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gglitch1dd · 2 days

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An Angel

Middle School Midoriya Izuku x Middle School Reader

Context: You move to a new school and that's where you meet a skinny boy with wild green hair and hopeful but sad eyes.

Note: If there is one thing I do not believe in MHA its that Izuku was never poor or in the lower class before. I mean statistically speaking, this man grew up in a one parent household with only his mom. So that's what I'm gonna emphasis because japanese culture also shuns single parents (sometimes not all the times).

Warning: Bullying, assualt, canon typical violence, Izuku being a teenaged boy Katsuki’s mommy issues

Midoriya Izuku sat at the back of the class, scribbling on a new page of his notebook, softly mumbling to himself as he took the least presence in the room. He sat at the very back of the class, right in the middle where he could easily be forgotten. He preffered it that way. The more he was ignored, the less attention that would be on him, and the less Bakugou Katsuki would torment him so.

"Alright class, settle down, settle down." His home room teacher walked into the room, allowing the class to take their designated seats and focus on whatever announcements or notices would need to be heard. "Today we have a new student joining us, today." He spoke out loud, motioning to the door as a girl walked in. "Please introduce yourself."

Izuku raised his head to look up at you. You stood in the typical middle school girl uniform with your hands gripping your backpack. You smiled kindly as you bowed at the waist. "My name is L/N Y/N, it is a pleasure to meet you all. I can't wait to see what the rest of this year will be like with you." You straightened up your posture.

Izuku thought you liked nice, but then again, a lot of people looked nice and they were nowhere close to that. If you were nice, Izuku couldn't help but feel sorry for you. If there was one thing he hated about Aldera Junior High, it was Aldera Junior High. He put his head down, not wanting to get caught being interested in even talking to you.

You were directed to sit two seats away from him, to the left side of class close to the window.

Up until lunch, you seemed pretty nice. You managed to start talking to some of the girls in class and they seemed to find you funny. That was a good thing. As long as you stayed by the girls and you kept a low profile, Izuku thought you would do just fine.

Then came lunch. Izuku held his little bento box as he kept his head down, trying to make it to the outskirts of the cafeteria. That's all he had to do. Walk in a straight line and ignore everything and everyone.

You're almost there, Izuku. Just a few more-

"Well if isn't stupid Deku!" A hard hand came down on his shoulder making him jolt.

So close.

Bakugou Katsuki stood with a smirk on his face as he looked to the green haired boy. "I've been wondering where you've been Deku. You've been quiet all day!" He grinned as he leaned over on the smaller boy's shoulder.

Izuku swallowed down hard as he gripped his bento. He gave a timid smile. "Morning, Kacchan." He let out softly.

Katsuki's crimson eyes moved down to Izuku's bento. He raised an eyebrow. "What's this?" He peeled off the little sticky note ontop of Izuku's bento, making Izuku cringe. He told his mother not to put those anymore, not because he didn't like them (on the contrary, they were the rare things that made him smile in his day), but because Katsuki would find them. Katsuki's eyes skimmed over the note before an awe came out of his mouth. "Izuku's mommy loves him so much." He teased, Katsuki's stupid middle school friends snickered, encouraging his antics. "Did mommy make you this lunch, Izuku? Let me see!"

He snatched it out of Izuku's hands making the green haired boy's eyebrows furrow. "Give it back, Kacchan!" He reached out to try and get it but Katsuki's pushed his face away making him stumble back.

Katsuki opened it up. "Oh she made you little Onigiri with faces on it, and broccoli and even tamagoyaki!" Katsuki's mocking voice rang out. Izuku tried not to die of embarrassment as his face turned red as he looked at Katsuki. Katsuki's blood eyes stayed on Izuku before his humoured smile left his face. "Your mommy sure loves you huh? Would you eat anything she puts for you?" He asked moving to tip the lunch and let it all fall to the floor. Izuku frowned, knowing that would happen. "Would you even eat it when it's on the floor? Like the useless dog that you are?"

Izuku swallowed down hard but he kept his head up, looking at the blond boy with a scrunched up face in slight pain that he would do this, again and again, and again, and again.

Katsuki stared at Izuku unblinkingly. He threw the bento to the side on the floor and motioned to the ground where the contents of Izuku's lunch lay on the ground. "Eat it. Right on the floor, a perfect plate for a quirkless defect like you."

Izuku scowled, trying to will himself not to cry at all the attention on him and all the eyes and the giggling and pointing. He shook his head. "No."

Katsuki scoffed. He walked over to Izuku, and right before Izuku could bolt he grabbed his arm. With a tough grip, Katsuki moved to force Izuku down. "GRAB HIM!" Katsuki shouted at his friends who moved to hold down Izuku's body as Katsuki used his elbow to try and force Izuku's head down to the floor. Izuku tried to resist as best as he could, pushing back. Katsuki let out a loud laugh. "Come on Doggy Deku! Eat it! Eat your mommy's precious lunch!"

Suddenly the light on his neck was lighter and Katsuki was pushed off of him. Izuku noticed a pair of school shoes in front of him. His green eyes looked up to see you standing there, holding your own bento box as you stood with a scowl on your face. You put down your foot, having kicked the blond boy off of him.

You had a scowl on your face. "I hate bullies." You said as you turned to look at Katsuki's friends. Right before they could scramble away, letting go of Izuku, you kicked one on the back.

"Y/N!" Two girls from Izuku's class stood a bit away from you, with urgent looks in their eyes. "We told you not to interfere!

"Yah! Bakugou is going to-"

Katsuki let out a spit as he flicked his gaze up to you. He rolled his shoulder with a scoff as he got himself onto his feet again. "Well, aren't you bold for being the new bitch in school." You stood with a frown on your face.

You turned to ignore Katsuki all together. You offered him a hand with a gentle smile on your face. "Are you okay?" You asked him.

Izuku stared up at you, and for the first time in his life, he was sure that he saw an angel. He looked at your hand before taking it, allowing you to help him up.

Katsuki scowled at the fact that you were giving that stupid nerd attention and not him. His hands sparked in rage as he stomped over to you. "OI! YOU BITCH!" Just as he grabbed your back collar causing you to take a step back, you unleashed your quirk, pushing him back entirely.

Katsuki fell back onto the ground, shocked at the force that pushed him. Izuku's eyes widened in shock at you. You really were an angel.

Literally.

White feathered wings sat on your back, flared in anger as you stared down at the blond boy. You scrunched up your face in disgust. "The only bitch I see right now, is you, blondie." You stated as he sat on the ground as you stood above him with Izuku in hand. You rolled your eyes.

You took the green haired boys hand and pulled him out of the cafeteria, moving to leave all the other gaping idiots alone.

Izuku watched you with wide eyes as you pulled him out of the cafeteria to go eat lunch outside. He pulled him along and he didn't really mind. His green eyes moved down to where your hand held his.

Izuku's face burned red as he realised that this was a very important day in history.

Midoriya Izuku was holding a girl's hand for the first time.

Midoriya Izuku.exe has stopped working. Rebooting system now.

You finally found a place outside by a bench. You stopped with a sigh. "What a horrible group of people. Honestly. Who watches someone else get beaten down and says nothing." You shook your head in disappointment, turning around to look at the boy you had just saved. His eyes seemed spaced out and his face was red. "Are... Are you okay?" You asked worried. "Did he hit you in the head? Do you need a nurse?"

Izuku quickly shook his head out of it now that you had let go of him. He let out a nervous laugh as he looked away from you. "No! I'm fine, I'm totally fine. Honestly, I couldn't feel better! Haha! I mean honestly, why wouldn't I be fine! I just got saved by an angel and not many people can say that everyday. I should be thanking you. Your feet must not be okay, but me? I'm totally fine. Yep, fine, fine, fine. Couldn't be better and-"

Izuku stopped talking as he heard a giggle. His eyes widened as you put a hand to your mouth to hide your smile as you giggled at his rambling. In the sun, with your white pure wings out and a gorgeous smile on your face.

You really were an angel.

You lowered your hand. "Well I'm glad."

Izuku took a moment before smiling. He bowed at the waist towards you. "Thank you, for your help." He stated. "But you should really get going." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You're going to get bullied for helping me, or just staying with me in general. You seem like a wonderful person and I don't want that to happen to you." He said seriously with his eyebrows furrowed.

You paused for a moment before smiling. "I don't mind. I'd rather have lunch with you than those idiots." You motioned towards where you came from. Izuku let out a scoff but smiled gently. You motioned to the bench and you both sat down. You put down your lunch before noticing. "Oh no! You're lunch!" You said with a frown.

"It's okay." Izuku chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Please, have some of mine!" You motioned to your own bento box.

Izuku quickly shook his head. "No, I can't. Really, you need it. This has happened before, I'm used to it." He stated with a shrug as he looked down to where his red Jordans were planted on the dirt ground.

You frowned at that peice of news. "But... aren't you hungry?" You asked.

He froze at that question. He swallowed down hard, his fingers digging into the bench. In truth, Izuku barely ate the breakfast his mom made. To be fair, he knew she needed it more than he did. She worked all day for him, so he knew he could survive off of lunch and dinner. Although half the time his lunch would end up thrown out by Kacchan anyways.

He forced a smile to his face, a fake one that you could read all too well. "No." He shook his head. "I'm alright. Really."

You frowned. "You're all sticks and bones. What's your name?"

"Midoriya Izuku."

You smiled, before giggling. "I'm L/N Y/N. We're in the same home room class and for that," You stood up, placing your lunch on the bench as you shuffled with your wings, standing up and walking a few steps to the vending machine. "I'm buying you lunch."

Izuku's eyes widened as he stood up. "No, no, no. Please don't! Don't waste money on me." He denied quickly.

You shook your head. "Too late."

Before Izuku could step closer, your wings got into the way. His eyes widened in surprise. They were gorgeous. White and expansive, perfect in design.

You looked back and noticed your wings were still out. "Oh! Sorry about them. They kinda just do their own thing sometimes." Carefully, your wings folded back into you and you focused on the vending machine.

While Izuku focused on you and your quirk. He watched as your wings folded back into your skin, tears in your shirt left behind. He noticed marks, sort of like scars, where your wings would come out from. "Fascinating." He mumbled softly as he looked at your skin.

That's also when he noticed the straps of your bra.

Izuku tensed as his face burned red again. He quickly looked away from you entirely, trying so hard not too think too deeply about it. This was all too much for Izuku right now, too much in one day.

However he couldn't help but wonder...

You were really pretty. Like a girl out of a shonen... or a seinen.

He wondered how the front of your bra-

Izuku choked on air.

You turned to look at the green haired boy as you held the hot lunch from the vending machine. He was hitting his chest as he burned as red as a tomato. He kind of looked like a tomato, with his green hair. "Are you okay?" You asked concerned as you walked over to him.

He nodded his head as he hit his chest. "Yah, just-" He coughed. "Choked."

"On?"

"Spit." He coughed. He shook his head of the embarrasment. "Sorry." He apologised.

He knew he should stop being on his computer all day but damn was he this bad around girls? To be fair, he had never had a friend that was a girl. Girls typically seemed weirded out by him and he couldn't exactly blame him.

Izuku would much rather sit on his computer all day than play a sport.

And he wonders why he gets called an Otaku.

And is probably the reason why he's about to have a nosebleed at the thought of your bra.

"Here you go!" You handed him the hot lunch.

He looked down at it. "L/N, I really can't accept this."

"You can. It was just a thousand yen." (6 US dollars)

His eyes widened in shock, before turning to the vending machine. "A THOUSAND YEN! THAT'S A LOT OF MONEY!" He shouted as he looked back at you. "Please, take it back. I can't repay you."

"I don't want you to repay me." You giggled. "Just eat it and I'll be happy. Now sit and eat before it gets cold." You tugged him down to sit beside you.

It was a struggle to let Izuku eat, but when he finally did, he nearly downed the entire thing in under three minutes. You knew he was hungry.

So then you talked and you told him all about your quirk and the fact that you lived with the Hero Safety and Protection Commission. You also found out he was quirkless, and to Izuku's surprise, you found that cool. Just the fact that he was so rare as to not have a quirk. You could tell he didn't seem to like it but you tried to show him that he was a rare find.

You both went to go get you a new shirt from a teacher before getting back to class before the bell rang.

At the end of the day, you told Izuku you would see him later after you went to go find a club to join.

However, when you found him again, waiting at the bench that you ate at lunch, he was not how you left him.

You gasped. "Midoriya!" You shouted as you ran over to him. He had a bruised cheek as he stood with a soft smile at the sight of you. before he could speak, you quickly took his face. "What happened to you!?" You asked shocked.

"Nothing, just Kacchan got angry as usual." He stated gently as you looked him over.

You furrowed your eyebrows. "I don't know why you don't get mad at such a horrible boy." You stated as you looked over his face. "This is bad."

"This isn't bad. You should have seen him last week after he had a fight with his mom." He chuckled in a self deprecating way. "I was bruised all over after that one." He looked at your face and you weren't laughing. You frowned in deep concern. He cleared his throat, looking away from you.

You took his arm. "Mind if I take you home?"

His eyes widened. "No, but are you sure? I can always just take the bus. The bus driver is a good friend of mine."

You nodded your head as you opened the door to a black car that was waiting for you. You motioned for him to get in and then you. Izuku was as stiff as a board as he looked around at the clean interior of the car.

"Miss L/N." Sitting at the front was a man with sunglasses on.

"Afternoon Fujihara. This is my friend, Midoriya. Do you mind if we take him to go get healed up before taking him home?" You asked the officer in charge of you.

He shook his head, driving the car forward. "What happened?" He asked, not ever really having a smile on his face but you could tell by a frown that he wasn't pleased for this being your first day at school.

"He got ganged up on by bullies." You said with a frown on your face. Fujihara didn't say anythign but gave a curt nod.

Izuku sat as straight as ever, trying to not make a mess of anything. In truth that is exactly what you did. You took him to an impressive building that you apparently lived in, and you took him to someone with a healing quirk before taking him back home.

You left him with a wave, promising to see him tomorrow, before disappearing back into the car and driving away.

Izuku entered his apartment, taking off his shoes as he walked inside. A note from his mother at the entrance small round table telling him that she would be working late today as well.

He smiled gently as he walked further inside, taking off his gakuran and putting his empty bento box in the sink.

Midoriya Izuku promised himself he would never forget this day. The day he got saved by an angel.

-Glitch1d

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januaryembrs · 1 day

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oblivious!reader x downbad!spencer who’s not even nervous to flirt with reader anymore cuz she just doesn’t get it (probs older episodes spence)

CLUELESS | Spencer Reid x reader

description: Spencer's got a crush, too bad you're entirely clueless to his dilemma. (S3!Spencer in mind)

length 1.2k

At first he’d thought it was the world’s gentlest form of rejection, how you would dodge his questions, barely bat an eye at him laying himself bare for you, thought that maybe you were pretending not to see the way his hands shook and voice quivered to save him some face.

