#written in one sitting
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fagfictions · 3 months ago
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timothy's tiff
Jason had just gotten back to his dim base after his nightly patrol around Crime Alley, exhaustion seeping from his bones.
"I need you to settle something for me." A familiar voice called out to him, which admittedly startled him as he directed a gun towards its direction.
Once he got his bearings, the was met with the sight of Tim Drake lounging in his base as if he had long belonged there. With a sigh of relied masked to project annoyance, Jason lower his gun. "Whatever happened to Hello, Handsome, or Oh, Master Jason, you look absolutely dashing today?" He jested as he took off his helmet, his eyes not leaving Tim's figure.
Tim paid his jest no mind as he directly asked. "You slept with Talia right?"
"Keep your voice down, unless you want me to end up in a ditch somewhere courtesy of that demon brat." Jason chided as he sat beside the younger robin.
"So you did?" Tim undeterred, pressed further. Those blue eyes widening in curiosity.
"Not my best moment, but I needed to get back at Bruce the easiest way I knew." Jason couldn't help but to cringe upon recalling his tryst with Talia. It was a mistake and they both knew it, but still he pushed through with it.
"Please don't tell me you were pit drunk when you fucked her."
"Contrary to popular belief, I don't lose my rationality when the pit takes over." Jason scoffed out, taking a slight offense at this assumption. "My inhibitions just get significantly lowered and instincts are honed in."
"Whatever, so you still clearly remember the experience?"
"Yes I do, but mind your fucking attitude, Pretty Bird." Jason half-heartedly chided as he took off his armor. "Aren't you the one asking for a favor?"
Tim immediately straddled on his lap, those blue eyes pierced right through Jason's entire being before he demanded. "Fuck me."
Jason couldn't believe the words he was hearing. "Excuse me, what?"
Jason could clearly see the fires of determination in Tim's eyes. "Fuck me and tell me if I'm better than her."
Jason couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of this whole thing. Of course, Jason had to get roped into this bullshit. "I knew this had something to do with your fucked up relationship with Daddy Bats."
"He won't say anything. He thinks he's being decent and polite but it's only hurting me." Tim easily confessed as he pouted, still on top of Jason's lap as if he wasn't a grown man. "I'm sure it hurts Talia too, seeing him fuck his former protege."
"You know what? Now it all makes sense why she wanted you out of the picture so bad." Jason commented as he rubbed his chin. "She even got print-outs of your pictures to obsess over."
Tim rolled his eyes as if it was common knowledge that Talia hated him. "Tell me something I don't know, Jason."
"I don't know, Timbo. Why me?" Jason playfully resisted as he continued to question Tim. "Why not find any of the hundreds of other men who Talia slept with?"
"Please, Jason. You're blunt and I know you wouldn't lie just to spare my feelings." Tim pleaded with a sweeter tone as he gently caresses Jason's body. The younger Robin planted himself on top of Jason's crotch as his length twitched in interest. "I need you."
Jason wasn't exactly foolish enough to turn down free pussy, especially when i came from Timothy who Bruce had monopolized for years. In the rare event that Bruce might get his head out of his ass and lock Tim down, Jason may never have this chance at all. Besides, from the pleased look on Tim's face, it was as if the boy already knew that Jason will inevitably succumb to his wiles. Jason might as well be selfish and have fun with it.
They found themselves tumbling in Jason's bed as Tim showcased his best under the sheets. Jason eagerly taking all the pleasure that Tim had provided him.
"Well?" Tim asked after he had caught his breath.
"I don't know. I can't really directly compare. Talia and I didn't exactly stop after one round." Jason teased with a salacious wink. He already knew his answer, but he had wanted to milk the situation.
Tim groaned in annoyance as straddle on top of Jason's bulky body again. "Why didn't you say beforehand?"
Before they both knew it, the sun had begun to rise. Now, they were both completely exhausted and utterly fucked out as they laid beside each other in Jason's bed.
"Well?" Tim asked in a tone that was more breath than syllable.
"You're better okay? Is that you wanted to hear? Now, let's go to fucking bed." Jason found himself saying in a tone louder than he projected. Frankly, he was fatigued at this point, and even if he wanted to fuck Tim's brains out again, his body was unwilling. He wrapped Tim's lithe frame in a tight bear hug as slumber overtook both of them.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄☆⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
"You need to elaborate Jason." Tim whined for the past hour as Jason tried to cook them some food to eat. Ever since they had woken up, Tim won't stop badgering him to expound on his answer. He was naive to think that the World's Greatest Junior Detective will be satisfied by a simple confirmation.
"She's got centuries of experience above you, but your enthusiasm more than makes up for it." Jason scoffed out as he placed a plate before Tim. "Looks are subjective, but yours happens to fall more in line with my type, so yours is better in comparison. Happy now?"
Tim shot him a genuine smile. "Thank you, Jason, for settling this tiff and for the food."
"Go shut your trap and eat your food."
After a moment of silence, peacefully eating the meal Jason had graciously made for them, he broke the silence. "So with this information, what do you plan on doing with it?"
"Aside from relishing in the fact that all she got on me are bodies and a couple of years?" Tim cheekily answered with his cheeks still full. "I suppose I should start sleeping around more, maybe I could learn a thing or two."
"Well, you know my door is always closed, but I'm sure you'll find a way in." Jason winked at him, excitement brewing in his stomach at the possibility of sleeping with Tim again.
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."
"So... who's better in bed? Me or Bruce?" Jason teased with a wide grin.
"Don't ask me questions, you don't want to know the answers to." Tim shot him down.
"Fine, I didn't need to know anyway." Jason playfully sneered as he began to clean up their now empty plates.
"You mind if I head out? I need to talk to Dick about something."
"Don't tell me you're about to hit up Dick to find out who's better, you or Selina..." Jason jested with a hearty laugh.
"The fuck I look like getting back to a has-been?" Tim replied with too much snark for it to come off as harmless.
"That's low even for you, Pretty Bird." Jason grimaced with an awkward laugh. "I knew B brought out the worst in you, but damn."
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unfamiliar-ghostly-system · 6 months ago
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Bar bets and bird droids
You end up in a bar with Schlatt, and he shares an interesting theory on birds.
Sitting in a country themed bar with JSchlatt, of all people, was not on your radar of things that would happen in 2025. 
A twangy country song played from somewhere, but you could barely hear it over the sound of people talking and the television playing up at the bar. The walls were paneled wood, covered in framed pictures of the bands who once played on the now empty stage in the corner. 
At the pool table a group of rowdy cowboys were laughing and hollering to each other. The dance floor was alive with people spinning and swaying, others stomping their boots to the rhythm. The sound of boots on the scuffed wooden floor could be heard throughout the bar.  
Somehow you found yourself in the middle of it all, sitting across from Schlatt in a booth. 
You took another sip from your drink, and tried to soothe the anxiety that curled up within you. The night had started as a group, you tagged along with your friend and their friends. One of your friend’s friends knew Schlatt well enough to invite him out, and he actually showed up. You spent the night sneaking glances, but now you were here with him all alone. 
Schlatt leaned back in the booth, looking relaxed and comfortable. Between sips of his drink he’d pop one of the cold fries from his plate into his mouth, and every once in a while he’d nod his head to the music. He seemed sober enough, he wasn’t slurring and his movements steady. But his gaze was a little lazier, and that wide grin appeared more frequently. 
And he was also talking about how the birds were government spies. 
“You just don’t get it,” he exclaimed, and he shook his head with conviction. “The birds aren’t real, at least not anymore. They were all replaced sometime in 2002. We’ve all just been living in ignorance, sweet blissful ignorance.” 
“Come on, bird drones?” You made yourself sound unimpressed, matching his level. 
He nodded solemnly. “Birds aren’t just droids. They are advanced surveillance cameras. They’re watching us,” he loudly whispered, stretching out the last words. 
You raised a brow, and made your tone curious. “I don’t know, Schlatt. Do you really think they had that technology 20 years ago?” 
“You’d be surprised at what the government can keep under their wraps, sweetheart” he quipped. 
Sweetheart. 
You took a quick sip of your drink to try and cover up that you suddenly forgot how to breathe, how to think. The taste of the drink wasn’t enough to distract you from the way he watched you with amusement, before he continued. 
“Especially when it plays into their plans. The birds keep an eye on things, you know, with their little beady camera eyes.” 
“Right, I’m sure the birds are just waiting for their next mission,” you replied. 
“Exactly!” He tilted his head to the side. “Think about it. They are everywhere, and sitting on the powerlines. They’re charging up there, so they’re ready, you know.” 
You hummed. “Wonder what I did to the American government to deserve that much bird shit on my car.”
He laughed, a hardy genuine laugh, and for a moment you forget why you were ever nervous in the first place. 
“Oh, you’re getting it now,” he said. 
You took a sip of your drink, the absurdity of the conversation and situation starting to make you feel a little giddy. “You know, I wonder how many people actually believe that.” 
He straightened, and his eyes lit up. You saw his spark of mischief ignite. “I’ll make you a bet.” 
“A bet?” You blinked. 
He nodded, “If I can convince the next person that walks in that door that birds are actually government droids, you owe me a drink and a dance.”  
You threw a look at the dance floor before looking back at his amused expression. “A dance?” 
“Yep,” he replied smoothly. “And it’s going to be country style, baby. You and me, front and centre.” 
You crossed your arms, and eyed him skeptically before throwing a glance at the door. The odds were surely to be in your favour, right? “Fine. You’re on. If you lose you owe me a drink and desert. But you won’t convince them, Schlatt.”
