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keirou-kun · 11 days ago

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Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne - A Ramble

I'd call this a rant or an essay or a review or an analysis, but it's kind of all of them at once, so 'ramble' works best I feel XD

Now, precisely nobody asked for this but fuck it, this is one of my favorite one-shot stories and I’m gonna make it everyone else’s problem. The story in question is Batman-Nightwing: Bloodborne, and it scratches the itch for seeing Dick be Absolutely Completely Normal about Bruce in a delightful fashion. I don’t care for the art style much – no shade to Toby Cypress, it’s just not my cup of tea – but the writing – by Kelly Puckett – is -chef’s kiss-

This is gonna get long [7 pages in Libre Office >w>] so I'm shoving it behind the cut.

Now, the first thing you need to know is that this story also hearkens back to a panel from Prodigal that lives in my head rent free. This one.

that’s such a Normal thing to say to your father figure dickie.

Keep this panel in mind. It will be relevant as we go along. Now, let’s get to our story.

It starts off in media res on page one with Bruce in some kind of snowfield facing off against bad guys. Page two cuts to Bludhaven and Dick’s apartment, where Clancy’s trying to get him to go out except that he’s got a previous engagement. It’s the anniversary of his parents’ deaths.

Side note: This is one of a handful of comics to say when it falls on a timeline, since Dick tells her he’s had this engagement for “about twenty years” [which, if he uses that term the way I do, means it could be anywhere from 16 to 22 years ago, but still. Anyway.]

Clancy offers company, but Dick declines and heads up to Gotham.

dick pls this is not an episode of csi

On the way he passes a car full of kids all hyped up on ice cream and cotton candy – and if you think circus brat Dick Grayson can’t recognize real, fresh cotton candy when he sees it you are wrong – which then draws his attention to this billboard.

Look at that smile. What a bean.

Meanwhile, back in the snowfield, Bruce is in bad shape. Something Is Wrong, probably with his heart, but we have no idea what. We just know he’s collapsed in the snow, gripping what looks like a batarang with lights on. Cut back to Dickie, who’s somehow managed to talk his way into getting one trip on the trapeze at the Gotham City Circus and is remembering his parents’ training.

"Remember, son–when you're in that tuck you're spinning too fast to see anything. If you try to look it'll throw you off, so don't. Just close your eyes, remember your training...and trust your partner to be there for you."

Remember this moment. It may be relevant later.

As Dick’s hands grip the other aerialist’s however, Bruce crushes the bat-tracker and – with the signal suddenly lost – makes Alfred choke on his tea and call Dick in what is undoubtedly a very restrained British panic. The next page has a couple things to comment on, so I’ll try to break it down here.

First: Dick has no idea what’s going on, but all he needs is an urgent tone from Alfred and mention of Bruce in trouble and he’s breaking speed limits. And then kicking himself for not driving faster when he sees Alfred’s face. A lovely introduction to his Normalcy about his batdad mentor.

Second: Alfred calls him ‘sir’ and this is clearly unusual. Dick doesn’t outwardly comment but he notices it and questions the use in his inner monologue. Another hint at how concerned Alfred is and how bad the situation could be, doubtless; with Bruce gone, Dick is pretty much the ranking member of the household here.

Third, and arguably the most important point here: Bruce leaves flowers for Dick’s parents every year. Not only that, but he does it without Dick knowing. Dick’s seen the flowers before, clearly, but for some reason has always assumed they were Alfred’s doing. To find out that it’s been Bruce, and that Bruce has never once missed this anniversary – and to find out on said anniversary, when Bruce is quite possibly in mortal danger – has to be a gut punch. But one that gets almost instantly compartmentalized because Dick has other shit to focus on, like what the fuck is going on with Bruce.

We learn, as Alfred takes him down to the Cave, that crushing that tracker was indeed intentional and – for whatever reason – Bruce does not want to be found. We also learn that Alfred’s called Tim in on this, which Dick is not a fan of, but Alfred’s reasoning is pretty damned sound.

but also dick that is such a bruce line omg.

They’re all worried as fuck, and this is apparently Tim’s first time realizing that sometimes Bruce purposefully erases mission files when he goes out solo.

not that it works

Tim, being Tim, has recovered most of them anyway, and so we learn that the whole mission began with a Russian virologist. Dick zones out into a flashback of his time as Robin, quite possibly the first time he ever saw Bruce get shot and got scared the man would die. Which, of course, didn’t happen, and in true Bruce fashion he brushed it off and assured Dick he’d dodged the bullet, but that didn’t stop young Dickie from sneaking down to the Cave later and finding the bullet hole in the center of the Batsuit’s chest.

And then we cut to the snowfields of northern Siberia. Dick’s dazed from having his jet shot down, doesn’t remember much between talking to Tim in the Cave and right this very moment, but he’s recovering. Taking stock of the situation. He’s been shot down by some kind of rebel militia that’s now trying to take him prisoner. As he fights his way free, another rebel lets loose with a rocket launcher and destroys not only the ATVs that Dick was going to make use of, but also the rest of the jet and all his gear that hadn’t been actually on his person.

Which means now he’s stuck in the Siberian snow near the Arctic Circle with not a blessed thing to his name but his standard suit – thermal suit went up with the jet – and a heartbeat sensor with a 20 foot range, on foot, with a 5-mile-wide circle for a search area.

Oh, and there’s a storm coming in.

gotta calculate that risk tho

So off he goes. Starts with one valley and does a full sweep with no results. We have no idea how long it takes or how many valleys he makes it through, but somehow through sheer plot device luck he all but stumbles across an unconscious Bruce. There’s a very tense moment when Dick’s feeling for a pulse – because the heartbeat sensor hasn’t detected a damned thing – and this is when I remind you that he got the news of Bruce’s disappearance on the anniversary of his parents’ deaths and so is almost certainly all the more desperate for that, but finally he gets a pulse and the relief is palpable.

I guarantee you he was clinging to bruce for a solid minute before moving on.

Unfortunately Dickie’s still suffering from a pretty bad concussion himself, so even as he’s trying to carry Bruce to shelter he stumbles, which is enough to bring Bruce back to consciousness enough to A: register that it’s Dick there with him and B: tell Dick to leave him behind. Which Dick, naturally, does not do. He keeps carrying Bruce through the snow to an old, theoretically abandoned way station that will hopefully offer at least some shelter through the coming storm. When he kicks the door open, however, it turns out the shelter is occupied by someone else. A woman, who is both surprised and alarmed at the intrusion. Dick demands blankets and warm water, on the assumption that Bruce is near freezing to death, only to realize Bruce is in fact running a fever.

And then Dick’s still-recovering memory throws up another card. The woman they’ve found is the virologist Tim mentioned. Her parents were murdered by Siberian rebels right in front of her – this will be important later – and she’s since developed a viral compound so virulent it makes the Clench look like hay fever. And Bruce has just dropped a mysterious vial of Something on the floor as he passed back out.

uh-oh.

Naturally Dick turns to the virologist to ask what to do next, only to find she’s run off. So he follows her, rescues her from a rebel, and drags her back to the way station only to see Bruce being hauled out to a waiting helicopter by more rebels. Naturally, he does the only logical thing here, which is charge in, race up the woodpile to the roof, and jump up to grab the landing strut on the helicopter to try and get Bruce back. The rebels, however, have other ideas and open fire through the floor, forcing him to let go and plummet back to the snow-covered tundra.

When he comes to again, there’s the virologist, and Dickie is done playing nice. He grabs her by the throat and barks a demand for information.

nightwing does not fuck around okay

Fortunately for her, the virologist claims there is a cure located in her lab, and she’s actually taken them there. Of course, it’s currently occupied by rebels, but that’s a minor matter. Dick gives her some instruction along with a warning – “Double-cross me and you’ll regret it.” – and the virologist offers something that is almost but not quite an apology, to which Dick’s response is less than charitable.

‘I’m not a monster’ says woman responsible for potentially-continent-killing plague.

Now, here’s the thing. He’s calling Bruce his friend here which, okay. They’re both in uniform, giving more information is dangerous and something he’s trained against. But for me, given the history between these two, that also tells me that Bruce hasn’t formally adopted Dick yet. But Bruce is so clearly more than just a friend here. The narrative sets that up and makes it clear, even if you don’t have the weight of the rest of pre-Flashpoint canon [or, hell, just the rest of canon itself] bearing down on you.

Dick is nigh feral at this point, his focus 100% on getting Bruce out of there alive, and his usual at-least-civil exterior is gone. “I’m not a monster,” says the virologist whose creation is directly threatening Bruce’s life. “Sure you aren’t,” snaps Nightwing who is in no mood to coddle someone who will, if she doesn’t help him fix this, be directly responsible for the death of his second father as far as he’s concerned.

He single-handedly takes out every guard between the virologist and her lab, though the final one cuts it close and she sees him haul a grown-ass man up into an air vent without much difficulty. She’s also seen him jump from a cabin roof to a moving helicopter without a second’s hesitation or a break in her stride. Point being, she should have some idea of what he’s capable of here. But as he’s tying up one last rebel and she’s behind the desk typing in an access code she sees reinforcements heading for the lab and says absolutely nothing.

Instead, she grabs the cure and says nothing until she’s already standing behind closing security doors, leaving Dick behind to deal with the reinforcements but showing him clearly she has the vial in hand.

Remember what he said about not double-crossing him?

We don’t get to see what happens in the lab once she runs, but we do see one last rebel get kicked through the front doors hard enough to knock them off their hinges. Nightwing is pissed. Enough so that when he catches up to the truck the virologist stole he just punches through the driver’s side window, grabs her with one hand and spins the wheel violently with the other, sending the truck skidding hard enough to turn over and dragging her out of it at the same time.

As he insists on continuing on to the rebel stronghold, however, the virologist hits him with another gut punch. That vial doesn’t hold a cure; it holds a vaccine. There is no cure. It’s too late for Bruce in her eyes, he’s doomed, so there’s no point in going to the rebel stronghold. Dick, understandably, doesn’t take this well. He actually collapses for a second there in the snow, because she’s just told him his father mentor is dying and there’s no way to save him at all. And then we get this exchange.

remember her tragic backstory?

Dick is probably near tears at this point, out of rage or frustration or pain or all three at once, and I can’t help but hear his tone as absolutely scathing. “Was it worth it?” Killing a man who had nothing to do with her grudge? “I’ll bet he saved your life at one point.” That may well have been why Bruce was out there to begin with, he knows; to stop her virus falling into the wrong hands if not to destroy it completely. “So...are you happy now?” Now that she’s killed a man who was trying to help her? “Feel better?” And if she says yes he cannot be held responsible for his reaction.

And then she comes out with that. Of all the people to say that to, and of all the times to say it, it had to be Nightwing, hard on the heels of the anniversary of his parents’ murder, while he’s trying to save a man who is also a victim of that very same tragedy. The virologist, of course, has no idea about any of this – how could she? – but that doesn’t stop Dick whirling on her to snap out his response.

well he meets her criteria for saying that

And then he’s moving again. Back to the helicopter he’s commandeered, demanding she come along, because he’s got a plan. It might be half-baked and absolutely insane, but it’s a plan and he has to try it. The virologist still insists that it’s pointless, that there’s no way his friend could still be alive, and Dick’s only response to that is:

The stony determination on his face says it all: he has absolute faith that Bruce can pull through anything, because he has to. Dick’s not stupid, and he’s not blind; he went into this knowing there was a chance he might find a corpse. But he also knows that Bruce’s heart was still beating when he found the man, and he has to hope. He has to, because if he stops hoping then he’s going to shatter and he can’t let that happen. Not until it’s proven beyond a doubt that there really is no chance at all. So as long as there’s even a single shred, even the barest iota of a chance that Bruce could still be alive, Dick’s going to cling to it and use it as fuel to push himself through everything else. He’s good at weaponizing hope like that.

And it works. He gets them to the rebel stronghold and drags her in with him. Just why he does this becomes pretty clear once they’re inside; it would’ve been easier for him to go in alone rather than drag her along clinging to cliff faces and dodging guards, but this way she gets to see what the rebels are gearing up to do with her creation. The virus she created as vengeance is about to destroy untold numbers of lives; the room they find, with rows of empty beds awaiting occupants, is almost certainly just the first drop in the barrel, and even she admits she’d never even considered this.

But while she’s wrestling with that Dick’s already moved to Bruce’s side. Bruce, who is strapped to a table with his vital signs being monitored, and who is still clinging to life. Dick then launches into what is almost certainly an extremely simplified explanation of how vaccines work, but it gets the point across. A vaccine sparks a response from the body’s immune system, nudging it into creating antibodies to fight whichever illness it’s for and thus filling the bloodstream of a vaccinated individual with those antibodies and giving the body the necessary boost in defense it needs to fight off the illness.

And then he reveals his plan.

you fuckin what mate

Turns out he’s taken the vaccine at some point between shoving her in the helicopter and arriving at the stronghold. It’s an absolutely bonkers plan, since the vaccine likely has had barely any time to really have much effect, but we’re using comic book logic here so fuck it. It’s still an absolutely bonkers plan even with comic book logic, because that vaccine was experimental and not even its creator knows if it will actually work or not. He could just wind up contracting the virus himself.

It’s at this point that Dick’s passive suicidal tendencies show themselves, and that I remind you all of the panel from Prodigal that started this whole thing. Remember that? Now look at this.

“Then I’ve got nothing to lose.” “I’d die for you, Bruce.”

There is not an ounce of hesitation. There was no question or wavering. Dick saw one single path through this, one potential chance to save Bruce, and he did not care if it cost him his life. If it works then Bruce survives and maybe Dick does too, and if he does that’s great but if he doesn’t at least his death will have been worth it. If it doesn’t work, then who cares if he lives or not?

But it’s only passive, because he still has the will and determination to give the virologist one last – and probably, honestly, terrifying – warning. “Even with half a blood supply, I can still stop you if you try anything.” Betray him again and see what happens, when he’s already told you he has nothing to lose.

But she doesn’t. She does exactly what he needs her to, sets up the transfusion, keeps it going. The virus starts taking hold of Dick and it’s painful, or at least his mind thinks it’s painful. His heart is pounding, he can feel the fever set in and spike, and then the *boom*s that he hears translate into the rebels busting into the room through the barricade he’d set up to buy them time.

Clearly not enough of it, though.

The virologist wants to cut off the transfusion and get them out of there, but Dick refuses. And he keeps refusing until the last possible minute, at which point he’s pulling the needle out and diving into battle. The narration is really what makes the next few panels, which are all still images of the ensuing fight.

Fever dream. Shapes blurring around me. Screams and thuds surrounding me. No tactics. No strategies. Blind instinct. A lifetime of training. My lifetime. His training. All I have now...is what he gave me.

Remember back at the beginning, when Dick was recalling John Grayson’s words? “Just close your eyes, remember your training.” One father’s advice bleeding into another’s training in a way that is almost seamless unless you’re looking for it. And then there’s that last line.

On the surface Dick’s talking about his combat training. All the skills and techniques he’s learned from Bruce over the course of his life. But peel back that first layer and you find that dogged determination, the willpower. Dick came to Bruce with his fair share of that to begin with, yes, but you cannot tell me that Bruce’s training didn’t strengthen it, sharpen it to a point. Dick had the will, but Bruce showed him how to temper it into another weapon, into a shield.