“I-I was wondering if you wanted to go see Zodiac at the movie theatre?” He stammered, obsessively tucking his hair behind his ear because it felt like it was ticking his cheeks, or perhaps that was just some residual sweat gathering on his temple because you were just so pretty when you looked at him like that, your eyes wide and excited, waiting for him to finish speaking because you always loved to listen to him, “I was thinking we could try comparing it to the actual case and figure out how accurate their hollywood version of it is,”

Your face lit up like the fourth of July, and your smile was blinding, “Oh, I love the movies! It’s going to be so fun, Spence!” You chirped, whirling around in your desk chair to meet Emily’s bored stiff expression as she scrolled through her computer, “Em, Spencer wants us to go see Zodiac, you in?”

Spencer paled, because that was not what he’d meant by we whatsoever. It wasn’t that he held anything against Emily, nor JJ or Penelope as they were quickly roped into the plans as well, he just hadn't had them in mind when he thought to ask you out on a date. From what he could tell you hadn’t escaped spending time with him alone on purpose. He just hadn’t quite been specific in his question, it was an easy mistake to make.

But you looked so excited as you organised who was getting what snacks, quickly dibsing the seat slap bang in the middle of everyone so you wouldn’t feel like anyone got left out. He thought his chest stuttered when you grabbed his hand and asked if you could sit with him since he’d remember the most about the original case, and you’d need his big brain for the little game he had planned.

Spencer agreed, instead of trying to make it clear what he’d meant by his original question, because he hated disappointing people and the other girls seemed just as thrilled to go see the movie as you were. It wasn’t until Morgan slapped him on the back with a chuckle, having watched the whole thing from his own desk that Spencer felt truly dumb.

“You’re going to have to try better than that, pretty boy,” He exclaimed, and Spencer bit his lip in thought, “Try asking her to do something in a way that leaves no room for confusion, girls like it when you’re direct,”

And he nodded vehemently, because dating advice from Morgan was usually sound and bulletproof, how else would would he have garnered the ladies man reputation?

Direct, he could be direct. Sure, Spencer could be direct.

He swallowed heavily just thinking about it.

–

“These are for you,” Spencer jumped in before you could get sidetracked by chatting his ear off about the squirrel you’d nearly ran over on your way to work, and your expression flitted into surprise.

He handed you the big bunch of pink roses and baby’s breath, and your mouth cracked into a smile immediately. “Oh, Spencer, these are beautiful, you shouldn’t have. My birthday’s not for another week,”

“And I booked us a table at that Thai place on your block that you always get- wait birthday?” Spencer stumbled over his script, the words he’d been practising all morning coming to an effective halt as he realised once again his intentions had flown right over your head. And yet before he could set his record straight, just like you had last time, you’d jumped at the chance of spending time with him without understand just what you were agreeing to.

“I love Thai food, that’s so thoughtful of you, Spence,” You said, hopping up out of your chair to give him a bear hug around his lithe waist, the flowers still tightly in the palm of your hand. He reciprocated, even if his expression was a terrible mix of frustration and confusion.

It was like someone had cast some sort of spell over his words so that he’d never be able to ask you out on a date, like he was trying to speak in a dream, the words never really coming out. You weren’t dumb, not by any means, you could be a little naive sometimes, but never cruel. Spencer had no idea what the answer was. He guessed he was right back at square one.

–

“I don’t know man, I tried asking her to the movies, she thought it was a group thing. I tried taking her out for dinner, she thought it was for her birthday, I even asked if she wanted to come over to mine and she thought I meant a sleepover. What’s romantic about pillow forts?” Spencer sighed, leaning his head into his palm as he watched you swan around the office without a single inkling of his affections, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I had fun at every one of them, but I just want there to be more. Maybe she just doesn’t feel the same,”

“Don’t lose hope, pretty boy,” Derek comforted, the seemingly appointed love Guru that had had to witness two weeks of Spencer’s advances get sidelined. He followed Reid’s gaze to where you hummed a song to yourself as you collected files from Emily’s desk to take them over to your own. He bit his lip in thought, “I don’t think it’s personal, honest, I don’t think she means anything by it. You just need to be clearer,”

“Clearer?” Spencer said with raised brows, using a single prod of his converse to swivel himself around to face you, and your expression perked into a smile just from seeing him. Derek watched the two of you closely, his theory all but game set and match as you seemed genuinely excited to see their resident genius who was convinced there was nothing there, “That shirt is really cute on you. It makes your eyes look really pretty,” Spencer said, in his most direct tone possible, because the nervousness seemed to dissipate when he knew you wouldn’t pick up on his intentions. The only sign you’d heard him at all was the way your fingers ruffled his hair affectionately.

“Aw, thank you, Spencer,” You said, a little bounce in your step as you passed his desk to your own, running a gentle hand over his arm, where his blue striped shirt bunched around his biceps, “I like your purple one the best, but this one’s quite handsome too,” You replied, grabbing the other wad of papers from your drawer without much of a reaction and heading up the stairs to Hotch’s office, and he turned back to Morgan, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

Morgan laughed, shaking his head and yanking his cup of coffee towards him, “She’ll figure it out some day, lover boy. I give it a month, tops,”

And Spencer huffed, wheeling himself back to his desk, his eyes naturally trailing up to the large window that divided them from Hotch’s personal space, the two of you discussing something jovially as if you were none the wiser to his internal predicament.

He made a note to wear his purple shirt more often.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader

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sceletaflores · 24 hours

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Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up.

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

authors note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment. The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want some random massage therapist.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk about that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” you whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

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@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

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k2ntoss · 3 days

Text

doing a part of the request my fave jason simp, 🦊 anon, made some time ago AND THAT I FEEL BAD FOR REPLYING UNTIL NOW

so writer's block who? i just needed a sex and the city episode to pull out this so here we fucking GO

it's been quite a while since sleeping on jason's place is a regular thing, not only sleeping but spending time there on his free time watching him cook or just sit together to read a book. it's by far the best feeling ever because even if he isn't fucking you into oblivion during the night being by his side feels just right.

despite everything being so perfect and nice there are some boundaries he isn't letting you cross yet and the reason? explained properly and understood by you, he was trying to make sure you'd be safe without anyone finding a way to get to you and hurt you wanting to hurt him with it. that meant not leaving personal stuff on his place, it was risky to let you spend so much time around but he couldn't resist it, jason loved being able to have his arm wrapped around your shoulder as he read on the couch, leaning in every now and then to kiss your cheek.

the room was still dark, it was early when you had started to wake up from your slumber to squirm under jason's arm that was holding you tight against his chest as he nuzzled his face against your back, the feeling of you wanting to escape his grip makes him drag you more into his embrace and a soft grunt leaves his throat when he finds himself unable to bury his face into your hair "where are you going, ma?" he asks, still more asleep than anything as jason still has his eyes closed.

"i need to get ready, love" the reply reaches him and even with that information jason refuses to let go of off you, his arms now wrapped around your hips as you try to get out of his bed, dragging with you the sheets for a whole second before you almost fall from the bed "jay, i really, really need to leave the bed..."

"but it's still dark, you can't leave yet... i want to sleep a little more and i want you here with me" the smile that reply steals goes missing for him, poor guy is still almost fully asleep but he clings onto you for dear life even knowing you probably have something to do during the day before he's able to hold you again "just one more hour. then you're free to go, angel"

"i need that hour to get ready, jaybird" you chuckle, shifting a little under his arm as you try to push it away from you and when you finally escape the death grip jason has on your body the lazy walk to the bathroom is filled with the guilt of leaving him all alone to get ready for something that wouldn't be as nice and warm as your lover's embrace. picking up your clothes and stuff to get ready you rethink and the final choice is clear as water, that much you don't even realize when you started to lift the comfy sheet to push jason a bit "you win... i'll stay here"

the fact that jason isn't fully awake makes his pretty smile even prettier because he scoots a little with his arms ready to hold you again and once you lay back on his bed he leans in to kiss your lips and almost as if sleepiness was contagious you found yourself kissing him back and ready to drift back into your dreams where just like in the waking, you'd stay into jason's arms. hiding your face against his neck, arms wrapped around his torso and one leg drapped over his hips it's nice and warm to feel his big hand caressing your thigh softly as his lips kiss tenderly your neck making you smile widely.

there's a sweet sense of intimacy on his touch and even if the tiredness washes over both of you, jason's hands are now holding your hips to press you against his body and between soft and tender kisses, his hands and yours start to pull off the little amount of clothes you used to sleep. his practiced hands run sweetly over your skin, undoing the clasp of your bra and taking it off while your hands pull up his shirt, fingers gently caressing his scars as he kissed a trail across your jaw.

"you're just so pretty..." jason's gruffy voice makes you shiver and under the sheets his body is pressed flush against you, his hands holding your waist as he rolls his hips against yours as if testing waters and there's nothing that would make you leave his side. not now, not ever.

"i love you so much, red..." you mutter against his chin, letting out a breathless moan when he's able to push into you, his movement is anything but hard. he takes his sweet time to settle between your inner walls, letting out a soft groan accompanied by a content smile when you wrap your arms around his neck to snuggle against him.

"love you too, ma" he whispers against your temple, he has his eyes closed as he enjoys the warmth you provide and he knows that even in the dark place his life is you're everything he will ever need. with a soft sigh he starts moving, slow strokes as he holds onto your hips while muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

the whole room is filled with the tenderness of the moment, silent gasps and soft moans as he held you as if you could break if he got too rough. your lips peppering his jaw and cheeks in soft kisses as he rolls his hips into you making your breath hitch everytime he hits that sweet spot and the chill of the morning feels like something so strange because your morning is sweet and warm while jason is by your side.

time seems to go by slower, lips swollen from the kissing to drown the soft grunts and to delay everything a little more until you feel jason's slow strokes faltering before he spills himself inside you, drawing a soft moan from your lips as your own release washed over you making your body clench around his in a delicious grip. the room is now filled with nothing besides the soft pants of your breathing, his hands caressing soothingly your waist as you nuzzled your face against his neck.

"can't you stay here today? i don't feel like letting go of my pretty princess" jason asks quietly, his voice is still a bit gruffy and he looks sleepy despite what you just did. it's impossible to leave him like this, shiny eyes and messy hair, looking happy finally because he had his little world into his arms.

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wandasfifthwife · 1 day

Text

🌷 her little brat

mommy!wanda x fem/afab!reader

you attend an event you were told not to go to. when Wanda’s contact appears on your phone you’re sure of what’ll transpire once you’re back home

tw: smut, established relationship (dating), top/dom!wanda, bottom/bratty sub!reader, slight age gap (w = 30, r = 22), reader is called baby, alcohol/drug mention (not r or w), rough sex (consensual), hair pulling (length and type not described), mommy title used, strap referred to as Wanda’s dick, strap in v (r receiving), oral (w receiving), impact play (spanking, cheek slapping), brat tamer / brat dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, r is described to be wearing a dress, not really proofread

୧ 2.2k‧₊˚ 🎐 masterlist ⋅

There’s a list of rules the both of you agreed on—and then there’s a grey line between them. You often danced on the line, always teetering on the line of disobeying Wanda—on the cusp of being a bad girl, but far enough where you usually don’t get punished for it.

She knows this, she knows you.

An event—the one brought up by your friend a week ago—was happening tonight.

Usually you’re okay with whatever answer Wanda provides, about whether or not you can go to an event.

The night you went to ask about this party she had sat in bed, a book in her lap. When she saw you come in, the book was discarded and you filled in where it was. You tried to get on her good side first—kissing her, whispering how much you love her, smiling at her. She dealt with it for so long, hand hitting the back of your thigh playfully—asking you to just tell her already.

“My friend invited me to this event, can I go?”

“Can my baby communicate better? What event?”

“A party,” you whisper against her neck, wincing when she hums—signaling you to repeat what you’ve said, “a party.”

“Mm what kind? A birthday party?”

“A house party.”

“So drinking, smoking—?”

“Yes?”

“Then no.”

You push back off her shoulder to look her in the eyes, “but—”

Her expression brings you to a halt, pulling you back down to lay on her shoulder again. You sigh, relaxing into her when her fingers draw stars onto your back, “good girl.”

If only she could read your mind in that moment, she would’ve taken that good girl comment back. You fixed your expression to seem as if you “moved on,” but you were going to this party. You’ve not gone to a single college party, always obeying Wanda and staying back with her. And it’s tempting, but you want to try it once. Just once, and she’ll never have to know about it.

Your plan was stupid, but who can you blame—you’ve never snuck around her like this before. She works daily from 9-5, and on Friday nights she’s usually later because she goes out with her coworkers. So she’s not usually home until 10PM.

Once she left for her dinner your friend came and picked you up, driving you towards the house. There were three hours to spend before your friend had to drive you back home so you could take everything off and act as if you’ve been there the whole time.

“Hey, you made it,” your friend starts, pulling you into a hug.

You laugh, “I’m here!”

“You doing alcohol tonight or—?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Very unfortunate—why,” he asks, putting the extra cup he had set out for you back down onto a table.

“Just wanna be sober tonight is all. How’s your girlfriend doing? Is she here tonight?”

“Awh no, she’s studying,” he says, taking a sip of his drink, “You know STEM majors, cutting back the fun often so they can study.”

A tap on your shoulder and someone from one of your classes pops into your vision, smiling and hugging you. You return the energy, but hold back on saying a name because you’ve unfortunately forgotten it.

“My word, it’s so good to see you. How’s everything been? We soooo need to catch up soon.”

“Oh I’d love to, let me check my schedule,” you reach for your phone in your purse, pulling it out to check your calendar, “I could this weekend if you’d like?”

She agrees, squeezing your shoulder affectionately, “anyways, I’m heading out back. You can totally join. I can give you a house tour before though too?”

You thank her, following her through the crowd of bodies and clouds of smoke. The sweet aroma in the air from multiple people’s vapes is colliding with the smell of multiple people’s sweat. It’s a relief when you’re able to walk outside, the fresher air filling your lungs.

“Do you live on campus,” she asks, stepping down the stairs to walk out onto the yard.

“No I live with my girlfriend, we’re only like 15 minutes away. It’s not a bad commute.”

“Do you both go?”

“Oh no, she’s graduated.”

She looks shocked, sitting on a pool bench and patting the space next to her, “how old is she then?”

“Thirty.”

She nods, smiling suddenly and you take its because someone’s walking up from behind. A guy appears, introducing himself to you.

He sits himself across from you two, motioning a drink in your direction but you signal your distaste, “ahh alright, how’s your night been? Also it seems like Kacey and Lance are fucking in your bedroom again.”

“Again,” she sighs, exhausted, “I’m going to shut this party down.”

“No need for that, just stop inviting them.”

“That’s unless, they always show up.”

