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farfaras · 1 year

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I think I got an ex but I forgot him

Part 1.

Part 2. (You’re here!)

Part 3.

They came up with ground rules, boundaries were important and whatnot. However, they didn’t plan on doing this for long, so they also had to come up with a believable storyline for the future course of the relationship.

This is what they have so far:

Only Dustin knew, it would stay that way. For now.

Hugs and holding hands was okay.

Pet names that were allowed included: babe, baby, honey… and that’s about it.

This will last only one or two months to really sell it.

No kisses required.

As for the storyline. That was a little bit harder to come up with. Obviously the timeline was a no brainer. They got together two weeks after Jonathan and Nancy broke up. Jonathan tried to protest. “That makes me look bad.” “Yeah well, you dating me overall makes you look bad.” “Makes you look weird, then.” “Whatever.” But they didn’t have too many options, it was that or the literal last week. And call them paranoid, but Steve thinks Dustin would see through that.

When that was out of the way, they planned the way their (fake) relationship would go wrong. “Maybe I realized I was a rebound.” “Do you want Dustin to hate me?”

At the end, what they agreed on wasn’t even that far off. They came up with phases they had to complete. Hopefully they would be able to showcase that Jonathan started dating Steve because he was supposedly just lonely and needed someone, he didn’t realize what he was doing and didn’t mean to hurt Steve. They would say they talked it out and decided to stay friends because that would be for the best. No hard feelings.

Phase one. Jonathan being an attentive and affectionate boyfriend. Steve gushing about it to Dustin.

Phase two. Jonathan spends less time with Steve. Steve starts saying he misses him now and again.

Phase three. Jonathan acts distant. Steve is freaking out.

Phase four and final. Jonathan realizes his mistake and ends things.

It was almost foolproof! And they only had to really fake in front of one person, so it shouldn’t be that hard. Steve didn’t want Jonathan to come out just because Steve needed a favor. This seemed like the best way to do it.

They were hanging out in Jonathan’s room, everything was set and all they needed to do now was act like a couple in front of Dustin and stand a little closer when they were in bigger groups if Dustin was there.

Easy.

But for another day. All they wanted to do right now was just chill.

Steve heard someone knocking on the front door. It was incessant and loud. They wanted to have a chill night but whoever was there, was starting to get annoying.

“Aren’t you gonna…?” Steve pointed to the direction the sound was coming from. “Are you gonna get the door? Are you expecting someone?”

“Nah, ‘s probably a salesman or something. They’re annoying but they’ll be gone soon.” Jonathan muttered, and he really didn’t seem at all bothered by the persisting knocking.

They heard Will come out of his room. “Seriously!” Teenage irritation and disdain. Classic. Looks like he’s gonna get the door.

As soon as the door opened, they heard a familiar voice. What was Dustin doing here?! Was he here to ask Jonathan about Steve? If that’s the case thank god Steve got to Jonathan before Dustin. This kid is something else.

“Is Jonathan here?”

“Wha- he’s in his room. Why?”

“I need to talk to him for a bit. Alone.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Just- I’ll go to your room later.”

Oh Dustin really is here to talk to Jonathan.

Steve jumped in the bed and turned to Jonathan. “Quick. Cuddle me.”

Confusion was all over Jon’s face. “Huh?”

“Dustin is coming, just do it!” He whispered.

“Ugh. Harrington.” Complained Jon.

“That’s babe to you. And you said hugs were fine. Cuddles are just long hugs, come on.” Steve laid in the bed next to Jonathan.

Jonathan turned him so he could spoon him. Steve has never been the little spoon before, but it was kinda nice. They were settling when they heard a knock on the door. “Who is it?” Asked Jon.

“Dustin, can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.”

When he opened the door his eyes looked like saucers. “Oh my god, it’s true.”

Steve just raised an eyebrow at his antics. He closed the door and sat down in the chair by the desk. “You guys are actually dating.” Dustin whispered-yelled.

“What? You didn’t believe me?”

“I’m a scientist! I need proof to believe stuff!”

Steve and Jonathan got up and sat down by the edge of the bed. They were pressed together, thighs and shoulders touching. Jonathan took his hand and laced their fingers together. “You don’t have a problem with it, do you?” Jonathan asked. He’s a better actor than he thought, he looks protective. Although this is another coming out for him, Steve thinks he’s handling it really well.

“No, no! I already told Steve I don’t care. I just kinda had to confirm it because… well I kinda want to talk about something.” Suddenly Dustin looked wary, hesitant to continue.

“Okay?” This was unexpected. Both Dustin being here and the imminent serious conversation he wanted to have based on his expression alone.

The teen took a deep breath. “First of all I wanted to ask you guys something.” He looked at them expectantly, as if asking for permission to continue. Which was so bizarre because this kid says everything and anything that goes through his mind. Steve nodded. “Are you planning on, you know, telling our friends? The party?” Why would he want to know that?

“Um.” Steve glanced at his fake boyfriend. “No, not really. At least not for a while” Jonathan just nodded at what he said.

“I think you should do it.”

“Huh?” Jonathan paled. Steve understood, that was a big thing. And sure Dustin didn’t seem to be taking it lightly but he still doesn’t understand what something like that can feel like.

“Dustin, I don’t think you get to have an opinion on that.” Steve tried to sound firm.

“No, I know just. I think it might be a good thing. Listen, maybe you’re aware of this or maybe you aren’t.” Dustin leaned in as if he was gonna share a secret. “Someone in our party is having a hard time with their… sexuality. At least I think so. I think seeing a happy gay couple could be good for them. To show that there’s hope or some shit.” He was almost eloquent, if it wasn’t for that slip at the end.

