#just give me like three hours to procrastinate

[sapphicseasapphire]

More of Cryptid Time please? I've always been a sucker for God Time and you do him so much justice, I'm obsessed /lh

Hmmmmm I don’t want to say too much. I have Time’s origin like 80% written and the art is done so I plan on posting it later today (of course, now that I’ve said that, I’ve jinxed myself and It won’t happen). But I can give a little more haha!

I don’t have a full playlist, but I’ve tried to find music that I think fits the Cryptid Au Links. I challenged myself to look beyond Zelda music! But I fell back into Zelda music anyway…

For Time, I have two pieces that I think could be his theme! They are: The Legend of Zelda 25th Anniversary Orchestra: Gerudo Valley (honestly one of my favorite pieces of all time) and Shenandoah by Frank Ticheli . They’re very different pieces haha, but Time’s a pretty complex guy I think.

Time is a great leader! He puts the others first and always seems to know what he’s doing (even if he’s actually clueless). Even back before the others knew he was a God, it was hard to deny his authority. He’s strong and steadfast, fully committed to whatever he decides is worth his attention.

That being said, he’s far from perfect. He may know a lot, but he doesn’t know everything, and that can lead to a lot of mistakes on his end. He just genuinely does his best… even if it’s not good enough. With dominion over the flow of time, he knows that there are some things that just can’t be helped. Lives will be lost. Friend will disappear. And even as a God, there’s nothing he can do to escape that.

… sometimes, he just feels so useless.

[soshhy]

I was just reading an ADHD post about breaking tasks up into smaller chunks, and I wanted to share something that helped me.

Once upon a time, I was sitting at my desk at 3am, having procrastinated all day, and finally got to the stage where I was so desperate to meet my 9am deadline I made an itemised list of every single thing I had to do, to the level of "1) Open this document. 2) Open this web page. 3) Arrange the windows so you can see both at once... Etc." It took me hours, and I was beating myself up the whole time because I knew I was spending three times as long making the list as I would doing the task, good god, what's wrong with me, this is so stupid...

I finished the list. I went through it step by step. And then I was done.

It was a revelation. It was so incredibly easy, once the list was there.

Since then I've thought: so what if making the list takes three times as long as doing the task? That's what it takes. That's PART OF THE TASK. It's the most important part, because it's the bit that means you can start at all.

Now if I'm struggling I give myself permission to use the most time consuming strategies, to hold my own hand like I'm a two year old, to guide myself through the tiniest of baby steps, because that's a skill I've fought for and it works.

Maybe this is obvious to everyone else. But if there's anyone out there like me, perhaps not yet diagnosed, beating themself up for not being able to just get things done like a normal person, I want to say this: make that list even as the clock ticks down to your deadline. It's not a waste of time. It's part of the task.

[nomazee]

Um hello! Is the 1k event thingy still up?? If so I would like to request a classmate! Dr ratio x reader at 2:47 am?

it's actually sickening how much fun i had with this i was giggling at my own jokes while typing this out... this was so fun to write THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!!!

my 1k event!

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A blaring, aggravating, shrill sound wakes you up. Your hands go to cover your ears, protecting your sanity from the noise ringing somewhere from the tangle of sheets on your bed. Hands flailing around desperately to find the source of the piercing chimes, you writhe around in agony until you finally latch onto your phone. 

The brightness of the screen digs into your corneas as you lift up the device to see the caller ID of whoever had the guts to bother you on a school night. 

It comes to no surprise that the caller name reads “VERITAS FUCKING RATIO” in all caps with no contact photo. Your eye twitches and the grip on your phone tightens, just a hair away from leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal. 

Begrudgingly, you answer the call, tucking the phone next to your ear with nothing less than displeasure. “Veritas. Why are you calling me at—” you pull your phone back to check, “—almost three in the morning?” 

“The works cited page,” Veritas Fucking Ratio informs you matter-of-factly. There’s no hint of sleepiness in his voice, nothing that could possibly chip away at his good image, of course. “You did it in the wrong format. It’s supposed to be APA. This is a science project, not a literature project.” 

You might kill him. The project in question is to be presented tomorrow— today at ten in the morning. Ratio and you had been working on it for an entire two weeks, broken up into intermittent hour-long sessions because he was adamant that you split up the work instead of rushing to do it all the night before. Stupid self-righteous gorgeous beautiful academic genius-freak. Yeah, it definitely helped you in the long run, but he acted so sanctimonious about it that you refused to admit the benefits. 

“Veritas,” you imbue the syllables of his name with poison, as much as you can when you’re swaying as you sit up on your bed and fighting demons to not fall back asleep. “This is such an easily-fixed thing. Do you know what time it is right now? Why are you even awake? You know, I am supposed to get a full seven hours of sleep every night, and I was already cutting it short today, and you woke me up before I could even hit REM sleep. Do you know how upsetting this is? Fix the goddamn works cited yourself!” 

For once, Veritas is at a loss for words. The other end of the line is so quiet that you have to double check and make sure he hasn’t just hung up on you. Perspiration builds on your palms, thinking that this is it—this is the exact moment that you make Veritas-Fucking-Ratio snap and delete your name off the project credit slide, and you’re going to get a 0 because he will wipe off any evidence of your work from this plane of existence, and you will spend the rest of your measly life chasing after your MLA-turned-APA works cited page, too-little-too-late. 

“I’m awake because the— well.” He pauses, and his voice sounds so far away and unobtrusive that you’re almost worried. Your breath stills in the middle of your diaphragm. Waiting. “The works cited is one thing. But I wanted you to look at the slides, if you can.” 

If you can, he says, as if he’s giving you a choice, which he literally never has during this entire process. You had no role in choosing the topic, or the slide theme, or what days you worked on the project, or how often you worked on the project (because god forbid you procrastinate a little bit, right?!), but now, at almost three in the morning, Veritas is saying something along the lines of oh please my dearest project partner, I request that you open the Google Slides at once, but only if you would like to! I would never infringe on your free will at three in the morning, because I respect you as a partner. Or something like that. That was pretty much the gist of it. 

A raspy sigh escapes you, and you claw your busted laptop off the nightstand next to you, opening it up and squinting at the LED screen as you punch in your passcode. “You know, I have done a good job at going along with all of your whims, Veritas, the least you could do is fix the works cited for me. Seriously, how did you even miss that? You’re so detail-oriented, but you didn't even realize the format was wrong until tonight? Who even cares, seriously… it’s just a slideshow…” 

Your voice trails off as the slideshow presentation finally loads in. You see Veritas’ default profile picture blink in the upper right-hand corner, signaling that he’s viewing the slideshow with you. The slideshow which has apparently undergone a huge makeover. 

It’s—pleasant to look at. This entire time, you and Veritas had been editing a default, white-background black-serif-font-text slideshow. He refused to change it, telling you that it’s unprofessional to do anything too embellished, to which you fruitlessly said, Veritas, we will die early deaths because of the hole in the ozone layer, would you at least make it easier on my poor soul by letting me choose a pokemon-theme slide? Veritas had pretended like he couldn't hear you (in a very quiet library room, mind you), but the twitch in his brow gave him away. 

Now, though, the slides are decorated. It’s a really nice theme, complete with custom icons and graphic blobs of color—your favorite color, might you add. It’s—pretty. Dare you say, cute, but you think Veritas would vaporize your entire presentation if you called it cute. 

“Did you— this— did you pay for this slide theme?” 

“You— n— mn,” he trails off into an unintelligible mash of mumbling, and you hear a loud THUD that sounds awfully like the phone being thrown onto a mattress. Fabric shuffles around, before you hear Veritas’ voice again, clear and composed. “Sorry. I dropped my phone.” What a loser, and a liar, and an endearing freak. You really wish he video called you because you need to see his totally-very-ugly face. 

“I thought this was unprofessional, Veritas,” you say teasingly, a smile lining your words as you try not to giggle right into the phone. “What made you have a change of heart?” 

“Nothing,” the typical firmness of his voice has returned, much to your dismay. “The works cited is still wrong. You have to fix it.” 

“Oh, whatever you say, honored Ratio,” you open up your trusty citation-generator, ready for a long fifteen minutes of copying and pasting information. “Hey, you must be free after class tomorrow, right? Since the project is pretty much over, right?” 

“Yes,” Veritas answers after a moment of hesitation, only a hint of doubt in his voice. 

“That’s great. Keep your schedule clear, then.” 

(You fix the works cited slide, wish Veritas sweet dreams, and then wake up in the morning to completely ace your presentation. The minute the period ends, you drag him out of the classroom and into a coffee shop, paying for some five dollar pastry and joking that it’s payback for the cute slideshow theme that he definitely paid five dollars for. Veritas is an awful liar, and you tell him that, and he can’t even find the strength to deny it.)

—°+..｡*ﾟ｡*ﾟ+.*.｡.—

gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin

fill out my event taglist (pinned) or general taglist (navi) to be tagged in upcoming works!

[satuguro]

ೃ PUT ON A SHOW !

porn star! ethan landry x roommate! reader

#SYNOPSIS— ethan really needs to stop thinking about you during his private sessions.

#CONTAINS— anal play, toys, voyeurism, sub! ethan, mommy kink, degradation/praise, dacryphilia, reader is mean, this is filthy i mean it, brief mention of porn star! chad

#AUTHORSNOTE— sorry not sorry x2, might make a part 2 with pornstar chad bc i want to lol

there were a few pros to having a roommate who was as hard working as you.

one, you were barely home. a worrying fact that honestly ethan really shouldn't be so bothered about. most roommates would probably prefer it that their roomie wasn't home, but the thing is, ethan liked you. maybe a little too much; your presence was comforting, you were interesting to talk to, and you were such a good listener that ethan could ramble for hours and not feel bad at all.

two, you had little time to relax, so when you did, you did it with him. laying on the couch and watching a new t.v show with him, making dinner when you came home before ethan did and laughing over the dinner table, playing animal crossing on your switch while he did the homework he procrastinated. ethan liked it when you could just relax, and he liked it even more that you preferred to do it with him, your dear puppy-eyed roommate who was always a little too eager to do things for you.

you were always so stressed, working a job you hated and practically giving your all to school and your profession that you barely had time for yourself. you always came home so exhausted, sometimes even pissed off, that ethan wanted to make it easy for you. he wanted to help you relax. (and sometimes, on the days you came home particularly angry, he imagined you taking that anger out on him instead.)

three, because you weren't home and because you were always so busy, ethan had a chance to keep his side job a little more.. under wraps.

originally, it had started out of curiosity. simple twitter porn videos of him jerking off in front of a camera, whining and moaning as he thrusted his cock into his hand for the internet to see. and only when ethan realized that people liked him and that he was only a little (a lot) turned on by random strangers calling him pretty boy and little slut did he start an onlyfans.

truthfully, even though ethan liked being called all those degrading words, he imagined every single one of them as you behind the screen. typing behind all the accounts, calling him degrading words and praising him for being your little slut and your pretty boy.

but you had already written him off as the innocent roommate. the boy next door type who looked at you with shining hazel eyes and was sometimes just a little too smart with his mouth. and ethan, too afraid of saying his occupation to you, too afraid of possibly making you uncomfortable in any way, kept it a secret.

after the nights where ethan recorded before you came home, fucking himself with a fleshlight and bouncing on a dildo, he could barely even look at you during breakfast. face burning red and hand far too stiff as ethan ate his cereal diligently, listening to you talk about your day plans, completely oblivious to the fact that ethan had used his toys, imagining it was your pussy he was pounding into and your strap on he was taking so well.

which was why he only mildly jumped when you knocked on his door right as he was posting one of his videos.

"ow," ethan hissed, knee colliding with the underside of his desk before he hurried changed the page to another. "come in!"

you peeked in, smile as charming as ever as you looked at your flustered roommate. "hey, they called me in for a little today so i'll probably be home pretty late," you said, opening the door a little wider. you leaned against the door frame, tilting your head a little as you crossed your arms over your chest. "whatcha working on?" you asked curiously, peering at ethan's tomato-red cheeks with an amused grin.

"oh!" ethan laughed nervously, unable to stop himself from subtly looking at the outfit you wore, "i'm working on.." he turned to his computer, eyes widening slightly as he stared at the youtube video he was watching earlier of how to play chess. "chess..?"

"huh." you clicked your tongue, peering into the screen. "okay. i gotta go— logan's gonna kill me if i show up late."

you failed to notice the way ethan's jaw clenched at the mention of your co-worker, a hint of jealousy in his eyes. "don't stay up for me, 'kay?" you said with one final smile, one he quickly returned.

"okay! drive safe, please," ethan said earnestly, making you nod as you shut the door.

"y'know i always do!"

ethan waited until he heard you leave before he returned back to his page. he had planned later on in the week to make a video with chad, but today he had to make a video.

"fuckin' asshole," you grumbled to yourself as you fumbled with your keys. the fact that they called you in just to say that they didn't need you that night only pissed you off a little bit. they didn't think to just text you instead of telling you to your face?

you turned your keys into the lock before slowly opening the door. it was relatively late now; you had left late and returned late. but you didn't want to disturb ethan.

door creaking softly as you shut it and locked it behind you, you didn't want to make your presence known to him as you kicked your shoes off gently. knowing ethan, he was probably fast asleep, playing video games, or talking to chad.

your sock-clad feet shuffled gently across the hard wood floor, a slow sigh leaving your lips until you heard a muffled sound from ethan's room.

you stopped in your tracks, head turning towards his door. was he still awake? a fond smile graced your face as you slowly walked closer, until stopping again when you heard another sound. a moan.

did he have someone over? you couldn't deny the slight hurt and jealousy that panged at your chest at that, your jaw clenching as you tried to push down your emotions.

good for him.

and you almost walked away then to leave ethan to his own devices, if you didn't hear that he whimpered out.

"fuck, this dildo's so big."

what the fuck did he just say?

you blinked, jaw almost dropping at the words coming out of your dear roomie's (not so) innocent mouth, the idea that ethan fucking landry, who sometimes forgot to clean up after himself because he got distracted by some other activity, was moaning like a pornstar.

swallowing thickly, you took a step closer.

and he forgot to shut his door. typical.

but your curiosity and desire was burning far too high for you to just walk away. for you to just turn away from your annoyingly handsome roommate who was letting out such salicious moans that you felt desire pooling at your stomach as you stepped closer and closer.

and when you pushed open ethan's door ever so slowly, you were so happy you gave into your temptations.

ethan looked delicious, ass hitting his headboard repeatedly as he fucked himself dumb on a dildo he had suction cupped to the wood. his eyes were shut tightly, imagining that it was you forcing his hips back to hit yours, making him sink further and further down onto your strap, making him whine as you stretched his ass just for you.

"mm, mm, mm, mm," ethan whimpered repeatedly with every push back of his hips, taking the dildo deeper into his ass with every push. hands gripping his comforter, ethan let out a filthy moan as he sank down fully on the cock, moan moving into a whine as he shifted a little on the dildo. "feels so.."

and when ethan finally opened his eyes, he saw you. shamelessly staring as you watched him fuck himself silly, jaw clenched and pupils dilated as you realized your roommate wasn't as innocent as you thought he was.

"don't stop," you said before ethan could say anything, voice coming out strained as you watched him look at you with wide, mildly horrified eyes.

"w—what?" ethan stared at you like a deer in headlights, hands gripping his comforter as he tried to process your words.

