GOTHAM'S REIGNER ALTERNATE SUCCESS
A long weekend and he still had to throw out the trash. That was life.
Aaron Reigner exited the apartment into the parking lot, then headed to the alleyway where the heavy-duty garbage bin lay. Aaron opened it up and promptly shoved the two bags inside.
He was done. He started to walk away–
CRASH!
–but froze upon the intrusion in his ears. Slowly, he craned his head back. Lodged inside the broken dumpster was a woman clad in black. He saw a golden outline of the bat symbol and the pointy ears on a cowl.
'Well shit,' Aaron thought, 'it's Batgirl.'
As soon as that thought manifested, she leaped out. Panting roughly, she threw her head up and searched the rooftops. Nothing.
She was shorter than Aaron expected. Half a head shorter than himself, slim and slightly muscular. Certainly not buff or womanly, but still mesmerising. Aaron's heart raced. He guessed it was because of the mythos behind her, what she meant to Gotham and the wider world. She was essentially a celebrity, a bonafide superhero at work, ready for something to attack her, the stuff of legends.
But nothing.
Besides the crickets of the night, the city was silent.
Aaron blinked and said, "Hi."
Batgirl instantly locked onto him. That was when Aaron noticed the flutter of her cape. Black and pooling around her ankles, it was admittedly very cool, but he refused to let it show on his face. He maintained the small, neutral smile on his face.
He could feel her gaze all over him. It was quick and rapid and in less than a second. From his ears, lips, chin, shoulders, chest, and…crotch? Although her cowl covered her entire head, he could feel her gaze on his crotch like a sixth sense. She tilted her head to the side and felt her eyes return to meet his.
Then she fell over.
The thud was deafening. Aaron waited, then creeped to her body. Her suit was riddled with tiny cuts unnoticeable in the dead of night. No blood either. He put a hand to her neck. Her pulse was getting weak.
'Should I call the hospital? The police?' Aaron bit his lip. 'I heard there's tension between the Bats and GCPD. I might get in trouble too.'
He cast one last look over her.
"Meh."
He shrugged and left her as she was.
"She's a hero. She'll be fine. Plus, I bet Batman is searching for her as we speak."
He jerked off that night to some hentai. In the back of his mind, he wondered what happened to her. She probably escaped, right? Batman wasn't just going to let her day.
***
The next morning, he checked out the dumpster. She was gone. He saw stains of blood on the floor. He shrugged.
"Got a long weekend. Come on, Aaron. Stop being overly worried for an actual superhero."
So he marched back up and did what he had to: chill. Watch anime and movies and jerk off some more.
Aaron Reigner exhaled through his nose and stared at the empty screen of his television. The anime he'd tried to watch felt flat. It wasn't the show. It was her. The image of Batgirl lying crumpled in the alley, her pulse a faint whisper under his fingers, kept replaying in his mind like a corrupted file. He'd jerked off to forget, he watched some highly-rated movie to forget. Every fantasy was too thin.
She was gone too. He probably would never know what happened to her.
'Should I…call the cops?'
No, if he learned about what he did, he might get charged with negligence. And no one saw him either. Better to just…relax.
Yeah.
"Maybe Batman took her," he muttered to the silent room. The blood stain on the concrete could be proof of that. Batman was the goddamn Batman and he had saved her. Better to think that than anything else.
Besides, Aaron's world was… this. A couch, a remote, a gnawing emptiness.
But not tonight.
He didn't like drinking. He really didn't. But maybe at a bar…yeah. Yeah, drinking at a bar was better than drinking at home. It was a place to be someone else for a few hours. Maybe that was what he needed.
The Gotham night was a velvet bruise outside his window. He changed into simple dark jeans and a plain black shirt, his reflection in the mirror a study in stoic indifference. Tall, lean, with a quiet intensity in his grey eyes that most people mistook for boredom.
The bar he chose was a middle-ground establishment—not a dive, not a lounge. It had the worn wood of pretension and the sticky floor of reality. The noise hit him first: a swell of drunken cheers, the clatter of glass, and a woman's shrill laugh slicing through the bass of generic rock music. Men with loosened collars eyed women with glitter on their cheeks. It was a carnival of cheap desire.