The supposed couple looked at each other, processing what the younger boy just said to them. Steve doesn’t know if Jonathan is out to Will, or vice versa. Steve is not dumb, he sees the way Will looks at Mike sometimes. It was the same way his brother looked at Nancy. It had to be hard, being so young and feeling so alone. Will had to be the person Dustin was talking about, right? The only other gay friend Steve knows they have is Robin, and Dustin has no idea she’s gay if we take into account that he wanted to set her up with Steve not long ago.

“We’ll think about it.” Steve heard Jon say. He was surprised, it looked like Jon was considering it.

“I can assure you our friends will be okay with it. And seeing that might encourage this person to come out! I really think they need the support and I wanna give it to them but I don’t know how.” Gosh. He looked so pained about not being able to comfort Will. Dustin is a really good friend.

“As Jon said, we’ll think about it.”

“O-okay. Thanks.” Dustin got up and exited the room, presumably to go to Will’s.

When they were sure he was in another room they separated and inhaled deeply.

“What do you think?” Steve asked.

“I hadn’t… thought about that.” His hands were in his lap and he looked at the door. “I’m gonna assume you know who he was talking about.”

“I’ve… had my suspicions.” Steve ventured. “Will has been looking sad lately.”

“Yeah. Maybe Dustin’s right. Could be a good thing.” He still looked a bit nervous about the whole idea.

“We don’t have to though.”

“I think we should.”

“Really?” Steve didn’t want to pressure Jon, but he also thought it would be good for Will. That kid needs support but he needs to feel comfortable enough to ask for it. No one knows how he would react if they just dumped on him the information that he’s not as subtle as he thinks.

“Yeah. How hard can it be? Same plan just, more people are gonna know.” Jon smiled. “And Will might feel better. I’d do anything for him.” Will was lucky to have such a caring brother.

Steve grinned mischievously. “We might have to revisit the kissing rule, though.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and smacked him with his pillow.

———

This is a bit shorter than the last one, sorry about that.

I think I might post a chapter once a week.

Also, the tag list is getting really long! I don’t know if I’ll be adding more to the list.

Thanks for reading. Ps. Eddie might finally be in the next chapter. Watch out.

#I think I got an ex but I forgot him #stranger things 4 #stranger things #st4 #steve harrington #jonathan byers #dustin henderson #will byers #steddie #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #eventually hehe #platonic steve x jonathan #mer writes sometimes #my fics #hi sorry this shorter!!#the fun REALLY starts next chapter I promise #thanks for being patient

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catpriciousmarjara · 8 months

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DP X DC

Ao3

The Job Offer

"And why not you?", said the man. "You're intelligent, skilled, and adaptable. Most importantly, you're entertaining. That last part becomes very important when dealing with my kind".

A ring glinted in the dim light as he gestured with his hands. "Plus, there wouldn't be any danger in the first place! Our lot tend to stick to the Rules, you see? And not harming the messenger is most certainly a Rule".

A sip of coffee. Eyes filling with mirth.

"In the off chance that someone did take offence, all you have to do is amuse them for a while, and as I said, you're very good at that. But don't worry, they won't take offence".

Dick Grayson, attention still half focused on the vicious black claws on the man's hand, had to ask, "And why won't they?"

The man's pleasant smile didn't falter. But it did slowly morph into a grin with way too many teeth to be normal. The young vigilante had to suppress a shudder.

When the man?it spoke, the voice resonated. "Because you'll be one of mine. And they won't dare touch what's mine".

The teeth gleamed.

And just as abruptly as it shifted, the air changed, the pressure lifted, and the man was smiling once more.

Dick was left off-footed and tightly clutching the arms of his chair, his breath fogging in the still frigid air. He hadn’t even noticed the temperature dropping.

He looked at the man nonchalantly sitting across from him as if he hadn't just taken years off of Dick's life. The vigilante was not one to scare easily. Yet, mere moments ago, Dick had felt a fear so primal that it was maddening. It was not the kind of fear a human being could evoke, no matter how frightening their actions may be. Dick had seen the worst of Gotham, and Gotham was a cesspit on a good day. But he hadn't ever felt like this before today. If there was ever a question about the humanity of his companion before...well it was answered now.

To be honest, he couldn't quite recall how he got here in the first place. Everything was a blur.

No...not quite. His memories were alright, it's just that his mind couldn’t grasp them.

And every second in this...space, had felt muted. As though he was lying beneath several layers of sheer fabric; he could somewhat feel things, see things, but his senses were muffled.

The spike of fear from before wasn't him breaking through as much as he was allowed to break through, and now he was safely back beneath the dampening cloud once more. It was almost comforting.

Dangerous.

Dick only remembered what had happened in bits and pieces. Being fired from Robin, the legacy he had forged for himself, named after his mother's love, and garbed in Grayson colours.

Being angry and distraught. Not knowing what to do.

It had taken him weeks to reorient himself. A month to gather his composure.

He vaguely recollected a cafe in Jump City. He had been sitting in a booth, contemplating his options...

Someone had sat right across from him, right?

He had looked up…

“Hello. May I sit here?”

“...Sure. Go ahead.”

“Daniel Nightingale.”

“...Richard Grayson.”

" I know. You shouldn’t give out your name so freely by the way. Also, could I have a bit of your time?"

"Um...yeah, sure?"

“Perfect!”

And the next thing he knew, he was Here.

Wherever here was.

(Why had he said yes then? He would never have done that normally.)

At first his mind had been adamant in believing that here was the very same cafe he had been sitting in. But Dick wasn't trained by the man known as the World's Greatest Detective for nothing. However, it had taken him an embarrassing few moments to start noticing the abnormalities.