“Oh, I’ll convince them,” he said with a wink. 
Schlatt leaned back, lazily stretching his arm across the top of the booth while he waited. He took the last drink from his glass, and swirled the ice cubes around. He certainly seemed to have nothing but confidence in his ability to convince whoever walked in through that door of his conspiracy theory. 
Then the bar’s heavy wooden door creaked open. Schlatt turned in his seat, and you watched as the newcomer stepped inside. 
A man about mid-fifties, dressed in faded denim jeans, a plaid jacket, and a trucker hat, made his way towards the bar. He looked a little rugged, but pleasant enough you felt safe that Schlatt wasn’t in any danger. 
Schlatt looked back at you, looking like a man that had already won. “This is almost too easy.” 
He slid out of the booth and strutted towards the man, confidence in every step. 
You watched as he leaned against the bar. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, not over the music and chatter, but you could see the way his hands moved dramatically, and the way that he looked dead serious. 
You watched in awe as the man started to nod. Nod. You expected Schlatt to be brushed off or even told off. Not to have the guy nod, and even start to rub his chin in consideration. The man started to talk, and you watched the way he used his hands to illustrate his point. 
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered under your breath when you realised what was happening.
Eventually, after what must have been a long-winded story, Schlatt patted the man on the back like they’d been friends for years. He sauntered back to the booth, looking triumphant. 
“It’s time to pay up, sweetheart.” He said while extending his hand to you. 
You could only let him take your hand and help you to your feet. A bet's a bet, after all. 
And with that, he led you to the dance floor.
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aladaylessecondblog · 2 years ago
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You Stole My Sun (Halsin x Tav x Astarion)
Basically the aftermath of that idea I wrote about post-Astarion's "I should have made you a spawn" line.
big sad, spiraling frightened/uber depressed Tav. Halsin is the best ever etc
This is my Tav, AFAB druid drow with same pronouns, but feel free to imagine your own Tav if you want.
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Halsin didn't know what had happened, because Tav wouldn't say. He only knew it had involved Astarion, who had been gone for almost a week now.
The only clear thing he could get out of her was that Astarion hadn't hurt her, and one sad little sentence that made no sense: 'None of it was real.'
But that left quite a range that had him racking his mind, considering...
Considering that she had clammed up, that the near-endless line of jokes and smiles and little laughs had stopped cold. That every time he touched her when her back was turned, she stiffened and whipped around like she was afraid someone meant to attack her. That she spent more time with the animals in camp and out past the treeline than before.
(Considering when he had tried to come to her as 'her bear' she had blanched as if afraid he really would devour her)
The rest of the camp had noticed, too, and dealt with it in different ways.
Lae'zel had offered herself as a sparring partner, saying Tav needed more practice with a longsword anyway. Will had done something along the same lines.
Gale had tried to lift her spirits in his usual way, and Karlach had, now she was fixed, gone for hugs which Tav returned--in silence.
None of them seemed entirely sure of what to do to fix this, though. Whenever anyone had been in such a mood, it was always Tav who brought back the better mood, who lifted their spirits, got them smiling.
What did you do, Astarion? Halsin found himself thinking as he watched Tav. She wildshaped into a cat, came to sit in his lap, and curled up as if trying to hide. You stole my sun, that's what you did.
Tav was like a light to the camp, brightening and warming everyone whose lives she touched.
And her light had gone out.
His heart's heart was broken.
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Astarion returned late, when some of the camp were still up but several had already gone to bed. He HAD hoped to do it quietly, simply to slip in, but he was spotted almost immediately
Lae'zel (who was on watch) was the first to see him, and had moved off--to warn Halsin, he assumed, since the man returned with her a few moments later.
She then moved off to complete a patrol around the campsite.
"Come to warn me off?" he attempted a quip, but it fell flat.
"Come for answers," Halsin replied. "I've been confused, you see. It's not in your nature to run like this. Hide, certainly, sneak, absolutely. But to run?"
"I thought Tav had sent you to--"
"She didn't send me to do anything. What happened, exactly?"
"Didn't she say?" Astarion looked up, and then swiftly back down. "Usually she's eager to--talk."
"Not a word, my star. All she would say was that you had not hurt her. And to quote directly, 'None of it was real,' in the most desolate tone I have ever heard from one in love. What did you do?"
"I...made a mistake," he said, letting out a needlessly long breath. "She didn't care for the idea of my...ascension, you see."
"Of course not. She feared...that you might become the thing that once frightened YOU."
"And I thought that was a lot of nonsense. I mean, really...I would be safer than ever. I didn't see the problem that she did...she wouldn't touch the extra little tadpoles, she wouldn't hear of taking control of the--well, that's all been gone over. What you want to hear about is..."
Halsin waited.
"She didn't understand, and I wanted to make her understand. I practically snarled at her, said I should have--made her a spawn..."
Seeing Halsin's eyes narrow was a bit like having Scratch growl at you. It let you know you'd fucked up and fucked up bad.
He went on explaining, and finished with, "I've never seen her afraid of anything before that moment. I didn't think--she ran. She ran from me. That--that was the last thing I wanted! That's not what I meant to do!"
"But it's what happened."
"...what am I supposed to do now?" Astarion's voice, far more miserable than he'd ever let Halsin hear before, burst out.
"Apologize," Halsin said, "As a start. And understand that if she DOES forgive you, it will take time."
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longeyelashedtragedy · 6 months ago
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FIC DROP: a rare T-rated fic from Catmanu
Lyra [Jamie/Frank, rated T obvi]
When you like your cousin Jamie in every way you’re not supposed to you can lie on your back next to him on a blanket in Auntie Sandra’s garden in Bournemouth where there’s just a little bit less light pollution than in Romford.
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tinyowlthoughts · 7 months ago
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"Do you think we should tell them?"
King Alexaton Redmane (Alex to his friends) glanced over at his wife, who was peering out the window at the city below. The tower was high enough that the roads and stone buildings looked toy-like beneath their gaze, and the colorful convoy of carriages approaching was easily spotted. Heralds with trumpets and flags were gathered in the courtyard below, stationed between guards in brightly-polished armor and servants carrying baskets of flowers. He'd give it half-an-hour before the multitude of carriages were properly parked and emptied of passengers. Plenty of time before he and the queen needed to make an appearance.
"Tell them what?" He sat beside her on the wide window seat, and instinctively one of her hands slid into his, skin cool and smooth against his rough-worn palms.
"About the - you know. The letters. The meetings. All of that."
"All of that." Alex leaned forward to watch as the first carriage bumped through the gate, heralded by trumpet blats and flowers being tossed in the air. "Would that include the sneaking about? The hair cutting? The amazing ability of one Pearl Dawnsun to get into enormous amounts of trouble and then somehow wiggle her way out of them?"
Said Pearl Dawnsun pursed her lips, looking away from the caravan of carriages to peer out over the city - her city. Their city. The crown jewel of their empire. "Well, maybe not everything..."
"What should we leave out?" Alex turned his back on the courtyard (he'd be seeing enough of his various relatives for the next week, no need to inflict them on himself early). "The time you blew up a cannon because you double-packed the powder?"
"Mother always said women don't need to learn chemistry." Pearl shrugged, mimicking his pose so both were sitting with their back to the window, cold glass behind them and warm bedroom in front. "'Maths make a woman unattractive - no man will want a lady who knows more than himself.'"
Alex snorted. "Gods above, I'm glad you never listened to her. So we won't mention the cannon incident. How about the time you rode that Clydesdale bareback for fifteen miles because I forgot one of my medals on your windowsill?"
"Father would have a field day, knowing the little 'stringbean prince' from the empire managed to bypass his guards on the regular." Pearl pulled the hand she was holding into her lap and began to fiddle with his rings - engagement, marriage, royal signet, a variety of magical protections. There was a lot to fidget with.
"He should have hired better guards." Alex shrugged. "We could always tell them that instead of attending your last year of finishing school, you snuck off to join the army, faked all your letters home, and ended up falling in love with the enemy commander when we spent a week in that cave-in."
"Do you think they'd believe it, if we told them?"
"Of course not. Our fathers were so proud to strike up the marriage deal - they'd never let anybody convince them that it wasn't their idea." Alex waved his free hand about, dismissing the very notion. "It's not like we wrote letters for months after you returned home and conspired with our royal advisors to end the useless fighting."
"Ah, of course. All our fathers idea." Pearl snorted, leaning against her husbands side. "Speaking of fathers," she glanced over her shoulder, "it appears the last of them are here - oh shoot. Aunt Carole made it this year."
Alex followed her gaze and grimaced at the raisin of a woman currently raising hell about something to the servants in the courtyard. "Is she the one who complained about the tax policy for five straight hours last year?"
"Yeah." Pearl let her head thunk against the glass and, for a moment, entertained the thought of just staying there. She was queen of the empire, who would make her move? Alex - dear, beautiful, loving Alex - gave her about thirty seconds to think on it, before standing and pulling her with him.
"We'll just have to do our best to avoid talking politics this year." The king drew his queen into a tight hug.
Pearl hugged him back just as fiercely. "Yes," she sighed against his shoulder. "Avoiding politics during the holidays - it should be easy."
"Easier than digging ourselves out of a collapsed mineshaft." Alex pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"But harder than ending a centuries-long feud." Pearl joked, before returning the kiss to his lips. "Alright, let's get ready. Can't greet our family in our bed clothes."
"I mean, we could. Do you think Aunt Carole would have something to say about it?"
