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jokeroutsubs · 4 months

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ENG translation: If we believed that we were "kings", that wouldn't be us

An interview with Bojan Cvjetićanin for Slovenian newspaper Delo, originally published on 24.12.2023. Audio version by IG GBoleyn123

Original article is available here for Delo subscribers. Original article written by Lucijan Zalokar for Delo; photos by Jože Suhadolnik; English translation by a member of Joker Out Subs, native proof reading by IG GBoleyn123.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

With Bojan Cvjetićanin about the international breakthrough of Joker Out, the movie Kaj pa Ester?, about life on the road, football, sociology…

I met up with Bojan Cvjetićanin in Ljubljana's Stegne industrial zone, where the members of the popular pop rock (in their jargon: shagadelic rock'n'roll) group Joker Out created a rehearsal space for themselves two years ago. "Lately we've been on the road a lot, but this is still a great second home. If only you knew about the parties that happened here. There were fifty people dancing downstairs," he proudly looked from a small gallery towards the space that measures approximately thirty square metres. Even though the clock had just struck three in the afternoon, the 24-year-old Ljubljana resident had a long day behind him, which had been entirely dedicated to media obligations.

In journalistic circles, we often hear indignation about how modern day influencers - especially those who had gained their influence on social media - have no books on their shelves. Joker Out are first and foremost musicians, of course, but with 150,000 followers (Bojan's personal profile has 190,000) on Instagram, we can count them among the big Slovenian influencers. And there are plenty of books on their shelves.

I don't want to falsely portray the popular fivesome as enlightened donors to the Slovenian literary market: most of the books resemble those you can buy for little money in second-hand bookshops, or even get for free at library write-offs, but they still deserve praise for both the aesthetic sense and the content.

I also don't want to falsely portray the books as the only notable objects in the rehearsal space. There are also the golden plate for the Eurovision single Carpe Diem, which got over two million streams in Finland, a transfusion bag (Rh-) that Tomi Meglič¹, Cvjetićanin's biggest teenage idol, personally brought to them, and a small shop's worth of props given to them by fans: pillows with hand-embroidered patterns, plushies, bras with Instagram accounts written on them, various sweets, you could even find a vinyl from a Soviet cover band of The Beatles. If things continue like that, they soon won't have any space left for instruments, but those are just sweet worries. Joker Out, who were formed in 2016, are currently conquering Europe in a way that the Slovenian music scene has never seen before.

¹frontman of Siddharta, whose third album was called Rh-

I've heard that you approach your job with the utmost professionalism and that you wake up at five in the morning for media obligations.

That's true, today we started early in the morning in Maribor. The first few hours were the most tiring because we were constantly changing locations and driving around the city. After the third or fourth activity, we relaxed a little because we got to the studio. After that, everyone started coming to us instead of the other way around.

Slovenian cinemas have started playing the movie Kaj pa Ester? in which you play a boy who enrolled in high school just to get close to his ex girlfriend again. Did you have any problems with trying to get into the high school mentality?

We filmed the movie two years ago, when my memories of high school were much more fresh than they are today. But on the other hand, I played a boy who had just finished the ninth grade of primary school, so I had to put myself into the shoes of a primary school kid, which is much harder. We're also pretty different personality-wise. But almost the entire cast was around the same age, so too old. We joked about that a lot during filming.

Still, that's nothing unusual in the movie world.

Of course, there are 35-year-olds starring in High School Musical and no one is complaining.

Could you draw any parallels between a musical stage performance and filming a movie? You have to play a kind of role during a concert too...

I have to admit that it's completely different. On stage, I never feel like I'm performing. Of course I am actually performing, but I'm still in the role of myself, Bojan, whereas in the movie, I'm someone completely different. It might be easier to compare filming a movie with recording music in the studio, but there are big differences there as well. The biggest one is that for a movie, the director has the main and the final say. You have to trust him. When you film a scene, you don't even see what you've filmed for a long time. The movie in which I play one of the main roles will be played in cinemas, and I don't even know what I will look like on the big screen. It's different with music, because us authors listen to the songs a hundred times, a thousand times; we're the ones who make all the final decisions. That's quite a mental leap, but I didn't have too many problems with it, because I knew the previous projects of that team. V dvoje ('In a tandem') is my favourite Slovenian TV series. On the other hand, I needed time to get used to this new method of working. If I asked to see the scene we'd filmed one more time, but the director said it was good, we kept filming without hesitation.

You said that on stage, you are always in the role of yourself. Does the nature of that role change from concert to concert? And what influences it? The audience, the outfit…

The outfit has an influence for sure. More than I initially thought. Lately we've been playing with our stage look a lot and looking for the right combination. I currently find that the outfit suits me very well, it's just the shoes that bother me because they're too rigid. I have to change them. They're huge and massive, which makes me feel like I'm clumsily marching around the stage, whereas during rehearsals I wear sneakers and I'm therefore a lot more in the mood for dancing.

What about the language you sing in? Many people say that they feel as if by switching between different languages, they are also switching between their personalities.

I agree. When you change the language, your voice has a different colour and register, you come up with different jokes than in your mother tongue. If I lead a concert in Slovenian, Serbian, or English, I'm a different dude every time. This is also influenced by my notion that each time, I'm performing for a different group of people who are connected by a certain mentality. In Slovenia, I'm performing as a local for locals, and I feel like there are different "game rules" than for example in Croatia or Serbia. Elsewhere, I feel like I don't even think about this.

How did you get the idea to start creating and singing in English? You already broke through internationally with Slovenian.

Us creating in foreign languages isn't so much a result of wanting to break through internationally and the mentality that only English ensures global success. If we thought that way, we wouldn't have gone to Eurovision with a Slovenian song. We're primarily driven by a desire to learn new things, to push the boundaries... In the studio, it's similar to being on the stage. If you change the language, you're not only a different person on stage, but also inside your head. Your creativity is different. Playing with languages is actually also playing with your own creativity, because you enter a different space, a different mentality. The song Sunny Side of London could not have been made if we hadn't mentally transported ourselves to an English-speaking space. We want many more projects like that, not necessarily in English.

Can you be more specific? What kind of mentality do you associate Sunny Side of London with?

That song is a sort of homage to all the people who have suddenly become part of our story. Sunny Side of London has nothing to do with London as such. I was looking for a name of a well-known place with which to name all our concerts, and I decided on London.

The first time I said the words Are you guys real? – Is this really happening, are you really here and singing our songs? – on the stage, certain English phrases snuck into my mind. What the hell is going on? and so on. We also experienced, for the first time, foreigners coming up to us and talking about their own experiences connected to our music. That was something completely new for us. We listened to all those stories in English, as our fans of course can't speak Slovenian, even though they can sing our Slovenian lyrics. Sunny Side of London therefore emerged as a collection of all the experiences and stories that fans told us after gigs.

You've already touched on fans who sing your lyrics by heart from Finland to Spain. Could you highlight the nation with the best ear for the Slovenian language?

On the latest tour, when we visited Lithuania, Poland, Czechia and Croatia, there were moments when I felt like I was singing in Slovenia. In Prague, I filmed the audience singing Umazane misli without me. As if I were in Križanke, for example. But it's even more fascinating that people sing well in England and Nordic countries too. It's understandable that our Slavic brothers have the best ear for Slovenian, but northerners aren't far off either.

How much of your international success do you attribute to the Eurovision performance?

A huge amount.

If you had to express it in a percentage?

99.9.

Really?

Definitely. It was an incredible catapult. Whenever I ask the audience at our international concerts if anyone was already with us before Eurovision, a few hands shoot up every time, but those are rare exceptions.

How do you explain the fact that you finished in the relatively humble 21st place in Liverpool, but your visibility still grew in leaps and bounds?

We were very, very, very dedicated to the Eurovision project. We put a lot of time and energy into demonstrating to the people who were open to it that we weren't just a three-minute performance, but very much an existing band that has made many songs and that lives on stage. With time, and of course in connection with the Eurovision performance, more and more listeners got to know that. We clearly showed them: we are here, we are real, try it, connect with us.

Because they had so much different content available, this actually happened. I think it was also because they saw that Joker Out really was made out of five completely regular dudes from Slovenia who live a totally normal life, and at the same time we make music and have a great time doing it. That is already a slight deviation from what's been happening recently, when we're being bombarded from all sides by messages that we need to distance ourselves from each other, that we have to hate each other...

That was the sociologist in you talking.

That's true. The atmosphere in society nowadays is such that it emphasises individuality more than building a team. Young people, however, need and want to be part of a community. And we offered them that chance.

Where does your interest in social sciences come from? Your father is a gynecologist, your mother a pediatrician, and you have a degree in sociology.

I had a very good professor in high school. If you wanted to listen to him, he offered a lot of knowledge. Even though sociologists often think about society in an abstract way, the subject always felt tangible to me. I recognised it in very concrete life situations that I was trying to understand. At my final exams, I did a great job with sociology with very little effort – and then made a mistake and enrolled in economics. I wavered between those two options from the start, and in the end, what tipped the scales were the warnings of many people I knew that sociology doesn't have good employment prospects. I gave in to the pressure and very quickly realised I had made the wrong decision. I gave up on economics after the first semester. That was when I seriously threw myself into the band, we made Gola, and then I transferred to sociology and there was happiness all around.

You clearly won't work as a sociologist for a while yet, if ever...

But I am a sociologist.

In your soul?

No, as my profession. Us musicians are sociologists. A lot of sociological terms could easily be transferred into our environment. Locale, for example. In third year, the professor asked me several times: Well, Cvjetićanin, if you have a concert, is that locale or something else? And then I said it was locale and started rambling on. (laughter)

So you are a singing sociologist?

Exactly.

How do you explain the success of Joker Out from a sociological point of view? How do your songs address the zeitgeist?

I write the lyrics exclusively based on stories that really happened. Not necessarily to me, but to people I love. Therefore, I have a strong emotional relationship with the subject matter. My opinion is that there will always be people who will connect with the story if it's real. Because it's easiest for us to connect with real emotions. Our songs are love songs, they talk about finding yourself and personal growth, some are socially critical... I think that I have managed to find the right balance between being direct and being poetic.

I'll word it differently. The Beatles already sang about love and personal growth. And they weren't the first ones by far. Later on, those same themes were covered by hundreds of successful bands and an infinite number of slightly less successful ones.

I think that nowadays, we most often associate societal changes with technological development. Technological advances largely dictate the rhythm of our life. But those advances are mostly just a substitute for something that already existed in the past. The basic emotions have therefore certainly stayed the same. Love, fear, hatred... I think that the use of language is very important here. Even though the emotions don't change, the way we put them into words does. In music, too. I don't sing about a topic the same way my peers would have in the 1970s. Consequentially, our relationship with emotions is changing and evolving as well. As if our entire society is gravitating towards the point of holding the belief that it's better for an individual to feel less and less, and in a more and more censored way.

On the one hand, excessive use of social media and other media causes us to feel like distinct individuals. On the other hand, it connects us to the world and places us into a very wide picture. In every moment, we are only a click away from becoming cosmopolitan and being able to access all the information, events, and people, but at the same time, that's exactly what reminds us that we are a small and actually not very important dot on this planet. The magnitude of everything that's constantly available to us makes us feel small. I think that we mostly listen to, watch, and use those who manage to poke the spot that unnerves people the most in this context. If performers manage to break through the firewall of someone's VPN, then those people will also show their interest in an analogue way. Otherwise, they will only be a swipe away.

And now a question that's more psychological than sociological: do you ever try to get into the heads of the people who time and again show their interest in very analogue ways?

I have an infinite appreciation for their dedication, because for myself, I don't see the chance of a phenomenon exciting me so much that I would be ready to dedicate so much time and love to it.

So you've never been a very hardcore fan?

If, at twelve years old, I had to highlight one musicians that I would've wanted to meet more than anyone in the world, that would definitely have been Tomi Meglič. That hasn't changed to this day. The only difference is that we meet up with Tomi and we're friends. I still feel the highest possible level of respect for him. Every time he calls me, I am extremely proud of myself. But I still cannot imagine going to, say, Berlin tomorrow if Siddharta were playing there and I had a free day. I'd go to Maribor or Zagreb, but absolutely not across all of Europe the way the biggest fans do. Not even at twelve. I could sooner imagine that at that age, a football match rather than a concert would be the thing that excited me beyond all reason.

We're probably talking about two groups of celebrities that get worshipped as deities by the masses in Western society: footballers and pop and rock musicians. And this is probably linked to emotions again.

True. The thing that wakes up a person's sense of smell, sight, and all other emotions that overcame them as a child, is what has the best possibility of succeeding.

Now please explain how this is connected to football.

If I go to a concert by Siddharta, Big Foot Mama, Magnifico, I turn into a ten-year-old kid who will explode from happiness. There's no Bojan anymore. He gets lost. It's the same with football. When I watch it, I dream about how I played for Slovan² as a kid and what I wanted more than anything was to score a goal and for everyone in the stands to yell: Yeeeees!

