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denwritesandcries · 4 months

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Hold to my Hand – Hazel Callahan

Pairing: loser!hazel x fem!reader

Summary: You might be a little – completely – obsessed with your girlfriend's hands and apparently she enjoys that a lot.

Word count: 2,3k.

Content: cursing, fluff, kisses, slight jealousy, hazel being a loser AND a mess, soft gfs.

A/N: So… women, right? Women with rings and cold hands… right?

English is not my first language.

“Babe, stop that!”

“What?” You said, “I’m not doing anything.”

But you were.

You were sprawled out on your girlfriend Hazel's bed, a book from your English class abandoned in front of you while your girlfriend had a laptop open on her lap, the cute look of concentration from before replaced by red cheeks and nervousness at your actions.

It was no big deal, actually, your girlfriend was simply very easy to flustreat; you had one of her hands in yours, leaving feather-light kisses along her calloused, ring-covered fingers, sending goosebumps across her cold skin.

“You’re distracting me,” she whines, looking away to a random spot in the room, “I can’t type like this.”

You huff, climbing higher on the bed to be at her height, keeping your grip on her hand and glancing at the laptop screen.

“Boxing and wrestling techniques?” you read, letting your head fall to rest on her shoulder, “Will you really gonna start a fight club with Josie and PJ?”

Hazel immediately perks up, telling you all about the idea that she and the girls had at lunch – you're sure 80% of it must have come from PJ, but you don't have the courage to interrupt her – and how they're going to get along and have fun with this and Hazel will teach everyone self defense techniques. She looks so much like a happy puppy that it warms your heart.

Unfortunately, you can't give her full attention to the conversation, being too involved in the way she gestures to process anything else.

Okay, maybe you're a little – just a little – obsessed with your girlfriend's hands.

“...You sure you don't want to?”

“Huh?”

Hazel's voice snaps you out of your reverie and she's staring at you with bright, expectant blue eyes.

“Are you sure you don't want to join?” She repeats.

“Hm-hm,” you mumble.

“Please?” She asks softly, “For me?”

You look away from her, because there's no way to deny anything if you're looking at that needy dog face, and you keep yourself looking at the old judo and jiu-jitsu trophies that she keeps on the shelves in the big room.

She really wants you to be part of this, but you know PJ and Josie are probably only doing it because they want to fuck someone and Hazel because she wants to make more friends, but the most you'd get from this club would be a broken nose or tooth, so no, thanks.

“I can come to see you at meetings and give you moral support, love.”

It's not exactly what she wanted, but you know you won. Hazel completely softens the moment you call her love, every single time.

Hazel lets out a long dramatic sigh, giving up her laptop and turning to wrap her arms around you, burying her face in your neck.

“Fine, but you’ll definitely change your mind when the club finally starts!” She declares.

You scoff, sinking into her touch when you feel her hands spread on your hips beneath your shirt comfortably.

“Do you really want to get into this with those two, Haze?” Your question breaks the established silence, somewhat uncertain.

Your girlfriend unfortunately had a tendency to not notice or just not stand up for herself when someone was mean to her and PJ and Josie weren't exactly known for being gentle with people, so Hazel running something with them made you quite apprehensive. Of course, you wouldn't do anything to change her mind since it was something she really seemed to want to do, but a little caution wouldn't hurt.

“Oh, they know what they're doing, babe,” she squeezes you a little tighter, “They were in juvie!”

You laugh, “No, they weren't.”

“Still.”

You keep your word and start attending all the fight club meetings – under PJ's complaints that you're not really doing anything –, busying yourself with cheering Hazel on during her turns and talking to Mr.G about any nonsense stuff that he wants to speak in the stands. It's actually quite fun, but you don't change your mind about the fighting part.

You start bringing water bottles as a treat to the girls while you're there and take on the role of tending to all of Hazel's injuries when it's all over – which is a lot, since they don't really seem to know what they're doing in the moment –, you find yourself being very good at it and probably would have become the whole group personal nurse if it weren't for the possessive look in bright blue eyes and the sad pout on Hazel's face when she watched you wipe the blood from a cut on Brittany's cheek and put on one of the cute little band-aids that were supposed to be only for her one day.

Besides all that, the most important thing is that you have a free pass to admire your girlfriend as much as you want and she looks great kicking ass and throwing punches. Especially throwing punches.

In your defense, the obsession with your girlfriend's hands, your girlfriend’s touch, is actually justified. The thing is, you never had many friends since you came to this weird school and neither did Hazel, so when you got together everything in your relationship was a little new; you found yourself suddenly starving for contact.

Holding hands, playing with the rings on her fingers, pats on the shoulders, arms around the body, hugs, caresses. It was simply impossible not to be aware of every little touch that Hazel gives you, even less impossible not to melt with them.

So yes, maybe you liked it a little too much when Hazel came to you asking to bandage her bruised knuckles just because it gave you the chance to touch her as much as you wanted, like now, at home.

“Ouch!”

“Stop moving, Haze,” you complain as you apply the antiseptic to her, “This will only make it worse.”

“But it hurts,” Hazel whimpers, pulling her injured hand to her chest protectively.

She's sitting on the bathroom sink, which probably wasn't very safe, but it was the best way for you to treat her and also where the first aid kit you were using was kept.

Today's fight seems to have been a little more serious than usual because Hazel's dominant hand is hurt. Like really hurt, with purple bruises already forming over the torn skin, so your spare band-aids weren't enough to take care of it. Now, if she would just let you handle it properly.

“That's bad, you're lucky it didn't break,” you say, taking her hand more gently to examine it, “Damn, what did that blue-haired girl do to you to make this happen?”

Hazel stays quiet, suddenly embarrassed and looking at anything else as you wrap a clean bandage around the wound.

"Then?" You press.

Hazel mumbles something slurred and unintelligible and you frown, not knowing what could have made her so embarrassed. With how easily that happens tho, you didn't have a good guess.

“I heard her talking to some girls before the meeting today.” She pauses, “Talking about you.”

“Oh,” you say, trying to pull away a little so you can look her in the eyes, but Hazel closes her legs around your waist so you can’t move, “Saying bad things?”

She shakes her head and swallows, her blush deepening.

“She said that she likes it when you come to see us,” her good hand grabs the front of your shirt, “Said she wanted to ask you out.”

“Oh, Haze–” You begin.

“She knew we were dating. She knew. But she kept talking about it and I– I got mad, so I hit her.”

Hazel says it all quickly as if it were a single sentence, but you understand anyway; she is nervous, keeping her eyes closed and looking down. She was jealous, still is, but she's also scared of what you'll think of her for it.

Screw it, you think, it's a fight club, people are going to get hurt sometimes. Now it's time to comfort your girlfriend.

“You beat the shit out of a girl for me?” You say, taking the bandaged hand gently and bringing it to your lips, “That’s hot.”

Hazel's face is so red it glows, “Babe,” she squeals.

"What?" You tease, leaving smacking kisses from fist to wrist, “She should know better than to say things like that for you to hear, how rude.”

Hazel’s pupils are dilated when her eyes meet yours, “You’re serious?”

“Hmm,” you hum, leaving a mark of lip gloss on her skin, “Like I would leave the best girlfriend in the world for someone else like that.”

She squirms in your grip, swallowing hard and trying to keep from stuttering and you can't help the giggle that escapes as you notice a shiver run through her.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” she whines.

“I’m not,” you shrug, innocently, “I’m just kissing it better.”

You think Hazel never really realized the effect her touch has on you until one day at the library.

There's no club meeting today, so when you make your way to the library after your last class, your girlfriend follows along beside you excitedly, rambling about her day and waving your hands together as you walk down the halls.

You had to study for a history test, so you find a table in the back where you like to stay while Hazel looks for a book nearby to entertain herself.

You just spend less than an hour focusing on memorizing dates and names your teacher sent to the next test before your ears pick up the clink of Hazel's rings against the antique wood of the table.

Your gaze shifts away without even realizing it, focusing on Hazel's drumming and immersed expression.

“Have any of your rings ever fallen off?” You ask with sudden curiosity, even after months together this had never occurred to you.

“Huh?” She lifts her head, “Oh, yes. Lots of them.”

Hazel stops for a moment to check it and adjust some looseness and you gently take the hand with the ring you gave her, running your thumb over the silly little smiley face plastered on it.

“I never take that one off,” she smiles.

“I noticed,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks heat up, “You might end up breaking your finger over this, you know? Or someone’s nose.”

“I was trying to be romantic,” Hazel snorts.

“Sorry, love,” you lean across the table closer to her, looking between the plastic ring, “I just gave that to you as a silly joke.”

Hazel tilts her head, that confused and bit sad puppy expression back on her face.

“Yeah?”

You nod, “One day I’ll give you a real one, with a real gem,” You can feel Hazel staring at you, her jaw is probably dropped, but you settle for shaking her hand, “A blue one. Will suit you.”

“You think so?” She sighs.

“Of course,” you find yourself saying, “I’ll give you the most beautiful one, the first one everyone will notice when they look at you.”

You look up to find Hazel. Just Hazel. With soft eyes, bright smile and hands full of rings.

There were moments – moments like this – when it felt like there were only the two of you in the world, when you couldn't see or feel anything but Hazel and you drowned in her completely.

Taking a deep breath, she leans over the table, hand letting go of yours to slide down your arm. You swear your skin crawls.

“Babe?” Hazel calls; you notice how she keeps her voice low for fear of ruining the moment, even though she's so clearly nervous.

You open your mouth and nothing comes out, the touch on your skin is cold but it feels like it's burning you from the inside out. What did you come here to do in the first place?

Hazel leans back under the forgotten book and you grab her wrist when she moves to keep her close.

“I– I would like that,” she says, eyes wide and face flushed, “Sounds good, I mean.”

"You deserve it. You deserve this and more, love,” You’re not really sure what ‘more’ is, especially for someone who can buy anything they want like Hazel. Maybe it’s all she wanted, all you could offer her; maybe it’s just you.

Hazel squeezes your hand, leaning in closer and running her thumb over your knuckles so gently that the noise you make is embarrassing. You think she's going to kiss you and maybe she would have, if it weren't for the angry shush! coming from the librarian near the bookshelves next to you two.

She only mentions it days later, when you're back in her bed, curled up in a familiar way while Hazel scrolls through her phone.

Her fingers are running through your hair, almost lulling you to sleep and you feel like you could do the same as the cat at the foot of the bed and melt into a purring puddle under her touch.

“You have a thing for my hands,” she comments out of nowhere, interrupting the peaceful atmosphere, a giggle in her tone.

“What?” You ask confused, using your arms to lean against her chest, “I do not.”

You know it's not true, but denying it is better than admitting something like that. Hazel gives you a look; she knows you better than that.

“But you do,” Hazel turns you in her arms and you let out a surprised squeak at the action when she finds yourself on top of you.

You shake your head, refusing to give in, but she runs her cold hands under your shirt, resting on the warm skin of your belly – this seems to be one of her favorite things to do.

“Jeez!” You hiss, “How can you be so cold all the time? You’re like a lizard.”

“Oh, I love lizards!”

“Haze!”

You squirm in her grip, but Hazel holds firm, an unusual confidence behind her actions.

“Admit it,” she asks with a smirk, “You have a thing for my hands.”

“I have a thing for you.”

The cocky little smile she has every time she touches you for the next week is totally worth it – and it's also totally kissable.

#hazel callahan #bottoms 2023 #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #bottoms movie #hazel bottoms #denwrites

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why-animals-do-the-thing · 2 years

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Do you know why dogs do that little exhausted sigh when they lie down even when they haven't really done anything that particular day?

I, too, make exhausted little sighs when I flop down and am suddenly extremely comfy!

But, okay, here's what super interesting. I didn't want to just give you a flippant answer, so I started looking up if sighing is a behavior in other species than humans. Because it's always worth keeping an eye out for accidental anthropomorphism. Turns out? The science on sighing is fascinating. Stay tuned for intense nerding out, and maybe a bit more of an answer.

First off, we gotta know what a sigh is.

"The sigh is a deep augmented breath with distinct neurobiological, physiological, and psychological properties that distinguish it from a normal eupneic breath. Sighs are typically triggered by a normal eupneic breath and are followed by a respiratory pause, which is referred to as 'postsigh apnea.'"

In non-jargon, that definition means sighs are a deep breath with a different pattern to it than normal, easy, regular breathing. "Augmented breaths" are frequently used as a synonym for "sighs", and the best definition I found is that "they comprise prolonged inspiration and increased tidal volume followed by a respiratory pause and several seconds of faster breathing. So a longer than normal inhale where you take in more air than normal, then an exhale, and then pause before breathing in again. Oh hey, look, I found a graph!

The graph is super well labeled, but just to be clear: each cycle of the red line is a normal breath, where what's being tracked is the movement of the chest wall. The part where the vertical blue bar is, that's the cycle with a sigh. The red line spikes really high (during inspiration, or breathing in) at that blue patch, and for longer than the normal period of a breath. See how it's almost like two inhales on top of each other - a normal slope and then another upward spike? That's the "augmentation" of the normal breath, almost a double inhale without breathing out in-between. Then, after the red line drops (on the exhale) there's a flat bit. That's the respiratory pause, which the period after the sigh where you wait before you inhale again.

Apparently people have been tracking sighing scientific for like, over 100 years. The first record of it in academic literature was in 1919. And we know some really cool stuff. All humans sigh spontaneously. Even babies sigh! They do it every few minutes, whereas it's less frequent but still pretty regular in adults: one study found about once every five minutes, or twelve sighs an hour.

