#I drew this in like 8 hours over the course of a day this is the most inspired I've been by art in a HOT minute

[mosshugs]

I'm not saying I'm not playing god. I'm not saying I'm worth saving.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Cleaning services (perv!Konig x fem!cleaner!Reader)

Konig needs help in decluttering and cleaning his house. Unfortunately for you, he takes quite a huge liking in having pretty things like you around. And he isn't very nice about it.

TW: Perverted Konig, age gap, Konig masturbates at you without consent, implied kidnapping, yandere Word count: 3754 This work on AO3

There is no shame in having a professional cleaner, König tries to tell himself. 

Yes, he is a grown man with a very dangerous job that requires having a lot of responsibility. He holds the lives of his soldiers in his hands and risks his life every day not for the sake of his country, but certainly for the sake of his wallet and the reputation of KorTac. 

Hiring a professional cleaner for his house shouldn’t make him feel humiliated and embarrassed, and he knows it. Cleaners are basically like soldiers – doing stuff that other people can’t for a certain amount of money, providing services for the clients who can afford it. Besides, it’s a support of his local community – after everything he took from the people around his town, it’s only natural that he would support this growing business of cleaning services. 

There is no shame in having some nice old lady cleaning his house and watching over it while he is too busy trying not to kill himself or drown his head in liquor after a particularly rough mission. When you lose two guys on a run that was supposed to be the quickest task possible when you’re returning home with an injury that isn’t really that serious but brings your whole mental state into a very dark place, and when you’re forced to take 3 weeks of leave in the place you hate, hiring a cleaner to take care of everything really shouldn’t make him so ashamed of himself. 

Even if he can clean his space – the house is just too big for only one of him, and his ribs still have this funny feeling of fantom bullets traveling around his guts. So, he dials up the number of the cleaning services because he is too fucking old to understand their weird website and messenger ordering, even though speaking with a human operator on the other half of the line is somewhat more humiliating that having no idea of how to use a modern interface. 

There is no shame in asking for help, his therapist is trying to shrill it in his head all of the time and yet he is still hesitant when the cleaning professional is knocking on his door, finding this place surprisingly fast. König braces himself, thinking about all the ways he could avoid having a conversation – he drew a quick map of the place, put down the room cleaner shouldn’t be entering – his gun safe, mostly, already repeated in his head how he would greet them and swiftly extract himself from the situation. 

“Guten Tag, please, come in. This is the map of the place, don’t go to the red door on the right, don’t hesitate to ask questions, I will be on the second floor.” He takes a few wide, swift steps to his door and stops. Thinks again, overthinking, thinking too fucking much about everything, anxiously checking on his phone to read the message that yes, his cleaner is here and he should probably open the door or they would burst down the window. “Guten Tag, come in. Map of the place is here, don’t go to the red door to the right, please hesitate to ask questions, I will be somewhere around the house, lurking in the shadows” He braces himself to open the door, ready to see that sweet old lady who would spend the next 8 hours cleaning his house and then turn back another day to rinse and repeat until his house stopped looking like a place where a very, very miserable man lives. (Even if this is true) 

But, there isn’t a nice old lady with a bunch of cleaning supplies and determination to make someone’s life easier. 

But, there isn’t a cold middle-aged woman with a very professional no-nonsense attitude who wouldn’t even talk to him before going straight to work. 

But, there is a young girl. Well, not a girl, of course, if he had to guess you were somewhere around the “Too fucking young, but definitely legal” spectrum. Young enough to not be alive when he was already going to school, young enough to make him sweat, and definitely not old enough to be accepting a job where you’d have to spend so much of your life cleaning and scrubbing and sorting and…

There isn’t anything shameful in ordering a cleaning service when you genuinely need it, but you’re young and you’re pretty and he isn’t even wearing a mask because he is an old dumbass that forgot about it, and you look at him with your shiny eyes and…

Maybe, he should clean on his own – would definitely be less shameful. 

— Sir? H…hello? Good morning? Can you hear me? 

Yes, he can hear you. 

Yes, he would love to hear you every single day of his life, when he wakes up and when he falls asleep. 

— Ja. I apologize, I…thought it was mail. 

It’s a dumb excuse, but he can’t really say that he was just too fucking mesmerized by your shiny eyes and perfect hair and nice figure and basically everything about you. He has this nasty habit of imagining a future with people around him – with people who just fucking want to be left alone, and yet he still stares and looks and it’s probably ultra uncomfortable for them – but he can’t help imagining the life with every cute lady in the grocery shop or elegant lady sitting next to him on a train. 

He has a pattern – people who are not interested in him in the slightest. He has a pattern, a preference, cute girls, smart girls, popular ladies that were never even so much as looking in his direction. He could probably score someone now, having a colonel’s salary and honorably discharged payments, but he gave up on trying to find anyone. He has friends, company, has work where he spent most of his life anyway – he doesn’t need anyone, he wants to think. 

Then you waddle into his life with a bunch of cleaning supplies and a small vacuum, barely able to handle everything in your hands. He rushes to help and envelops your hands with his – you are so much smaller in comparison, he has bear-like arms and horribly big everything. he feels awkward when he gently removes everything from your arms – when he tries to help by simply putting everything on the table of the next room. 

König hated this house – it was big, it was empty, and the only reason he didn’t sell it was because Mother’s things were still locked in her old bedroom and every time he tried to clean it and evaluate the cost of the house, he decided that he will Do It Other Day. Coincidentally, all of those days were also followed by three-month minimum missions, making him utterly unable to do everything about this place anyway. 

This is why you’re here – a hired cleaner, a sorter, you promised to de-hoard everything and see if there is anything of value. Perfect for someone like him, especially since he is paying you double for spending the whole day and a few days more in his house exclusively. 

Now, he looks at how awkward your smile is, how you fidget with the edge of the broom you brought, and how you can’t even start a conversation because he is simply staring at you, staying in the living room of this dead, almost abandoned house. Now, he looks at how cute you are, how perfect, and remembers that he didn’t score with anyone in half a year already – not even in terms of sex, the casual flirting was also forbidden since half of his unit was transferred and the new people weren’t really fun of his tough methods of breaking rookies in. 

When was the last time someone genuinely smiled at him? 

Ah, he is staring again. Scheisse. 

— Where do you want me to start, sir? 

He wonders how much he should pay you to clean him instead. Would you be gentle? Rough? Would you call him a pervert, which he is, and then slap him and yell at him for being such a horrible old dog who is ready to pounce at every pretty girl in his presence? He would do anything that would set his mind free of the thought about Mom. Her bedroom. This whole house that he can’t call home ever since he turned 6 and understood why Father was always so, so angry. 

— The living room. If it’s not too much. 

He barely stops himself from talking more – you look weird, you loom surprised, you look at him like he is fucking stupid and, in fact, he is. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for you, you’re his clean, for fucks sake. You come here to clean, you get good money for it, he shouldn’t feel guilty for using your services because, in some way, he actually provides you with a job and a cute thing like you shouldn’t go to other houses, with old perverts that can do unspeakable things with the adorable worker. 

Ah, yes, perverts like him. God, he is hopeless. 

— Alright. Do you want to note something, like if there is anything I shouldn’t touch? 

He would allow you to take your adorable, yellow glow-wearing hands to get into his personal savings and all of his bank accounts, if you’d want to. He curses under his breath, hating how professional you are – hard worker, perfect, simply a fantastic person who deserves more than working for him. You aren’t trying to shy away from the job and he almost resents you for it. 

You’d make a good soldier, he thinks – you’re able to hear the orders and oblige to them, you’re obedient and came even before the discussed time. You’d make such a perfect private for his unit, he observes. 

Ah, right, he was supposed to answer you. Shit. 

— No. Just don’t go to the second room on the left. 

— Alright. Anything else? 

He grumbles under his breath, trying to get into the right headspace to deal with someone like you. König knows it’s rude, to just ignore and leave you like this – but if he were to stay in he same room as you, he would do something horrible, disgusting, and completely dishonorable to you. So, he leaves – escapes – to his office. Father’s office, mostly, the only thing here that belongs to him are some documents and useless papers – and a laptop that he drags to every other room anyway. 

He doesn’t like this room, it reminds him of the worst episodes of his early childhood – yet, this is his only reserve. He doesn’t want to leave the house because the territory is secluded and if something were to happen to you, he would be the only one able to help. He also doesn’t want to leave his gun collection with you – he doesn’t want you to find it and freak out or hurt yourself. 

This is what he tells himself, at least. He wants to be there with you, in the same room preferably, but horrible for his anxiety, because he wants this illusion, phantasm of having a loving relationship. Of having a woman in his life, a lovely housewife who would cook for him, clean for him, and would be absolutely spoiled with gifts and attention. God knows he doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body – but he will carve one out of his ribs for you. 

And he only knew you for an hour tops. 

König feels like literally the worst man alive when he spread his legs and starts stroking his hard, glistening cock. He brushes over the swollen, red tip, not allowing himself to have any lube other than spit and oozing pre-cum – he tries not to cum embarrassingly quickly, thinking about your perfect gestures and smiling face. How perfect you look in your cleaning uniform – not like maids from the occasional porn he was watching, but still beautiful. Your body is perfect even with all of those ugly layers and grey fabric – and he can’t stop thinking about the sway of your hips or glimpses of your legs under your dress.

He thinks about you, bent over his couch, trying to clean the especially dirty spot on the furniture – how the material of your dress would be tight around your ass. The image makes him grunt quietly, stroking his barely wet dick even more – the pain from the dry sensation only makes the pleasure all the sweeter. He is hard, was hard for the past 10 minutes as you were introducing yourself and whatever your deal is. He is dirty, perverted, knowing only your name and your face – and he is still stroking himself, thinking about paying you extra just so you’d get on your pretty knees and suck him. Would you be sloppy, messy, get his cum all over your face so you’d have to wash it off? Would you be experienced, eager, trying to get as much seed as possible with that pretty tongue of yours? 

He is a lost cause because he hears the sounds of vacuum – you’re only a few rooms away from him, trying so hard to clean his house for him, to work through every bit of furniture and everything he acquired for the past twenty years or so – and he moans loudly, knowing that you don’t hear anything. You’re probably listening to music or some silly girl’s podcast about planets and gardens and maybe some university lectures. He’d pay for your courses, he would get you any book you want – having his salary and barely spending it made him softer in the saving habits. 

He can afford to splurge on a pretty girl who just needs a rich Austrian mercenary to sweep her off her feet. But, he is old – but, he is a monster who preys on someone helpless, using her pretty face to jerk himself off, and he doesn’t even deserve your number, although he has had it since accepting the service. 

His cock is big, angry red in his hand as he runs his finger over the bulging vein, teasing the sensitive flesh – always loud in bed, with grunts and moans of pleasure, he can barely contain himself now, only forcing his mouth shut when he doesn’t hear the sound of vacuum anymore. He strokes his dick fast, angry, and slams it into his fist, trying to make the pain last longer, so he won’t cum after a minute or two. He has the stamina to last longer – but it’s also the first time he was so horny since…he can’t even remember. 

König thinks about putting you in his bed – like a perfect housewife, you would hug his waist with your legs, would allow him to lick and grope at your tits, and won’t scream too much when he’d force his tongue inside of your precious pussy, taking every last drop of your pleasure. He wouldn’t want to be forceful, angry, you’re too precious for this and too weak for his strength – but he can imagine slamming into you in a matting press, cumming inside and not even pulling out, warming his cock in the heat of your body. 

Father would kill him for doing something so dirty in his office – but he is long dead, devil save his soul, and it’s König’s office now. Even when he barely uses it, even if he doesn’t really need this. It came in handy when he had to jerk off to the pretty cleaning girl who cleaned up after him – so, somehow, his father managed to improve his mood 15 years after he died. 

He cums with a low groan, whispering your name – he doesn’t understand how a pretty thing like you still works here and wasn’t taken by someone else already, but he would take what he can get. Never the one to get the first dibs, never being someone’s first choice – he feels terrible for thinking about you in such a low way, but his pleasure sticks to his fingers and, at this point, it’s too late to feel bad. 

Drying the tip of his dick with a tissue, he spends a good few minutes with spread legs, his soft cock laying on the chair, with cum still oozing out – such a waste, honestly, would be much better to stuff you full of his cock or even take your pretty ass, spread you slowly. Keep only the tip in, not pressuring you into anything more until you’d start moving yourself, like a good slut you will be. 

So perfect under him – the images and sounds of your voice are running through his mind, making him breathe heavily. If he was younger and had as much sex drive as before, he would already be hard – but he needs some time to relax, thinking about your pretty legs and adorable face. 

It takes him a few minutes of listening to your sweet voice to understand that you were not, in fact, a hallucination or a mystical fairy coming to make him come. You were standing outside of the office door, looking embarrassed and clearly hearing at least some of his horny mumblings – you avoid looking at him, and your fingers are trembling when you tug at the sides of your dress. Guilt immediately rushes to him again, he looks at you like a perfect treasure you are – and he is a horrible monster trying to hoard all of it to himself. 

— What is it, liebling? 

Petname goes smoothly from his tongue and he can only hope that you don’t know German – he is too embarrassed to talk to you, too anxious, his newfound shyness is a result of both your beauty and the post-nut clarity that already made him feel like a monster. He contemplates just giving you money and sending you off, paying double for the false call, and leaving you a 5-star review so you won’t get in trouble with your boss. 

You look so meek from his angle of view – he has to fight the urge to pinch your face, squeeze your cheeks, grab your waist in his firm hands, and just lift you in his arms, holding you to his bed. Maybe getting a nice set of cuffs to ensure you would never escape from him. 

— I finished with the living room and…well, I just wanted to ask if you want the decluttering work to be done today or tomorrow. 

He remembers how he basically paid you for a few days worth of work – and he smiles at exactly how perfect this decision was. Of course, you are a smart girl, a modest girl, you aren’t staying the night and would rather waste time on the road, much to his dismay, but at least he would see you for a few days already. 

He might not even let you go after. 

— Ach. Today, if it’s not too…

He stops himself again – of course, it’s not too much, you are a professional, not just a friend that comes to clean his place for a pack of beer and maybe some pizza. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, anxiety eats him whole, and he has to just avoid looking at you to avoid further embarrassment. 

— Alright. I will do it right away then. 

You smile awkwardly, your lips are twitching and he already knows that you could hear him moaning your name and sweet little praises while stroking his cock. You aren’t biting the hand that feeds you, not running away screaming at how perverted he is – poor girl, you probably need money more than you need personal safety if you’re fine with him heaving like this. If you were his, he would never allow you to be so careless. 

He moves behind you in the most dreaded room of the house. Mother’s bedroom, a room that she only used for sewing and only allowed him in when he was extra whiny after another failed fight with his bullies. All of her thighs are here – ever since she passed away, he just moved everything to one room and locked it, barely bothering to keep a key. He hates being here, almost as much as being in Father’s office — this room smells like death and old paper and you scrunch your nose in an adorable expression when you take a step inside. 

— I will divide everything into categories, alright? 

— Gut.

You look at him nervously, clearly scared that he is watching over you now. It might feel like a logical decision – after all, it was his mother’s vintage things, who knows what kind of jewelry she kept here, something that he won’t even notice gone until it’s too late. You and him both know, however, that this isn’t the reason he is looming over you. A perfect obedient thing, you deserve something better than his affection, but he still locks his gaze with yours, looking at your hands and going through various furniture pieces. 

You work like a fairy, not an ounce of laziness or exhaustion in your actions – even after you already spent a few hours cleaning his living room, you act like a Cinderella that got a bunch of magic mice up her rags. He licks his lips, looking at your perfect ass you as sit on your knees, starting with decluttering every little box there is. 