(When, three days later, both King and Queen joined their family at the breakfast table in their bed clothes, exhausted from dealing with a fire in the shipping district through the wee hours of the morning, Aunt Carole did indeed have many things to say. None of them were heeded, and at the end of the visit the pair decided that family holidays were perhaps not as necessary as their parents had led them to believe.)
You were offered a thousand ways out of this marriage however you decided to go ahead with it to end your kingdoms ceaseless wars. Everyone, your siblings friends and parents thought it would be a disaster, your spouses family thought the same, 10 years past and it's been surprisingly wonderful
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marypsue · 2 years ago
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Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.
All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.
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wingfleur · 2 months ago
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# — calling mark grayson "small."
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got fried as fuck and this shit came to me like a prophecy. a dream. i know i have my to-do list, but it’s hard for me to write stuff i’m no longer in the exact headspace for. like, i need to wait until i can get into it enough to feel it the way i did when i first thought of it. anyways, this is set in a universe that’s pretty canon-compliant: mark and amber broke up, but he hasn’t dropped out of college (yet) or ended up with eve. you also have no clue he’s invincible, just that he’s had a glow up and your cute, dorky friend from high school is now fine as shit. i also listened to “party favors” by leon thomas and big sean the entire time i worked on this.
lastly, i'd like to give a humongous shoutout to @omniphilic for beta-reading this monster for me! much love, sunshine, and godspeed, my children. enjoy! | wc: 7.9k words.
cw: nsfw mdni (18+), afab!reader, a lot of porn with a lot of plot, light angst, confessions, banter, friends-to-lovers, mentions of amber (i love you girl but it’s so easy to use you as a plot device </3), oral sex (f!recieving), explicit sex (p in v), missionary, squirting, dirty talk, praise, soft!dom mark, consider this my apology for the hurt/very little comfort v!card mark x reader fic <3
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thinking about you joking around with mark grayson and calling him
 small. you know where.
it sounds like such a silly scenario, but walk w/ me: you and mark have an
 odd friendship. looking back on it, you two were an unlikelier pair than winning the lottery. you’re from completely different worlds– you were more on the straight and narrow: the academic side of things. all you did was bust your ass, and you had plenty to show for it– friends, awards, this air of recognition that followed you from classroom to classroom.
and mark? well, he fell more into the category of incredibly average. average grades, average social life, even an average reputation amongst the student body– the kind that makes you easy to remember and always gets you labeled as a “pretty cool guy,” but keeps you out of any real trouble. maybe that’s part of his charm– the fact that everything about him is initially so unassuming, so run of the mill that you don’t even think twice. not until you start to get to know him.
there’s plenty that sticks out once you get to know him.
then, somehow, at the start of your senior year, you two ended up partnered together for a project in the same upper-level english class. y’know, the college freshman one everyone takes because it’s a cheap credit, regardless of if they’re going to harvard to study law, or to the local community college to save a bit of money. neither of you had many expectations, but you and mark became fast friends. mark’s awkward charm grew on you, and he already had a decent opinion of you from seeing you around, but finally being in a situation where he could talk to you and not feel like a nuisance only made him think of you more highly than before. you were cool as shit; he has no idea how you two hadn’t spoken sooner.
but it’s no surprise that you two absolutely nailed the project. with your smarts and mark’s willingness to learn, the grade on it ended up being so good that it made you jump into mark’s arms out of pure excitement. mark caught you effortlessly, spinning you around and giggling alongside you without a second thought. the intimacy of such a reaction didn’t dawn on you two until long after he set you down, you grinning giddily in his face, while he could do nothing but grin back.
that’s how you ended up here– lying in mark’s bed, long after graduation, and visiting home from campus on a long weekend. you’re wearing one of his t-shirts and reading one of his copies of seance dog as he works on a paper. when you found out you two would be attending the same university, you were more than stoked. mark was stoked too, but he was so sure you could’ve gotten into one of chicago’s finest, or, better yet, move away from illinois entirely, rather than attend upstate university. he gave you a hesitant look when you said you were more than content with your choice, saying that a degree is a degree no matter where you went and that as long as you could be with mark, it would be worth it. deep down, though, mark swore something bloomed in his chest that day. he doesn’t really know what that feeling was– is, to be more accurate, because he still feels it sometimes– but that’s the least of his worries. 
his main worry is getting this paper in by 11:59 pm tonight. 
and just like that, the rhythmic clacking of mark’s fingers against the keyboard fills the silence and leaves you to bask in this comforting sensation of warmth. you’re so relaxed that you can’t bring yourself to move. not that you would have wanted to, anyway.
it’s peaceful. so, of course, you have to ruin it. 
“you ever want to fuck a cartoon character?” you suddenly say, the copy of seance dog in your hand and your foot crossed over your knee. you hear the way mark’s typing pauses for a moment, and imagining his reaction forces you to bite back a snicker. a pregnant silence fills the room before the typing begins again, just as rhythmic and hypnotic as before.
“i know you’re not saying that about seance dog,” mark finally quips back, his voice dripping with an absurd amount of mirth. you can hear his smile in his voice– you always can, because mark rarely doesn’t smile. it’s one of your favorite things about him.
you can’t help but take the bait.
“you think i could be?” you ask, tone scandalized and brows raised. neither of you move to face each other just yet– you don’t need to. you can tell exactly what face mark’s making from the sound of his voice, and mark can do the same for you. it’s how he knows that you’ve stopped biting back that smug smile of yours– the one that creeps across your face when you’re clearly up to something, but he doesn’t know what. you’re a troublemaker; it’s one of his favorite things about you.
“yeah,” he replies without missing a beat, “i clearly know nothing about you. i was once dumb enough to think you were intimidating.”
“i’m still intimidating!”
“yeah, maybe on occasion,” mark teases, his typing ceasing completely so that he can spin around in his chair. he leans against it with his head tossed back and his arms on the armrests, eying you gleefully as you put the comic face down on the bed. “most of the time i forget because you’re too busy saying shit that’s uncomfortably close to ‘i wanna fuck seance dog.’”
“eat shit and die, mark.”
“i don’t wanna.”
“then shut the fuck up and answer the question!”
“fine, fine!” mark laughs and lifts his hands up lazily off the chair in mock-surrender. “‘course i’ve wanted to fuck a cartoon character. who hasn’t? i’m not a nun.”
something flashes in your eyes, and you shift to lean forward towards where mark’s sitting, propping up on your elbows on the bed. you grin mischievously; it’s clear you’re up to nothing remotely good. 
“who?” you ask.
mark replies immediately. “koriand’r.”
“wha– from the titans?”
“no, from the avengers. yes, from the titans. who else would i be talking about?”
“alright, down, boy,” you say amusedly, making mark roll his eyes. “i was just checking. but you obviously can’t handle that.”
mark raises an eyebrow. “says who?”
“uhh, says me?"
the two of you are still for a moment, and you start to fear you said something wrong until you see mark’s eyes darken in that telltale way they do when he starts to feel challenged. then, as if that wasn’t enough to give you goosebumps, he does that stupid, mindless thing he does with his tongue, where he runs it along the inside of his cheek. your breath stills in your chest when mark pushes up off the back of his chair and leans forward towards where you lie on the bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped between his thighs. 
it’s hard to keep your gaze from dropping to the veins in his hands.
“oh yeah?” mark asks incredulously, tilting his head. you were joking about being the intimidating one earlier, but the real intimidator is mark. when he gets serious, you swear you can feel something in the air shift. maybe that’s why it feels like the hairs on the back of your neck are standing up right now.
“why not?”
the question, in its simple nature, catches you off guard, and in a brief moment of confusion, you tilt your head. “why not what?” “why couldn’t i handle her?”
you stare at mark as if he’s joking, but instead of him laughing and waving you off, mark stares back at you expectantly, brow arched and lips quirked up at the corners. it’s like he wants to smile, but he can’t. won’t. 
this dickhead must have a death wish.
“what do you mean ‘why couldn’t you handle her?’” you say casually– like what you’re saying is most obvious thing in the world. “it’s koriand’r, mark. she’d chew you up and spit you out before you even had time to undo your belt.”
you swipe up your copy of seance dog and busy yourself with trying to find where on the page you last left off. honestly, it doesn’t matter where you start reading. you’re willing to do anything to help get your mind off the weight of mark’s eyes boring into you.
“besides,” you huff, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, “koriand’r has standards, and you probably have a small dick, anyway.”
the second those words leave your mouth, the room falls deathly silent, and you swear it’s as if the air has been sucked out of the room. you fall still where you’re at, hoping that somehow, someway, you not moving will make mark want to kill you less. you really don’t know what possessed you to say that– it was a poor attempt at deflection, considering the growing amount of tension you began feeling in that room– but you don’t mean it. didn’t mean it. not one bit. 
you’re doing mental gymnastics to figure out how you can take it back without sounding like a total loser before mark starts laughing, and the joyous and boisterous sound gives you pause.
he couldn’t have found that funny
 could he? 
okay, yeah, after a little bit of consideration, he very well could have. this is mark grayson, you’re talking about– not one of the insecure guys you were used to dealing with, who were more likely to blow a blood vessel than a load at the idea of being perceived as “unmanly.” mark’s the type of guy to wear one of your crop tops because he knows you’ll whine about him stretching them out, or wear a maid dress as a punishment for losing a bet, masking his embarrassment with quips about how good his legs look. you also know mark enough to know he’s not a virgin, nor is he a prude, but not well enough to know intimate details about his sex life. sure, jokes are fine, but a play-by-play on how he screwed his ex feels
 invasive. beyond the scope of your shared comfort. it was just something you never thought of asking.
well, more like something you could never bring yourself to ask.
you set the comic back down on the bed just in time to watch mark wipe some tears from his eyes, twisting around to face his laptop with a smile on his face. he resumes typing like nothing happened, like you didn’t just obliterate his manhood and leave it in pieces for him to pick up off the floor. it’s hard not to gawk at him in disbelief, blinking rapidly for a few moments before speaking.
