#taming them was difficult because they would EAT YOUR FACE

[teaandinanity]

I love how the Cataclysm challenge tames are in fact still challenging but now the challenge is making sure you don’t one-shot them by being a moron.

I have been a moron twice already this week.

#I murdered Ban'thalos last night but then tamed him successfully this morning #but then I saw Magria and stripped and landed and realized after he'd been one-shot also-- #that I HAD NOT DISMISSED BAN'THALOS YET #so I'm a whole moron and I have killed two of the pretty spirit beast pets because I'm too excited to remember #that I have to be very careful not to murder them because they are Delicate #the trouble here is that I got some of them on a different hunter AT LEVEL #and they were NOT delicate #taming them was difficult because they would EAT YOUR FACE #babble tea (blacklist this for less chatter) #World of Warcraft

[sailing-through-hawkins]

hello friend here is a potential lil thing for you: kas!eddie who’s a Good Boy for steve but is still growly at the others (think ‘it don’t bite’ ‘bitch yeS IT DOES’) (it’s a wip, steve is trying his best)

this ended up a lot...sweeter than i intended? and i'm not too sure about the ending but i had to stop it there or i'd end up trying to write a full fic (≧∀≦)ゞ hope you enjoy, friend!!

“And he’s here because?”

Steve pats Eddie’s head when he hands the paprika over, smiling at his goofy (and fanged) little grin. He starts to sprinkle the spices over the pan, not even looking over his shoulder to reply, “He likes to help me cook.”

There’s a long moment of silence so Steve switches off the heat and turns around, thanking Eddie when he gives him a dishcloth to wipe his hands with. When he looks back to the group seated at the island, he has to blink to register all their faces of disbelief.

“You took our Dungeon Master,” Mike starts patiently, which Steve will give him credit for. “Who has been accused of several crimes and then got turned into a terrifying, awesome bat-man with, like, wings and teeth and shit -”

Steve could have sworn Mike used to be better at description whenever they play their sessions.

“And you’ve turned him into your sous-chef?”

Blinking, Steve looks to Eddie, who gives him a preening smile and takes the dishcloth away, and looks back to Mike, whose face is getting paler every second. “Uh,” he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Steve, I swear by all that is -”

Mike’s tirade is cut off by a growl and Steve lets out a sigh. “Hey,” he admonishes, nudging the rumbling bat-man with his elbow. “We talked about this, no growling at the kids.”

Eddie huffs and ducks his head down to bap his forehead against Steve’s shoulder. He moves his head from side to side so he’s basically rubbing his forehead into Steve and wisps of Eddie's hair brush against his neck, making Steve bite back a laugh.

Clearly, Eddie caught that and rubbed even harder into Steve’s shoulder until he broke into laughter, black eyes glancing up at him with a mischievous smile.

“You were right.”

Steve looks over to see Dustin staring at Mike’s fuming red face, deadpan. Eddie pauses.

“He’s tamed him.”

“What?” Steve sputters, choking out a laugh when Eddie moves in closer to nuzzle at his neck, hair now tickling at his nose. “Who tamed who?”

Mike sneers. “It’s whom, dumbass -”

And just like that, Steve is being held tightly against Eddie, who hisses at Mike. Thankfully, he's used to it by now and just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.”

“Eds,” Steve pats the hand on his chest that presses him into Eddie. "It's okay, he's just having a Michael Moment."

"What the fuck did you just -"

Of course, the little shit can't keep his mouth shut and that just aggravates Eddie even further and well, time for damage control.

"No," Steve says firmly to Eddie, who blinks and stares at him. He then turns to the kids and points a finger at them. "What did we say about name-calling?"

"Bite me -"

"Dude," Lucas, golden child that he is, shakes his head and shoves at Mike's head. "Just shut up and eat your muffin."

"Thank you, Lucas," Steve grins and Eddie huffs, still holding Steve tightly against him. With a fond sigh, Steve wiggles around and manages to face Eddie, smiling at his fanged pout. "Thank you for trying to protect me, Eds."

It's something he started doing after a few days hiding out at Steve's place. At first, he was wary and would hiss whenever Steve got too close, only letting Dustin in his space, only really caring about Dustin at all. And it wasn't...unpleasant, Steve would rather he care about the kid more than anyone else than not at all. It did make cleaning him up difficult but having Dustin sit with him and ramble about whatever the hell he could seemed to help.

Then Dustin had to leave and it was just them.

And then Steve, eventually, figured out it was like trying to befriend a scared cat. Obviously, Eddie was terrified and just needed some time, space and a little bribery to adjust to the new...everything that he was.

So with some of that time and space, Steve got a chance to make his way into Eddie's exceptions and barely gets hissed at anymore, unless it's playful. Sometimes Steve hisses back, and the first time caught Eddie so off-guard that he held Steve down while sniffing around, like he was looking for whatever made the sound.

It made Steve laugh but just confused Eddie, so he did his best to imitate Eddie's chirp, the one he does whenever Dustin asks a question, and Eddie was so flabbergasted that he started chirping back without a thought. He looked half-insulted at the fact and that just set Steve off again.

Once Eddie figured out it was Steve making the noises, he got so excited that he'd always chirp at him, jumping into Steve's space and doing goofy things to make him laugh. It'd always work, duh, cause Eddie's a funny guy, even when he's half-Upside-Down-monster.

He also ended up liking Steve so much that he gets pretty overprotective, which - it's sweet, it makes Steve feel wiggly, but they're still working on who exactly Steve (and Dustin) need protecting from.

That one time when Eddie growled at Nancy for elbowing Steve would be hilarious if it wasn't so terrifying.

...It was pretty funny though.

"This is terrible." Mike says, and Will lets out a sigh. Mike gapes at him and throws his hands in Steve's general direction. "You can see how this is terrible, right?!"

"Brat," Eddie croaks under his breath, right next to Steve's ear and he doesn't even bother holding back, breaking into a bout of laughter that has him clenching at his stomach for relief. He can feel Eddie's excitement buzzing under his skin, right where his cheek rests against Steve's. "Snooty brat."

"Is he saying something?" Dustin asks excitedly and Steve has to wave him off half-heartedly, still reeling from the pain of laughing too hard. Dustin then sounds deadpan again as he says, "Oh, he's talking shit about us, isn't he?"

"Ressspect your elderrrrrs," Eddie hisses into the air with a grin and god damn, the look of pure devastation on Dustin's face -

"The first words he speaks to us since turning Demo-Eddie and it's about being respectful." Dustin hides his face in his hands. "What has the world become?"

"He gets his dramatics from you," Steve says to Eddie, who looks back at him smugly and nudges his nose into Steve's face. "Ow, hey, watch it -"

"Getsss hisss courrage f'om you," Eddie presses his lips to Steve's cheek and -

Huh.

Well.

That's new.

Wait -

"Oh my god," Steve stares at Eddie, who preens under the attention. "I have a monster boyfriend."

The kitchen breaks out into chaos and all Steve can think about is how pretty Eddie's eyes are when he's smiling.

#sailor✧replies #sailor✧writes #steddie #au content: kas!eddie #writing #ficlet #a-little-unsteddie #used the bat divider because i don't have time to make a custom kas one yet #ah well #hope this was good!! got major block and honestly no time for anything nowadays but i really wanted to try writing anyways #and this was pretty fun

[luveline]

hi queen 😙

could you please do one where the BAU are staying in another state for a case so they have to stay in a hotel and for some reason hotch has to come see reader in the morning or before bed or something so he knocks on the door of her room and she opens and she’s just standing there with like her hair in two braids and like matching pink pyjamas and hotch just has a little laugh because he’s never seen that side of her before?? 💕💕

this would be like season 1 or 2 hotch :D

cw reader has hair that can be put into two braids

He texts you first but you don't answer. Hotch isn't happy to encroach on your space so early but he can't remember what you said last night about the killer's motivations and he needs to know, desperately, in case this missing piece of the puzzle can stop another young man from being murdered. 

"L/N?" he asks, knocking on the door quickly. "Y/N, are you awake?" 

There's a definite sleeping groan. Hotch winces at the sound but what else can he do? You'll have to wake up in an hour anyway. 

"Y/N? I'm sorry to wake you, but I need to ask you about Cory, last night's victim? You said it seemed more like an arsonist than a murderer, what did you mean by–" 

The door swings open. "...that." Hotch stares at you. 

You have your hair braided away from your face, strands rocked free and frizzy. More amusing is the baby pink pyjamas you're wearing; adorable little slips of fabric, pants that stop mid-calf and a camisole with soft lace at the chest. Hotch immediately looks back to your face as he realises his once over, but he can't hold back a laugh. A small chuckle, harmless. 

"Are you laughing at me?" you ask tiredly, voice croaky but threaded with amusement. "You woke me up, okay? This is your fault. Did you bring me coffee, at least?" 

Hotch puts his empty hands up in defeat. 

"Come in, then, before someone else sees me." 

Hotch follows you inside. He doesn't feel any pressure or awkwardness, but he needs to make sure you aren't either, and so he takes a cross-armed position against the wall. You run your hand down a braid and pull out the elastic, absentminded as you shake out your hair. 

"I said it was more like arson because of the mess. Arsons like to ruin things. And I just don't see how it could be solely pleasure based after such a massacre," —you move to the second braid and repeat the process— "the adrenaline runs out eventually, but the blood was– it was everywhere. It would've taken effort. There are photos on my phone if you want to see." 

You gibe him your phone, open to photographs you took last night. Hotch clicks through them in disgust. Like you said, it takes a lot of effort to make a crime scene look like this. 

"We could be looking for someone with an impulse control disorder," Horch guesses. "Our pool of suspects would completely change. We've been looking for people who have untoward desires centred around teenage boys–" 

"But if we're searching for someone who can't control their impulses we could easily be looking at a teenage boy. He'd have reason to be with his victims that wouldn't cause concern." 

Hotch finds it very difficult to take you seriously in your pinks. He laughs again, and you know exactly what it is he's laughing at, waving him away as you bend down by your suitcase under the desk. "Go sharpen up, Hotchner. And get me a coffee, please." You glance at him from over your shoulder. "I'd like to see you in your pyjamas." 

"I'm sure you would, agent." 

Hotch thinks more than he should about you in your thin pyjamas, the way they hugged your thighs and the naked lengths of your arms, your ankles, he's ridiculous, but it's stuff he's not used to seeing. He's usually so focused. 

He brings you a coffee and an apology croissant, which you eat in pleased silence beside him, fully dressed, hair tamed. He can't not see you as you were that morning, eyes puffy with tiredness but a hundred times the professional he'd been. 

"I can feel you looking at me," you murmur. "Laugh again and I'm telling Gideon." 

"Ah, and he'd reprimand me."  

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" you ask, almost monotone as you drink your coffee. "Do you have the case file for Patrick Gorden? I wanna compare the blood splatter on the walls." 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[mamayan]

Ok but like…we NEED a genya one shot where he eats out reader…or a dominant jealous one👀 ((if your still doing requests ofc no pressure)) go crazy with either one, have fun!✨

I can completely see Genya going a little feral eating pussy for the first time—

★彡Time Out ☆彡

Genya Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

cw: First time oral (F) • NSFW • Feral Genya lol • Overstimulation • Face Riding • Praise • Body Worship (¿)

He didn’t have many expectations when it came to intimacy with you.

He was entirely happy to simply bask in your presence, to see your smile, to receive your love. Intimacy came in many forms, like when you slipped your warm fingers into his hand and entwined them with his own. Genya adored just being by your side, and when he received physical tokens of your love in the form of hugs and gentle kisses, it was difficult not to melt into a puddle for you.

While he knows his appearance can make him seem unapproachable, but you have a way about you that seems to tame him. He’s not brash in your presence, humble instead and showing of every courtesy and respect. He follows your lead, because it’s the most natural for him.

He truly had no expectations, nothing to compare or contrast with in his memories.

So when he tastes your pussy for the time? It’s like nothing makes sense anymore.

“How the fuck—?” He’s left in utter awe because you’re so soft and damn warm it makes him light headed. “Y-you’re so hot,” he’s mumbling and moaning as he licks up your molten center with his tongue again. “Fuck—sweet too,” he never imagined or expected tasting you on his lips would be so magical.

And when you respond?

He loses it. Hearing you moan, a noise deeper and more breathy than he’s ever heard from you before it makes his cock jump in his pants. He’s devouring you, messy licks and sucks, tongue swiping all over your pussy. He’s slithering the wet appendage inside the tight confines of your pussy too, pushing past the ring of muscle and letting the tip of it graze your gooey walls. When you cry and writhe under his attention, pulling on his mohawk and grinding more of your sweet cunt across his face?

He decides this isn’t enough and promptly puts to use his hard earned muscles, hands slipping around your thighs and slipping you both.

He less asks you to ride his face and more makes his face the most pleasurable option. His fingers dinging into the plush of your hips while he helps anchor all of you down while pushing and pulling you. He’s desperate to taste more, fill his lungs and soul with you, his own hips pathetically swiveling and jerking for friction. It hardly matters that nothing is touching his cock besides his own clothes, because he’s already close to blowing just from his erotic it feels for you to grind your cute puffy clit on his nose while his tongue opens you up to drink from.

He can’t talk with his mouth full, it’s bad manners after all, so instead you fill the space not overtaken by wet squelching and moans with praise.

“Genya, baby it feels so good~”

“You’re so perfect, always making me so happy,”

“Love your tongue, so close—!”

“Oh ‘Nya, m’cuming—,”

The first time you cum on his tongue, he’s quick to follow after. Filling his pants with sticky hot cum which will take him forever to scrub out tomorrow. It’s worth it, because even as you sigh and groan, hips rolling, his tongue switches course after he’s swallowed your release.

He’s attacking your clit with vigor. Loving the wailing noises you release as you’re nearing the edge again so quickly. Soaking his lower face in sweet nectar he refuses to allow to go to waste.

He gets so distracted with tasting your cum it seems to shut his poor brain off.

Even as you beg for mercy, attempt to sit up, he’s unhearing as his mouth follows your sensitive cunt, quick to twist your bodies into a new position. He’s laying across you, his lower half more near your face as he pins you with his weight and feasts.

He’s usually so obedient, but Genya is utterly lost to his new found obsession.

“G-Genya, wait—! Oh~” he’s improving with remarkable speed, acting as if he’s determined to perfect how to devour your pussy in one night. “N-no more baby, oh, no more please~” it’s hard to tell if you truly want him to stop when you grip his head and push him down further, hips bucking for more.

He’s delirious, licking and sucking, making a complete mess of your lower half while he finds heaven between your thighs.

“Time out—!” You’ll finally cry, most recent orgasm feeling too much for real, your trembling figure exhausted despite the manic look in his eyes as he pulls up to check on you.

“I-I’m sorry… it’s just… I need it,” he’s not joking either, his desperate expression serious too.

You set the limit of orgasms from now on, lest he truly spend all night making you cum.

Post dividers/@cafekitsune

#Yan answers #genya smut #shinaguzawa genya #kny genya #genya x reader #Genya Shinazugawa smut #Genya Shinazugawa x reader smut #Genya Shinazugawa x reader #kny smut #kny thirst #Genya thirst

[bucks-babe]

Letter for a sneak peek of your nsfw alphabet…

H

Please becuase it’s so fucking adorable and you should share that with them all.🤭🤭

Of course you picked hair😂 @low0tter here is a sneak peak since @buckys-wintersoldier went crazy when she read it 😂

Full A-Z here

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He keeps himself trimmed, usually using a pair of hair scissors to keep his bush tamed. He hates having a full bush, it feels weird when he wears underwear. He uses an electric razor every so often when he feels like going bald, but he doesn’t do that too often. The one time he saw you wince when he was fucking you because his hair poked your clit just wrong, he vowed to shave and keep his hair short. You told him it wasn’t necessary but he did it anyway.

