#which it was too hot for that and my body is now unhappy with me

[quatregats]

Was doing very well on keeping up with summer goals but today my laptop really started giving out so we are back to square one and with a bump on the head to boot :')

[p0ckykiss]

just a few kisses - jay

summary -> it turns out jay is an affectionate drunk (and a bit cheesy)

-> female reader x jay, fluff, established relationship, jay is obsessed with y/n's ass, suggestive, mentions of sexual activity

“can’t we leave already?” your friend complained trying to stretch her aching back. you and your friends (with your boyfriend jay) were at the new year’s after party, your friend group was huddled into a corner, too exhausted to mingle with the other guests.

“just half an hour more,” you tried to comfort your friend, while your eyes scanned the crowd. you hadn’t seen jay in a while, and you were starting to grow restless.

suddenly you felt a body come in contact with your back and a hot breath fanning over your neck. from the way your friend was jokingly rolling her eyes and turning her head away, you guessed the person behind you had to be jay. you were about to turn around to confirm this when jay opened his mouth.

“your ass looks so hot in this dress baby?” you spluttered and almost choked on the champagne you had been sipping for the past fifteen minutes. you coughed a few times before whipping around to stare at your boyfriend, scandalized. jay giggled at the look on your face and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you in.

“how much have you had to drink?” you questioned after getting over your initial shock. this was a side of jay you rarely got to see in public. sure, he was the cuddly when you were alone at your apartment, but whenever you were out and about, the pda was kept to the minimum.

“not that much, actually,” jay chuckled before surprising you even further and starting to pepper your face with soft kisses. a giggle bubbled up from between your lips.

“baby, there are people here!” you laughed and tried to push his face away. it took a few tries but eventually jay surrendered and settled for just looking at you, caressing your neck.

“well,” you mused after a while of just standing there with a small smile on your lips, tracing patterns onto jay's chest, “how are you feeling right now?”

jay slowly slided his hands down your backside, settling them on your ass. you looked up at him and raised your eyebrows.

“pretty amazing,” jay smirked and gave your ass a light squeeze. you snorted at that and slapped jay lightly on his arm. jay's smirk only widened as he leaned in closer to your ear.

“y/n,” he whispered, “i wanna eat you out.”

a shiver ran through you as you closed your eyes and bit your lip. you wouldn’t deny that the offer was very tempting, especially because lately your work schedules had been so hectic you used every bit of free time to just catch up on sleep, but nothing would change the fact that you were in public and leaving the party soon.

“jay, you know we can’t.”

jay whined and went back to nosing your jawline, stopping occasionally to press a small kiss to your face. you exhaled slowly, gathering all your willpower to push jay gently away from you. jay gave in and pulled his face away but tightened his grip around your waist.

“i didn’t even get my new year’s kiss yet, can i at least get that,” jay started pouting and tried to emphasize his unhappiness by stomping his foot, which only resulted in him losing his balance and almost falling and pulling you with him. you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. you glanced quickly at your friends over jay's shoulder. no one was paying you any attention.

“alright, just come with me”, you said in a hushed tone, grabbing jay's wrist from behind your back and starting to lead him through the crowds. jay didn’t question you, only followed you pliantly for a few minutes before you reached a secluded corridor. you quickly scanned your surroundings before turning to jay.

“just a few kisses, okay? we don’t have much time, we’re leaving soon,” you reminded jay while pulling him closer from the collar of his shirt. a sly smirk overtook jay's face.

“sure, baby,” he said before pressing you into the nearest wall. it became quite obvious to you in the next seconds that this was not about to be just a few kisses.

[parfaitblogs]

astronomy ❀ s. reid x reader

in which nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: angst tags: s10 spencer reid. maeve as a plot point. argument yay. spencer says some mean things (#needthat). all around unhappiness. stars and light and the sun. lack of communication. reader my avoidant attachment queen. i’m holding your hand throughout 🫂 word count: 2.7k a/n: a late happy mercury retrograde. sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth for a hot minute. here's how my brains been feeling. i don't really know what this is. it was written amidst a dissociative episode. hopefully future me figures it out.

"your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing." (fyodor dostoevsky) 

A melodic hum of air whirs in this apartment. Keeping dust particles from settling on too many surfaces, swirling around your heads. Tiny, and unseen, but there. You familiarise yourself with the thought of them being there. They tickle your skin when you sit down in the armchair nobody ever really resides in now, and you find comfort in knowing there is more that exists invisibly than just your own feelings. 

He does not say anything to you as you tuck your feet beneath yourself, and it hurts, but a large part of you doesn't want him to anyways. He will only say things that will liquidise your brain into thinking he cares more than he does, and you have had too long of a day to act like he is not using bare palms to crush your heart. Too heavy of a week to let him bypass your walls once again. 

A foreign voice tells the air you need to talk, and you distantly recognise it as your own. You had rehearsed the very sentence in your car a thousand times. Once it got past your lips, this would all become easier to discuss. 

It isn't. 

You're focussed on the steam that lifts from a cup of coffee he had probably made seconds before you knocked on his door. An impromptu visit he did not ask you for, but you hope he understands your awful guest manners once this is all over. 

"Talk about what?" he answers the question you don't even remember asking, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him tense when a shuddering breath leaves your lips. 

You wonder if he's shocked when you tell him you want to end things. 

It's storming outside. The rain pelting against the window mirrors your heavy heart, but you aren't too naive to believe it is storming in your name. Though, there are few pleasures in life you still enjoy these days, and perhaps pretending the universe is centring around you for just this one night isn't selfish. 

"You want to end things," he repeats your words back to you. They don't sound right. Like a language Earth's never discovered. Two weeks ago you wouldn't have ever dreamed uttering these words. 

Two weeks ago, you were incandescent. Light bounced off your skin, the rays of sunlight creating a halo around you that would leave anyone breathless. Spencer Reid would never be an outlier in that demographic. 

You'd sat in a very similar position to how you are now, but your head was in the space between his jawline and his shoulder, and your hands were woven within his. Thumbs stroked the skin, and he'd bitten back a comment about how soft you felt. 

Unfinished — but definitely touched — Thai food sat atop the coffee table in front of your bodies, and the tenth Doctor Who episode in a row was playing on the television. He'd discovered your weakness for his widened eyes and hands-on coercion, and used and abused the power ever since. 

He stared down at you, and you could feel him without the need to look up. You should've. Perhaps, if you'd crawled out of the comfort being physically entwined with Spencer Reid on his living room couch provided, you would've noticed that beneath his intense gaze on the sunlight encircling your body, he was thinking about the dead. 

You didn't, though. You had laughed as he quoted lines as they were said of the episode he'd no doubt seen a thousand times, shoving his shoulder and calling him a nerd with the stupidest grin on your face, and the sweetest flutter of your heart. 

He said, "Nerd is a noun to describe someone who is an expert in one particular thing. I am an expert in a lot more than one."

And you replied, "Oh, of course. My mistake. What else are you an expert in, Spencer?"

Your skin would tingle, because he'd take the invitation for what it was, and his lips would brush against your ear as he whispered, "You, for starters."

And you'd get whiplash from how easy he was to go from the biggest dork on the planet to the very reason you researched early onset heart attacks. 

One week ago, you were cracking. 

Instead of the halo glow that settled around your body, it'd fractured. Sticks of light throwing out in every direction, but still reflecting back the hope you had for this crumbling relationship. 

Knives pelted into your edges with every new piece of information you learnt. 

A book you'd never paid mind to, now opened on the front page, a dedication to his name, accompanied by another name you'd only heard in passing whispers. The written down addresses of the nearest pay phones from his apartment, a phone number circled three times in the corner of the page. Written down for no reason. You knew he didn't need it, really. The slow withdrawals of telling you about his life the further into it he gets. Not mentioning more about a past relationship than that it'd ended tragically. 

The more dots you connected, the closer your personal implosion neared. 

You'd apologised to him, saying you didn't want him to relive anything that would return his mind somewhere darker than you can ever fathom. 

"I have you, now. I can't ever get there again even if I tried to," he said. You stupidly took his words with full intent, head reeling and heart racing all over again. 

You smiled, and kissed him. He tasted of coffee and content. He kissed you back with more force than you had left in you, and you'd gone down like a sinking ship. Falling back against his couch cushions, fingers entwined in his hair. 

Each new day was another loss to cut. Four days ago, it was his hands refusing to touch you intimately. Even when you'd moved them for him, pleading him with your own body. Three days ago, it was his honesty. You'd grown desperate. 

Questioning if he was okay and receiving a wordless hum in response. If he wanted to order food, and getting a disgruntled non-answer. Sitting with a foot between your two bodies this time, albeit with your feet in his lap, so maybe you were just as close as you were last week by principle. Finally, seeing if he actually wanted you there, with him, and him taking more than one second to give you his, 

"Yes. Obviously."

You lack energy when you are trying so desperately to stay alive, so you did not question why he had to think about his answer, unsure if you needed him to tell you, regardless. His mind was increasingly becoming preoccupied with the girl behind his book dedication. Behind the payphone addresses, and the thrice times circled phone number. He was disintegrating before your eyes, and your relationship was slipping through the cracks. 

"Why?" he asks you, and you're forced to stop reliving every single moment that brought you here. You will again tomorrow, anyways. The day after that, too. You will probably live through the end of this relationship a thousand times before you begin to heal. A thousand, to mirror every single shard of your heart lain out before him. 

Your voice hurts to use when you reply. "Because you don't love me, Spencer."

You're grateful he doesn't scramble to disprove your claims. You're sure it would hurt even more to hear him force a lie. 

He does, however, look confused. By you. Not your words, though. You know they register fully because the confusion doesn't come until you meet his eyes, and he really takes you in. For the first time since you met him, you see the truth behind his gaze. A disgusting reality that he is not staring at you with love, or even a hint of recognition. 

No, to him, you are a stranger. Somebody he does not know, sitting in his unused armchair across the living room, telling him words you don't really want to be saying. You don't get that luxury of choice, though. 

"Your silence is answer enough," you murmur, and you force your limbs to react to your brain's signals, feet pressed firmly on the floor as you stand. 

"Hey, wait," he stops you from moving without even a lick of firmness. You grow sick, knowing he will always have some subconscious hold on you that you'll never not respond to. "Why do you say that? Have I done something to make you feel that way?"

Yes, you want to scream. Yes, you have, and I'm begging you to tell me I'm wrong and that you do love me. Instead, you're jumping through hoops to turn this into an unnecessary conversation. 

However, "I'm just becoming... aware. Of certain things. That would mean us ending things is the best thing to do," is what you do say. 

"Like what?" he quips.

"Things."

Air blows out his nose, frustratedly. "That's not an answer."

Light bulbs burn out when the filament — the three wires in its centre — breaks down, and ceases to produce electricity. Burning out after an average of a thousand hours per lightbulb, because nothing can live forever. Nothing can live forever, for the sun will eventually burn out. Not in this lifetime, and definitely not in the next five, or ten, or twenty. The hydrogen will eventually deplete, and it will die the way fifty-two stars die each century. Nothing can live forever, and you would be naive to believe that something as minor as this relationship will be exempt from that fate. 

"What does it matter, Spencer?" you whisper. A pathetic tone for response, but you think you'll choke on anything louder. 

"You matter," he argues. Words are bullets, and he seems to have perfect aim. 

"Not to you, I don't," you stumble over your feet as you try to head towards his door. You've said what you needed to say. You've ended things. You can go, and this can all be over. 

"Yes, you do," he's standing too. He got closer to you at some point. You don't really remember. 

"You don't even know me!"

You're crying, you think. Staring at him, and he's blurry, which must mean your eyes are full of water. Ridiculous, because he is very clearly not. Too emotional for this conversation to drag out any longer, and yet he has the power to keep you constrained to it like a prison as long as he keeps talking. 

"You're shutting me out as a form of defence for something," he says. The words are calm, but he's taken on a higher pitch in his voice, which tells you this is affecting him. Or maybe he's pretending. "I don't know what. You won't tell me. That's your prerogative, I guess."

"You don't love me," you repeat the words from earlier with less conviction. You believe them less, yes, but still trust your instincts enough for them to hurt. 

"I don't understand why you think that," he replies, a hand dragging down his face. "I don't. All the knowledge in the world, and I cannot think of any logical reason behind you believing that."

"Who's Maeve?"

The silence that follows is deafening. His head snaps up and his hands fall limp by his sides, your vision clearing in an instant. You know, deep down, who Maeve is. The tragic ending to an even more tragic relationship has her name printed all over it.

"That's why you think I don't love you." It isn't a question, and he almost sounds like he's ridiculing you for coming to such a conclusion. 

Your panic rises. "I saw the book, and the addresses, and the—"

"—Maeve is dead!" Your heart sinks, as, for the first time in your life, you see Spencer Reid exhibit anger. No, not anger. He is not angry. Not with you, at least. He's hurt. "I am never going to get over her because she is dead. I watched a bullet go into her head. I mourned her, and I told myself I would never let myself get that close to somebody again. Yet, here you stand."

You stay silent. You don't know if he's finished speaking. If he is, he doesn't let you know. He doesn't prompt you for a response. He continues before you even start to think of something to say back.

"I didn't plan on letting you into my life like this. When I met you, you were not supposed to be this important to me. Is that why you think I don't love you? Because you saw me and got attached at first sight, and had to work for me to give you attention?"  Your chest aches. "Was it because I distanced myself from you for weeks in the beginning? Every coffee date, more spread out than the last. Not letting you into my space until you were my girlfriend? No sex for months?"

"You're angry," you state the obvious, and his eyebrows shoot up. A deprecating laugh leaves his lips. Not to deprecate himself, though. No, you. 

"You somehow played a role in getting me out of the self-loathing pit I fell into after Maeve died, and now you're telling me I don't love you—Yes, I'm angry! We were fine two weeks ago. I loved you the same way I did two weeks ago as I do right now. I'm frustrated, because I don't understand how you can possibly believe my feelings for you have changed so drastically!"

"The books are new. And the addresses. And the phone number," you say, almost desperately.  

"No. They're not. I have had that copy of that book for two years. Those addresses have been printed in there for longer. Everything you are finding are results of you noticing more about my apartment, which happens when you are in a space often enough. You will pick up on things you didn't notice the first time you were here. Or the second. Or maybe even the tenth. I have not hidden the fact that I had a girlfriend two years ago from you. Just how it ended." You don't have any energy to fight back, despite how badly you want to. You suppose, deep down, you know you deserve this. His bulleted words and cold voice. Even his sarcasm, as he drawls, "I hope you can forgive me for not making you privy to my ex-girlfriend's death."

"Spencer," you take a step forward, and he stiffens, so you halt. 

Now, you feel stupid. Scrutinised under his gaze, knowing how ridiculous he probably now views you as. Starting an argument over something you should've just asked him about. Driving yourself crazy, letting every single element still fuelling your mind run dry, when you could've just said something. 

"Is this going to be a one time thing?" he asks you, carefully levelling his voice. To hide how he really feels, or to make you feel worse, you don't know. "Or should I live in fear of you jumping to conclusions every time something from my past gets brought up?" 

It isn't a nice assumption to make, but it's fair. You give him that. Still, your gut twists uncomfortably, each organ stuttering in their role of keeping you alive for only a second. Just enough for you to feel sick, and stumble backwards. 

"I... I don't know," you provide him with honesty. "I'm sorry," you add, quietly. A poor attempt at making this situation any better. A bandaid over a bullet hole. 

"I know," and you're sure he does. There's bound to be regret painted on your face, mixing wonderfully with fear of where this relationship is going to go now. 

You don't even want to ask him, but you're sure if he doesn't force you to, you'll start throwing up at his feet. "Do you want me to go?" 

A shuddering breath is his response. You take it for what it is, and nod your head with the most sincere smile you can conjure up. You barely have anything to collect before you leave. Just your ruined mind, and new astronomical statistics.

Fifty-two star deaths this century just became fifty-three.

your reblogs and replies are always welcome ♡

[tanobatcher]

blood stains

hunter x gn reader

summary: hunter finds you with an injury you tried to hide from the squad, but you’re struggling to open up despite your feelings for him.

warnings: none .. this is a pretty short read

a/n: and i am once again reminded why hunter bad batch is my favorite clone to write about 🧟‍♀️

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

The Marauder is silent other than Wrecker’s thunderous snoring that you’ve learned to tune out whenever the night reaches this dead hour. Right now is the only time there’s no movement flashing back and forth from the cockpit to the gunner’s seat. No orders falling from the many voices you hear more than your own self these days. No bickering, either.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath as you peel part of your shirt away from your skin. A warm and sticky ache begins to throb harder under your wound, which is now messily clotted from the hours that passed since the mission from today. It’s all just another part of your life, especially with this squad at the center of your commitments. Skin doesn’t take much to break, but you’re a different story. No amount of blood spilled to your feet or streaked across your hands as you try to stitch yourself back together can stop you from turning away. This place—these people—are your family. Some more than others, though.

“You’re bleeding all over my ship.”