²ND Slovan is a football club from Ljubljana

You don't score goals, but you are in a similar position that Tomi Meglič used to be in.

All the band members come from very loving families that have always provided us with a very good support system and instilled basic values in us that we internalised deeply. That is why everything that's currently happening around us hasn't gone to our heads in a way that would make us think that we're bigger or more important than anyone else. If we started believing that we were "kings" because everyone was clapping for us and singing our songs, that would probably be a very strong feeling, but that simply wouldn't be us. We mostly love to see all the people, because we know how much we mean to them and how much they mean to us. Without them, we wouldn't be able to focus on what's most important to us – our music. On the other hand, I can say with a thousand percent certainty that I would easily and happily do my job if I was performing at venues like Cankarjev dom. So, in front of a calmer audience, without unreal hype.

But what I would like most in the world is to turn into a footballer for ten seconds and score a goal at an important match. You know why? Because that is the biggest adrenaline hit that exists. When we perform on various stages, there's mayhem around us for two hours straight. But in football, when a goal is scored, that happens in a millisecond. You go from nothing into total chaos. Everyone loses their minds. I'd love to experience that. Well, I did – much like everyone who played football in primary school. When I scored a goal for Slovan and a hundred people in the stands clapped for me, I felt like I was on Maracanã. Imagine what it would be like to experience that on the real Maracanã.

It's interesting that you highlighted a loving and stable family background. Many of the biggest pop and rock stars in the world grew up in a diametrally opposite environment. From John Lennon and Janis Joplin to Prince and Rihanna. There are actually so many of them that we can talk about a pattern.

I know, because I love to read their (auto)biographies, and I agree with your assessment that their family circumstances are fundamentally different than ours. That is always my answer to the question when someone wants to know how debauched our tours are. When I tell them that we mostly drink water and tea on the road, they just can't believe it. But it's the truth, because we've realised three things. First, we enjoy what we do immensely, and from the experiences of many musicians, we know that you can almost definitely forget about a long career if you start doing everything that we perceive as the proverbial rock'n'roll lifestyle. A band like that breaks up sooner or later, either because of frayed nerves, or exploding egos, or because of money. Second, we've all had to go to work hungover and we know very well that it's unbearable. I especially can't imagine how we could stay healthy and keep our strength and our voice if we were constantly hungover on the road. In that case, the only short-term solution is drugs, which we fortunately [knocks on wood] don't do. And third: I'm sure that you have a much better time on stage if you're aware that you are on it.

Your international breakthrough doesn't have a precedent among Slovenian musicians. Would you dare to point out where the difference is, why you made it and not for example Siddharta, who had filled Bežigrad stadium and later did not hide their international ambitions?

We have to understand that Siddharta didn't have the chance to perform at a festival like Eurovision. It's hard to understand what it means for 160 million people to watch you. That is a bizzarely huge number. All this happened in the time of social media, and we had set up a pretty good mechanism in that area even before Eurovision, and then also used it, whereas Siddharta established itself as a band in the time of analogue media. I can't even imagine how it would've been possible to break through abroad from Slovenia at that time. Because even we are already – even though some things have opened up for us very nicely and we've been joined by the right people – finding out how much of an investment going international demands. Dreams of megalomanical earnings and a luxurious life brought on by a European tour shatter quickly. Even when you start filling up venues, you stay in a kind of hustle mode. You fight. Unfortunately, the costs in the music business are so high that performing abroad is more or less just for promotion for a long time.

You're probably thinking of logistical costs?

Yes. Some of my colleagues have total misconceptions about our earnings. They think that we're literally swimming in money, while we actually earn what amounts to a normal salary.

In March next year you will have eighteen concerts. You will start in Helsinki and end in Milan. How will you travel?

With a tour bus. We've rented it twice so far: for the UK tour and for the tour around Lithuania, Poland, and Czechia. There are beds on it, so we can sleep while driving from one concert to the next. The tourbus is prohibitively expensive, you pay almost half of your royalties for it, but it's the only way for a musician with such a packed schedule to survive in the long run. Sometimes people ask me why we don't travel with a van instead, but you have to understand that we sometimes have concerts two days in a row and the venues are 800 kilometres apart. If we spent all night in an uncomfortable van, then looked for a hotel in the morning and so on, we might be able to endure it for a week, but definitely not all month.

Do you ever sleep in a hotel?

Only on free days.

Will the March tour be your most exhausting one so far?

It will definitely be one of the more exhausting ones, but I am definitely happy that we will be able to sleep on a tour bus. We haven't been on a month-long tour yet, so it's hard to predict anything, but on the Nordic tour this year we played six concerts in five days, because we had two concerts in one day in Helsinki. We didn't have a tour bus there, we flew instead. That meant that after the concert, we got to the hotel at midnight, then we had to be at the airport at three in the morning, a few hours later we were already at the new location, we napped for two hours on a couch, had a soundcheck – rinse and repeat for five days in a row.

Let's not talk only about the negative sides of tours…

Of course. I love sleeping on the bus! I fall asleep like a baby who's being taken for a walk in a stroller. I can't sleep more than nine or ten hours in my bed at home, on a tour bus I easily get twelve hours. Maybe it's because it's constantly shaking a little. The other guys also sleep very well on the road.

But the most magical thing on tours is when I visit a city for the first time just because we have a gig there. That seems unimaginable to me. To meet new people, wonderful fans, to bond as a band, experience new, funny situations, to bring home a bunch of new inside jokes and incredible gifts that fans have made themselves. [Points towards a hand-embroidered pillow in the part of the studio where they keep the gifts.]

Elite athletes often lament that it's true that they compete all over the world, but they often only see the airport, the hotel, and the sports venue.

It's similar for us. When we travel with a bus, we only see the venue. If we happen to have a free day, we walk around the city, but we definitely don't visit all kinds of tourist attractions as some people might wrongly imagine. When we go to Paris, we definitely won't go to the Louvre, and we will see the Eiffel tower through the bus window if everything goes well.

But you meet a lot of interesting people.

That's true. I find it the most fascinating if we meet fans when we don't expect them at all. In a restaurant, on a plane… When we were flying to Poland, it turned out that one of the flight attendants was a big fan of ours. She told us that she was going to three of our concerts and brought us champagne and a model of a Lot Polish Airlines plane.

I was even more surprised in Helsinki. I went to some kind of dark club that had a techno music party. Suddenly I was approached by three people, two guys and one girl, and they told me that they were our fans and that they couldn't believe that they met me in that club. I also couldn't believe that people recognised me in the middle of Helsinki. What's going on?!

In the summer, you took a step back from Instagram for a while. What brought you to that decision?

Many things. I felt creatively empty. I also, for the first time in my life, experienced the internet – not just Slovenian, but global – being completely oversaturated with me. That started negatively pressuring me and eating me up. I thought about it a lot, and the first time I asked myself whether I'd be less Bojan Cvjetićanin if I didn't have an Instagram profile, I turned it off. Immediately after that, I wrote three songs; I felt as if I had cleaned up some of the mess that had built up recently. I returned to social media some time ago; with much healthier habits than before, I think.

How do you see social media? As a space for playfulness, for promotion, part of the job, part of private life?

I think that at the time when they started killing me, I perceived them too professionally. I had a feeling that Instagram was a platform through which I had to achieve all sorts of things. Lately, I prefer to joke around more.

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#bojan cvjetićanin #bojan cvjeticanin #joker out #Spotify

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gallusrostromegalus · 1 year

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The Rubicon, Part 3: Allegory Of The Cave

AKA, the Force-Sensitive-teenager-that-didn't-go-to-the-Jedi-I wrote-flash-fic-of-on-someone-else's-post-and-kept-going-Whoops-AU

Part 1

Part 2

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The galaxy has had many brilliant philosophers, among them is Platocca, the Wookiee scholar wrote an allegory of prisoners trapped in a cave, shown shadows of objects, people and animals are projected onto the wall by their captors, as a metaphor for the limits of the senses, and how the shadow of a Rancor is not the same thing as a Rancor itself.

Her disappearance does not go unnoticed- it’s hard to miss when the chateau of a locally prominent political family explodes hard enough to cause a major power outage and the body of their ‘reclusive’ daughter is nowhere to be found. A search is organized, and the scent-akks trace her footsteps out of the house and into the desert but lose the trail at the river, like how a vulpire evades the hunt.

The search expands- her holo is circulated on the local planetary networks, The family is interviewed and they, tearful, plead for her safe return. Her little sister’s tears and begging that it won’t Lifeday without her play particularly well. It gets picked up by the regional channels and soon there is a galaxy wide search for the Missing Girl.

Everyone loves to be a Hero.

The desert is searched by police flyover and volunteer foot teams. Hundreds scour the bare rocks for clues. Someone treks a full hundred miles into the labyrinthine canyons in search of her.

Everyone loves a Mystery.

Interviews are conducted with the family, with her mentors, with her caretakers and doctors. People try to reconstruct the final day before she vanished, someone publishes her school essays and more photos are found- of a shy child, cringing in the back of the Science Bowl team, or trying to hide behind a tree in a family reunion photo.

Everyone loves a scandal.

Ten is not that young an age to enter politics in the Galaxy far, far away, especially not for the now-heir to a prominent local political family and the little sister’s announcement that she’s running for the local civic council wouldn’t be terribly noteworthy, save that it’s done at a rally to raise funds for missing children all over the planet in her missing sister’s memory. By that afternoon, medical records are leaked- seven major psychiatric institutions in under five years, involuntary commitments, ‘experimental’ treatments for an ‘undiagnosed’ disorder- she hurt her siblings, it’s said, she was mentally deficient and home alone- abandoned, when the home “mysteriously” exploded and she vanished without a trace.

Tongues wag, and eventually agree that, best case scenario, it’s a family capitalizing on the tragedy to further their political ambitions But best case scenarios are rare in the Galaxy Far, Far away, and the idea that a family might try to get rid of a troublesome daughter before launching the career of another isn’t even a terribly implausible scenario.

Regardless of the situation, the Sister continues to poll well. Or, perhaps, because of it. Everyone loves to think they’re in on a conspiracy, and if this family is ruthless enough to kill a daughter, well, imagine what they’ll do to the opposition?

She first becomes aware of all this at a funeral.

She had gone back to the oxbow to bathe- having worked out podes that are durable enough for the desert and dexterous enough for her needs, and a steady, efficient gait to traverse the vastness of her new home, she was now experimenting with skin, and while the latest thick midnight-violet mammalian hide performed admirably in terms of thermal regulation and protection against the spines every plant and half the animals here had, it had a tendency to get oily and she thought a nice roll in the sand and soak might be in order.

Instead, the far side of the oxbow was crowded with people, all dressed in mourning white and carrying candles. A pyre was set up on the far bank, and a small, closed coffin sat atop it.

Oh hell. A child’s funeral. Who died? Not one of my classmates? or- no, no there are Sis and The Baby, thank fuck. Mom and Dad too. Front row. Hell of a crowd too. And reporters? Yeah, those are definitely holocorders, for the news. She squinted at the logos on the vans parked just up from the riverbank, having to switch spectra and focal distance a few times before the characters became clear. Big networks! We don’t have anyone that famous, do we? Which unfortunate bastard are you all the way out here for?

She stalked closer, using the harsh angle of the setting sun as cover, long ears cocked to listen. Voices sang monotonously through the traditional funeral dirge, her mother blotting at her cheek with a handkerchief. As the assembled tried and largely failed to reach the final note, The local temple priest lowered the funeral torch, lit the pyre, arthritically climbed both stairs to the podium, and tapped the mic.

“Blessings upon us all, on this sad occasion.” He bowed his head. “We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of one who was taken from us too soon.” he gestured to the holo broadcast in front of the pyre. She had to shuffle through the underbrush, until she could make out the flickering image against the flame. A girl, about her age, in fancy dress, grimacing as politely as she could.

Poor thing. Looks wretched even in the best holo her family could find. Would we have been friends, this girl and I? Maybe I knew her-

She squinted at the holo, something about it familiar- Gods, they’d even had the same awful bob haircut and itchy, itchy tule dress she’d been subjected to-

Wait.Is. Is that ME?

“She struggled in life, but was beloved by all who knew her-”

What.

“-She was a champion member of the Science Bowl Team-”

They kicked me off the team for ‘cheating’! It wasn’t my fault I knew the questions before they were asked!

“-and her artworks still adorn the walls of our school.”

WHERE? I got told that they were ‘Too Scary’ and ‘Not School Appropriate’!

“She was always unparalleled in character- you could not find a more, sometimes brutally, honest person, and she clung unfailingly to her personal ethics.”

