#Palm City Roofing

[expertroofingservices]

Things To Expect From Jupiter Roofing Contractor

When you have to engage with a roofing contractor operating in Jupiter, you may have several expectations. From professionalism and expertise to quality workmanship, the reliable roofing contractor would rightly match all your expectations. Here is all about what one can expect from the professional Jupiter roofing contractor. 

Professionalism and Effective Communication 

A reliable roofing contactor will deal with clients thoroughly and professionally. This can be exhibited from the initiation of the deal. With clear communication and prompt response, the professional roofer can ease your concerns while meeting all your expectations. They also answer your questions as they have detailed information regarding the current market condition and the material they are going to use with your roofing project. Effective and transparent communication is key to getting your job done. 

Expertise and Experience 

A reputable roofing contractor in Jupiter possesses the required expertise and experience to handle different types of roofing projects, including repairs, replacement of the existing roof, and new installations. They have deep knowledge of the same domain and can let you know details about the different roofing materials, local building codes, and industry best practices. 

Valid License and Insurance

It is essential to know that the roofing contractor has an appropriate license and it has valid insurance so that, if there is any type of issue, it will be easy to get things that you expect from these contractors. In the case of damage or accidents, they can assist the client to come out clean. 

Quality Material with Workmanship 

High-quality materials and expert craftsmanship are essential to the roof's endurance and durability. Reputable Jupiter roofers mainly utilize premium roofing supplies and hire skilled roofers who follow industry best practices and standards.

Adhere to the Deadline 

Deadline is the most important thing that a homeowner wants to know regarding the roofing project. When you contact the professional roofing contractor in Jupiter, it becomes easy for you to know that they adhere to the deadline and they ensure that, there will be no issues will arise during the work till completion. In this way, it is the peace of mind for the homeowners. 

Attention to Detail 

With a reputed roofing contractor, you can rest assured that they will prioritize the detailed roofing techniques that would significantly contribute to the roofing project, and when it is completed within the deadline, you will remain peace of mind knowing that there will be no issues face regarding roof in the near future. 

Warranty and Guarantee on Roof 

A reliable and reputed roofer should provide warranties or guarantees on both labor and materials, as well as stand behind their work. This gives homeowners comfort in knowing that they are covered in the event that problems or flaws develop after the project is finished.

Following Proper Safety Measures 

Every roofing job should always have safety as its first priority. Strict safety procedures will be put in place by a reputable contractor to safeguard both the homeowner's belongings and their employees throughout the job.

Customer Satisfaction 

In the end, a reliable Jupiter roofer always puts the needs of their clients first. This entails paying attention to the requirements and worries of the homeowner, taking swift action to resolve any problems, and making sure that the end product meets or beyond expectations. An expert roofer only leaves after the job is finished. They should offer advice on how to maintain the roof and, if necessary, follow-up services to guarantee the roof's long-term integrity.

One can expect these things from a reliable Jupiter roofing contractor. Using their long reputation and workmanship, they can easily make your roofing task a success. This is why getting the right kind of service from a reliable Jupiter roofer is always a great thing. 

Resource: https://expertroofingfl.wordpress.com/2024/04/23/things-to-expect-from-jupiter-roofing-contractor/ 

[heartjohnsonart]

heart s. johnson | los angeles

[reasonsforhope]

"With “green corridors” that mimic the natural forest, the Colombian city is driving down temperatures — and could become five degrees cooler over the next few decades.

In the face of a rapidly heating planet, the City of Eternal Spring — nicknamed so thanks to its year-round temperate climate — has found a way to keep its cool.

Previously, Medellín had undergone years of rapid urban expansion, which led to a severe urban heat island effect — raising temperatures in the city to significantly higher than in the surrounding suburban and rural areas. Roads and other concrete infrastructure absorb and maintain the sun’s heat for much longer than green infrastructure.

“Medellín grew at the expense of green spaces and vegetation,” says Pilar Vargas, a forest engineer working for City Hall. “We built and built and built. There wasn’t a lot of thought about the impact on the climate. It became obvious that had to change.”

Efforts began in 2016 under Medellín’s then mayor, Federico Gutiérrez (who, after completing one term in 2019, was re-elected at the end of 2023). The city launched a new approach to its urban development — one that focused on people and plants.

The $16.3 million initiative led to the creation of 30 Green Corridors along the city’s roads and waterways, improving or producing more than 70 hectares of green space, which includes 20 kilometers of shaded routes with cycle lanes and pedestrian paths.

These plant and tree-filled spaces — which connect all sorts of green areas such as the curb strips, squares, parks, vertical gardens, sidewalks, and even some of the seven hills that surround the city — produce fresh, cooling air in the face of urban heat. The corridors are also designed to mimic a natural forest with levels of low, medium and high plants, including native and tropical plants, bamboo grasses and palm trees.

Heat-trapping infrastructure like metro stations and bridges has also been greened as part of the project and government buildings have been adorned with green roofs and vertical gardens to beat the heat. The first of those was installed at Medellín’s City Hall, where nearly 100,000 plants and 12 species span the 1,810 square meter surface.

“It’s like urban acupuncture,” says Paula Zapata, advisor for Medellín at C40 Cities, a global network of about 100 of the world’s leading mayors. “The city is making these small interventions that together act to make a big impact.”

At the launch of the project, 120,000 individual plants and 12,500 trees were added to roads and parks across the city. By 2021, the figure had reached 2.5 million plants and 880,000 trees. Each has been carefully chosen to maximize their impact.

“The technical team thought a lot about the species used. They selected endemic ones that have a functional use,” explains Zapata.

The 72 species of plants and trees selected provide food for wildlife, help biodiversity to spread and fight air pollution. A study, for example, identified Mangifera indica as the best among six plant species found in Medellín at absorbing PM2.5 pollution — particulate matter that can cause asthma, bronchitis and heart disease — and surviving in polluted areas due to its “biochemical and biological mechanisms.”

And the urban planting continues to this day.

The groundwork is carried out by 150 citizen-gardeners like Pineda, who come from disadvantaged and minority backgrounds, with the support of 15 specialized forest engineers. Pineda is now the leader of a team of seven other gardeners who attend to corridors all across the city, shifting depending on the current priorities...

“I’m completely in favor of the corridors,” says [Victoria Perez, another citizen-gardener], who grew up in a poor suburb in the city of 2.5 million people. “It really improves the quality of life here.”

Wilmar Jesus, a 48-year-old Afro-Colombian farmer on his first day of the job, is pleased about the project’s possibilities for his own future. “I want to learn more and become better,” he says. “This gives me the opportunity to advance myself.”

The project’s wider impacts are like a breath of fresh air. Medellín’s temperatures fell by 2°C in the first three years of the program, and officials expect a further decrease of 4 to 5C over the next few decades, even taking into account climate change. In turn, City Hall says this will minimize the need for energy-intensive air conditioning...

In addition, the project has had a significant impact on air pollution. Between 2016 and 2019, the level of PM2.5 fell significantly, and in turn the city’s morbidity rate from acute respiratory infections decreased from 159.8 to 95.3 per 1,000 people [Note: That means the city's rate of people getting sick with lung/throat/respiratory infections.]

There’s also been a 34.6 percent rise in cycling in the city, likely due to the new bike paths built for the project, and biodiversity studies show that wildlife is coming back — one sample of five Green Corridors identified 30 different species of butterfly.

Other cities are already taking note. Bogotá and Barranquilla have adopted similar plans, among other Colombian cities, and last year São Paulo, Brazil, the largest city in South America, began expanding its corridors after launching them in 2022.

“For sure, Green Corridors could work in many other places,” says Zapata."

-via Reasons to Be Cheerful, March 4, 2024

[bellaxgiornata]

Catcalling the Devil

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/tags: drunk Reader, humor, terrible flirtatious comments, and lots of appreciation for the Ass of Hell's Kitchen

Summary: A night out takes an amusing turn when you accidentally and drunkenly catcall the Devil of Hell's Kitchen.

a/n: This little one shot is brought to you thanks to the Murdock Tuna Team who not only inspired the idea, but helped create some of the flirtatious banter. I just couldn't resist the idea of catcalling the Devil in the black suit, okay? Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Pushing open the door of Alchemy, you stepped outside and onto the sidewalk. The sweltering heat of Hell’s Kitchen greeted you, the humidity mixing with the sticky sweat already coating your skin and adding another uncomfortable layer of dampness. But it still felt far more refreshing outside in the humid evening air than it did inside the busy bar with countless other sweaty bodies packed together. The usual buzz of the city at night was even welcoming in comparison to the loud music that had been steadily aggravating the pounding in your head for the past twenty minutes. 

Walking unsteadily in your heels, you turned to the right and made your way over towards the corner of the building and away from Alchemy's main doors and thumping music. One of your hands reached up as you stumble-walked, grabbing at the neck of your dress and peeling it off of your wet skin to allow some air to flow inside and cool your heated body. You’d spent a good portion of your evening drunkenly dancing with your friends as you celebrated Elise’s birthday tonight, which was why you'd decided to wait for your Uber outside of the bar–so you could catch your breath before heading home. 

As you neared the alley, your ankle unexpectedly twisted when your heel caught in a crack along the sidewalk. A surprised gasp slipped past your lips as you began falling forward face-first towards the pavement. Your hand released the neck of your dress and instinctively flew out to your side, your palm landing against the brick of the building just in time to awkwardly catch yourself. Struggling to steady your inebriated self, you stayed bent in half as the pavement swirled beneath your black heels. 

Once the spinning had finally stopped, you threw your other hand out and began to desperately claw your way back upright with both hands along the brick. Limping forward, you leant up against the side of the bar and tried to ease the pressure off your now sore ankle. With a low groan you attempted to find a comfortable position against the brick, supporting your weight more fully along the wall and resigning yourself to waiting right here for your Uber. Internally you cursed yourself for wearing such tall heels and drinking as much as you had tonight–hopefully you hadn’t actually injured your ankle. You’d probably be regretting your decisions in the morning, especially since you still had to go into work. 

Reaching up, you ran the back of your hand across your forehead in an attempt to remove some of the sweat that had accumulated there. But just as you’d begun to lower your hand back to your side, movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Your head turned in the direction of it, your vision spinning momentarily before everything came back into focus. Though the second your brain managed to make sense of the black blur on the rooftop, your mouth fell open. Because there on the roof just above you was the infamous Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

“There’s no way I’m this drunk,” you muttered to yourself. 

You watched as the dark figure crouched down low on the corner of the building, his body hunched like a gargoyle overlooking the street below. He was only a few floors above you and seemingly searching for something with the way his head was scanning the street below as it moved back and forth in sharp movements. With his back turned towards you while he was lowered in a crouch, you had been left with a perfect view of his backside under the city lights. Whether it was due to how absolutely glorious the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s ass looked in his black pants while you were almost directly beneath him, or due to the handful of shots and cocktails you’d recently drank down, you’d suddenly loosed a long, low whistle out into the night.

Immediately the Devil’s head snapped over his shoulder the second you’d whistled. Eyes growing wide in shock, your body straightened against the wall behind you instantly. You hadn’t even realized you’d just catcalled the Devil until you’d actually done it. And now he was crouched atop the roof and staring right down at you.

For a long time you stood there locking eyes with the masked man–or so you assumed, considering you couldn’t see his eyes beneath the black on his face. Neither of you moved,  neither of you spoke, yet a tension had quickly formed in the air. 

Until a peel of laughter bubbled right up out of your mouth.

The Devil’s head tilted sharply to the side as the sound echoed through the alley beside you. You threw a hand up to cover your mouth, trying to stifle the noise, but somehow that only made you laugh harder. Because no one would believe you about this later. But your laughter fell short when the Devil rose to his full height on the rooftop, spinning around to face you with a fluid grace that had made your head spin in return. Biting down on your lip, you fought back another round of laughter as tears began to form in your eyes. You’d only managed to reduce your amusement at the situation to barely restrained giggles before he spoke.

“Something wrong?” the deep voice called out.

You shook your head quickly, the Devil briefly blurring into three Devils above you. Throwing your hand up into the air, you sent him a single thumb’s up. “No!” you answered, stifling another giggle. “Everything’s fine, Devil. Just–just appreciating the view.”

His head cocked to the side even further, the sight reminding you of a dog. Another giggle slipped out of you before you could stop it. Though you once more bit down on your lip when the vigilante began to expertly climb his way down the side of the building. Openly admiring his body as you readjusted your position against the wall–which was currently still single-handedly keeping you upright at the moment–you watched as he easily made his way from the roof to the alley. If it hadn’t been for the curious, pleased smile that was clearly spread across his lips when he came to stand just a few feet away, you might’ve felt nervous that he’d suddenly taken as much of an interest in you as you had in him. 

“Appreciating the view?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Your ass.”

The Devil’s lips twitched at your bold honesty and you bit back another giggle. This whole situation was so unbelievable it was actually absurdly hilarious.

“So you’re saying that you interrupted me solely just to whistle at my ass?” the Devil inquired. “Did I hear that right?”

Pushing away from the wall, you stumbled forward a step, squaring your shoulders and looking him straight in the eyes–or where you thought they were. “Yeah. Couldn’t exactly resist,” you answered, your words slurring a bit as you spoke. “You’re carryin’ an entire bakery’s worth of devil’s food cake back there.”

You wildly waved a hand towards the Devil’s lower half, sloppily gesturing towards his ass. His head once more tilted curiously to the side, the grin on his lips growing even wider in clear amusement. 

“Devil’s food cake?” he questioned.

“Y’know,” you said, waggling your eyebrows suggestively at him. “‘Cause of all that–that cake you got back there. Wouldn’t mind a piece, personally.”

A huff of laughter slipped past the Devil’s lips and you brightened at the sound as it registered in your intoxicated ears. His positive reaction was only going to encourage you now.

“Are you… flirting with me?” he asked incredulously. “Because you do realize who I am, right?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst guy I’ve hit on tonight,” you replied with a shrug.

The Devil laughed, shaking his head as his attention dropped down towards his boots. A grin lingered along his lips, something almost bashful. But your focus openly shifted back down to the profile of his ass, your eyes appreciating the way the dark fabric stretched over him. 

“Y’know it’s my friend’s birthday tonight,” you told him, swaying unsteadily on the sidewalk. “Didn’t realize you were the one bringin’ the cake.”

A snort of laughter met your comment, your smile growing wide as you watched the Devil’s head rise back up. He was smirking now, something mischievous in the way his mouth had twisted beneath the hard line of his mask. 

Grinning back at him, your right hand cupped around your mouth as you leaned forward towards him. “But maybe you can let me blow out the candle,” you drunkenly half-whispered.

He shook his head at you, but the mischievous twist of his lips remained beneath the black fabric of his mask. “You're a bold drunk, aren't you?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you mumbled back, your eyes fixing along his lips. Without even thinking, you blurted next, “Wouldn’t mind climbing you like a building.”

Another surprised snort of amusement fell out of him as he shook his head at you once more. “You’re full of so many terrible lines,” he teased back with a chuckle. “You do realize that, right?”

“Oh I’ve got plenty more,” you assured him with a nod, exaggeratingly waving a dismissive hand in the air between you both. “Don’t you worry. Could totally do this all night.”

“Oh really?” he asked. “Is that right? Because I certainly can make time for this.”

Your hand stopped flapping in the air between you both, a single finger raising up. “Okay, wait,” you amended. “I have an Uber coming. So maybe not all night, but probably a few more minutes.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, his smile briefly slipping. “Shame because this is turning out to be the most fun I’ve had so far in the mask.”

“Wanna make it more fun?” you asked, grinning suggestively at him.

The Devil’s bottom lip rolled between his teeth as he tried to bite back his growing smile. Something warm heated you, starting at the base of your skull and trickling down to your toes. Your eyes focused back on his mouth as your tongue slid out, licking your lips. You'd only been jokingly flirting, but now…

“Hate to be the voice of reason here,” the Devil began, “but I don't sleep with intoxicated women that I meet in alleys. I much prefer sober consent.”

“What a pity,” you mumbled, face contorting into a pout. “Never would've thought the Devil was a gentleman .”

“I'm full of surprises,” he teased.

You hummed thoughtfully in response, taking a step into the alley towards him and stumbling a little in your heels. Ignoring the growing throbbing of your ankle, you focused on the thrill of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen actually letting you flirt with him. You wanted to enjoy every minute of it, even if you probably wouldn't remember this moment too clearly in the morning.

“Anyone tell you you’ve got a pretty mouth?” you asked him. 

The Devil shook his head, his smile returning. “No. Can't say the criminals I meet are too fond of passing out compliments when I'm hitting them,” he replied.

“Well you do ,” you assured him. “You really, really do .” Eyes narrowing at the plush lips of his still quirked into a smile, you studied the shape of them amongst the faint bit of dark stubble. “Reminds me of my boss. Now that's a mouth I'd love to do things with,” you drunkenly confessed. “But see,” you continued, pointing a firm finger at the Devil’s chest, “ he’s an asshole. Not fun like you.” 

The Devil’s head tilted to the side again, his grin growing into a smirk. “Oh he is, is he?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Great ass, huge asshole. I’m–I’m sure there’s a stick shoved in there somewhere.”

The Devil barked out a laugh into the night as you reached into your purse and pulled out your phone. Squinting as the bright light assaulted your eyes, you saw that your Uber was mere minutes away. You loosed a disappointed sigh.

“Your ride almost here?” the Devil asked.

“Unfortunately,” you answered, returning your phone to your purse. “Unless you wanna be my ride tonight?”

Zipping your purse back up, you heard the Devil let out another laugh. Your smile grew along with your surprise at this whole interaction. You hadn’t anticipated just how fun the masked vigilante actually was considering how he spent his evenings. It was a shame you’d never meet him again.

“Have you fallen tonight?” the Devil asked, still grinning at you.

You held up a hand, preventing him from continuing his thought. “If you're about to ask if I fell from heaven,” you slurred, “then I'm disappointed in your lines, Devil man.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and laughing softly. “I’m just concerned you might have a concussion because of your continued flirting with a known vigilante. You should probably get your head checked out.”

“ You can check me out,” you teased coyly, sending him an exaggerated wink.

The Devil’s mouth opened, about to reply, but then his face darted over your shoulder, the corner of his lip twitching. You frowned when he took a step back, aware the gesture meant this entire interaction was quickly coming to an end. You didn’t want it to.

“Think your ride’s about here, actually,” the Devil said, further backing up into the alley. “Seems this is where I say goodnight.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t go yet!” you begged his retreating form. “I didn’t get any devil’s food cake!” you called after him. “How ‘bout a piece to-go? Sharing is caring!”

But somehow the Devil had quickly disappeared into the darkened alley, the only proof of his presence the echo of his laughter bouncing off the brick walls. The sound sent a pleasant chill up your body, a smile still lingering along your lips as you teetered on the spot staring after him.

The pounding in your head hit you almost immediately after the sound of your alarm hit your ears. Groaning miserably as your entire body protested waking, your hand blindly flew out from beneath the sheets and felt around for your phone. Opening your eyes, you immediately hissed in pain as the bright light in your bedroom burned them. You blinked rapidly, trying to push past the growing throbbing in your head in order to shut off your irritating alarm. 

Silence finally settling once more in your room, you tossed your phone back down onto your nightstand and rolled onto your side before immediately halting. A wave of nausea hit you instantly and you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping to fight the feeling back. You needed to get up and get ready for work. You had twenty minutes to wash up, brush your teeth, and throw on clothes before you had to be out the door or you'd be late, and you could only imagine how irate your one boss would be if you were. You didn’t have time to get sick.

After a few moments, you were grateful when the nausea subsided. Cautiously you tested things, slowly opening your eyes again before tentatively pushing yourself upright in bed. The pounding in your head continued to rage on, another pathetic groan slipping past your lips. Drinking like you'd done on a weeknight last night had been a horrible idea. Vaguely you recalled the evening in flashes–doing rounds of shots, dancing with your friends, flirting with some guy. Most of the night remained a blur, though.

Feeling half-alive, you climbed out of bed and focused on getting ready for work. You'd briefly washed off in the shower, scrubbing yourself just clean enough to remove the scent of alcohol that felt like it was seeping out from your pores. Then you brushed your teeth vigorously before swirling some mouthwash around in your mouth, the taste of which had you fighting bile once more back down. Then you threw on whatever clean blouse and slacks your hands touched first, shuffling through your apartment towards your shoes as you pulled your pants on.