And then, below even that, you have Dick’s own life. A life that Bruce gave him. Without Bruce, Dick’s life would have been completely different. Dick has said at least once that he considers Bruce to have saved him. Without Bruce, it’s reasonable to suppose, Dick is fairly certain he’d be dead by now.

All I have now is what he gave me.

His fighting skill. His determination. His very life. And he’s putting every last bit of it to use, fighting through a band of rebels on his own until he’s confronting their leader, who is a giant of a man wielding a battle-axe. And Dick is getting tired. He’s fighting the virus as much as he’s fighting other people right now. He knows he’s flagging, but he has to keep going. Has to keep fighting. And the narration here lays bare a part of him that, if anyone’s been reading Nightwing‘96, comes as no surprise.

Dick fears letting Bruce down. In other shocking news, the pope has been confirmed as catholic. More at 11.

I see it now. Clearly. My greatest fear. Not that he would fall, but that I would fail him. That he would need me someday...and my best truest effort would be... ...not quite enough.

There is a point in Nightwing ‘96, not long after Dick’s settled in Bludhaven, where he faces off against Scarecrow and spends at least a day or two dosed on fear toxin. We learn then that Dick’s deepest fear is failure. Is not measuring up. Is for his best to just not be good enough. This moment, right here, digs deeper into that and, I think, nails it perfectly.

Dick has always tried to measure up to Bruce’s expectations. He has to be perfect, because that’s what he thinks Bruce wants. And by this point in his life, he’s also learned that when he’s not perfect, people get hurt. People die. He has to be perfect. He has to be. And right now, with Bruce’s life on the line, if he can’t win this fight, if he can’t push through this, if he can’t find a better best to pull out, then the consequences are unthinkable.

Failure is Dick’s worst fear, but failing Bruce - not being able to catch his father partner when the chips are down and it’s literally do or die – is his worst nightmare.

And finally his body just. Gives out. He can’t get back up. He’s straining, he’s trying, because in his head Bruce would, but he can’t. The rebel leader towers over him, the axe about to fall, but there in he background is a familiar silhouette just before everything fades to black.

Then we cut back to the Cave, where Alfred and Bruce are in the middle of a discussion about the virologist, who apparently was convinced to destroy a lifetime of work, though not by Bruce. We don’t actually learn what did convince her, though, because Tim interrupts them to inform them that Dick’s awake, and then to assure Dick that he’ll be fine.

It’s the last two lines, and the final panel, though, that really cement things for me. Because of all the things either one of them could say, of all the things that have to be going through Bruce’s mind or through Dick’s, not a single one makes it into words. For a second Bruce just stands there in silence before offering a single word of thanks, and a hand. And Dick just takes the hand, and smiles, and responds with another single word that carries about a ton of emotional weight regardless of how light his tone might be when he says it.

who needs actual conversation am I right

“Anytime.”

Let’s recap just what he did here. He took a jet into what he knew was going to be hostile territory and got shot down for his troubles. He forged ahead into an oncoming snowstorm, on foot with no supplies or gear, to find a man who might be dead anyway, when he could have tried to salvage enough gear to take shelter and GTFO. He risked his life to obtain a cure that turned out to be an experimental vaccine which he took without hesitation or asking for more information about because a whole-body full blood transfusion to flood Bruce’s body with hopefully-effectively-vaccinated blood was the one insane idea he had even if the odds were astronomically in favor of him dying in the process, and then he exacerbated those odds by fighting off half a rebel army in order to buy Bruce time to recover, because let’s be real here, Dick couldn’t have expected Bruce to recover enough to actually fight right then. Likely his hope was that he could buy enough time for the virologist to get Bruce out of there, or that he’d get lucky enough that he could live up to what he thought he needed to and finish the fight himself to give them both collapse-and-recover time.

He pulled off what should have been an impossible mission, one that Bruce himself had deemed too dangerous to allow backup on. He could have died. Arguably he *should have* died. He took a risk that anyone else would have deemed absolutely batshit-bananas insane, and they both know it. And then he simply brushes it off with “Anytime.”

And he means it.

And they both know that, too.

This is one of my absolute favorite one-shot stories purely from a Bruce-and-Dick dynamic perspective, because it nails Dick’s side of things and it nails a side of him that so rarely gets shown. No matter what’s going on, no matter what’s happening – because at the time of this comic, things are once again a little rocky between them – if Bruce needs his help Dick will drop everything else to be there, and Dick will do whatever it takes to get him out of trouble. Even at the cost of his own life. And when someone he cares about – especially when it’s one of his family – is in mortal danger, he stops pulling punches, he stops playing nice, he threatens and he’s harsh and he’s rough and he shows a side of himself that even those he’s trying to defend would be surprised to see, because he hides it so goddamned well that people forget it even exists.

Go read the comic and see for yourself.

#Musings #batman #nightwing #bruce wayne #dick grayson #dcu #dc comics #nightwing bloodborne #batman nightwing bloodborne #batfam #geekery

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swift-creates · 8 months ago

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category: Gen

fandom: Batfamily

characters and relationships: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd - platonic, some batfamily

warnings: blood and injury, fight scene, mention of gun and knives, minor swearing, a bit of unhealthy thought processes but mostly bc he’s dazed and out of it, present tense

Summary:

@ailesswhumptober Day 31: Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Jason is injured during a battle, but Dick can’t protect him forever.

notes: fucked around and wrote a fic based on this drawing by @ashrayus as one does (I didn’t really know how to end it so just. have this lol) (also sorry if it’s OOC)

—

Dick has always been scared for Jason. That’s his baby brother, his Little Wing, the shadow at his back. Save for the broken time where he’d abruptly become an only child, Jason has always been there, and Dick has come to expect he always will be. Jason is older now — he’s the Red Hood, Gotham’s most feared crime lord, and is capable of single-handedly taking down some of the worst rogues in the gallery — but he will always be Dick’s little brother. Dick rarely has reason to be scared for Jason these days.

Except for the times when he watches Jason stumble and finally fall to seemingly endless hordes of enemies, bleeding from a bullet to the gut.

“JASON!” All strategy and codenames get thrown out the window, and he fights his way to his little brother, throwing a smoke bomb for cover and pulling him to safety. “Jay, look at me.”

“Ngh… Don’t need you to save me, Big Bird.” Jason tries to glare at him, but the effect is somewhat dampened by the way he doubles over in pain and leans into Dick’s arms. “Y-You need to get out of here.”

“Yes you do, and I’m not leaving you behind, dipshit.” He half-supports, half-carries Jason out of the alley, ignoring the strangled sound of pain he makes (or attempting to, anyway). He leaves the fight behind, and keeps going until the distance is between them is enough for him to feel comfortable setting Jason down against a wall.

Jason’s black-and-white curls stand in stark contrast to the grimy grey-red as he grimaces, head tipped back against the brick. Dick smooths them back from his face more by habit than anything else. “Shhh. You’ll be okay, Little Wing.”

He knows it’s bad because Jason doesn’t object to the nickname.

“Jay?” His brother’s eyes are fluttering closed, and he’s slumped against the wall, the hand held over his wound starting to loosen. Dick clamps one of his own in place of it, swearing. “Jay, if you die again without paying back the ten bucks you owe me I’ll resurrect you just to kill you myself.”

“Mmh…” is the only reply, and Dick can feel him slipping away — not again not again not again God please — despite every attempt to rouse him. Making this situation even worse is the slowly increasing volume of the mob catching up to them. He grabs a roll of gauze from his belt and quickly wraps Jason’s torso with it, then stands with both escrima sticks in his hands.

There’s blood leaking from a cut on his cheek, and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken, but he’ll die before he lets them hurt Jason again.

They come on in a rush, almost falling over each other in their attempt to reach two weakened vigilantes. He sweeps one aside, slams another into a wall, hits the first one with a stick and lets him fall to the ground, unconscious. The movements become instinct, strategy turning to survival, as they flood the alley, reaching to him, past him, their guns and their knives all hungry for blood. He barely dodges one bullet, feels another graze his thigh when he turns to swipe at a girl with white-blonde hair and a switchblade in her hand. He can’t go on like this forever. He has to.

He’s reeling from a hit to the side of his head, about to lose his balance, when white smoke rises around them. Dick almost collapses to his knees in relief, but he makes himself stumble back to stand over Jason as familiar figures drop from the shadows and create a circle of safety in the chaos.

“He’s here,” he whispers to Jason. “You’re safe now.” He curls up next to his brother, exhausted and bleeding, and pulls him close.

Of course, that’s when a man with a gun decides to level it straight at Dick’s forehead.

He grips Jason tight and glares at the guy, one stick left in his hand, trying to remember where he’d dropped the other one sometime during the fight. When, not if, the guy shoots, he’ll twist to shield Jason with his body, just in case his aim is wildly off. One bullet each seems to be fair.

His finger tightens on the trigger, and Dick tenses, ready to move.

Then a black shape slams into the man, sending the bullet careening into the darkness and the guy careening into the ground. Few have seen the Batman’s fury unleashed, and even fewer experienced it, but this unlucky sap will most likely remember this for the rest of his miserable life. He’s tossed to the side like a rag, and B makes a beeline for his boys.

“Dick. Jason.” His hands search for injuries even as his eyes flick anxiously up and down them, the only outward sign of his worry.

Dick melts gratefully into the embrace. “We’re okay. Barely.” All he wants to do is sink to the ground and be cuddled and carried back to the Batcave, but he can’t rest yet. “Jason — he got hurt. Bullet wound. I bandaged it, but…”

“We’ll get him home.” Bruce kneels by Jason’s side, gently calling his name, but there’s no response. So what does Bruce do? Obviously he goes and scoops up all two hundred pounds of Jason into his arms and carries him away to the Batmobile like he weighs no more than Damian. Cass appears out of nowhere to support Dick, and he leans against his sister with a grateful smile.

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saccharinesunsetretired · 2 years ago

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Wilbur Soot’s Guide to Side Hustles | camboy!Simpbur x camgirl!reader | Part One

My first ever series on this blog yayayayay! Also first time writing Simpbur. No fucking clue when the next chapter will be up though. Could be next week. Could be a month. Life contains many mysteries.

Summary: Wilbur has had a long line of obsessions in his time. In a desperate attempt to get the attention he craves, he starts making content online. When he encounters you at a party full of other creators...well, he's never been good at staying away from things that draw him in, and you may very well be his undoing.

Warnings/Tags: sub!Simpbur, dom!reader. Unrealistic sex/depictions of sex work (although I did try), smut, pegging, general simpbur creepiness, discussions of virignity/consent, low self-esteem and insecurity problems, unhealthy attitudes toward sex. Reader is AFAB and a woman

Word Count: 11.3k

MINORS DNI - BLOGS WITHOUT AN AGE INDICATOR GET BLOCKED, NO EXCEPTIONS

“Hey, creep.”

Wilbur blinked and looked up from his math textbook. Standing right in front of him was a girl from his English course, a girl he’d had a crush on for years. They had never actually spoken. Instead, he’d done what he did best—watched from afar and stayed out of it. For a moment, despite her harshness, he just stared, basking in her attention.

She laughed, and her friends laughed from a few desks away as they looked on. “Do you know how to speak?” she asked.

“Y-yeah,” he said. He could feel his cheeks burning. “What’s, um…what’s up?”

“‘What’s up’?” The girl laughed again. “I’ve seen you hovering near my locker, you fucking pervert.”

Wilbur froze. “I-I wasn’t—“

“Oh, you weren’t?” She leaned against a nearby desk. “Who’s been leaving me notes, then?”

Wilbur wanted nothing more than to curl up in a hole. He had been leaving notes. And admittedly, yes, some of them were creepier than others. The notes ranged from Good luck on midterms :) to You looked so hot in class today. And despite Wilbur’s general lack of self-awareness, he recognized how this looked. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “I’ll stop.”

“If you don’t, I’m reporting you,” she replied. “Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Got it.” Wilbur had never felt more embarrassed. The other students began to whisper. He could feel a million eyes on him—well, what felt like a million, at least. “I’m so, so sorry.” He stared at his desk as his eyes stung.

“Good.” The girl stood there for another few moments. “It’s a waste,” she said. “You could almost be cute, if you weren’t such a freak.”

Present Day

You could almost be cute if you weren’t such a freak.

Wilbur remembered that, because of course he did. It was the closest he ever got to someone returning his affections. Yes, he knew it was pathetic, but that shred of affirmation went a long way.

He started bettering himself. It started with better hygiene, not wearing clothes multiple days in a row, properly washing his hair. His parents had been bothering him to do that for ages, anyway. He dressed better, tried to socialize. That last point didn’t go too well. He got bullied to the point that he ended up switching schools and had to deal with the fact that at least a bit of it was warranted.

He never saw that crush of his ever again. He developed new ones, new fixations. He didn’t leave notes, though, or stalk anyone or do anything to arouse suspicion. He promised himself that he could be normal, that he would be normal.

Well, perhaps he’d intentionally switched classes a few times to “keep an eye on” some of the people he became fixated on. But was that such a big deal?

And then university came. Loans, what felt like a million dollars in debt. One night, the result of a drunken decision, he filmed himself getting off. On an even more questionable drunken decision, he posted it online to some internet forum he had only heard of in passing. The second he remembered it the next day (after recovering physically a bit from his previous drinking binge), he was absolutely mortified. And yet, to his immense surprise, people liked it. It wasn’t any sort of viral sensation, of course, but he had a decent number of comments when he woke up in the morning. At first, he was put off by the vulgarity of it, but then, he realized that this was how he could get the high that he’d always craved—attention.

He started working on it. Filming videos, uploading photos. Pretty soon, he had an OnlyFans account going. His content was mostly solo stuff, webcam livestreams and private chats with his more dedicated followers. To his surprise, he started making decent money. It was nice to have something to help relieve some of the university debt. Plus, the validation was nice, even if it was only in praise of his body.

Besides, he had long given up the idea of anybody loving him for anything other than that.

Online, his persona was more submissive. It was easier for him, not having to fake confidence that he didn’t have. Instead, he could let himself moan as loud as he wanted, let the microphone pick up every small gasp and whine as he got himself off either with his hands or one of the million toys that he’d purchased since starting the job. The needier he looked, the better.

Then, he found the confidence to do his first collaboration. The benefits of moving to a larger area for university were plenty, but one of the biggest benefits turned out to be the fact that he was far from the only sex worker in the city. He lost his virginity to a girl on a livestream, although she didn’t know it was his first time. At least, she pretended not to know. Wilbur got the feeling that she could tell. Either way, it had made good content. In fact, it had been so profitable that she had invited him to a small gathering of some other creators—sex workers of all types.

And that was how he ended up holding a can of cheap beer in the corner of a party. It was at someone’s apartment, someone he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. The music was far too loud, the conversation too overwhelming. For a moment, Wilbur was sixteen again, sitting at his desk and wanting to disappear.

At least, until you walked in. You, dressed to the nines for a simple house party. For a moment, he locked eyes with you, and he nearly forgot how to breathe. He looked away first, too intimidated, too afraid. However, he watched out of the corner of his eye as you walked into the kitchen to greet the host of the party and grab a drink.