Oh? Oh, that’s what we’re calling it? Because last month in front of the shrinks you called me ‘tactless and prone to blurting things out’ and said I ‘rigidly conformed to arbitrary standards to the point of insanity’! She seethed, a low rumble of disgust.

“We are all aware of her unfortunate medical history-”

Oh. Oh no.

“-but we can take some solace in the fact that she does not suffer anymore.”

Her mother took this chance to bawl theatrically.

There are no words in all the tongues of the galaxy-

“While ultimately unsuccessful, the efforts to find her- hundreds, if not thousands of volunteer search parties, all across the galaxy as this tragedy has brought us all together in ways I no longer thought possible. She is now one with the Nature she loved so much, and at peace. May this pyre symbolize the light she briefly brought into our lives, and let us reflect on our memories of her.”

The Priest stepped back and the line of mourners stepped forward- classmates, muttering about brief conversations in the hall, except a Longtime Bully, who gushed enthusiastically about how funny she was, with her weird turns of phrase and the way she-

She almost retched at the way her Bully imitated the way her hands would twitch when she was frightened, giggling.

Then her mother stepped up.

“We. We knew She was special, from the very day she was born-”

YEAH YOU SURE FUCKIN’ DID, DIDN’T YOU? She seethed, claws digging into the sand and tail thrashing. WAITING AT THE DOOR FOR ME, YOU SAID. BUT NO- NOT, YOU KNEW HOW TO RAISE ME BEST, YOU LOVED ME TOO MUCH TO GIVE ME AWAY, YOU SAID-

She crumpled, flattening against the ground and sobbing, strained hisses as her mother carried on, trying to hold back the tide of emotion before the Pyre exploded or something. She stared at the hologram instead. The girl depicted is a stranger- no really when the hell did Mom even TAKE that?? Fucking. Dress. When was the last time I even wore that thing? Gods, last Lifeday? No, I was back inside for that. It was… Really? Really? You chose a picture two years out of date?

She remembered the dress well. An awful thing made of tulle that didn’t itch so much as actually shred her skin where it wasn’t dangerously compressing her lungs and intestines. She’d been ‘allowed’ home for the holiday, a probation for Good Behavior and the muscles around her mouths ached at the memory of the practiced smile she held for weeks, lest her Mother change her mind about letting her attend the party. She’d made it a full three months before her hand slipped doing the dishes and even though the cut on her hand was small it was just one thing too many and the smile cracked and she ended up throwing the offending knife across the kitchen in a panic.

She looked down at her ‘hand’ now, the scar still there despite the changes. Some landmarks were stubborn like that- she still had the freckles and that one mole, and the scar from attempting to ride a swoop and crashing into the shrubbery instead. Others vanished from her body and her memory without a trace with the shape-change.

…Not that a more current image would really be more accurate but fucking really? That’s the one you picked? I guess I should be glad you miss me at all, but-

Her tail thrashes, chewing on this emotion and the air around her. Her mother is bent over the podium, sobbing. Her grief seems genuine, really. These are ugly, snotty sobs and the air around her cracks and splinters like bone in the Force.

And yet.

…DID she have more current holos of me? I was usually the one holding the camera, but. No, not from last Lifeday, I was inside. Not from Sis’ birthday, I was in the kitchen all day. Not on the Baby’s nameday either, all the holos are from inside that packed fire hazard of a temple and i refused to go in. Unless she took something between when my last camp ended and before they left for the mountains on the ‘normal vacation, for once’...

That really is the last Holo you have of me isn’t it?

And it’s not even me, just your favorite role I played.

Her father pulls her mother away from the podium, and she latches onto The Baby, cradling him close. The Priest shambles up to the podium again, and starts the final prayers. For peace, for a happy afterlife. The mourners got up and filed by the pyre, setting their candles around it before shuffling past the family, offering their condolences.

They lay hands upon her parents, and shake the hand of her sister, wishing her luck with her campaign.

She watched them file by, shrinking and retreating back, cowering in- in what? Fear? Anger? Grief? Disgust? She clawed at her face, unable to run, unable to stay.

Eventually, the neighbors collect Sis and The Baby, and her parents stay, waiting with the priest for the pyre to blow out, as per tradition. Her father stares off into the distance, mother clutched to his side.

“You. You’ve done this before, right?” he eventually stammers, turning to the priest.

“Fifty years of funerals.” the priest nods.

“And. And children?” He asks.

“Some of them, yes.” the priest sighed. “Children are always the hardest.”

Her father stared into the flames.

“Is. Is it wrong to feel… Relieved?”

Her mother wails again.

“I, I just… I keep thinking I hear her, around the house or out in the yard and I keep thinking she’s not really dead but- but it’s dread. I dread having to be on guard all the time or take her to another doctor or suffer another tantrum. I- I loved her, like any parent would but- but-”

“- We couldn’t live with her.” Her mother sighed. “Not really.“

The priest nodded slowly. “It’s not uncommon to feel relieved that our loved ones are no longer suffering. Or to feel some relief from being free of burden of care, even as we mourn.” he tried, over-optimistically.

“It’s not something you say to a child but. Oh gods. Oh gods what a nightmare.” Her mother sobbed.

“Her spirit may yet be with us!” the Priest pleaded.

“Body and Spirit, Holy Father.”

They all looked up.

She stood on the sandy bank of the river, the thin nervous girl from earlier this summer. She held her arms out, silently asking for a hug.

Her father shrieked, and stepped back, her mother cowering behind him. The priest held his own arms up defensively.

Ah. So that’s how it is.

“Relieved? That’s how you feel? The nightmare is over?” Voice high and tight as she grimaced at them, smiling like a primate baring its teeth before an eye-gouging, face-eating assault. “You know what? I can’t blame you. I have to say, this last month? I’ve been pretty relieved too. No white-knucke social events. No more being abandoned so Sis and The Baby can grow up ‘normal’. No more ‘treatments’- you know the last one involved electrodes, right? Of course you did. You signed the wavier!”

Her mother opened her mouth, but choked on whatever it was she was going to say.

“But the biggest thing? No more pretending. No more playing the sweet, stupid girl for you to pity and be pitied for. No more pretending I’m the crazy one here. No more being something I’m not.” She grinned, and began to change again, skin darkening to midnight again, stretching her spine out until she tipped forward, forelegs splashing in the water and making them jump. She stretched to the height and shape that felt comfortable, A deeper shadow of limbs and muscle and teeth and too many eyes, tapetum lucidum glittering above them in the last of the Pyre-light.

Her mother gagged, her father stared, frozen except for the tears, and the priest crumpled back in revulsion.

“I really can’t blame you.” She rumbled, stereophonic now. “-But I won’t let you delude yourselves. I might be free of you, but you’ll never be free of what you did to me.” She grinned mouths full of teeth at them, before turning and walking into he river, vanishing below the surface with a flick of her tail.

Her mother’s screams echoed in faintly through the water as she made her way downriver. There was a spaceport there, and nothing for her here.

---

Now, Platocca rather famously got in a brawl with another Philosopher named Ogg who posited that while the shadow of the thing is not the thing itself, if there's a moving shadow shaped like a Rancor, it's being cast by SOMETHING, and there are better things to do than standing around philosophizing about it. Like finding out what's casting the shadow from a safe distance, on account of the downright-likely chance that the thing casting the Rancor-shaped shadow is, in fact, a Rancor. You Pedantic Twit.

It doesn’t take long for the carrion beasts to come around.

The scandal embroils the galaxy, and the gruesome details of the child’s history are the gossip of the day.

Some can sniff between the lines, and take notice- if it was any of the more common ailments, something would have worked by now. The details of the ‘explosion’ hit the insurance market- no point of ignition- indeed, no fire at all, like someone had swung a wrecking ball out from inside the home in all directions at once. And they dig a little bit and compare her birth date to the public logs of Jedi deployments and make an educated guess or five.

The only vehicle available for rent was an ugly yellow cargo vehicle, but a make and model with an extremely reliable engine and good mileage, which he decided was a decent tradeoff for its abhorrent color. Alas, to rent! He's already in hot water with the Bounty Hunter’s Guild for ‘retroactively purchasing’ a vehicle the last time he was chasing a mark and while the work was undignified, being a Sith didn’t pay like it used to.

He can hear her miles before he sees her. A low, rumbling thrum in the force, sort of crunchy and guttural, but not unpleasant. He stops the speeder in the blazing white light of late afternoon and cocks his montrals, the physical sensation helping him mentally triangulate the noise. It’s constant, steady drone, like she’s meditating. Or asleep. Either way, a sensible thing to be doing in this disgusting heat. Maybe she does have promise.

The bounty hunter’s guild membership is a convenient source of income, but more than that, it’s an excuse to stick his nose into whatever business the Force demands. Need to get into a secure building? It’s fine to put his boot through a window, he’s after a mark! Need to make some dubious contacts to keep himself appraised of the movements of his fellow force-users? People are much more willing to wag tongues about criminal gossip for some coin than snoop on the Sith, but the relevant details are the same.

And now, when he was trekking into the desert after a teenager- he’s just doing some public service, and certainly not looking for an enraged force-user to take as an apprentice! Besides, if she wasn’t up to snuff, he could always turn her in for the money.

He drives on deeper into the thrum, and eventually spots her location- a grove of massive cacti in a small, depressed ditch. If there is water anywhere out here, its in there. Honestly, did nobody know how to conduct a search these days?

About 100 feet front he grove, he stops, and listens. The thrum is much louder now, but he can’t pick out a specific point of origin inside the grove, which is… peculiar. He hopped down and instantly, the thrum ceased.

“Oh, so you do have some wits about you!” he laughed, strolling closer, hands up and saber tucked behind him, hidden by his coat. “Hey, hey- no reason to panic, I’m just a… well, you and I- we’d be kin, after a fashion.”

No response. No scuttling through the underbrush, no tension from nerves. Cool as a cumcuber fruit, watching him.

“Well, maybe not Kin. I’ve heard all about the bastards that you got stuck with for a family. Most of the galaxy has now!” He shrugged, stepping into the shade of the outermost cacti and squinting into the grove. “They didn’t understand, did they? The connection, the POWER that flows through you- it scared them! And honestly, I can’t blame them, if half of what I’ve read about how you blew up a house is true, why, you’d give some of the elders of my sect a run for their money.”

He can feel her gaze on him, taking in every minute movement. No particular direction, almost as though she were circling him. Good, good! She wouldn’t have lasted long if she was completely without talent, of course. Still, let her circle. Let her come to me.

“My parents never understood either.” He sighed, strolling deeper into the grove. “Always insisting that I was breaking things on purpose, that I was being cruel by telling the truth- but why shouldn’t I? They always said ‘Honesty Is The Best Policy’!” He laughed.

“But my Master? He understood. He understood how big and cruel the galaxy can be, especially for people like us. And it’s not wrong for us to defend ourselves! I’ve got just as much right to exist as a vrelt or a tooka! They can’t make people understand growling, so it’s not wrong for them to bite! So what if I had to resort to force when they couldn’t be made to understand?” He laughed, stopping near the center of the grove. It wasn’t that easy to hide in- the cacti didn’t branch much, and the scub wasn’t that dense. She has to be using the shadows, or keeping her nerve to stay perfectly still and pass herself off as a rock.

“..I suppose it’s fair for you to be cautious.” he nodded, reaching into the pockets of his coat. “I mean, the galaxy is full of hucksters and con-artists that think they know what’s best. I won’t pretend that I do, but I know what it’s like to suffer for having a connection like we do. And well, like how I was taken in, I should return the favor to those in need.” He pulled out a bottle of clean water- still cold even!- and a protein bar.

“Here, a token of my goodwill!” he said, tossing them into the scrub. “I’ll be in the speeder when you’re ready to talk.” he waved, strolling back towards the rental.

“...You have The Force too?” She asked.

He stopped, and couldn’t help grinning a bit. He squinted at where he thought the sound had come from, but only found a plain cactus, and no sign of the frail little girl from the posters.

“That’s right!” He nodded. “That’s how I knew where to find you- belongs like us, we’re all connected.” He explained, tapping his forehead and sitting down on the ground, lekku dragging a bit on the dirt. The circling sensation was back, but he definitely had her interest now. He expanded his perceptions- ah, there it was- she wouldn’t know how to shield yet, of course and he could feel the head-tilting sensation of confusion.

“...Do some people have more Force than others?” she asked, on his other side now.

“Yep!” He laughed. “Good trick, throwing your voice like that! But yes, there’s a huge variation in the capacity people like us have in the force. Don’t worry- it took me years of training to get like this, but with practice-”

A sharp chortle of amusement rang through the grove.

“...What’s so funny?” He asked.