“that– didn’t upset you?” you say tentatively, voice a lot meeker than initially intended. mark huffs out a laugh and spins around, hands back to resting on the armrests.
“why would it have?” he says bemusedly, still smiling from before. “we joke like that all the time. honestly, i’m surprised you hadn’t said something like that sooner.”
you can only stare at him blankly, brows knitting in confusion as mark continues to regard you patiently. then, you sit up, pushing up off your elbows to swing around and upright, one leg dangling off the bed while the other stays bent in front of you. 
“why didn’t you get mad?”
mark pauses, eyes narrowing as he tilts his head. “...is this a trick question? why would i? you were joking around.”
“most guys would’ve gotten mad about me saying something like that.”
“yeah, well, most guys aren’t exactly confident about what they’re packing downstairs.”
“and you are?”
mark’s lips part for a second, but no words come out. he quickly shuts his mouth and stares at you, but you stare back, ignoring the way your cheeks start to burn with red-hot embarrassment. 
“well, yeah,” mark finally says, eyes flickering nervously to the side. he looks everywhere– the alarm clock on the dresser, his posters on the wall, everywhere but where you are, sitting prettily on his bed– but his eyes have no choice but to finally lock back onto yours, teeth gnawing at the inside of his cheek. “‘course i’m confident about it.”
“...‘cause it’s not small.”
he pauses. “yeah. ‘cause it’s not small.”
your brain short-circuits right then and there.
you aren’t sure why you’re so surprised by this. it wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to arrive to this conclusion. you were around when mark started dating his ex-girlfriend, amber– around long enough to have seen the exact point in their relationship where they shed the last of their inhibitions and began interacting with each other much more comfortably. you were also around long enough to watch mark come into himself– to lose that dweebish, unsure aura around him and become more confident. muscled. tall. even if he was still pretty dorky most of the time.
perhaps that’s when the thoughts started: when you started to think of mark less as a boy, and more as a man. when you began wondering things about him that you desperately wanted to know, but were much too scared to ask.
at least you have an answer to one of them now.
“hey,” mark says suddenly, voice sharp enough to cut through all your overthinking and analyses. mark’s closer to you now– right next to you, actually, the scent of his cologne filling your nose– and he has your hand in his, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the back. “you okay? should i not have said that–?”
you frantically shake your head. “no–! i mean, yes– god, fuck, no, mark, it’s okay.” you take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut. “i’m the one who asked. you just answered.”
you take in a shaky breath and let your eyes flutter open to find mark watching you adeptly, his eyes trained on your face. the expression he’s wearing is one of worry, those dark brows of his pinched in the middle to form a wrinkle you so desperately want to smooth out with your thumb. his plush, pink lips are parted, and in an attempt not to stare at them, your eyes fall to the floor, but not before momentarily catching on how his biceps strain against his sleeves.
for fuck’s sake, this is not the time to be focusing on how attractive you find your best friend.
“i wanted to know,” you finally say, voice soft and a little frayed around the edges. your eyes flutter shut again– something to give you a bit of extra courage to say what you need to say, and not cave under the pressure of your nerves. “i wanted the answer to that question. it sounds weird as fuck, and i totally understand if you want me to leave and never show my face around here again, but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t want to know.”
you open your eyes again to find mark still staring at you, eyes jumping all over your face, while sporting an unreadable expression. you find yourself swallowing hard as you steel yourself for what you want to say next, adjusting to sit and face mark completely. “i wanna know a lot of things about you, actually. and none of them are all that appropriate for two people who are supposed to be ‘best friends.’”
it’s mark’s turn to short-circuit.
“w–what?” mark stutters out, staring at you with a dumbfounded expression as his eyebrows shoot up in suprise. his mouth falls agape, opening and closing fruitlessly as he tries to figure out what to say. “i– jesus christ, i don’t think you understand what you’re saying–”
“i know exactly what i’m saying.” your interjection is quick and firm, your expression void of your previous nervousness and now completely serious. “and you know it. don’t insult me like that again.”
mark’s protests die in his throat.
“i want to know you,” you start. “honestly. intimately. fuck, to be honest, i want to see you– naked, in my bed– but i didn’t wanna make things weird, and then you had that whole thing with amber, and then i thought you were gonna date eve, so i kinda just kept it to myself, but–”
“you can know me.” 
you freeze. “what–?”
“you can know me,” mark says again, his hand squeezing the one that he has wrapped in his. “you can know me. and see me. and i’ll answer every other question you’ve had about me, ‘cause i wanna know you too.”
you can’t help but stare at mark , absolutely and completely dumbfounded. if he notices, he doesn’t judge. doesn’t acknowledge it at all, actually. he just continues to steamroll ahead.
“god, fuck, i really wanna know you like that, too,” he sighs. “always have– like, all the way back in high school. i’d see you in the halls with your friends and think, ‘man, they’re hot,’ then move on with my life because i thought there was no way i’d ever have a chance with you. then, we got partnered up for that project, and i learned that you were so much cooler and more approachable than i had ever imagined, and i wanted to make a move on you so bad, but i still thought there was no way you could ever like me. william can testify to this– i was talking his ear off about you 24/7. still do. he is seriously getting sick of it.” 
the way mark talks is fast– so much so that all his words bleed together, voice full of excitement and sincerity. it make your eyes sting. after he finishes, his quick way of talking tapers off into a hefty bout of silence, his beautiful brown eyes flickering down to your joint hands. 
“and then came amber.”
the quiet that follows drapes over the two of you like a blanket, heavy with the weight of everything you two are thinking, but ultimately remains unsaid. the fact of the matter is that it doesn’t need to be said. you and mark just
 know– understand– that amber was the first person, aside from you, to treat mark as less of an expendable, and more like somebody worth knowing. she took the opportunities you were too afraid to– penciled her name in where yours was meant to be and slipped right on into that “partner” position, wearing it as if it was custom-fitted. it may as well have been, because it sure looked good on her. 
he looked good on her. that’s why you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad.
“i never would’ve gone out with her if i knew you wanted me even half as much as i wanted you,” mark says quietly, reaching up to rub a tear from your cheek that you didn’t even know you shed. “but i didn’t. and we dated, and i slept with her, and i loved her, but i feel all of that for you too, y’know.” he cradles your face delicately as he climbs up onto his knees, his movements slow, as if moving too quickly would scare you off. moving too quickly would remind you that this is real; remind you that you probably shouldn’t be doing this, causing you to hop off the bed and run down the hall, flying down the stairs, past debbie, and out the front door.
but you don’t have to worry. never have, actually, because the way mark treats you is careful. cautious. he’s kneeling on the bed and easing you onto your back with such rapt attention that it makes your cheeks warm, head turning to the side to shield it from him before he turns your head right back to where it was.
“i want you to ask your questions,” mark says slowly, large hands pushing your knees apart to make room for him between your legs. you can’t help but stare at him helplessly, any and all words dying in your throat, but mark moves with a confidence that makes it clear you don’t need to speak. not when he’s hovering over you like this. 
“i want to answer your questions, and i want you to do the same for mine. ‘cause i’ve thought about you. a lot. and not all of it was decent. actually, most of it probably wasn’t.”
mark lets himself laugh softly at the admission, but you can only look up at him in awe, the muscles of your brows twitching from the urge to knit in confusion. mark’s eyes catch this, and he reaches down to smooth his thumb over the spot right between your eyebrows– the same way you wanted to do for him earlier.
“so tell me that this is okay.”
mark trails his fingers across your skin, skimming over your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder, and all the way down your arm until reaching your hand. he tangles your fingers together and brings your wrist to his lips, a soft kiss being pressed to your pulse, which makes your heart stutter in your chest. mark doesn’t tease you for how vulnerably you stare at him, or for how red his actions make your face. he only looks down at you with a soft smile, peppering kisses to your palm.
“holy shit, mark, this is more than okay.”
mark’s grin is blinding when you surge forward to kiss him.
the thing that surprises you most about it isn’t how good of a kisser mark is, or how nice it feels for his big hands to come up and cradle your jaw. it’s how easy all of this is– how uncomplicated it is to be making out with mark, how your lips slot together as if it’s always meant to be this way, how raw his groan is when you tangle your fingers into his hair and tug. he has you pressed against the bed in seconds, one hand slowly slipping beneath your t-shirt as the other squeezes at your outer thigh. you feel dizzy when your lips part and he ducks his head down into your neck, sucking bruises into the skin with a fervor that makes you squirm.
“i– fuck, mark, not where people can see–!”
“does it matter if it’s visible? ïżœïżœs not like you’re fucking anyone else right now besides me.”
you hit mark hard against his back, but it only makes him chuckle, sitting up to look at you with messy hair and blown pupils. “what? you haven’t slept with anybody in a while, and you’re about to sleep with me. i didn’t say anything wrong.”
“how do you even know that, asshole?”
mark grins, sitting back on his haunches as he hooks the hem of your shirt on his index finger. he tugs it up enough to reveal your stomach. “‘cause you’re lying here in my bed, wearing my shirt, with me sitting between your legs. if i was the person you’ve been fucking, i’d definitely feel some type of way about that.”
you scoff, moving one of your legs to try and kick at mark’s chest. like the little shit he is, he catches it easily and presses a kiss to your ankle, setting it on one of his shoulders. “that doesn’t mean anything. i could have casual sex if i wanted to.”