Okay, but why do we sigh? We only sort of know, because there's a bunch of different things that have to be studied to answer that question. The direct physiological aspect of it is the most well known at this point. You've got lots of little sacs lining your lungs, called alveoli, that facilitate gas transfer from the air you breathe into your blood. They make sure oxygen goes in and carbon dioxide gets breathed out. But sometimes they collapse and deflate, which prevents them from doing their job. When you do a big sigh, the air quantity in your lungs ends up being double that of normal, which inflates them again. So sighing is a way of doing lung maintenance, in a sense.

But there's so much more going on when you sigh than just that! This is the stuff researchers are still working on. They've got some pretty solid conclusions to start, but they're very emphatic that there's a ton more to learn.

Basically, the main hypothesis right now is that sighing functions as a "reset" for your internal state when it's out of balance. People sigh more when they're acutely anxious or stressed, are anticipating a negative outcome like a shock or seeing a negative image, or have chronic anxiety, PTSD, or panic disorders. Higher sigh frequency is also associated with pain: people with chronic low back pain sigh more, and how much they do correlates with how high their pain rating is at the time!

Another aspect of sighing is that it's frequently associated with periods of relief. Studies have noted that people sigh when they're able to relax following tension, like if they're interrupted while trying to do something really mentally taxing, when they finish a task that took a lot of attention for a long time, or if a negative stimulus stops/goes away. The reason behind that is actually thought to be why people sigh so much when they're upset or in pain: sighing doesn't just signal relief, but actually cause it! Some studies have found that people experience a temporary reduction in muscle tension right after a spontaneous sigh. (Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to also happen when you sigh on purpose.)

Sighing is also thought to facilitate behavioral and emotional transitions. The frequency at which someone sighs changes even just when they transition from sitting to lying down. People frequently sigh right before they fall asleep or start to wake up. One study found that people sigh more frequently when they go from a situation of being unable to anticipate what's next to a situation where they know what the outcome will be - regardless of if that outcome is going to be negative or positive! That led the researchers to hypothesize that sighing functions as an emotional reset from states of high internal arousal (a word which here means "the state of feeling awake, activated, and highly reactive to stimuli.") So sighing might not just bring relief when something really intense ends, but it might also help people prepare for upcoming stress.

Basically, researchers think that sighing may contribute to what they call "psychophysiological flexibility." That means that sighing helps keep someone in a physiological and emotional state that matches the situation they're in, and helps the body and mind adapt quickly when something changes. They noted that these types of transitions may involve "anticipatory, activation or recovery responses." In other words: they think spontaneous sighing is relevant not only when you're worried about encountering a leopard in the bush, but when you have to hide from the leopard you tripped over, and then also when you're calming down after the leopard got bored and left.

There's a whole bunch of research left to do about how exactly spontaneous sighs do what they do, but there's also a whole other aspect of the behavior that hasn't really been studied yet: their social function! In humans audible sighing is a salient social signal. (The researchers said the part of the paper addressing this that it is a "lay belief" that sighs have a "communicative function to convey emotions," which makes the whole thing feel like it was written by aliens observing humans from afar). But they did note that sighs for social communications may be totally different from other types of sighs, since the exhalation is often very exaggerated and doesn't always occur in tandem with that "augmented" inhale pattern that spontaneous sighs have.

Okay. So. I've been a nerd forever, but what about doggo sighs? Why do they occur? Obviously, the research doesn't give us a direct answer. The majority of the behavioral / situational research on sighing has been done on people, not animals. But it's pretty well documented lots of animals sigh (it might even be all mammals, I just don't have a citation for that). And some of the studies that have been done on animals indicated that they, too, sigh in relief when negative situations end or unpleasant stimuli go away.

Let's go back to my joke at the beginning of this book I've written. My first instinct was to be like "who doesn't sigh in relaxation when they finally get a chance to rest their bones?" That totally matches what's in the research: getting a chance to rest after activity is often both a behavioral transition and an emotional one, and if there's any physical discomfort being experienced, physical rest is often is a relief.

It seems fairly probable that dogs sigh when they lay down for at least one of those reasons. I can't prove that hypothesis, but it tracks with what the science says so far. The situation you described meets the main identified criteria for sighing: there's the physical transition of laying down, the behavioral/emotional transition of being ready for a period of low/no activity, and the possible relief of pain or discomfort that comes with laying down. We don't have any any evidence (that I was able to find) of species that sigh for other reasons, or sigh in situations that don't meet those criteria. We don't know for sure that this is accurate - this isn't fact, simply my educated guess. But since sighing seems to help muscles relax and relief discomfort, it seems reasonable to me that a good old sigh after the relief of laying down would make the transition to a resting state feel even better.

Sources:

Effects of the hippocampus on the motor expression of augmented breaths

Brainstem activity, apnea, and death during seizures induced by intrahippocampal kainic acid in anaesthetized rats

The Integrative Role of the Sigh in Psychology, Physiology, Pathology, and Neurobiology

Sigh rate during emotional transitions: More evidence for a sigh of relief

The psychophysiology of the sigh: I: The sigh from the physiological perspective

The psychophysiology of the sigh: II: The sigh from the psychological perspective

Affect Arousal

UCLA and Stanford researchers pinpoint origin of sighing reflex in the brain

#science!#dog behavior #sighing #sighs #I want to emphasize this is a hypothesis based on the existing body of research and that I am not an expert in this field #there are times where it is reasonable to look at the existing literature and create theories based on a synthesis of their findings #but this is not something to repeat as known fact #and that differentiation is extremely important in this sort of forum

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 2 months

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I have the most random and oddball question... What would be some expletive type language in Welsh?

I'm playing a dragon in my D&D group who is from this fantasy world's equivalent of Wales and I want to add some flavor when he is fighting that he starts using bits of his mother-tongue instead of Common.

It's easy enough to find a random list of words, but without cultural context I have no clue what would be a proper equivalent of, for example "fuck off you asshole"... I probably am putting "too much" thought into it, but I'm a cultural anthropologist, so it bugs me to not think too much about it.

A funny quirk of Welsh is that we actually tend to swear in English when we need to - because one of the social arenas it survived in was through the chapels, the closest you'd get are things that in English you'd probably associate with your granny saying, or those sad little Christian youth camps in America. One of my favourites is Nêfi blŵ, which is literally just the Welsh transliteration of the words 'navy blue' said in a Welsh accent. Why is this a swear? Unknown. I presume someone somewhere hated the colour.

However, there are a couple:

Sweary

Sguthan/ysguthan: this is probably equivalent to 'bitch', it's certainly gendered the same way and has similar weight. Except much as 'bitch' literally just means a dog, sguthan means 'woodpigeon'. Why is this a swear? Unknown

Cach i fant: fuck off. 'Shit off', literally. Tbh though I don't actually know anyone who would actually use this. Mileage can and will vary wildly (keep an eye on the notes for other Welsh speakers chiming in), but this one always felt a bit like a sheep's eyeball to me, to use a Pratchett-ism. Like something Golwg would use to Appeal To The Youth. But, it is real, and does work.

Dos i ffwcio dy hunan: go fuck yourself. Now THIS one I use

Twll tin bob ____: Every ____ is an asshole. Naturally, the phrase in Wales is 'Twll tin bob Sais', but substitute Sais for the group of your choice.

Cêr y diawl: go to hell. Literally, 'go to the devil', with devil there being a reasonable stand-in for any devil you wish, not just, like, Satan.

And of course, Wenglish can provide:

Be'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: what the fuck is that

Pwy'r ffyc 'dy hwnna: who the fuck is that

etc

Non-Sweary

Bois bach a mawr: okay listen this is going to sound like I'm joshing you but I swear this is real. It's used by an older generation, admittedly, but even younger generations will say 'Bois bach' sometimes. It, uh. It literally means "Big and little boys". Or just "little boys". Just a sort of general mild exclamation. Or what you say when you sit down and your knees complain. Um.

Ych a fi: gross. Can also be Wenglished to 'Ych a ffycin fi' which is, you know, fucking gross.

Be' ti 'di 'neud?: what have you done?

Be' sy'n bod 'da ti?: What is wrong with you?

Cô ni off, bois!: Off we go, lads (gender neutral)!

There's probably a million I'm forgetting and will think of as I try to sleep tonight, but hopefully these will tide you over. Keep an eye on the notes, I expect others will chime in with further suggestions!

#asks #wales!#closed for cleaning on mondays #linguistics

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 6 months

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i wish more than anything you were good to me; your memory kisses me softer than you ever did.

tz11 x reader: halloween parties are for exes.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), choking, hair pulling (both ways), fingering, dirty talk (obviously), both characters are toxic and mean and all that (i can't write a healthy tz11 relationship for the life of me, (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)

(a/n: welcome to the spice installment of sugar and spice! favorites - this was so fun for me to write, you have no idea. nothing i love more than a main character (you) who gives tz11 what's coming to him. if you don't like toxic relationships, maybe don't read, but i think this one is really fun. and you get a happy ending (my kind of happy ending, at least)! but, please, don't actually fuck your exes. i promise it's not as hot as i'm making it out to be. this is a shorter, single scene piece, sort of like my earlier stuff. i hope you enjoy, and i hope you tell me what you think. you can read the sugar installment here for a no-smut, meet-cute type of piece with jd6. happy halloween! sending so much love and beauty and gentleness to you and your snakes. go canucks! i love that i can say that and have them actually be playing! until next time).

a couple hours before, when you were getting ready for the party, lacing up your corset with thick red ribbon and painting thin, dark veins under your eyes like spiders, you had laughed with your friends about how nothing could ruin this night.

evidently, you had been wrong.

you felt him before you saw him. you had always had a sort of sixth sense for his presence. even when you were together, looking back, it wasn't necessary a good feeling, but a stimulating one. when he entered a room, your blood felt like it sparked to life, moved through your body faster than what was healthy. electricity hummed at your fingertips, practically making your teeth chatter.

this time, a month or so after you broke up with him, a month or so after he cheated on you without even a breath of remorse, a bitter taste filled your mouth.

a bitterness that exploded when he locked eyes with you across the dark, crowded room. his eyes that you had hoped you wouldn't recognize, hoped you wouldn't find as captivating as you had before.

but you did, and he probably knew that. he smirked at you, the expression pulling at his mouth in an easy way you had always been envious of. you scowled, turned away, felt something like rage and embarrassment and grief well up within you, push at the boundaries of your body, threaten to force their way to the outside world, to the world of the known.

your waterline felt tense, explosive with the pressure of it all. your skin felt hot, your hands didn't feel like yours. you ducked your head down, felt your exhale come out shallow and shaky, almost like the breath you let out when you had shut your door on him, one last time, not so long ago. maybe you should just go home. maybe you weren't ready, just yet. maybe -

"sugar."

you lifted your head up instinctually, found him much too close, so close it made you devastatingly angry. how could he stand here, so close you could smell his cologne, but not the one you had bought him for his last birthday? instead, that cheap, horrid one you always hated but he insisted on? the one you thought made him smell like an over-excited teenager?

and who was he to call you that, now? a name that once had sent your head spinning with delight, with fantasies of a one-day autumn wedding, of a house with a wrap around porch, of a rescue dog and a blue-tile kitchen. now, it made wrath cloud your head like potent whiskey.

"trevor," you responded, surprised yourself at the hardness, the coldness that froze your words in midair.

he pouted as he leaned back against the wall, his bottom lip jutting out in a dramatic way. he was making fun of you.

he nodded up and down, gesturing to your costume. "and what're you supposed to be? dracula's whore?"

you bristled. he never had understood boundaries, how he had relinquished any right to judge you.

you looked good, you knew it, and you could tell he knew it, too. he wouldn't have called you that if he didn't. and you didn't miss the spark of heat that caught behind his gaze, the way his eyes caught lazily on your chest.

he was an asshole, but he still wanted you. that had to count for something.

"what are you supposed to be? a narcissistic douchebag?" you looked him up and down, and a laugh bubbled free from your throat. a real one, when you realized what he was wearing. "no way you actually wore your own jersey."

you shot him a look of false pity, placed a manicured hand over your heart like a southern belle that possessed all the forgiveness you so lacked. "couldn't pay some other girl to wear it for you? no one wants to be an overrated sellout this halloween?"

he chuckled, a sound full of danger and you hated how your stomach turned upon hearing it. how something tightened at the reminder of the good parts - how you wished you could only remember the bad ones.

your biting tone seemed to set him at ease, if anything. he cocked his head to the side, crossed his arms across his chest, shot you a knowing look. "when have i ever had to pay for that, sugar?" he asked, teasing and slow, like talking to a toddler.

a tone you refused to accept.

"i don't know," you shrugged, brushed your hands on your skirt. "i guess i always assumed you paid off the girl you cheated on me with." you gave a light gesture to his general being. "because it isn't your looks, and surely it isn't your sparkling personality."

he laughed, deep and raw, rebalanced himself on his feet. you took a sip of your drink, ran your tongue along your cheek, took the opportunity to really take him in.

it's not like he looked too different from when you last saw him. same messy hair, if not a bit grown out. same sharp features, same childish expressions that always made him look less mature than his face. same long frame and strong shoulders. same aura of self-assurance, of steadiness.

"are you done, sugar?" he asked, in a single motion grabbing your drink from your hand and taking a sip.

you rolled your eyes. "like you want me to be." you didn't necessarily have a problem with him knowing you were looking at him like that. maybe it was a side effect of having been in a serious (to you) relationship with him.

he shrugged. "fair enough," he conceded, and you took your drink right back.

"you don't like cocktails, remember," you bit out, attempting to wield history like some fabled blade.

when you were together, he never drank sweet drinks, even though you knew he liked them more than beer or hard liquor. he would always drink yours, like he was doing now.

you had always believed he was far too concerned with his image.

his smirk grew deeper, a flash of teeth that could have been a snarl if he took you more seriously. "how's celibacy treating you, then, sugar?"

"stop calling me that," you bit out, felt your anger swirl around you like a poison fog.