“Years Of Training, you say?” She snickered, and he felt the scales on the back of his neck prickle. He could feel her, close, and moving now, stalking and coiling like a carnivore, but he still didn’t know WHERE-

He was suddenly struck with a vision of himself- sitting, lanky and small, laughably small from her perspective. All the weapons on his person were highlighted, including a dark red throb of the Kyber Crystal in his saber, along with the ache in his back and knees, and the tinnitus in his left montral and his name and his master’s name and- and-

“SHIT!” he snarled, instantly on his feet and glaring up at the tops of the Cacti, lightsaber thrumming in his hand. “Rude little bitch, aren’t you? Sneaking into people’s heads without their permission!” he scolded.

Another amused chuckle. “Better a bitch than a braggart.” she gave the impression of a shrug. “Because I know exactly where and what you are, but you-”

He felt something around his ankles. Midnight violet tendrils, like stalks of mycelium sprouted from the ground and wrapped around his legs. He flipped the saber around in his hand, plunging it into the ground-

“-Don’t even know where to look.” She finished and suddenly the cacti all fell inwards on top of him, as the tendrils yanked down, and he was pulled under the sand, choking and flailing.

He could see her now and-

Oh.

Oh FORCE.

She felt like she’d been all around him because she HAD. She was the cacti and the root system that spanned the grove and dug deep into the underground river system, and hell, even the river itself. Any resemblance to a humanoid form was gone, she was now a companion shadow to the environment around her, a branching form more like a plant or subterranean fungus than anything else.

You were right of course, to head to the only source of water. She conceded, and he felt his skull figuratively pop open like a pocket filing wallet, and the midnight tendrils rifle through his memories with a vague disinterest. But you didn’t know that most of a river is underground, did you? I don’t think any rational search party would have guessed how I’ve been traveling, really-

So, a Sith with a day job? That’s… He felt the mycelium of her body wince in the soil around him as he began to choke on the sand. Pretty embarrassing, actually. But, you’re right, money makes the galaxy go ‘round… memories of The Guild application process, how he’d modified his ID card, His Master back on Korriban, the disciplines of the order, assembling his lightsaber-

His lightsaber!

He swung through the dirt and she flinched away from the blade.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that, I’m going to leave.” she laughed, a mouth forming and unforming from the mycelium ad hoc, and she withdrew from around him. He clawed furiously, reaching up with the force, pulling himself awkwardly up out of the soil, spitting and howling curses as he tried to untangle himself from the roots and the pile of toppled cacti over him-

“So long, and thanks for all the snacks!” She called and he turned-

…to see the yellow rental speeder flooring it into the distance.

He patted his coat and realized that the speeder keys, his wallet, and lightsaber were all missing.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

She was too far to reach now, but he could still feel the crystal in his lightsaber, calling out to them. It’s fine, all I have to do was trust in the force and follow the crystal- She doesn’t know what its capable of-

She set cruise control at just under the speed that made the cheap speeder shudder like it was about to fall apart, and leaned back in the driver’s seat, taking a swig from the water bottle and unscrewed the bottom of the lightsaber.

It was a simple enough device really- a small rechargeable battery that fed energy into the crystal, which was focused through a series of lenses and a magnetic field to create a looping blade of plasma. Basically a more refined version of a Plasma Chainsaw, with a magic rock for a laser.

The magic rock pulsed.

She blinked at it.

It was a pretty thing, the color of really expensive rubies or fresh blood, and sparkled more than either. Not with sunlight. With… Potential.

There was a lot of power in her, and this would let her focus it, to carve the world around her as she saw fit, to conquer all that tormented her- Visions danced, of her on a throne, the dismembered bodies of the doctors and orderlies and her mother at her feet-

“Nah.” She laughed, tossing it over her shoulder and out of the speeder. “I don’t want conquest or to cut throats or whatever.”

“I mean, I do.” She admitted. “I absolutely did fantasize about killing her, more than a few times, just to shut her up. But that’d just leave Sis and The Baby without a parent that genuinely cares for them, and they never did a thing to me.” She shrugged. “It’s a nice fantasy, but it’s not what I want.”

Then what? The natural question followed. I really do have unlimited potential. What Do I Want?

She stared at the shimmering horizon in silence for a while, not so much thinking as listening.

“I want.” She started and paused. “I want to be happy.”

“It’s been a relief, to be away from all the doctors and eggshells, and to be the shapes I want.” She nodded. “But that’s not quite the same as happy.”

“It’s boring too.” She added. “Cacti are all fine and good, but hardly good conversationalists. I want-”

“I’m lonely. And sad, and scared about a lot of stuff.” She admitted, and the truth sat uncomfortably on her breast, but it was better than where it had been sitting inside her, aching, before.

“I want a friend.”

She paused, having picked up a thread in the force. A thin one, feeling like only the finest spun fiber, barely tying her to-

She saw the Apprentice from the documentary again, babbling excitedly about learning about how to conduct diplomacy and the the ins and outs of negotiation, and all the people she was going to meet, and the places she’d see and-

“She looks like she’d be fun to talk with.” She mused.

----

Philosopher Ogg got thrown through a window for arguing with Platocca, but was really the ultimate winner because centuries later, when an excitable and somewhat high-strung Jedi Apprentice got up from her afternoon meditations and saw her shadow finish stretching a full two seconds after she did, she did not write it off as a trick of the light or still being groggy from a meditation session that had accidentally turned into an unplanned nap.

She also, in a demonstration of what an early start learning self-control in an emotionally supportive environment could do for someone, did not immediately panic.

“Alright.” She said, watching her shadow where it stood obediently against the wall in the reflection of the window. “Next we have Saber Practice, and then Rhetoric and then it’s dinner,” She listed off to nobody in particular. The ‘Royal’ We’ they used to call it. Very handy when you couldn’t specify exactly who or what you were talking to.

She walked down the hall, watching her shadow in reflections and when it skipped ahead of her as she turned down the halls, keeping a close eye on when it actually met up with her feet as she walked. It was close, within the margin of error between the complex shadows cast by the architecture of the temple and the shadows of other Jedi but…

When she finally stopped at her place in the lineup to do katas, she could swear she heard herself take another step.

“You seem distracted today, young one.” The saber master frowned as she missed her thrust for the third time that day.

“I- yes, sorry master.” she bowed her head. “It’s going to sound bizarre, but- I don’t know. Does my shadow look weird?”

The master stared at her blankly for a second, then turned his attention to her shadow, which lay on the floor beside her in the expected fashion.

“...No.” He spoke slowly, running his chin with concern. “But that’s my perspective. How does it look to you?”

“Like it’s- lagging? Not quite doing what I am- I stretch, but it stretches for longer. I walk, and it does too, but with a different gait. It’s not much but- I suppose it could be a problem with my peripheral vision? I have been having a lot of migraines lately.”

“Hm.” He nodded. “Well. I do not see any evidence of your shadow behaving in any abnormal way, but you should tell your master and perhaps make an appointment with the ophthalmologist. I promise to tell you if I do see anything out of the ordinary, though.” He smiled gently.

“Thank you master.” She nodded, shoulders drooping a bit. It was, most likely, a trick of the light or her eyes, but it was nice to have an additional perspective.

Her next thrust landed perfectly.

Her shadow was largely out of her line of sight during rhetoric, mostly cast under the desk behind her, and it was easier to focus, but there was the nagging sensation that the usually-empty seat beside her was occupied with someone who kept fidgeting and straining to hear the lecture.

“You okay?” her friend asked, taking her hand as they left class together. “You seem really tense.”

“I don’t know.” the apprentice sighed. “I think I might have a problem with my peripheral vision. I keep seeing my shadow flicker or think there’s someone standing-” She stuck out her free arm and waved it in the air beside her.

“Ick.” Nodded her friend. “Yeah, that’d drive me right up the wall. Hopefully you only need glasses or something?”

“Ugh, glasses.” the Apprentice rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure which would drive me crazier- having to clean the lenses constantly just to be able to see or actually being haunted!”

They laughed, and walked together toward the cafeteria.

“So your master’s away?” her friend asked grabbing trays for both of them.

“Yeah, Mirial, so you understand why the council sent an all-male contingent to the negotiations there.” She nodded, grabbing a pair of allpes fruits. “He’s actually probably back by now but messaged me earlier that he’d been up for three days straight so to finish classes as normal and go see friends if I wanted because he’s going to have the mental faculties of a sofa for a few hours once he lands.”

“Oh nooooo-” her friend giggled. “You don’t worry about him?”

The Apprentice shrugged. “I mean, a bit? But this is pretty normal for him- he’s like a loth-cat, slinks away and hides when he’s not well, but he’ll call if he’s in real trouble. Still, I think I’ll finish dinner here and go back to our rooms, I’ve got so much reading to catch up on-”

It was good to talk and catch up on all the gossip for an hour- She’d been one of the first of her class to be picked for an apprenticeship and as much fun as her new freedoms and responsibilities really were, she sometimes missed the camaraderie of the creche. There were the expected interrogations about off-planet missions and OH FORCE THE PADDWORK and learning one-on-one and the splitting of responsibilities between master and apprentice.

“It’s pretty normal that you don’t go on all the missions early on, I know.” She sighed. “But I did miss him this week. The rooms are too quiet without him taking random calls or doing the dishes at weird hours, you know?”

“Yeah, it’s weird not having you snoring at night.” her crechmate nodded, grinning.

“I DO NOT SNORE”!” she yelped, mock-threatening to throw the spare piece of fruit at him.

“We’re kidding! You whistle a bit, at most.” he friend patted her shoulder affectionately. “Besides, if you get really lonely, you’ve got your little peripheral vision fairy for company!”

The Apprentice rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a surreptitious glance at her shadow.

“Your WHAT?” her crechemate asked.

“I think I’ve got something wrong with my peripheral vision, and it’s faking me out into thinking my shadow is misbehaving or I’m being followed by some sort of sprite that hates rhetoric class.” She shrugged, waving at her shadow, and it waved along with her. “It only gets more boring- tomorrow is Economics, so you should go haunt someone more exciting.” She told it.

“UUUUGH that sounds so annoying!” her crechmate groaned.

“I don’t know- I suppose it’s not so annoying if I think of it as an invisible friend or something.” The apprentice laughed, and her comm beeped.

>I have returned safely to the bosom of the temple once more. Wretched migraine, grab me a snack? XD

She snorted and showed her friends the message.

“He texts like such an old fart!” her friend giggled. “I thought he was like, really young?”

“He’s only a decade older than me, so practically a kid for a Knight, but damn good at it.” She nodded. “He’s Accumulated Great Wisdom For His Years!” she said in her best esoteric philosopher voice. “So he’s the galaxy’s youngest old fart.”

Her friends cackled as she got up, pocketing the fruit and a few snack bars for him, before waving her goodbyes.

He was curled in bed with a pillow over his head to block the light and noise when she came in, but rolled over and reached out towards her anyway. Her shadow stretched all the way across the room and onto the wall his bed was pushed against in the slice of yellow-orange light cast through the doorway, like the spectre had already joined her master.

“Hello Master.” She smiled, sitting on the bed beside him and pressing a juice pouch into his hand. “I missed you.”

“-and I you.” he replied, slowly sitting up and squinting at the pouch an inch from his face. “Melloon! You remembered my favorite flavor!” he beamed.

“You’ll read with less headache with your glasses.” She sighed, handing the small device to him and watching as he unfolded them and blinked, large dark eyes now appearing twice as large through the prescription lenses. “...How did you know you needed glasses?” She asked as he fiddled with the straw, trying to puncture the pouch.

“Couldn’t see shit.” He grunted. “Well, actually, it was when I couldn’t distinguish the letters on the board back in my very first formal classes. I’ve had them longer than I’ve been able to read.” he said, taking a long sip. “...Why?”

“I’ve- all day my shadow’s looked weird.”

He paused, face still scrunched in discomfort. “...shadows in general, or your shadow specifically?”

“-” She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. “-just mine, actually. And I thought I could hear someone walking behind me, and all rhetoric class I had the impression someone was sitting next to me-”

Her master was suddenly sitting all the way upright, staring at her with rapt attention. She winced.

“It’s alright.” he soothed, hand on her shoulder. “But please, tell me everything.”

She sighed, slowly recounting- the way her shadow seemed to lag or not quite match her, the ongoing headaches, the sensation that “-I don’t know, like someone’s standing beside me? I mean, I absolutely could be working myself up over nothing-”

“If it’s bothering you this much, it’s not nothing.” her master nodded, still watching her face. “Even if it’s just a flicker brought on by growing pains, it’s not nothing. What was the first lesson you were ever taught?”

“...Trust your instincts?” She tried,

“Trust your instincts.” He nodded, smiling gently. “...Without looking at your shadow- do you have an impression of what this… companion looks like? Are they tall, short? A sapient being? Or maybe an animal?”

“They’re uh…” She unfocused her eyes, concentrating on the sensation of the person that had been beside her all day. “-They’re… A girl, like me, my age- not me though, she’s… thinner. A little frail maybe? Skittish- no, that’s not right. Like she’s hanging back. Not sure when to come into the conversation kind of awkwardness? And thirsty. Like, dehydrated.”