Aaron found a vacant stool at the long bar. The bartender, a man with a tattooed serpent coiled around his bicep, gave him a questioning glance.
"Tequila with lime," Aaron said without rising above the din.
The drink arrived, clear and sharp in a small glass. He sipped, the fire tracing a path down his throat, settling in his gut. The warmth spread, a familiar, unwelcome blush creeping up his neck. He focused on the bitter aftertaste, the grain of the salt on his lips. Peace, for a moment.
Then the stool beside him creaked.
He didn't look. Every other seat was empty.
A scent arrived first—expensive perfume, jasmine and something darker, like smoked wood. Then he saw the hair: a cascade of red so vibrant it seemed to burn under the dim bar lights. It framed a face of porcelain skin and eyes of a green so startling they looked unreal. Her dress was a strategic piece of architecture: snow-white, backless, the front clinging to the swell of her breasts with a promise that was almost aggressive. She was slumped, but the slump was elegant.
A slump being elegant. Ha. Maybe he was already drunk.
The redhead ordered a bottle of something French.
Aaron's mind ticked. The nagging sense of recognition became a quiet alarm. He'd seen this face. 'On the news? Hm…'
She turned those green lasers on him. "Hello, stranger." Her voice was a smooth, practiced instrument, slightly frayed at the edges. "Name?"
"Aaron Reigner."
"Vicki Vale."
He kept his expression a flat plane. No flicker of surprise, no widening of eyes. Inside, a circuit completed. 'Vicki Vale. The reporter. Bruce Wayne's whore according to the gossip mill.'
Those big ass magazines were impossible to miss at convenience stores.
"Not the reporter?" he asked, the tequila lending his tone a dry, almost sarcastic edge.
"Definitely the reporter." She took a long sip, her eyes closing briefly. "Reporting back from another… disappointing high-class function."
He nodded once. "I see."
The silence that followed was a vacuum. He felt it pulling at him, demanding he fill it. He didn't. He sipped his drink, watched the bubbles in her wine glass cling to the rim.
Her gaze sharpened, focusing on him with a sudden, predatory clarity. "You busy tonight?"
The question wasn't vague. It was a hook, baited and thrown. He felt the line tug.
"Not particularly." He finally met her eyes fully. They were calculating, hungry. "Is Vicki Vale usually this easy?"
"No," Vicki said, a smirk touching her lips. "Just tonight." She huffed, swirling the dark liquid. "I haven't been with a man in months."
He felt a tug at his lips, a stirring in his chest that wasn't just the alcohol.
"Hopefully I don't' disappoint," he said, the words coming out smoother than he expected.
'Okay, relax,' his inner voice cautioned. 'The alcohol is making you more arrogant than usual.' But the warmth in his cheeks was spreading, a pleasant haze softening the edges of his caution.
Vicki leaned closer with a high-class smirk. "Think you can do better than Bruce Wayne and those other rich men?"
It was a weak taunt. He nearly snorted. "Maybe."
Which was when another voice cut through it, silkier, darker, and far sluttier.
"Maybe isn't a very convincing answer, darling."
Aaron turned. The woman who had appeared made his dick jump. That did not happen often given his dick size. This babe was sensuality itself. Her dress was black, a sleek sheath that hugged every curve, plunging low in the front to showcase a chest that was frankly magnificent—rounded breasts that seemed to defy gravity. Her hair was short and her eyes were a smoldering shade of blue-green. She looked at him not as a person, but as a choice. Her smile was a feline curl of possession.
"Selina Kyle," she said, by way of introduction, though the name meant nothing to him. She ignored Vicki completely, her focus laser-like on Aaron. "I'm stealing him."
Vicki's expression faltered. She huffed and hugged Aaron's arm.
'W-woah...'
Her breast pressed firmly against his arm through the thin fabric of his shirt.
"I found him first, Selina," Vicki proclaimed.
Selina's smile widened. She dropped down on the neighbouring stool, her own boobs wrapping around Aaron's other arm. The contrast was immediate. Vicki's titty-press was a statement of intent, soft and insistent. Selina's was a demonstration of womanly power, particularly because her boobs were bigger. They would have swallowed his arm if not for the dress. He was sandwiched between them, two forces of nature using his body as a battleground.