"you're nothing else to me," he said, little more than a scoff.

you refused to even justify his narcissism with a response. you shoved your cocktail into his chest for him to finish. "and i'm not celibate, you dick." you tilted your head, let your eyes fill with pity. "someone needed to finish the job after a year of dissatisfaction." the lie felt powerful as it escaped past your teeth.

so you turned, walked away from him, before he could bite out something terrible.

finding your friends, making your way to the dance floor, you exhaled, something heavy and flat on your breath. something that may have had something to do with the fact that even after all he had done, all he had put you through, how much you hated him, you still wanted him.

how infuriating was that? how paper thin the line was between want and spite?

so a combination of both rumbled through you like an earthquake as you danced, let your hair fall gracefully down one side of your neck, your head thrown back, the music like a heartbeat.

you didn't know where he was, but you knew he was watching you, knew he couldn't tear his gaze away, and that knowledge was intoxicating.

even as someone else came up behind you, some other lacking man whispered something in your ear, something that made you laugh, even as this ghost of a man put a hand on your hip, and swayed with you, even then he was watching.

he was watching for what could have been a moment, could have been an hour, until he was right in front of you again, pulling you away, pulling you down the hall, until it was just the two of you under dim lights, the air smelling of smoke and regret.

you peered up at him, his body so, so close. "what the fuck, trevor?" you seethed.

he boxed you against the wall, his forearm above your head, the other hand bracing at your side. "oh, please, sugar. you don't want him."

the air between you sparked, familiar as a favorite sweater. you smirked at him, found want flooding from his gaze like an unchecked faucet. maybe you would have pointed it out if you didn't know the same want was reflected in yours.

"ah," you said. "you're jealous." your mouth ticked, smug, satisfied. you brought a delicate hand up to pat his cheek like a chastising grandparent. "rich, coming from you, trev."

you made to pull your hand back, but he was faster, moving his own hand to cover yours, holding it against his face.

the gravity of the motion startled you, made your stomach tighten. this, a voice cooed inside of you like a demon, this is the part you'll miss.

"'m not jealous," he breathed, shaky, as if your extended touch made him lose his balance.

was his face getting closer to yours? when was the last time you had been able to see his eyes so close, besides in memories that made hot tears prick at your lashes?

"liar," you hissed, heat from his cheek seeming to scorch clean through your palm.

"yeah, sugar?" he whispered, his gaze dipping down to your mouth almost drowsily, "make a liar out of me."

he guided your lips to his in a kiss that felt like your favorite dive bar after weeks of fancy hotel restaurants, like flame and fog and tarnished jewelry you couldn't bring yourself to take off.

he relaxed against your body with a sound you had forgotten he could make, in moments like these. a mix of a moan, an exhale, a whimper - how could you have forgotten? surely there had never been anything more important.

you looped your arms around his neck, pulled him down, closer, as he reached down to hook one of your legs up around his hip.

you moaned into his mouth as he rolled his hips up into you, exactly the kind of frantic and direct you had missed from him.

he tasted like the sweet drink you had shared, like brutal history, like catastrophic closure.

somehow, this felt like power, as you felt him harden against you.

because you wanted him, sure, but he would never have you the way he had before. he would never have all of you, so completely and wholly and absolutely. never again would he understand the privilege of how he had known you before, so cruelly and deeply and personally.

tonight, you would have him with a nonchalance and an indifference that felt like victory. you would have him, and then you would walk away, and you wouldn't feel abandoned or less-than or second best.

so you laced your hands into the grown out curls at the nape of his neck, tugged gently, swallowed his following moan. you rolled your hips right back against him, let yourself relish in how good he felt, how solid.

you let him drag his lips down to your neck, linger there, biting lightly at your collarbone. you let his fingers trace across your upper thigh, reaching gently under your short skirt. his gentleness made you smirk.

"getting shy on me, now?" you said, your voice a low laugh. he picked his head up, eyes heavy, searching yours. you gathered his shirt in your fist, tugged him to your level. "i don't want shy."

he rolled his eyes in a playful sort of way, a light teasing in his gaze. "and sugar always gets what she wants, hm?"

maybe a past you would have blushed, been embarrassed, but just hummed a sound of affirmation and let him pull you somewhere with a door that locked.

in a blur the door was shutting and you were pushed up against it as he once against hiked up your leg, this time without any hesitation, his hands moving like muscle memory.

there was no trace of shyness, of gentleness, because what room was there for that? you were past that kind of relationship with him.

your breath caught when he finally dragged his rough fingers through your folds, made you arch your back up off the door, which made him tsk in disapproval.

"stay still for me, sugar," he cooed, with his other hand keeping your torso pressed down, "be good for me, yeah?"

you nodded as he pushed a finger inside of you, focused all your energy into keeping your back against the door. the sensation made you crazy, made your stomach tighten, your head cloud as he began to set a slow rhythm in and out.

"fuck, trevor." you choked on a moan, squeezed at his bicep so hard you wondered if there would be purplish phantoms of your fingertips left behind. "fuck, faster, please."

"always were so greedy," he groaned as he picked up the pace, making your head roll back, feel the indentations of the door in your hair.

you dug your nails into his arms, sucked on your teeth when he groaned at the pain, brought your other hand down to run just under his waistband, felt a shiver erupt under your fingertips.

"don't," he practically growled, his voice almost hoarse as his hand shot from your stomach to your throat, holding you in place and squeezing just gently enough to feel. he slowed the pace of his fingers down to something excruciating, so beautifully deep but just not enough. "don't tease, sugar."

despite it all, you felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth. "why, baby?" you looked up at him through your lashes, could already feel your mascara running like your tears had, that night you found out. "scared you'll cum too quick?" you watched rage disguised as humor flash across his gaze, a look that brought back a million memories.

you cupped his jaw with a palm, soft and mocking like some kind of cruel mother. "'s okay, baby, some girls like that."

he ran his tongue along his teeth, slow and deliberate, below flipping you around so that your cheek was pressed against the door, your hands bracing yourself against it.

you felt him tug clothes aside, heard him spit into his hand. "think you're so funny, don't you?"

"your friends think so, too," you said, which had him tugging you back by your hair, a hiss escaping your parted lips.

"enough," he rasped, an angry noise, as he thrust into you, hard and deep, forcing a moan from somewhere inside of you you barely remembered.

his pace was immediate and staggering, so deep you felt him in your palms, so hard you remembered everything your grief had so graciously forced you to forget.

"fuck, sugar," he bit out, rough, like maybe he was remembering, too. "so wet for me, hm?"

maybe you nodded, stunned by sensation, as his rhythm solidified, sending you spiraling, your stomach tensing with that lovely pressure.

he reached a hand around you to rub at your clit as he continued to thrust into you, making your moans come out louder, made words die in your throat like flowers unwatered.

"nothin' to say, eh, sug?" he rasped. "so polite when you're clenching around my cock, hm?" his grasp on your hair tightened, making you whine. "tell me."

"stretchin' me so good, baby," you breathed, too far gone to care about anything but how close you were. "fuck, so close."

he groaned, and you could sense his arrogant smile. you had always known his mouth better than your own. "feel you close around me." his hand stilled against your clit, and you could have pouted. at your sound of discontent, he twisted your hair in his fist.

"beg, sugar." you whined, to which he thursted into you deep, silencing you. "only good girls get to cum, hm? beg." something devilish flashed in his eyes. "for old times' sake."

you could feel your body stutter on the edge. "please, baby, please make me cum." you reached a hand behind you to cup the side of his face. "need you so bad, trevor, promise i'll make you feel so good."

that must have been enough, because his hand resumed motion at your words, sending you over the edge quickly and overwhelmingly. in the haze of your climax, your moan and pressure triggered his own, hot and consuming.

you felt his whole weight as he collapsed against you, your chests heaving in time, your exhales sticky with history and knowing and other terrible things.

eventually, the fog around your head dissipated as you shrugged him off of your back, shifted your clothes back to something that resembled the way you had entered the party. you knew your makeup was ruined beyond repair, but maybe you could just change your costume from vampire to dracula's whore.

you wiped at your lip liner with your finger, using your phone camera as a mirror. "this changes nothing," you said, finally, breaking the silence, still looking at your phone.

he shrugged as he adjusted his own clothes. "it changes a little."

you met his gaze a final time, and you could have laughed. because you knew in your purest heart that it really, genuinely, didn't. "you're right," you said, opening the door, leaving him in his own stupid jersey. "you're not as good as i remember."

you shut the door behind you, began making your way back to your friends, to get a drink you didn't have to share with anyone.

and as the music got louder in your ears, you realized there was something wonderful about knowing he had lost the best thing he would ever have, but your best was still ahead of you.

how lucky you felt for that.

fin.

#hockey #hockey smut #nhl #smut #nhl smut #trevor zegras smut #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #tz11 #anaheim ducks #jack hughes x y/n #trevor zegras x y/n

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ashersanity · 1 day

Text

— “IT’S ALL IN THE FAMILY.”

— summary. because you — you stupid little fuck, should have known better than to assume the worst out of this sick family you’ve been unwillingly forced into from your parents unfaithful divorce. well, guess what? you were fucking right, and now — you only have yourself to blame, baby brother.

— content warning! incest, step-cest, dub-con at best, non-con at worst, brief mentions of bullying and violence, alcohol intoxication, manipulation, big brother whitney being a creep, whiny little sister kylar, daddy bailey being bailey, loser male reader, semi-forced blow job, cream pie, shit writing, no editing, no nothing and shittier plot with two disconnected scenes, went a little overboard with kylar. a little.

— word count? wait, you guys count the fucking words and don’t raw dog it in the notes app? like, real long, I guess. I mean, fucking long.

— asher’s note. “I did it purely for the sister fucking. @princesstokyomoon kept encouraging the filthy thoughts so I had to churn something out. something filthy — and I mean fucking disgusting shit, y’know?”

Divorces papers hastily signed away, the ink dotted onto the lines promising that this was indeed reality along with leathered suitcases packed to the brim. Family problems never were easy, much less when it had all happened far too quickly. To your parents separating, the familiar grip of your mother’s hand stringing you far away from the house you had grew up in, it all seemed like one bad dream. Unfortunately it wasn’t, no. This was the harsh reality of things, hands clasped on your shoulders as you were forced to introduce yourself to the man she had vowed to marry and the children he bore.

Fuck, if only your mother hadn’t remarried.

“This is stupid.” You muttered beneath your breath to which your mother, sharp as ever had somehow heard.

“Oh please, this is necessary. Unless you wish for us to keep on living in that cramped apartment? I am only doing what is needed for us to survive.” She sharply retorted back, not leaving much room to argue with as it was the truth. Your lives had been much more difficult since the divorce, selfish father that took everything else with him and went away to god-knows-where, probably off to spend it all in one go at the sleazy brothel in town. Filthy bitch.

Yes, it had been hard, but if you had been given one more year, finished school for real, graduated and got a job — Perhaps then, you would’ve been able to provide for the two of you and—

“Why don’t you introduce yourself, dear?”

Breaking out of your reverie, you had faintly registered then that you had arrived into this overly large establishment your mom referred to as your new home. Standing before you was probably the man she had fussed about so much during the uneventful drive. Dark, slicked back hair and stern eyes that dragged over your lips down to the curve of your throat, almost as if to criticize. His outstretched arm and hand stuck out waiting, that was probably for yours to shake which you reluctantly did.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir..?” You uttered coolly, enduring the firm grasp he had on your fingers till he finally was the first to pull away.

“Bailey.”

“Bailey.” You repeated back the unfamiliar name as if to slowly get used to it, knowing you wouldn’t.

“Whitney, Kylar, come down here and properly greet your brother.”

One boy — you assumed to be Whitney, a little older than you, stood at the top of the oaky staircase, perched over the banister. Ruffled blonde hair and sharp blue eyes hidden behind his fringe, eyeing you with disinterest as he made his way down the creaking steps and over to you.

“Nice to meet you.” He grinned, taking ahold of your hand in his with what was evidently a faux smile, one that didn’t quite reach his mean eyes that matched his father, a lingering streak of maliciousness in them. Even his grip, barely restrained in its force, threatened to crush your hand before ultimately letting go.

“You too.” Forcing a smile back, both of you knew then, the stifling tension that brewed in the air — Neither of you were going to get along here.

“Hey freak, its your turn.”

Another, you had barely noticed, a smaller girl scuffling about in the background, anxiously fiddling with the ends of her oversized sleeves, skittish green eyes purposefully avoiding your gaze whenever you so much as glanced her way. That must be the only daughter, Kylar. Cute thing she was, though your mind couldn’t allow yourself to continue that stray thought any further considering the implications that’d involve after meeting your soon-to-be-step-sister. Fucking get your mind straight, will you?

“P-Pleasure to meet you..” In contrast to her brother’s confident strides, she shuffled towards you before clasping your soft palms together in a hold, weakly shaking it.

“..Pleasure is all mine.” You replied, matching her weirdly formal way of speaking.

Well, she didn’t seem so bad compared to the rest.

The introduction didn’t last very long, lacking any real warmth usually found between two shared families merging together as one. It felt more stiff than anything though you couldn’t spare the thought to think it any further, an ushered murmur said to make yourself at home.

As you made your way over to your new room, hauling your hefty luggage up the wooden stairs, something within the depths of your guts stirred from the shared eyes that bore into the shape of your back, intently observing your every move.

The walls here felt unbearably bare.

Like the people that lived in it.

Ironically enough, your new room was much bigger than your older one, leaving little room to complain as you did when your mother had announced you’d be moving into a new place. All the reasons, no matter how good had earned nothing but a gentle shake of her head, dead set on her decision to drag you along. And to say you hadn’t even told Robin you’d be moving away, best friends since childhood that shared everything between the two, except for this apparently. Imagining his freckled face, worry etched across his features had you wanting to go back to the town you knew, knowing you couldn’t.

