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gojorgeous · 5 months

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"business or pleasure?"

pairing: gojo x fem!reader summary: the gojo clan decides it’s time to secure an heir… and you’re the lucky woman selected for the job… content: HEAVY breeding, arranged marriage, language, praise, dacryphilia, p->v, fingering, mating press, a lil’ blood (if you squint), pet names, implied multiple rounds, gojo just generally being a menace, no established relationship, reader and gojo literally just met, reader is literally there for the purpose of getting pregnant, positive pregnancy test at the end, ideas of women as baby incubators :x, consent king gojo. wc: 3.7k a/n: I HAVE RETURNED!!! Hey!!!!!! Long time no see, babes. I was looking at my account and I haven’t posted a fic in *cough* TWO YEARS. There is simply no way that’s real 😭 Anyway, I’ve returned with something slightly different: A Gojo fic. You’re welcome. Mwah. Also, please send messages I miss y'all. happy new year bbs. and remember, AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

It’s only your third time in Japan. The first had been to visit family friends when you were eight, the second for a girls’ trip after you graduated college. You liked it. Tokyo was bright and busy and full of shops and things to do. The countryside always offered beauty and peace. But this third time was different. No shopping, no temples, no amusement parks. You were here for business, not pleasure.

You run a finger along the edge of a mahogany bookshelf. Your feet are killing you, a flick of your ankles tossing your heels across the room. Your nose wrinkles when you land on a particular title. The Art of War? Interesting choice… You scan the other books, and your brows rise when you find a strange combination of academics, young adult, manga, and high fantasy? A multi-genre reader, then…

You absentmindedly rub at the arch of your foot, pushing out the ache as best you can. A day so full of stress has left you weary. Your mother hadn’t stopped hovering until the moment you’d escaped into your car, a new husband on your arm.

You sigh. You could still hear the shower running along with said husband humming loudly to a tune you didn’t recognize. At least your groom wasn’t shy.

A glance toward the bed has your brows raising. Were those… squishmallows? One looked like a shark, the other like a… sushi? You press your lips together, avoiding a laugh he would surely hear. You make your way to the mattress, sighing when you finally get to sit. You pull the sushi into your arms, hugging the pillow to your chest, but it no longer seemed so funny anymore. You had bigger things to think about. Your legs press together in a mix of anticipation and anxiety. All the way from America you’d come to marry the Gojo heir. It had been a rushed arrangement. Apparently, the Gojo clan had finally put their foot down and decided their heir should finally get to the business of making another heir. There’d been a search far and wide for the best match and somehow, they’d settled on you. An accomplished sorcerer yourself and abilities in your blood that only strengthened those of the Gojo line, you’d been an suitable pick. It didn’t hurt that you were young, healthy, and (upon a trip to a renowned fertility clinic) proven to be very fertile.

Your parents had been oh-so eager to accept the Gojo clan’s proposition. The Gojo heir’s power hadn’t been matched in nearly 400 years. Any and every family would jump at the opportunity to be tied to them, especially through marriage and heirs. You were surprised you’d been chosen considering all of the options there must have been.

Satoru seemed… fine, you thought. You hadn’t had much time to talk with him privately. The first time you’d met had been on a phone call with both of your sets of parents present and the next had been at the altar. At one point in the night he’d asked a waiter to refill your wine glass and he’d been a rather good dancer. Other than that, you’d been pulled apart at all odds and ends until you’d come back here: his apartment.

You’d expected something a little more lavish for your wedding night, especially considering the spectacle that your wedding had been. Ice sculptures, thousand dollar bouquets, and diamond encrusted wedding rings had turned to an elegantly decorated bachelor pad. A glance around revealed a space that was obviously lived in, with odd mixes of $10,000 dollar chairs and… squishmallows.

You sink onto the edge of the bed, eyes peeling over the half-moons of your nails and the heavy gems that now sit on the fourth finger of your left hand. They are a weight you feel the pressure of. A pressure to live up to expectations, to produce a much-desired product.

A door opens down the hall and you realize the pounding of water and the lilting of a hum has ceased. Your husband is done with his shower.

A few seconds later he reveals himself, prancing down the hallway and into his bedroom like it’s just another Tuesday and not his wedding night. A plush blue towel is slung low around his waist and from the rivulets of water running all over his body you judge that he hadn’t even taken the time to properly dry off. Not that you mind.

You’d known your new husband was beautiful but you’d never imagined he’d be so… so goddamn seductive.

Washboard abs, toned arms, sculpted back, wet hair and icy eyes… he was the image of a god.

“Sorry for making you wait. I really needed that.”

Gojo prods at his temples, eyes squished shut in what looked like a moment of pain. You’d heard of this problem from the clan. He hadn’t worn his blindfold all day for the sake of the wedding. It was no wonder the effects were catching up with him.

“No problem.”

A small smile reveals just a few blinding teeth and you could swear your vision went out for just a moment.

“You hungry?”

You arch a brow. The man had eaten two full plates and practically half the cake not yet an hour ago.

“Can’t say that I am.”

“Hm.”

He nods and you watch as he plucks a stray candy off his bedside table, tossing the wrapper to the floor.

“So, uh-” You watch the butterscotch bulge in his cheek. “You really wanna do this?”

You glance at your half-naked husband who is practically a walking temptation. You take a breath. He’s standing so casually, as if this is a normal conversation to be having and not something life-altering.

“You don’t?” you ask.

All that gets you is a shit-eating grin.

“Never said that.”

You can’t help the smirk that crawls across your lips.

“Well, we might as well get it over with, no?”

Another flash of pearly whites.

“Get it over with, hm?”

You miss his meaning, pulling at a loose thread on the bedspread.

“It shouldn’t take much effort. I’m on so many fertility meds you could probably spit on me and I’d get pregnant.”

You pick at the thread a little more, biting your lip when you realize it’s one of those strands that’s infinite.

“That so?”

You jolt when a speck of wetness lands on your cheek. A quick glance reveals a fuzzy blue towel far too close for comfort. A half-naked Gojo is a whole lot closer than he’d been just seconds ago. How is he so quiet?

Blue eyes bore into yours, water dripping down white strands and onto your skin. He’s so damn tall. He has your neck craned all the way back just to meet his gaze.

“Yes.” You swallow. “It was part of our prenup.”

Dazed. You’re absolutely dazed.

“Well, we probably shouldn’t risk breaking a legally binding contract, hm?”

Closer. He’s coming closer. Too close.

You lean back, scooting yourself up the bed in a feeble attempt to get a little more space, your emotional support sushi tumbling to the floor. He follows right after you.

Something primal thrusts through your veins at the sight of a man, sopping wet and smirking, crawling after you, some mix of teasing and pure drive hidden in his eyes. Gojo doesn’t stop, not until you’re nearly pressed against the headboard and his arms cage your waist. Close. Too close.

You’d thought he would have dried a bit by now, but water still slicks off his skin and hair, showering you lightly. You shiver and your husband notices. His tongue darts out to lick his lips and you get a breath of the sweetness of butterscotch and mint toothpaste.

“You say stop,” he breathes, “and we stop.”

He leans closer, so close you can smell the eucalyptus and myrrh of his shampoo, the musk of his body wash, the candied sweetness of his breath. Those piercing blue eyes flit to your lips and back up again.

A breath, a pause.

“Stop?” he asks. His eyes are piercing.

You shake your head.

“Go.”

Lips, teeth, tongue. All of it hits you at once. For a moment you’re too shocked to respond, but then his weight is leaning on you and his hand is on your waist and his mouth tastes like candy and- and then you’re kissing him back.

A heavy hand digs into the flesh of your waist and your hands find a patch of damp white hair to tangle in.

He tastes good- too good and when a deft hand guides you down to the mattress you start to think that this whole baby-making business might not be so bad after all.

Teeth knock, tongues touch, and you are on the edge of what would have been a particularly throaty moan when he pulls away.

His attention shifts elsewhere, kisses trailing down your neck and hands straying to your hips.

“Have you-” a kiss to your collarbone. “Done this before?”

You freeze.

“What?”

Gojo raises his head a bit and the most irritating kind of smirk plays on his lips.

“Don’t know- thought maybe this was a virgin for your super rich husband kinda thing?”

You shove his head back down.

“Shut up.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates against your skin.

“Okay, sp no need to go slow then…”

His lips continue their assault, brushing and grazing over your skin until it lifts with goosebumps. Your breaths come a little faster, a little heavier and you gasp when his hand curls beneath the hem of your skirt.

“Oh? What’s this?” His fingers brush against the garter that rests at the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heat. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had you agreed to wear the damn thing? You reach down, hoping to quickly rid yourself of the scrap of fabric before you can become oven more mortified. You’re just about to clamp down on it when Gojo catches your wrist. “Ah, ah. No need to be so hasty.” Your hand is easily pinned down to the mattress and, for some reason, you don’t fight it.

Your breath catches when your skirt lifts only for Gojo to dive beneath it without a second thought. You feel his teeth grazing across the skin of your thigh.

“Gojo-” you breathe, squirming.

His head reappears suddenly, another one of those mischievous grins gracing his lips. “Satoru when I’m about to be inside you, baby.”

He disappears again and you gasp and wiggle when you feel his tongue laving across the inside of your thigh.

His teeth graze you again, but this time they clamp down on the garter and you feel it slowly sliding across your skin, down, down, past your knee and eventually to your ankle where Satoru finally yanks it past your foot with a final tug.

You stare at him, wide eyed and lustful. That had to have been one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

Satoru plucks the garter from his teeth and dangles it in front of his eyes. It’s a white, lacy little thing that matches the shade of his hair. He’s grinning again when he slides it onto his wrist like a bracelet– no, like a trophy.

“Thanks for the present.” He’s still grinning, still staring, his fingers still fiddling with the hem of your skirt. “How attached are you to this dress?” he asks.

You blink, swallowing nervously, unable to break away from his gaze. It’s too strong, too mesmerizing. “Not… attached at all,” you manage. It’s true. Somebody else picked it out, and you’ve only been wearing it for about an hour– and it’s not like you can’t just buy a new one now with access to the Gojo bank accounts.

His grin somehow grows even wider. “Good girl. Just what I wanted to hear.”

There’s a splitting sound and suddenly your dress is tearing straight down the middle. It’s slow and controlled and you wonder if he’s practiced at this or if his strength is just that regulated. You find yourself hoping it’s the latter.

The dress is ripped from your skin and you see it land somewhere across the room. You hear something shatter along with a thud, but Satoru seems anything but worried, so you ignore it.

You’re bare in just your undergarments, a lacy white set that you’re now half proud of and half embarrassed by.

Satoru whistles and his hands settle on your waist. “Damn, baby. Why’d you keep all this hidden for so long?”

You scoff, your confidence surging. You reach for him, grabbing a scruff of hair at the back of his neck and pulling him close. “You’re the one taking your sweet time, Toru.”

The sound of the nickname on your lips makes him shiver and you smirk triumphantly.

“Hmm…” is all he says as his fingers trail lower, lower, lower, until they’re dipping beneath the band of your panties. It’s somewhere between tortuous and ticklish and you squirm. “Ah, ah. Hold still for me, now.” He presses one hand to the valley between your breasts, holding you down as his other hand continues lower. When his thumb finds the wet spot on your panties and presses down your back arches and your breath escapes.

He chuckles. “Little needy, aren’t you?” His thumb moves a little higher, grazing your clit, and you whimper.

With one deft movement he unclasps your bra, tossing it aside. You register for just a moment that your chest is now completely bare, but soon enough his mouth is closing around your nipple and all else is forgotten.

“S-Satoru!” you whisper. Your voice feels hoarse, even if it has no reason to be.

His thumb continues its assault between your thighs. “So wet already, baby…” He sounds ecstatic. The grin on his lips makes you whine. “Let’s get these out of the way…” Before you know it, you hear more tearing and then cold air hits your cunt. You cry out when Satoru’s thumb returns to its ministrations, but this time there’s no cloth barrier to dull the sensation. Your hands push out and your nails curl into his bare shoulders. You need him closer.

“Satoru…” you breathe. “Kiss me…”

That shit-eating grin returns, but he follows your command. “As my wife wishes.”

When lips meet yours it’s hot and messy. Your nails claw down his back and you’re sure you’re leaving marks. If he minds, he certainly doesn’t show it.

His thumb continues at your clit as a finger prods at your entrance. When he slides in slowly, you gasp. He murmurs something about you being so sensitive, and proceeds to quickly find that gummy spot inside you that makes you see stars. Before you know it he’s adding a second finger and soon your hips are rocking against his thrusts, meeting his pace as you chase your high.

“God, you’re so wet.” he whispers against your lips. True to his word, he’s been kissing you, never letting up in his attack on your mouth. “Bet you taste like fucking heaven.”

You whine, your hips stuttering against his hand. “G-Gonna… I’m–”

He grins again, and pulls away just enough to meet your gaze. “Go ahead, baby. Cum for me.” Your eyes flutter shut, your head rolling back– “Nuh, uh. Keep those eyes open. Wanna see every second.”

Your breaths flutter and you whimper loudly, the sound bouncing on the walls. You’re not sure why you listen, why you fight to keep your eyes open, locked on him, but you do. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll pull away and leave you wanting… or maybe you just want to please him.

You feel your muscles clenching in your stomach, hear the sloppy sounds of Satoru’s fingers thrusting in and out of you, see the gleeful anticipation in his eyes. His thumb rubs a particularly delicious circle around your clit and you feel yourself thrown over the edge.

You can’t help but be loud. You hold his gaze the whole time, whimpering and whining his name as you gush all over his sheets. Your cunt spasms around his fingers, clenching, holding him inside, desperate to be filled. You hear him panting above you, like watching has somehow taken his breath away.

“Good girl,” he whispers and you feel a second wave of pleasure ripple through you.

You feel weak by the time your orgasm leaves you. Your muscles are limp and your cunt is so sensitive that you flinch when Satoru removes his fingers. He brushes a tear from the corner of your eye and you watch as he brings his sopping fingers to his mouth, sucking your juices clean. He moans, a deep throaty sound, like it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You watch his eyes roll back in his skull, watch his throat bob as he swallows. Your lips part at the sight.

His fingers fall from his mouth with a pop and his grin returns.

“Just like I thought,” he says. “Heaven.”

He’s back on you in a second, licking a stripe from your collarbone to just beneath your ear. His hips slot between your own and a strong hands hook around the backs of your thighs, pressing your knees to your chest. You whimper. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so completely and utterly exposed.

“On to the main event, yeah?” The twinkle in his eye has your heart racing even faster. His fingers catch the towel that is somehow still wrapped snugly around his waist. With one tug, it’s gone and your mouth is watering in anticipation.

Your jaw drops lower, if it’s even possible. He’s… huge. Long and pretty with veins that you know are going to rub just right. His tip is pink and leaking, ready.

“Satoru, it won’t–”

His lips connect to your pulse, licking and sucking when you feel him prodding at your entrance. “It’ll fit, baby.”

He slides himself through your folds, gathering your juices and torturing you every time his tip bumps your clit. By the time he’s finally lining himself up, you’re practically begging.

The first push is heaven. You’re both moaning when he prods past that first tight ring of muscle and you’re gasping, crying out his name and clawing at his back. He keeps pushing, filling you inch by inch until he’s pressed snugly against your cervix. You thank him aloud when he pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, to the feeling of being filled to the absolute brim. He only kisses the tears from your cheeks.

The first thrust has you seeing stars, little white spots clouding your vision. The second has your nails embedding in his skin hard enough to draw blood. He doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it has him moving faster, grunting in your ear and whimpering your name.

“Sooo… f-ahh-ucking t-tight…” he whispers.

A hand slides between your sweaty bodies, a thumb rubbing familiar circles against your swollen clit. You cry out, clenching down like a vice.

“F-Fuck, princess.”

His thrusts rock your body and the sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the air. You feel that familiar coil begin to form, to heat at your core. Your muscles tighten and your legs begin to shake.

“Atta girl. Cum on my cock, baby.”

You whimper at the praise, at the incessant rubbing of your clit, at the relentless pounding of your cervix. It’s all too much, too good.

“Satoru…” you cry. Your legs burn and ache. Satoru has your knees pressed so tightly to your chest you’re afraid something might snap. It only adds to the tension beginning to unravel at your center. You feel as if you’re burning, as if you’re going to snap– and then you do. Heat unravels beneath your skin and your mouth falls open in a silent cry. Your legs tremble and your toes curl and you vaguely hear your husband whispering a mix of curses and praises in your ear. You’re still lost in the sensation when he starts groaning and you feel him flooding your insides with shallow thrusts close to your cervix, filling you with rope after rope of his hot cum. You’re still panting when you finally regain your mind. Satoru’s still on top of you, completely limp with his head buried in your neck. You curl a hand into his hair, silently holding him close. That was some of the most mind-blowing sex you’ve ever had. You smirk. Yeah, maybe this baby-making business wasn’t going to be so bad.

You shiver when you feel Satoru licking and sucking at your skin. There’s a tenderness in the action that makes you pull him closer. He hasn’t even pulled out yet, but you can already feel him hardening inside you, ready for another round.

“Think it stuck?” he asks. You smirk and answer with a breathy laugh.

“Don’t know.” Silently, you think that there’s no way it didn’t. You can feel his cum dripping down your thighs and there’s just so much of it.

He lifts his head, eyes bright and sparkling even in the dim light. He grins. “Guess we’d better make sure.”

With the rate at which Satoru fucks you it’s no surprise when you get two positive little pink lines a few week later. You tell Satoru by unceremoniously dropping the test in front of him while he’s drinking his morning coffee. He only grins and kisses you before he bends you over the counter, whispering something about needing to show you how appreciative he is when he slides inside you. The next morning you wake to Satoru’s lips on yours, a brand new credit card, and a new car in the driveway, fitted with all of the newest safety features (only the best for his wife and baby, he says). You sigh and smile when you see it. Yeah, this whole baby-making business definitely wasn’t so bad.