"Finding isn't keeping, Vicki," Selina purred. "He looks hung too. I want to see if he is."
Aaron remained still. His dick began twitching. This was nothing like jerking off, he realized. Right now, he was the trophy. And the thought, unexpectedly, thrilled him.
"He's mine for tonight," Vicki insisted, her fingers now tracing a light path on his forearm.
Selina laughed, a soft, dangerous sound. "Let's ask him." She turned her smoldering eyes up to Aaron. "Who do you want, handsome? The sad reporter… or me?"
Aaron looked from one to the other. Vicki's green eyes, desperate and hungry. Selina's blue-green eyes, confident and predatory. The tequila burned in his veins. The image of Batgirl's fallen form flashed, then dissolved, replaced by the big boobs of these two women rubbing against him.
He didn't smile. He simply said, "Both."
Some things never changed.
RESUME FAIL OF EARTH 65
'Oscorp Industries.'
That was what the massive pink neon letters spelled out. The Oscorp building loomed tall and imposing, its architecture blending seamlessly with the cityscape yet its height superior to its peers.
Felix entered the lobby, marvelling at the cutting-edge design. There was tech EVERYWHERE. People in lab coats walking, a group of college students getting toured, there was a lot to absorb. It wasn't busy but it was certainly large and overwhelming.
There were two main front desks on opposite ends, so he was forced to arbitrarily choose one. When he did, when he picked the desk to the left, he nearly stopped halfway through. His legs suddenly slowed down as he took in the sight.
'Woah. Uh…'
The secretary. Good god, the red-haired secretary's beauty was undeniable, with a flawless complexion that seemed to glow. Her emerald-green eyes and long, thick lashes fluttered with every gaze. Her lips were painted a deep shade of red.
Her white blouse was also, well…
He avoided her neckline and focused on the task at hand. An arm on the desk, he raised his voice. "Errr, I'm here for an interview?"
The redhead didn't look at him and typed at her keyboard wildly. "Which department?"
"Under Dr. Octavius."
"Ah, the new team. I see. Give me a moment."
Still, she didn't look at him, despite her words. She wore glasses and her hair was done in a messy bun. No doubt, she was the type that was effortlessly pretty. An envied individual.
The Bluetooth device on the secretary's ear blinked with a blue light. She was receiving a call, it seemed. Pressing on the ear bud, she took it. "Mhm. Mhm. Yes. Yes. No."
She rolled her chair and glanced up at him. Then she focused back on her computer. In that brief instant, Felix was given a very nice view of cleavage. He promptly looked elsewhere.
'Seriously, what is up with today?'
"Follow me."
Like a robot, the secretary got up and walked in her obnoxiously loud heels. Click-clack, click-clack! They ended up at an elevator that was clearly intended for staff. Like real staff, like staff that did important things.
Even so, Felix was distracted by the woman's pencil skirt, her luscious curves, and her stone cold face as she swiped her ID, entered the elevator, and turned. Felix was three steps behind so he got to see her ass come and leave.
The elevator was made of a sleek black metal, to the bottom. To his surprise, she swiped her card down a scanner again and rather than go up, she chose to pick B3. The panel for the elevator was a wide array of confusion. There were over thirty floors, which was to be expected for Oscorp Tower, and a dozen underground floors.
He ended up in a hallway filled with several people. Two older looking men, a middle-aged woman, two young people like him, and…
'Is that…a teenager? Playing with a Rubik's cube?'
Okay, so a bunch of adults and a teenager. His skin was dark, and interestingly his hair was black yet grey at the temples.
"Reed Richards," a voice called out, whom Felix recognized as Dr. Octavius from the phone. "You're up next."
The teen—Reed Richards—got up, still fiddling with his Rubik's cube, and turned out to be pretty tall. An inch or two shorter than Felix.
That gave Felix an open seat. He tried to thank the secretary but she already went back to the elevator. Pursing his lips, he sat down and waited.
Felix's nerves didn't disappear. They amplified, because the people around him seemed much more qualified than him. He was probably the youngest here, second to the Reed Richards kid that went in.
Nobody talked. Nobody said a word. This was a space of competition.
Plus, Felix was socially awkward.