“yeah,” mark agrees, both hands coming to smooth his shirt up the expanse of your body, “you could. if you wanted to. but you don’t, ‘cause you’re not like that.”
“bullshit.”
“is not. here, open your mouth for me.”
“wh–?”
“shut up and open it for a second, would you?”
you shoot mark a withering glare, but he just grins back, pushing your shirt up under your chin and offering the hem for you to bite down on.
“thank you,” he says gleefully, his words a little too airy and sing-songy for you to let slide. you try and kick him again, but he blocks your leg without much of a second thought, eyes laser focused on the sight of your tits in front of him.
“wow, you are so fucking pretty.”
the way he says it is so full of awe– so genuine– that it makes your mouth fall open. the t-shirt in your mouth gets stuck on your bottom lip in the process, and the sight makes mark chuckle, a boyish grin settling on his face. he reaches up to adjust it and pulls it back up so you can bite down on it again.
“i didn’t even say anything crazy yet,” he teases, laughing as you do your best to swear at him from around the fabric. mark ignores it to focus on the sight in front of him instead, though, fingers tracing up your rib cage before cupping the underside of each of your breasts.
your mind goes blank when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth.
“oh, fuck,” you gasp out, back arching off the bed and into his mouth. the t-shirt slips from between your teeth again, and you can feel mark grin around where his tongue swirls around your skin, popping off to look at you and chastise you softly.
“jeez, you really suck at following instructions,” mark playfully says. “and did you forget that my mom is downstairs? i’ve had her knock on the door during sex before, and trust me, it does not help to sustain the mood.”
“god, you sound like such a dork. ‘it does not help to sustain–’”
mark cuts you off with a groan, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts and panties. “shut up and lift your hips already.”
you giggle. “fine, fine.”
you plant your feet and lift your hips off the bed enough for mark to tug your clothes off, separating your shorts from your underwear so he can tuck the garment into his pocket. You look at him with a flustered expression, mouth dropping open in bewilderment, but mark simply sticks his tongue out at you and flings your shorts to the floor, panties nowhere in sight. you hardly have enough time to process him keeping them for himself before he’s wrapping his hands around your thighs and tugging them onto his shoulders, putting him face to face with your cunt and lifting your lower back completely off the bed.
you knew mark was strong, but you never thought of him using his strength like this.
mark holds you firmly as he busies himself with eating you out like a man starved. those big, brown doe eyes of his look down at you, sometimes lingering on the rise and fall of your chest, and sometimes taking in the sight of your knitted brows and parted lips, both your hands tangled in the pillow behind your head. his eyes do fall shut every once in a while as if he’s savoring the taste of you on his tongue, and he probably is, knowing mark, but you don’t have the wherewithal to tease him. not now, at least. not when he’s got his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking in these sporadic little bursts that make your stomach burn with molten need.
“oh, f-uck,” you gasp, voice cracking on the expletive. in your defense, it’s the only word you currently feel like you know how to say, but mark doesn’t laugh or tease you for it. he just presses a messy kiss to your clit, then slides his tongue down through your folds to circle your hole, slowly and messily pressing inside of you. he pumps it in and out for a few moments, as if he’s trying to fuck you with his tongue, then flattens the muscle and drags it back up to your clit to press into it firmly. you untangle your fingers from the sheets and reach up to swat at mark’s thigh, twisting and turning frantically in his hold.
“oh my fucking god, mark, let go!” your whines are urgent, thighs beginning to quiver on either side of mark’s head. his eyes flutter open enough to look at you through his long, thick lashes, but his firm grip on your waist doesn’t let up in the slightest. his arms tighten around you, keeping your pussy to his lips and your body off the bed as he continues to ravage you like it’s the one thing he was born to do. “mark! ‘m fuckin’ serious– i’m gonna squirt if you don’t let go of m– oh, fuck!”
you realize your warning is a bit late as you feel that knot tighten and snap in your belly, but it would’ve fallen on deaf ears regardless of whether you said it earlier or not. your cunt gushes all over mark’s nose, lips, and chin, soaking the top of his t-shirt and dribbling a bit down onto the bed below. you’d think he’d have a concern of drowning, but mark’s tongue keeps moving as you cum, legs squeezing against his ears so tight that you’re sure he can hear absolutely nothing but his own heartbeat. you know you sure can’t– all you can hear is the distant sound of your own voice, and the way your breathing stutters in your chest, a series of tremors wracking your body so brutally that you’d liken them to an earthquake. 
“shit,” you gasp softly, limbs tingling once they regain sensation. you wriggle in mark’s grasp and he pulls back from your pussy with a pop!, lowering your hips down to the bed as he runs his tongue along his lower lip.
“you said you were about to squirt as if that was going to deter me,” mark says breathlessly, a soft laugh punctuating his sentence. his face is covered with your slick all over his lips and chin, the sun from the window catching on it in a way that makes it glisten. you’re embarrassed by his nonchalance, but it’s hard to be mad when mark looks this good. you did this to him– made his perfectly slicked-back hair disheveled, and soaked his lower face and chest in your cum. normally, you would reply to his quip right away, but right now, you don’t. you’re much too focused on watching how mark leans down to reach behind his head and grab at his shirt, shucking it off in one smooth motion to join your discarded shorts on the floor.
“it was supposed to,” you finally say, voice sounding just as breathless as mark’s. his lips quirk up at the corners, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. instead, he leans over you to open his bedside drawer, and you take that as an opportunity to continue. “didn’t realize i was sleeping with superfreak, over here.”
mark snorts. “i’m just a guy who prioritizes my partner’s pleasure over mine.”
“that’s a roundabout way to say you like to eat pussy. and ass. oh god, mark, you don’t eat ass, do you?”
mark wiggles his eyebrows in response, and you look at him with such a horrified expression that a giggle can’t help but escape from his chest. he shuts the bedside table with a soft thud and leans back over you with a strip of two condoms hanging from his mouth. your brows shoot up at the sight, but mark doesn’t see it. he’s much too focused on pushing his sweatpants and boxers down to his thighs, cock slapping lightly against his abs.
oh. you always knew mark looked good, but this? this is something else entirely.
“you’re staring,” mark says wryly, tearing one of the condoms from the strip, then opening up the wrapper with his teeth. you watch as he pinches the tip and rolls the condom onto himself with a level of precision that screams of practice. if you hadn’t just cum your brains out, you might’ve found yourself feeling a little bit jealous.
“‘course i am.” your reply is shameless, and it makes mark bark out a startled laugh. “you said it was big, not that you were carrying a weapon. now here you are, looking like asian adonis with my jizz on your face, rolling a condom on with the ease of a common whore. not to mention that you grabbed two of them.”
a giddy smile spreads across mark’s face in reply, but it’s not one of his usual ones: it’s bashful. it’s the kind of smile where he bites his lip to force it down, but it doesn’t work, so his bottom lip slowly unfurls from between his teeth. your ears burn bright red at the sight, but mark doesn’t comment on it. mark’s never been good at multitasking, and he’s much too focused on tossing the unopened condom to the side, then tugging you against him by your thighs.
“we don’t have to use them both,” mark says softly, the sweetness of his smile bleeding into his voice. it’s a bit jarring for him to be acting so adorably, like he’s not running his cock along the seam of your folds. the tip catches on your clit every so often, making your breath catch in the back of your throat.
“i like how that’s what you chose to comment on.” 
he shrugs. “didn’t have much else to say.”
“you’re a dog, you know that, mark?”
mark grins at you wickedly, leaning down to lick a stripe up your cheek.
“mm, yeah. ‘m guilty as charged.”
and just like that, he sinks into you, bottoming out in one smooth thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. your eyes screw shut, but you latch onto him immediately, hand shooting out in search of his. he takes it wordlessly, bringing your hand up so he can kiss your knuckles.
“you okay?” he asks tenderly, lips pressed to the back of your hand. you open your eyes, tears pricking at the corners, then nod slowly as a deep breath leaves your nose.
“yeah,” you say shakily. “just been a while. warn me next time.”
mark nods, doing his best not to get caught up on the fact that you want there to be a next time. “sure,” he answers. “sorry. here– put your legs on my shoulder.”
you lift your legs for mark to take, and he settles both of your feet on one of his shoulders like they belong there. then, he shifts forward, shuffling up so that his thighs bracket your hips, which slots him deeper into you than he has any business being.
it makes you feel crazy. you fucking love it.
once mark feels stable in his position, and any remnants of discomfort bleed from your expression, he starts rocking his hips in and out of you at a pace too quick to be languid, but too slow to be considered harsh. whatever rhythm he’s fallen into, it feels good. you’re clawing at the sheets at your sides and behind your head like a madman, that copy of seance dog he lent you long forgotten on the floor, along with everything else you two have taken off. 