“Alright.” Her master nodded. His voice had shifted, like he’d sat up more and closer to her. “Anything else? Do you know what she looks like? Has she said anything?”

“No.” The Apprentice shook her head. “Quiet. Listening, but not having an easy time of it. Keeps fidgeting. She- she has a shape, but it keeps changing. Like- sometimes people don’t know who they are, like they have blurry edges around their sense of self? She’s got really sharp edges of what is and is not her, but those edges are always moving. The eyes are the same though. Intense focus, and an eyeshine, like an animal.” She started to tremble at the feeling of that terrible gaze fixed on her.

Her master shifted his weight, gently wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to lean into his shoulder.

“...I’ve seen her before.” the Apprentice realized. “I don’t know where but. I remember those eyes, staring right through me. Something- something terrible happened…”

“I’m sorry.” a voice whispered.

Her head snapped up, staring at the shadow on the wall on the other side of the bed- it had changed- still the same size as her, but they sure as hell weren’t the same species and a pair of holes in the shadow, in the shape and location of her eyes, still staring. The shadow flinched and the Apprentice’s heart race, but, gazes locked, neither could move.

Visions- the brilliant night sky of the desert, electrodes on her temples, a map tracing the route of a subterranean river, a wound (and the knowledge she’d caused it), the furious screaming of a bounty hunter who had meant her some malice- arced across their connection like lighting. And visions from her mind- The flowers carved and painted into the bunk bed posts at her creche, the buzz of a training saber, the warp of her Master’s prescription glasses, the weight of his arm across her back- arced back.

“You!” She gasped. “You’re the girl who- who-” She gasped, tears flowing but she refused to blink, if she blinked she’d be gone-

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!!!” She yelped and whimpered, unable to pull back from their connection, fear and despair and-

“It’s alright.” her Master’s voice settled over them like a thick blanket, and he reached out, touching the shadow’s shoulder, fingers curling around it as she seemed to peel off the wall, in three dimensions now, and became her own being, still a shadowy echo, but herself and not the Apprentice’s shadow. “It’s all alright.”

He pulled her closer, translucent form still trembling, until the Apprentice couldn’t hold it back and blinked, throwing herself at the other girl, wrapping her arms around her strange not-doppelganger, and sobbing- “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t have- that wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair-”

The shadow screamed, hugging her back and clinging to both of them, smoke-like fingers digging into her robes and hair.

“By The Force.” her master whispered. “Oh no, oh dear-” He stroked their backs as the girls cried in his lap. The shadow girl began to flicker, and his apprentice grabbed at her, trying to keep her with them.

“I- I can’t stay- please- please!” She wailed.

“We will find you.” The Master promised, voice heavy with the seriousness of his pledge. “I don’t care how far we have to go or how long it takes, we will find you.” he promised, clutching the girls close in an embrace, the shadow-girl trying to cling to him hard enough that her fingers drew blood on the side of his face and across the back of his apprentice’s neck, before she succumbed to whatever was pulling her away from them.

The apprentice continued to sob as their connection faded, her Master still holding her.

“...I need to speak to the council about this, and fast.” he spoke, voice still grave. “That- If she was doing what I think she was, he is an immensely powerful force-user.” He swallowed hard, hands trembling. “-A very dangerous thing to be in this galaxy, especially alone. She could fall prey to all sorts with ill intentions…”

She woke up, screaming and clawing at the cheap third-class cabin mattress pad, sobbing, and could only lay there for a second, whimpering and pawing at the blanket that a moment ago had been a robe-

“So uh.” a voice spoke up from the other side of the cabin, pausing to clear his throat.

She looked up realizing she’d gone from a plausibly-normal-but-uncommon humanoid to something three times her regular size with horns, long thrashing tail and covered in spines in her sleep. Pressed firmly to the far wall was the tiny cabin’s other occupant, a man that was actually probably not that old, but looked like he had gone through the garburator of life without the sink running, judging by scars covering his torso and his cautious but strangely calm demeanor as he slowly stood up from where he’d been taking cover behind his mattress, which was now covered with spines.

“-Do you usually sleep-shapeshift?” he asked. “Because if that’s the case we’re gonna need to ask the steward for a lot more bedding.”

“...I was having a nightmare.” She croaked awkwardly, slowly collapsing back to her previous humanoid shape.

He nodded slowly, shaking the spines out of his mattress as they shrank along with her and setting it back on his bunk, opposite hers.

“Not to be entirely self-interested, but that’s an unusual talent you have there, and something I would find immensely helpful in my line of work.” he said, studying her with interest. “Ever considered getting into crime?”

#Star wars #the rubicon #guess it's fic now #fucking dedicated to the bit of not naming or descibing anyone #good luck prospective fanartists

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nishiyako · 11 months

Text

Panties (NSFW)

Paring : 3rdYear!Nishinoya x 3rdYear!Reader

Tags : Fucking in a cleaning closet, Vaginal penetration, bent over, Teasing, Panty stealing (mostly giving), fingers in mouth, established relationsip, Noya being a lil fucking perv.

Summary : Being the responsible third years you and Noya are, the both of you decide to stay a bit late to clean up the gym. Once alone, he accidentally gets a glimpse of your adorable striped panties, which mad him decide to have you right then and there.

You and Noya were left in the gym cleaning up, as third years it was your responsibility to take care of everything apparently. Noya finished rounding up all the volleyballs as you were left in the closet with the brooms.

You heard his footprints follow behind you, "looking for something?" He asked, "No, Tanaka just forgot his beanie" you said as you picked it off the floor, he watched as you ass peaked out of your blue skirt, your striped panties showed as it highlighted your puffy folds.

"Wonder how it got here" you said standing back up, "he'll probably pick it up in the morning" he assured. You felt his arms wrap around you as he snuggled his face into the crook of your neck smelling your sweet perfume.

"Tired honey?" You asked. He didn't bother with a response as his hands traveled under your blouse, "What are you doing..?" You ask as your cheeks start to glow red.

"Relax, I just wanna feel ya for a bit he whispered in your hear, you heard the venom in his voice as you knew he had other intentions. You stood there stunned as he ran his rough hands and traced every curve of your body. His right hand slipped under your skirt and rubbed through through the fabric of your soaked underwear.

It was a miracle how good you looked in the girls uniform, It was probably his best decision to choose karasuno. "Noya, please, not here." You whined, "Relax, no one's here anymore, we've got the gym to ourselves. You rather let me fuck you on the stage?" He asked with a tease in his raspy voice. "No..." you hummed.

You knew your boyfriend was a pervert. You loved that fact about him. He could control his constant hunger for you, yes. But something about having you right now on school property exited him.

It was his habit to grind against that ass of yours just to see how flustered you would get, but you were alredy so embarrassed he didn't want you to combust on him.

"Bend over for me, I just wanna test something." He said, he was always curious and you always seemed to fule it. "Noya please." A silence filled your sentence "don't do this to me" you begged. "Do what? Treat you like the tease you are? Sorry babe, that can't be stoped." It was about time you took responsibility.

All those times you made lewd gestures for him on the bleachers during the game that would obviously distract him, the nude photos you'd send him while he'd be out of town for games, or when you'd brush up against him every time you passed a group of girls.

You were kind of oblivious to the effect you had on him. You thought of it as just a funny joke, but secretly, you knew it was an obvious enough invitation.

You fainally bended over as you held one if the shelves for support, you alredy heard him tug his shorts down as he rubbed it shaft against the soaked fabric.

He pushed your cotton panties to the side as he sliped his sensitive tip inside you, you let out a breathy moan as it was mumbled by his hand over your mouth, "Is it alright if I..." he said ending his sentence, you alredy knew what he was gonna say anyways.

You nodded your head as a 'yes', he slipped in slamming his hips against your soft ass, his other hand held you by your hips, keeping you still. His chest was against your arched back as he held you close. You adjusted to him and it didn't take long for him to start moving.

He started slow, savoring every muffled sound you made. He started to thrust in, getting quicker and deeper as he made the shelf rock slightly and the objects on it rattle.

You could blame him, he loved fucking that cunt of yours under your skirt. Squeezing the flesh of your hips as he pounded you. You gripped the the shelf for dear life as you held yourself up, you stood on your tip-toes letting him have better access of every part of your sorry body.

His thrusts were sloppy but it felt divine, your brain fuzzed as the fear of being caught faded, all you focused on was the hands on your body and the twitching cock inside you.

Noya toyed with you, reaching his hands under your bra as he squeezed your perked nipples, or he'd reach down and rub circles around your sensitive clit. Whatever there was he wanted to toy with it, letting his curiosity and disires run free.

He took control of the situation in the best ways possible, the door still being open enough to see your body in the dim closet. The red hand marks on your ass from spanking you.

You started to get louder from the way he pounded you, fluids dripping down your thighs as his hand toyed with you, it drove you crazy. You felt his hand let go of your lips, you caught your breath fainaly being able to breath.

Suddenly his two fingers trapped your tounge to the floor if your mouth, you sucked on them to muffle your sweet sounds as your tounge played with them. Maybe sometime he'd put that tounge of yours to good use.

Everything was too much, yet you couldn't get enough. If he could treat you like this every day, he would. Maybe he just might.

"Baby, ima pull out mkay?" Noya whispered in your ear, you nodded as you couldn't wait for your sweet release. Pounding you even faster as your legs started to quake.

Suddenly, he pulled out, fluids rushed down your thighs as they soaked the hem of your black knee socks. He stroked himself as he came all over your exposed ass, soaking your cute panties even more.

You heard a whiney "Fuck!" Escape his lips as he finished, you both caught your breath as you decided to finnish up cleaning, also making sure to clean you the mess both of you made.

He joked about you giving him the panties as a gift, and secretly, you did consider it. As he walked you to your door, you said your goodbyes and goodnights. As he turned around, you spoke, "Hold on! I wanna give you something."

He turned round to see you holding onto a table as you balanced yourself. You slipped off your panties and folded them before handing it to him.

You gave Noya a smile and a kiss on the cheek then you bent over taking off your shoes before entering the house, now he saw your fully exposed cunt infront of him before you stood back up and entered your house.

Long story short, he had to deal with a bloody nose once he got home.

Note : Thank you so much, @syruponsausage , for the idea! I do agree, pervy dom Noya is top teir ;))

Reminder : Asks are still open!!

#haikyuu smut #nishinoya x you #nishinoya x y/n #nishinoya smut #nishinoya #nishinoya x reader

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siryouarebeingmocked · 1 month

Photo

“Israel is going out of it’s way to be cartoonishly evil, for literally no benefit, when they could already turn Palestine into a parking lot with conventional weapons.”

Also, if the device is so dangerous, why is someone just casually handling it? Is it somehow set up so that only pulling the key releases it?

The irony is that sayruq is posting this nonsense to stan for folks who directly attack Israeli civilians with conventional weapons, and also tell their own civilians to ignore Israeli warnings.

https://youtube.com/shorts/CJFm1e5O_K4?si=DDrgWZBUB7yShBs5

https://youtube.com/shorts/rJO1zPaDjtc?si=q4_Tk2OKKK9VZCnc

Disclaimer: didn’t watch these videos that Angerybell linked.

Someone else’s post:

Those are containers for M603 fuzes for detonating landmines, and they are literally labelled as 'fuze mine'. They're dropped on the ground because they are small objects that aren't super important, and sometimes people drop things.

And it takes a minimum of 140 pounds of force to activate that fuze and set off the explosion. Given that people normally don't have to apply the force of literally an entire human body to open a goddamn can of meat, I really doubt anyone's going to be 'tricked'. Especially since the supposed fake can of meat is literally labelled as actually being an explosive.

(Source)

This particular line of bullshit was posted in January, and quickly debunked. And if you'd click on the notes at all, you'll see the reply section is also full of people pointing out that this is a blatant lie. Also, OP I'd love to see some sources on that 'exploding toys' claim, because I've seen multiple blogs posting a photo of the debunked exploding can story with that exact paragraph copy-pasted underneath, and frankly that's a bit of a red flag in terms of reliable information. Given that you're not fact checking something you posted yesterday that was debunked over a month ago, I really don't trust your unsourced copy-pasted paragraph accusing a Jewish state of going out of its way to kill children. Because given the very long history of Jewish people being brutally murdered over false accusations of them killing and eating christian/muslim children, you need to be very fucking careful when you make a claim like that. If your accusation isn't backed with rock solid proof that you are openly presenting, you're just blindly spreading blood libel, and that's basically the textbook definition of antisemitism.

(Explanation of blood libel)

I wish people would stop misusing “blood libel” for things that are not in fact blood libel, but are still racist, anti-semitic horseapples.