Sighing lowly, you sat down onto your bed, hearing the slightest crinkle beneath your weight as you felt an uncomfortable, sharp lump underneath it. That.. Reaching for the covers, you threw aside the thick blankets that covered the suspicious looking lump, revealing fresh packets of condoms haphazardly scattered across the sheets and an old, raunchy magazine displaying a cute-looking school boy getting brutally fucked against the lockers by his own bully.

Heat burned your face at the lewd sight, quickly shoving your little “gift” under your pillow so you couldn’t spare another glance at it. Fucking bastards and their sick jokes, “gifting” you shit like that.

You weren’t like them. Fucking perverts.

Were you?

Whitney was the first to change that.

From the first time he laid his eyes on you, you knew then what he thought of you, distaste apparent over his features, the slight curve of his upper lip curled into a snarl. It was obvious, your step-brother didn’t like you. Shit, maybe hate would be a more appropriate word for the things he’d do. Whitney had made it clear from the get-go, the empty names you’d call each other were utterly meaningless, rarely slipping past his own lips. ‘Little brother’. Fuck, you were a pain in his side more than anything else, dropping by unannounced into his life just like that simply because your shitty mother happened to divorce, meeting his dead beat father who then strung up with yours.

The blonde didn’t attempt to hide his obvious disapproval of your presence in his house, blatantly knocking his shoulder into yours whenever he passed by, mouth cruelly drawn into a snide grin as you toppled down to the cold, hard, wooden floor with a dull thud. The bullying didn’t stop there either, often encountering the delinquent in the school hallways, surrounded by his usual cronies that stuck to his side like a bunch of desperate, panting puppies, eager for his approval. They simply wouldn’t leave you alone, went through your damn locker too, ransacking everything that sat in there before carelessly throwing aside the remnants into a nearby trash bin, left to fend for yourself.

Weak, useless. That’s what you were to him, and nothing else. Soon enough, he’d get rid of you, have you snap and run away, it was merely a matter of time.

Well, that was the initial plan he had made up in his mind — Too fucking bad for the poor bully that life didn’t go always as planned, not when he caught you fresh out of the shower, worn towel snugly tucked around yours hips, a bit lower and he’d catch a glimpse of your— Fucking snap out of it, Whitney! The fresh droplets of water that’d trickle down the curve of your back, cascading over the smooth surface before gently dripping onto the fuzzy carpet below. Fuck. Didn’t help that he was staring a tad bit too hard, forcing himself to tear his gaze away from your bare form shamelessly displayed before him. You were doing this on purpose, weren’t you? Tryna get him all distracted, fill his thoughts with nothing but your thighs sticky with his cum, your lips lightly parted to obediently suck on his fat cock, lapping away at the beads of pre-cum that trickled over the curved length.

Knew he had cracked the second his hand had reached for his cock, fisting his dick for all it was worth, hem of his shirt roughly held between his teeth as he jerked himself stupid to the thought of you. His annoying little brother, fucking bitch, oblivious to the effects you had on him whenever he came with a stifled curse, several strings of cum that’d messily splatter across the curve of his toned stomach and his cotton sheets, staining it.

You, of course, lay ignorant to his frequent glances trailing over your frame, mistaking it for the hostility he had shown you over the past few weeks. You were partially right, except this time it was out of frustrated lust, cock stirring beneath his ripped jeans at the mere sight of his younger sibling now. God, not even the dumb whores that’d sloppily suck him off in the grimy bathroom stalls between classes did it for him anymore, eyes shut in a haze to imagine it was your mouth instead wrapped around the tip of his cock.

Dumb slut. Dumb fucking slut you were, didn’t know what he had in store for you. Take it as payback from having infested his mind with thoughts of you that stray to other thoughts and to other.. that’d eventually end in the same scenario, fucking your slutty mouth wide open.

Yeah.. Actually having you choke down on his cock didn’t sound half-bad now that he thought about it.

So why not make it happen?

It had been a mistake then to accept his offer over drinks, get to know each other better, he had cheerfully claimed with a friendly arm wrapped around your shoulder. Bullshit. Think he gave a shit about that? The only ache in his mind had gone straight down to his slowly hardening cock underneath his grey sweats as his plan was brought into motion, insistently pouring more and more of his friends stolen bottle into your cup until you had lost track of the exact number. Prideful as ever, you had gulped it all down, unrelenting despite the nausea that had crept in your guts and the dizzying blur of your vision.

A hint of a rosy flush had started to spread throughout your skin, lightly dusting your cheeks with half-lidded eyes intently gazing back at your older brother’s slouched form atop the cushioned couch. The dribbling liquid sloshed lazily in the glassy bottle that threatened to spill from your weakened grasp on it. TV faintly flickering in the background, playing some outdated show that had since long been forgotten by the two of you, leaving the remote abandoned on the coffee table.

“Cmon, don’t be such a baby.” Whitney would taunt whenever you hesitated in your sluggish movements, silently observing the rhythmic bobbing of your throat as you took quick shots from your half-full glass. Lightweight, he mused in his mind.

“I’m not a baby.” You retorted back with that fucking cute pouty expression he adored.

Fuck. That’s the look. That goddamn look of yours he was waiting for. Nothing better than some arrogant slut all fucked up, practically begging to be taken on his own fucking couch.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.”

“Whitney?” Shit, the way you’d call his name all whiny too, slipping past your own lips. Had his cock twitch like fucking hell, painfully aching between his spread legs.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Why are you so mean to me all the time?? What did I ever.. What did I ever do to you?? I—I just don’t get it.” You hiccuped pathetically, stumbling over your own words, already half-drunk from the fizzling alcohol in your system.

Ah, so you didn’t seem to get it at all yet, did you?

How cute.

“‘Cuz I wanna fuck your noisy mouth, that’s why.”

“..What?”

Blinking back at him, you didn’t even get the chance to register or mutter out another word before he was upon you. Knees firmly planted to each side, increasingly aware of his encompassing frame that towered overs yours as his clothed crotch faced your drunken expression. If it had been any other time, perhaps the blonde would’ve paused then to greedily drink in the sight before him, but this was Whitney after all and he never liked to waste time on silly notions like foreplay, preferring the rougher options that came along with it.

So, fuck it all, right?

With practiced ease, he hurriedly shucked down the elastic waistband of his grey sweats past his hips, hefty cock confidently springing free from the constricting confines of the cotton fabric as it lightly smacked against the curve of his bare stomach. Fuck, you haven’t had the slightest idea how long he had waited for this. Merely a matter of a few weeks for you, though for him, your older brother was dying to sink his dick in that whorish mouth of yours. Looked like you’ve never taken a real cock either, snugly shoved down to the hilt of your inexperienced throat that he’d train till it became a sixth sense to you, gratefully swallowing down his salty cum.

Calloused fingertips tenderly dragged along the swollen flesh of your bottom lip, bloodied cut reopening from the time the bully had split your face open on his fists for the whole school to see in the busied courtyard on a particularly rainy day. Licked his knuckles clean too after that rough beating you took, savouring the heady taste of the crimson mess you left behind, groaning all the while. Had him stupidly hard for the rest of the day, itching to relieve some tension once he got back home. Great times, really.

Now would’ve been the time then, probably— to sputter out your firm opposition over this, resist somewhat. Maybe kick the motherfucker in the balls, satisfyingly watch him writhe on the floor in agony before scrambling up the ancient staircase to hysterically yell about how you nearly got raped by your aforementioned step-brother, to your dozing mother. Christ, that would’ve been the sane decision to do then yet, the bubbling drinks coursing through your veins had thoroughly taken its effect on you, blood rushing down lower to the wrong region, the sinking realization nearly making you bolt upright.

Fucking fuck, you were hard.

And Whitney hadn’t failed to notice.

“Shit, are you getting hard from this?” The delinquent snickered hoarsely to himself, making a show to lightly tap at the growing bulge underneath your own jeans, all too visible despite the rough fabric that covered it. “Should’ve known you’d be into it. Your body speaks for itself, y’know. You want this, you cock whore craving slut.”

No, no. This was all wrong. Must’ve been. You liked girls, didn’t you? Squishy cunts and fat tits you could easily slip your cock into — god. Didn’t like guys and if you did, your step-brother who treated you like nothing but shit would’ve been last on the fucking list.

But you secretly do like being used this way, don’t you? Baby brother.

“I’m n-not fucking—“ Attempting to deny the harsh statement, you cut yourself off from the sudden intruding tip eagerly pressed against your lips, flushed cock head leaking thickly and smearing sticky pre-cum all over.

It wasn’t an order nor anything else that hung heavily in the air, a simple gesture, a subtle thrust of his hips that had his actions speak louder than any words would’ve been capable of. Either you do it or not, the delinquent couldn’t have cared less regardless, always used to getting what he wants and by god, if he wasn’t going to fucking get this. Because the signals alarmingly ringing through your head felt faint in the face of this, shakily inhaling the musky scent of your big brother’s throbbing cock subtly twitching in response to your feathered breaths against it, dribbling out more translucent pre-cum that melded with the scarlet stain of your bloodied lips.

Out of your damn mind — That’s what you were. To even properly consider the implication at hand here. Yet your lips won’t stop from parting, from sticking your pink tongue out, clumsily imitating the gestures of those submissive girls in the cheap porns you’d watch underneath your thin covers late at night, shamefully enough. Always thought you’d be on the receiving end of that one day, dutifully patting at the soft hair slotted between your thighs however here you were, shyly pawing at Whitney’s naked hips instead to steady yourself.

All your fault, all your damn fault so shut up and take it, alright? Shouldn’t have led him on like that, now you’re only reaping what you sow, slut.

A delighted sigh softly escaped from the blonde as you finally gave his dick some much needed attention, experimentally running the flat of your tongue along his leaking slit, coaxing out more dribbling fat globs of pre-cum before slowly and carefully taking his full girth in the warm depths of your tight, wet mouth. “Ah— Fuck. Yeah, that’s good.” No way can he hide the barely restrained, high-pitched, almost needy whimper that threatens to slither past him as you so prettily suck him down to the base, slobbering all over his throbbing balls that has him huffing out a cursed moan of satisfaction, eyes rolling back. “F-Fuckin’— god.” Can’t help the sheer guttural groan that slips out from how tightly his baby brother’s virgin lips sweetly glide around him, the uncertainty in your movements making it all the more endearing as you struggle to take him all in, saliva dripping over your chin to land in varying wet dots on the cushioned pillows. Looking so damn pretty like this with a mouthful of cock, your big brother’s pulsing cock specifically. So don’t blame him then when his hips automatically snap back, slender fingers instinctively reaching for the back of your head to entangle themselves through the soft strands of your hair, ruffling it.

Felt more like he was plainly fucking your mouth than you were sucking him off, sharp, punishing thrusts meeting your open mouthed lips to drive himself deeper in that warm throat that reflexively tightened around his length whenever he hit a particularly sensitive spot — drawing another string of adorable, strangled whimpers from you. “Shit, you sure this your first time? You’ve got the mouth of a — hah, fuckin’ filthy glory hole.” Heat prickling up the nape of your neck at the direct statement uttered, the brief realization of your inexperience being taken away like this, from a blowjob. On the giving end. A first, that will mostly likely not be the only first after this, not when you’re unconsciously getting off to the thought for more in store despite your haze filled brain begging you to reason. Ah, fuck. He’s gone and got you stupidly cock drunk now, didn’t he? The bastard. Slurred mutterings tumbling out above you, almost hasty in how he handles you, wanting to truly savor this never-ending moment when his body can’t stop on its own, too eager to be fulfilled of this yearning pleasure he sought out from you firstly. Thankful for your lack of gag reflex that somehow has you forcefully endure the ruthless slam of his hips, struggling grip straining onto his thighs to brace yourself, promising to leave a fresh set of bruising marks on the tanned flesh.

“Gon’ be my lil’ cockwhore, huh? My fuckin’ slut. Goin’ to be so good for— fuck, big brother, yeah?” If treating you so obscenely like this grants him the privilege to have you beneath him, so stupidly on your knees then, fuck, is it goddamn worth it. Every multicoloured bruise splotched along the length of your legs to your elbows, inflicted from his unfortunate beatings took on at every turn. The cold indifference muddled across your features warping to an earnest scowl from simply acknowledging his presence alone, precisely what he wants. To finally recognize your older brother, the churning fear instilling within you, forced to submit to him and worship him rightfully so.

It’ll be more than that though, the sick realization dawning upon him of this opportunity handed to him on a silver plater, free of his taking, of course. Not some other replaceable slut he can find anywhere else by chance, but one forcefully bound to him whether they like it or not since what can you possibly do? Come running with tears in your eyes to your mommy about what your big, mean, older brother did to you? His father will certainly not be one to help you for that matter, that’s for damn sure. Who the hell will believe you then? No one. Fucking nobody. Inadvertently handing him free range to do whatever he so pleases with you, whenever, where the fuck ever. Oh, but it won’t only stop there, y’know. Ruining you fully for the sake of his own selfish pleasure, corrupt that naive view of yours that has you blush bashfully at a bunch of lewd illustrations plastered onto the printed pages. Soon enough, the majority of your days will be lazily spent in his room, leaking cock dribbling profusely from the kitten licks you’ll so cutely give him then while he absentmindedly scrolls on his phone, grinning proudly as you inevitably beg for more of him. And shit, Whitney isn’t one to disappoint either — he’ll have you rightfully rewarded for such behaviour, in public to be exact. Clip a nice, leathered collar around your neck along with a leash too, tug at it a bit to show off his newfound pet, his loyal little brother that sloppily sucks him off and happily sinks onto his hefty cock at a mere snap of his fingers. Drives him fuckin’ crazy merely thinking about it.