When you reentered the living room, Wilbur’s eyes immediately went back to you. Suddenly, it was as if nobody else was there. He could feel it creeping up on him again, the beginning of an obsession.

Be normal, he reminded himself. Don’t be a creep.

He watched as you greeted almost everyone at the party, flawlessly interacting with the guests. Clearly, you knew your way around. Eventually, you made your way over to Wilbur. He took a sip of his beer to try and appear casual, only to choke slightly.

“Shit, didn’t mean to startle you,” you said, chuckling. “You alright?” You leaned against the wall right beside him, so close that he could smell your shampoo. Or maybe it was perfume. He couldn’t tell, and honestly didn’t care to discern the difference.

“Fine,” Wilbur replied. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. You caught me mid-sip.”

“My bad, stranger.” You offered your hand. “I’m Y/N. And you’re Wilbur, right? Allison told me about you.”

Wilbur hesitantly shook your hand before pulling his own hand away suspiciously quick. “Right, yeah,” Wilbur replied. “We did a livestream earlier.”

“I heard. Apparently it was a hit.” You briefly glanced at your phone before tucking it back in your pocket. “And you’re new on the scene…?”

“Yeah, pretty new.” Wilbur shrugged, trying to play it cool and relax his nerves. “That was my first non-solo livestream.” And my first time having sex ever his mind reminded him. Because people only want you if they can profit.

He shook the thought away as you spoke again. “Damn. Pretty good for your first time, then.” You grinned at him. “Most people don’t get this kind of attention so quickly.”

“It’s…definitely been a surprise to me,” Wilbur agreed. A tense silence passed between you and Wilbur. “So…you also do the whole…camgirl thing?” He thought that he’d heard of you in passing, but before, he’d had no reason to look you up.

“Yeah! Two years and going. Still doing mostly solo stuff, but trying to branch out a little,” you replied. “It can be difficult to know who to trust in this industry, who genuinely has your best interests at heart and who is taking advantage.”

“I bet.” Wilbur set his beer aside. It wasn’t that good, anyway. “Do you like it?”

You shrugged. “Sometimes yes. Other times no. Depends on how creepy people are that day.”

Wilbur laughed, nodding in agreement. He watched you as you took a sip of your own drink, some sort of cocktail. “But you make good money?” he asked. His frenzied mind attempted to come up with some flirtatious lines, but nothing else left his mouth. Considering how cringy all the lines were, it was for the better.

“Decent money,” you replied. “And you?”

“Decent money.”

“Cool.” Wilbur felt slightly uneasy as you eyed him up and down. “Hand me your phone,” you said after a moment.

Wilbur blinked. “Why?” he asked. Despite his questioning, he unlocked his phone and handed it over without complaint.

“So I can give you my number,” you replied. You began entering your contact information. “Not to be too forward, but the main reason I came to this party was just to network. Like I said, I’m branching out, and it seems that you’re doing the same.” You handed his phone back. “Maybe we could collab.”

Wilbur felt his heart hammering in his chest. The room felt like it was spinning, and considering he’d only had half a beer, he definitely couldn’t blame it on alcohol. “Oh. Um…you sure?”

You smirked. “You seem harmless enough, Wil. Besides, we can talk a bit beforehand, get to know each other a little. I’d rather not fuck someone without knowing a bit about them.”

“Fair.” Wilbur very shakily tucked his phone back in the pocket of his jeans. He noticed you starting to leave. “We’ll be in touch, then?” he asked.

You winked. “You can count on it.” Only a moment later, you disappeared into the crowd.

Wilbur left the party immediately after. He saw no point in staying if he couldn’t talk with you more. Even after that sliver of conversation, everyone else at the party seemed even more dull than before. He got into the back of a taxi, trying (and failing) to make his brain go quiet.

All he could think about was your skin under the multicolored lights at the party, the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile. He checked his phone, and all he could think about was the fact that your hands had touched it less than fifteen minutes prior. And maybe, just maybe, if he played his cards right he would get to touch you for real.

He imagined your hands on him, fingers curled around his cock. Nobody had ever given him a handjob before, but he (for better or worse) had always had a vivid imagination. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the window of the cab as he imagined it, your fingers on him. He tried to imagine every detail, the texture of your fingertips, the tone of voice you would use as you praised him.

By the time the taxi dropped him off outside his apartment building, he was achingly hard. He made it to his studio apartment, took off his coat and shoes, and immediately sat on his bed. He opened his laptop and searched for your name.

Sure enough, he found your OnlyFans, as well as the few free teaser clips that you’d uploaded elsewhere. There you were, a vibrator on your clit in one clip, your fingers teasing your own nipples as you moaned for the camera.

He slammed the laptop shut. No, he told himself. No more obsessions. If you manage to make this work, all she’ll be to you is a colleague, a coworker.

Don’t be a creep.

He got out of bed and made it to the bathroom, where he stripped, tossed his clothes in the hamper, and turned on the shower. A cold shower would do the trick, he figured. Admittedly, he’d never actually tried the method, but it was the best he could think of. He could scrub away all thoughts of you, get rid of his hard-on, and call it a night.

He shivered as the cold water hit him. It felt fucking awful, cold water on his skin when all he wanted was warmth, but he toughed it out, waiting for his “problem” to resolve itself.

But it was no use. All he could think about was the sound of you moaning in that video, gorgeous lips parted, legs spread. He couldn’t help but wish he could hear you moan for real, not the fake sort of moans that are exaggerated for the camera.

He gave up after a while and got out, wrapping his lower body in a towel as he did a walk of shame back to his bed. He sat on the towel and reopened his laptop.

He found your OnlyFans page, and without thinking, he subscribed. He wasn’t sure if you could see his username if he used his official account, so he made another guest account. You were worth the inconvenience. He started to scroll. He saw a clip of you and Allison, you grinding against her thigh. Another clip showed you edging yourself into oblivion, cheeks flushed, eyes watering. That was the clip he finally settled on.

He edged himself along with the video, stopping whenever you stopped. If your hand stopped moving, so would his. In his mind, it felt almost like mutual masturbation, like you were really there doing this with him. He imagined you watching him, murmuring praise to him.

It wasn’t often that he got off without toys, not because he couldn’t, but because he was almost always filming his orgasms, and thus toys were usually involved. Despite not having any added vibration or stimulation, he came harder simply from touching himself while watching your videos than he had in months.

He laid there afterward, his own cum on his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. You’re absolutely hopeless, he told himself.

And yet, he couldn’t stop now. Not when you were so close.

It took Wilbur three days to work up the courage to text you, and from then on, conversation flowed naturally. At first, it was small talk about the industry—which people did you know, how many parties had you been to, what sort of content were you interested in making, and on and on and on. Wilbur was honest, admitting his lack of experience in the world of sex work, although he didn’t admit his lack of sexual experience in general. If he did, he might scare you off or make you hesitant, and he didn’t want that.

Conversation then turned to more personal matters. Still surface level, yes, but less detached than talks of industry and networking. He learned that you were a camgirl on the side, using the funds to add to the money you made from waitressing as you saved up. He also learned your favorite restaurant in the city (which he offered to take you to sometime, delighted when you accepted the offer) as well as your favorite bands, books, movies…all the surface-level questions he could hope to get answers for.

To his dismay, two weeks of texts went by without you mentioning possibly meeting up to film together. Just when he thought that was off the table and this would only amount to friendship, his phone buzzed as he was working on an essay. He picked it up, assuming it would be either one of his parents or a spam call, and grinned when he saw your name. You were requesting a FaceTime call, so he quickly smoothed his hair before answering.

“Hey!” you said cheerfully. Wilbur was so relieved to see your face, not just on your OnlyFans, but you, you choosing for him to see you. You looked like you were fresh out of the shower, and he realized quickly that you weren’t wearing a shirt. He couldn’t see anything below your shoulders, but the realization still had him speechless for a moment before he regained his composure.

“Hi!” he said back with equal cheerfulness. “How’re you?” He flicked on another light in his apartment so that you could see him better.

“Good,” you replied. A moment of silence passed. “Listen, are you free Saturday?”

“Yeah, why?” The truth was, Wilbur wasn’t free Saturday. He was in a study group for an upcoming exam, but at that moment, he decided that he didn’t give a shit. He would happily flunk an exam if it meant getting to spend more time with you. He had only seen you in person once, and only for a tiny moment in time, and all he had thought about since then was getting more.

“I have a business idea,” you said. Wilbur watched as you sat down on a couch at what must be your apartment. He caught a glimpse of the top of a towel wrapped around your torso, and although this thought made him slightly disgusted with himself, he couldn’t help but be disappointed. Still, his disappointment only lasted a second once your words sunk in.

“A business idea?” He immediately perked up. “What is it?” His mind went wild with possibilities. A livestream? Some short clips? A whole homemade porn film?

“So…your online persona is more on the submissive side, right?” you asked.

Wilbur’s brows furrowed. “How did you know?” Although the two of you had talked about the industry, bonded over creeps on the internet and the like, the details of your content had gone mostly undiscussed.

He noticed the rather sheepish expression on your face. “I may have done some research,” you admitted. “Is that weird?”

His heart skipped a beat, and he had to fight to keep himself calm. You had done research on him? That meant you had definitely seen some of his content, and not only that, but seeing his content made you more interested. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared. If it were anybody else, he wouldn’t have cared, but you? You, the subject of his obsession (he’d finally admitted to himself that’s what it was), the person he thought of every night before going to bed, thought he was desirable? Maybe not desirable, but at least worthy of seeing, worthy of working with. That was enough.

“It’s not weird!” he reassured you. “I…I may have done the same.” He did not tell you that he had a whole folder on his laptop that was only clips of you, that he’d labeled each video, that he’d gotten himself off to every single one. He definitely didn’t tell you that while filming himself the day prior, he’d been thinking of you the entire time. No, that was too much. That was creepy, that was obsession…but based on your admission, he figured a bit of the truth couldn’t hurt.

Thankfully, you reacted positively. “Thank god,” you said, laughing softly. “I thought you’d think I was a pervert.”

“No! No, of course not,” he said quickly. “I would never.” He settled his back against the headboard of his bed. “So, anyway, what was the idea?”

“Well, as I was saying,” you continued, “your persona is more on the submissive side. I portray myself as more dominant. Very convenient for us, no?” Wilbur nodded along as you spoke. “I was wondering…” You trailed off. “I can be forward with you, yeah?”

“Honestly, I’d prefer it that way.”

“Great! How do you feel about getting pegged?” A moment of silence passed as Wilbur’s brain completely short-circuited. He didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet until you spoke again. “Okay, uh…maybe I was too blunt.” He heard your awkward laugh through the phone.

“No! No, not too blunt at all. I’m fine with it,” he replied. “Yeah, no, that sounds great.” He tried to hide the nervous undertone to his voice. Using toys on himself is one thing; being on the receiving end of someone else’s movements is another. “I’d be down for that.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. “You were quiet for a moment, there.”

“Yeah! Yes, I’m completely sure,” Wilbur replied. “You want to, um, livestream that? Or are we just filming…?”

“Just filming,” you replied. “Having sex live is way more complicated. This way, we can try a couple different angles to see what looks best on camera.”

“Right.” Wilbur took a deep breath. “That sounds good. You said Saturday?”

“Saturday, yeah,” you responded. “And I was thinking we do it at my place. No offense, I’m sure your setup is nice, but I’ve been in the game a bit longer. I’ve probably got nicer gear.”

“That’s great. Sounds good.” Wilbur’s nerves kicked up a few more notches. He was going to embarrass himself, he just knew it. He was going to walk in, immediately get hard just looking at your setup (which was already somewhat familiar to him) and look like a loser. He tried to shove that thought away.

Thankfully, it seemed that you sensed his discomfort. “Listen, uh…I know that you’ve only done something like this once,” you said. “If you ever change your mind, you can leave. I won’t judge you for that, even if we’re in the middle of filming. Consent rules don’t magically go away when there are cameras rolling.”

Wilbur’s heart thumped in his chest. You were smiling warmly at him over FaceTime, and he wanted nothing more than to be there with you. His thoughts weren’t sexual, at least not in the moment.

His mind wandered. When was the last time he’d been held by somebody? He’d never once been held by somebody who liked him romantically. He wasn’t sure that anyone outside his family had ever so much as hugged him. The thought made him dizzy. “Thank you,” he managed to say.

“Don’t thank me. It’s basic decency.” You continued smiling at him. “Oh, we don’t have a time set. Does one work?”

“One is fine,” Wilbur replied. “I’m totally cool with one.”

“Sounds good. Saturday at one, then,” you said. “Be ready to film.”

“I’ll be ready,” Wilbur promised. He just hoped that it was a promise he could keep.

He spent the rest of the week panicking. He shoved himself into schoolwork, studying, finishing up the essay that you had distracted him from. On Saturday morning, he woke up, shaved, took a shower, blow-dried his hair and got dressed. He knew that the clothes would be coming off, but he tried to dress somewhat nice anyway. He figured that even his nicest jeans and a button-up would be fine. He kept reminding himself that a business encounter was all this interaction would be.

Around noon, he got a text from you:

Hey ;) ready to film?

He quickly replied.

Born ready. Send your address?

The next message contained your address. He took a deep breath, brushed his teeth (for the third time that day) and set off. He left his apartment, got into his car, and started driving.

He put on a playlist on the way there, one he had made containing music from your favorite bands. He kept constantly checking himself in the mirror to the point where he realized he would hit something if he didn’t stop. He was an absolute wreck of nerves.

He pulled into the apartment parking lot and got out of his car. He walked into the building, took the elevator…

And there was your door. He stepped toward it and hesitantly knocked three times. The wait was agonizing. He stood outside the door for a minute before you opened it.

“Sorry!” you said. “I was in the middle of getting the lighting set up. Come in!”

“No worries.” He followed you inside. Your apartment was immaculately clean, with enough decorations to add character without being overwhelming. He followed you down the short hallway to your bedroom.

Sure enough, it took a lot to keep himself calm the second he stepped through the door. The whole place smelled like you, and it was enough to make him lightheaded. He looked at the setup, and it was honestly impressive. You had a professional-level camera setup, multiple lights, and cameras at various angles. “This is…wow,” he said. “You know your shit.”

“I’m a professional.” You winked at him as you adjusted the angle on one of the cameras. “Okay, so…a bit unconventional, but we’re going to do a test of sorts to make sure that the angles on the cameras are correct. Is that alright?”

Wilbur shrugged. “As you said, you’re the professional. I’ll let you call the shots.” He had no idea what a “test” would entail, but he wasn’t about to question it. He stood off to the side, watching you as you worked. Your white tank top left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“Great.” You adjusted one of the lights, lowering it slightly. “What do you think? Too bright in here?”

Come to think of it, it was a little blinding. “Maybe a bit softer,” Wilbur suggested.

“Good idea.” You nodded in agreement and dimmed the lights. “Better?”

“Better.” Wilbur took a few deep breaths. “We good to go?”

“Good to go.” You sat on the bed, examining the angles from your sitting point, clearly trying to decide if they were any good. “Yeah, definitely good to go.”