For one thing, he had been sitting in a booth in a cafe, not at an ornate wooden table, much like the one in Bruce's home office. The only thing the cafe table and this one had in common was that they were both rectangular.

Secondly, their table was covered by a veil. A huge gauzy one hanging from above. But try as he might he couldn't see where it was hanging from, just a yawning darkness.

Finally, he could see shadows moving beyond the veil, and the more he looked, the more bizarre they became. And at one point, the shadows lost all pretence of humanity. They weren't even humanoid, let alone human.

He definitely wasn't in Jump City anymore.

It had taken him even longer to notice the man sitting across him. That he hadn’t left this Daniel Nightingale behind.

Wispy white hair.

"Ah! You noticed so quickly. You really are the perfect fit for the job!"

Green. green eyes.

"Apologies for the veiling. It's necessary however.., some things are not just meant for mortal eyes, you see. Without it, you might just go insane! We wouldn't want that now would we?"

Unnaturally pale skin.

"Enough dillydallying! But first, introductions. You may call me either Daniel or Nightingale. By what name would you prefer to be called?”

Something about that question made the ex-Robin’s hindbrain pay attention. The wording of it, the tone…

You shouldn’t give out your name so freely by the way.

Could I have a bit of your time?

Something had felt incredibly off, so he had gone ahead and given one of the alternate names he had been thinking of taking up now that Robin was over.

“You may call me Nightjar.”

Nightingale had looked incredibly pleased then. And a bit smug too.

“Let me cut to the chase then Nightjar. I’m here to offer you a job. You’re a perfect fit for the role. We offer excellent compensation, and flexible work hours. Considering you’re out of work now that you’ve been fired from Robin, I believe my offer would be interesting for you.”

For some reason, perhaps because of all the strange things that happened, the fact that Nightingale seemed to know his alter ego hadn’t surprised Dick. Instead of asking how he came to know about this particular information, including the fact that he got fired, he decided to keep the conversation rolling on this supposed job offer. He had an inkling that he won’t get anywhere even if he asked, so might as well mine some information by making the other man talk.

“What kind of job is it? And what exactly would be included in the compensation?”

In response the man had snapped his fingers, and produced a file out of nowhere. He opened it, turned it around and slid it across the table. Dick started. Nightingale made a go ahead gesture, a smile on his lips once more. Dick gingerly dragged it a bit closer, and took a look.

“As you can see Nightjar, the position being offered is that of a courier. Due to many reasons, delivery across the realms is a cumbersome affair, not the least due to political complications. The best system to lay down in this situation was to have an impartial party be in charge of the work. You can say that I am a representative of the aforementioned impartial party that took over the role. If you would turn a page over-

Dick had dutifully turned the page.

-you’d see that we offer great compensation. In addition to your salary, you’ll receive health insurance, life insurance, death insurance, medical insurance, dental, vision care insurance, paid vacation time, overtime pay, paid time-off, flexible time-off, paid medical leave, free medical care, maternity leave, paternity leave, all other forms of parental leave, a good retirement package, loan assistance, wellness programmes, child care assistance, regular bonuses, promotions, raises, accommodation, a provident fund, and a whole host of other benefits that are clearly listed on the page. And of course at the end right there is our offered starting salary, which is highly negotiable up to the amount listed right below it. Please take as much time as you need to read through them.”

To say Dick had been overwhelmed was an understatement. He hadn’t thought that this was going to be an actual, honest to God job offer. If anything he just thought the entire job thing was an excuse or prelude to something much worse. But as he parsed through the file, getting increasingly bewildered as the man rattled on, he had to admit that this really looked like a weird recruitment effort. And then his eyes had fallen on the salary figure, and the amount to which it could be negotiated upwards, and he froze. Because even for the ex-ward of a billionaire, it was a ludicrous number. He couldn’t even accurately count the zeros on the thing. Even Wayne Enterprises wouldn't be able to match a deal like this.

At that thought Dick had felt a pang of pain as he remembered Bruce still hadn’t called him, or even made an attempt at apologising. There were no texts, no missives. Just radio silence. The pain in his chest increased and Dick had felt the ever returning feeling of being unmoored. He pushed those feelings to the furthest corners of his mind. He had to focus now.

Feeling marginally calmer, he had taken a deep breath and closed the file. He looked up at Nightingale who had been watching him avidly over the rim of a coffee cup which definitely wasn’t there before, and asked the most pertinent question.

“Why me?”

And now they are here.

Dick scoffed at the white haired being’s answer. Oh he didn’t doubt that it was the truth. By now he had somehow come to an understanding of how this worked. It was fae rules. Meaning he had to watch his mouth. Similarly Nightingale won’t lie, but he can certainly obfuscate.After all withholding information wasn’t technically a lie, especially if it was masked with a half-truth. In other words, Nightingale hadn’t lied, but that wasn’t all there is to it. And Dick wasn’t going to let it slide.

“How am I supposed to believe you to be a good employer if you’re already lying?”, he asked outright. You know, like a reckless fool.

Nightingale’s pleasant smile instantly froze, and then it gained an edge. A sharp, lethal edge.

“I don’t lie”, the man said, a cold cadence to his voice.

Dick could feel the figurative whetted blade on his throat, but he pressed forward. This was the first time he had taken blood in this fiasco and he wasn’t going to concede just like that.

“Lying by omission, is still lying.”

Nightingale’s entire mien darkened, and frost spread across the table. Dick didn’t back off.

There was silence. Suffocating silence. And then the vergals receded and Nightingale sat back with a satisfied air. Dick blinked in surprise.

“Good. You didn’t cower.”

Dick sat back on his own chair, his breath fogging in the still cold air. “Was that a test?”