— Can I just put it back in boxes or…

You look the the contents – vintage makeup, some jewelry, head pieces that don’t look particularly expensive but were definitely well-loved. You wonder who they belong to – probably a wife, or, maybe, some of his relatives who lived here. He doesn’t seem like a married or divorced man – he does, however, look insanely lonely. 

It takes him a good few seconds to respond, too mesmerized by the little song you were humming a minute before. He imagines you in that old, chunky jewelry, some necklaces that cost more than your salary – and the thought makes him salivate. 

He smiles, leaning closer to you – hot breath on your face, you shift immediately, scared. He is so fast for someone so big, his movements are perfect and his eyes are cold – you feel the chill deep in your bones when he moves even closer, his lips almost brushing against yours. 

Suddenly, you are very aware of the fact that he locked the door to this tiny room when you both moved in. 

[mynameismckenziemae]

All of Me

Part 3

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You take a stroll down memory lane and Jake surprises you in more ways than one

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, oral (m receiving), premature ejaculation, accidental facial, cumplay. Mentions of medical stuff/blood, probable naval inaccuracies, probable medical inaccuracies, mentions/memories of losing a spouse

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

The note with Jake’s number is shoved into your desk drawer to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind, right?

Wrong.

You find yourself thinking of him often as the week goes by; wondering what he’s doing while you’re in a meeting, hoping he’s not eating alone as Drew tells you about his day over dinner and remembering his touch when your fingers trail between your legs.

The weekend comes and goes quickly. Saturday is spent at Drew’s baseball tournament and Sunday is catching up and prepping for the week.

You fall into bed that night, exhausted, and drift off in minutes, which is a rare but welcomed occurrence as sleep likes to evade you. Once Drew’s down for the night and the house is dark, you struggle to fight off the underlying loneliness that’s always pressing in on you. Coming back to a quiet house is especially difficult after the constant hustle and bustle at all hours while deployed.

You wake up gasping just a few hours later; pillow damp from your tears as you reach for Andy beside you.

But the bed is just as cold and empty as your heart has been for the past 8 years.

Sleep then evades you, like it normally does after dreaming of your first love.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Rolling over with a sigh, you reach for your phone, but the doom scrolling does little to quiet your mind.

You were a brand new resident when Andy came in with a laceration above his eyebrow and a possible concussion after a training accident.

Even with the swelling, blood and the start of a black eye, you could see how attractive he was.

It had been a busy day and your preceptor left you to suture him once the concussion was ruled out as she was pulled away to help with a more pressing matter.

“This your first time?” Andy jokes, noticing the way you stalled; how you kept checking and rechecking you had all the supplies needed on the tray and looking at the door, praying your supervising physician would be back soon.

“Of course not,” you scoff dramatically before giving him a small smile, “I’ll have you know, I’ve put stitches in plenty of oranges and chicken breasts.”

His colleague, tasked with bringing him to the ER, chuckles from behind you.

A code-blue is called overhead and you sigh. There’s your sign that you’re on your own.

“Sorry,” you murmur when he hisses at the burn of the lidocaine you were injecting to numb him. “Almost done.”

“You’re going to feel pressure and pulling, but let me know if you feel anything sharp,” you tell him after giving the lidocaine time to work, taking a deep breath when he nods.

“Ow,” he says quietly as soon as you touch him. He’s teasing you again but it still makes you jump.

“Seriously?” You scold but he’s got the cutest grin and you can’t help but smile too.

“Sorry, I’ll be good,” he apologizes, still grinning.

“You better be,” you reply as you poke him with the curved needle. “Your pretty face is my hands. Okay?” You ask when he doesn’t flinch.

“Just fine,” he confirms. “You think I have a pretty face?”

“Maybe you do have a concussion,” you tease him, keeping your eyes on the work your hands are doing. “I never said that.”

“It’s true, Kernsie,” his friend pipes up from behind you. “She said your shitty face is in her hands.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“Oh fuck you, Bradshaw,” Andy chuckles too. His hand brushes accidentally brushes your waist when he reaches around you to flip him off and color rises in his cheeks. “Sorry ma’am.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, just thankful that you’re halfway done.

“What’s your name?” He asks with 2 sutures to go. “Your first name.”

“Reese,” you reply.

“Like the peanut butter cups?”

“Exactly,” you confirm. “My mom craved them the whole time she was pregnant with me. They’re also my favorite.”

“Mine too,” he says and his eyes flick to yours. “You have beautiful eyes, Reese,” he murmurs lowly, so only you can hear.

It’s your turn to blush as you finish up.

“All done,” you say, stepping back and handing him a mirror. “I was able to follow your brow line so the scarring should be minimal.”

“Thanks for keeping my face pretty,” he smiles, making your heart skip a beat.

“Shitty,” Bradley coughs.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Reese?”

You nearly jump out of your skin and reach for the pepper spray on your bag as you walk to your car an hour later. You were distracted having a mini pity party because you’ll never see Andy again that you didn’t notice someone waiting on the bench outside the door.

“Shit, sorry!” Andy says, rising. “It’s me, Andy, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What are you doing here?” You ask, hand still on your pepper spray.

“I-fuck.” He sighs and turns to a light blue Bronco in the parking lot. “I told you this was a bad idea, Bradshaw. I scared the shit out of her.”

You squint and see Bradley giving him a double thumbs up from the driver's seat.

“I’m-uh, gonna go,” Andy says, stepping toward his ride. “I’m really sorry again, for scaring you.”

“Wait,” you take your hand away from the bottle. “Are you okay? Did you need something?”

“No, I’m fine. You did a great job,” he assures you. “I just…”

“He wouldn’t stop talking about you,” Bradley calls out the window when Andy hesitates. “He said he wished he would’ve asked for your number and then made me stop at a gas station before coming back and-“

“Thanks, Bradshaw, she gets it,” Andy interrupts, flustered. Somehow, it makes him even cuter. “Here,” he hands you a plastic bag.

Inside are Reese’s peanut butter cups.

Unexpected tears prickle in your eyes at the sweet gesture. Once your mom figured out that you liked them too, she never bought them again.

“Thank you,” you say softly, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, returning your smile before opening the door. “Have a good night.”

“Wait,” you call as you pull out your phone. “Can I get your number?”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

You finally fall back asleep only minutes before your alarm goes off and you’re dragging by the time you get Drew to school and yourself to work.

You’re filled with a mixture of butterflies and nostalgia when you see the familiar orange package on your desk when you enter your office.

Though there isn’t a note, you know it’s from Jake; you had mentioned the love of your namesake the night you’d spent together.

A smile pulls at your lips as you slide it into your top drawer to eat later, right next to Jake’s number.

Your heart pounds as you add his number to his phone. It can’t hurt to have another trustworthy man just a phone call away. Especially if Ron, Roo, Iceman, and Mav are busy.

That’s how you justify it at least.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“Can I take Drew tonight?” Bradley asks, eating his lunch in your office on Friday.

“Maybe,” you reply, taking a bite of the sweet chocolate treat that was left on your desk this morning. There had been one on your desk nearly every day this week. “If you tell me what you guys are gonna do.”

“You know I can’t tell you that, Kernsie,” he rolls his eyes. “What happens at boys nights-“

“Stays at boys' nights,” you finish with a sarcastic sigh. “Fine.”

“You should get laid while I’ve got him, maybe then you won’t be so-hey!” he laughs as you throw your wrapper at him.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Bradley picks up Drew at 5.

By 6, you’ve typed out but deleted multiple messages to Jake.

You put your phone face down and sigh as you sit on the couch.

Forget it, Reese. He’s probably got plans; it’s a Friday night and he’s hot, young, and single.

Another hour and several frustrated sighs later, you hit send.

Reese: Thanks for the peanut butter cups.

Your heart flutters when your phone rings a minute later.

“Reese? Hey,” he says when you answer. “You’re welcome. How was your week?”

Long. Exhausting. Lonely.

“Busy, you?”

Faint laughter in the background has your heart sinking.

Of course, he’s not sitting at home on a Friday night.

“I’m sorry, you’re busy. I shouldn’t-“ you start but he interrupts.

“I’m not busy. Nat and Javy’s invited me over so I’m third-wheeling as usual,” he assures you. “I’m happy you reached out. I’ve been hoping I’d hear from you.”

You smile.

“What are you up to tonight? Drew asleep already?” He asks.

“I doubt he’s asleep, he’s having boys' night with Bradley.”

“I see. So you’re home alone.”

“I am.”

“How do you feel about that?” He asks, hope lacing his tone.

“A little lonely,” you admit.

“I could keep you company?” He offers. “No strings, no expectations. Just two friends hanging out.”

“Can friends fuck?” You blurt out then wince.

Real smooth.

But you smile at his sharp inhale.

“I don’t see why not,” he replies after a beat.

“I’ll text you my address.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

Reese: 418 Magnolia Lane.

You toss your phone onto the bed before changing out of the old, threadbare shirt of Andy’s you had put on after work, ignoring the pang of guilt. Not bothering with undergarments, you slip on a silky pair of shorts and a tank top, shivering at the way the material feels against your nipples.

Your phone dings as he replies.

Jake: Got it. Be there in 15.

Jake: Actually, might be closer to 20. I’ve gotta stop and pick up condoms first.

You’re surprised and a little relieved that he doesn’t have any on him.

Reese: Good thinking. See you soon.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

He rings your doorbell exactly 23 minutes later and you have to force yourself to not rush to answer it.

“You’re late,” you tease when you open the door.

“I am,” he admits and hands over the pretty arrangement of flowers he’s holding. “My mom would smack me silly if she knew I showed up somewhere empty-handed, so I stopped at the flower stand.”

The butterflies in your stomach come back as you take them and step back to let him in. “Thank you, Jake.”

He gives you a smile and follows you to the kitchen to find a vase.

A wave of sadness washes over you though as you set them on the counter.

“Something wrong?” Jake asks, brushing your fingers with his when he sees your mood shift. “Are they too much? The guy said yellow roses mean friendship and I-.”

“Not at all,” you shake your head and give him a sad smile. “They’re beautiful, really. I just…I don’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

You do remember, actually. It was Andy’s funeral. But you’re well aware that talking about your late husband makes people uncomfortable.

“Not since Andy died?” Jake asks softly.

You shake your head but then paste on a smile. “Sorry,” you say as you turn and open the fridge. “Have you eaten? I made dinner earlier and there’s leftovers in the fridge.”

“I ate earlier but thanks,” he replies, reaching for your hand. You expect him to kiss you, but instead, he pulls you in for a hug.

It feels so good to have his arms wrapped around you and he smells amazing; a heady mix of clean laundry and a hint of expensive cologne.

Your hands slide under his shirt as you start your relax and goosebumps follow your fingers as you trace over the warm skin of his back. Your breath hitches when he hardens against your stomach

You gather the thin material of his shirt in your hands and he helps you pull it over his head.

You bite your lip as your eyes hungrily roam over his tan chest and the cut ridges of his stomach before he pulls you back with a cocky smirk.

He leans in for a kiss but dodges your mouth, making you shiver when he instead presses his lips against your ear to murmur, “Like what you see?”

It’s cute how he thinks he’s got the upper hand.

“Yes,” you sigh, as your hand slides down his chest and over his belt to palm his cock, straining against the confines of his jeans. “I‘ve pictured you every time I’ve touched myself since our night together.”

He groans softly against your ear and his hips push further into your hand. “Tell me more?”

“I remembered the way you fucked me against the door,” your head falls back as he kisses down your neck. “How you looked up at me from your knees, figuring out what I like making me cum,” your eyes close as he hums against your shoulder, remembering too. Your hand slides up to the button of his jeans and he stills. “Imagining what it would be like to return the favor. Can I?”

He sucks in a breath before nodding.

You loved giving head, but it was intimate for you. Since you’ve only had a few hookups since Andy, this would be your first time in over 8 years. So your hands shake as you undo his jeans and you pull them down with you when you kneel.

Jake notices, ever observant.

But you tongue the precum through the fabric of his Calvin’s before he can protest and you moan when you’re rewarded with another burst.

“It’s just…it’s been a while,” you explain, looking up at him from under your lashes and do it again before you tug down his briefs. “So let me know if I do anything you don’t like.”

He nods, tucking your hair behind your ear.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“So big,” you murmur when you bring a hand up to wrap around him and your fingers can’t reach your thumb. He sighs as you trace the vein running the length of him.

He’s quiet, only breathing heavier while his hands clench and release at his sides as you continue teasing him with licks and flicks of your tongue before you finally pull him into your mouth.

“Oh Reese,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he leans back against the counter.

You nearly whimper when you look up at him. He looks wrecked; cheeks flushed pink and a light sheen of sweat covers his heaving chest.

Your other hand trails up your thigh and over your shorts as you start to bob your head, starting slowly and pulling a little more of him into your mouth each time.

“Fuck,” He gasps, knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter when your lips meet your fingers circling him and you swallow.

You can tell he’s starting to get close.

His eyes fly open at the moan that escapes when your fingers find your clit through the silky material of your shorts.

“Oh God,” he rasps when he sees you touching yourself. “W-wait.”

“What’s wrong?” You pant, pulling him from your mouth.

“I can’t-I’m gonna cum,” he winces before he looks to the ceiling in effort and staves off his orgasm.

“Good,” you murmur and you begin to stroke him with the hand still gripping him.

“But I-fuck!”

He startles and his hips jerk when you draw him back to the wet heat of your mouth. He cums with a choked groan as he coats your chin and chest with thick white stripes.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

“I am so incredibly sorry,” he says lowly, obviously mortified as he looks down at you covered in his spend.

“That was…” you bring your fingers up to wipe your chin, “so fucking hot.”

He watches with rapt attention as you bring your fingers to your mouth to suck them clean.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•

A/N: Sorry, kind of an abrupt ending. So…we find out more about Andy. I hope I’m not being annoying by including him so much…just trying to portray how hard it’s been on Reese.

What do you guys think?

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs!

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[kazvha]

DOING YOUR NAILS

Notes: A few days ago, I painted my nails and also drew some lightning bolts on them (bc of Kayden's force control lol). That got me thinking:

How good would the Eleceed characters do if you asked them to paint your nails?

Including: Jiwoo, Jisuk, Wooin, Subin, Kayden, Kartein, Inhyuk, Jiyoung & Gangseok

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

Jiwoo

• Helping you paint your nails? Of course! He can't say no to you!

• Before he starts, he asks you about the whole process

• "So first comes the base coat, then the actual color, and lastly the top coat? I think I got it. What about the designs?"

• He's painting kinda slowly, and gets some polish on your skin, but you can see his effort and the result doesn't look bad.

6/10

Jisuk

• Okay, so you literally have to beg this stubborn boy to paint your nails

• It takes a over an hour for him to paint your nails without messing them up

• In the end, it slips his mind that you have to wait till the polish is dry. He grabs your hand and smudges the polish. smh

1/10

Wooin

• Like Jiwoo, he's painting your nails very slowly and his hand is also kinda shaky

• When he finishes, he even cleans out the messy edges of your nails with nail polish remover

• He keeps it basic, Wooin doesn't have enough confidence to draw/put some designs on top

• It looks presentable in the end <3

5/10

Subin

• Since she is also painting her nails occasionally, she already knows the drill

• You just have to convince her to also apply the base coat and the top coat. She refuses to do it because it takes too long💀

• She's actually really good at doing designs. It could be something cute, glitter, actual drawings of things, etc. Just give her a reference.

• In the end you have super cute nails for others to be jealous of lol

8/10

Kayden

• "Huh, painting your nails? Why not do it yourself?"

• Like Jisuk you have to persuade this man to do your nails.

• "Blerghhh, what's this smell?", he frowns after opening a bottle of nail polish

• He tries to paint one nail, but he keeps spilling the color over the edge of your nail bed.