And of course you asked to watch him shave. It wasn’t your fault you’ve never seen how a man shaves his cock and balls.

“So, like how does that work?” Bucky gives you an incredulous look. “Shaving. It seems difficult. How do you not cut yourself?”

Bucky sighs, he should be used to this by now, his girlfriend being obsessed with his cock, and not just because you always want to fuck him, but because you want to know how it works. Can I hold him while you pee? Can you swing him around? Can I hold him when we cuddle? I want to watch him get hard. Can I keep him in my mouth while you work?

Bucky doesn’t mind the last one, he would be insane to say no to having his cock in your mouth. In the end, he lets you come into the bathroom while he shaves. “Sweets, don’t look at me like that, gonna make me hard.”

“I’m not looking any type of way. I’m just interested.” He runs the razor through his hair, delicately grabbing his soft cock, pulling it away from where he shaves next. “Woah, so you just move him around?”

“Well, how else would you shave the hair there, sweets?” He lets out a chuckle before focusing on his task again.

“So you don’t get hard touching your dick so much?” Bucky laughs, almost nicking himself.

“What do you think I do when I take a shower? You get used to it.”

“You always get hard when I hold him.” He has to turn the razor off, doubling over with laughter.

“That’s different, sweets.” He goes back to shaving, now focusing on his balls, pulling the skin tight.

“That’s fucking cool and kind of hot. You know, you playing with your balls.”

Bucky’s cock twitches at your words. “You’re never watching me shave again.”

On you however, he couldn’t give less of a damn what you do with your pubic hair. If you shave, that’s fine, he gets to feel your silky skin under his fingers. Loverboy would gladly put your lotion on you, making sure you don’t get razor burn. Of course, it’s because he has to make sure his pretty girl is taken care of, not because he wants to touch your pussy, no, he would never. He doesn’t mind the prickly hair as it grows back, one time he had the nerve to say that it was exfoliating his face for the day when eating you out. That got him a wake to the head.

If you wax, he’s going to do the same thing, treating your pussy like she was injured, doting on her hand and foot.

“How is my pretty girl? I know, I can’t believe she would do this to you, to us.”

Sometimes he tilts his head so his ear is next to your bare cunt. “What’s that? She hurt you, ripped out all your pretty curls? Don’t worry, I’ll show her what happens when she treats you like this.”

Full bush, oh he couldn’t care less. The coarse curls don’t slow him down at all. He’ll still devour you like his last meal. So what if he may have to spit out a few hairs after, it’s worth it.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky smut #sebastian stan x reader

[waklman]

Fake it

Chapter Four: Waste My Time

synopsis: a pair of best friends, one apartment, and one fake dating ploy to get jake’s ex girlfriend back, will end well right? wrong.

pairing: jake seresin x female reader.

warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of drugs, talks of binge eating, one instance of masturbation, mentions of vomit, jake and reader are both 20. this blog is 18+.

word count: 7.7k

college au, fake dating trope, roomate trope

previous chapter | next chapter | fake it masterlist

If Jake had known prior to his shower—where he planned to attend to his morning problem—that his best friend would be on the forefront of his mind, he would've truly chopped his dick off with the kitchen knife you stowed in the bathroom cabinet. 

You had been convinced it would come in handy, in case an intruder conveniently found either of you mid-shower. And maybe it was a good idea to leave it there after all, because he might actually make use of it. 

Raking a hand through his wet hair, Jake tosses his head back, allowing the cold water to run down his face. But it doesn’t do much to get his mind off the issue at hand. There is no way he’s about to rub one out—not when your face is currently being screened behind his closed lids. 

“This can’t be real,” he groans in disbelief, dragging a hand down his face, his heavy head dropping forward with it. 

Warily, Jake opens his eyes to the water running down his toned stomach, practically guiding him to look at the veins lining his thighs, and the untimely hard on he’s sporting between them. And though, he's staring straight down at a very clear problem, he feels the weight of his other predicament wash down on him instead.

His ex-girlfriend was far gone by the time he reached you last night—yet Jake still went ahead and kissed you, for longer than he anticipated too. Simply because he just wanted to. And if he was being honest with himself, this hadn’t exactly been the first time he’s wanted to either.

But in his defense, it had been years since he sensed that bleary feeling in his chest, the one that gave him the uncontrollable urge to just lean in and kiss you—and who would’ve known it would spawn again?

Actually, Jake should’ve known. 

Like clockwork, that urge flares up when his mind is mostly cluttered—when every part of him is riddled by heartbreak. And Jake knew you’d always be there whenever he was on the chopping block, and it’d be wrong if he went looking for affection from you everytime he was. Because that's weird. You were his best friend—not some fling he could swap spit with each time got out of a failed relationship. 

So instead, he learned to wean himself off the compulsion by simply touching you.

Whether it was pinching the back of your sweater when the elevator rattled, holding onto some part of you to make sure you didn’t linger far, or coaxing you to sleep by gliding a hand along your spine. 

Jake just needed to feel you. 

Strangely, it was enough to tame that bizarre feeling that struck him once in a while. But despite his best efforts, he didn’t stick to his usual methods last night. Kendall's disparaging remarks must’ve really got to him. And there you were when it finally spilled over, standing there like your sixteen year old self did once before, waiting for him. 

Making the choice to just let it go, Jake assures himself that he was just confused, again. All thanks to a girl in a skirt so short it could pass as a belt—and Jake pitifully notched onto that tiny belt of hers. 

With that matter put to rest, he swallows thickly—returning back to his original point of concern. His frustration seems to have gone straight to his dick today. By no means, was waking up hard, unusual for him, but it’s particularly more difficult to ignore this morning. 

Now, he’s left staring down at his, not exactly little, problem. But the longer Jake stares—the more the self-restraining thoughts trickle out his ears, joining the stream of water running down his body, and mazing through the patterns of the rubber bath mat underneath him. 

“Fuck it,” he whispers to himself, roughly spitting into his palm. 

This is so wrong—but this is so—the only time he’s doing this. The blond had only joked about wringing one out while you were still home, but now he’s seriously following through. 

“Ah shit,” he hisses, rubbing the wad of saliva over his tip, brows pinched in concentration. 

Bringing a rough palm down his aching length, Jake’s breathing labors as he starts to work himself in already desperate strokes. Maybe it’s because your strawberry body wash is sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The muscles rippled on his wet back contract from the movement. Maybe it’s because your pink toothbrush is sitting next to his by the sink. 

Gritting his teeth, Jake puts more focus on getting this over with, coiling his calloused hand even tighter around himself. Maybe it’s because his ex is making it hard for him to understand anything. 

With the repetitive graze over a sensitive vein, Jake’s eyes snap shut, breath hitching in his throat—concentrating on that sensation. Maybe Jake likes kissing you more than he thought he would. 

The sound of low grunts and heavy panting permeates the bathroom, overpowering the echoing of water droplets panging against the shower floor and trickling down the drain. And just as he’s nearing his edge, overworking his forearm in quick motions—there’s an urgent knock at the door, followed by your muffled voice. “Jake? I really need to pee. I can’t hold it in…And you’ve been there for so long.” 

The end of your plea comes off as a whine, forcing him to immediately rip his hand off. 

Jake’s eyes flutter open to blink hastily, lungs burning as they expand, forcing himself to overcome his haze as quickly as possible. God, he hopes you didn't hear a single second of that. 

“Shit, um. Sorry, Princess,” he rasps, clearing his throat immediately after.

“Doors unlocked, you can come in,” he establishes, hitting his flushed chest with a fisted hand to clear his throat again. It takes him a second, but he finally pulls himself together. 

With a soft click of the doorknob, Jake assumes you’ve scuffled inside. A faint clattering by the toilet can be heard before you desperately yell out, “Cover your ears!”

“...Hurry! I’m—I might piss on myself,” you squeak, curling your toes against the tiles.

The warning directed towards the shower curtain is useless, because Jake's already cupping both hands over his burning ears. “They’re covered,” He spurts out a short laugh, turning his head, shouting the confirmation back at you. 

The automatic response had been programmed into him from the countless times your bladder coincided with his showers—mostly during the trips your families took together.

Maintaining the nostalgic positioning of his hands, Jake recalls the one time you slipped off the porcelain toilet at his beach house and refused to let him jump out the shower to check on you. At one point during that incident, you had thrown a roll of toilet paper at his pruney fingers when you spotted them curling around the shower screen to pull it back. 

Jake’s ear nearly fell off at the reprimanding he received from his mother, following that—when he decided to joke about massaging your sore butt during dinner.

With uncanny timing, Jake’s hands fall from the side of his head as your bold thumbs-up breaches past the shower curtain, coming into view in front of him, signaling that you’re done. 

He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue, staring at your tiny hand that’s lined directly in front of his lower region. 

“Hey now. You sure you wanna be stickin’ a hand in here baby?” He taunts, with a teasing head tilt—even when you’re unable to see him. 

Baby. Your hand. In the shower. Where he’s naked. 

At that, you immediately withdraw the arm you stuck in there. Then, your small voice bleeds past the small crack of the curtain. “..I don’t want to know what you meant by that.” 

“Step inside if you do, though,” he shamelessly offers, stretching his jaw to control his amusement, but the playful lilt in his voice gives it away.

“I..I am not doing that!” 

Before Jake can add on to your fluster, you’re trotting off.

With your faded footsteps nearing the door, you make your exit back to your bedroom with a huff and a whispered complaint under your breath. Jake laughs at that, tipping his head back into the water as more memories come flooding in. 

You really haven’t changed from the time you clumsily tumbled off the rim of his toilet seat.

Considering the fact that the only people you ever spoke to on campus were either frat affiliates, or freshmen who occasionally needed directions—you never really caught the chance to make friends with other girls at school. It wasn’t intentional, of course. You had just grown so attached to Jake, that you found it difficult to harbor that kind of friendship with anyone else. 

However, that disconnect from girls your age didn’t mean you were that different from them. You had an idea of what any other girl would do if they were in your situation. It would only make sense that they’d do a healthy amount of snooping on Kendall’s social media—and all her friends’—and perhaps her parents’ too. For research purposes, obviously. 

But, maybe that was not the best way to start off your day.

After an alarming amount of online stalking, you’re quickly swept up by a sudden frenzy. Because how was it physically possible for someone to shine through their pictures? She quite literally radiated in every single post you zoomed in and out of. And the flood of comments you scrolled through made sure to remind her too. 

There was no point in denying that she won the genetic lottery either. And apparently you weren’t one of the lucky winners. Because, if you were, then maybe clothes wouldn’t sit on you like it was your enemy—either strangling or suffocating you. There was sadly no inbetween, really. But, it looked like she got along swimmingly with her clothes.

Was building an alliance with your own outfits, something you had to work on now?

At that revelation, you clumsily dart towards your closet, nearly tripping over the blanket still clung to your legs. And it must’ve taken a whole twenty minutes of you combing through overworn shorts and a thick stack of failed crochet hats, to successfully track down an old denim skirt you bought over a year ago. 

Batting off unvoiced doubts, you squeeze your legs into the stiff material and hastily throw on the oversized sweater Jake bought you—praying it would hide the fact that the skirt was two sizes too small. The light layer of makeup you quickly apply next isn’t your best attempt, but it’s enough to make you look alive. 

You realize that it seemed a touch ridiculous to be suddenly concerned about how you looked, but given that you were playing as Jake’s new girlfriend—the stress was very much warranted. His ex’s instagram was a testament that if she were to sport a potato sack, she’d still outshine you by miles—many miles actually, probably enough miles to wrap around the entire earth twice. It’s only natural that you would make an effort to appear somewhat decent in comparison. 

Mentally running through your plans for today, you unintentionally wander into the kitchen and start an attack on a tub of icecream—without even realizing it. It’s only when you’re half way through the container—that Jake finally steps into the kitchen, hair slightly damp from his lack of towel drying, a pair of gray sweats sitting loose around his waist, and another variant of his black hoodies clung on his upper half. 

“Oh, there you are.” He cranes his neck to see what you’re so focused on.

Jake feels a slight sense of disappointment creep in when you don’t give him a single sign of acknowledgment. Even with the lame attempt to louden his footsteps, you’re still quietly standing by the counter, back turned to him. 

Coming to a halt behind you, he briefly gives the back of your head an unimpressed look, before casually resting a palm onto the table top in front of you. 

The ends of his hoodie drawstrings start to dangle over the top of your head when you unconsciously lean back into him. Jake hums contently, steadying his feet so you could comfortably lay your weight onto his chest. The disappointment from before lifts, slightly.

“Thought you were gonna join me in there. You coulda’ scrubbed my back or something,” he playfully laments. All you do is wriggle against him, silently making yourself comfortable. 

Out of nowhere, Jake feels the steady pace of his heartbeat begin to pick up, though, he’s not sure if it’s from the horrifying remembrance of being interrupted a little bit ago, or because it feels kind of nice to have you on him like this.

Again, with no answer from you, he looks down past his nose, eyes landing directly onto the silver spoon that’s sticking out your mouth. Jake only squints when he’s met with his own wacky reflection at the end of the utensil. 

“Okay then,” he says to himself, tracing his gaze down the shiny metal. Reaching the end of the spoon, he catches the blank stare you’re giving that tub of ice cream under those curled lashes of yours. Jake bites the inside of his cheek at the observation. 

He’s not even sure what to make of your sudden change in behavior. Not long ago, you were cutely pawing at the bathroom door, and now you’re all dolled up underneath him, raw dogging a container of ice cream. 

Gently, he pinches the end of the cold handle between two fingers, slowly pulling it from your lips. All you can do is blink dumbly at the large hand that breaks your vision, letting him take it from you. Your eyes scrunch when the sunlight trickling through the kitchen bounces off the bowl of the spoon, momentarily blinding you. 

“You gonna let me have a taste?” He genuinely asks, dipping his head down to whisper the question in your ear. He does it softly enough so it doesn’t startle you. 

You blink a few more times before rushing to nod your head. 

Permission granted, Jake dunks it back into the tub to get himself a generous scoop, pressing the spoonful of vanilla flat against his tongue, licking it clean above you. “You left some of your lipgloss on here,” he lamely shares, while eating off the sticky residue. It should gross him out, but it’s just you, so really, he couldn’t care less.

Setting the empty spoon down against the counter with a soft clatter, Jake hands end up on the front of your pants, again—for probably the third time this week. The soothing action is happening more frequently than it ever should, but you haven’t chewed him out on it—yet. And it’s not his fault he needs to wean himself off. 

“What’s with the makeup? Thought you were just hittin’ up the grocery store today.”

All you do is give him a small shrug, he takes it as an answer for now. 

There were times when Jake stumbled on his older sisters prancing around the house at random hours of the night, faces full of makeup. Out of curiosity, he’d asked them why they decided to start their enrollment in clown school—and he’d get the same response—an eye roll and annoyed exclamation of Girls just like doing their makeup randomly Jacob! You don’t get it! 

And for someone who was considered ‘a green flag’ on paper for having two sisters, Jake didn’t reap the benefits at all. Unfortunately, he was largely unaware of the things a guy should know if he grew up around girls. 

Discreetly pulling you in closer, he inhales through his nose. The taut muscles on his back relax once the scent of your strawberry body wash reaches him. “Why do you randomly do your makeup?”  

You stare at the shine of the melting desert in front of you, mildly confused by his abrupt question. 