“does this answer one of your questions?” mark asks lowly, eyes half-lidded and jaw tight. he’s got your legs pressed to his chest with one hand, the other splayed across your stomach to hold you in place. you can tell it’s not that simple, though; the firmness with which he presses down against your stomach is as if he’s feeling for something, and the realization makes you clench, cunt squelching lewdly around his cock inside you. “did you wonder how i fuck? if i liked it fast? or did it slow?”
in your day-to-day conversations, mark doesn’t swear all that often– at least, not compared to you– but the mouth he’s got on him in bed is a surprise that makes you flush down to your chest. you look up to see mark gazing at you with eyes that are almost black, a bright blush fanning across his freckled cheeks and nose. when he sees you struggle to answer, the gears clearly turning, but no words coming out, he grips your legs tighter and quickens the snap of his hips. mark’s lips fall open with a breathy moan as he watches the way your eyes roll back, and his abdomen clenches with the need to keep his own pleasure at bay. “c’mon, baby. tell me. tell me how you want it, ‘n’ i promise i’ll do whatever you say.”
“i– god, fuck, mark, yes, i wondered how you fucked!” your reply comes out breathy, whiny, and and rushed– a result of you making an actual effort to focus so it didn’t come out as a jumbled, inaudible mess. “i w-wondered if you’d treat me like glass, or fuck me like i had no self-respect. i don’t care what you do right now– swear t’god i don’t– ‘cause i just wanna cum. don’t fucking stop.”
mark huffs out a laugh at how desperate you sound, lips quirking up in a lopsided smile that shows off the cute little fangs he has in the corners of his mouth. he turns his head to kiss one of your ankles, then takes one to put it on the opposite side, making it so you have one leg on each of his shoulders. large, calloused hands slide down your legs and smooth over your thighs before taking your hands into each of his. you’re about to ask what he’s doing, but there’s no time for the words to come out. he’s already gripping both your wrists and tugging you forward, forcing your ass to smack against his thighs with every brutal snap of his hips.
your brain is about to melt out of your fucking ears.
“did you touch yourself?” mark’s asks breathlessly, dark eyes focused on your face. you try desperately to free your hands from his grasp, but your attempts are pathetically uncoordinated. the way his cock is rearranging your guts makes it impossibly difficult to focus. but despite your lack of success, your writhing makes mark tut at you disapprovingly, and he leans forward to keep you in place by resting a fraction of his body weight on your chest. “quit trying to run ‘n’ tell me. did you touch yourself thinking about me fucking you? imagining how it would be?”
mark leans down to lick a stripe up the side of your neck, voice dropping to a filthy, sultry whisper. “‘cause i did. thought about this all the time, what you’d feel like around me. it’s so much fuckin’ better than i imagined.”
you nod your head frantically, hands clenched into fists, and your nails dig so roughly into your palms that it’s a miracle it hasn’t drawn blood. mark isn’t completely satisfied with your response, but he takes it for what it is and releases both of your wrists in favor of grabbing onto your hips.
“if you touched yourself while thinking of me, then show me. play with it for me, hm?”
you don’t need much more coaxing than that.
your fingers fly to your clit at lightening speed, middle and ring finger rubbing in quick, tight circles that mark finds absolutely hypnotizing. your other hand comes up to palm at your breasts, pinching and tweaking at your nipples in a way that makes you whine. mark damn near growls at the sight, a string of expletives you’ve never heard from him before being let out into the ether as he doubles his efforts to fuck you into the mattress.
“open your eyes,” mark demands, his words oozing with a tone you’re very much not used to being addressed with. his voice is low, gravely, and deeply affected by the way your walls squeeze around him, and you find that you quite like having him like this: wrapped around your finger, barely hanging on, lost in everything pertaining to you. the sentiment is definitely shared, because as you force your eyes open, you feel your features pinch the way they do when you’re trying not to cry. it’s nothing bad– far from it, actually. it’s just that mark is fucking you so good that you feel like you’re losing your mind, and the pleasure is so mindboggling that it makes you wanna sob. 
“there y’go, baby,” mark sighs, “just keep lookin’ at me. i wanna see your face when you cum.”
his honest admission shoots straight through you and right to your core, pussy clenching around him tightly, your clit throbbing beneath your fingers. mark moans low and long at the feeling, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows hard.
“fuck, i like when y’do that– when you like what i say and you get all tight around me. just– keep touching yourself, pretty. look at me and let it happen.”
all you can do is nod helplessly. mark ducks down to press a kiss to your cheek, fingers pressing what will definitely be bruises tomorrow morning into the skin of your hips. his cock splits you open in a mindbending way, your fingers flicking at your clit so frantically that your hand has become nothing but a blur. 
then, the bubble bursts. your orgasm hits you like a truck, your head flying back, and the muscles in your jaw and neck pulling taut. the same goes for your legs– your knees lock up and your thighs pull tight, shaking with violent tremors as you gush again, this time, around mark’s cock. you do your best to keep your eyes open as you cum, but it’s hard. from what you can see, though, mark’s mouth drops open and his eyes flash with something bright– yellow, even– as he takes in the sight of you falling apart. whatever it is, you don’t give it much thought. your brain is much too fried to be trusting everything you see right now.
“you’re a fucking dream like this,” mark mutters, his tone oozing with awe and disbelief. dutifully, he fucks you through your second orgasm– all the squirming, pulsing, and wetness that’s stained his sheets twice in one night– and holds your unfocused gaze all throughout it before he feels you coming down and abruptly pulls out. your twitching legs drop unceremoniously to the bed, and mark swings his thighs over you to settle over your chest, fingers peeling off the condom and tossing it lamely to the side. all you can see past your wet lashes and teary eyes is mark’s fist moving in an urgent blur before he cums all over your chest, the orgasm hitting him so hard that he has to grip the headboard to stabilize himself. his super strength causes it to splinter just slightly as his legs shake, so much so that he can hardly hold himself up.
his cum paints your tits in hot, thick, pearly white strands, and mark clambers up from over you to lay down on the other side of the bed. you find it unfair, the way that he’s panting and shaking much less than you, but you don’t comment. you just stare up at the ceiling, the sound of your breathing filling the air.
“i hope that was good,” mark says earnestly, rolling lazily onto his side to look at you. you take another deep, grounding breath, then turn your head to look at him. your arm comes out too weakly to swat at his chest.
“there’s no way you just asked me that when your cum is drying on my chest.”
mark stares at you for a moment, then busts out into a fit of laughter, reaching behind his head to take the pillow so he can drop it casually onto your face. you can’t help but laugh too, arms coming up to shield yourself from the pillow, and you toss it back to mark where he catches it, then tucks it back under his head. “fuck me for trying to make sure you’re okay, i guess,” he says dramatically, rolling his eyes.
you flip over onto your stomach and bunch the pillow up under your chin, careful to ignore the wet parts of your chest as you widely grin and quip back. “i just did.”
“more like the other way around. this was me fucking you. into the mattress, might i add.” mark grins mischievously and reaches out to place his hand on your lower back, smoothing over your ass before dipping between your legs to find your folds. he trails his fingers up and down your wet and puffy slit, tongue darting out to wet his lips when he feels you shiver in reply. “but we can go again with you on top if you wanna fuck me. not like i’d ever say no to that. plus, it’d answer one of my questions.”
you’re part your lips to reply, but the sound of feet padding up the stairs, partnered with a soft call of mark’s name, makes you both freeze exactly where you’re at. you look at each other in panic, then scramble to get rid of the proof of what you two just did. mark leaps off the bed and onto his feet with impressive athleticism, tossing you your discarded copy of seance dog that you catch effortlessly with one hand. you tug your t-shirt down over your chest, ignoring the fact that there’s still cum on it you’ve hardly wiped off, and he busies himself with pulling his pants back up and slipping his t-shirt on. the fact that it’s still damp around the collar doesn’t matter– not when there’s much more incriminating evidence like his used condom on the bed, alongside the wrapper and the new one he was about to use on you again ten seconds ago.
you barely manage to get under the covers to hide your lower half by the time debbie opens the door, your shorts haphazardly kicked under the bed, and your panties in mark’s pocket. you double-check to make sure your comic isn’t upside down and open it to a random page, holding it as inconspicuously as possible, right in front of your face. mark’s hands are stuffed into his pants, the condoms and the wrapper fisted tightly in his hands.
“hey, you two,” debbie says sweetly, eyes flickering back and forth between the two of you. you swear, even if you two didn’t look suspicious as hell, debbie would still be looking at you two like she knows you did something wrong. “just came to let you know that dinner is ready. and that you two shouldn’t stay up too late tonight. i’m driving you two back to campus early, so i can get to work on time.”
mark smiles tightly. “okay, mom, thanks,” he says, pulling a hand out of his pocket to wave at her goodbye. debbie eyes him amusedly, taking in both of your disheveled appearances one more time before nodding and moving to close the door.
“oh, and mark? it’s been a long time coming, so i don’t mind if you two are having sex, as long as it’s safe and i don’t have to worry about becoming a grandma.”
the color drains from both of your faces, but debbie only laughs, a smile as sweet as her son’s spreading across her face. “but next time, if you’re gonna try and hide it, make sure the panties are tucked all the way into your pocket. i’m not judging what you’re into, but it’s kind of a dead giveaway when blue lace is halfway hanging out of your sweatpants.”
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# — navigation
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eatmyson · 1 year ago
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this one's inspired by @cringefailvox's time has changed the metaphor!
It was such a good read and I couldn't stop thinking about these three ever since.
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rookanisstuff · 4 months ago
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An illuminated manuscript from a gossip pamphlet found in the First Talon’s desk with the caption reads:
The Treviso Tourney - Knight Takes Rook
Despite the recently crowned King Viago’s presence at this weekend’s coronation tournament, the audience seemed more enamoured with the rare appearance of the newly wed Dellamorte’s. The Champion of Treviso’s magical talents may have left her out of the competition, but the First Talon’s blade received Rook’s favour - and this punter knows to never bet against the Rook!