His voice cuts through the quiet, raising hairs on the back of your neck. He was just sleeping, too, or at least pretending. You keep your eyes on your stomach, catching the captain’s seat turn toward you in your peripheral. A small smile crosses your lips without meaning to, but this is soon replaced by a sharp wince that both of you hear. The sting goes numb like your words when you reply, “Then I guess you’ll have no problem cleaning up. Since she’s all yours.”

You hear some rustling over his low chuckle as he makes his way toward you, slow enough to tease your quickening heartbeat. It isn’t until he reaches for you with the intention of turning you to face him that you flinch away and say, “Hunter, I’m fine.”

His hand drops to his side, and the collision sounds disappointed despite its normalcy. You finally look up at him, frowning when you see the gaunt shadows framing his face. He refuses sleep like abstinence these days, and it shows. It also hurts, though you can’t bring yourself to admit why.

“You always look at me like that,” he sighs sarcastically while sliding into the seat in front of you.

Suddenly, he’s taking the alcohol from your hands and pulling your body between his spread legs. You stand over him with a hot flush creeping up your neck, bracing yourself for another sting as he cleans the overdramatic gash that looks worse than it feels. Really.

“Maybe I’m just unhappy to see you,” you manage to get out through a pained gasp.

“Uh-huh,” he smiles up at you when your hand finds his shoulder and squeezes, “Almost done.”

“You’re overdoing it.”

“You can handle it.”

Your eyes flutter open just in time for you to see the look on his face as he says this. It’s not exactly like the typical solemnity he carries throughout the day, among all the other responsibilities that weigh heavily on his relentless spirit. But it’s familiarly stern, nothing that you wouldn’t expect from someone like him. Someone as confident, that is. You don’t even notice that he’s begun stitching your wound shut, too busy catching your own breath. The thin needle going in and out of your skin barely registers at this point in the process.

“Still hurts?”

Taking your hand off his shoulder, you reply, “No.”

“Good.”

You flick your gaze between his face and lap before nudging his bouncing knee with yours. He hardly reacts to this, only going completely still as the two of you fall silent. This lack of conversation is nothing new, but it makes you increasingly aware of your own state of being. Unsure what to do with your hands, you fold them over your chest. But that doesn’t feel comfortable—and his rough fingers skimming across your bare skin isn’t helping with any sort of thought process—so you drop your hands back down to your sides.

If he notices your restless decision making, he doesn’t point it out. Maybe he would if it was daytime, and his brothers were listening. Maybe he would if he was in the mood to fall into another unnecessary argument. Or maybe, he’s too far gone in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even realize you’re fighting a war in your mind every day you spend with him. You can’t afford to feel anything more than you already do. Neither can he. And yet…

“You’re lucky this isn’t infected,” he eventually speaks up in a hushed tone so the others don’t wake.

You roll your eyes, and your neck follows this movement in a slow stretch. “Don’t play doctor with me.”

“Don’t wait until now to do something about this,” he retorts. The natural authority in his tone comes crawling back at this demand, one that you ignore to preserve your own pride.

You shrug, surprising yourself with your words that tumble out like the wild waters back on Kamino. “Got your attention, though.”

A smirk tugs at his lips as he glances up at you.

“If that’s what you wanted,” he says, “You could’ve just asked.”

You raise your eyebrows skeptically, unsure if he’s simply pulling your strings. He has more power over you than you prefer to show, but he’s also not an idiot. Hardly anything gets past him, hence the reason why he’s sitting before you with a threaded needle and a death grip on your body. The knot in your stomach seems to unravel as his eyes search yours, so dark and brown that you almost mistake them for the night sky.

“Save it,” you sigh and rub your eyes, “Humor me in the morning.”

“You think I’m joking.”

“I think you’re full of shit.”

The breath he releases sounds like a laugh as he shakes his head and peers at your wound closer, almost done with the stitches. Even while you feel like shit, you can’t stop yourself from biting back at the warmth that keeps trying to invade your priorities.

“Yeah?” He keeps his eyes on your stomach and tilts his head to the side, “I think you’re just scared.”

Your chest seizes uncomfortably. “Where is this coming from?”

The question falls between the cracks of your curiosity since he doesn’t respond, shifting his focus on wrapping your waist with what you believe is the last of your available bandages. You don’t point this out, though, because you know he’ll just add that to his list of the many things he plans on taking care of alone instead of asking for help. How can he of all people expect vulnerability from you? You’ve already accepted this—whatever this even is—will end up as a lost cause. But standing above him as his hands travel near places you shouldn’t dare to think about, especially when he’s looking up at you with stars dancing in his pupils, feels much better than running away.

You snap out of your circling thoughts when Hunter tugs your shirt down and leans back in his seat. His fingers are slightly stained with your blood, outstretched from his palm to avoid making more of a mess. Yours, however, are relatively clean from his favor of taking over the moment. A wordless stare passes between the two of you before you carefully run your hand through his hair, and it’s too soft for you to regret this move. It’s also a little heavy—wilder than usual without the bandana keeping it under control. He closes his eyes at your touch. Leans in just a bit. You step forward with your other hand cupping the side of his face, tilting upward by the jaw so he can look at you. But he doesn’t. He almost seems at peace for once.

You don’t want to ruin that. Just like you don’t want to ruin anything—with him, but also between the rest of this squad. Sliding your hand from out of his hair, you startle when he catches it with his own and tangles your fingers together. No snide remark or irritated comment comes to mind from either of you. Your thoughts are especially blank as he peers up at you, daring you to pull away. When you don’t, he brings your hand to his lips for a brief second that leaves you dizzy and breathless. It doesn’t feel like a kiss when it reads so much like a sentence you’ll never say to each other.

“You’re welcome,” he quips softly before letting your arms fall back to your sides. And then he’s standing so abruptly that you fail to answer, even though his movements appear calm and collected as always. Your head turns to follow his steps, looking straight into his backside with an impatient desperation telling you to reach for him again.

“Good night,” you only offer weakly in return, rubbing your fingers together to feel the blood from his touch. Your blood.

The darkness hides his smile when he glances at you over his shoulder. You can only see the silhouette of his figure, from the plane of his shoulders to the curve of his nose. And then there’s that gleam in his eye—the one you recognize as trouble. So much trouble.

“Good night.”

[luveline]

Babe congrats on quitting!!!

I live coworker!James sm he is so lovely and i cant heló bit asking for more

R having a bad day and James doent know until he teeases her and she just like opens up to James a bit more?

thank you!!

You can’t escape Remus’ sweet questions of concern, though he’s tactful. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus asks, James a haunting somewhere near the customer complaints desk. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You really don’t wanna come to dinner with me?” 

It’s a nice offer, but Remus is part of a package deal, and he’s the only one of the three who isn’t exhausting; Remus’ boyfriend Sirius is well meaning but so beautiful and so alarmingly aware of it, while James is all those things too, but much less subtle about it. “I’m too tired for the walking, thank you. I’m just gonna stay here and eat my sandwich in slow bites.” 

Remus laughs, wrapping his scarf tight around his neck. He doesn’t tuck it under his coat. Sirius will do that for him. It’s heartbreaking to see every day, a reminder of real love in the world that will seemingly never touch you, but it’s cute too. 

James rockets back to his desk. He’s always in a hurry. Half-frantic, he pulls his rucksack from under his desk and unzips the main body. To your horror, he unveils a large Tupperware of white rice, asparagus, and what looks to be chicken thighs. Next comes his portable knife fork. 

He notices your watching. “It’s just rice and chicken,” he says defensively. 

“No, I’m not–” You shake your head. “Not about what you’re eating. Eat what you want, James.” 

“Don’t I always?” he asks. “Not about what I’m eating. Your general look of disgust and disdain is to do with something else, then. Did you accidentally look in the ladies bathroom mirror again?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

James tucks his chair in, face paused, hands hesitating at the sides of his dinner and then flat to the desk. “Hey, is something wrong?” 

Maybe his comment before struck a nerve. Maybe you’re having a terrible day, and everything’s piling up, and you can’t be expected to keep in your feelings forever. Or maybe you’re dumb. “Guess I did look too long in the mirror,” you say. 

“You’re upset?” he asks, startled.

You shake your head vehemently. Slow. “I’m just having a bad day.” 

“What happened?” 

You stare at him for a moment, take in the concerned twitch of his brows as they pull down and in, the set of his nice mouth, remarking to yourself on how the snarky sarcasm erases itself from his expression so quickly, leaving behind a boy with a very sweet face. 

His hand curls into a loose fist. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I don’t know if you ever get this, but sometimes I,” —your face goes white hot suddenly, an acknowledgment of the powers over you you’re giving him in needing reassurance— “look at myself and I feel a bit off. And I thought if I had lunch by myself I’d have time to not be looked at? Um. Which is why I was unhappy. Not because of you.” You frown at him. “You do make me unhappy, though.” 

He pretends to laugh at your weak insult, which is generous. “So you actually did get upset looking in the mirror? Shortcake, I was kidding about that, it's not like it makes any sense.” 

You frown at one another. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re nothing worth being upset over?” James suggests. “You’re pretty. You know you’re pretty.” He points at you with his fork. “You do know?” 

“No,” you mumble. 

“I’m not telling you again,” he says, looking strangely as though he’d quite like to tell you again. 

“I’m consistently below average.” 

“Where? Do you have an address? I must go to this place where you’re the standard.” 

Something weird and queasy summons to life in your chest, before levelling into a surprising pleasure. That was definitely a compliment, and from James, though annoying he might be, it means a lot. He’s outrageously good looking, after all, and especially when he smiles, which is nearly constant. He’s smiling now with the fondness of someone who knows you better than he actually does. 

He ruins it rolling his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Which I’ve come to expect!” he says, sliding a thumb under the clasp of his Tupperware. “Why would you think you’re not lovely? To look at, that is. You’re a huge pain otherwise.” 

“That’s uncharacteristically mean, even for you.” 

“I’m balancing it out. Want some asparagus?” 

You excuse yourself for a quick trip to the bathroom, where you mouth questions at your reflection of the puzzled variety. Has James been replaced by a body snatcher? Or are you finally seeing the version of him everybody else in the office seems to know?

When you get back to your desk, your figurines have been upended by a ‘freak earthquake’. He’s back to normal.

[psychovigilantewrites]

Sunshine's Shadow - Chapter 3

Wordcount: 6,500 Ao3

SOrry for the delay, here is chapter 3! Let me know what you think. I have been reading a lot of romantasy lately, so I wanted to see how my writing improved or has been influenced (especially the smut).

Not many things made Jason happy. Granted, when he wasn’t throwing a tantrum, not many things made Jason unhappy as well. Jason just moved with the flow, and things that happened just happened. That’s what trauma does to a person.

So when Jason is unhappy, he usually becomes angry, and the anger that Jason would feel is explosive- hot blinding rage. And when Jason was happy, well, he felt like he was on cloud 9, and any outsider would be able to tell that he was being very unusual.

Jason’s ego had been boosted since the day you confessed that you found his body attractive, and Jason was definitely happy. He found himself whistling and humming during the day. Your reactions also made Jason ecstatic. Jason had become comfortable with wearing more comfortable clothing. Tight short sleeve t-shirts were his go-to, but he also had added white tank tops to the mix. Sometimes when he was feeling particularly confident, he would go shirtless.

Jason had made it a point to flex his body at you every chance he would get. He would reach for the spices in the overhead cabinet a little bit too far, or he would grip his glass a little bit too hard just to flex his forearms and biceps. The best was when he was sitting or standing next to you, and he would reach across to your other side, putting his body in your way as much as possible to get something he didn’t need. Jason noticed you would take a small but sharp inhale, and then get flustered and red afterward.

But his absolute favorite moment was when you were leaning against the sink sipping water. The layout of his kitchen was that the refrigerator stood next to the sink. He had a devious idea when he saw you there, unsuspecting. He approached you with a devilish smirk on his face, and he trapped you with one arm on the far side of the sink so you couldn’t escape, his body just inches away from yours. The other arm, he opened the fridge and grabbed a soda, popping off the tab with just one finger, and without breaking eye contact, started gulping it down. You looked up to him with wide eyes, your face becoming red. And then he left you there.

***

You weren’t stupid, you knew what Jason was doing. Part of you regretted confessing to him because he was teasing you so much, but another part of you was truly happy that he now felt comfortable enough around you- and hell, maybe even around himself- to be able to show exposed skin.

Another part of you was ridden with guilt. You shouldn’t be sexualizing your best friend this way.

Being able to read people and their body language or microexpressions is not the same as reading someone’s mind, and it is definitely not how it is portrayed in the media. Body language analysis has been proven unreliable again and again, and even cues as to when someone was lying have been debunked. At first, you thought you could read someone’s mind when you saw their actions.

But Dick Grayson always held eye contact when he spoke to you. He would smile when you told him about your day and listen to you intently, truly engaged in conversation. He would give you lingering soft touches and kiss you randomly when you went out together. He would shower you with compliments and make you feel wanted and loved.

Based on his actions and his body language alone, you would never guess that he would ever cheat on you. Which is why since then, you made it a point to not trust in your supposed people reading skill anymore. It didn’t matter if all evidence showed one thing. You could never really tell anyone’s intentions. Maybe they had an internal conflict, or maybe it was a subconscious thing.

Or maybe they were just extremely good liars.

So despite always noticing that Jason would look at you longer than necessary, sometimes unprompted, and that he would leave lingering touches- you knew that he was not conscious of these actions. Anyone would be able to see and come to the conclusion that he was in love with you.

But they didn’t know Jason the way you did.

You noticed actions, but it didn’t mean you knew what the intention behind them was.

Jason had always looked out for you, and you knew he loved you- but probably not in the way other people thought he did. Emotions are complicated, and you knew better than anyone that they were not just simply black and white. The both of you cared for each other, and are just affectionate with each other, it didn’t have to mean that either one of you was in love with the other.

That’s what you kept telling yourself as you tried so hard not to lick your lips every time he did a pull up, or squeeze your thighs every time he wore the gray sweatpants. One time you had to actually hold in a moan when you caught a whiff of his scent when he stretched his arm behind you on the sofa and the both of you were close together watching TV that he had finally plugged in.

Oh, his smell. A sweet caramel with leather, oak, and bourbon. His musk was dripping with pheromones and you had to resist the temptation to turn your head and take him all in.

Oh, to take him all in.

You couldn’t focus on anything when he was around, let alone your cases. So you decided to do some apartment hunting.

You stayed at Jasons’ way longer than you had intended. The days flew by when you were with him, as well as tagging along with him for his antiquities job and also having him help you gather evidence for your own case, before you knew it, you realised you had been there for about three months already.

Three months of teasing from him. Of being in such close proximity with him. Admittedly, you may have delayed moving out. Jason reminded you again and again that you could stay as long as you wanted, and a part of you was scared to be alone again. But you had reached the absolute breaking point of sanity.

You had stopped making your cocktails because you were worried what you’d do or say to him if you got remotely tipsy. Luckily, after another week, you found the absolute most perfect apartment where you could immediately move in and make yours.

“I found a place,” you informed Jason. It was 9 at night, and he was getting ready to leave, putting on his jacket and boots.

“Oh?” he questioned, “Where?”

“Dillon Avenue”, you smiled, “Got a view of Robinson Park.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, then walked towards you until you had to look up at him. “Couldn’t stay too far away from me, huh?” he whispered mischievously.

“It’s a nice, spacious place for a good price,” you refused to give into his antics. “3 bedrooms, a balcony-“

“What do you need 3 bedrooms for?” He interrupted and continued on with his patrol prep.

“One will be my bedroom,” you explained, “Then I’m making one room my office, so all the mess will be concentrated there. And the third will be a guest bedroom… for when you sleepover.”

You gave him a cheeky grin.

“You giving me the keys to your apartment, Sunshine?” he breathed, staring down deep into your eyes with an intensity you couldn’t place. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“No!” you denied a little too defensively, “I mean, no. You opened up your home to me when I was in need. I wanted to do the same for you. You’re welcome to come over anytime you want. You get a pair of keys, too.”

His eyes softened. “Thanks, Sunny. You really didn’t have to. I enjoyed having you around.”

“Well, now that I’m out of your hair, you get your place back,” you laughed awkwardly, trying to diffuse the sudden intense gaze he gave you. “You can now invite your lady friends over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lady friends?”

“Oh, you know,” you rolled your eyes and turned away, “Chicks. Babes. Whoever you pick up.”

“Why do you think I’m picking up girls?” he asked, incredulous at your statement.

“Well- you’re a hot-blooded male, aren’t you?” you pointed out. “Unless you’re into guys, as well. In which case, I should add- hunks or-”

“Are you picking up guys?” he demanded back, crossing his arms. You noticed that he looked irritated, but you couldn’t figure out why. You just wanted to ease the mood.

“No!” you exclaimed, “But that’s because I’m busy and I have absolutely no time for just any man-”

“But if you weren’t busy then you would invite guys over?” he grit, “You’re a hot-blooded female, right? Recently single. Now that you’re not stuck with me you can fuck whoever you want.”

You looked at him in surprise. Jason had never spoken to you that way before. You saw how his eyes seemed to glow in anger, how his jaw clenched, how he was restraining himself. The madness bubbling up that he was trying to push down.