Sure, Jake had pestered you with random questions about girls, given that you were one. But they always followed the lines of—Does this text mean she’s mad at me? or Why the fuck does she need me to pick out a nail color every two weeks? And get mad at me when I say blue? Never has he asked dumb questions in regards to you—but it’s not like he needed to anyway.

“Oh, um. I don’t know,” you bite your glossy lip, contemplatively. It takes you several seconds to come up with a better explanation than Oh, um. I don't know. Because that’s stupid, you sound stupid. 

“It just…feels good to do it, like—a confidence booster of sorts,” you finally surmise, partially honest with him. 

“Feels good, huh.” Jake repeats, trailing off as he absently runs his thumb around the rim of your metal button. 

While you weren’t aware of his large hands flirting with the entryway of your skirt before, you’re pretty much noticing it now. 

No matter how much you try to downplay the habit, it undeniably made you slightly nervous—okay, it actually made you very nervous. Because what if he accidentally pulled down your zipper—or worse—what if he saw the stupid day of the week underwear that you still wear. 

You’re not sure if you could ever live that down if he does. 

“I–um. Yeah, feels good,” you incoherently mumble, hands pathetically slick in sweat at your sides. 

He hardly gets a chance to register the mental turmoil going on under him as his brows suddenly furrow. The subtle engravings on the button of your shorts feel different, unfamiliar even.

WIth that, he stills. And without so much of a warning, Jake drags one hand around to the small of your back, pressing his palm flat against the bunched up fabric of your sweater, dragging it upward to check what shorts you decided to wear. You stagger forward, forced to crash your sweaty hands down onto the counter as he pushes you off him. 

This whole time, you were wearing a skirt.

And it’s not like Jake Seresin was opposed to the idea of girls wearing something too tight for comfort, but the dark washed band is curling into your flesh. Jake was opposed to that.

You gulp, the skin of your cheeks growing hot. Jake practically has you bent over, butt pointing up into the air. Warily, you attempt to continue the conversation as if he wasn’t checking out your skirt, in the worst way possible. “You could’ve, um, I dunno, just asked me what I’m weari–”

“This shit is digging into you, Princess,” he cuts you off firmly, flipping you around with that hand. 

Jake silently watches you, waiting for an explanation once he has you facing him. It’s quiet as you dodge his eyes. Of course, he thinks it looks weird on you. 

Eventually, you choose to look down at his front hoodie pocket like a scolded child. “I just…had too much to eat. Dairy makes me bloated,” you meekly supply, worming your hands into the empty pouch. Nervously, you begin to pick at the tiny tufts of cotton glued to the inner lining of his pocket. 

Ignoring the new feeling stirring in his stomach, Jake intently dips his middle and pointer finger into the front of your skirt, trying to get an estimate on how tight it was. They’re already losing circulation between the pudge of your tummy and the band. 

“What?” Jake scoffs incredulously, eyes rolling up and down your figure.

“You don’t eat too much. Don’t even try that with me,” he sternly cements, disapproving of your excuse. “This shit is just—not your size.” 

Using the two fingers hooked into your skirt, he tugs you forward in demonstration, causing you to let out a startled yelp. Seeing how the movement easily sends you launching forward, Jake sighs and retracts that hand from your waistband, holding you still by the hip instead. 

Moving to grab your face with his other hand, he forces you to look up at him—and your stomach bubbles, maybe because of the ice-cream. 

“I’m not gonna tell you what and what not to wear outside, ’cause my mom would fucking kill me,” he clarifies. “But, really?” Jake’s voice drops to a softer tone, considering that you look somewhat embarrassed, and not in the way he liked. 

You nod once in his hand, “I like it,” you manage to argue, cheeks squished by his fingers. If you like it, Jake can’t seem to hate it. But what Jake hates—is that he knows you’re about to head out, by yourself. 

“Okay.” His eyes flick down to your new choice of apparel. “Let me come with you today, Fuck Bradley,” he proposes, dismissing his upcoming plans with the brunette this afternoon. 

If you wanted to play dress up around him, that’s fine, but if you were going to walk around the supermarket aisles, without him trailing behind you, looking like this? He would rather go through his frat hazing twice over just so he could tag along. Your parents would kill him if he didn’t make up some excuse to watch over you. 

Somewhat bothered by your bare thighs brushing against his knees, Jake drops both hands down to pull at the sides of your skirt, but the stubborn fabric doesn’t budge. Again, he yanks it to no avail. Jake blows air through his nose, because he just needs your upper thigh to be covered at least. That’s what your mom would want, for him to look after you and all. 

“Jake,” you warn, bringing his attention back to your face. “We never end up buying what we need ‘cause you play around too much,” you put forth, glaring at him.

Jake gives your skirt one final jerk before giving up, weaving his fingers into the belt loops instead. However, under the weight of his hands, the band glides from your waist down to your hips. It covers more of your legs now. 

“I’ll behave,” he confirms, looking down at you. The specks of seriousness in his eyes says he will. But his inability to leave you alone for more than five minutes says, he won’t. 

“You never behave,” you tiredly argue, cracking your knuckles in his front pocket, accidentally pulling him closer by doing so. 

Jake cocks his head. “So? That’s what makes us work. You do all the important crap,” he points out, forgoing his seriousness from a second ago. “While I keep things fun. Don’t start pretending you don’t like it.” 

You look off to the side with a sigh. 

“I actually don’t like it,” you start, matter of factly. “And you’re not coming,” you finally conclude, brushing off the sudden memory of him keeping things fun last night. 

Rationally, you should be relieved that he remembers kissing you, it was clear in the way he wouldn’t stop teasing you about it during the entirety of the walk home. But all it does is fill you with unease. 

“My girl’s playin’ hard to get. That’s fine, I can handle you,” he continues, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. Yeah, he’s definitely not getting the permission to accompany you if he’s being so coy, this early on in the day. 

Rolling your eyes, you pivot your head to look at him again, only to realize that it’s a mistake to do so. Because you instinctively cower—when was he standing this close to you? And when did he slip his fingers through your skirt’s belt loops?

Jake’s eyes dart across your features, taking in your nervous falter. “What? You like when I call you that?” His grin only stretches wider. 

You hate that you’re still not used to his new pet names.

“What? No—no, I don’t.” You hurriedly defend yourself. 

You also hate that you can’t handle talking about said pet names without sputtering like an idiot. 

The moment you fill your cheeks with air, Jake takes it as a sign to not test his luck with you. Keeping quiet, he intently watches you let out that breath while you start to digress.

“You can join me next time, ‘cause it’s rude if you cancel on Bradley, I’ll just…come over after I’m done.” Reminded that Bradley kind of smiled at you last night, you assume he wouldn’t mind if you invited yourself over. He’s oddly let you through the door before, anyway. 

As you finish speaking, you gently nudge at Jake using the hands you still have resting in his pocket. The thick fabric, combined with his body heat, has been keeping your fingers so warm—that you almost forget the way the cold tub of vanilla felt between your hands from before.

Weirdly, Jake doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, there’s something unfamiliar that flits in his eyes, the dumb grin he’s wearing quickly fades and all he does is stare at you, like he’s unsure about something. Jake Seresin, unsure of himself, in what world?

“Promise me you’ll actually be there. Need to hear you say it,” he gently demands—suddenly.

Jake trusts you to stick to your word, but there’s some part of him that needs to know that he’ll see you again during the day. And he wasn’t going to hang out in Bradley’s room all afternoon, and have it possibly stretch into the evening—if you’re not going to show up at some point. 

You pause, lips parted, searching for any signs of his impending teasing. Because where did that come from? The last time he was this deliberate in what he said, he had asked you to be his girlfriend. 

You wonder how your sixteen year old self would react—she’d probably put on some Coldplay song and grab a nearby pillow to cry into it, if she knew he didn’t mean it in the way you wanted him to. And for some reason, you feel a twinge of her hurt flicker through your chest, when you think about it.

Above you, Jake remains still, letting you curiously scan his face. A thick lump forms in your throat when you come to the realization that he’s being serious. 

You swallow, giving him all your sincerity. “I promise.”

That unfamiliar look flashes in his eyes again when you assure him, and you instantly look down once you notice it. “Now can you, just—let me leave. We have no milk left and you can’t have your cereal dry,” you fumble, caught off guard by his sudden seriousness. 

Jake clears his throat. “Okay, yeah. I can…do that,” he starts, slowly. 

Letting his concern for your outfit drop, Jake moves off you so you can go. The weird tension in the air wrapping around you two, simply dilutes with that. 

Jake feels more confused when he watches you fetch your keys. He’d only wanted confirmation that you were seeing him later, thinking it would calm his protectiveness over you. But, it didn’t do jack shit, really. You didn’t get dressed up for no reason, nor did you wear things like that when you did.

The realization that he should’ve tried to probe more, crosses his mind when he hears you go through the front door. In the midst of his silent brooding, Jake eventually decides not to fault himself for it—because when has he ever had to pry an explanation out of you? You always told him everything. 

But as he comes to that conclusion, Jake fails to notice what you quickly pop in your mouth when you scurry out. Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking of your younger self—but you reached for that reflective baggie you stole from last night’s snack table. It should do the trick to soothe that growing ache in your chest. 

“Motherfuck–” Bradley bites his lip in focus, capping off his insult. “Takin’ off half my health. Get your ass back here,” he harshly narrates under his breath. Leaning closer to his computer screen, he expertly moves his fingers against the lit up keyboard in precision with his mouse. 

Jake came over a few hours ago, and what started as a conversation between two friends—turned into Jake leaning back against Bradley’s headboard while the brunette busied himself with rounds of Fortnite. 

“I’m telling you, she wore that shit on purpose.” Jake huffs, retelling his encounter with his ex. Truthfully, Bradley’s baffled that Jake was able to stretch out the topic for this long. 

Hour five into the rant, you had tiredly strolled in the room after being let in the house by Bob. There was hardly any greeting before you immediately dove for the mattress. In a matter of seconds, you were curled around Jake’s leg like it was some life line, left cheek squished against his thigh and an arm thrown across his knee. 

Neither of them said anything about your peculiar arrival, but it wasn’t like they caught the chance to, because you had already dozed off. 

“Okay? The hell you want me to say to that.” Bradley grumbles, eyes still trained on his monitor. For the first time in his life, Bradley finds himself jealous of you. If he had to cuddle with Jake in his sleep to get a ticket out of this, then so be it. 

Before Jake can say anything, Bradley is rapidly clicking his mouse and jerks it across his mouse pad in zig zags. “No, no. Fuck—Shit. Oh fuck you.”

The gruff shout at his computer causes you to stir a bit. 

“You died?” Jake stupidly asks, cupping a hand over your ear, muffling the noise. 

Slowly, Bradley swivels his chair to face him. “No. My character just got shot in the face.” 

“Right.” Jake doesn’t care. “Anyway, you should’ve seen the skirt she was wearing,” he pauses to re-evaluate his next words. “Actually, don’t even start to imagine it.” 

“Just know it was bad,” he says flatly, hoping Bradley gets the point. 

Entirely unimpressed by his friend’s idiocracy, Bradley’s eyes dart between the skirt you're wearing and the idiot playing with the shell of your ear. Maybe if he aimed it correctly, he could chuck his wireless mouse at Jake’s thick forehead without it landing on you.

“Same skirt that your little girlfriend has on right now?” Bradley presses, lazily raising an eyebrow. 

Jake’s eyes snaps to your outfit and he roughly grabs a blanket to cover you entirely. 

“What is she, Goldilocks? Passing out on someone’s bed after going out on her own. Should’ve gone with her, dumbass,” Bradley insults. 

Jake gives him an incredulous look. 

“Bro, I fucking tried but you know how girls are.” If anyone should understand, it’s Bradley—the guy who had a hoard of sisters himself. He of all people, should know that talking to girls was like trying to communicate with a mob that was already angry at you. You say one thing wrong, and you’re getting chased by pitchforks and torches. 

“Look at that. Another girlfriend who’s tryna’ escape you,” Bradley swipes a tongue over his growing smirk, amusing no one but himself. 

“I’m glad you’re finding this funny. ‘Cause I don’t.”

“Thanks.” Bradley says offhandedly, in his usual uninterested tone. 

“That wasn’t—okay,” Jake bites his tongue, not wanting to spark an argument that might wake you. 

“Why are you so hung up on this chick anyway? What do you even like about her?” Bradley suddenly presses, trying to gain knowledge on why his friend is so infatuated. 

In the years he’s known Jake, yeah, he’s been a serial dater, but he never went back to the same girl—over and over again. And he never employed you to help him do it either. Bradley never got the impression that Jake would do that in the first place.

“I like everything about her,” Jake finally punches in his answer, focusing on the way you’re clinging to his leg. 

It’s a simple question, one he should know how to answer. But his attention drops to you when he racks his brain for a valid reason—as if you were going to wake up and give him the response he was looking for.

“She made me feel good. I don’t fucking know dude. I just liked her more than I liked anyone else.”

Bradley inwardly winces at that.  

Jake slowly turns his head to his friend who’s leaning back into his chair, and dismissively shrugs. “Everyone said we were good together and I just thought so too.” 

Despite his attention to the conversation, Jake has a far off look in his eye—his brain is wandering off somewhere. 

Bradley shakes his head, in disagreement. Clearly, his strategy of getting Jake to catch you with someone else at the party failed, so maybe he has to switch gears. “Dude, just because some fucking randoms said so, doesn't mean—”

“...Gummybear.” 

Both of them put the conversation on pause, snapping their necks in your direction. Another minute of quiet passes until you mumble the phrase again, paired with a groan this time.

Jake shifts around, no longer slouching against the headboard. The duo watches closely when you sleepily untangle yourself from him and sit up for yourself.

Scrubbing your eyes, you distribute a guilty look between Bradley and Jake through blurry vision because you feel your mouth slowly being filled with the pre-vomit drool. 

You’re one second away from showing them both your lackluster breakfast and cannabis laced gummies you had the bright idea of eating.

Perhaps, it wasn’t the best course of action to have one—or two, but you thought they were supposed to make you feel calm—because isn’t that why people buy them? How were you supposed to know that having more than one would make you feel so sick?

“I don’t, um, feel too good.” Your throat bobs and you slap a hand over your mouth.

Jake lunges forward, shoving away the pillows blocking you from him. He visually pales when bend over against him, aggressively gagging into your palm, unable to swallow back the burning acid rising into your throat and spilling onto your tongue. 

With you on the brink of vomiting in his lap, Jake keeps his eyes on you as he hurries Bradley to find something for you to dump your guts into. 

“I said I can’t fucking find it!” Bradley’s already shot out his chair, rapidly throwing dirty laundry over his shoulder once he’s bent over in the spot where his trash bin should be.

From the way he launched himself out of his seat, the gaming chair is flung halfway across the room. And with the sound of your retching and Jake’s useless instructions, Bradley picks up the pace and hastily reaches into piles of junk in hopes that he’d unearth the tiny bucket.  

“Aim on the damn floor if I don’t find this thing,” he grits, sweating as he continues to dig through his pigsty.

And aim at his floor, you did. 

“I threw up all over his room.” You mumble into Jake’s hoodie, punishing yourself over the turn of events. 

Since bringing you home, Jake’s been actively trying to get your mind off what happened. But all you’ve done is guiltily fixate on the fact that you barfed like a sick puppy, leaving a plop of mush right onto a Victoria Secret bra sitting in Bradley’s room. 

What if the girl who owned it came looking for it—just to find a fat stain sunken into the cup? Bradley would probably have to tell her that his idiot friend hurled on it because she didn’t know her tolerance was incredulously low. And you’d probably won't stop thinking about it for the rest of your life.

