUR PITCHFORKS IMMA EXPLAIN WHY. but im also gonna explain why I don’t think the other more friendly and lighthearted renditions of seb are ooc either. bc theres so many aspects of seb we get in the game that can be interpreted in so many diff ways, and so this is how i see it/landed on MY rendition of seb:

PROTECTIVENESS/POSSESSIVENESS: this is one of the main aspects of him, imo. his entire questline is about wanting to cure anne, and how he’s not giving up, and how he believes that HE is the only one that can do it, because “she’s MY sister!” seb is super tunnel visioned and has a one-track mind when it comes to this, and I headcanon that he’s this way because of their parents deaths. he’s the brother, the boy, he’s gotta be strong for his sister, and ofc when their parents died, he tries to comfort her and be there for her/be the rock, and it happens again when she’s sick. shes his sister, his responsibility, and he’ll die before he gives up on her and her safety.

SO, I just transfer all those aspects over to a romantic relationship instead. you just replace “shes my sister” with simply, “she’s mine/my gf/my wife/etc.” and in the same way I think seb tries to be strong and reliable and protect anne because he’s the brother, I think seb would be the same way in a relationship, because he’s a boy and she’s a girl and its 1890 and he’s chivalrous and he just sees it as his responsibility. I think the death of his parents and his dynamic with anne has baked this sort of mindset into him, and its even MORE intense in a romantic aspect, because then hormones and puberty and sexual tension and attraction is involved (plus the fact that seb in my fic is 17, so he’s older and has even stronger raging hormones and testosterone LOL.

JEALOUSY: who can forget the lines “between the two of you, I’m starting to feel left out” and “ominis simply needs a moment with you and he’ll change his mind. is that it?” the first one is more playful but I feel like the second one really showcases sebs brand of jealousy, and how biting and uncharitable it can be.

AGGRESSION/VIOLENCE: yet another iconic line with: “fine. but ominis knows, I won’t step back from a fight.” LIKE... the fact that apparently ominis knows this means its come up more than once…and im not saying seb is some unruly aggressor who flies off the handle at anything, but he defs has a capacity and is willing to get violent if HE believes the situation calls for it—basically the same way he feels about the dark arts. he felt justified using imperio to protect anne, and taking the relic to save anne, and so he would have fought ominis to get out of the catacomb. and with MY seb, while he doesn’t go picking fights with any boy who looks or gets close to clora, he’ll definitely be willing to beat up or lay hands on a creep who bothers clora/who is in the process of bothering her LOL.

SO YEAH, that’s pretty much it, and I’ll be the first to admit I definitely ramp up these traits further because he’s older in my fic and i think these traits would only get more intensified with age + being in love and also bc IM A TWILIGHT GIRLIE!!! what can I say. there are so many moments in my fic where you can just replace seb with edward and it wouldn’t seem out of place tbh LMAOO so blame twilight, it was a formative experience for me BAHAHA

BUT like I ALSO said, I don’t think peoples more lighthearted interpretations of seb are ooc either. because even all my earlier above examples, you can just focus on diff aspects of them. like his tunnel vision and obsession to cure anne? instead of seeing it as over the top protective and possessive, you can just view it in a more wholesome determined selfless sort of way. like I said we got so many nice little bits and ingredients of his personality that we can turn into anything we want, really👌just pick which flavour of seb u like best and use what we got in game to create it HAHA

AW TYY QUEEN BAHAHA💖 and aw im always so honoured when ppl tell me they consider my stuff canon that’s like the best compliment I can get, tysm 😭 and im glad you like my fic and art so much (enough for your friends and family to unfortunately know💀 LMAOO)

im adding your ask to this because it kinda ties into my seb essay. LETS GET INTO WHY A SWEET BABY ANGEL WOULD LIKE SOMEONE LIKE SEB. the answer ISSS: the same reason WE’RE also all into him I guess?? BAHHA

ok but to start off im gonna defend my seb, not only cause of what you said anon (i dont want you to feel like this is targeted to you!) but also bc I got an ask recently asking me to summarize seb and clora’s relationship since all they see from my art is that “they fuck and seb is possessive” LMAO, and I feel like ppl who JUST see my art and don’t read my fic have a warped image of my seb.

this may be shocking but I don’t consider my seb a red flag LMAO. I joke about how hes more of a pink flag tbh, but even THAT i dont even really believe, and don’t even consider him overly possessive. like yes he keeps an eye on her when shes hanging around other boys, but I feel like that’s normal (esp for 1890) and all of his most possessive moments have been when theres been a threat to cloras life/coming from a place of love and protection (especially since clora is so self-sacrificial, she’d have killed herself by now if not for seb LOL) so to me id actually put Sebastian as being PROTECTIVE as his first and foremost trait, followed by the possessiveness.

and yeah he gets jealous, but unless a dude is actively trying to get with her/hitting on her/harassing her, he’ll otherwise just kinda be unhappy about it/let it play out/ watch on unhappily LOL. and even when lawley was blackmailing clora and getting in between her and sebs relationship and lying about how close he and clora were, seb demanded answers from CLORA on what was happening between the two of them, but he didn’t touch lawley or tell him to stay away. bc seb thought that was what clora wanted, so he let her drift away. if he was TRULY a red flag, in this instance he would have just beat up lawley for taking what was "his"/not allow clora to leave him/immediately go to lawley instead of clora, and tell him to stay away despite what clora might want. (and clora even WISHED seb had interfered and done this. she was like 'why is he letting me drift away and go off with lawley i WANT him to fight for me...but she couldn't actually say anything thanks to the blackmail)

clora doesn’t just 'put up' with sebs more possessive and protective behaviour though, she actually likes it HAHA. just bc shes a precious baby angel, we all like a bad boy, even back then. just look at jane eyre, and how popular the dark and brooding and assholey mr. rochester was.

she tells seb at one point that she likes those things about him, even his immature competitive side, and his darker sides, and that he shouldn’t try to hide them or change himself because she accepts them. and even putting aside all of the stuff they’ve been through together that has bonded them (like the main canon quests + annes curse and then CLORA being cursed, and then clora being kidnapped and seb saving her) clora thought seb was roguish and charming and witty and intelligent and good looking from day 1. add to the fact that he’s just so devoted to her in everything he does, that even if he CAN get a bit overbearing at times, how could you NOT fall for someone like that😩 someone whose possessive behavior just stems from wanting to protect you and love you and want to keep you safe and cherish you like DAMN…. GET ME A SEB, TOO. WHERES MINE!!!😭😭

clora also realizes in ch 32 WHY seb is so protective of her (the trauma with his parents and wanting to be there for anne) and that she accepts it, and enjoys it, and that she might even MISS it if seb were to ever get less protective of her/might get lonely LOL, and then sebs like "i’ve "spoiled you, have i?"

so YEAH I don’t think sebs protectiveness and possessiveness goes into any toxic territory or red flag territory PERSONALLY (and the time that it DID get toxic was because of the relic, and clora DID put her foot down)

but my normal seb? whose dream in life is to whisk clora away into a tower and lock her up to keep her safe and keep her all to himself, but that he’d never ACTUALLY do because he knows its insane and unreasonable but jokes about wanting to do it anyway bc he would if clora agreed? clora finds that endearing and cute and is touched by how much he loves her and wants to keep her safe.

IN CLOSING: I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOUR AND THEY LOVE EACH OTHER👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨

[sinkdownbeneath]

“Fine By Me.”

Pairing - Daryl Dixon x Trans Masc Reader

Warnings - Talk of drug use, illness, needles, identity, possible transphobia.

Setting - S4 Prison

Summary - Daryl thinks you’re doing drugs, but ends up learning something new about you.

Type - Fluff

A/N: this is my first published fic!! i have briefly proofread, and i’m pretty happy with it. hope you enjoy :)

You sat on the edge of the bed in your cell, positioning the needle over your thigh, gripping at your flesh trying to gauge where to inject yourself. your palms were sweaty and you couldn’t get a good grip on the syringe, with Hershel in Block A, treating the prison flu, you had nobody to do this for you. Hershel had told you the week prior that he would be going to take care of the sick, and he took extra steps in showing you how to inject your medication, but this was the first time you had tried on your own, it was proving difficult.

You took a breath and widened your eyes, grabbing your skin and moving your face closer, trying to get the needle in the perfect spot before you pushed it in, ‘just do it, idiot’ you thought to yourself.

You heard a scoff and jumped, looking up with a surprised expression, Daryl stood at your door, holding the curtain you had put up against the frame.