It had ultimately taken you more than twenty minutes to get ready for work and to get out the door since you'd had to stop and brace yourself against a wall or piece of furniture multiple times–either due to the pain in your head or the roiling in your gut. Then you'd been in a hurry making your way out of your building and towards the office, the morning sun and the usual city traffic only further aggravating your headache. By the time you'd finally gotten to work, you were more than ten minutes late and out of breath. 

“I am–” you pushed open the door to the office, panting hard as you spotted one of your bosses leaning against your desk, “–so sorry. Was trying to get here on time but I went out last night. This morning was a struggle.”

“Well you're here now, at least,” Foggy said, glancing up from a paper in his hands at you. His brows creased together as he eyed you, his nose visibly scrunching in distaste. “Though you smell like you slept in a bathtub of liquor and you look like you woke up to fight a pissed off honey badger.”

You laughed lightly, the noise further irritating your head as you hurried over towards your desk before making your way around it. “Yeah. I'm aware,” you replied. “I'm sorry. My friend had a birthday last night and I went out to celebrate. I definitely drank too much and I completely regret it. I promise I learned my lesson.”

“Certainly not the best decision,” Foggy agreed. “But I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next time–”

“You're late.”

Your head darted over your shoulder at the sound of your other boss. Grimacing at the stern look on Matt’s face, your shoulders slumped as you set your bag down onto the top of your desk.  

“I know, I'm sorry, Mr. Murdock,” you apologized. “It was a one time thing, it won't happen again, I promise.”

“Good, it better not,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe to his office. The corner of his lip twitched upwards for a second before he raised his coffee cup to his mouth, hiding the smile threatening to spread onto his lips. “Fog's right though, you smell like you bathed in the alcohol instead of drinking it. Can you even remember your night out?”

Chewing your lip awkwardly, your brows furrowed as you tried to recall last night. Though the sight of Matt standing there casually leaning against the doorframe drinking his coffee, the buttons of his sage green dress shirt struggling as he did, was making it hard for you to focus.

“Uh, bits and pieces of it?” you answered. 

“Mmm,” he hummed out, lowering his coffee cup. “Well, hopefully your evening was worth showing up late for. I certainly enjoyed my night, though. Woke up in a good mood this morning, actually.”

Your eyes narrowed at the smile on his face, something tickling at the back of your mind at the sight of it. But Matt smiling instead of scolding you when you messed up was an unusual occurrence, one that had you hesitantly and distractedly lowering down into your desk chair. 

“Which is why I brought doughnuts for everyone this morning,” Matt continued, gesturing a hand towards your desk. “I hope you still have an appetite after all the alcohol.”

“They're so good,” Foggy told you. “They’re from that new bakery a block over.”

Foggy slid the white box you hadn’t noticed on your desk over towards you. You watched as he flipped the lid open, the strong and sweet aroma of sugar and chocolate hitting your nose. Your stomach rumbled hungrily as you eyed the delicious chocolate pastries.

“Since when do you bring in doughnuts?” you asked, glancing back over at Matt.

He pushed off the doorframe, shrugging his shoulder. “I don't know,” he said, a strange smile drawing itself wide across his lips. “For some reason I woke up with a craving for devil's food cake and I just thought I’d share.”

With a deep chuckle Matt turned around, making his way back into his office. Head tilting curiously to the side, your eyes lingered along his backside as that strange feeling of something trying to reach the forefront of your mind returned.

Matt Murdock One Shot/Shorts Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @sleepysleepymom @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @ardent-crow @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Random Headcannons

Ahem, now that the event is over, here are some of my personal Jason Todd headcannons for your consideration:

He's always going to be taller than you. Doesn't matter if you're 5'2" or 6'0". He's simply taller than you, and he's buying boots with 4" platforms to really seal the deal

Jason loves any nickname you call him. Call him Jay, Jace, or any pet name and term of endearment. It'll make his heart skip a beat, and his eyes go starry. His name never sounds so pretty than when it's falling from your lips

Serial Hand Kisser. He's kissing your knuckles, your fingertips, the back of your hand, your palm, your wrist. He doesn't even need an excuse or reason to do it. He'll just be sitting on the couch reading, and your palm is pressed to his mouth the entire time.

Drags you out into the rain with him to dance. Yes, you introduced him to the joy of spinning under the cloudy skies, but he's the one who pulls you out from under cover every time it starts to drizzle.

This happens even if you're in your apartment, when the storm starts. You have a fire escape and a roof for a reason, and you're going to use it

He has a bit of sweet tooth, and it's entirely Alfreds fault. Even if you dont like sweets, he's going to convert you. Jason will find the recipe that changes your mind to at least enjoying his baking

You'll have to actively convince him to let you backpack on his motorcycle. Bikes can be dangerous, no matter how safe he is, other drivers won't always be

If you manage to convince him, you're going to wear all the protective gear, and he's taking you onto back roads outside of Gotham to practice leaning into turns safely before he drives you anywhere near the city streets

Will fully lay on top of you when you start sharing a bed. He's a cuddler, and that's not a crime. (Sure, he won't do it every night, he likes it when you sleep on his chest, too. But he will smother sleep on you)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S’not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[lemqnie]

ARCANE CHARACTERS + NEW YEARS EVE WITH YOU

JAYCE TALIS

⤠ loverboy texts you that he won't be done in the forge until late. you try to hide your disappointment. you're already dressed to the nines--a shimmery gold dress jayce bought for your for your anniversary last month sticks to your body like second skin. you were looking forward to partying it up with the kirammans. you move to take it off when you hear a knock on your bedroom door. heavily, you drag your feet to open it only to gasp in surprise when it's jayce. he stands in front of you, a sheepish smile on his face and pink dusting his cheeks and neck. he's in nothing but a simple white dress shirt, sleeves rucked up to his elbows. there's a hint of mechanic grease on his chin and you reach out to swipe it away, when he steps forward and pulls you close, apologising with a kiss. "what's that for?" you ask. he reveals what his other hand's hiding behind him: a bottle of champagne and a modest bag of fruits. "i thought we'd skip the party," he says, "stay here. watch the fireworks from over there." he nods at your balcony, the soft december breeze filtering through your room. "you said you'd be late," you accuse. he laughs. "i am. i wanted to come sooner, but i had meetings and then some and, well..." you don't know why you're still standing. you pull the man of progress in your room and the two of you steal kisses as you await the great clock to strike midnight.

VIKTOR

⤠ you've had plans since october. god knows viktor could never make enough time for himself to simply enjoy unless notified at least two months in advance. "nothing big," you promised him. with a roll of his eyes, he reaches forward with a free hand and kisses your forehead. "okay, láska." and exactly at eight pm on the dot, you show up at his flat, a bottle of wine and fresh sweetmilk rolls and grapes in tow. he lets you in, hair freshly damp from the shower. you make sure he's settled in before you set it up. you explain to him how your family rings in the new year: wishing on grapes and drunk. he laughs, wincing a little when the motion catches his back brace in a bad position. you reach over, brushing your thumb over his furrowed brows and he leans into your touch, kissing the insides of your wrist. "so," he says, accent thick and eyes heavy, "you brought the wine?" in the end, you didn't get to do your grapes until much, much later in the morning on new year's day after you wake up on viktor's bed, tangled in the sheets with him.

JINX

⤠ she swears to you that you'll get no better view of the piltie fireworks than above the cracks. she's waiting for you by the alley outside your workplace, gearing to go. you ask her if you need to bring anything yesterday and she grins, something mocking but rounded to sweet when she taps your nose. "just sturdy shoes and study old you," she sing-songs. as you climb up the treacherous cracks with her, you make good use of the shoes she told you to bring. you two finally make it up over the lanes and as you settle next to her, your breath leaves you forcefully. the view is beautiful. you can see the long stretch of roofs that make the end of zaun, the elevators, and the city of piltover. she nudges your shoulder and points with her arm to the councillor's building. "it'll be over there," she whispers. "colours like you've never seen!" the child-like wonder in her voice is what gets you. even if its minutes before midnight, you throw caution to the wind. what the hell, you thought as you turn and place your palm over her cheek. her blue eyes are wide, but she doesn't pull away as you lean in. when you kiss, you hear it behind you: the burst of fireworks, the cheer of children, and--best of all--jinx's relieved sigh against your lips.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN: CLICK HERE

[star-sim]

supermassive blackhole ☆ jay park pt. 1

☆ non-idol! spiderman! jay x fem!reader

☆ summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'

☆genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so

☆ warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age) , this is very suggestive but there is no smut

☆ word count:  13.7k

☆ a/n: my dumbass didn't factor in character block limit when i wrote this shit so i'm gonna split this fic up into two parts... sorry guys :( lmk if you want me to tag you in part 2, also this has a diff style so lmk how we feel abt it 😇

part 2

“Oh, thank you so much, Spider-Man!”

It was a warm spring evening, and Spider-Man had been on his evening city patrol. When he found a little old lady calling for help, who was he to refuse her? Her cat had been stuck in a tree, and she needed someone to help her. Hopping up on the tree, he safely retrieved the ball of fluff.

“Of course, Ma’am,” the superhero chuckled. If only she could see him through his mask, he would be grinning. “Get home safely.”

Watching the little lady’s retreating back, Spider-Man shot a web to the top of a building, and hoisted himself up into the air.

On late-spring nights like this, it was peaceful. He liked the breeze that hit his masked face as he swung from building to building. Around this time, rush hour would be beginning, and all the university students would be getting out. Speaking of…

Peeking over a billboard, Spider-Man peered down to the university campus. His own university campus.

There was no reason in particular for this, but he liked to watch the university around evening time. Most people were beginning their commute home or to the dorms, but campus crime was not rare at all. It could be small offenses like graffiti or theft, but he would prefer those types of things to just not exist at all at a place like the university. And, he just liked to check up on his friends or people he knew, to make sure they were getting home safely.

His eyes narrowed at a familiar figure that made its way across campus. Even from a tall building, he could recognize that head. His jaw clenched, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip before shooting another web and slinging away.

By the time it was fully dark out, Spider-Man had finished his night patrol. 

Sitting on the roof of his apartment complex, he didn’t quite want to go in yet. He liked freedom: the physical freedom yielded from spider-like abilities– practically flying through the air– and the social freedom of anonymity. Leaning back on his palms, Spider-Man took a deep breath.

The clouds were beginning to clear up because of the weather, so the moon and stars were extra visible tonight. Clothed fingers creeped up to his neck, carefully pulling up the red mask that covered his face.

He was lucky that no one else casually sat on top of apartment complexes, or else his identity would be revealed.

Jay Park.

The moonlight glimmered on his honey-gold tan skin. The night breeze was cool, kissing his hot cheeks. He ran a hand through his tousled coal-ebony hair, letting his sweaty forehead that had been covered for hours air out.

Truth be told, he was a tad exhausted. It’s not common for the safety of a city to lie on the shoulders of a struggling university student like himself. Throwing his head back and letting dark locks fall over his eyebrows, he let out a huff.

Shit, there’s a party tomorrow.

Everyone liked to boast about the idea of soulmates. 

The idea that fate existed as the binding force that drew lovers of all disparate backgrounds together was prolific, pervading in all parts of history. From severed limbs that shared the same primordial origin, to congenital tattoos containing initials, to even timers that counted down every second until meeting, the concept of soulmates has been longed for, craved for, lusted for- for centuries.

Unfortunately, for you, the notion that everyone had an innate and pre-destined lover was a tad ridiculous.

There was no way that you could believe in soulmates.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

But you did believe in natural enemies.

“I can ask you the same thing, Park.”

Tonight was the soccer team mixer, an end-of-the-year party that the university’s team hosted to celebrate yet another exciting school year. Courtesy of your friends, you and your thick-ass glasses ended up attending. 

Tonight was supposed to be a nice night. It really was. Junior year of university was a stressful one, and you were more than ready to party all your worries away: you figured that you earned it. 

Much to your misfortune, though, there was someone else that decided to attend: the most insufferable, loud, and obnoxious person to ever exist, Jay Park.

There were several reasons to despise him and his funky, tousled hair. He was loud, rowdy, fiery, rambunctious, unruly, uncouth, uncivilized, hot-headed, talked way too much, had no sense of volume, and in your very personal opinion, just sucked. And, apparently, he was a total freak. He would show up to parties and socials, cause a ruckus with his presence, and then randomly disappear. He stood weirdly, and his mannerisms were just strange.

If you could go back and change history, you would have never allowed yourself to even meet such a person. Unfortunately, you two had intersecting friend groups and many mutual friends; there was no avoiding him given your social circles.

It started back in freshman year of highschool. The two of you were sat next to each other on the first day of fourth period English Honors. Your teacher must have seen something that you didn’t, because it was almost impossible for you to even talk to each other. Jay, the pubescent boy he was, would crack a few jokes. You, though, would stare at him vacantly, as if you were expecting him to add on. 

“Can you stop talking?” you asked him once. “Your jokes aren’t funny.”

You had meant it in a helpful way.

“If you want to make it funnier, maybe have a set-up and punchline? Your jokes don’t land.”

Really.

You were genuinely trying to be helpful. 

The only issue was that, like everyone else in the world, Jay didn’t take that well.

From then until the second quarter, you and Jay would only talk to each other if specifically asked to. You would turn around to the girl that sat behind you, and Jay would talk to the guy that sat diagonally in front of him. And when you guys did speak Jay would be unnecessarily dry, and in response, you would get irritated and snap at him.

When you finally moved seats next quarter, you still managed to see each other around. Too much. Your only interactions were limited to a few judgy glances, and occasionally, glares.

During the fourth quarter, Jay made an attempt to mend your relationship when you guys were placed adjacent to each other again. 

Except, now it was your turn to be offended. 

“Hey, I know I was a dick and you were a bitch, but-”

“I was a bitch?”

You’d kick his chair in class, and when the two of you were inevitably forced to talk, it’d be short and curt.

Truly, it was the summer of freshman year that really catapulted your relationship into what it was today. 

When you hung out with your friends over the summer, Jay was always (and truly, always) there. 

Initially, it was awkward.

But when you learned that Jay liked the same band as you– Muse– you thought that you could finally put your terse relationship to an end. 

“You listen to Muse?” You had tapped his shoulder one day at the beach. He was hunched over, listening to his music with earphones jammed into his ears peacefully. He looked bemused, cocking a brow at you.

It must have been the way that you said it. Poor, slightly socially-inept you, who, up until that point, couldn’t control your tone of voice. It was no surprise that Jay thought you were making fun of him.

Brusquely standing up, he snatched his earbuds up to go somewhere [Name]-free, grumbling something under his breath.

From then on, you two rarely got along.

“Something about his face pisses me off.”

“I don’t like how she says things.”

“He makes me so angry for some reason.”

“She’s a total nerdo freak.”

“I need to fight him.”

“I need to fight her.”

For the first two years of high school, there was non-stop bickering. Not necessarily malicious in intent, but it was clear that neither of you liked each other.

The closest thing to a “friendship” that the two of you formed was during the second semester of sophomore year, when your friend started liking his friend, and vice versa.

Both of you were getting tired of seeing your friends so cluelessly in love with each other, so you and Jay joined forces to push them together. Secret in-class texting, after-school discussions, shared knowing looks, and when they finally got together on the last day of school, a perfectly-timed fist-bump. As much as you’d hate to admit it, you and Jay Park made a wonderful team.

After that, you were just on your way to becoming great friends. Obviously, not as close as other friends, but it was undoubted that you had incredible potential to become very good friends.

Until one midsummer night.

“You knew that Taehyun Kang was cheating on Isa– with the girl that he swore up and down she shouldn't worry about– and said nothing?” 

It was a difficult night. Especially when you had to console a weeping friend on one call and yell at Jay Park on the other. 

“He’s my best friend, too,” was all Jay had said.

“And?” You had been incredulous. “Taehyun’s been making googly-eyes at that girl since way before he got with Isa! You knew. You’ve known this entire time and you still-”

“I didn’t know.”

You remembered the anger that began to bubble inside of you. You had spent the past few weeks trying to fix your aggression issues, because it was Jay that told you about your first interaction that got you guys off on the wrong foot. But now, you really couldn’t suppress it.

“Yes you fucking did!” you yelled over the phone. “I know you did. Don’t try to pull this shit on me, Jay.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’ve known this entire time, and you didn’t say anything.”

He had huffed over the phone, grumbling something incoherent. “I didn’t know until a few days before school ended.”

“A few days before school ended?--” You had sunken your teeth into your bottom lip, for the anger that was just beginning to heat up was now rising to a boil– “That was a few days before they got together! You had time to say something– but you didn’t.”

“What did you want me to do?” Jay was now getting angry. “You wanted me to speak up and ruin everything?”

“You could have. You should have. But you didn’t.”

“It’s not my responsibility, [Name]. It’s not your or my responsibility.”

The boiling anger was now seething. “Yes, it fucking was!”

“No, it wasn-”

If Jay could have seen your face over the phone, it would have been twisted with both disbelief and indignation.

“When you and I teamed up to get Taehyun and Isa together,” you asserted through clenched teeth, “there were some things we took responsibility for. And when they got together, we had the responsibility to be good friends. Good fucking people, Park! You–”

You had to take a few moments to breathe. “You had the power– You had the knowledge that your best friend was a cheating bastard that would– You know what? You’re just like him. You could’ve been a normal fucking person and did things the right way, but you lack responsibility and basic intelligence to do so.”

Through the course of that messy break-up, a few more screaming matches between you and Jay came about. Really, it should have been an argument for your friends to have, but you and Jay had had enough of each other. The floodgate that had held your relationship finally broke.

For the rest of your high school years, every interaction would just be blows at each other. It started as subtle, harmless jabs. But over time, those jabs became hostile. Petty actions, like light shoves or stealing pens, evolved into spiteful and calculated attacks, such as purposefully tripping the other or intentionally cutting the other out of a group photo.

Eventually, your friends made up and the break-up rift was resolved, but not you and Jay’s rocky relationship. 

The horror you and Jay must have felt when you found out you were going to the same university.

At the present, pushing up the metal-framed glasses that delicately laid on your nose, you could feel Jay’s dark eyes boring into you. Giving him a once-over, your nose scrunched. Once again, you’re reminded of why you could not stand this guy.

Tonight was a soccer mixer. A college mixer. Looking around, everyone was dressed as if they were college students at a college party. Because that’s what they were.

Girls, including yourself, wore small dresses and short skirts with plunging necklines and fat, wedged heels. They did their hair in all kinds of elaborate styles– you tied your hair into a half-down-half-up style. The guys wore ripped jeans, form-fitting button-ups, leather jackets, and if you were a soccer player, the iconic soccer team jacket- but really anything that was casual and easy to move in.

Jay Park, on the other hand, swore a deep-green hoodie with ripped jeans, like the uncultured villain he was.

Okay, maybe you were being biased.

A few of your friends did come in wearing hoodies and ripped jeans, and you did, in fact, come through the door of this frat house with an oversized hoodie draped over your shoulders. But, the difference was that this was Jay Park. Everything that he did was uncultured and barbaric.

“I don’t know why you’re so surprised,” you remarked, glaring up at him through your lashes. You were on your way to grab a few drinks for your friends in the kitchen when you bumped into none other than Jay Park. “You hang around Jake Sim, I hang around Jake Sim. Use your critical thinking.”

Jake Sim was a mutual friend between you and Jay, who just so happened to be on the university’s soccer team. Great guy, but the only thing that you would complain about was the fact that every time you hung out with him, you would inevitably meet Jay.

Jay scoffed. “Didn’t think a prude like you would actually show up to a party like this.”

“Prude?” Of all times to be calling you prude, it really shouldn’t be now, when you were wearing possibly the shortest and tightest dress with the most risque neckline that you’ve ever worn in your entire life. Those thin spaghetti straps were not doing you any justice. And especially because you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes would linger around your silhouette. “Who’s the one who hasn’t been laid in months? Who’s the one with the worst box-dyed hair on the entire campus? Who’s the one that lacks any social awareness and says the most uncomfortable shit in a voice at 260 fucking decibels? Who randomly disappears? Who moves around like a goddamn insect?”