“Okay, then.” Wilbur stood there awkwardly. “What, um, what do I do?”

“Like I said, I want to test the angles before we start actually filming.” Wilbur watched as you pressed record on all the cameras. “I figure we just experiment with a few positions, see how the camera captures it. You can stay dressed if you want—-like I said, this is just a test.”

“Alright,” Wilbur murmured. He sat on the bed and nearly froze when you cupped his cheek. His face was so close to yours that he could barely breathe.

“You still okay with this?” you asked, searching him for any sign of hesitation. He nodded. This was terrifying, but the thought of walking away was even scarier. “Good.” Mere seconds later, you pressed your lips to his.

It took him a second to kiss back, but once he started, he never wanted to stop. Your lips were soft against his, just testing the waters at first. He had no idea where to put his hands, but he didn’t have to think about it for long, as you quickly pushed him onto his back. He made a small noise as you got on top of him and continued kissing him.

Wilbur didn’t consider himself a good kisser. It wasn’t like he had much experience. The kisses became rushed and sloppy, and just as he started to settle into the rhythm, you were getting off of him and checking the camera footage. He sat there, dazed, as you made your way around the edge of the bed, checking what the cameras picked up. You were explaining something about the process, something about lighting and shadow and…whatever else, Wilbur wasn’t listening. He could still taste you, still feel your lips against his.

He only snapped back to reality when you approached the side of the bed again. “You still okay with the pegging thing?” you asked.

“Yes,” he breathed out. He could feel how hard he was, the slight friction against his jeans, but he didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. Who cared if this was just for work, just for content? He was about to have you, and having you in any capacity was better than not having you at all.

“Alright, then.” He watched as you opened a nearby dresser. “I have a couple things that you can choose from…” You pulled out a box and set it on the edge of the bed. He scooted closer as you opened it, his throat catching at the array of items. “These are all the toys I have that are compatible with the harness,” you explained. “I’d rather us not start filming until the main event, so to speak. We can get you all prepped before that.”

He nodded, breath catching in his throat. “Sounds good,” he choked out. He glanced over the collection of toys. Some of them were definitely too big for him, so he avoided them. His eyes finally landed on a pink dildo, just slightly bigger than the one he’d used in a recent clip. “That one, maybe?” He pointed.

“Good choice,” you said. “Just got this one.” You picked it out of the box and laid it on the bed. Wilbur’s eyes stayed on you as he watched you gather more stuff—-the strap-on harness, some lube, a buttplug. You went about it with the precision of a doctor gathering medical supplies. It was both hot and slightly unnerving.

“Do we have everything?” Wilbur asked. He shifted slightly, both to get comfortable and because it was difficult to sit still when he was so close to you.

“Yep! We’re set.” You sat back down on the bed close to him. He shuddered as you rested your hand on his thigh. “Still okay?”

“Still okay,” Wilbur confirmed. He closed his eyes as you leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you back, less sloppy this time, less desperate. He wanted to be able to contain himself, at least a little. He didn’t know what you’d think of him if he appeared too needy.

Your gentle hands pushed him backward, and he laid down on your soft mattress, eyes unfocused as he looked up at you. He pulled you in for another kiss, and whined as your tongue found his. The sound was pathetic in his mind, but it seemed to spur you on further. He gasped as you grinded against him. Even though it was only the tiniest bit of friction, it was one of the best things he’d ever felt. His hands wandered to your waist, sliding under your tank top. It was the boldest thing Wilbur had done so far, and he was more than pleased when you leaned further into his touch.

A moment later, your lips left his. He frowned for only a split second before realizing why. When he opened his eyes, your hands were brushing against his as you took off your tank top, leaving absolutely nothing underneath.

He stared. He couldn’t help it. He wanted so badly to touch all of it—-your stomach, your bare waist, your chest. It was almost too much. His cheeks went red as he heard you laugh softly. “Enjoying the view?” you teased.

“Oh! Um…sorry,” he said sheepishly. He forced his eyes upward, and when he did, he locked eyes with you. To his surprise, there was no sign of disgust or embarrassment on your face, only amusement. “You’re just gorgeous. Couldn’t help it.”

“Of course I am. How else would I have gotten this job?” You smirked down at him, and he managed to laugh despite his nerves. “In all seriousness,” you said, “thank you. You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

It was one of the more tame comments he’d gotten in recent times, but it was by far the best. “Thank you,” he replied, his voice coming out as a squeak. Before he could apologize for that, you were kissing him again. Your hands found the buttons of his shirt, and he helped you take it off without hesitation. His mind went blank as your hands wandered his skin, tracing the lines of his abdomen and chest. He returned the favor, letting his hands wander a little. He held back, not squeezing or grasping, just lightly touching.

You slid out of your shorts, and Wilbur fumbled with the button of his jeans. Once he undid that, you got his zipper for him. You lifted yourself up for a moment so that Wilbur could remove his jeans. He shivered as his bare skin met the cool air of your room, then frowned as you got off of him. “We should get you ready,” you said. He nodded, finally removing his boxers.

He let them fall to the side of the bed, leaving him completely exposed. He could feel how hot his cheeks were, but you didn’t seem to be judging him for it. In fact, you were focused instead on putting lube on your fingers, occasionally glancing at Wilbur. He shivered, parted his legs without you asking. He laid there for a moment, staring at your ceiling, trying to calm himself. He only had a moment before you were back, settled down beside him. “You ready?” he heard you ask. He could only nod in response.

He felt a finger press inside of him, and he sighed. His eyes closed, his lips parted, and he let himself revel in the feeling. For once, he had someone else’s fingers, someone else’s touch. Of course, only one finger wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a perfect start. He moaned quietly as you moved your finger in and out, slowly, almost teasingly. He spread his legs further for you, and you scooted closer. At one point, your finger curled just enough that it brushed against his prostate, and the moan that he let out was downright desperate. He clasped his hand over his mouth, only for you to move it away. “Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured. He couldn’t even process your words before you brushed his prostate again, and he nearly moaned even louder.

“More?” he questioned. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely…” You slid in another finger and he whined. It was then that a thought occurred to him.

When he used his own fingers or his own toys, he never properly prepped himself. Not ever. It always hurt a little bit, since for him, he was always doing it just for the camera. It made him realize how much he neglected himself when it came to his job, never truly considering his own boundaries or what felt good to him. And yet, here you were, and it didn’t hurt with you at all. Even though this was just for work, just for content, you were being more considerate and gentle with him than he was with himself. He made a mental note to thank you later.

In the meantime, your fingers curled against his prostate, and he let himself moan and whine, gripping at the sheets and breathing heavily. He let his mind go empty, let himself fully relax, let himself be yours even if only for a moment in time. He felt it as you switched between brushing against his prostate and prepping his hole, gently stretching your fingers to spread him a little wider each time. “This feel okay?” you asked.

Wilbur nodded, unable to speak properly. You continued your movements, and Wilbur continued his moans. Your fingers were gone all too soon. Wilbur gasped a few times and forced his hazy vision to focus. “All good?” he asked, a little concerned. He watched as you wiped your hand off with a wet wipe before tossing the wipe in a bedside trash can.

“All good,” you replied. “You feeling ready? I grabbed a plug just in case you wanted to use that for more prep, but if you’re feeling good, I say we go for it.”

“I’m good to just go for it,” Wilbur said. To his surprise, his voice was a lot more steady than it had been. Something about your presence was calming, even in a situation like this that Wilbur had no experience with. He watched as you got the harness ready and strapped it on. Okay, maybe the dildo was a little bigger than he’d originally thought, but he would be fine. He hoped. “Thank you for, um, helping me get ready.”

“Why wouldn’t I help? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” you said. You finished putting on the harness before coating the strap in more lube than was probably necessary, just for good measure. “The nice thing about not working for some big porn company is that we get to do things in our own time. We’re not rushing to fit some director’s schedule.”

Wilbur nodded. “Right.” He’d heard varying things about being in professional pornos from various people in the industry. Experiences ranged from incredibly negative to incredibly positive, depending on the company, the director and any number of other factors. Wilbur was grateful to be making enough money on his own to make this venture worth his while. It was nice not having to risk mistreatment. “Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched as you pressed “record” on each of the cameras. You turned back to him, your expression focused, methodical. “Ready?”

Wilbur nodded. “Ready. Um…safeword?” He definitely didn’t plan on using it, but it was always better to be safe.

“Is the stoplight system good with you?” Wilbur nodded. He’d never used it, but he knew what it was. “Perfect,” you replied. “Let’s get this show on the road, then.” You smirked, and Wilbur grinned back. All the nerves were gone, replaced with excitement and focus. The cameras were rolling. Time to put on a show.

Wilbur wiggled his hips slightly, getting comfortable as well as a bit closer to you. He glanced at one of the cameras and shifted a little so that it would catch his facial expressions better. His eyes quickly went back to you. He felt your hands on his thighs. “You gonna be good for me?” you asked, your voice a little louder than it had been earlier. He figured it was just for the cameras.

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said, slightly exaggerating the tremble in his voice. From the look in your eyes, you approved. “I-I’ll be good for you. I’ll be a good boy, I promise.”

“Yeah?” Your hands ran up and down his thighs, causing him to tremble and shiver. “Then be a good boy, and tell me what you want.”

“I want…I want you to fuck me,” he said. He realized then that he was being too quiet for the cameras to pick up, but thankfully, you saved the scene.

“A little louder, sweetheart. I couldn’t hear you.”

“Fuck me,” Wilbur said, a little louder. “Please.” Despite the fact that it was just an act, he knew that the way you called him sweetheart would be playing on repeat in his head for weeks to come, if not months. His obsession was certainly deep enough for that.

“Good boy.” He felt the tip of the strap press into him, and he gasped. “Aw, already too much?” You asked teasingly.

He shook his head frantically. “No. Not—-not enough. Need more. Please…” He tried to scoot closer to you, to get more, but you shook your head.

“You only get what I give you. Understood?” He nodded. “Good boy.” You continued pressing the strap into him, painfully slow, giving him a chance to adjust to the size of it.

He whined, trying not to arch his back or move too much. Instead, his hands gripped at the sheets. He tilted his head to the side a little bit, right in the view of the camera to show off his face contorted with pleasure. His viewers always liked that; he figured that yours might as well. “Fuck,” he gasped out. “You’re so…so big…”

“Too much for you? Or are you gonna be good and take it?” You pushed the rest of the way in, and despite feeling fuller than he’d ever felt, not an ounce of pain came with it. Wilbur was grateful for that.

“I can be good,” Wilbur promised. “I can take it. I swear I can be good and take it.” He whined as you shifted your hips a little, and his hands went to grasp at your back. “Please. Please start moving. I need—-I need you.” Not even Wilbur could tell at this point where the genuinity ended and the act began.

You grinned. “You’ve been good so far. I feel like you’ve earned a reward.” You started shifting your hips, slow but deep thrusts that had him reeling. You weren’t quite getting his prostate, and he suspected that it was on purpose, you wanting to draw this out longer for the cameras.

Wilbur tilted his head back slightly. His eyes fell half-closed, and he peeked out at you from beneath his lashes. He let his lips remain parted. He suppressed his moans, opting instead for gasps and grunts. It would make better content, he figured, if he could start small and build up to it. It was taking a lot of effort to hold back.

“More?” he asked meekly, trying to make his voice loud enough for the cameras, yet quiet enough to keep up the submissive appearance. Although, he supposed it was more than an appearance. With some time, practice and confidence, maybe he’d be able to play a different role. For now, this is what it was. His body trembled slightly with the nerves and the sensations.

“Hm? What was that?” Your movements slowed down a little, much to Wilbur’s dismay. “Did you just ask something of me without saying please?” You leaned down, your face hovering inches from his. “You remember when I told you that you only get what I give you, right?”

“Y-yes,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good.” He sighed as you ruffled his hair, his brown eyes wide and gazing up at you full of desperation. “I promise.”

“Then say please,” you replied. “You can say please, can’t you, baby?”

Wilbur nods, a sharp, jerky movement. “C-can I please have more?” he asks.

“More what?” you asked innocently. Your hips continued rocking back and forth, so languidly that it was frustrating. “What do you want, sweetheart? Use your words.”

“I-I want it harder,” Wilbur replied. “F-faster. Please? Please, I need it.” With every passing moment, Wilbur became less and less aware of the cameras picking up his every move. If he focused hard enough, he could pretend that this wasn’t all an act. It was a dangerous game, pretending that way, but as time passed, he cared less and less.

“I guess I can give you what you want,” you said nonchalantly. “If you promise to be good.” Your movements picked up speed, hips thrusting slightly faster but just as shallowly. You weren’t thrusting all the way to the hilt, but Wilbur did his best to be patient despite wanting it desperately.

“I promise,” he panted out. “Please. I’ll be good.”

“Good boy,” you cooed. Wilbur felt a shiver go down his spine, and his shivers immediately turned to gasps as your thrusts got harder, faster, more forceful. He tried to tilt his hips a little, make you brush against his prostate, but you refused to comply, still avoiding the spot entirely. He let out a whine, high-pitched and needy. It was almost embarrassing, but based on the way you only smirked wider and picked up the pace, it was clear that you weren’t about to judge him for it.

Wilbur let himself get a little louder. He was tempted to cup your face, to run his fingers gently along your sides. He almost did before remembering that this wasn’t real. You didn’t love him. This was just sex. His second time ever, with someone he’d been crushing on obsessively, and none of it was even real. Despite how good he felt physically, he started to feel like shit mentally. The thoughts combined with your movements caused him to tear up a little bit, much to his embarrassment. He felt his eyes burn a little, and he glanced away from your face, trying to hide it.

It was no use. You saw. “Color?” you asked softly, too quiet for the cameras to pick up properly. Your eyes held a somewhat concerned expression. Immediately, Wilbur felt bad for upsetting you.

“Green,” he replied easily. “I’m okay. Promise.” He even managed a small smile.

You nodded, the worry slowly melting from your face. He moaned as your movements picked up speed again, and then whined as you finally, finally, hit his prostate. His moans got increasingly loud as you continued hitting that spot with every thrust of your hips, burying yourself inside of him to the hilt of your strap. He looked down between his legs as best he could, watching you move in and out of him. He could only look for a moment before having to tilt his head back and whine once again.

“Look at you,” you cooed. “So desperate for my cock, huh?”

“Y-yes.” Wilbur gripped the sheets with one hand and your shoulder with the other. “Please, please, please don’t stop.” His voice came out sounding whiny and pathetic, wobbling with every word.

“You’re doing so good,” you replied. “Taking me so well.” Wilbur moaned once more as you gripped his hips, using the hold as leverage to help you thrust harder.

He could feel himself getting close. He noticed how much pre-cum he was leaking, small drops of it dripping down his cock. “S-so close,” he whined. His hand subconsciously went to his length, but you quickly pulled his hand away.

“Not without my permission,” you chided him. He gasped as you continued your movements.

“Please,” he said desperately. “Please, I need…fuck, I need you to touch me. Please.”