One by one, they were called over. One by one, they came and went, going up the elevator with defeated looks. Strangely, Felix never saw Reed Richards leave. 'Where did he go?'
No answer would come to that answer until his name was called. "Felix Faeth."
Nervously, he stood up. Anxiously, he walked over and opened the door.
The room was sleek and high-tech, filled with futuristic gadgets and monitors. Dr. Octavius was a striking presence herself, with her sharp intellect mirrored in her intense gaze. Her lab coat was a stark white against her dark, curly hair, and her…mechanical arms?
Yeah, mechanical arms. They sprouted from her back and lay alongside her normal arms.
'What is this, a superhero movie?'
Dr. Olivia Octavius sat behind her fancy desk, smiling. "Felix, please, have a seat."
At the corner of his eye, seated at a corner, was Reed Richards. This time, he was on the monitors, writing code.
"Don't worry about him," Dr. Octavius said, waving him off. "We're here for you."
"O-okay." Felix sat down, doing as she said and ignoring the sound of typing from behind him. To say it was loud, fast, and distracting was an understatement.
Felix licked his lips and readied himself anyway. He could do this. He could pretend a kid wasn't potentially ruining his concentration.
"I've reviewed your credentials, Felix. Impressive, to say the least. A Ph.D. in nanotechnology from MIT and a slew of research papers that caught my attention. Particularly, your theories on nanites. Which would you say is your favourite?"
"Yes, of course." Like slipping on a mask, he went into scientist mode. "The techno-organic virus, Extremis, is perhaps the most far fetched but also the most ambitious and, well, helpful. Specifically, the increase in healing. I believe the rapid production of macrophages to stimulate the body's immune system isn't impossible."
Dr. Octavius hummed and turned her monitor towards him. It was his paper on the Extremis; page seventy-two where he compared the Extremis nanite in its natural state versus when it was fully deployed for specialized genetic augmentation. The visual was a little scary. The natural state of the Extremis was almost like a sperm, except with two tails instead of one.
Appearance-wise, the activated Extremis was a robot, plain and simple. At the start of his digital drawing, his focus was on efficiency. He didn't take into account its appearance or how that might come across.
"If someone like Anthony Stark invested in your papers, I'm sure he would have been able to make a mighty fine weapon. Yet you're not. You're here at Oscorp. Tell me, why do you want to be a part of my team? Why Oscorp?"
"Well, Dr. Octavius, I've always been fascinated by your work in nanotechnology. The potential applications are boundless, and your innovation is groundbreaking. I want to be a part of something bigger, something that can change the world for the better. Your team is where I believe I can make a real impact. Stark Industries, in my opinion, would not be able to provide that."
It was a practiced answer, nothing special.
Dr. Octavius nodded. "Changing the world for the better, that's a lofty goal, Felix." The woman paused and looked over his shoulder. She smiled at the continuous typing noises from Reed Richards. "Our projects here at Oscorp are highly classified and require absolute dedication. You'd be working on technologies that could redefine entire industries. Are you prepared for the level of commitment this demands?"
"Yes, I'm more than ready. I've dedicated my life to this field, and I understand the importance of discretion and hard work. I promise to give my all to every project and maintain the highest level of confidentiality."
Blah, blah, blah, the usual spiel. Still, he was uniform and calm. His nerves were a relic of the past.
"Your passion is evident, Felix." Another pause and another glance over his shoulder. "But there's one more thing I must ask. In your research, have you ever had to make difficult ethical decisions? The work we do here isn't without its moral dilemmas."
"I am sure whatever moral dilemmas I will face at Oscorp, they will be for the right cause."
Felix's answer was standard. At least he assumed it was. Dr. Octavius smiled with meaning he could not understand.
She proceeded to ask other questions regarding his papers and past work. Strangely, she wasn't interested in the labs he conducted or assisted. It was like his college experience didn't matter. Rather, Dr. Octavius focused on deeper, more practical questions—specifically, in regards to what his paper was trying to say and clarifying certain details. Felix answered to the best of his abilities. Her rooted interest in Extremis did catch him off guard. To him, it was a pipe dream. A paper he wrote for the sake of pushing what he could write at school.