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#jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #jujutsu gojo #tw: breeding #bree’s fics

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wttcsms · 5 months

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when you know, you know, atsumu miya ;

pairing atsumu miya x f!reader word count 1k synopsis atsumu considers marriage to be a trap, until he realizes that even a lifetime commitment to you isn't long enough content contains fluff, talks of marriage!!!! he's a softie

It starts off like this: nobody sees Atsumu Miya getting married — not now, not ever, not in the foreseeable future, nor in any of the millions of alternate and parallel universes that may or may not exist.

You’re just not the type of person we see settling down.

Yeah, that might be true, but it still stings a little. It stings when he sees the white picket fences, and the cars with the MY KID’S AN HONOR STUDENT bumper stickers. It stings when he happens to accidentally catch a rerun of those family-centered sitcoms; the ones where they argue during the day and make up at night, with some cliche moral to the over dramatic situations that have occurred onscreen fifteen minutes ago. It stings when he watches his teammates get engaged and he has to congratulate them — he’s genuinely happy for them, don’t get him wrong — but still…

It doesn’t matter. Atsumu Miya has long since held the firm belief that he’s just not the type of person the whole “fall in love, get married, have a family, cue the domesticity cuteness overload” schtick is meant for. Besides, it’s not like it’s something he’s spent years obsessing over (maybe months, at most).

He rationalizes his bachelor status (that’s been a part of him for so long that it’s getting to become somewhat of a red flag for potential girlfriends) as him being the only one left with his priorities straight. After all, he doesn't have to worry about things like parent-teacher conferences or crayon drawings on the wall or trying to buy flowers to make sure the wife isn’t too mad when he comes home late.

After all, he tells everyone, settling down is still settling.

And Atsumu Miya, under no circumstances, ever settles.

Which is an ideal he clings to with such a tight grip, if it were flesh and blood, it would be suffocating. He doesn’t, he decides after a while, believe in marriage.

(That is to say: he doesn’t believe that it’s possible for him.

It’s not what he says explicitly, but it’s what he truly means.)

So, when he tells you this on your second date, you’re a little stunned, but you’re quick to recover. Okay… So that’s the explanation you’ve been waiting for. The reason why this six feet two inches tall professional athlete with a bank account he generously withdraws money from has been single for so long is because he doesn’t believe in marriage.

Other than that, he’s been nothing but great. Near perfect. So, all you do is nod and continue on with the original topic of the conversation. Eventually, your budding romance blooms into something much bigger than either of you ever anticipated or saw coming, and while you yourself have never mentioned the M-word after that date, it’s all Atsumu can think about right now.

Marriage.

The concept of it looms over your relationship; a perpetual gray cloud that threatens to flood this perfect little relationship and have it all go down the drain. You never brought it up after he basically told you he would never marry anyone, and he never brought it up purely because — well — he’s a bit of a coward.

He’s the type of person who’s set on his own convictions, by the way. If his balls ever drop, and he decides to Man Up, he figures he’ll start the conversation just like that. His stubbornness is nothing new to you, but him figuring out that he might be wrong makes his stomach feel funny. It’s sick and twisted.

“Hey, what do you want for dinner tonight? I’m at the store right now, and I’m in the mood to cook.” He can picture it clearly: you, standing in one of the grocery store aisles, phone balanced in between your ear and shoulder as you compare the ingredients of the name brand and generic cereal.

He’s in the locker room, about to pack up his gym bag (that you’ll complain reeks) and head back to his apartment (that’s starting to feel a lot more like yours, with the way your skincare products dominate the bathroom counter), and it hits him so suddenly, he has to sit back down on the bench.

Atsumu Miya thinks that marriage isn’t for him, and as a defense mechanism, he decides that marriage sucks anyway. But through the tinny speakers of his phone, he can hear you toss something in the shopping cart. He hears the faint crying of a toddler in the background, and then he starts to think about what it would be like to walk around the store with a baby that takes after you. Right now, you’re already sleeping in the same bed with him at least four times out of the week, but it would be perfect, he thinks, to get the privilege to wake up to you every morning.

“Atsumu?” You try to get his attention, and Atsumu tries to ignore the warm and fuzzy feeling he gets when he considers a future with you. Settling down is still settling, he tells himself, and then he thinks of the way you looked when you caught the bouquet at a friend’s wedding. The pleased smile on your face, the triumphant way you held the flowers over your head, head thrown back in glee; you looked absolutely radiant. You caught his eye, and you quickly lowered your hands, giving him a sheepish grin.

He realizes now that if anyone is settling, it’s you. You don’t know that he notices the way you tear up at weddings, or how excited you sound when you get back from dress shopping with one of your friends. You want to get married, and the only thing stopping you is him.

He’s spent ages deluding himself into thinking that he’s somehow losing if he decides to trap himself into a marriage with someone, but no one can accuse him of settling when it’s you he’s marrying. You’re the prize. You’re the only person in the world he wants to give his last name and an obnoxiously big ring to.

“Make whatever you want, baby. I’ll eat anything.” He’s checking the locations for the nearest jewelers in his immediate vicinity. “I might be a little late, though. I have to check on something.”

#atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya x you #atsumu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #drabble #one shot #fluff #hq imagines #atsumu fluff

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queer-little-demigod · 3 months

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you belong with me - clarisse la rue

summary she's in love with her best friend.

fic type fluff

pairing clarisse la rue x fem!Poseidon!reader

word count 1.8k

warnings jealous!clarisse, swearing, pining, knives, clarisse threatening people, fluff.

masterlist

dividers from this post of @cafekitsune, check out their account!

At this point, Clarisse had no clue how the hell she fell for you.

You relationship had started when she'd tried to intimidate you on your first day at camp, and instead of backing down under her fierce as death gaze, you had threatened her at literal knifepoint.

"I've stood up to bullies bigger than you," you'd snapped, your soft e/c blazing with fire as the tip of a dagger kissed the underside of her jaw. “So back off, or I’ll make you regret it.”

While that earned you respect amongst everyone in camp, it earned you respect of every Ares cabin member, too.

Especially Clarisse la Rue.

The scariest girl in camp.

It had started off with her debating on whether or not she would be mean to you, making you her enemy, or befriending you.

She was strong, not stupid, so she chose the latter option.

Which brought you both here, today, three years later.

The spring season had started setting in, flowers were blooming, the sun was pleasant, wind wasn't scarce and it was cool. Sitting under the trees in the woods became a natural pastime for year-round campers like the two of you.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the surrounding trees, casting irregularly shaped shadows on the ground, turning them a deep green on the slightly prickly but comfortable grass.

Clarisse leaned her back against the big tree you both were sitting under, polishing her spearhead, with you in front of her, doing the same for your knives.

The daughter of Ares, while she'd never admit it aloud, was absolutely smitten when it came to you. In fact, this feeling had been lingering in her heart for some time, one which attracted her to you in a definitely non-platonic way.

So here she sat, listening to you talking. Your voice was the only thing she was focused on besides polishing her weapon. It stood out amongst the gentle rustle of the leaves in the trees, the call of a distant bird, the lapping of the lake's water against the edge just past the clearing.

"So, I told Silena that Charlie's in love with her, not her actual dumb blonde of a sister, Sharon," you said, rubbing the polish on the cloth you had in hand, before continuing to polish your left-hand knife. "You know, for a child of Aphrodite, she is remarkably oblivious towards loving advances. Oh, and you know that girl, Kyra, from the Hephaestus cabin? My gods, she has been looking so fine--"

Clarisse stopped listening right then. She knew you were smitten with this girl from the Hephaestus cabin, and by every one of the ever-merciful gods of Olympus, she hated it. She hated how you talked about Kyra, how your eyes lit up when the muscled girl covered with grease so much it was an accessory would glance at you.

She tuned out and stared at you, not noticing the disdainful look on her face.

"Risse, you look like you just smelled a wild centaur," you laughed, putting the cloth down and sheathing your knives again.

Clarisse rolled her eyes and grumbled, "No, I don't like Kyra's vibe."

"Aww, jealous?"

"You wish,"

You were so oblivious. Not only were you unaware that Kyra was a playgirl, but you didn’t notice that Clarisse was smitten with you to the point where it was embarrassing.

For starters she looked at you like you were the world. With adoration, awe, and wonder. She honestly couldn’t stop thinking about you.

She hated how you didn’t notice how her eyes lit up around you, how she was softer with you compared to others, how she let you paint her nails (mostly) without complaint.

You were just too oblivious.

Naturally, that evening, that same evening, she was at the Ares table, talking with her own siblings, while she watched you help Percy out with the rest of the camp’s social structures—something he hadn’t quite figured out yet, even after having gone on a quest.

But the way her blood boiled, as if a furnace had lit up inside her heart, making fire course through her veins, when Kyra came up to you. She saw how flustered you got, saw the way your cheeks reddened when Kyra brushed a hair from your face.

By the gods and her father’s name she wanted to smack that Hephaestus girl into next week…

Meanwhile, you say with Kyra, enjoying the butterflies in your stomach when she touched you, laughed at your nervous rambling’s. But the butterflies suddenly came into light as a warning. What was the likeliness that this affection would last? What was concrete in this interaction? Was it just a playful banter? Or something serious?

So many questions, not enough answers.

But one thing was for certain: Kyra wasn’t the one for you. It took just one interaction for you to understand that.

To understand that Clarisse was right.

But before you could walk away, your hotheaded best friend, seething with anger, jealousy rolling off her in waves, came up to you both and ‘borrowed’ Kyra for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clarisse asked as she led a very surprised Kyra into the forest. “What exactly do you think you’re doing, playing with Y/n’s feelings like that?”

“Come on,” Kyra laughed, Nerva wearing off a little as her arrogance took over. “She’s a girl, a smitten little girl, who knows she likes a little bit of muscle,”

“Unfortunately she doesn’t know that there’s a snake under that damned muscle,”

“Jealous, Clarisse? Of course you are,”

“What that supposed to mean, punk?”

“You’re so in love with Y/n, it shows. Everyone in camp can tell,”

“Oh is that right? If you know that so well, then you’d better stay the fuck away from her,”

Kyra’s brows shot up. “Is that so? What if I don’t? What if I take her to this very spot, and kiss her, maybe while you watch from the bushes over there?”

Clarisse felt her fists clench, felt her whole body tense up with an adrenaline that came out only during battle.

“What if I break your legs and punch that stupid face in?” She asked, eyes full of the familiar fire that only her opponents saw. “I don’t think Y/n likes the taste of blood.”

She relished the look of panic on Kyra’s face. The trapped-animal stare, the darting irises, searching for a way out, analysing her moves in that second. The tense muscles, clenched jaw, closed fists. All of it was familiar to the child of war.

But how familiar was it to the child of the forge? Not much, probably.

“Stay the fuck away from Y/n, and you and I won’t have any problems, Kyra,” Clarisse said, her voice soft. That made it more dangerous. It was soft like the gentle rain that preceded the flooding thunderstorm—a warning.

Kyra nodded, knowing it was unwise to provoke Clarisse La Rue, especially over a girl everyone in camp knew not to mess with.

But it also meant that Clarisse figured out the depth of her love for you. That it was deeper than the vastest sea, stronger than the biggest tsunami, and more damaging than a hurricane. It was fiercer than fire, more powerful than a blow from her spear, and definitely more dangerous than war.

So she’s decided to flush out her feelings. Get them out before things got worse because she couldn’t possibly find a way to get out of the ‘philia’ situation she had going with you. She wanted ‘eros’, wanted ‘ludus’, and she knew it.

Her catalyst was the mind, she wanted it to be the body., wanted it to be the heart. She wanted you in a way that friends never wanted each other. She wanted you the way Achilles wanted Patroclus, wanted you the way Romeo wanted Juliet, the way Orpheus wanted Eurydice.

She wanted you and only you.

But she could never have that.

So she decided the best way to manage her haywire heart was distance.

But by every one of the gods, big and small, was she wrong.

You found that Kyra didn’t look in your direction ever again, and additionally, found Clarisse avoiding you with nearly psychotic fervour.

Three days. You tolerated it for three days.

Finally you stormed up to Clarisse when she was training. With a swift kick to the back of her knee, you sent her crashing to the ground, disarming her spear from her.

“What did you think you were doing, avoiding me like this?!” You seethed, knife at her throat. “What, was this your idea of punishing me for having Kyra flirt with me?”

Calmly, Clarisse moved you off her like one would brush away a particularly disgruntled cat, and stood up.

“Look, I’m fine, I wasn’t doing anything,” she shrugged, grabbing her spear.

You rolled your eyes. This girl was dumb, stupid, and an absolute useless person when it came to interacting with others.

“I don’t think ignoring me for three straight days can be counted as ‘not doing anything’!” You snapped, annoyed.

Clarisse flinched at your tone.

“Why?!” You asked, following her around as she cleared up the arena. “Why exactly have you been ignoring me, hm?”

She listened patiently to your incessant pestering, going about her business while you looked like you were about to blow a gasket with how mad you were since your hands began to move more animatedly, your frown deepening even more.

“Why the hell did you say that nothing’s wrong when something clearly is?! Are you jealous? Is that it?! Why?!” You asked, expecting her not to reply the way she had been the last ten minutes.

Clarisse had had enough. She was taking the plunge into that deep dark sea, not sure if she was ready to face the monsters in it.

“Because I’m in love with you!” She said, turning around with a terrified look on her face. “I’m in love with you, and I didn’t know what to do about it because you clearly don’t love me back!”

You stood silent for a second too long. But she didn’t run. She stayed there, waiting for your answer.

“You’re in love with me?” You asked, baffled.

No butterflies, nothing fluttered in your stomach, your heart rate merely quickened and your body pulsed in every place with serotonin.

No butterflies meant this wasn’t just a thing, a fling. It wasn’t mindless flirting.

This was ‘ludus’, the love of intimacy, pure love.

“Yes, Y/n, and it kills me every single day, hearing you ramble about Kyra, and you know what I’m thinking when you talk about her like that?” She asked, tears ready to come out of her eyes. “I think that I could treat you like a queen, like you’re above Hera herself. I think that why would you love a playgirl who won’t give a single fuck about your feelings, when I’m here already knowing what you want for breakfast every day of the week! I think that I could be better than her, that I am better than her, in every possible way, but you’re just blind! You don’t see that I look at you like you’re the world because you’re so smitten with a girl who would toss you aside for the next blonde girl she sees!”

You listened to her carefully, taking in her words. In between, neither of you knew when, she had started crying. Small tears rolled down her bronze skin, tracing small pathways in their trail of sadness, of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you replied softly, stepping closer, putting a hand up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry that I was blind to how you feel about me, I’m sorry for not noticing it sooner,”

“And Y/n, you’re my best friend, okay? I can’t…I know that we can never be together and…” she stopped short when your hands went up to cup her cheeks.

“Why is that?”

“Philia, Y/n. Friendship love.”

“Who says it can’t progress?”

“You don’t love me back,”

“I do,”

“Friendship love doesn’t count here,”

“Bold of you to assume I’m talking about friendship,”

Clarisse froze.

“I love you too, Clarisse,” you said softly, looking at her in her eyes. “And I’m not talking about ‘philia’. Gods I love you the way Achilles loved Patroclus, the way Romeo loved Juliet, the way Orpheus loved Euridyce,”

“I thought that too,” she whispered, shocked. “How…”

“I know that because these three romances are the ones I’ve read to you,” you replied. “I know you, Clarisse. But I was too blind to see your love went past my mind and extended to my heart, my body, my soul. And I’m sorry for being blind.”

“You belong with me, not her,”

“Do you see me doubting that?”

She giggled softly. Clarisse La Rue, the most feared girl in camp, giggled like a little kid.

“It’s okay, I guess, you little dumbass,” she chuckled. “So…what now?”

“I don’t know, do we kiss?” You asked, confused. “You know I have never kissed a girl before and—“

She silenced you with a finger to your lips.

“Let’s…take it slow? Ease into it?” She asked. “Cause I have never kissed a girl either,”

“Be my girlfriend, though?”

“You thought I’d say no?”

Hi! It’s me, Lea! I hope you liked this imagine, feel free to request <3

#clarisse la rue fluff #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue #clarisse pjo #clarisse x reader #friends to lovers

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ashleyisartsy · 2 months

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Problems (objective and personal) I'm not seeing discussed a lot w this new WatcherTV thing, in no particular order:

-Alienates people internationally who literally CANNOT GET the streaming service!

-Alienates casual fans who don't watch or want to watch all of their shows. Putting down 60 bucks a year to watch just one or two shows is kind of insane, at least for me.

-The volume of content Watcher has produced historically hasn't been enough to justify a separate streamer. I understand there's no way a small team could compete with something like Netflix, obviously, but that's what you're trying to do by putting yourself in the streamer market.

-Will this streamer be secure? What steps are in place to protect your viewers info? ESPECIALLY payment info.

-Will it be easily watchable on multiple devices? I watch YouTube videos on my phone at work 90% of the time, or at home on my TV thru my switch. Is this a browser only deal?

-What are the internet requirements for this? Believe it or not most streaming services won't run on my internet personally. I don't have any for that reason. I can watch YouTube on 360p, or on my 2-bar-reception phone data. Not everywhere has stable reliable internet.

-The suddenness and totality of the move was going to be jarring no matter what, if the idea had been introduced gradually or started as a hybrid model to test audience interest there wouldn't be nearly this amount of pushback.

-I understand the people saying "pay artists!!" Bc I am one, and I get that their quality is expensive and they have a whole company's worth of people to support. I do actually think their work is worth paying for! Everyone's is! But convincing anyone to pay for something they previously got for free is going to be a hard sell. They were still getting paid before, they're now just asking us to pay instead of the advertisers. Idk about you, but that's a way bigger hit to my pocketbook than a multimillion dollar company's bank account.