"did i stutter?" you said with a small tilt of your head, finding your voice as you stepped closer. "i said," you sat down right in front of him, eyes snapping to his phone, recording diligently, "don't. stop."

a wicked grin meets your lips as you stare down at him with hungry eyes, finally connecting the dots. “so this is what you do when i’m not home, huh?” grabbing his head of curls, you relish in the whine he lets out as you force him to look at you. “whoring yourself out for the entire internet to see. so don’t stop just because i’m watching.”

ethan bit down on his bottom lip, face red as he looked at you with doe eyes. “y/n,” he whined, eyes glassy and pupils dilated as he started at you. “you’re so mean,” he whimpered, cock twitching as you tilted your head in faux confusion, clicking your tongue.

“don’t you want me to be mean?” your tone changes a bit, melting into sincerity and genuine worry as you look down at ethan, making sure that it’s truly what he wants, that he’s wanted this as much as you have.

and when he nods, face flushing red, your eyes turn cold again.

“good boy.” and with that, you lean down to kiss him, making a delicious moan rip out of his throat as finally, your lips are on his. it’s a mess of tongue and desperation, your lips moving needily over hisas you bend him at an unnatural position. ethan was so compliant, becoming an easy puddle in your hands as he whined into your mouth as his hard cock rubbed against his comforter.

you pull away from him, hungry eyes staring at his pretty red parted lips and his flushed cheeks. “y/n— mommy—“ ethan babbles, already a mess as he stares at you with dilated pupils, eyes glassy with desperate tears.

"crying already?" you couldn't help but tease, caressing his face with one of your hands. ethan leaned into your soft touch, his heart pounding loud in his chest. but that moment of softness lasted briefly; with a sadistic smile on your face, you used your free hand to shove ethan by his shoulder, forcing him fully onto the plastic cock.

his mouth dropped open in a beautiful 'o' as he felt the 10 inch dildo fill him up again, his legs shaking as he struggled to keep himself up. poor baby was so needy, the fact that you fell so easily into the dominant role making him so hard that it hurt.

“if i knew you were such a slut, ethan,” you said, pulling him off of the dildo completely, leaving him empty and gaping, “i would’ve fucked you ages ago.”

ethan whimpered at that, unable to form any coherent sentence as you practically manhandled him to turn around, making it so that he was on his hands and knees with his ass towards you. pulling the dildo off of your headboard with a small pop, you hummed, forcing ethan’s ass back further.

he was so sinful, so compliant to your movements as you practically manhandled him into the position you wanted him in. “mommy, mommy please,” ethan babbled, anticipation making his body tingle as he wiggled his ass, trying to tempt you, “i’m so empty—“ he was cut off with a yelp as you slapped his ass hard, the pain making him whine for more.

all those days of him going off to the gym surely paid off. you couldn’t keep your eyes off of ethan’s ass as you slapped his other asscheek, making him whimper. “that’s for not telling me,” you growled, before slapping his other cheek, reveling in the whorish moan he let out. “that’s for slutting yourself out to anyone but me.” another slap, and another delicious moan.

spreading ethan open with one hand, revealing his gaping pink hole for you, you slapped his hole, hearing ethan sob at the stimulation. “and that’s because you fucking belong to me, got it?”

“yes— yes, mommy,” ethan cried out, tears already streaming down his pretty face as he struggled to keep himself together. he was so horny, so needy, so deep in his head space and you were only helping him. “y/n, i need you, please, i’m sorry, momma, i need you,” he whined out, his words slurring together as he sniffled.

you clicked your tongue, feigning boredom as you rubbed ethan’s rim teasingly, making him push his ass back further towards you. your other hand came to push his lower down, forcing him to arch his muscular back in such a lewd way. but ethan was basically putty in your hands, willing and compliant, and he arched his back so prettily for you.

“what do you need me to do, e?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you sank two fingers into him. ethan took it so easily, his breathing coming out in a low moan as he felt himself filled up.

and maybe it was because he was a bit of a size queen, but ethan wanted more.

“need you t’fuck me, mommy,” ethan said obediently, sniffling as he looked back at you from his position. his pretty face was tear streaked, and his doe eyes were shiny with tears as he cried for you. “i’ve been so good, please,” he begged shamelessly, his lip quivering. ethan’s mind was focused solely on you, how pretty you were, how your touch felt, how your fingers felt inside of him.

he had wanted you for so long. and now he had you.

you pulled your fingers out of his pretty pink hole, spitting over it, making ethan whimper. but before he could even keep thinking about you, you grabbed his thick dildo and slapped its fat head teasingly against his hole, making wet plap plap sounds. “so loose, baby,” you murmured in wonder, sliding the expanse of the cock against his hole. and just like the slut he was, ethan reached two hands behind him and spread his ass apart, cheeks burning red and cock hard from the exposure.

a wicked grin crawled onto your face as ethan whined pathetically, his babbles of “please” and “mommy i’m sorry” fueling your sadistic desire to make him beg.

too bad you were impatient.

you slid the dildo completely inside of him, making ethan’s eyes roll back as he was filled up completely again. “oh fuck—“ ethan cried out as you began moving the dildo in and out of him at a brutal pace, making him moan out in pleasure, his hands still spreading his ass apart for you.

“you’re such a dirty slut,” you murmured, kissing down ethan’s arched back and making him keen. “i bet you’re always so desperate for pleasure, huh? always want to have a pussy to fuck or a dick to suck,” you teased, making ethan grip the comforter hard as he cried out.

“i’m— i’m a dirty slut,” ethan sobbed, his cock grinding against the sheets as you fucked him at such a brutal pace. he felt drool slipping from his mouth, his mouth making such salacious noises that he had no control over. you had practically broken him at this point, his mind solely focused on you and how full he felt as the thick dildo pumped in and out of his ass.

“yeah you are. you just love being a whore for everyone, huh?” you laughed cruelly, watching as ethan pushed his hips back to meet your movements.

“ah, ah, ah, ah!” ethan moaned repeatedly, tongue lolling out and back arching even more as he felt you hit his prostate over and over. he could’ve cum right then and there, but ethan took pride in being a good boy for you. “mommy— mommy, can i cum?” he asked frantically, feeling the dildo pump in and out of him faster. precum stained his sheets as ethan’s thick cock bobbed with every push into him.

“i don’t know if needy sluts deserve to cum,” you tsked, a smirk growing on your face when you heard ethan practically sob at your denial.

he buried his face into his pillows as you dragged the dildo out until only its fat tip was inside, until you shoved it all into him at once. the moan ethan let out echoed in the room, his tears staining his pillows as he begged for you. “please, please, please,” ethan whimpered out like a mantra, looking back at you with teary hazel eyes. “mommy, please—!”

“cum for mommy, ethan,” you murmured, kissing down ethan’s back once again.

“oh fuck— oh fuck, i’m cumming, i’m cumming—!” ethan whined out, his voice becoming breathy and high pitched as he came over his sheets, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head at the power of his orgasm. you pumped the thick dildo in and out of him through his orgasm, murmuring praise as ethan’s body finally went limp.

you peppered kisses all along ethan’s back, ready to pull the dildo out of ethan before he stopped you, his hand grabbing your free hand. “keep it in,” he murmured, pupils blown wide as he looked at you with a red tear stained face.

“i wanna keep it inside while you ride my face.”

[incorrectbatfam]

dickie and jason headcanons pretty please

Everyone thinks Tim and Damian are a nightmare to have in a room together, but it's actually Dick and Jason. Tim and Damian still need to work through a thing or two and subconsciously pull their punches because of that, but Dick and Jason have no such thing. They've been siblings the longest and at this point it's an undisputed fact that they love each other, so there's zero limit to them being absolute menaces

They've been in a Toy Blast standoff since last year. Dick keeps speedrunning the levels and Jason keeps deleting the app from Dick's phone until he catches up

The bathroom switch in the Bludhaven apartment is outside the bathroom. Barbara kept telling Dick to get it changed and he kept procrastinating, so when Jason broke in and turned the lights off in the middle of Dick's shower, all Babs said from the other room was "Told you so"

Jason: "Alfred, tell Dick to quit breathing over my shoulder"

Dick: "Tell Jason to quit blocking the screen with his big helmet"

Alfred: "Sort it out yourselves, this is not in my job description"

Dick wrestled Jason for an Oreo but also gave him the comfier sleeping bag in the span of five minutes while they were on a stakeout

Jason is absolutely the sibling that chases Dick around the house with a knife for fun when Bruce and Alfred aren't around

Dick: "Get out of my room"

Jason, lurking outside the windowsill: "I'm not in your room"

Dick's outfits aren't truly considered nice until they pass the Jason Test, which is getting a "meh" instead of "you look like you were drawn by a fourth grader"

To brag that he got the last slice of pizza, Jason slapped it across Dick's face

The most accurate ruler in the world is the one they use to split the last candy bar (but Dick secretly lets Jason have an extra millimeter)

And the most accurate measuring cup is the one they divide the last of the apple juice with (though Jason generously gives Dick a few drops more)

The tension is palpable—even the Subway guy cutting their sandwich can feel it

Alfred sends them out to do yard work and they start sword-fighting with increasingly bigger sticks until Dick grabs a rake and Jason whips out the All-Blades

Jason: "I was here first!"

Dick: "I was born first!"

Jason: "I was adopted first!"

Dick has two Instagram accounts—Dick Grayson and Nightwing. Jason has three—Jason Todd, Red Hood, and the verified Nightwing

When the Cave is colder than usual, Jason brings Dick his favorite peppermint hot chocolate but always takes the first sip

Together they stole the bat-plane, flew to Lebanon for food, received a hefty fine after nearly colliding with a fighter jet, got a huge scratch on the side, paid someone under the table to fix it, and put it back where they found it in the span of Bruce debriefing the Justice League

Dick will go through Jason's leftovers, pick out what he likes, and leave the rest. Later he'll hear Jason walk out of the kitchen shouting "Who the FUCK took the shrimp out of my shrimp fried rice?!"

When they were kids Jason's bedtime was half an hour later than Dick's. Dick still has beef with Bruce about that

Dick is Player 1. Jason is Player 6 because the first time they played he grabbed a random controller from a box of dozen

Jason: "Help me bury this body"

Dick: "Sure"

Jason: "Also I need to delete all record of this guy's existence"

Dick: "Will do"

Jason: "And can you get me a drink?"

Dick: "Get it yourself"

When he first arrived, Jason was resistant to the idea of having an older sibling until he realized he has Younger Brother Privilege

Dick hides the remote with a sword swallowing trick and Jason hates it

They use texts for personal conversations, WhatsApp for vigilante business, and Snapchat for unhinged memery. It's like talking to 3 separate people

They also have their own text abbrevation: DTB (Don't tell Bruce)

They don't apologize, they just sulk in their rooms for a couple hours until Alfred calls them down for dinner and they forget all about it

Goon: "Who's that blue fella? Youse was fightin' real loud"

Jason: "Nightwing. He just pisses me off sometimes"

Goon: "I can take care of him"

Jason, lighting a cigarette: "Go ahead, I'll be here when you get your ass handed to you"

[supernovafics]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k words

warnings: explicit language, a lil bit of angst w/ a wholesome ending<3

summary: in which you and steve take a late-night trip to your favorite diner

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

It was four long hours of your life that you’d never get back. But, you were glad that all of the work that you had to force yourself to do all night was finally over. 

It was somehow always in moments like these— where you procrastinated until the last possible second to do something that had been assigned weeks ago— that you sincerely wanted to drop out of college; and you’d barely even been there three months. But you also knew that you definitely could not do that because of your parents. 

So, instead of even pondering that thought too much, you pushed through and forced yourself to start and finish a project for your Psychology class that involved a shit ton of writing and research. It was a project that now made your head pound heavily in your skull from focusing on that one tedious thing for hours upon hours. 

With a loud sigh, you closed the books you had open and then stood up from your desk. A part of you wanted to immediately flop onto your bed and fall asleep, but then there was the other part that wanted to do something else entirely. And then suddenly the thought of the diner that was only ten minutes away and had amazing milkshakes became the only thing on your mind.

You switched out of the wrinkly old t-shirt you had on and put on a different oversized one that was less wrinkled, and then slipped on a pair of sweatpants. Steve was sleeping right then, you were pretty certain of it, but you still wanted to give him the opportunity to partake in this impulsive late-night decision you were making. So, when you exited your room, you headed toward his and walked in. 

You refrained from turning on the light because you didn’t want to startle him awake, and instead simply sat down on the edge of his bed and lightly poked his back before whispering, “Hey.”

He only shifted a little bit and didn’t turn to face you. “Hm?”

“I just finished my stupid fucking midterm project for Psych and I’m going to the diner because I’m in dire need of a strawberry milkshake. You wanna come?” 

“It’s one in the morning,” He mumbled, still barely moving and you weren’t entirely sure how he was actually able to be so accurate with what time it was. 

You took his response as his way of saying no without actually saying it. And honestly, you weren’t too surprised by that answer because it was then that you remembered that his shift at Family Video earlier had been longer, and apparently more annoying, than usual. So, you decided not to try and further convince him to come to the diner with you. 

“Okay, I’ll be back in an hour,” You said as you got up from his bed. “I’ll bring you back onion rings and your own milkshake. You can have it for breakfast when you wake up.”

“I’ll come,” Steve said before you left the room. He finally shifted around and sat up so that he was facing you. “The onion rings will suck in the morning.”

“Very true,” You nodded and then smiled as he got up and found a random hoodie to put on. “I’m sorry for waking you up, but I’m glad you’re joining me on this little adventure.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You drove Steve’s car, because you liked driving it more than your own, and he slept the entire ten-minute ride to the diner formally known as “Third Street.” The name had always been somewhat amusing to you because the small place was actually on a street called Cliffview. 

It was empty aside from one man sitting at the counter with a coffee mug in his hand and a woman occupying a booth, reading a book with a soda and a plate of fries in front of her. You briefly wondered what their stories were, what brought them to a diner at nearly one-thirty in the morning. 

You and Steve took your usual seats at the booth that you always sat at, and even though Robin and Eddie weren’t there at that moment, you two still decided to sit on the same side of the booth; it felt like second nature to do so. There was probably never a moment where you and Steve didn’t sit on the same side of any booth.

Since there was barely anyone in the diner right then, your orders were quickly taken by your waitress Cheryl, and they came out much faster too— a strawberry milkshake for you, a vanilla one for Steve, and a plate of onion rings for you two to share. 

You took a long sip of your drink and internally sighed in contentment because somehow that milkshake made all the work you’d done and the fact that you were keeping yourself awake to come here even though you were exhausted completely worth it. 

The two of you ate and drank your milkshakes in comfortable silence for a little while before Steve scooched down a bit in the seat and leaned his head on your shoulder.

“I actually am really sorry for waking you up,” You told him. “I forgot how long your shift was today, and I know you’re so fucking tired right now.” 

“The onion rings and milkshake make it okay,” He mumbled, and you couldn’t see him, but you had the strongest feeling that his eyes were closed. “Tell me about your project.”

You reached for your drink, taking a sip from it before responding. “Hearing about that will definitely put you to sleep.”

Steve hummed. “Maybe I wanna hear a bedtime story.”

You laughed a bit. “Okay, well in that case, definitely not because I don’t wanna get dirty looks from the other people in here when you start loudly snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“Mhm, yeah, of course, you don’t,” You said, the sarcasm completely evident in your tone, and he poked your side which made you laugh again.

You placed your hands in the pocket of the hoodie he was wearing because they were cold from you holding your glass. “Okay, this has nothing to do with that dumb project… But, um, how mad do you think my parents would be if I dropped out of school?”

Steve’s answer came immediately. “They would blame me somehow and kill me.”

“That would quite literally never happen,” You said with a shake of your head. “My parents love you too much to be mad at you for longer than even an hour.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe that’s true. So, instead, they’d actually kill you, and then that would suck more for me than you because I’d have to live without you.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” You said with a small laugh before grabbing an onion ring.