Nightingale took another sip of his coffee. Was it even coffee? It looked like coffee, but who knows what anything is in this bizarre space. Certainly not Dick.

“It was a test. The position of a courier in this part of existence requires mettle, and a strong mind. You would be dealing with beings ranging from the divine to the demonic. I’m sure you know they are a stubborn lot. You’ll have to stand up to them often. Plus you would be representing Us. We can’t have an unprincipled, craven fool take the job can we now? So I had to test you. Congratulations! You passed with flying colours.”

Dick glared at the man. “I still haven’t agreed to anything. And you still haven’t told me why I was chosen.”

Nightingale chuckled. It was an unnatural, but pleasant sound. “Aah you caught that. Very well then.”

He clasped his hands together and put them on the table, bringing Dick’s attention to the black, razor sharp claws once again, as well as to the extremely ominous ring he wore on his left hand’s little finger.

“You were chosen because you are a multiversal constant. This job requires much interdimensional, interuniversal travel, and a multiversal constant is ideal for the role. And before you ask, a multiversal constant is essentially someone whose soul acts as a consistent axis across worlds through indelible aspects of their existence. They are rare, and their axial quality makes multiversal travel easy for them.”

The white haired entity’s eyes shone in the dim light. “You are a multiversal constant Nightjar. Centred around your potential, And also, I know you will agree to do the job. So I’m not worried.”

Even as he struggled to process what was just revealed, Dick found the energy to scowl at the impishly grinning man. “And how would you know? What’s in it for me? All I’m seeing is a job, the benefits of which, doesn’t make up for how dangerous it is.”

“But you will accept it nonetheless”, replied Nightingale with an amused air. “Think about it. You’ve been fired from Robin but still intend to continue being a vigilante, and vigilantism is expensive work. Now that you don’t have the Wayne coffers to pull from, you would have to find alternate means to acquire resources. You’re brilliant and I have no doubt you will find those resources and do spectacularly under your new mantle. But that would take time. And calling in favours that could either be used somewhere else, or make you indebted to someone. The salary this job provides you will allow you to finance your quest for justice, and still have plenty leftover. Not to mention the other benefits, such as the free medical care provided by Us, people who will never question your injuries the way a normal hospital might, or put your civilian identity at risk like a back alley doctor.”

Nightingale’s verdant eyes stared a hole through Dick as he spoke. “You wanted to get out of Batman’s shadow. This is your chance, Nightjar.”

The young vigilante had to give it to Nightingale. The man sure knew how to pitch an offer. He found himself agreeing to most of what Nightingale said, especially the finances part but he still wasn’t going to agree to a job that would put him in the crosshairs of gods and demons. That was just monumentally stupid.

“You make good points”, Dick said as he slid the file sitting idle on his side to Nightingale. “But I’m still not gonna agree.”

Nightingale slid the file back over to him without missing a bit.

“If I thought you were the type to easily capitulate I wouldn’t have approached you in the first place,” the man said, not a single sign of ire at Dick’s repeated refusal in his voice. In fact he seemed rather glad Dick was being difficult.

“You want to know more about being a multiversal constant correct? That is not the kind of information you’ll find lying around on earth.”

A pitch black claw scraped across the table, but there was no noise, and the deep scratch left behind instantly stitched itself back together, the tabletop pristine once more.

“By now you must have a rudimentary idea of the world you are being invited into. You would not have called yourself Nightjar otherwise. You also know that this is not a world Batman has access to.”

The man pointed opened his right palm, still resting on the table, and brilliant emerald fire blazed to life on it. Something in Dick’s lizard brain told him this fire ran cold rather than hot.

“Magic and everything associated with it is not something the Dark Knight can handle by his usual methods. And magic is just one of the aspects of our Realm. An infinite more mysteries keep it company. This world is yours for the taking. No mortal would be able to access what you can and you would be able to help so many people.”

Blue eyes met green.

“This will set you apart from Batman once and for all. An identity that no one can take away from you at their whim. Just think of this as your day job, as being a CEO is for Bruce Wayne.”

Nightingale clasped one of Dick’s hands resting on the table and transferred the fire over to it. Dick stared as the flame danced merrily in his palm. It really was cold. By the time he had his wits about him, the fire had vanished. Nightingale had seemingly finished his coffee, as the cup was nowhere to be seen.

Dick glanced at the white haired man who watched him calmly. Then he took the file and started reading through it. If he was going to take this job, he was going to make sure to read the fine print. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spy Nightingale’s gleaming, triumphant smile. Dick couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

He didn’t know how much time it took for him to read the file completely. Time ran strangely in this space. What he did know was there was an ornate, silver pen right next to him, which definitely wasn’t there before. He had to roll his eyes at Nightingale's antics.

Nonetheless he uncapped it, admiring the craftsmanship for a moment, and signed on the dotted line in his Alfred approved best cursive, bells, whistles, hoops and all.

Nothing happened. Dick felt kinda disappointed. He had thought signing a magical contract with a possible fae creature would be a little less anti-climactic. Across from him, Nightingale chuckled as if he could read his mind. Could he?

He slid the file over once more, this time for last. Nightintingale just skimmed through before sliding over an envelope.

“Your appointment letter”.

“You had that ready?”

“Of course.”

Dick snorted inelegantly at that. Obviously the man had foreseen how this would go. That should make him more wary than what he was feeling, but just as he had known the fire was cold before, he knew Nightingale wouldn’t harm him. Bruce would call him an idiot for this kind of illogical thinking, but Bruce wasn’t here now was he?

He was about to shove another medley of complicated emotions down, when Nightingale reached over and viciously ran a claw down his right arm. Blood spurted in a gruesome display and Dick scrambled back, chair falling down, and his body hitting the surprisingly sturdy veil.