That’s right, suck on your big brother’s fat cock to selfishly earn his twisted love, his blind adoration and protection of your being. His pet. His slut. His beloved baby brother. His now blood, flesh and soul tainted thoroughly by him himself. Personally service him on your knees like the whore that he knows you are. Fucking get on your knees and earn it.

All too soon, despite wanting to stretch this further solely to ingrain the addictive noises of your stifled whimpers and drooling mouth inside his perverted mind, visibly struggling to take him all in as he shamelessly used your throat like some sort of flesh light stretched to the hilt — He can feel himself reach the brink of his limit, confident hips stuttering in their steady thrusts to greedily bury the tip of his quivering cock into the back of your throat one last time. “F-Fuck. Stay like that — just fucking stay like that.” He hissed sharply between strained curses, head thrown back like some cheap virgin whore who’s just received his first ever mind blowing blow job. The familiar overwhelming heat curling in the curve of his belly, like a coiling string on the verge of popping. Balls tightening in need, pulsing spurts of his fat load squirting out of the head of his cock to messily splatter across the surface of your pretty fucking face, ruining you for his own amusement.

Should’ve busted his load down your throat just to hungrily watch you swallow it down, though he supposes that the cum stained look adorning your pretty face is a sight to behold on its own, taking a good minute to appreciate the mess before him.

A blank, pristine canvas that he had helped ruin and stain with the filth of his very own actions.

It suits you, really.

“That’s a — hah, good boy.” Whitney heaved roughly between ragged breaths, the uncharacteristically gentle praise laced in his tone differing from his usually sadistic nature. If it weren’t for the sticky mess that obscured your vision along with the heat of his sweating palm placed flat across your forehead, you’d notice the strange fond, warmth that had settled into his softening gaze, a sort of reverence in of itself. “My good fucking boy.”

“So good for big brother, aren’t you?” He smirks knowingly at your hitched gasps of breaths, struggling so stupidly to form back a snarky insult as per usual.

Ah, he gets it now — really fucking gets it, glazed over eyes settling onto your evidently hard, twitching cock still tented pitifully against the front of your jeans, frantically humping at the air like some sort of rabid, horny and untrained puppy in heat, tongue lolling out. Aw, so fuckin’ cute when you’re cock drunk and needy for big brother. Makes him wanna do it all over again.

For that, he should be properly training you then.

“Whitney— fuckin’ cmon, please.” Whining so pathetically in a way that sends a jolt straight down through his spent cock, immediately standing up to attention once more. You’re really asking for it, fuck.

So damn cute, but so impatient too. Maybe he should fuck your virgin ass next, stuff it full of his cum and see what happens to that bratty mouth of yours then. Shut you up a bit.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just— keep still for me.”

Well, can’t be having his little new pet go frustratingly neglected like that, can he?

—

Kylar, your precious little sister, all too eager to be the first, but the second to sink her mark into you. Convince you a bit more.

Needy as she was, she wasn’t as bad as the rest that inhabited this sick place you reluctantly called home, a flicker of warmth among the distant coldness that resided in this house. Much unlike her brother, the dark haired girl didn’t seem to dislike you in the slightest, often shooting you the smallest of smiles whenever you two briefly locked eyes at the dinner table or in the shared hallways by mere coincidence.

‘Course, she did have her questionable moments whenever you caught her rifling through your drawers, namely the ones where your underwear lay neatly folded in the cubicle space. Promptly muttering out an unbelievable excuse as to why she needed your boxers before bolting past your stunned self, red in the face. Or that time she had decided to curl up onto your bed, lovingly burying her nose into the warm, silken sheets that you slept in, relishing in that sweet scent of yours she’d catch a whiff of as you drew closer next to her at the table.

..Yeah, she certainly had unresolved issues, but it beat the constant poking fun at that Whitney would do. The rough shoving into the metallic lockers that’d clank heavily from your weight, the shared snickering that came along with it and the forced blow jobs that you had somehow eased into over time despite yourself. Fuck, why were you even thinking of that asshole?

Freak or not, she didn’t harbour any of the senseless cruelty this town had to selflessly offer and that was good enough. Enough so that you had found yourself increasingly spending more and more of your time with Kylar whenever you weren’t forcibly dragged along to some shoddy place your big brother roped you into, leaving the loner to her own whims for the day.

So it was no surprise then when the two of you grew closer, a little more than you had expected so to be the one sat onto her worn out bed, her hideaway — she’d call it, a moment of respite from the constant teasing she had to go through from her older brother. A means of escape, perhaps? And for you, it was no different either, all the same. Gladly listening to her overexcited rambling about this and that, about the fine mangas she had newly bought at the local, dusty library, the half priced anime figurines she had found on display beyond the glassy windows that separated them — matching pearly bracelets made of shiny gems and rocks carefully picked at the park she’d sow together to gleefully tuck around your wrist, whining sorrowfully at her own being too loose for her delicate wrists. Cute. Your little sister was real fucking cute, more so than you’d like to admit at times.

So much so you couldn’t ignore the growing knots in the pit of your stomach whenever your knees fortuitously bumped against each other, a sign — a silent, repetitive warning of your shared proximity that was crossing past the treacherous line of two mere siblings. Yeah. Okay. So you found her cute, so what? Big fucking deal. Plenty of guys found a girl cute, didn’t mean jack shit, didn’t mean they wanted to fuck her till she clenched pathetically around them, sniffling miserably at being fucked brutally by their kind, soft-spoken big brother they naively put their trust into. Right, that’s what you were. Nothing more. A responsible big brother she could certainly put her faith into since her other piece of shit brother couldn’t bother with that shitty role, something you’d curse him for on the daily. One she could seek out at a moment’s notice, spend time with to her heart’s content like a normal, unsuspecting relationship between siblings should be.

Not some perverted creep of a big brother who’d steal periodic glances her way, instinctively trailing down to the soft, plump and pink flesh of her parted lips, glistening sinfully from the wetness of her saliva — a habit she unconsciously did despite claiming not to. Gulping thickly, you hadn’t registered how her seamless chatter had ceased to a stop, deafening silence befalling upon the both of you as you stared at each other like some sort of stiff actors awaiting for the next act on stage. Wait, were you staring? Fuck, you were — and she hadn’t failed to notice by the looks of it, blooming flush adorning her pretty, pale cheeks you’d like to press gentle, reassuring kisses to, squeeze under the weight of your palm. Maybe have her spill a few stray droplets of tears across the rosy surface while you’re at it, make her cry the same way Whitney did.

Oh, you’re such a fucking bastard for this one.

“W-What is it? Do I have something on my face?” Her sudden squeak had you stilling in your tracks, twisting the spread sheets without meaning to from the timid pitch of her shrill voice. Look at her, trying to hide behind her torn sleeves in an attempt to draw attention away from her bashful blush, becoming a fidgeting mess under your gaze.

Fuck, no. It was more than that, Kylar. It was the pout of your lips that you wore, the black strands of hair that frames your face so beautifully, the exposed sliver of skin of your thighs from that short skirt you slipped on. It was all you, but dammit all — fuck.

“Hm? No, it’s nothing — really.” Liar. Drawing back to create a manageable amount of space between you both, a reminder not to act upon those disgusting urges of yours, better not to. Bad idea to be thinking with your dick, no man’s ever made a reliable decision with that one. Even so, Whitney did it with you and — nothing particularly bad happened, did it? Would it be so wrong, if you were to do the same? Selfishly grasp for what you so dangerously desire, drop meaningless hints here and there to care for her wants, such a gentler option than any other boy could ever treat your dearest little sister?

Would it?

Too lost in your endless train of thoughts, your eyes connecting with Kylar’s green own that bore with such intensity you hadn’t seen before, almost as if contemplating — no, waiting for something to happen. Though you couldn’t tell what it was, her actions were enough so to speak on their own with how she shifted considerably towards you, used mattress dipping from the creaking weight over the wooden floorboards. Ah, was she..?

“Ky—?”

Before your mind was even fully given the chance to process it, like the leap taken before the shuddering dip of a waterfall, her inexperienced, virgin lips clumsily smashed into yours, knocking the wind out of the both of you from the abrupt step taken by your little sister. Sweet. So sweet. Pink tongue tentatively swiping along the scarlet cut of your bottom lip, ushered gasps accompanied by startled squeaks as she timidly gave you what she thought was a simple kiss, but felt more like a pornographic make out session with how she so desperately shoved her tongue deeper. More. Wants more of this, more of that honeyed taste she yearned to savour, to finally enjoy while her other dumb brother so greedily took you away every time she wished to be the one at your side instead. It wasn’t fair, not fair at all! He’s so mean, so why does he get to string you along whenever he so pleases? Should be her, only be her to fill that solemn space. Only her, only her—

“W-Wait, wait— Kyl— fuck.”

As if struck by the weight of what she had just done, the loner recoiled back instantly in a fit of panic from the sheer brashness of her actions. Oh, how could she let herself so easily fall to such temptations? What if you hated her now? Or worse, were repulsed by the kiss? Wouldn’t be able to live it down then, quivering lips and bubbling tears threatening to spill freely down the length of her flushing cheeks from her overactive imagination running rampant — because she’d rather die than to have you loathe her so.

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to— umm.. I thought that maybe you.. wanted me to—“ The girl stuttered uselessly, trailing off in an aimless direction only to shrink back in her unbecoming position. Silence only answered her in return which she took as the harsh reality of rejection, mustering up all the courage she possibly had in her lithe frame to at the very least subtly peek at the current expression painted along your face. Would it be anger? Disgust? Disappointment even? Surely if you hated it that much, you’d have plainly kicked her right off the bed by now, right? Storm out in a fit of shock and never so much as glance her way again.

The sight to greet her instead wasn’t an unwelcome one though — no, far from it actually, her gaze deliberately falling upon the blazing flush of your face down to the evident bulge straining painfully between your legs, palm nervously placed over it in a half-assed attempt to keep your dignity at bay — shit. It’s one thing to be kissed by your younger sister but to get fucking hard from it is like shameful admission on its own, a visceral reaction that could not be denied no matter what reasonable excuses may tumble from your lips. “..It’s fine. I don’t mind, actually.” You’re really no better than Whitney in that aspect, but when an opportunity presents itself, it’s only fair to mindlessly grasp for it, is it not? More worrying is the debauched idea that forms in your mind in regard to the enamoured expression worn by her wobbly lips and wide-eyed look, not-so-subtly rubbing her plush thighs together in a hint of arousal. Oh, so that’s how it is. If the sloppy kiss itself didn’t confirm it then this surely did, a surge of confidence rushing momentarily through your body at your next actions. “Like I said, it’s fine, Ky.” That fucking nickname again. Unable to stop yourself from dragging your cute little sister closer towards you till she consequently found herself comfortably placed onto your lap, blinking stupidly at the bold move done by her normally gloomy, big brother. Silly girl.

“Siblings do it all the time, it’s not weird. It’s natural.” Lying through your goddamn teeth with a certain ease that even surprises you internally, but oh, is it so worth it as her viridescent eyes glimmer brightly to the whispered reassurance in your casual tone, acceptance easily slipping through. “But Whitney and I don’t—“ She starts, only for you to immediately latch onto her endless questioning with the seed having already been planted, too late to fucking back out now. “You and I are different. I’m nice to you and you’re nice to me, so it’s normal if you want to. We can do that cuz’ everyone else does it, alright? You don’t have to be shy with me about it, Ky.” Every carefully measured word to make it seem as though this was the norm, knowing fully you’d be seen as freaks and degenerates by your peers attending the nearby school. Not that they didn’t already think so with Kylar, the rumors having grown out to such an unhealthy proportion that it pestered the poor girl at every corner in the narrow hallways. Poor thing.

So isn’t it your job as her big brother to make it all go away? Make her feel better.

“Shh, just let me..” Soothing circles rhythmically rubbed in a recognizable pattern along the edges of her skirt, repeated affirmations of want so as to ease her chattering mind over the possible morality of this newfound situation. Could’ve said no if she didn’t secretly desire this, though her actions seem to say so otherwise with how she earnestly complies, willingly tucking her arms to her sides to let your hands do the rest. Good girl. So docile, like a porcelain doll, sharpening breaths noticeably deepening from the careful tugs of her short skirt, revealing the confirmation of her depraved wants as the wet patch of slick soaking through her plain, white panties is bared. Your adorable little sister isn’t so innocent as you thought, is she? Contrary to her modest choice of underwear. Getting fucking wet solely from being leered at so openly by her step brother, even going so far as to spread her soft legs for better viewing.

“See? Isn’t it frustrating to be left all worked up like this?” Agreeing nods promptly interrupted by the press of your thumb against her clothed slit, such a sweet, hitched gasp elicited from the lazy circles traced onto her swollen, twitching clit. A free view of your younger sister’s scrunched up expression morphing to one of pure, unadulterated pleasure, scarred fingertips tightly clutching at the fabric of your shirt, but that’s the least of your concerns at the moment, really. “This good?” There’s no real need to ask when you can naturally rely on the shivering of her dainty figure, breathy moans of y-yes and feels good! along with the guiding of her needy fingers, flush against her slicked heat. A flick of your thumb is all it takes to have her turn into a babbling mess, bucking her hips up to meet your cupped palm, incidentally grinding onto your aching hard-on. “S-Shit, okay. Look at you, hah — so fucking wet already.” Barely able to discern the own pitch of your voice, but who the fuck is supposed to properly maintain their composure when your little sister is so prettily begging for your cock?