• When he finally finishes, he loses interest and gives up, leaving you with only 1 painted finger

-1/10

Kartein

• Very particular about which color you pick. It has to match with you, but he would like it if the color also matched with him

• Does a very good job, he applies the base coat, 1-2 coats of nail polish, and finally the top coat

• Usually he's too lazy to make designs, but your nails look amazing anyway

• He also caps your nails and oils them when they are dry😭

9.5/10

Inhyuk

• Alright, hear me out:

• You and Inhyuk have self-care Sundays, in which you also do manicures and pedicures together at home

• You clip his nails and paint his nails nicely with either matte or shiny clear polish. it depends on his mood

• After that, he clips/files your nails too and paints them exactly how you want them to be

• Honestly, he was bad at it in the beginning but practice made him do so much better!

8.5/10

Jiyoung

• She is too busy so she takes you to the nail salon. She's also paying for everything.

• 10?/10

• Nevermind, -4 points because she didn't do your nails herself.

So 6/10

Gangseok

• My guy has absolutely no experience in painting someone's nails, not even in painting or drawing on paper

• He's trying. After he's finished, you'd have to go over some areas again, since they were not colored evenly

4/10

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ୨୧ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

bonus: After they finish doing your nails you offer them to paint theirs for matching nails <3

[brainrotcharacters]

Legacy

I have to do everything myself. /nm

ship: Captain Price x filo!141!reader

summary: running away from your birth family and then using a new name to enlist in the military came back to haunt you... of course it does.

a/n: I awakened my daddy issues and create a little something for the platonic dad Price lovers of the fandom.

tags: sfw. angst comfort. platonic dad Price. reader is a member of 141. post-mw2 (2022). Price calls reader “kid” but they are an adult (Price is just a dad). John Price being a good dad because look at him he’s literally dad shaped, Filipino words, Price speaking Filipino

You knew this would happen, but you still hated that you had been correct.

The paper that your family used to write you their last letter rustled in your trembling hand. They discovered that you enlisted in the military, after you ran away from them. You were a skilled enough schemer to get on top of your government documents to change your name, but in the middle of Shepherds' and Graves' betrayal, they made sure your family found you. Now they were both dead, and they were still fucking up your life in particular.

Wag ka nang bumalik. it said at the bottom, in your father's heavy penmanship. You wouldn't be surprised if he broke the pen he used.

Cheering and laughter resounded from outside the hangar. Oh, what good would come out of telling the boys? They were tired from that goose chase with Shepherd, and Soap was with Rudy when they made sure Graves was KIA. What they deserved was a full 8 hours of sleep, a full meal, and maybe a good lay unless you flirted your way through and stole their girl for yourself.

"Hey." Captain Price jogged up to you. "Where's all that victory yellin' a while ago, huh? The noise doesn't feel complete without you."

You drew your lips into a line, angling the paper away from his line of sight. "Mhm."

Price narrowed his eyes. The softness in his voice was only exhaustion, you were sure. "Everything all right back home?"

That word made you laugh. Home. Spending each day of each week under a roof with children who don't have sympathy (or empathy for that matter) because their parents never do. There were adults who should've acted more like Laswell when Gaz asked her get-to-know questions over the stupid comms. You suffered so many 'family gatherings' where your cousins and yourself were told to be more brotherly or sisterly, but when Soap was bleeding out because of Graves, you kept him lucid while you maintained his wound. You went back-and-forth with Ghost and his jokes. You jumped over 4x4s with Gaz and made it a competition just because. Rudy bantering with you in Spanish felt sweeter because the others were learning the language at the sidelines. Alejandro was happy to see you too, when you all came to save him from custody. The fact is, you gained two new brothers living in Mexico, and the rest are lumbering from the plane to the barracks to get some damn rest.

And Price. To answer his question, you offered the paper to him.

He gave it a simple glance, then shifted his attention back up at your face. "You sure, kid?"

You nod. "I trust you."

He slowly took the letter from your hands, and muttered some words that caught his eye. You wandered several steps away, hands on your hips and thoughts zooming through your mind. The exhaustion hasn't quite settled into your bones yet... or maybe it already has.

"What does 'wag ka nang bumalik' mean?" Price's eyebrows were furrowed. He was confused but open-minded in the way that the father who wrote that letter could never be. Even for you.

You clench your jaw. "Don't come back."

Price blinked, and the weariness that he otherwise already showed a while ago disappeared from his eyes. His shoulders squared, he was alert again. He was back on mission mode because of you.

"Shepherd's and Graves's last hurrah, or whatever." You take the paper back, breathing in. "I always wondered what being rejected actually feels like. Normally, I'm already gone before it happens."

"Oi..."

You shake your head, lifting a finger at your captain. He shouldn't sound so fatherly at this moment. Not right now. "I don't care. Really! I don't care. If they don't want to take me back, I'm not going back. It's so much effort to pack my things, and book a flight, and drive there if I'm going to get kicked out before I even see the welcome mat behind the door."

Price was looking at you with that warm, understanding, patient look on his face. You don't fucking deserve that! "Listen, if you're mad, then be mad. You're allowed."

You threw your hands up, defeated. "You can tell, can't you, Captain? Because it's natural for you to pay attention to everyone under your authority. I believe that you'd protect me because you follow through all the damn time. You're very cool when you do that, by the way."

"Thanks." he smiled fondly.

"And you know what? When they put me in charge of a unit, the best thing I can hear from those people is how much I act like you. They like how organized my operations are, how I praise their skills in the field, how I check up on them. I never learned any of that from him!" you lifted the paper, physically unable to say the name of your biological father. "Captain, it is so easy not to give a shit about any of these people. But I know I'm your legacy, and I know how to do things right. It feels good to be in a team."

Price stepped closer. Within reach, if you were all right with that sort of thing now. While he does want to hold you, his judgment call inclines more to prioritizing what you need. "Yeah, I'm really proud of you."

The first tears escaped your eyes, and you turned your head away smiling. Your voice broke. "That's not fair. You know I turn into a baby when you say that."

"Aren't you our baby?" Price frowned. Playful. "Ghost would never say it, but we all know you have scary older brother privileges. You're absolutely infuriating when you're with Soap, and Gaz always talks about how you dethroned him. See? You're our bunso." (youngest)

You studied his face for signs of lies and deceit that you knew you'd never see. He continued, approaching with his hands open and pacifistic. "You let me read the letter, so I have some idea about what's going on here. It's not your fault."

"Shut the fuck up." you laugh through your tears.

"It’s not your fault. I'm proud of you for having the strength to leave, and the wits to make sure they don't follow you here... well, until Shepherd and Graves." he sighed, cradling your face between his palms. Never mind the dust and dirt on his gloves. It was all over the both of you. "But we're 141. On this little slice of the world, we have room for kids like you."

He pecked your forehead and then gently wrapped his arms around you. You gladly melted into his embrace, hugging him back as tightly and lovingly as you could. "Understood, anak?" (kid, child)

"Opo, papa." (Yes, dad.)

[doomsdaybby]

chapter one: pre-soak. laundromat!steve au x fem!reader mini series. you can find the blurb here 🫶🏻

content/warnings: strangers to lovers, barely any plot (no twists or turns, just watch two cuties fall in love), no use of y/n, fluff, mutual pining, steve is such a sweetheart, soft!steve 🥹, steve being a lovesick puppy, reader is just a little mean, jealous!steve at points, ronance bc I love them, eventual smut (not this chapter), she/her pronouns and physical female descriptions used for reader character throughout.

word count: 2.9k

I do not proofread my work, so please be forgiving of any mistakes.

Suds N’ Sparks Laundromat. Spring 1989.

Steve Harrington works round the clock shifts for exactly four dollars an hour to make ends meet. From sunrise to sunset, his life was surrounded by flickering yellow lights (if you looked closely enough you could see the moths that had scuttled too close to the hot bulbs), emptied pockets of spilled quarters on countertops and the rhythmic mind-numbing rumble of washing machines that soon became white noise. 

Steve had already run through exactly eight job positions in the last four years. Don’t ask him how, he seems to never make it stick. The conclusion drew to him a while back that he was the world’s biggest fuck up, and that’s the way it was supposed to be. 

It wasn't all bad, he worked alone, the regulars were nice enough and the paycheck was on the surprisingly sunny side compared to Scoops Ahoy, Family Video, camp counseling, that one busboy position that lasted five minutes, and the paperboy, and… you get the point. 

It was working well enough for him right now, covering the rent and bills for his and Robin’s shared apartment, and of course gas money, whilst saving him a little extra on the side for whatever his heart desired, and that was all he could ask for. Besides, there weren't many openings left in Hawkins for him to fall back on, almost every business manager the town had on offer had mindlessly sifted through Steve Harrington’s glistening -eye roll- resume since the fall of 1985 at one point or another.

He had to somehow make this one last longer than 8 months, his new year's resolution, or else Steve would surely have to pack up his shit and leave. 

Though for right now, the laundromat put an undetermined stop in the infinite revolving door that was his employment track record, and it felt like a small sigh of relief that the customers actually seemed to like him. A lot. 

Mrs Fletcher, who insisted on Steve calling her by her first name Helen (he never did), brought in exactly two baskets of laundry at precisely 5pm every Friday evening. Not a minute early, not a second late. Mrs Fletcher was a single woman in her mid to late 50’s, give or take, and was not resistant to the irresistible Harrington charm, despite Steve never uttering a single flirtatious syllable in her direction. 

He was woefully made aware that she was single because she made an intentional point to mention it every. single. week. Divorced, husband left her in a bunch of debt yada yada blah blah. Whatever. You would think that he was joking, a tad on the dramatic side maybe, but Helen managed to slip it in there at one point or another during each conversation.

She actually lived on Maple Street, only a couple houses down from the Wheeler’s. Steve remembers her kind waves and cheery ‘Hello’s’ to him and Nancy during their highschool sweetheart days. But since word most certainly got around in Hawkins, once Jonathon Byers took his place linked hand in hand with his past burning flame, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together that the pair had split. So once Steve appeared at the closest local laundromat, Helen Fletcher was positively thrilled. 

Steve was in the thick of his routinely one-sided chat with his admirer, elbows resting spread east and west on the counter and arms stretched out in front of him in closed palms, eyes beginning to glaze over since having swapped her one dollar note for four quarters almost twenty minutes ago. Though the shrill ting of the doorbell thankfully pulled him from the jumping record that were his strained, yet still polite, ‘uh huh’-s and ‘oh really’-s. 

Robin stumbled through the door, a pull-string hamper hanging heavy by the crook of her elbow, Nancy linked snugly in the other. They both cheesed wide at Steve’s unfortunate current predicament, seemingly unaware of the disapproving grumbles and wary eyes of the few balding middle-aged men slouched on the wooden chairs opposite the rowdy dryers, newspapers held up to their brows. 

Though they continued with grace, still very much knitted as one strutting hip to hip and sharing an all too knowing glance, one that only read trouble and hours of persistent teasing that Steve was bitterly well acquainted with. Robin slings the hamper onto the counter that sat at the very back wall with a leaded thud, requesting smaller change in favor of a one dollar bill outstretched in her hand, much like her new shoulder buddy, who is now non-discretely grumbling behind her teeth. 

Robin notices, and turns to flash the older woman a pearly ear-to-ear grin, blinking her eyes as if to say ‘need something?’. Helen glowered, lips curled up in clear aggravation. Nancy disguises a poorly hidden grin behind a wipe of her mouth, and Robin’s off-putting aura worked its well-oiled charm as Mrs Fletcher went about her business. Seven days of rest, and Steve felt like he could breathe again. At least she took the hint? 

“We did laundry two days ago” Steve looks disappointed, jaw falling somewhat slack. 

“You’re so right. But, uhm, we had a problem” Robin’s lips downturn with a shred of guilt, albeit short lived, her left eye creasing under the lower lash in a semi-squint.

“Problem? What problem?”

Nancy’s cheeks are sucked in, rows of teeth biting the inside to stifle her giggling, accentuating her structured features. Though Steve couldn’t put his finger on what was so funny. 

“We tried to make dinner. Dinner involved red wine. We drank some of it, it was good, and then we kindaspilledsaidredwineverywhere” She finished in a hurry at the conclusion, speaking incoherently from the corner of her mouth.

Now the ceaseless snickering made sense. They were not drunk by any means, but a little too merry and conversing an octave too high for the closing curtain of Steve’s shift. Ten hours of staring at the same four plant-lined poorly painted carolina blue walls was enough to make anyone go stir crazy. Though in the warmer months the breeze was admittedly very refreshing with the door wedged open, so that was a perk. 

Steve tips out a hand to take the bag from Robin with a sigh, a deepening crease in his brow and not enough confidence in his chest to watch the two flounder and fidget with the washing machines. 

“You’re not angry?” Nancy taunts, almost expectant, with rounded eyes and fingers now laced with Robin’s as they turn to follow Steve to the large island of cheap wood and steel legs that stood point blank in the middle of the room, the swirling barrels of damp and drying laundry surrounding it. 

“Ask me again tomorrow” he responds with an exhausted huff, a hint of a scoff. Steve empties out the soiled linens onto the countertop, surveying each garment to assess the damage. 

“Jesus, did you guys rob the liquor store?” 

Surely they had used more than one, maybe even more than two bottles of wine for whatever they decided promoted them to culinary artists for the evening. More snickering, though they both prodded and knocked one another at the hip. If Steve rolled his eyes any harder they would spin out of his head.

So Steve guided Robin and Nancy to the chairs opposite where he was shoving clothing one by one into the drum of the washing machine, eyeing them warily like toddlers in a playpen, wishing that they would quieten down before the disgruntled muttering of the elderly man at the other end of their row of chairs transitioned into uncensored hate speech. 

Steve resorts to mumbling to himself about how they were going to eventually get him in big trouble having to defend them from their own big mouths, and the potential consequences of said unfiltered big mouths, one day or another. He reaches into the bottom of the hamper to pull out a mauve coloured table cloth, that was now three quarters a giant violet stain. 

Steve is too tired for a Friday evening and he wished that the last forty-five minutes of his shift would wrap up as swiftly as it was for his two hysterical friends to fuck up a brand new table cloth. He grasps the material edge to edge in his fists, obscuring his view as he begins to walk forwards, ignoring the familiar ting-ing of the small bell above the janky door, as Robin and Nancy exchanged grimaces and mocking chastising in voices that were supposed to resemble Steve’s scoldings. 

Though Steve doesn’t quite make it to the washer, instead crashing chest first into your towering and, for lack thereof a better word, foreboding laundry basket, thus by default, you. Your walkman clatters to the black and white tiled floor, Fleetwood Mac cassette striking loose to slide under an adjacent tumble-dryer with a grainy swish. The headphones dislodge from the plug-in, now hanging lopsided from your ears as your ass smacks to the ground, a dull painful shockwave radiating up your tailbone. 

“Fuck!” a curse exclaimed in unison, and Steve is already hauling himself up off the floor, “Watch where you’re fuc-” a helping hand in front of your face before you can even finish your sentence, teeth clacking shut in silence at the unexpected assistance. 

“Could say the same to you” Steve replied, back twinging as he lugs you up off the floor, “Sorry, it’s been a long day and-” he looks at you properly then, and absentmindedly squeezes your hand in kindness. You watch him expectantly, dusting off your flared jeans with your free hand, wincing something awful as you cup your lower back. 

“Shit, shit” He starts quickly, eyes growing partly wide with urgence, forgetting that you were about to rip him a new asshole. “Are you okay?” his brows pinch to mirror yours, gaze flicking in a hurry from the pained expression on your face to the palm nursing right above your tailbone. It was genuine, his concern, you can hear it in his buttery tone. 