He laughs, “they must have some party kink seeing how they’re always fucking.”

You laugh, reaching behind you to grab your phone when you feel it buzzing underneath your thigh. Your heart beats louder when you notice the contact.

“Hey, you alright girl?”

No.

“Im fine, just realized I have an exam on Monday,” you breathe out, turning your phone’s vibration off. It’s only been an hour, clock reading 7:03PM. Maybe she’s just checking in on you? A text rings in just then, telling you to answer her call. You smile sheepishly to your friends when your phone screen lights up again.

“Do you need to answer that?”

“Uh,” you hesitate but end up hanging up, “no, it’s fine.”

It’s really not. You had every intention to not let her find out tonight, and she might not know—but you highly doubt that when you read her next text.

Come home.

She knows—she knows you’ve left for the party, and now she knows you’re not responding to her. You’re digging yourself into a rabbit hole. It’s exhilarating and nerve wracking.

Twenty minutes later and you can’t stop yourself from worrying. It’s one thing when she messaging you, it’s another when she goes silent. Radio silent. nothing comes through anymore, no calls or texts.

You feel you’ve done enough. Priorities have since changed. Before there was value in a college party (it’s not any different from the clubs Wanda’s taken you to, there’s just more vodka). But now? You’re nervously tapping the back of your phone, looking through the crowd for the one who drove you to the party.

You thank your friend once she’s driven you home, feeling your throat close after you’ve shut the door and watch her drive away. You now feel alone, cold walking back into the house. The lights are off except for a lamp shining in the living room, and apparently a candle was set in the kitchen— a floral scent filling the house.

It did nothing to calm you down.

“Hi baby,” Wanda starts, calling out to you from her place on the couch, “enjoy your party?”

“It was fun.”

“Mm, still fun even though I told you not to go?”You step closer, mouth opening to snap at her but she’s quicker, “don’t fucking start.”

You scoff, staying where you are and crossing your arms, “really? You’re being dramatic.”

“Tell me, why am I dramatic?”

“Because I went to a party.”

“You think I’m dramatic that you went to a party?” Your nod makes her laugh, airy and soft, “I don’t care, we’ve gone to clubs together. That’s not what I’m mad at, could you tell me what I’m actually mad at?”

“Leaving.”

“Close—disobeying. I’m upset you snuck behind my back and broke a rule,” she sighs, leaning onto her palm, “and you had a long streak going, you’ve been my good girl for so long you had to go and break that.”

“Well forgive me for wanting a fun night.”

“Did you communicate that with me?”

Your silence is loud, answering her question. She looks at you for a minute, eyeing you up and down, enjoying the sight.

“That dress looks pretty on you.”

“Thank you.”

“Why don’t you crawl over here, give me a show.“

“No thank you.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment as you bend down to the floor, eyes focusing on the wooden floor below you in shame. She ticks her jaw, “look at me.”

You lift your head, heart stuttering in your chest when you find her dark eyes. They’re looking all over you—your eyes, lips, breasts… you feel exposed with clothes on.

“I kind of want to see you turn around and push your hips up for me,” she mumbles, “would you do that for me baby?”

You grit your teeth, “and if I don’t?”

“You won’t come for a week—turn over for me?”

You do as told, turning away from her and bending your front half down onto the rug. It’s embarrassing how this is making you wet, panties growing darker the longer you lay on the floor poised as such. She doesn’t say anything and she doesn’t have to, the burn of her stare is enough.

“Come here,” You’re quick to move, resting your head along the inside of her thigh. Racing heart settling once you’ve settled into something familiar.

She brushes your cheek, “want to hear the punishment I’ve laid out for you?”

“Yes.” You’re met with the feeling of her hand colliding with your cheek, a gasp tearing from you. Water gathers in your eyes as you fix your posture, “yes, mommy.”

“Done this for what, two years and you’re still messing up my title?”

“Sorry, mommy.”

She hums, “I’m going to have you eat me out. If you do well I’ll fuck you with my strap. Understand?”

You nod, moving away from her so she can remove her silk pj shorts. Her scent hits your nose when you move closer, everything about it is intoxicating. You press a kiss to her clit, smiling at her shivering.

A hand comes to grip your hair, pulling a gasp from you, “tease me anymore and you’re going to bed with nothing, got it?”

“Yes—sorry, mommy.”

You don’t try anything after. She keeps your head stuffed between her thighs, moaning softly each time your tongue brushes against her clit.

“Being good for me, so good. Keep going, ah—!”

You swivel your tongue, and feeling her clench around nothing you know she’s close. She pulls your hair, jerking it harder when you do something that draws her closer to her orgasm.

“Ah yes, right there. Keep going, fuck.”

You whine, pressing closer and licking a stripe up her cunt. Her eyes are trained on you, watching every move and responding accordingly. She grinds herself on you, gasping as she comes off her high.

“Did so good,” she gasps in air, “so good for mommy. Want a reward now?”

You nod, climbing onto her lap and smiling. You feel her hands slide under your thighs to carry you into the bedroom, where she can set the harness onto her hips.

“Gonna be my good girl and take all of this,” she asks, parting your folds with her fingers, a slick sound coming from the action.

You whine, “fuck, please, I’ll be so good for you.”

“That’s nice baby, but what else?”

“I’m sorry for being such a brat. I shouldn’t have snuck off like that, should’ve talked with you. I’m sorry mommy.”

“I know baby,” she starts, hips pushing forward, “I know you’re sorry.”

“Mommy,” you gasp, mind shutting off at the feeling of every inch of her dick push itself in.

She grinds the length in, getting wet again at the sight of your cunt swallowing her entire length, even trying to suck it deeper. Her hands grab your hips, pulling you further off to bed so she can use the distance to her advantage.

“Feel this,” she says, pressing as deep as she can, “this is a reward only for good girls, are you done being a brat? Wanna be my good girl again?”

“Yes,” you mumble, shouting when her hand slaps your ass.

“Fucking speak up.”

“Yes! Yes, I’m done, just please!”

The pace she sets is brutal, tantalizing—hands pulling you down harder onto her length to hear you babble. She has you right where she wants you, moaning her name with glossy eyes. Your back slides against the sheet with each thrust, sounds half muffled by your arm and the sheets that got pulled up beside your body.

The bedroom’s half dark, the lamp from the living room cascading through the open door. You can see half her face, see it come closer until her lips are on yours. You met her halfway, arms wrapping around her shoulders to pull her closer. The taste of her lips is tantalizing, something sweet overwhelming your senses when her tongue runs across your bottom lip. You jerk when she presses against the spot, the one that makes you see stars.

Once she gets a pace going against the spot, she feels you melt in her grasp—eyes shutting, and head pushing back against the bed. Your loud moans become fixed breathy whines as your high builds.

The feeling of her body yours, length pushing and grinding just perfectly, her thumb swiping your clit pushes you closer to your high. You’re muttering nonsense into the air, gripping her shoulders tighter—nails pushing into her skin.

“Gonna come?”

“Yes! ‘M gonna come. Please let me, mommy. I’ve been good,” she pushed back in then, drawing a strangled sound from your throat, “oh fuck me, please!”

“Go ahead.”

She feels herself fall in love even more when she watches how your body writhes under her, hands drawing her face in for a kiss like you usually do. Who’s she to deny you, lips finding yours.

“You drive me crazy,” she whispers, looking down at you with a smile.

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aphel1on · 1 day

Text

the longer i look at this panel the more deranged i feel about it. this is environmental storytelling at its finest.

the eodio stand-in doll in particular makes me crazy. where did it come from? did thistle just pop into the village like "hey ungrateful wretches, one of you needs to make me a life-sized mannequin, For Reasons". did he make it himself? seems quite unlikely, yet the possibility haunts me. i mean, i guess there could've been one just lying around the dungeon somewhere. it's the act of replacement itself that really gets to me. (edit: it's been pointed out to me that the eodio doll also could have been left behind as part of delgal's escape plan. slightly different kind of madness but tbh, just as funny-sad to me if that happened and thistle went Ok, Guess That's Eodio Now.)

both the wives are there too. we know very little about them, which makes me tend to assume thistle wasn't all that close to them, but they're still included. when did they end up here? did he kick their souls out of their bodies at some point, or were they among those who left their bodies voluntarily to try and escape? when did yaad become an effective orphan, delgal an effective widower? women in the margins of the narrative, tell me your stories!

and the fact that they're surrounded with the living paintings, which thistle habitually wanders through to relive the past. this truly is his inner sanctum, his place of utmost comfort... and it may as well be a tomb.

that panel is so creepy when you first see it. just a sense of "ohh jeez, there's a lot to unpack there".

and actually, yeah, it remains creepy from pretty much any angle, but the more you think about it the more it's also tragic.

this is where many of thistle's happiest moments took place. everything he had in that picture is now gone. first he lost their warm regard, then one-by-one their bodies became hollow shells. before the end, none of the people here needed or enjoyed food anymore. the dinner table, as a center of both family life and nutrition, became obsolete.

a line from someone else's excellent post about thistle has stuck in my head ever since i read it: "to eat is to live, but to eat together is to be loved". to me, this is the sentiment and symbolism at the core of everything that happens in dungeon meshi.

it makes this bit all the sadder and more disturbing.

there's several things to note here:

thistle has gone from seated and eating with them as part of the family, to a lonely and ominous figure hovering over delgal's shoulder

eodio is conspicuously absent from view, and his body would have been a husk by now, but yaad says parents, which forces me to assume that they are sitting at the table with eodio's soulless body, hidden under yaad's speech bubble

they're not actually eating anything.

those plates are empty. you could assume that they've already finished eating, maybe, but yaad refers to it as sitting around the dinner table. in fact, he compares it to what he's currently doing; sitting at the dinner table watching the touden party eat, not eating anything himself.

it paints a pretty grim picture. for some time even after the fantasy had fallen apart, even after there was no need or desire to eat, they kept gathering around the dinner table. at that point, i'd guess only so as not to provoke thistle's wrath.

but even that last happened a long, long time ago.

this is a callback to what senshi said in the golden kingdom: the reason the people keep maintaining their fields and silverware and so forth is that they need to do so in order to stay sane.

paradoxically, the dinner table is the most striking evidence of thistle's insanity, and at the same time, it's the only anchor to sanity he has left.

he kept enforcing the ritual of dinner together long after it lost significance. when even that was impossible- because almost everyone's souls were gone- he kept their bodies at the table anyway. it's fine. it's fine! he's protected them, physically, just like he set out to. they're all still breathing. at a glance it looks like they could wake up and resume dinner at any moment. like this, it's easy to pretend.

isn't that what being a dungeon lord is, at the core of it? rejecting reality, staying in the prison of one's impossible desires. it's just one long game of pretend.

thistle did all this to protect his loved ones. no matter how obsessive and twisted he became in pursuit of that over the years, his core motivation never changed. this is all he has left of that dream: his loved ones' bodies gathered around the locus of their happiest memories together. like this, he can tell himself he's succeeded.

when eodio's body vanished with delgal's soul in it- when he couldn't even have that anymore... well.

i want to reach through the screen and shake him. no, they're not, thistle. THISTLE, NO, THEY'RE NOT! the doll of eodio is the closest thing to him in this panel, underlining the point. when that final illusion was shattered, he became completely unable to cope with reality.

therefore replacing eodio with a creepy doll and casually forgetting it isn't real.

thistle isn't stupid. eodio's body vanished at the same time as delgal's soul. shortly after, more adventurers came pouring in than ever before. deep down, he knows what happened. if he didn't, being confronted with the truth by mithrun wouldn't have made him panic so hard he summoned chimera falin to the first floor.

yet still...

he absolutely can't admit that to himself. he is clinging to the last scraps of the illusion with everything he has.

this is a dungeon lord at the end of desire. this is a lotus-eater machine left running long after its conclusion. this is mithrun lying listlessly in his bed, his replica lover having given up any pretense of being human. the illusion is all that's left. (an illusion is all it ever was.) thistle and the citizens of the golden kingdom- they're ghosts just as much as the ones who wander the dungeon floors. and if it weren't for thistle sealing the lion away, he would've been eaten by it long ago.

all of this encapsulated by that single panel of the dinner table.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #thistle #delgal #yaad #eodio #winged lion #meta #long post #aphelion.txt #dunmeshi #sorry. i am so incredibly not normal about any of it

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scribblesofagoonerr · 2 days

Text

— kArMa'S a B*TcH!

requested by @chaotic-toasters (thank you for being a therapist when needed!)

hope you enjoy the chaos, hehe.

requests are closed currently, however, feel free to drop to talk at all!

summary: reader needs therapy after witnessing that music video.

pairings: steph catley x reader, beth mead x reader, lia walti x reader, leah williamson x reader, kim little x reader

warnings: nothing but pure chaos and trauma over a certain music video...

Having lived in Switzerland, it wasn't often you got to see your auntie, so its' safe to say today you was thrilled about being able to hang out with her and more so, you'd be going to training with her and seeing the rest of the girls.

You'd been having so much fun hanging out with all of the girls, even joining in on winding some of the girls up.

"Hey, Y/N! C'mere a second, kid!" Your going about minding your own business, snacking on a sandwich in the canteen when your called out by Beth and Steph.

Poking your head up with the sandwich half hanging out your mouth, you tilt your head, "I didn't do it!" Your quick to protest.

You wouldn't call yourself a troublemaker per-say, but well, eh who're you kidding? You love being the centre of chaos.

Your auntie Lia wouldn't agree so much, it was one of the reason why you're stuck over in England for the time being right now.

Beth chuckles in amusement, "That's not why we're asking you to come over here," She pauses as she waves her hand slightly, "Come sit with us!" She encourages.

Shrugging your shoulders, you get up from your seat and make your way over to the two older girls, "What's goin' on?"

"We want to show you somethin', kid. You like watching music videos, don't you?" Steph wonders, holding her phone out in her hand but you can't exactly see what it is thats' on it.

"Er yeah, I do... Why?" You tilt your head in confusion but non the less plonk yourself down on Beths' knee instead of sitting on an actual seat.

What's the point of that when its' far less comfy, right?

"Perfect," Beth smirks and shares a look with Steph, "You'll like this then."

"Whos' music video is it?" You wonder, curiously.

"JoJo Siwa," Steph chimes in. "Your auntie told us that you like her music, kid."

"I do like her music," You nod in agreement.

Without further ado, Steph moves the phone to balance up against her water bottle before she clicks play on said music video.

You weren't completely aware of the fact that your reaction was being filmed either.

You really didn't know what to expect, given that all of all JoJos' videos you have seen in the past were normal, compared to this...

You were thrown off by the pitch black darkness, mysterious vibe of the music.

"Should I... Should I be scared about this?" You look between the two older girls with a slightly worried expression, "Wait, should I?"

Neither Beth nor Steph said much but laugh slightly, awaiting your reaction as the beat of the music started to play.