That was all it was supposed to be, yet…
Dr. Octavius leaned back and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. She then leaned forward, her mechanical arms whirring softly. All this time, they neither moved or peeped a sound.
"Felix, you have a promising background, and I can see your passion for our work. We'll be in touch soon with our decision. Thank you for your interest in joining our team. But…can I be honest?"
"Y-yes?"
"Your work is…overly ambitious. Next time, try not to include it in your resume."
Oh. Well, that was a strong rejection as any.
On his way out of Oscorp Tower, he saw the hot redhead with the nice tits. She didn't even glance his direction.
…
…
…
Six months later, Felix stood in the doorway of his apartment—former apartment, technically. He sighed and watched as a man in a wrinkled polo shirt shoved the last of his belongings into a dented cardboard box. The guy didn't even look at him.
"Lease was clear," the man muttered, more to the box than to Felix. "Thirty days late, you're out. Not my call."
Felix nodded, even though the man wasn't watching. "Yeah. I know."
The box flaps were folded shut with a rough slap. That was it. Everything Felix Faeth owned—everything that hadn't already been sold, returned, or quietly abandoned—fit into two boxes and a backpack.
The man hoisted one box under his arm and brushed past him. "You can leave the key on the counter."
Felix stepped aside, shoulder grazing the doorframe. The chipped paint snagged his sleeve for a second before letting go.
He lingered a moment longer, staring into the apartment. The space looked bigger now, emptier. No mattress on the floor. No scattered papers filled with half-finished equations. No laptop glowing at 3 a.m. like it had something important to say.
Just blank walls and a faint rectangle on the floor where his desk used to be.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Sure."
He turned, stepping out into the hallway just as the man reached the stairwell. The door banged shut behind them, echoing down the corridor.
Felix stood there, holding his backpack strap with one hand, the other hanging uselessly at his side.
"Well…that sucks."
"Felix?"
He blinked.
Across the hall, a door had opened. Rio Morales leaned halfway out, one hand braced against the frame. She wore a loose sweater, sleeves pushed up, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder
Her eyes moved from his face to the boxes, to the empty doorway behind him.
"…You're leaving?"
Felix let out a short, awkward breath. "Yeah. Uh. Surprise eviction. Turns out landlords don't accept 'I swear I'm about to land something big' as payment."
Rio didn't smile. She stepped out fully into the hall, the door creaking behind her.
"I didn't even know things were that bad."
"Yeah, well…" He scratched the back of his neck. He was really good at pretending they were not.
Rio crossed her arms, leaning slightly to peer into his apartment. "You didn't say anything. We could've— I don't know. Talked." She tried to smile. "Miles liked you."
Felix shifted his weight. "Uh, yeah. Um, tell him I'll see him…around."
There was a pause. Rio softened. "Where are you gonna go?"
Felix shrugged, the motion small. "Crash on a friend's couch." He didn't have any friends. "Then…figure it out."
"You have a plan, right?"
"Absolutely," he said, nodding with false confidence.
"Okay, if you say so…" Rio gave him that charming smile again. "Don't be a stranger. Visit if you need to. I'm—ah, nevermind."
I'm what?
Lonely?
It was then he realized that there was more to life than just studying and looking for work. Even if it seemed pointless, he should have talked to Rio. More than just leering at her ass and greeting her in the hallways.
He should have. He didn't.
Which was when his phone buzzed. Felix flinched slightly, fumbling his phone out of his pocket. The screen lit up with a flood of notifications. Rio's head snapped when she heard a loud buzz in her apartment.
It was a statewide alert.
"What the—"
Rio peered over his shoulder. "What happened?"
He tapped one open. The headline filled the screen.
Oscorp Tower Attacked — Armed Mercenaries Storm Facility, Multiple Casualties Reported
Felix's thumb froze.
Rio inhaled sharply. "Oh my God…"
He scrolled, eyes darting across the text. Words blurred together—explosions, hostages, unknown objective, casualties mounting.
A photo loaded beneath the article. Smoke pouring out of a shattered section of the building. Emergency lights flashing like a heartbeat gone wrong.
Rio read quietly over his shoulder. She shook her head. "Oh my. What a tragedy."
Yeah. A tragedy. In another life, that could have been him.
But in this life, he shook his head and turned his phone off.