“That’s not even fucking true!” The man waved his hands in front of himself defensively. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

“I’m annoying? You’re the creep that follows me around everywhere.”

“You said it yourself! We have a mutual friend so we always end up-”

“Yeah, but I get the feeling that we end up in the same places because you choose to follow me-”

“I can assure you that no one wants to follow your nerdo freak ass-”

“Oh wow! How creative. You’ve been calling me that since we were fourteen–”

“Because that’s what you are! A nerdo freak that can’t do shit–”

“Why are you even here? You always have that job that you leave to-”

“Hey, hey, hey, party people!” a new voice interjected. 

Jake Sim, your mutual friend, with sleek sunglasses resting on his nose and a beer in his hand, suddenly appeared between your arguing bodies, throwing an arm around each of you.

“Jakey!” you exclaimed.

“‘Sup.” Jake was a suave guy, not a wonder that so many people liked him. “What were the two of you talking about? Looked like you were having fun!”

Jay cringed, his lips curling. Of all words, ‘fun’ would be the furthest from a good descriptor of your interaction. You seemed to think the same.

“Nothing,” you said through clenched teeth and brief glare to the ebony-haired man. 

Jake frowned. “Awww, don’t tell me you guys were fighting again!”

You and Jay locked eyes.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,' his eyes said.

‘Wasn’t going to,’ yours replied.

Jake Sim was a sociable guy. Unfortunately, it made him a little obsessed with making everyone get along. So when he found out that you and Jay deeply disliked each other in junior year of high school, he made it his life’s mission to make you get along.

Didn’t work. It really only made you hate each other more.

“We weren’t,” Jay affirmed, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip. 

When Jake cocked a brow, you added, “Yeah, we weren’t.”

When Jake left you two alone again, there was a thick silence that fell over you (as silent as a rowdy college party could get). You took your drink, and turned to leave.

“Go fuck yourself, by the way,” you spat.

There’s many issues with college parties. A few hundred bodies of sweaty late-teen-early-twenty-somethings all squished together in a single frat house with alcohol and drugs was just a recipe for disaster. Alas, that was simply the college way.

To Jay Park, other than the fact that there was, ahem, usually the presence of people that he didn’t like at college parties, there was the fact alcohol was practically everywhere. No matter how many times he could vow to not drink on one particular night, he always ended up slightly buzzed or full-out drunk.

Like right now.

It was late into the night, but the party hadn’t died down even a little bit. His friends pulled him onto the dance floor. Normally, he would scurry off, probably scared that he might lose control of his spider abilities, but with the booming techno music, blinding LED lights, and alcohol that had happily found its way into his system, Jay’s mind was completely hazy. He could barely feel his own feet below him.

The next thing he knew, there was a body up against him. Definitely smaller than him, but plush and soft, moving fluidly to the music. His mind was completely fuzzy, but Jay could smell a familiar scent. Sweet and almost citrusy, like a summer orange. His arm slithered around the person’s waist, pulling them closer to his own body. His fingers found themselves snaking toward the person’s hip. His larger hands gave it squeeze, earning him a barely-audible squeal. 

If only he knew that the person was you.

Maybe it was the alcohol getting to him, but he felt a shock of fervor and excitement rake through his body.

Bodies moving closely together, he could feel a ghost of your warmth where there was clothes; where clothing was, he could only feel a touch of warmth. 

Jay could feel everything, thanks to his heightened spidey senses and the alcohol. Every motion of your body against his, every breath you took. Which is why even when intoxicated, he could clearly hear the song change from techno to punk rock– Muscle Museum by that one band he’s liked since freshman year of highschool. Muse, was it?

“Fuck, I love this song,” he heard you mutter in your own tipsy state.

Jay was sure you couldn’t hear him, but he slurred back, “Me too.”

His hands explored.

A bare thigh, soft and creamy. An exposed neck, an unclad arm, an ample uncovered chest. Something metal on your face– a piercing? glasses? You must have been wearing jewelry, because he could feel cold metal hanging from your neck and splaying across your chest.

(The amount of practice it took for him to be able to ensure no sticky webs came out of his palms was out of this world. Sober Jay would have been a little more careful, but it was a good thing that he practiced so much.)

When his hand gave your waist another squeeze, something must have clicked in your mind, because you slid your arms around his neck, turning your body to press your chests together. Pedicured fingers ran across his chest through the fabric of his hoodie, ending up at his shoulders. Another jolt of warmth and electricity coursed through his veins.

Jay’s head was way too blurred to really take a look at you in front of him, but again, that familiar scent filled his senses. 

When the lights dimmed and music slowed, you rested your head on his shoulder. He could feel your breath fanning against his neck, lip brushing against his skin. Your lips were half-moist; it must have been gloss that made it sticky, but there was a hint of dryness that he could tell was from being swollen– you were biting your lip so much it was becoming swollen. A warm chill rushed down his spine. 

How drunk was he at this point? He didn’t care, because the next thing he knew, he was pushed up against a wall in a dark hallway.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he muttered under his breath, as you shoved your pedicured hands up his hoodie and played with the belt loops of his ripped jeans.  Throwing his head back against the wall, he heard you giggle, before you ghosted your hand over his lower abdomen, effectively sending waves of warmth down his body. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, flinching. He cursed his spidey senses for making him so sensitive to touch. “Don’t fucking do that- don’t tease me.”

He heard another giggle, before he felt a few nimble fingers grasping his chin gently, pulling his face down for a better reach.

It was a soft, but crazily attractive, voice that whined in his ear, “But you’re so cute like this.”

And then you continued, slipping your hand up and down his bare abdomen, occasionally stopping near his collarbone to tug on the metal necklace that laid so delicately. Meanwhile, you pressed open-mouth kisses on his neck, eliciting the softest sighs of satisfaction.

Truth be told, Jay had no idea that it was you who was all pressed up against him, but for some reason, the fact that he didn’t know turned him on even more. 

The wet kisses, which he was sure left sparkly pink traces of lip gloss, littered all over his skin, trailing from the part where his jaw and ear met, to his collarbones, to his Adam’s apple, and finally, to his chin.

With a squeeze to his bicep, you gently cupped his cheek, pulling him closer. With an experimental hand, you swiped your thumb over his bottom lip, pressing onto the cold metal piercing that adorned his lip.

It was a dark hallway, but it was now that Jay noticed the light that reflected off of your glasses’ lens. When he tried to look for your eyes, he was only met with the sleek shine that reflected off your glasses.

“Let me kiss you,” you purred into his ear as you ran your thumb over his lips. It was now that he could smell the tequila from your breath. “Please?”

Jay, all in his equally-drunken glory, threw his head back again against the wall, making a thud sound. “Fuuuuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Yeah. You’re hot.”

You giggled. You gave his lip piercing one more tap of the finger before entangling your hands in his dark hair, giving it a soft tug. It was a good thing that he was pushed so close against a wall, because Jay swore his knees were going to give out. 

“Thank you, baby.”

You gave his hair another tug, staring straight into his eyes. The half-panicked expression that spread across his face made you crack a small grin of satisfaction, and Jay felt embarrassed under your gaze. Gently holding his face, you pressed soft butterfly kisses along his jawline before you ended up at his chin. You pulled him closer so that your chests were pushed all the way against each other, the majority of your weight on him against the wall.

Jay swiped a tongue over his lip, sucking in a sharp and shallow breath. His chest rose and fell, swallowing so hard in anticipation that his Adam’s apple bobbed. You brushed your nails along his bicep before clasping hands with him; in a swift movement, you pinned his hands flat on the wall next to his head. 

The gap between your faces was closing. You were only a few inches apart at this point. Hot breaths and glassy eyes.

Hands still pinned against the wall, Jay could not tear his eyes away from that glossy sheen on your glasses. He wanted so badly to see your eyes, lock onto them. Usually, the inability to see someone’s eyes would make a kiss less appealing, but for some reason, it only made things more intimate for him. Combined with the darkness and intoxicated state, the anonymity was a turn-on.

Almost as if to tease him, you peppered soft kisses along his chin and around his lips. Freeing his hand from your grip, Jay snuck it around your waist, pressing you all the way up against him. He could feel every curve and divot of your body now; with the softness and plush skin, he wanted to explore it once again with his touch. His big hand traveled down your waist to your hips, caressed your ass, and ended up on the backside of your thigh. He freed his other hand to do the same, resulting in two hands on your thighs.

Jay parted his lips, peering down at you through lidded eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

The music had faded in the background, but his heart pounded to the beat of the slow R&B. 

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

So close. You were so close.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

Sliding his hands up your back to your shoulders, Jay gave it a squeeze. In a swift movement, he flipped your positions around, pushing you gently against the wall and placing a flat palm above you head.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

You giggled, grappling for his hair once again. 

Again, he could smell that sweet, citrusy scent.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

Jay leaned in. 

There was a sort of tenderness—intimacy— that he suddenly craved for. Closing that gap, having skin on skin, lip to lip, he needed it.

Ba-dum, ba-dum. 

If he just got a little closer… a few more centimeters, and your lips would-

Beep beep!

What-

Beep beep!

Bewildered, Jay flinched back.

It was his watch, which lit up the dark hallway.

You held his bicep, trying to pull him back in. He resisted.

Beep beep! Time to go! his watch went on.

“Baby,” you breathed. “Is everything okay?”

Jay bit his tongue. As sensible as an intoxicated person can be, his eyes narrowed at his glowing wristwatch. 

Fuck.

“I-I have to go.” Jay pushed off the wall, turning toward the hallway entrance. He was feeling dizzy.

“What? But-”

He eyed his watch, which was now glowing a red color.

“Shit, shit-” He turned over his shoulder, slurring out, “I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t see your face but he could feel disappointed and confused eyes boring into his back.

On his way out of the frat house, Jay took a bottle of water and chugged it, sobering up (though still feeling shitfaced and nasty). He rushed out of the house, and the moment he stepped out onto the pavement, his phone rang.

“What happened this time, Jungwon?” he grumbled into his phone, still catching his breath. His hand came up to touch his neck. Even out here and sobered up, he could still feel the sticky kisses pressed against his skin, setting his cheeks aflame against the cold night air.

On the other side of the phone, a childish voice spoke. “Doctor Discotheque!”

“What?”

He heard a huff. “Doctor Discotheque! Remember? That villain guy! He’s here!”

Jay scoffed. “Where’s ‘here’?”

“At home, you dummy!”

Sometimes, Jay wondered why he employed his eight-year-old kid brother, Jungwon, or Wonnie, to help him with his Spider-Man endeavors. Given the fact that the kid was literally eight years old, it might have been a little pathetic to enlist the help of someone who couldn’t even do basic math. But honestly, Wonnie was the best he had– the kid was terribly excited to find out that his big brother was a superhero and he promised not to tell anyone only if Jay 1) told him everything that happened (correction: everything cool that happened, the kid didn’t want to hear about helping old people use the subway) and 2) let him be intel. There wasn’t much a grade-schooler could do to be a valuable informant (what was Jay going to let him do, run around the street at night?), but he sure did have a lot of time on his hands.

“Okay, okay,” Jay rubbed the scar on his nose. “Where at home? Like, in the complex? Outside?”

“Two floors below us.”

“What.”

Just as Jay was outside the general vicinity of mixer-goers, he heard a slew of heavy footsteps and then suddenly felt two arms wrap around his torso.

“What the-”

A very, very, very familiar voice began sobbing into his back. “Why’d you leeeavvvvveee?”

You.

You tightened your hold on him, burying your face in his hoodie-clad back. “Whyyyyyyyyyy?” you drawled.

“The fuck-?” Jay, cringing into his skin, tried to pull away. However, his nose picked up a scent that he was more than mortified to recognize. It was sweet and citrusy. And when his eyes caught the outline of your metal-framed glasses and the illumination that was strewn across the lens, all hell broke loose.

“Jay?” Wonnie’s voice called over the line. “Jay! Spider-Man! Is everything okay?”

“Hold on-” Jay replied. “Fuck, just give me a second.”

You, [Name] [Last Name], possibly one of the most insufferable people ever, was the one that he was all over just five minutes ago. You were the one that had him pressed up against the wall. You were the one that was touching and kissing him all over. You were the one that sent chills down his spine. You were the one that he was minutes away from taking into a spare bedroom and-

He sucked in a sharp breath. Not the time to think about that.

Now that he had soaked in the fresh air outside the frat house, the smell of alcohol was strong on your person. It consoled him that everything happened because both of you were drunk, at least.

“[N-Name],” he muttered. “[Name], let go.”

You were fuckfaced drunk, holding and clinging onto him like your life depended on it and wailing. Jay never thought that he’d find a day where you would be like this to him.

“I want youuuuu,” you slurred. “Come baaaaack insiiiideeee.”

“Jesus Christ, you college kids,” Wonnie clicked his tongue on the other side of the line. “Get a room.”

“Shut it,” Jay spat. Turning his attention to you sobbing in his arms, he figured that you had no idea that the person you were all over was him. If you did, you would be kicking and screaming at him. 

As much as he needed to go, he didn’t feel great about leaving a drunk woman (no matter how much he disliked you) alone at night at the side of a road.

“[Name], where are your friends?”

You sniffled. “I don’t knowww.”

Jay huffed. He couldn’t find your phone, and he wasn’t going to hang up on his brother– who he honestly really needed to get to, like, right now.

He had a few options: fail at his job as Spider-Man by leaving a drunk woman unattended, go inside and physically look for your friends which will delay him going to Wonnie, or take you home himself. He did not have a lot of time.

Which is why he was currently carrying you, his worst enemy, bridal style as he shoots webs across the sky, all the while being on call with his kid brother.

“When are you getting home again?” Wonnie asked.

“Give me, like-” Jay looked around the city- “Five minutes.”

A lucky feat of being Spider-Man was that he had incredible speed and agility. 

It wasn’t going to take much longer to get to your apartment, which he now realized was very close to his own apartment complex.

Actually, he was heading straight towards his apartment complex. 

Weird. 

Maybe yours is the one behind it? 

Nope, there’s just an old construction site behind it.

Wait, so then where’s your apartment…?

Oh my god, you lived in the same apartment complex as him.

Speaking of, you were asleep in his arms. 

“Won, what is Doctor Discotheque doing?”

“Having tea with our downstairs neighbors.”

“What?”

“What kind of question is that?!” Wonnie yelled over the phone. “He’s a supervillain! What do you think he’s doing? Wreaking havoc, duh!”

Jay took a deep breath so as to not yell back at this kid. “Yeah, I know. What in particular is he doing?”

“He’s being rude to the apartment staff.” When he was met with a judgmental silence, Wonnie groaned. “I’m serious. I think he’s waiting for you. He’s just being super mean to people right now.”

Damnit.

Jay took a look at the unconscious you in his arms. “Wonnie, I’m going to drop someone by the balcony. Take her in, will ya?”

Before Wonnie could blow up on him for bringing a ‘her’ home, Jay brusquely said, “I’m going down to kick Doctor Discotheque’s ass.”

Of all things in the world, you did not expect to wake up in Jay Park’s bed. 

The next morning, you woke up with probably the worst headache you’ve ever had. You were never one to drink, but maybe the university stress was really getting to you. Groaning, you sunk your face into the freshly-washed white sheets. All seemed normal, until you realized a few things:

First, who took you home last night? You had no memory of anything that happened at the mixer that night. If you thought about it hard, you could probably remember getting ready for it, meeting some, ahem, unpleasant people, talking to a few friends… and really nothing more. In fact, the bedroom you were in right now didn’t look like it belonged to any of your friends. 

Second, you were still in your clothes from last night. And makeup. And hair.

How did you get home last night? 

This was probably the worst hangover you’ve had in a while. Nevertheless, when you realized that there was talking outside the room, you got out of bed to investigate. 

Which led you to possibly the worst thing to ever witness.

Jay Park, with wet hair, shirtless on the couch.

The shrill scream you let out was enough to get a complaint from the neighbors.

“Oh my fuck, calm down,” Jay, in all his bitch-faced glory, rolled his eyes.

“You- You want me to calm down?” You were scandalized. Horrified. “You’re literally- You’re-”

“This is my house,” his eyes bored into you. “I can do whatever I want.”

“This- This is your house?”

He blinked. “Yeah.”

There was another ear-splitting scream before Jay convinced you to sit down so he could explain.

“You don’t need to sit so far away from me,” Jay dead-panned when you sat at the very edge of the couch.

“I don’t want to be near you,” you murmured.

“That's rich coming from someone that was all over me yesterday.”

The utmost and utter horror painted across your face was nearly laughable. 

You?

All over Jay?

Was that why you woke up in his home…? In his bed?

“Oh my god,” you clasped a hand over your mouth. “Did we…”

“No.”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“Then how am I here then?”

Jay sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

If you weren't completely stunned into silence from the fact that you woke up in Jay Park’s bed, then you were now. Jay recounted a rather detailed account of what happened the night before– the two of you got drunk, and ended up more than touchy with each other. Your face heated up, with both embarrassment and… anger? 

Frowning, you asked, “Then why’d you bring me home?”

“You were crying and begging me to come back inside with you, but I had to go.” 

You glared at him, crossing your arms.

“Go on.”

“I wasn’t going to leave you out there drunk, you know,” Jay shrugged. “I was going to bring you to your apartment, but I had to fight– I mean– Spider-Man had to fight some.. Um, villain downstairs.”

You nodded slowly, but skeptically. Sensing your cynicism, Jay added quickly, “You can check the news. The fight was on the seventh floor.”

Your ears perked up. “Seventh floor?”

“Yeah-”

“That’s where I live.”

Jay’s eyes widened a fraction. “Shit.”

A great thing about being Spider-Man was that he was technically a government worker, a public service provider. The government paid for all the casualties caused by his work, luckily. Gone were the days that he’d be considered a masked menace.

As great as this was, it led to Jay being more or less reckless. Not that he was throwing shit around and purposefully breaking property when protecting citizens, but he had the freedom to do whatever was necessary. If he had to break down walls to save people, then so be it.

Speaking up, Spider-Man went a little.. Err… crazy last night. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, or the fact that Doctor Discotheque the supervillain was literally insane. Safe to say, when fighting in the hallway of the seventh floor, Jay got a little aggressive and broke a few more things than usual.

If you found out that he-- Jay-- was Spiderman, a.k.a. the one that probably damaged your home, he’d be dead. Luckily, you wouldn't find out. Unluckily, your apartment was among those that were damaged last night.

“Can you stop that?” Jay said.

There were many reasons that Jay Park deeply disdained you. You were nit-picky, snobby, arrogant, pretentious, overly-critical, fussy, and extremely judgmental. Everyone thought you were some sort of genius, and he could tell that you liked the fact that they did. 

“I’m fuckin’ stressed,” you spat as you paced around the floor. “I don’t think I can really ‘stop.’”

Not that he was a sick person, but the expression of genuine distress spread all over your face was almost satisfying. But then Jay realized the situation you were in and he knew it was his fault, so he felt just a little bad. 

You lost your phone last night, and your apartment was more than a little damaged, the entire seventh floor being tarped and taped off. Sitting on the couch, you chewed on your bottom lip. It wasn’t even noon yet. Given your group of friends and the events last night, it wasn’t likely that any of them were awake at this time. And you didn’t have your phone- it wasn’t like you could just easily phone someone that wasn’t there last night.

You had a massive headache, feeling lightheaded with a throbbing sensation up there. You felt gross, with smudged makeup and the same tiny dress from last night. You could definitely walk to a friend’s place and wait there, but the heels you wore last night were the tallest, most painful, party-purposed stilettos. You were absolutely not walking around the city in those shoes.

The worst part about it all was that you were stuck in the apartment of none other than Jay Park. 

Could you appreciate the fact that he looked out for you by taking you home? Yeah, sure.

But could you stand him? Absolutely not.

“Why are you walking around like that?” He was getting persnickety, as payback for all the times that you’d been nit-picky towards him. “You’re going to ruin my floorboards.”

You sent him a glare. Some empathy would be nice, you thought, rolling your eyes.

There really was only one person that was accessible to you if you wanted to get out of here, and it was Jay himself. You never really thought that there would be a day where you would need to ask for his help, but here you were, practically stranded. Speaking of, he was ignoring you, occasionally looking up from his phone to give you a weird look.

If you wanted to go home, you would need to swallow your pride and just ask for help.