You grinned and wrapped a hand around his cock, slowly pumping him up and down. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan. After just a few movements of your hand, his hips were twitching. He let out a series of swears and pleas, his words nearly incoherent as he finished, cum coating your hand and his stomach. You murmured soft words of praise, but he could barely register them.

His vision was hazy as you stopped moving. He gasped for air, panting. He felt numb and overstimulated all at once. His hand that was gripping the sheets slowly loosened its grip, and he let his hand fall from your side. “Thank you,” he murmured. His throat felt scratchy and dry.

“You were such a good boy,” you said, running a hand down his hip to his thigh. You pulled out, and he gasped at the feeling. You leaned in close to him, your faces inches apart. “We’ll have to do this again sometime, yeah?” He nodded eagerly before you pulled away.

He watched as you turned off the cameras, and he finally let himself relax, laying down fully on the bed. His gaze went from you to the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He needed a break, a few moments to collect himself, to come back to reality. His eyes still burned, and he let a few tears escape down his cheeks. How could something so pleasurable also be so painful?

He laid there for a few moments, taking deep breaths and trying to calm himself. He closed his eyes, trying to will the tears away. He couldn’t get over the thought that this wasn’t enough, that he needed more of you, and he needed it to be real. It was as if all his years of loneliness were catching up to him at once. Every night that he wished someone would hold him, every day that he’d spent pining after people who would never love him back…not to mention the constant self-loathing that came from the small amount of self awareness that he had, the awareness that he was a creep who nobody could ever love.

Wilbur heard you as you took off the harness before walking over to his side. “You alright?” you asked. Your voice was soft, concerned. “Was I too rough with you? Do you want some water, or maybe something to eat?”

Wilbur opened his eyes and sat up a bit. “Um…water would be good. And no, you weren’t too rough with me.” He wiped his tears off his cheeks and managed a smile. “You were a lot less rough with me than I am with myself, honestly.”

You grinned back at him. “Okay, I’ll get you some water. If you want to clean yourself up, the bathroom is to the right of the entrance to my room. There are washcloths in the drawer under the sink.”

“Thanks,” he said. Some warm water to help wipe the sweat off him sounded almost magical. “I’ll go do that.” He slowly got off the bed, feeling a little shaky. Your kindness and the sweet sound of your voice had taken away some of his pain, but the loneliness lingered in his mind like an ever-present itch that he couldn’t reach the source of.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you called after him. He went into the bathroom and closed the door.

He used the bathroom, cleaned himself up, and was about to head back to your room when something caught his eye. You had a laundry hamper in the bathroom, and on top of the pile of laundry, nearly blended in with the surrounding fabric, was a pair of black underwear.

He immediately beat himself up for even thinking about taking it…but god, it was tempting. He would have something of you always, something you’d touched. More than just touched. He could keep it in his room, with his things, a little souvenir.

The only other souvenir he’d ever kept was from the girl he was obsessed with in high school. She had once torn out a page of notes and dropped them in the trash can, and he had fished it out and kept it. Of course, he’d thrown it out after she’d called him out for being a creep.

Never had he had something like this. But he quickly realized that, even if he wanted to, he couldn’t take it. He was naked, so it wasn’t like there was a pocket to hide it in.

He pushed away the disappointment and left the bathroom. It was better this way, better that he not have the opportunity to do what he wanted. Despite knowing that it was for the best, he couldn’t help but feel upset by it.

He re-entered your room, where you were sitting on the bed. You’d changed out the duvet, and there was a glass of water on the nightstand for him. You were dressed again in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and he felt more exposed than ever. You turned when you heard him enter, and immediately, he was given a smile. “Feeling better?”

Wilbur nodded and smiled back. “Much better, thanks.” He glanced around and saw his clothing on the floor. “I’m just gonna…”

Your eyes flitted to the pile of his clothes. “Right. Good idea.” You then glanced at the dresser in the corner of your room. “Hold on, I have something you can wear instead of that uncomfortable button-up you were wearing.”

Wilbur was about to protest and say that the button-up was fine (despite the fact that it was cheap and a little itchy in reality), but he quickly shut his mouth and worked on getting his jeans and boxers on. If you had something for him to wear, something that was yours, that would be a dream come true. He watched you as you shuffled through a drawer.

“Here it is,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. He saw as you picked up a t-shirt, one that was definitely too big for you. “I have this extra shirt. I accidentally ordered a few sizes too big, so you can have it if you want.” You tossed it over to Wilbur, and he caught it.

It was a band t-shirt. Wilbur recognized the band as one of your favorites. “Are you sure?” he asked. The material was soft in his hands, and Wilbur swore that it smelled like you.

“Yeah, I’m never going to wear it. It’s yours.”

Wilbur held it like it was precious. He examined it before sliding it on. It fit him well, not too loose but not too tight. He looked over at you and immediately noticed that you were looking right back at him. “It fits really well,” Wilbur said. “Thank you. This is much better than my other shirt.”

“No kidding,” you replied. “That thing felt like it was awful to wear.” You paused. “Plus, you look good in it.”

Wilbur could hardly believe it. You had complimented his appearance twice. In one day. “Thanks,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “I, um, appreciate it.” He reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and sat down in order to steady himself. He took a sip, immediately feeling refreshed. He hadn’t realized how dry his throat felt.

“Anytime.” You sat beside him on the bed. “Can I…ask you something serious?”

Wilbur put down the glass and turned his full attention to you. He saw the slight concern in your expression, and his small smile quickly faded. “Sure. What’s up?”

You tilted your head slightly as you looked at him. “Are you okay? I know that you said you were alright, but you seem a little shaken up still. I’m just a bit worried.”

He sighed, trying to figure out what to say. On the one hand, he could be honest. At least, a little bit honest. You didn’t need to know the full truth. On the other hand, he could insist that he was fine. He worked through the options in his mind, and settled on a half-truth.

“I, uh, have never been pegged before,” he said. “This was my first time. I think I just got a little overwhelmed is all.” He paused, and when he saw your expression grow more concerned, quickly added, “But I’m fine! Really, you were great. You didn’t do anything wrong, and it was a good first time. A great first time.” He could feel his cheeks get slightly hot, but he did his best to stay relaxed.

You looked surprised, your eyes slightly wide. “You…you got pegged for the first time, just now, on camera?” You shook your head, a barely noticeable movement. “That’s…brave. I’ve never done something for the first time on camera.”

“Yeah…yeah, I probably should’ve prepared beforehand,” Wilbur said. “But I just figured…it’s not like I’ve never done anything anal on my own. I figured it would be fine, and it was.”

“But you looked upset,” you said.

“Just overwhelmed,” Wilbur replied. “I promise it’s okay.” The last thing he wanted to do was deter you by making you feel bad. Besides, it really wasn’t your fault.

“Wilbur…” You looked away, pausing as if considering what to say. “Allison showed me a short clip the other day of that video you two filmed, and…and I don’t know if it was just an act, but I got the feeling that you were very new to what you were doing.” You looked back at him, and he felt the intense desire to disappear, to change the subject, because how could he admit how little experience he had without being intensely embarrassed? “Was that…did you ever have sex before that?”

Once again, Wilbur had the choice between honesty or a lie. Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he wanted to try for more with you—more than just friendship, and definitely more than business partners. The terrifying thing was this: if he wanted that, truly wanted that, then he would have to be honest with you at some point.

“...No,” Wilbur said, barely audible. He avoided eye contact. “I was, um, too nervous to tell her that it was my first time. I wanted to do a collab, so I just didn’t say anything.” He fidgeted with his fingers, trying to distract himself. “I…maybe I was wrong to do that. I don’t know. I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just didn’t want to wait around for things to happen for real, because I need the money now, not later, and…and it didn’t seem like anything was going to happen anytime soon, so…” He shrugged, hoping that the explanation was enough.

“And…and was it good?” you asked. “Like, was it a good first time for you? Did you enjoy it?”

Wilbur thought back to it. Allison was nice, sure. She was amenable, very understanding when it came to the fact that Wilbur was new in the industry. And yeah, Wilbur had finished that first time with her, but when he really thought about it, he couldn’t say it was enjoyable. It wasn’t enjoyable, being with somebody he had no connection with. It wasn’t enjoyable knowing that this incredibly vulnerable moment of his life was being livestreamed in real time, and it definitely wasn’t enjoyable that his first time was done for profit rather than for the experience, for the fun.

“I mean, does anyone enjoy their first times?” Wilbur managed to dodge the question, but his eyes still didn’t meet yours.

“Yeah! Well…I don’t know. They’re generally not good in the sense of being physically pleasurable, but they don’t have to be awful,” you said. “I just…I can’t imagine doing that in front of a camera, streamed live like that. And it sounds to me like you did it because you didn’t feel like you had any other choice.”

Wilbur finally looked up at you, scared of a reprimand, scared of your judgment. But all he saw in your expression was worry and kindness. “I…I’ve just never really had the opportunity,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been in a proper relationship. I kissed a girl, like, once in high school, but that was it. And then not again until Allison. I just wanted to get it over with, to feel…I don’t know. Normal, I guess. Desirable. Like…like someone wanted me.”

The second the words came out, Wilbur was mortified. He’d never told anyone any of this, and the fact that he’d told you of all people, the second time he’d ever spoken to you in person, made him wish he could turn back time and erase this entire conversation.

He felt you gently take his hand. “I’m sorry,” you said, “that things didn’t turn out the way you would have liked.”

Wilbur looked down at his hand, gently wrapped in yours, and he gave it a small squeeze. “It’s okay,” he said. “It wasn’t awful.”

“Still,” you said. “It sucks.”

“It does suck.” He watched as you let go of his hand, hiding his disappointment. “Anyway, um…I’m sorry to unload all that on you,” he said, his self awareness returning to him.

“It’s fine, Wil. We’re friends, and I wouldn't have said what I said if I wasn’t prepared for a response,” you said. “Really, it’s okay.”

He could hear the softness in your voice, the hint of concern. It nearly made him cry again, just knowing that somebody cared about him at all. “Thank you,” he said. “I…I really appreciate it.” The words felt so tame in comparison to what he wanted to say, but all the words he could think of seemed too much. He couldn’t believe that you’d referred to him as a friend, that you wanted to continue associating with him. It seemed too good to be true.

One thing was certain: it would take a lot of willpower to make this obsession go away, and Wilbur wasn’t sure he had it in him to let you go.

To Wilbur’s absolute delight, his time with you didn’t end there. After filming, he stayed for dinner. He ate pizza with you on your couch, watching a cheesy 80s movie and making fun of the special effects. Admittedly, he watched you far more than he watched the film, and he felt shivers every time you looked his way.

Over the course of the next week, he messaged you every day. Sometimes, it was because he messaged first, and other times, you were the one to reach out. He forced himself to exercise some restraint, to not be too eager. You made it difficult. Many of the texts were about the video, you giving Wilbur updates on the editing progress. At the end of the week, it went live. Wilbur was notified by your message:

Done! Let’s see how this goes

Wilbur grinned, swallowing back all the anxiety that he felt. What if it was bad? What if people didn’t like it? What if his inexperience showed on camera?

He shoved it all down and sent a reply.

Sweet

After a moment, he was struck both by how boring his last message was and how great of an opportunity this presented him with.

Want to celebrate tonight? Drinks on me?

He waited anxiously for a reply. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed with no response, until finally, your name appeared on his screen.

How about that bar a block from my place? You know the one?

Wilbur did, in fact, know the one. He’d passed it on the drive to your apartment.

I know it. Send the address and I’ll be there

Eight?

He smiled.

Eight sounds perfect :)

Once again, he couldn’t believe his luck. He took a shower, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. He left early to make sure that he was there in time and that you wouldn’t be stuck waiting for him. The cab ride to the bar felt like it took a million years, and when he got there, you were sitting at the bar waiting for him.

The bar was packed. There was music blasting over the speakers, some pop song that Wilbur couldn’t place, though he’d heard it over the radio a million times. He sat beside you at the bar. “Hey!” he said, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

You greeted him with equal enthusiasm. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” he said, grinning. He could already feel his cheeks get warm, although whether it was from the crowded bar or his proximity to you, he couldn’t tell. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

“Only about five minutes,” you replied. “But I got here early. Still waiting for the bartender.”

“Perfect.” Wilbur glanced at his surroundings. The scene reminded him of when he’d first met you. It was hard to believe that it had been less than a month. “Is the video doing well?” It was too early to draw many conclusions, of course, but he was curious.

“Holy shit, you have no idea,” you said, grinning. “People love the video. Already, I’m getting messages asking for more of it.” You seemed proud of yourself, and Wilbur couldn’t blame you. You’d done most of the work, after all.

He could feel his heart pounding. People loved it, which meant that you would probably want to do it again. More time spent with you, more excuses to see you…it all sounded perfect. “So when is part two?” Wilbur asks. “If people love it, I mean…we should probably get to filming more material, right?”

Your smile faltered, and his heart immediately sank. Of course. Of course it was all too good to be true, too perfect to be real. He should have known better. When you finally spoke, Wilbur was already bracing himself for rejection. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said. Before Wilbur could say anything, you continued. “Not because I don’t like you, okay? I…I won’t lie, it was fun. I’m just…”

“You can be honest,” Wilbur said, so quietly that he could barely be heard over the sounds of chatter and music. “If you don’t like me and don’t want to do it again, that’s okay. I get it.” He knew that he sounded pathetic and self-deprecating, but he had no clue what else to say.

“Wil, I just said that it wasn’t because I don’t like you,” you said. “Please take my word for it.” Wilbur nodded, slightly embarrassed. “The reason I don’t want to film more is because I’m a little worried about you.”

Oh. In a way, that was a relief to hear. It meant that you didn’t dislike him. On the other hand, he was terrified. Did you see him as pathetic? He wouldn’t blame you, but it was still a blow to his ego. “...Why?” he finally asked.

“I just…” You sighed. “You were literally crying, Wil. It was concerning. And I’m not saying that you did anything wrong, because you didn’t, I just think that…” You laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Fuck, I don’t know how to phrase this without sounding insensitive.”

Wilbur froze. You were going to call him a creep, pathetic, a loser. He just knew it. “Just say it,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You have some things to sort out,” you said finally. “This type of job can ruin you if you don’t have the self-esteem to handle it. I’ve seen it before. People go into it feeling like shit about themselves, and then all the validation they get is purely sexual, and it fucks with them when they don’t get that validation anymore. It can be hard to separate your sense of self from your sex appeal, you know? But you have to.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. That was somehow worse than anything he’d anticipated you saying. He wasn’t a creep in your eyes, maybe, but he was broken. He had low self-esteem. You saw him as something to be pitied, and that was a hard pill to swallow. He kept opening his mouth to speak, only to close it again. He finally gave up. “Okay,” he said finally. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

You went quiet. It was only until the bartender showed up that you spoke again, ordering some drink that Wilbur couldn’t make out the name of due to being lost in his own thoughts. When you asked him what he wanted, he replied with water. He didn’t feel like drinking anymore.

After the bartender left, Wilbur felt your eyes on him. “Yeah?” he questioned. “What?”

“Did you actually listen to what I said?”

“What? Yeah, of course I did.”

“Wilbur…”

“I get it,” Wilbur said quickly. “I know that I’m…that I’ve based my whole life around this, and I know that it’s concerning, and I get it. But what else am I supposed to do?”