"Oooo, there's water," You take in the scene of the start of the music video, bopping your head along to the music casually, "Mysterious vibes." You state, wiggling your fingers like they sparkling.

All too soon that your watching the video and your mouth drops open, shaping the perfect 'O' shape as you stare in horror at the music video you're literally being forced to watch.

"What the-- She's making out with another girl!" You exclaim in shock, "My eyes... My innocent eyes!"

Even if you wanted to escape from watching it, you couldn't do that, considering that Beth had her arms tightly wrapped around your waist so you couldn't up and leave.

"Ah! My eyes!" You repeat as you shriek in horror, immediately trying to shield your face behind your hands. "This isn't the JoJo Siwa that I remember!" You exclaim, keeping your hands over your face while you shake your head profusely.

"Just watch it, kid. It's not that bad," Steph chuckles, amusedly.

"NOT THAT BAD?" You exclaim in horror, whipping your head to look at the Aussie, "THIS IS... THIS IS HORRIFYING!" You whine, trying to wiggle out of the blondes' arms.

"It's certainly a lot different," Beth jokes.

You continue to shake your head profusely, "Turn it off! Turn it off! I can't even... I need bleach-- I don't want to watch anymore!"

Unfortunately both of the older girls' continue to laugh at your own expense, finding the situation completely hilarious.

Of course they'd watched the video previously and as soon as they did, they knew you were the perfect one for them to film a reaction to watching this music video, considering your usual love for JoJo's music.

"This... This isn't even music-- I don't like it!" You begin to try and claw at your eyes, definitely not keen on the music video in front of you.

You manage to somehow worm your way off the blonde's knee, wriggling all the way to the floor as you do no more than lie there rolling around as you make a lot of noise shrieking like a banshee while clawing at your face, trying to scrub the memory of the video.

"Turn it... Turn it off, please!" You plead with them both, hearing the tune in the background as you continue to roll around on the floor like it would solve all of your problems.

Beth snorts in amusement at your overdramatic performance on the ground, "I don't see what's so bad about it, Y/N. It's just a music video." She comments.

"Just a music video? Bethany, that is pure vulgar-- That is... That's not even music!" Your absolutely horrified about the video; Why would anyone create something like this and actually put it out there?

The commotion you began to make was soon spotted as you lay on the floor by the rest of the girls.

"What's going on with your niece, Wally?" Leahs' the first to spot your not so normal behaviour.

"Is she okay?" Kim frowns, concerned.

Lia looks over to you and furrows her eyebrows, "I... I don't know," She watches you continue to roll around on the floor as she realises she should find out what's wrong with you. "Y/N, what's going on?" She wonders, concerned.

"My eyes, auntie Lia-- My eyes!" You exclaim, still trying to claw at them to try and block out the horror that you just witnessed.

"What?" Lias' left even more confused, trying to make sense of what is actually going on.

"Help me, auntie! Help me!" You continue to roll around dramatically on the floor, "I can't... I can't even-- I don't like it!"

"What? Y/N, sweetheart, I can't understand what you're talking about here," Lia admits, confused with your unusual behaviour compared to usual.

"Let me try," Leah suggests, getting up from her seat and joining the small group before she crouches down to your own level, "Hey buddy, what's goin' on?" She wonders, concerned.

"Pain! So much pain!" You exclaim dramatically while you still attempt to claw at your eyes.

Leah and Lia share a confused look, "Wha-- What're you talkin' about buddy, what's happened? Are you hurt?" She questions.

"Yes, yes I am hurt!" You somewhat whine in response, "I need... I need help!" You state, attempting to wriggle round on the floor, but thats' difficult with Leahs' hand resting on you to stop doing exactly that.

"Your hurt?" Lia immediately kneels down beside you and tries to inspect which part of your body is injured, "Where hurts, Y/N? Tell me so I can get help!" She panicks slightly, trying to figure out what it is that's exactly wrong.

"You... You can't help, the pains' in my eyes-- I need to bleach them!" You murmer, trying to erase the memory of the video but having no luck.

"What?" Lia's even more confused now before she glances at the older girls' giggling to themselves like school girls, "What is going on?" She asks.

"We thought we'd show Y/N the new music video that JoJo Siwa released," Beth snickers, finding it hilarious to watch your initial reaction to it.

Lia furrows her eyebrows even more confused than before, not understand whats' so bad about that.

"Are you girls crazy? Why... Why an earth would you show a little girl that type of video?" Kims' voice barks aloud, overhearing the conversation.

"Hey! I'm not a little girl. I'm almost 13, you know!" Your quick to protest, causing from the mid meltdown. "I'm... I'm traumatised, auntie Lia!" You exclaim.

"Show me the video? It can't be that bad," Lia gestures for Steph to press play on the video, so that herself and Leah can understand it and within the first minute or so in, her expression completely changes, "What is wrong with you two? Why an earth would you traumatise my niece with that sort of video!" She barks at them.

"Exactly my point," Kim waves her hand off, like she was talking sense the whole time.

"That is... That is one crazy video," Leah murmers as her eyes widen in disbelief, knowing its' no wonder the way that you suddenly reacted when you saw it.

"See, auntie Lia? Its' pure trauma... I need therapy!" You whine dramatically, shaking your head profusely, "Months and months of therapy!"

"Well, shes' not wrong there," Leah snorts, trying to stifle her laughter when Lia looks at her unimpressed, "But eh, yeah, seriously, girls... Why would you show her that?" She tries to act like the responsible adult that she is.

Safe to say that Steph and Beth found the whole situation most amusing to watch you freak out mentally, of course taking the opporunity to taunt you with that god-awful song.

At any given time of the day...

Curse that stupid song that exsists.

Like the moment that you're peacefully minding your own business, sat on the sidelines of the pitch messing around with your Nintendo Switch, having a blast on Mario Kart when Steph decides to walk over to you, casually picking up her water bottle to take a few swigs before she starts to hum that familiar tune.

"No," You whine, going to cover your ears.

You swear that Steph even smirks at you at one point, before she continues to go about humming the god-awful song.

"No, no, no stop-- I need bleach... I need to bleach my ears out!" You whine dramatically, trying to block it all out, "STOP ITTTTT!"

"kArMa'S a BiTcH--"

"Auntie Lia! Auntie Lia! Help me, Stephs' singing that song!" Of course you tattle-tale straight away, being the shit-stirring little menance that you are, "Auntieeeee Lia, make her stop singin'!" You continue to whine dramatically.

#woso x reader #lia walti x reader #leah williamson x reader #steph catley x reader #beth mead x reader #kim little x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #scribblesofagoonerr #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal women x reader

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 18 hours

Note

AITA for "using" a cucumber and putting it back in the fridge?

(🥒👌 to find later)

Please, I know it sounds nuts but hear me out. I feel awful and I need to know just how bad this is. Also, I intentionally left as much as possible vague as I am a minor and I do not want this to get removed for being too explicit. But the story will not make sense if I don't include certain things, please understand.

So I (16M) grew up in and currently still live in the bible belt, with extremely conservative evangelical parents. As a taste of what it's like, we have church 3 times a week, and church camp every summer. We are only allowed to access Netflix through a stupid content filter app and we can only use a restricted smart phone that is regularly checked at random by our parents. We get an hour and a half of computer usage every other day, and the internet on the computer is heavily filtered also. The only reason I have access to Tumblr and am able to post this now is because my best friend's older brother gave me his old android for my birthday a few years ago. His family is much more open minded, and I'm very close with them. I also think they have always felt a little bad for me with my family being the way they are.

I'm also gay. Obviously, my family does not know, and I intend to keep it that way. I won't go too deep into it, but it will suffice to say I struggled a lot when I was younger over this. The good thing is that in the last few years, I've been able to accept myself more and come to terms with what my own feelings about religion and faith really are. I came out to my best friend and his brother a little over a year ago, and they've been very supportive. I have yet to tell any of my other friends.

Recently, I've been trying out alcohol since my friends found a hookup. Something I have discovered is that I tend to get lewd feelings when I drink, which has nearly caused a few embarrassing moments around friends. Coincidentally, I have also been experimenting with... certain things. Being a minor, I obviously can't enter any of the adult stores around me, nor would I feel comfortable asking any of my friends to drive me there if I could. I also can't order anything online because my bank account is connected to my parents, and I don't have a shipping address I'm comfortable using for those items either. So instead, I use household objects that belong to me and can be sanitized easily. You might see where this is going.

Yesterday evening, I came home from best friend's house with a full bottle of wine in my backpack. We and a few other friends had already been sipping on a few beers that afternoon, and I still felt a little buzzed. After my family went to sleep, despite already having a little alcohol in my system, I proceeded to get wasted on this bottle of wine in my room. I don't have the clearest memory of all of this, but at some point, I got hungry and lewd-feeling. Went into the kitchen and, through some kind of thought process I can only imagine now, came back into my room with a cucumber. From the title of the post, you can hazard a guess as to what happened to this cucumber. Once I was done, I drukedly and quickly washed it in the bathroom sink and threw it back into the fridge. I went to sleep.

I started freaking out as soon as I woke up this morning. There were four cucumbers in the fridge, I was pretty positive at least two were going to be used for dinner tonight, and I had no idea which cucumber I did the deed with. To make matters worse, my mom was inviting the pastor of our church and his family over for dinner. I have practically no money currently, no license or vehicle, and no friends with vehicles free to pick up new cucumbers for me (and no reasonable explanation as to why I needed them to spot me for four cucumbers specifically). I also have no believable reason to give for why we shouldn't have cucumbers added in the salad mix. My mom knows I love them, and they haven't gone bad. Can't say I ate them because who the hell eats four raw cucumbers? And she'll interrogate both my brother and I until she gets a satisfying answer if I just throw them out. I didn't know what the hell to do about this and I was close to having a panic attack, so... I took a nap.

Evening came. Guests came over, dinner happened. We had porkchops with macaroni and side salads. Cucumbers were in the salad, and I along with pastor's family and my own, ate it like nothing was wrong. My parents, the pastor and his wife had an engaging conversation about politics, religion, and some mild church gossip after dinner. My little brother continued to read his book, and I had a very awkward and one-sided conversation about Young Sheldon with the pastor's daughter. Then they left. And I went to my room to mentally implode.

To say I'm horrified is a major understatement. I don't think anyone is going to get sick because I scrubbed all of the cucumbers with soap multiple times and cleaned the vegetable drawer with bleach when I woke up this morning. I guess I also don't know that the violated cucumber was one of the ones that was used for dinner tonight, but then it's only a matter of days until we have salad again, or if mom cuts one up for water. I've rattled my brain for any way I could get some new cucumbers without telling anyone the details of the event, but I have nothing. Don't even have the money, anyway. Gave up the last bit of cash I had for the damn wine yesterday, and I have $0.43 in total on my debit card.

Admittedly, there is a very small part of me that doesn't even really care if they have eaten or end up eating the damn thing. I can't stand my family. My parents are invasive, controlling and neurotic, and don't give a shit about how I'm doing in so far as it pertains to god and the church. I'm a little more sympathetic to my brother as he's been stuck in this hell with me, but at 13 he's already begun to regurgitate way more religious dogma than I ever did at his age. And I know for a fact that they would want nothing to do with me if they found out I was gay. They'd probably kick me out on the street and spit on me if I had to guess. But even still, this is only a small part of how I feel. What I did was still so gross, and no amount of animosity I have for them can change how mortifed I am. I do have at least a semblance of a conscience.

So...AITA for all of this? WIBTA if I did nothing about the other two cucumbers? Please help.

#aita #am i the asshole #unsanitary cw

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silverwhittlingknife · 1 day

Note

So you're a go to source for all things Dick&Tim bros and you tend to write primarily from Dick's POV. So, odd question, but if you were to summarize their relationship from his POV in FIVE panels which panels would you pick? Keeping in mind that one specific aspect of their relationship that you love needs to be clearly represented by each panel (loyalty, trust etc). I hope this is a fun challenge and not an annoying question so if you don't want to answer that's cool! Have a wonderful day!

No more talk. The same thoughts run through two minds... (SotB 29) / You're my equal. My closest ally. (RR 1) / I can't stop thinking how much I rely on him. (GoG 3)

25 Feelings Dick Has About Tim

This was such a kind ask & a cool challenge which I totally failed; here are TWENTY-five panels of Dick's POV on Tim sdfdsfds Look, I got carried away! Marcia and Cindy! The boys!!

OKAY SO BEFORE I GET TO THE PANELS A FEW NOTES:

WARNING THAT THERE ARE SOME NEGATIVE EMOTIONS IN HERE because I love conflict but but but you gotta remember those are not the final word!! They are complicated people and sometimes they get mad at each other BUT ultimately their relationship is so hugely important in both their lives & they love each other and rely on each other so much -!!! <3

Also I have CONCLUDING THOUGHTS at the end about what Dick's POV leaves out (mostly: a lot of Dick defending & protecting & supporting Tim, which Dick does instinctively but isn't very self-aware about most of the time)

I have loosely organized my list into 5^5 format (5 categories with 5 examples each!), so if you want to skip to a relevant one, here are the categories!!