“No,” you respond in a way that delivered meaner than you intended, before saying a little kinder, “That really fucking hurt”. You release a breath of a laugh, barely there but it could still be heard whilst Steve steadies you, hands still firmly clasped together. He’s warm, maybe too warm, skin soft and his hands are much larger than your own. 

“Hey, didn’t you work at that ice cream place a couple years ago? At the mall? Obviously before it burned down and everything” You ask, eyes curious and voice blanketed in familiarity. Steve blinks at you, blindsided by how the now setting sun reflects in your gentle glassy stare, and you realize that you’re still holding hands. 

“You flirted with me once, desperation must be your thing” you continued with a small chuckle when he didn't answer, a jab at yourself rather than him, the previous question more rhetorical and an obvious nose-dive attempt of a dialogue starter. 

You release him lightly, and Steve becomes aware a little late when you eye him warily, brows pulling together in an uneasy crease, slightly taken aback by his silence. The patch of stillness was awkward, though it gave you a moment to survey him. 

“He’s not much of a ladies man anymore” Robin chimes in with a jump from her seat, the saving grace to the now painfully uncomfortable atmosphere. Steve runs a hand down his face, partially catching his lower lids. Please, God, if you’re listening, just fucking kill me, he thought to himself.

You hum, and Steve’s cheeks dust the rosiest shade of pink when you give him a once over, though you’re leaning a little away from him now. His blue green long sleeved is bunched up to make a three quarter length, though his left has slipped down to his wrist now. Two shiny metal buttons are undone, a sliver of a white undershirt peeking through at the collar. There’s a faded spot of spilt laundry detergent splashed right where his heart sits. 

Robin is never going to let him forget this moment for the rest of his life. 

Steve was a very handsome guy, you couldn’t deny that. You even thought he was pretty cute the few times he served you raspberry ripple ice cream with sprinkles on top. The sailor outfit was a nice touch, though he clearly never got much action. You were lucky enough to audience some of his failed pick-up lines back then. Poor thing, his ego must have been so battered and bruised. 

Your mouth curls at the corner fondly, “Uh, thankyou, by the way. For helping me up”. 

“I should have watched where I was fucking going” Steve says, finishing off your earlier snipped jab, eyebrows hitting his hairline and dusting his hands off on his jeans. He dips his face away, but you can see the rippling of smile lines that adorn his cheeks. 

“And yeah, yeah I worked at Scoops. You from around here?” Desperate to change the subject, the tips of his ears were flaring up. The regular A/C now didn’t feel like enough, he was hot with embarrassment. You're beginning to pick up the dropped laundry now with Nancy and Robin’s help, after setting your lonely headphones and busted walkman onto the counter. Steve also resumed his previous task. 

“I’m from Roanoke, you know, just outside Fort Wayne?” Steve nods, still focused on the wine-stained linens. You continue, “My Dad lives out here, so I've been back and forth, more so the last couple years since I left high school”. Steve makes a mental note, no wonder he can’t quite place you.

“When’d you graduate?” he asks, and Robin winces though she doesn’t really know why. Steve glances up from Nancy’s soft blouse in his hands, running the fabric through his fingertips as he watches you.

“‘82” your nose wrinkles, quickly darting a pair of red underwear into the machine next to Steve. He pretends that he didn’t notice. You were older, even if it was just a couple years. Steve liked that. 

“Why move out to Hawkins?” Nancy invades with interest, though you welcome the extra input with grace. It had been a while since anyone had shown this much interest in you. Your lips twist faintly in contemplation, not wanting to overshare whilst seeking their prolonged attention for as long as you could have it. Greedy, really. But it felt nice, normal. 

“Change of pace. I like it here” you answer her question with honesty, which was accepted for what it was. Though none of them really understood why you would like Hawkins, almost everyone in the small town wanted to get out of there as fast as humanly possible. 

Steve Harrington stayed later that shift, the extent of his fatigue and burning desire to collapse in bed numbed by this new infatuation. Maybe the reminder of having the weekend off was enough to ice the burn. You shared enough but too much considering the three before you were strangers, though not even an hour with them and you felt like you had known them for years. 

You spoke mostly with Robin and Nancy, Steve chiming in here and there. His gaze was either trained on you or his fidgeting fingers the entire time it took for your laundry to wash and dry. The girls were giggling, and he managed to get a good look at how your under-eyes crinkle when you smiled, the inattentive purse of your lips when you just sat and listened, specks of mascara dusting underneath your lashes where you had been clumsy. 

This might become a problem, he thought. 

“See you around, sparky” You wave once your now pristine laundry was folded into the basket a whole ninety minutes after your crash to the floor, a natural charm laced in the flash of a closed mouth smile, a cordial wave to your new friendly acquaintances. Steve felt the air settle once you left, he blinked, his heart had skipped a couple beats. You’d forgotten your tape, your walkman, and your headphones. 

Steve raises a hand from the counter, fingers twiddling kindly in your direction. The upturn of his mouth is completely unfeigned, and it makes his stomach twist and his legs feel unsteady.

Robin and Steve turn to look at eachother, hands on his hips and a couple beads of sweat stippling his hairline. She’s smiling, an evil thing with no malice behind it. Nancy's lower jaw is sitting loose, her lips parted, watching Steve as if the stars are aligning before her very eyes.

“Robs,” he deadpans, a warning. “Please. Don’t say anything” he feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, rubbing the back of his neck with clammy fingers. 

Nancy and Robin crook their necks to peer at each other, Nancy’s bottom lip is firmly tucked into her top row of teeth, a grin spreading wide. Robin’s mouth is purely hanging open in amazement, and Steve braced himself for what was to come. 

They both inhale and Steve screws his eyes closed with a steady inhale through the nose. Reels of kissing noises are thrown his way, the two women’s puckered lips and incessant snorting makes Steve want to crawl out of his skin. He can’t hear whatever raised-pitched fun they’re making of him, drowning it out as much as he is able whilst fishing the car keys from his pocket. Another perk of the job, considering the laundromat was twenty-four hours, he didn’t have to close. 

“You guys are assholes” Steve remarks, but the glimmer of a smirk remains just the same.

thankyou for reading this if you made it to the end! 🫶🏻 pls reblog & comment if you like this! I haven’t written fully like this in a good while so i’m feeling pretty anxious. much love x

dividers by @inklore 🩷

[mayajadewrites]

suguru geto x fem reader: lucky

roommates to lovers–friends to lovers–slow burn

story synopsis: Suguru Geto is your best friend and roommate. After a year of living together, there have been more than one opportunity to throw away your friendship. The question is, would you get lucky as fall in love for the rest of your days?

ao3

CHAPTER SIX

🎧🌙🧺📖🕯️🧸🤍

It's not often that you're left speechless. Suguru Geto has succeeded, however. You stared into his eyes, watching as they search your face for some sort of confirmation.

You could not find the words to say to Suguru. You wanted Suguru badly. You felt conflicted though, since you didn't want to lose your best friend.

You also do like Choso and have been willing to explore your relationship with him. It wouldn't be fair to him to just forget about him and be with Suguru.

"Tell me." Suguru persisted.

"I can't." You finally say, pushing your head on Suguru's headboard.

"So whats wrong?" Suguru takes his index finger, caressing the outline of your face.

"Sugu, you're my best friend." You sigh. "If we didn't work out, I'm not sure if I could be without you."

"If you're always worried about the future, you can't enjoy the present."

"There's also Choso."

"Fuck Choso." Suguru sucked his teeth.

"Hey, be nice. You don't know him and I like him." You ran your fingers through Suguru's jet black locks. "I just don't want to rush into anything. I'm not even sure you actually feel this way or if it's your sick brain."

"So that's not a no." Suguru coughed.

"Why don't we revisit this when your body temperature is not the same as hell?" You moved his hair away from his forehead.

"Will you stay here with me?" Suguru looked up at you with his coffee ground eyes.

"Say please and I will."

"Please."

"Yes, I will." You curl yourself next to Suguru's body, your bodies intertwining with each other.

"Next time I'll be the one making you beg."

The morning is here before you know it. When you open your eyes, Suguru's bare chest was in front of you, his head resting on top of yours. His snores are louder than usual since he's sick, but you don't mind.

You move your body a bit to make your way out of his bed to get ready for work. Of course, he caught on to what you're doing.

"You have sick time, right?" Suguru yawned.

"Why are you asking me such a question?" You turn on your heel.

"Call outttt." Suguru drew out the 'out'. When they say men are needy when they're sick, they are not lying.

"Fine. But I have a date tonight, so you'll be without me for a few hours."

"Make it fast." Suguru pulls the covers over his face, presumably falling asleep. You dial your bosses number and let them know you're feeling sick and don't want to give anyone else the same thing.

After you hang up, you walk to the bathroom you and Suguru share. Thankfully, there are two sinks. You start brushing your teeth while simultaneously cleaning the counter.

"Mmmmm." You hear Suguru groan from his room.

You make your way to his room, leaning on his doorframe. "Yes, my sick princess?"

"Feel my head." He flips over on his back. You press the back of your hand to his forehead.

"Definitely less warm than yesterday, so your fever is going down."

"Must've been the soup."

You turn on the TV and play whatever trashy reality tv show that is on at the moment. Suguru coughs, which leads to a groan because he's over being sick.

"Let me get you some of the soup from yesterday." You get up from the bed. Suguru's eyes followed you, stuck on your figure. He watched as your ass moved in your shorts, making him wish he wasn't sick so he could grab you and kiss you as hard as he wanted to.

Bzzzzz.

Choso: Hey, are we still on for tonight? Shoko said you didn't show up to work.

You: Yes, we're still on. I'll meet you there at 8 :)

Choso: :)

You look to your left and see Suguru sleeping soundly, his stuffy nose amplifying his snores. He looks like an angel, honestly. You take your hand and caress his face gently without a second thought. His eyes fluttered open, revealing your favorite eyes.

"Come back soon." Suguru almost whispered, bringing your hand to his mouth. He kissed each of your fingers gently before falling back asleep.

You felt conflicted. You have Suguru, your best friend, who wants to try something with you. Then you have Choso, the sweetest man, who is very happy to get to know you.

Either way you're hurting someone.

You change into your favorite pair of curve hugging jeans and a sweater, pairing them with your white platform converse. Choso was taking you to a Poetry night at a local lounge, so very lowkey.

When you locked the door to your apartment, you felt guilty for leaving Suguru. You weren't sure if it was because he's sick and you want to take care of him, or because you feel like you owe him your loyalty.

Well, you don't. Not yet at least.

When you arrive at the lounge, Choso is wearing a black sweater with black jeans, his hair in his signature buns. He greets you with a kiss on the cheek, gently grabbing your hand.

He leads you into the lounge where someone was already performing a poem. You find a seat on a loveseat couch, Choso following close behind.

Choso's body was close to yours as you watched the poets, sneaking looks and kisses. You couldn't help but think of Suguru. You had butterflies, yes, but nowhere near as many as you did for your best friend.

You turn to look at Choso, who looks completely enamored with you. You fake a smile as best as you can and press your lips to his. Is it wrong to be kissing a man you don't want to be with?

Maybe.

But that's a conversation for another time and another place.

"I had fun tonight." You say as you leave the lounge. "I'm feeling kind of sick, so I'm gonna head home." Your eyes meet Choso's.

"Me too." He smiles, not wanting to press any further. "I mean me too, I had fun. Not that I feel sick." He chuckled.

"I'll text you when I get home. Actually this time." You hug Choso, feeling his muscles through his sweater. He kissed your forehead as you separated, leaving you feeling worse about your feelings.

When you get home, it's 10:15. Suguru was most definitely awake.

Upon entering your apartment, you see Suguru standing in the kitchen, pouring himself a water. He's shirtless and his hair is all the way down, cascading down his back muscles.

"Someone is feeling better." You set your purse down.

"I am actually." Suguru turns to you and smiles. He looks so much more lively. You've missed him. "So how was your date?"

You look down, sighing. "He's not you, Suguru. That's the problem."

"I'm the problem?" Suguru laughed, setting his cup down on the counter. "Last I checked, I'm not the one that's dating someone else."

"Don't act like we've been in a relationship Sugu. We've both been denying these feelings for some time, and now they're out in the open."

"No one compares to you, princess." Suguru steps closer to you. "I've tried over and over again to replicate the feeling you give me."

You close your eyes and wince at his words, not because they hurt, because you're feeling the exact same.

"If we don't work out, we don't work out." Suguru suggests. "Life is too short to be wondering about the future when you could be enjoying whats right in front of you." Suguru takes another step closer to you, grabbing your hands gently. You looked up into his eyes, getting lost in them.

"I don't want to hurt anyone." You look down, thinking of Choso.

"Hey, he will understand." Suguru brought your eyes back to his, grabbing your chin with his thumb and index finger.

"We have to take it slow, ok?"

"How slow are we talking?"

"We can't have sex yet."

Suguru chuckled and looked back at you. "That's not the only thing on my mind. It will be mind blowing when it happens, but just having you already feels like an orgasm."

You smile as Suguru's arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up from the floor. Your legs intertwine around his waist, running a hand through his hair.

"We've never kissed." You smile, refusing to make the first move.

"That we haven't." Suguru's voice was quiet, almost seductive. His eyes began to close and you followed, feeling his plush lips finally mend with yours. The electricity you felt almost made your heart fall out of your throat. Suguru's large hands held onto your ass, opening his mouth more so your tongue can enter.

You slip your tongue in his mouth, to which he sucks on it gently in return. You moan quiety, pushing yourself off of him from his chest. "We can't go slow if you do that." You press your forehead to his.

"Baby, I can make you cum with just my lips."

[thejediscrolls]

You Drew Stars

Hunter x Jedi reader

A choice will be made.

Angst

Pt 8 to You Drew Stars

“Omega?” Hunter called out for the young girl once again.

He’s lost track of the time he has spent looking for her and that was only because he was on the other side of the island when Wrecker brought this to his attention. She’s been disappearing and quiet a lot lately and of course he knew the reason why. How everyone could see the once bright girl was no longer cheerful, but how could she be?

Hunter knew he was close to finding her. There was only three known spots of hers that she could be at and he could already sense her presence and the way her heartbeat picked up the closer he got.

“I know you’re here, kid.” Hunter sighed as he stood along the cove, “You’ve been distant all day... Longer than that.” He whispered the last part, “Everyone is worried about you. Wrecker hasn’t even gone near fishing, said he’s been waiting for you.”

She didn’t want to respond, she just couldn’t get the words out. She just wanted to enjoy the waves of the ocean gently hitting the shoreline alone.

Another breath left Hunter’s lips when he earned no witty response in return, “Kid… What’s wrong?” He asked, his tone more gentle and soft spoken.

Omega huffed at the persistency of her brother even though she knew that he meant well.

“It’s been three months…” Omega finally answered as she poked at the sand with a stick, “Three months, thirteen days-”

Hunter could barely see her small form hiding around one of the rocks by the cove.

“And six hours… I know kid.” He sighed as he took in the beautiful sea before him.

Hunter hated to admit it out loud, but he had been counting the days as well.

There was a moment of serenely, a pause before Omega spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper, but Hunter heard. His enhanced hearing could be a blessing and a curse.

“It’s different.” She whispered.

“What is?” Hunter already knew the answer, but this is the most he’s heard from her since…

“Everything!” Now her voice raised as frustration and anger took over her form.

For a second she reminded him of Crosshair as he watched the stick she was holding fly into the air and into the shallow depths of the ocean before reappearing to float away.

Hunter had an ache in his chest knowing that they would have gotten along quite well if only Crosshair had given them a chance…

“Everything’s different. I can’t sleep because I don’t have her stories to listen to. I don’t like the food because it’s not hers. I always forget to tie my short or brush my hair. Everything is at a standstill here and-” She huffed as she ran a hand through her hair, “I can’t…”

He let the young girl rant, choosing to sit on the opposite side of the rock.