“Didn’t take you for a fuckin’ junkie.” He said, a scowl across his face.

“What? No! I-“ you began,

“I don’ wanna hear it.” Daryl said, starting to turn away and leave.

“Daryl!” you jump towards him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around, he looked taken aback, offended, you weren’t sure, but before he could do or say anything, you grabbed his arm and yanked him into your cell, peering your head around the curtain to check nobody else was witness.

You held the syringe in front of his face, waving it as you annunciated “This is not heroin,” in a whisper-shout.

He looked puzzled and almost like he was challenging you, as if he was asking ‘oh yeah? what is it then?’.

“I am not a junkie, this is my medication! Now if you would give me a hand with sticking it in my thigh I would be grateful.”

You spoke to him in such a way he stood speechless for a moment, like he was a child who just got an angry finger waved in his face for his attitude.

“Well?” You ask, impatiently.

He flushed red for a moment and sheepishly nodded, taking the syringe from your hand, you sat back down and rolled your trouser leg back up, exposing the piercing site, jab marks from the previous weeks lingering.

Daryl sat beside you, needle in hand, inspecting it, and just as you thought he was about to stick you with it, he hesitated.

“Just lemme see whatever you put in here, I don’t wanna be responsible for nothin’.”

It was your turn to hesitate, you scoffed and looked at him, gauging whether he meant it or not, whether he really needed to see why you were secretly medicating yourself every week, when his expression didn’t falter, you reached into the box under your bed, and pulled out the small vial containing your lifeline.

You placed it into his hand, avoiding all eye contact, this man was the one you worried about telling, he wasn’t as loud as Merle was about his opinions, but they were brothers, they were hicks, surely they had their opinion in common?

He rolled the vial in his palm, exposed the small text written on the label, and brought it up to his eye. The bottle read ‘TESTOSTERONE’ in a bold font. Daryl studied it before peering over the bottle and into your eyes, he looked at you almost knowingly, his eyes told you that it was okay, you were okay.

This was the softest look Daryl had ever given you, he had just said so much more with his eyes than you had ever heard from his mouth, it meant a lot.

He gave the bottle back to you, and took the syringe between his teeth, using one hand to move your trouser leg up, and the other to grip a chunk of your flesh, rolling it between the tips of his fingers until the chunk felt right, he took his hand from your trousers and retrieved the needle from his mouth, poking it into you, and pressing down on the plunger at a slow pace.

You watched him, how he nibbled on his lip and furrowed his brow in concentration, how gently he treated you, you watched as he handled you with such care, you looked so deeply into him that you didn’t even realise he had removed the needle. The sudden sound it made when he tossed it onto the table next to your bed startled you awake from your trance, and you found yourself staring at the side of Daryl’s face, his cheeks flushed and his eyes darting to all places other than your eyes.

“Sorry.” You said, he nodded.

“Thank you for doing that.”

“S’alright.”

The silence was so loud.

“How did you learn to do that?” You asked, breaking the silence so suddenly you caught yourself off guard.

“Do wha’?” he questioned, raising a brow and looking at you through his fringe,

“Inject, it seemed like you knew what to do.”

He nibbled on his lower lip again, looking around the room, as if he was trying to find the words.

“My Mama,” he replied, “before the fire, before everythin’, she was sick, I had to give her her medicine sometimes, she was in a lot of pain, kept her in bed all day, smokin’, readin’ her magazines, Merle took care of her when he wasn’t at Dad’s, but sometimes I had ta.”

He kept his eyes on the ground before timidly looking toward you, you looked at eachother for a moment, before you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight, you were telling him it was okay, you were thanking him for not freaking out over you being trans. You were very private about your identity before the world fell, and you thought you would have to be the same now, you had told Hershel very reluctantly, but he told you that God loved you, and that he accepted you, and now Daryl knew, and he treated you with more care and understanding than before. You thought maybe your family, your new, found family, would be okay with it too.

Daryl wrapped his arms around you, and squeezed before pulling away from the hug and standing up by the door.

“Gotta go, Rick needs help with the fence.” he told you, punctuating his sentence with a half smile.

“Okay.”

He turned away and lifted the curtain.

“Daryl?”

“Mm?” He hummed.

“Thank you, I thought-“ You began,

“I know what it’s like. Feelin’ like you don’t belong. What you’re doin’, who you are, is fine by me.”

[nebulousbrainsoup]

Hard hours are open ? ? If I may ~ ?

Thinking about boxer San cuz honestly the bouncy mv and the whole scene of San and wooyoung in the underground boxing ring made me dizzy 🫣🫣 really want that man to ruin me for me,, maybe as a lucky charm or a good luck quickie (maybe with a dash of wooyoung on the side 🤭😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫)

Idk your very recent mingi fic/ask is making me feel things lol

oh you absolutely may, my dear. that whole entire scene???? had me thinking Thots(tm) from the moment I saw it and I... mm. yeah for SURE I'm with you on this one.

18+ under the cut ; minors/ageless dni

buy me a ko-fi?

tags/warnings: gn!reader, woo's a lil jealous, lil bit of public sex, voyeurism, sorta poly, woo's a creep (affectionate), pet names (baby, my little charm), mentions of masturbation, unprotected sex (boo)

Because the thing about San—about nearly everyone in that dingy, sweat-filled basement, is that they do their best work when their blood's already pumping. Even when the place is nearly empty, only the fighters and their select entourages milling about, the residual energy is palpable. Wooyoung is not immune to it, as much as he may turn up his pretty nose at your pre-match antics. You think he does it more for his own pride than anything, trying to put himself above the fighters he manages, to maintain some degree of separation. Both you and San can see straight through that façade, and it's quite a laugh for the both of you each time he "accidentally" stumbles upon you. Each time, you're met with exasperation, and each time, once you're both sated, you fall into a fit of giggles over it.

Neither of you are stupid. You can see the way Wooyoung's eyes drag over the taut muscles of San's back and ass as he rails you against the wall under the stairs. San catches lingering stares when he's got you bent over the bathroom sink, his friend's eyes glued to where his cock is disappearing into you. You both have caught him glancing back at you in their dingy van's rearview, and San has his own little secret tucked away, having caught your name falling from Wooyoung's lips late at night. It's kind of fun to see how long he'll keep it up, so you bide your time, waiting until he comes to you. Until then, San has you, anywhere and everywhere he can.

At first, the whole "C'mon, baby, it's like a quick little testosterone boost" bit was just that, an excuse to get you under or over or on him (as if he needed one), but after the first match you couldn't make became San's first loss, you became his good luck charm. They'd shown up at your place before the next match, their blacked out van sticking out like a sore thumb, and both practically begged you never to miss a match again. Who were you to say no to their cute little pouts? Time was tight that night, you having gotten off work with just enough time to make it to the match yourself, so San had yanked you into the back and taken you then and there.

You were distantly aware of Wooyoung's wandering eyes, catching his gaze in the mirror once or twice for fractions of a second before he had to pay attention to the road again. Each time, you found yourself clenching around San's cock, a lazy smile spreading across your lips as his moans grew louder, hips snapping more roughly against your own. Your moans pitched up with the rough-handling, and your eyes snapped back to San's face, finding him smirking down at you.

Within seconds, he had also glanced up to the front of the van, smirk breaking into a grin as he moaned lowly into your ear. "He's eating this up," he muttered, leaning down to suck a mark into your skin. "Might wreck us; he's too busy jerking himself off up there."

Your walls fluttered around him as you felt the coil in your gut tightening, a heady "Sannie!" leaving you.

He hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, this time speaking loud enough for your companion to hear. "I know, baby, I'm almost there, can you just hold out a few more minutes for me? You know how much more it helps when my little charm cums with me."

The soft moan you let out pitched up violently as the van jerked to a stop, the sudden change in momentum driving San deep into you, his cockhead slamming against your sweet spot. You saw stars as you came unraveled, staring unseeingly up at the ceiling of the van. Wooyoung's voice and the shifting of San's hips brought you back down to reality, the latter muttering in his pout, "I was so close, dammit."

"Too bad, we're here. Put your fucking pants back on and take your frustration out in the ring," you heard Wooyoung mumble, the engine dying a second later. "I'm going in to stall. You have five minutes, tops."

San sighed as the driver's side door shut, his head hanging just slightly. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before moving to your lips, muffling your whines of overstimulation as he slid his still-hard cock from you.

"Not gonna use your five minutes?" you prodded, sitting up with him to straighten yourself out.

He shook his head. "And leave you with more of a mess to clean up? I've already got my lucky charm taken care of."

"Such a gentleman."