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theobservatory · 5 months ago
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There's something about dating Dick that makes you feel so... Pretty.
Sure, other partners have made you feel pretty before, but one quite like Dick has.
It's the little things, really.
It's 12pm. You've over slept by a pretty wide margin. You're in this muumuu that's slightly too big for you, having been handed down to you by your mom after she got new ones. You're bare faced, bonnet on, unpampered. Hell, you haven't even brushed your teeth yet.
But Dick is looking at you. He's dressed for the day, halfway out the door for work. But he's frozen. He's staring.
"Good afternoon, gorgeous." He says so breathlessly it's like you can see the hearts in his eyes. "Breakfast is in the fridge."
He closes the door behind himself, already removing his shoes again in the small entryway.
"You're gonna be late for-"
"Can I kiss you? Fuck sorry, that was uncouth. What were you saying?"
Your heart gives an especially hard beat.
Normally you hate to be interrupted, but this feels weirdly good for some reason...? It's hard not to feel wanted, sexy, when he looks at you like that.
"You're going to be late for work, baby."
Dick smiles, placing your hand in his before you've registered he's even crossing the room.
"This is more important. Kiss me?"
"But I haven't-"
"Don't care. Kiss me, please?"
You lean in, and he pulls you closer, meeting you in the middle. The kiss is deep, eager. His hands are roaming around your back like he can't figure out where to place them. Like every part of you is more perfect than the last, and he just can't choose what he wants to touch the most.
You could almost swear there's a tiny tremor in his fingers. It's hard to feel while he grips the fabric of your nightie.
"Didn't mean to jump you like that." Dick murmurs when he pulls back. "You're just so- fuck- I don't know. Pretty isn't a good enough word."
You pull him back in, swiping your tongue over his lips.
Because really, you can settle for pretty. Pretty is good.
Really good.
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Can you believe this blog is run by an aromantic ? It's about the vibes, people, the intimacy.
Anyways, if you're Dick Grayson's true and real partner lemme hear you say HELL YEAH đŸ—ŁïžđŸ—ŁïžđŸ”„
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stump-not-found · 6 months ago
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Second or Third Contact
part 1 /part 2 / part 3 / part 4
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and they never ever had any problems ever . the end
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keferon · 7 months ago
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Head in hands.
I know the entire fandom loves Elita One being "on the good side" but I personally prefer her sitting on a throne made of dead bodies
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ramblingguy54 · 10 months ago
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If there was any moment that made me cry most, it would be this one.
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aroseforyounme · 4 months ago
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Cw: child abuse-verbal/emotional slightly physical, depression, disassociation, self-esteem issues
notes: caleb x non mc!reader; unrequited love
Part 1 Part 2
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'Why,' you wondered, watching the two of them up ahead in a world of their own, 'was I even invited?'
You weren't planning on going out, the half eaten dinner on your dining table and the cued up movie on your phone could attest to this. You were planning on losing yourself to horrors of the fictional kind and try your absolute best to not wallow on your terrible luck in love.
And yet he had called. And like a fool you had answered.
"A fair," he'd told you, and you swore you could hear affection in the chuckle he'd thrown your way, "want to come with?"
And you. Foolish and hopelessly in love you. You had to say yes.
You should have realized that he didn't meant just the two of you-should have remembered that where there was a Caleb, there would always be a MC. The two of them were attached at the hip, orbiting around one another as if just being one step away from each other was too much. Most would think it was just Caleb, but it was MC too. The two of them hovered, touched, stayed glued to each other.
It was sweet, sickeningly so. The sort of sweet that gave cavities and famous poets would write heartsick poems about. It was something closed, intimate, a sort of story with a beginning, middle, and end. A story with two main characters and a love that blossomed and grew steady across different seasons.
And you, background character Y, were meant to stand idly by and let their story unfold in small chunks and then all at once.
So again, you wondered, kicking a loose rock and watching it skip across the street, why the hell did they invite you?
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Your first meeting wasn't necessarily ideal. You had been home alone, staring out the window when a baseball crashed through and hit you square in the face. You remembered the crunch of bone, the way you flew back slightly. You remembered the way someone had yelled and the hands that had cradled your head and then nothing else.
You had come to in a hospital, staring up at the ceiling as your irritated mother told you all about how she had to come home early from the gala and deal with the mess you had caused. You remembered the way her hand tightened on your wrist, deep blue nails digging in. You knew she wouldn't do anything more than bruise and so you didn't try to snatch your hand away. Instead you let her tighten her grip, staring at that ceiling and wondering at the fact that you honestly couldn't feel your nose.
The doctor had come in at some point, but you processed their arrival through a heavy fog. A concussion. A broken nose. Something about a care plan, something about rest.
Your mother had nodded agreeably to the instructions, throwing in jokes to make the doctor laugh-feel more at ease. She had shed the crabby countenance she always seemed to have in your presence and slipped into her role as loving mother. It dropped the moment the two of you got into the car. She had snapped at you three times to get into the car-had huffed in irritation and snatched the seat belt from your shaky hands in order to clasp it. You hadn't said a word, still floating.
When you got home, they were standing there. There were two of them-a young boy and girl around your age. You had seen them around, but you hadn't actually ever talked to them. They seemed overly insular, only really talking to themselves and one other boy before he'd moved away. You remembered the way the boy stood slightly in front of her, his posture straightening the closer the car got. His smile was so apologetic you almost felt like you were watching one of your mother's performances. It was a little too practiced, a little too perfect. Your mother blew right past them, muttering about the broken glass and her ruined plans, but you stopped in front of them, curiosity making you wait-assess.
The girl had turned to follow your mom's path, her eyes furrowed. She made an abortive move, as though to follow her, before she stopped, biting her lip with anxious energy. The boy, however, had looked at you. You realized, with a jolt, that his gaze had not moved from you from the moment you had entered your driveway. His eyes seemed to burn with a sort of knowing that made you want to simultaneously shrink away and bask in the attention.
"Hi," he had said, his smile still quirked in practiced apology, "I am so sorry about the ball. Are you okay?" The words were rehearsed, so plastic you could feel the insincerity coating every syllable. He wanted this to be quick, to end this interaction and get back to what he knew. You could hear the role you were meant to play in his question. You were meant to say something simple. Easy.
A concussion. Your broken nose a blot on your face. The bruises you could feel blooming under your eyes.
You said nothing, squinting at the boy. His smile stayed in place although you could see it twitching just slightly. You forced your answering smirk away.
"Yeah! Sorry about your face and also the window! Caleb literally jumped through the window after we saw you fall (and that maybe made the window break even more)! We didn't meant to, I swear! Caleb tried to grab your head before it hit the floor but it was too late! And the vase! We-"
A sudden shriek filled cut through the rambling of the girl in front of you.
"-we may have also possibly broken a vase." She finished, her voice sheepish.
Your mother yelled your name. A sharp sound that had you turning your head toward the sound and away from the two kids in front of you. You sighed, your headache worsening the longer you stood there.
"It's fine," you had said, your voice flat. You didn't look at them as you made your way towards the door.
"We can pay for the damages!" She had yelled out suddenly and before you could take another step, she was in front of you. She pulled out her hand and in her palm you saw it.
A crumpled up bill. A singular dollar.
You remembered the silence. The way she looked up at you beseechingly, wiggling the dollar as though it would make it more enticing. You remembered the boy-Caleb-sighing and walking over to her and closing her fists around the dollar, arguing with her. They had kept going back and forth but you hadn't cared about a single thing they'd said.
It was ridiculous. What was a dollar supposed to do to fix a window and your mother's most priceless vase? (Her words, you knew for a fact she had 4 others that looked exactly like it gathering dust in storage).
And yet, despite your mother's screeching growing louder, despite the fact that your headache spiked the longer you stood there, despite the way your entire face ached.
You laughed.
It had hurt, but it was a pain made dull by Caleb's confusion and the girl's (who's name you now definitely needed to know) answering grin.
"Don't worry about it," you told her, "it'll be fixed in a second." As soon as you stepped into the house really. Your mother wouldn't let you rest otherwise. You smiled at them, really and truly, ignoring the way your nose started to bleed.
Your mother screamed again. It was time to go.
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Caleb had asked, genuinely sincere this time.
"Yeah," You remembered telling them, lips stained red by the blood trickling from your nose, "I'm always okay."
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You thought that would be the end-that they would go back to their world of 2 (and occasionally 3) and you would go back to staring listlessly out windows or sleeping the day away, trying to get rid of the perpetual fog that surrounded you. Silence would once again envelope you, only to be broken up by your mother's infrequent and not at all welcome, visits back home.
You were wrong.
At first it was just MC. She would come often, sometimes dragging that other boy-Caleb-with her, sometimes alone. Her chatter would would fill the space around the two of you. She didn't seem to care that you didn't speak too much-unused to having someone there who wanted to actually listen. She spoke enough for the both of you, anyhow and you were content to listen, to let the chatter breathe life into your sometimes too quiet house.
Caleb came in bits and pieces-the real him that is. Oh, he was a constant physical presence, hovering right behind MC and staring at you with too sharp eyes. But the initial versions of him was shallowly polite. He'd laugh when prompted, make a joke to fill the space that MC would sometimes leave for him. But he was never truly talking to you-never really present with you. His body was present in the space between the three of you, but his attention, his focus was on MC.
And that was fine. You had found his attention to be too intense, his perception too much. Whenever MC made an offhand remark about your mother being gone, his eyes would flash with something close to understanding and you found yourself tripping to make a quick excuse, not yet ready to have the truth of the matter pulled out in the open.