Hunter knew what the kid was going through. He has put up a pretty good front to the new community that they’ve been gracefully accepted into as well but… He hasn’t felt like himself either.

Day by day the realization that his General was truly gone chipped away at his nerve, piece by piece. Yet he still tried to hold on and be a leader from his family even if one of them was… Gone.

“I miss my mom.” Omega said finally, her voice trailing off into a quiet whisper.

Hunter closed his brown eyes, leaning his head back against the rock. The sun felt warm against his skin, but did little to warm the empty m chill in his heart.

“I know kid…” He repeated those words to her and they were once again left in that numbing silence.

I know…

That’s all he can say at this point.

If only he could just bring her back…

He would…

“She would have liked it here.” Hunter murdered.

Omega let out a broken laugh as she wiped away her tears, “I think it’s a bit too peaceful for her.”

Hunter chuckled, “I suppose you’re right. For a Jedi she is-was quite adventurous.”

“Yeah…” Omega agreed.

“Come on. Wrecker wanted to show you something.” Hunter said as he stood up, “Like I said, he’s been waiting all day for you. I think you’ll like it.”

As he held his hand out towards her and he could only hope that Wrecker will be able to take the poor girls mind off of her loss, at least for a little while.

Maybe he could grab a drink. That seems to work these days.

…

It was the beeping that startled me at first.

The sound rang through my ears, echoing through the darkness I saw. I didn’t notice it at first, but panic quickly settled in when I realized that I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t do anything…

Why can’t I move? What happened? I wondered as I began to come to.

My limbs felt heavy, tugging to the cold metal that lied underneath me.

Metal… That’s… A good sign right? It must mean that I’m back on the ship?

Images began to flood my mind as I remembered the events on that docking bay.

Did the others end up saving me? Did Tech make it? He must have… I have to believe that he did.

I wanted to open my mouth, to call out for them and yet my mind was stuck motionless against my body.

Why can’t I speak? Why can’t I do anything? How long have I been out?

“She’s beginning to wake up.” A female voice that I had no recollection of said just to my left.

That’s not Omega. Was my first thought and panic began to settle in.

“Give her another shot of the sedative.” It was a male voice that spoke up this time.

Definitely not one of the boys… I’m not back home am I?

I tried to remember everything that happened hoping that I can piece together the truth.

This couldn’t be a real hospital, no… I must have been captured then, but by who? Who in the empire would want me alive rather than dead…

It was then I remembered the lengths I had to go through to make sure Tech lived… I used the force and now…

They know who I really am.

“She can’t wake up until the doctor is ready to see her.” The man said.

No! I wanted to shout at them, but I could already feel myself beginning to fade as a needle pressed into my skin.

What is… Happening to me? Help… Somebody please.

Hunter…

…

“Echo will be arriving soon.” Tech walked up to the bar, a warm low light from the hanging lanterns glowed over him and his brother.

Tech found himself standing beside the brooding soldier. Someone who looked less like a soldier and more like an unraveling piece of string, his brother.

“That’s good news.” Hunter nodded his head not really paying attention to his brother, “It’s been a while since he stopped by, Rex has been putting him on a lot of missions lately.”

Tech agreed, “Echo is one of the best so there’s no reason why Rex wouldn’t.”

Hunter nodded and soon his focus was towards the purple liquid in his drink that changed to a blue every time he swirled it around.

“I have information…” Tech’s voice trailed off nervously, he couldn’t calculate Hunter’s reaction

“About?” Hunter drawled out with a furrowed brow.

“Echo stated over the comms that he has obtained coordinates that would lead us straight to Crosshair.” Tech said as gently as he was capable too, he was glad that he confided with Phee first before presenting this to Hunter.

He also knew the mention of their brother’s name would light a fuse in Hunter and for as much as Tech wanted to be wrong, he was right once again.

Tech continued when he got no answer, “This time it’s real. No side mission, no puzzle. We know where Crosshair is. We can bring him back home.”

“No.” Hunter stated sternly.

“For all he has done, he is still our brother.” Tech pushed, “He deserves to be saved. Wrecker and I think…” He was cut off before he could finish.

“Yeah? And look where that got us last time. She’s dead because we tried to save our brother who so clearly doesn’t want to be saved.” Hunter said as he took a big gulp of his beer.

“Crosshair is located on Mount Tantiss. Wrecker, Echo and I have already looked over the layout and we agree that it can be done.” Tech continued, hoping to persuade his sergeant.

“No. I’m done putting anymore lives at risk. Stop asking.” Hunter grunted.

“The General would have done it.” Tech stated firmly.

That seemed to have lit a spark of anger within the old sergeant as he slammed his glass down and finally looked at his brother with a pointed glare. He stood as he spoke, rising to his full height which didn’t compare to his brother, but intimidated the taller soldier none the less.

“Don’t you dare. Bring her into this.” Hunter spat, “She is gone because we tried to save crosshair, the brother who betrayed us for the empire. He made his choice. I will not… I refuse to loose anyone else die. Do you hear me?”

“Yes… Sir.” Tech nodded stiffly before taking his data pad and walking away as his brother slumped back into his seat with a defeated sigh.

“What did he say?” Phee asked Tech the moment she saw him.

His shoulders were slumped more than usual and she knew that the little conversation didn’t go too well.

“He said no.” Tech confirmed solemnly.

Phee placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “We’ll get through to him.”

…

“It seems her vitals are stable, though I would have preferred it if the storm troopers didn’t shoot up my second most prized possession. It is rare to find a Jedi now a days.” Doctor Hemlock studied the Jedi who laid motionless on the table.

“Yes.” Emerie agreed as she checked on the Jedi’s vitals, “She seems to have integrated smoothly into the healing process after the mechanical replacement to her right arm.”

“How is her arm?” He wondered as he stared at the silver steel, it matched perfectly with her left arm in shape and length, down to her fingers.

“There has been no complications and it seems to be functioning properly as well.” Emerie confirmed.

“That’s good news. Good work.” Hemlock commended his scientist, “And do we know which Jedi she is? If she fought in the clone wars? If she was highly regarded?”

“No doctor.” Emerie shook her head.

“Well… We’ll find out soon enough.” Hemlock smirked as he watched the Jedi began to wake up.

“Hello little Jedi.”

That voice sent a chill down my spine as I finally blinked my eyes open.

“Where…” I cleared my throat as I tried to get my bearings.

I was in a room that shined in a full silver. It almost looked like a hospital room, but I doubted it with the lack of medical equipment and the cuffs around my wrists.

“Who are you?” I finally asked as I looked to the man with the white coat.

His smile and vacant look in my eyes didn’t help the uneasiness in my stomach. Something was just not right about him… It was almost wicked… Dark…. Just who is this man?

“I am Royce Hemlock, but you may call me Doctor Hemlock.” He stated, “And who might you be?”

I said my name slowly, almost above a whisper as I studied him and the other woman in the room.

“Ah…” A flicker of acknowledgment flashed before his eyes, “Might you be the General who served in the clone wars? You are… The Jedi master Aayla Secura’s prodigy are you not?”

Heading my old master’s name again after so long, had tears welling my eyes. I didn’t give him a reply and I suppose that was answer enough when he clapped his hands together with glee.

“Oho! Look here, we have one of the best General and killer to ever grace the battlefield. This is going to be much more exciting then I had originally planned.”

“What do you mean? I am of no use to you.” I furrowed my brows as the cuffs on my hands unlocked, “The Jedi are no more. I am not more, just let me go…”

It was then that I noticed the glinting color of steel where my arm should be. My eyes widened in fear as a gasp left my lips.

“Oh don’t worry, we didn’t do that on purpose, a blaster shot had left your right arm completely immobilized and mangled so we did you a favor.” Hemlock stated with a wave of his hand, “Good as new.”

“Now follow me and don’t try any tricks. I’ve spent quite some time studying your kind exclusively and so I know how kind works. One click of this button and a shock will be sent through your right arm and towards your heart and well… I’m sure you can guess what would happen then.” He smirked as he waved the small device in his hand before shoving it into his pocket.

I really was captured by the enemy… Why couldn’t they have just let me die? What do they have planned… I honestly didn’t want to know the answer to my last question.

He didn’t even wait for me as he began walking out of the room.

“How long have I been asleep?” I asked him as I looked at my body and found that my wounds had been healed.

“Almost a month and with the bacta tank your wounds are nothing more than scars.” He said casually.

My brows furrowed, “Just what kind of a doctor are you?”

“I’m a chief scientist of the advance science division. My specialty is studying dna and…”

I cut him off.

“Clones.” I muttered in disbelief as I took in the sight before me.

We walked past cells with clone troopers trapped inside, a whole lot of them that it would take hours to count, maybe even days.

Each soldier looked malnourished and drained of energy, only a shell of what they use to be. It made my heart ache wondering if my boys could end up like this… If Omega…

Suddenly I wish for them to never find me.

No. It’s safer where they are. They must assume that I died so if I can’t find a way out of here myself then I hope they never find out the truth. Their lives are more important.

“Why yes, I’m in charge of the imperial cloning program.” Hemlock nodded not even bothering to glance at any of the soldiers he has kidnapped.

“They… They don’t deserve this.” I shook my head as I ran to one of the cells. The trooper could barely even look up at me as I tried to open his cell, “This isn’t right! It’s inhumane! You can’t just keep them in cells, they are human beings too! They deserve a choice.”

“No they do not. They are clones who are serving their purpose and I wouldn’t try to help them if I were you.” His voice grew dark as he reached for the remote in his pocket, “You’re able to walk around this facility as a courtesy. As long as you comply, there will be no reason to how do clones say? Ah yes. Decommission you.”

I slowly stepped back as my heart reeled with pain, “Please. Let them go. The clone wars are over. There is no use for cloning anymore, let these soldiers have their peace.”

“I am afraid I can’t.” He shook his head, “This is by the order of the empire and these clones here are highly regarded and needed to complete my project.”

“You mean they are just Guinea pigs for you to experiment on.” I spat at him with a glare.

“Not just them.” He walked into an open room with clones strapped to tables by a machine, “But you as well.” He turned towards me.

“What?” I furrowed my brows before I felt a prick in my neck.

“You my dear… Are going to be very important to my experiment. I’ve studied others like you of course, but it always ended in travesty. But just imagine! If I could finally figure out how Jedi are intertwined with the force and you would help me accomplish that! For the will of science. It is a great honor if I do say so myself.”

I shook my head as I took a step back, feeling my legs begin to wobble, “I don’t want to have any part of this.”

“I didn’t say you had a choice.” His eyes darkened as he stared at me, “You will either live here or die here. That is the only choice you have.”

“Besides, I’d love to see how a prized killer like you ticks hm?” His voice slowly got slower with every passing second, “Comply and you will see tomorrow, little Jedi.”

I felt hands lock around my arms and I found myself being dragged. I could barely make out one of the tables that was set up for me.

“Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing… For now.” His voice drifted away as I closed my eyes.

Not aware of my surroundings. Not aware of the clone with the significant tattoo knocked out a few tables away.

I felt like I was a child again, watching my home burn up in flames from the war. It was the first time in a while that I felt truly scared. I could feel a tear roll down my cheek as I my mind faded once again.

I want to go home.

“Start the reprogramming immediately. By the time we’re done with her she will obey us completely and running tests on her will go much more smoothly.” Dr. Hemlock stated with a nod, “Valuable dna and a Jedi general. She will fit here nicely.”

“But what about the clone over there.” Emerie pointed over at Crosshair, “Records show she was apart of Clone Force 99.”

Dr. Hemlock’s chuckle rang throughout the room, “This day just keeps getting better and better. This Jedi right here is our ticket to the clone girl and we’ll use him to keep her in line until the reprogramming is complete.”

Taglist

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[askdeserteagle]

On the uneventful day of November 12, 2012, as a 15-year-old sophomore in high school, during my math period, I doodled a pony in the margins of my notes. That afternoon, I went home, drew up a digital reference, and made a blog for her. I thought it’d be a fun thing to do in my free time.

I had no idea how important she’d become to me.

(The rest of my rambling reminiscence on the past decade is below the cut.)

Thank you all so much for 10 years of Ask Desert Eagle. I wouldn’t have lasted this long without you. Hope you will stick around!

The last decade has been... a lot. I mean, when you’re going from 15 years old to 25, a lot happens anyway--but I had a bit more going on than just growing pains. It’s why my update schedule suffered so much.

It is a very weird feeling to think about how someone could have grown up with my blog in the same way I did. 15 to 25 sounds like a lifetime, and it certainly felt that way. During my time in the ‘Tumblrpon’ community, I forged friendships that last to this day, and many more that I’ve since drifted away from or lost contact with, but remember fondly. I experienced the death of a friend for the first time; rest in peace, Rusty Nail. I graduated high school. I graduated college. I moved out. And now I’m here.

The glory days of Tumblrpon are over, that much is evident, but I’m glad I was here during them. I’m likely never going to get more eyes on this comic than I did back then. I have no idea how many of you 5,300 people are still around! I would understand if you weren’t; a maximum of two years between pages is a very long time. I harbor a lot of guilt over maintaining possibly the worst webcomic update schedule I’ve ever seen. What an achievement!

Surprisingly, though, I’m not blaming myself as hard as I used to. I used to think it was my fault; that I was lazy, or that I just wasn’t diligent enough to work on such a long-lasting project. But then I started getting treated for ADHD. Turns out, I was tired. I was tired for so, so long. There was a layer of fog on my brain I didn’t even know was there, less hours in the day than anyone else because of my energy levels. I’ve been forcing myself out of bed at noon for my entire adult life and now I don’t even need an alarm to be up at 8 am. That’s crazy!! It’s like magic!! If all this sounds relatable to you, talk to a psychiatrist! It could change your life.

The problem isn’t 100% fixed, of course; my chronic illnesses do still affect my life, but this is the closest I’ve felt to being a normal, functioning human being in more than a decade, and I very much hope the effect lasts.

Because--unsurprisingly--I still feel deeply for this story and I want to see it through. I thought I’d lose interest eventually, but I haven’t. My love for Deagle has endured years of burnout, self-esteem issues, and guilt about my update speed, and come out unscathed. So I figured at this point it’s safe to say I’m probably not going to change? Like, it’s been a decade. So many people have moved on... but I’m still here. What’s a few--perhaps several--more years to complete this comic? I’m game if you are.

I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. See you next page. :)

[genericpuff]

I really wanna make a comic like you did but I feel so discouraged and idk... I wish I had your motivation and discipline :(

how do you do it?

I mean - and I'm gonna try and phrase this as best as I can without sounding curt - 'motivation' as people tend to view it... isn't really how you get shit done. Like obviously I had to be motivated to take on projects like Time Gate and Rekindled but that initial motivation isn't what keeps me going each week. People tend to have the general idea that motivation comes first, action second, but you actually need to take action in order to gain motivation, as the motivation to continue comes best from seeing the results of your work. And those results can only happen if you take action.

Discipline isn't the same as motivation, either. Discipline is not beating yourself over the head to force yourself to "do the thing" - rather, discipline can only come from creating routine. It's what I've done with creating comics, but it only came after a long time doing it. And when I say a 'long time', I don't mean a week or a month or even a year, I mean a solid decade of work. Before Lore : Rekindled, I was working on Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH]; before that I drew Time Gate: Reaper; before Reaper I drew Uzuki; and before THAT I was in high school just doodling personal comics for myself (i.e. not for an audience). And every single project came with its own learning experience, audience, and results that motivated me to continue (though for some of them, I never did, a big part of growth and succeeding is knowing that failure is inevitable and some projects you just grow out of love with, even routine can't save you from not continuing a project that you're simply not enjoying doing anymore).