He grinned, leaning over to press a kiss to your cheek. "I'd rather save it for a victory lap anyway. Especially if you can get Woo to join us."

You raised an eyebrow, grinning mischievously as you buttoned your pants back up. "I'll see what I can do."

taglists (open): permanent: @justhere4kpop @tastymintchocolate @.soul-jae ateez: @pyeonghongrie-main @thatonenoona special: @jaehunnyy (come get ur mans baby)

© June 2023 nebulousbrainsoup | all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate my work

[mercuriians]

say what you want

synopsis ☆ you're forced to confront your feelings for aomine when your plans go wrong at a party.

content info — angst to fluff, some hurt/comfort, fem! reader, mutual pining (reader & aomine are both idiots), little bit suggestive at the end. also, as a WARNING, this work contains references to underage drinking so if that makes you uncomfortable then please don't read this.

word count — 3.1k words.

author's note — first full knb fic i've written!! yeahhh i got carried away so oops. wasn't really sure how to end it but i hope it's alright either way. while i was writing this fic i was listening to take a chance with me and lowkey by NIKI, so if you want to feel the vibes of the story then u should listen to those songs, they're amazing i promise. hope u guys enjoy!!

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault."

you aim for your words to be sharp, accusatory, and scathing, filled with the type of poison that conveys just how irritated you felt at the moment; they’re intended to withdraw some kind—any kind, actually, since it’s aomine you’re talking to—of guilt or acknowledgement from the boy, or at the very least a sign that yes, he was the one who deserved the blame, and every ounce of it too.

however your objective falls short, and there’s a thought that irritatingly lingers at the back of your unusually sluggish mind: that, really, you weren’t exactly free from fault either. but it isn’t like you want to admit that because even the boy next to you knows the extent of your obstinacy and pride.

it’s a shame, and it’s quite ironic too, that your words are ultimately what betray your integrity. the way they come out breathless, slightly slurred, and definitely nowhere near scathing says more than enough.

earlier, you might have drunk a bit more than you were supposed to.

but to be fair, it was kise's seventeenth birthday. knowing how passionate he became whenever the subject was about parties or having fun or legitimately just having the spotlight on himself, the celebration turned out to be rather wild, to say the least. though when you had all five—technically six—members of the miracle generation gathered in the same area, as well as some of their respective teammates, the pandemonium was likely the only thing you could even anticipate. besides the heavy stench of testosterone of course.

see, your original plan was to spend the night quietly spectating the crowd. you never really liked parties, and you never really liked all the chaos that it brought. what you did like, though, was watching that same chaos unfold before your eyes. you even prepared your childhood friend to be by your side when it all went down, with his fluffy baby blue hair and his innocent, perceptive gaze never straying too far from where number two sat contentedly, playing with a rubber ball.

"how long do you think it'll take before kagami and aomine get into a brawl?" you had mused, hiding your amused grin behind your hand as you watched the two basketball players get into an argument over what the next song would be.

all the while, you hoped that kuroko didn’t see the way your eyes dipped towards the area of skin that aomine’s shirt haphazardly left exposed.

luckily he didn’t seem to notice. either that or—this was more likely—he was kind enough not to comment.

"ten minutes." kuroko had stated bluntly, answering your question. as it turns out, he wasn't far off from the mark.

so, for the first half of the party, your plan worked. you sat by the corner, languidly drinking from your cup of apple juice while you chatted with kuroko about anything that came into your mind. everything was fine, things were going well on your part, and at some point, you even sang along to the cheesy pop music that the speakers blasted.

most of all, you managed to avoid aomine.

but to put it frankly, shit hit the fan the moment the clock hit eleven. a bit surprisingly, the instigator wasn’t aomine, or takao, or even the golden birthday boy himself. no, it was sweet, exuberant momoi.

looking back on it, maybe your surprise was unreasonable. this was the same girl who could make eerily accurate predictions simply based off the statistics she collected from the court, and with you being a basketball player yourself, you knew just how scheming momoi could be when she really wanted to. that, and the fact that she happened to be another one of your childhood friends.

yeah, you probably should have realized that she was plotting something.

yet the realization never dawned on you. not when she offered you three consecutive cups of sake and claimed that “it’s to help you loosen up!”, not when she managed to pull you away from kuroko, not when she proposed the stupidly cliche spin the bottle game, and definitely not when she forced aomine to sit directly across from where you were.

after watching a few hilarious and awkward rounds, it was only inevitable for you to be the one spinning the bottle, and it was only inevitable for the damned thing to land on the one boy you were hoping to skip. and no, not because you hated him, but precisely because you simply couldn’t. it was impossible to not like aomine, even with his laziness, arrogance, perversion, and occasional playboyish tendencies. the truth was that behind every flaw of his, there were just as many positives, whether it was his obstinate loyalty or his unwavering honesty or his genuine respect for those who earned it.

so no one could blame you for the way your breath caught in your throat when aomine held your gaze and when he eventually began to make his way over. “this okay with you?” he asked nonchalantly as if this was a light, casual matter, and as if he didn’t care at all. yet, there was a slight, barely noticeable tightness in his navy gaze. had you not known him for years now, you likely wouldn’t have picked up on that small detail.

but as small as it was, really, it was anything but. and with your heart beating just a bit faster, you knew exactly why.

you nodded your head wordlessly, your lips parting, your eyes meeting his, and your message being spoken and understood through that eye contact alone. aomine leaned in, and you closed your eyes.

his lips were chapped, and his hand felt rough and calloused against your skin, but you felt a trail of fire prickling through your body anyway. quicker than you would have liked to admit, you found yourself falling deeper. you hoped, for a brief, flickering moment, that aomine felt the same. maybe, within his mind, there were thoughts of you.

swirls of past memories, like when you two would play basketball together, sweat dripping down your faces, soaking the fabric of your clothes as you focused on not letting him score; fragments of the future, like what it would be like to attend college together; and wishes for the present moment, like maybe how he wanted you to be his, just as you've wanted him to be yours since the last year of junior high.

you pulled aomine in closer, fingers digging into his collar. the logical part of your mind shrieked, voice raising in volume the longer you pressed your body against his, but you shut the thoughts out.

very, very vaguely, it occurred to you that the alcohol made your heart beat faster, made your spirit burn recklessly in a way that you hadn't known before.

for better or for worse, aomine noticed too.

and the moment you regained all sense of control, you realized that you no longer felt the weight of his body, or the warmth of his lips. bright lights flooded your vision as you opened your eyes. aomine stood a foot or two away, his shirt a bit crumpled from where you had gripped the fabric.

there was a certain kind of look on his face, but the problem was that you were unable to decipher it. this was the first time you couldn't read him.

fear settled into your bones.

had you just ruined everything between the two of you? not just the chances of ever dating him, but your friendship as well? should you have kissed him in the first place? what kind of person did he think you were now?

what had you done wrong, and why did you ever even accept those drinks from satsuki?

suddenly the room was full of too many people, and there were too many sounds and the lights were starting to blind you and damn it you couldn't even hear yourself think. in the heat of panic, you found yourself running, murmuring mindless apologies to whoever you almost crashed into.

you didn't stop until you reached kise's balcony. it was small, barely enough for three people to fit in, but the fact that you were able to taste the crisp june night air was enough.

unfortunately, it turned out that you only had a few minutes to spend alone with your thoughts. before long, the sound of the glass door sliding open disrupted the silence. you closed your eyes, praying to whatever was above that it wasn't the one person you wanted to avoid.

"wow, you really don't want to talk to me, huh?" a gruff, low voice dryly remarked. well, shit.

your eyes flew open. "i—uh, aomine," you cleared your throat hastily, "what did i.. did i say that out loud?"

"sure did," he confirmed. you heard him walking towards you before you saw him slide into the narrow space on your left. cautiously, you snuck a glance; his expression seemed to be unbothered, but knowing what happened ten minutes ago, you wouldn't risk a bet on it.

his eyes met yours. "you've been acting off," he remarked.

you refrained from rolling your eyes, like it wasn't already clear enough. "yeah, well, the sake that satsuki gave me was.. um, expired." you lied, and quite messily too. "made my stomach feel weird."

"she made me check the expiration date before her mom bought it," aomine deadpanned, and for the umpteenth time that night you wished that the floor was kind enough to swallow you whole. "and your stomach seems fine to me."

"well you wouldn't know that," you shot back, somewhat angrily. "and why did—how did satsuki even get her mom to buy alcohol in the first place?"