“But, anyway, you’re not quitting school, so this hypothetical situation doesn’t matter,” Steve told you and then lifted his head off of your shoulder so that he could take a quick sip of his milkshake. “You were barely able to convince them that you didn’t want to go to the University of Chicago. I think they’re still somewhat in mourning over that.” 

Probably from the moment you became old enough to even think about college, your parents were pushing the idea of the University of Chicago onto you. Both of them had gone so it felt like the obvious choice for you to “follow in their footsteps;” well, the obvious choice mainly in their eyes. And for a while, you were okay with going in that direction because it felt like an easy option, and you were way too fucking smart not to get in, and when January rolled around you found out that you did. 

But then the thought of leaving Indiana, leaving your friends, leaving Steve, became something that no longer felt “okay” to you. And then there was the fact that you were still completely unsure what you even wanted to do, so it felt dumb to you to go to a school that was really good and really expensive without a solid “plan” for your future.

However, your parents were way too persistent and strong-willed to let you give it up that easily. So the compromise that was ultimately settled upon was that you’d do the two years of community college here at the one close by and then you’d transfer to the University of Chicago and finish your last two years there.

At first, the thought of that felt fine to you, but now it felt like something that you weren’t sure if you actually wanted to do anymore, even though it was still basically two years away. 

“Sometimes it just feels like a waste of time,” You said with a small sigh. “I still haven’t found that thing yet. My thing. What I wanna do.”

“You’ll find it.”

“Maybe it would be a good thing if I did quit, though. I could work at Family Video with you and Robin. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Yeah, it would be,” Steve nodded. “But, you don’t really wanna do that.”

You started picking at the now half-eaten plate of onion rings that sat between you two. “Technically, that’s true. But, that’s only because I don’t know what I wanna do at all.” 

“I think you just gotta give it some time. You’re way too smart not to be in college right now. One day you’ll walk into some class and it will all just suddenly click into place for you,” He told you, and he sounded so certain and sure. 

Somehow his encouraging words always managed to placate your thoughts; the type of existential thoughts that would usually only happen in the middle of the night. And you were glad that you had Steve to pull you back up before you spiraled harder. 

You let his words sit for a second before you slipped out of the booth and went over to the counter, smiling at Cheryl as you paid the bill. When you went back, settling in your spot next to Steve, he slung an arm around your shoulders. 

“If you did actually quit school, I’d fully take the blame and let your parents kill me,” He told you.  

You knew that you weren’t going to do it; you’d never be able to muster up the courage to pull the trigger. Therefore, you would instead just continue to live in this awkward phase that felt weird at times and hope that it would eventually work itself out. 

However, it was still nice to hear Steve’s words right then. 

“Thank you,” You responded, smiling at him and then mimicking his words from earlier. “But if you did that, then I would be the one suffering more because I’d have to live without you.”

He nodded thoughtfully at that. “Okay, new plan then. We just let them murder both of us.”

You laughed a bit as you pushed yourself even closer to him, putting your hands into his hoodie pocket once again. “Deal.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[heartshapedbubble]

Hello there, can i request an Norton Campbell x fem reader scenario: Where she comforts him after he wakes up from a nightmare?

delivered (after too long, my apologies) 🫡 i also adore how norton became the poster boy of idv as of fg's release

norton campbell; comforting him after a nightmare🧲

cut for length! 🫧

~

it's three in the morning.

and you're still by your desk.

procrastination inevitably turned back on you after a long afternoon of dozing off, and so your eyes were glued onto the remaining paperwork which was due tomorrow. ten minutes have passed, then twenty, then thirty, then an hour, but the papers still laid blank in front of you. just lifting up the ink pen took serious effort and whatever you wanted to write seemed not good enough and sloppy. the workspace was flashing through your half-lidded eyes and you were beginning to question the possibility of submitting your work in time.

right now, you'd give anything to be in your boyfriend's shoes. he came back from a match sometime during the evening, took a warm everything shower and went to bed by the following hour. he hogged up all the pillows and both the duvets, only a few unruly strands of his hair peeking between the covers. not only was he taking up the whole bed, he was also turning around constantly, interrupting the few moments of concentration you found during these ungodly hours. you inhaled sharply and, just for a second, contemplated throwing your toiletry bag at him.

just as you turned around, you heard him start to groan. you hissed under your breath, both annoyed and worried. it's not uncommon for him to roll around while asleep - you sometimes woke up with small, random bruises from his elbowing - but he wasn't the type to sleepwalk or talk. wearily, you approached him, in hopes of calming him down so you can get back to work.

it wasn't too hot inside the room, but he was sweating profusely and breathing heavily, as if he was trying to breathe in as much air as possible at once. you reached for his back under the covers - his shirt was soaked. you opened the window and pulled back the duvet to help him cool down, but to no avail. he scrunched his nose, furrowed his eyebrows and yanked it back while half-asleep. you sighed again. this is going to take more than it should, you thought.

seeing him like that - restless and out of breath - did make you feel bad about him, though. perhaps comforting him would help him calm down. you ran your fingers through his hair, pulled back the few wet strands sticking to his face, but it was a proper workout. you couldn't keep up with the way his body jerked and how quickly he flipped over again and again. you were starting to get paranoid - these turns started to look more like spasms. already panicking, you grabbed his arm and started to shake him.

it didn't take long for him to wake up. he quickly sat up, as if he was struck by lightning, and took a few moments to start breathing normally again. his eyes were foggy and unfocused, and only a bit later did he turn towards you, not looking at you directly.

"nort, are you okay?" you asked him, relieved but still worried for him. he was in such a stupified state that you didn't actually expect him to answer, you just threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you.

"mmfh. i'm okay. just a night terror or something like that." he replied quietly and threw himself back onto the bed. he was lying flat on his back, arms spread like an eagle, staring right at the ceiling. you laid next to him, wiping the remaining sweat with a paper tissue. "are you sure? want me to bring you a glass of water?" you asked him, still a bit surprised by how quickly he got over whatever was disturbing him a minute ago. "i'm good, thank you." he said and turned on his side, now face to face with you. "it was the mine again. y'know already, i told you a few times about it. me and some other guys from the area, explosives, pickaxes, piles of rocks and stuff like that", he spoke, drawing circles with his finger on your stomach, "i could almost feel the stench of the TNT. how disgusting that was! each time i dream of it, it becomes more vivid. i almost thought it was for real tonight."

"you have these kinds of nightmares quite often, nort. i'm actually suprised you get any sleep." you mumbled, concerned.

"they do shake me up. back then, when the memory was still fresh, i'd cry every time. they were persistent, and it seemed like what i saw there would haunt me every night without mistake. but... i'd say they subdued once i moved in with you, ___." he scrunched his lips into a half-grin, boyish and a little insecure. you knew he was quite awkward with stuff like this, being a little vulnerable and showing spine in ways other than being rough and untouchable. you smiled at him instead of responding and pulled him up onto yourself, gently stroking his back. you knew he didn't like drawing out conversations like these - he dumps whatever has been bothering him for a while and that's it. pushing him to open up a bit more will just result in the opposite.

"you should go back to sleep again. i think you've had enough stress for tonight."

"don't you have work to do?"

"it can wait. i'll cram whatever's left in the morning. it's healthier than pulling an all-nighter."

he squirmed in your arms, placing a chaste kiss on your neck.

"thank you, ___." he whispered after a few moments. your beloved's head buried in your chest, his entire weight pressing on your upper body. you embraced the ever-present warmth of his and quickly fell asleep against him. the window remained open, and the cold breeze blew at you two. with intertwined limbs and hearts now at peace, you fell to slumber - a much needed repose for both.

it was a tiring night.

[thatbitchery]

BTW I tell y'all I have severe ADHD once every ten seconds because i want you to know I'm a low performer. I procrastinate on important matters for months and sometimes, most times really, it costs me opportunities and relationships and peace of mind because I'll know I'm supposed to do X but have no willpower whatever to do X. I want you ladies to know that's sometimes I hyperfixate on things with no importance whatsoever and that takes away my energy from things that are important. Hell, just last week I spent 8 hours on my laptop reading on bears and watching beat videos when I had work to do. That I have time blindness and sometimes am extremely late or extremely early or just get days mixed up and do Thursday things on Wednesday because I thought it's Thursday or forget it's Friday and not do Friday things and it costs me, dearly. Expensively. That I am inconsistent as they come and even a machine gun to my head can't get me to do something that my brain rejects. That sometimes I cry for hours because I feel pathetic and sad and too small with dreams too big. That somedays I wake up with the energy of a thousand Suns and start 58868 projects, create a brand new goals list for things I'll do in my life and go strong for three days then just- dump it after the energy falls. Then hate the hell out of myself because what the hell. That everytime I want to pick a new hobby or buy something or make a decision I hesitate because , do I really want this or is it dopamine and I'll dump it after 6 working days, because I have too many WIPs that Im yet to complete but can't bring myself to. That I need 168979 watches with alarms and a digital to do list and a manual to do list and sometimes I'll still get nothing done. That I try, so hard, and sometimes, just can't. And everyone that's supposed to help has the same recycled tips that just will not work for me. That I had medication for a while that worked but my body got used to it and overpowered it, so now even the option for medication is out of the picture - so I have to live like this for the rest of my life. That sometimes I run purely on ego because my self esteem is on the floor. That everytime I get a new opportunity I panic a little because what if I give up midpoint and ruin my reputation?? What if? That I self isolate because when I have too much energy I can't sit still and I interrupt everyone and need to run or I'll combust. That I self isolate because I have low social awareness and could easily say the wrong thing at the wrong time. Because I'm not normal and that feels shameful sometimes. That even CBT hasn't been able to set me straight, but I worked so hard to make money for therapy and medication and it's not working so I've also lost my will to work because what is it even for?????

I could Grammarly and AI my posts and have them professional looking but I want the ADHD girls with a brain faster than their hands to know it's okay to leave some words out because your brain is 6 words ahead of your hand and you're trying to keep up. I want the dyslexia girlies to know you can still write even when you're not sure if that thing makes sense, the people that mind do not matter and the people that matter do not mind. Because I want the 'english is not my first language' girls like me that struggle with adverbs and nouns and tenses and spelling to know hey it's okay, just write. You want to write, write. Do it for you. Forget the rest. I could polish all my posts, I do it for my work and official documents but if I do what will the girlies that need to know they're not stupid, English is just a language and spellings don't matter that much and you can communicate outside perfection see to reinforce their desire?? What will the autistics that want to try blogging but feel scared because they can't arrange their thoughts in a comprehensive manner and get lost in side stories sometimes look at and go oh my god- we exist and it's okay because we can still influence.

I tell you ladies every three seconds that I am a dark skinned black 5'4 slim immigrant in a white supremacist country because I want the girls that fit neither the beauty standards or the stereotypical standards to know they can chase their dreams and it doesn't matter. So the girlies of color that watch news and movies and social media and see people that look like them being murdered and disrespected and read the comments to know yeah, you can still do it, get on that plane. If I don't what will the girls that know for a fact that was unfair treatment look at when they need to know they can still rise above and make it??? If I dont tell you that actually I'm not where I am because I'm the hardest working in the room- I'm actually hella lazy- I'm where I am because I manipulate cheat claw gaslight blackmail my way how will the girls that work hard and still not achieve know that it's not because them it's because the world is unfair and you win by being unfair. I could play good girl , I could, I could tell you just work hard and go for it but then what will the girls that did all that and still failed look at to make sense of the world around them? Justify how things got here when they did everything they were supposed to? I say be a bitch so the girls that are demonized for not taking it lying down can be bitchier. I say learn the patriarchy and fit the beauty standards as much as you can and cosplay what's likeable not to conform but to cosplay and manipulate so that the girls that know it's wrong realize that you should just play them the way they play you - that's real feminism. That's real equality, learning the game to learn how to cheat and win because you were born to lose, the rules aren't made with you in mind so why would you stick to them, and fighting them is futile, you'll lose. I say being feared >> than being loved for the girls that got manipulated used trashed in the name of love. I tell you people are animals that survive by low balling each other so you can make a little sense of your trauma and forgive yourself for what you had to become to survive.

This blog is for the outsiders, actually. The girls that do not see content made that make sense for them, the girls that are born into a world that has no space for them and couldn't fit in if they tried because it's impossible. I'm here as proof you can make it. Autistic dyslexic ADHD black female , ticking all the wrong boxes and still making it. That's why I'm here, to show you how. To show you, you can. It's okay, you're okay. In fact, you're- better.

[lunalockley]

The Limo Driver (part two)

Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT. Like, a lot. Can Jake on his knees count as a warning?

Summary: It's night, it's raining and reader just wants to sleep, until she doesn't anymore.

Words: 7700+

Notes: Sooooo, I'm sorry, it took me a little longer than planned but here it is, I really hope you like it. And thank you all so much for your comments, always brighten my day.

Specially dedicated to my dearest moon emoji anon who made me feel really good about this one <3

Masterlist

gif credit

So… you��ve been thinking about it. Well, you can’t stop. Of course you can’t. He kissed you once and you spent six months half in lov—Ok, no. Wait, what? No. Half hooked up on him you mean. Three-quarters stupid. Completely insane. But not half in that. No.

Uh, whatever. It’s only been a day, a couple of hours. It’s way too recent. So it’s normal for your mind to keep on spinning the matter. And the eyes, and the voice, and the fingers. It’s driving you crazy, to be honest. The feel of them on your throat, on your hips, on your mouth… inside of you. You barely slept last night, your mind keeps taking you back through every fucking second of it without even trying. And then you can almost hear his voice calling you preciosa in that way he does and everything starts to heat up. That good, nice heat that’s so easy to get lost on.

But there’s also the bad one. The focalized heat that sets upon your chest like a weight is pressing down on you, making breathing a little bit harder. That’s the one you felt when you walked out last night. And you’ve been feeling it every time you think about what you said, and what he didn’t. That’s the part you’re trying to avoid. Yet it comes to mind anyways. It’s pretty fucking unfair.

And it’s pretty fucking ridiculous too because how come that after all that has happened, all the time you two have shared, all the things he has done you still can’t… figure him out? It doesn’t make any sense. How does someone that’s so incredibly hermetic make you feel you can read him just by looking him in the eyes when you actually don’t know anything about him at all? Does he do it on purpose? Is it a calculated move or is he somehow unable to—

—And you’re doing it again. Thinking about it non-stop. You called in sick needing a night away from the restaurant, from Jake’s stupid chair and that stupid bathroom that has been giving you palpitations just by the thought of going in and this is how you spend it. You had planned to cook a nice dinner, watch a movie, water your barely-alive plants, do a beginner's yoga class on Youtube, and maybe even finish reading that book that has been dusting on your nightstand. But no, here you are. Already in pajamas, all you’ve done (besides eating yesterday’s leftovers) is sit on the couch contemplating how time passes with the rain and Viejita’s soft meowing in the background. Is procrastination the root of all your problems? Maybe it is.

Or maybe it’s just time to get up and do what you do best: sleep. Give your body the rest your mind refuses to get. You impulse yourself out of the couch to go and take Viejita with you. Cuddling with her makes it all better. No more stupid Jake thinking. You let your ear guide you, she’s right next to the window. She had never complained about the rain before and as she feels you getting closer she even starts scratching the glass.

“Hey, baby, It’s just a little rain,” you mutter, petting her and trying to calm her down until you rest your eyes on what she is staring at down the street.

What the f—He can’t just—There’s no fucking way.