-I get that YouTube can be a really shitty place to be a creator sometimes, and that being beholden to advertisers is something they don't want to be. It's why they left Buzzfeed! They already have a patreon and merch and it's clearly not been enough for their ambitions. But shooting yourself in the foot because your running shoes are wearing out isn't going to make you a better marathon runner. They had to know that there was going to be a not small portion of their audience unwilling to make this move with them (and again, lots literally aren't able to!)

-If they had a free w/ ads option, or even did a hybrid model with whole shows behind the pay wall, or even just ran a fucking crowd funding campaign to help cover costs of new seasons of shows, any of those things could have worked. They don't even have YouTube memberships turned on, which I've personally seen many many channels do even when they already have a patreon. It really doesn't seem like they've exhausted other options, at least from an outside perspective, which is all we have as viewers!

-I get that this has been in the works for a long time, and that there probably isn't a way for them to back out now. But I hope they can find a way to make this more accessible if they want it to work at all. I truly am not wishing for their downfall, but the whole situation is an awful mess.

Idk, rant over. As a lot of you are I'm feeling very disappointed and upset with this one, and I'm not paying for it either. Hope the boys can salvage this one for their and their crew's sake. Would really hate for this to be the end.

#watcher #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim #the youtube landscape is a hell hole #just :(

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luminousbeings-crudematter · 7 months

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You teach Ghost a new skill

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x F!Reader

WARNINGS: smut || 18+ only MDNI ||

A/N: ...it's so horny...

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

____

It’s been a long evening, and you’re tired. Wrung out.

And so your first instinct (governed solely by delirious tiredness at this point) is to laugh at Ghost’s words. Not because they’re funny, but because they’re—quite literally—unbelievable. You look from him to Johnny, and then back to him, before your smile falters and falls entirely. Oh fuck, he’s serious.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve never eaten pussy.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter. “Lt…I’m finding that very hard to believe.”

“Believe what y’want, Sergeant.”

Usually, Johnny would intervene, ever the peace-maker between the two of you. But not tonight. Tonight he just watches the two of you, his baby blues brighter and wider than usual as they swing between the two of you as though he’s watching a tennis match.

“So…what? You want to try?”

“Mm.”

“You want me to…show you what I like. While you’re going down on me.”

Ghost looks at you like you’re an idiot, which, in his defence, is how he looks at everyone.

You’re not entirely sure what to do, so you look to Johnny for help. What the fuck, you mouth at him, and only when you hear a rumble from Ghost do you turn back to him.

“Okay…yeah. Fine. Okay, fine.” You giggle nervously. “Can Johnny show you? He knows what I like.” When you glance over at Johnny, he’s helpful as ever—nodding sagely at your words.

He does know what you like, after all.

Ghost only crosses his arms over his chest, and the whole thing makes him look bigger. More intimidating. He takes up more room like this, and you may have even called it posturing, except you know that it isn’t. There is neither the need nor the expectation of posturing between the three of you.

“Take your clothes off,” Ghost orders, and you scramble to obey immediately. (Hours in the future from this moment, you’ll think about how they’re the last coherent words he says for a while. What a man your mighty Lieutenant is, commendable in the absolute dedication and discipline he shows in learning a new craft.)

You watch them as they watch you strip. You take your time with it—too awkward to make it sexy for them, but enjoying how their eyes greedily linger on the skin your fingertips brush. They make you feel sexy with just their eyes on you, and at one point, you watch with a sly smile on your face as Johnny touches himself through his trousers. Just the one hard tug, and his resultant raspy exhale has white-hot arousal coursing through your veins.

They don’t undress, they don’t even move from their positions, really, and you suppose there are worse things than being the main course for the evening. When you’re finally bare, Johnny seems to lurch out of his trance and reaches out to you, gently pulling you by your hand into the bed. And finally, finally, when Johnny kisses you, you can relax into the whole thing. A contradiction to be sure, but you’ve never felt as relaxed as you do when you pull away from him, gasping for air.

Ghost is at your back, mask off, warm breath at the nape of your neck. “Don’t stop on my account, Sergeants.”

It’s hardly a big ask, and you go back eagerly for seconds, latch on to Johnny’s lips while his hands roam the sides of your body. There’s a comfort in the familiarity of his touch, and you’re left wondering when you’ll have that with both of them.

So it does come as quite a surprise when (in almost a physical manifestation of your inner thoughts) you feel Ghost’s arms reach out and tug your own behind your back. You think nothing of it, though, too mesmerised by being the world’s luckiest girl in that moment—trapped in between two men, one making love to your mouth, the other determined to make you flood your panties by just kissing the back of your neck.

You only barely register Ghost’s movements behind you, hands on your shoulders tugging you backwards into him with care until you’re lying on your back. The ease with which Johnny moves with you, using his elbows to support his body weight above you, makes you feel like they’ve planned something for you.

But you know that’s not true. You know that you can’t plan a calamity.

Johnny’s attention moves from your lips to your cheeks to your jaw, while you’ve got your head in Ghost’s lap, who runs eager, gentle hands over your breasts, your belly, your arms—and you can’t help but sigh with how languid and loose you feel right now. And, almost as if in response, the lizard part of your hind-brain whispers to you about how nice and safe and warm it feels between the two men, being taken care of by them, being spoiled by them.

They don’t seem in any particular hurry, and so when you cheekily guide Ghost’s hand towards your pussy and he resists, you don’t think anything of it. But of course, it makes Johnny look up at Ghost and freeze and all the action stops and you want to whine, protest, make your displeasure known in some way, but you don’t get the opportunity. Ghost shifts, cradling your head before putting it gently down on the bed, leaning closer and closer and oh.

Kissing Ghost is so different from kissing Johnny. When Johnny kisses you, it feels like your spine melts, and you’re left a puddle under eager, enthusiastic fingers. But Ghost is not Johnny.

No, kissing Ghost makes you feel like you’re a bee trying to hold your own against a hurricane. Try as hard as you want, but the hurricane doesn’t care. The hurricane barrels through, stopped by nothing and no one, not swayed in the slightest by your courage or endeared to your foolishness.

Except Ghost isn’t just a hurricane.

He’s your superior officer, he’s a man you work with, a man you work for, a man you trust in more ways than one, a man who's got both your arms pinned above you. He coaxes you to let him explore your mouth, urges you to open up to him, and god do you let him.

So engrossed are you that you don’t even notice the distinct sound of the locking zip ties on your wrists until your body jerks up, and you find that your arms have been bound above your head. “Ghost! Wh—”

“Shh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got ya, yer’alright, pet. Hush.”

You hush. When your eyes meet Johnny’s, he’s looking at you with the same steady gaze he gives you in the middle of the battlefield, a look that says it’s alright and you’ve got this and I won’t let anything happen to you. So you relax and when Johnny climbs back up your body to kiss you again, you let your kiss sum up your trust in him. He squeezes your right hip, something he’s done a thousand times before you remind you that you’re safe with him, and the final vestiges of apprehension drain out of you.

“Sitrep?” Johnny murmurs, and it makes you smile against his mouth.

“Living,” you answer immediately, and it makes Ghost exhale roughly.

But you know why, you think. You can step outside of your body for a second, see what Ghost sees. Your naked body in bed—in his bed—Johnny hovering over you, his clothed cock right over your pussy that throbs from the lack of attention.

You break your kiss with Johnny and he turns to look at your Lieutenant. “You ready for your lesson, Lt?”

It always jars you, how quickly Ghost moves. He’s surprisingly agile, even with how big he is, especially with how big he is, but he’s kneeling on the floor in a second, hands running over your calves, the back of your thighs and finally coming to a rest on your hips. The whole time, though, his eyes haven’t left your pussy, and it makes you squirm. You feel too warm just from his attention, and neither of them have even touched you between your legs yet.

“Now the first lesson is…” Soap uses his middle finger to touch your slit, and then immediately drops it, slides it over your completely, unbearably, slick, hot, neglected cunt.

“Fuck,” Ghost spits and Johnny hums in approval. You’re pretty sure you’re about to snap your jaw off its hinges from how tight you’ve got it clutched it shut. “You hafta see how the bonnie lass is doin,’ alrate? Check if you’ve been kissin’ her all nice and sweet, just how she likes it.”

Johnny continues to touch you, but warm fingers, bigger, rougher, more calloused, find your clit. Ghost touches your clit in small, slow circles, and fuck. You’re bucking your hips into it slightly because you can’t help yourself. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut, because god, you can all hear how obscenely wet you are right now. “See now how wet our lass is jus’ from hearin’ us talking about eatin’ that cunt? That’s what you want, Lt,” Johnny instructs.

It makes you gasp raggedly, feeling like you’ve run a marathon but no. All you’ve done is lay there, while they masturbate you with just two fingers but every coherent thought has already left your brain and you’re left wondering if you really will lose your mind and have a heart attack by the end of the night.

“Now here’s a little tip, Ghost,” Johnny says hoarsely, and brings his finger still shiny-wet with your slick up to Ghost’s face. There’s no hesitation as Ghost wraps his mouth around Johnny’s finger effortlessly. You’re breathing hard with your mouth slightly open in apprehension, because if they say anything to you right now, you will literally pass out. Johnny’s face lights up at the lack of thought Ghost seems to give in making out with Johnny’s finger, and he pushes in closer and closer to Ghost until they’re the ones kissing.

And god. You see the hint of tongues and they look so damn lost in each other, but they don’t stop touching you. But goddammit you want their attention on you tonight. You whine a little, squirm and pull against the zip ties that bind your wrists to the bedpost, but Ghost’s warm, steady hand on your thigh stops you. Be good, it seems to say. Be good and endure. So you do.

When they break apart, Ghost’s quick smirk at you feels like your reward.

“You…you can put your finger inside me, Ghost. It’s—I’d really like that,” you say meekly. You have not once in your life been meek with Ghost and Johnny chuckles slowly.

“Ach, I’m givin’ the instructions tonight, love. Here,” he says, motioning so Ghostcan replace Johnny’s fingers on your slit with his own. “Go on, then, Lt.” His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “It’s where she’s the warmest…wettest too. And she’d like it,” he adds, only slightly mocking you, and you laugh breathily.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ghost croaks, and a tremor runs down your spine when he follows Johnny’s instructions. It’s like your pussy hears him, floods his fingers, throbs a hot, wicked rhythm against them. “Y’might be right, Johnny.” Ghost diligently avoids our clit, running a curious finger over the length of your cunt, then feeling out the tight muscle there, pushing in slowly, slowly. Gently enough to open you up on his finger.

“Good fuckin’ god, ain’t that a sight,” Johnny breathes, and you clench your fingers in a fist because you need something, anything to relieve the pressure you feel right now. It hasn’t even been that long that Johnny fucked you, a few days, maybe, but the way you open up around Ghost’s finger, you’d have thought it was weeks.

After all the build up that felt like torture, your eyes roll back into your head as you feel Ghost move his finger in and out of you, then feeling brave and adding a second. His movements are precise, a military man through and through, and his eyes never once move from your cunt. He watches the movement of his own fingers, the muscles in his bicep jumping from how controlled his movements are, and when he pulls them out and brushes them over Johnny’s lips, you can see that they’re absolutely drenched.

But fuck, they don’t even give you a moment, because Johnny has his eyes closed, allows Ghost to sink his fingers in his mouth so deep, and he kind of…slumps a bit. Relaxes into it entirely. His face goes soft and his shoulders drop and Ghost watches him with keen, sharp eyes. You’re almost convinced they’ve forgotten you’re in the room. Almost, because, almost in perfect sync, their attention turns back to you. They’re so in tune with each other, it’s ridiculous. “Boys,” you gasp. “Rude to keep a girl waiting, you know.”

“Greedy bitch,” Ghost insists, and pushes his fingers into your mouth instead. You should bite him for the audacity, but the lingering taste of your own pussy has you weak, and you suck his fingers automatically. “Be nice, pet. Or class ends here, yeah? You can be an outstanding student, while Johnny sucks my cock.” His words expose the temporary nature of your bravado, and it rushes out of you, making your spine meet the bed again. You hadn’t even realised how far you’d been arching off of it.

Johnny soothes you, though, shushing you, gentle murmurs of encouragement leaving his mouth effortlessly as two, thick fingers find their way inside you and keep you plugged. He only turns to Ghost when you’re a gasping, moaning mess. “Think you can guess wha’ comes next, Lt?”

Ghost adjusts so his face is right in front of your cunt and Johnny leans down to whisper in his ear. “...like you’re parched, and the lass offers the last drink on Earth, ye?”

Johnny continues the rocking motion of his fingers inside you while Ghost brings his mouth closer to your cunt, and just breathes there. Even that feels like too much stimulation and when Johnny uses that exact moment to curl his fingers into you in a come hither motion, your whine is loud and drawn out, eyes squeezed shut so tight, you feel a few errant tears leak out the sides.

When Ghost’s tongue makes contact with you, he doesn’t immediately latch on to your clit like you’d expected, or hoped. No, he uses his tongue to gently savour your wetness, and considering how much of it there is, you’re sure you’re feeding him mouthfuls of it, just from how close you are to coming. He finally pulls you out of your misery, though, when his tongue makes the journey to your clit, and when your hips rock upwards, he groans and rises up to chase it. The tip of his tongue swirls around your clit and down to your pussy, where Johnny’s fingers slide out slowly, so Ghost can suck them clean before they go back inside you and Ghost repeats the whole thing.

You’re only pulled out of the moment for a split second, when you notice Soap’s hand covering the nape of Ghost’s neck, holding him there against your pussy, and how Ghost lets him. It only catches your attention because of how submissive it is, how trusting, but you immediately forget why it even matters when his velvet tongue catches on your clit.

You can hardly believe what’s happening to you right now. Ghost is adjusting himself enough so your knees go effortlessly over his shoulder and you’re ludicrously exposed to him right now. The same Ghost who exercises restraint in every aspect of his life, is mean and sometimes a bully and strict and fucking scary, has got his nose grinding against your clit right now, while his tongue gathers your arousal from your slit, swallows it and goes back for more.

You feel that deep, familiar swell in the pit of your belly, and your eyes pop open in panic, because your hands are tied and you can’t even grind into Ghost’s face without any leverage, but then Johnny adds a third finger into you while Ghost sucks on your clit with persistence, and you find that you don’t need that leverage after all. You can grind into his face just fine. You turn away and bite your lip hard, but Ghost’s hand shoots up and curls around your jaw, twisting it until you’re facing them again.

You moan and Johnny coos at you in response. “Stay wi’ us, baby, stay right here,” he murmurs.

And then, all at once, you’re coming, hard. It’s almost painful, the pressure of it, the way it makes you want to kick and squeal and cry from how it makes your body curl up in on itself, your spine bowing in half. Your cry is anguished and deep and rips its way out of your throat, and you think you hear a satisfied rumble from one of your boys, but you don’t know which one. Your orgasm feels powerful and destructive and you claw at thin air, squirm and move but there’s no getting away from how encompassing it is, how fucking devastating it feels in it’s power.

You may have drenched Johnny’s fingers and Ghost’s face but you couldn’t care less right now. You hear one of them chuckle slowly, and you feel yourself gradually fall back onto the Earth. Ghost has mercifully moved his attention to the insides of your thighs now and Johnny pets your other thigh, and though their touches, any touches feel too much right now, you don’t dare move away from them.

This time, Ghost crawls up your body to kiss you, tugs at your bottom lip with his teeth, finally murmurs against your lips. “Sitrep, Sergeant?”

And you have to smile at that, because this man may hide under layers and layers, but he hides something inside him worth diving into the abyss for. “Living, Lt.” His teeth drag along the skin of your throat as he makes way for Johnny to check in on you.

And oh. Sweet Johnny’s just smiling at you, hands moving to brush back the sweaty hair at the crown of your head. “Alright, love?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, too blissed out to answer. You float on a cloud, until Johnny speaks, the smirk and mischief in his voice making your eyes shoot open in a panic.

“Last lesson of the day, Lt. Gotta clean our girl up.”

#simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #simon riley x reader #simon riley x john mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost smut #soap smut #lumi writes

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jojissalsa · 7 months

Text

Perfect body, Pretty face

Warnings: dom!Leon x fem/sub!reader, power dynamics (boss/assistant), daddy kink, mentions of nudes/sex work, taking pictures during sex, facial, condescension, slight praise, mentions of age gap (reader is in mid 20s), clothes ripping (tights), reader is bratty at some point.

hello again :3 i wanna post what i can while i have the time, so i can kinda build this page up. hope u guys enjoy this one even if i feel like i made a few mistakes and lmk where i can improve! constructive criticism, reposts and requests are always welcome :D (minors don’t interact, touch grass.)

WC: 3.3k (proofread)

When Leon first came to the D.S.O, he expected bigger missions and harder work. Not boring ass reports and paperwork. The missions were definitely longer, which meant piles atop piles of paperwork that would take longer than it should. When the D.S.O realized Leon needed more time on his reports compared to the rookies or standard agents, they gave him a hand. You, his new assistant. And god, were you helpful. You were more than a sight for sore eyes, you were distracting at first, but even more so as he got to know you. You even remembered his favorite coffee order, and what he liked most for lunch. To him, you were just doing a good job. But in reality, you just wanted to get in his pants more than anything.