"her mom was the one who suggested it," aomine shrugged. despite the twinge of surprise that you felt—you weren't exactly sure if an adult was allowed to buy alcohol for seventeen-year-olds—it was quickly washed away and forgotten, overshadowed by the look that the boy suddenly gave you.

"so, are we gonna keep dodging the topic or what?"

your shoulders sagged, your arms crossing over your chest instinctively. "what is there to talk about?" you muttered.

"look, between the two of us, you're definitely the smarter one," aomine stated bluntly. "so quit actin' like you don't know what happened back there, (name)."

a heavy sigh escaped from your lips, frustration welling up within your chest all over again. you found it quite difficult to even breathe at the moment. "i don't want to do this right now," you stated. "so please just leave and we can pretend like—"

"that's the problem right there," aomine interrupts, an unprecedented twinge of emotion filling his voice. it was anger and frustration akin to yours, yes, but there was something else—something that you could reluctantly guess stemmed from a place that he'd kept hidden until now. "you keep avoiding me like i'm the damn plague or something. i didn't even do anything wrong, and if you feel like i did, then i can't do anything about it because you're not telling me shit."

and that right there brings you to the present moment, the buildup to the storm that's about to wreak havoc and tear up the land.

"you know, ahomine, this entire thing was your fault." you hiss, every ounce of your feelings pouring out without abandon. it's messy, it's unorganized, and it's raw; maybe none of it even makes sense, or maybe all of it does. you don't bother trying to wrap your head around it because there's no use in doing so.

for once, you don't think, and you let your words spill out like water from a broken faucet.

"it's your fault because you made me feel this way about you, even though you're one of the laziest, rudest, and most obnoxious people i know, not to mention that you read those perverted magazines. but you're also one of the most loyal and genuine, and i know that you would never lie. not on the court, and not outside of it, either. and that just—a-all of it frustrates and confuses me because we're polar opposites. you say whatever's on your mind, and you don't care about what people think about it. i can't do that."

you take a moment to breathe, to slow down, and to collect your scrambled train of thought. "i think that's why i don't tell you things like this. i'm probably drunk right now, but i think you want someone who's as unafraid as you are, someone who takes charge of the situation instead of being in the background. the only time i can be bold is when i play basketball. because then it's just—"

"just you, the ball, and the person in front of you," aomine finishes. surprisingly, his tone is soft, even understanding, and you look up to meet his gaze. "i know how that feels."

"it's like nothing else matters when you're on the court," you whispers, and the boy next to you nods. "all of it is simple. it's nothing like having to deal with your emotions, and having to understand them."

"you're right about that," aomine agrees. there are a few, shocking beats of silence that ensue, both of you seeming to ponder on your individual thoughts. "but, you know, the way you kissed me back there said a lot."

your face flushes pink. "yeah, i know," you mumble, turning your head away as you rest your arms against the railing. there's an uncomfortable feeling that sinks into you, just being aware that aomine knows how you've felt about him for years. you don't remember ever feeling as exposed as you do now.

"you're a good kisser," he comments somewhat offhandedly. "makes me wonder how it'll feel like to do that again in the future."

you pause.

your mouth drops open. "huh?" you stammer embarrassingly. "you can't joke about this, aomine—"

"look at me," he interrupts, softly but firmly. with hesitation swirling within your mind, you raise your head to meet his sapphire eyes. there's no trace of humor, or scorn, or sarcasm anywhere on his face, however. in fact, the seriousness exuding from his expression feels undeniably out of character.

and yet he's never looked as breathtaking as he does now.

"i hate saying this, but i think satsuki really did succeed this time." seeing the confusion on your face, aomine explains, "i tried pretending like i didn't have feelings for you either, because like you said, it feels weird. i guess ignoring them was more convenient for me, too. but, satsuki being satsuki, i guess she got bored of us being idiots and pulled this entire thing together."

"she's an orchestrator," you mutter, astonished. "wait, so, this means that you like me too—i'm not hallucinating?"

"nope, your ears are working perfectly fine." he states. "i've liked you ever since you broke my ankles and put me on my ass back at teiko."

overcome with surprise and glee—none of this feels real, still—you can't help but snort. "weren't you pissed when i did that? i mean i remember kise drooling over me, and akashi-kun giving me a compliment, but you were definitely upset." fond memories flash within your mind as you remember the sheer embarrassment and anger on a thirteen-year-old aomine's face.

"and i was, believe me," the boy chuckles. "but that was the first time a girl played against me and won. usually, they would just crowd around me and ramble about how hot i was. it was an unexpected change, but it was nice. kind of turned me on, too."

the last part almost causes you to choke on your saliva.

"such a pervert," you accuse him, a tint of pink staining your cheeks. "i don't even wanna know the thoughts that filled your head."

"i was thinking about how great of a girlfriend you'd be," aomine grins, stepping towards you. he reaches out, his hand moving to fix the strands of hair that covered your face. "and how pretty you'd look wearing my jersey."

"we can talk about that later," you swallow, looking up at him through your lashes, the party long forgotten. "right now, all you have to think about is kissing me again."

"that's easy," he retorts, his strong arms circling around your waist protectively. aomine leans down, his eyes slowly sliding shut, and his distinctive scent—cedarwood, smoke, and a hint of sweat—washes over you as his lips slot against yours.

unlike before, the kiss isn't frenzied or desperate; still, it maintains an air of passion, which both of you can clearly feel. his hands are curious, wandering and tracing areas all over your clothed body, almost as if he's trying to imprint them into his memory. they finally rest comfortably on the small of your back, with your own hands perched on his broad shoulders.

sneakily, he bites your lip, prompting a small, sharp whimper. your mouth opens invitingly, and his tongue sneaks in, swirling around your own.

when you pull away a little while later, you find yourself panting. your chest heaves with every breath, and your knees start to feel weak. "and you say i'm the good kisser," you say breathlessly, reaching up to give him one more peck.

"well i wasn't lying, was i?" he raises his brows slightly, making you giggle. "i had to stop myself from going even further."

"nobody said you had to stop," you whisper under your breath, catching him by surprise.

"trust me, i didn't want to," aomine leans down again, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "but we're both a little drunk right now."

his words bring you a renewed sense of clarity, or at least something resembling it. he's telling the truth, really; doing anything reckless under the influence of alcohol is quite far from being a good decision. "and i thought you were supposed to be a delinquent," you tease him harmlessly.

"even delinquents use their brain sometimes, (name)," he rolls his eyes. "besides, i'm starving right now. i wanna eat some of the onigiri that kagami made, even though he gets under my skin."

"he's a really good cook," you sigh in admiration, examining aomine's expression closely, "and he's handsome, too.."

he scowls. "watch it," the boy warns, "don't say anything you're going to regret later."

"sorry, daiki," you apologize with a grin. "it's just fun to tease you."

"whatever," aomine mutters. "tomorrow, i'll get my payback."

[vinegarfiend]

⋆｡°✩Savanaclaw Body Hcs✩°｡⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎

hiiiii! I'm not really a writer but I do think these are fun and I also reallllly wanted to draw jack in a speedo so here we are.

JACK

ok first he is fucking built. that's pretty much canon but obvi but honestly I don't think we give him the credit he deserves for that

hair everywhere..... and It's thick and white like an old man's （っ＾▿＾）

honestly i'm surprised there isn't more werewolf fic about him atp... where is the monsterfucker community when we need them

THICK EVERYTHING!!!!! thick neck, thick legs, thick arms, thick fingers. THICK FINGERS!!! yall he's got thick ass fucking fingers can you imagine??? and they're calloused too so when you hold his hand its rough and strong like a lumberjacks....

ambiguous scars that litter all over his body. they could come from an accident in the kitchen or wrestling a grizzly bear in the woods he won't tell you.

dimpled ass cheeks.

fat grippers. long ass toes, and wide, girthy, feet. probably has to order in a special shoe size or something.

Jack was the boy who walked into 5th grade with pimples and a pube-stache. Testosterone is COURSING through his body.