Dick told you once that Jason wasn’t the same person anymore. It was almost as if the pit buried a portion of itself inside him, lurking beneath the surface and waiting until he exploded. You didn’t see what he was talking about then. But now, you understood.

“Jason, I-”

“Forget it,” he turned away and put on his helmet. “Keep your keys. Wouldn’t want to walk in on you and some random guy going at it-”

“I’m not fucking random guys!” you yelled at him, still keeping a tight control on your shadow.

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” he walked towards the balcony, “Do whatever you want.”

Then, he left.

You waited until morning for him to come back, your boxes ready from your whole night of packing. You couldn’t sleep. The sun rose, and it was already late morning, but no sign of Jason.

You sighed and started moving your boxes to your car and drove to your new home.

***

It had been two weeks since you moved out from Jason’s apartment. Two weeks of radio silence from him. You were losing control of your shadow, darkness enveloping your new home. Meditating worked for a while, but you found the best way was to pour your whole self into your work.

You broke into Eriksson’s home in the end, taking Jason’s advice from so long ago. It was around three in the morning when you managed to hack into the security system of her house using a ‘borrowed’ device you bribed from Tim. You creeped into the dark house, your footsteps soundless on the persian rugs. You managed to find her home office on the second floor, across what you assumed to be her bedroom.

Her desk was littered with paper. Documents marked with Triton company’s header. Shipping schedules, company bank statements, and other useless information. No laptop. You quietly huffed in frustration. She seemed like the type to do work in bed.

You peeped into her bedroom. She was sleeping soundly, her blond hair a mess on the pillow. Beside her on the nightstand was her laptop. Using your shadow, you engulfed the whole room in total darkness so that if she woke up, she wouldn’t be able to see two inches in front of her. But you navigated the darkness expertly. It was a part of you, after all.

You snatched the laptop and brought it with you back to her study. Inserting a thumbdrive, you silently thanked Tim again. You needed to get a nice gift for that boy. After about five minutes, you put back her laptop on the nightstand and left the house, not leaving a single trace of yourself behind.

Back home, you scoured through the downloaded information of Erikkson’s laptop and grinned to yourself. Everything you needed was there. Cobblepot had transferred money from an offshore account under multiple random shipment payments. A few extra thousand dollars here and there were insignificant for a multi-billion shipping company. But those thousands accumulated to a few million across the different accounts.

Not only that, but Erikkson was stupid enough to keep her emails with Cobblepot as well. But you knew this wasn’t enough. He would willingly throw his faithful accountant under the bus. No, you needed to catch Thorne red handed.

You jumped at the metallic clang outside your window and reflexively stood and turned towards your balcony. A knock against the glass. “S-Sunny… God, please...”

You immediately recognized the muffled groan and sped to help. Jason was in his full Red Hood gear, helmet and all, leaning against the sliding door of your balcony. You slid it open and he tumbled inside.

“Jason!” you gasped, trying to catch him before he fell. He was heavy, and you struggled to guide him toward your sofa.

You could hear his heavy breathing through the helmet when you removed it. His eyes were closed shut, and beads of sweat formed on his face. His hair stuck to his forehead and he was pale.

“No… no…” he gasped, “Please, oh God no…”

He was thrashing about, trying to get up but failing.

“Jason, lie down,” you insisted, “What happened? What should I do?”

“Not real… No, please-” he was cut off by a sob, and then he started to break down in wails. You had never seen him like this before, ever.

You grabbed your phone and called Dick.

“Hello?”

“There’s something wrong with Jason!” you panicked.

“So he’s at yours? I’m on my way right now. Make sure he stays there,” Dick stressed and ended the call.

Jason was gasping for air now, and you recognized a panic attack. “Hey, hey, breathe,” you tried soothing him, but it was as if he couldn’t hear you.

“Please- I can’t- I can’t do this without you,” he choked.

You felt helpless amongst Jason’s ramblings as you waited anxiously for Dick to arrive. You tried your best to talk to him, to comfort him, to get him to drink water- anything. But nothing got through to him.

Ten minutes later, Dick arrived in his Nightwing suit and rushed to kneel at Jason’s side.

“What is that?” you grabbed his wrist to stop him. He was holding a syringe full of clear liquid.

“He got hit with Scarecrow’s toxin. This is the antidote. It’s okay. It won’t hurt him,” he explained.

Yes, of course. This was Dick. He may have been an asshole, but he wouldn’t do anything to Jason. You nodded and let go, watching him inject the needle into a vein on the back of Jason’s hand.

You waited. And waited. A minute passed by.

“It’s not working,” you hissed at Dick.

“It needs time to travel through his body,” Dick said calmly, “Give it another minute.”

After a few moments, Jason’s breathing started to ease. He wasn’t hyperventilating anymore, and his ramblings and muttering stopped. You pressed your fingers at his jugular, noting his pulse slowing down to a steady rhythm. You sighed in relief, noticing Dick doing the same.

“What the hell happened?” you turned to Dick. It was the first time you saw him since the break up. He looked a little sullen, a stubble present, reminiscent of how he looked when you met him at the diner all those years ago after Jason’s death.

“He was reckless,” Dick answered, “Scarecrow was experimenting again, and he released his gas at a bar. About twenty were inside. He was there first, but asked for backup on the open channel we all have access to. I think he was expecting Bruce or Tim. But I showed up instead.”

Dick looked at you a little guiltily before continuing. “I had a couple of air filters on me. New ones that Bruce made in advance since he knew Scarecrow was experimenting again with smaller molecules. I tried to give him one but he ignored me and said the filters in his helmet were enough. I didn’t even have time to argue before he charged inside. I followed after him and saw that he was already hit hard by the toxin. I also already had the antidote on me, but he rushed off, shouting and yelling incoherently. I had to let him go, at least, until backup arrived because the people inside the bar were already attacking each other. A couple of minutes later, Bruce and Tim arrived. I started to look for him, then you called. I rushed straight here as fast as I could.”

“Oh, Jason, you idiot,” you whispered to him, brushing aside hair that fell on his forehead. He leaned into your touch, frowning deeply and letting out a small grumble. You stood up and turned to Dick, who was already on his feet.

“Thank you,” you said. “For helping.”

“He’s my brother. I love him, even if he hates me right now,” Dick replied, a sad look across his face.

“How did you know where I stayed?” you inquired, “I forgot to mention it.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I always keep track of the people I care about.”

“Right,” you averted your eyes, “I need another favour. Could you help me carry him to the guest room?”

“The guest room?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah, I have a room ready for him,” you explained. “Just- come help me.”

Dick obliged and did a complicated maneuver that resulted in him fully carrying Jason on his back in a military carry. You led the way to the guest room and Dick put him gently down on the bed. The both of you exited the room, with Dick reassuring you that Jason will be fine in the morning. You led him to the kitchen and gave him a glass of water. He sat at the dining table, his domino mask off. Then, you found yourself in an awkward silence with Dick.

“So you two aren’t together?” Dick broke the silence.

“What?” you blurted, “Why would you think we were together?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “I thought after we broke up, you went to stay with him and… you know…”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him. “And what?”

“And you guys found out about your feelings for each other and got together.”

“Dick,” you took a deep breath to calm yourself down. “In case you forgot- actually, scratch that. You definitely forgot that you and I were in a relationship-”

Dick visibly cringed at that.

“-but I didn’t have feelings for Jason when I was with you,” you continued. “I loved you. I don’t know why you thought that I wished you were him.”

“Think of why and how we got together in the first place,” he exasperated, “When you texted me to come over that night, why were you drinking? What were you thinking about? Why did you ask me to come?”

“Fine,” you admitted, “I was missing Jason that night. And it may have started like that. But, Dick. I wasn’t trying to replace him with you. You were there for me, you brought me out of that deep dark hole I buried myself in, and I was feeling that attraction for weeks before it happened. And that period of time when we weren’t really together but kept on flirting, and sneaking away? I loved you for you.”

“You never wished that I was him?” he whispered the question as if he was afraid of the answer.

“Never, Dick,” you instinctively reached for his hand. “Did you think that the whole time we were together?”

You felt guilty all of a sudden. To find out that he was carrying that thought and insecurity with him the whole time.

“I guess I did,” he chuckled humorlessly, “But please, tell me the truth. Was there any part of you that thought being with me was the closest thing you could have to being with him?”

You blinked at his words, and pursed your lips. He was right again. But before you could open your mouth to answer, he said, “See? That hesitation? I’ve seen it a million times when we used to talk about this. And you know, what? I thought it was fine. Really, I did. I knew you genuinely loved me, but I also knew that we would never have been together if Jason never died. And that doesn’t excuse what I did to you. I hurt you, and for that, I’m really sorry. But I just knew deep down that it was always going to be the two of you. And when he came back and you guys started hanging out, I could see you slipping further away from me. I wasn’t supposed to be in the picture.”

“Was that why you kissed her?” you asked, and you realised that it didn’t hurt you at all when you said it out loud. “Because you thought that I was going to leave you for Jason?”

“God, no,” he shook his head, “It was a mistake. Kori and I… we have a complicated history, and I never should have maintained that much contact with her while I was with you. That was my own doing. And don’t get me wrong, I may have thought all of that about you and Jason, but if I hadn’t fucked up the way I did, there was no way in hell I was going to let Jason steal you from me.”

“But you did fuck up, Dick,” you told him, “There’s no going back to how we were before. I’m sorry that I never realised how anxious you got about my feelings towards you, and I’m sorry for saying this now, but I am completely over you. But… I forgive you. For hurting me.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. You noticed his eyes darted from Jason’s room and back at you. “But also, why aren’t the two of you together?”

“Ugh, Dick!” you rolled your eyes at him.

“I saw the way you looked at him,” he pointed out, “You love him.”

“I’ve always loved him, you know that,” you stated.

“I should have been clearer. You’re in love with him.”

You took a gulp of water to avoid answering.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I mean, we broke up months ago, and I hurt you badly. It’s fine to get over me.”

The guilt you didn’t realise you had slowly ebbed away at Dicks’ words.

“You’re right,” you nodded, “I think I’m in love with him.”

“Why haven't you told him yet?”

“Well, considering we got into a fight and haven’t spoken for two weeks, I don’t think telling him that was on top of my list of things to do,” you snorted.

“So that’s why he’s been moodier than usual,” he sighed, “What was the fight about?”

“Honestly, I don’t even know,” you tried to recall, “I had just found my new place and told him that once I’m out of his hair, he can start bringing girls back home-”

Dick burst out in a guffaw. “Why on Earth did you say that?”

“It was a joke!” you defended yourself, “I don’t know why he took it so badly.”

“Because maybe he’s in love with you, too?” Dick smirked, “For someone who can supposedly read people, why didn’t you think of that?”

“Because I learned that no matter how people act, you still can’t know what they’re thinking about,” you looked away.

“What do you mean?”

“With you, based on your body language alone, I would never have guessed you’d do what you did,” you murmured, still looking at anywhere but him. “I’m afraid that despite his touches, his teasing, his microexpressions, his feelings for me are not what I think they are.”

“Basically, I gave you trust issues,” he sighed, “I’m so fucking sorry, darling. And I know it’s stupid of me to ask this of you, but trust me. Jason is and always has been head over heels in love with you. I was selfish. And whatever he said about me was right. I’m narcissistic and manipulative, even if I don’t realise it. I loved you, I did. Even now, I don’t think I’ll stop caring about you. But Jason? There’s no way that I can ever beat the love he feels for you.”

Your breath stuttered at his words. You should have felt angry or bitter at what he said, because he essentially told you that he didn’t love you with everything he had, that there was a love more than what he felt for you. But instead, it gave you a sense of closure. It made you feel less guilty for falling in love with his brother just shortly after you broke up with him.

“Thanks, Dick,” you smiled at the person whom you once thought you were going to marry. “I think I’ll always care about you too, just in a different way.”

“Friends?” he got up and opened his arms.

“Friends,” you nodded and gave him a hug. “And thanks for helping with Jason. I’m gonna look after him now.”

“Okay, I need to make a move and debrief with Bruce, anyway,” he put his domino mask back on. “See you around.”

With that, he leapt off your balcony.

You went into Jason’s room to check in on him. He was still sweaty, and looked extremely uncomfortable in his armor. You pursed your lips in contemplation. Would it be inappropriate to help take it off? Maybe just the outer layers?

The bed dipped as you sat next to him. First, you took off his boots, holding your breath in fear of his stinky socks. But then you remembered how he would put baking powder in his boots and always aired them out. You discovered that his feet did not, in fact, stink.

Then, you went to his hands and peeled off his gloves. At this point, you started huffing as you tried your best to shift him so you could take off his leather jacket. Once you got it off, you looked over at his thighs where he had guns and his pouches strapped around them. You bit your lower lip.

Oh, the many times you stole glances at him while he put on his thigh straps. You went to take off his knee guards first, putting off the inevitable. The grey pants he wore were meant to be loose and light for ease of movement, yet you could see his powerful quads beneath them. The straps were accentuating his muscles, as if they were teasing you. Take a closer look, they seemed to say. Slowly, you snaked your hands around his thigh strap, feeling for the clasp and making sure to only touch the straps and not lay a finger on his thigh, but as you went around, you had to inch your fingers between him and the bed, pushing inwards because you now realised that the straps unbuckled from behind his thigh.

Click. Finally, you got one strap off. You unbuckled the top of the strap from his belt and carefully set aside the heavy holster. One down, one more to go.

Once you successfully took off his straps, you gave yourself a silent pat on the back for surviving a close encounter with Jason Todd’s thunder thighs. Pleased with yourself, you proceeded to take a wet cloth and wipe his forehead. His brows were still frowned, and you could see his rapid eye movement behind his closed lids. Jason still murmured from time to time, but nothing coherent that you could decipher.

You wondered about what he saw. You knew the fear toxin made people hallucinate to the point of harming others. At least he wasn’t that far gone. You had an idea that it involved you since he kept calling out to you and ended up in your apartment.

You smiled to yourself. You didn’t give him your exact address, yet he still found you, which meant he had been keeping tabs on you. Maybe he wasn’t that angry with you after all.

There wasn’t much you could do to help him now, so you dragged a chair into the room and forced yourself to stay up to make sure he was okay.

***

You groaned at your stiff neck. You had fallen asleep on the office chair and it was already 10 AM. Jason had shifted that night, and now he was sprawled on his belly and snoring softly.

You decided to get up and head to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. You had no idea when he would wake up, but you had to keep yourself busy and distracted, so you made pancake after pancake after pancake.

There was a tower of pancakes when you heard shuffling inside the guest room and the door clicked open. Heavy steps patted through your apartment, making their way toward you. You were still facing the stove, your heart thundering against your chest. You weren’t sure why you were nervous, and you weren’t sure why you didn’t want to look at him.

You froze. Jason had wrapped his arms around you from behind and buried his face in the crook of your neck. You noted that he was shirtless, and you breathed him in. He still smelled like leather and gunpowder and bourbon.

“Are you okay?” you worried.

He nodded into your hair but didn’t say a word. The both of you stayed there for a little while more, until-

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “I got hit by the toxin, and I thought I lost you.”

That explained why he was calling out to you the whole time. You were thinking of something to say, but your words failed you, so you just leaned back into him and tilted your head to rest against his.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“And I love you, too, silly,” you smiled, covering the fact that your heart was racing because you wanted him to mean it the way you meant it.

“No, no. I love love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time," his voice rough, breaking, like the words were being torn straight from his chest.

"And when I came back and heard you were with Dick, it—" he let out a shaky breath, his hands clenched at his sides. "It fucking broke me. But it didn’t matter, because more than anything, I just wanted you to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with me."

He took a deep breath and laughed- empty and hollow. "But—fuck. I want you. I want you so bad I can’t think straight. I want to wake up to you every morning, to come home and find you asleep in our bed, curled up in my shirt. I want to hear your laugh fill up the silence, to spend every damn moment of my life finding ways to make you smile. I’d put my fucking hand in a blender if it made you happy. Do you know how hard it is? Every time I’m with you, every second—just stopping myself from reaching for you, from touching you? Even if it’s just your hand, even if it’s the smallest fucking brush of your fingers against mine—I ache for it. I ache for you." He shook his head, like he was drowning in everything he was trying to say. His voice dropped lower, hoarse and desperate. "I want to grow old with you. I want to see every version of you—every year, every change, every soft and quiet moment that no one else gets to have. I want to see you in my clothes, wrapped up in my scent, knowing that you’re mine. I want to show you off to the world, but at the same time—" he exhales sharply, "I want to keep you all to myself. Just once, I want to be selfish with you. Just once, I want to take what I’ve spent years pretending I didn’t want." You felt his throat bob- he was that close to you. He was shaking, like he was barely holding himself back. "You don’t get it, do you?" his voice was softer now, almost like a plea. "My happiest moments—every single one of them—are with you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and because of that, I want to protect you. To give you the whole fucking world. To treat you the way you deserve to be treated. To make you happy in ways no one else ever has." Another pause. Another deep breath. "I want to devote myself to you." The words slip out, unguarded, exposed, raw. "I want to be yours, in every way that matters. I want to carve out my fucking heart and it didn’t matter if you threw it in the damn garbage disposal. If you don’t want me the way I want you? That’s okay. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here. Because that’s what you do when you love someone this much. You don’t stop, you don’t run, you don’t take it back." His breath was uneven, like he’d just lay his soul at your feet, waiting for you to step on it. "I love you. And I don't think I'll ever stop." You were shocked beyond words as if your brain zapped. It was all what you wanted to hear, and more. Way more. You slowly turned around, Jason lifting his head up from your neck and loosening his hold on you, his hands down to your waist.