Your last boss was such a douchebag, the typical mansplaining and ungratefulness. But Leon? He was such a sweetheart, and so understanding. He didn’t get annoyed when you made a tiny mistake, a couple minutes late or working slower at the end of your shift. You knew damn well your attraction to him was bad for you and this job, but Eve still ate that apple didn’t she? You were the same, always attracted to forbidden fruit. But when it was Leon, who cares about forbidden? It just adds to the flavor. Obviously being an assistant didn’t make the most money, but at least you got a pretty face to work with. And there’s no shame in a side hustle, right? That’s what you thought when you made a Twitter account when you first became an assistant, well, intern at first. The job was so damn stressful and your shitty boss didn’t help. It was harmless fun at first, posting a few lewd pictures of your cleavage or in cute two-piece bathing suits you got. And then it got even lewder, posting pictures of your bare tits, dim lighting from your computer, things like that until you said fuck it and showed all the goods. Complaining about your shitty boss became part of your brand, as well as the faceless part of your nudes. You never showed your face, only your hair if it was a full body picture, not because you were ashamed of what you were doing. Not in the slightest, actually. You were just worried about word spreading around the office, especially since you were getting fairly popular. No face, no case, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone had x-ray vision to see if you had the same tits. It’s not like it hurt business either, you had a perfect body. You weren’t the skinniest person in the world, average like most people’s bodies. But to you, it was perfect. It suited you and flaunting it made you happy.

Your brand definitely shifted when you changed bosses, less complaining about how much your job sucked to more complaining about how badly you needed your boss to look at you differently. Pictures of you up-skirt under your desk whenever he wasn't looking or left to grab you both coffee or lunch, captions that always mentioned him.

"is it bad that my boss gets me this wet?"

"wish my boss would crawl under my desk and take care of this ;p"

And they would only get more and more risky. Posts of your increasingly skimpy outfits and a courtesy picture of you out of them captioned "you guys think my boss will like? lol". A video of you cumming in the bathroom at work, another where you cheekily slipped your fingers in your cunt, rubbing your slick over your clit before giggling as you turn the recording off.

Leon really didn’t mean to find something of yours this personal, he was just a guy looking for porn where he knew he could find it. He may be old but the man still needs to get off. And he was a man of taste, he liked the amateur stuff, and he knew Twitter had it. When he stumbled across your account, he thought it was perfect. At first he didn't know it was you, but by your most recent posts, it was obvious. You never name dropped him, or even said what he looked like, only saying he was fine and looked like a dilf, which was definitely an ego boost when he figured out it was you. It was easy, really. He was bored at night, couldn’t sleep like usual, and hoped that jacking off would clear his head a bit. It didn’t clear his head in the slightest when he saw your most recent video. It was of you working overtime, fingering yourself on his desk. Biting your lip to stay quiet but failing miserably as your fingers keep rubbing against that spongy spot in your walls, palm slapping against your clit. The best part? You said his name while you came. Maybe not his full name, but the way you let it out subconsciously, saying "Mr. Kennedy" in the most pornographic way possible, realizing you did and then giggling when you felt no remorse. Only an "oh shit" and a cutesy laugh as you abruptly ended the video. He was gonna say something tomorrow. He had to.

The second you walk in the door with that polite smile you always have, cute pink blouse and short pencil skirt, he waves you over to his desk. "Y/n, come here for a sec." His stern tone makes you blush and immediately walk over after setting down your bag. "Yes, sir? Is there something you need from me?" You expect him to say he needs a file or some kind of paper, but he shocks you when he turns his monitor around to show your twitter page. "You know anything about this?" You don't show it on your face, but the way you clench your jaw makes it obvious. You've got a good poker face, he'll give you that. "No sir, am I supposed to?" You get a bit of an attitude, mainly because he just totally called you out. "I don't know, you tell me." He scrolled very little down to your last post, the video. You gulp, knowing damn well you said his name. "Is that you saying my name?" His tone is still stern, but it feels more teasing now, considering his cocky smirk. He has you in a corner. "Don't you think it's a little sleazy to be prying into my personal hobbies?" Your attitude gets more prominent, crossing your arms and giving him a sharp glare. You were more prideful than anything, his smugness starting to piss you off because of how turned on you were getting. "Don't you think it's a bit slutty to finger fuck yourself on my desk?" When he shot back at you with that you froze, face going completely red. Not only was he right, you had no room to talk about his habits, but the way he said it was so fucking hot it lit a fire in you, shockwaves shooting straight to your clit.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, your lips parted as you felt your pulse throbbing between your thighs, knowing your panties were soaked. "You gonna say something or just come over here already? Stop wasting my time, I have work to do." It was instant when he said that, hips swaying as you walked to him, holding your hands in front of you as you looked down at the ground. "What's got you all shy? You certainly weren't shy last night." His teasing was really getting to you, making your lips squeeze as you shift your thighs again, your chest feeling so heavy with every breath you took. "Didn't I tell you not to waste my time? Sit on my desk and spread your legs." Your breath hitches at his demanding words, hopping up on his desk and spreading your legs. You thank god that it was a little chilly today, making you wear sheer black tights. Not that you'd be wearing them long, you just hope the wet spot on your panties wasn’t noticeable. "Jesus, soaked through your fucking tights? You're that excited?" His teasing made you go wide eyed, whimpering at his smug gaze piercing through you. "Yes sir.." You finally manage to speak, even if it sounds breathless and needy. Your eyes stay steady on him, taking in every feature you can. You lick your lips from the sight of his hard cock pressed against his tight slacks, not daring to close your legs in the slightest even if you were desperate for friction. "See something you like?" You watch him palm over his hard on, just watching something that sinful makes you moan softly. "I thought you said not to waste your time? What are you waiting for?" You throw any bit of shyness out the window, brattiness taking its place instead. After all, he meddled into something private, why make it easy for him? That’s no fun~

His brows furrowed as he gives you an annoyed look, groaning in frustration as he shoots up from his office chair and grabs your waist, pulling you from his desk and flipping you to bend over. He certainly doesn't waste any time now, pulling your skirt up and ripping a massive hole in your tights, making you gasp and squirm, turning your head to try and see the damage. "Don't complain, no point in denying you like it. Why else are your panties fucking drenched?" You throw him a frustrated glare before grumbling something about those being expensive under your breath. "Sorry, what was that?" You gasp as his hand slams down harshly on your ass cheek, whining at his gentle kneading on the now stinging red spot. "You're trying so hard to be bratty, when you're usually such a sweet girl. Always coming here early, bringing me coffee, remembering my favorite lunch. You don't do that because you like this job, hell, a slut like you doesn’t care about working hard. You do it because you want my attention." His hand keeps kneading the fat of your ass, making you back up into his palm for more. That doesn't stop your attitude though. "Oh boo hoo, as if you didn't love every second of it. How'd you even find my page? The nursing home gives you internet after 10?" Your bitchy tone doesn't go unnoticed by him, and neither does your smug smirk that is clearly challenging him, if anything it lights the same fire inside him, dick twitching under his slacks. He shoots you a glare that says "you really wanna do this?", as if you care about that silly warning. What's the worst he could do? "Y'know they shouldn't give a pervy old man like you access to stuff like that, it rots your brain~" You get cut off by another slap on your ass, harder than the last one, he doesn't even bother to soothe the sting with his hand. "Pervy old man? Then what are you? Some slut thinking of her boss's cock all day. How high and mighty." Another slap, and you're already unraveling by the second, the tingling sensation from his spanks sending shock after shock to your clit.

"You go on and on about me on that damn site for thousands to see, so why not take what you want? You're getting nowhere by being an ungrateful brat." He's really starting to make sense with how desperate you are to be touched, for that release you so desperately need. And with how hard his spanking is getting, it's making your head dizzy. He presses his hard-on against your ass, making you whine and grind against him. That's not enough for him though, he needs you to say it, the same way you said his name last night. "C'mon pretty girl, get what you want and ask for it, I know you can." He grinds against your ass, finally snapping through the sane part of your brain. "Fuck! Fine, please, please give it to me, I can't wait anymore, please Mr. Kennedy.." You beg in a gravelly voice, nails digging into his desk as the neediness in you builds. "Need what? You can say it." He slaps your ass again, a little gentler now that you're finally getting there, sliding his hand down to press his thumb on the gusset on your panties, hissing at how wet it felt. "Your cock, Leon, please, I need your cock so bad.." You whimper in broken fragments from your voice breaking, sighing in relief as he finally pulls down your panties, feeling your slick connect to them in strings and the cool air contrasting how hot you feel. As you heard the sound of metal clinking and a zipper pulled down you wished he flipped you over, because you really wanted to see his cock, turning your head in a desperate attempt to steal a quick glance. "Don't worry baby, you'll get a good look later." You don't care enough to question him, you care more about his tip pressed against your folds, threatening to stretch you open.

The coil of anticipation that's released when he finally slides inside you is the most euphoric feeling, growling as he fills you completely, balls nestled right against your clit. "Fuck, barely had to do anything and it slipped in so easy. Like you were made to take this cock, huh, sweetheart?" He goes slow at first, letting you adjust to his thick size, agonizing in how slow he drags his cock along your walls. All you can mutter is 'yes' like a mantra to keep you in reality, but every stroke is sending you further into that cloudy part of your brain where all you can think about is how you can feel everything. His hands on your hips to keep you in place, the way his cock kisses right against your cervix then pulls all the way out just to make you drunk off the feeling, his low and heavy grunts dangerously close to your ear, and it's all getting you even more impatient and needy. "Leon, please, go faster, need it faster." You speak through broken sobs and high pitched whines, looking back at him with a pleading pout. You can't say no to this cute face, can you? His nails dig into your hips, finally fucking you faster, and so much harder, you can feel the air in your lungs get choked out with every harsh thrust. "Just can't help yourself, can you? So fucking impatient." He can hear you getting louder, and between you and the sound of skin slapping against wet skin, he can at least silence one. "So loud, the whole fucking office can probably hear you." He puts his hand over your mouth and pulls your head up, body arching backwards as your head meets his shoulder. You can barely make out his smug grin as he looks down at you, glossy eyes with blown out pupils, your cheeks flushed a deep red.

"You look so pretty like this, looking up at me without a thought in that pretty little head. Just needed Daddy to fuck you stupid, huh?" He gets a wicked chuckle at your wide eyes, the way you clench tighter and move your hips to meet his rhythm. You curse yourself mentally for tweeting about that godforsaken daddy kink you have, or any of your kinks because now he knows every little thing that makes you tick. How frustrating. "Ohhh, didn't think I would look that far? You have no idea, spent hours looking at your stuff, even during missions I couldn't help but think about this sweet pussy wrapped around my cock." Your expression goes blank at his words, completely cockdrunk. You know you shouldn't do any of this, you can only imagine how much trouble you’d be in if someone walked in right now. But who could blame you? You couldn't name a single person who would throw away an opportunity like this. Who needs responsibility when you could have the simple yet intense pleasure that Leon Kennedy brings?

"Almost went crazy when I heard my name in that dirty fucking mouth, never been that hard in my life. Gonna make sure that mouth is full of my name every chance I get." You scream and whimper, the sound rumbling against his hand as you get closer and closer, toes curling into your heels. The sight is so damn beautiful to him, and he just has to see what you look like when you cum in person. When you cum on his cock, not some silly toy that could never satisfy you the way he can. His free hand takes its time sliding up your blouse to palm your tits over your bra, his fingers raking over the soft skin of your stomach before stilling at your bunched up skirt around your waist, right above your clit. "You wanna cum, don't you, baby? You're gonna be good and ask nicely, yeah? Go ahead, tell Daddy you wanna cum." He moves his hand away from your mouth but keeps your head up, gripping your face instead, watching as you greedily suck in air between mindless moans. "Please Daddy, please, please, please let me cum, need to cum so fucking bad-" Your pathetic babbling cuts off when his fingers put pressure on your clit, rubbing fast circles that make your brows frown as your walls clench, the knot in your stomach slowly coming undone. "There you go, such a good girl, asking me so nicely. Cum for me, sweet girl, cum on my cock for me." And you do, harder than you have in a while, squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see white spots, those sweet, broken sobs leaving your lips involuntarily, moaning his name as he slows down.

Before you know it, you're on your knees in front of him, finally getting a full, up close and personal view of his fat cock. He's thick, pre-cum pearling at his tip as he uses your slick to finish himself off, fisting his cock feverishly. "Told you you'd get a better look, now open up sweetheart. Gonna cover that pretty face in my cum, maybe even take a picture for those depraved little boys that get off on you." He’s one to talk.. His grunts and soft whimpers between his words make you bite back an eager grin, lolling your tongue out and getting blessed with the salty taste on his tip. You keep your lips pursed on his cock, looking up at him with doe eyes that make his cock kick in his hand, your own hands resting on his thighs. He pulls some hair away from your face with his free hand and keeps it there as he finally coats your cheeks and tongue with pools of cum, chuckling through breathless moans as he slaps his cock on your tongue. He grabs his phone as his free hand leaves your hair to press his thumb on your tongue, keeping your mouth open. He groans with a smug smirk as you look up into the camera, a clear, empty head as drool dribbles down your chin and onto his fingers holding your chin. "You'll get this picture tonight when I drive you home, 'kay?" He helps you back to your feet, cleaning off your face with his handkerchief and pulling your skirt down, fixing your wrinkled blouse. “Now go finish those reports for me, try not to work too slow, don’t wanna work overtime, do you?” He softly strokes your back, coaxing you closer to your desk. "Yes, Mr. Kennedy.." You breathe out, still wobbly on your feet as you walk to your desk, feeling the sting on your ass as you sit down, shivering at the tingle. Worth it.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy infinite darkness #resident evil smut #smut

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incandescentwarmth · 2 months

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@jegulus-microfic – Day 14 • Voice • wc 420

If there was one thing about James Potter it was that he despised texting. He always said that his mouth was better and much faster than his fingers (which Regulus would surely confirm on quite a few accounts). He didn’t like that he couldn’t type as fast as the thoughts went through his head, nor that he couldn’t adequately convey his tone. He especially hated seeing the bubble grow bigger with what he had to say, plaguing him with worry the recipient wouldn’t be interested enough to read it all.

His preferred method to keep in touch with Regulus throughout the day was to send voice notes. He loved them and would send them at every hour of the day.

“Hey love, just left work will be home soon. I was at lunch today and there was this super cute cat that had the same glare as you and he kept…”

“My parents just invited us to dinner tomorrow. Are you free, darling? I already requested Mum make banana fritters for you and no she didn’t…”

“Would you please tell Remus that Pads and I can have ice cream for dinner pretty…”

“What do you mean we can’t have ice cream for dinner! We are grown men who…”

“Okay fine, no ice cream but…”

“God you look so pretty in that, I’ll be thinking about it until I can get my hands on you. Force all those pretty sounds from your…”

Anyways— that’s how they communicated when they weren’t together. A voice note encapsulating everything James needed to say and in return, he’d get a text or two (or three) back. That’s how it always was.

It was early in the morning and James rolled over in his bed. Regulus stayed at his own flat the day before but they had been on facetime late into the night until they were both curled in bed under their respective blankets watching the other. James had been exhausted and fell asleep first before they could hang up.

Rubbing his eyes, James grabbed his phone to see two messages from Regulus from the last night.

You fell asleep

I didn’t get to say goodnight :(

And then, sent almost ten minutes later, a voice note.

“Bonne nuit, mon ange.”

It was the first voice note Reg ever sent him and James lay there listening to it over and over again. Only stopping (and saving it) once he was sure he’d hear it while he fell asleep every night for the rest of his life.

#jegulus microfic #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #marauders era #marauders #microfic

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solar-wing · 1 month

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⚣ Badass 👊

⚣👊 A/N → @natef458 Last request from my previous account. Now, I can focus on one inbox (at least for now)! Shorter than what I've normally done, but I wanted to keep it simple. Hope you enjoy it! Tamaranean male image generated by AI. WARNINGS: Canon-Typical Violence | Tamaranean Male Reader | Dick Is Nightwing |

⚣👊 Summary → It's Y/N's first mission as a part of the team since he came to Earth. The Team and their leader Nightwing soon found out just how capable Tamaraneans are in a fight.

⚣👊 Words → 3.3K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

Under the harsh glow of the moonlight, the Young Justice team converged around the abandoned warehouse where Vandal Savage and his cronies were holed up. Nightwing was co-leading the mission with Aqualad, coming far in his leadership and skill since they had founded the team along with their friend and teammate Kid Flash, and new friends Superboy, Miss Martian, Artemis, and eventually Zatanna.

Many of the original members had grown much from their early days as a part of the team, moving away from their past titles as sidekicks and coming into their own identities as heroes.

One of them was the former sidekick to the Dark Knight, previously known as Robin, who’d realized he wanted to separate himself from Batman and forge his own path and identity. Thus, within a few years after the team’s founding, he left his position and title as Robin and took on the persona of Nightwing.

He’d come a long way from the kid he was before, becoming more of the leader his mentor, and friend Aqualad saw in him. So much so, that the Atlantean had decided to start letting him help co-lead missions, seeing that was their original deal during that first fateful mission on Santa Prisca. And it couldn’t have come at a better time.

Batman had alerted the Team about a new mission concerning Vandal Savage who had just stolen a prototype weapon from a top-secret government facility. This weapon, codenamed "Project Eclipse," was not only a formidable tool of destruction but was clearly another attempt at trying to make humans evolve as a race due to his crazy beliefs in Social Darwinism and survival of the fittest.

By now, the Team knew this could only be the minor puzzle piece to something bigger. But, a weapon of that capability was way too dangerous to be left in his hands. Thus, they were tasked with intercepting Savage and recovering the stolen weapon before he could carry out whatever twisted experiments he had planned.

Only now, their team had grown much larger, bringing in various new members. Some were sidekicks to other heroes a part of the League while others were just regular people who had developed powers and abilities, whether intentionally or not, and were recruited into the team so they could learn how to control them and use them for good.

They’d lost a few along the way, some choosing to leave the team on their own while others had met a different and more grave fate, one of them being the new Robin, Jason Todd, who’d taken Dick’s place after he’d given up the position of Batman’s sidekick. Of course, the team mourned the loss of their fallen teammates, but it didn’t take away from their strength, especially with the other new members who had joined.