LEONA

swimmers build for sure

muscles aren't that defined, definitely more mass in the upper body.

knobby shoulders, knees, and elbows

softer around the midsection, he eats good.

tallest of the three

freakishly long fingers. AND THUMBS! you ever see a mf with the most ghoulish ass thumbs and fingers dude... THEY ARE TOO LONG

nipple piercings.. definitely an act of teenage rebellion. either he got them the second he turned 17 or he got them done before then somewhat illegitimately and kept them a secret. when they get caught on stuff it makes him irrationally angry.

soft hands. has never worked a day in his life.

not as hairy as jack but definitely hairier than Ruggie. his body hair grows in an s-shape

flat ass :(

RUGGIE

Ruggie hasn't grown an inch since 9th grade. something about undereating since birth will give you bones as strong as wet tissue paper.

has strange bruises on his body that even he doesn't know where they come from.

freckles and moles on his shoulders/back

thin, but also like super toned from all the manual labor. Think ballerinas, where it's just like skin, muscle, bone and no fat.

very faint smile lines, I imagine they'll get deeper as he gets older.

he also has like, bulging calf muscles. It's honestly scary its the thickest part about him

just about as hairy as the average human, which is pretty little by beastman standards.

wears a kid's shoe size. on a darker note, I think his feet might be like permanently fucked up from wearing shoe sizes that were too small for him as a kid.

floppy ears, and they press flat to his head when he's upset. omg they also press all the way backwards when he's running fast to make himself aerodynamic like a cat.

calloused hands, and he also picks at his cuticles and bites his nails. Vil would be appalled.

you can see his ribs most of the time, they aren't like super prominent (they used to be) but you'll definitely notice them if he's got his shirt off.

[themachineshepherd]

Better in the dark.

(a t4t ftm fiddauthor fic with nsfw mentions! love ya)

Fiddleford and Ford have been trying for a while now to..be physically intimate with one another. There’s often heated make out sessions, pulling at hair, marking, all the good stuff, yet.. they still haven’t had sex.

You see; Fiddleford and Ford are both transmen, and are both afraid of the other seeing them naked. Yet, they both crave intimacy with each other.

Fidds hadn’t been as consistent on his testosterone as Ford has, he felt terrified of his lover seeing his “under developed” body.

he cursed himself every time the mention of sex came up. He felt small and feminine compared to the hunkier man, he didn’t want to disappoint him with a body that he didn’t even like.

Ford, on the other hand, was just plainly afraid of being seen as less than a man. The thought of Fidd’s being unhappy with his dick was nauseating. He wanted to be able to fulfill ever desired Fiddleford had, but he felt like he couldn’t. Not with this deformed body.

It was about time to head for bed, the two did their normal nightly routine; lots of kisses, brushing teeth, and soft i love you’s, then lights out. It was so quiet in their shared room that you could hear a pin drop, the silence felt absolutely horrible to Ford.. he desperately wanted to tell his lover how much he needed him.

So he did.

“Hey, Fidds? You awake?..”

“huh..? mhm, yeah.. what’s goin’ on, sugar?”

“Can we talk..?”

Fidds felt himself tense up, “Can we talk?” What!? What was going to happen? What was Ford going to say!!?

“Yeah….?” Fidds replied, voice soft.

“I want to have sex with you.” Ford huffed out swiftly, he needed to rip the bandage off and just go for it, or he’d NEVER say it again.

Fiddleford jumped a little, did Ford really want to have sex with him? Ford felt the movement and reached over to the smaller man, rubbing circles on his back. “Is that okay? Are you upset with me? I’m sorry if that was too much-“

“NO! No, i, i want that too. ‘M just.. I don’t want you to see me.. im afraid.”

“I am too, but, I want to try with you.. if you’ll let me! I want to see you, feel you, I want to know everything about your body..” Fiddleford couldn’t see it; but Ford’s face was beet red. What was he saying!? What if he was making Fiddleford uncomfortable?

“‘M scared you’ll think I’m gross, Stanford.. I don’t want you to be disgusted by me.” Is all Fidds replied with, a deep sigh escaping his lips.

“Honey, there isn’t a single thing that could ever, and i mean EVER, make me feel that way about you. You’re so perfect and handsome, I bet you’re even better below.” Ford stroked the brunettes hair gently, reassuring him with gentle touches and words of affirmation.

“Should we keep the lights off? You might like me more if the lights are off-“

“I can assure you, I’d like you any single way. Lights on or off, that’s all up to you, my love. I just want you to be comfortable, okay..? I’m.. also really scared, I don’t want you to expect something amazing and then ruin it with my non existent penis.” Ford chucked slightly, almost playing it off like it was a joke, it was not.

Fiddleford laughed sincerely, he didn’t care if Stanford had a dick or not, what mattered to him was simply being intertwined. “Hon.. ‘m so behind on my t that im definitely smaller than you.. if anything, im scared you’ll be disappointed with mine.” He slightly positioned himself in front of Ford, grinding playfully on him.

“Lets do lights on, okay?” Fidd’s said; I want to be able to be seen by you.. even if ‘m scared shitless.” The two laughed, “Sure, baby.” Ford replied, kissing the other man softly.

(sorry I fucked this up so bad im so tired and had a long day im going to edit this later .. love you gays)

[yesimwriting]

Slow Nights

A/n in a bit of a jason todd mood and i’ve been dealing with the writers block that comes from going through a rough couple of days, so i’m just going with the flow! 

also i feel like the fic world has shifted away from first person, but i was in the mood for it and i write to improve and felt like working on my first person voice😭 pls forgive me   

Summary: There are a lot of risks that come from being a female waitress at a small diner in Gotham. You didn’t realize that one of them would be developing a small crush cautious friendship with the intimidating, broody guy that keeps weird hours and always squeezes himself into the smallest booth near the window with a paper back. 

----

Appreciate the slow nights. That’s what Marta said before my first closing shift, when it was just the two of us and the long window that displayed a nearly empty street. I understood instantly. In Gotham, nothing’s guaranteed. Most criminals--petty or psychotic supervillain--don’t have the decency to wait until nightfall for their crimes. But there’s something about working until 3 AM that’s eerie, like you’re daring some testosterone fueled, ego maniac that’s had a little too much to drink to do rob you. Or worse. 

“You think anyone would notice if we closed early?” It’s not an actual offer, just part of our routine. I ask this question anytime between 1:00 and 2:00 and Marta pretends to contemplate as she wipes down a counter or sweeps or does anything she can to keep busy. Her answer is always something about how Bobby, the owner, has a sixth sense about these kind of things or some other kind of joke that makes Bobby seem like the bottom line obsessed ass he is.

She lets out a small sound at the back of her throat, ending her dutiful organization of plastic protected menus. “I think that boyfriend of yours would.” 

The comment strikes a nerve deep in my stomach. An uncomfortable warmth begins to spread through my face. The fact that she’s straying from her usual joke to poke fun at that amplifies the message. The twitch of her mouth tells me she knows exactly what she’s done. “Oh, he is not--” She’s oddly smug for someone who’s always giving me a warning look when I linger around a certain table too long, a kind of worry that’s so distinctly grandmotherly I can feel the silent warnings against my skin. “He’s a costumer, a regular. That’s it.” 

“Your customer,” her eyes are back on her menus, two of them are stuck together, “Your regular.” She pushes the nail of her thumb between the edge of the barriers. They let go of each other with a soft pop. 

Maybe I always take Jason’s table, but it’s only because everyone else was too scared to at first and now it’s just...routine. Like Marta and I pretending we’d close more than a few minutes early or the way that Adam, my least favorite closing shift partner, never sweeps correctly and always tries to find an excuse to walk me to my car. “Only because everyone else is too scared to talk to him.” 

She hums once, low and disbelieving. “Okay, because you know he--” I frown as Marta struggles to find the words. A part of me wants to tell her she doesn’t need to bother. I know because despite all the teasing, she sees him almost as much as I do. Jason comes in and he’s a living canvas of deep blues and sick yellows and the kind of crimson that has to be fresh. 

That’s what initially broke the ice between us. Marta stayed behind the counter and when I finally walked up to his booth, the first thing I noted was the bloody knuckles and the Jane Austen paperback. He asked for a coffee, black. I brought it to him, along with a damp rag and a few bandaids from the first aid kit in the back. I didn’t think about how weird and kind of silly that was until I was at his table. Taking it back to the kitchen after he had seen it felt even more pathetic so I silently set them down next to the coffee. He barely nodded in acknowledgement before turning to his book. 

When I came back to bring him his check, he looked particularly annoyed as he stared at the pages in front of him. For a second, the potential aggression turned my blood to ice. Awkwardly, I noted the cover and how far into the book he was, so I nervously mumbled the first thing I thought of. “Darcy, right?” He had looked surprised and I quickly jumped to defend myself, “You just um--you look like you’re around the proposal scene and for me, at least, it’s um--it’s equally bad every time.” 

That got his expression to soften a little, enough for him to ask how I had managed to figure out where he was based on his facial expression and how open his book was. After that, it was something else, something that went on until closing and ended with a 20$ tip and a walk to my car. 

 “You’re too smart for that, Mija.” 