“Take a break,” you suggested.

“I need the money.”

“Okay, well, go back to solo content for a bit. Because I think you need a moment to think things through.”

It didn’t sound so bad, actually, going back to doing things alone for a while. As long as he still had you in some capacity, maybe it would turn out okay. “Alright,” he said. “I could do that.”

“Good.” You thanked the bartender as he handed you your drink before turning back to Wilbur. “I think it would be good for you.”

“Probably,” he admitted. He sipped his water, trying to enjoy your presence despite the war of emotions he had going on. It took him a moment for him to ask the question that he wanted to ask. “...Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“No,” you replied immediately. “I just think you need some time off.”

He accepted the answer, but there was one more thing he needed to ask. “I’m sorry if this is…weird,” he said carefully. “But I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime. Like, a proper date, not…”

“An amateur porn filming session?”

“Right. That.” Wilbur felt his hands trembling. “Um…we could go out to dinner sometime. Wherever you want.” He felt dizzy, his breathing shallow and his heart pounding way too fast. “If you want to.”

You took an agonizingly slow sip of your drink. “I’d like that,” you said finally. You smiled at him, and it was like everything falling into place. Wilbur could breathe. You hadn’t rejected him.

And soon enough, he would have you, one way or another.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot smut #wilbur soot x reader smut #simpbur #saccharine writes

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ninawolv3rina · 5 days ago

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Some Laz design work! All of this is stuff I KNOW will appear in the book - except for the modern AU lmao. Some design notes under the cut!

OC: Laz Atwater (he/they)

DESIGN NOTES: OUTFITS

These have changed a lot since his original design (shown below)

One thing that I’ve not only kept but expanded on is their skirt! I really like the skirt. Idk why but it fits him best, and in the time between this first ref and the newest one, it’s by far the one I’ve drawn them in the most. Usually without a shirt, which leads me to the next note—

I’ve added a little more practicality to his lore, including the idea that he mends his own clothes! This is most evident with his shirt and pants, but Laz’s clothes are pretty consistently getting torn to shreds and he doesn’t have the money to constantly be buying new clothes, so I figure that just makes sense. I love the look it lends to him as a bonus.

As for the demonias. Those are impractical and i don’t care, they look great on him.

I changed the party guest outfit from blue to pink because i realized my design was pretty much wholesale ripping off Dan Stevens’ ballroom outfit from the live action beauty and the beast, oops. Also, this color scheme gives him a mirrored scheme to Sophrina, who will wear blue and have a pale pink wig (her hair is red underneath it, too. God i need to draw her…)

Also sidewinder is thicc in this new ref, i don’t think that’s permanent. I actually think I’m going to draw it both thick and thin in the future, depending on the piece! In the text it’s definitely closer to a realistic greatsword but sometimes I’m just going to want to draw a huge anime sword and i don’t want to change that about myself.

DESIGN NOTES: HAIR

While the long hair is still probably the one I’ll draw the most and how i see him in my head, all 5 of these looks appear in the text, and everything in between! Laz has his head shaved for surgical reasons pretty frequently, so he’s pretty much given up on caring about his hair one way or another. He lets it grow until it hits the length i typically draw it, then keeps it trimmed, but if something happens that cuts it shorter he doesn’t pay it much mind. All of these styles are inspired by cuts I wanted to have when i was a teen in the 2000s/2010s lmao. Specifically, his very short fuzzy buzz cut is inspired by Chester Bennington of Linkin Park, someone who inspired me a lot as a kid.

I want to draw him with the shaggy cut more. Since I added the hair to his bases, I was able to play around with the outfits and combinations.

Anyway, I love Laz and I have a lot of fun with him! they’ve evolved a lot since their initial concept and i fall more in love with them every time i draw them.

#my art #my characters #also you can draw this guy for artfight… if you want to… he’s one of the characters i have up :3 #Laz Atwater #laz #in perpetuum #he’s everything to me honestly #character design #art #oc art

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sparklypinkflightsuit · 1 month ago

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Bleeding Hearts: Part 8

Vince Schneider x Reader

A Romeo & Juliet + Scream AU

Warnings: Smut, Angst, a lot of Swearing, Alcohol and Violence, Sexual Assault, Murder, a very dark fic from the darkest corners of my mind.

- Part 7 Here -

A very dark chapter

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18+ Only!!

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Your palms were sweating as you clasped your hands on your lap under the table.

Ronson’s eyes raked over your exposed skin without even trying to hide it as he blabbered on seemingly endlessly about a game of golf he’d played the weekend before and how his wife’s cooking wasn’t up to par.

In truth, you were relieved he wouldn’t let you get a word in edgewise, because he had nothing to say. You wanted the night to be over as quickly as possible, and your mind kept flitting back to Vince and whether he’d somehow found out about where you were.

As desperately as you wanted this night to be done, you knew it had to be done right in order to get Vince off scotch free, but the longer you sat and listened, the more anxious you became about what that would entail.

“Anyway, so I told her she needs to start over if she burns the casserole, and she had the gall to tell me that I could cook it myself if I wasn’t happy!” He was 3 whiskeys deep and beginning to get brazen and loud. “Can you believe that? Ungrateful, is what it is.”

“Mhmmm.” You forced a half arsed smile and nodded, your pasta growing cold as you pushed it around your plate.

“Not hungry?” He noted as he stabbed a potato with his fork and shoved it in his mouth.

“I had a late lunch.” You lied.

Ronson smirked, swigging some more whiskey to wash down the starchy lump in his mouth.

“Maybe we should skip straight to dessert.” He was eye fucking you so openly you felt embarrassed for anyone watching.

“I shouldn’t get dessert if I don’t finish my dinner.” You joked halfheartedly.

“That’s not that kind of dessert I was talking about.” He breathed as he leaned across the table, grabbing your hand.

You swallowed heavily, wanting to pull away but not wanting to upset him.

“I dunno, that’s awful forward for a first date.”

“Well, it just depends on how badly you want your boyfriend to be a free man.”

You clenched your jaw, steeling yourself.

“What exactly do I need to do tonight for you to honour that?”

Ronson smirked, turning your palm over and drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“Make it worth my time. Worth me turning a blind eye.”

You took a deep breath and straightened in your seat, pulling your hands back into your lap.

“He’s already on the news, how will you make that go away?”

Ronson shrugged, digging back into his food.

“Probably blame it on an on-duty officer, say they let him out and made up a story to make him look bad, I have dirt on a few of them. They’ll get a slap on the wrist at most so they won’t say shit.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of this man having so much influence on the law enforcement in this town.

You gulped and cleared your throat. “And then… we’ll be even? Nothing more?”

Ronson quipped an eyebrow, grinning across the table. “Like I said, make it worth my time and yes, we’ll be even.”

You left the restaurant, shivering but not from the cold. Your teeth clenched as Ronson’s hand found your lower back and lead you to his car.

“I drove here-“ you started but he shook his head.

“Relax, I’ll drop you back here after.”

You were the furthest thing from relaxed as he buckled you into his passenger seat and slid in next to you, the engine roaring to life as his smug face held onto that sickening grin and he pulled away from the restaurant.

In the alleyway opposite the restaurant, Noah stalked out of the shadows after taking a leak, and his eyes followed Ronson’s car as it pulled down the road.

He pulled out his phone and dialled, waiting for the line to click.

“The fuck do you want?” Vince’s voice rang tinny from the speaker.

“Uh… just thought you’d wanna know… I just saw your ol’ lady getting in a car with some guy, but I guess you don’t need me to tell you-“

“Wait, wait, what did you say?” Vince’s voice crackled into the quiet alley.

Noah’s lips quipped up in a cocky grin.

“Yeah your pretty little girlfriend’s just got in some guys car and they’re leaving Alfonso’s.”

“The fuck?” Vince breathed, “That’s not like Sunny, you sure it was her?”

“I don’t forget a pretty face, boss.”

“Follow them.”

——————————Ronson pulled up outside a grotty motel and told you to wait in the car.

He walked in and you took a moment to collect yourself. What the fuck were you doing?

You considered getting out and legging it down the road until you found someone to take you back to your car, but then where did that leave Vince in this whole situation?

If you did whatever Ronson was planning tonight, would Vince ever forgive you if he found out?

Would you be able to keep this a secret?

You felt dirty, like you wanted to peel your skin off and crawl into yourself, but before you had a second to overthink things even more, Ronson was walking back to the car and opened the passenger door.

He had a room key in one hand and he grabbed your hand with his other.

“Come on, room 5.” He said with a sparkle in his eye.

Fuck. This was it, no turning back now.

You followed Ronson into the room and the stench of stale cigarettes and urine filled your nostrils. It was grottier than you had expected, and part of you was repulsed by the fact he hadn’t at least forked out for a nicer motel.

You were clearly just a transaction to him, a means to a happy ending… for him.

Ronson closed the door and began to shimmy off his jacket, and he signalled to the bed.

You walked over and sat at the foot of the bed anxiously, crossing your legs.

“Don’t look so stiff.” He said, walking over and rolling his shirt sleeves up just above his elbows.

You didn’t move, you couldn’t.

Ronson stood in front of you and bent down so his face was inches from yours and he placed his hands on either side of you, forcing you backwards.

“Loosen up.” He instructed, and you nodded hesitantly. You uncrossed your legs and took a deep breath, propping yourself up on your elbows as Ronson stood and walked to the other end of the room, drawing the curtains.

He loosened his tie and kicked off his shoes, and your heart raced with the looming dread that you were getting closer and closer to being defiled by this man, and you couldn’t even say it was fully willingly or unwillingly, because it was somehow both given the circumstances you’d found yourself in.

The idea of being with him made you sick, but the idea of Vince being locked away forever made you want to die.

Ronson crawled up the bed until he hovered over you and you were forced to lay on your back, looking up at the man you were quickly realising you hated.

His lips brushed over your ear and he whispered “I’ve been waiting all night for those plush lips to wrap around my cock.”

You thought you were going to be sick, but you clenched your jaw and his lips closed around your earlobe.

He trailed them down your jaw and up to your lips, thrusting his tongue in your mouth and you forced yourself to allow him in, trying with all your might not to clamp down and bite his tongue off.

Ronson pressed his quickly growing bulge against you and ground his hips, a series of grunts and curses falling from his lips.

“Touch me.” He instructed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

“I said fucking touch me.” He growled, grasping your wrist and thrusting your hand in between your bodies as you yelped.

He moved your arm until you moved on your own, rubbing his cock over his pants.

Your eyes screwed shut as he grunted into your

ear, “Oh yeah, that’s it. Can’t wait to see those tiny little hands wrapped around me.”

His lips moved to your neck and he proceeded to leave sloppy kisses down to your collar bone as you forced away the tears you felt brimming.

That was until his hand found your breast and he squeezed hard enough to leave a mark and you yelped, kneeing him in his crotch by mistake.

Ronson cursed and the back of his hand slapped across your face.

“Fucking bitch! You think you’re funny?”

He’d turned a shade of dark red as he grabbed a fist full of your hair and dragged you to the end of the bed onto your knees, and all you could do was cry out in pain.

With one hand still tangled in your hair, the other worked to unzip his pants and he freed himself from the constraints of his boxers.

“Now you’re gonna make up for that. I want you to take me, all the way.”

You tried to pull away, you didn’t want this anymore, you never did, and the sight of his cock in front of you made your stomach heave.

“No, I don’t wanna do this. Let me go.” You whimpered, your hands desperately trying to uncurl his fingers from your hair.

“It’s too fucking late to back out now.” He gripped your hair tighter and pulled you towards him, but your hands shot out and delivered another painful blow to his now exposed nether region.

Ronson gasped and doubled over, letting go of you briefly enough for you to fall off the bed and

stumble for the door.

Just before you could reach it, another hand shot out and tangled in your hair, yanking you into him so your back pressed up against his chest.

“Fuck you, you fucking cow. I don’t think I feel kind enough to honour our agreement anymore.” He grunted in your ear, as one of his beefy hands hiked your dress up.

“Get off of me!” You tried to fight him off, kicking and punching back at him as hard as you could, but with one skilled foot to your ankles and you were on your stomach on the floor, arms pinned under your chest as his weight landed on top of you.

“You’re gonna fucking regret this.” He grunted, tearing your panties off of you.

You screamed so loud you were sure you’d lose your voice, and Ronson stopped for a second.

You thought your screaming had done it, but when you looked up you were surprised to see two sets of boots in your line of vision in the open door, and when you craned your neck to see who it was, you let out a whimper.

One of part relief and part Oh Fuck.

Vince and Noah stood with scowls in the doorframe which now hung teetering on its hinges, and you wondered how loud your scream must have been to have drowned that noise out, but the next sound was so unmistakable and sickening it almost made you wish you were deaf, as Vince’s boot lifted in the air and he kicked Ronson square in the jaw, sending him flying off of you.

The crunch of his neck made you scream as you scrambled back on the floor and Noah bent down to help you up.

You watched as Vince walked over in a red haze to Ronson’s convulsing body, and his boot stamped down sickeningly on his head, over and over and over.

You watched in horror as the man who’d just attacked you lay in a bloody pool on the floor, and it was too much for your stomach to handle.

You threw up on the sticky carpet at Noah’s feet, and finally Vince turned to acknowledge you, panting and eyes dark.

Your eyes met his, and he softened considerably, but it was quickly replaced by anger of a different kind.

“Don’t you… ever fucking do something like that for me again.” He panted breathlessly.

“What… I…” you shook so hard you couldn’t get the words out.

“I called Rachel on the way over here, she told me.” His jaw was set as he stepped closer. Noah was at your back and you felt caged in.

“I need you to promise me, you’ll never do anything this fucking stupid again.” He was furious, his jaw ticking as he blinked rapidly, his tell that he was mad.

“I had it handled.” You gritted out, “He was going to let you go scotch free if I-“

“You clearly didn’t have it fucking handled!” He yelled, making you jump. “He was fucking hurting you, he was taking what wasn’t his! Are you crazy?! He could have killed you!”

“No he-“

“Fuck! Sunny, do you realise how fucking scared I was driving over here? Noah called me when he saw you leave the restaurant, and for a second I thought I’d lost you to another man, but then when Rachel told me the full story, I nearly wore out my fucking tyres to get here! I can’t believe you would-“

“I did it so we could have a fucking future together, Vince! And… and so you wouldn’t be behind bars for the rest of your life! Okay? I was selfish, I need you, and now… now…” you gestured at Ronson’s body in the floor, and clasped your hand over your mouth. “Oh my god, Vince… we’re fucked. You didn’t have to kill him!”

Vince softened, cupping your face. “Yes I did… you really think I was gonna let that piece of shit scumbag walk the streets after what he did to my girl? Hmm?”

You shook your head, dipping your forehead onto his chest as Noah closed what was left of the door and quickly began covering Ronson’s body with a duvet.

“No… how are we going to get out of this?” You breathed out shakily.

Vince sighed, and you could hear his heart racing beneath his chest as his hands cupped your neck and tightened over your back.

“You’re not gonna do anything. As far as the cops are concerned you just went out with him and I got so… jealous that I killed him. You weren’t involved in this part, okay?”