Below the cut:

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1-5)

On second thought, he's endearing & fun (#6-10)

Grief is complicated & he's all tangled up in mine (#11-15)

I love him & think highly of him (#16-20)

I rely on him & though it's hard for me, I trust him (#21-25)

Final thoughts, a.k.a. if you ask Dick to tell you about Tim, you will be there all day and he will never once mention any of the times he saved Tim's life because they will genuinely not occur to him

I hate him and find him infuriating (#1 - 5)

1) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze me and Bruce, but he doesn’t know me at all, he should get lost (New Titans 61)

2) He thinks he’s so smart and can psychoanalyze Bruce but he doesn’t know Bruce at all, he should get lost (Gotham Knights 26)

3) He is so nosy about stuff that is MY business (Robin 0)

4) He sounds like an insincere suck-up half the time... but okay, fine, if you push him he's got a sense of humor about it (New Titans 65)

5) I'm sure he's a better vigilante than me. It's my fault for being a failure, but I resent him anyway. (Nightwing 9 - Dick's having a nightmare)

On second thought, he's kinda endearing (#6-10)

6) He worries too much and gets anxious so easily, but it makes him fun to tease (Robin 67)

7) I'm not that competitive - okay, so maybe I'm a little competitive, I gotta make sure he doesn't get a swelled head (Prodigal)

8) I'm supposed to be his favorite! It is not cool for him to be fanboying over my not-girlfriend's not-boyfriend!! (Birds of Prey 19)

9) We have fun together. I can kick back and relax when it's just the two of us. Plus I get to boss him around a bit. (Prodigal)

10) He’s always trying to reassure me, and I guess it's a little comforting, but also he doesn’t really get it. Or me. He makes excuses that he shouldn't, because he doesn't understand that I suck. (Nightwing 64)

Grief is complicated and he's all tangled up in mine (#11 - 15)

11) He reminds me of everything I try not to think about. Sometimes the memories are so strong it hurts to look at him. (Batman 441)

12) WHY IS HE BEING IMPOSSIBLE ALL OF A SUDDEN??? THIS IS SO FRUSTRATING (Nightwing 139)

13) We're the same. He says all the things I don't let myself think about. It's like arguing with myself. (Nightwing 139)

14) He thinks he gets to tell me what to do but he doesn’t, fuck him (Battle for the Cowl)

15) Life sucks, so what. I sucked it up so he should too (RR 1)

I love him and think highly of him (#16 - 20)

16) He’s the closest thing to a brother I’ll ever have. If someone hurts him I will hurt them harder. (Nightwing 6)

17) I can't handle the idea of losing him. (Nightwing 97)

17) He’s so good and I’m not. I'm afraid I’m bad for him. (Nightwing 110)

18) He’s better than me, and it’s kind of a relief because I know no matter what he’ll be okay. (Gates of Gotham 3)

19) In my head he’s the responsible one. (Gotham Knights 10)

I rely on him, and though it's hard for me, I trust him (#20-25)

20) I know I have to trust him but I'm afraid he'll make the wrong choices and get hurt (Nightwing 139)

21) I'm sure I know what he should do because I see myself in him - not that I can take my own advice, but he should (Blackest Night 3)

22) I trust him. When I’m losing my grip on things, he pulls me back. (Gotham Knights 10)

23) I want him to trust me (Red Robin 12)

24) He can tell when I'm lying. Sometimes he sees my weaknesses better than I wish he did. (Detective Comics 874)

25) He’s always there when I need him. (Teen Titans / Outsiders Secret Files)

Final rambling thoughts:

TIM: Uhh, okay, so I'm just skimming this list - do you really trust me? you're not just saying that? - but anyway, I'm confused because you left some stuff out? Like some stuff that's kinda important? DICK: No? I think I got everything? TIM (starts counting on his fingers): The time I was having a bad day but then I called you. The time I got captured by Two-Face but then you saved me. The time I fell off a train but then you saved me. The time I fell off a building but then you saved me. The time I fell off a different building - DICK: I feel like you're trying to make some kind of point but I'm not sure what it could be.

SO THE THING IS, I put 25 panels in here and not a single one has Dick catching Tim when he’s falling!!! But I think that's a central motif of their relationship from Tim’s POV, not Dick’s. I love Dick, but in some ways I think he is spectacularly un-self-aware.

And I think he especially has a lot of blind spots about Tim. He kinda intermittently gets that Tim admires him, and he enjoys it in a playful I-get-to-boss-you-around way. But Dick tends to consistently underestimate all of his own good qualities & skills, and he meets Tim at a point in his life when he's especially down on himself & his abilities. And so he's unable to see his own influence on Tim, & therefore unable to fully understand a lot of Tim's priorities and loyalties and motivations, because you can't actually understand Tim without understanding Dick's impact on him. There's a fascinating moment in Bruce Wayne: Murderer when Dick's completely blindsided & upset to discover that Tim doesn't entirely trust Bruce, even though this has been a definitive fact of Tim's whole thing ever since he showed up with his Batman needs Robin theory, and Barbara has to actively remind Dick of the obvious-to-everyone-except-Dick fact that a lot of Tim's loyalty is to Dick, and Tim loves Bruce but feels free to be more wary of him. (And to give Bruce credit: this is not something he ever begrudges.) But anyway Babs points this out, and Dick manages to sorta process it for about five seconds, but he cannot actually accept it into his worldview so instead he discards it at the speed of light and goes off and has an argument with Tim instead sdfsfdsf

All of Dick's virtues - Dick's kindness at the circus and Dick's determination to fight through grief and Dick's rigid sense of morals and Dick's vigilante skills and every time Dick has ever backed Tim up or listened to him or protected him or saved him from something or just been casually kind to a stranger in Tim's presence etc etc etc - all these things loom really large in Tim's mental story of Who Dick Is, and What Dick And Tim's Relationship Is. Tim meets Dick before he meets Bruce, trusts Dick more than Bruce, aspires to be Robin instead of Batman. And so in Tim's default version of the story, Dick is the super-special and admirable hero and Tim is... nobody in particular, a tagalong outsider who's barely managing to be a hero, not part of Dick and Bruce's family and not part of their story, who, if he's VERY LUCKY and tries REALLY HARD, might be able to fight his way to proving himself and offering something to Dick that Dick will value, if Dick doesn't get fed up with him first.

But that's not Dick's version of the story!!!

Dick's version of the story is almost the exact opposite, a story where Dick's an outcast failure black sheep who's screwing up everything he tries, and meanwhile Tim is The Sudden New Perfect Robin Who's Better Than Me And Probably Bruce Loves Him More And Probably They Gossip About What A Loser I Am, mixed with a complicated edge of Tim Thinks He's So Smart But He Doesn't Know Me/Us At All. Dick gets much more attached to Tim over time, and Tim gets unnervingly better at the know-it-all psychoanalysis so then Dick gets to have complicated feelings about him being right instead of just annoyance at him for being wrong, plus Dick's relationship with Bruce improves a lot, so Tim stops feeling so threatening. But Dick never fundamentally changes his basic theory of their relationship in which Tim is highly impressive and capable, and Dick is not so much.

And so asking Dick about Tim is kinda like if you asked George Bailey to tell you about Harry Bailey in It's A Wonderful Life; like, you'll be there for five hours while he tells you how great Harry is, and how accomplished Harry is, and how he doesn't really get how or why Harry does the things he does, and maybe George does feel a little resentful or jealous sometimes, but that pales in comparison to all his admiration and trust for Harry who he loves so much, who's better than him in so many ways, and he's not gonna openly gripe but secretly he can't help but feel sometimes like he's such a failure in comparison to Harry, a perfect person who emerged fully formed from Zeus's head with all the virtues and also all the accomplishments, etc. etc. etc. --

-- and he will not actually remember the part where he changed and saved Harry's whole entire life unless you literally send him to an alternate timeline in order to force him to remember it. <3

#i enjoyed thinking about this so much i wrote a novel with All My Thoughts sorry sdfsdfs #tim drake #dick grayson #somewhat tangential but as i was writing this i was thinking about zahri's post #about how different types of stories offer different kinds of emotional payoffs #and i think for me for dick and tim the main two payoffs are:#1) someone who sees & understands your grief for deaths that will never get fixed or get better #and who will face your ghosts with you EVEN WHEN you're also mad at each other #2) someone who you look at and you see all the ways that you suck & he's better & you're a loser who's failed him etc etc #but it turns out that you're wrong. that you're good enough. not that none of the failures were real or that they were all in your head #but it turns out that it's okay that you didn't always immediately do or feel the right thing #and it's okay that you weren't perfect. you can fuck up six thousand ways & everything you did right will still matter #not because of making excuses or allowances or somebody pityingly trying to make you feel better #but because in the end the things you did right are just Genuinely More Valuable than anything you did wrong #all the times you tried & everything that you tried to give - everything you think wasn't good enough - it was.#IN OTHER WORDS they are both convinced they're not good enough & they are both wrong <3 #anyway dick and tim are both INCREDIBLY SIMILAR and also CONSTANTLY misreading each other and i love that for them #and like. they will sometimes totally misread each other & then never figure out the part that they misunderstood #but then they manage to keep going anyway. we love each other on purpose <333 #ask tag #dick&tim

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dceasesd · 3 days

Text

why juni ba’s the boy wonder has my favorite jason characterization of any contemporary comic run: a needlessly in-depth analysis (pt.3)

go check out part 1 and part 2 if you'd like! this is a long one, sorry guys.

if you haven't already i'd recommend you check out pt. 1 & pt. 2 (linked above), but if you haven't checked them out i've been going over some of the main things people have been criticizing ba's characterization for: 1. the typical boiling down of jason's character to "the angry one" 2. his lack of strategy going into the fight with the demon is out-of-character 3. the neighbor's kid interaction

alright, so this last point is purely based off of one page of the entire comic: the one where the child of one of jason's neighbors is dragged inside his home when his mother see's jason coming.

first off, i love this page. it might be my favorite page in the entire issue. everything about it is great. just thought i needed to say that.

anyway, there's some people who are seeing this page and reading it as "jason protects kids! that's one of his big things! why are they scared of him?"

here's the thing, though: the kid isn't scared of jason, the mom is. the kid is literally playing dress up as the red hood-- he's not scared of jason, if anything he's trying to replicate him. little kids dress up as their heroes all the time; why is this kid any different? it doesn't really make sense for the kid to dress up of something he's scared of (not everyone is as weird bruce wayne), especially a real person that could be a real threat rather than a concept. i doubt you see many kids in gotham dressing up as the joker or something, because that's just asking for trouble.

the dress-up honestly seems like a ploy for attention to me. the kid clearly knows that red hood lives in his building (which is honestly so funny. take off the mask jason you're giving you're position away (actually this is a really good instance for analysis but i'm determined to not go on a tangent)). if the kid knows red hood lives in his building, what better way to get his attention that dressing up as him and playing pretend? if the kid was scared of him, he wouldn't want to draw that sort of attention to himself. if he had a sort of hero-worshippy thing going on like i suspect, then he would want to get jason's attention. to sum it up,

it's the mom who pulls him away when jason nears, because she either a) perceives him as a threat, b) doesn't want her kid to try and replicate him even more, or, the most likely option, both! the kid isn't scared of him, but the mother believes they should be.

once again, we come back to the whole perception vs. reality theme i talked about in part one! we've come full circle, everyone!

when looking at the neighborhood's perspective of the red hood, ba gives us a few contradictory examples. there's the kid and the mother, obviously, but there's also a slew of other citizens who interact with him at the beginning of the issue, both in fear and camaraderie.

the unhoused man and the people outside of his building clearly have a familiarity and are comfortable with him, while the shopkeeper is terrified and literally has a banned poster on his wall featuring jason (i am so curious what he did to deserve that, if he even did anything at all). from this, it appears that jason's reputation teeters between fearful and familiar-- a sentiment that also colors jason's relationship with his family.

furthermore, this concept underscores just how lonely jason is-- one of the only good relationships he had in his current life was his fucking landlord, for gods sake, and he's dead.

i think it's important to note that jason doesn't respond to the friendly greetings from the men-- he could attempt to build camaraderie, the roots are there, but he chooses not to. he could work to try and show the mother that her son is safe with him, but he chooses not to. why? jason is obviously lonely (as ba states in the panel below) and he caves pretty easily when damian asks him for help (both of them are so desperate for human interaction its tragic). so why does he distant himself from the community?

obviously it is in part due to the vigilante lifestyle, but it is also jason's perception of himself and how he believes others perceive him, especially in regards to his family (ba is literally hitting readers in the head with that theme baseball bat).

he doesn't see that the kid with the mask looks up to him, all he sees is the mother pulling him away. he sees the banned poster in the store. and, as ba narrates, "he was sure he'd been forgotten about" by his family. utrh is jason's twisted way of attempting to reach out and connect with bruce, and obviously that doesn't work-- so he chooses loneliness over rejection.

like in part one, though, damian refutes this idea by describing bruce's perspective, showing how what jason believes differs from actuality. bruce hasn't forgotten about him and doesn't hate him, as he suspected, but instead harbors guilt over the situation and desires to make it better, which jason must come to understand to be able to open the locked door and begin to move past his trauma.

so, that's what the little kid in the red hood outfit looks like to me. i actually have a lot more i'd like to say about the boy wonder, especially in regards to the whole "door to my past life" thing and what ba does with lighting and blocking in his artwork, so i may do a little post on that as well! i was gonna try and shove it into this one, but i've run out of room! i hope you guys liked my analysis, if you'd like to chat about the boy wonder or any other comics, my dms, asks, and reblogs are happily open! thanks for reading! :)) <3

pt. 1 / pt. 2

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heizlut · 3 days

Text

Mine, All Mine

ꕀ cw: slight exhibitionism

ꕀ tags: bratty sub fem!reader, hard dom!geshu lin, creampie, cockwarming, marking, humiliation if you squint, rough sex

ꕀ nsfw under the cut

ꕀ m!list here

ꕀ a/n: @glitteryshlong this one’s for you bestie😚

Being Geshu Lin’s girl could be hard at times considering he asked you to keep the relationship a secret, stating something about how ‘If enemies knew about you, they’d use it against me.’ and ‘I’m the general. I can’t appear weak to affections.’

The first part you could understand, but the second made you roll your eyes. Since when was loving someone considered weak? But as stubborn as he is, you couldn’t change his mind with words. Gods, how you’ve tried. But… You could provoke him.

It was a silly thing to do, going around in your medic uniform with the skirt rolled at the waist to the point of barely covering your perfect, round ass, the top few buttons of your shirt left undone to expose the swell of your breasts peeking through.

Strutting through the base as you went about your own business, tending to those who needed it and going as far as to make lunches for the soldiers. Your pretty heels click against the ground as you walk, the sway of your hips was hypnotizing to the soldiers as you passed by.

Handing off a couple bento boxes to some soldiers with a pretty smile, “Here you go. Be sure to eat your fill. Can’t have strong men like you feeling weak in battle because you weren’t able to eat enough~”

The two men gawk down at you before smirking, one speaking up, “Well would ya look at that. What a sweet thing you are doing this for us~ What’s the occasion?” You just give a small smirk back, your words dripping like honey, “No reason. Just felt like helping out a little extra around here.”

The two soldiers chuckle, the other of the pair speaking up this time, “It’s always a pleasure whenever we get to see you, hun.” Their eyes trail over your body hungrily, and you flash a smile, “Glad to hear it~”

You strut away, tossing your hair over your shoulder and holding your head high. Peeking to the side, you spot Geshu Lin surrounded by a few soldiers, practically seething at what he’s just witnessed. His eyes trail over your form with a snarl, taking in the bounce of your breasts as you walk and the way your skirt hugs your ass.

You just give him a little smirk, to which he gives you a dangerous look as if to tell you that if you kept this up, you’d be in for it big time. But no, you weren’t about to drop the act. Instead you fed fuel to the fire when you gave out your last bento box to another irrelevant soldier, placing your hand on his chest acting all cute when he thanked you for the meal, leaving the poor man as a blushing mess as you walk away.

That was it. Geshu Lin was done with whatever the fuck you thought you were doing. With a low growl, he excused himself from the gathered soldiers who were speaking with him, pushing past them to march over to you.

If you weren’t trying to keep up this petty bullshit as you continued to strut through the base and back towards the medical center, you would’ve run like hell. The look in his eyes was one of a predator as it closed in on its prey.

You picked up your pace, trying your best to maintain your facade but no one could match the speed of the general. His strong hand grips your wrist and tugs you towards an unoccupied side of of the building outside.