"Yeah," Felix said, voice flat. "Tragic."
The hallway felt smaller somehow. Another silence settled between them, heavier this time.
Finally, Rio glanced at his boxes, then back at him. "Well… I guess this is goodbye, huh?"
Felix adjusted the strap on his shoulder. "Yeah. Guess it is."
She hesitated, then stepped forward and pulled him into a quick, firm hug. It caught him off guard just enough that his arms took a second to respond.
"Take care of yourself, Felix," she said, pulling back. She gave him that smile. "Seriously."
He picked up one of the boxes, shifting its weight in his arms.
"Bye, Rio."
"Bye, Felix."
He turned toward the stairwell, the box pressing into his chest as he walked. The door creaked open, the dim stairwell beyond waiting like it had all the time in the world.
Behind him, Rio's door clicked shut.
"Moved to New York," he muttered under his breath, starting down the stairs. "For a better life."
The stairwell swallowed his footsteps as he descended.
"Yeah," he said to no one. "That worked out great."
OVERWATCH HAREM FAIL
The bathroom door opened. Drip, drip, drip. Water fell in cascades and droplets. A lush, clean smell flooded the apartment.
William stepped out shirtless, a towel around his waist, and Hana's attention switched over like a horny single young man. Her eyes widened. Her chat erupted. They couldn't see, but they could feel.
Six-foot-two and over a hundred-seventy pounds, William was a lean, muscular white man. Undeniably attractive. The way the water droplets traced the lines of his chest and abs made her stomach flutter.
"Uh, chat, looks like we've got a surprise guest appearance. William, care to explain your unexpected cameo?" Hana tried to mask her flustered reaction with a corny joke. It kinda succeeded and kinda failed. Because below his waist was that towel, and boy did that white fabric cling. She could see the outline of his hips, his thighs, and a bulge.
William was unfazed and mildly apologetic. "Just needed to freshen up. Didn't mean to steal the spotlight, Hana."
The camera kinda rolled back and fort from him. Hana was attempting to maintain composure and trying to keep the camera toward herself. Her cheeks were tinged pink. "Alright, guys, keep it cool. No need to make things awkward."
But her eyes kept drifting back. He was jacked. The comments went crazy. They might have only seen a blur but…
"He's jacked!"
"Girl dva—"
"WHERE'S THE DICK?"
Hana laughed nervously. "Alright, everyone, let's shift gears. William, any plans for the rest of the night?"
A small smirk played on his lips. "Not unless it's with you."
He was teasing her. Ugh, Hana didn't know how to react. She was used to flirting, but not with a half-naked guy in front of the streaming world. The chat was merciless.
"Bros got no game."
"Big muscles, tiny dick?"
"HANA NO."
"DON'T DO IT!!!!!!!!"
"I HATE THIS. DONT! I DIDN'T SUB TO SEE YOU GET WITH A GUY!"
"Dva gonna cuck on live noooo~!"
William chuckled at the text-to-speech comments. Meanwhile, Hana gnawed on her lip. These guys were so damn ungrateful. She knew if she got a boyfriend she'd lose subs. But… she was here. She was horny. The sight of his body did stir something in her.
'Screw it,' she thought. Screw the terms. She wanted something.
"You guys wanna see something?" Hana asked, smirking. "You probably won't like it, but… that's what you get for being assholes."
She got up and approached him. Hips swaying, a cocky smile on her face, she casually placed her camera on the table. It was the first time she'd released the damn thing of her own accord. Outside of eating and changing, she never let go of it.
Until now.
She stood before William, close enough to feel the wetness from his skin. "How about you do something else with me, hm?"
William raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. He had been expecting this. Women threw themselves at him. But Hana Song was different. She was D.va. An Overwatch member. A celebrity.
As she reached out, her fingers brushing the damp towel at his hip, he didn't stop her. He watched her, confident. Hana's fingers curled and she yanked the towel down.
The towel fell to the floor.
His penis was there. William's penis.
"Huh."
Hana stared. Her breath caught. Her mind, which had been picturing all sorts of impressive, porn-worthy proportions, stuttered.
William stood completely naked. He was everything a guy should have been with broad shoulders, carved abs, strong legs, but between those legs…
"Pfft!"