You prided yourself in your ability to be blunt. You were a natural leader, ambitious and aggressive. You never had an issue with announcing your wants or needs. But now faced with the piercing silence of Jay Park, you simply could not open your mouth to speak. It wasn’t like you couldn't ask him, but that you wouldn't. Curling your lips, you let the glum, nearly shameful, feeling fall over yourself.

Eyes tracing the man’s outline carefully, you swallowed the lump in your throat. 

‘[Name], you can do this,’ you recited to yourself. ‘You can do this. Just talk to him, just talk to-’

You pressed your lips together, before taking a deep breath and opening your mouth to speak. As you attempted to say his name, no sound came out. When he glanced up at you suspiciously,you quickly averted your gaze and closed your mouth.

When he looked away, your eyes flickered back to him, simply drilling into him. You licked your lips. For the second time, you opened your mouth to say his name, bracing yourself for the sound of your voice, but Jay spoke before you did.

“What are you looking at?” 

You stood up straight like a board, pushing up your glasses clumsily.

“I- Well-”you cursed yourself for stammering. You never stammered like this. “I…”

He looked at you expectantly.

Your ego, that fat chunk of an ego, was crumbling.

“Park,” you brusquely said. 

He leered at you. “What?”

You stared at him awkwardly, lips pressed into a line as thin as paper. “I… I.. um.”

He clicked his tongue impatiently. “On with it.”

You huffed loudly. 

“Can I please use your phone?”

The second last thing that you expected to happen ever was to be sitting on Jay Park’s bed with wet hair wearing his hoodie and sweatpants. And that other than asking him for help.

Never have you felt so ashamed of yourself, sitting on the soft bed with your knees up to your chest. 

The judgy glance that Jay gave you was absolutely soul-crushing, and after a humiliating stutter-filled explanation, he simply said, “Go take a shower.”

Were you initially mortified? Absolutely. But after soaking in the warm water for a few minutes, you begrudgingly thanked him. But only in your head.

Staring at a spot on the floor, you pressed your face into your knee, reflecting upon everything that had happened. As you were lost in thought, what startled you was a loud beeping sound, the slamming of a window, and yelling. You jumped to your feet in reaction, but before you could creep out of the bedroom, someone else came in.

Instead of a tall, well-built man with black hair, it was a young boy no older than ten holding a massive walkie talkie.

“Who- Who are you?”

The boy blinked owlishly, before cracking a grin. “Oh, it’s you!”

You recoiled. “Wh-What?”

“You’re the lady from last night!” he laughed, revealing sharp canine teeth. When you only looked more bewildered, he continued, “The lady that Jjongsaeng brought home last night!”

Jjongsaeng? “You mean Park— er, Jay?”

The boy frowned. “He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend,” he murmured to himself quietly, before turning over to you. “Mhm!”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” You were a little concerned. Who was this child and why was he in Jay Park’s apartment?

“Oh!” The boy laughed again, throwing his head back. He came closer to you, extending a small hand towards you. “Jungwon! But just call me Wonnie!”

Okay, but your question wasn’t answered exactly. “Are you…” you took a better look at Wonnie. He was just so small! Though, he looked an awful lot like Jay Park… – “Are you his son… or…?”

The boy put an offended hand over his chest, scowling deeply. 

“Son?” he gawked. “I’m his brother!!”

Your lips formed an ‘o.’

“And what’s your name?” Wonnie looked at you curiously.

“[Name] [Last Name]– Just– Just call me [Name].”

A silence fell over you two.

“Do you- Do you know where your brother is?” When Wonnie gave you a suspicious look, you quickly added, “I need to use his phone.”

He gave you another long stare, before saying simply, “He’s not here.”

How could he not be here? Jay was just here, like, twenty minutes ago? “What do you mean?” you narrowed your eyes.

“He-” Wonnie’s large eyes hovered over to the window quickly, before fluttering back to you. “He went to work.”

“Doesn’t he have a night internship?”

Wonnie grumbled something under his breath, almost looking stressed, gripping the walkie talkie. “Yyyyyessss,” he nodded slowly. “But he has a day job too…. As an.. Um, photographer?”

You nodded slowly. “Right. When do you expect he’ll be back?”

Wonnie glanced at the window again. “In, like, fifteen minutes-”

Crash!

You two rushed over to the living room window, peering across to the construction site behind the apartment complex. There, there were news reporters, blaring ambulances and police cars, and rubble and dust everywhere. Not to mention the elephant in the room: Spider-Man and two criminals.

“Oh my god, is that Spider-Man?”

Wonnie didn’t seem as impressed as you, opting to toy with his walkie talkie. “Yeah, he’s here all the time. Cool guy.”

You frowned. You lived only a few floors down and you wouldn’t say that Spider-Man was ‘here all the time.’ 

“Really? This is my first time seeing him.”

Fingering the window handle, you pushed it open.

You’d heard all the stories. Your friends talk about seeing the red-and-blue-clad hero with his iconic spider logo. He was some neighborhood hero. According to a few of your friends, he’d help them fight off muggers and creeps, swinging in with his sticky white webs just moments before all hell broke loose. Apparently, he was a super suave guy, and according to a few, really hot. 

“As hot as a masked hero can be,” you would laugh with your friends. Now watching from a few stories up, you could definitely see the appeal. The sun was out, casting a harsh shadow on Spider-Man’s defined back muscles. The skin-tight suit hugged his strong arms and sturdy build. 

There was something so fascinating about Spider-Man. He was strong, friendly, dutiful, sure. But what made him so alluring was that you wanted to study him– dissect him. It was only in your nature to want to know every single inner-workings of a figure like him.

You then felt a poke at your side. It was Wonnie.

“What, are you in love with him or something?”

You tore your eyes from Spider-Man’s figure. “What? No!”

Wonnie raised his brows. “Hmmm… Okay.”

You turned back over to the window, except when you scanned for Spider-Man, he had disappeared completely.

“Hey, where did he-”

The front door of the Park apartment flew right open, revealing a disheveled Jay Park. 

“Y-You’re back already?” Wasn’t he just at a job….?

Jay waved his hand in front of him, taking off his shoes. “Yeah. Why? Were you gonna do something?”

Your nose scrunched. “No! I just thought you were at a job.”

Jay scoffed. “Who told you that-” He cut himself off when he noticed the awkward expression painted across Wonnie’s face. 

“Fuckin’ dumbass,” he muttered.

Jay Park would have never guessed that you would be sleeping in his bed. For the second night. In a row. None of your friends had enough space for you to crash, and if not, they just didn’t pick up the phone. 

“You need better friends,” Jay had told you in a matter-of-fact way, earning a sharp glare. 

And it wasn’t an easy decision to let you stay with him either.

The apartment was a 2-bedroom one. One for himself, one for his kid brother. He sure as hell wasn’t going to make Wonnie leave his room or you and Wonnie share a room, and he most definitely was not sharing a bed with you. He’d make you sleep on the couch, but the Spider-Man in him told him not to. So very grudgingly, Jay let you take his room.

He was only allowing this because it was him that practically destroyed your apartment. Even if he didn’t like you, he did take responsibility for what happened.

Maybe that one argument you had the summer of sophomore year got to him. 

And plus, he could not stand you. All the little jabs you made at him, even down to your facial expressions, had him riled up. But, for the sake of the child in the room, Jay made no big attempt to fight back.

Curled up on the couch, Jay couldn’t shake off the glum feeling that settled on his chest.

Jay Park never realized how many qualms he would have with another person living in his house. 

He was okay with Wonnie, because Wonnie knew his identity as Spider-Man. And plus, Wonnie was his brother– that little squirt was tolerable. When it’s just the two of them, Jay could do basically anything he wanted. Wonnie was more than enthusiastic when he would use his webs to pull objects toward him or hang on the ceiling just because he could, and it was a rather common occurrence for you two to make a ruckus whenever there was crime in town. Jay could go do Spider-Man things whenever he needed to, and Wonnie would be okay with it.

But now with you living with him temporarily, he had to be a lot more careful.

Especially with your nitpicking everything he does.

“Why do you cut your bread like that?”

“Ew, your butter is so hard.”

“Can you stop chewing so loud?’

“Why does your face look like that?-- Oh, hi Wonnie!”

“Hi, [Name]!”

It seemed like Wonnie and you got along better. 

“Hey, where are you going?” you asked from the kitchen table.

Jay, who was putting on his coat and shoes at the door, made a face. Swinging his backpack over his shoulders, he took Wonnie’s hand. “What do you think we’re doing?”

It was a rhetorical question, but you answered matter-of-factly. “Class doesn’t start until nine though!”

Jay pointed to Wonnie. “Gotta take him to school.”

That was only partially the truth. He did indeed take Wonnie to elementary school, but like every morning, he went on a morning patrol. The amount of small robberies and little school children walking into traffic was a bit staggering, but not to worry, Spider-Man was on his way.

Like right now.

As Jay swung from building to building, he carefully scanned the alleyways and streets to possibly catch any crime. When he stopped to rest atop a mix-use flower shop, crouching in his iconic pose, he spotted two children and a man.

Jay’s enhanced senses allowed him to hear the conversation-

“Let go!” one of the children pleaded, pulling away from the man. The other child, clearly the younger one, confusedly held onto the other.

“Kids, kids!” the man chuckled, continuing his tightened grip. “Just come with me. I’m your parents’ friend!”

The older of the two scrunched her nose, continuing to resist the man.

Jay observed from above. Clearly, these children had no idea who this man was. By the looks of it, there wasn’t anyone else around. Even if the kids screamed, no one would come to the rescue quick enough. This weird kidnapper guy could definitely take these kids without a doubt.

Cue the screaming and crying.

Panicked, the man tightened his grip on the kids, jerking them along as he began to walk towards the alleyway.

Fuckin’ creep, Jay thought before shooting a white web at the lampost a few meters down the pavement, swinging down. Extending a leg, he held onto the web as he suspended across the air. As he closed in on the man, he heard the two children let out shrill gasps just as Jay's foot made impact with the man’s cheek.

The brief moment of surprise made the man loosen his grip on the two children, allowing for them to scurry back. Now on the ground, Jay stood over his fallen figure.

Disgusting, he thought as he peered down at the man. Just thinking about what he would have done to the children made him angry. The man groaned in pain. Jay leaned down to the man, bringing a masked, yet somehow patronizing, face to him.

“Hey, buddy!” His words were ordinary, but very clearly filled with contempt. “Whatcha doin’ over there with those kids?”

When the man didn’t answer, Jay stamped a foot right between the man’s legs, impossibly close to his crotch. “C’mon, man. Wontcha explain?”

The panic in the man’s eyes was satisfying, as he began to draw out a pocket knife. 

“S-Spider-Man?!”

Under his mask, Jay cracked a smirk. “Honored to be at your service.”

The man ogled at Spider-Man’s built figure– he stood no chance against the hero. Regardless, he stumbled to his feet, pointing the blade at Jay. “Stay back!”

Jay laughed.

“Oh no! A knife! Anything but the knife!” Jay feigned fear, cowering into himself. “I’m so scared! Please! My biggest weakness is a tiny little knife!”

The man faltered, staring hesitantly at the hero. Jay took this moment to shoot one more web at the street light, giving him momentum to jump in and kick this guy in the face again.

“Oh, man,” Jay chuckled. “That knife really got me.”

“I-I’m sorry!” The man gawked at the hero’s figure standing over him, spluttering as he struggled to his feet and finally scuttling away.

Jay watched his running back carefully.

“Thank you so much, Spider-Man!” he heard the children cheering behind him. Turning over his shoulder, Jay gave them a salute, before shooting a web and swinging away.

When classes for the day ended, Jay Park wanted a head-start on patrolling. The sun was only beginning to set, casting a golden hue over the city. He liked this time of day the most. There was always a faint citrusy smell in the air, and he wished he could take off his mask to feel the wind rake through his hair. 

He checked all the important places– the bank, the university, the bus station, and especially the central business district. The alleyways were crazy notorious for being crime-ridden, so he was extra attentive with the patrol. 

Speaking of, there seemed to be a bit of a conundrum right now. From the top of a high-rise building, Jay’s eyes zeroed in on the figures a few hundred feet below him. It was no uncommon occurrence for there to be some sort of assault (with Spider-Man here, attempted assault) in a dark alleyway. Jay always followed a basic procedure:

Step one: identify what’s happening.

From above, he could see that– oh shit– a woman was going to be mugged. 

Little did he know, much to both of your luck, that woman was you.

Step two: identify the threat.

Two guys, both disheveled, one with a pocket-knife. Even though he couldn’t see your face, just by the looks of it, you were clearly disadvantaged– these two guys were massive compared to you.

“We see ya wallet, girl,” one of the men said. For two people who were very much advantaged, they were rather shy with the knife, holding it low and with little confidence. “Hand ovah the money.”

When you didn’t respond, they got a little more vindictive, slamming the rusted brick wall, demanding for money.

Step three: swoop in and-

Jay was bewildered by the raucous clanking of metal trash can tops against the dirty pavement. Gaping down, he could see one of the men crashed up against the trash cans, and the other one taken aback. 

Did you just…?

Jay was taken by surprise once again when he heard grunting and groaning in pain. You were kicking these men when they were down. With heeled shoes. And it was now that he finally noticed your physicality: [H/C] hair. Glasses. Big attitude. Oh my god, how did he not realize that it was you?

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you landed a kick at the crotch. Jay hissed in pain just at the sight of that. “Huh? You think you own this fuckin’ place?” Another kick. “Fuckin’ scum.”

Jay was contemplating whether or not he should go down there and give you– [Name]-fucking-[Last Name]– a hand. He was going to decide against it, when his spidey senses picked up the very crisp sound of a blade scraping across the pavement. While you were busy cussing out one of the assailants, you didn’t notice the way one of the men unsheathed the pocket-knife. 

Jay could see it— In a matter of seconds, the guy’d bare the blade and shank your right in the abdomen. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, tongue swiping right over his metal lip piercing.

“Hey, fuckface!” In one fell swoop, Jay landed a powerful punch to the blade-bearing assailant’s cheek, sending him flying down the alleyway. you let out a shriek. “Spider-Man?!”

It was weird to see you startled like this. “Hey, Gorgeous.”

In his defense, there was not a bone in his body that thought that you were gorgeous. It was simply a habit he took on when he assumed the role of Spider-Man. He said that to everyone.

The second assailant, the one that you had basically beat up with words, was still keeled against the trash cans, eyes widened and fearful of what the friendly neighborhood hero could do.

Jay leaned down to be at eye-level with the man. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

The man spluttered, and Jay sneered. The kick that the hero gave to the man square in the chest subsequently propelled him down the alleyway, joining his friend at the back. 

“Maybe don’t try to mug someone in broad daylight, bud.”

When Jay heard a few clanking sounds and groans of pain, he turned to you.

You were looking at him with large, shiny eyes, utterly consumed in admiration. Jay cringed at the silence that fell over the two of you. It wasn’t normal for there to be such a calm silence between him and you. If there wasn’t arguing, then there’d be an uncomfortable and tense atmosphere.

“I- Spider-Man…” you said, looking up at him through your glasses. The way that your eyes were practically glued to his masked face had Jay scrunching his nose. After a long silence of you just staring at him, you quickly avert your gaze, finding interest in your shoes instead. God, why were you getting so shy? Seeing the abashed expression on your face was like seeing a police officer get a parking ticket– so fucking out-of-character and just pure unnatural.

Jay wanted badly to make a jab at you, to say, “Hey, Jay Park just saved your sorry ass.” 

But he didn’t. 

Because that’s not what friendly neighborhood Spider-Mans do.

You bit your lip before glancing up at him. It was almost like you could feel his eyes questioning you from behind his mask, and once again, avert your gaze, pushing up your metal frames. 

It was now that Jay truly realized what was going on– Did you have a crush on Spider-Man?

You were acting really shy, and you were looking at him like he was some kind of god. 

The thought made him want to shrink into his own skin, but for some reason, it also made him grin. Grin a smug grin. Because now he had something to dangle over your head.

He didn’t have any sinister intentions other than the fact that he wanted an opportunity to be petty with you.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” you finally blurted, that bashful look still casted on your face. 

Jesus Christ, the way you were acting soft-spoken and coy was so weird. 

He could do one of two things to fuck with you.

He could be extremely cold and distant, making you feel embarrassed. It would definitely be satisfying to see you panicked and flustered. But then again, Spider-Man’s job was to keep the city safe, not be mean to civilians. Even if said civilian was someone he couldn’t stand.

The second he could do was fluster you in a different kind of way: enthrall you with charm to mess with you. It was certainly a more ethical way to fuck with you, but Jay wasn’t sure if he’d be up for practically flirting with the person he hated more than anything else.

You shyly looked at him, expecting a response.

On second thought, he might be up for it.

He didn’t want to break you. Just fuck with that strong head of yours a little bit.

“Anything for you,” Jay took a step closer to you, just close enough that you would be taken aback, “Beautiful.”

Okay, maybe he should never do that again. Jay was not a lady-charmer. He had no game. There was a reason that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and it was because he could not flirt for shit. His skin was crawling with cringe– what he would do to have the ground open up and eat him whole because that shit was the worst thing he’s probably ever done.

His internal squirming was cut short when he saw the way your eyes widened a fraction, before letting a slight abashed curve settle on your lips. 

“Oh- I-” you lowered your head, your glasses laying on the very tip of your nose. 

“Thanks,” you stammered.

.

.

.

Now it was awkward.

What was he supposed to do now? Kiss you? No! What the fuck?

“I’m gonna go now,” Jay muttered. Extending his arm and aiming it at the top of the adjacent building, he prepared to shoot a web. However, he was stopped when you gently grabbed onto his bicep.

“Wait.” Your voice was uncharacteristically quiet, meek almost. “I-I don’t feel safe going home now.”

Jay blinked.

Jay Park never seemed to expect anything. 

For the second time ever, in the same week, he was carrying you across the sky to his own home.

This time, though, you were wide awake instead of black-out drunk.

With your arms wrapped around his neck, you clung to him as he held onto your body tightly in the bridal-style. It wasn’t abnormal for him to be carrying a damsel in distress like this, but Jay never thought that he would be carrying you of all people. 

With you clinging so close to him, Jay could smell that sweet, citrusy scent again. He grimaced when he was once again reminded of the events that had transpired a few nights ago. Whenever he thought about it, Jay could almost feel his skin crawl, remembering the wet and sticky kisses placed on his skin.

Jay tried to ignore the way you stared at him so incredulously, wide and glinted as if he was some sort of idol.

As Jay approached the edge of the high-rise office building, he noticed you bracing yourself for the jump You’d been shutting your eyes tightly and letting out a little peep every time he’d jump across buildings.

Maybe he should try fucking with you right now.

Launching off his feet, Jay had propelled the two of you into the wide valley between office buildings. Usually, he’d shoot a web within a few milliseconds of just being the air. However, with you in his arms…

“S-Spider-Man…!” you squeezed his bicep. You were falling…! 

Jay was taking his sweet time with shooting another web, waiting for them to be just a few hundred meters from the bustling and traffic-filled road, giving you the illusion that you were about to topple to your death. 

“Spider-Man, we’re gonna–!”

When you were practically dangling over the cars, Jay shot a web up to the next building, hoisting you two up and away.

“What, you don’t trust me, Beautiful?” Jay got some sick satisfaction from shaking up the usually-controlled you. If he was Jay, he probably would have made a jab, say something like “I told you so,” but since he was Spider-Man he stuck to the flashy and charming persona that the hero built himself.

“I… I trust you, Spider-Man, just– Eep!” 

Jay threw his head back, laughing. It was funny when you got scared.

“Stop making fun of me, Spider-Man!” you lightly slapped his chest. “I’m just…– Eep!--”you squeezed his bicep again– “Scared of heights.”

Jay gave your waist a squeeze. “I got you, Angel.”

It was weird to pull up to his own apartment and pretend that it wasn’t his.

“This your place?”

Jay was curious as to what you would say. He dropped you off on the balcony, before going into his iconic crouching pose on the thin metal railing.

You shook your head. “It’s my… friend’s. I’m staying with him because….”

You trailed off, before your eyes fluttered over to Jay’s masked face. “Hey, didn’t you fight some villain the other day?”

Oh.

Right.

The reason that you were even staying with him was because… Well, him.