“Who cares? You gave Bradshaw a reason to clean. Now turn around and tell me what you want,” Jake prompts you, looking ahead at the open snack pantry in front of him.

The high clearly kicked in while you were in the snack aisle, because why else would there be five party sized bags of chips staring back at him. 

Jake narrows his eyes, straining to make out the flavor you bought. The dim lighting makes it nearly impossible to read the big lettering written across the shiny plastic. But then again, he hadn’t bothered to turn on the main lights, choosing to depend on the trim of fairy lights lined throughout the apartment. It was safe to assume that you preferred those, so he stuck to that. 

Rather than complying, you wrap your arms tighter around Jake’s torso, shaking your head in refusal against his chest. “Don’t want anything.” 

Redirecting his attention to the top of your head, he hugs you back with one arm. “C’mon sick puppy, take a look.” 

The last time you writhed in guilt like this, you had swung Jake over the head with your neon pink hydro-flask at his beach house—when he was the one who purposely scared you. Though, he took it as a win, considering that you cradled his head all night, giving him an excuse to sleep in the same room as you. Back then, it came at a perfect time since his fling that summer recently ended in disaster. 

“I’ll just throw up again if I eat anything,” you quietly whine, replaying the defeated sigh Bradley heaved when he stared at the pathetic beige goo sinking into the lace of the bra. 

Using the arm he has around you, Jake gives you a squeeze. “No? Don’t even want some gummies?”

When he’s met with silence, Jake lowers his head to kiss the top of yours, but the gesture goes unnoticed by you. For a second, he thinks you managed to fall asleep standing up. “Done talkin’ to me Goldilocks?” 

Jake’s voice pulls you out of your deep analysis of the way Bradley sighed in disappointment. But, with the reminder that you had also shamelessly napped in his bed—brought on by your desperation to sleep off the high, you fist the back of Jake’s hoodie in both hands and bite down on your lip to hold back a screech of embarrassment.

“Won’t you look at that, the little lady didn’t like my joke,” he lightly teases, glad that your useless talent of falling asleep anywhere didn’t spur into action. 

Detecting the spike of heat from your flushed face against his stomach, Jake refrains from making any more jokes and lifts you slightly, positioning the bottom of your feet over the surface of his own.

Once he drops you to stand on his sock-clad feet, Jake begins to carefully advance into the bathroom, unbothered by the pressure of your heels on his toes as he walks. 

“If you want nothin’, we’re hanging out where we did this morning.”

In one swift movement, he both peels you off his front and moves you off his feet. Letting him guide you to sit at the edge of the tub, you attentively look on while he crouches in front of you, face perfectly leveled with yours—despite the raised height provided by the bathtub. Did he place you here because you fell off the toilet that one time? 

“Why did you randomly take those? Mickey puts a shit-load in there,” he questions, referring to the gummy bears that eventually led you into buying a life time supply of Jake’s favorite chips, Smoked Barbeque. 

If it wasn’t for the soft yellow string of lights you taped around the bathroom door frame, you would’ve missed the puzzled look he’s wearing. The light pinch of his brows and the concern tightening his jaw makes you feel guilty for the second time tonight. 

Instinctively, his hands reach towards your waist, thumbs coming close to meeting at the center as his palms settle on your sides. A shiver runs down his spine when he comes to notice how you fit in his hands—but he pushes the new sensation aside. 

“I’ve been doing a lot of random things today,” you broadcast, unsure of the rationale behind wearing makeup for a mundane outing—and unsure as to why you were compelled to level with a girl who could clearly look down at you from where she is. 

“Yeah, you have, haven’t you?” Jake says softly, watching your eyes flick down towards his hoodie. It’s an exact replica of the one keeping warm from the night before—and the same one he gave you for the sole purpose of announcing that you were his.

“Oh. I forgot to give your sweater back to you last night. I’ll wash it and—”

“Keep it, we didn’t break up yet,” he cuts you off, the unfamiliar look from this morning passing through his eyes, again.  

Oblivious to it, you simply nod at him, bringing your parted lips to a slow close.

Then, it goes quiet as you two take the time to recollect your thoughts.

After several minutes you both meet back in a silent agreement that you’re ready to continue the conversation. Jake nods his head at you, encouraging you to speak first. 

“I ate it because this didn’t feel good,” you suddenly confess, lips bunching to the side of your mouth. Knowing what you meant, his attention drops to that skirt he caught you in this morning. An unsettling feeling swirls in his stomach, it looks even tighter on you now.

Jake liked to think he knew how to read you.

Whenever his ears picked up on your nervous laugh, he knew to stalk over to see which one of his nosey aunts were pressing you about having a boyfriend. Whenever you nervously dug the toe of your sneakers into the floor, he knew to start comparing shoe sizes with you as a distraction. But when he finds you in something you don’t usually wear, Jake doesn’t know what to do. 

He wonders if you felt like you needed this stuff to feel pretty. And he also wonders why he’s so unaware of it until now, if you had. 

“Think I threw up because it’s so tight. Maybe Mickey’s gummies aren’t so bad,” you attempt to joke with a light laugh, wanting to ease the tension off his face. 

In front of you, Jake’s stare is still unwavering towards the engravings of that button. In a way, this is kind of disorienting for him, what you’re wearing is so familiar to him. Yet, seeing it on you is unfamiliar if anything. Because this isn’t you, it’s the girl he was just arguing with last night. 

The only reason he even started this whole thing with you, besides Kendall’s unexplainable jealousy towards your friendship, was because you were different to her in every way. So, if you were going to change that about yourself, Jake didn’t like it—because it was unfamiliar to him. For his whole life, he kept tabs on little things about you that no one else bothered to learn. It doesn't sit right with him, that you’re keeping things from him now.

“I…don’t like this,” he delivers carefully, enunciating each word to you purposefully, leaving no doubt in your mind that he says it to be mean. And like always, what he really wants to say translates to you—I don’t like the way it makes you feel either. 

“...Can we take it off then?” you insert with the same careful delivery.

He draws in a deep breath, and you mimic the action unknowingly. 

Then, with a flick of his thumb, Jake unfastens the button of your skirt, dislodging it from the denim slit that kept it tightly wrapped around your waist. When you go to lift your butt, he pulls the tiny scrap of fabric down your legs. His eyes trail it, keeping his attention off your underwear. In his peripheral, he spots your half-full bottle of strawberry bottle wash. 

With you moving to sit back down on the cold ledge, he’s briefly greeted with a pink cursive lettering. Tuesday.

Surprisingly, it’s not awkward to be sitting in nothing but the poorly constructed sweater he said looked good on you and a pair of your day of the week underwear. Maybe you were being dramatic, thinking that you would die if he saw it. Because this isn’t so different from the days you spent walking around in your bathing suits, in the lifetime full of summers you spent together.

“You never needed that,” he shrugs, relief settling in his chest now that it’s off of you. 

“I never needed it,” you repeat back.

While your entire lives were filled with inside jokes and probably too much bickering—there were small lapses in time where that all drops. You’re not sure when it had even started, but for as long as you could remember, whenever either of you voiced something worthy of importance your counterpart naturally echoed it back. I was a dick. You were a dick. Jake, not right now. Okay, not right now. You never needed that. I never needed it. It was something your friendship naturally adopted. 

And like all other friendships, you two also knew how to shimmy your way out of a vulnerable moment like that, without making things weird. 

Jake leans into you a bit, suppressing a cheeky grin. “It says Tuesday, today is a Saturday,” he whispers.

Shoving him back with one hand, you break out into a smile. “You read my underwear!” 

“It read itself to me,” he finally grins, prompting you to smack your palm over his eyes in embarrassment. 

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” You chant between your laughter. “I’m never wearing these again.”

“No? Not even for me?” Jake starts to wrap his fingers around your wrist. It’s not too firm, but it’s enough to lower your hand from his eyes. Your laughter begins to die down at how gently he handles you. 

Another silence settles in the bathroom again when he leisurely traces a path from your wrist up to your palm, entwining his fingers through yours. Then, he drops your connected hands between the small gap between you two. 

But as quickly as he holds your hand, he lets go of it. And strangely, that tinge of your sixteen year old hurt sweeps through your heart when you lose that warmth against your palm.

Jake suddenly clears his throat. “I should uh, leave. You know, so you can shower.”

Pushing down the confusing swirl of emotion in your chest, you nod. 

This time, Jake’s the one to walk out of the bathroom, leaving you alone with your best friend at the forefront of your mind.

note: im so sorry for taking forever to update! so please enjoy this accidentally long chapter as an apology! as always, reblogs & thoughts are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading! & gently ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes for now

join the taglist for this series here or follow me on @waklman-library and turn on notifs to be notified when i post!

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#jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake ‘hangman’ seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin fic #jake seresin au #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x you #jake hangman x y/n #jake hangman x reader #hangman fluff #hangman au #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #jake seresin angst #jake seresin smut #jake hangman smut #fake it

[mouschiwrites]

HEY POOKS! I'm back with a cool idea😋

Basically hcs where the ninja have to train the reader(who is younger then them) because Wu told them too. At first neither of them want to train together and make the training sessions difficult for each other but over time the ninja see themselves in the reader which was apart of wu's plan. So overtime they develop a sibling bond and everyone rubs in their faces on how similar they are even when they used to hate each other.

SILLY REQUEST BUT HOPEFULLY THAT MADE SENSE! ANYWAYS BYE POOKIE REMEMBER TO TAKE RESTS AND DRINK WATER🤍💛🤍👻👻

YIPPEE you’re back with another banger!!!

Me when you call me pookie,, teehee

Ninjago - Unintentionally Becoming the Ninjas’ Little Sibling

Zane

Zane doesn’t always hate kids, but he certainly didn’t like you at first

He saw you as disorganized and disruptive

Your fighting style was no better

He begrudgingly took it upon himself to help shape you up, not just as a fighter, but as a person

Your attitude towards him was not helping his exasperation at all

But he’s perseverant

Eventually you start to come around to his lessons, finding that being organized is pretty convenient at times

You secretly started to organize your room

You absolutely did NOT want him to know that though

One time he walked in on you sorting your comics by franchise, and you legitimately flipped your table

“Y/n! Why did you do that? Look at the mess you’ve made.”

“I-I don’t care about messes!! No… I… I like my room like this…”

He insisted on helping you clean up, at which point he noticed that the comics, which had somehow maintained their separate groups after falling to the floor, were sorted

He doesn’t point it out, but he feels some pride in you

He helps you reorganize the comics wordlessly

Sitting there, just sorting through comics in silence, the tension between you two melted

Once Zane realized that his teachings were getting through to you, he stops being so harsh

He offers to help you organize things, and he’s thrilled if you return the favor

From there he’ll start teaching you to cook and do chores too

That’s when the others start to notice

They call you the Rumba because you’re a little housekeeping helper

Zane finds the name especially comedic because a Rumba is also a robot

Though their teasing makes you all huffy, you wouldn’t go back to your old ways just to stop it

You like the time you spend with Zane too much

Besides doing chores, you guys also like to watch documentaries together

You’re both one of those “did you know (weirdly specific fact)” people

You like to quiz each other on your niche hobbies and interests

You’re both definitely one of those weirdly knowledgeable people that seem to have a fun fact for every scenario

You’ll build off of each others’ fun facts as well

“Did you guys know that monarch butterflies are actually incredibly poisonous?”

“That’s correct. That’s why the viceroy butterfly has evolved to look similar; predators will assume they’re monarchs, and thus elect not to eat them.”

This becomes more annoying for the others as time goes on

Kai

He was determined to “tame” you from the very beginning

When Wu tasked him with training you, he convinced himself that you were a real piece of work

This led to a less than ideal attitude towards you, regardless of whether you were actually a problem child or not

He assumes this air of authority, using his age and experience as excuses to boss you around

That’s where your problem with him arises

And when you start to show how much you hate him, he only feels more justified in his treatment

It’s only when he starts to notice your hot-headedness that he reflects on his treatment of you

He sees himself in you, which makes him question if that’s how he would want to be treated

No, he decides, this is not how he would want to be treated were he in your position

So he approaches you one day when you’re all alone, watching the sunset

“Here to boss me around some more?”

“No, I want to apologize. I shouldn’t be treating you like this. It’s just not helpful, to you or me. I’m going to try to be better.”

His genuineness strikes you

You accept the apology warily

Frankly you’re worried about how he plans to change his treatment of you

You’re pleasantly surprised to find that he’s actually a pretty cool guy once he drops the dictator act

He shows you fun fighting moves, even lets you win every now and again when you spar

And he invites you to do more leisurely activities too

It’s a welcome change from the endless stream of chores he used to give you

He still gives you work to do though (mostly things he doesn’t want to do himself)

Your lingering hot-headedness shines through when this happens

“Why do I have to do it? It’s not fair!”

“Because I said so. Now shoo.”

The others start to tease that you’re just like him

Kai doesn’t mind this at all

If anything, he’s proud to have a mini version of himself

He loves doing stuff with you; your determination makes you a great buddy to be all competitive with

You guys LOVE to compete; video games, chores, training, anything

Cole

You get on Cole’s bad side by being stubborn

Cole’s a pretty chill guy who likes to go with the flow, so if you make him put his foot down, he’s not going to like you

So, when you demonstrate the classic huffiness of a child, he gets pretty impatient

He won’t push hard when it comes to enforcing his authority

He’ll just leave

This makes you feel like he doesn’t care about you, which only exacerbates your bad attitude

It becomes a vicious cycle of hate on both ends

It’s only when you realize that you are being a little bratty that you decide to try and tone it down

This takes him by surprise

“…99, and 100! Okay, all done with warm-ups. What next?”

“Wh— no complaining? Huh. Um, okay, let’s practice your high kicks.”

“You’re the boss.”

He starts to actually enjoy training with you once you’re not arguing all the time

This shows you that he really does care about your progress

The negative cycle therefore becomes a positive one

Cole loves to praise you when you’ve done a good job

He’s very proud of you

When you get used to going with what he says, you’re adopting some of his laid-back attitude

That’s where the others perceive similarities

But they don’t end there

Cole likes to invite you to hang out with him after training, and through your hang out sessions you start to pick up on some of his mannerisms

Like eating the cream out of the Oreo before you eat the cookie

Or leaving the TV on while you take a nap

The teasing gets amped up when the others notice these mirrored habits

Neither of you really care, though

You just like that you have a good relationship now :)

Jay

Jay thought you were a total brat

All it took was one bad experience; he’s volatile like that

He sees you in a bad light once and your reputation is ruined

A bad comment, telling him no once, a dirty look, anything small like that

He’s super cold to you when training, dishing out orders like Gordon Ramsay and glaring at you just as intensely

You feel like you can never satisfy him

As the work he gives you piles up daily, you can’t help but shoot a glare back

Your relationship is fixed in the same way it was ruined: with a single moment

You were watching TV, appreciating a rare break

Your favorite character was on screen, and you couldn’t help but smile and sigh

“Man, I wish you were my friend. Then everything would be okay. You’re just so cool.”

“Isn’t he?!”

You whirled around with wild eyes

Jay was diving to sit down next to you, his eyes sparkling at the screen

He was overjoyed to find out that you liked the show; it was super niche, and none of the other ninjas had even heard of it

You listened as he gushed about the show, a little disturbed by his complete flip of attitude

Eventually you couldn’t help joining his fangirling

You spent literal hours talking

Kai dropped in at one point to make a comment about you two being secret siblings, which you both shrugged off

After that day you were pretty much inseparable

You both proved to be total chatterboxes in each others’ presence

The others find this amusing in the sense that Jay has finally found an equal, but annoying in the sense that you guys literally never stop talking

The only time you shut your mouths is when you’re watching your shows

Even when training, you keep feedback flowing between you

“Nice kick! Try lower next time, though.”