One of them being Y/N, an alien refugee who’d made quite the entrance to Earth just two years prior. He’d escaped from the captivity of the Gordanians, an intergalactic race of slavers who’d attacked his home planet, Tamaran, and abducted him as a slave in the process.

But, the slavers were ignorant of the fact that Tamaraneans gained strength from sunlight. So, when traveling closer to Earth within view of the distant sun of the solar system and after encountering the inherent unpredictability of space travel, Y/N seized his opportunity for escape, breaking free from his confines and escaping the vessel.

They’d pursued after him, hot on his trail as he made his way onto Earth, landing in the unsuspecting municipality of Happy Harbor. Unknowingly, but thankful in the end, his arrival had caught the attention of the Young Justice team, whose base was located in the nearby mountain and had come to his rescue.

It’d definitely been an interesting first meeting, considering none of the Team could understand him since he was speaking an alien language they’d never heard of. That’s when Y/N took it upon himself to lock lips with the Boy Wonder, who had yet to give up his identity and position as Batman’s sidekick.

Apparently, Tamaraneans possessed the ability to learn language through skin contact. It didn’t have to be done explicitly through kissing, but they were also a very direct and forward race when it came to their feelings. Being a race ruled more by emotion than reason.

Simply put, Y/N found Dick attractive and planted one on him so he could learn English, much to the then Boy Wonder’s surprise, but also enjoyment. He didn’t know much about Tamaraneans, but, judging by YN’s appearance, it definitely had to be a planet full of attractive people. But, he only had his eyes on one at that moment.

Now, two years later, Y/N had become an integral member of the Young Justice team, his journey from alien refugee to valued ally a testament to his strength and resilience. Despite the initial language barrier and clear cultural differences that in the early stages separated him from his teammates, Y/N had quickly adapted to life on Earth, his determination to learn and grow matched only by his unwavering commitment to the team.

Y/N brought a unique blend of strengths and abilities to the Team, complementing and enhancing the skills of his fellow teammates in various ways. His Tamaranean heritage bestowed upon him powers and abilities that were on par, if not equal, with those of Superboy, making him a formidable force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

Like Superboy, Y/N possessed superhuman strength, allowing him to perform incredible feats of physical prowess and to go toe-to-toe with even the most powerful adversaries. His invulnerability made him virtually indestructible, able to withstand the most devastating attacks without so much as a scratch.

But what truly set Y/N apart was his extreme proficiency in hand-to-hand and weapon combat. Trained from a young age in the art of combat on his home planet of Tamaran, Y/N was a master of various fighting styles and techniques, able to hold his own against opponents of any size or skill level.

In addition to his formidable combat skills, Y/N possessed the ability to generate energy bolts and blasts from his hands and eyes, a power known as star bolts on Tamaran. These powerful energy blasts were capable of incapacitating even the most resilient foes, adding a deadly edge to Y/N's already impressive arsenal of abilities.

Together, Y/N's strength, combat prowess, and energy manipulation abilities made him a major asset to the Young Justice team, capable of turning the tide of battle in their favor with a single well-placed strike. Whether facing off against street-level criminals or cosmic threats, Y/N stood ready to defend his teammates and protect the innocent, his unwavering determination and indomitable spirit serving as a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

As the Team faced off against Vandal Savage and his henchmen in the abandoned warehouse, the air crackled with tension and anticipation. Nightwing and Aqualad led the charge, their years of experience and leadership guiding the team through the chaotic fray.

Superboy, Miss Martian, and Zatanna with a few of their other teammates had split off to retrieve the stolen weapon, leaving Nightwing, Artemis, Kid Flash, and Y/N to hold off Savage and his goons. The battle was fierce and relentless, with Savage's forces proving to be formidable adversaries.

As Nightwing faced off against Vandal Savage in the dimly lit warehouse, the villain was proving himself to be a most formidable foe. Savage's millennia of combat experience and immortality made him a threatening force, his strength and resilience far surpassing that of any ordinary adversary.

The two circled each other warily, each seeking to gain the upper hand in the deadly dance of combat. Nightwing moved with the grace and precision of a trained acrobat, his nimble movements a stark contrast to Savage's brute force and relentless determination.

With a calculated look, Savage launched himself at Nightwing, his fists crashing down with bone-crushing force. Nightwing barely managed to dodge the blow, rolling to the side and countering with a swift kick to Savage's midsection.

But, he shrugged off the attack as if it were nothing. With a savage grin, he came at Nightwing again delivering multiple strikes that drove the young hero further back towards the edge of defeat.

Even with his own experience and endurance in battle, Nightwing found himself struggling to keep up with the relentless assault. His movements grew sluggish and tired as his body began to succumb to the pain of the attacks, his mind racing as he searched for a way to turn the tide of battle in his favor.

As he staggered back from Vandal Savage's brutal onslaught, his muscles burning with exhaustion and his mind reeling from the relentless barrage of attacks, he knew that he was on the brink of defeat. With Savage bearing down on him, his fists raised for the final, devastating blow, Nightwing braced himself for the inevitable impact, steeling himself for the pain that was sure to follow.

But just as Savage's fist came crashing towards him, a streak of emerald energy shot through the air, intercepting the attack with pinpoint precision. Nightwing's eyes widened in astonishment as he watched Y/N swoop in, his Tamaranean abilities allowing him to move with speed and agility unmatched by any ordinary mortal.

With a powerful surge of energy, Y/N deflected Savage's blow, sending the immortal villain stumbling backward with a grunt of rage and frustration. Nightwing could hardly believe what he was seeing as Y/N stood before him, his expression determined and his eyes blazing with determination.

But the battle was far from over, and Savage wasted no time in launching another furious assault. As he lunged towards Y/N, his hands outstretched for the kill, Y/N met him head-on, his own strength and resilience proving to be more than a match for the immortal foe.

With a swift movement, Savage managed to grab Y/N mid-attack, his grip like iron as he sought to crush the life out of the young hero. As he tightened his grip around the Tamaranean’s midsection, he was despondent to see Y/N unfazed by his move, his expression calm and determined as he looked Savage straight in the eye.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am stronger than I look," Y/N declared, his words resonating with undeniable strength and conviction no matter how soft they were spoken.

As he spoke, a flicker of determination ignited in Y/N's eyes, the vibrant emerald glow intensifying until his eyes shone with a brilliant radiance. The Tamaranean brought his foot back before unleashing a devastating kick to Savage's chest, the force of the blow sending the mastermind staggering back. His expression contorted with pain and surprise despite his strength and healing as he struggled to maintain his footing against the onslaught.

As Savage stumbled backwards, Y/N seized the opportunity to press his advantage, launching a relentless barrage of attacks that left the immortal villain struggling to keep up. Meanwhile, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Zatanna had succeeded in securing and disabling the prototype weapon, turning the tide of battle in their favor.

As the battle raged on and the rest of the team rallied to their side, they watched in awe as the Tamaranean held his own against Savage and his goons, his strength and resilience shining through with every strike.

He was relentless, pressing his advantage with unwavering determination as he launched into a relentless barrage of attacks. Each strike fueled by an inner fire and a fierce determination to protect his teammates and emerge victorious against the forces of evil.

Also, no one was allowed to lay hands on his leader like that without repercussions. Vandal truly did not know who he was fucking with.

As Nightwing watched Y/N in the heat of battle, a wave of admiration washed over him, mingled with a sense of awe that bordered on reverence. His eyes traced the contours of his form, noting the fluid grace with which he moved and the unwavering determination etched upon his features.

In the flickering light of the warehouse, the Tamaranean seemed to glow with an inner fire, his emerald eyes ablaze with determination as he faced off against the immortal menace of Vandal Savage. Nightwing couldn't help but be captivated by the sight, drawn to the raw strength and resilience that seemed to emanate from Y/N's very being.

But it wasn't just his physical prowess that impressed Nightwing. It was the strength of his spirit, the unwavering resolve that burned brightly within him even in the face of overwhelming odds. There was something undeniably magnetic about Y/N, something that stirred a longing within Nightwing's heart that he couldn't quite put into words.

With a determined nod, he rose to his feet, his own resolve renewed as he prepared to join the fray once more.

Together, Nightwing and Y/N fought with a synchronicity that bordered on instinct, their movements fluid and coordinated as they launched a devastating assault on Savage and his forces. As they drove their adversaries back, the rest of the team rallied to their side, their collective strength and determination proving to be more than a match for the forces of evil.

As the battle raged on, Nightwing couldn't help but feel a stirring of something deeper than mere admiration. There was a connection between him and Y/N, a bond that transcended words and defied explanation. It was as if they were two halves of a whole, each complementing the other in ways that went beyond the battlefield.

In that moment, as they fought side by side against their foes, the acrobat couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to truly be with the Tamaranean, to share in the triumphs and trials of life as partners, as equals, as something more.

But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. There would be time to explore the depths of his feelings later. For now, he fought alongside Y/N with a renewed sense of purpose, his heart filled with admiration and longing for the alien hero who had captured his attention in more ways than one.

Y/N used his incredible strength and ability of flight to help launch Nightwing into the air, while Nightwing used his light and agile nature to deliver a series of lightning-fast blows against the villain. Together, they worked to bring the villain to his knees, their combined efforts finally proving to be too much for the immortal.

As Savage finally admitted defeat with a promise and retreated into the shadows, the Young Justice team stood victorious, proud and relieved smiles etched onto their faces from their hard-earned victory. They all surrounded their co-leader and teammate, making sure he was okay while praising Y/N for his prowess in his battle with Savage.

"Dude! That was like total badass moves out there!" Kid Flash exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe.

"Yeah, I know you've been on the team for a while now, but I haven't seen a more well-deserved ass whooping like that in a while," Artemis agreed, her lips curling into a smirk.

"It truly was a sight to behold. Well done, Y/N," Aqualad added, his voice tinged with pride.

"I'm so glad you're both safe," Miss Martian added, relief evident in her voice.

"Yeah, that was a close call," Superboy chimed in, his expression serious.

Nightwing couldn't help but chuckle at their enthusiastic praise, his gaze drifting to Y/N. The Tamaranean smiled, his eyes sparkling with appreciation and gratitude at the praise.

"Thank you. Though, I think my friend here is deserving of just as much credit," he replied, gesturing to the former Boy Wonder.

"Oh, no, you definitely did most of the heavy lifting," Nightwing insisted, shaking his head. "If it weren't for you, I would've been a goner."

"I do not know about that. You were holding your own quite well before I arrived. But, we make a good team, do we not?" Y/N mused, his smile widening.

"Yeah, we do," Nightwing agreed, his cheeks flushing slightly at the compliment.

"And now we know, the next time we need to save our butts, just throw Nightwing into mortal danger and Y/N goes into god mode," Kid Flash teased, breaking the mood.

"Dude!" Nightwing hissed, punching his best friend on the arm.

"Yeah, payback, Robby-Poo," Kid Flash, still using his old nickname for his friend despite his name change.

"Well, we should probably head back to headquarters. We need to get this weapon back to the cave," Aqualad interjected, ever the voice of reason.

"Sounds good to me," Superboy agreed, already heading for the exit.

As the Team made their way out of the warehouse, a warm feeling settled over Nightwing's chest, his gaze lingering on the Tamaranean. There was no doubt in his mind that they would continue to make a great team, both on and off the battlefield.

"Hold on a sec, Y/N. We'll be right behind you, guys!" Nightwing called out to his teammates.

The rest of the team shared a knowing glance, a few snickers, and suggestive grins exchanged between them. But they didn't say anything, opting instead to give their friends some privacy.

Except KF who was giving the vigilante a thumbs-up and a wink.

Nightwing rolled his eyes and shook his head, but the blush didn't fade.

Once they were alone, Y/N turned his attention to the former Boy Wonder, his expression curious.

"Is everything okay, Dick? Are you still hurt?" He asked, voice lilting with curiosity.

The acrobat tried not to blush at Y/N's use of his name, the way it rolled off his tongue like liquid gold. Even though they were technically still in the field and should be addressing each other by their alias names, he didn't mind it. Not one bit.

"No, no, I'm fine. Really. Just wanted to say thank you," Nightwing assured, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"For what? Defeating Vandal Savage?" Y/N questioned, confusion written across his features.

"Well, yeah, that, too. But, I meant, thank you for saving me," Nightwing explained, his tone growing soft.

"Oh," Heat growing under the Tamaranean's golden cheeks.

"I'm not gonna lie, I was worried for a second. But, then you came swooping in and turned the tables. I knew I was safe," the acrobat confessed, his gaze locking with the Tamaranean's.

"You are most welcome. It was an honor to fight alongside you. I would not have let any harm come to you, Dick," Y/N replied, his expression earnest, though he wanted to say more.

Ever since he came to Earth, he'd grown into the Earthling culture, which meant he was a lot less direct with his feelings, which proved to be much more frustrating than he thought. Especially when it came to expressing the lingering feelings he had for his leader.

"Yeah, I know. Thanks," the acrobat said, offering a small smile.

"Of course," the Tamaranean responded, returning the gesture.

"We should probably get going. The others are waiting for us," Nightwing pointed out, though he didn't want the moment to end.

"Yes, they are," Y/N agreed, a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"Maybe after we're finished filing our reports and debriefing, we can hang out? Catch up on things, or whatever," the acrobat suggested, his heart racing in his chest.

"I would like that," the Tamaranean replied, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Cool," Nightwing nodded, trying his best not to grin like an idiot.

"Yes. Cool, indeed," Y/N echoed, his eyes sparkling with gleefulness.

"You two coming or what? Let's go," Kid Flash yelled from the warehouse entrance.

"Yeah, yeah, we're coming!" Nightwing called back, rolling his eyes.

With a final shared smile, the two heroes made their way toward their teammates, the promise of a new beginning and a blossoming relationship hanging in the air.

☀️ | Dick Grayson/Nightwing | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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crownofgildedlilies · 2 months

Text

wishin' you were kind enough to be cruel about it -> cool about it [2]

in which: a son of Jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.

pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader

warnings: you guessed it! more angst and cursing!

word count: 6.4k

a/n: did not mean for it to be this long but, im obsessed.... no like u don't understand. so much to be said! inbox/comment to be added to the taglist!

one [two] three four

At least you had the comfort of preparing for war to distract you.

Armor polished to perfection, swords sharpened, denarii in your pocket to pay for passage to the Underworld, should you meet your end facing an endless army of monsters that couldn't die.

Really, how Roman of you to seek the blissful nothingness at the start of battle.

You knew the exact number, down to the minute, of how long it had been since you had last seen Jason. But if someone were to ask you how many days Percy, Frank, and Hazel had been off on their quest, you would have stared at them blankly.

And even as you readied for war, your eyes had a glossy look to them, pinned on a fixed point just above the horizon.

"Don't let the legionnaires see you like this," Dakota had murmured in your ear as he adjusted the straps of your armor. You knew he had a point, but hated him for saying it, anyways.

What did it matter? The legionnaires had already seen you in hysterics in the camp center, tearing through the place in search of Jason. They wouldn't be surprised to see you were still not right, even with the promise of military glory.

But it didn’t change the fact that he had a point.

You were a centurion for a reason, and not just because the great Jason Grace followed you like a shadow. You needed to be strong and brave and ruthless, because that was what a Roman leader should be.

And the reason you became a centurion was apparent the moment you stepped onto the battlefield, New Rome at your back and your brothers-in-arms at your side.

See, the giants hadn't taken into account how much anger and fear you had bottled up inside you, uncorked with the first swing of your sword and spilling out over their armies.

Violence untethered, one of the now-retired centurions from the First Cohort had once described the way you fought. Brutal. Efficient. Roman.

And if you had been untethered before, when you still had Jason at your side—

The casualties on the Roman side were few.

You had taken a couple of big hits, but you welcomed the pain. The first actual bite of something other than heartache felt almost like a relief, like a promise that you were not trapped in a body that could only grieve.

The rest of camp may have been rejuvenated by Percy's retrieval of hundreds of Imperial Gold weapons, but all you could do was grit your teeth and limp back into the city.

The cries of 'Praetor!' that echoed after you, announcing Percy as Camp Jupiter's second leader, felt like they were twisting a knife in a wound long infected and left to rot.

Jason was praetor. Jason.

You liked Percy, you really did. He was funny—or at least, you would have thought so, if you weren't constantly looking for the next excuse to leave camp and search for Jason—and kind. He had Roman bravery, if not a little rebellious, which the Mercury in your blood seemed to enjoy.

Percy might have even been your friend, in another life. One when you had met him with your hand tucked in Jason’s, the son of Jupiter the levelheaded side to your double edged sword.

And at least you trusted Percy a whole lot more than Octavian.

"These... Greeks," Octavian hissed the word, lips curling in distaste. The day after the battle, still bruised and wounds leaking blood, you found yourself in the forum, dressed in a toga wrapped over your armor. You still couldn’t put too much weight on your ankle, and the shoulder on your shield arm was swollen. "You're an even bigger fool than I thought if you trust them."

You rolled your eyes, but bit down the dramatic gag. If Jason had been there, he would have been very pointedly ignoring you—because you had been guilty on more than one occasion of making more and more ridiculous faces in an attempt to make him laugh.

And after the third time you had gotten him to break his stony facade, Jason had implemented a 'no looking at you during meetings' rule, which he more or less succeeded in executing.

Or less, being the key words.

"Talking about fools," You murmured, and from beside you, Dakota jammed his elbow into your side so harshly, you almost yelped. In his defense, you hadn’t told him about the Cyclops that had probably broken your ribs, but you wished he hadn't hit you where you were so sore.

"Look, they're my friends up there." Percy gestured widely towards the open air roof as he spoke. You found yourself studying the skies, as if the flying Greek trireme Percy claimed would be arriving might suddenly appear out of thin air. "I trust them, and you voted me praetor. Doesn't that count for something?"