Jay nodded slowly.

“Oh- Well, um,” you wrung your fingers. “My apartment, it got… Yeah.”

It was like you could sense the uneasiness behind the mask. 

For the heinous amount of crime-fighting that Jay did, he did feel a little bad for the amount of infrastructure that got ruined. It seemed like every other week there were glass shards strewn all across the streets. He couldn’t imagine the type of work that would go into rebuilding homes and infrastructure after so much damage.

That, he will take responsibility for.

He lowered his head. “Yeah, fuck, I’m sorry about that.”

A civilian is a civilian.

“No, no, no!” you said rather brusquely, almost in a hostile way, waving your hands in front of yourself. 

Ah, there it was. The [Name] that he knew.

When you realized your tone of voice, you quickly back-tracked, clearing your throat and pushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I mean- It’s okay, Spider-Man,” you said, looking up at him through your lashes. “You did what you had to do.”

If you knew his identity ,you wouldn't say that. You would probably file a lawsuit against him.

But he appreciated the sentiment.

“What’s your name, Pretty?” He needed you to formally introduce yourself so he could stop using those cheesy nicknames.

You smiled bashfully again. “[Name].”

“Then I’ll see you later,” Jay jumped to his feet, balancing on the metal railing. He looked over his shoulder, raising a hand up, “[Name].”

With that he began swinging away.

You blinked slowly, eyes trailing his slowly disappearing figure.

When he was out of your sight, your lips immediately broke out into a wide grin. Taking off your glasses, you used a hand to cover your eyes, feeling your cheeks heat up and pull upward. 

Oh, you understood it now. Why everyone said Spider-Man was so charming.

Using both hands to cover your warm face, you let a few giggles out into your palms. 

God, Spider-Man was attractive.

Your momentary fluster was cut short when the screen door of the balcony slammed open.

“Are you gonna come in or….?”

You turned to look over your shoulder.

Jay Park. Always had to ruin everything, didn’t he?

You huffed, removing your hands from your face. “Yeah… Just, give me a second.”

“Okay.”

When you turned back, you failed to notice the smug grin plastered across Jay’s face.

You heard from many people that Jay Park had an issue with disappearing. You understood what they meant. In the classes that you shared with him (which was few because your majors were different but similar enough), he would be absent for a few days at a time. At parties, even if you didn't actively seek him out, you’d see him at the beginning and after a few minutes, he’d just completely vanish. Even at some get-togethers that your mutual friends hosted, you’d hear some people complain about Jay always needing to “go to his job.” 

Now that you, more or less, lived under the same roof as him, you understood to a whole other degree what people meant.

According to what his own friends said, Jay had a night internship, and according to his brother, he also had a day job. He didn’t show up to his classes some days, but you would see him in the morning before class alive and well, so he clearly wasn’t having health issues. How crazy was his schedule? You had friends in his major with jobs of their own, and they weren’t flaky in the way that Jay was.

Jay would be up early, completely disappear for the entire day, and come home late.

It was weird. 

Not that you cared.

You could care less what happened to him.

You just found it strange.

Like right now.

It was late at night. Finals were coming up soon, and you simply couldn’t sleep. 

See, Wonnie was normal. Wonnie had an ordinary, completely sane, schedule. In the morning, Jay would take him to school, and in the afternoon (you assumed that) Jay either picked him up or Wonnie walked home. Either way, the kid had a much more tangible daily schedule, yet his brother’s was the complete opposite. But it didn’t seem like Wonnie questioned anything either.

You saw Wonnie come in and out of rooms, heard him get a glass of milk, you even said good night to him. 

The yellow-white lights that illuminated the apartment were blinding now, wearing down your eyes to the point that they felt watery. There was a sort of morose feeling that set over you as you sat at the cold kitchen counter. From final exams to the fact that your apartment was under reconstruction to the fact that you were practically intruding on our greatest enemy’s home was frustrating.

It would be completely bitchy and ungrateful of you to not recognize the sort of generosity that Jay displayed toward you. You really, genuinely, truly, could not stand him. He was someone who constantly made your day worse, someone who you'd never been able to agree with for years, someone who went out of his way to bother you– and vice versa. It wasn’t like you had no idea why he’d try to help you: he might be a supervillain to you, but he was no monster. It was clear that you were on a “I-only-doing-this-because-it’s-courteous” basis, but even then, for him to give you his own bedroom was more than courteous.

You didn’t like it.

Of all people in the world, why did he have to be so… hospitable?

You didn’t like the fact that you felt so dependent and almost helpless. 

You must have sat at that kitchen counter for a good chunk of time, because the next time you really moved from your lethargic position was when there was a sudden bang against the window. Lost in thought, you violently jerked up, jumping to your feet.

Eyes quivering to the windows, which were blackened by the dark night sky, there was nothing there. 

Strange.

You had your tongue dig into the inside of your cheek, frozen in place. Just when you thought your mind was just playing games, another loud bang against the window resounded through the room, followed by a few jumbled curse words.

You weren’t exactly happy that the one time you would get robbed it would be in your enemy's house.

Shit.

Except, instead of a masked burglar comically dressed in black, someone completely unexpected bursted through the window.

Red and blue spandex suit, complete masked-over face, and that unmistakable spider icon.

“Spider-Man?!”

Oh.

My.

God.

Why was Spider-Man landing in Jay Park’s apartment at this time?

And when you looked down at what you were wearing– a thin tank-top and pajama shorts–you suddenly became a lot more alarmed and self-conscious than you initially were.

“[Name]?” Spider-Man gaped. Except instead of that friendly and playful tone he was known for, it sounded sour. “What are you doing up at this time?”

You, who was now very consciously covering yourself up, gawked. “I’m– I was studying– What are you doing here, Spider-Man?”

“What do you mean? This is my ho–” Spider-Man stopped himself, before clearing his throat. Like a switch had been flipped, the hero began again, “I’m, um, stopping by to see my friend.”

You blinked.

“Y’know, Jay Park– dark hair, lip-piercing, super handsome and cool.”

Your nose scrunched at the description.

“I didn’t know you lived with him, Beautiful,” Spider-Man continued. “You said you lived with a friend, right?”

You pushed a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I wouldn’t say friend. We’re like, acquaintances… by association.”

“You don’t sound like you like ‘em very much, yeah, Gorgeous?”

You weren’t about to lambaste Jay Park in front of Spider-man, who was apparently his friend. That would be discourteous, and you weren’t about to flame the guy that was letting you sleep in his house.

“He’s…” You didn’t want to make it seem like you were buddies, especially in front of Spider-Man. “He’s all right.”

Spider-Man was now inching toward you. “Just all right?”

You eyed the hero’s well-built figure as he came closer and closer to you, suddenly feeling shy and exposed. You felt even more shy and exposed when he very clearly lingered around the sight of your silhouette. The way his voice resounded throughout the room, slightly raspy from the yelling he must have done and low due to his exhaustion, sent a chill down your spine. 

“He’s okay,” you responded curtly. “How– How do you know him? How do you know Park?”

You could feel Spider-Man’s eyes on you even through his mask. 

“How do I know him?” Spider-Man crouched down next to your feet at the kitchen island, looking up at you. You could hear the grin in his voice. “He met me in senior year of high school.”

Oh wow. They’ve known each other for a while.

“A spider bit him, or something,” the masked hero continued. “And I found him all sick and sad when his uncle passed.”

That’s right. In senior year of high school, Jay’s uncle, the person who took on a father figure after his parents unfortunately passed. It had taken a toll on him at the time. You remembered passing him in the hallways, seeing the messy black hair overgrown over his brows and dark eye bags. The one person that you regularly debated in AP Macro was no longer interested. At the time, you had contemplated whether or not to reach out to him, but he’d completely shut everyone out.

“That’s great,” you murmured. No matter how much you didn’t like him, it didn’t mean that he should lose someone important to him. “That’s great that he had someone there for him. I remember–”

Spider-Man looked up at you.

“I remember– I tried to talk to him about it once, in… I think it was in Stats?” you recounted. Your lips pressed together before forming a slight curve. “He yelled at me.”

“He yelled at you?”

You almost laughed. “Yeah, he did. Oh man, we never got along in high school– even now– but… It’s not nice to lose someone you love, is it?”

Spider-Man stared at you silently, before quickly agreeing– “Yeah, it isn’t.”

You bit your lip as you recounted. “I wanted to comfort him, but I don’t think he wanted me of all people to do that. At least I tried.” Your eyes fluttered over to Spider-Man. “I’m glad he had someone like you to be there for him.”

Spider-Man didn’t speak.

“Are you and Park close?” you asked.

“Yeah, we are.”

You hummed. “Oh. Do you see each other a lot?”

“Everyday.”

.

.

.

Spider-Man got to his feet.

“[Name], do you want to go on an adventure with me?”

Sometimes you thought you were stupid. Not all the time because you knew you were smart, but some time like now, where you allowed a masked man who may or may have not broken into your enemy's apartment claiming to be his friend to take you around the city at night. And you did it without even telling anyone, so if you got killed in an alleyway no one would know.

Not to worry, though.

Jay Park thought he was pretty stupid, too.

Staying out late at night right before finals week and completely forgetting about the workaholic nerd freak that lived with him temporarily (you). And to make it worse, he mentioned his own civilian self!-- and he obviously couldn’t be in two places at once. 

He needed a way to deflect.

“Wooooh!” Jay hooted as he swung from building to building.

“Spider-Man– Slow down…!”

Unlike the last two times he’d taken you out on some sort of aerial excursion, you had your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his neck and torso, hugging him from the back instead of Jay holding you bridal-style. 

It was nice for a change. For the first time, you were hanging off his back instead of being directly held by him. Jay couldn’t help the snicker that he let out when you would squeeze him and squeal in his ear out of fear.

“I thought ya said you trusted me,” he beamed. Jay could feel the way your face pressed into his back as you dangled in the sky. “C’mon, Gorgeous, don’t get all scared on me now.”

“It’s not fair- Eep!”

“What’s not fair, hm?” He shot another web. You didn't respond, opting to squeeze him harder. “What’s not fair, [Name]?”

“This!” you chided in his ear. “You-You’re not scared because you do this every day!”

“Well, maybe you should do this more then.”

To Jay, it was really weird to carry a frightened you around. He never took you for the clingy type, but maybe there’s a lot he didn’t know about you. It was especially weird when he was Spider-Man, because you were oddly nice to him. When he’s Jay, there’s no denying that you’re hostile.

“Why are you so nervous?” Jay sneered when you two landed on top of the central clock tower. You’d sat down at the top, letting the cool late-Spring night hit you. For someone notorious for their crazy confidence, it was absurd to see such a person all feeble and fiddling with their fingers.

 “It’s just finals,” you mumbled.

Jay nearly laughed. “Wow, you really are a nerdo freak.”

Your cheeks visibly heated up, folding your arms over your chest. “Hey! I’m not a nerdo fre–” You stopped yourself, before you brought your eyes up to the hero. “Did he tell you that?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “W-What?”

“Park is the only person that calls me ‘nerdo freak,’” you frowned, raising up your fingers to make air-quotes. “He’s been calling me that since highschool.”

Oh.

Shit.

“Y-Yeah,” the man responded, sucking in a shallow breath. “He talks to me about you a lot.”

Not true. 

Jay Park doesn’t talk to Spider-Man about anything. 

Because they’re the same person.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip. “Really? What does he say about me?”

Oh, this would be awkward.

“Jay thinks you’re really… Uhm…”

There’s two things Jay could do. Tell you his (Jay’s) honest thoughts about you as Spider-Man and effectively make the entire atmosphere both now and at home awkward. Though, it wouldn’t be much of a loss because he (Jay) already made it loud and clear how he felt about you through his words and actions toward you. It would only be awkward because he as Spider-Man was the one expressing it.

The second thing he could do was lie.

“He thinks you’re hot as fuck.”

Oh my fucking god what was he doing.

“Oh… uh… Really?”

Jay wanted to kill himself.

Of all things he could have said, he said thats?– Oh my god, and now you were shifting uncomfortably in your seat– What does he do?

Jay Park was not attracted to you and he will never be! Never! Ever!

It was the first thing that came to his mind! He doesn’t mean it! Jay Park hates you! He thinks you’re ugly and- Well, actually, that’s not true. You’re a very pretty woman, he did indeed get crazy butterflies the night of the soccer mixer, and he did catch himself staring at you a few times, because let’s be honest, the tiny tank-top and pajama shorts looked good as fuck on you– but still-!

“Did he tell you that… or…?”

“Yeah, that’s a direct quote.”

Jay Park! What are you doing?

part 2 here

[souliebird]

[[and then I met you || ch. 28]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s and Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

chapter masterlist

Words: 4.3k 🌶️

ao3 link

Sometimes, Matt forgets what it feels like to be happy.

His life has been tragedy after tragedy, many of his own making, and more than once it had been overwhelming. He remembers all too well the feeling of gravel in his knees as he begged for Death to come to him. He will never stop having nightmares about choking on ash and dust as his world collapses around him. His hands will always have blood on them.

But when you smile at him - really, truly smile - all of those memories fade into the background. They get banished to who knows where and he’s enveloped in this lightness he can’t explain. Nothing else in the world matters to him but you. 

You, and how your hand goes up to try to hide your mouth, like you are too scared to let anyone see you have emotions.

You, and how breathy your voice gets when you are trying to not laugh. 

You, and how your heart has calmed from jack rabbiting everywhere from just being near him to the steady rhythm he daydreams about. 

You bring him this sense of peace he does not understand and all he wants in life is to do the same for you. 

Love does not begin to describe what he feels for you. 

He loved (loves) Elektra.

He loved (loves) Karen. 

He belongs to you - body, spirit, and mind.

He would deny God and worship only at your altar for the remainder of Eternity if you even gave the hint, you wanted as much. 

He would lay down his gloves and armor if that is what you wished for.

He would turn and walk away from Hell’s Kitchen if you led him elsewhere. 

In such a short time, your Light has wrapped itself around him and he oh so willingly let himself be consumed. You make him want to be Better.

He wants to be a Better person, a Better fighter, a Better protector, a Better lawyer, a Better friend, a Better lover, a Better father. He wants to be Better because only then - maybe - could he possibly deserve an ounce of what you give him. 

You have built so many walls around your heart that it scares him. He has a feeling you will never let him know why those walls are there or who so thoroughly broke you that you need them, but it does not matter to him. He understands, more than anyone, that they exist for a reason, and he is going to systematically tear through every single one. 

He doesn’t care how slowly and methodically he has to chip away at them. He is going to savor every victory, because it is one millimeter closer to you. 

Taking you out to dinner was something he was prepared to wait months for, but a unique opportunity presented itself and he decided it was worth the risk of you saying ‘no’.

But now you are sitting across from him, tucked into a corner of one of the most glamorous restaurants in the city, giggling into your palm while he tells you about one of his college adventures. 

“What happened next?” you ask in an excited whisper.

His lips turn up into a mischievous grin as he concludes his story, “We were locked out on the roof all night. We managed to flag someone down in the morning, but the damage was done. I took the fall - the poor blind man got turned around and went up the wrong staircase and his nice friend went looking for him, so they didn’t press any charges, but the professor tore us a new one. Foggy refused to drink red wine for at least ten years after.”

Your body sings with laughter and Matt feels himself puff up in Pride. Your disposition is night and day from earlier in the evening - you had been stiff, and he could literally taste the anxiety rolling off you in waves. You had been hunched in and quiet. It had been a task for him to delicately untangle your nerves, but he had accomplished his goal, and his reward was your hand on top of the table, just a breath away from his own. 

He is playing it slow, though.

As much as he wants to touch you - any part of you - he knows better than to push for anything. He’s asked so much of you tonight and he is not going to ruin it all by making you uncomfortable with a bold display of public affection such as hand holding. 

“You are lucky it wasn’t snowing,” you comment as you go for the last sip of your wine. “You could have frozen to death.”

He gives a nonchalant half shrug, “we are not above huddling together for warmth, and it isn’t like Foggy and I haven’t shared a bed before.” He pauses, then just to soothe any worry you might have, adds, “Plus, I would have gotten us back in long before then. The building was only four stories, so it would have been easy to scale down, break in, and go unlock the door without tipping Fog off. He was that drunk.”

You exhale through your nose in a way he knows you are making a cute little pouting face. “He didn’t know?”

There’s a hint of confusion and caution in the question and Matt decides he’ll never get over how carefully you tread around certain topics. The hesitancy leaves him the option to explain or dismiss and it is something he cherishes about you. 

The subject of his secrecy with his abilities with regards to his best friend isn’t something he likes to think about. It hurt both of them and the ripples of the aftermath can still be felt, but Matt won’t let that ache out, so he replies with the simple truth, “No one did.”

A soft hum escapes your throat, and he expects a follow up akin to ‘that must have been lonely’ or some other sentiment. So, of course, you go in a different direction. 

“I don’t think I could climb down the side of a building.”

He chuckles at your musing and the way your Light once again chases off his ever-present dark thoughts. “No?”

You hum again in affirmative, and your lips give the slightest pop as they go up into a smile, “I was never a big jungle gym person. I don't remember the last time I climbed anything. There was a rock wall at the ESU gym I wanted to try, but they were so understaffed I didn’t want to bother them.”

Before he can comment about his experience with rock walls, the heavy thud of worn leather loafers enters into the mental perimeter he has made around the table, signaling the approach of someone.

Your hand slides off the table and away from his. 

“I see the tarta de queso was the correct choice,” the front of house manager says, amusement clear in his thick New Jersey accent. Matt can tell he's been in the restaurant business for a long time - his movements are smooth as he clears the dishes from the table and the smell of garlic has seeped into his skin. Surprisingly, he doesn't reek of cigarettes or weed - a strong odor most fine dining workers carry. It is something he appreciates. 

Matt had enjoyed his meal. The food was not only delicious - it was clean. The chef runs a tight kitchen. He had heard it when he had checked in to see when food would be coming out. There is no cross contamination on the knives and plates are thoroughly rinsed. He couldn't even taste the soap on the forks. 

“It was perfect. And so pretty,” you say, your voice taking on a polite and pleasant tone. He's noticed that you adopt it whenever you are talking to a service worker. It's sweet. 

“It was amazing,” he agrees quickly.

The man gives a hardy laugh, “Good, good. Now, would you like one more glass of wine? Maybe an after-dinner drink or coffee? Something to go? We have some albondigas that reheat in the microwave beautifully.”

Matt defers to you and your hair bounces as you shake your head, “I think I am at my limit. Everything was absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much.”

Another waiter slips into the perimeter and silently relieves the front of house manager of plates and wine glasses, leaving the man with the ability to clap his hands together. “The pleasure was all mine. Mister Murdock and his guests are welcome back anytime, our treat. Just give us a call and let us know, we will have a table for you.”

It is his turn to thank the man, and he does so, adding, “That is too kind of you.”

“Nonsense! It is the least we could do for you,” the man declares, and Matt’s neck heats up just a little. The daughter of the owner had gotten into some hot water, and he had been able to keep her out of jail. “Now! I will leave you two lovebirds be, but you let me know if you change your mind about that coffee.”

He quite literally bows out and Matt directs his full focus back to you. 

All of the signals he is getting indicate you are as pleased as he is with how your night is going. He can guess you have a shy little smile with how your head is ever so slightly ducked and he wonders if you’re looking at him through your lashes. He can practically feel your gaze dancing over his features. A certain tang is starting to hit his palette that gets his blood pumping and he all but starts to salivate. 

He can’t hold back the slight growl in his voice when he asks, “Want to get out of here?”

Your body gives him the reaction he wants, and he is quick to stand and offer you his arm. You get up rather gracefully - Matt thinks you are hyper aware of your movements, and you want to look composed in such an elegant restaurant - and take hold of his bicep. It is the opposite of how you usually walk, but you have no trouble leading him through the winding tables and out onto the sidewalk. The change in temperature gives you a shiver and instinctively, you press closer. 

He wants to pull you flush, to get his hands on the silk he’s draped your curves in, but he reminds himself to behave. 

You turn to face him, hand still on his sleeve. You roll your bottom lip between your teeth as you work up the nerve to say whatever you are going to. He is, of course, patient and lets you fret and fuss for a few seconds. 

“Do you,” you start, barely above a whisper and as sweet and thick as honey, “want to get a cab back to your place?”