“Thanks! Oof, that hurt…”

Nya

When you start to get frustrated/demotivated with your training, Nya does the same

She finds you “impossible to work with”

So she’ll dump you with someone else, making you feel like garbage to be tossed around

Wu has to remind her that she was the same when she started her ninja training

She’s in denial at first, but when she sees you hunched over in anger, she remembers being in that exact position

With newfound empathy she goes over to you

“Hey… you know, I wasn’t much better when I started my training.”

“I doubt it. I’m just the worst. I’ll never be a ninja.”

She was shocked to find your attitude so similar to her old attitude

From there she had a better idea of how to help you

You were surprised to find her so understanding

You came around to her as you realized she really did know how you were feeling

You put your trust in her, becoming a little more laid-back and letting her guide you

In other words, you adopted her “go with the flow” mindset

Wu was the first to point out your similarities

You both just looked at each other and smiled

You knew you were similar; that’s why you got along

Nya decides to teach you things beyond ninja training, like mechanics

You become quite skilled under her guidance

The others notice that she’s essentially created a smaller version of herself

She protests that you’re your own person, but she can’t deny that you are basically just mini-Nya

Lloyd

Lloyd gets annoyed if you don’t make progress quickly

His training was very fast and intense, so if you can’t keep up, he gets impatient

He’ll just keep pushing harder and harder

He doesn’t realize that not everyone has a prophecy to live up to, and thus probably isn’t motivated in the same way

He can’t find a way to appeal to your motivation, which leaves you feeling like training is just a waste of time

Lloyd finds this attitude incredibly disrespectful

You guys make so many passive aggressive remarks

“Are you already tired?”

“Well, you did kinda just make me, the kid, do 100 push ups.”

It’s when you finally snap that he realizes he’s been doing it wrong

You explode during training one day, storming off while grumbling furiously

Lloyd just stands there, stunned

At that point he finally recognizes that you’re not just a little version of himself, and he needs to get to know you to understand how to help you

So he appeals to you first, remembering the things he used to like as a kid

He gets you into Starfarer, and you guys bond over your love of it

He learns bits and pieces about you when you hang out, and eventually devises a plan to get you back on track

You take to training much better the second time around, making impressive progress

You aren’t cocky about it though; you’ve picked up Lloyd’s humble attitude

The others reminisce about when Lloyd was in your position and they were the trainers

“They’re kinda like you, Lloyd.”

“You think? I guess they are. I remember when you’d train me like this, Kai.”

He takes pride in knowing he’s facilitated your growth

He’s almost as proud to say he’s created another Starfarer fan

You guys still love to gush over the comics together :)

Sorry this was kind of a long read ^^” but thanks for reading! And thank you lovely anon for your request!!

(divider by saradika)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago headcanons #zane julien #ninjago zane #kai smith #kai ninjago #nya smith #nya ninjago #cole brookstone #cole ninjago #jay walker #jay ninjago #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago

[ctheathy]

Popee the Performer General Headcanons

Popee x Reader

General+Fluff Headcanons

Author’s note: Friendly reminder that he is not a clown. He is the entire circus🤡

Popee/Reader [Romantic]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

Violence [Not directed torwards darling] • Popee being a sociopath • Jealousy • Implications that Kedah died again💀 • Abandonment issues

⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱

Right. The violent sociopathic clown who wears a bunny suit, what could go wrong? Popee is known to be a naturally confident yet somewhat arrogant person. His self confidence knows no limits and he truly believes himself to be brilliant at everything he does. In his eyes, those little romance squabbles would have meant nothing but trouble and an absolute distraction for the practice of his talent. He’d want nothing to do with the entirety of ‘relationships’. At first.

That was until you decided to come along.

Right off the bat, Popee has little to no communication skills. Like, at all. He and the others have technically been continuing this lifestyle of isolation to the point their beliefs and attitudes are mainly distinct from the average household you may know about. He can and will get up in your face, chuckling while having a shit-eating grin plastered on his lips. And it’s most likely gonna take a while for him to understand, much less respect your mannerisms and ways of living. He could very much be considered a fine line between the characteristics of a said ‘tsundere’ and that of a ‘yandere’ with just how occasionally off-putting his mindset and behaviours can be. His mood swings can make it difficult to keep you with him, but it’s important you’ll remain patient and understanding for the time being.

He is kind of a mess when it comes to you, but he would never dare to show anyone that. Surprisingly for his case; due to his lack of contact with other human beings, he can grow incredibly flustered under certain circumstances. Doting on him or giving him the slightest bit affection when the others are around results in him pouting and throwing a temper tantrum. But the huge blush on his rosy cheeks honestly says everything, as he does truly appreciate your sweet demeanor and takes your attachment to him to heart. Despite Popee not being extremely fond of hugs and sudden closure, you always manage to surprise the others when he quite literally just allows you snuggle up against him, especially as bombs would have been flying around again if one of them even thought of, much less dared to do such things to him.

Whiny as hell. That’s it. That’s the entire paragraph. If he wants your attention, you better give it to him in a split second unless if you want him to go down yet another warpath and bombard the place in a blind rage. He’ll still make sure that none of his breakouts are directed towards you or even occur close to you though, as he genuinely couldn’t possibly live with himself knowing he harmed you during some pointless fit of anger of his. You genuinely are the only being that can keep the boy somewhat tame and peaceful.

To Kedamono, you quite literally are the one thing that keeps Popee from absolutely demolishing the entire circus, and he feels extremely appreciative and respectful towards you because of this. Speaking of the other performers, they all feel extraordinarily grateful when it comes to you because you have the magic ability to keep Popee somewhat in check. But they also definitely got the hint and know when to keep their distances from you, knowing his jealousy streak can go from bad to immense in an instant from some ... Let’s just say past experiences. If anyone even takes the risk to upset you in the slightest, they’ll be humbled by his dagger real quick. Popee already goes cuckoo when your behaviour shows signs of being upset, but if you somehow got physically harmed in one way or another? Haha ... The boy would go absolutely ballistic for your sake and destroy anything (or anyone for that matter) that managed to even witness the scene, much less towards those that even inclined on hurting you in the first place.

A merciless tease at heart, honestly nothing can stop this absolute menace. It’s gotten to the point where he’s just straight up bullying you to some extents because he has no clue on how to indicate his desire for your love. He’s going to be after you and pushing your buttons no matter what your responses towards it might be. He enjoys any kind of reaction he can get out of you, so you might as well just accept it as your daily schedule at this point. He knows you’re most likely the only one who can put up with his absolute bullsh1t and clearly uses this to his advantage. But somewhere deep down, in the back of his mind, he cannot help but feel a tinge of paranoia that you’ll eventually grow irritated or worse, even tired by his antics. It is no joke when I say that he is indescribably starved for attention and acknowledgement for his efforts and he will get that recognition through you. And due to this observation, he tends to grow accustomed and more loving to you over time. He’s still not going to be a snuggle bug, but he tends to ... Appreciate the thought behind the embrace a whole lot more and doesn’t just freak out as much when you sneak up to him for a hug. During those rare moments, he even grows to become more touchy himself. Gently stroking your cheek with his cat-like tail.

Speaking of his tail, it might as well be considered to have a mind of its own at some rate. It instinctively tends to behave on what Popee is experiencing on that current moment, mainly determined by his emotions. An example being when he’s specifically feeling like a little brat, he’d purposely walk over to wherever you are sitting and quite frankly just smack you directly in the face with his tail. But the tail can sometimes be an inconvenience to him too. If you’d go up and give him a peck on the cheek out in the open. He’d act like whatever you just did was the most inappropriate and gross thing in the world, but his excitedly wagging tail would betray him and silence the boy in an instant, leaving him to grow as red as a fire hydrant.

⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱⊰⊱

#popee the performer #ptp popee #ptp x reader #popee the performer x reader #popee x reader #ptp #popee the ぱフォーマー #popee the clown #ポピーザぱフォーマー #popee paraphone

[arachine]

– 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

+ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x hybrid! fem! reader

+ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mature

+ 𝐜𝐰: dark content, hybrid!reader, reader w/ oral fixation, oral sex (m receiving), very tame face fucking, mentions of gagging & choking, female masturbation, cum swallowing, dacryphilia (kinda), biting, bunting (basically when cats mark you with their scent), explicit language, a little angsty but i swear i didn’t mean to !!

+ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a request for kitty!reader having an oral fixation and how’d they prevent it but i got carried away and did my own thing…sorry (not really) + everyone pls thank my sweet baby angel @cocoamoonmalfoy for beta’ing this for me !! this shit was hot garbage before lol :3

+ 𝐰𝐜: 3.5k 

+ 𝐝𝐭: my lovelies @snowflakeicicles @ringpop-poppy

trying to control your oral fixation was probably the most difficult thing they ever had to endure in their lives—apart from, you know, saving the world from man-eating monsters, battling evil scientists, and fighting crazy russians—but they still somehow managed to lessen the severity of it. 

at first, when it was really bad, you’d nip at almost everything. clothes, shoes, the legs of a table, hands—fingers, especially fingers. those were your favorite to play with. it had gotten to the point where their hands would be absolutely littered in cuts and scratches, and it had become quite troublesome having to explain to their parents how they had gotten them. 

so, that’s when they took it upon themselves to invest in some toys. they tried feathers, stuffed animals, fake mice, lasers, balls of yarn—but nothing seemed to ever work. eventually, they’d settle on just indulging you, coming up with more lies, more excuses, more nonsense to silence their parents’ ever-growing curiosity. 

“you’re trouble, you know that?” mike scolds, running his fingers over your silky coat. you merely purr in response, the tip of your tail swaying side to side as you continue to suck, bite, and rough up his digits. 

“thank god it’s steve’s turn tonight,” he throws his head back against the couch, “because i don’t think my hands can take anymore of this torture.” 

“yeah, my mom thinks i’m getting into fights,” dustin pipes, “i mean come on, look at this face. does this look like the kinda face to be getting into fights?” 

that’s right, it was steve’s turn today. your favorite chew toy, how could you forget? your mind wanders back to the last time you stayed at his house. how you’d played, slept, cuddled—kissed…and how he’d let you nip and suck on other places, too. just thinking about it was enough to trigger your human form, skin and flesh appearing in mike’s lap. 

“mike, mike, when will steve be here!?” you beam, pouncing on his chest. unintentionally, you pierces him with the tip of your claws, the excitement of seeing steve rendering your brain to complete and utter mush. 

“jesus, you just poked me,” the boy rubs his chest, “and why are you so excited to see him anyway?” there’s a beat. silence. it was a simple question, actually. could be answered with a ‘no reason’ or a ‘just excited ’s all’—but you choke, and mike finds this strange. odd. he takes notice of the way you avoid meeting his eyes, a tell-tale sign that you were hiding something, but before he can ask about it, heavy feet make their way down the stairs. 

“hey, guys.” everyone averts their attention to where the voice is coming from, a chorus of tepid ‘hey’s filling the room. 

there it was, that familiar scent. the one that belonged to…

“steve!” you leap from mike’s lap to embrace the brunet, wrapping the length of your legs around his torso. his hands settle on the curve of your lower back, and he smooths over the area soothingly, a soft expression gracing his face. 

“ready to go?” you nod enthusiastically, ears shooting up with a quick flutter.

“alright, you know the drill,” steve points to his backpack, gesturing for you to transform and slip inside. 

the drive to steve’s is quiet. and it’s even quieter as the two of you trek and traverse through the house and up the stairs to his room. the only time there’s anything but silence is when steve utters a ‘watch your step’, followed by the eerie sound of the wooden floorboards creaking and cracking under weight. 

“just us?” you query, falling into step behind him as you enter his bedroom. the door creates a faint draft, and immediately, your nose is flooded with his scent—it’s strong, intense, pleasant. you can smell him everywhere. 

“yeahhh, just us.” 

nobody’s home, just like all the other times. you never really poked or prodded, but kind of gathered that this wasn’t unusual for him growing up. coming to his house was always a drastic change in environment, it was just so much different than all the others—which was probably because they were kids, and had siblings of their own, and parents who liked them. silence and tranquility was not something they had the privilege of knowing. 

steve didn’t mind it, though. actually, he preferred it. with his dad frequently away for work, and his mother accompanying him, it more often than not, left him with an empty house—an empty house that provided him ample opportunity to do whatever the hell he wanted…which sometimes allowed for drinking, throwing parties, and well, bringing home girls. but more specifically, bringing home you. 

“blew out the main light, so it’s a little dark in here, sorry about that,” his fingers point up. he ambles over to his desk to turn on the lamp sitting atop it. it’s tiny and only illuminates a portion of the room, but it’s enough to just barely make out the wanes and curves of his face. 

your eyes follow him intently as he moves from one corner of the room to another, a piece of his uniform falling to the floor with every step, creating a trail towards his dresser. he’d always changed in front of you, never thought anything about it. and you never thought anything about it either—that is, until recently. 

steve had always been just steve. the one who doted on you, the one who tended to your wounds, the one who dedicated almost (if not all) of his time to ensure that you were well and taken care of. but now? now it was different, and you couldn’t quite articulate why. 

bare skin was just skin, and limbs were just limbs, but the sight of steve’s chest and abdomen perfectly outlined by the golden dim of the light, was making your stomach all knotted up. it felt like the feeling you got when you played with the others; when you laughed, and cuddled, and kissed them—but it was more intense, scary. in the way that you’d hoped he only ever did this with you—and no one else. 

“what is it?” he raises a suspicious brow. you don’t answer. instead, you let your feet trudge across the carpeted floor until you stand in front of him, until you’re so close, he can feel the heat of your breath fan his face.

you stand there, studying him, trailing your claws lightly over the places his abs concave and dip. he doesn’t know what you’re doing at first, just gazes down to where you stand before him, a look of perplexity etched into the crinkles between his brows. 

your hand wanders lower, and the boy releases a deep exhale through his nose. you can hear the pace of his heart quicken as you run your fingers through the trail of hair that starts at his navel and disappears under his briefs. experimentally, you ghost your hand over the bulge in his underwear, looking up to him with inquisitive eyes before placing a firm palm on his front. 

he swallows thickly this time, holds the spit in the cavity of his throat, and it burns as it trickles down. you had not the slightest clue what you did to him—the effect you had on people. he wonders if you think this is a game, if the things you do when you’re alone are fully of your own volition—if you actually feel the way he does. and you have to, right? a part of him wants to believe it, that your heart beats for him the way his does for you. 

“stevie…” his heart squeezes, and his eyes soften. god, you were the very incarnation of calamity, the thing that started wars and killed many a men. 

“yeah?” his voice is breathy, wanting. his eyes flicker across the expanse of your face, stopping briefly to glance down at your lips, then back up to your eyes. 

letting your impatience guide you, you pull him down by the shoulders and kiss him. it’s unrhythmic, inexperienced, and wet but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he melts into it. lets you explore his mouth, and peck at the plush of his lips. lets you taste him with your tongue, and run your teeth over the crevice of his neck, watching with bated breath as you go down, down, down…

“slow down there, kitty,” steve jests, “what’s the rush?”

what’s the rush? doesn’t he know that you waited all day for him? to play with him, touch him—taste him? to see him twitch and writhe as you work him with your hands, tongue, and mouth? to hear him call you a good girl—his pretty girl?

“been waiting for you all day, stevie,” you confess, rubbing your cheek against his crotch. it’s so warm, you can practically feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his briefs, and the groan that emits from his throat makes your ears flutter. you wanna hear it again, and again, and...

“all day, hm?” 