"It's something, alright." Octavian scoffed. You rolled your eyes again, almost growing dizzy with the movement.

A bad habit during meetings, Centurion, Jason had chastised you, once, with a smile so warm it didn't feel like a punishment. The two of you had just left the forum, still wrapped in your togas, your hand curled around his forearm as he led you through New Rome and towards a bakery you favored.

Wouldn't happen if you let me challenge Octavian to combat, Praetor, you had fired back, and in a moment of weakness, pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw before darting off ahead of him, giddy.

Soldiers, not lovers, you had to remind yourself. No matter how much you wanted, you couldn't force Jason to be anything he wasn't ready to be—or maybe what he just wasn't.

Octavian's watery stare landed on you, snapping you back to the moment like a rubber band pulled taut.

"I can hardly imagine you support this, Centurion? With Jason Grace gone—"

"Do not," You snapped, breath coming out in short, labored spurts. Violence untethered, indeed. "Neither I nor you get to decide who is praetor, and the spot was open—"

Your voice cracked. It tasted like a lie. The spot wasn't open. It belonged to Jason, just as your heart and tears and smiles did.

"—and Percy Jackson was raised to the rank after receiving glory in battle." You recited. You hoped it didn't sound like you had practiced in the bathroom mirror that morning, trying to make it seem like you believed it, even if you had. "I seem to recall a certain Apollo legacy cowering beneath my shield during the second Cyclops onslaught, don't you, Augur?"

And maybe it was a low blow, calling a Roman's battle bravery into question, but Jason had always been your bridge to your self-control.

"I—no—it—!" Octavian stammered, flustered, and Percy laughed. Dakota and several of the other centurions Octavian hadn't managed to blackmail or brainwash to follow him pressed their palms over their mouths to suppress their own chuckles, and even Reyna was struggling to bite back a grin. "You think you'll still hold rank as centurion, come the next election?"

He was threatening you, you realized, and you would have hauled off and socked him in the mouth, consequences be damned, if a shadow hadn't crossed over Octavian's head, darkening the whole of the forum.

Twisting your gaze up, heart hammering, you found a flying Greek trireme.

Percy was right.

And maybe he had been right about something else, too. Something you hadn’t dared to consider.

While Percy was dropped at Camp Jupiter, Jason might have been carted off to Camp Half-Blood.

Mercury swiftness blessed you once more as you took off, darting out of the forum before Reyna could finish saying dismissed.

There wasn’t much that could have stopped you, not even the bitter cold of crashing through the middle of a Lar.

You didn’t even bother pausing to shout an apology to Cassius, glowing purple and claiming to curse your bloodline for such an insult.

If you have been able to breathe, you would have told him your bloodline already felt a little cursed.

There was shouting, but you barely could hear it over the buzzing in your mind. You felt like you were going to vibrate out of your skin, eyes squinted, head tilted up, and fighting against the sun for even a glimpse of your missing half.

“Helmet on, fall in line,” Dakota tugged your arm, pulling you back to his side. You felt a little, a lot, frantic—felt desperate—but Reyna was already struggling to get everyone to fall in line, and she had given you so much leeway in the past months, that you stepped beside your fellow Fifth Cohort centurion.

“I left my—“ Left my helmet behind, you would have said, but Dakota shoved the metal piece into your hands. With buzzing fingertips, you placed on your helmet, adjusted the straps of your armor that were already perfectly done up.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Seconds ticked by like hours, limbs swimming through thick air like you were in a dream. From your spot nestled between Dakota and Paulette from Fourth Cohort, tucked under the hull of the flying trireme, standing behind Percy and Reyna, you couldn't see any of the ship's occupants.

But then they dropped a rope ladder, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Nails bit into your palms, your own fingers the culprit, and you forced yourself to stretch out your hands in an attempt to keep the bleeding to a minimum.

Jason, please, Jason, I need you, oh, gods, please—

It was like a mantra, repeating on a loop in your head. Tears stung at your eyes, overwhelmed by just the sheer possibility that your golden haired love could be so, so close to returning to you.

The first body began to climb down the ladder. A girl, with yellow hair dragged into a ponytail. In front of you, somehow, you heard Percy inhale sharply and you realized it must have been Annabeth.

The only person he remembered from his past life, until he had drank the gorgon's blood and gotten his memories restored. Unease trickled through you. There wouldn't be such a quick fix for Jason.

A second girl descended the ladder after Annabeth, with choppy brown hair, baggy clothes, and a wicked dagger at her hip.

You started to doubt Percy's theory. Maybe Jason hadn't been taken by Juno or Hera or whichever deity you felt like blaming. Maybe he was stuck somewhere else, alone, and hurting, and you were—

A purple shirt appeared over the side of the ship, atop a set of broad shoulders you could have recognized blind.

Jason.

Your Jason.

Home, to you, at last.

A gasp shuddered through you as he started to climb down the rope ladder and into New Rome. You started to step forward, but Roman training froze you to your spot as Reyna pinned you with a look that screamed 'don't break rank, not in front of Octavian,' which would never be enough to keep you from reaching Jason.

But still, you stalled.

It didn't mean you stopped staring, your eyes tracing his form from head to toe, trying to see what changed about him, what was still the same.

The scar on his lip, the sky blue eyes, the golden rays of his hair. It was exactly as you remembered, except for the hair, which had grown out just slightly. You liked it better, but you would never tell him. You knew how much he liked to keep it short, in regulation.

Look at me, please, you begged him in your mind, because you were forbidden to say the words. Another boy scaled down the rope ladder, but you paid him no attention. Jason, Jason, Jason.

It was dizzying. In all the years you had loved him, never had it felt so much like a compactor was pressing in on your chest.

Their group approached, four rag-tag demigods, three Greeks and a Roman. It sounded like the set-up to one of the awful jokes you used to tell Jason when you were stationed on guard duty together, just to pass the time and see him shake his head with a smile.

Reyna stood tall before you, strong and powerful and part of you wanted to push her to the side and race into the arms of your lost soldier.

Why hadn't he looked at you yet?

This was it, the moment you had been dying for, for months. When Jason finally came back to you, his eyes locking with yours, rules and regulations tossed aside as he wrapped you in his arms so tight your toes left the ground and his mouth slotted over yours, a kiss nearly a decade in the making.

Fear and emotion clogged your throat, and you had trouble swallowing around it. Didn't he see you? He knew you always stood between Dakota and Paulette, just to the right of the second praetor—his rank, formerly, now given to Percy Jackson.

But, there—his blue eyes scanned the row of centurions lined behind Reyna and Percy, starting with the First Cohort and making his way to you. Oh, how you were going to scream and cry and hold him later, all as punishment for making you worry—

Jason's eyes passed over you, carrying on towards Dakota like you were nothing more than another face in the crowd.

Fear and routine and fear of your routine were the only things stopping you from tearing off your helmet and slamming it into his chest, demanding to know who the hell he thought he was, scaring you so thoroughly for months and then acting like he didn’t know you.

But then you remembered Percy, and how he hadn’t been able to remember anything.

That couldn’t be right, no, Jason loved you. And maybe it wasn’t in the way you loved him, but hadn’t Hadlee, the daughter of Venus, gone on and on the other night about different types of love? You knew with a certainty you had never felt before that Jason loved you, even if it was only in the sense of friends.

The way fellow soldiers would die and bleed and get torn to shreds for each other.

You had gotten upset when he asked what else was there for the two of you to be. Now, you would trade every scrap of pleasure and freedom for the chance to be only soldiers with Jason Grace for the rest of time.

You pressed your arm tight against your side, elbow pointed in and poking at the unhealed, unchecked injury from the Cyclops. At first, you had refused to go to the medics because they were still all cheering for Percy to take place at praetor.

Then the pain just became a good enough distraction from losing Jason, even if it didn't really work.

These thoughts and more swirled in your mind as Jason introduced himself and the Greeks he had arrived with. Annabeth, Piper, Leo, Coach Hedge. The names meant nothing to you, but still you memorized them, because they were important to Jason.

He and Annabeth took turns explaining the quest they were on. You only understood half of what they were talking about, because every time someone other than Jason even attempted to speak, their voice was drowned out by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears.

Gaea is rising. Giants trying to wake the earth mother. Need to go to the Ancient Lands to stop them.

You gathered enough to know that whatever was happening was bad. They needed Jason, your Jason, and the fate of the world was more important than the heartbeat pulsing in the tips of your fingers.

Wasn't it?

Miles and miles away, maybe already in the Ancient Lands, you heard Reyna's voice cut through the static.

Let's discuss over a meal, she had said, your stare watching the relief wash over Jason's face. You were certain no one but yourself noticed the minute reaction on his behalf. At least, you had hoped. We reconvene in the city proper for a lunch. Centurions, dismissed.

There it was, that permission you had been waiting for.

Your helmet was torn from your head before Dakota even had time to slouch, shoulders dropping from the stiff way he held them while in formation.

It clattered to the ground beneath you, and you might have even stubbed your toe on it as you stepped forward, desperate for proof that you weren't imagining things. Your soldier was home, gods praise, he was home and within arms reach.

The rank of centurions behind you remained still, anticipating the long awaited and bitterly fought for reunion between two of New Rome's finest, the two soldiers that rarely ever separated, but spent six and a half months apart.

You surged forward. Jason stayed still. You understood what was happening, but you wanted to pretend for a moment longer.

"Hey, soldier," You breathed, voice tight and eyes burning. You clenched your hands into fists, then splayed your fingers wide, stretching, desperate to reach out and touch.

But you were on very uncertain ground. You had to wait for him to make the first move, even if it killed you.

"If the legion weren't here, I'd kick your ass for making me cry." You settled on saying, knowing that he would understand just how much you missed him.

Once, during a particularly violent round of training, Jason had caught the underside of your jaw with the blunt end of his lance. Nothing had broken, which considering Jason's strength, had been both a shock and a blessing, but you hadn't been able to control the tears that sprung to your eyes and raced down your cheeks in pain.

I did this to you, he had lamented, torn between anger at himself and grief for having hurt you. His aching in his words had been nearly enough to get you to resent yourself for feeling pain. I should have been more careful. Next time, I will.

His hands had been cradling your face, turning in it ever so gently to the side to inspect the bruise already forming on your jaw. His touch on your skin had felt like too much, but now you were realizing it had never been enough.

Next time, I'll be faster, you had promised hooking your leg around the back of his and shoving into his chest, sending him sprawling backwards and landing square on his ass in a move that never would have been possible if he hadn't been distracted by your tears at his hand.

You had barely cried then. What would he say, now, learning of the hysterics you had been reduced to?

“Er, do I know you?” Jason asked, stammering, flush coating pale cheeks you could have drawn from memory.

The simple question felt like being dunked in an ice bath, then held under while your lungs filled with water. It had to be some cruel joke, some wicked nightmare you would surely wake from any minute.

Know you? Did Jason Grace know you?

The question was almost unnecessary. Laughable, even. Seven months earlier, if someone had asked that question, you would have cracked a grin. Jason would have been by your side, naturally, and been offended by the insinuation that he didn't.

And then he would have proceeded to list off all of your favorite things, in alphabetical order, organized by category.

The idea was laughable. He knew you. He had to know you.

“Jase?” It was pathetic, really, that that was all you could muster. A breathy, pained whisper of the nickname you’d given him when he was being stubborn about taking care of himself and you poked out your bottom lip to try and convince him to rest.

Most times, it worked.

Now it just hurt.

“Sorry,” He shook his head, darting a glance to the curly haired Latino boy wincing at his side, your stomach dropping to somewhere around Pluto’s palace. “I don’t remember, well, anything, really.”

How foolish had you been? Percy had remembered Annabeth, sure, but Annabeth was his girlfriend. What were you to Jason?

Just another soldier, like he had claimed the day he went missing.

Just another soldier. Only ever soldiers.

And the worst part was he looked genuinely apologetic. You wished he could have scoffed and waved you off, like some prissy, no-good asshole that turned up his nose simply because he was the savior of the world and had earned so much battlefield glory he practically reeked of it.

But that wasn't like Jason. No, not only did the jerk have to be the strongest, most strategic soldier you had ever had the pleasure of fighting alongside, he was also one of the nicest.

Holding open doors, comforting the new, young, arrivals, braiding your hair for you to keep it out of your face that one time the stomach bug had torn its way through the Fifth Cohort. You had spent thirty-six straight hours bent over a toilet, and Jason had been there through all of it.

I don't remember, well, anything, really.

But you had never just been anything to Jason. Sometimes, he looked at you and you could almost convince yourself that you were his everything.

Dakota, of all people, a little hopped up on kool-aid, came to your rescue. Knotting his red-stained fist in the back of your toga, he tugged you back into the line of centurions, using his body to block Jason from your line of sight.

And you would have expressed your thanks, if you had been able to express anything beyond total heartache.

“No one would blame you if you snuck out,” Dakota lowered his voice, ducked his head close to your ear, and that snapped you out of your stupor.

“And leave my legion?” You glared sharply at him, glad for an excuse to funnel out some of your anger, though you felt a little bad that Dakota had been your punching bag the last six months. Really, you owed him. “I don’t think so. I’m fine. Just… shocked. I’m good.”

Dakota winced. Usually, you were ace at lying.

Who tied Octavian’s shoelaces together?

Not me, you’d dutifully shake your head.

Who broke curfew and snuck into the city to retrieve little Julia’s stuffed teddy from Octavian’s sacrifice pile?

I’d never, you’d claim, aghast.

Who’s head over fucking heels, dizzyingly in love with Jason Grace?

Not my type, you’d hold a hand over your heart, scouts honor.

But a simple I’m fine?

Even Frank Zhang couldn’t pretend to not know you were lying through your clenched teeth, and he pretended like he had never found you sobbing outside bunkhouse after curfew one night, a few days following his arrival at camp.

How had Jason forgotten you? It didn’t feel real, but everything felt like too much.

Maybe Dakota had a point. Maybe you needed to get out.

"Come," Reyna ordered, breaking the silent tension that had been building as Greeks and Romans alike stopped to gawk at your conversation with Dakota. "Let's eat."

You picked your helmet up out of the dirt, a dutiful little soldier with lungs full of glass shards.

You were supposed to be strong.

You were supposed to be strong, but you were just a kid.

Ten years old to be exact. Tears stung at your eyes, burned their way up your throat. You could have vomited. You might have already.

You're a thief and a monster, the other kids at school had claimed, words like bullets as they lobbed pencils and crumbled paper and anything they could get away with at you.

A thief, you would admit to being. You couldn't help it, fingers moving almost of their own accord, always finding the easiest target, the shiniest reward. It didn't matter that you always returned everything you took. No one wanted to be friends with the freak that managed to lift the teacher's wedding band off her finger in kindergarten.

A thief, you were.

But a monster? Monsters were the creatures that clawed at your window at night. Monsters were the odd shapes in the grass your mother never managed to see. You weren't a monster. You were ten.

"Hey, we're not supposed to be back here."

The voice of another child cut through your misery, and you sharpened your glare to pin the intruder to his spot. You recognized him, because he was the type of guy that had called you names in school. Tall—for a kid—and built like an athlete. Tan skin, blond hair, blue eyes.

You were pretty sure his name was Jake Greene, or something.

"You're back here," You reasoned, waving a hand littered with scabbed knuckles around for emphasis. Here being the stretch of unwatched grass behind the Mess Hall, a little place you had discovered on your second day and realized it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry.

Now, a week in, you discovered that it was secluded enough that no one could see you cry, but Jake Greene.

He looked around uncomfortably, like he was just then realizing that he, too, was breaking the rules. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder, as if checking for witnesses, before trodding through the plush grass to sit beside you, legs stretched out in front of him while yours were pulled tight to your chest.

You checked the ground quickly, relieved to find you hadn't actually vomited.

"I'm Jason. Jason Grace." He introduced himself, as if your eyes weren't bloodshot and face blotchy and cheeks wet with tears.

Not Jake. Noted. Now that you thought about it, you didn't think there was a Jake at Camp Jupiter. Not one that you had met, yet, at least.

You nodded, hoping Jason, Jason Grace would get the hint that you wanted absolutely no fucking part of whatever nice guy routine he was putting on. Even if he was one of the few to approach you since you had arrived, bloody and starved, at the camp's borders, Lupa and her pack deciding you worthy.

This one is feisty, you could have sworn the alpha wolf had snarled a grin at the older centurion who found you. Young, but strong willed.

You didn't feel strong willed. You felt like you missed your own home.

You had to remind yourself that your own home hadn't wanted you and your new home was a Roman military camp.

"Your father is Mercury, right?" Jason tried again, this time earning a sharp glare.

It was easier to be angry than it was to be vulnerable, wasn't it? Wasn't that why you always bit the hand that fed you, got sent to the literal fucking wolves at ten years old?

Jason Grace didn't flinch at your hatred. Hatred? That wasn't the right word. You didn't hate anything or anyone but the schools and teachers that had convinced your mother that you were too difficult to deal with, that you needed to be sent away.

Can I come back for Christmas, Mom?, you had naively asked, not understanding why your mother was crying as you rolled to a stop outside a crumbling, wooden house in Sonoma.

A week later, you wondered if your mother was still crying. Or maybe she was enjoying the peace of no longer getting calls from schools or policemen about you.

You wished you could wipe your hands clean of yourself, like Mom had. Maybe you would understand why everyone in your life always seemed happier after they had gotten rid of you.

"It's not so bad here, I promise," He tried, again, and part of you had to congratulate him for not giving up. You would have. "I cried, a lot, when I first got here."

"You?" The exclamation fell past your lips before you could help it, and Jason's own twisted into a victorious grin. He had a scar, on the side of his lips, shining pearly white in the sun, set against his skin.

"Me," He confirmed. Sure, you had just met the guy, had been calling him the wrong name for a week, but he didn't seem like the type to cry. "I did come here when I was two, though."