He had had more plans to woo you, but they are tossed away as soon as the words leave your lips. He wants nothing more than your suggestion and tells you as much before moving to flag down the nearest car. Given the popularity of the venue, it takes all but a second. He slides in behind you and gives the cabbie his address. 

His apartment is only a few blocks away, but that's far too many for you to walk in your gown. 

And Matt wants to get there as fast as possible.

The ride is silent as can be, but far from uneventful. Like it is a continuation from dinner, both his hand and yours end up on the seat between you. He tries to remain calm and collected, but his heart pounds in his chest like he is a teenager as he stretches his pinky out to brush against yours. Your breath catches in your throat and arousal courses through you so quickly it makes his head spin and his dick jump to attention. 

So hesitantly, like the cabbie is going to turn around and start chastising you for being so scandalous, you link your finger with his. He doesn’t even try to fight the smile that takes over his face. His boyish excitement must be contagious - you’re biting at your lips again and your face radiates heat. 

He is quick to take the lead for the next step, not even thinking as he turns your hand and laces your fingers with his. They fit together perfectly - and like the lovesick puppy he is, he can’t resist the cliche hand squeeze. 

Apparently, you are just as cheesy as he is, because your hand clenches around his just a millisecond faster. 

It is hours or minutes or days of your Light wrapping around Matt’s mind before the cab rolls up in front of his apartment and he is paying for the ride. He refuses to let go of you as you both leave the car, and he doesn’t wait for it to pull away before he’s leading you to the building’s door.

The dynamic shifts once you cross the threshold. 

It is only a few steps in until you are in front of the elevator and Matt expertly pivots so he is behind you once the call button is pressed. He no longer has to hold back - there is no one around and cameras do not exist in this building. His hands go to your waist, and he tangles his fingers into the silk of your dress. It’s still cool to the touch and slides over his skin like water. His hands smooth up your body just a fraction - hitching your dress up so it no longer touches the ground. 

He pulls you back, so you are flush to his chest and it is a step back you eagerly take. As he ducks his head to latch his lips to your pulse point, you let yours fall to the side, giving him so much more access. He doesn’t waste this gift - this offering - and he leaves his first mark of the night. 

Your body weeps for him. If the salt from your skin wasn’t coating his tongue, the tart flavor of your arousal would be. He can hear the way your cunt flexes and clenches around nothing, and he silently promises he won’t leave you empty for much longer. You are not the only one eager and he needs to get his fix before he spends the rest of the night taking you apart. 

Luckily, Foggy has agreed to babysit until one in the morning, so Matt has plenty of time to savor you. 

Under his tongue, you struggle to not moan. Your control is too tight to allow that in public, but once you are in his bed, he is going to make you hoarse. The catches in your throat are the best kind of tease. 

You breathe his name just as the elevator slides open. He urges you forward and follows without letting up his kissing. He goes up your neck until he can nip at your earlobe, and you melt even more under his touch.

“Sixth floor,” he whispers, not wanting to let go of you to reach for the buttons. It takes you a moment to act and you are a bit clumsy with pressing the right floor, but it doesn’t matter. The doors close and Matt has you in his arms. 

His hands wander over your hips and belly - he can't get enough of you and the way your skin sounds against the fabric is like music to his ears. All he wants to do is touch you.

You press your hips back, so your ass rubs against him enticingly. He’s long since hard and the intentional friction makes his brain short circuit for a split second - it takes everything to not grind into you or pin you to the elevator wall. 

Your hands find his and you oh so gently drag your nails over his knuckles while also applying pressure to his wrist with the heel of your hand. He takes it as a sign you want more, and he spreads his fingers as wide as he can to drag over your hips. 

“I need my cock in you,” he breaths into your ear. You shudder and barely hold back a whine. “I need to feel you cum for me, just from that. Then I’m going to lay you out and get my fill of that perfect pussy of yours until you can’t say anything but my name. Then,” he promises, letting his voice get ragged and lower in octave, “I’m going to flip you over and mount you like I’ve been thinking about for weeks.”

“Matt..” you choke on his name, and he takes a moment to admire that you are managing to stay composed. It’s holding on by a string, but you are not giving him the satisfaction of turning you into a mess.

Yet.

The elevator finally reaches the correct floor and creaks open. You move practically as one as you both hurry out of the elevator. He hates he has to let go of you to get the keys from his pocket, but he has enough practice he doesn’t fumble with them to get the door open. 

He doesn’t know who does what first once inside - all he knows is his mouth is on yours before the lock clicks shut and your hands are in his hair. You’re up against the door and it is him producing the needy noises as he ruts against you. 

All of your shyness and hesitancy is gone in the privacy of his apartment. You are as hungry for him as he is for you, and it is him who has to break the kiss to be able to breathe. You start to push at his suit jacket, but he won’t allow it - instead he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head. 

“Not yet,” he hums. The last of the blood in his head doesn’t let him forget that he has one last thing to do before he can take you to bed. 

You pout but don’t complain, and he rewards that by lacing his fingers with yours once again. He guides you from the entrance hallway and towards his bedroom, walking backwards the entire way so he remains facing you. The click of your heels echo and with each step, his cock twitches with desire. 

His bedroom has a new addition that he leads you to - a mirror. He’s propped it on his dresser just for this occasion. He understands your confusion as he positions himself behind you, but you play along with his game, not questioning his intentions. 

He lets go of your hands to smooth them up your arms, to your shoulders, then the back of your dress. The zipper glides down smoothly and with a little urging from him, the gown drops from your figure to pile on the ground, leaving you in just your heels and panties. 

Lace panties he had purchased and snuck into the garment bag that dress had come in. He would have bought you shoes as well, but he didn’t know your size. 

“This doesn’t seem fair,” you comment, but Matt can hear how you don’t actually care about that. Your blood is thrumming, and your slick has started to creep out of its confines and down your leg.

“Patience, my darling.” 

You have on earrings - dangly things that tinkle with every movement of your head. He has little practice removing such things and he is lucky they are hooks he can slide out instead of complicated studs he’s heard Karen complain about. Again, you don’t question him, only tilting your head to help him when you realize what he is doing. He sets them and his glasses on the dresser before he gently taps his shoe against your heels. That is all the instruction you need, and you step out of them. 

The last thing is your panties. As much as he wants to rip them off with his teeth, that is not the plan for the night. He ghosts his hands down your sides before he hooks his thumbs at their hem and lets them fall to be with the dress.

His blood pounds in his ears as he reaches into his coat pocket. The box nestled inside is small, fitting in the palm of his hand, and he keeps it out of your view as he pulls it out. His fingers may or may not shake as he opens the box and removes the delicate chain hidden inside. 

The inhale you take and the way you still as he drapes the necklace around your throat tells him everything he needs to know. Lightning is dancing up and down you as goosebumps cover your skin and he doesn’t need to taste the salt in the air to know there are tears starting to gather in your eyes. 

He clasps the necklace close, then lets his hands fall so they can wrap around your waist. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and simply states, “You are beautiful.”

The necklace is a single, tear shaped pendant about the size of his fingernail, hanging from a thin chain. According to the jeweler, the gemstone is a deep red ruby. It is simple and elegant. 

You hold your breath as you reach up to touch it. Your eyes are fixed on the mirror, and he can tell your lips are parted in shock as you examine yourself. He takes advantage of your distraction to kiss your shoulder. 

“Will you wear this for me?” he asks with his voice. 

‘Will you let me love you’ is what his heart means.

He tries to not panic when you don’t respond. He knows that your cheeks are now wet, and he Prays he did not get his signals wrong. This may have been a step too much - you might not yet be ready for this. 

His doubt is vanquished as you swirl around and kiss him with everything you have. 

He gets undressed in record time - you work his pants while he shrugs off his jacket and yanks his dress shirt over his head, not bothering to deal with the buttons. Soon enough you are both nude and stumbling into the bed. 

Matt lets you direct him onto his back, and he reaches for the drawer of his bedside table while you crawl on top of him. It is your turn to kiss his neck and shoulders, adding in bites and scrapes of your teeth as he all but rips a condom out of its packaging. He knows you aren’t on birth control yet - and as much as he wants to fill you to the brim with his seed, he also knows pregnancy isn’t something you want in your near future. 

He barely gets the protection on before your perfect heat is surrounding him. You throw your head back, shameless in your moaning as you sink down onto him. 

He nearly cums from just that.

You plant your hands on his chest, nails dragging wonderfully down his skin, and begin to ride him like you were meant for it. He had wanted to fuck you into the mattress, but if this is what you want, he has no room to complain. His hands find your waist and he digs his fingers in, wanting to leave bruises as he keeps you steady on his cock. 

“Take what you want, sweetheart, I’m yours. I’m yours,” he encourages. “Ride my cock.”

You squeeze around him, your body already so close to release. He needs you to chase it. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you pant as you grind your cunt on him, “been wanting this. Wanting you. Needing you.”

“Fuck, baby. Fuck, baby. Tell me what you want.”

He gets his feet planted so he can start meeting your rolls and his hands can no longer stay still. One goes down so he can rub at your already swollen and soaking clit and the other jumps to your breast. Your nipple is pebbled under his thumb, and he pinches at it, making you keen.

“Wanna…Matt..want this.” 

You are far too focused on bouncing on him to get out words and he doesn’t mind one bit - he’ll get you to tell him your desires at some point. He has all night to coax it out. 

You claw at him as your core begins to tighten and Matt puts himself to work. He becomes so easily lost in you - your skin on his, your taste in his mouth, your sweet noises drowning out everything else except the wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you. He wants his mouth on you, but you’ve got him pinned as you use him for support and leverage. You are starting to shake, and he takes up any slack in your riding by increasing his thrusts.

Your nails pierce his skin as your cunt begins to squeeze and pulse around him and, even with a condom, it sends him tumbling over the edge with you. 

He doesn’t white out, but he misses when you collapse onto him, because the next thing he knows, you’re nuzzling into his neck with a pleased hum. He returns the noise as he brushes his nose and lips over the crown of your head. 

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble against him, and Matt finds himself agreeing. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close and greedily keeping all of your weight on him.

“We can stay here as long as you want, darling. I’m yours.”

With the smallest movement, you turn your face to hide against him and breathe out words he’s sure he’s not actually meant to hear.

“You’re mine.”

((“I love you.”))

---

im not dead anymore

--

tag list:

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04  @astridstark13 @hashcakes

 @lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer  @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife 

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal 

 @allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea 

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

 @nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird  @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore 

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare 

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt  @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium 

[expertroofingservices]

Expert Roofing Services is your #1 roofing contractor in South Florida. We are industry leaders in roof restoration and complete roof Repair and replacement. We provide full-scale residential, commercial, and industrial roofing services. Home and business owners in South Florida know they can depend on Expert Roofing Services for high-quality workmanship, dependable service, exceptional customer care and top of the line roofing warranty.

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

I'm here (j.t.)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: Kissing.

Word Count: 2.7k

Song Rec: I love you, I'm sorry by Gracie Abrams

It was hard to enjoy the cold when Jason was surrounded by the uncomfortable heat of tailpipes and exhaust vents and the bustle of Gothamites around him. He could feel himself break out into a sweat even though he was on the roof of a building, where he had been for the last twenty minutes.

He had taken off his helmet, preferring to keep only his domino on but even then, he felt like he couldn't breathe easy. He could easily blame the city's shitty climate but deep down he knew the reason was across the street from him.

He watched as the lights flicked on; his view obstructed due to the frosted glass that he had begged you to put up. You hated closing the curtains because you felt it made your already small apartment even smaller and he hated the fact that anyone across the street could catch a glimpse into your home.

He could really see the irony in that now as he wished for a better view of your face.

But even without it, he could clearly envision you coming home from a long day, dumping your bag at the door, and kicking off your shoes, refusing to kick off your socks in the same way and instead tossing them into the hamper. Dirty socks were your pet peeve, one that he learnt extremely early into the relationship.

However, you also refused for him to wear shoes in your home, and he hated being barefooted, so you compromised and got him a couple spare socks and a pair of slippers. He wondered if they were still there in the lowest drawer of your shoe cabinet.

You'd immediately sit on the ground to rest your legs after walking four blocks from the subway station instead of a chair because you didn't want your 'outside clothes' to touch your clean furniture.

A melancholic smile spread across Jason's lips as something beautiful, yet painful began to coil around his chest. He loved that he could still remember every single thing about you. It was those little features; the way you'd always forget your towel in the dryer while taking a shower and begging Jason to bring it to you, the tiny welt in the corner on your lips that you got from biting them til they'd bleed, that lock of hair at the back of your head that was a different texture than the rest. It was those that would bring him back to Earth whenever the green of the pit seemed to blind him.

The lines of your body were the only thing he envisioned when he closed his eyes, the mellifluous flow of your voice threading through his eardrums whenever he had any quiet, the heat of your phantom fingertips tracing up his arms and wrapping around his waist as he laid alone in bed.

You haunted him, your memories tormented him, and he wondered if you were in the same boat as him, simply existing but not living. He wondered how you would feel if you heard the deep baritone of his voice now that he's grown into a man, or the heat from his chest when he enveloped your now much smaller form in his arms.

He wondered if you were wondering about him. He wondered if you were lying alone like him or had his side of the bed already been claimed by somebody else. Someone who was smarter and sweeter and better.

The pragmatic side of him told him that he should be happy if you managed to find another. Afterall, he loved you so much if you asked him to carve out his own breaking heart and place it in your palms, he would, if only to see the smile on your face. So, he should be happy if you were happy.

However, rest of him banged against his ribcage with bloody fists, begging for it not to be true.

He scolded himself while his feet mindlessly took him to your apartment building, and he was left staring at the frosted glass of your window.

He knew it would end up this way, he just knew it. When he had first come out from the Lazarus pit, he was adamant not to meet you again, convinced that you would be better off without him.

Then he kept thinking about you and he concluded that he'd only see you once, if only to see that you were doing well and taking care of yourself. And then he'd never tempt himself again.

And then he promised himself he'd only watch you from afar, desperately trying to catch glances of you like a parched man would savour the smallest drop of water.

Then he got even greedier. His heart tugged him so hard that he almost fell off the roof in his haste to grapple across the street and climb down the fire escape til your apartment building.

He promised himself this would be the last. He would stop here. He would only listen to your voice while a wall separated the both of you. He would stop there.

Jason listened to you sing while you washed the dishes, your voice only fading to a dull hum through the wall and his brows furrowed, leaning his forehead against it as he tried to catch every wave of your voice.

Then eventually it was silent, and he stared at his feet for a couple seconds before sighing and beginning to stand.

He didn't know why he continued to come see you. Every time the fleeting glance of you passed, he was left feeling an empty chasm that seemed to drag his stomach into a blackhole. He was unable to get out of bed the next day, despaired by the fact that you were able to go about your day while he was stuck in his own hell.

So, why did he continue to do it? Why did he feel your absence like critters crawling all over his skin and only feeling a semblance of relief when he knows that he's near you? Why can he only feel better when he feels his heart pounding in his chest when he thinks that at any moment you could accidentally spot him where he was hiding even though he'd be constantly disappointed? And yet, he still hoped you'd spot him again.

He'd hear the lights click shut any second now before you crawled into bed, falling asleep while clutching your phone and scrolling through Instagram.

He was always disheartened at the end of these nights, when he realized that he was the only one lingering outside in the cold as he waited for you to notice him, to long for him. But yet again, you managed to get through another day without losing yourself in your grief, unlike him.

Was it really that easy for you to get over him? He was standing outside your apartment, wishing to go back to the nights where you used to invite him in with open arms while you remained oblivious to how much he missed you.

He turned his back to leave when he heard a click and then a noisy squeak of the hinges as you pushed the window open.

Your wide eyes met his stormy blue and you froze.

"Hey, beautiful."

There was a beat of silence between the two of you that was filled with the sounds of Gotham and you continued to stare at him, shocked into a stupor. Finally, it seemed like you were able to knock your consciousness back into your body and you squeezed your eyes shut and began counting backward from ten.

"He’s not really here, (Y/N). Jason is gone. You were there at the funeral. You watched them lower his body into his grave, (Y/N). He's gone. And he's not coming back."

Jason watched your throat bob like a lone acorn down a tempestuous river and you squeezed your eyes shut tighter, flared nostrils telling him that you were on the verge of tears. Your fingers curled into a tight grip that had your knuckles turning a shade lighter.

Now he knew why he was so anxious about seeing you again. Why, when one foot had taken a step toward you, the other remained anchored to his spot until you walked past him. While he was worried that you had moved on from him, he was even more terrified to see the effect that his death had on you.

When he came back to Gotham and he realized that he had been erased and replaced by Bruce, it was only easy for him to think you had done the same thing. It was easier for him to think he had been abandoned by the entire world. But he was always scared to find out if he was right, so he kept his distance.

However, he was even more scared to find out that you had been left missing him because of a stupid mistake he had made as a child when you had begged him not to. You had known he was beginning to go off the rails, that he was getting rebellious, and you had begged him not to do anything rash.

He had just taken it as a sign that you didn't believe in him either, that you were just like the others, and he had sought to prove you wrong. He laid on the blood of the warehouse, beaten bloody and waiting for his father to rescue him and wishing that you wouldn't be too despaired by his immature stupidity.

Now watching you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, as if trying to erase what you had just seen, he felt guilty for putting you in that position. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't have left, he shouldn't have loved you in the first place.

Still, he couldn't move.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes, blinking a couple times at the ground before you could raise your head again.

Your shoulders slumped and your eyes began to fill with tears, "That usually works."

"(Y/N)," he whispered, reaching for you put his fingertips stopped right before crossing your windowsill as though there was a physical barrier stopping him from touching you. His hand trembled in the air before he dropped it to his side, "It’s me."

This was something he had been dreaming of every night since coming back. He dreamed of reuniting with you, of touching you again, of loving you again. But now that the opportunity was an inch away from him, he was worried that his last chance at love had died within the flames of the warehouse that night.

You stayed still, eyes flickering over him, starting with the mop of dark curls on the top of his head and raking down his face, the same features you remembered had grown more masculine. You lingered on the different scars littering his skin, analysing every inch of him with concentration that made him want to shuffle uneasily.

Your expression began to melt into uncertainty and longing the more you continued to stare at him before you suddenly gasped and stepped back, "You’re crazy, (Y/N). He's gone, this isn't really happening."

He grasped the window just as you began to close it shut, "Please, don't. I’m here, baby, I’m really here."

You stared at the hand holding your window open with furrowed brows; you hadn't expected this illusion to retaliate against you trying to end this dream.

You never opened the windows of your apartment, especially not at night. You never wanted to invite Gotham’s smog inside your home but for some reason tonight your heart had tugged you toward it with such power you thought a breath of fresh air would have done you some good.

Why? Why tonight of all nights had you opened the window? Had you even opened the window in the first place? Or had this been a cruel game played by your mind while you were asleep?

"You died," you whispered, voice barely above a decibel, "I saw you dead. You aren't really here. This doesn't make any sense."

You wanted to touch him, you wanted to feel his beating heart underneath your fingertips but you knew that he would evaporate into smoke the second you reached for him like all the other times and even though you knew you would breakdown the second you woke up from the dream, you wanted to continue looking at him and drink in his presence that you had missed so much.

Gloved fingers lifted your chin so your wet eyes could meet his and tears began streaming down your cheeks in thick rivulets, your chest collapsing from the weight of your sobs.

"I know it doesn't make any sense, but I’m here. I’m really here. And I’ve missed you so much."

You shook your head, "You’re not. You're dead."

His arms circled around you, and he brought you into a hug. Your cheek rested against the kevlar of his suit, hips digging into the windowsill as you continued to sob and despite knowing that he wasn't really here, your chest began to fill with warmth.

"I’m here, (Y/N)."

Jason stole what little breath you had left in your lungs when he leant down to capture your lips in a firm kiss, as if trying to prove to you that he was here in the flesh, with fresh blood pumping through his veins.

You sobbed against his lips and licked into his mouth, hands coming up to grasp at his hair while his own curved your back into him, melding your bodies into one.

Heavy boots thumped against your floors, knees knocking in his effort to climb through the window and shut it behind him before pressing you against it. He quickly threw off his utility belt before you had wrapped your legs around his waist to prevent any of his weapons accidentally hurting you.