Effortlessly peeling away at the sticky fabric of her cotton panties, slipping it down the length of her legs to thoughtlessly throw away onto the wooden floor beneath. No time to fucking think, not with how cute her cunt looks, pink and dripping with slick coating the smooth surface of her inner thighs. Ah, and she’s already impatiently fumbling with your belt too, smiling so happily once it loosens to eventually tug your own underwear down too, leaking cock eagerly springing free from its restraints. “Want it that bad, lil sis?” Fuck, does it feel wrong to even be calling her so in your current predicament, yet so damn right too. The pleading nods, urgently clinging to your frame to press against as she grinds her sopping cunt along your flushed tip, whining whenever it knocks just right up against her puffy clit, squelching from the melding fluids. “W-Want it, want it inside, please.”

“B-Big brother—“

As much as you like the high-pitched mumblings of your dearest Kylar, there’s really only so much edging you can take before promptly snapping your hips up in tandem with her own, relishing in the slippery warmth that lovingly welcomes you, stretched folds accommodating to the sheer girth of your length. “Oh, fuck — Fuck, just relax for me. You feel so.. hah, so good.” Collectively sighing in relief at the intrusion of your pulsing cock squeezed so nicely by her constricting walls, having to steel yourself from the tight suck of her cunt snugly wrapped around your tip. “You’re doing so good for me, taking me so well.” Softly hushing her breathy whines intertwined with a mix of pain and pleasure, fingertips digging harshly in the tender flesh of her hips to guide her quivering frame up and down the length of your cock. Isn’t this what she wanted after all? Such a quick learner too, steadily bouncing to match the pace you had set, your wandering hands slipping past the hem of her loose shirt to greedily palm at her perky breasts which prompts another moan to exit her parted lips. Uncaring for the increasingly noticeable squeaking of the worn mattress when your little sis is so cutely riding you, doing her very best to satisfy your immoral urges and have you mark her slicked insides with your seed.

“What a good sister.. So good, aren’t you?” Cute, pink tongue poking out, begging for another messy kiss pressed onto her swollen lips which you dutifully oblige with another muffled groan. Sloppily planting your own against hers, treasuring every shuddered gasp to swallow down and stifling her open mewls. It’s borderline disgusting how desperate you are, savouring every thick inch engulfed by the sloppy suck of her baby sister pussy, reappearing briefly only to bury yourself balls deep once more into her defiled cunt. Isn’t really your fault with how fucking tight she is, is it? Barely grasping the reality of the situation which is the very high possibility of being heard from outside her room right this moment, but fuck — you can’t slow down, not right now, not when you’re already on the verge of spilling your cum deep inside. Damn Whitney, the bastard. Damn to hell your parents, your indecisive mother and her new husband, this is heaven itself right here. “I’m close—“ You huff out in a sort of warning, though it’s more of an invitation to Kylar, an opportunity for you to shoot your thick seed in her wanting hole, practically locking her legs tight around your waist.

Anything for you after all, huh? Her beloved. Her darling. You just didn’t know it yet! And to say it came true on its own, openly enjoying the sensation of your fat cock instinctively fucking into her tight, little sister hole. So close.

“Cum inside me, please. Let’s finish together, big brother. I-I’m close too—“

And that’s all you really need, precise thrusts upwards hastily turning into erratic humps to lazily grind against her ass, wanting nothing more but to see the dumb, drooling, fucked out expression painted across her adorable face, the convulsing of her cunt stuffed full of your length when she does have her first ever orgasm. A few clumsy circles drawn over her used clit is all it takes to have her cumming, slick trickling out of her fluttering cunt to drip over the base of your cock and stain the pristine sheets beneath. “Ah— God, you’re so fucking tight.” Fuck, fuck, fuck — Shoving the hilt of your cock as deep as possible into your little sister’s stretched out hole to rightfully mark her pink insides with your seed, spurting out thick, white strings of cum while you fuck yourself deeper into her womb and downright have her experience her first ever accidental cream pie too. It’s only then when she pitifully whines for you to stop that you do eventually pause, hips drawing back to stare in awe at the dribbling globs of cum spilling out of her sore cunt. “S-Sorry.” You mutter out apologetically with a sigh, the tension easing out of your muscles once she giggles softly in response to your strained apology. “It’s okay. I-I liked it a lot too.”

“Did you?”

“Mhm, I did.” Kylar sleepily mumbles back with drowsy eyelids, the exhaustion washing both over you all at once from, well.. all the movement involved. Let’s leave it at that, actually. Plus you deserve the rest, don’t you? Wouldn’t be fair to leave your adorable sister all alone in her twin bed without her older brother’s body to warm it with too, yeah? It’s fine to lay yourself down next to her curled figure snuggling closely against yours, drape an arm over her waist to remind her of your presence close by, make her feel secure and at ease. A silent, ushered promise to clean her up later once you two awaken, affectionately pressing a single kiss atop her head one last time before sleep takes her first. It’s your role to as the big brother, after all, isn’t it?

“..Good.”

278 notes · View notes

chiisana666 · 15 days

Text

walk him like a dog!

synopsis: some perverts need a serious reality check.

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+ sub!perv!sanji x mean!dom!fem reader, big dick sanji, non-con voyeurism, dub con, sanji is a nasty perv fr, slapping but he likes it, blackmail?, footjob, mention of zoro x reader, sanji w/ a tongue piercing, cunnilingus, semi-public, choking, edging?, ruined orgasm, unprotected p in v, cum swapping, more stuff that I missed

wc: 3334

notes: image sourced from pinterest, credits for dividers here. not beta-read so apologies for any mistakes, I wrote this all in one sitting and was blushing like a slut the whole time. i wanna step on the stupid cook, he is so baby girl <3

There you are before him, dripping wet and pissed as hell.

He hadn’t meant for you to catch him - he didn’t even know how he ended up in there, honestly! But you knew better than to trust whatever bullshit alibi the cook spewed when you caught him poking around in the women’s changing room.

Sanji had been present when you announced your intention to unwind in an Onsen not too far from where the Thousand Sunny was docked, inviting Nami and Robin to join. Much to both your and Sanji’s disappointment, both declined, opting to turn in for the evening in preparation for setting sail the next morning. But it did not matter, you would enjoy a quiet evening soak and perhaps a nice sake after regardless.

The kindly old woman behind the reception counter of the inn was overjoyed to have a customer, and you were delighted to find the hot spring empty, all for yourself. Once behind the red curtain concealing the woman’s dressing room, you strip away your sun-bleached top and tight shorts, undergarments following suit. You neatly fold the articles and put them into one of the numerous empty baskets on the shelf, placing your shoes aside. Wrapping yourself in a fluffy white towel that the old lady had given you, you entered the bathing area, sliding the door shut behind you. Hanging your towel on a nearby hook, you gingerly dip a toe in the water, before slipping fully in. The steamy water welcomes your aching muscles, tenderly loosening the knots tethered across your neck and shoulders. You sigh pleasantly and relax against the rock behind you, eyelids drooping shut as you sink further.

Unbeknownst that steps away lurks an all-too-familiar face. It had been easy enough for Sanji to slip away after you, claiming he too yearned for a soak. Really, he thought it was a nice idea and meant to enjoy some relaxation himself. But the obvious lack of customers and the late hour were all too tempting, and Sanji easily slipped through the red curtains rather than the blue.

He was just going to take a quick look, and then go to the men’s side. He peeks inside the only occupied basket and goes red in the face as he is greeted by your cotton panties neatly placed on top. Just once and then he’ll leave. Sanji presses his nose against the crotch and inhales deeply. It was intoxicating. His left-hand gropes at his hardening cock through his black pants, and one turned into two, and two turned into three.

Sanji’s gaze steadily lingers towards the sliding doors to the spring, he can hear you faintly humming a familiar tune. Perhaps he can just take a quick glance, and then he swears he will leave. He creeps towards the doors, your panties still clutched in his right hand. Using the greatest care, he inches it open, just enough to reveal a sliver of the scene it obscured. There you are - just a slice but enough to send Sanji reeling - leaning against a large rock, your locks messily done up to keep them dry, the swell of your breasts peeking above the water line, all while the hum of your sweet voice flitters through the air.

His eyes roll back as he raises your underwear to his face again, sliding his hand beneath his pants and giving his dick a firm squeeze. He wants to burn the image of you into his mind, eyes peeping open occasionally to ensure all the details are correct. His left hand fists at his stiff member as he imagines what more lay beneath the water’s edge. Sanji groans lowly while he pictures how your pretty panties snuggly grip your ass, or the heavenly sight of it slapping against his thighs while he drills into you from behind. He swore he could hear the sweet chirps that would fall from your supple lips, begging him for more, harder.

Sanji was close, just a little more and then he could cum and leave, and you would be none the wiser. He moans again, a little less mindful that you were mere feet away. He tugs at his cock, feeling his balls tightening just as he is about to-

BOOM!

Sanji topples backward, his tailbone smacking against the wooden floorboards while his hands fly behind to catch himself. He snaps out of his daze on impact and meets you with a shocked expression.

While enthralled in the depths of his disgusting, perverted mind, Sanji had failed to notice that you had left the springs and toweled off. It was during this that you heard a quiet groan, so faint you almost missed it. Initially fearing someone, perhaps the old woman, maybe hurt, you wrapped yourself up and hurried towards the doors. But then, you halted right before them, noticing the tiniest crack between the door and the frame. Through this, you caught the smallest glimpse of blonde hair and immediately slammed the door open.

So now, there you are, dripping wet and pissed as hell. Your towel is clutched against your nude body, hair now freed from its’ confines. Your jaw clenches tightly, and Sanji swears he can see the steam blowing out of your ears.

“Why you-! You vile little- you, you!” Words cannot express the admonishment you feel in this moment as you take in the cook: his belt hangs unbuckled, button and fly open to expose his hard dick pressing against his boxers, begging to be freed. His face is flushed, blonde hair damp from steam and sweat. And your crumpled panties lie next to him, evident drool marks littering them.

You growl and lunge at him, your hand tangling with his locks and yanking him into the bathing area, before slamming the door shut behind him.

“What is wrong with you!” You shriek, letting go of his hair and flailing your arms around. Sanji falls to his knees and peers up at you, bottom lip slightly quivering. He wasn’t sure if he should be turned on or fear for his life. Likely the latter, but he was more so feeling the former.

“I cannot believe that you would- argh!” You reel back, right hand striking his left cheek with a loud smack! Sanji’s head jerks to the side as he falls forward onto his hands, a loud, shameless moan echoing around you. His cheek tingles and burns as blood rushes back to his cock, reminding him of the orgasm you had stolen from him moments prior. You stare at him for a moment, shocked at his unconventional reaction. Then, you squat to his level, and, using the same hand you just struck him with, you grab at his hair again and force his face up to meet yours.

“You disgust me, Sanji,” you spit, noticing the ill-defined outline of your palm and fingers on his cheek. You might want to fuck him up, but if he is going to behave this way, you might as well enjoy yourself too, “Perverts like you are good for nothing, right?” You give another yank, sending shockwaves through his scalp and down to his cock.

“Right?” You ask again, more aggressively due to his lack of response. His eyes clench shut, afraid he may cum the second he meets yours, “Look at me when I speak to you, mutt.” Your hand moves to grip his face, fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing his lower jaw to hang open. The tip of his pink tongue pokes out as he gazes at you, half-lidded, while your head moves closer to his.

“Yeth!” he lisps through puckered lips, wincing at the crushing force bruising against his tender cheek, dick twitched in his pants. You smirk at his pure patheticness, humming contently in response.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” You stand up abruptly, pulling him back onto his knees by his jaw, which continues to prove just how much he enjoyed this. Sanji could easily free himself from your grasp if he wanted to, and yet he lies limp while you drag him around like a ragdoll.

With one foot planted firmly into the stone ground, your other traces up his thigh to his covered cock. You press the ball into his shaft, eliciting a guttural moan from Sanji’s chest, gurgling on the spit that had accumulated in his mouth as a result of the grip on his jaw. Running your toes up and down his length, you sigh, hand moving to regain his locks once more. You massage the crown of his skull soothingly, tilting his head upwards while you lean over him.

“Why shouldn’t I just tell everyone,” You purr in his ear, biting at the lobe, “the cook is a nasty pervert that peeps on girls. Imagine what the crew would say?” Sanji’s eyes shot open, what would he do if everyone found out about this incident? They knew he could be obsessive, but this was entirely different than just fawning over pretty women. Surely, they will kick him off the ship, drop him on some island in the Grand Line, and never turn back. Or worse, perhaps he will be thrown overboard to whatever creature lurks beneath the waves.

You sense his fear and giggle, placing a wet kiss on his jaw, “Guess you’ll have to convince me to keep my mouth shut.” Your toes curl under the waistline of his boxers, tugging at it so it slaps against his hip bone with a thwack! Sanji leans into the kisses you sloppily pepper along his cheek before a firm pull at his neck alerts him.

“Off,” you demand, fingers wrapped around his black tie. Stepping back, you watch as Sanji’s trembling hands undo his tie and unfasten the buttons of his blue-stripped dress shirt, discarding both to the side. He looks back at you, eyes pleading for your touch once more. You stare at him like he is stupid and scoff, “Everything, mutt!”

Sanji makes quick work of the rest of his clothing, kicking off his shoes and yanking down his pants and boxers in one motion, thumbs peeling off his socks last. He sits back on his forearms, fully nude, dick standing proudly against his lower abdomen. You feel your mouth salivate and thighs clench together at the glorious state of him. No matter how much you want to despise Sanji, you can never deny how beautiful he was, and even more so his dick was. The mushroom head is flushed red, angry, and leaking globs of precum. He is larger than you had expected, seeing as most perverts sported little cocks to juxtapose their massive egos.

But no, Sanji impresses you in both length and girth, possibly rivaling Zoro’s dick which had fucked you stupid on more than one drunken occasion. And his hefty balls that hang between his spread thighs are the cherry on top.