That first sound instantly dropped William's smile. That little laughter. Or should she say average laughter? See, William's penis was average. Perfectly, mundanely, unremarkably average.
A flaccid penis, perhaps three inches, rested against his thigh. It was maybe one and a half fingers thick. His balls hung normally, a standard pair. No grand "family jewels." Just… jewels.
The chat exploded.
"OMFG LOL"
"THAT'S IT?"
"MUSCLES FOR NOTHING!"
"HAHAHAHAHAHA"
"DVA GRAB THE CAMERA DOWN!"
Hana's shock melted away. A giggle bubbled in her throat. Then a laugh. A full, unrestrained cackle of disbelief and pure amusement. She retreated back away from William who was blinking and confused when she picked the camera and zipped back to him. The military chick was fast. She pointed the camera down, aiming it directly at his exposed dick.
"Chat, look!" Hana squealed. "Look at this! All that muscle… for this?"
William's confident expression faltered. "H-hey…!" He should have hidden his penis and didn't because Hana squatted. The camera was fully focused on his average penis.
The whole fucking world was seeing this…!
"Oh my god, it's so… normal," she said, laughing harder. "I thought you were hiding a monster! But you're just… a guy. A totally regular guy!"
She zoomed in digitally, making sure the stream captured every unimpressive detail
"L-look, Hana. Stop." William's jaw tightened. He tried to regain his composure and grab her, but Hana looked up. Her eyes met his. Her laughter was a weapon that made his hands freeze.
"Aw, don't be shy," she taunted, her eyes sparkling with cruel delight. "Show us how it works. Does it even get big? Or does it just stay this cute, tiny little thing?"
Her fingertip brushed the very tip of his flaccid cock. It was soft and unresponsive. "Ooh, chilly," she mocked. "Not much life in it, huh?"
"Hey! It works!"
"HE'S DEAD INSIDE!"
"DVA KILLED HIS CONFIDENCE!"
"LMAOOOOOO"
"POOR GUY."
"Got a shrink post shower…i get it my brother!"
Hana was still squatting and grinning, Cocking her head left and right and just grinning at his modest penis. "You thought you were so hot," she said, her voice low and sweetly vicious. "You thought you could just walk out here and I'd be drooling. But look at you. You're just… average. All that show… for nothing. Heh."
If his dick needed a time to twitch, now was the time.
"Awww, it's twitching!"
The cock twitch made it worse.
William finally spoke, his voice tight. Blood was rushing down to his cheeks and lower. "Hana, that's enough."
"Enough?" she laughed. "Why? Because the truth hurts? You're not some porn star. You're just a guy with a gym body and a tiny dick. I bet you've never even satisfied a woman. I bet they all laugh when they see this."
Hana turned the camera back to her face, grinning at her viewers. "Chat, what should we do? Should we make him dance? Should we ask him to try and get hard?"
She looked at William, whose hand were in the middle of covering his dick. He grit his teeth, frustrated.
He was getting hard. His hands slowly had to move away.
"Huh? Huh, huh, huh?" Hana blinked and smirked seeing his hand move. She knew why. He was trying to stop the blood flow and failed. "You gettin' horny?"
Fuck, fuck, fuck! William couldn't believe it. His dick was getting hard and reacting on his own. "S-shut up! Wait...!"
There was no waiting. The world was about to see it. Hana was going to make sure of it too.
Yank!
The damn bitch was stronger than she looked and ripped his hands away. The camera captured all of it. His wrinkled sack contained ordinary grape-sized testicles and his curved five inch erection. It was aesthetically pleasing. A fine thing for most women.
But for Hana Song? For all the confidence William was puffing up? For taming a member of Overwatch?
"Bwahahaaha! Pfft!" She sputtered and cackled. His dick oozed out with pre-cum. "My smallest dildos are this size! Are you kidding me, William!?"
Hana's laughter echoed louder than ever before, mingling with the cruel joy of her chat. She had him. Completely. And she wasn't going to let him go.
Maybe in another world, Hana would have ridden him and moaned like a whore. This was not that world. William overestimated himself. Hana Song wasn't some ordinary woman. She was extraordinary—and extraordinary women needed extraordinary men.