#propaganda #sayruq #israel #stupid #war

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murdrdocs · 1 year

Note

Headcanons on father!Finnick PLEASEEEEE

before your child is born, he's extremely doting during the pregnancy. on you, and your baby. he's always talking to the little one, reading books, playing music, everything. he makes sure he's taking care of both of you, doing whatever you need and want just to make sure you're comfortable.

doesn't have a preference for a boy or a girl, and he would be a great parent for both. but he is a Girl Dad. i can't explain it, but he screams Girl Dad. and he would practice doing your hair (if you have any) to prepare for doing his little girl's hair. and is always calling you two "my girls". always.

cries during the birth. like sobs whenever he gets to hold his baby for the first time.

during the night, if your baby is having trouble sleeping, he's up before you even hear the first cry. he's kissing your head, telling you to go back to sleep, and he's in the nursery, rocking them back to sleep, singing lullabies that he remembers from childhood.

speaking of, he decorates the fuck out of the nursery. in contact with as many capitol designers that he knows, getting the most specific objects created and custom made paint colors. he goes all out for the room that he hopes to spend loads of time in.

fatherhood just looks so good on him. he has a certain glow to his skin when he's holding your kid on one arm, and flipping pancakes with the other. even whenever your baby projectile vomits, or spits up, or absolutely ruins a diaper, he's still beaming from within.

as your child starts to grow up, he mourns more and more. he takes pictures 24/7, and gets really into scrapbooking, to document as many moments as possible.

it's usually pictures of you in there. photos of you breastfeeding, when he told you you looked incredible even though you hadn't done anything to your hair in days. photos of your baby mid-crawl, just a blur of motion. then mid-walk, another blur of motion and a gummy smile. photos of you and your child sitting on the beach together, matching swimsuits and matching hats that finnick's apart of. eventually, you have to take the camera away from him to get photos of him in there too.

pictures of finnick helping your kid blow out their 2nd birthday candles. pictures of finnick teaching your kid the alphabet with a brightly colored book. photos of finnick in the ocean, holding your baby as they start to learn the motions of swimming.

there's so much clutter in the scrapbook, and even more clutter of photos around the house, that you and finnick don't know what to do whenever another one comes along.

#dad!finnick odair #dad!finnick #finnicksworld!#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair #celeste writes thg

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statusexile · 6 months

Text

Rip Off the Tag, Get Him Mad

Summary: Konig’s magnetic walk and mysterious mask make him a new darling in the fashion industry, and you manage to score an exclusive interview with him. You might not know what he looks like — but you sure do know what he tastes like.

Pairing: Konig x Reader

Warnings: afab!reader, dub con, dom!Konig, p-in-v, fellatio, mating press, dirty talk, brat taming, breeding kink, cum eating, creampie, badly translated German, reader goes by she/her pronouns, probably not very accurate in terms of both journalism and fashion but who cares I’m only here for sexy times.

Word count: 3,696 words

NSFW. MDNI!

a/n: Got inspired while listening to New Bottega by Azealia Banks and all I could picture in my head was supermodel!Konig for no reason lmao. As always, suggestion and feedback are always welcome along with reblogs and likes. Thank you for reading! ❤️

I put the boy in Galliano, now he’s a fuckin’ model

It was four in the morning and you had just landed in Vienna, your third destination for this week alone. Paris and Milan had taken their toll on your body, leaving you feeling so exhausted and jetlagged that you wondered if they had already become your permanent companions forever. Tired and bleary-eyed, you are ready for a break, but duty called.

You’re one of the most seasoned and notorious fashion journalists, never holding back on saying what everyone’s thinking, even if it means models walking out or crying during your interviews. It’s not personal though; you’re just doing your job, and damn, you’re good at it. Your knack for keeping it real and staying objective makes you stand out in the game.

You managed to sneak in a few hours of sleep before getting ready for Vienna Fashion Week. That afternoon, you rocked a cool vibe with an oversized black blazer that had this rad belt and chain combo going on. The vibe continued with a flowy, see-through black maxi skirt — the kind that made people do a double take. Toss in a mini bag swinging casually by your side, and you are ready to own the fashion week. Of course, the look wouldn't be complete without knee-high black boots, giving off major laid-back but put-together vibes. You kept your makeup minimal because you wanted your outfit to be the focal point of the entire look.

As you arrived at the event, fashion photographers and paparazzi started flocking to you, asking what you’re wearing and what you’re most excited to see during this fashion week. You posed for some photos and answered some questions. After navigating the sea of photographers, you made your way inside, where the atmosphere buzzed with the energy of influential figures in the fashion world, celebrities, and social media influencers. Greetings and compliments flowed as you mingled with the diverse crowd, exchanging smiles and posing for candid snapshots with some of the industry’s most notable figures.

You found yourself in the company of those who shaped the fashion landscape. The anticipation for the runway shows heightened as you took your seat in front row, surrounded by the pulsating energy of the fashion elite. The runway was set to unfold, promising a spectacle that would undoubtedly leave an incredible mark on this fashion week.

It was a runway showcasing the Fall/Winter ready-to-wear collection for men from one of the most prestigious high-fashion brands in the world. Anticipating a display of dark and muted tones, you were aware that the brand had embraced a theme this year focusing on leather. Getting a peek at this theme had you all hyped up, ready to see the slick and stylish gear they’re about to drop.

It doesn’t take long before the lights dim, signaling the start of the show. The sharp contrast between the dim lighting and focused spotlights heightens the dramatic atmosphere as models strut down the runway, showcasing the leather-themed collection. Stud appliques, dark makeup, and industrial styling add an edgy flair as they graze the runway. You’re making mental notes for your upcoming review, absolutely impressed with what you're witnessing. The collection has been really magnificent, surpassing your usual expectations.

The entire show lasted around fifteen minutes before the final model made his entrance. The man that has been the talk of the fashion industry for the last eight months. He strutted in wearing an absolutely grandiose leather coat, wearing a Swarovski-studded mask that covered his entire face. The confidence in his walk conveyed a commanding presence, making it seem as if the entire audience was under his control.

Konig, a native Austrian with real name, age and hair color unknown, stands six foot ten, weighing two hundred and seventy pounds and has piercing blue eyes. The man has been nothing but an enigma, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Opening and closing runaways for prestigious high-end brands — a position that takes years for other models to secure. And what’s even wilder? He pulled it off within his first two months in the industry.

His social media has tens of millions of followers and zero following. The entire page is a curated showcase of his portfolios and videos of his runway walks, nothing more. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one handling his account either. Everything is perfectly set up, adding this extra layer of mystery to him.

You can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Who’s behind his sudden meteoric rise? Is he a nepo baby? Is he some kind of industry insider pulling strings to get all these bookings without even having a single portfolio before? Could he be a pro basketball player doing a side gig in modeling? Or what if he’s an alien in human disguise? So many questions, but not a single answer. You’ve asked so many people in the industry about him, but it seems like nobody has a clue either.

You’ve seen his casting polaroids and test shoot photos, and even in those, he’s wearing a mask, revealing only his eyes. It really makes you wonder, because that’s the complete opposite of the purpose of taking those photos. They’re meant to showcase your bare face, not cover it up. Yet, somehow, he’s scoring bookings when practically no one has seen his face. How does he even manage to do that?

There are rumors circulating that just a very few high-profile figures in the industry actually know what he looks like, and they can be counted with one hand. Some claim he’s hiding an unflattering appearance under that mask, that’s why he insists on covering his face despite of his exceptional walk and stage presence. Others insist he looks like he’s actually sculpted by a Greek God himself, but he prefers recognition for his walk rather than his looks.

He’s also notorious for rejecting interviews and walking out on them. Even when he agrees to an interview, it's usually short and filled with vague answers. But one day, you send a proposal for an exclusive interview to his management and discover that he’s accepted your request, but he insists it should happen at his own home in Vienna. His request seems a bit unprofessional to you, but it’s your only chance to uncover who this man really is. So, you agreed on his term.

And fortunately for you, that lucky day is today.

After attending a handful more runway shows for the day, you’ve wrapped up your work and are heading back to your hotel. Now, you’re diving into drafting the upcoming articles slated for this fashion week, as you prepare to interview Konig, the man and the myth himself tonight.

Your heart is pounding with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you have no idea why. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt anything like this. You’ve interviewed dozens of models in your life, so what’s the difference between them and him? Usually, it’s them who are scared of you, not the other way around.

Brushing aside that feeling, you started preparing for the interview this evening. After a refreshing shower, you got dressed and did your makeup. Wearing a silk white long-sleeve shirt paired with a black pencil midi skirt and black stilettos, you finished the look with a bold choice — ruby red lipstick. For some reason, you’re feeling especially bold for tonight’s interview.

He lives not far from your hotel as you reached your destination in less than fifteen minutes. Following the address provided by his management, you entered the building and found his apartment. Without hesitation, you rang on the doorbell.

He opened the door in no time. It caught you off guard as it was the first time you’ve seen him up close. Describing him as tall seems like a massive understatement; his presence is downright colossal as he stands right in front of you. Dressed in a balaclava, a snug black t-shirt accentuating his sculpted body, and green army-colored cargo pants. This is the first time you’ve had a close look at his eyes, and they are breathtaking — a gorgeous shade of steely blue.

“I’ve been expecting you. Please, come in.” Konig said as he gestured for you to come inside.

As you entered his home, you could see that this man has an exquisite taste in decor. His loft has high ceilings and large windows, making the space feel open and airy. The brick walls and exposed piping create a natural, industrial feel, while the rich, warm tones of red and orange add a cozy touch to the space. The walls are adorned with numerous photographs of his work as a model.

He gestured for you to take a seat on the couch and asked what you’d like to drink. You told him water’s fine, so he disappeared into the kitchen for a bit. When he came back, he placed a glass of water on the coffee table in front of you. He sits on the couch across from you afterward.

“Konig, thank you very much for agreeing to meet with me for this interview. Our magazine really appreciates your time and willingness to share your story with us.” You told him as you took your phone out of your bag, opening the recording app on it.

He leaned back on the couch, crossing his arms. “Anything I could do to help, miss.” he said. You could hear his deep voice with a thick German accent as this is first time you heard him speak.

“By accepting this interview, you consent to being recorded during our conversation today, alright?” you said to him as you pushed the ‘record’ button on your phone. He only nodded in approval.

You began your interview by asking him cookie-cutter questions, such as what inspired him to pursue modeling as a career, how he handles the challenges of balancing work and personal life, who his fashion icons are and how they influenced his personal style, how he stays fit and healthy while maintaining a demanding modeling schedule, and how he handles criticism and negative feedback from the fashion industry and the public. And of course, he answered them all with cookie-cutter answers too.

You could hear the cockiness and smugness in his tone, and you could feel that it annoys you a little bit. Despite being a relative rookie in the scene, his ego seems to radiate through his presence. However, that’s precisely the reason you’re here for this interview — to unmask who this man actually is.

You’re now ready to ask him a tougher question, intending to push his buttons slowly but sure. You’ve convinced yourself that it’s going to happen today. It has to, because this is your only chance.

“Can you explain your reasoning behind the mask? Usually models rely on their facial features as a part of their appeal, so covering it seems counterintuitive.”

Konig seems a bit caught off guard by your question. He stays quiet for a moment, clearly thinking how to respond. You can see that the question has ticked him off a little bit.

“Is that your attempt at a compliment? I’m flattered. I can do whatever I want with my appearance.” Konig answered sarcastically, but the annoyance in his tone was crystal clear. “Besides, I don’t think it’s interrupting my work. I showcase the clothes on the runway, demonstrating what they need to sell. At the end of the day, that's what matters as a model, isn’t it?” he continues.

You can’t argue with him because, well, he’s right. He did his job exactly the way they wanted, and he’s damn good at it. So, all you can do is nod at his answer.

You kept your composure as you continue with your interview, “It’s been suggested that your parents are highly influential figures in the fashion industry and that their connections may have contributed to your quick rise to fame. How would you respond to those allegations?”

Konig let out a scoff, his tone dripping with mockery in response to your next question. “I get it, there are some rumors going around that my parents are some moguls in the fashion industry and they have connections that helped me get where I am today, but let me set this straight: my parents have never worked in the fashion industry and all the success I’ve achieved is because of my own hard work and determination. Just because my career has taken off doesn’t mean it isn’t legit.”

Konig is clearly annoyed at this point, but he still manages to answer your question. You’re surprised he hasn't kicked you out of his home yet. But when you’re about to ask your last question but he suddenly cuts you off,

“You’re really nosy, aren’t you?”

“What can I say, it comes with the job requirement.”

You finally manage to talk back to him because his attitude is clearly getting under your skin, just like your questions seem to annoy him. While he might believe he can act however he pleases, he’s unaware that you’re a journalist. If it weren’t for your commitment to integrity and professionalism, you could easily run your thoughts about his attitude at this point.