Drawing comics and writing is as routine to my day and life as going to work, eating, sleeping, showering, etc. even if I don't feel compelled to work, I'll still find myself picking away at a panel or two or coming up with a story beat to fill in where I'm going next. It's the kind of compulsion that comes not from internal motivation, but from not doing the thing that you usually do and that can only be gained from building habits and routine. I may not get the same amount of work done each day, some days I'll work on comics for 8 hours straight and others I'll only get a single panel done, but I still get something done (which is better than nothing, not getting anything done at ALL in the face of 'waiting' for motivation is where a lot of that discouragement can come from) and that's been reinforced into a routine that now feels effortless to do because I've been doing it so long. Just like building up any good habit like going to the gym or doing a skincare routine or drinking more water, it can feel impossible to do in the beginning, but the more you do it and commit to that routine - even when you don't 'feel' like doing it - the less overwhelming and impossible it feels and the easier it is to see it through.

As you fulfill those habits in the beginning and see the results of your work, THAT'S what gets turned into motivation to continue.

Take the motivation out of the equation in doing what you want to do, motivation is not the first step but the result of taking action. Don't wait until you "feel like it", take baby steps and start moving. If you're wanting to work on a comic, start with something small, like a single panel even. When I started out with Reaper, it would take me a month to get out an entire 18-22 page chapter; by the time I was finished, I was getting the same length of chapters out per week, and that was only possible after years of routine, practice, and polishing my workflow to the most efficient model possible (which only came with repetition and practice).

Of course, I wouldn't recommend people climb up to that output because it did take its toll on me, I'm actually currently in the middle of burnout from working on Time Gate: [AFTERBIRTH] and outputting 60+ full color panels a week, that's not something that a single person is meant to do and now I'm paying the price for doing just that.

But my point is, I'm not where I started - just like everyone else, I had zero clue what I was doing in the beginning, but I stuck with it long enough to finally get to where I wanted to be. This is the same advice I'd give to people trying to write novels, or learn an instrument, or even learn how to draw.

I think the only other thing I can recommend beyond that is finding a support network. Have someone to share your results with, whether it's friends, family members, or other people partaking in your craft online. I'm in several comic creating Discords full of wonderful people who are open to giving me feedback and celebrating when I hit milestones. Think of it like having an accountability buddy - it's a lot easier to pick up new habits when you have someone else there for you to hold accountable and to hold you accountable. At the very least, it helps you feel less alone in that initial suffering of building a new routine from scratch.

It gets easier.

But the hard part is getting started and sticking to it.

And that's not gonna happen with motivation alone. You just gotta pick up your pencil (or whatever tool you're using) and start, even if it's just a little bit at a time. Some progress will make you feel a hell of a lot more motivated than no progress.

[t0mcruize123]

stuck with you

Part three🎀🫶

I liked writing this part A LOT ngl it’s a little snippet of the smut to come in part 4 so prepare yourself 🤭

~Part 3~

Rain splattered onto the hotel window as the tv screen blared colourfully. We’d planned on heading out for LA today but it’d been raining for hours, and Ray refused to leave the hotel. Instead, me and Charlie had been flicking through channels all day and playing truth or dare. It sounded boring but to be honest, I was having more fun than I’d had in weeks. I was learning so much and he wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d originally thought.

“It’s supposed to be 8 fish sticks,” Raymond mumbled as Charlie set his food in front of him.

“You want 8?” He sliced the 4 fish sticks in half, “There’s 8.”

I smiled as he sat down next to me on the bed, “Once he’s finished we’ll hit the road.”

“We don’t have to go out today, if you don’t want to,” my gaze flickered from him to the tv, “It’s getting late.”

“What would we do if we stayed here?” His voice lowered, “Watch Tv and play games?”

My tongue darted over my lips instinctively, “Yeah…if you want to.”

“And if I don’t?”

Was he messing with me? He was close enough that his arm was brushing mine and I couldn’t tell if he’d shuffled closer or not.

“Well then we’ll have to find some way to keep you occupied,” the corner of my lip lifted as my stare slid to his. His eyes were piercing in the light and my head began to spin.

A smirk played at his lips, “Oh yeah?” I liked playful Charlie but I had to admit angry Charlie made my heart pound the most. there was something about his hands and the way his voice rose as he yelled that made my stomach flutter. I shouldn’t have been attracted to something so toxic and yet I found myself falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.

“A sonnet,” Raymond mumbled and our heads snapped to his.

“What?” Charlie’s brow raised.

I nodded to the tv, “A fourteen line love poem.”

His lips parted, “How does my brother know what a sonnet is but not money? How is that even possible?”

He clambered to his feet and turned to the window, “You take a shower Ray? Hm?” Ray continued to eat as Charlie’s voice rose, “Ray, you take a shower right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right?” His hands flew up, “It’s the same thing as the rain, you get a little wet.”

Ray continued to ignore him and I cut in, “We can just go out tomorow Charlie-“

“And if it’s still raining then? We’re wasting valuable time!” He rested his palms on the window ledge, “What do you say Ray, what do you say? Huh?”

“Course the showers in the bathroom,” he stared down at his plate as Charlie rolled his eyes.

“That’s the end of that conversation,” he murmured lowly and I covered my mouth to hide my smile.

The sunlight beamed down upon us as we sat in Charlie’s car in a comfortable silence. Charlie had just made a call and was quietly thinking whilst I sat at his side.

“It’s so beautiful,” I squinted as I looked up at the sun, basking in its warmth.

“It is,” he agreed, though his gaze was on me rather than any star in the sky, “So are you just here for your sisters wedding?”

I nodded, “Yeah…it’s quite embarrassing actually.”

He frowned, “What is?”

“I actually planned to meet somebody there,” I confessed quietly, “I haven’t dated anybody in a while and my sisters trying to set me up with the best man at the wedding.”

His lips parted in surprise, “Oh..what’s his name?”

My mouth opened to reply though I stilled, “I’m…I actually can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember the name of your date?”

“I’ve never met the guy! And to be honest, I have no care for him, I’m only agreeing to go on a date with him for my sisters sake.”

He thought about it for a moment, “Why is she trying to force you with him so much?”

“Because…,” my stomach twisted, “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”

“How long is a long time?”

I pinned him with a glare and he drew back, “No judgment I promise, you can tell me.”

But it was just so embarrassing, “A year.”

His brow rose ever so slightly and I argued, “You promised no judgement!”

“I’m not judging you, I’m judging the guys in your area,” he mumbled quietly, “How have you not had a boyfriend in a year? Are all the men you’ve ever met completely insane?”

I looked to the side to hide my flaming cheeks, “What do you mean?”

“I just don’t understand how you of all people, can’t attract a boyfriend.”

“Oh I can,” I cut in, “I just reject the men that come my way. I haven’t been particularly lucky in the love department, I’ve dated many dickheads in my time.”

“Oh really?” He gave me a soft smile, “I’m not very lucky either, I haven’t dated anyone in a few months. I jusr don’t have the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “You know my last boyfriend dumped me on Christmas Day.”

His jaw went slack, “What?”

“Mhm, said I was getting too fat,” I grinned, “It’s alright you can laugh.”

“But that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, you’re figure it’s-“ he swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure, “You know it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

His fingers brushed mine ever slightly and I inhaled sharply. It’d been a long time since I’d physically reacted to such a small touch, and I liked the way my heart began to pound. When I was with Charlie, my head didn’t spin and my palms didn’t sweat. I was simply comfortable, and for some reason that made me surge with confidence.

Before I could rethink it, I swung my leg around and clambered over onto Charlie’s lap. His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise though his hands instinctively came up to my back. I’d never felt the desire to kiss somebody like this before - like if I didn’t, I would’ve have survived another second. I needed the air he was holding, I wanted it back.

My face moved closer to his and his pupils dilated though the lighting had not changed. His hands rubbed small circles at my back and I felt small shocks run through my body. My clothes were a barrier between his hot hands against my skin, but we were in a crowded area and I wasnt going to get so carried away in public. I just needed one kiss. A distraction to feed this insatiable desire coursing through my core, I just needed him before we went our seperate ways. We both wanted it, I knew it in the way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and how easy we fit together. I wasn’t fighting anymore - I was completely vulnerable in front of Charlie and yet I felt completely safe.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as his hand slipped beneath my shirt and he grazed my stomach with his thumb. I released a pent up breath and the corner of his lip lifted as he trailed his nose across my jaw. He seemed to enjoy taking his time and my heart pounded as his eyelids fluttered. He’d been so surprised but clearly he needed this as much as i did.

A gasp escaped My lips as Charlie pressed his mouth against the skin of my collarbone and glided his tongue across it. He kissed me as though he were tasting me, and I pulled him closer with desire. I needed his wet mouth on mine, his tongue slipping through my lips, his hands in my hair.

But he was holding back. Torturing me with small teasing kisses that were driving me insane.

He moved impossibly closer and kissed the corner of my mouth, making me lick my lips instinctively. He groaned and I could feel him growing hard beneath me, desperate to fill me but trying to restrain himself.

“Just give in Charlie,” I murmured lowly, and I didn’t care how pathetic my voice sounded as I begged. I could feel the size of him between my thighs and I grew hot and slick on his lap.

“You’re so needy you’d settle for riding my thigh right now wouldn’t you?” He smiled against my lips, “But I’m not giving you that right now, darling. When I take you, I’m taking you fully and completely.”

I drew back and his gaze seemed to darken, “When I fuck you I want all of you, and not in a crappy car but in a bed where I can see every inch of that beautiful body of yours and do everything, and I mean everything…I’ve imagined doing to you.”

His hands tightened at my hips and I swallowed back a moan, “Now be patient.”

God, he made it sound like it was easy, “And if I don’t?”

His brow raised in warning, “Then I’ll have to teach you.”

He made it sound like a threat but I’d never been more turned on in my life. We were both still fully clothed and yet my panties were soaked and my legs were so open they were pressed against the car door - This was a new low, even for me.

There was a yell in the distance and both or heads turned to the side, “What was that?”

Charlie looked to the store at our left, “I told Ray to stay in there but I don’t see him.”

I climbed off his lap and together we made our way out of the car, “Ray?

Cars began to honk and the sound of people arguing grew louder and louder. My pulse thrummed as we rounded the corner and turned onto the new street. I hadn’t known Raymond for long but knew that to find him, you’d probably have to just follow the sound of chaos.

“Ray?!” Charlie yelled, his steps perfectly in sync with the pounding of my heart. We rushed down the street and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Ray standing there.

In the middle of the road.

Traffic was standing still surrounding him and a tall man was shouting words I couldn’t hear from so far away. Charlie cursed under his breath and made his way through the crowd.

“Hey it’s alright! It’s alright!” Charlie rushed to his brothers side and I followed closely behind, “Hey it’s alright, I’m so sorry about him. Raymond come on.”

Ray took a step in the wrong direction and Charlie touched his arm, “Raymond come on Ray, come on,”

“It said dont walk,” he mumbled defensively and I noticed the sign with block letters.

Charlie looked at me and I shrugged, “It does say don’t walk.”

He shook his head though I noticed the small smile playing at his lips, “Don’t encourage him.”

[crimsonredfeathers]

Leaving

~*~ Chapter 3 ~*~

Hawks x fem!Reader

Warnings: smallest bit of fluff if you squint your eyes hard enough

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: This is an ongoing series for now that will probably include fluff, angst, and smut at a later point. Reader is a few years older than Hawks.

Prologue * Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10

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Knowing you all too well from working with you on a daily basis for the past six months, Hawks immediately recognized your form on the street. "Hey, y/n!" His cheerful voice took you by surprise when he flew up beside you. "Hawks," you replied, stopping in your tracks, "what are you doing here?" His boots made contact with the pavement, as he landed right in front of you. "I was just wrapping up patrol and saw you walking all by yourself," he smiled as he folded his wings behind his back. "Guess you made it out of the agency on time for once." Hawks scratched the back of his head, knowing full well that it was usually his fault, that you barely left the office on time. You chuckled at his behavior. He definitely felt bad for making you stay after office hours, because you had to help with the reports or reschedule the entire upcoming day, considering the HPSC had decided that they'd need to see him first thing in the morning on short notice once again. But, honestly, you didn't mind at all.

"I hope your patrol went well, and I don't have to turn around to go back to the office," you joked while raising an eyebrow at him, an amused look present on your face. "No, y/n, you go and enjoy your evening," he laughed. "What about you?" His golden eyes widened in surprise. "I, uhm..." Hawks moved his hand to rest on his chin, just like he was contemplating what the actual answer to that question was. It surprised you that it took him that long to figure out what to tell you and triggered a whole new train of thought in your brain.

Comparing the life of a young pro hero who has been climbing the ranks as fast as Hawks had since his debut to his sidekicks sure wasn't ideal, but at least they would talk about joining friends for dinner or spending some quality time with their families. Hawks did not - not once. Didn't he go home after work to spend time with his loved ones or maybe go out to meet up with some friends? Did he just not want to talk about it? Or maybe, just maybe, there wasn't anyone waiting for him at all.

Come to think of it, you yourself didn't have any connections to anyone in this city, except for your work relations. Sure, you kept in touch with your friends back in your hometown, sending over a card whenever one of their birthdays drew close or calling them from time to time to see how they were doing. But ever since you'd moved over here, you were kind of lonely. An idea popped into your mind, and you did the only thing that seemed right to you. "You know, if you don't have anything better to do... Maybe you'd like to come over to my place and have a coffee with me?"

~*~

Luckily, your apartment wasn't that far away, and while you could see other people staring, you didn't run into any real trouble. A few "uhs" and "ahs" accompanied you on your way from people who, of course, recognized the hero walking next to you. "Is she your girlfriend?" The both of you froze. Now that question took you by surprise. "It's a secret," Hawks winked at the girl with a cryptic look on his face. Instead of entertaining his mischievous behavior, you shook your head. "I'm his secretary," you clarified. Hawks pouted, reminding you of a kid that didn't get its way. "No fun, y/n," he whined. "Let's go, boss," you laughed heartily and continued your walk, motioning him to follow.

~*~

You unlocked and opened the door to your apartment, inviting Hawks in. "Make yourself at home," you smiled, the both of you discarding your shoes at the entrance area. Walking over to your living room, you watched him take in every detail of his surroundings while maneuvering through your apartment with utmost care so he wouldn't knock anything over with his feathers. With anyone else, you'd have felt a little weirded out, but during the past months, you'd learned that Hawks was very observant. "Take a seat," you nodded towards your sofa, "I'll be back with some coffee." Smiling, you left him in your living room.

~*~

With two cups of coffee and a hell of a lot of sugar cubes in a small bowl on a tray, you entered your living room again, only to see Hawks still standing in the room, right in front of a framed picture. "Who are they?" You placed the tray on the sofa table and walked over to stand next to him. "That's my former boss." You pointed at a middle-aged man standing on the right side of the picture. Moving the tip of your index finger over the glass that covered the photograph in the frame, you introduced Hawks to the people in the picture until you pointed at a younger version of yourself. "Well, and that would be me, just... younger. We took that photo only a few weeks after I started working at the office." A soft smile grazed your lips, as Hawks side-eyed you. "Do you miss them?" The tone of his voice was oddly low. "Sometimes I do miss the time we had together." You turned your head to look at him. A bittersweet expression was plastered on his face. Your eyes softened. "But then again, I wouldn't be working for you right now if things went any differently, and," you nudged his shoulder in an attempt to lighten up the mood, "working for you is something I really enjoy." Hawks' features relaxed visibly at your confession. "And now," you walked over to your sofa and plopped down, "let's enjoy our coffee before it's cold."