You’re not sure. You just live on the third floor but it’s dark outside. The street light barely lights anything at all. And the rain makes it even harder to see. Yet the outline of the limousine is clearly visible, and so is the figure leaning against it. But it can’t be. You’ve always thought Jake is unusual in every little thing he does but this? He wouldn’t be crazy enough to be waiting under the rain without a fucking umbrella and without even ringing the bell to your apartment, just expecting somehow you knew he would be there, right? That would be insane. It must be a weird coincidence. Some other limo driver who's waiting for someone else here… in this neighborhood? Weird, yet not impossible.

But then he looks up straight at your window and your heart jumps inside your chest as you instinctively hurry back into the shadows, where he can’t see you.

Fuck, it is him.

What the fuck? He knows your apartment is on the third floor, you’ve told him. You’ve told him the number. You’ve told him everything, for fuck’s sake. It's not like you want him to come up to your house knocking on the door in the middle of the night but what is he doing? At this point, you’re sure he purposefully finds the way to do the least expected, most incomprehensible thing in every fucking little thing he does. It must be his life’s motto: “No matter what, always find a way to stress the shit out of the people in my life”.

He’s an idiot, there’s no doubt of it. The thing is: are you an idiot? Well, yeah. You just saw him outside your place and your heart is already a beat away from a fucking heart attack. But you should try not to be an idiot anymore. You shouldn't go down. Make it clear you said it’s over for good. He definitely saw you, he would get it, and then… and then he would leave. Forever. Yeah, that’s what you should do.

But… goodbyes are a good thing too, right? 

Closure and all that stuff. Talk things out, even if it sounds unlikely with someone like Jake. You can give it a chance. A… friendly goodbye. Ok, yeah. Sounds good. And it is the right thing in this type of situation, grown-up shit. A goodbye, that’s all.

You take one last look at the street just in case you’ve lost your mind and you’ve imagined the whole thing, but he’s still right there. Arms crossed, leaning against the limo and probably soaking fuking wet.

“Your dad’s an idiot, Viejita,” you say to the little black beast before taking her in your arms to leave her on her favorite cushion on the sofa. She settles down, pleased and exhausted as if she's accomplished a hard job.

You grab your keys next to the mirror at the entrance. 

Just a goodbye.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The bone-chilling air hits you as soon as you step out of the building but seeing him is what makes you stop dead in your tracks for a second. You couldn’t see it up from your floor but he’s wearing his usual type of clothes, not the casual ones that somehow felt so out of place on him yesterday. Now the familiarity of the white shirt, the jacket, and the hat gives you a naive sense of comfort you try to dismiss away. As if this one were more of your Jake than it was yesterday. Stupid, he’s not more of anything and it’s just clothes.

A white shirt, a jacket, and a hat that are drenched, by the way. Which reminds you—

“What the fuck are you doing in the rain? Are you insane?”

Instead of answering he just looks at you and opens the limo’s door. Silently asking you to get in.

Ok, well…. you didn't think this through. You only thought about coming down, not actually getting into his car. But, you guess… there’s no other option. You came here to say your friendly goodbye, after all. Can’t do it in the rain, just like that. And a veil of water drops is already setting in your clothes, you can feel some of the fabric clanging into your body. Another thing you didn’t think through is the worn-out sweatpants you came out with, the old shirt that has somehow become a pajama shirt, and your lack of a bra underneath.

Fuck it.

When you slide into the car you notice how spacious the limousine is yet it surprises you how it does not seem to be room for many people. There are only two rows of red leather seats facing each other. So much space for so few passengers. In order to be more private and luxurious, you guess. It makes you think about the people he drives for. Might he be just as serious and inaccessible as you’ve seen him be with basically everyone else? Or might he show his weird uncharismatic charisma as he has done with you? The latter doesn’t sound so good, for some reason.

You stop nosing around when you feel him sitting next to you a little bit closer than the spacious seat needs. You were right. He's drenched and most likely ruining the luxurious leather of the luxurious car, but he doesn't seem to care as he turns his whole body and attention towards you.

“Is it every day or once every six months with you? No in-betweens?” You blurt out, cornered by the closeness of his body.

Fuck, friendly goodbye. Friendly.

“Sorry. I take that back,” you mumble, thinking your next words before you pronounce them this time. “Why didn’t you ring the bell to my apartment?”

“It’s late. I saw the lights on but thought you might have fallen asleep. Didn’t want to disturb you. You work too much, preciosa,” he answers calmly, his voice softer than you ever heard before. Not in a submissive way but in a disarmingly appeasing tone as if he had come here disarmed, without any shields. Exactly the opposite of how you feel right now. You move back in the seat trying to get as far as you can get in the restricted space. Soft raspy melting voices shouldn’t cause claustrophobia.

“And if I had been sleeping what would you have done? Wait till I wake up tomorrow?” You throw it out half as a joke, but immediately you realize—

He doesn’t even have to answer to know that’s the truth. He had come here to see you and wouldn’t have left until he did.

“Do you always get what you want? Is that how things work for you?”

“If things worked out for me this wouldn’t be the first time I see you outside work,” he says replies, lifting his hat and running a hand through his hair. And to your disbelief, he puts it back with a sigh like he didn't even realize the damn thing is soaking fucking wet just like the rest of his clothes are. He should take it all off before he catches a cold. Ha, go on. Keep thinking of him without his clothes on. Good idea. “Speaking of which, you know what am I thinking?”

“Are you kidding me?” You snort, turning towards him, as shocked by your train of thought as by the audacity of his question. “I never know what you’re thinking,” you whisper, taken aback by the fact that he still doesn’t understand how little you understand him. At all. That’s the whole point here.

“That’s weird, I’ve always felt you can see right through me,” he mutters, frowning at you as if you had any fault in that absurd idea. Stupid Jake. His voice sounds sincere but you chose not to even give it a second thought, can’t allow yourself that right now. Not with the purpose you came here for.

So you cross your arms and frown back at him, refusing to answer anything at all. But he mirrors you, crossing his arms and resting his back against the seat.

God, this is so stupid. You’re so mad at him but can’t help smiling when the stare competition last a little too long. It’s infuriating. And so ridiculous. You came here to say goodbye, why are you smiling? 

“What are you thinking?” You ask, defeated.

A crooked smile forms on his lips in victory, but he quickly brushes away with his thumb.

“I’m thinking you look pretty fucking good here like this,” he says taking a look at your body, his eyes somehow soft and dark on equal parts. You try to ignore the effect his tone produces under your skin.

“In pajamas on your limousine?”

“Yeah, it’s a sight,” he breathes lowly, uncrossing his arms and getting a little bit closer. You can’t take it.

“Stop—don't do that, please.”

He waits for you to continue.

“That thing you do,” you explain reluctantly. “You make it sound like you’re joking but it feels like you are telling the truth. It’s confusing. Tell me what you are really thinking for once.”

“I’m telling you in every way I know.”

The words are out of his mouth like a caress and the way he’s—No, no, no. Focus. He’s flirting his way out. Get to the point. 

“So? Did you come here to say goodbye?”

“Why would I say goodbye?” He retorts like you had asked him the most bizarre question possible.

“Because we are not seeing each other again, I told you it’s over.”

“Oh, it’s over? So what are you doing here?”

“Would you have left if I didn’t come down? I’m saving you from pneumonia. You’re welcome.”

He shakes his head, a reproachful gleam in his eyes but then he exhales and lets it go. He looks out the window for a moment and then back at you. Outside, the rain pounds harder.

“I came to say that I’m… I’m sorry”

“Oh, that’s a first. What for?”

You cross your legs and he follows the movement. Then he shifts in his seat once more, trying to find comfort.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t—That I left without saying anything—I… I just disappeared. I’m sorry. I understand why you’re angry. If it had been you I would’ve—I’m sorry.”

He’s struggling so much one would think this is the first time he apologizes for something in his life. It cracks your walls a little bit, but still—

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just had to go and then I couldn’t come back.”

“How so?”

“I… I’m not able to control my time as I used to, just when is necessary.”

Oh. You weren’t important enough to come and let you know he was going to disappear for six fucking months.

“Yeah I get that, you didn’t need to be here,” you grunt moving to get out of the car but he moves from his seat, catching your hand before you even get to touch the handle. 

“Let me go, you asshole!”

You try to push him back but in half a second he’s resting his knees on the floor as his hands take yours on a soft grip at each side of your hips. He’s caging you between his body and the seat. And even when your body keeps attempting to get out of the car, the intense heat that radiates out of his body makes you wonder how his wet clothes aren’t fucking steaming.

“Wait, wait—hey, wait, stop,” he says soothingly, his voice not a bit altered by the force with which you are trying to push him. His left-hand find that soft spot on the side of your neck, drawing your attention to his dark eyes. You lose a little bit of your strength. “Listen to me. You’re angry, I know. Take it out on me. You’ll feel better.”

What?

Your heartbeat buzzes in your ears and you feel a little lightheaded. This is the first time he’s looking up to you instead of the other way around. Maybe that's what causes that slight desperate effect in his deep brown eyes, the look that the last speaker of an extinguished language would have. Condemned to never truly communicate with anyone else. And the way he looks kneeled in front of you, surrounded, as if he would let you do anything to him right now. Take it out on me, he said. Is he expecting you to hit him or something?

“That’s not how things work, Jake. I’m not gonna turn you into my… human stress relief ball. You just told me you don’t need this. And I wanna make that call too. So, that’s it. You’re an idiot but we’re good. Now move and let me go. It’s ok, it’s over just like I–”

“No, it’s not. Stop that,” he says all frown and serious, and then a little softer.  “And that’s not what I meant. But let me apologize. I wanna make you feel good, baby. Then the rest. Let me have you happy and relaxed first.” 

“What?—That’s n-not—We should talk”

“Oh, so you came here to talk not to say goodbye?”

“Are you serious?”

“Sorry,” he says in an innocent tone like he regrets it but he's actually smiling, the widest smile you've ever seen on him yet. A happy smile. The desperate glimmer turned into triumph. He knows you just gave in, he knows he’s won this one. God, you hate him. Stupid Jake.

“Don’t—” take off my slipper, you try to say. But he’s already taking the other one. You really didn’t think about your outfit at all before walking out of your apartment tonight. Whatever. Focus. “What did you mean then, explain it to me. You gotta give me something here because I don’t want to do this anymore, Jake. Not like this.”

He holds your eyes for a moment and then he leans forward, resting his forehead against your knee. One hand slowly making his way up over your calve, the other rolling up the fabric to expose the skin. It takes him a minute to speak again.

“I… I don’t have control over—I don’t really have a—I just do what needs to be done. That’s the purpose of me. That’s all I do. I prevent things from happening and if they happen I resolve them. I… survive, I guess. And this is how it’s been for as long as I can remember. It’s ok—it was, it was ok. It was until one night instead of going to a shitty bar like I always do I decide for some fucking reason to go into that damn 24/7 breakfast and you happened. I didn’t like it, at first, because I knew right there that it wasn’t going to be enough. I already wanted more. I tried to stop it but I kept going and going. You were always there. Lighting things up. Of course, I kept wanting more. It’s never enough”.

While he was speaking his fingertips were gently caressing your calf, his cheek word by word tracing the side of your leg, seeking the reassurance feeling of skin against skin but as soon as the last sentence is pronounced his mouth starts giving open mouth kisses to every inch of uncovered skin it finds on its way and you’re scared your heart may stop working it all. It’s the feel of his tongue in that sensitive spot in the back of your knee, his left hand slowly exploring the length of your thigh but mostly his words and that impenetrable wall finally beginning to break down.

You weren’t expecting this. You thought he was going to come up with a half-true half-joke excuse that you were going to resist not believing in. And then get the courage to walk away just like you had planned. But this is different. You know this is different. You know he meant it. You know for the way he was so evidently struggling to find the right words, the hoarseness on every one of them as if his body were still trying to keep them locked deep inside. This is him. This is what you’ve been asking for. But still—

“The thing is you’re changing things for me, preciosa. I know I’m not made for this. I’m fucked up, I am. I’m not good. And on top of that, there’s not much I can offer you. I’ve nothing. And I can’t even take care of a damn cat without having it all fall over. I’m not even close to being good enough for you. You deserve better, you do—but I’m still here… if you want me. And even if you don’t, I would still be here, waiting.”

It’s raining properly now, hammering on the roof of the limousine. The furious rhythm of hundreds of drops almost synchronized with the rapid beat of your heart. His thumb hooked over the waistband of your pants, slowly pulling until your hip is exposed. Your breath caught in your throat.

“You deserve better but I’m selfish now. If anything is your fault, you turned me into this. I want you for my own,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss the skin of your lower stomach. You can’t help but gasp at the contact, he’s barely touched you and you already can feel the wetness dripping out of you. “Will you let me have you?”

He’s looking you straight into your eyes now, he hadn’t done it since he started speaking, and you can see how much he just gave you. You’ve learned to know him, somehow. Not in the way one learns to read deciphering signs on a page but in the way our eyes become accustomed to darkness after some time. Groping and stumbling you’ve learned some parts of him, his outline. That’s how you know he’s asking for way more than he’s letting on. You have the feeling that saying yes to him involves a lot more than saying yes to somebody else. The feeling that whatever it is he’s asking from you might consume you and leave you heartbroken afterward. But that’s not the hold-up.

The thing is, you want more, you want to see him in full light. You want him for your own too. But you need to understand him. Fully. You won't give yourself up without having him first. 

“You want me to beg? I’ll beg if you want me to, but then I’ll be the one taking it out on you later,” he threats when you don’t answer for a while, all teasing voice and mischief glimmer, he’s back to the playful Jake you know so well. A little too long of silence and his defenses go up again.

You don’t think he’ll keep spilling truths voluntarily but now that you’ve heard some of them you want more. You’ve become addicted. You need more. But how?

And how are you supposed to think while he keeps playing with the waistband of your pants? Fuck, unless—He just acted on your terms, revealing himself just like you’ve asked him to. Now is your turn. You probably will get immediately caught up on it, but you can try.

You need to play it his way then. 

He sees the change on your face and a spellbound gleam forms in his eyes.

“Show me how it would feel,” you whisper and you don’t need to say it twice.

As soon as the words are out of your mouth the sweatpants are out of your legs. Once he has you only in your t-shirt and your panties he leans back a little bit observing you from head to toe, lingering his eyes on yours, on the contour of your hardened nipples and the wet patch of your panties, as if he wanted to burn the image in his memory, the pervert. Well, you can’t judge, you are the same. Admiring how the white wet shirt clings to his torso, wrapping him like hard candy. You may as well lick him—fuck, focus. Focus.

When he starts to slowly take off your panties you manage to find your voice again.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you undress me on the street.”

“You’re letting me undress you in my car, it’s hot. And its got tinted glasses, and it’s dark outside and you’re with me, bonita,” he answers absently, focused on the delicate movement of the silky material as it slides down your legs. You can't mock him at the implication that you're safe with him though, you know it's true. You’ve felt it from the first day.

Once your panties reach your ankles he carefully removes them to put them in the pocket of his pants. Again, pervert. You ignore the need to clench your thighs together at the gesture and decide to tease him about it. He deserves it. And it’s what has worked the best so far. Pushing his buttons it’s what had you moaning in the fucking bathroom of your workplace anyways.

“To remember me?” You ask as innocently as you can.

But he’s done with it. He pins you with his gaze, raising a thick eyebrow at you.

“Why would I need reminding, exactly?”

“Because this is the last time.”

“What did I just say? Stop that. Don’t make me say it again. You know it’s not enough, preciosa. You know it.” His lips back to your legs, his voice still annoyed but so soft you don’t think you hear right: “Will never be.”

For the sake of your own heart, you rather believe you misheard.

He opens your legs a little bit further and then—

“Fuck, baby.” He sounds so wrecked, you feel weak. You were supposed to do something, what was it? “Voy a despertar soñándote por el resto de mi puta vida.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t understand. And tell me… tell me more about yourself first, please.”