“all day, everyday. you’re all i think about,” your hands find the elastic of his briefs, “my favorite chew toy.”

steve scoffs at this, because of fucking course. how could he ever be so stupid to believe that you felt the same way he did? he has half a mind to pull you off of him and let all of this, whatever this was, end here. but the other half wants to continue, wants to see the tears stream from your eyes and coalesce at the base of your chin because he’s too big—too much. he wants to be selfish, wants to hear the sounds you make when you choke and gag around the thickness of his cock, feelings be damned. 

“figured as much…hey, we should—you should stop,” his hand reaches to push you away but your tail wraps around his wrist, halting his movements.

“no!” a beat. a transient silence that feels almost deafening, just eyes staring back into eyes, hearts thumping unruly. he’s taken aback by your outburst, doesn’t seem to catch the glass-like droplet ribboning down the fat of your cheek. 

your eyes depart from his face and fix themselves on the floor, ears following not too far behind with a sad flop. he only picks up on your dejection when you open your mouth to speak and the words come out in a tremble.

“’s not like that…you…you’re different. this is different,” you confess, “you make my stomach feel fuzzy and my head all dizzy! ’s not like that with the others…” the brunet doesn’t know what to say; actually, he does, he’d been fantasizing about this day for as long as he could remember, but the words leave him the second you tilt your head up jut those pretty little lips. he wants to kiss the pout off of you.

“really?”

“mhm, you’re special t’me, stevie. i wanna show you.” your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and you pull it down teasingly, eyeing him as you take the flesh into your hand. “can i…?”

“fuck, yeah, yeah. ’s all yours.”

with a purr, you lean forward and leave a soft kiss on the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue over the spot before taking him into the heat of your mouth. you love this, you think. love seeing the expressions you can pull from him, love seeing how pliant he becomes in the palm of your hand, and the honey sweet praises he mutters only for you. it makes you feel useful, to be able to make him feel good, and take care of him like all the countless times he’s taken care of you. 

you’d been waiting to hear these sounds all week, the sharp intakes of breath, the heavy breathing, the drawn groans and expletives. so much so, that you’d find your hands wandering down into your pajama shorts many a nights, thoughts of the boy before you, and how it’d feel for his hands, mouth, fingers to be on you—and how it’d feel for his fingers to stuff your little cunt full. 

yeah, you’d spent many nights like that in the dark of mike’s basement, sweaty and fucked out as you brought yourself to climax over, and over, and over. the thought alone had your panties sodden with slick, and you could feel it begin to pool and settle. you were so unbearably wet, so touch-starved, you needed to feel some sort of relief. and right now, your hand was the closest thing to provide that.

steve watches with wide eyes as your fingers dip down the waistband of your skirt, and into the confines of your panties. the tips of your digits roll the nub of flesh first, then gather at your core before sheathing themselves inside. a series of moans vacate your throat and vibrate around him, coaxing him to press a firm hand to the back of your head. teasingly, you do it again, humming beguilingly to get him to replicate the reaction. 

“shit,” he drawls, placing emphasis on the ’t’, “feels so good, kitty.” your tail wiggles in response to the honest adulation, and so, you take him deeper, using the back of his thighs to force yourself down. 

he’s big. thick. and the stretch that comes along with taking him in your mouth is always a plaguing reminder. but you don’t mind it too much, you like when he’s all deep down there, and you can feel the tip of him hot and heavy in the back of your throat. it always makes you gag, and choke, and sometimes your eyes get too cloudy with tears to the point you can’t see, but it’s worth it. it’s worth it because every time, without fail, he calls you—

“good girl.” that. he calls you that. his ‘good girl’, not ‘kitty’ or ‘good kitty’—but girl. makes you feel all high and mighty, like you’re one of the others, like he sees you as something else other than just a hybrid that he’s been saddled with the burden of caring for. you know he loves you, at least you think he does. he hasn’t right out said it, but judging by his disposition earlier, you couldn’t be too far off. 

you keep your nose pressed into the skin of his pelvis until you physically can’t, pulling off of him with a loud pop. your cheek is wet with tears, and your chin is slick with spit, the two coalescing at the apex into a sticky mess. 

the sight makes him twitch in your hand, because this is what he’s been thinking about all day. this was his selfish wish, to see you below him with this expression. eyes all doe-eyed and desperate, hands still working yourself to orgasm. he can’t help but to reach out and rub the callused pad of his thumb over your parting lips, pressing the salty digit flat against your tongue, and retreating it in the same breath to hook it around your cheek. he adores you. 

“i lo—“ a pause, hesitance. your ears perk up. “you’re so pretty, y'know that?” 

oh. you feel like a dagger dipped in poison just punctured your heart and cut it into smithereens. it hurts, terribly so, but you brush the disappointment off of your face before he can notice and reacquaint yourself with his cock, stroking the length of him languidly, then increasing your pace, going back and forth between the two speeds. 

even if he doesn’t say it, those three silly words, the ones you so desperately want him to say—to you and no one else—you think you’ll be fine. all you care about in the moment is making him feel good, making sure that your spot as his girl, his good girl, is solidified and impenetrable. that when another girl goes down on him, they taste you. smell you.

“wanna taste you, mmf. gimme something, stevie.” your eyes flicker up to his, hand  still pumping slowly inside your kitten cunt, jaw slack and waiting. fuck, you were so unbelievable. such a sweet little thing, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were one of those high school sluts he brought in and out of here during his ‘king of hawkins’ phase. 

“jesus, lemme use ya,” he hisses, hands already coming down to rest on the sides of your head. “can i?” you nod your head, relaxing the column of your throat so that he can slip in and out with ease. the first thrust is experimental, slow. like he’s testing the waters. then, he does it again, pulls all the way out until only the mushroomy head of his cock is sheathed inside. 

all you can do is kneel there, breathe in and out through your nose while he builds up a steady rhythm. he decides now that he’s never gonna fuck another girl after you. because how could he? you were his, mouth molded only for him. heart beating only for him. 

nothing or nobody could ever compare after you, and he wishes he could boast to the world about how good you are for him, and how much he loves you, but he could never do that, not without consequences. he wants to keep you all to himself, away from evil, and anyone who’d ever inflict harm onto you. 

a string of profanities leave his lips. he’s close, and you can tell by the way he begins to fuck into your face with unparalleled ferocity. to guide him there, you begin to hollow your cheeks and narrow your throat, using a single hand to massage and pet his balls. 

yeah, he was gonna cum, could practically feel the white hot liquid traveling up from his balls and to his shaft. he can feel you start to get antsy, and when you start to scratch and claw at his thighs for air, that does it for him. with a final, lazy thrust, he releases the entirety of his load down your throat, keeping you pressed down on him until he’s sure every last drop has been emptied into your mouth. 

you push off of him so that you can swallow it down properly. it’s thick, and much warmer than what you can remember from last time, but swallow it. and when you do, a proud, cheshire grin creeps onto your face. before you stand up, you kiss the inside of his thigh, then bite down onto it, leaving a mark. a reminder. 

“i love you.” steve’s mouth moves on its own accord. and at first, he’s not even sure if he said it, but then he sees your little ears flutter, signaling that you did, in fact, hear his untimely confession of love. panic starts to set in, but then you rise from your knees and pounce on him, the two of you stumbling back into his unmade bed. 

“say it again, stevie,” the pupils of your eyes widen into saucers, tail swaying side to side as you hold your breath in pure, unfettered anticipation. 

“i love you, kitty. and not in that way.” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “…in the way that nance and jonathan love each other, and hopper and joyce. understand?”

your lips part to speak, to reciprocate his feelings, but your excitement is so uncontrollable that you end up biting down into his shoulder. the boy soothes the affliction and mouths an ow before breaking into a fit of laughter. 

“not sure what to make of that, is it something good?” steve smirks coyly.

“yeah, ’s good,” your head finds solace in the barrow of his neck. “i…i love you, too. always have. meant it when i said you’re special to me, stevie.” 

for a brief second, time seems to stand still, and the only way steve knows how to respond is with a kiss. a slow, passionate, sweet kiss that he pours the pining, desperation and patience of two years into, just hoping that you receive the message. 

and you do. loud and clear. you rub the skin of your neck against his, and you do it until every last pore on body is touched by your scent. until you can’t smell him from you, and you from him. 

“what’re you doing,” he chuckles, encasing you into a bear hug. 

“’s nothing, don’t worry about it!” you lie, but he knows. you left your mark. he was yours, and you were his. 

�� all content belongs to arachine 2022. no reposts, modifications, plagiarizing, or remaking of any form without proper credit. 

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x you smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x black reader #steve harrington x black reader smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x reader smut #stranger things smut #dark.content

[chronic-ghost]

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

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You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed–  it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit. 

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever. 

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble. 

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker. 

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game. 

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places. 

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker. 

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford. 

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States. 

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough. 

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles. 

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated. 

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida. 

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck. 

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck. 

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door. 

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you. 

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .” 

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .” 

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes. 

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair. 

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.” 

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.” 

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug. 

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.” 

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.” 

“Why do you think I’m lying?” 

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.” 

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn. 

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?” 

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail. 

 “I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.” 

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?” 

“Work.” 

Well, that was fucking ominous. 

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?” 

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist. 

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home. 

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado. 

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.” 

Truth. 

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.” 

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?” 

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!” 

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through. 

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes. 

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?” 

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.” 

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated. 

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?” 

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic. 

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?” 

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.” 

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway. 

“You passed the test. Now come here.” 

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on. 

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air. 

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?” 

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle. 

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.” 

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.” 

“Wait, how do you know that?” 

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.” 

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.” 

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.” 

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?” 

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.” 

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard. 

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.” 

“True.” 

“I had a dog named Benji.” 

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.” 

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.” 

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.” 

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?” 

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.” 

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.” 

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light. 

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette. 

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?” 

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl. 

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking. 

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify. 

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket. 

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?” 

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously? 

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front. 

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval. 

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.” 

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain. 

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.” 

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak. 

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth. 

He looks . . . hopeful. 

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.” 

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful. 

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet. 

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise. 

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping. 

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep. 

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.  

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said? 

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar. 

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

#trying to get back into the flow of writing frequently if not just for one fic #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x y/n #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #narcos #narcos netflix #also gonna tag this as #poker face #because more people need to see that damn show #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

[zeke-in-devildom]

Dissonance - Chapter 10: Of Psychics and Magic

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was pleasant enough. Asmo and Solomon were happy to chat away together about school drama. Apparently Solomon had been in the Devildom considerably longer than him. Long enough to keep up with the Avatar of Lust when it came to juicy gossip. Zeke, on the other hand, felt more than a bit lost at it all. Compared to the drama he remembered from school this seemed remarkably tame. Sure he went to a school for troubled teenagers, but who was sleeping with who, who was cheating on who, who wore some fashion nightmare, who got into a fight with who - it was so normal.

When they did arrive at the house, Asmo left him in the garden with Solomon so that he could change out of his school uniform and fix lunch for them. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he had a feeling that the present company would insist he eat anyway. They had missed lunch at RAD due to that attack.

 Zeke had not expected that the sorcerer would want to begin lessons immediately, despite Lucifer’s instructions for him to rest. Then again, there was no time like the present. Nobody wanted a repeat of the earlier incident. Even before school had started that morning he had felt excited to learn as much about magic as he possibly could while in the Devildom, and now he was more determined than ever. He hated feeling helpless. 

There was only a slight problem with this though.

“You want to teach me to summon a demon?” There was no doubt in Zeke’s mind that he absolutely wanted to learn how to summon Lucifer. That said, he knew Lucifer was presently very preoccupied. The Avatar of Pride seemed to be a very busy demon in general, and that made sense. He was Lord Diavolo’s right hand man and Vice President of the student council, not to mention being the eldest of seven. Summoning Lucifer as practice seemed like a terrible idea - at least without consulting him first.

“Yes. As I understand it you’re supposed to have an escort at all times, but clearly that cannot be relied upon exclusively. Should you find yourself alone and in trouble again, the safest thing to teach you is how to summon your pacted demon, or demons, to protect you. Now, who will you be learning to summon today?” Solomon’s smile was congenial on the surface, but Zeke suddenly understood why Lucifer had told him to be cautious. He didn’t need to be able to read the sorcerer’s aura to know that he was fishing for information. Something told him that Lucifer probably didn’t want Solomon to know. Then again, maybe the sorcerer already knew and was just looking for confirmation.

“Somehow I doubt summoning a demon is the safest, pact or no pact. What about that healing spell that you used to treat my scratches?” A healing spell seemed exceedingly useful. 

“Healing spells, even the ones that seem simple, are hardly beginner magic. Healing relies on not only your own magic, but the energy of the person being healed. You can only do so much, depending on your own power and the endurance of the injured person. Severe injuries are especially difficult. Heal too much and you risk not only exhausting yourself but killing your patient.” That sounded slightly less useful and significantly more daunting than Zeke had imagined. Still, he was serious about wanting to learn everything.

“Such a determined face.” Solomon laughed softly at him. “Don’t fret, my adorable apprentice. As a psychic you have a distinct advantage, since you can sense and possibly even see the flow of magic. We’ll have you casting all manner of spells in no time at all.”

“I have an advantage just because I’m psychic?” Zeke had never known that being psychic gave him an edge with magic. Although he supposed it made sense. When Solomon had summoned Asmo earlier he had been able to see the swirls of magic around the sorcerer. He wondered if he could recreate spells just from seeing them performed. Wouldn’t that be something?

“Indeed. As I said, psychics are incredibly rare, and most of those that are psychic aren’t particularly powerful. You, on the other hand, are an incredibly powerful psychic. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have had such a strong reaction to coming to the Devildom.” That was also news to him. “You have a stronger affinity for magic than most witches or sorcerers, and that without any training at all. I can only imagine how powerful you’ll grow as you learn. That’s why I think it best to being your teaching as soon as possible. For your own protection.”

“Then what about that wind spell? The one that knocked the demon away from me? Is that one too complicated for a novice like me?” He tried not to sound too put out by being told he was too inexperienced to learn something, but he supposed Solomon would know best. Zeke would just have to learn healing later. He chose to ignore being called adorable, once again he could thank his poker face. The compliment didn’t really fluster him, certainly not more than Asmo’s compliments tended to.

“Hm. Yes, that one is rather simple. It could be good practice on controlling your magical output too. Put too much of your magic into the spell and you’ll make a mess, not enough and it might as well be a gentle breeze, unless of course a gentle breeze is your goal. Knowing how much and when to channel magic is good. It is a fine defensive spell as well.” Solomon seemed dissuaded from summoning for the moment.

“Great. Then let’s start with that and work our way up to summoning.” Zeke really needed to consult with Lucifer before tackling something that would require his involvement. He doubted the first born would allow it. Would probably find it demeaning or something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As it turns out, magic training is not easy. Zeke felt as if he’d worked out, the way his body started aching and growing heavy. All he had managed to do was create breezes strong enough to ruffle their hair as he practiced the incantation over and over again. Solomon seemed encouraging, suggesting that was actually good for his first day using fully-fledged magic that didn’t stem from his own innate psychic abilities.

Zeke couldn’t help but feel disappointed though. The wind gusts he produced were not nearly strong enough to push back a demon. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was doing wrong. With his frustration growing, that flicker of irritation that burned in his chest, that rage against everything that had hurt him, burned brighter. For the first time he realized that was actually magic. 

Seizing that swelling power inside of him, he tried twisting it in the same patterns as the wind that Solomon produced, but instead found electricity crackling through the air around him. It was only for a moment, and then it dissipated. He felt his hair standing on end, and realized that Solomon looked a little static shocked too.