~*~

The two of you sat there for the better part of an hour, talking about whatever came to mind. You told him a little about your life, how you'd realized early on that being a hero yourself was out of the question as you'd been born quirkless, but you did admire the hard work heroes put into making sure that everybody was safe, and how your mind was set on helping the heroes so they had more time available to help others. You spoke briefly about your time at U.A., where you had joined the business course since it didn't require a quirk at all, and how you had secured the job at the hero's agency back at home after graduating. Hawks listened carefully to everything you had to say. Even if he didn't tell you, he was deeply impressed by your dedication.

Hawks revealed a few snippets of his life himself, how he never went to any high school with a hero course, but was instead privately trained by the Hero Public Safety Commission for years. He didn't elaborate in detail on how he got there or what exactly the people at HPSC had taught him, and, quite frankly, it seemed rude to you to ask, but he did tell you that they had discovered him when he had saved a few people after a car accident when he was still a child. Hawks continued by telling you about how excited he was when he could finally open his very own agency once he had turned 18, but how overwhelming the workload could be sometimes. He was thankful that you'd done your best every single day since you'd joined the team and always had their backs. And, unexpectedly, taking your hand that had been resting on your thigh into his gloved one and squeezing it gently, he added: "I knew you were the right choice right away."

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Taglist: @claratakami @chrisrue15 @mysideeffectsofyou

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A huge thanks to everyone who's reading and supporting this story! See you next chapter ❤️👋

[artandsomethingcreated]

Well more than likely i will not be able to get the whole story done before October.

I think? I should be able to get the first book done in time, i hope anyway? There is no way i can write fast enough to get all 3 there with out killing myself. As it is i average about 1.5k words a day. Course that is average, editing days are less words added, and break days are of course 0. The most i have managed in any one day was like 4k.

Other than break days i am spending like 3-10 hours on this thing a day as is. I spent 5 hrs editing today.

I am kinda sad i cant get this done by October, but welp not much can be done about it now. I would rather miss October and be happy with what i did, then rush it.

I had originally planed on giving myself well over a year. I started this a year ago in January! I spent months watching play throughs, and the legends of localization play through/ translation notes thing! MONTHS taking notes and making choices on dialog options, time line issues, how i wanted to write charicters!

I started doing rough scene drafts, jumping around through the timeline as i thought of how to do things! Going over how to build in world logic to make things make since! I was on a roll!

... then my grandma died.

And i just... couldnt...

i drew this...

And didnt touch the project again for the rest of the year.

I lost like 8 months to just... grief...

In January i took a deep breath and started this again. Opened a fresh word doc, and started from word one.

I am over 100k into this. That is more words than i estimated at the begining of the year to have by this date, it is also not nearly as far into the story as i expected.

Doma hasnt even fallen yet for the love of everything.

I keep looking at the word count and at how far into the story i am and wondering why it is so LONG. 🤣

I am kinda expecting to cut it down some but at this point i dont think i am adding much stuff that is pointless? I will go back and reread for what to trim later.

-sigh- i am working my ass off over here, i severely underestimated what i was geting myself in to...

[orifumioshi]

At the end, I don't have any other place to ramble long texts aside here; It took me a while but I think I'm finally ready to put into words what Toriyama-sensei meant to me.

I was very young when DBZ was airing over here, I don't think I was even alive when DB aired and thanks to my great grandma dementia antecedents, I don't find it odd that I have a hard time trying to remember my childhood but I have this tiny bit of memory when I was about 5 or 6, watching the DBZ Majin Buu arc, specifically when Goten and Trunks were training to fuse, I was so excited and maybe I was trying the fusion dance by myself too and after the episode (episodes? can't recall if we got more than 1 ep per day) I was tired and took a nap with the good memory of the episode, when I woke up I found that my mom put a blanket on me and closed the curtains, it was nice.

On school, I had a hard time getting along with girls and instead, had boy friends who liked Dragon Ball and we would play we were DB charas and me despite being a girl would often pick Gohan or Mirai Trunks (don't ask me how the roleplay went because don't remember).

Between Digimon and Dragon Ball, I began to draw when I was about 7-8 years old and by then, I was already aware of kid Goku from the original DB series but never had the chance to watch the anime, instead it was another fun story:

Don't remember my age but by then I probably already watched all DBZ and I was shopping (probably at Walmart) with my mom and I saw a magazine (Manga of course, didn't knew what manga was back then xD) with kid Goku and Krillin on the cover, it as very cheap so my mom gladly bought it for me.

When we came home, I quickly took off the envelope and opened it the wrong way (as the baby I was, didn't knew how to read manga) but read it very happy, it was the first Dragon Ball thing my mom bought for me and I would even bring it to school to read it over and over again, it was the volume of the beginning of the tenkaichi budokai where we meet Tenshin-han and Chaozu and of course, I still have it in my hands and treasure it with all my heart.

Then, around the age I began to draw, colectionable cards were released and everytime I was given my allowance, I would buy cards although there were times when I didn't had money, my mom was kind and bought them for me. My friends also bought cards so it was a nice way to bond over, at the end, the only friends I had in school was thanks to Dragon Ball (I got bullied for liking Digimon "instead" of Pokemon so it was nice to have friends with at least one of my same interest).

Indirectly, Toriyama-sensei helped me to have friends, someone as shy and introverted like me was able to have friends and when I drew Goku in class, the other kids praised me (and some where jealous) and it helped me to have a little bit of self esteem, I owe Toriyama-sensei the feeling of being praised for something I drew!

One day my mom bought me an activity magazine of the Cell tournament and by tracing a Goku drawing from it and coloring (at my home) I cheated and told my friends that I drew it by myself; honestly I felt very proud of how I colored it and even my teacher praised me. Later I decided to try my own stuff and you might know or not, but I drew two saiyajins, a red and blue one; yes, I drew the Super Saiyajin God Red and Blue when I was 11 and I still can't believe it! Although, back then I was just thinking on making Saiyajins who would control fire and water. The amount of times DBZ aired in my country open TV are years worth of my very own live, even today open TV is airing DBZ (and DBS now too) and just the day the news spread, our open TV channel Azteca 7 aired a marathon of movies from 1:30 pm until midnight (with a break of 2 hours due a soccer match) and this week, we are getting the DBZ finale once again, I don't think I'm ready to rewatch carrying these feelings but I'll do my best.

You might be aware or not, but the very reason I began drawing was Digimon and Dragon Ball as stated before.

It was Dragon Ball what gave me friends and a somehow decent primary and middle school experience, it was great when all the kids (and I of course) would sing Chala-Head chala during break or try the fusion dance, even in my university years (less than 10 years ago) we would still do those things! For almost 30 years, Dragon Ball and Toriyama-sensei have been part of my life and I assure you, it will remain.

Regarding characters, I'm pretty sure I began to had my gay awaken with Android 18, she was so pretty in my eyes and even today, I'm jealous of Krillin. Also as I said before, I began watching DBZ before DB so I easily attached to Gohan, as a kid myself I was impressed by how he survived alone in the Saiyajin arc and constantly asked myself if I would even be able to do that and also became very fond of his relationship with Piccolo.

When Trunks arrived to kill Freeza, was a turning point in my life tbh; despite Freeza being very important, I never liked that arc (yes, I thank Freeza for giving us Super Saiyajin Goku but just that) so when he destroyed Freeza, I was extremely happy and immediately became my favorite. Mirai Trunks and Gohan are still my top favorite character even today along with the androids.

I suppose is no secret that we all know Piccolo was sensei's fav character so even today, I'm very happy SUPER HERO was made, I don't have proof but I don't have doubts either that THIS was the movie he always wanted to make, it felt to DB to the core and it quickly became one of my favorite movies; sure, Broly was a great movie too but at the end, I feel it was just Toriyama-sensei agreeing on making Broly canon rather than having fun with his very own characters which is why now I feel a very dear feeling towards SUPER HERO.

When DAIMA was announced, I was very happy to finally have something cute from the hand of Toriyama-sensei, I felt like he was finally given the freedom to make something for himself rather than for us and because of that very reason, I was (still am) looking forward to it! I can already hear the very same dude bros who complained that it wasn't "serious" or "cool" enough complaining again. I hope that now they can appreciate the series, sensei literally died working! Anniversary works don't need to be serious, they are meant to celebrate things and have fun os I really hope sensei was able to fulfill his work on DAIMA having fun.

I think I went a little far with my ramble (even going off track xD) so to resume, the impact Toriyama-sensei had not just in my artistic journey but in my life is irreplaceable, now Goku and co. are in our hands so we better take good care of then for him, thank you for the good memories sensei, I promise to keep doing my best and carry on your legacy by never forgetting what you gave us.

Lastly, I would like to scream something at hollywood and the AI dude bros: RESPECT TORIYAMA AKIRA-SENSEI WISHES OF NOT DOING A DRAGON BALL LIVE ACTION. DON'T YOU EVER DARE TO TOUCH DRAGON BALL FROM NOW ON AND IF YOU HAVE A LITTLE BIT OF RESPECT FOR HIS ART AND STORY, YOU WILL STOP GENERATING AI IMAGES OF HIS WORKS. THE BEST WAY TO HONOR HIM IS LEARNING TO DRAW! FUCKING DRAW SOMETHING AND STOP DOING THOSE STUPID "Check out how [insert DB chara here] looks in real life according to AI" SHIT BECAUSE THAT'S AN INSULT NOT JUST TO SENSEI BUT TO ALL THE ARTISTS IN THE WORLD AND THE ARTISTS HE, TORIYAMA-SENSEI INSPIRED. Thank you.

[jmagnabo92]

It's A Twin Thing Ch 8

Jeremy and Sam have a conversation that may lead to him staying a bit longer at the B&B.

AO3

***

            Jeremy isn’t surprised to find his brother asleep with his girlfriend in her room with Flower.  In fact, he’d been expecting it, hence, deciding to spend the early morning hours drawing the two of them together.  He always enjoyed drawing a sleeping Trevor, the one that isn’t putting up a front, just his natural relaxed self.  

            He loves it.  

            No façade, no pretending, just the real Trevor.  The Trevor that few people actually get to see.

            Even dead, he barely lets his true self show except on occasion.  His discussion with Hetty had illuminated that. Still, he hopes that his presence and the stories regarding Trevor would help him be able to be himself.  

            Maybe then, he’ll be even happier here.  Especially since he’ll probably be here for at least a few more decades. Jeremy’s pretty sure that Trevor will ascend when Jeremy does, but as promised, he’s not exactly planning on that anytime soon.

            Of course, he might’ve already found peace with his girlfriend.  They certainly seem cozy together.

            “What are you doing?” Sam asks, quietly from the left.  

            He jumps slightly, not expecting her (or anyone) to be awake at four-thirty in the morning.

            “Uh, sketching,” Jeremy states, just as quiet.  “What are you doing up?”

            Sam shrugs.  “Couldn’t sleep – I couldn’t ignore Flower and Thor going at it anymore.  Figured I’d do some writing when I might actually have peace to write.”

            “The ghosts drive you crazy?” Jeremy asks, gesturing away from the room.  The last thing he wants is to wake anyone, especially if Sam thinks she could do some writing.  

            Sam nods as they begin walking downstairs.  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate my ghost family or as Jay likes to call then ‘our eight idiot kids’ –” 

            At this, Jeremy bursts out laughing.  “Very fitting.”

            “Extremely fitting,” Sam agrees.  “Anyway, it’s not that I don’t get it – it’s not like they have much going on, but do you know how annoying it is to have backseat writers all the time?  I mean, sometimes, you just get the words out and then edit stupid mistakes later, but they’re all like ‘missing comma’, ‘that’s spelled wrong’, ‘you should really rephase that’, etc.”

            Jeremy laughs as they enter the kitchen and Sam begins making tea after placing her computer on the counter.  “In my experience, you just have to assert yourself and stand by it.”

            “Oh?  I thought you learned to ignore them?”

            “I did,” Jeremy says, as he sits with his sketchpad.  “But it took years and those that were aware that I have this ability before I learned to ignore them obviously weren’t going to let me pretend that I didn’t see them.  They were too excited.”

            “That makes sense,” Sam says, as she sits across from him.  “I know the ghosts here were over the moon about my ability – well, after we agreed that I wasn’t leaving.  They just don’t seem to understand that sometimes I need to be alone.”

            “And that’s where asserting yourself comes in,” Jeremy states.  “For example, Stanley, who lives in my studio, knows that he can’t just talk to me whenever I’m in the zone with a painting.  He knows that music is one thing, having him talk to me about how I’m using the wrong colors or ‘not another painting of your brother’ is not acceptable.”

            Sam laughs.  “Are all of your paintings of your brother?”

            “No, but most of them are,” Jeremy admits.  “It used to be somewhat more even.  I’d draw whatever I saw that day – someone walking on the street, the sunset over the road, the clouds with different designs, and then, Trevor or our parents or our friends.  I once had a girlfriend, who was determined to be my muse and would get upset that I drew him, instead.”

            “I imagine she felt second-best…”

            “He’s my twin brother, literally the other half of my soul,” Jeremy counters.  “While it’s not true for every set of twins, we’re not the only ones to feel that way.  In fact, the other woman that can see ghosts – Emma, she said that she felt the same way about Sutton – her identical twin sister, who is currently a ghost in upstate New York.”

            “I suppose that must’ve been hard to find someone then?”

            Jeremy chuckles.  “Yes and no.  I was never – I am not really interested in a relationship, but I did find someone who understood, it just took a little longer especially because his death hit me so hard.”

            Sam looks down.  “I guess I never realized what it’d be like for your family… when your parents came here, it was hard on Trevor, but I can’t imagine…”

            Jeremy nods.  He didn’t really want to think about it.  Instead, he refocuses on sketching.  

            “Anyway, the ghosts – for obvious reasons – like that you can do things for them that otherwise they can’t do, but you just have to assert yourself.  Like you attempted to do with the ghosts’ election.”

            Sam laughs as she takes care of pouring the tea.  “Yeah, because that worked so well the first time.”

            He laughs as he accepts his cup.  “Well, maybe you should just pick someone that you know is more understanding about stuff.  Someone who’s only made you look like an idiot like a couple of times and that had to do with his doucheface ex-boyfriend and our parents accidently coming to visit.”

            “He dated Ari?” Sam asks, surprised.  Then she shakes her head.  “That explains a lot.  And I suppose you’re right.  He has probably been the best about not making me look like an idiot.  Everyone else certainly hasn’t.”

            “You just have to put your foot down,” Jeremy states.  “And stick to it, especially if it affects your work.”

            “Speaking of your work – your drawings and paintings are fairly amazing.”

            “Thank you,” Jeremy smiles.  “I appreciate the compliment.”

            “And I’m thinking – you know, Jay was really excited to see some of these drawings … it kind of lets him see more of the ghosts and feel connected to them…”

            “Uh-huh?”

            “And well, I bet the ghosts would love to be represented here in the house…”

            Jeremy chuckles.  “Are you asking me to paint pictures of the ghosts to put up?”

            Sam’s slight excitement deflates.  “You think it’s a dumb idea?”

            “No, of course not.”

            “Then why are you laughing?”

            “Because I’m just imagining the early years of Stanley complaining that my paintings aren’t right when I tried to paint him,” Jeremy states.  

            Sam gives him a confused look.

            “Stanley owned the studio before me.  He wanted to be remembered and etched in stone on the studio, so I agreed to paint him…”

            “Oh God, it didn’t go well?”

            “Not at all.  I must’ve tried to paint him a dozen times, but he always claimed that I didn’t ‘capture’ him right,” Jeremy states.  “But if you’d like – I can give it a try.  If only because it gives me an excuse to be here longer and heckle my brother.”

            “I heard that,” Trevor states as he leans in the doorway.  

            Jeremy grins.  “Didn’t see you there, T.  What are you doing up?”

            “I heard you whispering and was curious.”

            “So, you’re just hiding and spying?” Jeremy questions.  “Don’t you know the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’?”