Geshu Lin pins yours wrists above your head in one hand, pushing you against the wall with a snarl as he leans close to your face, “What in the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?” You play innocent, giving him pretty little doe-eyes, “I don’t know what you-ngh!”

His forceful grip on your jaw with his free hand cuts you off, “Drop the act, doll, and answer the damn question.” Geshu Lin’s hot breath fans across your lips, his golden eyes glowing with rage. Before you can answer, a soldier appears around the corner where the two of you stood, clearing his throat.

Geshu Lin run his tongue across his teeth before releasing you, turning his attention to the soldier, “What could you possibly want right now? Can’t you see I’m busy?” The soldier stands there with a sheepish look on his face, “Uh. Apologies but this is urgent. We need you in the meeting room. It seems like we have another Tacet Field incident near Desorock Highland.”

Geshu Lin huffs out a breath of annoyance but nods, “I’ll be there shortly. Gather everyone else.” With a quick nod, the soldier hurries off, glad to be away from whatever he just witnessed. Turning back to look down at you, Geshu Lin gives you a pointed look, “You’re coming with me.” Before you can even ask why or protest, he has his hand around your wrist once again, pulling you along with him.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

The meeting room was empty, yet to be filled with soldiers awaiting orders from the general. Normally, this would piss Geshu Lin off, always expecting his men to be ready and waiting, especially if there was an emergency. But right now, he didn’t care. It allowed him to move forward with what he had planned for you.

Sitting in his usual seat at the head of the table, Geshu Lin pulls you towards him, causing you to stumble slightly off balance, “What the hell, Geshu?” He rolls his eyes and places his hands on your hips, giving them a little squeeze, “Watch the damn attitude and don’t even think about questioning me.”

His hands slide over you ass before giving it a harsh smack, making you yelp in surprise, “After the shitty little act you pulled earlier, I can’t say I’m in the best mood. Now strip off your panties.” Your eyebrows raise and you open your mouth to protest, only leading to another slap on your ass, much harsher than the last. “Take. Them. Off.”, Geshu Lin growls out.

Gritting your teeth, you do as he says, sliding the flimsy material off. He snatches it from your hand and grips your jaw, squeezing just enough to force your lips to part before stuffing the panties into your mouth, “Taste yourself. I bet you got so wet acting like a whore for everyone else.” You knew better than to go against him when he was like this, but that didn’t stop you from narrowing your eyes at him.

Ignoring your pointed look, Geshu Lin undoes his belt and pants, freeing his hardening cock and stroking it slowly as he kept his eyes on you, “Since today you want to act like a desperate slut, you’re going to be a good girl and keep my cock warm during this meeting.”

Your eyebrows furrow, as if to ask if he was actually serious right now. He only answers your look with a deadpan expression as his thumb rubs over the tip of his cock, “I’ve never been more serious in my life. Get on my cock. Now.”

His harsh words and demeanor made arousal spread through you. He really was hot when he got a little mean with you… You go to straddle him, facing him, but he stops you, clicking his tongue, “Ah-ah, nope. You’ll be facing everyone else since you want to be so... performative today.”

Arousal and shame surge through you at his words, but you comply. Turning away from him as you straddle his lap, his cock pushing against your wet entrance almost has you cumming right then and there as you ease yourself down.

But you take too long for his liking and his hands grip your waist and pulls you down on his cock, drawing a muffled moan from you and a groan through gritted teeth from him, “It’s better to hurry when you know the rest will be in here any second.”

Geshu Lin’s cock throbs inside of you and the sounds of footsteps can be heard approaching the room. Mercifully, he removes the now thoroughly soaked panties from your mouth and puts them in the small pocket of your uniform. He nips at your ear as he speaks in a whisper, “Try not to make any noise, doll, and don't you dare even think about cumming without my permission.”

As soldiers begin to pile into the room, many look confused as to why one of their favorite medics was there and also sitting on their general's lap. But they weren't exactly complaining since now they had something they found particularly delicious to look at as the general droned on.

Under their intense stares, you shift slightly on Geshu Lin's cock as heat rises to your cheeks, causing him to squeeze your hips as a silent warning to keep still. It takes everything in you not to whimper softly at the warning, especially when his cock twitches every once in awhile inside of you.

Geshu Lin looks to his soldiers before speaking with his usual cold and commanding voice, "I thought this was urgent. Now speak up so we can figure out how to deal with this fucking mess." One of the soldiers quickly speaks up, "Y-yes, sir. There's a new tacet field near Desorock Highlands. The people near there have been struggling greatly with the tacet discords that are pouring out of it."

As the soldier continues on, Geshu Lin's hands begin to wander across your body. His fingers trailing up your thighs under the table, gently squeezing the flesh, making sure you stay compliant under his touch. Your cunt clenches around his cock as you bite your lip, making Geshu Lin huff out a strained, breathy chuckle.

The soldier pauses, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Sir? Is something funny about this?" The others have their eyes on both you and Geshu Lin, questioning and curious. A hint of a smirk crosses his features, "Of course not."

He reaches up with one hand and moves your hair over your shoulder, exposing your neck, his lips grazing the exposed flesh as his eyes stay locked on his soldiers in a frightening display of dominance, "But maybe our lovely medic has something to add?"

The soldiers shift in their positions, trying to hide their arousal at such a suggestive sight. Your cheeks flush hot under their scrutiny as they wait for you to speak. Geshu Lin's hot breath teases along your skin as he speaks in a low, husky voice, "Go on, doll. You were so friendly with all of them earlier. Don't act shy now~"

You shift on his cock once more, your insides squeezing his length again when his hand that was still on your thigh, begins to softly trace over your clit, "I-I can provide medical assistance at the s-site-ngh..." The soldiers eyes widen at the noise that came from you, some biting their hand to restrain themselves.

Geshu Lin's smirk widens as he presses his finger against your clit, making you let out a hiccuping gasp, "What a good girl you are, always ready to help when needed..." The soldiers stare wide-eyed with flushed cheeks as they begin to finally understand what could be happening under the meeting table out of their view.

Their eyes trail over the swell of your breasts peeking through the top you purposefully left unbuttoned earlier today, watching as they move in time with your quick breathing. One feeling bold, "accidentally" drops his pen and begins to bend down in hopes of catching a peek at what was going on under there, but Geshu Lin's golden eyes snap towards him. His voice a low snarl, "Leave it."

The soldier freezes in place, but slowly straightens back up, trying to avoid his general's threatening gaze. Silence falls over the room, only the sound of your heavy, strained breathing can be heard as your pretty pussy leaks all over his cock and dripping down and making a mess on his pants below. His narrowed eyes scan over the others, watching carefully as they stand there almost too afraid to even breathe too loud lest they face his wrath.

His lips curl up in a cruel smirk, satisfied that no one would dare to try to pull something like that again. His eyes trail down to your trembling form in his lap, trying so hard to keep still and not reveal more to the others.

Geshu Lin's finger resumes in teasing your clit in a slow, torturous pace as you squirm against him. Looking back to his soldiers, he speak in a commanding tone, "We move out tonight. Now get out of my sight."

The soldiers move quickly out of the meeting room, grateful they wouldn't have to restrain themselves at the lewd sight of you struggling in their general's lap. The second the room was cleared out, Geshu Lin grips your hips, standing quickly as he forces you to bend over the table, making you gasp from the sudden movement.

He thrusts forward, hard and deep, not even giving you the chance to regain your senses. He grips your hair with one hand, tugging your head up towards the door that had been left open just a crack as he leans down towards your ear, speaking in a low growl, "Such a whore. You fucking liked that, didn't you. Sitting all pretty and squirming on my cock while my soldiers practically fucked you with their eyes."

Each word he speaks is punctuated by sharp thrusts as his thick cock abuses your dripping hole over and over. "Ngh! G-Geshu, please!", you cry out as your pretty tits bounce with the force of his cock fucking into you, threatening to spill out from their confines. Ignoring your pleas for mercy, he bites down on your neck, marking you with his teeth with a husky groan, "Take my cock like the slut you are."

Lewd moans fall easily from your lips, your cunt squelching along his girthy length as you go dumb on his cock. Geshu Lin huffs out a laugh as he continues to mark up your skin, leaving purple marks as a testament to his possessive love for you, "Come on, doll, tell me who's fucking this slutty hole, huh? Say it."

"G-Geshu -ngh f-fuuuuck....", you moan out, your eyes rolling back as drool begins to slip from your open mouth. His smirk looks more like a dangerous snarl as his cock throbs hard inside of your twitching, squelching hole. He lets go of your hip only to deliver a resounding smack to your ass, making you cry out, "Say it again. Scream my fucking name."

His aching balls slap against your clit with each thrust, driving you closer and closer to orgasm as you babble his name between whorish moans like a desperate prayer. Your cunt clenches tight around his thick length as you cum all over his cock. Clear liquid squirts out of your hole, dripping down his balls and to the floor.

Geshu Lin snarls at the feeling and the sight, releasing his grip on your hair to hold your hips with so much force it was bound to leave you with bruises as he picks up his pace.

Without his fingers tangling into your hair, you fall limp against the meeting table, your breasts squished against the wood as they bounce. Your own drool begins to pool against the table as you're fucked mercilessly by the general you called your boyfriend.

Geshu Lin's eyes roll back at the sight of you, his pretty little girlfriend all dumb for him. His balls tighten and he grips you a little tighter as his flesh slaps against your sore ass, "You're going to take all my cum. Let it fucking drip out of you and down those pretty legs of yours." With one more sharp thrust and shuddering growl, ropes of thick cum spill out of his cock and into your cunt.

His cock throbs and pulsates as he rides out his orgasm. His silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead as his broad chest heaves with shallow breaths. Your legs shake as they struggle to keep you standing in your pretty heels, only Geshu Lin's hold on your hips keeps you steady. He slips his softened cock out of your spent hole, golden eyes watching in satisfaction as his cum leaks out of you.

A sharp gasp sounds towards the cracked door, catches his attention as his eyes snap up. There stands a soldier who had been peeking in on their little encounter, his cock in his hand as his own release dribbles down his fist. Geshu Lin's lips twitch into a dangerous smirk as the soldier quickly tucks himself back into his pants and begins to turn away to flee the scene.

Geshu Lin clicks his tongue, making the soldier freeze, "Come here, soldier." The soldiers eyes widen, practically shaking in his boots as he obeys the general's command, his eyes quickly looking down at your fucked out form, your upper half still laying against the table. Geshu Lin grips your hair and pulls your head up gently, making you look at the soldier with dazed eyes.

His golden eyes look to the trembling, flushed soldier, "Go on, thank our pretty medic for giving you a show." Heat rushes to the man's cheeks as he stumbles over his words, "Th-thank you..."

Too fucked out to even process Geshu Lin's perverted display of dominance over you, you only let out a soft whimper. Geshu Lin's lips form a small smirk, "You're dismissed." The soldier practically runs out of there as his thoughts swirl rapidly.

Geshu Lin wraps a strong arm around your waist as he pulls you up, cradling you in his arms as he sits back down in his seat, cooing softly against your hair and pressing sweet kisses to your temple, "My pretty girl. You're mine... All mine."

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.

After that day, the soldiers were almost too afraid to even look at you, even when you treated their wounds and greeted them as you crossed their paths. They knew better than to act too friendly with you and you knew better than to pull a petty stunt for attention again lest you all face the wrath of the fierce general. They now knew you were his girl.

Geshu Lin didn't need to announce it with words, his display was more than enough to send a clear message: She's mine.

၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊||၊:･.၊၊

a/n: safe to say, reader's mission was a success🥴

#geshu lin x reader #geshu lin smut #geshulin smut #wuthering waves smut #wuwa smut #geshulin x reader smut #geshu lin wuthering waves #geshu lin wuwa #wuwa x reader #wuthering waves x reader #wuwa x reader smut #wuthering waves x reader smut

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inkdrinkerworld · 2 days

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autistic!reader getting overwhelmed/overstimulated at a party w dealer!remus’ friends so remus ditches the party to comfort them (i love your writing sm btw❤️)

You’re not sure what exactly was the tipping point that sent you from mild discomfort to overt discomfort and agitation.

You’re at a party with Remus, sitting in the living room with your phone in your hand as you scrolled through your photos and a couple random apps to pass the time it took Remus to sell to all his friends here.

Usually, you’re good about bringing your ear plugs, and they’d work but even though you don’t have them tonight, you know they’d have been useless.

You can smell an acrid mixture of beer, white rum and weed. You can feel the bass shake you down to your bones and whoever’s sofa this is, it’s the lumpiest thing you’ve ever sat on and the moment you became aware of the lumps there was no use in trying to forget it.

You want to go home but you don’t want to ruin Remus’ night. As inconspicuous as you can, you send him a text.

Going outside to get some air, the smell of alcohol is too much.

Remus texts back, Don’t go out by yourself, I’ll meet you at the door in five minutes.

Maybe you should’ve been clearer, you’re not sure if you can hold out for five minutes.

“You look like someone just told you they imprisoned another orca.” Sirius creeps up on you, making you jump where you’re sitting.

“Sorry, the smell in here is horrid.” Sirius laughs, always having been a fan for your inability to lie. You don’t need to be sheepish around him, come to think of it, none of Remus’ friends mind some of your less than sociable traits.

“Did you phone, Moony? You know he’ll take you home if you aren’t having a good time.”

You shrug, “What if he’s having a good time?”

Sirius doesn’t want to be the one to tell you, because he’s sure you’re somewhat aware already; but Remus could never be having a good time if you weren’t. It’s like your emotions are linked and if you’re not enjoying yourself, Remus will simply rearrange the Earth, till you were.

Sirius is saved from having to give you the rundown, when Remus appears, sponging a kiss to your forehead.

For someone who’s been selling weed and smoking it for as long as he has been, Remus never really smells like that burnt, sweet smell his weed has. He smells like citrus fruit and clove. Spicy and tart.

It grounds you, gives you something else to focus on. Something that’s familiar, fresh and grounding. It settles the itch in your veins and allows you to relax a little.

“Ready to go?” When you look at him, Remus has your bag on his shoulder and your jacket in his hands.

“Home?” You ask, Sirius not even bothering to hide his smile as Remus nods.

“Yeah, figured it was getting a little much. We’ve been here longer than I thought we’d be too.”

It’s just like your boyfriend, to make it so that what you want, to go home, doesn’t seem like it’s being forced on him. In truth, Remus would like to leave too, and he wasn’t lying. He’d only planned for you both to be here an hour or two.

“Are you sure?”

Sirius pats your knee as he leaves, knowing you’re both going to be headed home.

“Positive, dovey. C’mon,” Remus leads you out of the house, watching your shoulders drop as soon as the crisp, cool air of a coming spring fills your lungs. “Put on the sweater, baby. Don’t want you to catch a cold.”