You faced him and rested your hands on his bare chest. Looking into his eyes, you saw they were brimming with tears.

“Jason,” you simply said.

“I know,” he sighed, “I know that was inappropriate. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. After last night, how I was convinced you were hurt and I was about to lose you, I just had to. I had to let you know or else I’d lose my mind. I’m sorry. I won’t bring it up again.”

He made to move away from you, but you stopped him by gripping his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“You were with Dick. I had to respect that,” he explained, “And after, well, you were vulnerable and heartbroken. I couldn’t just dump all of that on you.”

“Dick and I ended things months ago,” you stated.

“I didn’t want you to think I was being opportunistic,” he shrugged, averting his eyes. “Kind of a dick move.”

“Oh, Jason,” you put your hand to his face. He was slightly confused, but leaned into your caress.

“Please don’t give me any pity,” he begged softly, “I don’t want any of that. It makes me feel even worse.”

“I love you too, you idiot,” you smiled.

He, however, frowned. Perplexed.

“I had a talk with Dick last night-” you began but was interrupted by Jason.

“Dick was here?” he frowned.

“Yeah, you don’t remember anything?” you asked.

He shook his head.

“Well, you came stumbling into the house from the balcony, absolutely out of it. Your heart rate was through the roof and you were burning up and you were sobbing and- and wailing,” you recalled. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called Dick and told him you were here. He gave you the antidote and helped carry you to the room.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he apologised.

“No it’s fine- that’s not the point,” you continued, “We had a talk about, well, about you. And I realised then that when I first got together with him, I thought that I wanted to distract myself from losing you. But then last night he made me realize that he was the closest person to you without actually being you. It made me feel guilty, because even though I loved him, it was for the wrong reasons. I wanted to love you through him, if that makes sense. So when you came back… it was very confusing. Don’t get me wrong, I did love him, but not the same way I love you.”

“You… love me? Like, love me, love me?” He repeated.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed him behind his neck to kiss him.

You heard his surprised gasp, felt his split second of hesitation before he started kissing you back. Slowly, passionately, but fiery hot and desperate. His lips were chapped, and the both of you struggled to keep in sync with each other, often accidentally bumping teeth.

“Fuck, Sunny,” he broke it off and leaned his forehead against yours, breathing hard. “You’re killing me.”

“What’s wrong?” you pouted.

“I’m still wrapping my head around this,” he chuckled, “I’m just so unbelievably happy that I don’t know what to do. Can we pause and take it slow? There’s a mountain of pancakes I’m spotting.”

“Of course,” you nodded, “I’ll make you coffee, too.”

The both of you had breakfast in comfortable silence, often stealing glances at each other and then grinning.

“So tell me what you’ve been up to,” Jason broke the silence, “How’s your investigation going?”

“I broke into Erikkson’s house,” you answered, “Copied her laptop into a hard drive. I was just going through all her records, but there’s still so much.”

“You find anything?”

“Something,” you nodded, “but I’m not sure if it means anything. Some of the accounts don't add up. For example, a shipment would cost a certain amount based on the invoice, but the amount transferred under the invoice number is a few thousand dollars more. There are quite a few of those.”

“Do you think he’s using Triton to launder money?” Jason leaned back in his chair, expression serious.

“Even if he is, I don’t know how to link the money back to Cobblepot,” you sighed. “We need to catch them both together. Or catch a conversation with him and Erikkson.”

“It’ll be difficult. He’s very careful,” Jason paused. “But maybe we’ve been focusing on Thorne too much.”

“Well, considering he’s the subject of the investigation…”

“I meant,” Jason rolled his eyes, “Why does he want Cobblepot’s support so much? He has more than enough money to fund his own campaign. And we know Cobblepot needs him to bring in contraband, but why does he want to get his hands dirty? What can Cobblepot do for him and why is he essential for Thorne winning the elections?”

“So instead of tailing Thorne,” your eyes widen in realisation. You stood up and started to pace the room, piecing it all together. “We should be keeping a close eye on Cobblepot instead. Try to find out what exactly he’s planning and how he’s been pulling the strings.”

“There’s my girl,” he grinned at you proudly.

And hell, you blushed at that.

“Tomorrow night,” you said, finishing up your pancakes. “I’ll make some arrangements. Could you be there for backup?”

“There’s no way in hell I’d let you go there alone without me,” he rolled his eyes.

“Which means,” you walked slowly towards the dining area, then sat on the table right in front of him. Leaning in close, you said in a low voice, “We have some time today.”

You heard Jason’s breath stuttering at the close proximity, his pupils dilating. “I can’t stay long, sweetheart. I gotta go and get my earful from Bruce. I’m sure he would want some bloodwork done, too. See how effective the new anti-toxin is and all that.”

“That’s okay,” you smiled softly. “I’ll meet you tomorrow night for the mission?”

“You can count on me, bab- uh- Sunny,” he stumbled on his words.

You leaned back with wide eyes. “Jason?”

He avoided eye contact. “Yeah?”

“Were you going to call me ‘babe’?” you teased.

“No,” he looked at you in defiance. Then, he stood up, now towering over you and leaned down at you, tilting your chin up with his hand.

“I was going to call you ‘baby’. Is that okay?” he whispered, eyes boring into yours.

“Y-yeah,” your breath hitched. “That’s okay.”

He was closer now, whispers of his lips against yours, yet he never closed the gap to kiss you again. “Does that mean you’re mine now?”

Fuck, the way he said that. The way his voice broke, the whisper breathiness of it- the rawness of the question.

“Yes, Jason. I’m yours,” you whispered back. Your eyes fluttered close, expecting his lips to claim yours. But then, his heat was gone, and he was walking back to his room- tense and stiff.

You didn’t see or hear from him again until it was time for your meetup.

***

“This is not what i agreed to,” Jason’s voice crackled in your ear through the piece. “I don’t understand why you need to wear that while I have to be outside.”

“Because,” you smiled while trying your best not to move your lips, “It’s the required uniform.”

You were holding a tray of tequila shots, wearing a tight fitted leotard with a bustier that pushed your boobs up and fishnet stockings. Completed with stilettos, you walked confidently, sensually, nodding at customers.

You’ve been to the Iceberg Lounge only once, almost five years ago. The club was dark, with sections lit up by pulsing ice blue lights. The dance floor was crowded- a dj wearing a balaclava stood at the turntable. The air was heavy with smoke.

“What the hell are you doing here?” a young man with a white suit and black lapels approached you with irritation. “Aren’t you here to replace Sonia?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you looked down meekly. Sonia received a phone call saying her grandmother in Columbia was sick and she was needed back- the one way flight already paid for.

“Then get your ass to the first floor! Mr Cobblepot has important guests. Quickly,” he rushed you.

“I’ll get your ass beaten up,” growled Jason in your ear. You chuckled to yourself.

The first floor was quieter, more intimate. Only VIPs and invited guests were allowed up because that was where Cobblepot entertained and overlooked the bottom floor. It was like a large balcony covered by glass to block out the music. Plush seats and lounge chairs faced the balcony in a semicircle. You saw the silhouette of the top hat, and set your eyes on the target.

“-can you believe it?” Penguin guffawed to his guests- other notable but minor crime lords from different sections of Gotham, all working under him. “The man is the CEO but refuses to get his hands dirty!”

“Stuck up, prick,” one of them said, “He ain’t got what we got, Ozzie. Born with a silver spoon an’ all that.”

“He thinks he’s such a good boy,” Penguin continued, “But he still comes crawlin’ to me to- who are ya, beautiful? Where’s Sonia?”

He looked at you suspiciously, his hooked nose scrunched up. “Sonia had a family emergency. I’ll be your server for tonight, Mr Cobblepot,” you purred, adding a slight breathiness to your voice, and bent over to offer him drinks, making sure to push out your breasts a bit.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason hissed. So he managed to get into the CCTVs for visual. Too bad it had no audio, or it would have made your work so much easier.

Cobblepot looked at you with his beady eyes, not hiding the lust in them, and licked his lips vulgarly, dropping his view to your chest. He smirked and took a glass. “Well, you can tell Sonia to work downstairs next time. I want you up here now.”

“Sonia was a lookah, but she didn’t have the assets didn’t she?” another man chuckled.

“Do you think he’d still like your assets when he’s drinking through a straw?” Jason fumed.

You held in your smile. Jason never acted possessive or jealous before- he couldn’t have without revealing his feelings for you. You knew he had the overprotective streak, what with him punching Dick in the face- but this sort of jealousy? You kind of liked it.

After serving drinks to the others, you circled back to Cobblepot and half sat on the armrest next to him. You caressed his shoulder and leaned into his ear to whisper, “Anything else you need from me, Mr Cobblepot?”

He put his arm on your thigh and started rubbing it up and down. You had to try hard not to recoil from his touch.

“I’m going to cut off his hand,” Jason grit.

“Nothing for now, darlin’. Just stay closeby. Here- stand right here,” he gestured for you to stand in front of him, slightly to the side, giving him a full view of your ass in the leotard. You clenched your teeth. Disgusting, despicable man.

“Sunny,” Jason growled, “I swear to fucking God, he is going to die before the night ends. Get his fucking keycard quick and excuse yourself- or this place is going to turn into a crimescene.”

You understood Jason’s frustration, but you haven’t found the right opportunity to pick his pocket yet.

“Anyway- the fucking CEO wants my connections. He thinks it’s easy winnin’ mayor. He doesn’t realise I own Gotham. Me. My dirty cops, my dirty judges-”

“Do you think it’s wise to speak of that with, ah, strangers in the room?” a quiet voice spoke out from the corner. He had a different accent from the rest- not a Gothamite.

Cobblepot let out a booming laughter. “This beauty? Nah, you’re not gonna spill a single thing from this room, aren’t ya, beautiful?”

Then, in a show of dominance, he slapped your ass.

You heard Jason’s stream of curses in your ear, but you were counting backwards from 100 in multiples of seven. You had to reel your shadow in. You breathed in deeply as you mentally meditated, almost forgetting to reply.

“Of course not, Mr Cobblepot,” you winked at him. “You pay my rent after all.”

Penguin laughed again at that, sparkle in his eyes at your playfulness. “Get us more drinks, darlin’.”

You smiled coyly, then proceeded to the bar. In your ear, Jason was still muttering threats of decapitation, flaying, medieval torture-

“Jason, calm down,” you whispered, “I thought of an opening. I’ll be out soon.”

“Fuck that,” he said, “Get out now. I don’t want you near them. I’ll shoot all of them down and blow the door to his office open if I have to.”

“Jason,” you hissed as you poured more whiskey into glasses, “I can handle myself. You know that.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” he grumbled.

“You’re cute when you get all jealous and possessive,” you teased, an attempt to defuse the situation.

“You’d better think the same when I’m covered in their guts,” he seethed in pent up rage.

“No, I wouldn’t think you’re cute then,” you hummed, “I’d think you’re hot.”

“So you’re telling me,” he said slowly, “That you’d get turned on if I were to lose control?”

You nearly spilled the whiskey you were pouring. It was the first time Jason had flirted with you directly like that.

“I saw that,” he chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in your ear.

“Stop teasing,” you scolded, “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting you?” he scoffed, “I have to watch you walking around in that ridiculous uniform and not be there to let everyone know who you belong to, and I’m distracting you?”

“My, my, Jay,” you toyed with him, already done with the drinks and walking back up. “I didn’t know you liked this outfit so much. I can keep it on later when we get back and show you a real distraction.”

Jason swore.

Now that all the cards were out on the table, you definitely enjoyed teasing and flirting with him. Even though you shared nothing more than just a kiss. Even though he insisted on taking it slow- which you fully respected. You wondered how slow exactly Jason wanted to take it, because you didn’t know how long you could resist touching him.

With your plan in place, you took a deep breath. Sauntering towards Cobblepot with your back straight, you served him the tray of drinks- but not before accidentally tripping on the lush carpet, propelling yourself forward, spilling the drinks all over him.

The whiskey glasses crashed to the ground in glittering pieces. Cobblepot swore, but didn’t move. You had accidentally fell forward and was now bent over his lap, ass out.

“Oh my God, I’m so so sorry,” you scrambled, then basically straddled him as you tried to dab the cloth you had on his suit. During the commotion, you nimbly felt for the keycard in his breast pocket and swiped it without him noticing, hiding it in the cloth.

“You’re lucky you’re sexy,” he growled at you.

Suddenly, you felt a burst of pain in your skull. One of his men- the non-local- had fisted your hair and threw you to the floor. You winced at the pain on your palm, the shards of broken glass cutting into them.

“You clumsy little bitch,” the man shouted. He was in his forties, with graying hair on the sides. He would have been handsome, if it weren’t for the remnants of a burn on one side of his upper face that singed off his eyebrow and mutilated his ear.

“I’m-I’m sorry-” you made your lower lip tremble, tears spilling.

“He fucking laid his hands on you,” you heard Jason in the earpiece. His voice was calm and cold.

Oh, great.

A sting across your face. The man had backhanded you. You felt the tendrils of your shadow begin to slip out, but you forced yourself to reel it in. You couldn’t do anything. You stifled your power.

In your ear, Jason let out a dark chuckle.

You quickly got up to your feet and excused yourself.

You didn’t bother to pick out the glass from your skin. You had to get in and out of his office quick before Jason lost his shit. You head towards the back, where Cobblepot kept his office secure.

“Jason?” you whispered.

Silence.

“Jason, I’m heading towards his office right now, do not, I repeat, do not, do anything rash. Don’t ruin this for me,” you commanded. You found his office. A large sleek ice blue door- the only one in the dark hallway. Next to it was a rectangular scanner. You put his card against it. A single beep, and the door opened.

“Jason, answer me,” you hissed.

“Let me know when you’re out,” he simply said. Nothing more.

You sighed. Now was the hard part. The Penguin’s office looked like an extension of the club outside with blue neon light fittings that ran along the walls and sleek white desk with a computer. On the desk were books, papers, ledgers. You took out the small flash drive from your cleavage and went to insert it in the USB port.

You look through the paperwork on his desk, then widen your eyes in shock. No fucking way was he this careless.

The first ledger you opened contained details of all the transactions he made to Triton Shipments, dating back to when Thorne announced he would be running for mayor. Another ledger detailed his weapons business. The flash drive had about thirty seconds left to download. You gathered all the books and papers and rifled through his drawers. You found another flash drive, and you slipped that into your cleavage as well.

The download was done.

“Jason, I’m heading out now,” you told him. He had been suspiciously quiet the whole time. Another five seconds passed, and then suddenly the fire alarm rang. The music stopped, and you heard shuffling of feet rushing out. That must have been Jason then. You quickly walked back to the staircase, mindful to not bump into Cobblepot, but when you glanced at the VIP lounge, they were all gone. Probably the first to evacuate through a VIP exit.

Effortlessly, you joined the crowd on the ground floor and walked out the main door. You crossed the street and made the turn towards Jason’s car where he was supposed to wait for you as the getaway. You walked up to the passenger door, but noticed Jason wasn’t inside.

Groaning, you leaned against the locked door. “Jason!” you demanded, “Where the hell are you?”

“Coming back soon, baby,” he replied, slightly out of breath. “Just finishing up some business.”

That couldn’t be good.

About three minutes of tapping your heels against the tar road impatiently later, you saw Red Hood casually strutting back toward you. He took off his helmet when he got closer.

“Where did you-”

He crashed into your body and caught your words with his mouth, fisting your hair while he kissed you heatedly. It ended as unexpectedly as it had started, and he put his forehead against yours, panting.

“Get in the car,” he breathed.

Wordlessly, you nodded and entered.

You noticed his knuckles when he drove, bruised and bloody. You didn’t ask what happened.

***

Jason had to restrain himself while the elevator made its way to your apartment floor. His body was still shaking from the rage and adrenaline he felt earlier.

The way everyone in the club was staring at your ass lecherously as you walked in your high heels, the way they were talking about you. Fuck, the way Cobblepot dared to lay his stubby, disgusting fingers on you- he thought that was torturous enough.

The possession he felt was nothing compared to seeing you with Grayson, seeing you all those years ago before he died. It was as if that agreement the both of you had that morning activated something deep inside him. A primal, feral need to mark his territory.

Yes, Jason. I’m yours.

But when he saw through the cameras- the way that bastard had hurt you- he was biting his knuckles to stop himself from storming inside, guns blazing. The raw need to protect, to avenge took over him.

But it was all over now. When he sounded the alarm, he waited for the asshole to come out. Dragged him soundlessly to a nearby alley. He didn’t care that he could have been caught, he didn’t care that someone may have seen him.