You didn't know whether to gasp or swat his arm in retaliation, so you did both, finally uncurling from the ball of fear and hatred you had woven yourself into.

"You're really good in training," Jason complimented, taking your childlike assault in stride. You nodded, picking a few blades of grass out of the ground, right at the roots.

"I used to fight in school," You offered, if it was that simple. But punching your bullies was a whole lot different than locking sword and shield.

In the bunkhouse, the boy in the bed across from you was a son of Ceres, the goddess of the harvest. Your first night, in an effort to make you stop crying, rambled on and on about plants. How to properly care for different crops, what too little sunlight did to a flower, and how a tree could be dug up from the ground, roots and all, and planted somewhere else to live a perfectly normal, perfectly long life.

You stared at the blade of grass in your hand, feeling very much like the plant, your roots floating in the middle of nowhere by the hand of some unseen, unforgiving god.

But maybe you could plant your roots, too.

"If I don't make it here," You whispered, little kid voice hoarse. "Then that's it for me. I don't have anywhere else. I'll have to live on the streets. I've done it, once. Made it a whole week before Mom found me."

Part of you regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. What had Lupa shown you about weakness? It got you killed. It got you punished.

But Jason didn't sneer. He pursed his lips in a thin line, scar shining even brighter with the movement.

"I don't know my mom," He confessed, suddenly just as weak as you. Frowning, you tried to figure out why he was saying it. Big, strong—at least to ten year old you—Jason Grace should not have been any kind of weak.

Nodding, you didn’t have anything to say. But you felt the connection build, just two weak children, forgotten by their mothers.

“But I know you,” Jason offered, the admission warming something in your chest involuntarily. And you knew in that moment that maybe you were scared, but you weren’t alone.

At least Jason Grace knew you.

You grinned, then. A far cry from the glares and snarls everyone else you had come across had received. The ones that even he had been victim to, at the start of the conversation.

"Well, Jason Grace," You stuck out your hand, and he clasped your forearm like a good little Roman. "You're never getting rid of me, now."

The smile he gave you in return was a little lopsided, and when he dropped your arm and glanced over his shoulder, you remembered that your not-so secret hiding spot was off limits.

"Just don’t tell anyone we were back here, please.”

If you had thought your mood was bitter before the trireme arrived, it was nothing compared to the sulking, sorrowful mess you currently were.

For starters, you had somehow been shoved and duped into the seat beside Octavian and across from Jason. You didn't really want to see either of them, at all, at the moment.

Secondly, and you may have been reading far too much into things, but the second girl the Greeks arrived with, Piper, was sitting entirely too close to Jason. You wished that you had a good enough reason to not like her, but with your rotten luck, Piper McLean had been an absolute sweetheart despite your best efforts to act like a dickhead.

And it wasn't like Jason had ever actually been yours, ever.

Third. The plate the sprites dropped in front of you was filled with all of Jason's favorite foods. You weren't sure if it was your will or the sprites that made it happen, but you felt like tossing it all away.

Maybe you would dump it in Octavian's lap. It might make you feel better. It certainly was worth a try.

Finally, there was one aching thought echoing inside your mind relentlessly. The last conversation you ever had with your Jason had been an argument. You had walked away from him, a little petulant, entirely unnecessarily. And you had lost your soldier boy.

Because the Jason seated across from you at the Dining Hall in New Rome was not the same one that wrote out your to-do lists for you on neatly lined paper, offering to tag along with you while you checked them off.

He was just Jason, not yours.

And that hurt far more than you cared to admit.

“Centurion, you must be ecstatic,” Octavian crooned, his sickly smirk pinned on you. You felt a whole lot of things, but ecstatic wasn’t one of them.

“How so, Augur?” You huffed, even though you knew it only invited trouble. Across from you, Jason and Piper clearly had one ear on the conversation.

"Well, you have been inconsolable with our dear Jason Grace missing," Octavian said, as if he really cared about you. More heads started turning in your direction, and you found your fingertips inching to do something that would really get you in trouble. "You were a mess, honestly. Looking like—"

"That's enough," Jason interrupted, even though he didn't have any memories of you.

At least he was still the same horribly perfect sweetheart he had been before he left. His months with the Greeks—all of them watching you with mixed emotions—hadn't turned him sour.

"Oh, you should have seen her, Jason!" Octavian was going now, flourishing in the attention and you hated him, hated him so much your cheeks burned as bright a red as the kool-aid trapped perpetually in Dakota's hip flask. "Crying, every night. She even has—"

"I said, enough, Octavian,"

"—has a key to your bunkroom!" The augur finished, and if you had been able to think of anything beyond your embarrassment or frustration or fear that you were totally, irrevocably erased from Jason's mind, you would have remembered Octavian's threat, earlier, before the trireme arrived. He was just exacting his twisted form of justice.

Embarrass me in front of the Senate, and I will destroy you in front of Jason Grace, you could practically hear him sneer.

"Wait," The Greek named Leo narrowed his eyes at Jason before darting them to you, a grin on his lips that screamed trouble. "Did you two use to date?"

"I don't know," Was Jason's clipped, short reply, his cheeks dusting pink as he fixed his attention on your face. He studied you like he didn't understand you, which was ridiculous, because sometimes it felt like you and Jason shared a heart.

"No," You grunted, shoving your plate forwards, glare fixed on the stupid cherry tomatoes rolling atop the porcelain that you despised and Jason adored.

"We never could figure out if that was the truth," Octavian slanted a look to you, smirking. "But I guess we don't have to worry about that now, do we Centurion? Since he has no memory of you, of—"

Faster than what would have been possible, if your father had been anyone different, you lifted the knife set beside your plate and slammed the tip into the wooden table, between two of his fingers. He screamed, and the plates on the table rattled.

Weapons were forbidden inside the Pomerian Line, but dinner knives were only utensils.

The whole table fell silent. And maybe the whole Dining Hall, had, beyond Octavian's spluttering and cursing and calling for your trial before the Senate for attacking an Augur.

And maybe if Percy wasn't glaring at Octavian, and Reyna hadn't been the one to slip you Jason's key, he might have had a case against you.

"Praetors," Standing, you bowed your head to Reyna and Percy, and though every muscle in your body screamed to pay the same respects to Jason, you couldn’t get yourself together enough to meet his eye. How could he not know you? "I request to be dismissed."

"I will come find you later." Reyna nodded, intelligent eyes shimmering with understanding, and you never realized just how much it hurt to be pitied by her. "We’ve got much to discuss."

"Yeah. Uh, lots." Percy nodded, looking between you and Reyna like he couldn’t quite figure out what he was missing. But then his attention snagged on Jason, seated across the table, and you saw it all—the understanding, the pity, the sorrow—pass over his face. "Wait—"

Annabeth jammed her elbow into his side, and you met her eye briefly. She might have been the only one who understood even a fraction of what you were going through.

But at least Percy remembered her, and he had loved her freely, before.

“Later.” You confirmed through clenched teeth, turning swiftly to try and find a spot far enough from Jason Grace so that his lack of memories didn’t hurt.

You weren’t sure such a spot existed.

Your feet carried you deeper into the city, walking past store after store. You couldn't stomach going into much of them, every bakery and café and bookstore holding some memory of Jason. Far more memories than he held, of you.

You weren't sure how much time had passed before you heard the first explosion.

And Roman training kicked in, instantly, as you raced towards the forum, where the Greek trireme was firing on your city, the one you had only just saved from and army led by a giant.

Fall in! You shouted, organizing legionnaires, your mind and your instincts at war. And you knew Greeks and Romans were at war, too. Protect the city!

You barely were able to glimpse the dark haired boy, Leo, manning the ballistae attached to the side of the ship before it took off, rocketing through the skies, even with Roman firepower slamming into the hull.

And as the trireme disappeared into the distance, fear tore through you.

Because you knew Jason. You knew he was on that ship, with his new friends. You knew he was sailing off with them, bound to a quest that meant saving the world, if what they said was to be trusted.

And you knew what came next.

Jason Grace, loyal to the end.

You were going to have to kill him.

a/n: did not mean to give reader such a tragic backstory but I kinda love it... im so curious to know what ur fav part is, bc I cannot decide. ty for reading this much and plz let me know what you think!

tag, you're it: @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester@bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake

#jason grace #jason grace fanfic #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace x reader #heroes of olympus #pjo #rays of sun #Jason Grace fanfiction #Jason Grace reader insert

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ham-st4r · 1 year

Text

𝓙𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓪𝔀𝓪𝔂 - 𝓛. 𝓗𝓮𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰

📞 Pairing: heeseung + female reader!

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, cursing, male masturbation, female masturbation, phone sex, angst?

Genre: PSO (phone sex operator) heeseung.

Summary: lying in your bed and bored on your phone, something catches your eye, and you can’t help but be curious.

Number of words: 3,779k

Find your way around!

It was two in the morning, and apparently, you had nothing better to do than scroll endlessly on your phone, clicking on multiple different sites and reading about any and everything.

It wasn’t long before you saw some unfamiliar ads at the bottom of one of the websites you were on. “top ten best sex positions,” you furrow your brows slightly, but you being a curious virgin, decided to click on the link and see what it was all about.

Your eyes flashed to each paragraph, getting more intrigued by each position and wondering what it would feel like to have someone to do them with. As you scroll on your phone more and more, you start to see more ads related to the displayed topic.

These, however, were links to finding “singles in your area” and some other ones that you didn’t pay much attention to, but one of them certainly caught your attention.

“Phone sex 24/7.”

In the advertised photo was a shirtless man with a six-pack, and your eyes zeroed in on his muscles as you unknowingly rubbed your thighs together slightly and blushed.

You felt pathetic how easily turned on you were by just a picture, but you couldn’t help it, especially after reading about those sex positions that included very detailed pictures.

You clicked on the ad just to see what it was all about.

After looking at some of the details, you got even more curious and wondered what one of those calls would be like.

You nervously bit your lip as you leafed through all of the guys you could chat with, and one, in particular, caught your eye.

His name was Ethan. He was right around your age. He had dark hair and big round eyes with a perfectly pointed nose.

He was the epitome of perfect.

You clicked on his bio and were surprised to see everything he offered. The list was endless.

No wonder he charged 3.99 for a single minute.

Before you could think twice about it, you had already entered your account information, and just like that, you were calling his number.

You have no idea what even possessed you to do this in the first place, but you blamed it on the fact that it was two in the morning, and you were horny and left it at that.

You figured you were making a bigger deal out of it than you needed to. He’d only hear your voice, and everything was anonymous, so what have you got to lose?

Plus, you didn’t have any interaction whatsoever with the opposite sex. Sad but true, so this was the perfect opportunity to talk to a guy and explore some of your fantasies.

Your heart was literally pounding in your chest as the first couple of rings went by, and then the call connected with a faint rustle in the background. “Hello, angel,” you heard a male voice say to you over the line, and you instantly panicked.

You had no idea what to do or what you were going to say. Hell. You didn’t even know what you were doing to begin with. “Hello?” His voice came through your speaker, soft and sweet as honey, and you nearly blushed just from the sound of it being so close to your ear.

“H-hi,” you stutter out softly into the speaker, and you can hear him chuckle lowly.

He hums. “There you are, angel. For a second, I thought I lost you,” he says in a breathy tone, and you chew on your lip nervously.

You wanted to respond, but you just couldn’t. You were too shy and embarrassed at this point and for stuttering over a call.

Who the hell stutters on a phone call?!

Before the silence got awkward, he spoke to you again. “Am I making you nervous, angel?” If he called you Angel one more time, you were going to lose it. You knew he was just doing his job, but it still made you feel things.

“Y-yes,” you admit bashfully.

“Aww, aren’t you cute,” he continues to flirt with you. “It’s just me, angel. Don’t be shy.”

As the silence continues, he decides to take the reigns himself. “So how can I service you tonight, love? We can do anything you want for as long as you want” You don’t miss the sultry tone of his voice when he speaks. No wonder he chose this as his occupation. His voice was literally perfect for this job.

The silence was so loud you could almost see it. “Baby, you’re awfully quiet,” he says in a sad tone. “I want to give you what you want, but I won’t know how to do that until you tell me, what you say, love? Tell me what you like, hmm?”

You pick at your sheets and attempt to say something, but only a frustrated sigh comes out.

He could tell you were having a difficult time right now. Sure, he had a few timid callers before, but you were definitely by far the shyest customer he’s ever had.

Although he wasn’t complaining, the call was already at three minutes. He had made twelve dollars without even doing anything, so he didn’t mind easing you into it nice and slow. “How about this? How about you tell me about your day?” He asks, hoping that will loosen you up for your later activities.

You figured you were just annoying him right now, and that thought made you even more uneasy. “I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m gonn-“

“Ah ah ah, not so fast, Love, trying to leave me already?” he said with a sad tone.

“I just don’t want to bore you,” you mumbled innocently. You really had no clue what to even do.

“Impossible, you could do no such thing. Now go ahead, tell me about what you did today. I’m curious how the day led you to me” You could hear that he was smiling from the warm tone in his voice, and it really sounded sincere. You knew it wasn’t, but it did make you feel somewhat comfortable.

“I went to school, took exams, and then I went home” You stated it was boring, but that was the truth.

“That’s a good girl. I bet you did a good job, right?” He feigned as if he was entertained and continued the conversation smoothly, somehow making it sound casual yet flirtatious at the same time.

“Y-yes,” you stutter again, much to your embarrassment.

“I’m so proud of you. I’m sure you’re tired after studying so hard, right baby? Just wanna relax?”

You only hummed in response. He definitely wasn’t wrong.

“Is that why you called me? So I can help you relax, so I can make you feel better?” His voice had dropped an octave lower, and it made your stomach flip.

You didn’t want to tell him the real reason, so you told a white lie. “Yes, Ethan” You have no idea why you even said his name like that, well, his username, but that’s not the point. The way his name rolled off your tongue sounded so sinful but so right at the same time.

Many girls had called his name time and time again, but there was no denying that he liked the way it sounded coming from your mouth. “Using my name now, darling?” He teased, and he could tell you had already gotten more comfortable than you had been when you first called. Five minutes ago, You definitely wouldn’t have been bold enough to practically moan out his name like you just had.

You just whined in response, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s y/n,” you answer without hesitation while pulling your blankets closer to your chest.

“Such a pretty name, so y/n, don’t you think it’s time for me to help you relax?” He laid back on his bed, resting against his headboard. “Tell Ethan what it is that you need,” he whispered.

You can’t lie. He was doing an excellent job at making you more comfortable. And him using your name made it feel like you knew him, which helped you relax even more.

You released a shaky breath, somehow finding the courage to tell him what you wanted. “Need you to make me cum” you say timidly, and he finds your simple request amusing.

A stark contrast to all the odd requests he had gotten in the short amount of time he’s been doing this job.

“Oh baby, I can definitely do that for you” He smirked and sat more comfortably on his bed.

“H-how?” You ask him. Not exactly sure what you meant by that, but he seemed to understand your question perfectly.

“Angel, just follow my lead, yeah? I’ll make you feel good, don’t worry” He breathes heavier into the speaker before continuing. “Do me a favor,” he instructs you, and you listen to each and every word. “Tell me what you’re wearing, love?”

“A shirt and just m-my underwear,” you whine in embarrassment. Why weren’t you just hanging up the call already, obviously? This wasn’t your thing, but something about the way he spoke to you so gently made you want to stay.

“Cute. I bet you look so pretty now. Baby listen to me carefully, okay?”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “Okay,” you breathed out.

“So obedient for me,” he chuckled. “you want me to make you cum, right?”

“Yes, please” Your chest was already heaving in anticipation.

“Such good manners,” he hums. “Baby, slowly run your fingers over your panties for me.”

You dip your hand under the covers spreading your legs a little and doing what he told you. You whimper slightly from the contact, and as much as you hated to admit it, your panties had already been damp from when you first started the call.

“Tell me how that feels,” he whispers, and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

“So good, Ethan,” you say, already lost in pleasure.

You had caught him a little off guard with that moan of his name before he could formulate a proper response, so he quickly improvised on the spot. “I bet it does. I wish I was there to touch you.”

Your eyes roll back in your head at his words. “Me too,” you moan, just imagining the things he’d do to you and all the sweet nothings he'd whisper in your ear while he was on top of you.

He knew it was wrong to be enjoying this right now. The call was for your pleasure, not his, but with you moaning so desperately in his ear like that, he couldn’t help but enjoy your sounds of bliss.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself. “Okay, angel,” he breathed out, trying to control his urges. “move your panties to the side and touch yourself properly for me” He was practically ordering you at this point, but you can’t say it didn’t make you even more excited.

You moaned louder feeling more arousal leaking from your hole. “Yes, keep going, angel, I got you” His eyes fluttered shut, listening to your tiny moans for him.

“Want more” you whispered.

“Stick a finger inside, baby, tell me how wet you are for me” That may have been a personal request from him, but he couldn’t help it.

You did as you were told, sliding a finger inside, arching your back off the bed at the feeling. “So wet,” you whined pathetically.

“Yeah, I bet your little cunt can take another with as soaked as you are. Add another for me. Angel, be a good little girl for Ethan” At this point, he was just going with the flow and saying any filthy thing that came into his mind.

You immediately added another wanting to be good for him. “Okay,” You took a sharp breath when you felt the second finger stretching you open.

“Now start using those pretty little fingers to fuck yourself. Imagine I was there fingering that wet pussy, baby.”

You closed your eyes, trying to picture his fingers going in and out of you. You pumped your fingers in your hole as you heard the wet sounds each time you fucked them deeper.

Since he’s been doing these calls, this was definitely the first time he had gotten worked up. He can’t lie about how sexy it was hearing you getting turned on just from all the dirty things he was saying to you. “I can hear how wet you are for me,” he practically growls into the speaker. “I wish I was there to fuck you open with my cock and stretch that cunt till I’m deep inside it. You want that, right? Want me inside you, angel?”