You smile a little to yourself as Remus helps you into the sweater. “Thanks Remmy.”

You’re thanking him for more than just the sweater, but Remus rolls his eyes. He tips your chin up, nose bumping your own before he kisses you.

“Let’s go precious girl, we might be able to stop at that pizza place you like if we hurry.”

#remuslupin #remus lupin #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin one shot #remus lupin fic #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin x black reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x yn #remus lupin x y/n #dealer!remus lupin #dealer!remus #dealer!remus lupin x reader #tism🤝

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boliv-jenta · 2 days

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Dark!Joel Miller x Innocent f!reader

Warnings: Age gap, reader is 20, Joel is in his 60's. Daddy kink. Dub-con.

Summary: Joel helps you understand some things that you've never read before.

Daddy's Princess

Joel may be strict with his rules, but living with him has given you more freedom than you've even had. You can go outside in the land surrounding your small cabin. Before, you only had a small area between the houses of your little town that you were allowed to walk in. There were no trees, no crunch of leaves under your feet. Not like when you get to walk with Joel. You get to read whatever books Joel can bring you. Before, you were only allowed to read books that weren't banned. You came to Joel at nineteen years old and hadn't seen a curse in print before. Those old rules seem so suffocating now, so you don't mind following Joel's, and after all, they are there to keep you safe.

When Joel isn't there, you stay inside. When people come calling you hide, when the two of you go out, you stay close. Not many infectioned make it this far. People sure still do, and by the time they get here, they are desperate.

Joel had been gone for two nights. The time alone didn't really bother you. The cabin was safe, and it was nice to be alone after growing up with so many other children. No, not other children, you were a woman now. It's still so easy to forget.

The book in your hands was keeping you company. It was a romance novel, only the second one you'd ever read. They couple had been on such an adventure. On surviving it, they finally had some time alone. They began to kiss, something you'd always wondered about. The only kisses you ever felt were from your mother, on your chubby cheeks when you were small, but she passed so long ago that the memory has faded. Reading on the man ‘rubs his lover's wet heat, preparing her to take the hard evidence of his arousal.’ The words play over in your head as you try to understand them. A familiar tingle starts between your legs. It’s the same one that comes when you watch Joel chop wood. Or when he puts his hands on you to guide you while out walking.

The door to the cabin swings open below your loft.

“I'm back, Princess.” Joel always refers to you by your nickname, or some other sweet term of endearment.

In turn he loves to be called Daddy. He tells you it's because he will always care for you unconditionally.

“Hi, Daddy.” You try to sound normal as your heart races.

Climbing down from your bedroom you try to seem less flustered than you feel.

Joel notices immediately. Of course he does, you don't survive into your sixties by being dumb in this world.

“Sweetheart, are you feeling alright?” He shrugs off his backpack and layers before coming closer to take a look at you.

One of the rules is that you don't lie to Daddy. “I was reading something confusing.”

“Well, why do we read it together and try to straighten out that pretty little head?” Joel's hand on your lower back doesn't help the feeling between your legs as he ushers you to the small sofa in what serves as a living room.

As you try to sit comfortably, Joel retrieves a pair of reading glasses from the side table, sitting back he takes the book from you. He notices the pages are damp with sweat. “What kind of book is this?”

“It's a ro-romance.” You gulp.

“I see.” His voice gives nothing away. “What part is confusing?”

Your shaking hand points to the passage and Joel begins to read. “After a period of kissing that seemed timeless as their tongues explored each other's warm mouths, Drake began rubbing his lover's wet heat, preparing her to take the hard evidence of his arousal.” Joel closes the book and places it on the table along with his glasses. “I see. Well, what part is confusing, Darlin’?”

“All of it. The words, the way they make me feel.” You confess.

“How do they make you feel?” Joel leans against the back of the sofa, waiting patiently for your answer.

“There's a tingle between my legs and in my…” you know you need to be honest so you swallow thickly and press on “...my breasts. I get it when I'm with you sometimes, too.”

“Okay.” Joel is completely calm and unphased by your words. “Would you like me to explain it all to you?”

“Yes, please.” You sigh with relief.

“I need you to lift up your skirt and show me where the tingle is.” Joel shifts forward in his seat and begins to roll his sleeves up.

Even though you trust Joel with all your heart a shyness comes over you. Joel sees your hesitation. “It's okay, Princess. Daddy would never hurt you. This is all perfectly normal and natural.”

Nodding your head you shuffle down on the sofa and bring your feet up. Your skirt falls back off your knees allowing you to show Joel where the tingle is.

“Now, I need you to point for me.” Joel is now down on the floor to get a better view you assume.

You do as you are asked. “Good girl. Now press your finger to where the tingle is.” Again you obey.

As your finger touches the fabric of your panties you find it damp and warm. “Wet heat.” You breathe as the tingle grows stronger.

“That's right, my smart girl. Now rub your finger around until you find a spot that feels real good. Your finger will have to go between your folds a little but that's fine. The spot should be like a little hard bump.”

At first you are concentrating on Joel's words too hard to feel the change in the tingle until “Oh my!”

Joel was right about it feeling good.

“That's it, now try rubbing little circles around that spot.”

Following Joel's instructions your legs begin to shake as the feeling grows more intense until you have to stop.

“Are you alright?” One of Joel's hands rubs your calf as he speaks and a new sensation like a twitch develops in your wet heat.

“Yes. It was just..a lot.” You try to breathe normally.

Joel chucks. “That's alright. You were getting to the best part. Anyway, do you understand what your wet heat is now?” You nod “The clinical term is a vagina but it has lots of names. Some sweet, like flower. Some vulgar, like pussy or cunt.

“What do you call it?” You peer down at him curiously.

When he stands you're worried that you have offended him. “Well that depends on the ‘evidence of my arousal’.” His hand comes to cup his groin and you notice that the large bulge there is even larger. “Do you know what this is called?”

You shake your head earnestly. You knew that men and women's bodies were different but you didn't know what men had down there. Only that it was bigger. “This is my penis but I call it my cock. It's gotten bigger because I've been tingling too. We call that tingle arousal. It means when your body wants to have sex or needs to orgasm. An orgasm is what was going to happen to you when it started to feel really, really good.”

You sat quietly for a moment trying to process. “So when I get the tingle when you touch me. That means I want to have sex with you? But I'm not ready to be a mother.”

“Oh, Princess. Sex isn't just for makin’ babies. It's for makin’ people feel real good. Just like you were doin’. Now why don't you slip off your panties and carry on. I promise it will be worth it.” So you do as Joel says. He drops to his knees in front of you again. “Oh, you have the prettiest little pussy I've ever seen. She's so wet. Come on now make her drip for me. Keep rubbin’.”

Wanting to make Joel happy, you do. You keep rubbing little circles until your fingers are soaked, your legs tremble, your eyes flicker open and closed and your body feels pleasure it has never known until…”I can't, Daddy. It feels like there is something coming but it won't.”

“Shhh. Alright. Do you want Daddy’s help?” Joel coos.

“Yes, please.” you take his hand with your free one.

“Just remembered, Daddy always knows best. I always keep you safe as long as you do as you are told.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

Coming closer, Joel dips his head towards your pussy and you feel something warm and wet hit it. “It's always good to get as wet as possible.” He comments before the pads of two thick fingers press to that spot and begin to rub up and down.

The pleasure is near blinding. “Daddy. I can't. I…please…please stop.”

“It's for your own good. Just breathe.”

Your whole body tense as you claw at Joel's wrist.

“No. Please. Stop. STOP!” you cry as the strange sensation builds.

“Shhh. Shhh. Daddy's got you. Just relax. Come on. Come for me. Come for Daddy.” you have no idea what Joel is asking for until it explodes through you.

The tension gives to waves of pleasure. The tingle convulses inside you. The wetness drips down the crack of your ass. You head swims with a euphoria that you have never known. Your pinned in place by the feeling. You mouth open wide in a silent scream.

“That's it, Princess. Oh, look you're all ready for Daddy.” The convulsions of your pussy are restricted as something enters you. “Oh, fuck.” Joel gritted out.

The unknown pressure begins to feel uncomfortable, painful even.

“Joel?” you wince.

“It's alright, Princess. Daddy just has to take his turn. You got to come, now I have to. You don't want me being it pain do you? That's what happens when a man’s cock gets hard and he can't relieve it. Nearly did myself an injury or two tryin’ not to touch myself when you first got here. Especially that first night with your little dress all wet…” The pain increases as Joel pushes what must be his cock further in. “Oh, fuck, Baby.” Joel's groans of pleasure make you bite your lip. You don't want to spoil it for him. “Your little dress all wet and those perky nipples begging to be sucked. I fucked my fist outside the next day. Ugh.” he grunted as he finally stopped pushing forward. The intrusion was painful but there was a tinge of pleasure in there too.

“Daddy? Will this make me come again?”

“Oh, Princess. If you let me fuck this tight cunt, I will make you come so fucking hard.” Joel never cussed around you. The sound of it eased the pain in your cunt.

As soon as you nod, Joel's hands grip your hips and he begins to pull you toward him as his hips surge forward. He repeated the motion over and over a few times. You want to be good for him but he's so big.

“Daddy. I'm sorry. I can't take it. Too big.” Tears flow and your voice cracks.

“You can. You're going to lie back and take it until Daddy blows his load.”

“No. I can't.” you begin to push at his chest. Joel simply pins your hands above your head with one of his.

“You can, Princess. I promise.” his lips find your and his tongue pushes yours apart. Another wave of wetness eases the fullness you feel but it's still too much when Joel starts to piston his hips into you.

“Daddy. No. Stop. Please.” shakey pleas tumble from your lips.

They only seem to spur Joel on. “Is Daddy's cock too big for his Princess’s virgin cunt? You're wet as anything yet I'm still too much for you. Look at you, begging for me to stop. Tell me you want me to stop.”

“I do, Daddy. You're so big. I can't…” you are crying despite the pleasure building. It's all too much.

“Say it. Say ‘stop’. Beg me.” Joel's hips only increase in speed only stopping when he rams up against something inside you that takes your breath away.

“Stop, Daddy. Please.” you managed to get out.

“Oh, shit. Fuck. Daddy doesn't have to. He could fill this cunt if he wanted. I'm right there. Right up against your cervix. I could breed you. I could keep you here, barefoot, pregnant and just keep milking my cock with this cunt whenever I wanted. You couldn't do a damn thing to stop me. Come on, Princess, Daddy's close. Come for me.”

With all of Joel's talking you hadn't realised how much the pain had shifted to pleasure. This time when Joel strokes you the screams aren't silent. “Oh, God! Oh, Joel! Joel!”

“That's it. Perfect little cunt sucking me in and working me close. You dirty little whore. Fuck!”

Before you can come down from your high, Joel was on his feet. One hand was wrapped around his cock. Your eyes were transfixed. You weren't sure what you expected it to look like but it made you clench. His other hand pulled down your dress to expose your breasts.

“Perfect tits, too. They'd look even better painted.” Joel's hand moves on his huge cock lightening fast until white fluid shot from in and landed on your breasts. His hand is still moving as his drops to his knees to lick the substance off. Even after it's gone he keeps on licking then sucking your nipples. The tingle builds then breaks when Joel pumps two thick fingers in and out of where his cock just was.

“Joel!” you scream as a final burst of pleasure leaves you boneless and breathless.

Joel’s sturdy weight rests against your chest. “Now, Princess, why don't we read more of your book and see if you need anything else explainin’?”

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller #dark!joel miller #dub con #smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you

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onmyyan · 2 days

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Ain't no sunshine chapter 3

A/n: canon typical violence someone gets stabbed (not you) feedback is always welcome

The clock ticks in an uncomfortable rhythm, almost pounding in your ears, you swallow around nothing and try to take a deep breath, only a few more minutes now.

Sitting cross cross felt childish but you needed the comfort of being low to the ground, before you stood a proud grandfather clock, the thing always intimidated you for some reason, maybe it's because you could smell how expensive it was, how priceless, but it was the only room in the house you could guarantee would be free of any nuisances, aka your estranged family.

A lone little Debbie cupcake in hand, a candle in another, you stick the candle inside the soft flesh of the treat, lighting it with the silver zippo, the seconds begin to count down as the wax melts, today was your eighteenth birthday, and the day you'd find true freedom. A day you'd been waiting for since you'd decided to wash your hands of the Wayne's and all who associated with them.

Bruce had begun to add to his collection of broken people one by one a new face was added to the house, and one by one you were met with the same cold indifference.

Barbara Gordon came into your life warmly, on the arm of Dick, she was kind to you in the beginning, making a point to ask you questions and listening intently when you answered, immediately you admired the older woman, her charming grin and bright demeanor was like a light inside the house, until she became who you eventually discovered was Oracle, tied up in the world of heroes and monsters, she too joined the club of exclusion, unintentionally forgetting plans the two of you had made more often than not, sharing inside jokes with Dick about last night's patrol or even taking on a mentor role for Damian, each action like a stab to the heart.

The last straw felt like the smallest one. And it came in the form of Cassandra Cain.

The girl came to the family under reasons you couldn't know, but she was troubled, you could see the same look in her eyes you had when you looked in the mirror as a child, she didn't outright reject your friendship like Damian, but she was seemingly as disinterested in you as the rest of your family, the real kick to your heart came when you walked past a moment shared between her and Bruce, he was comforting her, you couldn't hear the words spoken but you could feel the love pouring from Bruce, how he had a gentle hand on her shoulder, showing her a kind of love he'd never once shown you.

It wasn't her fault and you held no grudge against her, but it still felt like a slap to the face, and every time you saw her, every time she followed them down to their little hiding spot, the acid-like sting deep in your chest got worse. It was then you made a promise to yourself, you'd stop trying, no more reaching out to Dick or praying Jason would message you back, no more begging for Tim's attention or Damian's respect, and you were sure as shit done asking Bruce to love you.

You're brought back to the present moment by the loud ring of the clock before you, the echoing sound brought a ear splitting grin to your face, finally, you were done.

Blowing out the candle, you toss it on the floor, standing with a pep in your step. You'd had your bags moved out days ago so the only thing left was to leave. A chatter could be heard the closer you got to the front door, male and female voices happily spoke with one another, but you were so unfazed, too excited about your current plans to care they'd gathered without you on your birthday.

"Oh hey (Y/n)" Dick says after spotting your form in the doorway, see the only reason you were here is because the dining room lead to the front door, and your new found freedom.

You nod at him, taking in the sight of popcorn and half empty pizza boxes, a movie projected on the wall, ah so they decided to have a little get together?

None of your concern.

"Sorry we didn't call you down, didn't realize you were home" Dick says a look of pity in his eyes, "do you want some?" It's almost said with a wince.

"Nah." Was your simple response, and with that you walked out of their door and lives.