The man was pulp after he was done with him.

He was still trying hard to contain all that emotion when you unlocked the door, but he was hanging on by a thread.

The next thing he knew, he had you against the door, writhing.

“I thought- I thought you wanted to take this slow,” you gasped as Jason started leaving a trail of small wet kisses down your neck. He savoured the salty taste of your sweat, the scent of light vanilla of your body lotion.

“I can’t stop myself,” he groaned in your ear, “I just- I need you. I need to touch you. To make you feel good. To make you mine.”

His hands were everywhere. Gripping, squeezing, pulling you close as if he was afraid you were going to disappear. And a part of him was actually afraid.

He went back to your lips, prying your mouth open with his tongue, then started to nibble your ear while his hands roamed everywhere. It was as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch and where he wanted to kiss.

His breathing was ragged. He could feel how tense his body was. And you were moaning so delicately against him, still wearing that stupid uniform that he wanted to rip off. He felt you grind against him, not surprised that he was already excruciatingly hard.

He needed to- fuck he needed to take you right then and there.

He ripped open your bustier, and heard a small metal clang to the floor. He glanced down and saw two flash drives. He looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“I didn’t have any pockets,” you shrugged.

Fuck.

He threw the leotard to the side and your tits fell out. Beautiful, soft, supple- everything he had imagined. And that damned cute mole at the top of your breast. He nipped on it.

Your hands were in his hair, pulling gently. He gripped at your waist, hands sliding down to your centre but- that stupid fishnet stockings were still in the way.

He paused.

“Jason?” you breathed in question.

He dropped his forehead to yours, and his entire body shuddered.

“Not like this,” he rasped, “Not when I’ve been starved, waiting for years.”

He took a deep breath and stepped back, looking down at you. Your eyes were still questioning.

“I should be on my knees for you,” he stated plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And then, he dropped down in front of you.

He heard you suck in a sharp breath.

His teeth grazed against your skin, and he caught your fishnets in his teeth.

And ripped it apart.

Discarding the remnants, you were bare for him now. He looked up at you, a fucking goddess he revered. Something must have shifted in his eyes, because yours had softened and he felt you cup his face. Moments passed in that position, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“Let’s get you to the bedroom,” he stood up and guided you to your room without taking his hands off you. Slowly, he spun you around so your back was to the bed and he pushed you lower and lower into it with his kisses. You ended up sitting down and your hands started to roam his body, up his abs to his chest, then down to his jeans to unbuckle his belt.

Jason savoured every touch, his skin tingling. Now he was fully naked, his cock so unbearably hard and leaking at the tip. He smirked when he saw you eye it and subconsciously licked your lips.

You reached for it, but with all the willpower he had, he caught your wrist and stopped you.

“No.”

“Jason,” you fucking whined at him, “I want to taste you.”

“No,” he patiently stated. His exterior a vast difference from what he felt inside. “I want to take things slow. I want to burn every second to my memory.”

He gripped your chin to angle it up at him. “I want to worship you.”

He gently pushed you back, gesturing you to lie down on the bed. Then, then he started his work on you.

He left a trail of burning kisses down your neck, sucking both the tips of your nipples, down your stomach. He licked your sweat, memorising your taste, he breathed you in, memorising your scent, he brushed his lips against your surface, memorising the silky softness of your skin.

Jason knew you were a mess. You were already wriggling, your hands gripping the sheets and releasing, flying to his hair, his face, his back- silently begging him to hurry the fuck up.

But, no. Jason was going to take it slow.

He reached the apex of your thighs, your pussy bared and wet and ready for him. So fucking beautiful.

But he didn’t touch you there. Instead, he kissed and licked at the crook of your thigh, his hands caressing your curves.

“Jason, please,” you begged.

Jason ignored you, and then went further near your center. But not there. Not yet.

He kissed and sucked on your pussy lips, avoiding where you wanted him the most. And then, he flattened his tongue, and let out a long, deep, torturous groan as he licked from your hole up, stopping right before your clit. Your taste. Fuck it all, fuck everything, and fuck the world- because your taste was everything he ever needed to survive..

“Fuck!” you moaned.

“I don’t deserve you,” he told you, still giving you tiny licks. Teasing. “I should never be allowed to say your name. I should never be allowed to touch you.”

You whimpered.

Jason closed your eyes and again, took another long deep breath. He was shaking with want, with need. His cock was so fucking painful, and all he wanted to do was to slam into you and relieve himself of the ache he has felt and suffered for so long.

But Jason was going to worship his goddess like she deserved.

“But I will,” he concluded, “And no one will dare stop me.”

He flattened his tongue against your clit, giving you deep, hard, strong strokes of his tongue. You cried out loud, begging and sobbing.

He continued his excruciating pace, slowly drawing out your pleasure to the surface.

“Jason!” you choked, “Please. Oh, God. Please.”

He indulged you this time, slowly pressing his finger at your dripping entrance. You moaned out loud when he pushed it in and began massaging you from the inside at the same brutal pace of his tongue. Hard, slow, long, and drawn out.

He inserted another, and God, he felt your pussy clench around him.

He swore his dick was going to fall off. He had never felt this turned on in his entire life. He was so close to coming right there and then just from eating you out, without touching his cock for a second.

He heard your breath quicken, your pussy clenching tighter and tighter around his fingers. So wet, so warm, so fucking tight.

“I’m gonna- Jason- I’m gonna-”

You didn’t have to finish the sentence. Jason knew what you needed.

He quickened his tongue on your clit, and started finger fucking you hard, hitting that spot he found that made you gasp and shudder. The grip of your fingers in his hair was almost painful, but Jason savoured it. Savoured every time you touched him.

Your touch could burn him alive and cover his skin in blisters if it meant being able to give you this much pleasure and watch you come undone.

Your pussy clamped down on his fingers, and you screamed. Screamed in a high pitch plea, that dissipated into a silent ‘O’. Your muscles were fluttering around him, your back arched off the bed. He had to use his other arm to keep your hips down and flushed against his face so he could help you ride out your orgasm properly, prolonging the pleasure.

Your thighs were shaking uncontrollably.

He eased up on his tongue, slowed down his fingers, as you came down. With a final lick that made you twitch, he took out his fingers and straight away put it in his mouth. Closing his eyes, he felt like he was starved for your juices. Fuck, he wanted to just drink you up.

You were breathing hard, panting, depleted, eyes closed in the post-orgasm haze.

Your eyes flew open, and Jason grinned at you. He was kneeling in between your thighs on the bed.

“Where in the hell did you learn how to do that,” you angrily stared at him.

He chuckled at you.

“I’m serious,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “There must have been many before.”

“Jealous, baby?” he quipped. “Good. Now you know how I felt tonight.”

You rolled your eyes at him. He crawled up toward you, hovering over you. He rested his cock on your pubic bone.

He was leaking so much precum.

Without warning, your arms shot down between the both of you and you gave his cock a squeeze.

“Fuck!” he jolted. He was so desperate to come.

“Fuck me, Jason,” you begged, “I need to feel you inside me.”

Jason nodded silently, and lined up his head against your entrance, now wetter than ever after your orgasm.

He paused, straining.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- fuck- I feel like I’m so close, the moment I push inside you, I’m going to come already,” he laughed humourlessly.

“Then come already,” you said, coaxing him. “And then after, you can fuck me again.”

“Jesus,” he groaned. “Fine. Fine.”

He slowly pushed. He knew he was shaking, using every drop of his discipline to not ram into you and start pummeling until he came.

But he was patient. He pushed, and pushed. There was a little resistance as he stretched you, but you were so wet that it went in smoothly.

He bottomed out, and you shared a long moan.

You felt like heaven.

“Jason,” you whimpered. He could see your bottom lip trembling. “Jason, you’re so- fuck, you’re so- I feel so fucking full.”

“I know, baby,” he gasped. The pleasure was so intense, he saw stars, and he hadn’t even started moving yet. "I'm gonna- I’m gonna move slow, okay?”

He slid his cock out, and pushed it back in, hitting your deep spot that made you cry out and clench around him.

Fuck, he wasn’t going to last long.

He quickened his pace slightly, appreciating the way your tits had started bouncing with the movement. He grabbed a palmful of your breast and kneaded, making you shut your eyes tight and drop your jaw open.

He already felt the warmth building, the pleasure making his toes curl.

“Baby,” he rasped, “Fuck, baby. I can’t-”

He was lost. Lost in you.

All he could hear was your loud screams because now- and he didn’t even realise it- he was drilling into you.

Building, and building, the dam was about to burst. And then, you did it.

“Jason,” you whimpered again, voice shaking.

He roared as he pumped you full of his cum, claiming you, marking you from the inside. And he continued to fuck you as he felt you come a second time, contracting muscles pushing his cum out as he fucked it back in.

And then, he collapsed next to you.

In a daze, he pulled you close to his chest, willing his heart to stop thundering.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Jason, that was-”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you looked up at him.

“I came inside you,” he gulped. “Now you have to get a pill.”

“That’s not a problem, silly,” you laughed.

His chest clenched. “No. I heard the side effects are bad. I don’t want you to feel like shit because of me. I’m sorry.”

“Jason, it doesn’t affect me so badly, don’t worry,” you reassured him, “Just. Shut up. And let’s savour this moment.”

He agreed.

He buried his face into your hair, relishing this moment of peace and calm before either of you had to move and face the world.

“You’re wrong, you know,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“You deserve this,” you continued, “You deserve everything good in this world. I don’t know if I’m that for you, but-”

“You’re everything and more,” he insisted.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to be so selfless all the time when it comes to me.”

“Oh, Sunny,” he whispered into your ear and nuzzled in closer, “I’m horribly selfish when it comes to you. I would watch the world burn- fuck, I would burn the world when it comes to you.”

“Jason-”

“I am taking everything,” he threatened, “Because you are mine. I am taking all of you and making you mine. The light, the dark. Your fucking shadow. You belong to me.”

Jason was falling asleep already, mumbling his threats and violent promises.

What he didn’t know was that the shadow inside of you stirred, and for the first time in your whole life, it purred with a sense of belonging.

[christinesficrecs]

I love ALL of these fics but if they are a bit "too classic" for you, definitely read Mating Habits and The Dating Game. 🩷

Things To Do On The Dates You Aren't Having by lielabell | 5.5K | Mature

"So are we dating now or what?" Stiles asks the third time he finds himself doing the obligatory postcoital cuddling with a certain sour wolf.

A Heart is a Heavy Burden by lielabell | 41.2K

In Which Stiles: is accosted by unhappy witches, becomes friends with fire demons, is rescued by darkly handsome wizards, discovers hidden inner depths, is introduced to princes, and finds true love. Though not necessarily in that order.

And Dwell Beneath My Shadow by  lielabell | 8.6K

Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It’s clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles’s body can’t help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn’t the first– and most likely won’t be the last– hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek.

Good Intent by lielabell | 4.4K | Mature

It’s dark out, no moon tonight. Just clouds and a bitter, cold wind that rips right through you as you move from shadow to shadow. You’re hunting, because you are always hunting, and tonight’s prey is the best kind: not too smart, not too old, and worth enough to keep you in the black for the better part of a year.

Nine Times Out Of Ten by lielabell | 4.6K | Explicit

Nine times out of ten, Stiles is the one being pushed back on the bed with his head tilted back to expose his neck. Nine times out of ten, Stiles's legs are the ones that are spread, his hands are the ones that grip the sheets. Nine times out of ten, Stiles gasps and moans and arches up into Derek's touch, Stiles's thighs grip at Derek's hips; Stiles’s feet lock together behind Derek's back. Nine times out of ten, Stiles takes and takes and takes and loves every single second of it.

But the tenth time . . .

The tenth time is different.

Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf by lielabell | 35.4K | Mature

Derek doesn’t do pining. He doesn’t. So when it becomes clear that Stiles is much more interested in having Derek as a new best friend than a boyfriend, he puts on his big boy pants and makes it fucking work. He becomes the best goddamn friend a spastic teenager could ever hope to have.

The Dating Game by lielabell | 4.5K | Mature

Derek doesn't exactly understand how he ended up as a contestant on a dating show. He knows that it started with a lot of whiskey and a late night phone call to his sister and mockery. Lots and lots of mockery, because Laura never lets anything go, no matter how old she gets.

In Word and in Deed by lielabell | 7.7K | Explicit

Stiles has stopped saying "I love you." Derek wants to know why.

I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Men by lielabell | 2K

Seriously, sometimes Stiles thinks that the man is a plant by the owner, who is a hippie, through and through, but just business savvy enough to pay someone hot to sit on the premises and brood up a storm like a modern day James Dean, clicking away at his computer in his leather jacket with that pensive look on his face.

Upon My Skin by lielabell | 6.2K | Mature

"I smell blood." Derek draws in a breath through his nose, frowning like it's going out of style. "And ink and--" his voice trails off and his eyes widen slightly. "Let me see it," he demands, crossing the space between them and tugging at the hem of Stiles's shirt.

[eudaimonia83]

Everyone who was requesting Feral Elain, here you go. 😅 Don’t judge me too harshly on this, bc it’s an upcoming chapter of a long-form fic and hasn’t undergone any real editing. There are also some references that might be unclear, as this chapter is a ways down the line. But if you have read my fic The Gift (on AO3) you have most of the background info.

Basic details: Lucien has just escaped from being held prisoner under the Hewn City with his powers suppressed. He was jailed for allowing Elain to escape…which she has just discovered. And she is, naturally, deeply unhappy about this. 😈

Tag as requested: @lorcandidlucienwill @mr-agent-mulder

——————————

His wrists. What had happened to his wrists?

She stared numbly at the puckered, darkened skin that bracketed his hands, scabbing over as his healing finally began to return…his tender, beautiful hands that touched her with such gentleness, such affection…

“What is that?” She couldn’t keep a tremor out of her voice. Steady, steady. Be calm. She knew this feeling now; the sick coiling in her veins, around her heart, rustling through her brain.

He glanced down, tearing his eyes from her face with a physical wrench. “It’s only a scar. I’ve got plenty of them, remember?” He turned his hands over and squeezed hers, so gently, so kindly.

A scar. But from what…?

“What kind of scar?” Her voice only barely escaped past the lump in her throat; she could barely hear it over this singing, this thrumming in her blood. It was hot and deadly cold. The strength of anger, with the ice of…revenge. Leaves curled around her ears, tendrils winding through her hair.

He looked up at her again. “Please, Blossom. Don’t be angry with me. I tried to get away, to get back to you. But I couldn’t.”

He did not understand, how did he not understand? He thought she was angry with him…

She swallowed hard, then brought one of his hands up to her face and dragged her lips over his wrist, trying to mimic the gentleness he’d shown her that night, that sweet night that was both their first and last, before he’d sent her away and the long hand of darkness had reached out to grasp him and hold him…hold him…

The True Sight bubbled up inside her like a hot spring, filling her eyes and tearing her heart to pieces. Lucien, her Lucien, limp on the stone floor of a cell, drenched in a sticky, purulent substance. No light to see by. No warmth to envelop him. No comfort, from her or anyone else. Lost in the cold, and the dark. Why did he not summon his fire, that spirit that breathed inside him like coals, that had kept him alive and protected his kind heart through so much before this? She didn’t know if she said it aloud, but she screamed to that limp body on the floor, stay alive. Stay alive, no matter what occurs. Bring your flame to bear, and I will avenge you, I swear it…

But he just lay there, breaths shallow and broken, his hands…his wrists…bound to the wall…

She leapt up, the vision melting like smoke, only to see his wide eyes before her.

“They bound you?” Her voice did not sound like hers. What writhed underneath it?

He nodded, pushing himself up on the cot to a sitting position. “I knew they would. It was only a matter of how.”

“How, then?” She squeezed her fist at her side. The earth would fill their mouths and choke their cries, drag them into its depths and bind their very skeletons to the rocks that made its own bones…

He hung his head. “I was shackled, with Hybernian stone, I think. They put faebane on me too, before the chains. Not as I knew it, either — a sort of paste. Perhaps it concentrates its effects that way. I only recognized its scent.”

“So you couldn’t break out.” Or use his fire to stay warm.

“I was more valuable as their prisoner,” he said, his voice as hollow as a pebble skittering down into a well. “They did not want to kill me. If they did, they would have done it long ago, before even making me their emissary. They were more interested in what I could tell them. Or do for them. Or who I could bring them. They wanted you most of all.” He smiled. “I knew that. So it was worth it to have you escape somewhere I didn’t know, so no matter what they did to me, you were out of their reach.”

She nodded, slow and steady. Coiling like a fist within her, the grinding of the rocks that silted into soil and reached towards the sun with vines and leaves and trees.

Find them. Punish them.

She went to the window, where the sun had grown bright as they spoke. It spilled over her. She felt her skin tingle, the warmth of the sun stoking the fire inside her.

“It will heal,” he said, husky and sad. “It will scar, but it will heal eventually.”

She had to get out, before this white-hot anger striated with cold revenge burst out of her and harmed him, he who she so wished to protect it was like shielding her own heart. She turned back to him and knelt, swiftly, next to the cot. He wound his hand into her hair, cupping her cheek, her jaw. She felt the strands of her hair catch against the grit of the scab on his wrist. Her heart raced, stuttering with affection and sorrow and the dark pulse of vengeance.