“What was that about?”, he shouted as he clutched his bleeding arm to his chest. Just when he had thought the man didn’t mean him any harm…

Nightingale had the audacity to look nonplussed. He simply brought his palms up as if to show he meant no harm, but it was a moot point when one of his claws was dripping with Dick’s blood.

“Just testing something”, the man said calmly.

“Testing what?’, Dick asked angry and confused.

In response, Nightingale simply pointed to his arm.

“What? Testing whether your claws could tear me apar-”

He stopped short. There, before his eyes, the flesh of his arm was knitting itself together. In mere moments, the wound was gone, not even a scar where it should be. Dick was reminded of the table from before. What just happened?

“What did you do to me?”, he asked, voice soft, and emotionless.

“Don’t worry. It's your compensation. Part of your medical aid.”

He waved his hand, and the blood vanished. “Do sit down, Nightjar. Lets order something to eat.”

Robotically Dick walked to the table once more. The upturned chair was somehow rightened, already pulled out as if waiting for him.

“That was a healing factor”, he said rather than asked.

Nightingale nodded unbothered. “Yes, you’ll be needing that in your line of work.”

The veil opened and admitted a two-headed woman in, carrying trays of food in her four arms.

When she left, Nightingale eagerly took up his cutlery, looking excitedly at what looked like a luminescent crepe. He glanced at a shell-shocked Dick and frowned.

“Please eat. It's safe to consume, now that you’re one of us. If you’re worrying about your job, don’t. You have been assigned an excellent mentor in Harker. The White Grim will train you well.”

With that, he dug in, clearly enjoying his glowing crepe.

Dick just stared at the man, at his no longer injured arm, and sighed. Might as well eat. He hadn’t gotten to eat anything at the cafe and was beginning to feel hungry.

He scooped a spoonful from what seemed like an overly fancy bowl of cereal.

One of them huh?

He took a bite.

#dp x dc #My contribution to the agenda of more Dick Grayson in dp x dc #Ghost King Danny kinda forgot to human #In professional settings he emulates Clockwork #He doesn't know that because of how he looks he seems more mischievous but dangerous Fae King than Ghost King #Nobody tell him #He just doesn't have Clockwork's ancient and wise vibe #The infinite Realms offer the best employee benefits in the Omniverse #Shout out to the real ones that saw my boy Jonathan Harker #our very good friend #thanking @see-arcane for the inspiration for the White Grim title #much obliged #Courier AU

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timkins · 3 months

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"I bet, it never ever occured to you that I can't say 'hello' to you and risk another goodbye"

- I Amost Do (taylor swift)

#thank you taylor for always talking about them in your songs 😔😔#fellow travelers #tim laughlin #hawk fuller #jonathan bailey #matt bomer #timkins #hawk x tim #hawk x skippy #timhawk #taylor swift #taylor lyrics

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esha-isboogara · 2 years

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jojo’s bizarre porn tropes

publishing even MORE headcanons before i finish the first set ? an absolute iconic move from me tbh. i went crazy with my tags bro😩but anyways enjoy this …i will do more characters if i can come up with more tropes

here’s part two

jonathan - he’s very vanilla so your videos fall under the passionate category. jonathan takes the act of making love very seriously so expect to cum at least twice in one session. he won’t over stimulate though , he gives you a pleasant high. y’all don’t post a lot but when you do it’s usually a movie that will have the viewers drooling.

joseph- amateur porn. he isn’t too fond on setting up a camera and having a script or whatever. he’d much rather record you giving him head or maybe a lil pov of back shots. joseph makes sure you’re featured on his only fans regularly. videos are usually no longer than 5 minutes.

jotaro- big dick small girl trope. my god this man is hung. people watching your videos are always slightly worried for your safety. how does it fit? women all around the world want to be you. some of the more aggressive sessions almost always lead to concerned comments. jotaro does have a bit of a reputation so he refuses to show his face along with yours.

kakyoin- not a trope but most of your posts are cosplay related. dressing up as your favorite anime characters and fucking for money is a dream come true. a lot of work goes into your videos mainly because of the well put together costumes and make up looks. the entire look gets ruined in the end but presentation is a big deal. the two of you have a cute set up. it’s high effort but the rewards are so worth it.

josuke- innocent boy and experienced woman. he still won’t say it out loud but he is a total bottom so having you top him/take control is perfect. josuke will use titles like “step mom gives new son blowjob during dinner” to catch a persons attention. or so he says. you’d swear he has a bit of a thing for it. your videos are usually a bit longer and medium effort.

giorno- very beautifully done/well put together porn. people who watch the two of you enjoy modern art and pretty landscapes. it’s essentially art house porn. your content is extremely well put together and is pleasing to eye as well as to the dick/pussy. giorno doesn’t much care if his face is recognized-hes a crime lord there’s not much anyone can do at this point.

leone- rough sex! the people who watch your videos are sickos and the others are worried for your safety. lots of tying up, whipping, slapping and abuse of your little hole. don’t worry it’s all consensual and monitored.

bruno- pov style porn. honestly an iconic move from him. he loves to go back and watch your tapes so why not upload them. similar to joseph they’re never longer than five minutes but there’s a good amount of them. occasionally you two will put together tutorials for those less experienced in sex.

jolyne- lesbian! jojo knows how much men love that wlw content so the two of you exploit that fetish to the max. it started off as just a few short clips but as time went on you and jolyne got a whole set up. most of your vids are pretty basic but men especially eat them up so 🤪

hermes- massage porn. she’s always been good with her hands so why not use her abilities for something fun? you guys don’t upload often. not because you don’t want to just because you always forget or get too caught up in what you’re doing.

foo fighters- the two of you were on the weirder side of porn hub. strange toys, story lines and odd outfits. from alien sex to retro porn you’ve done it all. honestly it doesn’t really matter if others find it sexy the two of you enjoy it. it doesn’t take much to convince them to post your videos- it takes longer to explain how the camera works than anything.