“Look, one last question and I’ll be out of your hair,” you told him, you can see his patience is clearly running low at this point. However, what he didn’t know is that you’re about to drop a bomb on him.

“Did you earn your success through talent or hard work or did you have to do… other thing to get where you are today?”

His eyes narrowed into a fierce glare while he stares at you, he clearly doesn’t like the question at all. You could practically feel the tension in the air as he clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth underneath that mask as a silent display of anger.

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“And my question still stands.”

He leans forward on the couch, anger flashing vividly in his eyes and now you can almost feel the heat of his irritation as he growls in frustration.

“You can cut through the formal bullshit and just say what you want to say.”

You take your phone from the coffee table and press the ‘stop’ button, finally responding to him in a calm manner.

“Did you fuck your way up to the top, Konig?”

And that was his breaking point. He suddenly stands up from his couch as he walks toward you, anger intensifying in his eyes. He grabs your chin forcefully, making you meet his gaze.

“Not only nosy, but you also have a filthy little mouth, aren’t ya, maus?” you could feel his strong hand squeezing your face so hard that it feels like he’s trying to break your jaw. It was so painful that you couldn’t answer to him at all.

“But don’t worry, I’m gonna do something about it, so you won’t run your filthy mouth anymore, especially at me.” he growls at you while his other hand is unbuckling his belt and unzipped his pants, revealing this thick, enormous cock, already dripping with precum. He grabbed it and then started smearing the precum on your face, slapping his cock a few times on your cheeks.

“You need some serious disciplining, maus. Didn’t they teach you at school that it’s not nice to curse at other people, hm?” Konig started to tease the tip of his cock of your lips, smearing your lips with his precum.

“You’re lucky that I’m here, maybe I can teach you a thing or two about how to behave towards other people. Now open that filthy fucking mouth.” his other hand squeezed your mouth open and he thrusted his cock inside your mouth, forcing you to engulf his entire length in one go, making you violently gag as you could feel his tip touched the back of your throat. And now, he moved his hand from your face to your hair, grabbing a handful of it as he rapidly fucking your mouth.

Tears began streaming down your cheeks, mascara and lipstick began to smear across your face. It’s getting hard for you to breathe because he shoved his cock so deep and slamming it on the back of your throat, pounding over and over again mercilessly. His grip is so strong; it feels like he’s going to rip your entire scalp off.

“Fuuuuck, this mouth of yours is so fucking tight and warm. You should consider leaving your current job and become my personal fuck toy, maus. I would love to use this filthy mouth however and whenever I want, it seems like it’s the only good use for it.” he snickers with a devilish gleam in his eyes while he keeps fucking your mouth relentlessly. You started choking on his length, but he didn’t seem to care, in fact, it made him slam his cock even faster.

It feels like this has been going on forever, and you’re afraid you might get lockjaw anytime soon. But you could feel he’s so close to orgasm as his cock starts twitching in your mouth.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum. I hope you’re ready, schatz, because I’m gonna fill that filthy mouth real good,” he grunts as his thrust becoming more and more erratic. It only takes a couple more thrusts before he came, coating you’re the walls of mouth with his thick seeds.

Konig finally pulled his cock out from your mouth. His cum tastes so bitter, but when you’re about to spit it out, he forcefully grabbed your face again, now facing his face directly.

“You’re not allowed to spit it out. I want you to swallow it but only when I said so. Now be a good girl and keep it in your mouth, but if you didn’t, I can promise that you won’t like the punishment at all. Understood?” he snarls at you but your mouth is so full of his cum you so can only nod at his words.

“Good, because I’m not done with you,” Konig suddenly pushed you back down to the couch as he pulls your legs up forcefully, ripping the side of your tight skirt and yanked your panties, also ripping it in the process. He puts your legs around his waist as he put his cock on top your stomach, seeing how deep it’s gonna go inside of you.

“Hmmm, I don’t think the entire thing is gonna fit. But don’t worry, schatz, I’ll make it fit. I know you can do it, you’re a big girl after all.” Konig lightly taps your cheek, he’s trying to sound sweet but you hear the venom in his tone. You know at that moment he’s definitely going to destroy you.

“Are you on the pill?” he asked again. You can only shake your head, hoping that he’ll go easy on you. “Heh, good.” he suddenly pulled your legs up over his shoulder and titled towards you, he then whispers in a husky tone,

“Weil ich dich so hart ficken werde, bis du mich zum Papa machst.”

His cock suddenly dipping into you, makes you nearly chocked on his cum. You can feel the tip of his cock stretched your cervix thin, slamming the same spot repeatedly as he folds your body like an origami. You feel like you’re going to sprain your neck if you stay in this position for a long time, but of course he didn’t care. He keeps using your body like you’re his personal cum dumpster.

You’re trying to protest but you can’t open your mouth, otherwise you’re gonna spill out his cum and you definitely don’t want that. Only a stifled whimper escapes your lips. He chuckled in response to your failed attempt at protest.

“Not”—thrust—“so”—thrust—“nosy”—thrust—“any”—thrust— “more”—thrust—“aren’t”—thrust—“you”

He’s pounding you hard and fast with each syllable of his words. Your eyes rolled back to the back of your head. Your mind went numb at the intense pleasure.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight, and it’s all mine to use.” he growls at you as he keeps fucking you mercilessly. You’re not on the pill and he’s not using a condom, so there’s a chance he’s going to get you pregnant after this, but they way he’s fucking you so hard and so good makes you not want him to stop until both of you are satisfied.

You can feel he’s close to orgasm again and so are you. Just a couple more thrusts, he finally came inside of you as both of you reached your climax at the same time. Filling you with his thick, milky white cum. Your cheek throbs with pain, your mind feels foggy, and your vision blurs into static.

Konig finally put down your legs, as he seeing his thick cum oozing from your now sore, puffy cunt. He gazes at it, amusement and desire dripping from his eyes. “Now swallow my cum, maus. Stick your tongue out when you’re done, I wanna see you swallow it all.”

You obey him as you swallowed all his cum and sticks out your tongue as a prove. “What an obedient girl.” he said, you can see him smiling through his mask.

He pulls up his pants and plop down next to you on the couch, while you’re still catching your breath and trying to gain your composure.

“I’ll be in New York in two days, and I assume this interview isn’t over. I will tell my manager to send you the hotel address where I’m staying and the room number. I’m expecting to see you there.” he said softly as he caresses your hair gently.

You replied, “I will come, but with one condition: I want to see your face. Otherwise, it's not going to happen.”

He chuckled at your request, “If you play your cards right, that request is not off the table,” he said as he keeps caressing your hair, “But only if you’re a good girl, okay, beautiful?”

He scooches over towards you, leaning as he whispers in your ear,

“Otherwise, I’ll use you just like I use the rest of them.”

#whew this took forever to write ngl #konig #könig #konig x reader #konig x reader smut #könig x reader #könig x reader smut #call of duty modern warfare 2 smut #call of duty #call of duty smut #call of duty warzone #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 smut #cod smut #shaf writes #tw: dubcon

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dleiva · 8 months

Video

flickr

Epiphany, Lalibela, Ethiopia por domingo leiva Por Flickr: Elder woman praying in Saint George's church in Lalibela

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taintedtort · 1 year

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prompt ✧ attractive things they do

characters ✧ kenma, akaashi, tsukishima, sugawara, suna, tendou

warnings ✧ gn!reader , none!

a/n ✧ me??? a post that’s anything other than genshin??? no but i’ve only ever written for haikyuu one other time (my first post; kenma) so i hope you enjoy this slightly different content

KENMA

✧ fixes your hair or clothes casually. you’ll be rambling on about some topic or another and he’ll be quietly listening with a content look on his face. occasionally, you’ll have a hair out of place or your jacket will be slipping off your shoulder. like the nice boyfriend he is, he silently reaches forward and fixes it, trying not to interrupt you. it never fails to make your stomach do a flip.

AKAASHI

✧ carries your things for you. doesn’t matter what it is, if you’re holding it in your hand he’ll offer to take it so you won’t be inconvenienced. if it’s a smaller object, he’ll ask you if you’d rather hold it, but if it’s a bag or a coat, he’s gently taking it from your hands with a quiet “i’ll hold that.” you always thank him with a kiss.

TSUKISHIMA

✧ leads you through crowds. since he’s tall, he’s easily able to be seen in large crowds, which makes it simple to maneuver through people. whenever you two are in public, he’ll always take your hand and lead you so you both make it safety through the groups of strangers.

SUGAWARA

✧ constantly brings you gifts. they aren’t always store bought either, sometimes he finds them or even makes them. he’ll hand you the little trinket he discovered on his walk over to your house with the most adoring smile present— if he found it on the ground he’ll make sure to wash it first, of course. but the simple gifts that you constantly complain that you need (chapstick, hair ties, pens, etc) are the ones you love the most. it shows he really cares and pays attention to what you say, those always bring the biggest smile to your face.

SUNA

✧ makes you (and himself) a box of memories. it’s filled with photos and items that you two have collected throughout your relationship. there’s pictures from every one of your dates, and small things like bracelets and rocks. he made sure to hand write a few notes to put in your box; short love declarations and compliments attached to each photo. things like “you looked breathtaking today.” with the date written next to it. you frequently go through the box to reread them.

TENDOU

✧ shows you off to all his friends. he has a photo of the two of you set as his lockscreen, and there’s a polaroid selfie you took of yourself in the back of his clear phone case. whenever you two are together, he constantly has his arms draped around you, letting everyone around know that you two are dating. he endlessly brags about you to anyone and everyone that will listen. you get a tad bit embarrassed when he gushes about you to his friends while you’re sitting right there though.

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hunterscabin · 1 year

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I Will Frisk You

“Whatcha got there?” Dean asked, leaning against the frame of your bedroom door.

“Nothing!” you exclaimed abruptly, startled by his gruff voice.

With no time to properly stow his intended surprise, you scrambled off your bed and slipped Dean’s gift into your back pocket.

“What are you hiding?” Dean’s eyes narrowed.

He inched forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you.

“I will frisk you.” he teased, before a devilish grin spread across his face.

Distracted by Dean’s innuendo and intoxicating scent, you didn’t notice he had reached behind you until you felt him fishing in your jeans.

“Dean!”

You tried to squirm away, but it was too late. Dean held the object above his head in triumph. When a nervous expression washed over you, he lowered his hand in curiosity. In it, he found a small, wooden frame containing a tattered photo of Mary rocking a young Sam in his nursery.

“Y/N.” he questioned flatly, after a moment of silence. “Where did you get this?”

“I’m sorry.” you shook your head; Dean’s unreadable expression igniting a crisis of confidence inside you.

“I saw it sitting on your desk. It’s such a beautiful picture, I wanted to make sure it was protected. I found the frame at an antique store on our last hunt, and I…”

Dean dipped his head and gently pressed his lips to yours, interrupting your rambling apology.

“It’s perfect.” he assured, pulling you into his strong arms. “Just like you.”

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester drabble #supernatural fluff #spn fluff

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more-cardigan-than-woman · 11 months

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Dead Robins Club

Summary: Jason and the boys are in a band and you're the bands social media manager.

Pairing: Photographer!Reader x Drummer!Jason Todd.

4.7k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, SMUT, Rock Band! AU, swearing, bondage with chains, teasing, choking, hair pulling, spanking, object insertion, man handling, pet names, dirty talk, probably something else very horny I forgot.

The music rings through the hall of the dark and atmospheric club, Tim's guitar solo brings the crowd forward, the patrons push the barricade to try and get closer to them. You step closer to the stage, keeping your security guard close as you pace behind the barricade hoping to find the perfect angle for the band's socials. Tim slides out in front of Damian who's belting the lyrics to their latest song so loud you’ll be surprised if he can talk after.

The crowd grows wild, people cheering and dancing behind you as you snap a photo of the two front men singing angrily into the microphone.

"Oh my God!" A woman shouts behind you, "there he is. Fuck, he's so fine," you don't need to turn, knowing that she's staring at the now spotlighted drummer, sweat pouring off his head, the drumsticks twirling in his long fingers, those pretty blue eyes fixed on his drums. The chains on his pants rattling, his studded vest flapping with how fast his arms are moving, his curls plastered to his face with how much he’s sweating.

"Looks like they're going to rush soon," a familiar voice whispers into your ear piece as you click the shutter on your camera. The 3 of them now in the shot, "head back, don't want another incident."

"Two seconds, Dickie. Get my margarita ready." You respond, turning to take a few pictures of the crowd and a few on your phone of the drummer, just for you, before you head backstage.

You meet Dick at the side of the stage, your drink already in his hand as he offers you a seat. "Don't know why they wouldn't let me book a bigger place," he says taking the seat next to you, "this place is packed and everyone on the internet is bummed they didn't get tickets."