You'd bought an apartment with your own money, you'd been working since you were fourteen, saving every penny for this moment exactly. It was in a shit part of town with an even shitter interior but it was yours and you loved it. Water dripped into a mostly full bucket in the corner, the lights took a full forty seconds to turn on and it reeked of old cigarettes.

Yet you couldn't wipe the smile off your face.

Feeling that euphoric rush had you buzzing all night, besides the bed in your room was, questionable to say the least, so you decided to stay up. Cleaning what you could with what you had made you feel even better, this terrible little space was all yours, no condescending people or assholes in sight.

Feeling hungry, you throw on a black puffer coat and a matching beanie and start to brave the Gotham cold. Each step is taken with a new gratitude, the farther you get from that family the better you feel.

Your happiness is pulled to a grinding halt by the sound of rapid footsteps behind you, without thinking you turn, fist balled tightly in perfect form, Patty would be proud if she saw the way you decked the bastard running up on you.

You nailed him right in the throat sending him to his knees, his knife cluttering to the ground before your feet, grabbing the weapon you point it down at his choking body, your hands still despite your rapid heartbeat. The wheezing man made a swipe at your ankles causing you to bring the knife down right into his shoulder, a scream rips though his throat, the adrenaline in your body has you running on autopilot.

Kicking him in the side of the head to quickly sprint to the corner store where you'd planned on going in the first place, your hands shake as you grab your food, but again, that smile stays on your face.

Not only had you moved out today, you'd proved to yourself you didn't need them for anything, not protection, not validation, nothing, it was like you could breathe again.

The next few weeks are business as usual at the manor, until Barbara looks at the calendar and realizes she'd, along with everyone, had forgotten your birthday. The guilt ate at her until she made her way to your room knocking softly, a cupcake in hand she called out, "(Y/n)? Listen I'm so sorry about your birthday, I got my dates mixed up." The lie came easy, but no response was heard, "I get if you're completely pissed at me, at us but-"

"Miss (L/n) has moved out."

"what? How is that possible we would have noticed her moving out." As if to prove Alfred wrong Barbara opens your door, only to find a barren room, empty of any signs of life. She turns to the older man, a thousand questions burning on her tongue, but he seemed to read her, "you'd be surprised what goes unnoticed in this house miss Gordon, have a good afternoon." He leaves her with this and it only makes the guilt and confusion worse.

She pulls out her phone scrolling to a number she hadn't used in a while, biting her thumb as it rings she's hoping you clear all her confusion when you answered, but you don't, instead an automated message tells her your phone has been disconnected. Now she begins to worry, you were so young, just barely an adult, the idea of you out on your own in Gotham had her heart sinking, clicking the family group chat she sends a message that will change everything.

"We need to talk about (Y/n)."

#yananswers #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #yandere batfamily x reader #yandere batfam x reader

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tiredfox64 · 2 days

Note

I see your peeping tom Lin Kuei and raise you to panty thief Lin Kuei. And maybe whoever else you think might be a party thief in MK.

Petty Pervy Thieves

Yip notes: Bro get out of my head I know. Never an original experience we all clicked the buttons while we waited for Mario Kart to start

Pairings: Lin Kuei Bros x Afab reader

Warnings: NSFW, I had to take my cross earring off my gosh, dirty thoughts (like a lot), panty licking, panty sniffing, lots of cum

My, my, my, how low they have become. Becoming little thieves who prey on your belongings. How dishonorable. How lewd. How perverted of them to steal your panties.

They do feel shame. Well, at least Kuai Liang and Bi-Han do. Tomas is the nastiest of them all. Why should he feel shame in what he is doing? It’s not on him that you put a spell on him. A spell that caused him to take your panties after “certain activities”.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet. Let’s watch this sinful act play out. Keep your eyes open for their tricks and behaviors.

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Kuai Liang is the most ashamed of himself. He hates himself for giving in to temptations. It’s his fault. He let his feelings fester for too long, making his love for you grow lustful. He couldn’t risk confessing anything to you now. There would be risks of him being too forward or letting his lust take over. He had to deal with this frustration somehow. What was the first thing he decided to do? He decided to take your clothes.

Starting off slow didn’t work out in his mind. He would have gone for your bras but then he found a better solution. The drawer that held your bras also held your panties. Yes, yes, that’s much more perfect.

Kuai Liang has gained a love for your panties that would show your ass more. Not thongs but enough to be a little cheeky, if you’re catching my drift. If he were to see you wear them in front of him he’d probably go up in flames trying to hold himself back. Oh heavens, he needs another fixing.

When you leave your room that’s when he takes the chance to grab a pair of your panties. He’s quick but careful. Kuai Liang never takes the pair from the top, he goes for the middle so that you never suspect anything. Once he gets the one that has the softest material and the nicest design he leaves. He quickly goes back to his room to hide your panties under his pillow. He must wait for nightfall when no one will bother him.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

When no footsteps echo the halls and the only thing present is the moon, that’s when Kuai Liang begins. He takes your panties out from under his pillow. His fingers feel the soft material. He’s so pent up that he doesn’t take a moment to wonder if this is right. There is no right or wrong anymore. He has committed his crime many times. This moment won’t be different.

His hand goes to push his pants down. His already hard cock comes out, ready to get this little fiasco started. While his right hand grips his cock and starts pumping it, his other hand holds onto your panties. His mind races with thoughts of you. He images sliding your panties off of you before showing you his love for you. He knows he can treat you right and will give you the best treatment in bed. He wouldn’t stop until you finished whether it be on his tongue, his fingers, or his cock. In the morning as you get ready you would put on those same pair of panties he was holding onto right now. He would wake up and see your gorgeous figure being lit by the morning light. Once he sees your wonderful ass in those cute panties, he will want to recreate the night prior all over again.

Kuai Liang was breathing heavily as his hand began to stroke faster. There is a wet sound now from all the precum that went dripping down. His teeth bite down on your panties as he grows closer to his orgasm. He groans and his eyes are shut tight. His chest is rising up and down quickly before—whoops.

His head goes back, pushing against his pillow. Strings of cum start splattering onto his exposed stomach. His groans are muffled by your panties that are still in his mouth. Oh my, what a mess you have made of yourself, Kuai Liang.

His hair is a bit wild, not being held in a bun anymore. There is sweat on his forehead from how intense that all was. His stomach is sticky from the large amount of cum that came spewing out of him. That post nut clarity hit him hard once he realized what he had done. How many times will he do this before finally confessing to you? What kind of man is he?

He quickly takes the panties out of his mouth before shoving them under his pillow. He cleans himself up with the tissues he has on his bedside table. When he finishes he lays back in his bed and pretends that what he did didn’t happen. He is an honorable and respectful man. He is not a pervert who thinks about you in bed. He can keep telling himself that. But the truth is clear. Especially after the fact that he knows he will do this again. Over and over and over and over…

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Bi-Han doesn’t know the word shame. He knows the word when it comes to others but not when it comes to himself. Usually.

There’s a little bit of shame that lingers inside of him once he realizes that you have this effect on him. You cause him to be frustrated and lustful. How could he let a woman do this to him? You have him committing such sinful acts that he soon learned to accept that he fancies you in more ways than one.

He started stealing from you when he got suspicious of his brother. He occasionally saw Kuai Liang leave your room while you were away. He decided to check your room since he suspected Kuai Liang was taking things from you. He always left with his fist balled up tightly like he was hiding something which was true. When he went into your room he started looking around, deciding to open your drawers. That’s when he found your panties. You have tempted another man.

Unlike his brother, he liked the simpler yet fancier-looking panties. The ones that were soft colors and had lace. He might have also liked the thongs but he didn’t want to accept that he liked something so immodest. He was careful when taking your panties. He didn’t take it from the top but from the middle or the back of the drawer. Once he succeeded, he would tuck them away somewhere in his uniform.

The balls on this man to go around with your panties in his pockets. He was training all your fellow clansmen while having something of yours. No concerns about it falling out in front of others or having you find out. His only concern was holding it together until nighttime. This would be another nighttime where he will pleasure himself with your panties.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

The moon shines bright and the light slips into Bi-Han’s room. The moment he stepped in he was stripping himself of all his clothes. No one will disturb him. All is quiet and he can focus his mind on you.

He holds up your pair of white panties, the lace decorating the outside nicely. It would be something you would wear on your wedding day. Something you will wear when Bi-Han makes you his bride. He could imagine it already. A night where he makes you his by consummating the marriage. A night where he will fill you to the brim and make you pregnant with his heir. Oh dear, that did something to him down below.

His cock is standing straight up, precum already coming out. Might as well start now. He places your panties on his cock. The precum is already staining the soft material inside and causing it to soak through. The sight excites him. He pumps his cock with the panties wrapped around. He images this feeling would be the same if he rubbed himself against your clothed pussy. He would tease you until you were begging him to fuck you already. You would beg your grandmaster to do unspeakable things to you. Whatever you want he will do it for you. Slap, choke, spank, pull, bite, degrade, praise, impregnate, it doesn’t matter he will do it to you. He will make you a mess and ruin those panties. Each pair of your panties will be stained with your wetness every time you pass him.

There is a wet, squishy sound coming from below. His precum stained your panties where his tip was. It was soaked. The noise grows more noticeable the faster he goes. When he gets close he stops himself to allow it to go on for longer. Each time he stops more cum spills out. Not the whole thing, not yet.

Bi-Han bites down on his lip to prevent himself from getting loud. No one should know about this. He lets a few grunts and groans slip out by accident. His breath comes out in cold bursts, being visible in the moonlight. He can’t hold himself back anymore. If he strokes one more time he will explode. He is too desperate to hold back anymore. He fucks his hand continuously as he comes. Your panties absorb some of his cum while the rest drips down his shaft, staining the rest of the cloth.

Bi-Han’s head rests lightly on his pillows, a satisfied sigh passing his lips. He pulls the soiled panties off of his semi-hard cock. Instead of feeling shame, he feels a little irked. He knows he has to wash them before placing them back. This happens all the time though. There is no reason he should not be used to this. He takes, he cums, he washes, he dries, then he replaces before taking another pair. There is a rhythm.

He'll wash them in the morning. For now, he needs to rest after that amazing orgasm. He throws them off the side of his bed before falling asleep.

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If you knew what Tomas did you might never look at him the same way. You see him as such a sweet, respectful, and skillful man. He couldn’t possibly be any worse than his brothers. But you forget that he is a man with needs. And he needs you badly.

He has good hearing. He needed it when he was a hunter. That means he hears things that others don’t. That’s how this mess started. He heard you. He heard you pleasuring yourself behind closed doors. All those moans, heavy breaths, and whimpers flowed into his ears. You left Tomas stunned. He stood by your door, holding his breath as if you would hear him. He wanted to move and not be a creep. But he couldn’t deny that you sounded so pretty. Especially when you began to cum. You grew a little louder and your voice went up a pitch. That’s when Tomas felt his cock twitch inside of his pants.

He only moved away from your door when he heard you get up. You had to go train which allowed Tomas to take a peek inside your room. The first thing he spotted was your panties that lay on your bed. He walked up to them, carefully moving them around a little. When he looked inside he saw how you stained them. A wet, sticky mess.

Tomas didn’t know what came over him. Something must have possessed him to do this but he didn’t think he would like it. He leaned down and let his tongue drag over the wet spot. The taste of you hit him and it was like a drug. He was hooked, he was hooked good. It was the start of a messy habit of his that he never felt shame for. He’d only feel shame if he was caught by you.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

You masturbate before your training session to allow yourself to blow off steam and clear your mind. Tomas has found this pattern of yours and made it part of his pattern now. He waits for you to finish so you can leave, allowing him to strike.

He never even waits for nighttime. He does it all in your room, right on your bed! It doesn’t matter what pair of panties you had on before, if it had your stain on them he would take them.

He strips himself before getting on your bed. He loves smelling your scent on your pillows and rubbing his throbbing cock onto your sheets. The real fun is with your panties. The scent that stains your panties is different than your usual scent. It sets off a primal desire in his head. That’s why his nose is shoved right into them, taking it all in. Oh the poor thing, he’s so needy.

His tongue comes out to get a lick of the sticky mess you left behind. How he wishes he could eat you out in that moment. He’s only getting a hint of your taste. He wants the whole thing. He wants to shove his tongue inside you and pleasure you. His nose would be bumping into your clit which would make the experience better for you. Once you cum he will be driven mad with your taste. He would not move away. He will stay on his knees, licking and slobbering like a desperate dog. His cock would probably be begging for his attention and dripping precum on the floor but he won’t care. The needier he is the better it will feel when he begins to fuck you. It will be better for you too! You’ll be ready for him since you already came and are wet down there. So you’ll be a little overstimulated, it’s okay! It will make the moment more memorable for you.

Tomas is already whining and he hasn’t even touched his cock. It is standing up and begging for his touch but he is too occupied with licking your panties. Finally, he brings both his hands down and wraps them around his cock. He thrusts his hip up, fucking his hands while he images it’s you. He squeezes his hands to make it tighter and warmer, almost like he is fucking your pussy. Of course it would be much better if it really was your pussy. This will have to do for now.

His heart is beating fast and he begins to sweat. His saliva drenches your panties as he continues to suck at that wet spot you made before. The only sounds present in your room are his whines and the wet sound coming from his cock. His hands have some precum staining them. Oh gosh, he can’t hold himself back. This is all too much for him. Fuck, he needs to cum.

His whines and whimpers grow loud as cum spills onto his hands and stomach. That creamy, white liquid stains his pale skin. His eyes roll back a little as he keeps jerking his hips up. Even when he finished cumming he still moved his hips a little. He lets out sharp breaths before dropping your panties from his mouth. It doesn’t end there for your poor pair of panties. He takes them and begins to wipe his cum on them. Your panties are soaked with your own juices, his saliva, and now his cum. He manages to wipe all of the cum off his body with your panties before placing them back where he found them.

Yes, he purposely leaves them dirty. By the time you return, it will be dried up and you will have to wash them anyway. In his mind, this is a way to mark you are his. Your juices mix together, yes, how romantic. He makes his escape. No one even knew he was in your room and no one ever will.

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So if you ever wondered where some of your favorite pair of panties went or why there are stains on them, now you know. Three perverts were taking your panties and ruining them with their—

Wh-what you mean you knew they were doing that?

What? What do you mean you left your panties out for Tomas?

You were buying the panties that Kuai Liang and Bi-Han liked so they could keep using them?!

And you’ve been masturbating to the idea of them doing all of this?!

Why are you telling me this now?!

Ah! I could have been done ages ago! Nasty pervert, you’re making me look bad!

Ugh, have fun with your cum-soiled panties.

Yap notes: I would show you my cowriter cause she was the reason I was distracted but I’m not gonna show my cat under this mess. Got distracted a lot cause of family plus I started to laugh cause Bi-Han has such a bitchy face. I am now in the dark typing this. This is where I belong. I want to make blinkies or something. Adiós!

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