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nnobodoodles · 1 year

Photo

Being self-indulgent during commission breaks and having rareship (scarab) brainrot

#the mummy #jonathan carnahan #ardeth bay #jardeth #doodle #nnobodiusart #jonathan x ardeth #I suck at ship art BUT #They are soft and in love thank you

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plush-rabbit · 10 months

Text

Sorrows and Partings

TW: A bit of suicide ideation, like a tad bit but is not expressed further than one statement

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: this is part of the cut up chapter posted previously!!

Twisting the doorknob, the soft glow of your lamp fills the room, and you sit in bed, curled up against the bed frame. He hadn’t noticed it before, but your room is a mess, clothes strewn about, knickknacks and figures collecting dust, and books layered above each other in a tower of spines.

“You stayed,” you say in a soft voice that if not for the night, he would have never heard your words.

“Of course, I did.”

You smile sadly as the confession. Scooting over on the bed, you pat the space beside you.

Even with the mess, your bedroom is as he still remembers it. It’s cluttered with your things, pictures are placed on the wall- pictures for your friends and family, posters of your favorite films, candles stacked and strewn on flat surfaces. And on your nightstand, is a picture of him and you, pressed close together as his arm is stretched out, and he remembers the day. He remembers the warmth of the sun, the soft press of your lips against him, the way that you had sugar on your tongue and the way that he became addicted to it in a matter of seconds.

He steps on the soft rug on the floor, and taking your invitation, he sits on the bed. It’s soft, and the blanket that touches his thigh, still tickles the way it used to. Your hands flutter over his, and they grasp onto his wrist. You tell him to make himself comfortable, and as if it were like the first time that he was in your room, you stay still, trying not to think about how you tug on him, how your hands are much softer now, how he can recall what it was like to lay on your bed.

He turns and twists, and he lays on your bed, and you’ve let go of his wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just grab you. But you just sitting there seemed like an uncomfortable way to have a conversation.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” He’ll take a chance, just to have you touch him again, to feel your touch, to know that you’re real and he’s in your room and not shivering in his bed, thinking of what ifs. “You can touch me if you’d like.”

As if he were made of porcelain, you grab his hand in both of yours, lifting the mass and watching as his fingers tremble from being touched. Holding his hand in yours, you turn it around, examining it as if it were anything more than a hand. You circle your thumb and index over his wrist, trying to pinch your fingers close together but giving up quickly. You turn his hand over, palm face upwards and you trace over nothing, your index curving around a spot. There is nothing to trace, and yet, you continue to ghost your finger over his hand in a touch so soft that if he weren’t paying attention, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

“Your skin feels different,” you mumble.

“What does it feel like?” You press your thumb over the swell of his palm, right under the ends of his fingers.

Humming, you massage and pinch at his skin. “Rubber, I think? Wait, no.” Your mouth pulls into a thin line. Your eyes drag down, heavy with sleep, but you stay determined to stay awake. “Latex?” Turning to him, you give an apologetic smile. “I’m bad at recalling textures.”

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“I miss your freckles.” You ignore his question.

If he could frown, he would. Actually, he’s sure that the spot on his face emotes; maybe it could emote frustration. “I still have my freckles. Technically.” With his free hand, he points to a small cluster of spots that float near his collarbone, right under where the bone would protrude. “Some of the spots move, but there are some that usually remain stationary.”

Nodding, you keep your focus on his hand. “You said it's- your white- that it’s all skin?” He makes a noise of confirmation. “So you’re like naked, right now?” His spots pulse in a moment of surprise, and you drop his hand. “Oh! Sorry.” You look at him sheepishly, and he hopes that you grab his hand again. “I just- You’re like gallivanting all over New York- naked.” There’s a smile teasing its way, and he straightens him, trying to keep what little resolve he has left.

“I wear clothes!” He says defensively.

“Like what?” You lean back against the bed frame, and give him a teasing smile.

“Like jackets and- and hats.” You roll your eyes, and pull the blanket closer to you. Your hands have found their new home in a blanket. “I don’t have a lot of options now- things stretched out.”

He’s gained your attention again. “No pants?”

“Well- it’s not like I have to,” he says in an almost squeaking voice. You crane your head, and he’s covering his crotch with both hands. Your name is yelped, and there’s a phantom of what the two of you used to be laced into your name.

“What?” You say through a laugh. “I’ve seen you before, remember? Plus, you're literally like you know-” you skirt around saying the word, and he can’t stop looking at you- “on my bed. And-” your hands pat on the blanket and they flat- “you walk around without pants!”

“It’s different! That’s different!”

“I’d argue that it isn’t.” Your legs shirt under the blanket. You take another glance. “Not even boxers?”

“It’s not necessary,” he mumbles, and he can’t stop looking at you. He won’t stop. “Most people think I’m wearing something anyways,” he confesses in a quiet voice. “Most of my clothes don’t fit now. The sleeves bunch up-” he stretches an arm and his hand circles around his forearm where the jackets usually begin to bunch- “and really, if I just hide my face, most people think I’m some eccentrically dressed man.”

“You always did wear bright clothing.” You lay on your side, your arms bent to cushion your head more than the pillow ever could.

“I did not,” he pouts.