Asmo had come outside to call them in for lunch, but had stood frozen in shock for a moment. Then the avatar squealed and launched himself at Zeke, clinging to him with a delighted giggle.

“Look at you! Already using lightning magic! Aren’t you the best little sorcerer?! Beauty and brains and brawn! The whole package.” Asmo was cooing at him and practically wiggling in excitement as he stepped back to work at smoothing down Zeke’s hair, fussing over him in a very Asmo way. “You’re going to be so powerful.”

“Yes well, we were going for a wind spell. Also you did that without an incantation, which is tricky even for advanced magic users. I imagine that’s why your spell went awry. As far as lighting magic…You’ll need to put more magic into it and direct the flow better - but nicely done. I daresay a stronger shock might at least buy you some time until help arrives.” Solomon was fixing his own hair, watching as Asmo doted upon Zeke with an amused smile. “He really is quite taken with you, isn’t he?”

“Well of course! Zeke is simply breathtaking.” Asmo beamed at Zeke, looking very much like he meant it. Of course Zeke could tell he meant it, and that baffled him, but also made him fill with so much gratitude and affection. It was obvious that all of the brothers were trying to make him feel at home, each in their own way, but Asmo far and away the one that he felt like he was connecting to the most so far.

“He certainly has a lot of promise and potential. Now, why don’t we take a break to eat lunch before moving on to your next lesson. Don’t think I forgot about teaching you to summon a demon you have a pact with. I really think it needs to be taught sooner rather than later. Any sorcerer with a pact should know how to summon and command the demons he has pacts with. I realize you’re reluctant, although I can’t imagine why.” Was that another bait? Trying to make him admit that he didn’t want to bother Lucifer by summoning him?

As they spoke Asmo had started herding them both into the house for lunch, leading both humans by the hand.

“I don’t really have a demon I feel comfortable summoning, Solomon.” That was the truth. He wasn’t comfortable summoning Lucifer if it wasn’t an emergency. If he’d been able to summon him earlier, that would have been different. That inability to summon him was also why he really needed the lesson.

“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so, darling! Make a pact with me, I’ll gladly let you summon me anytime~” Asmo gave him a dazzling smile even as he pushed him gently into a seat to eat what looked like some kind of pasta.

“Wait, what? Asmo you really don’t have to do that. I know pacts are supposed to be a big deal. Also I still am not giving up my soul.” He didn’t care which demon asked for a pact, even if he liked Asmo a lot, he was not losing his soul.

“You can keep your soul, hon. I just want your friendship, just promise to keep having spa nights with me.” Zeke stared at the Avatar of Lust, flabbergasted. All Lucifer had asked for was his cooperation with the exchange program, and now all Asmo wanted was for him to promise time and attention?

“But why?” Why would such a powerful demon care about him? Why would Asmo agree to be bound to him in such a way? Zeke offered a glance at Solomon, but the sorcerer seemed perfectly content to eat lunch, only sparing him an unreadable smile. 

“Because you’re going to be a very powerful sorcerer, darling. A pact doesn’t only benefit you, hon. Solomon can enhance my power through our pact too. If I make a pact with you, you’ll be able to make me more powerful when necessary. Also because you’re simply precious, almost as cute as me~” Okay that was a very Asmo answer.

“Are you sure?” Zeke had never intended to make any pacts, but since he already had one with Lucifer…

“Absolutely!” Asmo’s eyes were already glowing a faint pink, then Zeke could see and feel the swirling infernal magic wrapping around him. The feeling was different, but similar to when Lucifer had forged a pact with him. Instead of the tingling at the nape of his neck, he felt a slight burning beneath his navel. Of course Asmo would put his pact mark there. Like before, he suddenly felt drained and slumped slightly, but two pairs of hands caught him before he could topple over.

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me oc #obey me zeke #obey me ezekiel jada pendergast #obey me asmodeus #obey me solomon #obey me dissonance

[stillalittlelostngl]

Academic Rivals to Lovers(ish) - Gojo/Reader HCs

Inspired by the below tweet - didn't mention reader crying here but ya that probably ended up happening at some point lol. Are these HCs or just the outline of a story? Is there really a difference?

Also - I only had one lab in college that I always skipped so idk how those things go down and i only have the stories my friends would tell me to go off of. so there's that disclaimer. Also gojo is kinda classist

Being a first gen college student meant that you probably took your just a tad more seriously than your peers. You had your family counting on you to do well after all - for as long as you could remember your family had stressed the importance of academic success. They had been obsessed with the idea of you being the first in the family of blue collar working class folk to get into university and become a doctor or a lawyer or some paper pusher in an office. Hell they didn’t even complain when you said you might be interested in majoring in studio art or theater. They didn’t particularly care what you decided to study when you got there - they were just concerned with you getting in and doing well in whatever you studied. You didn’t entirely understand their insistence but it meant a lot to them and so it meant a lot to you by extension and you’d do your best to make them proud. 

You first noticed Gojo at orientation. You hadn’t learned much about him outside of him being some spoiled legacy student who had been raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and a family who had sent him to the best boarding schools money could buy. The jealousy had stung ngl - how was it fair that everything in life was handed to him while you and your parents were working double shifts to pay your tuition because the scholarships would never cover as much as the university was asking for

You didn’t think much of him. He came off as a loud and haughty air head and you just didn’t have time to entertain that sorta thing. 

Truthfully Gojo probably doesn’t even remember this first meeting - your face blended in with the rest of the incoming freshman class so easily and he’d never seen or heard your name before in his circle so you must not have been all that important 

Ultimately you decided to major in a pretty competitive field. The upperclassmen had told you horror stories about students fighting over internships and jobs in the labs, trying to sabotage each other's grades, cheating, etc. etc. It was a dog eat dog world you were entering but you had faith you could survive 4 years. They’d be over and done before you noticed.

Boy had you been wrong. The upperclassmen had been very tame with their description of what the next few years of your life would look like tbh. Countless sleepless nights filled with study sessions, researching and writing essays along with the cattiness of the student body that was constantly at each other’s throats and kissing professors’ asses to try and get ahead. You had put a target on your back after the first test was handed back - your peers had been pissed because by getting a perfect score on the test the teacher decided to not curve it. The one who seemed the most annoyed by this had been Gojo and he never let you forget it.

Honestly Gojo was pissed that someone was better than him at something - even if it was just one test during his first semester of uni. He was used to being on top and to be bested by someone like you left a sour taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t understand how you did it. Half the stuff on that test hadn’t even been discussed in class - this teacher was notorious for being difficult and not that good of a teacher so the class always relied on there being a curve. When he got his piss poor grade back he had been furious. It wasn’t as bad as some of his other classmates but it wasn’t the best. When he learned it was your fault he had that grade he became a man obsessed.

He had begun asking others about you that day and learned everything he could. Your background, your schedule, your study habits, what dorm you stayed in - he wanted to know all of it in hopes of cracking the code of how you bested him.

When he still couldn’t figure it out he tried approaching you - maybe you had an older student give you answers to all the tests for that class and perhaps you’d be generous enough to share.

“Oh well something the professor said during the lecture got me thinking so I kinda fell down a google rabbit hole to see what I could find. Just got lucky that it was on the test i guess”

And Gojo was pissed. Of course it had just been luck that allowed you to get the better of him. He wanted to laugh at himself for ever thinking differently. When you grades continued to go head to head with his each time assignments and tests came back he had to accept that maybe it wasn’t just luck 

The two of you became a source of entertainment to your classmates. They would make bets on which one of you would score higher. Gojo would do nothing but encourage it. Anytime he managed to get the top score he’d make sure to shoot you an irritating smirk and offer some faux condolences with a “maybe next time”. It never failed to get under your skin.

It was like everything he did was to try and annoy you. Hell even his appearance was enough to piss you off. Of course he's the type to wear sunglasses indoors - what a pretentious asshole. You usually didn’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he bothered you but your friends would sure hear an earful of whatever it did that got you wound up on any given day. 

When the both of you had been paired as lab partners you were convinced you must've pissed off some deity in a past life or something. You couldn't imagine a worse fate than having to sit next to him for at least an hour every week. The lab required cooperation and while initially you had tried to spearhead the whole operation Gojo wasn’t about to take that sitting down.

It all came to a head one day when he was trying to tell you what you were doing wrong for an experiment (you weren’t doing anything wrong tbh he just wanted to see you get worked up)

“Look, if you have such an issue with me I can just ask the professor to assign us different partners. I’m not going to keep going back and forth with you like this.”

“I don’t have an issue with you - who said I had an issue with you?” 

“Please, since day one you judged me and have been acting like I’m too stupid to be here - you think I don’t hear what you and your little friends have been saying?”

Gojo wanted to deny it but knew you were right on the money. After that first test came back he had been so wrapped up in his anger that he said some…less than savory things about you to his friends and a few others who had been hanging around them. He knew folks talked but hadn’t expected it to get back to you. He isn’t sure why it felt like his stomach dropped when he found out you knew though. 

“Despite all your efforts to look down on me from your little pedestal I’m still doing just as good as you are. You being an asshole isn’t going to change that.” 

You left shortly after - uncaring if it meant you’d do poorly on the graded lab but you couldn’t stand to be there around him anymore. He could have this win if it meant you wouldn’t have to be stuck in his presence for a moment longer. 

Gojo’s a pretty out of touch guy so you confronting him kinda sparked some introspection on his end (or about as much introspection as he’s capable of). The following days had him acting differently - a bit quieter than normal and he would discourage classmates from making bets or egging you on with the little competition the two of you had going. You almost felt bad - maybe calling him an asshole was taking it too far? It’s not like you hadn’t spoken shit about him to your friends either after all. 

You were dreading the next lab. In all your other classes you could avoid him and sit on opposite sides of the lecture hall. The lab would have you forced to interact for at least 60 minutes and you could only imagine how awful that was going to go. 

You were surprised when he started the lab off with an apology - in the few years you had somewhat known him you’d never known him to be one to apologize to anyone and you’d never dream he’d be apologizing to you of all people. 

He doesn’t go into heavy detail any you don’t ask him to but you learn that he’s also under a lot of pressure from his family. Everyone in his immediate and extended family have gone on to do great things and his family is constantly pressing him to do even better than they did - he got caught up and ended up taking his frustration out on you. 

You find yourself apologizing too. You had been judgemental of him from the start too and played into the competition more than you’d like to admit. 

The lab had gone on pretty smoothly after that - you two were one of the first groups done since you weren’t bickering between each other. As you were packing up to leave Gojo asked if you’d like to study with him sometime for an upcoming final. You were a bit nervous about it but accepted anyways, excited that the two of you were turning over a new leaf and wondering where exactly this would go 

______

in thee nsfw version y'all fucked in the study room like the depraved folks y'all are idk

#gojo hc #gojo headcanons #gojo x you #gojo saturo #jjk gojo #jujustu kaisen #jjk #jjk hcs #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk headcanons #gojo saturo/you #gojo saturo x you #gojo saturo/reader #gojo saturo x reader #gojo/reader #gojo x reader #gojo/you #saturo/reader #saturo x reader #saturo/you #saturo x you #saturo gojo/you #saturo gojo/reader #saturo gojo x reader #saturo gojo x you #gojo satoru/reader #gojo satoru/you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader

[bb-editing]

ROXANA (Chapter 21)

*TW: Self-harm

­­­–––

“Are you going to visit the toy now, Miss Roxana?

“No, I’m going to stop by the poison butterfly hatchery first.”

Three days had passed since that day, and my daily routine had become quite predictable. I visited Cassis three times a day to deliver is meals- which also allowed him to gauge the passing of time- and I made sure to engage a physician anytime I was too busy to take care of his wounds.

I had many other tasks to complete besides visiting Cassis, one of which was caring for the poison butterflies. The hatchery was humid and warm, with the air inside flowing softly but heavily.

The space was originally a greenhouse to cultivate poisonous plants, but after obtaining a poison butterfly egg, it was converted into a hatchery. Still, it was covered in poisonous plants, and no ordinary person would be able to withstand being in this room for more than ten seconds without fainting. However, because of my poison tolerance, the poisonous air had little to no effect on me.

I walked deeper into the greenhouse, and after a while, a black egg wrapped in a thorn vine appeared in my sight. The poison butterfly’s egg was now almost the size of two fists.

I stood in front of it, pulling out a dagger from my clothes. I rolled up my sleeves and cut my skin with the blade. Blood dripped over the egg, which soon turned dark red.

“Eat well. And if you aren’t already, grow faster.”

At first, I had three eggs, but because the hatching success rate of poison butterflies is only around thirty percent, I only had the one egg left.

The poison butterflies were monstrous creatures, and were extremely difficult to find, not to mention tame. So in order for me to be imprinted as their master, they had to consume my blood regularly like this before hatching.

Another nutrient the butterflies consume is poison, as the name suggests, which makes this poison-filled room a good place for breeding them. The same was true for my blood, which has been infused with poison since childhood.

Originally, the butterfly egg should have been discovered by one of the male leads- the “White Beast.” He had the ability to deal with monsters, and he succeeded in locating and breeding the poisonous butterflies. Thankfully, I had remembered this scene in the novel, and told Emily the precise location so that she could bring the eggs to me.

Breeding and taming monsters was a rare ability to have. Obviously, I wasn’t the best at it, but it was good enough that I was being imprinted as the butterflies’ master. If I succeeded in hatching them, I had more means of protection; if I failed, I had nothing to lose.

After consuming my blood, the egg now seemed to be covered in a thin film. I reached my hand out to stroke the surface, and as if it were alive, a warmth immediately penetrated the tip of my fingers making contact with it.

Somehow, I had the feeling that the day of their hatching wasn’t far away.

* * *

After leaving the hatchery, I went to visit Cassis.

“Here’s your lunch.” Today, he was given chicken stew, wholegrain bread, and fruit. I still avoided providing him food that required the use of forks and knives, so the menu was slightly limited.

“It must be troublesome for you to have to come here all the time.” Cassis was still aloof, but seemed less uncomfortable with me than he was previously- he was more gentle and cooperative than I thought he’d be.

I’m sure I’ll be able to bring him food with forks and knives soon.

As per usual, he proceeded without saying anything.

After placing the tray on the bed and stepping back, I felt something rise in my throat. Oh. I felt nauseous and wanted to vomit.

Suddenly, dark red blood stained the palm of my hand clasped over my mouth. I suppose I’m reacting badly to the poison Emily brought me yesterday. I calmly wiped my lips with my sleeves.

Then I heard a sound in front of me. Looking up, I saw Cassis staring at me. His face was hardened and surprised- his widened eyes were a little unfamiliar to me. He lifted the tray from the bed and placed it beside him.

“You…” He spoke and faltered, as if unsure what to say. “… That blood…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I apologized. It must have been strange for Cassis. “I brought you food, and now I’m ruining your appetite with the sight of blood.” I hope he doesn’t think it’s dirty.

Cassis’ facial expression changed with my reaction. He looked at me, half suspicious, half confused. “No… Didn’t you just vomit blood?”

“Yes, but… you don’t need to worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” I said, covering my lips with the back of my sleeves. There was no mirror here, so I couldn’t wipe the blood from my mouth and chin completely.

But my sleeves were already stained with blood, and Cassis’ eyes seemed nailed to the patches of red on my clothes.

“Vomiting blood isn’t considered a big deal?” Cassis’ face seemed harder than before. “Something like that…”

I thought a little about how to answer, before finally saying, “It’s fine; it’s happened a lot in the past.” Why would I need to explain why I’d vomited blood? On the contrary, it was the way of the Agriche to develop a tolerance to poison by consuming it from an early age.