“There’s not much to tell. And I’d like to do something else with my tongue right now.”

“What’s your favorite movie?”

“I mean, if I could record this right n—”

“Jake.”

“Whichever you’d like to watch with me, bonita.”

“You drive for a living?”

“That’s how I earn some money, yeah. Stop torturing me.”

“But you’re not just a driver, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

“And is that…dangerous?”

“Not to you. I promise”

“Are you in danger?”

“I’m in danger of dying as a thirsty man here.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Lockley. Come on, baby, don't make me go crazier than I already am.”

“Lockley… Jake Lockley.” That catches his attention back to your mouth for a second. “What’s your favorite hobby?”

“This,” he says sliding you effortlessly to the edge of the seat. You feel his breath near your core and you know you’re losing it. Shit, why were you doing this? Why are you delaying it when you want it so badly? Oh, right, you—

“Jake, wait,” you breathe. “I need more. I need to understand.”

“Then pay attention, preciosa.”

His mouth finds your inner thigh and he’s so close. So close. You won’t hold back anymore. You can’t. Your hand finds his shoulder just to hold onto something but fuck. He’s still in his wet clothes. He can’t stay like this. You gather the little willpower you have left to push him back. You expect some sort of resistance but he moves back with no effort on your part. Take it out on me, is this what he meant?

The way he raises his gaze is enough to set your blood on fire. He looks at you as if he’s about to say fuck it all and push you back to have his way with you mixed with genuine curiosity about what are you going to do next. Submission hanging by a thread.

“Take off your jacket.”

He holds your gaze for a moment and then he does it. Fuck, the power trip you're feeling right now. It feels pretty fucking good having him listening to you like that. More.

“Now your shirt.”

He sighs and begins to unbutton it, somehow amused by how much you're pushing it. Did he just unblock a new kink for you?

Once the shirt is discarded somewhere on the floor of the limo you lean forward to take off his hat. Is soaking wet just like his hair is underneath. And of course, you can’t resist. You take a moment to run a hand through his curls all the way down to his nape until your hand is resting on his shoulder again. He looks so fucking hot like this. You bite the urge to confess it, instead, you lean back and open your legs a little further, an invitation.

“You can go on, now.”

The little smile he’s trying to bite back makes your stomach flutter. You decide to tease him a little bit more.

“I mean, if you don’t want to…” you concede, beginning to close your legs but you barely get to move an inch before he dives right in and—

Fucking heaven.

You loudly gasp at the feeling of the wet heat of his mouth dragging over the folds of your pussy, his groan sending shivers from your core through your whole body. Fuck, it’s too good. It’s too good. When his tongue swirls around your clit your brain short-circuits having at the same the time the urge to push him away and push him impossibly closer. As your hand finds his curls you realize your body has chosen the latter. The movement pleases him, you can feel his smile against you.

“So fucking good,” he mutters, barely pulling back as you feel the movement of his lips with each word. Your hips move forward anyway, chasing the delicious contact.

Fuck, you’re already on the edge. His mouth is giving you everything without holding anything back. Fixed on wreck you from the beginning, desire running through your abdomen.

“Oh, fuck. Jake, I–I’m gonna—”

“Eyes on me, preciosa.” Is all he says but your mind is gone, every cell in your body focused on the sweet hot pleasure that’s rushing to you core. Your head falls back against the seat as the shocks of ecstasy flow through you, your whines chanting his name, your hand holding thigh to his hair, your cunt clenching hard around nothing—his mouth not leaving you for a second, drowning in you.

When your legs twtich a little too much one hand holds your hips down hard into the seat to ensure you keep still but he’s not stopping, he’s—

He’s—

Two long, thick fingers slid in and out of you as Jake’s mouth goes up, focusing on your swollen clit, licking and sucking and his eyes—

Fuck, you can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

His gaze is so deep and strong, melting your fucking bones. You’ve never been seen like that, never.

“Keep your eyes on me or I’ll keep going until you let me see.”

You can’t help but clench at his words, a whine escaping your lips. He feels it.

“Mmm, would you like that?”

It’s too much, too intense. The free fall never stops inside of you. And you can’t even move away from it. You just have to take it the way he wants to.

His tongue swirls, his fingers curl and you completely lose yourself in the pleasure ripping you from the inside. Your sense of gravity changes to where his wet hot mouth keeps taking everything you have to give. His fierce brown eyes the only thing keeping you grounded.

“That’s it. Look at you, so fucking pretty baby,” Jake says in that dark rich voice you love so much, and though he keeps praising you you’re too gone to even hear anymore. All you can do is lay back against the seat of his limo until your heart stops booming in your ears and air reintegrates into your lungs again.

When feeling comes back to your numb body you find one of his hands massaging the back of your neck, the other moving from your collarbone towards that spot that keeps beating strong under his touch. He keeps his warm palm right there in your heart and fuck, he’s still kneeling in front of you, looking at you with Am I forgiven eyes and you know this is not healthy, this is not how things should be, yet all you want to do is to close your own eyes because you know they’re answering him yes, yes you are. Instead, you lower your head to brush your lips into his, an invitation that makes his body go so pliant on you when you grab him and take him up with you, maneuvering him until you’re on his lap and you can finally kiss him like you’ve wanted since the moment you met him.

That first kiss six months ago was tentative and stiff, it felt like he was trying to stop himself but his body wouldn’t respond to his rational wishes, like his mouth was moving against all his fucking will. Yesterday’s kisses were dark and possessive, every movement of his tongue deliberately planned to have you whining at his mercy.

This one is completely different. This time it’s you who’s leading the way. This time it’s you who’s showing him that the despair that’s so evident in the glimmer of his eyes is the same that’s hidden deep down in your chest. And you know, you know, that the moan that sips out of him when you cradle each side of his face and your tongue clashes into his is because he understands what your body is saying to him. He knows.

And it may be minutes or hours, all you’re conscious of is the constant pattering of the rain against the roof of the car, your own taste in his mouth, the way he pushes you closer every time you bite his lower lip, his fingers under your t-shirt caressing the small of your back, tracing your ribs and digging in your hips, the warmth of his skin, the hard muscle underneath, his damp curls when you run your nails through his head, those dark sounds that come out of his throat when you rock against the bulge inside his pants, the slow, steady bone-melting rhythm that completely intoxicates you until you need more, more, more.

And you know he does too.

He takes off your shirt in one swift motion. You feel something icy at the center of your collarbone but you don’t even have time to process it because suddenly your breast is in his hot wet mouth and his teeth are gently nipping the flesh there and then his tongue swirls against your nipple and—

You need—you’re overwhelmed by the need to have him as delirious as he has you right now.

You push him back into the seat and he’s immediately calling you preciosa and complaining but you are already kissing him, shutting him up, and undoing the zipper of his pants. He growls in your mouth when you palm the outline of his cock over his underwear, your walls clench hard in anticipation. And then he shivers when you slowly run your nails throughout his length over the fabric and you know you’re fucked. You will crave this feeling for the rest of your life.  The feeling of having Jake Lockley trembling with pleasure underneath you. An instant addiction.

You take his hard cock out and you and you don't even give him time to pull his pants out or take them off before you’re rubbing your slit against his length. Utterly and unashamedly desperate.

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters in your mouth, his tight and raspy voice making you throb in need, his muscles tense under your hands. “Feels soo good, doesn’t it? This is how it will feel like, everything, every fucking time.”

He pushes back a little to look at you. You know he’s talking about what you answered when he asked to have you. Show me how it would feel. You know this is his way to push for an answer. A confirmation that you’re his. But instead of trying to find those words hidden somewhere in your chest you get lost in his deep brown eyes and you realize that all those moments when he looked at you like he wanted to crawl under your skin your eyes must have looked at him just the same way.

“Will you let me have you?” The question leaves your lips this time, yet no words come out of his mouth but a breathless choked sound as if you’ve punched him in the gut. Instead, he just grabs the side of your neck and glares at you with something profound that could be anger or devotion, or maybe both. And then he’s kissing you, his tongue fighting yours, how dare you is saying. A hand on your hip lifts you up enough so that he can line himself up at your entrance and just when you begin to feel that pressure—

“If we are doing this you’re not allowed to leave again without warning, Ok? It’s cruel,” you blurt out without thinking, your helpless heart rising to the surface, exposing itself despite your efforts.

“Ok,” he answers, his voice torn and low, as solemnly as he can with your cunt torturously dripping the length of his cock. You look down, ready to feel him inside but he grabs your chin and makes you look at him again. “And you’re not allowed to say you hate me. Ever again. I mean it. Ok?”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll fuck your pretty little brains out until I have you begging me to stop but I won’t until I’m sure you’ve completely forgotten the damn fucking word. Ok?” He pulls at your hair for emphasis and you have to fight down the moan that threatens to leave your throat with the gesture.

“Ok,” you answer out of breath, obediently.

“Good,” he praises, soothing your scalp with his fingertips. Then, cheeky again. “What am I allowed to?”

“You’re allowed to ring the bell to my apartment, for once.” You laugh but then—

He holds your hips as he slowly begins to slide his cock in, gently and steadily but fuck.

Holy fuck.

You’re so wet there’s barely any resistance bet he’s long and thick and the stretch feels like he’s gonna break you in half. The strong grip of your hands on his shoulders makes him stop before he can go any further.

“You’ll get used to me,” he gasps in your temple. “Fuck, such a tight fucking pussy, baby. But I’ll make you get used to me. All of you.”

“Shut up and just keep going, for fuck’s sake”

“Relax on me, preciosa. I don’t wanna hurt you,” he whispers in your ear, his fingers caressing every inch of skin he can find, his tongue licking the pulse in your neck. “Relax…Mmm, that’s it. Yeah, like that.”

It takes a little.  The expert grip on your hips makes you sink into him so, so slowly every inch of him steals a whine out of you but you know it’s driving him fucking crazy too. He’s breathing hard, the muscles in his abdomen jump at the slightest shift of your hips, and a faint film of sweat appears on his neck. It makes you wanna lick him. But you get distracted by how good and how deep it feels and how his hands move from your hips to a playful hold on your throat, until they fall flat on the seat.

“You can go on, now,” he returns your words, a cheeky little grim forming in the corner of his lips as he leans back on the seat. Leaving you to it. Your heart swells at the wrecked and joyful gleam of his eyes. 

You try to say something smart and snarky at him but his cock is buried deep inside of you and you can’t think of anything else, to be honest. You lift yourself up and down, tentatively, the burning so good it has so gasping.

“Feels good, baby? Feels so right, doesn’t it? You know why it feels so right, don’t you? You understand it.”

You pick up your pace, oblivious of his words, trying to suppress the hidden emotion behind every roll of your hips. You don’t want to hear those words, you don’t need to. Not now. But he keeps going—

“You have no idea all the times a woke up this,” he breathes, his hands finding your hips again. Unable to stay away for too long. “Preciosa lurking me with her smart mouth and her —fuck— her pretty smile. Letting me punish her for being too good for me.”

He makes you clench hard around him. You can’t help it. It’s his words, the idea. 

“Mmm, you’d like that. I’d like that too. I could spank you for every time you wouldn’t leave my fucking head, for distracting me,” he growls grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing it. “How red would your ass be then, huh?”

His hand goes up to hold your hip again. And now he’s thrusting into you. Reaching places you couldn’t reach yourself, so fucking deep. 

“I could edge you to tears for doing this to me.” The pad of his thumb finds your clit and you whine his name in response. The shots of ecstasy are growing fast and intense. You’re gasping, he’s breathing hard. And to your surprise, he keeps talking. “I could have you screaming for—for—”

Before he was forcing himself to get the truth out, struggling to answer your questions with honesty. But now it’s flowing out of him, a little bit of truth with every thrust of his hips. Every word sticking deep into your heart.

“Fuck, I missed you… my whole body felt it even—even when I wasn't myself.”

God, you can’t even process each sensation. And his scent is concentrated in that soft spot on the side of his neck, it makes you dizzy. You’re so out of yourself, so overflowed with sensations and desire, that you only notice you’re running your tongue down the skin of his throat when growls and holds you impossibly closer, just like you wanted.

Is too much. Everything. This is—you’ve never felt anything like this before. Like the whole ground is disappearing under you. All you can do is hold onto Jake, one hand on his shoulder the other on his nape, your face buried in his neck. But he’s asking you something, his voice softer than before.

“Do you understand?”

But you’re too lost on it. You can’t—Your movements start to grow impatient, fast, and erratic. The hot melting pleasure is close once more. But not close enough.

“Preciosa, answer me.”

You keep clinging to him, refusing to do anything but chase the feeling. You’re almost there, almost there, you’re—

You’re suddenly on your back, his body hovering over yours, both of your hands taken behind you, arching you and maintaining you exposed. Making it impossible to hide away. His hand is on the side of your neck, his eyes piercing through you. He’s expecting the same sincerity he has given you tonight. He’s done what you’ve been asking him this whole time—broken down the wall between you two. Why are you so scared to take what was behind it? Because it’ll consume you. It already is. And you know if he disappears again—If he disappears after all this everything it would be so, so much worse. It’s too much risk. It’s all too much. You can’t—

But fuck, he looks so lost in you. 

“Tell me, do you understand now?”

At this point, you couldn't lie even if you tried. Your heart is on the surface.

“Yes, yeah. I-I do. Me too, Jake.”

“Fuck, mía.” He groans between desperate kisses on your mouth, then becomes a prayer that escapes from his lips with every needier, sloppier thrust of his hips. “Mía, mía, mía…”

Your whole body tenses under him then the pleasure rips you from the inside, making you scream this time. The hard squeeze of your cunt enough to push him to the edge. He grinds his cock as deep as he can against something that makes you sob and then he’s cumming, hard. You feel his body shuddering above and you want to see every second of it but everything goes blurry.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Somehow, you find yourself on his lap again. Your whole body a dead weight against him. Your head tugged in the curve of his neck. His hands moving up and down along your back.

Your body is tired yet the adrenaline is still running through your veins. You can feel it buzzing somewhere inside, that’s why you are surprised when your voice comes out as a whisper.

“If you disappear again I swear that I—”

“I won’t. I can’t.”

You push back to look into his eyes in search of any sign that may tell otherwise, but you don’t find any.

“I won’t be long gone. I’ll be back soon,” he reassures, running his fingertips from your neck to your collarbone, his lips gently tracing your jawline. “Apenas pude aguantarme esta vez. No soy tan fuerte.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’ll be back. Ok?”

Suddenly he’s looking into your eyes for some sort of final confirmation that you feel the same way he feels, even if he didn’t confess it with words. And you do. You do, you do, you do, your answer to him. Instead, your mouth says—

“Ok.”

He takes your face in both his hands. His lips brushing yours.

“Mi preciosa.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

A few hours before sunrise, long after the rain has stopped, you enter your apartment. Happy and exhausted, you know you’ll fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You also know you’ll dream of brown deep eyes and a raspy voice calling you preciosa over and over again.

As you put your keys next to the mirror at the entrance your eyes catch a sparkle on your neck. It’s a silver necklace with a little moon on it. It’s beautiful.

Your head turns to the window, to the moonlight and the limousine below it that you know won't leave until it sees all your lights off. 

You had never felt anything like this before, you had never been under the weight of an emotion so strong that there was no way to communicate it with words, you had never been able to understand someone just by looking into their eyes. But then Jake isn’t like anyone you have met before either. And there's nothing you'd do to change that.

You know he will be back.

———————————————

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[potchi-fics]

Sundo | part two of 8 ball

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

sundô. imagine being so tired from studying, from using your brain so much that you just feel like collapsing. but you remember that at the end of the day, someone's waiting-- waiting for you. a simple gesture yet it makes you feel so many things all at once: happiness, excitement, comfort... and wonder.