You cupped his jaw, thumb brushing against the peak of his cheekbone. The action had Jason’s eyes rolling back in ecstasy, every single touch setting his body on fire, each nerve ending sparking with electricity. He kissed you harder, refusing to pull away even though he knew you were getting breathless. He could hear your gasps for air every time you parted but you still dragged him back toward you with a hand clutching the roots of his hair.

He couldn't stop, wanting to lose himself in your very soul. He could feel the heat of your body pressing against him, he could smell the familiar scent of your shampoo, his ears were filled with the sound of your sighs and your lips smacking, his tongue tasted the salt of your tears mixed with the sharp chill of spearmint tea.

He finally pulled away when you had placed a hand on his chest, pressing his forehead against you, watching with intense passion as you tried to catch your breath, his grip on your thighs not loosening.

You trailed wet lips down his throat, listening to his quiet sighs until your lips reached his jugular. You could feel his veins pulse with life underneath your lips and your chest began pounding, butterflies beginning to erupt through you.

"You’re really here? You're alive? H-how is that even possible?"

Jason nodded, only realizing then that his eyes were filling up with tears, lashes and cheeks wet once you had begun to stroke the skin beneath his ear.

"I missed you so much." you confessed, voice breaking and brows furrowing in despair.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn't come sooner, I should've-I should've come sooner. I’m sorry." he whispered, trailing his lips along your shoulder, hiding his face into the crook of your neck and you sighed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

"You’re here," you whispered, chest shaking with a mix of sobs and elated giggles, "You're really here. You're finally here."

You both remained there, your back pressed against the frosted glass window that had fogged up slightly, legs wrapped tightly around his waist, chests pressed together.

"I’m here."

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

DC Taglist:

@tchatso

@p--e--a--c--h--e--s

@sometimeseverythingsucks

@sokkas-honour

@unstable1902

@lostgirlheart

@missdisapear

@tadpole-san

@isawachickeninatree

@uxavity

@battlenix

@capricorn-stark

@evermoore580

@dumbbitchgalore

@fuckingjinkies

@some-lovely-day

@that-one-fangirl69

[mydarlingclaudia]

just you and me, alone in the dark

note : divider is from @/thecutestgrotto. ermmm idrk. Leon is ooc again I know, I’m trying to write a few Leon summer fics over the next few weeks, if you have any ideas please let me know I only have like two more 😔 mdni

wc : 3.8k

tags : @lottiies

desc : Leon’s back in town, that couldn’t be too hard on the gigantic crush you have on your best friend, right? friends to lovers, smut!! - unprotected p in v, little bit of fingering. not proofread, fem!reader, post re2r!Leon

Leon was back home for one week this summer, he’s been a cop in Raccoon City for almost a year now, the two of you have been calling and writing each other, trying to keep up with each others lives, but it’s nothing like being face-to-face again. You’ve been hosting him at your house for the past few days, Leon’s been going to catch up with a few other friends, but he’s always back at your place by at least midnight.

It wasn’t like when you were kids. Some of your friends had moved away, that arcade a mile or two away that you and Leon would always walk to had closed down and was now a fancy restaurant, the old lady who ran the laundromat and would give the two of you quarters for the arcade games had passed away. But your crush on Leon had stayed, maybe even grew a bit. The two of you had been changing bit by bit, too. Leon was a big city cop now, and compared to him, you felt like the friend who went to college and immediately ran back home.

Leon’s always been handsome to you, but since leaving for the academy and becoming an actual cop, he looks more grown-up. Seeing him in the mornings, his hair all messy and still half-asleep, was proving to be a problem. Along with when the two of you would watch movies at night, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing whatever food you were eating like you did when you were kids.

You’re starting to think that Leon might like you back.

You catch the way his eyes follow you when you walk through the house with wet hair, damp skin, and clothes that cling to your skin just a bit more after you get out of the shower. Or how he scoots closer to you when you both sit down together. Especially when he accidentally hugged you goodnight the second night he was over and pulled away with a red face. Not that you really mind being close to him, or his attraction to you.

Anyway, Leon’s leaving in two days, and the two of you are going camping for the night.

It’s not gonna be anything crazy, the two of you weren’t much for setting up tents and rocky roads riddled with pot-holes and roadkill. You’re staying the night at a smaller campground, there’s a lake, a playground for any kids there, and a camp store. There’s no need to bring a tent unless you’ve got more than three people with you. Each campsite comes with a small shelter that can hold a few people, each shelter has three walls and a roof, the opening faces the site.

Leon and you would come here with your family when you were kids, it was only an hour away from where you lived, the two of you wanted something a bit more fun to do than sit around at your house or go to dinner.

Leon hasn’t gone camping since before he left for the police academy, not that what the two of you are doing is anything difficult. But there’s no hotdogs cooked over the fire, just a pizza you had picked up a few hours ago and s’mores.

There’s chocolate around Leon’s lips as he chews on his s’more, yours goes ignored for a few minutes as you stare at him. The fire in front of you is low, you and Leon face it and lean back against the table part of the wooden bench, your knees knocking together.

“I know I got shit on my face.” He says to you, turning to look at you as he licks the marshmallow off of his fingers.

You smile at him and shake your head softly, taking a small bite of your s’more. “I’m just looking at you.” Leon only giggles, wiping his mouth with his palm.

“You’ve had plenty of time to look at me.”

“I know that, doesn’t mean I have to stop. And besides, you look at me all the time.”

“Yeah, that’s because I’m talking to you, you just stare at me sometimes.”

“Because I missed you terribly, and I’m happy to have you back home.” You joke a little bit, finishing off the dessert in your hand. “I’m still gonna miss you when you go back to the city.”

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t miss me so much if you came to visit every once-in-a-while. You know it wouldn’t kill you to drive three hours to see me. You’d like the city, anyway.” Leon scooted even closer to you and nudged your shoulder with his, still keeping his eyes on you.

“I know, I know. Just goddamn, I don’t get why you couldn’t have been a local sheriff or deputy or some shit. You could give me parking tickets everyday.” You laugh, his smile drops a little.

“Raccoon City is as good as it gets for me, I could give you parking tickets everyday of the year if you lived there.”

You drop a hand to his knee, squeezing it gently and leaning in closer to him. “Hey, I wasn’t trying to be mean. I know the city’s a big deal for you, and I’m really, really happy for you. You worked really hard.”

“You flatter me,” Leon’s smile brightened a bit again, your heart fluttered. “You haven’t seen me in action yet.”

“Yeah? And what exactly is ‘action’ for you? Helping old ladies cross the street? Maybe pulling someone over for speeding?” You chuckle, letting go of his knee and pushing against him.

“God, when did you get so mean?” Leon snickered and rolled his eyes, grabbing your bicep and pushing you away from him.

“Oh, come on, I’m supposed to be mean to you, that’s what best friends do. You’ve never complained before.”

“Yeah, you complain constantly when I do it.”

“Because boys aren’t supposed to be mean to girls. That’s the rule, aren’t you supposed to know all the rules, officer?”

“Don’t call me that!” Leon laughs, pushing you further away. “Listen, just- just come over. I just wanna see you, even if it’s for a couple of hours. I miss you a lot.”

You can feel your heart clench a little at his words. You know he means it, he’s always tried to come over and visit when he was able to, even when he was in the academy. You just didn’t want to be a bother to him, he’s living his dream, and you don’t want to get in the way of it.

“I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I can come over for a weekend in September.”

“Good, I’ll hold you to it. I was starting to think you didn’t like me anymore.” He jested, turning his gaze to the fire that was almost completely gone now.

“Jesus, don’t say that. I’ll always like you.”

That caught him off guard a little bit, you watched as his cheeks turned red and how his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed.

“That- that’s good.”

You smile at him, scooting closer once again and bringing your hand to rest on his shoulder to shake him gently. “Don’t forget it.” There’s a pause. Leon looks back up to you from the fire, his eyes bore into yours for a few long seconds before they trail down to your lips. It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Let’s go to the lake, it’s fun to swim when it’s getting dark.”

—

Leon had raced you back to your campsite three hours later and won. It was dark now, nearing eleven p.m., the fire was now completely out and all the other campers were asleep. The campground is illuminated by streetlights placed sparingly along the road, you can hardly see anything on your site besides your car and the outside of your shelter.

The lake had been fun, it was different from when you’d come here together a decade ago and push each other off the dock and into the water, but it was fun in a new kind of way. Luckily, there weren’t many people there due to the late hour, not that either of you would’ve really stopped even if it had been packed. Yours and Leon’s swimsuits cling to your skin, you probably would’ve run the race, but once he got in front of you you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the way his back muscles looked when they were wet.

“Fuck, I didn’t set up my air mattress.” You chuckle as you follow Leon into your campsites shelter, shuffling your bare feet along the ground to try to keep yourself from tripping.

“Well, hurry up then.” He giggles but waves you off, his back turned to you as he runs his towel over his wet hair once again. You scoff at him half-heartedly, turning away and going to get your air mattress out of the trunk of your car.

You discover that Leon’s air mattress is bigger than yours once you finally pull it back into the shelter and lay it down next to his. The air-pump is already attached to the nozzle, Leon sits at the bench and watches as you try to inflate the mattress.

“This isn’t working,” You groan, rising up from your squatting position and letting go of the air-pump to shake your arms free of the strain. Leon just shrugs at you, you roll your eyes and squat down again, patting down the air mattress, looking for rips, and you find one that you can fit your entire fist inside. You groan again, more loudly this time. “My mattress is trashed, I don’t have tape or any patches that’ll fix this.”

Leon rises from his seat at the bench, stepping into the shelter along side you and looking down at your air mattress. “You can share with me.”

“Really? You sure?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t mind, it’s probably gonna be a bit colder tonight, anyway.” Leon offers you a small smirk, offering a hand to you to help you stand up.

“Thanks,” You say as you take his hand, he pulls you to your feet, holding onto your hand for a second before he pulls away. The two of you put your hands on your hips at the same time, glancing around the site. “I gotta get changed.”

“Alright,”

“I don’t wanna walk all the way to the bathroom, though.” You sigh, Leon chuckles and looks towards you.

“You gonna change here?”

“Yeah,” You don’t miss how his face drops slightly, the color returning to his cheeks. “Can you hold the flashlight for me?”

“Wh-“ He cuts himself off when you reach for the hem of your wet shirt, already pulling it up over your head and revealing the one piece you wore underneath.

“You don’t gotta look at me, dumbass. Just hold it so I can see what I’m doing.” You don’t see Leon nod, but you see the bright flashlight turn on and shine against you. You drop your wet shirt to the ground and reach for the straps of your swimsuit, beginning to pull it down over your shoulders.

You make the mistake of glancing over at Leon, he hadn’t turned away in the slightest, his gaze was locked onto you like it was absolutely necessary for him to watch you undress. Despite this, you don’t stop. You don’t know if he saw you look at him, but he keeps watching you as you begin to peel to wet swimsuit off your body.

He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple goes up and down once again as he does so. The flashlight in his hand shakes slightly as you pull the swimsuit off your body completely.

Leon looks back up at your face for the first time and immediately winces, his free hand goes to his eyes as if to cover it and pretend he hadn’t seen you fully naked.

“Leon-“

“No, I-I’m sorry. You just- no, goddamnit, that was- shit, y-you’re just really pretty and I-I get it if you’re mad.“ His apology stumbles out of his mouth, his face is even more flushed and his hand that he had moved to cover his eyes now runs through his damp hair. You trail your eyes up and down his body, unsure where to focus, but your gaze keeps landing on the tent forming in his swim trunks.

“I’m not mad.”

“… S-Seriously?” Leon’s gaze meets yours again, he looks a little dumbfounded and awestruck, you can’t help but grin at him.

“No.”

“Oh,” He chuckles awkwardly, clearing his throat and looking down at his feet. “This is just k-kinda embarrassing.”

“… Sorry.” You mumble, looking from him out at the dark campsite.

“What? No- don’t apologize. You just look pretty, I mean, you’ve always been really fucking pretty and I’m just looking at you like- God, I don’t even know. Just don’t apologize.”

“Thanks,” You look back at him, you can’t help the smile on your face when he calls you pretty.

“I mean it, I’ve thought you were the prettiest since like, high school.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I don’t wanna sound weird or anything, but I’ve always kinda… liked you? Like, more than a-a friend. And I’m sorry for telling you this when you’re naked in front of me, I just-“ You don’t let Leon finish his sentence, shutting him up with a kiss instead of letting him get his thoughts out.

He melts against you almost instantly, his hands finding their way to your hips as the flashlight is discarded onto the floor. Your hands anchor themselves in his hair, keeping his head in place as the kiss goes on for another five seconds before the two of you split apart for air.

“I should’ve asked, I’m sorry-“ Your own apology is cut short when Leon pulls you against him even closer, kissing you again but only for two seconds.

“I told you not to say sorry.” You smile at him, your hands moving from his hair to the back of his neck. Before you can even stop yourself, your lips attach themselves to his neck, kissing and sucking along the skin you find there.

Leon groans, his fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as his head tilts back to give you more skin to work with, which you happily accept. Your hands move again, this time going from his neck to graze over his bare chest. Leon takes that as a sign to move his hands, leaving your hips to grip just underneath your ass. You giggle and push yourself up against him more, he gives a soft chuckle in response.

“This okay with you?” He asks, one hand moves up to cup your ass and squeeze it gently.

“Yeah, it’d be better if we weren’t standing, though.” You pull away from him, his grip on you loosens as he takes your hint and sits himself on the ground at the foot of his air mattress.

You wanted to straddle his lap, but when you lower yourself down to do so, Leon grabs hold of your hips once again and flips you so the upper half of your back rests on top of his air mattress as he hovers over you. He kisses you again, this time tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue to ask for entry. That doesn’t take any negotiation for you, his tongue meets yours, your arms find their way around his neck as he lowers himself down on top of you more, your breasts pressing against his chest.

“We need to be quiet,” You whisper to him once you pull away from his lips.

“Everyone’s asleep by now, and there’s only like, two other campsites near us.” He chuckles slightly, pulling back a few inches to get a better look at you.

“Leon.” You scold quietly, his chuckle turns into a snicker as his hands find their ways up to your breasts.

“Okay, okay,” Leon shakes his head slightly as he brushes his thumbs over your nipples. “Don’t ruin my fun just yet, I’ve been wanting to do this for years.”

“Have you now?” Your arms kissed around his neck, you push yourself further into his touch.

“You’ve got no idea,” He looks up from where your tits rest in his hands to your face, leaning in to kiss you again. The kiss goes on for what feels like thirty minutes before one of your arms unwraps itself from his neck and goes down to the hem of his swim trunks, you tug on it lightly.

Leon pulls back to look at you, his hands leave your breasts to rest on your thighs. The teasing smile on his face is gone, now replaced with a look of concern.

“You’re absolutely sure you’re okay with this?”

“Absolutely.” You smile at him, you cup his face in your hands and give him a small peck on the lips, feeling him smile against your mouth as his hands leave your thighs to pull down his trunks. Leon’s hands are back on you two seconds later, dipping in between your thighs to run his fingers through your slick folds.

“Fuck,” He murmurs, leaning his head down to press kisses to your cheek as his thumb presses against your clit, gently probing against your entrance with his middle finger. You whine softly, it only seems to spur him on, he gently pushes his finger inside you, continuing the soft amount of pressure on your clit. “You’re really pretty.”

“You keep saying that.” You giggle a little bit, your hands move to rest on his shoulders as your head tips to the right.

“Because I mean it.” You’re not sure why he groans, but he does once his finger slides deeper inside of you. “I missed you so much, I didn’t think that this was gonna happen when I came back to town, but I’m so happy it is.”

“M-Me too,” You agree a bit breathlessly, Leon’s kisses trail down to your throat as his pointer finger slowly joins his middle finger. You’re not even really sure how to feel right now, you’ve been craving this for so long, maybe not in a campground with a shelter that hardly concealed any noise, but you really hoped that this wasn’t going to be where things ended for you and Leon.

Leon’s kisses turns into gentle bites as his ministrations continue and the pressure on your clit increases. You bite down on your lip, trying to not let yourself get too loud, but the noises that do slip past your lips, Leon responds to with his own.

“Leon, please.” Your small whimper makes him stop, his fingers come to a halt inside you and he pulls back again to look down at your face.

“You sure?” You only close your eyes and nod, your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders as you wait. “Okay, I got you, I- I’m gonna be gentle.”

His fingers slip out of you, you whine quietly at the loss, earning a tiny snort from him as he pulls back to sit on his knees, keeping one hand attached to your thigh, longing himself up with your entrance. Leon pushes in slowly, watching your face and how your mouth falls open at the intrusion. He lets you adjust for maybe fifteen seconds before he starts moving slowly, keeping one hand on your thigh and slipping the other underneath your back to hold you up a bit.

“Holy shit, you feel s-so good.” He mumbles to you, biting down on his own lip to keep his groans from getting too loud. You nod, unable to find any words to respond with while you begin rocking your hips gently to try and meet his movements.

Leon’s thrusts don’t get much faster than this, he’s trying his best to be gentle and quiet, you’re sure it would be a different story if you were back home. You let your whines get a bit louder as you let the feeling of him pushing in and out of you take over, the soft squelching noises don’t help.

Your hands roam over his chest and shoulders as he continues on for the next few minutes. You can’t make any complaints, you’re sure he can’t, either.

His hand that had been on your thigh had left to trail in between once again, finding your clit and circling it, letting strained pants and whimpers fall from his lips as he hovered above you. Neither of you can find words to say to each other, too focused on how the both of you feel as you move together.

After a few more minutes, the feeling coiling up in your lower abdomen is beginning to become unbearable. “L-Leon, mm fuck- Leon, ‘M gonna-“

“It’s okay, ‘M not gonna stop just y-yet.” Only then does his hips snap forward a bit harder, determined to push you over the edge.

The moan you let out when you came was louder than any other noises you had made that night, Leon seemed to appreciate it, you could tell by the grin that grew on his face as you began to calm down, not that he stopped moving. He pulled out before he came, instead, cumming on the shelter floor and your thighs, you couldn’t say that it bugged you.

The two of you laid there for maybe five minutes, trying to catch your breath as you pressed kisses against each others skin. The floor was a mess but Leon only focused on wiping his release off of you, a stupid smile was painted on his face as he did so.

After the two of you went to piss on separate sides of the site, you met back up in the shelter and actually got dressed this time around. Leon didn’t push you away when you crawled onto his air mattress with him, and he was more than happy to wrap his arms around you and share his blanket with you. Your hands rested on his shoulder blades, head pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. One of his hands was in your hair and the other rested on the small of your back, holding you close to him.

“I don’t… want to leave you just yet.” He said quietly.

“We’ve got a couple more days.”

“No, I know. What I mean is I- I want you to come to the city with me. Just for a few days. I just wanna figure things out between us because I think there’s a lot we should probably discuss and I just really, really don’t want things to end here.” Leon’s voice was a bit louder, you could hear the slight tremble in his words as he spoke, but you didn’t look up at him.

“Would you really be okay with me coming over?”

“All I want is for you to come over. Please.”

“Alright,” You smile against his chest, closing your eyes. “Just don’t keep me waiting with your fancy job.”

“I’m sure my bosses would understand me needing to put a few things on hold for my dream girl.”

[morverenmaybewrites]

What traits are they attracted to for jason n pg please💖 :0

What traits are they attracted to? | Jason Todd x Reader

I think if someone were to ask this of Jason—maybe Dick in a thoughtless fit during a particularly boring stakeout, Jason would reply with a scowl and an embarrassed shrug. He wouldn’t bother to answer and let the silence lapse into something uncomfortable.

After all, he’ll think to himself—what would be the point in answering?

He’s legally dead in Gotham City, a vigilante with a bounty on his head.

It’s not exactly like he’s spoiled for choice in the dating realm.

And—adds a nasty little voice in the back of his head, one that sounds eerily like the Joker (even dead he haunts Jason like a ghost)—there’s the scars.

His torture under Joker’s hands had left him his body a patchwork of scars and knotted flesh. And each one of them tells a story: the splash marks on his back where the Joker slowly dripped acid on him, watching it eat away at the flesh and boil the fat. The ring of thickened skin around his throat, where he had once (once?) been strangled with piano wire.