“Yeah, you did.” You try to sink yourself deeper into the bed. “You had that one button-up. It was um, it was bright blue with like white shapes all over it. Or- Or your orange one! With the design on it.” Your grin is growing, and he can’t help but be captivated by you. You laugh, and it’s the sweetest sound that he’s ever heard in his life, sweeter than honey, sweeter than anything he’s ever had. “I’m sure the pants are something close to what you owned,” you say in a whisper. “Somehow, you always did make those clothes work.” You look to where his eyes should be and as if you could, he feels himself being peeled away, layers taken apart until you stare at him- just at him.

A part of him wished he left your apartment when he had the chance.

“Why did you want me to stay?” He asks, voice tight and full of want.

“I already told you.” You look ashamed. “I miss you.”

He should have left. He should have closed this chapter in his life. “I miss you too.” He can’t stand it. He hates how you look at him. Look away. Look away from him. He wants you to look away from him.

As if hearing his prayer, your gaze shifts elsewhere and he needs it back. “I’m sorry Johnathan,” you say his name with tenderness that he hasn’t heard in a long time. Your words kiss his skin and leave him aflame. “What I did to you, you didn't deserve that. I wish I could tell you that I was young and dumb, but we both know that would be a lie.” You don’t look at him again. “I asked you to stay for my own selfish desire. I thought that if I could give you a meal and let you lie on my bed, that it would somehow make up for all the bad that I’ve done to you.” You look at him, and he can’t look at you when you’ve said something so true. “A cold sandwich and a cold bed would never repair what I’ve done to you.”

He should tell you something mean- something sharp and unforgiving, something that would make you feel the way that he had that night and all the nights and days that followed. When he looks at you, and sees the bags under your eyes and the way that you look so small lying down- he can’t say anything of the sort. His words don’t form, and they aren’t tangible thoughts that he could at least grasp and stutter out, they’re simply gone. Malice and greed is absent, and he wants to cling to you. He wants to hide himself in your arms and in the soft spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

“You really miss me?” He asks in a scared voice, one that cracks and exposes all of his hopes and fears.

“Every day,” you reply earnestly, finally looking at him again. “I know I shouldn’t. But I do.”

Unbeknownst to him, he’s found his hand in yours. “How can you stand to look at me?”

“Exposure therapy. I thought that if I could stand spots and holes-” you pull a grimace as if even the word is too much and if the word is too much, then he must be plentiful and he must be cast away and you must be thinking of someone else. “Small clusters kinda fuck me over, but bigger ones don’t as much anymore.”

“I shouldn’t have dropped by that night.” He wishes he hadn’t, that way, maybe in death you could still care for him and mourn him. “I knew about your phobia and I still came by.”

“You wanted comfort.” Your voice cracks and the tips of your cheeks flush. “You needed me. That isn’t something you have to apologize for Johnathan.” Tears water at your eyes and you cling to his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“I meant what I said.” You knit your brows. “I meant it when I said that if you took me back, we could forget about all that was said. We could start fresh.”

By the look in your eyes, he knows he said the wrong thing. “That wouldn’t be fair to you Johnathan.” Your words are muffled by the skin on your arm, and he can hear it clearly, every word is drenched in pity.

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t care. Not when I’d have you.”

“You could do so much better.”

“No,” he corrects. “No, I couldn’t.”

“I don’t deserve that type of grace, Johnny.” Your arms tense, and he wonders if you really do miss him. “If we went back to how it was before, I’d still know. I’d still hate myself, and I wouldn’t see you, I’d see me.” Your eyes shine with tears.

“I could never hate you,” he tells you with sincerity dripped onto his words. “I tried-” you blink and a tear tracks down- “but I couldn’t. I had so many things that I wanted to tell you- that I hoped I could tell you, but I could never even form the sentence.”

“Can you try?”

“What?”

“Can you try to tell me what you would have wanted to tell me?” You lift yourself up by your forearms, and push yourself close to him, He can smell the cream on you- something sweet and soft. “You can think of it like payback,” you mutter, your hand reaching to grab his.

“I can’t.” he shakes his head, and closes his hand around yours. “I could never tell you what I felt or what I thought. It wasn’t anything bad- it was just-” he sighs and keeps his gaze on your hands- “disappointment? Shock?”

“Why did you stay Johnathan?” He doesn’t answer you, nor does he even make a noise to show that he heard you. “Johnathan?” He squeezes your hand in response. “You asked why I had asked you to stay. Why did you?” Your head tilts and you lower yourself to come into his view, and he can’t look away- not this time. “How can you still hold my hand after what I’ve done to you?”

“Because I wanted to,” he tells you with his words wavering as if they’re about to crash. “I knew that you were the one that I wanted. That hasn’t changed at all.” Tears curve down the side of your face, and drip down your chin. “I’ll always want you.” He lifts his head upwards, and you sit with him, your hand gripping onto him as if the slightest tremble would make him vanish. “Do you need a hug?”

Nodding your head, all he has to do is lift his arms and you’re clinging to him, body above his with your face hidden into the crook of his neck. With tightly wrapped arms, you cling to him like a child that clings to a stuffed animal after a bad dream, and he wonders just how much of this is a bad dream. Hearing you cry is certainly something that makes him want to hold onto you even tighter, to press you against his body despite the spots and holes that litter him. However, in the same shaky breaths that you take, you call his name, hushed and full of grief, the same grief that holds warmth and familiarity.

He hopes that you don’t slip into one of his spots. “I would think about you at work,” he starts. “A lot. I’d have your picture set as my lock screen.” He wraps his arms, and you get comfortable above him, shifting and nuzzling onto his shoulder. “Sometimes, I couldn’t focus on work because I’d be too busy thinking about you. And I’d wonder if you missed me as much as I missed you.” Your hands lay flat against his back, and he wonders if by chance, you missed his spots. He runs his hand up and down your spine, making sure that he remembers how warm you are, and how your heart beats against his chest. “My coworkers always wanted to meet you, but I couldn’t let them. I couldn’t let you get near them. I was scared that maybe, you’d realize that I wasn’t all that you made me out to be, and that you’d leave me.”