Marta’s words bring me back. I nod, the motion hollow. The quick acceptance leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s a betrayal even though Marta didn’t really say anything and nothing she implied was factually wrong. Defensiveness immediately tries to crawl its way out of my throat. There’s a lot I could tell her. It might be so normal for Jason to have his knuckles split that the one time he didn’t, I teased him about it until he threatened to leave early and never come back, but he’s not whatever violence he won’t explain and I won’t ever ask about without a joke barrier for safety. He’s that one smile that makes you feel like you’ve earned something; and the jokes that kind of take you by surprise because you wouldn’t expect someone so physically intimidating to have a sense of humor that lighthearted; and he’s the books he reads, tears through so quickly he almost always has a new cover when he comes in. 

“Yeah,” I mumble, trying to convince myself that this isn’t the betrayal it feels like, “He’s just a regular that’s nice to talk to. It’s not like I ask him to come in or anything.” It’s not like I could, considering I have no way of contacting him. It’s not like he’s a friend I could text. 

The familiar creek of the front door’s tired hinges has Marta raising her eyebrows at me. A customer...around 2 AM...as we’re talking about Jason. There’s a silent understanding between us and the look she gives me isn’t subtle. We both know exactly who it is, so I push myself away from the kitchen counter we’ve been leaning against and grab a pot of coffee before placing a hand on the door that leads to the counters. 

“You ever think the stale coffee isn’t what he comes in for?” 

I still, the words rolling in my chest uncomfortably because the thought doesn’t bother me. At all. I push past the door before she can gage my reaction. 

He’s already in his usual seat--the farthest booth in the back, right next to the window. “Y’know the other day this family came in, three toddlers they could barely keep track of and a newborn in a stroller and the mom trying to get all their orders while the dad filled out the crossword on his phone.” I start pouring the coffee before I’ve even looked at him. “And the part I was most offended by was that he was sitting right there.” 

Jason’s watching me carefully, the curve of his lips gentle, “How dare he?” 

I look up, setting the pot on the table next to his cup. Even though I can practically feel Marta’s gaze on us, I can’t help but indulge in this part of our usual exchange. The moment in which I let myself really look at him, examining each part of his face for new or healing bruises or scratches carefully. 

There’s only one particularly notable mark, but this one is intense, right beneath an eye that’s clearly swollen. “Right?” I force my eyes to focus on anything else.  “We should put up a sign.” 

“VIP treatment,” there’s a shift in his tone that I feel more than hear, a precursor to some comment that toes the line between friendly and something else, “You saying I’m your favorite?” 

He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching my expression with a carefulness that’s tangible. That’s part of how he plays into the space between casual and flirty, through the small things. “Well, you are my best tipper.” 

Jason frowns, pushing himself a little further into his seat as if physically moved by his offense. “So that’s all I’m good for?” 

I roll my eyes, ignoring the dangerous warmth settling in my chest. “You never stop me when I start talking about books, so I guess you’re good for that, too.” 

“You guess?” 

Scoffing, I let my attention fall to the seat across from him. It’s not like I sit with him every time he comes in, if he comes in during daylight hours it’s usually impossible. But nights are different...

Marta’s words come back, a little heavier now. 

Jason takes a quick sip of his coffee and looks over at the space in front of him. “...You guys busy?” 

There’s something there, trying to hide in the way the sentence comes out. The glue that holds us together is the unspoken-ness of all of it. He never mentions the bandaids and wet rags I bring when he needs them unless he’s making a joke about it. And I never bring up the regularity of his presence. 

“Oh, yeah,” I joke, moving to sit across from him, “You should know how busy 2AM is for us by now.” I tap my nails against the surface of the table. “We might have to move you.” 

Jason lets out a small sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Thought this was my table?” 

I shrug, trying my best to not seem too amused. “You were getting too comfortable.” He keeps one hand on the table, relaxing in his seat as he waits for me to continue. “Can’t have you thinking I like you or anything.” 

He inhales, letting the silence between us linger. There’s a fragile quality to the space between words that has me focusing on his physical appearance again. I did miss something. Not a bruise or a cut, but the bags beneath his eyes that seem deeper today than they usually are and the shadow tainting his expression and the fact that he hasn’t even mentioned the book he brought in with him. 

“I believe you.” 

I roll my eyes at his sarcasm because I’m supposed to. There’s no place for that kind of worry, no where for it all to go. He’s just someone that comes in for his coffee. Just someone that keeps me company during closing and sometimes makes a boring afternoon shift more entertaining. “Shut up.” 

Jason doesn’t immediately jump to push at what’s clearly a hollow response. The silence eases itself back into existence. Normally lulls like this make me feel flighty or like I need to say anything to make sure I’m not the awkward one. But there’s no stiffness that I feel the need to fight against, it’s just us.

Even though Marta’s definitely only pretending not to watch us as she wipes down the counter that I already cleaned, it really is just me and him, and when it’s like that, it’s easy to talk. Sure, we wrap the layers of heavier stuff in layers of teasing fluff and bad jokes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

“That eye makes you a little hard to look at.” 

He scoffs, his lips pulling downwards. “Ouch. That hurt worse than the punch, sweetheart.” 

My nose wrinkles. “Did not.” 

“Bruised feelings are--” 

I groan before he can get the rest of his words out, “Do not say ‘as bad as a bruised face’.” 

Jason’s mouth stays partially open, like the second half of his sentence hasn’t realized that it has no where to go. There’s something kind of funny about easily over 6′, looks like he belongs in some kind of alley Jason glaring at me like an offended goldfish. “You’re mean.” 

“And you’re cheesy,” I counter, leaning a little closer as my forearms relax on the table, “I’m just saying you need to take better care of your face, it’s one of your better qualities.”

Oh no. The realization that I’ve made a mistake doesn’t settle until the words are already out of my mouth. Jason’s relaxed posture as he reaches for his coffee makes it clear that he’s noticed, too. I blink, pained at the realization that there’s no where to backtrack to. 

He takes a long sip of dark liquid before setting the cup between us. “One of my better qualities?” 

The nail of my thumb presses into the wood of the table. “Okay, I said ‘your face was one of your better qualities’, it’s not like I called you hot.” 

Jason smiles in a way that’s so damn knowing, “I know.” 

“Then why are you smiling?” 

He shrugs, still too amused, “Maybe I missed you.” 

That’s...new. Sure, he’s been gone for a few days but that’s nothing crazy. It wasn’t even the longest stretch of time he’s disappeared for. All that matters is that Jason’s here more days than he’s not. All that matters is that he eventually comes back and things always feel like he never left. 

Part of the reason that it works so seamlessly is because we never talk about his absence (with the exception of me making a joke that must have been cheating on me and him swearing he could never). I never mention that when he does come back, he usually has more marks on his skin than usual...or the fact that I worry. 

“Maybe I missed you, too.” It feels like a confession, a weight peeling itself off of my chest. “Even though you’re a total dork.” 

“I’m the dork?” 

“The ‘one black coffee’ order is trying way too hard for you not to be.” It’s an argument we’ve had before. Black coffee with no additives in the middle of the night, like he’s working at being mysterious even though he cracks open as easily as whatever book he’s reading. 

He sits up a little straighter, an argument that likely insults my coffee order clearly ready. The squeak of the front door’s hinges steal the spotlight before Jason can get it out. 

I turn my head, looking past the booth and down the aisle. A group of four guys have already stumbled in. I instinctually stand. One of the guys is laughing, slurring out some story I can’t make out as his friend tries to push off of his shoulder as he sways. The shortest starts to laugh as well, punching his friend in the arm as he gestures vaguely towards me. Great. 

“We’re closing.” Marta’s voice is firm as she makes her presence clear. 

“You close at 3:00,” the tallest one challenges her, stepping further into the space, “That’s what it says on the door...and...” He makes a show of turning over his wrist and checking his watch, “It’s only...2:53.” The number comes out so slurred it twists in my stomach. He shuffles towards the counter, a look that’s too sharp to not feel sober taking over his expression, “That’s not a problem, is it?” 

“It’s fine.” My lips press together after the sentence, hoping that Marta feels safe enough to stay out of it. “I’ll seat them.” 

I grab a few menus from the hostess counter that Marta stocked for the morning shift. I lead them to the first table that’s angled away from the counter. Marta’s jumpy and not always good at hiding it. Besides, I like the thought of anything shady happening farther from Marta. She has some issues with her right knee and she refuses to get it looked at. If things ever came down to running... 

I force the thought out of my head as I set a menu down in front of the seats. 

“Thank you, love.” The tall one--when did he get so close. 