“It will heal,” he repeated. “I will heal.”

“You can only heal if you’ve been hurt,” she murmured. “And that’s what I don’t want to happen any more.”

He smiled, and kissed her hairline, so softly that she ached with it, in the pit of her belly and the cleft beneath her ribs that held her heart, squeezing it between her lungs with each agonizing breath.

She helped him to lie back, tucking the sheepskin over him, and with a wave of her hand, leaves clustered over the window to filter the sunlight. It would be gentle, would carry the scent of jasmine to soothe him as he slept. As his skin knit back together.

Pay. They would pay, and pay again, and beg forgiveness.

She would make sure of it.

———————————

He had fallen asleep at last, heat beating out of him as the fever raged. He had spoken, fretful and miserable, in his sleep, wept with pleas of stop, take me, kill me instead and Tam, help me Tam, I can’t see, it hurts. She could do nothing but lay a cool cloth on his brow. She dared not touch him at those times; knew that if she did, she would be immersed in his fever dreams, or worse, steal his past from him with her imperfect visions of what had happened. Better to let him awaken, to ask him later and let him tell her himself. Her sister might not know the difference, would sweep in with daemati might and root around with dirty fingers in a mind that wasn’t her own, but she would not. She would be different.

Her sister.

Feyre was still here. As soon as it occurred to her, the truth of it squeezed her heart with cold tendrils.

She stood up, skirts whispering, and slipped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her so softly that the latch didn’t even click.

The hallway yawned into shadow ahead of her. It was twilight, just after the dinner hour, and she knew where Feyre would be: eating with Helion and the attachés, perhaps in the Solarium, or the conservatory. Her steps matched the pace of her heart as she sped along the white marble floor, gleaming with gold and rosy specks of quartz. She did not see the darkness. It was hard to appreciate it when her vision was red at the edges and star-bright with rage.

The long night is ending. They will wake from the dream and find it rebuilt.

Perhaps it was time for a wake-up call, then.

She felt the stones begin to tremble beneath her as she walked, a low rumble from deep in the earth. She cast her eyes down and saw the curls of vines swimming around her arms, tangling in eager threads, tiny leaves unfurling, stained black with the ash of her anger.

She heard the dinner conversation as a merry buzz before she even saw the spill of light onto the floor…and by that time, there was a dull roar in her ears, her arms were corded with thorns and leaves, and death was coming to all, to all who had failed him and starved him and imprisoned him. She was vengeance, and he was her mate, and they were going to pay.

She burst into the lamplight like the heat from an opened oven door. All the faces turned to her, smiles draining from their lips like waves receding on the beach.

There was barely a moment to register the screams that bounced off the walls before the table heaved and cracked as six inch thorns spiked through it from beneath. Half of it sagged down; the other half toppled with a deafening crash, and through the middle burst the vines, reaching up to seize the chandelier and twist, pulling it from the ceiling with a screech of metal and timber. The candles sputtered against the ruined food. Her eyes were on her sister, dressed in glimmering silver and blue, eyes wide with horror and…what was that, underneath the surprise? Could it be fear?

Good, Elain thought with satisfaction as she leapt over the rubble, her vines sweeping everything away into chaos, coming up behind her in massive gnarled hands scaled with bark and stippled with thorns. She regarded Feyre for a moment. As her sister’s eyes narrowed and went dark, and the daemati talons scratched at her mind, she swung one of her arms in a massive arc. The vines followed it in a deadly sweep, choking with the scent of petrichor and leaves. Feyre was thrown against the wall of the room in one movement, immobilized, her head dragged backward as the vines grasped her hair, her pale throat exposed, arms akimbo and sealed to the wall. Elain let out a wild cry and leapt forward, her fingers closing around her sister’s neck and squeezing with all her strength.

Feyre struggled in silence, her air cut off — but then went deadly still. Her face flushed scarlet. The vines had pushed thorns against both the arteries in her neck, had pierced the skin under her left breast. If she moved it would stab her. Elain hissed into her face, aware that she looked completely unhinged, “You bound him.”

Feyre shook her head, as much as she was able. Elain released her throat and slapped her with all her strength across the face. “You drenched him in faebane and bound him with stone, and what, you thought I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t strip the skin off your bones?” She matched word to deed, scoring her nails along Feyre’s arm.

Tears streamed from Feyre’s eyes and scratches bloomed across her cheek, carved there by the thorns that had turned Elain’s fingers into claws. “I didn’t,” she rasped. “I didn’t do that to him.”

A second slap cracked across her face and this time the outline of Elain’s hand remained, bright red. “Your demon mate, then. He would say the same, wouldn’t he, if he was here? I didn’t do it, I knew nothing of it. Bullshit.” The curse tasted sour in her mouth, and she spat into the tangle of vines that had immobilized the other dinner guests into helpless writhing heaps on the floor. Only Helion was still upright, wrestling against the grip of the leaves that had encircled his legs and arms. She let him be. Her quarrel was not with him. “The pair of you are the same, always the same. Using him —using us — for your own —“ the vines tightened around Feyre’s wrists and ankles and wrenched a scream from between her clenched teeth “—wretched—“ the thorn pushed against the bottom of her chin “—ends. There were others in that prison. How many more did you do this to, besides him? Besides my mate?” Red spots swam in her vision. She wanted to kill her. “You turned a blind eye.”

“You turned a blind eye to me…” gasped Feyre, then let out a groan of frustration as the thorn pushed harder against her chin, forcing her jaw closed.

“Talk about yourself for one more moment and you’ll never talk again,” Elain whispered into her sister’s ear. A tremor went through Feyre, and she was still. Elain savored the victory for a moment. It was terrifying, nauseating to be this angry…it made her feel like an animal. It was this part of being Fae that had called to her like a dark song, that coursed through her veins like electricity, like the storms she’d watched batter the Eastern Channel: but to a small part of her, caught in the swirl of adrenaline and anger, it felt right. To defend Lucien when he couldn’t defend himself. When he was sick and raving with fever, when her sister’s court had painted him with poison and thrown him in prison, to suffer in darkness.

Human Elain would not have done this.

But she was Human Elain no longer.

Why be a girl, when you could be a terror? the voice of the void whispered to her.

So she seized her sister‘s head in both her hands, and let the True Sight boil into them both, and felt Feyre scream and scream as she showed her everything she had ever feared.

Mother of mercy, how good it felt to punish.

[arcanechariot]

🎬 chariot (re)watch - addams family 1991

welcome back!!

it's been a hot second since we did a watch but i've had a really shitty time as of late so let's watch a comfort movie with one of my first crushes

(i used to have it on vhs. i love this movie so much)

possibly of interest to @iolaussharpe-24

even as a gay man, i would absolutely fuck anjelica huston as morticia. she's just so ughhhhh

also, gomez, you would love me if you like your partners unhappy; i have that clinically depressed rizz 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

(also just a note; the score of this movie is just incredible)

i'm still so weak to him. he's a good dad and a devoted husband? like c'mon!

i feel like he wouldn't fix my mental health issues but he'd help me embrace them

he's so silly i love him

and ofc christopher lloyd. we all love christopher lloyd

i loved him in food fight 2012

he just looks so unhinged. i fell in love with him on the first watch

i said he couldn't fix me but like....

body worship to the max ughhh

tbf i'd worship her too

i feel like they could be in a polycule. they both have so much love to give and gomez falls so fast and so hard

we could've had oscar like this.... dude.... c'mon....

he also has v good and healthy coping mechanisms (running his lil train collection) instead of taking it out on his family which is so sexy of him

also he could vore?

mommy kink confirmed

he's just so full of affection 🥺🥺

his suits are so iconic too

ngl also my reaction to seeing kids in public

evil dead flashbacks....

talent shows at school would've been so much more fun with a splash zone

this ☝️☝️☝️ i want this ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️ givE ME THIS ☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️☝️

he is that fool

oh he's stressed out and sleep-deprived?

perfect time for a blowie 👉👈

going through his cecil dennis phase

(he looks more like the depressed introverted dilfs i go for now tbf)

how i wanna hold him....

face reveal; i'm actually the old guy on the floor

pov: you interrupted one of their impromptu makeout sessions shame on you

this is what it looks like when i have an epileptic seizure just fyi

👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there

👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

yeah it's still one of my favourites and i may have had a shitty day but i feel better having watched a good comfort movie 💛💛

[crimeronan]

Would love so so much for you to elaborate on the happiest looks for the oc quartet and what took you by surprise about them and what you think each of them conveys/implies. Sol I'm seeing longer hair and more comfortable less exposing clothing, etc, but can you talk a little about what each of their happiest option looks means and how it took you by surprise and how it contrasts with the reality and why it would be them at their best? thank you!! if you do

oh this is so sweet 🥺 thank u for permission to infodump about my guys.....

reference images here!

i often joke that devin and i have the same gender feelings in opposite directions, which basically boil down to, "i know i'd be a lot happier with my body on prescription hormones, but i am Way too sick right now to give a fuck."

so like. a happier devin is one who's been on E for years and grown her hair out for just as long. i was taken by surprise by Just How Femme she was (...similar to me having some weird masc revelations doing the same exercise for my idealized self).

also was mildly surprised that her clothing remained exactly the same as in the main verse. i played around with all the other clothing options, but a black tank top + ratty pants + bare feet are all Quintessential Devin Items.

the very visible scarring is bc she's never cared if people see that her body is fucked up & i want that to be true in the happy timeline too.

ruby's surprised me in that i didn't have to change much at all to get her Idealized External Self. she's already pretty true to what brings her joy. in professional environments, her clothes are much more muted, but everything she's wearing could come out of her non-work wardrobe.

her hair is worn fluffy instead of in box braids because she would Love to dye her natural hair like this. however she does Not love the need to carve out time and motivation to maintain it every damn day for the rest of fucking eternity, so. box braids it is!

also important is that ruby isn't wearing anything practical. those sandals aren't safe for difficult hikes/on-your-feet labor. that skirt is a massive mound of fabric. that jewelry gets in the way, that shirt has no armoring or support, she hasn't prioritized pockets or a practical bag or hidden defense weapons or anything. this ruby is free of basically all of the responsibility and weight dragging her main timeline self down

sol's long hair surprised me -- she had long hair when she was much younger & she has not wanted to grow it out again for trauma reasons. but she likes it better long. so a long-haired sol is one who's overcome at least some of her trauma. her hair has been silver since birth but the white streaks signify that she's aging gracefully & older than she ever expected to become

as for her clothes, it's comfy athletic wear that she's wearing for the sake of mobility and comfort. (with the red-and-black shoes to sneak in a little of her murder aesthetic.) in the main timeline, she'd SAY that she dresses for herself, but the amount of sharp & tailored & restrictive clothing she wears is.... Definitely for other people. or at least, it's for preserving her own image toward other people.

and then transmasc butch nova. LMAO. GOD.

main timeline nova puts an insane amount of effort into "i'm a pretty barbie girl <333" and has sunk So Much of her self-worth into being blonde and blue-eyed and glowing and gorgeous. she also has watercolor sleeve tattoos, but when i did her full-body picrew tats, black ink felt..... more correct. like. what would your tats look like if you weren't a Rainbow Goddess of Light

and then the rest of it is also very. what would you be if you weren't a Rainbow Goddess of Light. if you take away all the Rainbow Goddess of Light features, nova is.... desperately unhappy. and desperately compensating for something. and i think having top surgery and working as a butch car mechanic somewhere would fix her.

as for the pink shoes and hot topic jewelry, that's just bc i think nova would find it fun to do gnc nonsense. nova-without-divinity isn't A Man or fully married to doing Man Things... i feel like it would be wrong for her to just go as gung-ho for performative masculinity as her main timeline self does for performative femininity. nova-without-divinity is wearing whatever she wants and looking however she wants and being hilarious and delightful while she does it <3 god bless.

[child0feden]

I WANT LOVE

ivar “ zephyrous ” enger x reader

- general dating headcanons for ivar!

still have a lot of other requests in the works! just trying very hard to not burn myself out and taking it slowly which seems to be working <3

- requested by anon | view my metal masterlists here and here

reading music recommendations: i want love by akira yamaoka - burial by ghost bath

- i can kind of see ivar being quite selfless when he is in a relationship with you!

✩ he just wants you to always be really happy with him, he cannot ever bare the thought of you being unhappy or unsatisfied with him at all…

- ivar is always looking to please you and he seems like quite a bit of a goofball at times so whenever you are feeling a little down? he is always doing his best to make you feel at least a little better by cracking some silly jokes, even making jokes at his own expense and making strange faces if they make you perk up a bit and smile at him

✩ you know that one jacket he had? the purple, kind of vapourware windbreaker one?

- yeah, he lets you wear that jacket all the time! even when it is not that cold out and you have not even asked him for it, he just really likes seeing you wear his things! even if his clothes are not particularly oversized on you at all

✩ because lets be honest, i think we all know he is not the biggest nor the most built man in the world…

- as handsome and beautiful as this man is, we have all seen his arms…

✩ the man is a twig! but this is not me body shaming him, not at all, i am just making an observation that he was very string bean built and did not have the most muscles at all

- this is something i can see him actually being kind of insecure about when he is in a relationship with you!

✩ ivar kind of really wishes he was able to pick you bridal style or give you piggy backs when you are drunk or your feet just kind of hurt…

- but unfortunately he just kind of cannot manage to do that, no matter how skinny you are too, he just does not have the arm strength to hold up the weight of another human being

✩ but that is not to say he has not at least tried! most likely when he is half drunk or something, he has come up to you from behind and attempted to pick you up bridal style to carry you off into a room or something but literally right after slipping his arms under your knees and pulling you up, he is drunkenly tumbling right over you and crashing into the ground, taking you right down with him as you both let out drunken giggles

“ ouch… oh, fuck… ‘m sorry, are you okay? fucking dropped you… ” ( you are both just giggling so hard about what just happened, he can barely even get the words out in between his drunken laughter )

- so yes, when he is a little drunk, he is much less insecure about it but when sober? that is when you might have to love up on him quite a bit and tell you it is really not a big deal to you at all and you love him as he is

✩ honestly, from some pictures i have seen of him, some of his shirts look like they could be a size small!

- so if you are actually built a little bit bigger than him, wether it be more muscular, busty, taller, a little chubby or just generally bigger and his shirts fit you tight, hugging your chest and waist, highlighting your form against the soft cotton?

✩ i will not even lie right now, ivar is kind of very much into it… especially when you wear them with nothing but underwear… he thinks you look crazy hot with his shirt hugging your body, with his shirt showing off your body, he cannot get enough of the sight of your hard nipples pressing against the fabric as the hem of the shirt continuously rides up to just above your belly button and completely reveals your underwear to him… the amount of times you have rode him in your shared bed whilst keeping just his t-shirt on your body as he uses his hands to push it upwards and reveal your tits, the amount of times he has groped your tits through the thin fabric as they bounce along with your movements atop his hard cock is heinous and a lot of his shirts that he lets you wear cannot be worn outside of your apartment now due to some questionable stains that are on them…

- i am not exactly sure why i think this but i feel like ivar is very fragile and soft, i feel like he is kind of insecure about a whole lot of things

✩ he needs a lot of reassurance and comfort kisses from you, please just tell him you love him and tell him how talented you think he is!

- it is one of the reasons he enjoys playing his guitar around you so much, because he gets real and genuine praise from you and that just makes his heart flutter, that just makes his pale face redden with a heated blush

✩ seriously, ivar absolutely loves when you praise his guitar playing! he will often sit on the edge of the bed as he plays whilst you sit just behind him with your head resting on his shoulder or you will stand in the doorway watching! he cannot look up at you though, he gets so red and shy when he sees the look of obvious love and admiration in your eyes… if you give a quiet applause afterwards? he is so smiley and so bashful! always pulling you into him by your hand before placing a soft yet deep kiss on your lips, mumbling against your lips…

“ thank you… for listening to me play, love you so much, you know that? you mean so much to me ” ( no but you really do, i feel like within the first week of meeting you or dating you, ivar just knew you were the one for him, he knew you were are his eternal love )

- when ivar goes through some real issues with alcohol, you would probably be one of the few things that really helps him pull through to the other side, you are what really helps him escape the downward spiral

✩ most likely, it is not even for himself! he could not care any less about his health and whatever at the time but he cares about you and he loves you so much! if you ever threatened to end things with him due to not being able to just watch as he destroys himself, it slaps him with reality really fast… it is seeing you be so upset and so distraught at his drinking problems that really makes him want to quit and he does, if only for you…

- whenever he comes home from band practice or whatever else with darkthrone, sometimes he is just so incredibly tired and worn down, just wanting to do nothing more than collapse right into your comforting arms and sleep with you

✩ often times he will rant to you about how he feels just a bit left out from darkthrone, please just stroke his hair and let him get it out! some easy loving and genuine reassurance from you always makes him feel better, you always make him feel better about things

- just before drifting off to sleep in your arms, he will usually mumble some kind of little apology into your chest, as if he needs to apologise for anything

“ sorry… know it’s not a big deal… thanks… for listening, and loving me, i mean… ” ( he really is just such a sweet guy who needs some intense loving )

✩ when ivar wakes up, still nestled comfortably in your arms, he always lets out the quietest yet loudest sigh of relief… he is just so beyond scared that one day you will get tired of him being whiny and always so upset after band practice, he is just so beyond scared that one day he will wake up and you will have packed up and left him for good…

- he will not ever tell you about these fears though, never! ivar will just lay back down and fall back to sleep on your chest, savouring the intense feeling of love and peace he feels as he lays in your arms, just in case

✩ i do not know, maybe i am really wrong but i just feel like he would have a major fear of losing you! you are the best thing to ever have come into his life and he cannot even begin to imagine waking up in the morning without you being beside him

- speaking of him being nestled in your arms, ivar is such a little cuddle bug! but i actually cannot see him being the big spoon, he seems like a major little spoon to me!