            “I’m not a cat and I’m already dead, J.”

            “You two are ridiculous,” Sam comments with a laugh.

            Trevor grins.  “For the record, I think it’s a great idea because I think it’s going to be utterly hilarious to watch you trying to paint people you’ve been painting for ages knowing how specific they all are.”

            “Better or worse than Stanley?”

            “Have you met them?  Far worse, but I’m going to get a kick out of it.”

            Jeremy laughs.  “I’m sure you will.”

            “Does that mean it’s a yes?” Sam questions.

            Jeremy nods.  “It never hurts to try.”

            “You’re so going to eat those words.”

            “We’ll see.”

***

            Trevor can’t help laughing as Jeremy huffs, again, at the rather particular comments coming from Alberta about the painting of her because she had insisted on being first.  

            “Alberta, haven’t you ever heard of not correcting the artist?”

            “You’re not capturing the essence that is Alberta Haynes,” Alberta counters, just as huffy.  

            “You do realize that all of you have been in paintings that I’ve been doing for twenty years… I know what I’m doing.”

            “You haven’t been painting me you’ve been painting your brother…”

            “And you don’t think you appeared?” 

            “Fine!  You may have been painting me for years, but you’ve been doing it wrong.”

            “Or you’re just being ridiculously anal and need to stop.”

            “I never imagined that Alberta would be the anal one,” Flower states.  “Thought that would be Hetty for sure.”  

            Trevor barely managed to keep his laughter in check because Hetty had given him a look that said, ‘Don’t you dare make a joke’.  

            “I’m not anal,” Alberta counters.  “You’re just getting me wrong.”

            “I’m not getting you wrong!”

            “And besides, if anyone’s anal here it’s Hetty.”

            “Excuse me, Alberta, but I have not said a word.  So how can I do anal?” Hetty questions, which causes them all to burst out laughing.

            Hetty looks at him confused, and Trevor says, “The word is ‘be’ – how can I be anal.”

            “What is wrong with ‘do anal’?” Hetty asks, still confused.

            “I – uh, it’s the phrase people would use for like … Ari and I having sex.”  She still looks confused, so he says, “I’ll explain later.”  Then he clears his throat.  “And Alberta, as funny as it is to see you heckle my brother – he’s extremely talented and he’s captured you perfectly.”

            “He has not!”

            Trevor gives a pleading look to Flower, who says, “You know, Alberta, I think it’s time to chase the butterflies.”

            “Flower…”

            “Come on now,” Flower says, grabbing her hand and leading her away.  “You know the rules – if it’s time to chase the butterflies … you have to come with me.”

            Alberta huffs, but doesn’t resist and a moment later, they’re outside.

            Jeremy gives him a look.  “Somehow, worse than Stanley.”

            “I’m pretty sure you expected that,” Trevor states with a smile.  “Still, I think you captured her well.  Maybe you should tell her about the paintings you’ve sold.  Might remind her that you’re a famous artist.”

            Jeremy hums.  “Although I probably shouldn’t tell her I sold one to creepy Todd.”

            “You sold a painting of Alberta to Creepy Todd?” Hetty questions.

            “Well, I – I didn’t know who he was at the time,” Jeremy states.  “He bought the painting ages before he ever visited Woodstone mansion.”

            Hetty tilts her head in confusion.  Obviously, not sure how it made sense.

            “It was a painting of Alberta singing.  Ironically, without the audience being interested,” Trevor explains.  “Right before Sam returned from the hospital.”

            “Oh, I remember that.  You were taking up the whole couch.”

            Trevor laughs.  “You chose to sit on the armrest.”

            “Because you chose to take up the whole couch,” Hetty says, moving closer to him.  

            “Not true.  I only spread out because I could – no one joined me,” Trevor states, so close that they could reach out and kiss.  

            “Maybe they would have if you had not spread yourself all over the couch,” Hetty states, pretending like it even matters at this point.  She doesn’t really care; he knows that, and she knows that.  She’s just trying to rile him up and it’s working.  

            “I did not spread myself anywhere.”

            They continue to banter back and forth for a few minutes, getting closer and closer together before suddenly they’re kissing.  Neither of them are paying any attention to where they are or anything other than each other for several minutes.  

            At least until they hear: “Alright, I think I preferred when you two were hiding – is this what we can look forward to now?  Walking into any room and seeing you trying to eat each other?” 

            “Sass!” another voice admonishes.  

            Breaking apart, they see Sass and Pete standing in the living room not far away. 

            “If I said ‘yes’, would that mean you’d go away?”

            “Trevor!”

            “What?  He doesn’t ask the same of Thor and Flower and they have sex ten feet from my head,” Trevor states, turning to her.  Hetty opens her mouth to counter, but Trevor’s not done.  “He also doesn’t say anything to Isaac and Nigel or Sam and Jay … what makes us different?”

            Hetty tilts her head, obviously confused in that adorable way that he’s grown to adore.  “Trevor’s right, Sasappis.  What is different about us?”

            “I – well – you – it’s Trevor and you – I just …” Sass stutters.

            “That’s not an answer.”

            “Can I offer an answer?” Jeremy offers, after it’s clear Sass won’t be answering.  

            Trevor nods.  

            “I think it’s because Sass finds himself attracted to one of you or both of you and well…”

            He trails off, but Trevor does know.  That would be hilarious, and it makes him wonder if it’s him – after all, Sass clearly spent more time watching Elias rather than Hetty.  Sass picks up on the underlying messages and stutters, “I’m not attracted to Trevor!” and then storms off.

            Trevor can’t help laughing, meanwhile Hetty leans over to his ear and whispers, “He might not be, but I certainly am.”

            Trevor gives raises his eyebrows at her, and says, “Five minutes?”

            “As if we need that long,” Hetty replies.  “Race you?”

            “Gladly.”

            They take off before anything else can be said, completely ignoring Pete and Jeremy, he’ll explain to Jeremy later.

[etiamverba]

London after dark

You had been to the city before, of course, just because you lived on the edge of England didn't mean you lived under a rock. Your year 13 school trip ended up sending your class on a 4-hour train ride to The swinging city to end the year on a high note, and everyone had been ecstatic. "London! Imagine how fun the nightlife is going to be." Oh, you imagined it. Imagined it over and over again, picturing your outcast-self in the corner of a pub, re-evaluating yourself as a person whilst your friends hit it off with the boys of the town and abandoned you to sulk alone in the shared hostel room. It wasn't like you didn't want to be part of all the romance and heartache, quite the opposite, but every time a guy showed you just an ounce of interest, you felt stiff and uncomfortable. Something must be wrong with me; was the conclusion your mind drew, back when the madness started in year 8. Everyone else seemed to just get it, and you stood alone in the dark waiting for your turn to receive the memo. Honestly, you just never found guys exiting or particularly interesting - they didn't awaken your womanly sides, as your mother had described when you originally asked her about these feelings, or rather lack thereof.

The trip had reached its last day. The big crescendo. Your class had discussed prior to leaving what the last night should be reserved for, and had ended on a joint, sleepless bender before the train ride home. Again, you weren't necessarily against this, hell everyone enjoys a pint or two. What you feared wasn't the act of going out, it was your foreseen lack of someone to go home with.

The bender started at five pm with lethal amounts of beer in Hyde Park and drinking games. The alcohol hit quicker than expected, and suddenly the clock had struck midnight, and you were pouring your heart's deepest secrets out onto a sticky pub table, not registering the surrounding absence of concern. The class had split up into it's usual groupings after finishing the drinking games. Your friends had also slowly started disappearing throughout the night, almost certainly holding hands with a stranger in possession of a dick. It was actually just you and two other girls now, the rest long gone, merged with the city's thick foggy sphere. You ended your anecdote and swung the bottle to your lips, draining it for whatever left in the see-through body. One of the girls sat partly on a broadly shouldered guy's lap, twisting a strain of hair with two fingers. Flirting. Your eyes focused on her moving fingers, and you found yourself feet deep in a bitter feeling of jealousy. Why are you feeling this way? Your mind raced faster than adequate. It's not like you want to be the one sitting on some guy's lab. Right?

"I think we're gonna go now," the girl suddenly said, her finger finally stopping its movement. Stopping its torturous, flirtatious swaying.

"Yeah, us too." Both of the girls from your class rose from the table, collecting their things, speaking drunken gibberish with their claimed city boy.

You felt your cheeks grow red, and a sickening feeling spread hastily through your intoxicated body. They're leaving you, just like you predicted.

"Fuck you guys." The words spilled from your mouth, accompanied by sour stomach acid.

"What?"

"I said fuck you guys."

The two girls looked at each other, simultaneously rolling their eyes.

"You're just gonna abandon me?"

"It's not like you're fucked, we have a hostel room, remember? You can just go back there if you don't wanna be out any longer."

You knew that, that wasn't the problem. Actually there was no problem except in your own head, but once the jealousy had manifested itself, it took root. Your body felt desperate, aching to be wanted, to attract some-one, a male, just like it should.

The girls left. Timed seemed to have paused. The loud pub died out in your ears, and you suddenly felt how you desperately needed a fag. A community of smokers were speaking, laughing, exhaling the dark fumes into the crisp night air, and you awkwardly joined in.

"Got a ciggie?" you asked, grabbing onto a stranger's shoulder to not trip on a creek in the asphalt. The stranger was wearing a robust jean jacket. They had short, bleached hair, and a strong build - if they hadn't been strong, you'd have probably pulled the both of you down.

"Woah there love, you alright?" Their voice baffled you for a second. You hadn't imagined them to be a woman, you honestly hadn't had time to imagine anything, but the feminine rasp took you by surprise. The stranger was a woman nearing her mid-thirties, you guessed, judging by her firm, mature gaze. She was rather mannish, but with delicate feminine features to soften her butch demeanour. She had grabbed onto you in the midst of your fall, and the two of you locked eyes. Hers had a deep brown colour, giving the impression of looking straight into an alternate universe. You felt mesmerized by this stranger, this woman, and as a result of drunkenness, or just the absence of caring, you found yourself leaning into her, kissing her. She kissed you back. Your tongues met in the small openings each of you had made, where they hesitantly greeted before greedily starting to play and taste one another. Her mouth tasted like smoke and rum. Quite self-explanatory, considering the place you had met. She pulled away and helped you back on your feet. A strain of hair had made its way onto your flushed red face, and she removed it gently, giving you an examining look.

"Are you feeling okay - how drunk are you?" she asked. You shook your head, trying to sober up in the act. You had never wanted more to be sober in your life.

"I'm okay, I'm not that drunk."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty."

She pulled further away, wearing a sceptical frown.

"How old are you really? I don't want you doing something stupid."

"I'm eighteen," you told - truthfully.

"Are you lesbian or just fooling around for a night?"

You'd never really thought about that. Lesbian, it seemed like a strange yet familiar title to bestow yourself, like meeting an old friend for the first time. "I don't know" you said. Your eyes had been locked for what felt like an eternity, by now.

"Have you ever been with a woman?"

Her questions were so upfront, so confrontational. You almost felt interrogated by a copper. No, you hadn't ever been with a woman. You had never been with anyone, not for real. You said this in a shy mumble, anxiously awaiting her response.

"D'you need to take a piss?" she suddenly asked.

"Ehm, I don't know, do you?"

"Come along." She grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the smoking crowd and into the pub again. It was starting to look emptier, you noticed. How long had you been out there? She led you through the multitude of chairs and tables, empty bottles and shot glasses. The queue of about a million drunk woman had disappeared by now, and she pulled you into the surprisingly neat bathroom, locked the door and lifted you like you were made of purely feathers. The two of you kissed each other almost simultaneously, and you felt your abdomen getting hot and clammy as her hand started tenderly exploring your body. You were wearing a small top and a pair of rather short shorts, so she had virtually no material barriers. The kissing evolved a bit as you started kissing her down her neck, letting your tongue tickle her lightly, and to your contentment, you felt her shiver, allowing a slight moan to escape from her lips.

"Oh, that's lovely!" she said, sounding almost out of breath. "And you said you've never done this?"

This made you rather proud, and you kept moving your tongue in various ways, loving her obvious enjoyment. Your top irritated her all of a sudden, and she demanded you to lift your arms. You did as told. She pulled the top off of your eager body, tossing it aside and grabbing onto your now exposed tits. Her face moved to your breast, kissing and playing with your nipples with respectively her tongue and one of her hands, whilst the other travelled down to your hip bone, swiftly brushing your still clothed pussy. Now you let out a moan - louder than anticipated - grasping onto her short, blond hair. She looked up at your hot face, wearing a smug smile.

"You like that, don't you?" she said, starting to unbutton your shorts. You wanted to answer, absolutely, but your voice cracked in the middle of your attempt at speech, and the only thing escaping your lips was another stuttering moan. She laughed empathetically. "Adorable." You were too turned on to criticize yourself, and let your mind repress its own flustered mistakes. She pulled down your shorts, and you kicked them to the corner of the restroom, where they joined your top. She was still passionately groping and sucking on your tits with one hand and her mouth, smothering dark red lipstick all over them, and with her free hand, she now grabbed your panties, pulling them roughly and exposing your pussy. Not only that, but she started playing with your clit, pulsing two fingers back and forth. She let her middle finger travel through the crevice of your inner lips and lifted her hand to your face, showing you its glistening veneer. "Look how wet you're getting" she said with a grin. A sudden sense of daring spirit took over you. You licked her finger and bit it lightly. "Oh my, you dirty little jade! You wanna be the Dom, huh?" She let go of your tit to instead pull on a piece of your hair. It hurt, but in a nice way you'd never experienced before. You liked the thrill running through your body down your spine. You liked feeling your skin tighten and your small hairs raise. You didn't just like it, you loved it.

She started fingering you again, stimulating your clit, making you moan. After a couple of minutes of rubbing the outside, she let a finger slowly but determinedly enter your pussy. After making her entrance and checking on you with a panting; "Are you okay?" her finger got into a rhythm of going in and out, in and out, faster and faster, and suddenly you felt a sensation you'd never felt before. Your whole body started to shake, and you weren't able to suppress the moans any longer. She laughed again, following the gasping sounds escaping your lips. "Oh my..." You couldn't finish whatever sentence you started. Speech seemed to be unfeasible to you right now. An impossible task.

"Cum for me, you little slut" She said, speeding up.

Your whole body convulsed. You couldn't catch your breath, sweat ran down your exposed back, and you now knew how an orgasm felt. It felt fucking good. You let out a couple more moans, before she took out her soaked fingers, showing them into your mouth.

"Lick 'em clean."

The orgasm had made you weak, almost limb. Not following her order seemed absurd, as you didn't control your body any more - she did. After swallowing your own bodily fluids in grave embarrassment, she pulled you down roughly, so your face was in front of her crotch. She shed her pants and underwear, exposing her own pussy for you, and pressed you into her, telling you to; Suck it! And so, you did. Your tongue tasted her salty lips, swirling and teasing. You liked seeing her, too, hold in her moans, getting more and more horny the longer you ate her out.

"That's so fucking good, sweetheart!" she was panting, ruffling your already messy hair. "Fuck!"

Her body did the same convulsing movement as yours had done some time ago, and a great sense of pride washed over you. You were good at this.

She pulled you up again, kissing you hard and giving your neck a hickey. A mark for you to remember her - this night. She put on he clothes again, quicker than expected, and you stood as the only naked girl in the bathroom. You suddenly felt bare. Caught in a private moment. You tried covering yourself with your hand, as your clothes were in a corner far from you, but your attempt at dignity ended up just seeming pathetic.

"Are you leaving?" you asked stumblingly.

"Yeah, I'm gonna catch the Tube," she answered swiftly, heading for the door. She unlocked it, went out, and you were left alone, naked and feeling like a whore.