I nod once, attempting a polite smile that hopefully hides my nerves as I try to side step around him. The back of my arm hits something firm. “Woah.” Something squeezes my shoulder and my entire body turns to stone. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so jumpy.” 

The taller one angles his body to the left, subtly blocking off my original plan of escape. Part of Marta’s face is blocked by the man’s shoulder, but I can still make out her concern. Her lips part and I want her help as much as I dread it. 

“Hey, babe--” Jason. The strangers, weirdly aware for how inebriated they seemed earlier, take their time looking at Jason. They take him and the implication of his presence in quickly. I’m released at a speed that I can barely register. Even the tallest one takes a step back to give me the space to breathe. “You almost done?” 

Even though the babe clued me into his strategy almost immediately (Jason’s nicknames choices are usually more creative), it takes a second for my thoughts to catch up with the rest of me. “Yeah, after them we should be good to go home.” 

Jason takes his time looking over at each of the strangers in a way that could pass as casual if it wasn’t for the lock of his jaw. Maybe if I wasn’t used to him, used to the way he looks when we debate plot points and recommend music to each other, his expression would seem less distinct. But I do know him, know the way he tends to shrink in on himself when little kids are running around the diner so he doesn’t seem overly intimidating. 

“Take your time,” he finally manages, attention falling back to me. I’m so distracted by the tension melting in my stomach that I barely register Jason moving towards me. I don’t know what he’s doing until his arm’s comfortably wrapped around my shoulders. Something in my chest jumps. I don’t think we’ve ever touched before. “I can be here all night.” 

He’s so warm. “Shouldn’t be long, babe.” 

“Hm.” He gives my shoulder one last, assuring squeeze before stepping back. He doesn’t go far, sitting at the counter instead of his usual seat in the back. Less than a foot away.

Jason’s proximity gives me the confidence to go through the whole waitress bit, “Can I get you guys started with something to drink?” 

The tall one looks over at his friends, awkwardly clearing his throat before saying, “Could we just get some waters to go? I’d hate to keep you past closing.” 

I now get the concept of scary dog privileges better than ever before. “Yeah, we can do that.” 

The excuse to get behind the counter, back to Jason and Marta is unbelievably relieving. I’m there in almost an instant. Marta’s already pouring water into to-go cups. 

“You okay?” Jason’s voice is low, eyes so soft it’s hard to believe that a second ago he was intimidating to anyone.

I nod once, “Yeah.” And I really am. The group was menacing and they got a little close than most creepy guys do, but it’s not the first time a group of guys found entertainment in terrorizing a waitress at the end of a long night out. “Drunk assholes are just a...work hazard.” 

My attempt to brush off the incident doesn’t seem to work. Instead of easing, Jason’s jaw locks again. “That happen a lot?” 

I shrug, kind of regretting saying anything. It’s not like I’m constantly in danger, but waitresses are easy prey. They have to be somewhat nice to you and they’re stuck in place. And we’re in Gotham, any type of assault case is low on the authority’s priority list, which makes it low risk. “You’re here most nights, Jay, you know it’s usually empty.” 

He nods once, the motion stiff. His unasked question sits between us: what about when I’m not here? I don’t want to get into the whole thing, so maybe it’s a good thing I have to go back and give the guys their waters. It’ll give me a chance to regroup an go back to something lighter. Those guys and all this tension have taken enough of our reunion away from us. 

I look over at the counter and the styrophone cups are gone. The one time I want an excuse to walk away from Jason is the one time Marta goes out of her way to leave us alone.

Marta re-enters the space behind the counter. “They paid, they’re leaving.” As if on cue, the door’s signature squeak overlaps with the last syllable. “And we’re finally closed.”

“Finally.” 

With no warning, Jason leans over the counter and grabs a napkin off of the stack kept next to the soda machine. “You have a pen?” 

What? Before I can ask where the sudden urge to draw something came from, Marta wordlessly hands over the pen attached to her apron. That level of acknowledgement from her throws me through a loop. Technically, she’s not even working anymore so the pen thing was completely voluntary. 

Jason accepts her offer slowly, as if worried that there’s a chance he’ll startle her and force her to either run off or stab him. Marta does give the energy that she could either way. 

“What are you doing?” He doesn’t even have the decency to look up at me in acknowledgement. “Are you trying to draw their faces from memory in case they need--” 

Jason slides over the napkin wordlessly so that 10 evenly written digits face me, two dashes dividing the numbers into two segments of three and one of four. A phone number. “This is--” 

“If anyone like that shows up again, you can text me and I’ll...I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

The confirmation that this is his phone number hits me straight in the chest, and the reasoning behind the gesture forces the feeling to linger. Here’s Jason, always careful to never reveal too much about himself and he’s...he’s trusting me. I turn my head enough to look at Marta, who just nods patiently. That’s different. 

I pick up the napkin like it might dissolve into nothing between my fingertips. “So basically I call if I have a problem, and you come and beat it up.” 

“Basically.”

I stare at the number again, studying the surprising neatness of the line they’re in like it can reveal something new about the person that wrote them. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but the gesture feels heavy. “Thanks.” 

Jason briefly angles his chin downwards in a subtle version of a nod, “Don’t mention it.” He probably means that literally, so I just set the napkin back down and fold it neatly. “Anything for my fake girlfriend.” 

“Fake girlfriend of two minutes.” 

He leans a little closer, “A natural two minutes.”

I don’t even try to disguise my probably too smug laugh, “For you, maybe.” 

“You caught on a little fast.” I narrow my eyes. “Leaned into--”

“I think the person that gave you that black eye also gave you brain damage.” The jokes are easy to not to mind when they’re about him being obsessed with me, not the other way around.

Jason presses his lips together in what could be either an attempt at sulking or scowling, it’s hard to tell with his eyes that soft. “It’s like being punched again.”

“Dramatic.” I fight to keep my expression flat as I step back from the counter. “I’m gonna change and grab my bag, then you can walk me to my car.” 

He scoffs, a brief puff of air that’s pretending to be more annoyed than it is. “Someone’s bossy.”

I turn towards the door that leads to a small break room, “Fake boyfriend duties.” 

The door to the break room shuts before he can say anything else. I put the napkin Jason gave me into my bag before changing out of my uniform and into sweats. Normally, knowing that I don’t have to work for two days is nothing but relieving. It’s still a relaxing thought, but something about it also makes me feel like I’m stuck. Maybe it’s the fact that Jason just came back and the next time I work will be a lunch shift--which is, for whatever reason, the shift he’s least likely to crash. 

I won’t see or talk to him for a few days, and that’s long enough for him to disappear again. More days, more weeks. 

Forcing those thoughts down somewhere deep, I roll my shoulders before grabbing my bag and shutting my locker. We still have the moments that take to get to my car, and that’s all whatever friendship we have is...tiny moments. 

“Okay,” I announce my return to the main area, “You ready?” 

He’s already standing, the book we never got to held loosely in one hand. “I was waiting for you.”

I hold my hands up in defense even though this is far from his most annoyed response. “Someone’s moody.” 

He sighs, taking a step towards me. I barely have the chance to pull my bag off of me before Jason hooks a finger around it’s strap. He swings it onto his shoulder easily. the walk to the parking lot is short, but Jason always takes my bag. I’m not sure how it started, but like most of us, it happened on accident and stuck. 

“Moody?” 

The word is repeated back to me with an offense that’s punctuated by a hint of surprise. It’s a fair reaction. Now that I’m thinking about it, the word feels like it’s underserving him. It’d be easy to take in Jason’s general vibe and sum him up as mostly angsty or just another tough guy born on the streets of Gotham.

We reach the door. “Eh...you’ve got layers.” 

He almost smiles, “Really?” I can feel his smugness growing and I’m glad that I’m in a position to open the door and step away from it. My hand moves forward. Jason shifts, angling himself in a way that leaves me still. He’s not blocking my escape, not really, but the implication of how close he’s standing is enough to make me still. “What are they?”

The air in my lungs jams itself in my throat mid breath. 

“I’m ready to lock up if--” Marta stops halfway between the tables and the door. Something about her expression makes proximity that felt innocent moments before off. “If you’re ready to go.” 

“Uh--yeah,” I hum, placing a hand on the door, “I’m--yeah, I’m--” I push the front door open as if that will prove my point, “We’re good.” 

Marta nods slowly, “Okay.” 

I walk out and Jason follows. After a second, Marta appears behind us. She mumbles a general goodnight instead of pointedly tacking my name onto it before getting into her car and driving off. 