By now, your mind was clouded with lust as you let the phone fall next to your head on the pillows.

“Fuck yes, Ethan, I wanna feel you so bad,” you moaned shamelessly, but it’s not like it mattered. This was all anonymous, anyways. You’d never see each other let alone talk to each other again.

He silently prayed you didn’t hear the way his breath hitched at the sound of your needy voice.

Sure, there have been a few times on calls he had found himself admiring people’s moans while he guided them to bliss, but your voice was doing something to him that he didn’t want to admit. Usually, he had been so professional with his clients, but right now, he seemed to lose all of that, and he just couldn’t focus on anything but the idea of you touching yourself on the opposite end.

“Fuck, me too,” he grunted as he palmed over his jeans. “I bet you’d feel so good around me, Angel” He quickly realized what he was doing and stopped. This was his job, and he needed to focus.

“Ethan, please,” you begged for him more and more.

“Shh, baby, It’s okay. Go ahead and rub your clit for me. Do it nice and slow” He readjusted his posture and focused on you reaching your climax instead of the bulge under his jeans.

You listened to his words using your free hand to rub your clit. “Oh Ethan,” you shrieked out a moan, and you were so close to sobbing from how good it felt your pussy was literally throbbing and begging to cum.

“I’m h-here for you, Angel” He bit back a moan.

You were on edge, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling good too. Even though you were paying, it felt kinda bad that you couldn’t help him the way he was helping you. “Does it feel good for you too?” You asked breathily.

Fuck.

What was he going to do? Lie? Just the idea that you wanted him to feel good, too, made his dick twitch. Nobody had ever asked that before, usually only requesting things for their own pleasure, but he understood it wasn’t their job to make him feel good. It was actually quite the opposite, but the fact you were actually thinking of him enough to ask if he was also enjoying himself was doing things to him that he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

“Yes, baby, so fucking good” He didn’t even try to resist anymore and tugged his jeans around his ankles, pulling his cock out through the front of his boxers. “Fuck y/n” He closed his eyes and threw his head back, hissing when he stroked his thick length.

You knew he was just playing along for the call. There was no way you could have possibly turned him on, but it was still a fun idea. You’re happy he went along with it. “I wish I could see your cock” The words coming out of your mouth even surprised you, but you didn’t regret it when you heard him groan into the speaker.

At this point, he didn’t know who the worker was and who the caller was cause you were making him feel so good right now, so good that he felt guilty that you were paying him. It should have definitely been the other way around. “Fuck angel, I’m so hard right now you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he moaned softly as he gathered the precum on his tip and spread it on his shaft while he worked his length.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, Ethan. I’m so close. I want to cum for you so bad,” you cried, feeling your high approaching as you squirmed on your bed.

“Wait for me, baby, please hold it a little longer,” he whined, desperately fisting his cock to chase his high with you.

You breathed out an okay, trying your best to hold off. “I want to cum on your cock so bad, Ethan. I wish you were inside me right now.” You moaned.

“God,” he breathed shakily. “Me too, angel. I’d fuck you so good and make you scream from how good I fuck your pretty pussy” He was definitely close now, thanks to the dirty words that slipped from your lips and traveled through his speaker.

“I wish I could feel your cum inside me and leaking out of my pussy when you finish” Your toes curled into the mattress as you bit your lips. You were getting closer and closer soon. You wouldn’t be able to hold on.

His eyes rolled back in his head, hips violently bucking up into his fist. “I’d fill you up so well, give you all of my cum till it’s dripping out of you,” he squeezed his base and stroked his length till he reached his sensitive tip.

“Mmph, Eithan,” you clenched around your fingers.

“Then I’d fuck it back into you, not wasting a single drop, and leave your pussy a complete mess of me.”

Those words were just what you needed to come crashing down. “I’m gonna cum” you warned him.

“Me too, angel cum for Ethan” He pressed his thumb into his wet slit, jerking himself off faster and faster until he heard your broken moans of his name, and that’s all it took for him to follow your lead and spill his cum all over his heaving chest long ropes of endless cum dirtying his bed sheets. “Fuck, fuck, fuck” he moaned breathlessly into the speaker, gulping loudly as he coaxed out the last beads of cum from his pinkish tip.

“Ethan,” you whined when you heard his pleasured sounds, your pussy still clenching around your fingers as your high started to slowly wither away, and you came back to your senses.

“Y/n,” he breathed out cock still twitching and pulsating in his hold as his orgasm sadly came to an end.

All that could be heard was each other's heavy breaths and a few stray moans before the silence took over.

After a few minutes, what you had just finished doing set in, and you were embarrassed. You had absolutely no idea how to end the call after that, so you just stayed silent.

He was feeling somewhat embarrassed himself, which was definitely new to him. Since he was a phone sex operator, you’d think he wouldn’t get shy so easily, but he literally just moaned your name and came to the sound of your voice. How could he not be timid after that?

You removed your hands from under your covers after sliding your panties back to their original state. All of a sudden, you felt hyper-aware of your surroundings and what you were doing.

“Y/n?” He spoke quietly as he wiped his hand on his pants and tucked himself away. “are you still there?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” you mutter softly and smile at the sound of his voice returning to its sweet tone as when you first started the call.

“Hmm, did you enjoy it?” Pfft, he’s never asked that question to any of his customers. It’s not like he didn’t like his job, but there was only so much he invested into the people he had calls with, but you were just different, and when you asked if he was feeling good, too, that really left an impression on him something about it made the whole call feel real like he wasn’t just in it for the money and you weren’t just there to selfishly get pleasure and hang up of course he knew not to get attached to clients, but he couldn’t help but think he’d have that call with you again free of charge.

But you didn’t have to know any of that.

“So much,” you say shyly, and he smiles at that, happy that he could take care of you even if it was just for tonight.

“I’m glad to hear that, angel” You knew it was stupid to feel this way, but the idea that you couldn’t return the favor for him made you feel bad, and you didn’t even know why.

After all, you were literally paying him to do his job, that was compensation enough, but still, you felt some type of way.

“Well, it’s late. I should probably go,” you say, a little reluctance in your tone.

“Oh,” if you weren’t overthinking everything that had just transpired in the last thirty minutes or so, you might have heard the sadness in his tone when you mentioned hanging up. “Goodnight, love. I hope to hear from you again soon,” he said with a hopeful tone, and for the first time in the six months he’s been doing this job, he actually wholeheartedly meant those words.

“Thanks so much for tonight, Ethan. I really enjoyed it,” you tell him earnestly. “Goodnight”

“Night, angel” You ended the call with a click and sighed sadly.

You knew everything he said was fake, but still, you had grown fond of him in those thirty minutes. But who were you kidding? He was doing his job, and he wasn’t even going to have a second thought about you.

“That's what you get for going online to try to find companionship.” You laughed pathetically at yourself.

You pouted and got out of bed, cleaning yourself up before shutting off the lights and going to bed.

After the call, heeseung layed down on his bed and held his phone to his chest. A ping was heard on his phone, and he looked at the notification letting him see the transaction was pending, and he made a whopping hundred-plus dollars, but he didn’t care about that.

What he cared about was if you’d be calling him again.

Thank you for reading. Please reblog and leave feedback! -🐹

#enhypen heeseung #heeseung #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen #enhypen smut #lee heeseung #fanfic #heeseung x reader #kpop

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chaethewriter · 1 year

Text

Lightsaber

Jack Champion x reader

In which you and Jack have a duel with lightsabers.

word count: 1,6k

warning: legit just fluff and fluff, wrote this in my bed on a random sunday night in an hour, not proofread.

tagged: @viivvriv @genesis4545 @norrisgf @darkcrusadestrawberry @drxwstxrkxy @wafflehousewrold

Disneyland.

The two of you were heavily influenced by the general shops at its entrance. You couldn't help it. You couldn't help it as Jack stared down at you with those puppy eyes.

"Matching lightsabers!" He had exclaimed, basically clinging onto you like an insect as he had begged you to play lightsabers with him. Hell, he even wanted to pay the overexpensive item for you. You didn't want him to, though. You weren't with him for the money. Even though the item would hit your bank account hard, you gave in. He looked too happy at the thought of matching items with his beloved. You had taken your card from your phone case as Jack carried two lightsabers under his arm.

"You know I'm paying, right?" His build was huge, bigger than your much smaller frame. He basically loomed over you as he stood in your way, making you unable to walk past him. When the two of you reached the counter, he put the items down for the worker to scan. Keeping you behind him with his build, he dug his hand in his pocket for his wallet. "Jack stop!" Your whines fell on deaf ears as he ran his card through.

Now you were at his home, sprawled out on the living room floor as you unpacked your lightsabers. "You didn't have to, you know?" Your eyes looked up at him, looking for any form of eye contact you could get. He stopped his focus on cutting the cardboard open as he locked gazes with you, "but I wanted to. Let me treat you, alright?" His words made you blush. You couldn't help but blush, your ears hot to the touch. Jack pulled the plastic safety pins lose, the plastic flying through the air as he held his lightsaber in his hands.

His eyes sparkled as he admired the item from above him. Meanwhile you were still struggling. Jack took notice to this, as he put his lightsaber down on your lap and pulled the other, which was still in the box, out of your grip. You wanted to question him as to why he did that, but he took the knife in his right hand and cut the lightsaber loose. "They're the same, that one is yours now, babe." He gave you a cheeky smile while his focus was still on his lap. Little gestures like these were your favorite— nothing too big, but daily occurrences that showed that he cared.

You got up from your seat with your grip on the lightsaber. "Let's customize it with the stickers I bought!" You had impulsively bought the stickers, not knowing what to do with them. Until now. The two of you could sticker your handles and make it fully matching. You had run to the other side of the living room to take the stickers out of your bag. They were stickers you bought at disneyland: mickey and minnie mouse. A classic. When you ran back, Jack had already freed the lightsaber from the packaging. "Look!" You pressed the stickers in his face as you plopped down in front of him. He held your wrist as he pulled it down to see your bright smile. You were adorable, honestly.

Jack had mickey stickers on his handle while you had minnie stickers. Both handles covered in tiny hearts of different shades that you had chosen for one another. "An garde?!" Jack jumped over the furniture as he hit your lightsaber with his, standing with his socks on the livingroom couch. You moved to the side in a defensive attempt, using your lightsaber to push him away. This made Jack lose his balance for a second, tumbling over the backrest of the couch. You stopped your movements as you slightly peered over the couch. Was he okay? But Jack jumped up from his fall, making you take a step back. The fighting continued as giggles left your lips when Jack ran to take a blanket and wrap it around his shoulders. "If only I was born way earlier, I would nail my role as Jedi!"

"Okay, Anakin Skywalker." You rolled your eyes in a playful manner, stepping towards him as your hits got more offensive. Thus resulting in Jack taking a step back after every hit he stopped. You had driven him in a corner. Victory was yours. Jack looked around as he had no way out. He couldn't lose! He was the true jedi! So he took matters in his own hands— gripping your wrists with both his hands as he pulled you closer to him, your body basically pressed onto his as he peered down at you. You blushed profusely at the action. You were always a sucker for enemies to lovers. "Is this what your enemies to lovers fantasies look like?" He had smirked at you as he said that, his brown eyes staring right at you that had you melting in your stand. You froze in your place as his gaze hypnotized you.

This was his chance. In one swift motion, he had you pressed on the couch with the hand holding your lightsaber unable to move. His was pressed against your chin as he grinned, "I won!" He brought his face close to yours, pressing a loving kiss to your lips as he got out of character. You just whined. Of course, Jack wad an actor. He was too good in this type of stuff.

The door to the living and dining room opened, as his mother walked in, "kids! Dinners ready." She looked around. The place was a mess. The carpet shifted to the wall, the chairs were either fallen over or moved aside with the pillows and blankets scattered all over the floor. Then her eyes landed on the two of you. And the lightsabers.

Teenagers.

His mother shook his head with a chuckle when Jack quickly got off of you, standing in the middle of the living room awkwardly, "we will clean this up I promise."

"You better! Get the table ready as well, alright? Dinner will be served soon." She gave you a knowing look, to which you blushed from, as she walked back to the kitchen— closing the door behind her. "That was so embarrassing!" You got up from the couch and dropped your lightsaber on the now empty space to fold your arms together. "Are you mad that you lost?" He wiggled his eyebrows as he peered down at you, "my little baby is mad!"

"You're so annoying! You're mean!" You looked away as your eyebrows scrunched up into a frown. Jack chuckled at your behavior. You were a little kid sometimes. He grabbed your chin as he forced you to look up at him, thus catching you off guard. This gave him the chance to grab your wrist and pull you against him again. The action made you heat up.

"What was that about being mean?"

"Jackson Champion!"

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #jack champion is taking my brain over #jack champion headcannons #jack champion imagines #jack champion imagine #ethan landry #ethan landry headcanons #ethan landry x reader

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reneezsq · 1 month

Text

white marble

❛ !¡ pairing; sunday x gender neutral!reader.

❛ !¡ summary; the golden city, struck at the time before midnight to never see tomorrow or remember yesterday, its magical melancholy accompanying everyone’s dreams.

❛ !¡ warnings; none.

❛ !¡ a/n; i love him sm you don’t know how much, bro is just so cute and i love how much of a yapper he is.

the sky remained the same, forever set in a midnight fever and embraced by the shine of countless stars. they were all false, and shone no real light that could exhaust the wish of the most unfortunate ones, but by gazing at them, one could feel the gaze of the gods above staring back at them. and this alone was enough to forget that it was only a mere illusion.

in the real world, it was probably already 10 pm or something along those lines. no one really knew, even if there were real watches and clocks that told the time a little bit all around town so no one could lose track of the hours, and the minutes and the seconds.

golden eyes stared up at one of those clocks. a bland dark disk hanging on one of the ivory walls of the bathroom — which looked more like an interior pool. numbers from one to twelve were written in roman, in a soft golden hue which matched the color of the two hands of the clock. a third one, very much smaller and less important than the bigger ones as it only displayed the seconds and was too quick to be precise enough, was making a slight ticking sound. it did not feel bothering, it was only faint and absolute silence would have bothered him greatly.

his gaze settled back on the book in his left hand. a history book that talked about another formality in the lands of penacony. he knew those stories by heart by now, but there were always secret details that escaped his grasp. and a mind as avid to knowledge as his was ran towards the promise of being the true master of those lands thanks to the importance those details might hold. his eyes stealthily returned to the right, before going back to the left.

three, two, one.

the almost perfect silence finally stopped when a sway of the bathtub’s water echoed in the room. followed by a small yawn. the weight on his shoulder shifted slightly. his hand on the skin of their lower back moved to their waist, bringing them closer before letting them settle back down against his body. at first, he felt quite compelled with the idea of his lover falling asleep in the bathtub, but now he looked forward to such a pretty sight which could only belong to him.

he put down the book he was holding before. using a handmade bookmark made by them to see the page he stopped at and distancing it from the water. he wouldn’t want to tarnish a book they had so much difficulty getting for him. he would probably never forgive himself if this ended up happening.

his hand then reached for a small glass. a clear water tinted with some blue undertones was being contained in this small cup. even such a trivial object held some importance to him, after all it was a special set that was offered to them by his dearest sister in congratulations for the newly fiancés. he felt like he was on cloud nine upon his sister’s agreement and original acceptance of his lover. a worry that had always clouded his mind before their first meeting, taking into account he started this relationship while the singer was away for a bit.

their eyes now finally lazily opening. and he gave them the time to rub their eyes before proposing the drink. they looked at the beverage. he brought it closer and let them smell the faint fragrance coming from the glass. now, there was that small smile he cherished from the bottom of his little heart.

“blueberry ?” their h hoarse voice, caused by the nap, lurked at him, their eyes peering up from behind their eyelashes. his own eyes softened as he viewed them so cozy and cuddled against him like he was a teddy bear that has been handled to them — he wouldn’t mind being seen as such now that he gives more time to this idea. but he decided to leave that for another moment, and nodded gently.

they did not move an inch as he placed the cold crystal against their dry lips. as they drank slowly, and he made sure not to pour too much and sometimes put the glass away so they wouldn’t choke on the flavored water, he could not stop himself from placing a small kiss on their forehead. feeling some hair under his lips, and smiling as they hummed below him by the affection that seemed all too natural for him. loving them seemed to be as easy as breathing from his lungs.

once they were done, he took them in both of his arms. cuddling them close to his chest and making sure he could feel every inch of their body. a body he knew by heart, and if he ever had to forget everything he ever knew and keep one thing remaining in his mind, it would be the sweet feeling of their shared embrace. their nails tracing lines against his arms and leaving tingles all over his body. it felt nice to be loved by someone as gentle as them.

“all nice ?” surprised danced across his face when they shook their head, but his heartbeat did not flare up yet as that small smile remained on those features he could draw by heart.

“my lips are all dry…” now, it was his turn to have a smile plastered on his face. from his view above, their lips looked perfectly fine. even more when their tongue snuck out briefly to let some saliva help with rejuvenating their lips. he leaned down and placed a small kiss on their lips. their hands came to rest on his cheek, bringing him down for another small kiss after he had just pulled away.

“better ?” he inquired silently. “mhm.” was the only answer he needed. he placed a cheek upon their head, continuing to cuddle them. might as well remain here a bit more before going to bed, they have the whole night ahead for themselves after all. for once, penacony can and will wait. he has found what is more important than this dreamscape now.

TAGGING:: @aventxsha; @dxmoness; @sweetlyvibe; @quatrdeal; @yoghurtsan

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user211201 · 1 month

Text

Branded

---

Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!

#country #gay to stright #bottomtotop #age progression tf #nerdtojock #jock #Christian #dumber #political #lib to con

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