You leisurely untuck your towel and let it slip down your body, exposing your lusciousness to Sanji. He sighs, cock bouncing.

“Well?” you ask, arms crossing and eyebrow quirking, beckoning him to make the next move. He crawls toward you and rests on his haunches, thick hands grabbing at your calf while he leans down to kiss at your ankle. The fine hairs of his mustache tickle with each smooch, and the scruff of his beard drags behind them. Sanji puckers moist, messy kisses up your calf and across your thigh, creeping past your perfect cunt while his hands caress your hips and ass. He licks and suckles marks across your pelvis, pulling you into his body, your hands reaching down to steady yourself on his shoulders.

His striking eyes bear up into yours as he grabs your right leg, hooking it over his left shoulder and pulling your cunt to his face. Sanji flattens his tongue against your damp core, and you jump at a cool metallic feeling on your clit. He licks a languid strip up towards your mound, flicking slowly, obviously showing off the barbell pierced through his fat tongue.

Sanji devours you, switching between fucking your sopping hole with the thick pink tip of his tongue and tickling over your clit with his piercing. The firm grip he has on your waist and thigh is all that is keeping you up, entranced in the methodical rhythm of grinding your hips on his face, one of your hands stroking through his golden locks.

Sanji can feel his dick twitching and throbbing at your sultry gyrations, desperately wanting to feel your sweet cunt milking it. He groans into your cunt at the thought, vibrating your clit.

“F-fuck San-ji,” you keel over him, pressing his face impossibly closer to you. You can feel a familiar pressure thumping deep within your abdomen, a slow ascension beginning. You so badly want to cum all over his stupid face, but you cannot erase the image of his gorgeous cock from your thoughts. Much to your own dismay, you push his head away from your core, dropping your shaking leg and pushing at his shoulders. Sanji gets the hint and lays back across the stone floor, shivering at the coolness despite the billowing warmth of the hot spring steps away.

You drop to kneel above his hips, dripping cunt hovering inches above his thick, weepy cock. You trace your hands across his broad chest, pinching at his nipples and scratching at his pectorals with your nails, before finally taking purchase at his throat. You give a gentle squeeze and his hands, which now rest on your hips, offer one in return. You giggle at the somewhat cute exchange, leaning down to meet his lips with yours. The kiss was gentle, lulling you into forgetting how this exchange even began. His tongue dances with yours, sweeping around your mouth, piercing clicking against the back of your teeth.

You drop your hips to grind your wetness up and down his length, soaking his cock and balls with your sweet juices. Sanji bucks his hips up into yours in response, exchanging moans through kisses. The pudgy tip prods at your hole, hooking at your clit – although this alone was heavenly, you can feel your patience growing thinner with each thrust.

Breaking free from his lips, you left one hand wrapped around his neck, keeping yourself propped up, while the other reached behind you. You position his tip at your entrance, inching yourself downward on his cock, slowly split yourself open. He fills you up almost too perfectly, head massaging your spongy walls as you begin to fuck your tight pussy up and down his length.

Sanji’s eyes clenched shut; he knew he wasn’t going to last long, and it was taking everything in him not to stuff you full of his creamy seed right there. His grip on your hips tightened, alerting you to his nearing peak. You snapped your hips against his harder, ass slapping against his heavy balls while his tip prodded aggressively within you. Your greedy cunt sucks his cock in, clinging like a vise. Sanji’s breaths become shorter and more exasperated, eyes rolling back as he feels his balls tighten with the grip you had on his neck. He was so close, so so close-

And then you stopped, completely halting the movement of your hips within a second.

“Nooo!-“ Sanji whines, but is cut off with a harsh smack to the left side of his face with the backside of your hand.

“Shut up.” You command sternly, a harsh contrast to the sweetness of your earlier kisses, “Why the fuck would I let you come before me? Are you that fucking stupid, mutt?” Your degrading words send a shudder down his spine.

“You’ll be lucky if I let you come at all,” you chuckle at the flash of fear that ran through his eyes, mimicking his earlier panic. Leaning back, you release his neck and rest your hand on his thigh behind you. Your other reaches down to grasp the base of his cock in an ‘o’ shape, acting as a make-shift cock ring.

You grind your cunt down onto his pelvis, his groomed pubic hairs tickling at your clit while his dick kneads your walls. You sigh in contentment as you resume your bouncing, your juices making it easier to accommodate his thick length.

Sanji can already feel his high creeping in again, stomach tightening while he thrusts his hips up into you to the best of his ability. But the tight grip you had on the base of his cock inhibits him from toppling over the edge. He wants to cry, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he starts to babble at you.

“Pl-please baby- fuck- please let me c-cum inside of you,” He sobs pathetically, drool dribbling from the corner of his swollen lips. His wet eyes peek open to meet yours, hoping to find a shred of mercy but only to be met with malice. You grin wickedly at him as you slam yourself down on his thick cock, abusing your own cunt.

“Wanna fill me up, hmm? Tch- as if,” you jeer, purposefully clenching your walls around his aching dick. Another sob wracks his body as Sanji tenses, trying desperately to loosen your hold just enough for him to cum. But, if anything, you tighten it impossibly more, bouncing on him faster and faster, “You should be grateful I even let you stick it in my pussy.”

You throw your head back, feeling your core tighten and your legs begin to give out. Your own peak was right there, and you barrel towards it like a mad woman. Your bounces become sloppy, turning into messy thrusts as your climax hits. Your toes curl as bliss encapsulates your mind, your essence flooding your walls and coating his length. The clenching of your pussy around his length as you ride out your high is unbearable, and tears stream down Sanji’s cheeks while you selfishly abuse his poor dick.

The roll of your hips becomes more controlled and rhythmic as you come down, rolling your head and shoulders as you ground yourself back into reality. The tight hold you have on the base of Sanji’s cock does not let up once, leaving him dangling by a thread while you revel in your release.

You give him a look of pity, offering a warm smile as you tenderly slide up and down his dick. His breathing is still heavy, tears still flowing.

“Alright, alright,” You give in half-heartedly, slipping him out of your sore, sopping cunt.

“Wait, no!-“

“Cum,” you interrupt, releasing your grip and delivering a harsh flick to his puffy tip. Sanji screams as spurts of hot cum coat his stomach, hips thrusting violently in search of anything to fuck him through his orgasm. He tries to reach a palm to fist his cock, but your hands snatch his wrists and prevent any relief they could have brought.

It takes several moments for Sanji’s incessant whimpering and bucking to subside, leaving thick globs of seed painted across his abdomen. You scoop some of his cum up with two fingers, bringing them to your mouth to suck them clean, moaning at the taste. He is salty and slightly musky, likely from the copious amounts of cigarettes he smokes. But there is a delicate saccharine taste that lingers on your tastebuds. You swish the cum around with some saliva, leaning down to capture Sanji’s pouty lips in yours, spitting the mixture into his mouth. He swallows without even having to be asked.

Your bare chest relaxes against his, skin sticking together, while you gingerly nip and suckle on his lips, arms caging his head and fingers playing with his hair. You lay with him for many moments, relishing in the brief intimacy.

“Chérie…” Sanji groans wantonly, but you hush him before he can continue.

“I think we can work out an arrangement, cook. In exchange for me keeping your nasty secret.”

#sanji x reader #sanji smut #sanji x you #one piece x reader #one piece smut

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mangoisms · 10 months

Text

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter one: on my way to circle k

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.3k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The Slurpee machine is broken again.

It isn’t that big of an issue, not particularly world-ending, no, especially since you get regularly held at gunpoint (or knifepoint) and occasionally used as a hostage.

But for you, working the night shift from eleven PM to seven AM, you kind of need the sugar boost. The Slurpees are easier on your stomach than the coffee is. Even if they do stain your mouth.

You sigh, continuing to stare at the machine; it whirs and sputters strangely and you set aside the cup to shut it off. You’ll also need to file the paperwork for it to be fixed. That seriously blows.

You get it unplugged just as the gust of wind hits.

You stumble. Shelves groan in protest. Several rows of granola bars and trail mix are sent flying.

Oh, great, who is it now—

You hear your name in a question, from a very familiar voice.

You spit out a mouthful of your hair. “Flash?”

Sure enough, in the flesh, the Flash grins at you, blue lightning fading from his body. He spreads his arms as he exclaims your name again.

In a blink, he is there, arms wrapping around you, lifting you off the ground as he squeezes the life out of you. Another blink and you’re on the ground, looking at him, his hand on your shoulder.

“Look at you, kid. It’s good to see you. I can’t believe you’re still working here.”

A stupid grin forms on your lips. “It’s not the same here without you eating up our inventory.”

He laughs. “I bet!”

You shake your head, fixing your hair and your shirt. Flash notices the state of the granola bars and trail mix, sends you an apologetic smile, and in the next blink, they are back on the shelves, neatly arranged.

“So, what brings you here? If you can answer that.”

He waves a hand, flitting around, emptying the sausage grill and making himself several hot dogs.

“One of the rogues got a little, shall we say, ambitious and wanted to try his luck here. Just trying to snatch him up before Batman finds out.”

“Let me guess—Trickster?”

He points a hot dog loaded with mustard and ketchup at you. “Bingo.”

“It’s dripping.”

“Aw, shit.” He shoves the rest of the hot dog in his mouth, grabs a napkin, and starts dabbing at the spot of mustard on his suit.

You watch him, amused, but also morbidly fascinated as usual at seeing him eat so much. When he finishes the hot dogs, he goes for the pizza. It makes sense when you think about it, that a guy who can run faster than the speed of light should need to eat so much, but it’s been a while since you’ve had the pleasure of watching him refuel. Six months, actually, since you returned from Keystone City.

You scratch your head. “I’m not sure why Trickster would want to come here. Batman, I think, is a worse punishment than you—”

“Agree, even if that’s also a little insulting to me.”

“Oh, you know what I mean. You’re avoiding him, aren’t you?”

Flash nods. “This is true. Carry on.”

“Well… Gotham already has a joke-themed guy. I don’t think Joker is going to take too kindly to someone encroaching on that. Unless he’s back in Arkham. Though he might’ve escaped again…”

“Y’see, that’s what I thought. It’s gonna sound bad, too, but I’m kinda hoping those two take care of each other, then I can get Trickster back to Iron Heights without any issues. But—”

You crack a smile, guessing his next words immediately. “When is it ever that easy?”

You had once believed the Flash to be just about infallible. After all, he is the Flash. This is the guy who, like you said, can run faster than the speed of light. He can canvas a city in under a minute. That’s how he takes care of Central City and Keystone City. (Well, the addition of the other Flash and Kid Flash probably help, too, but you know.)

But it’s not that easy. It’s why, you think, Metropolis has issues, even when they have Superman.

No rest for the wicked and all.

“Well, it’s still good to see you,” you say, a tad more hesitantly this time. Unsure if you can say that.

Flash looks back at you, sending you a warm smile. “It’s good to see you, too. How’s school?”

“No classes now. Financial aid doesn’t cover the summer, so.”

He frowns. “You’re still on track to graduate next year, though, right?”

You pause, surprised he remembered you saying that. “Yeah, yeah, I am.”

Flash nods, worries assuaged, then his gaze strays to the Slurpee machine, its lights turned off. “Aw, it’s not working?”

“Not today, sorry.”

He purses his lips, head tilting as he looks at the counter where the machine and your abandoned cup are.

“Wait a second,” he says, then the food that was in his hands is on the counter and he’s gone with arcs of blue lightning following him, a tingly feeling spreading through your fingertips and toes, like when you used to be a kid and dragged your hands across those old TV screens, feeling the static.

True to his word, in the next second, he is in front of you, two Slurpees in hand. One blue raspberry and another cherry.

You grin as he proudly presents the blue raspberry Slurpee to you.

“Thanks.”

He winks. “My pleasure.”

He collects his food again then gestures to the front with his head. Sipping at the ice-cold Slurpee, you follow him, sliding behind the counter.

“Time to head off?” you guess, ringing up the food he already ate, then the rest of the stuff.

He slips out a few bills from a hidden pocket at his hip. “Yeah, I need to go before—”

“Flash!” The door opens roughly. You balk as you see who it is. “Seriously? You can’t just run off. You’re just as bad as Impulse sometimes, I swear.”

Red Robin stands there, hands on his hips, scowling, doing a good impression of a teacher scolding a student, which is really weird for you, since you’ve always held a good dose of fear and respect for the Bats and this doesn’t really… go on par with that. And also, you’re pretty sure Flash is older than him.

Flash frowns. “Now that’s seriously uncalled for. I’m much better than he is. We were done talking, weren’t we? You’d call me if you found anything and it’s not like it would take me time to get there, would it?”

Red Robin doesn’t respond to that, mostly because he’s looking at you now. You’ve never seen him up close — any of them up close. Black fair falls sharply over his forehead, a black domino mask hiding his eyes. Not like a normal one; this one allows for more coverage under his eyes, going down to his nose, the end of which curves in a way reminiscent of a bird. But under the bright fluorescents of Circle K, everything else is easy to make out. Pale skin, a sharp jaw, a soft-looking mouth.

Great. He’s hot. And something else… something that niggles at you. Familiar in a way that bothers you because you’ve never seen him in person. Not like this.

You swallow nervously, giving him a half-hearted wave. The action jars him and he looks away from you quickly.

“Hey, don’t be mean to her,” Flash chides. “Seriously. Look at her. You’ve made her nervous.”

“Flash.”

He shoots you a troublesome grin. “Nah, don’t worry about him, kid. He’s harmless.”

“Flash,” Red Robin hisses out, his voice sounding stranger than before, modulated, in a way.

You compose yourself, giving Flash a look. “You know better than that. Perception means everything.”

“That is true,” he says. “But believe me. If fear worked as well as they’d like it to, Gotham would be the safest city in the country.”