NOTE: sundo means to fetch someone from somewhere.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Y/n leans back on the chair she has been sitting on for hours now. she checks her phone and she sees that it's 5:59 pm. she got too busy with academic work, she always wants to finish her projects as soon as possible because she doesn't like procrastinating.

she sighs through her nose, holding the bridge of her nose, she's so tired. even her ears hurt from the hours of wearing her headphones.

and of course, her friends are studying alongside with her... but they all fell asleep. thankfully, though, they got their work done.

"wake up," she gently shakes Aiki, who whined and shooed her away. she moved on to Monika who woke up with just a nudge. "Noze, it's almost time to go home."

"god," Noze cracks her back, "my whole body hurts. good thing we don't have any classes for two days."

"you're goddamn right about that. somebody wake Aiki up." Monika groans out in defeat.

Y/n tries again, "Aiks, c'mon, it's time to go home."

the three struggled to contain their laughter once they see Aiki's state: drool all over her cheek and table, and the thousand-yard stare.

"aw gross, wipe your face, Aiks." Noze hands her wet wipes.

Y/n struggled even more when Monika showed her the picture she took of Aiki when she woke her up. she looks like a toddler who just woke up.

"is it time to go home? what time is it?" Aiki groggily asks.

she was about to tell her when something caught her eye; a text message from Bada. it read:

"what time's ur dismissal?"

it was sent four minutes ago. she texts back:

"6:30, whyy?"

she didn't get to put down her phone because it buzzed. it's a reply from her:

"i'll come and fetch u. where r u?"

Y/n's weirdly excited about this? and also a tiny bit nervous? nevertheless, she replied:

"library with my friendsss."

and she waits. she can't even stay still, and the other notice it.

"jesus, can you stop with the pen clicking?" Monika complains.

Y/n mutters out a soft sorry.

Noze looks at her with a funny expression, "who were you texting?"

a beat passes before she says Bada's name.

the trio have their what-the-hell faces on. before she could defend herself, they already started teasing her relentlessly; saying things like she's excited to see Bada, or that they were gonna go on a date.

"guys," she starts, "it's not a date and why would i be nervous? it's Bada." she rolls her eyes. "i could squeeze that punk easily."

but she is nervous. she doesn't know why. is it because of what happened at that billiards place? why did she even do that in the first place.

time seems to really pass by because six-thirty comes and they start tidying their place. making silent conversation. they come out of the library and see someone squatted down.

it's her.

Y/n thinks-- god, she's so handsome and pretty, she's not even doing anything. she malfunctions because she did not just think that? that is so not Y/n coded of her, she adds.

her friend's loud voice caught their attention, "hey, Bada!"

"yo," Bada stands up, looking at Y/n. "are you guys done? can i steal her away from you now?"

Y/n could only roll her eyes, "what do you mean by steal me away? as if i would let myself be taken."

"so grumpy," Bada tease, "careful now, you look like that one angry bird."

"well, in that case, i'm a pretty angry bird." she retaliates.

her enemy pats her head, "sure, sure.. let's go. bye guys!"

the trio shakes their head, even walking, the two seems to fight. they witness how Bada tries to carry Y/n's things but she wouldn't let her. however, eventually, Y/n gives in and gives Bada her things.

bada opens her car door for Y/n, receiving a soft thank you from the girl. she puts the things in the backseat and finally enters the drivers seat.

"you hungry?" she asks.

Y/n nods, too tired to talk. she closes her eyes and feel the car start up, she assumes that Bada knows a place.

during the car ride, comfortable silence envelops the pair. it continues that way not until she feels a hand on her thigh. Y/n opens her eyes and her gaze fell on the hand that is on her thigh.

Bada couldn't resist-- she caresses her thigh, rubbing circles on it, even slightly moving it up. she notices that the girl's breath is uneven. she thinks about removing it when a hand stops her.

the tension, even before what happened at the pool table, got so much thicker. it's so thick that they feel like suffocating.

sadly, they arrive at the place they're gonna eat at.

"c'mon, we're here." Bada parks the car.

they both thought the same thing: pussy blocker.

they go in the restaurant and order, wherein Bada insists that she treats her. of course, Y/n tries to pay for her own food but Bada is stubborn gal.

they take a sit once they get their order and start eating. surprisingly, their conversation is easy-going.

"so, what made you fetch me today? missed me that much?" Y/n asks with her mouth full of food.

Bada chuckles at the cute sight, "you're delusional. i just wanted to annoy you."

"oh, trust me," she answers in a grumble, "you're annoying me so much."

"is that why we're enemies?" Bada cackles out. "'cus i'm annoying? you didn't find me annoying back in middle school, though."

yes. they're childhood friends- err, childhood enemies. they're one of those typical rivals where they grew up together. they just haven't told anyone, but not because they don't want to, but because it wasn't just brought up until now.

she pouts out, "i wouldn't say enemies.. but yeah."

a loud laughs emits from the person in front of her again, can't believe the reason.

"stop laughing," Y/n gigges, "it's not funny. i'm just glad i don't have any classes, i'm so tired. and hungry."

Bada watches her with a smile, even though the girl in front of her is stuffing her face with food-- Bada still thinks that she's beautiful.

"stop ogling at me, i know i'm pretty and all," she flutters her eyelashes at her, "are you falling in love with me?"

"you sound so stupid." this time, it was Bada's turn to roll her eyes. "say, you wanna come over to my house after this?"

Y/n makes a playful shock face, "oh my? and you say you're not falling in love with me? but yes."

Bada feels like she's on cloud nine. what is wrong with her?

they finish their meal and she checks the time. it's seven-forty. they exit the place and Y/n complains about being so bloated now. to which Bada teased her by saying that she's always bloated.

banter ensues, even all the way to Bada's house, they're still bickering like children.

time check: eight-twenty-three.

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

should i make the next part smut? or continue with fluff

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Who do you think are the procastinators of Bonten?

As in those who have a one week deadline for paperwork but decided to do it last minute. Or even a few hours before the deadline.

These guys are definitely a mixed bag when it comes to getting their paperwork done and not procrastinating. Here's my ranking from least likely to procrastinate to the most

Koko- Very diligent with his work, always completes it on time no matter what. Sometimes he even turns things in early or before he's even asked to do something. Because of how focused he is there are some rumours going around that he's not human.

Kakucho- Will do the work well and on time, is very neat with his work. If he's in a good mood he'll even help the others with their work. Was basically used to having deadlines with Izana and learnt it was best to do it as quickly as possible.

Sanzu- Ok you definitely wouldn't expect to see him this high up but when Mikey's involved and asked him for it then of course he's doing it. Would rather die then be late or disappoint Mikey. He's not risking it.

Takeomi- Doesn't do his work straight away like the other three but will do it quickly. Sure he may play around a little first but knows as bontens advisor it's important he gets it done quickly and to a good standard.

Rindou- Gives me the vibes of someone who starts the work quickly but then abandons it for a long time in the middle before coming back to it and finishing a day or two before the deadline. He has good intentions to get it done quickly (especially if it'll shut Ran's nagging reminding up) but gets preoccupied in the middle.

Mochi- Look he didn't sign up for any paperwork, he signed up to hit people very hard. He has 0 interest in this stuff and will put it off as long as possible. Still manages to turn it in a few hours before the dealine though.

Ran- Is the biggest hypocrite going, he'll "helpfully remind" tease Rindou a lot about his deadlines but won't work on his own. He'd much rather be napping or doing literally anything else. Will leave things to the last minute but somehow still manages to be on time (only just) and have things done to a high standard. He was the kid in school who never studied but still got good grades.

Mikey- What work??????? Is late on just about everything, he doesn't even have to do much, just sign a few papers but is still late.

[the-ace-with-spades]

An AU where Jake didn't go to USNA but got a scholarship for football at the same uni Bradley got a scholarship for baseball.

They're both part of NROTC but Bradley is a second-year midshipman and he's one of the very few midshipmen who are not mentoring anyone in the program dunno how nrotc works I'm guessing similar to our military youth programs, bear with me

He's instantly intrigued — Bradley seems to be the most unavailable person in the whole program, never really engaging for after-training outings or parties, never making small talk and never trying to even make connections that would help with networking once they were commissioned.

So Jake kind of observes from afar for the first few months and he realizes Bradley is exactly the same outside of NROTC too.

Despite the lack of engagement, every single instructor and coordinator from the program seems to know him. More so, most of them don't even comment on his lack of extracurricular engagement or mentorship, but even send him off for extra trainings that are typically only awarded for being exceptional.

They live in the same student building but on different floors. Bradley is an RA for his floor and the female-only floor above, something Jake only discovers when his own RA is kicked out and his heating problem is delegated to Bradley.

Bradley is also a TA (which is very unusual for a sophomore) for one of the physics professors — Jake is studying mechanical engineering and Bradley is doing aerospace engineering and he sometimes sees Bradley assisting, even if it's mostly for different majors.

Jake's fascination grows even more because he doesn't get it — Bradley is unavailable to anyone but he's also so nice. Most of the students in the dorm he's coordinating like him, which is not really something that happens with RAs, he's respected both by the midshipmen and their instructors and seniors, many of which keep on friendly jabs with him or extend invitations to outings despite Bradley's repeated refusals. He is incredibly nice to the actual few students who come for help from him as a TA, from what Jake heard, and he's got a good few girls crushing on him, some of which are pretty popular in the uni circles.

Despite that, he doesn't seem to have any friends. Jake doesn't see him at parties, or going outs, or study groups, or even of some midshipmen-organized extra trainings. It's like he's keeping everyone at arm's length.

Finally, he has an occasion to start something with Bradley when he goes downstairs to the mail room. Technically sorting the mail and putting it in the right boxes outside of the mail room is the porter's room but the porter seems to be there maybe four hours a week so usually they just break into the room and look for their own shit in the mess.

He goes downstairs and Bradley is sitting on the floor with a list of the students in the building and a stamp with red RETURN TO SENDER, sorting through piles and piles of mail.

"I didn't think it was part of your job."

"It's not," Bradley answers. "Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Seresin, right?"

Jake doesn't squeal but oh god, Bradley knows his name. "Yeah."

"Your parcel is in the ready pile," he says, pointing his thumb parcels near the door.

"You want some help?"

"You've got nothing better to do on a Friday night?"

He could've asked the same question. "I have three assignments I need to procrastinate on."

Bradley gives him a long look but finally says, "Fair enough."

They stay in silence and Jake doesn't know how to start a conversation. Bradley seems focused and aloof and just, once again, so unavailable.

The opportunity arises when he is going over the stack of parcels in the corner of the mail room.

"Your name is Bradshaw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Those are for you."

"They're not."

"I mean, there's no room number but it does say Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley is quiet for a minute but gets up from where he's been sitting on the floor and slowly walks to stand next to where the boxes are stacked on itself.

Without hesitation, he stamps both of them with RETURN TO SENDER.

"You aren't even going to check what's inside?"

He gets quiet again, looking at the stamp on top of the parcel far longer than needed, before he says, "I don't have any family left, whoever sent it isn't anyone I'd like to get anything from."

Jake bites down apologies — Bradley doesn't seem to be the type to need pity.

"It can't be returned to the post," Jake points out. "No return address."

Bradley sighs and takes out a pen from his pocket, leaning over the boxes.

He doesn't mean to snoop but he catches Bradley writing P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky in the addressee line and San Diego a couple lines lower. So obviously Bradley knew who it was from.

Some things change after that evening — Bradley answers his hi when they see each other at training or waves back when Jake sees him in the lecture hall or brings his mail straight to Jake's room and chats with him for a few minutes at his door.

But most things don't change — he still refuses to join any going outs, even if it's Jake asking him, still doesn't talk much to anyone, still refuses simple invitations to grab lunch together in the cafeteria or go to a movie later that week. Still seems to be using a Don't have time or If you don't need me, I'm going as frequent excuses. Still seems to be entirely unavailable to anyone who wants to catch him outside of his strictly obligatory settings.

He's talking about this with his mom, using the phone booth outside of their dorms, because he's never had trouble making friends with anyone (even if he admits he could make more than friends, with Bradley, eventually, maybe, wishful thinking aside) and his mom tells him, "He sounds really busy, baby, he probably doesn't have time for friends."

"How can you have no time for friends? It's college."

"Jakey, he isn't like you, he doesn't have any support from his family, he's probably struggling to stay afloat with the scholarships requirements and the college job and studying and military training on top of it."

"So what? There's no way to—be friends with him?"

"I think you'll have to fit into the free time in his schedule, baby. because that's the only kind he has."

It takes some time but he does realize that Bradley's time is truly limited. His days are packed tight, on top of what Jake already knew — the TA job, the RA job, the baseball scholarship and the NROTC training — he also works in the local garage one day a week. He literally has a few hours he can actually spend with someone during the day and Jake slowly tries to use them up.

Brings him coffee for the early morning walk-in tutoring he hosts at college, eats lunch with him when they have a training break, even as Bradley does his assigned reading and only half-pays attention to him, comes downstairs to the mail room every evening Bradley sorts through it, brings him cupcakes from the cafeteria on the lunch break between lectures, even though Bradley spends it alone in the professor's office, making lesson plans or marking papers. Visits him in the garage he works at and keeps on constant chatter as Bradley gets covered in black oil and stinks like fuel.

Slowly, he can see Bradley smiling when he sees Jake. Can see Bradley sharing his homemade divine lasagna and chicken soup made from scratch with Jake. Can see Bradley joining him in the gym, not just staying on the outside of the group. Can see Bradley chatting back as he continues to do what he's doing, no longer just letting Jake run his mouth.

There's a bit of a hiccup when Jake offers Bradley to join him on Christmas break in Texas — tells him they can drive if Bradley doesn't want to pay for plane tickets they can make a road trip of the thing and all. Only another call to his mom makes him aware that Bradley probably can't afford either and, as his mom doesn't hold back and points out Bradley won't react well if he offers to pay for it.

So instead, Jake stays for most of the Christmas break in the halls. Apparently, Bradley is organizing a small Chrismas dinner for anyone from the halls who is staying over (a total of seven people), so things get a bit busy — the spare time Bradley has is, well, spare. When he finally has the time, he is working in the garage or finishing his assignments — Jake sometimes forgets, with all the things Bradley does to stay afloat, that he's actually still a student — so he mostly trails behind him and chatters when he thinks it won't annoy Bradley too much.

Bradley offers to drive him to the airport. It's the first time he's offered to take a good chunk of his time and make it free by rescheduling things, just for Jake.

He even parks at the airport and walks him all the way to the security check line, not just leaves Jake in the drop-and-go area.

Jake gives him a small Christmas gift — a key chain with A4 Skyhawk he bought when he visited the aviation museum in Horsham with some of the other midshipmen. They both want to go into the aviation pipeline once graduated so it seems like something Bradley could like, even if it's a bit silly.

He wasn't sure, if Bradley would actually take it — he's been reluctant to take many things, every single lunch or coffee Jake got him had to be either repaid or covered by Bradley the next day.

But Bradley hugs him. Puts the key chain on his car keys ring.

When Jake comes back, he's expecting progress because, you know, Bradley's been warming up to him. Instead, Bradley seems to be dead on his feet, getting annoyed quicker than usually, going as far as telling Jake to 'keep quiet for a goddamn minute'. It all kind of becomes clear when he is car pooling with the guys for the NORTC training and sees Bradley, honest to god jogging the three miles from the halls to the training site, military backpack with his uniform and gear towering over his shoulder — it's five in the morning.

"You doing a new training regime or something? Running everywhere instead of driving like a normal human being?"