It was in those moments that his focus would shift, his deep purple eyes would flicker to you and you knew that he knew.
The fact that he was just waiting for you to acknowledge it made it worse.
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You remembered the first time you made him laugh-actually truly laugh. It had just been the two of you-a first since MC and Caleb were generally attached at the hip. But she got held up at home and had apparently pushed Caleb out the door and told him that he absolutely needed to come over and tell you that she couldn't make it today.
You had stared at the phone on the counter in confusion before turning to him. The only thing he could offer was a shrug. The two of you stared at one another in awkward silence before you sighed, shrugging yourself and asking if he wanted to play video games. His eyes lit up for the first time you'd met him and he agreed.
He beat you. He beat you so bad it was so embarrassing. By the 5th win, you could feel the smug energy radiating off him and in a fit of embarrassed rage you tried to push his controller out of his hands. But you missed. You don't even know how you missed, but you missed him entirely and ended up falling face first onto your floor.
He looked down at you.
You turned your head and looked up at him in astonished silence.
The game loudly chimed that you were last place and Caleb was, irritatingly, first.
"Listen," you started, hands flying up to stop what you knew was going to start, "don't even-"
He laughed. No, he cackled. Loud guffaws escaped his mouth as he pointed down at you and you could feel embarrassment warming your cheeks. But beneath that, way way down inside to a point that you refused to acknowledge, you felt something else.
Pleased.
"Stop laughing!" You yelled, but all it did was make him laugh harder, tears gathering in his eyes. With a huff and a smile you tried to hide, you rose to your feet, sitting on the couch and watched him try to pull himself together. You didn't notice the smile you'd tried to hide blossoming across your face, small and warm. You didn't notice that your voice had gotten soft, fond almost.
"It wasn't that funny."
And when he stopped laughing, when he wiped the tears from his eyes and looked over at you, he smiled back. Wide and showing just a bit too much teeth. Something that was wholly and completely his.
It was real.
"Are you okay?" He had asked, chuckles spilling in between the words.
"Yeah," you had said, and something unfortunate had clicked into place for you, although you didn't know it yet, "I'm always okay."
He had opened up more then, started coming over on his own sometimes with an excuse to beat your ass in games again. And you'd let him in each time, bickering over the controls and the game itself until one or both of you were laughing. Inevitably he would wander towards the kitchen, humming neutrally as he picked apart your meager offerings.
(Your mother never truly went grocery shopping and you didn't know how to cook so you were surviving off instant meals and snacks).
He never made a comment but you felt bad all the same.
And he noticed, because of course he did.
That was when the random food drops off started. He would come over with containers in his hands, saying something about how he and his grandmother made too much and they could not keep eating left overs, MC would kill him.
The first time he brought a container over, filled with food that you remembered offhandedly saying you wanted to try, you almost cried. Your hands were trembling when you took the container, your eyes stung and you couldn't speak past the lump in your throat.
But he didn't need words. He didn't need anything. He had placed a hand on your head, not ruffling it like you'd seen him do with MC. No, he just placed it softly on the top of your head, a grounding presence.
(That must've been the moment you had fallen in love. It had to have been).
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Their duo didn't become a trio. Not really. They were still Caleb and MC-still a planet and it's moon orbiting one another over and over again until the end of time. It was just that sometimes-once in a while-they would open up and let you hover uncertainly in their gravitational pull.
You didn't think of it this way at first. You were honestly just happy to be included-to feel something beyond the steady chill of being a ghost in your own life. You had been drifting for what seemed like forever and they pulled you down, dragged you into the present.
You hadn't minded that you were always the one walking a step behind them if the sidewalk only allowed enough room for two. You hadn't minded staring at their backs, an audience member to their two man show. You hadn't minded being their spectator. Not if it meant that you get to bask in their warmth-in their glow.
In his glow.
It was vibrant and you found yourself addicted to it. You didn't think you could go back to the quiet-the stillness-you once found comfort in. The silence had become too loud, unwelcoming. You were no longer accustomed to the way it would press against you-once soothing, now stifling. You didn't want go back to the shade you once were, so you clung, stubbornly refusing to see what was right in front of you.
A leech, that was what your mother had called you. And maybe you were. You hadn't cared though, hadn't cared so long as they continued to share some of their heat with you.
But it shifted as you grew older-came into quiet focus and something in you, something small and rebellious, took notice.
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The first number on your new phone had been his. He'd plucked the phone out of your hands the moment you finished setting it up and input his number, smiling over at you when you squawked in (pretend) indignation.
"In case you need me," is what he had said, tossing the phone back and raising a singular eyebrow at you. You'd scoffed at him at the time, refusing to acknowledge the soft flutter in your chest at his words.
"And if I never call?" You remembered the way his smile had shifted, his teeth flashing as he let out a slight chuckle.
"Well then, I guess I'll just have to call you, huh?"
"Careful," you murmured, your voice tinged with something you refused to name, "say stuff like that and people will get clingy."
You remembered the way his eyes had flashed with something, how his voice became an octave lower. He'd said it so quietly as thought it were meant to be a secret shared between the two of you. And wasn't that thrilling? Wasn't that hopeful?
"Well," he whispered, his voice a faint caress against your cheek, "wouldn't want that, now would we?"
He called you every other night at 12:45am on the dot. You weren't sure exactly why that time, but you found yourself putting an alert on your phone to make sure you were in the right headspace to receive his call. You would wrap yourself in your blankets, and settle yourself right beside the window sill. You liked to lean on it while staring out the night sky, his voice a steady rhythm in your ear.
You talked about everything and nothing. It would jump from the weather to your plans for the future to random hypotheticals the two of you would throw at one another. You found yourself opening up-truly opening up-in those quieter moments. In the cover of night, you'd open your mouth and spill secrets that only the dreary walls of your house had witnessed.
You spoke of a father that left before you could even walk. You spoke of a mother that blamed you-that wanted you to repent for the crime of being born. You spoke of fears that couldn't be given a proper name-of feeling as though you were one step away from disappearing completely.
You spoke and he listened.
And then he spoke.
Of death. Of a catastrophe that changed his life and the fallout being an orphan. Of feeling like he's simultaneously too much and not enough. He spoke and while you knew there was a lot he wasn't saying, you took what he gave and cherished it all the same.
The day may have been reserved for her. His expression so loving, it caused you to turn away. But the nights, the nights were reserved for you; this was something you could point to for anyone that dared to undermine your presence in his life.
Until you were reminded of where you truly stood.
It was a stormy night. The sky opened up and you watched on your spot in front of your window as rain pelted the ground. Lightning flashed across the sky and you quietly counted to 5 as thunder boomed. You smiled a little to yourself, staring up at the night sky.
Your alarm chimed, telling you that it was 3 minutes to 12:45. Caleb would be calling any minute. You continued to watch the lightning streak across the sky, almost losing yourself in the moment.
He didn't call.
Not that night, nor the next, or the next. Through it all the storm raged on.
You had asked him, fiddling with your jacket and head turned to where MC was saying goodbye to her other friends. You had asked him what happened-if he was just falling asleep early.
"MC doesn't like thunderstorms," he had said, face angled to watch her, "I was with her. Didn't think to give you a call." You blinked turning to look at him, finding him already looking at you.
A leech, your mother had called you. You hadn't wanted to listen to her but staring at Caleb in that moment, that was all you could hear reverberating in your skull.
"Ah, okay," You managed to say through a throat coated in molasses, "that makes sense."
There was no storm that night. He called you at 12:45. You lasted 2 rings before answering.
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lavibookmanmusings-blog · 2 years ago
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You awaken after a long sleep, blinking years of sleep from your eyes. What year is it now, you wonder idly as a yawn escapes your lips. What have the Illiarians been up to? You had told them to let you rest for a few centuries, now that their enemies had been taught the folly of their ways.
Even then, you had been the only one of your kind, and those who worshipped you had wanted for nothing nor worried for their safety. The Illarians had been a peaceful people, both influenced by your rule and influencing you in turn, as time had passed and perception had shifted.
As the world takes focus in front of you, things seem a bit... odd. That wasn't an Illiarian, yet it had awoken you from your slumber. It began to speak, then, and your power twisted the words it spoke into something understandable.
"Oh, mighty God-king. We have called upon you now so that you may aid our righteous cause!" The being (it had to have a name, right?) cried out, its voice barely audible from its spot below you.
A fraction of a second later, your form shifts into one more suitable for conversation, bipedal and everything. At least that part was the same.
"Uh-huh. Who are you? You're *definitely* not the same kind of people I went to sleep with. I told them to wake me up after a few centuries. How long has it been?" You question, lowering your volume after your voice proves to be too loud for it's fragile body.
"Might God-king! We are your faithful followers, calling upon you to aid us in crushing the resistance that prevents us from creating the sort of world you may rule, as is proper for one such as yourself." This being, stepping forward from behind the other one, which crouched on the floor holding itself. It seemed to be in pain, but paid it no mind.
"Ruling the world? Who said I wanted to do that?" The words are spoken in a disbelieving tone, apparently just on the verge of the volume these new beings could handle. "Nah, we're going to just take a step back and chill. Obviously, fighting didn't do the trick.
Now. Who has some food?"
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That was pretty fun to write, actually. Maybe I'll take it somewhere someday.
You have failed and your foes have achieved their long sought goal of reviving their God-king. Everyone expected him to lead the final assault and solidify his rule once and for all. Turns out, he’s actually a pretty chill guy and immediately calls the whole thing off.
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idonsul · 5 months ago
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