You lifted your head and looked at him with confusion in your brimming eyes. “What? No! You’ll go to prison for life…”

Vince smirked, cupping your cheek as a tear rolled down your face. “They’ll have to catch me first.”

You shook your head as you gawked at him, and he pressed a deep kiss against your lips that felt so… final.

When he pulled away, he looked over at Noah and cocked his head towards the door.

“We gotta go, someone no doubt heard the commotion and the cops could be on their way.”

Vince pulled out of your grasp as he walked to the door, and he turned back to look at you over his shoulder.

“I love you so fucking much, Sunny. Don’t you ever forget that.”

——————————

You weren’t sure what came over you, but watching Vince walk out the door and out into the night made you realise one thing above all else.

You couldn’t be without this man.

As strong as you were, he was the greatest love of your life, and watching him leave… it made you want to curl into a ball and die.

“Vince, wait!” You called, running after him, legs wobbly underneath you.

Vince turned as he reached his car, his eyes soft as he watched you run up to him.

“I’m coming with you.” You said breathlessly.

He cocked his head, “Princess, I don’t think you understand… I’m going on the run, I can’t take you with me.”

“Yes you can.” You straightened, your voice stern. “I’m just as involved as you, all of this has happened because of me. I’m coming, just… let me quickly go home and pack a bag.”

Vince hesitated as he stared at you and then looked around the empty parking lot, blinking rapidly.

His resolve faded quickly the longer you looked at him with your puppy dog eyes, and he let out a heavy sigh of defeat, running his hands through his hair.

“Alright, get in quick, I don’t think we have long.”

Vince drove straight to the house, Noah had long gone on his bike back to wherever it was he was staying that night, keen to be left out of this as far as anyone else was concerned, and Vince left the car idling as you both ran inside.

Vince grabbed a duffle bag from the top of the cupboard and you dug out the suitcase you’d brought your stuff in and you began to fill it with essentials.

T-shirts, Jeans, shorts, a couple of dresses, underwear, socks, face wipes, mascara (which was essential in your opinion), deodorant, toothpaste and brush, a bunch of random things you couldn’t do without. You would need to hit an atm as soon as possible and draw out what cash you had before getting too far out of town, pick up a few more things at the store to take with you.

Vince packed his essentials and barely 5 minutes later you were back out the door and in the car.

“Right, where the fuck are we going?” You breathed, buckling in.

Vince looked over at you, his arm resting on the seat behind you as he reversed out of the drive, a small grin on his face.

“With you by my side, angel, I don’t care where we go.”

The thrill was immense as you left the perimeters of town, not a single cop car in sight, and you hit the highway.

You should have felt horrified by what Vince had done, that you were on the run, suddenly an outlaw caused by the actions you’d inadvertently made, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than love for this man.

As the night stretched on ahead of you, nothing but a bag each and one other, a sense of hope filled you and drowned out all the bad feelings you should have felt and the people you loved and left behind.

——————————

- Final Part Here -

Taglist:

@velmalav @starry-eyed-wild-child @kappasbbgirl

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bloodismymedium · 9 days ago

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god bless people who selfship and don’t feel weird about it because every time i imagine a self shipping scenario with one of my favs i feel like such a cringelord but after getting enough alcohol in me i think i’m courageous enough to share some of the self shipping thoughts i’ve had about Mona, all of these are pure tooth rotting fluff but i might share some of the really spicy thoughts i’ve had about her and i at a later date 😈

anyways forgive me for my cringe, into the toilet i go

❤️‍🩹 Me kissing Mona’s self harm scars because uuggghhh i love this idea so fucking much i can’t put it to words it’s like symbolism for healing or unconditional love or some shit and i LOVE IT

❤️‍🩹 Mona very often makes me drawings and paintings, said drawings will also come with notes detailing why she made them like she knows i like opossums so she’ll write that she saw a opossum outside last night and she drew it because she didn’t want me to miss out on seeing it.

❤️‍🩹 Mona and i are both equally touched starved but Mona doesn’t respond well to physical contact unless given consent (she pinned me against the wall with a murderous scowl on her face when i tried to give her a hug for the first time) but she asks for physical contact of some kind very often and she MELTS every time. Mona expresses love by giving me different kinds of physical contact and affectionate stims like rubbing her face against my neck/face and she does it very often.

❤️‍🩹 i’ve mentioned this a couple of times but i honestly do look a lot like Mona and she notices this, Mona says i look like a pretty version of her but i say she’s already pretty and she gets flustered and kind of upset because at this because she’s not used to compliments and positivity.

❤️‍🩹 i try to get Mona to take a soothing bubble bath with bath bombs and shit because i think she’ll like it but she has hydrophobia and she says she’ll only do it if i get in with her so i do and aaaahhhh the feminine need to wash Mona’s beautiful hair and brush it afterwards like she’s my little doll 😩

❤️‍🩹 Mona likes staring at me without me knowing like i’ll be alseep in the same bed with her and she’ll watch me sleep for hours or she’ll watch do something from around the corner, she runs away like a startled deer when i notice and ask if she needs something.

❤️‍🩹 Mona is surprisingly open emotionally speaking and tells me everything because she never had someone to talk to and confide in with. She also absolutely won’t shut the hell up about art and whatever else she’s hyperfixating on and GOD i seriously can’t get enough of her yapping💕💕💕

❤️‍🩹 Mona getting CHUBBY from me treating her with freshly baked treats and home cooked meals all the time grrrr aaahhhh froths at mouth, now of course i love Mona for being this seven foot tall wraith of a woman with ribs visible enough to play them like a xylophone but i LOVE the idea of food as a love language and weight gain as a sign of healing and i think she’d look so fucking CUTE with a tummy🥰🥰🥰

❤️‍🩹 Mona didn’t grow up with television, movies or any other kind of entertainment or media aside from books so every new movie i show her becomes her new hyperfixation, she absolutely adored The Nightmare Before Christmas and Rocky Horror Picture Show, in fact Mona really has shown to have a inner theatre girlie wanting to get out for years, she also really enjoys black and white horror and science fiction films. Mona also hasn’t listened to a lot of music and quickly found out she was missing out big time in this category as well.

❤️‍🩹 Babygirl is so clingy but aaaahhhh i love her for it, she really needs to know where i am or where i’m going and she’ll often ask if she can come even though she’s grown to be quite the homebody who hates being in social places with large crowds but it’s okay as long as she’s with me. The difference between what Mona is like between her and me and what she’s like when forced to interact socially is like night and day, going from a confident and outspoken to a meek and antisocial one who practically hides behind me while i talk to someone 🥹

❤️‍🩹 *turns on megaphone and puts it right up to your ear* CUDDLING WITH MONA UNDER A WEIGHTED BLANKET AND WHISPERING THAT SHE IS WORTHY OF LOVE WHILE SHARING A CUP OF HOT COCO WOULD FIX HER AND ME FOR THAT MATTER.

#self ship #mona lanius #urbanspook #urbanspook the painter #the painter #mona my beloved #😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

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quietwingsinthesky · 1 year ago

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people are saying he « led her on » because he did. the fact that he kissed her in the first episode set the tone for the rest of the season and if you can’t perceive the flirting I’m sorry but how?? he didn’t make anything clear he sent the craziest mixed signals in the world. there’s nothing revolutionary about claiming that Martha was being pushy toward someone who was clearly not interested it’s 1) weird to claim in what it suggests about her 2) factually not true.

I wasn’t gonna respond to this at first because the top half of this ask is pretty much just individual interpretation and I don’t really care about it. Like, no, to me, the Doctor doesn’t seem especially flirty towards Martha. He’s just sort of Like That. That’s his damage, you know, Mr. I need to traumadump on anyone who tolerates being around me for more than five minutes. Mr. If I don’t develop an intensely codependent emotional bond with the companion I have currently I’ll die. It doesn’t read to me as him trying to lead her on because that bit’s honest, and he does it with damn near every companion he’s ever had.

And if nothing else, because we do see Ten when he tries to flirt intentionally and he’s a fuckin dork about it. Kind of guy who looked up romance in the dictionary and took notes. Kinda guy who draws diagrams to maximize kissing potential. It would have been obvious even to me (<- romance-blind as all fuck) if he was flirting with Martha on purpose because he’s not smooth at all; he flirts like he’s gotten lines in a play and he’s super excited to be the main star.

But anyway, as I was saying, that’s just how I see it. And if you see it different, no skin off my back, I just disagree.

But I take umbrage with you putting words in my mouth. I never said Martha was pushy towards him. Because yeah, she’s not. If I implied that she was, then it was a result of poor phrasing on my part. Martha’s not at fault for what she feels, for wanting there to come something of it. No more at fault than the Doctor is for not returning those feelings. It’s a bit weird that you’re assuming that I think one of them has to be the bad guy here when that was the opposite of what I was saying. My point was: When it comes to their romantic subtext of their relationship, it’s weird to pretend like either of them are to blame for them not being in a relationship at the end of s3, and even weirder to assert that as part of why Martha supposedly wouldn’t like the Doctor afterwards when they’re. friends. they continue to be friends into s4.

Martha’s not pushy. She has a crush on her friend. It happens. He doesn’t return it. This also happens. Both of these facts are pushed to the extreme because he’s a time-traveling alien with poor emotional skills and she’s put herself in the position of needing to help him from minute one of meeting each other. That’s why it’s fun to watch, because the Doctor is both so open and so unavailable in turns, because Martha’s feelings for him grow and change as she knows more about her Doctor until she decides to step back.

I don’t know, man. You seem to be coming at this as if one of them has to be The Problem™️. I don’t think either of them is, not so definitively. I think boiling their relationship down to that is reductive and an insult to the way they both grow over s3, to Martha’s choice to continue to be his friend while also establishing her own boundaries, to the fact that the Doctor is able to let her go without immediately trying to kill himself afterwards when she’s not there to catch him.

#the thing about the doctor is that if you want to tell me that he’s Extra Special Flirty With This Companion.#i dunno. feels like something that requires a lot of proof lmao. because the doctor is a freak who latches onto people like a barnacle and #gets way too invested way too quick and holds on like he’ll die if he even thinks of letting go. he’s just like that. he’s just like that.#he’s like that with rose he’s like that with martha he’s like that with donna amy clara bill!!!! these relationships are all different but #the common core is that the doctor is a freak! the doctor clings on too tight!!! the doctor will fuck you up he loves you so much!!!#idk! is it more leading on for the doctor to kiss martha to pull off a plan than it is for him to reshape amy’s life around him on accident #and then show up when she’s an adult to finally whisk her away. or to let clara do emotional infidelity with him for months while #insisting that he’s not her boyfriend. i don’t think ever he is. i think he’s just like gravity. mavity. you’re gonna orbit him because he’s #something cosmic and unknowable. and he’s also your best friend. he’s always too much and too tangible all at once.#am i making any sense here.#ask #martha jones #the doctor #tenth doctor #doctor who #idk man its like 7 in the morning where i am im not awake enough to talk martha/ten semantics. personally i think they should have made out #on screen even more without ever clarifying the nature of their relationship so that they had even weirder and more complicated feelings #about each other.

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alienaiver · 1 month ago

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Dragon's Mark preview

hi i should be working on literally anything and everything else but this but i swear knight shinsou has been rotating........... so heres a preview from ther first meeting (itll be a big multi chapter thing and i only got *checks notes* 6k right now. i also plan to finish amethyst haze first, so..... anyways i just wanted to show u lmao)

Fantasy!AU knight shinsou x GN!royal reader. 1k words

im taking loose inspiration from the bnha season 2 fantasy ending, dnd mechanics, general fantasy-style tropes and my own imagination. reader is bakugous younger sibling and he is the crown prince of the royal family. i just really want a bratty, royal reader annoying the fuck out of their tired ass knight whos been charged to protect them and doesnt rly think he signed up for this when he became a knight. lots of emotional stuff to come and adventures! slow burn and sfw

tw for bakugou-typical violence. reader is like a mini copy of him lmfao

“You are dismissed.”

To his credit, the guard – you’ve already forgotten his name – doesn’t flinch at your cold greeting. He’s still on his knee, head lowered in respect. There’s a moment of silence where none moves or speaks and just as you’re about to complain about his presence not being gone, he drawls out slowly, politely,

“I’m afraid your highness is without the necessary authority to dismiss me.”

Your eyebrow quirks up. He even has the audacity to sound bored as he chooses to talk back to you.

“Without the necessary authority?” you scoff as you let your arms fall; your mother’s the queen!

“You introduced yourself to me mere moments ago as my new guard. My knight. My shield and whatnot?”

You stomp your foot once, twice before you straighten your back, “leave me, immediately. I have no need for a personal knight. Make yourself useful elsewhere and don’t make me repeat myself again.”

The man looks up at you, the purple strands of his hair bouncing with the movement. For a moment his eyes seem to spellbind you – they’re a deep, gorgeous purple with beautiful lilac highlights that you now hate. His expression leaves much unanswered as he repeats his earlier statement, “you cannot dismiss me, your highness.”

Now you’re laughing in disbelief, hoping it mocks him, “my mother will-”

“Her majesty the queen herself has ordered this to be so. Your dismissal is only valid for privacy reasons, not for…” he seems to choose his next words carefully, “disagreements of your needs.”

He definitely doesn’t pick the words carefully enough though.

That’s fucking it.

You pass by the sleepy stranger, anger boiling and threatening to spill. Behind you he rises to his full height and follows you calmly; after all, he knows exactly where it is that you’re headed.

You break open the chamber doors, the animal bones on the shoulder piece of your uniform rattling with the forceful movement, “I’ll fucking kill you!” you screech at your older brother, who barely looks up from the parchment he’s showing Eijirou in his map room.

“Take your complaints to the hag, will ya?”

You stomp into the room and raise your arm to punch your brother in the face, but he catches your hand easily to block the move. He doesn’t falter at the kick that comes after, but when your other hand successfully scratches his chin and draws blood, you’re not the only one boiling with white, hot rage.

Katsuki is yelling profanities at you as you shove him to the floor, screaming and punching with every fiber of your being. Your brother hits you back, kicks and snarls as he rips at your hair and breaks an ornament he gave you once. He’s never been afraid of hurting you, evident by the way you keep lighting up the room in a green hue with the use of your powers to heal the punches as soon as they land. You don’t waste your energy healing his.

Hitoshi stands by the door and looks at the two royal children quarreling like kids, his nose scrunched up in barely concealed judgement. Eijirou greets him cheerily as if there’s not a brawl directly by his tail that he has to dodge, and Hitoshi nods politely at the dragon.

“Aren’t you supposed to stop them from getting hurt?” Eijirou grins as he walks over to the cabinet close to the door, referring to you, the Nunou, the youngest child in the royal family.

Hitoshi shrugs, “this fight seems above my station.”

Besides, the fight will end soon. You’ve never cultivated your power despite being revered for it, and you always exhaust yourself from overuse. Katsuki, the Nanu, heir to the throne, uses it to his advantage by specifically hurting you in ways that trigger your instinct to heal yourself. Many years of fighting have taught him where to land them.