He doesn't look at Jake as he says, "The Bronco broke down."

"I mean, that car is older than you," Jake points out, trying to tiptoe around the issue and get Bradley to admit what the exact problem is — he never does, if you ask directly, Jake knows by now. It's like asking for help isn't in his nature.

"It's not safe to drive," he explains. "I can't brake in time anymore, the brakes are about to give out completely."

"Can't you fix it?"

"I need a new drum brake master cylinder," he says. When Jake stares at him, he adds, "It's gonna cost around two hundred bucks, which I don't have."

"I could lend you the money," he offers.

"I don't want your money," Bradley says, just like he thought he'd — taking any offered help from anyone isn't in his nature either.

So Jake tries to work around it — asks his dad and his uncles if there's anyone they know who could maybe give him the right master cylinder for free or at a very discounted price. When they finally find a guy who has a collection of spare parts for the early Broncos but no Broncos anymore and is willing to send the cylinder as long as someone pays for the postage, he writes down his number and promises his friend Bradley is going to call soon about that.

And thank the fucking god, Bradley accepts this kind of backhanded help.

Bradley fixes the Bronco on the hall's parking lot. He jogs from the garage with a borrowed jack lift strapped to his back, pops the car on it and the other one he already has in the trunk so the wheels are up, pops the tires off and pops the front mask up and gets his white tank and plaid shirt covered in grime. It's already dark by the time he takes the jacks away and sits behind the wheel.

Jake's spent the whole time uselessly chattering to him as he always does — he has absolutely no idea about cars — but he lets himself be waved into the passenger seat.

Bradley drives out of the parking lot, down the empty road to the campus and brakes so hard Jake has to hold himself up against the dashboard.

"Better than new," Bradley says and Jake's never seen him grinding as widely and as honestly as he is now.

He is sweaty and covered in oil and stinking a bit, but his curls are flopping on his forehead and the ratty mustache he's been growing lately is out of order and he's looking at Jake with those big brown cow eyes — he just can't not kiss him.

So he leans over the console and kisses the smile on his face.

The leap of faith pays of because Bradley keeps on kissing him — he pulls the hand brake on and lets both his hands settle on Jake's waist and things continue until Jake is being guided onto the backseat over the console and being kisses again and again, and Bradley's hands go lower and lower.

They get each other off and then go back to the halls. They don't talk about it but now any time they're alone — in the lecture hall, in the mail room, in Jake's or Bradley's room — he can just lean in and kiss him as much as he wants to and still get the brightest of smiles as a reward.

They're back in the mail room and maybe Jake's just spent twenty minutes trying to crawl up Bradley's lap (to no avail) when he notices — Bradley got another package, this time PLEASE AT LEAST LOOK THROUGH THE THINGS BEFORE SENDING IT BACK written in bold marker on top.

Bradley curtly tells him to just stamp it with RETURN TO SENDER. But he can't help himself — he gets his keys out and cuts through the tape on top, opening the giant box.

"Jake—"

He takes out the first thing that's on top of the pile inside — a stuffed goose the size of over half of Jake's torso. It's a bit grayed up and smells like dust but it's also so cute.

"That yours?"

Bradley gets up from where he's sitting so quick — a second and he's next to Jake, taking the plushie out of his hands. "Ducky—"

"Ducky? That's a goose, isn't it?"

Bradley is honest to god red in the face but doesn't let go of the goose, bringing it closer to his chest and it's freaking adorable. "I was two, I couldn't tell the difference."

"So," Jake says, feeling like he's defusing a bomb. "You still wanna send it back?"

"I—I don't know."

"Maybe—Maybe I could help with that," he offers. "If I know the details, or at least some of them."

It takes him a minute but when Bradley finally starts talking, everything just spills out of him. He tells Jake about his dad, and about his mom, and then about his other dad and pops. He doesn't get too into details but they come around back to his last year in high school and how his dad pilled his papers and they haven't talked since Bradley found out and left the house with a bag and his car and nothing else.

Jake says, "That's just stupid."

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows he's said the wrong thing even if it was honest — he can see in real-time as Bradley rolls back into himself, closing off in less than a minute and suddenly there's so much distance between them.

He angrily writes down the same P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky and San Diego address on top and chucks the goose plushie back inside.

"I guess I'm stupid then," he says quietly and a blink and he's out of the mail room. He's not answering when Jake knocks on his room door.

Jake doesn't have the heart to actually let that package go back to P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky, or Bradley's dad and pops. So he brings it into his room upstairs.

He doesn't mean to go over the things inside, not too much, but he thought he could at least grab the goose — Ducky — and give it a wash. When he reaches inside, there's a goddamn plushie of a Spitfire in there, its tag saying RAF Museum, London, and Jake can't help looking for more.

There are photos and polaroids, three people commonly on all of them with a baby Bradley. Old Hawaiian shirts, a leather jacket, knots of seashell jewelry, a few rolled-up posters, a whole notebook with handwritten recipes, birthday cards.

He doesn't look any further but instead takes the return address from the box and writes up a postcard to P.Mitchell & T. Kazansky saying he'll force Bradley to keep it all.

Problem is, Bradley isn't talking to him, no matter how hard he tries. He thought he'd be like that for a few weeks at the most and then forget but he's worse than he was before he and Jake met in the mail room for the first time — doesn't even say a word to him when Jake tries to start a conversation, he's gone so far as to change his complicated schedule completely so Jake can't see him outside of NROTC and his TA role.

He calls his mom again.

"Jakey, honey," his mom says, with a tone that suggests he's an idiot. "That boy bared his soul to you and you said his feelings were stupid."

[roseluxxx]

GHOSTIN

Miguel O’Hara x Reader

warnings: cursing, hispanics, part 1

word count: 1.1k

summary: sent to a town to finish a report, the ghost he’s living with decides.. maybe he should stay

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes. The last truck is finally ready to move with all the latest equipment needed for this study; it cannot be procrastinated any longer, O’Hara.”

“Ay dios mío.” the scientist ran his fingers through his hair, eyes wide at the news that the “months away” move to a reclusive house in a far away “no-name” town was tomorrow.

This was technically his fault as his reluctance to complete the report on “Gene Growth Combined Experiment 4 (chemical X42): A conclusion on the development of the embryo.” as the full title stated, finally caught up to him.

He had just been busy developing the Spider-Anthropoid’s final stages; an equally important trial study to him, but not so much to Alchemax.

“You have a month at most, I will try to advocate for an extended stay but it’s in your best interest to finish this conclusion report swiftly. Are we clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Wonderful. Now get out of my office O’Hara, the driver will take you to your place and pick you up nice and early tomorrow. Be ready.”

Miguel fought back his taunting remark and left the cold, heartless office.

His work was important. If successful it would create the first human-spider hybrid combination and create an endless amount of possibilities. Ideally to improve the state of the common person, but he wasn’t naive enough to not think it wouldn’t be used for military advances.

“What time tomorrow?”

“9am sharp. Won’t be me though, my friend Gus will he here.” The driver glacéd in the rear view mirror as he pulled up to the window filled penthouse Miguel had the luxury to live in.

“None of my business, sir, but a word from my eavesdropping on the men who I chauffeured earlier.. apparently your new short term living space comes with a rumored “ghost friend”.”

Miguel scoffed, grabbing his coat and laying a few bucks in the drivers’ outstretched hand as he opened the car door, “If it’s none of your business then stay out of it,” he exited the car, “but thanks, chismoso.”

The next morning Miguel snatched the suitcases he packed, shut his blinds and locked his door, making his way to the waiting Taxi.

“Be ‘bout a 20 minute drive to the airport, sir, including traffic.”

He grunted in response, looking out the window as he half listened to the clearly extroverted mans’ essay on his new city’s attractions.

“Yep. But I did hear about that ghost in your house. Good luck with that.”

Miguel’s ears perked up. Ghost? All this talk about this damn ghost was getting him annoyed. Even if there’s such a thing as ther paranormal, he won’t be bothering them and subsequently they don’t have to bother him. Easy.

The yellow cab pulled up to the front of the airport, crowded as usual, and the broad man reluctantly gripped his belongings, giving the world another sigh before preparing himself for a 2 hour flight.

The keys were old, silver, the three individual ones clinging against each other as Miguel pulled them out of the mailbox, a letter falling to the ground.

To Current Renters,

Please note that this property is built on a solid foundation and the doors are properly built into the door frame.

A house is built with consideration to weather events so a very slight creak/sway is expected and not worrying.

It prevents the house from being too stiff and allows for a longer lifespan.

The windows may also be slightly loose within the window frame so feel free to lock them if the draft becomes too much.

No need to report noises either as the walls may run a little thin and animal calls can sound like humans if you are listening through a surface like a wall.

All this to say do not call us to report noises, wind, or creaking in the house.

Sincerely,

(for real.. do not contact us with these issues)

The Owner - Stephen Vincent

He opened the door on his second try, figuring the other keys lead to some kind of garage or safe. The door swung open with a small groan, almost apprehensive with his arrival.

The house itself was comfortable. A glass sliding door across the living space connected to large windows showcasing the beauty forests have to offer; a patio sitting beyond the door.

The kitchen was adorned with dark gray marble tops and a gray and white overall aesthetic for the counters and appliances. It was simple, classy, exactly what his boss thought would allow his mind to stay focused on his task.

Speaking of, the office space had been pre-turned into a small research center complete with the necessary chemicals, equipment, and state of the art technology. If he hadn’t known better he would’ve thought he had a whole mother experiment to conduct while he only needed to draw the conclusions in a consiste report.

That would be left for later, though. He entered what seemed to be his room. Comfortable. A light grey and white with a calming blue pop of color in the decor. Good enough.

Once his luggage had been felt with, he returned to the kitchen to find his fridge already stocked. Perfect.

He began a simple meal of blanco arroz con pollo frito when you saw him. Another one. Only one this time though. He should be easy enough.

You moved closer, getting a better look at this intruder. Immediately you noticed he was handsome, worth a second glance at least. He was toned beyond anyone who had set foot here before, a calm, concentrated expression settling on his face as he seasoned his chicken.

Miguel was dealing with the hot stove, his loungewear on that had just enough coverage to keep him warm when he stopped abruptly, feeling a chill run down his arm.

He dismissed it quickly. It was a new house to him and the air outside cooled drastically at night, a soft draft probably crept in. Big deal.

You decided rather quickly to let him stay for a bit. He was charming, exactly your type if you were honest with yourself which, ofcourse, you’d rather not be when said man barged into your home unannounced.

“You hold my interest,” you peaked at a blue ALCHEMAX security card, seeing the name Miguel O’Hara and the same man that was humming softly as he finished frying his dinner smiling up at you, “I’ll be watching, Miguel O’Hara.”

Thank you for reading! Reposts are extremely appreciated!❣️

A/N: Feel free to send in a request! (taking new ones for a short period of time)

This is part 1 to my new GHOSTIN series! Feel free to comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Like my work? Check out my masterlist!

Also the warnings were a joke (Hispanics)

dont take it up the ahh🥱

[datesinredink]

Yan turtles (rottmnt) with an m/c that’s allergic to reptiles/turtles? Idk I just think it would be funny (not Donnie trying to get m/c into getting injections to help the allergy-)

ANON I AM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG BCIRBIFUNUIEH

Super duper sorry i ended up procrastinating really hard and i guess god took issue with that because he struck me down with multiple QAs and a Feelings crisis but the tests are over and I finally managed to sit down and finish Raph's part- seriously i struggled with him and mikey a lot but i guess it was kinda worth it in the end because Raph has an entire 110 more words to his part than the other three- hopefully it makes up for my lack of knowledge of his character. Enjoy!

Donnie

“My inspiration for this device was simplicity-”

Yeah you’re getting a hazmat suit until your allergies either magically disappear or he figures out some other solution

You’ll probably have to do a lot of tests, including possibly a blood draw but I’m no medical expert- since I headcanon Leo to be the medic he’ll probably end up helping too

After he finally puts the pieces together, he’ll start working with Leo to engineer a medicine to help suppress your allergic reaction, and maybe even be able to get rid of it entirely

Also anon you’re very right, you may be subjected to becoming the human pincushion of allergy shots while he figures it out. It’s safe. No it won’t kill you. Yes he made sure. Just, uh, maybe don’t ask your best friend their opinion on needles for a while….

In the meantime, he completely hates the current situation. He finally meets someone that he’s (mostly) fine with touching him, and they CAN’T TOUCH HIM without a HAZMAT SUIT. Just the worst. Awful times.

Normally, he’d have you around almost always, but, unfortunately, that’s currently not ideal.

Starts trying to keep things extra clean around the lair for you. Also everything that can be sanitized is sanitized. Good luck in the cleanliness prison after you get kidnapped later on.

The best about keeping distance, since he already wasn't super touchy before this whole situation. While he might tap you on the arm or something once or twice, it's nothing serious and you won't have a problem with him on that front.

Going back to the hazmat suit real quick, while it does do its job well, it's definitely not the most comfortable thing to wear, and you'll probably end up getting too hot pretty quick, so chances are you won't willingly be wearing it all too often. Donnie may occasionally force you to wear it, but otherwise you (usually) just... don't have to.

Leo

He’s the one who finds out you’re allergic. It was an accident he SWEARS. He only wanted to give you a pat on the arm when April first introduced you to them! How could he have known you’d get hives where he touched you?

At least he knows how to treat it. He managed to guide April through treating it, after which he sulked while rereading some Jupiter Jim comics.

Has a personal grudge against your immune system for daring to make you allergic to him. How dare your cells get mad about him.

When Donnie tells him that he might have “a fix, bro”, Leo jumps at the opportunity- oh thank god, he can finally hug you!

…Doesn’t mean he’s not super bad at focusing on actually working on it. Don’t worry, he’ll fix it eventually, just have a little patience.

Honestly, this is your chance to BOOK IT away from them, because none of them are as clingy as they will be after your allergies are cured/suppressed, which gives you more time to leave New York before things go from bad to worse.

Anyway, Leo’s about as clingy as he can be without physically clinging onto you for hours on end. Constantly hanging around you, like a ghost haunting their killer, except you’re not the one who kills people.

He might end up using your allergy to try and manipulate you away from his brothers. Mikey keeps forgetting to keep distance, Donnie’s suffocating and makes you wear a hazmat suit, and Raph almost treats you like a sopping wet cat that he has to take care of, so why not just stay with him? 

As much as he likes to criticize Mikey for forgetting, sometimes, particularly early on, he gets a little too close, and your allergies flare up, and while he does genuinely feel kinda bad, he will exaggerate his remorse for sympathy from you. He genuinely does try and apologize for it later, and he probably portals you two somewhere nice and gets you a couple of trinkets you like or find useful.

Mikey

Absolutely heartbroken!

His love is allergic to him! This is awful!

2nd most panicked when they first find out. Is their new friend ok? Did they mess up?

If you have a low tolerance for pain/allergic reaction symptoms and cry a little he probably will too. High empathy, man…

He’s really understanding after everything’s resolved and they figure out you’re allergic to them. He tries his best to keep a fair amount of distance between you and him, but he tends to naturally be physically affectionate, so there may be a slight adjustment period. He really doesn’t mean harm though.

He occasionally tries to bring you something from the mystic city that he thinks would be safe- a small figurine, maybe a sketchbook if you also like doing art, if he manages to bargain for/steal a piece of jewelry, he’ll also give that to you.

As I mentioned before, Mikey’s pretty big on physical touch, but since that’s off limits (for now) he’ll try to show you affection in any other way he can think of

Mostly quality time. He likes to take you with him when he explores through the sewers/city to spraypaint a couple of blank walls, and he’ll probably get you to try it too, and regardless of your skill level he’ll tell you it’s great

After Donnie and Leo finish making the cure, Mikey squeezes the LIFE out of you- he doesn’t mean to practically strangle you, but he’s fairly strong and he got excited, so he does feel a little bad afterwards.