✩ he just likes laying against your chest as you stroke his hair too, he nearly purrs like a cat when you gently scratch his scalp, brush his long hair back out of his face and kiss his head

- ivar is not a huge morning guy, if it was up to him, he would stay cuddled up in bed with you all damn day, just talking and sharing kisses, maybe even getting a little down and dirty if you feel up to it <3

[fandomfluffandfuck]

me 🤝 this anon:

https://www.tumblr.com/fandomfluffandfuck/758477144418664448/i-know-that-the-richard-armitage-gifs-arent-of

this is so real, like i'm just bombarded of thoughts where chris has been feeling needy and horny (celebrity long-distance is just what they're used to) because he only got a a small taste of his busy baby so he still wants craves more 🥴

now i'm imagining a scenario just after the met gala where they have a quick meetup before seb dashes off to another press con or whatever in the morning and chris being too sleepy and groggy to give him a proper goodbye, only fully wakes up with a bundle of seb's clothes from the night before. a physical reminder of their lovemaking, the way they were so desperate to have each other that this expensive piece of clothing got left behind and discarded so they can have each other skin to skin.

...anyway this is the part where chris jerks off to the thoughts of what they did yesterday as those memories sear into his head and fuel him until the next time they can see each other again 😌

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

related to this ask, which goes back to these gifs

An excuse to look at Seb's Met Gala look again, lol

But, OKAY, you said "a bundle of seb's clothes" and my brain went into pure fucking static mode. I have one thought about what Chris does with those expensive, left-behind clothes...

So, jerking off/masturbating, fantasizing, bed/clothes humping, etc.

The second time Chris wakes up the morning after the Met, he's alone in the hotel room booked underneath Sebastian's personal assistant's name. The first time he woke, it was earlier and it was because Sebastian's alarm was going off and Seb was sleeping next to him, their bodies curled together, clinging and hot beneath the sleep-mused sheets. And they had slotted their lips together to trade kisses carelessly before Sebastian even bothered to reach over and silence his damn phone. It didn't matter. They were going to milk every last minute they could get together, dammnit, even if the last little bit they had together involved morning breath, squinty eyes, and one very unhappy, blaring alarm on the nightstand. Whatever. So be it. They'll take what they can get.

Now, the second time around, Chris has none of that but the heat. His own body heat, of course. He runs hot in his sleep and is a morning shower-er because of it. But, also, he's left with just the heat because... well... it's all centered between his legs, if you know what he means.

He's hard as shit this morning.

Jesus Christ.

Chris blows a frustrated breath out of his slightly-open mouth, shifting enough to spread wider on the queen mattress that felt too small last night. It's too large this morning, he needs another body. He wants another body.

Sebastian's body specifically.

The thing is, he's not surprised by the fact of his dick being ready to fucking go, he's surprised by the sheer intensity of it--he's hard-hard. Like. Teeth grinding, jaw clenching, throbbing hard. Feel in his balls hard. The kind of hard that tells him he either was dreaming up filthy shit as he slept or he rolled over onto his stomach at some point and started humping the mattress in his sleep.

Although, with sweat gathering under his arms and between his back and the sheets, Chris doesn't really give a fuck why he's so hard, how he got so hard, or if it's shocking or not. Instead, Chris' energy is on how he just fuckin' needs to do something about it. He's gotta. It's a crying shame that Seb isn't still here, his body offset by just a few measly hours. He had some of Sebastian last night after the Met but not enough. He can never get enough of Sebastian. He can have him again and again all in one night and it still isn't enough, he's waking up hard and wanting even if he's pretty sure last night he was fucking out of cum, it was that good. He's fucking insatiable when it comes to Sebastian. How could he not be?

Just as Chris is bemoaning his morning wood, debating on what he wants--should he roll over and luxuriate in the hotel soft sheet that smells like Sebastian, fucking his hips down into the plush bed? Should he prop himself up against the headboard of the bed and jerk off slow and tight like how it felt for Sebastian to ride him last night? Should he get into the shower and let the steam carry him back to a different memory, when they foolishly believed they were done and could finally rest, cleaning up but... not? Should he trust his legs and stumble to the front door to press himself against the door, one hand around his dick and the other on his own chest, pretending it's Sebastian groping his chest and using his wicked mouth to tell him about his tits? Should he just say fuck it and roll onto the floor where they fell before managing to make it to the bed? Options, options, options. All of them sound good, none of them as great as it was last night, making filthy, desecrating memories, but that's because they lack Sebastian.

Before Chris can lazily make any real decision, his hand uselessly cupping himself through his tented, worn-thin sweatpants, his body makes it for him. A breathy moan has him turning his head to the side, getting more comfortable, and his eyes fall on the open closet next to the bed. Sebastian's lengthy, heavy, dramatic coat from last night is still hanging there. His equally jeweled, heavy slacks are thrown over the rod holding clothes hangers (and subsequently the hanger with his jacket). And... his shirt is missing in action.

Chris spares half of his single brain cell to look down and around the floor, vaguely curious. Where the hell could it have ended up? Chris doesn't even remember how Seb got out of his clothes without shredding them, the way they were going at each other last night, much less remembering how any part of his outfit got hung up. But, he finds the deceptively simple, exorbitantly priced black shirt just over the side of the bed, rumbled on the floor.

If Chris is kidding himself, he picks it up thinking about how it can't be good for the expensive fabric to be wrinkled and heaped into a lump like that. But, if he isn't kidding... he picks it up because, fuck, he needs a piece of Sebastian. Anything he can touch. He was here and then gone and he isn't coping well. He wants Seb like his lungs burn for oxygen at the end of a drawn-out, full-chested moan.

The fabric quickly warms to his body temperature, soft and light in his hands. Chris likes sensation. Velvet and crushed corduroy and silk and--

This.

Sebastian's shirt squeezed in one hand, making a fist around as much of it as he can fit, feeling it desperately, intensely, trying to recall how it felt draped over Sebastian's body meanwhile his other hand gropes and squeezes his own cock.

There's something about it, lying back on the bed, kicking his legs wider apart, touching himself through his sleep pants, and bringing that black shirt that he knows was pressed tightly up against Seb's chest up to his own chest, leaving it in a heap against his bare, hairy, inked chest that gets to him. It wears him down. He throbs harder, grunting as his arousal works its way into his heart, stabbing him with its heated insistence. Chris leaves that shirt on his chest, close to him, reminding him of his lover who he's desperate to feel, for a pathetically short amount of time before scooping it back up and moving it. This time, not holding it in only one hand but two.

He cups Sebastian's shirt in two hands and imagines that it's hot from Seb's body, freshly stripped off of him, smelling strongly of his dark, alluring cologne, and not wrinkled from a night of abandonment on the floor but still molded to his shape. He pretends fantasizes. Chris yearns. He wants. And he drags that poor, innocent shirt down, down, down to hold it against the blazing, aching throb of his cock through his sweatpants.

Chris groans.

He's barreling forward now, he doesn't have time to wonder what the fuck he's doing or investigate how strange and perverse it is, he's just going. Thumping his head back against the pillows, arching his neck, and thrusting up against the shirt balled up around his cock. It's good. The friction. The build-up that started in his sleep burning hotter now that he's conscious. The overflowing way he misses Sebastian yet has his touch fresh in his mind to draw back on and make this feel even stronger. It's all enough to make him moan to himself, getting off alone in this hotel room, carried on waves of lust that want to wash him out to sea.

He's gonna drown.

He wants it.

"Seb," falls breathily off his lips and stains his neck as the sound drips down slowly like thick, hot honey. He's flushing so badly. Blushing across his cheeks, of course, but also pink from his hairline all the way to his chest--his hard nipples--because he can't help but imagine if Sebastian somehow was here, if he forgot something and had to rush back from the airport to the hotel, missing his flight because of it, scrambling, knowing he needs to hop on the next flight out, only to burst through the door and find his boyfriend not sleeping sweetly and soundly as he'd expect still so early in the morning, but squirming on the bed they shared last night, rutting against his shirt and moaning his name, getting off so hard on fucking nothing. Somehow still horny despite how they went at it like animals last night. What the fuck is this? Sebastian would be instantly distracted from all else, faltering with his eyes wide and dark and his tongue drawing across his bottom lip as he forces himself to keep silent, watching intently from the entryway as Chris can't take it anymore and peels his sweatpants down and gets his cock out. Bluntly. Brazenly. Foolishly thinking he's still alone while really putting on quite the fucking show--grinding urgently, desperately, rutting his bare, leaking, embarrassingly hard cock against Sebastian's worn shirt as if it's some fucking stroker or sex doll not just a shirt.

Chris swears to himself, broken open by how debauched his thoughts and actions are. Still, he can't help himself.

He keeps fucking going, going, and going. Each drag of his cock against Sebastian's shirt is better than the last. His sweat is building up and layering over itself, getting him wet, making him feel like butter melted in a pan over the stovetop--sizzling. He can't stop.

Oh, god.

It's good. It's hot. It's, it's--

It reminds him, suddenly, guttingly, of whispered rumors of dirty, bad men told in private. Words pressed into ears, raising goosebumps, hidden behind cupped hands. Gossip that drips down your spine and pools inside you, wrong but... helplessly intriguing at the same time. Intoxicating. A fly caught in a honey trap.

He feels like a dirty, bad man taking--thieving--some poor lady's worn panties and smothering himself in them, burying his face in the tiny, pretty, white-cotton underpants and fantasizing about her body, not her clothes. Picturing, filthily, how sweet and sensitive she'd be. How she'd moan and squeal and take it in a tight fit, pinned down. And as horrifyingly arousing as the nasty, vile comparison is--appealing only with his inhibitions lowered to the fucking ground, stupidly turned on and horny, not in his right state of mind--he can't quit. And, further, he makes it worse. He makes the comparison all the more real as he tilts his head to the head, thrashing side to side for a helpless, breathless moment before settling and pressing his blushing, burning face into Sebastian's pillow. He shamelessly inhales a chestful of his scent and leans that much more into it. He doesn't just rut against Sebastian's shirt as if it's a pillow conveniently held between his legs then. No. It's even more crude. Worse. He wraps Sebastian's worn shirt around his cock and defiles it.

He can't stop moaning and rutting--fucking the shirt, too dry and hot and hurting but so good--not until he's splattering his tight, clenching stomach and that goddamn shirt with his own cum, gasping, chest heaving hugely.

Jesus fuck.

Immediately, as he barely keeps his head above water between the waves of orgasm, Chris feels like he's never going to recover from this. It's so dirty. It's depraved. He... he's so shocked he just did that.

What the fuck got into him?

[reginas-toy]

Chapter 4 & Epilogue

The other research chapters in one place

Pairing: Wednesday and Enid obviously, Epilogue: Yoko and Divina

Warnings: Lots of homosexual lovemaking, magic strap-on fucking, Wednesday's fed up of waiting

By the second week, Weems let Enid stay in her room as it was borderline dangerous, having a let's just say passionate werewolf about with all the students. Rather, unsurprisingly, her ward for the remaining week would be Wednesday Addams. Lucked out there for her totally still scientific research into the heat cycle of a werewolf, didn't she. For the first time in a few days, the girls seemed to have some peace, not separated by hectic school schedules or anything. Just Wednesday and Enid. As always, Enid was sleeping in until about 10 am. So, for now, Wednesday had some time to kill. Four hours of boredom. She could try writing her novel, but she was stuck in deciding what happens to Viper. She could write her heart out in her diary, but even in this state, she found that would be too open. The only thought that seemed at all reasonable was a long hot shower.

Willa locked the door of the bathroom and turned on the water. Usually nothing but ice cold would do, but due to this research a hot shower was the only thing she could bare. Her mind was racing, why was this happening, what was even happening. She slowly lifted her shirt, taking it off, revealing her perky tits.

Would Enid like them? Wednesday started to wonder before catching herself. Why do I care what Enid thinks about them? Just because I LIKE her doesn't mean I care what she thinks of my body.

She knew that to be true and yet. She took a look at her panties, they were wet again. Willa took them off, throwing them to the side. Now she stood completely in the nude, completely unshielded by her black and white dress sense or her wits. Just Wednesday Addams all alone, to the core.

She checked the water which was now a reasonable temperature, slowly she got in, the hot water droplets falling on her body, dripping down from Wednesday's tired shoulders, down her tits and stomach through the neatly kept pubes which enshroud her cunt down to her feet. The whole ever repeating cycle felt heavenly with only one crucial thing missing from the action. Her fingers wandered to her chest, delicately touching her nipples letting out a stray moan every so often. Once that wouldn't suffice her hand snaked down alongside the drops to her cunt. This was what she needed, all that Enid business got her sooooo worked up and HORNY!

As her fingers rubbed against her wet cunt she panted and thrust her hips for more, cause if she couldn't cum she felt like she'd explode. Her movements got quicker and quicker slipping in a finger every now and then. Whatever was happening she had to help Enid and herself get out, whatever that.... Mmmm yes Enid's claws scratching every... Part .... Reaching so deep inside me... Just like my dreams .... So deep

With those thoughts in mind Wednesday couldn't help herself, she felt the pleasure wave of an orgasm go throughout her body, looking down her hand was dripping with her cum. She took a look at it before licking off all the cum. That was new, the Wednesday of yesteryear would be unhappy.

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

In the meanwhile Enid managed to keep her eyes open for long enough to be considered awake. Not that she particularly wanted to be awake, her cycle seemed like it would never end and that dream she was having, UUUUUU boy was it ever so panty soaking. Sadly for her she knew that she couldn't return to her sweet slumber filled with naked Wednesday's and collars, she was going to have to endure another day of the heat, as well as, Wednesday FUCKING Addams staring at her all day especially as she was having her alone time with her favourite smut. GOD Willa could be annoying and yet…. She was also the only person that ever seemingly let Enid's heat induced madness stop. She had to talk to Wednesday, it has been too long since they actually had a proper conversation.

As soon as she thought that she heard the door open and saw Wednesday. If seeing her in black lace lingerie made Enid's mind change THIS was about to fucking fry it. Before her stood a fully nude Wednesday. SHIT that was hella distracting.

'I… ummmm good morning Willa.' Enid barely got out 'Could you perhaps ummm put some um clothes pretty please' she couldn't believe what she was saying.

'What is it Sinclair, can't handle seeing me all naked? shame' To Enid's surprise Wednesday was more confrontational than on most occasions.

'No it's just with the heat thingy I don't wanna…'

'OH, so that's what it is hm? Alright then, I'm sure you won't mind…' Wednesday said, bending over to reach a drawer, thus exposing her cunt straight in the eyesight of Enid 'if I just pick up my underwear'

Fuck, Enid was barely holding back from her heat coming in very barely, so much so that anything could set off the transformation into a sex crazed beast, like for example what Wednesday pulled out of the drawer. It wasn't the black panties she was expecting, but rather a familiar pair of bright pink panties she had worn when the heat started, a pair which went missing after the first few days of masturbating and wet dreaming.

'I hope you don't mind, Cara mia, these have been helping me oh so much in my research, I have to say, they were rather useful quite often recently. '

'Wednesday…'

'Now, everything is quite easy. You want these back and I want to help you get out of this cycle. If I understand correctly, it will end when you mate with someone, correct?'

'Well, um, yes, but Willa don't you see, the research….' She tried arguing to the last, to no avail however.

'Oh please Enid don't be boring and just fuck me already like the good dog you are'

Enid's mind snapped, any sense of humanity and kindness was replaced by heat, heat and even more heat. She would do anything and everything for Wednesday in a heartbeat. Wednesday knew this and was more than excited. OH FUCK Willa's scent was so strong SHIT.

'Although, on the other hand, Why don't I have some fun with this. Now, I know you're desperate, but let's see how much.' Willa smiled more than usual 'Pup, be so kind for me and take off all those good for nothing clothes.'

And as soon as she said it Enid's long oversized tee was off OH my oh my those are some breasts to write home about Wednesday thought. But before she could say anything she saw Enid's wet cunt. She had previously seen it before during her research, but this was different, so vulnerable so raw instead of the matter-of-fact glimpses she got before. Enid started humping the air, the exposure was too much.

'I know, come here' Wednesday motioned to her knee. Following the command, Enid layed on Willa's knee, her ass and cunt begging to be touched.