Jason opens my car door for me. I get in, take my bag back, and turn on my car even though Jason’s still standing there and the door’s still open. “Your tire pressure--” 

I shake my head dismissively, ignoring the symbol that’s lit up on my dashboard. “I’m getting to it.” He gives me a look and I sigh. “I’ll go this week, mom.” 

“Funny.” He leans closer to my car with no warning, head peaking in to examine my dash. Nosy.

“Relax, I got my oil changed.” 

He eases a bit at that, moving back to where he was before. “After I told you to for a week.” 

“It was not a week.” It did come close, though. It was getting close to the end of the semester and my car wasn’t a priority. Plus, Jason’s lectures about it were a little entertaining and gave me another piece of information to file away about him. “Maybe I liked your car rants.”

“Yeah?” 

I shrug, relaxing into my seat, “You knew a lot of technical words.” 

The corner of his mouth turns up slightly, “So that’s what you’re into?” 

“You wish,” my return is a little slower, the early stages of drowsiness finally getting a chance to catch up to me now that things are calm. 

Jason frowns, eyes lingering on my expression. I guess I don’t pass his inspection because he says, “You should get home.” 

I nod, hoping no disappointment is visible on my face. “Yeah, it is kinda late.” My hand finds the handle of the car’s door. “See you around, dork.” 

Jason throws me a look, half glaring, “Night, loser.”

With one last look, I shut the door. I turn my attention to the steering wheel. Just drive. A part of me wants to linger, to maybe say something else. But there’s nothing else. 

In an attempted compromise, I reach into my bag and pull out the napkin. The numbers aren’t as easy to make out in the dark, so I have to squint to type them into my phone. This is normal. I mean, I might have a reason to text him later and if he doesn’t know that this is my number, he might ignore it or miss it or--

Ugh. Before I can over think it, I type a short text: it’s Y/n. Even though there’s no way for that to come off as weird, I’m glad I have an excuse to shove my phone back into my bag and not look at it for at least 15 minutes. 

----

This bag should be called the black hole, because the moment you need something, it’s swallowed into an abyss. I’ve found multiple sticks of gum, a handful of change, and a chapstick I thought I lost weeks ago, but not my keys. 

I sigh, picking up my phone so that I can use the flashlight. Before I can swipe to get the option, my attention shifts to the recent notifications. Two texts my phone has labeled as being from maybe: Jason. The first his just his name. The second is a longer message saying that I already knew that, because he’s the one that gave me this number. It’s a distinction that’s so specific and particular it’d feel a little awkward coming from anyone else. 

I let myself think about it for a second before swiping the message open. I type out a reply before erasing it. Another moment of deliberation passes before the words come to me. I type it out and hit send in the same breath. You’re lucky you’re pretty. 

I drop my phone back into my bag and shift around the contents. The void must have taken another victim, because it’s finally spit up my keys.

----

A/n i could see myself making a part 2 to this where this reader meets redhood and doesnt know its jason bc i was originally going to make this longer, but idk! 

[valiantroeagleangel]

This might be out of the blue but do you have any headcanons of bad omens with tall women? Like how you would feel or how they would act towards you. All is see is about short women 😭 so I had to ask. It's ok if you don't 💕 love you 💕💕

As a tall woman, I loved that ask so I'll use myself for reference. I think I'm like 5'9 ? or maybe 5'10 I'm not so sure, I don't understand a thing about the American metric system.

Sorry it took me time to write that down love, hope you'll love it nonetheless <3

Noah

One thing I love about Noah is that even with my tall ass platforms I'll still be shorter than him and that is great. If you're tall and you want to feel PETITE for once you know, Noah's your guy. It's great to be tall and stuff but sometimes you just wish to feel small and weak in someone's arms and not feel like you're a strong opponent he could fight. And with Noah, I'm pretty sure you would feel small in his arms and I love that. And the debate of him liking tall or short women doesn't even exist since you're probably all shorter than him.

But Noah loves that you're tall. Have you guys seen that picture of him and the look on his face when a fan came to the meet and greet stuff and he was really taller than Noah? He looked like a kid in a candy store, so in my head, Noah loves tall girls (I'm not saying that because I am, what do you mean?). He likes the fact that you're at his size and not small like everything around him. Here me out, you could have a customized kitchen at your height and not struggle with everything being too low and that would be so great. Or like a table with high feet so you won't hit your knees under it every time you try to cross your legs. Just for weird things like that he would feel special with you and not in an excluded way.

But in reality I don't think he cares that much about your height anyway, you'll look good next to him whether you're short or tall. Just wish we saw more headcanons and fics of Noah with tall women and not just short people for size kink hm.

Jolly

MY FAVORITE PART. Jolly is a little bit shorter than Noah but he still is pretty tall. That being said I know that with heels I might be his height or like almost his size. So he is not your absolute tall guy, you won't necessarily always be petite to him. BUT, hear me out, there is something really manly about Jolly that makes me feel small anyway. It goes with his charisma and presence I think but GOD. I FEEL SO SMALL AND WEAK COMPARED TO HIM. Do you see what I'm talking about?

Jolly? God, it is just his attitude but it's working (and the fact that he still is pretty tall). Noah is tall and buff but he isn't manly the way that Jolly is and that makes a difference. Maybe I feel even smaller with Jolly than Noah because of that and I love that. Jolly is VIRILE and I'm not talking about the grrr alpha man awou awou *wolves* *wolves* type of virile. There is nothing toxic here, he just sweats testosterone and I'm a weak little damsel in distress for it.

Kidding, but you got it.

Jolly is masculine enough to make you feel like you can rely on him for real, so you feel little and feminine. Yeah dating Jolly as a tall woman is for once not feeling like you're abnormally tall in a room of people of average height.

That aside, I think that he doesn't care much about your height anyway. That dude is Swedish, average Swedish women are tall. So he won't be that "shocked" about your height, even maybe that the day you both met he was like "damn finally someone with a normal height (Swedish height reference)".

Jolly is a dom in everything in his life so in the end, he will manage it all. He doesn't think that you being tall is taking his masculinity away. He just doesn't fucking care and will still treat you like the princess you are.

Nicholas

Oh Nicholas my beloved- I have no fucking idea of how tall he actually is but he isn't that short. Probably like 180/183 cm? I would say. Jolly is 185 cm and Nicholas is shorter but not by a lot. Which I think is something between 1 and 2 inches.

Yeah, we are doing maths here now.

But it's just for reference, since Nicholas is that tall I'm taller than him with my shoes on. So we're not on the petite side this time. But I think that dating Nicholas while being tall is something special. I think he worships you in any kind of way he can.

He likes the fact that you're tall, he likes how long your legs actually are, god he could die for those legs you know. It's great, you're just so great for him and in the end, Nicholas is still pretty tall, at least taller than average height in my country sooo. He still has a presence next to you even if he is an introvert that only wishes to disappear in social situations. If he wants I'm sure he could be very "towering" by his attitude and take things in charge.

I like the trope of the tall shy guy you know. Because he is shy, he wants to be invisible but he is so tall and has this dom side of him that you can't miss him. And that is Nicholas ladies, he is an elephant in the room that has a manly side he's trying to hide. But he is ready to wear big-ass shoes to be taller just so you can feel really small next to him, even if he hates standing out this way. Which is ironic, considering what he does for a living.

Folio

Oh, Folio. Folio's my short king. I still don't know his height but he is the shorter of the band. He might be my height, maybe shorter but not by a lot? Folio gives puppy energy on that one. He saw you one day, standing in a crowd and he was just MESMERIZED you know. You were towering over a lot of people and he fell in love immediately.

You won't feel petite next to him, but that doesn't matter because he is obsessed with you. I categorize him as the type of short guys that have a thing for tall women. You want to wear heels. Fucking yes queen do it and be taller than him he LOVES it. He is not the type of guy to ask you to wear Converse when you're with him because he doesn't want you to be too tall or tower over him or whatever. He is not insecure about his masculinity even if he is a bit cliché on that. He likes fishing and motorcycle, he has a fucking eagle tatted on the chest and I picture him as the type to have a trad wife BUT he doesn't have that toxic side inside of him.

He might be short but he won't tell you that he can't date you because "sorry you're too tall I feel like I'm dating a man and I'm not GAY >:(." (yeah this is based on a true story.) I'm traumatized by the short guys but I think that Folio could heal me. He's not the type to feel unconfident about that and he will just cheer you in a way so that you feel great and thankful for being tall. Be tall, be fucking awesome and he will be glad to be your carpet if you even want to step on him.

i just love that picture so much.

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