Tears wet his skin, and the way that the droplet runs over the rim of a spot, has him unable to breathe. He dips his head, wanting to press a kiss against your crown. He’s forgotten that he no longer has lips, that any gentleness that he could have given you has been torn away.

“I wanted you. I thought- I would think about how when the project was over, I’d leave. I’d give Fisk and Dr. Octavius my research and notes and I’d leave. And in a good life, in a happy ending, I would be able to. We’d move elsewhere, get a cat or maybe a snake. I’d get to sleep beside you every night and and I’d get to wake up to you every morning.”

“Your co-workers called me- one of them. They asked if I had seen anything strange.” You sniffle, and you pull away, and your hands only move to clasp onto his biceps.

“What did you tell them?”

“That I wasn’t sure what they meant.” A heavy hand of white contrasts against your skin, and he wipes away the tear that has fallen. “I asked what happened to you- played dumb and they bought it.”

“What did they say?”

You lean into his touch. “They hung up on me and they haven’t called again.”

“Has my family contacted you?” You shake your head. “Good. I never wanted you to meet them.” At your frown, he continues. “You deserve to be surrounded by good people. Not them.” Your nails dig into his back, and the same hands that traced over his veins and cradled him, are the same that drag down and make him bleed. “I knew about your phobia, and I still came to you. I thought to myself that out of everyone, you wouldn’t turn me away. It was silly, I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. “I’m so sorry.” All that you can do is repeat your apologies, whispered and broken, repeated like a prayer, and in every word, in every syllable, there is grief and regret, and it tastes bitter. You cling to him, and you apologize, like a child crying to their mother, apologetic over a broken vase, begging their mother to still love them even after all the wrongs that have been committed, and at the end of the day, the love is still there, but the vase is broken. “I wish that you met someone better than me.”

He’s silent, and he looks at his hands, the same ones that run up and down your spine, and he wonders if you would hold his hand again.

“Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I think about how you looked at me that night. And sometimes I wish that I had died that night. That I wasn’t-” his voice wavers and in a hushed whisper he continues- “this.” His hands clench over your shirt, balling up the fabric. “Then maybe you’d have a nice last image of me. And then maybe you’d still want me. I wonder what would have happened to me. If they would give me a funeral, or if they’d rip my body apart and never lay me to rest.” You only cling tighter to him. “When I can’t sleep, I think about what I would tell you. I would tell you that you were mean, and I would never have done that to you. And that as awful as you were that night-” he lets out a shaky breath- “I never stopped thinking about you. I wanted to stay right by your side. I would have done whatever it is that you had wanted me to- I would have hidden myself and only came out when you asked me to.” He hopes that you’ll cling to him just a bit longer, that you won’t pull away. “When I came by that night and found you crying in the living room, I wanted to hold you again; make whatever bad happened, disappear. But it was me. I was the bad thing that happened,” he whispers.

“It wasn’t you. Not entirely. It was me” His spots jolt. “It- It was the way that I treated you. How I still missed you, but that I didn’t have to because it wasn’t like you were gone.”

“Just my good looks.” There’s a hint of sarcasm buried into his words.

You laugh, and the hands lay flat on his back, cradling over his shoulder blades. “You’re still tall- I’d count that as a win.” Your breath is warm against him, and when you pull away, looking at him, there are tears in your eyes. “I wish that I told you that night to stay. I really wanted to, but it felt selfish to ask that of you. I couldn’t do that.”

“I wish you did,” he says without hesitation.

“I wish I did too.”

“When I grabbed my clothes, I uh- I took a shirt of yours. It’s creepy-” he turns his head and even if he is unsure if blood still runs through him and makes him human, he feels warm- “but I wasn’t thinking. I just- I’m sorry.” He bows his head and your hands slip away from his back, to cradle at his head.

“Johnathan,” you say quietly, “I’m literally sleeping in one of your shirts.”

“That’s different. That’s cute. You’re cute. I’m- Look at me. I stole something of yours. I just- I had to be reminded of something of yours. I needed you to keep me warm at night.”

“Can you stay tonight?” He leans closer, your hand cradling his face, moves to hold the back of his head. “I don’t think I can handle watching you leave right now.” He’s silent, unsure if he heard you correctly. “Please, Johnathan.”

“Ask me that again.”

You comply. “Can you stay the night, Johnathan.”

If he could, he’d kiss you. He’d carve himself a mouth, give himself jaws and teeth and lips, pick apart at his flesh and fashion his bones into canines and molars, just to give you one last kiss- tender and parting, just to show you that he really did care for you. He’d bleed himself out, let himself get torn apart if only he could kiss you. Even now, without lips and a tongue, the sugar still rests heavy, and the blood that you’ve spilled is overpowering and makes him unable to speak without threatening to give you his all, to have you look at him, and to forever look at him.

Your eyes stare into a black hole that will never stop looking at you, that will continue to take in all the light and capture it for itself. He’s selfish in staying, and you are terrible for asking him to stay. And in this room where the lamp casts a golden glow, and he holds you in his body, limbs entangle, words that tore apart skin and hands that rubbed over the wounds, there is no safer place that he would rather be. He’d stare at you every day, swallow you whole and take the poison that runs through your body and is seeped into your blood.

He holds you in the orange glow, lets you hide yourself in his chest, and lets your body twist to not enter him. And he holds all of you, hoping that in the morning, he’ll remember the smell of your lotion, and the soft thumping of your heart under his thumb.

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