"Makes it more exclusive," you shrug, moving your head so you can peer from behind the curtains at the flex of Jason's arms, "plus you know what they're like, they still think their small time."

You and Dick sit together, sometimes getting up to dance when the music compels you. But you're always watching him, the quick way his fingers twirl the drumsticks, how his legs flex as he beats the drums, his curls sweaty and sticking to his forehead.

His eye catches yours for a moment and he smiles at you. Your heart starts to beat faster, your cheeks getting warm and your legs going gooey as you return the smile. Seeming to notice the effect he's having on you, he throws his favourite pair of drumsticks in the air before catching them and falling back into the song.

The crowd goes wild as the last song of the set comes to an end. Tim and Damian thank the crowd for coming out to see the last show The Dead Robins Club would be performing in this city, before the boys head to the side of the stage towards you.

"Show us the pics!" Tim says coming up beside you and leaning over your shoulder, "did you get the mic toss?"

"I did and I got your power slide," you flick through your reel, showing him most of the pictures you took, all the ones on your official camera at least. The ones on your phone were, are, personal. And you don’t wanna feed Jason’s hordes of thirsty ass fans with the slightly provocative pictures you took of his hands and his pretty face.

"Shame, still none of Jay," he says, slapping his brother on the shoulder, "guess we know who the favourites are big guy"

"A huh," Jason grunts as he passes you, "meet you guys at the hotel."

"You're leaving already?" Dick asks, trying to stop Jason as he starts to pack up his things, "the fans want autographs."

"Like Timmy said, I ain't no one's favourite." He pulls his bag over his shoulder, ignoring Dicks protests, he shoots you a look before he walks down towards where the cars are waiting.

You entertain the boys for an hour helping them get selfies with fans, before Dick announces that it's time to wrap up.

"Wanna go grab a drink at the bar?" Dick asks as the boys head out to do their own things, "the night's still young and so are we."

"Nah I’m good. It's been a long day,” you yawn for affect, “Plus I gotta get all these,” you gesture to your camera, “edited and uploaded,” you give him a sympathetic look, “I think I'm just going to go to bed before we have to get back on the plane tomorrow, sorry Dickie"

"Suit yourself. I guess I'll just sit and drink,” he pouts at you, “alone."

"Sure you won't be alone for too long." You joke, giving him a quick hug and heading up the elevator.

You pull out the key card, slipping it into the lock and stepping into the room. A familiar face already waiting on your couch with a bottle of wine in hand, and his large combat boots kicked across the room, "took ya long enough."

"You know how they are," you shrug off your coat, "Dick still didn't wanna go to bed," you toe off your shoes and step towards him, "I can't just leave him."

"You can," Jason stands, grabbing you and pulling you down onto the couch on top of him.

“But he uses those puppy dog eyes on me and I feel bad.”

“That’s the only trick that guy knows,” he rolls his eyes, his arms wrapping around your waist, "just tell him you got a better offer."

"Did I though?"

"Cheeky," he kisses you like he's been waiting all day to get you alone, his hands already clinging to you and starting to peel your clothes away, "I saw you watching me, sweetheart," he finally frees your shirt from your pants and pulls it over your head.

“I wouldn’t, didn’t you hear the boys,” you pull his vest from his back, “No pictures of you.”

"There's always a way for me to check," he smirks into your kiss, his fingers slipping down to your ass, then reaching into your back pocket for your phone and dangling it in front of your face.

“Won’t find anything in there.” you lie, unconvincingly.

“You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?” he raises his eyebrow at you.

“No,” you grab for it, but he pulls his arm up higher. You jump, and he drops it behind the couch, giving you a knowing look.

“That's what I thought,” his fingers toy with the button on your jeans, “What else are you lying to me about?” he grabs at the band, pulling them down to your hips, "Is my pussy wet for me?"

"I-"

"You wouldn't lie to me would you?" He kisses across your jawline as his fingers sink into your panties, stopping at your panty line, "no, not you. My good girl wouldn't lie to me," his fingers slip down lower meeting with the seeping spot in your panties, "tell me Kitten," he leans back meeting your eyes, "if you got such a better offer, why are you here with me with suck a soaking wet pussy?"

"Coincidence?" You joke, laughing as he lifts you up and your pants fall to the floor.

"Like fuck is it a coincidence," he throw you over his shoulder, "you bloody liar," he slaps you on the ass, "I know how watching me play affects you," he walks, his bicep just far enough away form your pussy go tease you, “bet you’ve got lots of good shots on your phone, don’t you?”

“Nope,” you giggle, your arms attempting to reach his ass, but his torso is so fucking long and thick.

“You're going to pay for that." he smacks you again, his fingers kneading at the tender flesh of your ass.

"Oh, no. How awful!" You start to squirm as he kicks the door to the bedroom open and drops you on the bed.

"First the lying and now the attitude," he tuts as he peels off his black t-shirt, "you poor thing," he unclips the chain from his pants, "You really need some sense fucked into you," he grabs at your hands slinking the chain around them and locking them together behind the bed head, "don't you?" Jason’s soft lips brush over yours.

"Yes."

"Good girl. Now, how should I punish you?" He thinks aloud, watching as you start to squirm when he pulls back from you. His studded belt releases his tight black jeans, "What?" He laughs as your eyes fixate on the way his huge hand is wrapping around his cock, "Do you like watching me play with myself?" He licks his lips, his teeth sinking in when he notices your hips gyrating into the air, "do you need some attention, Sweetheart?"

'Please."

"But you haven't been good," he kneels on to the ground and you feel something cool touch your leg, the metal of the chains biting into your wrists as you strain to get free, "maybe I should coat my sticks on your cum," the cool wood glides up your thigh before slapping down onto your clit, "at our next show I'll be able to smell you on them," his eyes lock with yours, "wouldn't that be a nice treat for me, Kitten?"

"Yes, please," you try to move, but he just taps the drum stick onto your clit again, "that'd be so hot."

"Wouldn't it just," the tip of the drumstick slips down from your clit, dipping into you and you can't help the way your back arches into it, "so needy for me, aren't you Kitten?" The drumstick goes deeper, angling it up so it sweeps right over your g spot. Jasons free hand rests on your stomach as his thumb rubbing into your clit in just the way you like as he thrusts the stick into you. His eyes torn between watching your face and watching his favourite thing disappearing into his favourite person.

"Jason.”

"Does my girl need more?" He teases you, "need something bigger?"

"I do.”

"Show me," he chuckles, pulling the drumsticks from you with a pop and licking along its length, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. His face forlorn, torn between wanting to taste you and how bad he wants to fuck you, "show me where you want me Kitten?"

You whine, your hands jangling against the chains, tugging at them as you glare at him.

"Oh, you can't? You poor thing," his cock slaps on top of your pussy, "keep squirming for me Kitten." He leans over your body, his lips finally meeting yours, "I love when you're needy for me like this. So desperate," his hand grips your face, "it's pathetic."

You try to pull your face from his grasp, but he holds you still. Your eyes start to wander until his nails dig into your cheeks, "keep those pretty eyes on me," you feel his cock slip back, the huge head pushing, teasing at your core, "you ready?" His head circles you, "nod or shake your head for me, Kitten. I know words are hard for you when you're like this."

You nod, your legs wrapping around Jason's thick thighs. Trying so hard to pull him closer, even if you know it's useless.

"Good girl. I can feel your legs tightening on me," he releases your face, his hand softly brushing your cheek where you imagine his claw marks are, "pull me in."

You tighten your legs even more, Jason moves closer, his cock pushing up against you until it starts to spread you, stretching you out as he sinks deeper and deeper inside you. You can’t help the moans that escape your lips as your pussy becomes so fucking full you think your brain might explode. “Breathe,” his fingers pull your bottom lip from your teeth, “Sweetheart, take a breath for me,” he starts to withdraw himself, not really restrained by the grip of your legs, “Kitten,” you suck in a breath, the overwhelming fullness turning your brain off for a second there.

“I’m breathing,” you reassure him, trying to pull your hands from the chains, “Please don’t go.”

“Do you want me to unchain you?” his eyes are so soft, one hand still on your face while the other traces little hearts into your thigh, “Is it too much?”

“I’m good, now. I just needed a minute,” you reassure him, “I promise, it’s just been-”

“A while, yeah I know.”

“Can we talk about it after, Jay?” you try to move, but he’s so heavy on top of you, “Because right now, I’d really like you to move.”

“Needy,” his fingers tighten on your thigh, pushing it back up towards your chest, “Impatient,” his soft caress on your cheek stops as his hand slips around your throat, “My good Kitten.” He starts to thrust, his hips meeting yours with every inwards motion. His pelvis grinding into your clit when he leans down to capture your lips with his. “I missed this,” he moans into your mouth, his fingers tightening in your hair while your legs cling to him.

“Missed you.”

“I’m right here, always.”

“Not close enough,” you thrust back up, “Closer, please.”

“Never been close enough to you,” Jason mewls, “You’re so fucking warm, Kitten.”

“Fuckin hot when that spotlight hits you.” you feel your pussy clench down on him when he smirks down at you.

“Not as beautiful as you do, shrouded in the dark of the clubs,” he brushes the hair from your face, smoothing it back behind your ear. The tingle tickles, jolting your body up and you feel his cock brush over your g spot.

“Jay, right there-” you moan into his ear, “Please don’t stop.”

“I’m not stopping until you cum on me,” his hand reaches up, releasing your hands from the chains with a snap of his fingers, “But I need your hands on me.”

Your wrists ache, but your hands quickly find their place in his hair, tugging his face closer to yours, kissing him deeper and sinking your teeth into his lip. With one hand in his hair, you slip the other down to his shoulder, bringing his chest flush with yours. The sweat of your bodies mingling as you both moan into the kiss.

Your eyes open when he pulls back from you, his stubble brushing against your cheek, his moans filling your ears, “You’re fucking gripping me so tight, Kitten. You getting close?” he bites down on your neck, “I know you are.”

“Yes, I’m so close, Jay.” the animalistic sound that seems to reverberate from his throat is what sends you over the edge, the primal way he turns from somewhat sensual to fucking insane is something else. You can’t stop cumming, his cock somehow getting harder and deeper within you with every thrust and that sound just won’t stop. You almost question whether it's you making that noise, but when he starts to chant your name in your ear and you know he’s close.

“Jason.” you whisper hoarsely as your second round of pleasure starts to build inside you, you feel his cock throb, “Jason,” it’s twitching inside you, bouncing off your insides and making a smoothie out of them, “Jason.”

“Fuck me, Kitten,” his nails dig into your, his lips reaching for yours to quiet the scream he lets out into your mouth. Jasons cum paints your insides, but he doesn’t stop fucking you, “I don’t want this to end,” he pants between cries of pleasure, “I want to fuck you forever, to be inside you always.”

You don’t even realise you’re cumming again until your legs start to cramp and your mind goes numb, the thickness of Jason's cock slowly receding from you and his fingers replacing it. Gently gliding up and down as you twitch out the last of your orgasm. “You look beautiful like this. Carefree and relaxed.” he whispers, placing a kiss on your forehead before falling down beside you and pulling you under his arm. “Take a deep breath.”

You do, snuggling into his side as you try to match his breathing. Your leg wrapping over his to try and leech some of his warmth. “I can breathe on my own, you know.”

“Yeah, but I know I take your breath away with my dashing looks.”

“True,” you rest your chin on his chest, looking up at him, “You’re very pretty,” you bouncing one of his curls, the white one, it’s your favourite.

“Not as pretty as you, Kitten,” he takes your hand. Holding it in his, his thumb grazing over your wrists, “Are your wrists ok?”

“They’re fine, a bit tender.”

“I’ll rub some of that coconut cream on them in a sec,” he gives them each a small kiss, “Just wanna cuddle you a bit longer.”

“I missed this,” you sigh, putting your arm over him and pulling yourself up so you're laid out flat on top of him, “tour buses suck. Maybe we should run away?”

“I wish, could you imagine. Dick would have a fucking heart attack. But I get what you mean and the next few weeks aren’t going to be any better.”

“We’ll have to get better at sneaking around.”

“You will.” he says, like he doesn't, “You think I’m the only one who knows you take pictures of me on your phone to jerk off to?”

“What?” you try to sit up in alarm only for Jason's arm to hold you close.

“Don’t worry about it, but Kitten,” he whispers, bringing your lips down to his, “tour buses are small, maybe next time, don’t moan my name in the middle of the night.”

Taglist: did I forget you? let me know in your most sarcastic typeface

@littleredwing89 @ilikw @bubbles-incorrect-yb @megumisbabymomma @nutmeg030 @gone-batty-fics

@lovelyrissa

Do you want to be on the everything Jason taglist? firstly, why? and nextly, let me know.

#jason todd x reader #reader x jason todd #jason todd #jason todd fanfic #reader x red hood #red hood x reader #x reader #red hood fanfic #Band!au

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