A long-suffering sigh. Red Robin is turned away now and by the movement of his arm, pinching the bridge of his nose, exasperated.

“Hey, I’m not wrong,” he says to him, even despite you silently waving for him to drop it. “Look, fear is fine and all. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with nurturing relationships with the people you protect. That’s what I did with you, isn’t it, kid?”

“Yeah, but I’m also not, you know, from there…”

He collects his change. “Which is why it’s even more embarrassing that these guys make you nervous and I don’t.”

Red Robin huffs.

Flash shrugs, smirking. “Just food for thought. I’ll see you around, yeah, kiddo? Gotta get going before this guy gets annoyed enough to just tell Batman about me and then I’ll really have problems.”

Then he’s gone, blue lightning arcing in his wake. Red Robin sighs again and leaves without a word or backward glance.

You stand there for a minute, unsure if that really happened. But the signature Slurpee cup of blue raspberry, already sweating because the June heat in Gotham is unbearable and the AC is not up to task, assures you very much that that did just happen.

A little unsteady, you take a seat on the stool, shaking your head and dragging the cup to you.

At least you got to see Flash again.

You don’t see him again, which is what you expected.

What you don’t expect is the appearance of Red Robin the next night.

You’ve grown up in Gotham City. Like anyone else, you have a healthy dose of fear and respect for the vigilantes that prowl the shadows. You also, unlike Vicki Vale or any journalist or obsessive conspiracy theorist, have absolutely zero interest in interacting with them.

Usually, interacting with them means you are in grave danger.

(You had to unlearn some of that during your brief tenure in Keystone City; the Flash was a little bit different from them. Maybe more than a little bit…)

So, when Red Robin shows up at Circle K at half past one in the morning, you are… a tad wary.

It doesn’t help that he seems awkwardly frozen, too, as your voice catches in the middle of your perfunctory Hi, welcome in as you realize who it is.

For a minute, it is painfully, painfully quiet.

“Is there something—”

“Do you have any—”

You both stop. You purse your lips. Red Robin is… blushing a little bit? Holy shit.

“Go ahead,” he says, clearing his throat after. His voice still sounds off like yesterday—modulated.

You grimace. “Sorry, I was just asking if there was something going on? Should I lock down the shop or hide or something?”

He looks briefly confused. “No? I mean, no… Everything is fine. I was just wondering if you guys had any, uh—” he seems to falter, scrambling a little bit “—hot… chocolate?”

Hot chocolate in June? What a weirdo.

You keep your face straight, though.

Flash might’ve let you off the hook when it came to formalities but you’d be an idiot to think you could get away with that with these guys.

He exhales the briefest laugh at something, then—you, you realize, your expression, which should be perfectly polite, what the hell. He turns his head away as a smile curls his lips. That niggling feeling—which began as soon as you realized he was here—strengthens. You push it away for a second.

“I know. Late night. Don’t like coffee, so it’s a good alternative.”

How did he—?

Must be the detective thing.

You apologize anyway.

“Sorry. My, uh, friend’s like that, in a way,” you say, your tongue again moving faster than your brain can grapple with. He won’t care about the fact that your friend, Tim, is like that, too. Well, Tim likes the occasional energy drink if he’s staying up late because he doesn’t like coffee. Not this hot chocolate business. But maybe? Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually. Probably better than Red Bull, even if he doesn’t drink it often, maybe once or twice a month. And, anyway, it’s not the point. This guy doesn’t care. He probably couldn’t care less. You’re just trying to show him—oh, it doesn’t matter. This entire thing has gone straight to shit. All because he managed to read your judgment.

“Oh?” It’s a question but it’s a bit strangled. See? He doesn’t care. Poor guy. Probably trying to think of a way to get out of this. Well, you’ll do him one better.

“Uh, yeah… he’s—well. Doesn’t matter. Yeah, the machine is working. It’s over there.”

“Thanks.”

You nod and glance away, leaving him to cross to the other side of the store. You can’t help but watch him go, watching the way the heavy black cape swishes with his movements, boots soundless on the shitty tiled floors. He disappears behind the shelf, but his head is visible. A head of dark, dark hair that seems… familiar to you.

Ugh. What is with you?

It’s Red freakin’ Robin. You’ve glimpsed him and the others briefly. Shadows in the night, swinging from buildings, jumping from rooftops. Anybody who lives in Gotham long enough has seen the same. Doesn’t mean you know him enough to be this way, to be so bothered by something that won’t even come to mind.

You shake your head briefly.

You should think more on why he’s even here.

Though, it seems obvious, given what happened yesterday night.

Flash has a way of getting beneath your skin and inciting the most childish tendencies. You imagine his little comment about trust between vigilante and citizen bothered Red Robin.

Well, rest assured, you understand the position they are in. You enjoyed the way Flash visited you but they can’t afford that. Perception is gold. It is true, in some ways, that if it were as effective as they wanted it to be, Gotham would be less crime-ridden than it currently is.

(But that was also a conundrum with the corrupt government. So long as the systems were in place, crime would always happen, and it would take more than the Bats to fix that.)

Either way, they cannot afford for that mask to slip—metaphorically and literally.

There is a level of trust, you think, between the Bats and the people but… it’s not the same kind Flash fosters with his own.

You feel obligated to let Red Robin know that, with that, he has no obligation to do anything out of the ordinary.

So, that’s what you do when he comes back over to the counter, two small cups of hot chocolate in hand.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He turns forward with a five dollar bill in hand. “I can’t just not pay—”

“I’m not talking about that.”

He is paying. You are moderately appreciative of what they do but not that appreciative.

“So, what else is it that I don’t have to do?”

You gesture between you two. “This. Come here to try and prove the Flash wrong.”

“I’m not—”

You try to level with him.

“It’s cool, man. He can be annoying. Annoying enough that he could make anyone want to prove him wrong. I get it. But he’s also a little bit of a doof when it comes to matters of the public. Though I’m betting he was trying to aggravate you more than anything. Either way, I get it. You have an image to keep up. Do what you have to do.”

“So, you don’t want me to come back?” Not an accusation. A genuine question.

You blink. “That’s not what I said. I don’t mind. I’m just… letting you know.”

“What do you know about it, anyway? Upholding an image? You seem very confident on the do’s and don’ts, despite being a civilian.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You guys actually refer to us non-vigilantes as civilians? Like, unironically?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you with the emotionless white lids of the domino mask, lips pressed in a line.

You smile and roll your eyes, finally taking his five and opening the register. “I’m majoring in communication with a concentration in PR. Did an internship at Quickstart Enterprises last semester working with their PR department. You can say I know a thing or two about it.”

“What year?”

“Just finished my third. Starting my final in the fall. Look, I’m not saying you have to take my advice, I just wanted you to know. That’s all. I’m not holding it against you.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

You slide his change to him. “That’s all I ask.”

He picks up the cups, says, “Keep the change,” and then, he’s gone, dark cape fluttering, his figure swallowed up by the darkness of the night.

The only traces of his presence is the door slowly closing and the change still sitting on the counter.

These hero-types and their dramatic exits. Honestly.

You meet the Flash in your second week of work at Circle K.

The stipend from QE covered your housing and groceries but didn’t allow for much options regarding the latter. At least not the fresh produce kind.

So, you picked up a job at Circle K. Part-time only, which worked well with the schedule you had at QE. You typically worked evenings—not the graveyard shift you do now, which you took only because it paid better during the night—so from seven to eleven.

The Flash was different from the Bats in that regard. While Signal worked during the day, the rest of them worked during the night.

Flash told you he liked sleep, so he would take care of things during a reasonable hour in the evening to accommodate that, which meant you were beheld to his presence.

Frequently.

And the first time…

You have no idea what to make of the superhero currently raiding the sausage grill.

A larger part of you is suspicious, hoping that the Flash isn’t about to come up to you and say something arrogant about not being required to pay. A lot of the cops you get say something to that effect. It takes so much willpower in you to not roll your eyes.

But another part of you right now, the Tim part of your brain, is fascinated. Wants to ask some geeky questions about his power. Presumably, the fact that he is the fastest man alive means he has to eat a lot to sustain it, right?

Well. That one is a bit self-explanatory. At least if the way he’s stuffing his face tells you anything.

Suspicion wins out, though.

Keystone City is a nice enough city. Central City, across the river, is the same. They aren’t Gotham, that’s for sure, and sometimes you don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse.

It’s mostly that Keystone City is situated in Kansas and across the Mississippi, in Mississippi, is Central City. These regions of the country, historically conservative, make you a bit tetchy. Not at all helped by the fact that for a very long time, Keystone City was suspended in the fifties. Or rather, what they thought were the fifties. Time passed normally outside of it until the Flash fixed everything.

It gives Keystone an aesthetic old-timey vibe to it but with all the modern luxuries of the late 2010s, like phones and, you know, civil rights.

But things have been okay, for the most part. The people you encounter here at Circle K are amiable enough. (Well, except for the cops you get. You could go without dealing with those idiots.)

Though, admittedly, between work for QE and here and trying to keep yourself fed and (mostly) rested, you haven’t gotten out much.

The Flash, though… you haven’t directly encountered him. Not in your few weeks here. Sometimes when walking to the subway, you feel the sharp gust of wind, commonly associated with him as he makes his way through the city faster than a speeding bullet, glass windows and cars rattling dangerously in the aftermath of his path. On the news, when he takes down whichever rogue woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and in the newspaper. But nothing beyond that.

People speak fondly of him, for the most part. Rumors are solid sources of information but you just can’t help but be a little bit suspicious. There is such a thing as too good to be true, after all…

You reach for your half-empty cup of blue raspberry Slurpee. Though it’s the beginning of September, summer takes longer to leave the midwest, you’ve learned, and the summers here are loads worse than ones you’ve experienced in Gotham.

Before you can even get your mouth around the red straw, a breeze hits and you blink, finding the Flash in front of you, depositing mostly empty cartons of hot dogs onto the counter, with a few of them still full. On their way to being empty, though, as he crams more into his mouth. A cup of cherry Slurpee finishes it off.

The Flash points a half-eaten hot dog at you. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

You narrow your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, not like that. You’ve just got this suspicion to you. This… paranoia. A paranoia that can only belong to someone from Gotham,” he says, nodding to himself.

Well, that’s—

Hm.

A bit embarrassed to be caught out like that—because it isn’t the first time—you attempt to make up for it.

“I’m from Metropolis, actually.”

Best to stay on the east coast. Even you couldn’t pass as someone from the west coast, like Star City or Coast City or something.

Flash grins at you. “Liar.”

You aren’t used to this kind of playful banter. Certainly not from a literal superhero, from someone who regularly saves the world with the likes of Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman and more. You don’t think you expected the cold brutality the city gets from the Bats back home but… you didn’t expect this, either.

To get a much-needed sense of normalcy, you scan one of the hot dog cartons, adding them up on the screen.

“Was it that obvious? I wasn’t trying to be… I mean, I was, but, you know, I didn’t, um…”

You stop, cringing. Very eloquent and more than a little annoying, given your career choice. Can’t be like that when you get put on the spot. Even if it’s by a superhero. Especially if it’s by a superhero. Journalists are even worse, anyway…

“Relax, kid,” he laughs. “To tell you the truth, it was hard to miss but I’m sort of geared for that kind of thing, what with my choice in career.”

“Right.” You scan the Slurpee and take a drink of yours while he fiddles with some zipper in his suit. A deep red, with a purple tinge, a silver Flash symbol on his chest, and a cowl, but with the top free, showing off a shock of red hair, and his eyes still exposed. Pretty green.

“But I do have an unfair advantage,” he goes on. “I see a similar look every time I have a League meeting.”

You blink. “The League…?”

“You should know. Your caped crusader, Batman. Of course, that’s also because he doesn’t like me—and the feeling is mutual, trust me—but, you know. Schematics. He sits right across from me and that’s all I get, this classic brand of Gothamite suspicion on top of the usual wordless Batman disapproval.”

“Should you be telling me that?”

He hands you a twenty. You pop open the register to break it. Another breeze hits and the empty cartons of hot dogs are shoved into the trash, with him eating the last one and on his way to finishing the large cup of cherry-flavored Slurpee.

“I mean, what are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know,” you say lightly, calculating his change. “I could go to the press. Breaking News: Strife within the League. Tenuous relations between Batman and the Flash.”

“Oh, really?”

“That’s the press. A common dislike will absolutely turn into that in their headlines. They would take it and run.”

“That is true. You a journalist?”

“Oh, no. Communications, with a concentration in public relations.”

Flash thinks on it for a second, finishing his hot dog, then the Slurpee. You partially expect him to get angry. It would be a justified reaction. He doesn’t know you and you don’t know him. You can admit that some of what you just said is a bit… imperious. Who are you to lecture him, right?

“You aren’t wrong,” he finally says, repeating his earlier words as the last hot dog carton and Slurpee cup disappear from the counter—thrown in the trash.

“But,” he presses, accepting the change from you—a few dollars—then dropping it into your tip jar. “I know you aren’t going to take that to the press.”

“How’s that?”

He points at you. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of person to do that.”

“You’re appealing to my morals?”

“Yes. Is it working?”

“Not much work to be had,” you admit. “I was never going to. I was just…”

“Being nice and telling me I should watch what I say,” he finishes, grinning. “Which is true. All true. I just couldn’t help myself. What’s your name, kid?”

You tell him. He extends a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Keystone City. Hope you enjoy your stay.”

A bit bemused, you nod politely and say, “Thanks.”

Before he can say anything else, he visibly tenses, lifting a hand to the Hermes-like wings at his ears, then, in the next blink, he is gone, off to stop someone or something, leaving you with a sharp gust of wind that rattles the windows and knocks the candy from the shelves under the counter onto the ground.

Well, then.

Talk about a first impression.

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