Will decorate the hazmat suit Donnie gave you if you let him. He'll put stickers on it that match his and draw fun patterns that may or may not relate to him in some way. Maybe the spots he has, or the face on his knee pads. It's pretty endearing, even if his brothers may occasionally glare at him. In Mikey's opinion, if they're really that jealous, they should add something themselves.

Raph

And the award for most paranoid goes to….

Ok but really, he’s the most overbearing about it. This probably isn’t a surprise, but it’s still something I've gotta mention.

You don’t really have to worry about Donnie making you wear the hazmat suit- he gets it, not a fun sensory experience- other than a couple stand-out occasions, but you will have to convince Raph fairly often that you’ll be fine without it.

To be fair, it’s partially because he also forgets not to touch you sometimes, and while he’s better about it than Mikey and most of the time Leo, he’s also self-aware and protective enough that he’d rather be safe than sorry.

If you’re having an allergic reaction, he’ll either get Leo/Donnie/April to help you, or go find the hazmat suit Donnie made him a while ago when Splinter got sick and then help you himself

There’s a chance he might not do great though, as he’s not always the best under pressure and tends to panic when the people he loves are hurt or in some sort of extreme situation, especially when it comes to you (seriously, he treats you like a porcelain doll), but you can be reassured that he’ll do his absolute best to make you safe and comfortable.

Feels terrible after, pampers you a lot after the ordeal. Every time, not just the first few.

If he wasn’t the one who caused it, then he’s definitely pissed at whichever of his brothers made your allergies flare up. He won’t kill them, and he won’t lose it and drop kick them into tomorrow (yet. If they ever intentionally trigger your allergies he might snap some bones) but there will be a noticeable irritation and tension for at least the next few weeks between him and them.

He’s super excited after Donnie and Leo finish the allergy shots! I personally headcanon him to be the second touchiest of the brothers (Mikey being the most touchy, of course) so there’ll be a lot more casual touch between you two after. Hugs, headpats, you get the idea. If you try to tell him to stop, he’ll be very upset, though doing his best to understand, he will try to respect your wishes.. Before going right back to it after a week tops. Sometimes he genuinely does forget, after all, he does have a fair amount on his plate, but sometimes he does intentionally wait until he thinks he can get away with it again before jumping right back to how things were before. He’ll vehemently deny it, but no matter what happens, you’ll likely never really get him to stop for an extended period of time.

[kazehita]

KAZEEEE YOU'VE PLAYED AND FINISHED IN STARS AND TIME?? THAT'S SO EXCITING!! How did you feel about it :O?

(also as i was sending this ask, i just saw your updated bio and thats SUCH A MOOD LOL)

SAMMY THANK YOU SO SO MUCH FOR PUTTING IT ON MY DASH!!!!! THAT WAS HOW I HEARD ABOUT IT!!!!! Also thank you for asking because I've been writing this mini essay in my head in the shower. <3 I was like, shrugs, I like time travel and I like indie games, and wow it is very positively rated I suppose I must give it a try, and then proceeded to procrastinate on that for a few weeks ;; teehee! But yeah, it became like one of my top three games ever in the first half hour.. Things like "storytelling through gameplay," and "ENJOYABLE & interesting turn-based combat," and "characters that feel so Human and Real in addition to being deeply relatable," really gets me on board! And also, now that I've finished, I can say the story goes really hard too. I actually didn't realize the cast was LGBTQ+ before I started playing, so that was a fantastic surprise. And the setting is expertly designed with this in mind! This game is angled to talk about the queer experience while being dynamically interwoven with the themes and setting - and It was a great experience for me to see, in particular, aro and/or ace characters portrayed excellently - both thematically and realistically!!! I'm very impressed with how they show and they tell the characters' relationship with their own sense of self, and their sense of other's people's experiences. .. That's the best way I can explain it without giving specific examples!~ Anyway I have been chipping away at it for the past week in my spare time and stayed up to 3am last night, emotionally compromised, to finish it.

How fantastic! The payoffs, the story beats, the character's growth! It's everything I could have wanted. Absolutely worth anyone's time.

I played on the Nintendo Switch (regular), and while there was minor lag at some points, it didn't negatively effect my experience much at all. I have now purchased it on steam, and I'm going to try for 100% achievements (there is no achievement system on switch)! I found that i missed quite a few things in my blind playthrough, so I hope to catch everything in this upcoming one! to conclude, have some siffrin doodles I did today <3

[anjaelle]

Dumpster Diving

Pairing: College!Dave Lizewski x Black!Reader Summary: Friends help friends recover from a night of crime fighting. Warnings: Language, mentions of bruising/battering Word Count: 2.3k a/n: Finally getting around to writing about my babygirl Dave. I feel like 100 different stories have already been written about him. But I figured, why not add one more. Friends to lovers implied. Part II: Study Buddies

(Gif Source) --

Judging by the sounds you heard, you were almost positive that it was a dying opossum. Or maybe some sort of raccoon. There had been at least two occasions when you tried to help a presumably defenseless animal that'd fallen into the large dumpster after looking for a midnight snack. Maybe you were a little stupid for attempting it a third time. After all, how would they learn their lesson if they kept getting fished out? And after being nearly attacked both times, how would you learn to mind your business if you DIDN'T actually start minding your business?

You paused on the vacant campus path, looking around for a sign that anyone else would be able to help that thing. You were met with the sound of the sprinklers and crickets. Of course. This was the price you paid for being a world-class procrastinator and bleeding heart. You were leaving the library at 3am after pulling an all-nighter, AND forced to decide between saving a wounded animal and getting --at best--4 hours of sleep.

You sighed, readjusting your backpack on your shoulders, and dragged your feet to the massive dumpster parked on the side of the 6-story dorm. Something groaned and rustled inside, though it made no effort to push the metal lid open.

"Hello?" You asked, cautiously.

You were met with another groan and the sound of more rustling, indicating that you were no longer dealing with a defenseless animal, but a person. Someone clearly in pain.

"Oh, god damn it." You mumbled to yourself. You tossed your head back and groaned, pulling your backpack from your shoulders. "If you're alive in there, say something."

There was a beat of silence, and then a weak garble of words. At least, it sounded like words. You hesitated then climbed up the short steps leading up to the edge of the dumpster lid. It took you a few tries to push it all the way open, but when you did, you were smacked in the face by the smell of rotting food and stale alcohol. You reeled back and coughed, covering your mouth and nose. When you finally gained your composure, you peered back into the darkness of the dumpster to find someone splayed across the mountain of trash. They were wearing what looked like bright green pajamas and a matching ski mask. You could see a splash of dark red blooming across their stomach, and you winced empathetically.

"Hey! Do you need help?"

Of course they needed help. What a dumb ass question. The person seemed to weakly nod in response. That was a start.

"Can you reach up?" You called down.

There was another brief pause, then the person croaked out, "Yeah. Just...give me a minute."

There was no doubt in your mind that this was another student. He seemed to be throwing his voice a bit, but you couldn't quite place where you heard it. You both sat in silence while the dumpster diver took deep breaths of fresh air. There was no guessing how long he’d been sitting in there. You could imagine it was a miserable experience all the same.

"What's your name?" You suddenly asked.

The person cleared their throat and weakly responded, "Kick-Ass."

It hung in the air between you like a bad smell.

"Is that your frat name or something?" You questioned.

"What? N-no. It's..." he sighed, "it's a nickname."

"You need better friends, then. That nickname kinda sucks."

A gloved hand reached out towards you and you grabbed it, reaching your other arm down into the darkness.

"C'mon," you coaxed, "give me your other one. I'll pull you up in three."

"Are you strong enough to do that? I'm pretty heavy."

You felt your eyes roll into the back of your head. "Do you want my help or not?"

"I was just gonna hold onto the edge--"

"Listen, Kick-Ass, I could just leave you here."

His other hand immediately grabbed yours, and you counted.

"One...two...three!" You pulled. You heard his feet scrape the sides of the dumpster as he pushed himself out of the grimy tin can. You both fell backwards onto the grass and gasped for breath.

"Jesus, you really are heavy." You admitted, rolling over to get a good look at him. His eyes were closed and his chest was heaving, but the color was returning to his nose and what little you could see of his cheeks. So that had to be a good sign.

"I...told...you." He gasped before rolling over on his side and vomiting into the grass. You looked away, knowing for sure that you'd likely follow his lead. Scooping your backpack up, you hooked your arms through.

There was obviously something weird about a person in green pajamas chilling in a dorm dumpster at 3am.

"Welp, I did my duty. Good luck!" You gave him a friendly salute.

But it was not your circus. Nor were they your monkeys.

"Wait!" He cried. He crawled a little ways away from where he emptied the contents of his stomach, and slowly stood on his feet. Unstably. He swayed a little, holding his side. "I...kinda need help here."

Oh come on.

"How do I know you won't murder me?" You asked, raising a suspicious brow.

He shot you a strongly incredulous look and motioned to himself.

"Are you shitting me? You're more likely to murder me, don't you think?"

Point taken.

Sneaking him into your dorm room was a struggle. Not only was he taller than you and way more muscular than you, he was also probably dying. He leaned on you for support as he limped to your bathroom and collapsed on the toilet seat with a sharp, loud groan.

"Dude," you stared at him with widened eyes and peeked out into your suite hallway to make sure no one heard, "Any louder and my roommates will think I'm hosting an orgy in my bedroom."

"Sorry." He said, through clenched teeth.

You ran the bath, feeling a little bit like a dick for being so harsh.

"No, I'm sorry." You admitted as you tested the temperature, "I'm just really tired. You're hurt. I'm just being an asshole."

He chuckled to himself, "I don’t think you’re really capable of being an asshole."

"How would you know?"

He said nothing. When you turned to look at him, he eyed you warily and fidgeted with his hands. "Just a feeling--"

"Oh my god you're a stalker."

"What? No." He shot you a look like that was the most ridiculous thing in the world. Coming from a man you just fished out of the dumpster. "I just...guessed that you weren’t completely awful."

“You’re a terrible liar.” You searched the medicine cabinet for your first aid kit, “Take the mask off.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“You’re hurt. The mask is dirty. You’ll get an infection. What are you gonna do, bathe with it on?”

He motioned with his hands like that was a viable option, and you rolled your eyes at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Take it off!”

“No, you can’t know who I am. I don’t want to put you in danger. Not you.”

The sincerity in his tone struck a cord. And suddenly you suspected that he knew you more than you originally thought.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just…let me help you. You’re bleeding.”

He pressed a hand to the cut just above his eye, and the cut on his cheek. It was undeniable that he really needed her. He let out a deep breath and then slowly pulled his mask over his head. The mass of dark curls framed the battered, unmistakably adorable face of--

"Dave, what the fuck?!" You exclaimed. Your knees gave out from under you, and you sat dumbly on the edge of your bathtub. He nervously scratched the back of his head as you stared at each other. You weren't sure you were prepared to hear how your study partner was getting the shit kicked out of him and thrown in a dumpster.

"...yeah."

YEAH?

"What the hell happened to you?" You asked. You could hear the honey-sweet concern laced in your tone, and you weren't fully sure where it came from. He seemed just as surprised as you.

"I was fighting a guy on the roof and he—well, it doesn’t matter. He knocked me off and I fell. I think I got knocked out.”

He winced at the memory of the fall, and you mirrored his expression. Landing in the dumpster was lucky. A few inches to the right and he’d be tomato paste.

“I guess this all explains why you missed studying today,” you murmured. Then you realized— “Wait, hold on. Why were you fighting someone on the roof in green spandex. Are you a vigilante? Like…Batman?”

“If Batman worked in retail and hadn’t been laid in two years,” he mumbled. Then he caught himself, “Sorry, too much information.”

Any other time you would laugh it off. But you were still astounded that this guy you spent post-class time with was running around pretending to be a superhero. And he was getting seriously injured.

You both sat in silence as the bath water began to steam from the heat.

“And you were really doing this alone?” You asked, softly.

“Well yeah,” he shrugged like the answer was simple. “I don’t know if you realize it, but you’re kind of the only one who talks to me.”

In all honesty, you hadn’t noticed. He was quiet in every class you had together, but he always seemed nice enough. He had to have friends.

“Huh.” You applied ointment to a clean cotton ball and reached out to dab at the cut on his eyebrow, “I guess it was good that I was the one who found you then.”

You expected him to wince at the sting, but his eyes never left your face until he caught on that you noticed. He averted his gaze to the wall behind you.

“Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

You cleaned the other cuts across his face, and applied small band aids to each area. You both seemed to be lost in thought as you worked. He was the first to break the silence.

“Why are you always so nice to me?” He asked.

You contemplated your answer. It wasn’t hard to be kind to him. You told him as much, and a blush bloomed across his cheeks.

“I guess it’s nice to have class with someone who gives as much of a shit as I do,” he cracked a small smile at you and winced when his split lip began to bleed again.

Poor Dave was falling apart at the seams.

“Please tell me you wear underwear with your suit.”

He blushed a deeper shade of red and his eyes widened in embarrassment, “It—I…yes?”

“Great! Stand up. I’m gonna help you out of this. Because it smells awful.” You jumped to your feet with your hands on your hips, preparing yourself for the oncoming fight he was going to give you.

Surprisingly, he conceded. As you helped him get to his feet, you became keenly aware of the fact that he seemed so much taller because he wasn’t actively hunching and shrinking into himself like he usually was. You briefly wondered if Kick-Ass was the real Dave he kept hidden away from everyone.

If so, why?

“Ok, so how does this work?” You asked, circling around him as he leaned against the sink.

“There’s a zipper here,” he motioned behind him. You gently brushed his damp hair away from his neck and he shuddered at your touch. And as you pulled the zipper down to reveal the bruised, taut muscles of his back, you took a second to compose yourself.

“What the hell?” You mouthed to yourself, almost ashamed that you were eyefucking an injured man. Then you caught his gaze in the mirror and found him already watching you in amusement. His blue eyes darkened when you made eye contact, and you shifted your gaze.

“Okay, relax, you’re not that great.”

He raised his hands but you could see him fighting the urge to say something. Presumably something stupid and deeply unfunny.

You pushed one shoulder forward, allowing him to slowly pull his arm out of the tight material. He moved at a snails pace, but it didn’t seem like anything was broken. You weren’t knowledgeable enough about the human body to push anything back into place. And you didn’t have the stomach to try.

Once he peeled the rest of his suit off and was standing in your bathroom half naked, you quickly gathered his things.

“I’m going to throw this in the washing machine.” You mumbled.

“Wait…l—” he reached out and wrapped you into a hug from behind. “Thanks.”

Granted, it wasn’t the first hug he’d ever given you. But it was the first one he’d ever given you in any state of undress.

“No need to thank me,” you said, patting his cheek behind you, “not while you’re still battered. I might have you make it up to me later.”

“Of course…Whatever you want.”

That hung heavily in the air between you.

Suddenly, the door swung open and Dave stepped away from you as you hid his clothes behind your back. Your roommate, Ruby, stared from his half naked and bruised body, to your guilty expression, and back at him.

All three of you stared at each other as the awkward silence stretched on for seconds. And then minutes.

“Hi.” You said. Ruby’s eyes bugged out of her head at the audacity.

“Are you seriously FUCKING Dave Lizewski in our bathroom?”

You glanced at him and he glanced back at you, unsure of what to say. He raised his brows and you raised yours. What the shit were you supposed to do?

“…yes?”

She grimaced in disgust and left, shutting the door behind her, “Gross.”