Willa had other plans. She took her hand and slapped Enid's desperate wet cunt. Enid whimpered from the sensation. And again and again until the whimpers turned into moans. With each time Enid got so many ideas of what she'd do to Wednesday for this, oh so many naughty things. After about 10 hits with one blow Enid shoved wednesday onto the bed. In a voice reminiscent of Willa's dream beast she said:

'You're not the only one who's gonna get their fun raven. '

She put her nose to Willa's cunt, she was going to enjoy this very much, in a matter of seconds her skilful tongue was licking all the folds of Wednesday's pussy. Slowly, with such purpose. Meanwhile her claws were scratching Wednesday's lower back. Oh god, if Enid continues this pleasure and pain routine I'm gonna cum. Wednesday seemed to think that even now she was holding up her usual poker face, however to anyone and everyone else she was moaning like there was no tomorrow and making such faces thought impossible for this certain Addams. In a matter of minutes Enid's face was splashed by sweet cum.

'Ah, success, giving up already Addams? Such a shame, you'll need to try harder'

'Oh don't worry, I still have some tricks up my sleeve' Wednesday said wiping some cum off her cunt and on to her fingers 'Now be a good dog for me' she said showing her fingers into Enid's mouth. While Enid was preoccupied Wednesday started reciting a dark magic spell she looked up this morning just for such a scenario

'sorellanza di Lesbo dai a tua figlia un modo per combattere questa bestia attraverso il piacere'

Right in that moment where Wednesday's cunt had been was now something akin to a dark magic version of a strap-on. As Enid saw what was waiting for her she started drooling in volumes. Before she could think or do, with surprising agility Wednesday threw her to the ground so that her drooling face was to the ground while her wet cunt and more importantly ass was up right at a reasonable level.

'You made me cum yes, but I thought, why not get some help to get my love back. And guess what, I very much did observe just how much faster you came some days and I wondered to myself why's that. You know what I found? I found that with anal pleasure you can just not resist it can you.'

With those words the girthy strap went into Enid's ass it seemed like the biggest one she had taken. OH GOD she couldn't give up this easy, she tried fighting back but she found she couldn't, damn that dark magic shit. Every moment it was fully in she felt like she'd cum and every one it wasn't it felt like hell. strap

No I can't, I mustn't I...I ..I with a final thrust Enid came that same vanilla cum, but she wasn't the beast anymore just plain old Enid, who was currently laying on the floor of their room naked with Wednesday on top of her (also naked in fact), both of them covered in sweat drool and cum.

What a story it has been ei? A heated couple of weeks solved by then two talking and finally fucking instead of being whining horny bitches. That's all folks for our 2 girls! But, Yoko was also rather close to Enid wasn't she, that's all I'll say for nowwwww. Thank you for reading, I don't know why you do it and if you naughty people do it because of your own heat cycles, hope this has helped in some small way

Epilogue (unfinished)

Meanwhile, a whole different story was happening next door to the room where most of Wednesdays research had taken place. A story of a certain Yoko Tanaka.

Yoko was Enid's best friend and she was proud of that. Always. These days they met up at lunch to chat, not as much time as they used to but between Enid having to deal with Wednesdays let's just say shenanigans and Yoko's siren lovers that's all they had. And she loved every second of it. Of course if she could pick to have Enid back as her yapping roomy like the older days she would, but she knew what Wednesday and Enid had was special and that Divina would not be able to take that cute yappers nonsense 24/7.

SHIT, What's all of this about? I'm happy with my sirens, I love em. However, Still I think about Enid's hair soft hair, her cute nails and her ti.... WOAH WOAH WOAH, YOKO TANAKA THAT IS YOUR BEST FRIEND NO, NONE OF THAT

Such were the thoughts in Yoko's head at the start of the whole bodily fluid filled thing.

But that was just the first such thought. It was later in the night, Divina was sleeping away from Yoko and away from their next door friends, however Yoko was not. Just behind the wall next to her bed was Enid. Usually she couldn't hear much, nor thought much about it but now, NOW was different. She could hear every creaking board in that room, her vampire physiology helped quite a bit in that. And HELL did she like what she was hearing for across the wall her bff was touching her wet cunt and moaning (see chapter 1). FUCK, she shouldn't but who'd it hurt? She can't be blamed for just happening to hear it.

And while the sounds were provided for our dear Yoko, the sights she just had to think up on her own. So, she did just that, it wasn't difficult, after all they were ex-roommates and they had seen each other naked a few times, glimpses yes but enough to get Yoko's imagination going. She couldn't stop herself before her hand was in her panties doing what seemed like heavenly work, every brush against her wetness made her shiver and go just a bit less composed. Before long she was a moaning mess herself so close , really FUCKING CLOSE GOD DAMN IT AND SHE NEEDED ENID. REALLY BAD, THOSE TITS, FUCK so close shit around the same time as Enid she came loudly and proudly all over her fingers FUCK that was the best self-pleasing she'd done in ages. Not literally but for all she cared it could've been.

After such explosive fun Yoko was quick to sleep as vampires had little energy on a normal day but subject them to a good session of touching and they're spent. The next morning came and Yoko opened her eyes The light was on, meaning that Divina was awake, before she could search for her confidant in the room she looked to the end of her bed where she found her Siren.

'Morning, my love, had some fun yesterday?' Divina smiled

'Oh, ugh yea, I guess so. I…idk I just felt like it'

'mmm, is that so?' Divina got rather close to Yoko's face, her night garments not leaving much to the imagination. The material was basically see through and Div did NOT have any lingerie on.

FUCK was the one repeating thought in Yoko's mind both as a reaction to the sight in front of her, as well as, a general plan of motion

(a/n), so I was trying to write a chapter for Yoko as a sort of epilogue to this whole "research" saga. I obviously thought, hey! Yoko is pretty close to Enid, isn't she? So she'd be affected too. And that's all fine, but then if i don't want to get rid of Davina from the picture, what do I do? And Idk, so it's in the state that it's in now, unfinished, and probably that's how it'll stay.

Alternate idea for chapter 3 I think!

idea corner Enid can't get a moment's peace gets fed up rides pillow toy thing okayyyyy Willa, you really want me to do this rn??!!?!! "yes" said Wednesday almost with slight interest turning half into werewolf

'happy now, miss Addams? I'm all desperate and vulnerable. Or is that not enough for you? Well here you fucking go' the half naked Enid took the plush she had ridden and came on moments earlier and threw it right at Wednesday's face, put on some pants and stormed off. 'I'm....I...I'm sorry Enid, please, I.... need you' Willa said almost out of character but she meant it, Enid was special to her and she overstepped. "please come back"

Willa even more obsessed Willa's wet dream of wonders chapter 3 Desperate Enid humping like a dog Watching intently Enid can't hold back that wonderful body you have cara Mia I love you so

[luveline]

ooh yay okay short blurb idea!! stevie comforting anxious!reader with back rubs? I feel like he gives the best calming back rubs ever!!! need him to help me w my anxiety :( 🤍🤍🤍

It's not that Steve's presence alone can stave off your anxiety, he's not a miracle, though he is miraculous, but it doesn't take long without him to fall into unhappy thoughts. He leaves to shower and you worry about everything one ache at a time, hands braced on your knees, begging your body to just let it go this time. Just this one time. 

You listen to the shower running, glad for the noise to hide your breath as it begins to wind, but Steve is quick. A minute later he's turning off the water, and a minute after that he's propping open the door to the ensuite to let out the hot air. His hair is still dry. He only wanted a refresher after the hot weather. 

You squeeze at nothing, your hands aching from the scrunch and unscrunching of your fingers. Steve must sense it, your quiet hurting, because he looks up with that resigned concern already lining his mouth, lips pulled down into an unfortunate frown. 

"Hey," he says, pulling the last sock on, "I'll be right there." 

The distance between you is relatively small and huge nonetheless. "It's okay," you say. 

You're wheezing. Steve's eyebrows furrow, and he grabs his glasses off of the night table as he sits down beside you. They slip down his damp nose and fog a little from the heat of his skin, which is a nice distraction until you realise it's a distraction. 

"Can I touch you?" he asks quietly. 

You nod quickly. Sometimes the panic is too much, and anyone's touch feels like a burn, but right now it's the one thing you want. Steve slides right up to your side, thigh to thigh, elbow to elbow. He slides the arm closest to you behind your back to hold you, and the other comes over his lap to your leg, where he squeezes the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

"What is it?" he asks. 

"I think…" you breathe in until your chest feels like it'll pop. "An attack." 

"Okay," he says, pulling you that last bit closer. You're like one person.

You lean forward away from him without thinking. Steve doesn't follow, but his hand tracks a heavy weight on your back. He starts to draw as he usually does when this happens, long fingers and a soft palm roving up the length of your spine and down again, filling the dip of your back as his voice melds to a whisper. "It's okay. We have to ride it out, that's all. You know that already. Keep breathing, babe." 

You cover your face with your hands. Steve makes a small sorry sound and takes your wrist, pulling your hand from your mouth.  

"Just breathe, honey." 

It's not easy. Not as simple as just, but you breathe. Steve's hand is dutiful and loving as it goes, tracing the same path over and over again. He whispers every now and then when you hold your breath or show signs of cracking, and when your eyes fill with tears his touch turns especially tender. 

People forget how full of love Steve is. He wants to love people, even if he does get annoyed at everything. Everything, and yet never at this. This is where his patience lies. 

Your back starts to feel ticklish from his touching. It works better than intended, one uncomfortable feeling replacing the other slowly. Steve puts his second hand on your chest to feel your pulse, his pinky finger sliding under the neckline of your shirt. He counts under his breath. 

"Good," he murmurs, pulling out his hand. "Good job, baby. You're okay." 

The attack ends, the shaky aftermath begins. You feel weak from hyperventilation, hands still shaking. Steve wraps you up in his arms now you're in no danger of suffocation to hold you together, pulling your face to his neck, his cheek turned from you as he sighs in relief. "You're okay," he says again. "That was a sudden one, huh? You okay?" 

You manage a soft laugh. "I thought you already decided." 

"It's two different okays." He rubs the top of your shoulder with his thumb, leaving warmth in his wake. "I know from your heart that you're okay, but are you okay? You know. What do you need me to do?" 

You hug him weakly. "Nothing. I don't need… Thank you, Steve." He's done more than you could ever ask for. 

"You're welcome," he says, kissing your cheek twice, his words warm and quiet against your skin. "Don't mention it. Just glad you're feeling better." 

[kanna-ophelia]

Random self-indulgent post. With pictures, even.

I'm a crazy doll lady. I collect many kinds of dolls, I sleep with a hand-knitted doll, I've made rag dolls and tried my hand at reborning and Asian resin bjd faceups, I'm currently researching and beginning to acquire parts for a long-term project of embodying (book) Crowley, Aziraphale and my In Nomine demon Jesse.

I also have a hobby of buying unhappy op shop (charity shop) dolls, cleaning, hair styling, dressing and (mostly) re-donating them in much better condition. Occasionally I attach too much and they live at home. Most dolls I rescue are Barbie and similar size (easy to dress cheaply, and you can buy big bundles of generic Barbie shoes cheap), 18 inch and Disney Toddler dolls (also easy to source clothes for, but often still left shoeless for budget reasons.) It's relaxing, it feels nurturing even though they are obviously mass produced, it saves plastic from landfill, and I think kids who get their toys from op shops deserve for them to be pretty and clean and cared-for. If you're looking for an inexpensive, fun hobby that actually does some small good in the world, I recommend toy rescue.

This blog is pretty inspirational My kid is also an op shop fiend (his specialties are Nerf guns, Hot Wheels and his beloved family of hand knitted teddies) so after his therapy this morning we visited two nearby op shops as a reward. This is my latest rescue, from today, a Positively Perfect Mira for $2:

She's going to be so pretty when she is cleaned up and that tangled matted mess of hair fixed. Tip: wash doll clothes in tights or bra bags,

Before and after of the last doll to stay with me, an unbranded vintage doll I named Dulcie:

I am tempted to cut her huge fringe shorter and blush her cheeks, but I am incredibly happy with how her filthy matted hair became soft and shiny with a bit (okay, a couple of hours) of care. Didn't take a photo of her back hair, but it is long and curls very nicely at the bottom once set in curlers and heat set, barely needed trimming. Her outfit is from a lovely lady who sells handmade dolls clothes for IMO way less then they are worth at Goolwa Market, if you're ever there. (I actually love the print of the also handmade dress Dulcie came wearing , but it fits her less well and the scratchy cheap lace trim is awful and would need replacing. Maybe a more mod looking doll will get a fixed version eventually. It's washed and kept, anyway)

I figured Dulcie's style of doll, although it was "this is what generic dolls looked like" for a very long time, is out of fashion now. Even cleaned up, Dulcie might be headed for landfill. So she's mine. Predictably, my Mum, who hates my bjds for instance, appreciated her beauty, which is similar to her (still loved) childhood doll. I think Dulcie was also very loved once--an unbranded doll with hand-made clothes was very possibly its owner's only doll and beloved friend. We forget sometimes, with so many cheap imported toys, how expensive they used to be, and if someone could only afford a generic doll with handmade clothes, she probably represented a lot of money to her owners' parents. I kind of hope that on some level her previous owner knows she is cherished again.

A lot of my favourite possessions are from op shops, and I really like ones like pens and bags that have inscribed names and initials on them, things that say "I was a cherished possession." I am sentimental about "This thing you cared about is loved again", just as much as I am indifferent to brand names.

I also picked up a fabulous Ken, who also might stay with me, or at least his head. He deserves a posable body and a hot outfit. His body can be donated to a Ken with a broken body or chewed hands. Actually... I can see Jesse with a pink-tipped mohawk.

I forgot to take a picture, so here is one I stole off Ebay, although my boy is nekkid like most op shop dolls.

[castlebyersafterdark]

Wow, thanks so much for that beautiful take on Will’s attraction to Mike! I love the passion and personal experience you included. 

its definitely true about will being into unconventional beauty, I hadn’t seen that viewpoint articulated before. All the music in the show, and indeed the themes of the show itself - that Jonathan sets in motion through talking about music and outsiders - are reflected in will’s attraction to mike. I think the creators chose Finn as an actor partly for this reason, whether or not the mike and will romance was planned from the off. Mike was meant to be the leader, but he’s still an outcast, and needed outcast traits.

It’s also quite amusing that Finn has ended up being the kind of musician/band guy that Will would have really been into (which is also why I wouldn’t be unhappy if they tried to include these skills in Mike’s character/the s5 story somehow, especially considering music is such a huge part of the show narratively. So far the only hint we’ve seen is the guitar in his bedroom). His appearance is not American Conventional Hot, but he certainly fits the alt camp, which is far from niche (see basically any band musician from the 60s onwards and the legions of people who find them hot). Like you said - Will is into Bowie. He’s into alt. It makes so much sense that he would be into Mike physically. 

You spoke beautifully about how Mike’s height is a physicalisation of his protective instincts too, which I do think would have been a major catalyst in Will’s falling in love. We don’t get to see much of Will’s developing crush in s2, because of his possession, but arguably that is a sort of narrative metaphor for what’s happening (as well as a commentary on his homosexuality overall), and there are plenty of intense moments of Will looking at Mike in s2. It’s there, it’s just not presented as people might expect - but then again Will is quiet, so his attraction is expressed quietly, unless you know what to look for.

And then s4 - I think Will having painted so meticulously really does show that on some level he is very comfortable with his attraction to Mike, and it's just expressing that safely + risking their friendship that is the issue. To me, Will's internalised homophobia isn't a persistent distaste with the male body despite also being attracted to it; it's a frustration with how society views him, and therefore a wish to be 'normal' for an easier life. I think s5 will be feature him coming to revel in being gay - he is already on the way there by acknowledging that loving Mike feels so natural to him and he wouldn't give it up, not even when he's in pain.

Some of my fav moments in s4 are the way he looks at Mike in the van as he unfurls the painting - it’s all in the eyes and hesitance, and it’s just gorgeous and so real for someone like Will. Perhaps the real problem with people not picking up on byler is that realistic shy/introverted romance is so criminally under-portrayed in modern media. And of course what you said about Mike arriving in Lenora - it’s brilliant and hilarious because we have this mix of in love/pissed off + wtf is Mike wearing/Will still can’t take his eyes off him, and I think it speaks so well of how physical attraction often follows emotional. Will might not like Mike’s unconventional features out of context (though I think he does - as said above) but even if he didn’t, the fact that they are MIKE’s makes them desirable. 

A wonderful detail is when Mike comes into Will’s room and sits on his bed - it’s an apology scene, but underneath is this idea that Will would have fantasised for so long about Mike being in his room, on his bed - and now he is, and Will doesn’t quite know what to do with it. 

Thanks for such an insightful take, and for acknowledging the actors in such a mature way. The byler Tumblr police seem to think that isn’t possible, and it’s certainly not common! You express yourself so well. 

I don't have much to add here without repeating myself or parts of your lovely message but yesssssss to everything ❤️❤️❤️ thank you for the kind words and insightful thoughts