With a mix of a groan and unintelligible yelling, every muscle in your body goes still before your limbs fall to the floor as you heave in breath after breath. Your brother sits up on his knees and look down at you angrily while catching his breath, “don’t you ever fucking learn your lesson, you shitty brat?”

Eijirou’s already mixing water and sugar from the cabinet into a cup before handing it to his friend so that Katsuki can help you drink it. Weakly, you try to swat away your brother’s hand but there’s no fight left in you.

There’s blood on the tiles but neither of you are bleeding anymore.

“You… cannot…” you wheeze but Katsuki waves you off as he gets back up, “I said to take your complaints to the hag -- that knight’s got nothing to do with me.”

“Bullshit… she listens to your opinion on everything.”

“Hah?” your brother sneers at you from where he’s leaned against his desk, drinking his own cup of water, “the hag does whatever she wants.”

“Well,” Eijirou starts with an apologetic smile as he helps you sit up on the floor, patting your back, “it is impractical to pull Katsuki and I out of our duties to find you in the obscurity of the mountain paths and forests.”

“It doesn’t happen that often!” you argue, pushing Eijirou away, though you make no effort to get back on your feet yet.

Eijirou isn’t phased by your roughness, being around your brother all the time. He only winces at your statement. He opens his mouth to speak but Katsuki beats him to it, “it’s damn near every full moon!”

You groan and fall back onto the tile floor, “specify which moon!”

“All three of them!”

Hitoshi snorts, and it’s not until now that you even acknowledge him in the room. Katsuki looks at the knight, too, but Hitoshi only freezes at your gaze, used to the heat in his former sparring partner's eyes from their days as soldiers in training.

“Aren’t you supposed to keep this feral shit in check?” Katsuki asks, tipping his head down at you. Hitoshi bows his head lightly him, “I am tasked with guarding and supporting them, not handle their family quarrels.”

Katsuki snorts and you sit back up, “dismiss him.” you demand of your brother and he laughs deeply at you, the bones on his necklace rattling with the movement. Next to you, Eijirou is putting your hair ornament back together with a spell.

“Not a fuckin’ chance.”

#hype me up and i may even gain monumental physical power KLJDSKJ LMFAO NO DONT WORRY ITS OKAY #bnha x reader #mha x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #shinsou x reader #nohr.bnha #nohr.writing #dragons mark #bnha fantasy x reader #bnha gender neutral reader #idk i cant remember tags. hi i havent written in MONTHS !!!!!!!!#tho i have this work planned to the bone. their first kiss is gonna be amazing :3

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yoursdreamily001 · 3 months ago

Text

My name...? Part 4

Changbin x y/n (gender neutral reader with no physical description, insert yourself)

You’re a barista, and Chanbin comes in for a drink, but leaves with something unexpected….

Lightly based on when skz went to Australia and Changbin went to a cafe. It is assumed that reader does not understand Korean.

Pt. 4/? You go to the art gallery with Changbin…

Part 3

No warnings. Fluff, light flirtatious activity, not even swearing

Word count: 2,633 (longest one yet!)

PLEASE comment if you like this/ any feedback, it’s my first time posting a piece of fic! I’m not sure where it’s gonna go so thoughts/ ideas are welcome!

@tazzyfluf Let me know what you think! Thanks so much for reading, it means so much to me! 😊

____________________________________________

“Well…” Seungmin starts, “I was walking towards the supermarket and they almost ran right into me. They had a uniform on and before we went our ways they gave me a card from that cafe you went to,” he looks at Changbin.

“How do you know it was the same one that I met? There are other workers there you know…” Changbin speaks like an annoyed older sibling.

“Because when I stopped them I noticed they were texting you when they almost collided with me. You’re causing pedestrian accidents Changbin it’s dangerous.”

Again Hyunjin laughs, “Changbin you can’t even text someone without causing trouble in the world?”

“Alright! So what… are they okay? Did they get hurt?” Changbin worries aloud.

“No, they fell right into my arms and I carried them to safety,” Seungmin says with his typical straight face, acting like he didn’t just totally make that up. Until he gets a smack on the arm from a certain grumpy Changbin.

Seungmin laughs as he enjoys messing around with him, then gives in stating simply, “I just stopped them by their shoulders and they were embarrassed but I made sure they were okay.”

“So what’s the plan are we all gonna go there tomorrow?” Han interrupts excited by this idea of a group outing.

The members all exchange looks, thinking over the idea. “I think it’d be alright,” the leader speaks up. “Everyone up for a day out on the town?”

“I heard there’s an art gallery… I want to go there,” Hyunjin adds.

“Are there any good restaurants? I want to try some good food here,” the youngest admits. “Yeah Innie I’ll take you somewhere good,” Chan assures, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

Then Lee know, thinking aloud says, “Maybe I’ll get some photos for my Instagram…. haven’t posted in a while..”

Then it was settled. The next day would be an outing for the guys, but Changbin needed to decide what he was going to do.

As the members wind down for the night, Changbin stares at his phone for a long time thinking of how to respond to your message:

“Will there be any handsome men there?”

He needs to find a way to stand out from the other guys, because they’re all handsome, too. But what can he do….

“Hey!”

Changbin jumps at the sound of Hyunjin’s voice.

“Whaaat, why’d you scare me…” he says with a pout.

Hyunjin giggles and breaks it to his friend that “it’s not that hard to do” however…. “You’ve been staring at the message for so long, what are you thinking?”

Changbin breathes out harshly, then admits he just doesn’t know what to do. “I want to see her outside of the cafe, if she’s interested… but tomorrow all of you are gonna show up and I want to make sure I make an impression, a good one.”

“Well do you know anything about her? Anything she likes?”

He thinks, imagining the two encounters he’s had with you and only one thing really gives him an idea. “She’s a good artist I think,” he says. “I saw her drawing on the menu, some really cute pictures and fun handwriting styles…”

He stares away, and contently pictures you in his mind. Immediately captured by your style and confidence. If only you knew….

“Why don’t you take her to the art gallery?”

Hyunjin offers the idea, then quickly adds, “I wanted to go anyway, what if I go in the morning and I’ll take notes for you to say cool things to her!”

He seems so excited. And Changbin seems nervous. “That’s not a bad idea…”

“Alright. Then what should I say to this message?” He holds it out to Hyunjin…

He laughs and says “you can say that!”

So that’s what Changbin tells you.

____________________________________________

As you open the door of the cafe, stepping out into warm air and sunshine, your eyes meet his. He stands waiting for you patiently, in a patterned button up, which has cuffed sleeves and unbuttoned revealing a white tank top, and jeans.

Your heart begins to beat so strongly you can feel it throughout your body. But you try to appear cool and calm, giving him a soft smile and looking right into his eyes as you approach him.

“Hi,” you say again. And he returns a smile to you, like he’s trying to hold back and not seem so cute, but he can’t help it. He’s seriously the type who can be so cute yet look like he could beat you up easily. Your mind starts wandering with many thoughts of him as you admire his looks.

“Hello..” he says with a shy nod. “You want to go to the…. Art Gallery?” He asks and points in the direction he wants to go.

“Yeah,” you nod, “that sounds fun.”

“Okay,” he says, “We can walk together… it’s not very long.”

“I like walking,” you tell him. “It’s really nice out anyways.” Looking at him you smile and then shy away, and he does the same.

“Yeah… it’s very nice.” You watch him looking around, taking in the surroundings. You can admire him simply for this. And the way he’s speaking to you in a language he doesn’t know well, is so admirable.

“Are you an artist?” You try to make conversation, seeing how it goes.

“Artist? I am not artist like… paint…. but I… make music,” he explains.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” you say honestly. “I love music.”

Changbin’s mind is going so fast he’s trying his best to keep things smooth and cool for you. When he hears you say you love music he gets excited and wishes he could just explain everything he does and ask about what you like.

It’s hard when there’s a language barrier but it might be worth it if he keeps trying. After all, the energy between you is undeniable.

“That’s really cool…” he says. “What music you like?”

“Hmmm….” You try to express things simply. “I like….. [insert your favorite genres or famous musicians]….”

“Oooh…” he says, processing your answer. “You like rap? Or Hiphop?”

“Yeah, that can be fun, but only if they do it well… you know?” You see Changbin’s expression looking very thoughtful. “Like… Beastie Boys? Or… [insert rap/ hiphop artists you like]…” you try your best to name things he might know.

He lights up at your words, “Oh yeah! Yeeaah those are good! I like it. Hiphop… because I am a rapper.”

“Oh you’re a rapper?” you ask him, giving him an interested expression.

He nods, seeming proud of himself, almost like he’s showing off a little now. It’s cute, and makes you laugh when he says,

“Yeah… I’m the best rapper.” He has almost a smolder on his face as his eyebrows curl up in the middle and he holds his head up high, acting all cool about what he’s shared with you.

“Really? Wow… you should send me some of your songs later… text them to me.” You tell him, hoping he will, and he nods with a small smile…

You then arrive at your destination, the Art Gallery, which is a quiet and small building filled with a variety of pieces made mostly by local artists. As you reach the door, Changbin opens it and lets you enter first.

You thank him and give him a smile. You feel your face start to heat up a bit, slightly flustered by the simple act of chivalry. Then he returns by your side and you’re greeted by someone.

“Welcome in,” they say with an inviting tone and warm expression. “Is this a first time visit or have you been in before?”

You glance over at Changbin saying, “This is our first time.”

“Yeah… first time,” he adds with a little smirk, wanting to speak for himself too.

“Well we’re so glad you’ve come to visit! We’ve got a variety of art pieces made…” the greeter gives you an explanation of what they have and where things are located. “If you have any questions there are a few of us who will be around.”

“Okay, thank you very much,” you reply. Changbin thanks them as well and you look to him.

“Where should we start?

>>>>> >>>>> >>>>> >>>>>

“Here. These are some notes for later, can you understand them?” Hyunjin says, handing a piece of paper to Changbin.

He looks over it carefully, trying to convince himself he knows exactly what it all means. “Yeah I got it, no problem. Except I don’t know what this is… or this one…”

“As long as you give your thoughts on something, it’ll be fine. But also you don’t need to talk too much, just appreciate the art by looking at it.” Hyunjin tries his best to encourage him to trust himself to show you a good time.

“If you say so…” Changbin doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he wants you to have a nice time with him, and if getting out of his comfort zone is necessary to make that happen, he’s determined to be brave and try his best.

>>>>> >>>>> >>>>> >>>>>

“I don’t know… maybe that way?” Changbin suggests, pointing towards a certain area of the gallery. He’s not sure what might be there but wants to just take charge and lead you through.

“Sure,” you say, and you both walk slowly side by side over to that area, looking around you as you go.

Truthfully, you do enjoy making art from time to time. But you’re not an art snob, and you don’t feel very knowledgeable with some art terminology or ways of describing things that are deemed “right” or “good”. You wonder why Changbin asked you to come here…

As you walk through quietly, you both try to think of something interesting to say. You also want to be understandable, though, so you kind of have to keep things on the simpler side.

When you notice a piece that stands out to you, you decide to stop to look at it for a moment. It’s something that is hard to explain, maybe it’s the color scheme that appeals to you, or just the style of it, you’re not sure why but you like looking at it.

Changbin notices you pause to look at this piece, so he does the same. After a few moments of silent gazing he looks over at you. You look like you’re really thinking about it, and Changbin has a hard time understanding how a person can look at something like this and have a lot to think of it. So he asks you,

“You like this?”

Turning your head to look at his face, you reply, “Yeah, I like this one.”

“Why?” he continues.

You try to think of what to say. You don’t want to be boring, or say too much, or… you look back at the piece to try to find the answer.

“Because it looks…

You look back to him, “beautiful.”

Changbin’s heart stops for a moment. His eyebrows raise slightly at you, but when he feels a warmth on his face he looks back at the piece. He smiles softly.

“Oh… yeah, it is beautiful,” he says, as if you’ve opened his eyes and he’s seeing this art in a new way.

You move along through the gallery, stopping at a few pieces to admire them. Changbin stops once, looking at a painting in which there are two people dancing together. He just looks at it, imagining that it was you and him, and how nice that would be.

“That looks fun…” you say smiling, looking at it with him. He looks at you, admiring the way the lighting through the window made you glow. You looked so lovely, and he wishes he could tell you. He smiles at you, still looking at the painting.

“You like to dance?” he inquires after your comment. You suddenly become a bit shy when you look at him. You look down at the floor for a moment.

“I do but… I’m not very good at it,” you laugh a little to keep things light. Whether you can actually dance or not is kind of up in the air, but you definitely have not had any experience to know, so you don’t want to lead with any confidence.

“I can teach you,” Changbin says, not looking at you, but all around at the art, acting like he’s not really paying too much attention. In reality, though, he’s got butterflies and is holding back a cheeky smile.

His words have your heart beating so loud you wonder if anyone else can hear it. He just offered to teach you how to dance… that is probably the most romantic thing you think has ever been offered to you. But you wonder if maybe he’s just being nice…

“I might be really bad, you know… then you’ll laugh at me,” you say honestly and giving him a lighthearted look.

“It’s okay,” he says, turning to you with his whole body. “I’m a very good dancer. I can show you… how to dance, okay?”

You look at him with total adoration at his response. He really seems genuine when he says it, and so you smile and just nod.

After a while, you arrive at the last area of the gallery which has art supplies for sale. You become interested in some things and point them out to Changbin, he happily listens to you.

“Oh these pencils look so nice…”

You say this more quietly to yourself, but Changbin hears. He makes note of which ones you’re looking at and nods.

You then hear your phone buzzing in your bag. You take it out to see that someone is calling you and decide it’s probably important to answer. You show Changbin that you have a phone call, and explain “I’m sorry, I’m going to go outside for a minute okay?”

“It’s okay, you can go… I will.. meet you,” he says. You exit the building and answer the call.

____________________________________________

“Hey,” you say to Changbin as he exits the building and meets you outside.

He approaches and with a quiet “Hi” and a smile, you’re just melting.

“Thank you for taking me here, it was really nice.” You hope he can see that you genuinely had a great time just walking around with him and looking at art.

“Thank you…” he nods, “I had fun too.” His smile totally gives away how shy he is, which only adds to his charm given that he can also be very smooth.

“So…” you start, unsure of what’s next. But Changbin then speaks up.

“I can walk with you.. to your.. home..?” You take this as a gentlemanly offer and of course accept.

On your walk you continue to exchange some words, a few small laughs, and some glances that result in blushed cheeks and smiles hidden away from each other’s view. When you reach your place you let him know.

“Oh.. this is nice,” he says looking up at the building. “Thanks,” you tell him.

You both turn to face each other at the same time, and feeling timid at the eye contact you look away, lips pressed together holding back a smile.

“I have this for you…” Changbin says, holding out a small package for you. Surprised you ask, “For me?” and when he nods, you take it from him.

You look inside to see the set of pencils you had pointed out from the art gallery. You can’t help the small gasp that comes from you and you cover your mouth.

Looking up at him, you don’t know how to express your gratitude for such a sweet gift. Luckily, he speaks before you even get the chance.

“Make something beautiful, okay?”

#reader insert #skz x reader #stray kids #gender neutral reader #kpop #skz fanfic #skz imagines #x y/n #x you #x you fluff

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