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to show such a scene here, but it wasn’t really a big deal in the eyes of the Agriche.

“So it turns out that last time…” Cassis drifted off.

Huh? Last time? When have I ever vomited blood in front of Cassis? I didn’t have any recollection of that happening, but Cassis didn’t elaborate.

But stranger than that… “Are you worried about me?” I looked at Cassis, and he flinched as if I’d just insulted him.

“Why would I be worried?” A chilly look was cast on his face. “Isn’t it natural to be surprised that someone’s vomiting blood in front of you?”

He may have denied it, but he also gave me an opportunity to dig deeper into this weakness of his. “Oh, I see… It’s a familiar sight to me, so I never thought that anyone else would be surprised.”

Looking at him, I realized that he was the type of person to maintain a strong appearance in front of the strong, and an air of vulnerability in front of the weak. If so, it would be alright- no, better- for me to show more vulnerability in front of him.

“But I thought you would hate me… It’s caring of you to worry about me like this. Thank you.” I smiled faintly, deliberately using a cool but bitter tone.

Cassis was rendered speechless, and I thought that it would be best to leave it at that.

“I’ll take my leave, then.” It would be better for him to eat in peace. “I’m sorry that I surprised you,” I told Cassis again, turning around.

Cassis stiffly shut his mouth, and I could still feel his gaze digging into me as I walked towards and out the door.

#roxana agriche #roxana agreche #roxana #romance #reincarnation #romance manhwa #reincarnation manhwa #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #villainess isekai #isekai manhwa #isekai #sylvia pedelian #cassis pedelian #lanche agriche #light novel #jeremy agriche #fantasy #fontaine agriche #fantasy manhwa #dion agriche #villainess manhwa #cassis #villainess #novel #korean novel #web novel #korean manhwa #manhwa #korean manga #korean webnovel

[viatagrinner]

Silvio Ricci. Dramatic Route. Chapter 22.

The King of Benitoite decides to use the girl as a pretext to break the alliance, creating a wild story. Rhodolites/Rhodolians(?) thinks to detain her and hand her over to the other side. MC had no plans to surrender, but she was kidnapped by the tyrant.

Silvio forcibly puts her on a horse.

Now they walk through the woods.

MC: We can still turn back! Please don't protect me!

Silvio: Huh? Don't be silly, I'm not trying to protect you. I just don't like the old geezer's behavior.

MC: Please think of another way!

Silvio: Hey, I thought I told you not to order me around.

Silvio reminds the girl that going against the king's will is like going against all Benitoites/Benitoitians(?).

Silvio: And that old bastard hates the hell out of me.

He might be banished or even executed.

MC suggests that in that case we go back to the castle.

Silvio: How many times do we have to go through this?

The prince ruffled her hair.

There is no way for them to get back to the castle. They are hiding in one of Silvio's hiding places.

The prince has already had fights with his father. So let the girl worry about herself. And he's not willingly helping her.

MC: But if it's not good intentions, then what...?

Silvio just doesn't want Valerio to get the heroine.

Silvio: I'll take you and tame you for the rest of your life.

Though the prince is a good man, MC understands that he sees her as an object.

_________________________________________

Morning.

Office of the Foreign Policy Faction.

Nokto: It seems Silvio has kidnapped MC. Therefore, we will not be able to give her to the King of Benitoite.

Clavis is already ready to run into town and spread rumors about the two lovers' escape.

Luke: You, read the atmosphere...

Rio is standing next to him.

Luke: Rio, don't be sad.

Nokto and Clavis don't seem to feel threatened and are glad the girl escaped.

Rio: It's only a loss for Silvio...

Nokto: Well, as the richest man on the continent, Silvio can profit from anything.

Clavis agrees, for it would be very difficult for them, Rhodolians, to help the girl.

Clavis wonders why exactly now someone has come up with the story that the heroine is an Obsidian spy.

Nokto asks Rio about this, but he is not aware of it. But Gilbert probably planned the whole thing. Clavis wonders why Gilbert would do this. Rio makes the assumption that perhaps no one wanted to touch the MC, but someone [the princes think it was Gilbert] wanted to make Silvio leave. Rio's brother was against trading with Obsidian. He was a nuisance, Gilbert just gave him a chance to eliminate Silvio.

Chevalier: ......

Clavis doesn't understand his brother's reaction.

Chevalier: No? Apparently, this case has gone from a foreign policy issue to a domestic one.

Clavis continues to deal with the alliance with Jade. Nocto and Luke have to distract the King of Benitoite for now, to buy time.

In any case, in Chevalier's words, "the balance between the four countries is about to collapse." And there is a need to capitalize.

Rio gave a speech about wanting to be the one who protects everything MC holds dear, he will create/find a future where MC is happy.

He leaves. Clavis, Luke and Nokto feel sorry for him, because the guy is unrequitedly in love.

Chevalier: Bullshit.

_________________________________________

A mansion somewhere in the mountains of Rhodolith.

This is not how the heroine imagined the refuge. She thought it was a hut. Not a mansion.

Sitting next to Silvio, she takes a meal.

Silvio: "Please enjoy your meal, master," right?

MC: I'm not going to play games with you.

Silvio: Are you still in a bad mood?

Not anymore, she realizes that he helped her. And now the girl is worried about the prince.

She wants to change his mind, but first she has to eat. You can't fight on an empty stomach.

The prince asks MC not to make such a sad face. She decides to parody Silvio.

Silvio: Why did you make that damn angry face?

MC: Doesn't it look like that?

Silvio laughs. The atmosphere has changed.

MC is thinking that instead of going back to the Court, we should solve the problem drastically.

Carlo, the prince's assistant and squire, bursts into the room.

Silvio: Didn't I tell you not to follow me.

Carlo wants to participate and be there for him. Silvio sends him away. But MC notices that they act more like friends with each other than like master and subordinate.

Carlo may be stripped of his status as a royal scholar, but he does not care. He wants to be useful to the prince.

From now on, he will accompany Silvio. As the prince takes his servant by the ear, Carlo tries to introduce himself to MC.

Carlo: I mostly do all sorts of research related to navigation. I consider myself a navigator...

*Rumbles his stomach*.

It's Carlo. MC offers him something to eat.

Silvio gives up. He confesses that he doesn't know what will happen next.

Carlo says excitedly: This is what an unexplored journey is all about.

Carlo is glad that Valerio has been found.

Carlo: Prince Silvio has been feverishly searching for Prince Valerio for three years...

Carlo: Didn't you cry when you found out he was alive? Were you all right?

MC was surprised. Because the prince's reaction to Rio said otherwise.

Carlo wants to say something, but Silvio does not let him, seizing the poor squire's head. He apologizes for the misunderstanding.

Silvio was looking for his brother because of his father. He thought Silvio had something to do with it.

He tells Carlo not to talk too much or he will drown at sea.

MC stands up for Carlo.

Silvio reminds her that her future depends on him.

The girl reminds the prince that he is stuck and stomping around.

Silvio: You're sassy.

But as long as his father is around, there's nothing he can do. Though there is one way he can keep the alliance going, get profit and tame MC.

About the latter is a question. But if there is a way, we should try it.

MC: I'll do what I can.

Silvio: Well said.

Silvio: Then I will take/usurp the throne.

Thus, he will get the throne he has been dreaming of, drop the old man and get the woman.

Silvio's Masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikepri #ikepri translation #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #ikemen silvio's route #ikepri silvio's route #ikemen prince silvio #ikepri silvio

[hey-michael-young-history]

like imange Kuai liang haveing a pet dragon as a young child how would the other lin kuei react plus his father ❤️

Sorry this took so long! But I think it’s worth the wait ^_^

“Whooooooa!”

“A dragon!?”

“Tundra, is this yours?”

Vixen sighed in relief. Her sons’ friends - really, her sons - had arrived on time. The hours she spent making breakfast would not be wasted.

“I never got a pet,” Bi-Han grumbled as he set the table.

Her husband snorted at that. With his eyes still on his phone, checking his schedule for the day, he said, “I wouldn’t trust you with a pet now, brat.”

“He goes on one mission—”

“Hey Vortex,” Hydro said, exhaling smoke as he entered. Once he noticed Vixen, he quickly soaked his cigarette and crushed it. “Haha Tàitai, good morning.”

Before she could scold him, Cyrax and Sektor came in next. It was still difficult for her to think of them all as their code names. To her, they would always be Mitsunari, Felix, and Jing.

“That dragon can’t be more than a year, right?” Cyrax asked, helping Bi-Han with the table. “I know Tundra is still pretty—”

“Is there fruit today?” Sektor asked.

“I saw some jujubes ripening out back, please go pick a few for us, Jing.”

Hydro shoved a piece of gum in his mouth and asked, “Jujubes are more interesting than the baby dragon, huh?”

“Who cares?” Sektor responded, walking back out. “My father has a whole stable.”

Must be nice to have a dad who can tame a dragon for you, Hydro mused. He sat next to Vortex, who pushed his mug over, without looking up. Hydro picked up the mug and filled it with boiling water. He stirred up the coffee grounds at the bottom before pushing it back. He smiled when Vortex’s heavy hand tossled his hair.

Smoke came in next, absolutely reeking of the outside air.

“Oh no, Tomas, you know the rules. Go wash up before you sit at the table,” Vixen scolded before the boy could sit down.

“But I was just playing with the dragon—”

“All the more reason to make sure your hands are nice and clean before you eat,” Vixen reasoned. “Don’t worry, I’m saving the fluffiest pancake for you.”

That admission raised grumbling accusations of favoritism from the other boys as Tomas smiled and went to the bathroom.

“Bi-Han, can you tell Kuai Liang that it’s time for breakfast?” Vixen asked, removing her apron.

“Why? He’s where he wants to be,” Bi-Han complained. “With his new best friend.”

“I’ll go so that Tundra’s old best friend doesn’t cry,” Vortex chuckled, setting his phone down.

He walked out to the back, where he could see Sektor in the distance, picking jujubes from a tree. He spotted Tundra closer to the house, in the enclosure that he and the boys built for the dragon he had brought home.

“Breakfast time, Tundra.”

The boy was facing away from him, watching his new friend sleep. “Yes, Father.”

“We can go back together,” Vortex prodded.

“Okay.”

Tundra stood and faced Vortex, half of his face covered in heavy bandages. Vortex didn’t allow his face to betray the guilt that poisoned him every time he saw it. Vixen had said that Tundra was too young to take missions, but he, Bi-Han, and Sub-Zero before them had all began taking assignments well before fifteen years old. It was bad luck that their Intel had been wrong and he came across the Black Dragon mercenaries, who were searching for the same artifact as he.

Seeing Tundra return with the dagger, so covered in blood that Vortex couldn’t figure out where he was bleeding from, produced a mixture of pride and panic that he’d never forget. The doctors said his eye would be fine but they couldn’t be certain of what exactly happened because the boy wouldn’t talk. For days after, he simply didn’t speak at all. Refused to leave his room, refused to turn off the lights. He didn’t engage with anyone other than Vixen until Vortex came home with a baby dragon from his father’s farm.

“She will be safe here,” Vortex promised.

“I will not let anyone hurt her.”

“I know,” Vortex responded. He extended his hand. “Let’s go eat.”

#mortal kombat #lin kuei #Lin kuei shenanigans #Good Dad Bing Yun #Alive Ice Mom #bi han #kuai liang #mk hydro #mk cyrax #sektor #mk smoke #cavity inducing fluff

[themyscir]

HEADCANON I.   bonds:  companions  &  mounts.

one of my favorite things about diana is her hilarious choice in pets. they try to retcon them, but i know. i saw them and i know. and before you say it: i know some of this shit is in prime earth or whatever the fuck they call these universes but i don’t care i love them too much to NOT include them. let’s talk about what pets my diana canonically has.

edit: PLEAAASE LOOK MY GF DREW JUMPA AND TITAN !!

JUMPA:   sky kanga.

after diana earned her bracelets after pledging to aphrodite at the age of 15, she began focusing more heavily on the art of battle. a considerable part of her training was in taming an animal to fight alongside her.

there are a number of mounts that were available for the amazons to tame; horses, pegasi, and kangas. horses are reliable and classic, pegasi are picky and only ever chose one rider for life, and kanga’s are aggressive but worth the training if you can tame one. diana naturally gravitated to the kanga’s who matched her own energy and she wanted the strongest and fastest one she could get her hands on. the stables had a number of kangas ready for the right woman to come along, but there was one that caught her eye:  the incredibly difficult, violent, and snooty marsupial named jumpa.

it was hate at first sight. think classic horse girl story, but both the horse and the girl are absolutely feral. this kanga kicked the shit out of her, chased her, threw her against trees. diana tried her hardest to get this girl to love her the gentler way as her mother advised, but one day she had enough. when jumpa had the audacity to bite her arm, she bit her right back. if you can’t beat them, join them. the other amazons would sometimes look into the fields and see her WRESTLING this damn thing. 

it took years, but eventually she had this monster mostly tamed and it was well worth the effort. though jumpa still has an attitude problem that reflects her own, she is the most powerful, most fearless, and the fastest of the bunch. and she usually doesn’t throw her rider off. 

fun facts.

jumpa has a spot on her butt that looks like a star. don’t touch it.

literally nobody else can ride her. she barely lets diana ride her. 

literally the worst kangaroo you’ve ever met. diana loves her.

KACHI:   royal mare.

when diana wasn’t busy taming her piece of shit kanga, she spent much of her time with kachi. kachi is… pretty much just a normal white mythical horse. so she’s bigger, stronger, more durable, and more immortal than a normal horse. but besides that? pretty standard. 

diana tends to ride her around themyscira as opposed to jumpa since she’s easier to control and more predictable. she’s considered one of the royal horses alongside hippolyta’s steeds, and she’s treated as such. she has more of an attitude than the other horses: she’s huffy, spoiled, and likes to stomp the bugs and pests that are unlucky enough to cross her path. but overall? she’s pretty good when you get a few snacks in her. 

fun facts.

considered one of the prettiest horses on the island because of her bright, shiny coat and how she’s constantly adorned with intricate accessories. golden horseshoes, the works.

will try to eat your clothes and hair if you stop paying attention to her.

TITAN:   walla.

i do not have a drawn picture of a wallaby so consider this my live action face claim of titan. anyway.

the last pet is a little walla named titan. now you might be thinking: what the fuck is a walla? well, kat and i were talking about this and she was like I don’t understand why they gave wonder woman a fucking pig when they could’ve given her a wallaby. It’s just a tiny kangaroo. and i said that she gets a little magic wallaby named titan. a walla, if you will, in the same line of thought of kangaroo, kanga. 

walla’s are not war animals, they’re not useful for anything besides companionship and that’s exactly what diana has her for. if you go to diana’s penthouse and you’re wondering what that weird long shopping bag is for? look inside. titan’s in there… just chilling. you might see this lil girl jumping around in the living room and go “what the fuck is that?” and diana will answer, genuinely, monotone, “Her name is Titan.” 

just look at them go.

titan has the best temperament out of all of her pets. she’s a cute little cuddle bug with grabby hands. she wants to jump up in your hoodie, your purse, your backpack, whatever you have that's pouch shaped. diana will be cooking eggs on the stove with essentially a baby sling strapped to her chest because her wallaby wants to be held. that’s her little baby.

fun facts. 

this is the only one of her pets that she has with her in the world of man. 

she sends close up pictures of titan to the justice league group chat and theyre always confused. most of her gallery is pics of that lil walla.

she’s got a little sparkle spot on her face. why? because comic books and its cute.

#☆ • ’ . — HEADCANONS. #long post