And then

(And then—)

There’s the brand.

He’s seen how people react to it—even in a place in Gotham City, brands are not something one sees often. It speaks of an intimacy to violence that even Gothamites are uncomfortable with.

His face is something that makes people look away. The quick, almost imperceptible widening of their eyes, then the averted gaze.

As if he were something hideous

(He is hideous.)

The voice again, snide and burning in acidic, like the slow drip of chemicals on his back, blackening the skin and boiling the fat.

(And he so hungry, that he feels his stomach rumble at the smell of his own burning flesh. There is a certain kind of humiliation in that, an animal kind of shame: the knowledge that, if given the choice, he would have eaten his own flesh just to ease the ache in belly.)

The question echoes in his head, and it sounds uncomfortably like laughter: Who would ever want him?

So when asked—what traits does he find attractive?—he doesn’t answer. He bites his tongue, he pretends he doesn’t care. But in reality, he just doesn’t see the point.

After all, what is the point of answering, when no one else would find him attractive?

Jason has his work, his missions, and his purpose as a vigilante.

He has more than he ever had as a street rat in East End, palms cracked and bleeding as he sorts through yesterday’s trash to maybe find something that will ease the gnaw of hunger in his belly.

(The smell of his own burning flesh.)

He has a safe house, something to keep the rain off his head and to keep him warm during the winter. He has a gun to protect himself.

He has a purpose.

Except.

(Except.)

God help him, he wants more.

There is a hunger to Jason Todd that he is afraid that he will never be quite able to fill.

It is an orphan’s hunger, shared with every abandoned street rat that ever lived in the gutters of East End.

It is a hunger for a roof over one’s head, one that is not made of rotten plywood and stained tarpaulin. A gnawing ache in their belly for a meal that does not have to be fought for at every turn.

A longing for a home, a place to belong.

God help him, he wants to be held dear.

He wants a roof over his head that is not just made of four walls, a place, however safe, that is only ever somewhere to lay his head on for the night.

He wants a meal that isn’t fought for or eaten absentmindedly for nourishment during long stakeouts.

He wants someplace to come home to, somewhere warm to keep out the cold. He wants warm coffee on cold mornings and soft music playing on an old speaker, and he wants someone’s smile when he talks about his favorite book.

God help him, he wants you.

(And yet, and yet.)

Who would ever want him?

So when asked, he does not answer. He replies with a scowl and an embarassed shrug, and he’ll let the silence lapse into something uncomfortable.

After all, what would be the point in answering when no one else would ever find him attractive?

[killerlookz]

Is It Really You? | Joost Klein

description: Based on the song Is It Really You? by Loathe (aka one of the most beautiful songs of all time i'm being so serious) Following a breakup with your long-term boyfriend, the man you were certain you would marry, a night with your best friend, Joost proves that love may lie elsewhere for you.

content: Joost Klein x f! reader, 18+ suggestive content (no smut), RPF, smoking, mention of drinking, angst, hurt/comfort, breakups, cheating, fluff, best friends to lovers(?).

word count: 3363

"Is it really you...? Let's search the sky for a while, you and I, collide like two stars for a while, you and I."

Your eyes burn as another bitter tear falls down your cheeks, the taste of salt grazing your quivering lips as the droplet drips off your chin. The early summer air was getting cooler as the sun had long been set, a small breeze stinging your tearful eyes as it blew past your face.

"Oh," The word drops painfully from the mouth of the man beside you, as if you had just broken his heart right then and there, "Oh, don't cry." The familiar voice of your best friend was of little comfort now.

You suck in a deep breath, shaky as your chest spasms, struggling to maintain composure. You gaze out at the city that surrounds you, bright and alive with a bustling nightlife, a nightlife you had found yourself so often partaking in. But tonight, as you sat on the roof of your apartment, you were merely an observer, far removed from the fun of the city.

"Five years, Joost." You turn to face the blonde next to you, "five, down the drain."

His face is pained, pink lips pulled downwards as his eyelids fall and eyebrows furrow, "Het spijt me." (I am sorry) He shakes his head.

The last three weeks had been nothing but sorries, to the point the phrase had begun to make you nauseous, your stomach churning as the condolence had left Joost's mouth. Everything about him told you that he actually meant it, but still- you couldn't bear to hear any more sorries.

"I thought I was going to marry him," You turn away from Joost, facing back to the skyline that surrounded you, observing the buildings, and the multitudes of colors that shone from their windows. Your chest ached, you didn't understand how someone you had loved so much and for so long could leave in an instant, seemingly so nonchalantly, with not so much as to even give you a face-to-face goodbye, "Fuck." You mutter, feeling a familiar anger begin to bubble inside you- what a fucking coward.

A trembling hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes that sits beside you, grabbing the warped cardboard, and pulling out another cigarette. Looking into the box, only one remained, had you not been so consumed by your emotions you probably would have felt bad smoking almost the entire pack, considering they weren't yours.

"There's one left," You mutter, tipping the box in Joost's direction, offering him the remaining cigarette, despite the entire pack having been his in the first place.

"I'm ok," He shakes his head, "It's yours."

A small smile pulls at your lips in response to the gesture, but you just cannot take that response,

"No," You push the open cardboard towards him, "Take it. Humor me please." You had hoped he would accept, and indulge you in your shared bad habit together.

Joost reluctantly takes the pack from you, slowly pulling out the single remaining cigarette, and placing it between his lips. You watch as he struggles with the lighter in his hand that is clearly on its last life. With a flick, he's finally able to produce a small, orange flame, just enough to light the end of the cigarette.

He passes the lighter to you, his fingertips lightly brushing your palms as he hands the small, black object over to you. His slight touch sends shivers down your spine, almost making you forget your unfortunate situation for a split second.

Tilting your head down, and using a cupped hand to shield you from the gentle breeze, you attempt to light the cigarette that hangs from your lips. Your finger swipes down the cool metal, but you're unable to produce a spark, the serrated metal wheel is unturning as it bores into your skin. You attempt a few more times, left only with your thumb sore from its rough movements against the hardness of the metal.

"Here," Joost says, clocking your lack of success with the lighter. He leans in towards you, touching the end of his cigarette to yours. You note the proximity between you, his face so close to yours. You can't help but take a moment to admire him, the way his blue eyes glimmer behind the lens of his glasses, how his hair is just the perfect amount of messy, and how the warm colored city lights highlight the angles of his face against the backdrop of night.

Your spark of admiration reminds you of simpler times, of younger years, spent pining over your best friend in all of your teenage awkwardness. You had spent most of your childhood with an insatiable crush on Joost, one that went absolutely nowhere. Minus that one time, the two of you shared a drunken kiss four years ago, but it had meant nothing other than the fact that you were angry at your then-boyfriend, and you had had far too much to drink.

Still, you remember it like it was yesterday, having found out just days prior your boyfriend, Christian, had been hooking up with his ex-girlfriend the whole year you had been together. If you had known then what you know now, you would have left him, but having been dumb and 21 the answer to your problems was fighting fire with fire.

You and Christian had been at a party thrown by a mutual friend, having not spoken to him since you had found out what he had done, you showed up to the party with Joost, who you had, subsequently spent the entire night with. The kiss had taken place after god only knows how many drinks, and a night spent dancing with Joost like he was your boyfriend. You and Joost had found yourselves on a couch in the living room, Christian staring dead at the pair of you from across the room, his eyes burning into you- it had felt as good of a time as ever, Heartless by The Weeknd boomed over the speakers, to give him a taste of his own medicine.

To make a short story even shorter, you and Joost had become the focal point of the party for the remaining length of the song, having had him pushed back on the couch as you laid straddled on top of him, lips locked in a furious kiss, wandering hands exploring each other's bodies in a way that hadn't been entirely appropriate for such a public setting.

Following a heated argument after that incident, you and Christian considered each other even, willing to move on with the relationship as if nothing had happened. Joost didn't feel quite the same, the two of them had been on rocky waters ever since then, which, he didn't mind, he was far from fond of the man you swore up and down you were going to marry one day.

Blinking a few times you return yourself to the present moment, watching as Joost's chest rises, sucking in a breath, stoking the flame of his own cigarette so he can light yours. You inhale as well, which finally allows your cigarette to light.

You smile to thank him, the cigarette still pressed between your lips. You place two fingers on either side of the cigarette, taking a proper drag, feeling a familiar warm prickling in your throat as the smoke enters your lungs.

You face away from Joost to exhale, grey smoke dancing around you as another gust of wind approaches.

"I just don't understand," You start, your voice beginning to waver as memories of the last five years you spent with Christian came back to you, "How could he?" You inhale once more, deeply, hoping that you can receive at least some vague headrush from the nicotine. Exhale. "After all the shit I put up with, he leaves me." You face back to Joost, a grimace forming on your face, "With a text."

You bite at the inside of your cheeks, attempting to suppress the way your lips quiver as a sob threatens to escape you.

Joost's head hangs to the side, sympathy spread across his face,

"I don't think there's anything to understand." He presses the cigarette in his hand up against his lips, taking a quick inhale before speaking again, "He's just a dick."

"Easy for you to say," You sigh, "You're biased, you never liked him."

"Yeah," Joost says, matter-of-factly, "He spent the first year of your relationship fucking his ex-girlfriend."

"I cheated too," You mumble, you had never quite forgiven yourself for that incident, no matter how perfect it had felt in the moment.

"We kissed once while we were drunk." He furrows his eyebrows to take another drag of his cigarette.

"Still cheating," You shrug, even if he did have a fair point, you having kissed Joost in pure spite didn't exactly equal a year's worth of hooking up with someone else, "I mean," You pause to take a drag of your cigarette, "If I was your girlfriend, would you want me kissing other guys- even if it was because you had done something too?"

"If you were my girlfriend I wouldn't have sex with anyone else in the first place."

"That's not my point." You shake your head

"But that's my point." He says in earnest.

You flick your eyes up to look at him to find him staring back at you, his gaze unwavering from where it meets yours. He was right and you shouldn't have let the relationship go on for as long as it did.

With a blink more tears are spilling out of your eyes, unable to hold back your cries much longer.

"I wasted five years of my life," The tears continue to pour down your cheeks, "Five years is a long time."

A small smile appears on Joost's face, a sign of encouragement,

"Someday being with someone for five years will feel like nothing," You watch as the end of his cigarette burns down with another drag, a puff of grey smoke exiting his mouth as he speaks again, his voice softening, "But I know it hurts now."

"Yeah," You concede, hanging your head. "It does."

"I know the last thing you want is the 'it gets better with time' speech, but i promise you, it will."

"I believe you." You cannot look at Joost as you take another drag from the cigarette between your fingers, continuing to stare at the concrete roof of your apartment building as the tears continue to stream down your face. Deep down you know he's right, that one day you'll be with someone for far longer than five years, but it was hard to imagine all of the grief you'd have to push yourself through before getting to that point, mourning the last five years of your life seemed like a daunting challenge ahead.

You push what remains of your cigarette into the concrete, watching as the small flame extinguishes with a small plume of smoke.

"Come here." Joost sighs, slinging an arm around your hunched-over body. Instinctively, your head falls to the side, resting against Joost's shoulder. Moments of affection had been scarce between the two of you since the incident at the party, you knew that part of you feared what sort of emotions would be brought if you let yourself get too close in physical proximity to him.

But now it didn't matter, you were more than receptive of a shoulder to cry on.

The pair of you sit in silence for a moment, both fixated on the dark sky that stretches around you in every direction. The stars are nothing but a faint twinkle tonight, much as they had been every night, something you had gotten used to since moving to the city.

Joost's palm rubs soft circles into your back, lulling your shaky breaths to a stable cadence. You feel heavy as you lay on Joost's shoulder, your eyes burning and your head aching from how much you had been crying.

You can't help but let your mind wander, mostly about the past, about your life before Christian. Tonight had reminded you of old times, of when it was just you and Joost, the pair of you attached at the hip. Neither of you had very many friends growing up, and while you could appreciate your expansive friend groups now, and how much your lives had changed since you were teens, you couldn't help but miss moments like this, moments where you had him all to yourself.

You had accepted a long time ago that you were probably never going to completely get over the crush you had on Joost. Not that it mattered much anyway, it seemed harmless, and it obviously hadn't inhibited you from finding love elsewhere. A puppy crush was all you had thought it had waned down to. Joost seemed to only get more attractive as he aged anyway, having truly grown into himself. Sometimes you couldn't believe the man he had matured into- proud was an understatement.

"Feeling any better?" He asks, his voice low as to not startle you as he breaks the silence.

"I don't know." You mumble, your voice threatening to crack once more and your mind is a mess with pure confusion as to what it was you were feeling. Your heart thumps in your chest at a volume that feels much louder than normal, pumping at a rate that seems much too fast for the situation you're in, "Can I ask you a weird question?"

"Sure" He chuckles, "Ask me whatever you want."

"Did you like it?" The question quickly slips from your lips.

"Like what?" He responds, clearly confused.

"Like," You begin to trail off, unsure if you want to clarify your question, "When we-uh kissed?"

The soft motions he draws against your back are suddenly halted, and it feels like the entire city has gone quiet, like time has stood still, Your heart drops straight into your stomach, fearing the outcome of his rigid bodily reaction.

"Y-yeah, yeah, I liked it." His voice becoming more confident as words progressed.

"I did too," It seemed useless now to wallow in the guilt you had felt about that situation, you liked it, "Do you think we could-" You cut yourself off, not sure of how to finish the question.

Joost places three fingers on your jaw, grabbing at your chin to pull your gaze up to him.

You look at Joost through tearful eyes, questioning how to make your next move. A few seconds of anxious silence pass between the two, breathing heavily.

Joost's fingers linger on your jaw as you feel him pull you closer ever-so-slightly, the two of you inching nearer to each other. Unable to wait any longer, you push yourself forward, at the same time, Joost seems to have had the same idea, the two of you colliding with a force you hadn't expected, which almost takes the breath straight from your lungs.

But you only wish to get closer as your lips clash against Joost's with a hunger you weren't used to. You couldn't remember the last time you had experienced a kiss with such passion, with such intent behind it.

Your hands find themselves tangled up in Joost's hair, threading through and pulling at the already messy strands. Joost's own hands are planted firmly on your body, one on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.

You began to slowly tip back, removing a hand from Joost's hair to maintain stability as you lowered your back to the concrete. Joost follows suit, not breaking the kiss as you pull him down with you.

He props himself up with a hand next to your head, using his other free hand to hold your cheek. You wrap both of your arms around his neck, attempting to pull him further down on top of you.

Joost's kisses soon leave your lips, soft lips trailing down your jaw and eventually your neck. Your chest rises, back arching as he connects with your throat, sucking softly. You let your head tip back onto the concrete, staring up at the sky as Joost continues.

Somehow the stars feel much brighter now, although you know that they aren't. But you're memorized by their faint twinkle in the heat of the moment, as your hands desperately grasp at Joost's hair, and your breathing begins to speed up.

Once more, you're overwhelmed, eyes damp once more as they well up with tears. You pinch your eyes closed, trying to force the droplets away, but it does nothing but push your salty tears down your face. It didn't feel so bad to cry now, not as Joost ghosts your neck with soft kisses, his hand dropping to draw reassuring circles on your hip with his thumb.

You arch your back, allowing Joost to wrap an arm under you, holding you tight. You whine as his teeth graze your neck, quickly soothing the small bite with his tongue. It's obvious Joost notices your response to the action, repeating it over a few more times, surely bursting some blood vessels along the way.

You recognized the sensation that was building inside of you, the way the muscles in your legs tightened and your abdomen strained, the paralyzing feeling of want terrorizing every nerve in your body. You bend your leg, pushing your hips forward. With your sudden movement, Joost's hand slips from behind your back to your thigh, his fingertips just below the hem of your pajama shorts. It's not quite where you want him.

A strangled, "Please," leaves your throat, causing Joost to hesitate, lifting his head from where it hung by your neck, his hand dropping from your thigh.

Pity is written all over his face as he looks down at you, fuck.

"I'm sorry," He shakes his head

"What?"

"We shouldn't-"

"No?" You choke, and it's like you could feel him slipping through your fingers, you clench your jaw, his name bitten into your tongue. You let your head fall to the side, the concrete is harsh, scraping against your cheek.

"Stop," You feel Joost's hand graze your arm, "Please look at me."

You can't bear to lift your head up, shame written all over your face. First your boyfriend now him.

"I don't mean to upset you, please, liefje, look at me."

His use of the phrase liefje making you immediately turn your head, confused.

"Don't call me that if you don't mean it." You frown

"I do mean it."

"Sure."

Joost lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead,

"Believe me," He mumbles, his lips still resting against your hairline.

"Then why can't we go any further?" You wince at the words that come from your mouth.

"We will," He raises his head to look you in the eyes, "When you're ready."

"I am," You furrow your eyebrows, "I've known you for 15 years, I am more than ready."

Joost frowns, "You just got out of a five-year relationship."

"Do you think I'm using you as a rebound?"

"What-no," He shakes his head, "I just don't want to fuck up your healing process."

"What if you speed it up?" You ask, lifting your head from the concrete.

"And what if I make it worse?"

"You won't" You plead

"Not tonight." He sighs, dipping his head to place another kiss on your forehead, "Let me take you out first, we'll make it special."

A small smile grazes your lips, your heart warmed at his effort,

"I care about you, y/n, I don't want to just have sex with you because we're in the mood, okay?" He speaks earnestly, making your pulse quicken.

"Okay," You whisper, "Can you at least stay the night?"

"I'll stay as long as you want," he smiles, and a few moments of comfortable silence engulf you both before he speaks again, "You know I love you, right?" You're unsure of if it's platonic love, or something more, but it doesn't seem to matter now, the very simple fact that he loves you was all you could really focus on.

"I love you too." You're unsure of how you mean it either, knowing only that you love him. Just as you always had.

[gladiatorcunt]

- # GIVE A FLY SOME HONEY !!

all roads lead to death valley

cw: southern setting & accents, sui ideation/thoughts, protected sex (are you proud of me), dead dove ending and undertones, sort of ambiguous, virgin cowboy!anakin x virgin afab!reader, ROTS coded!anakin, r2’s a horse, the force is in place of the christian God and is referred to as such at times, star wars being a fictional franchise in a star wars au fic, weird mix of a farm and a ranch, spanking, clit slapping, biting, reader’s inner freak has some crazy thoughts, mentions of humiliation and collaring/choking, anakin murders somebody (one scene of violence), what a heat advisory and the south’s sex education does to a mf, implied plus size and neurodivergent!reader, kidnapping????????????, mention of drugs, reader has a lot of internalized shame about where they’re from

wc: 4.2k (unedited)

what if instead of star wars it was called 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 wars

consider commissioning me!

Your unlucky streak rears its ugly head yet again. June was already shaping up to be a hot month, and your junkyard car wouldn’t start. You’re used to driving long stretches of road with nothing but livestock in fields to gawk at, it comes with the territory. But you couldn’t afford gas and decided to push your luck on the way back home, nevermind that the drive would be at least 20 hours. Moving to the city had its drawbacks, the road trip to and back being one of them.

“No, no. Come on, please work. Do you need me to fucking sing to you or something?” You groan, fruitlessly twisting your key in the ignition over and over.

Nope, “Tough shit.” Your engine mocks, death coughs sputtering out one after the other.

“ ‘You havin’ trouble?” A masculine voice shouts from behind you.

You get startled by the sound and gracefully slam your head up into the roof of the car as you turn around. You must look like quite the sight, clutching your now throbbing head and stumbling out of your broken down hand-me-down car on a long open road. Once you’ve blinked enough to adjust to the harsh sunlight, your eyes land on a tall muscular figure riding a horse. The clip clop of the horse’s dirty hooves on the gravel pierce your ears but the gentle sway of the man’s fluffy hair softens the blow.

“Um…. yes, sir. I am actually. My…. my car won’t start and I’m all out of gas.” You burn with embarrassment as you get through your explanation, trying your hardest not to throw up from the sheer social anxiety.

“Well that ain’t no biggy, I think I can help with that.” The man cocks his head and hops down from the horse, a white stallion with a few faded black-gray spots here and there. “Stay here, R2.”

You’re standing there dumbly, ignoring the tiny rocks digging into your shoes and the pounding in your skull as the cowboy wanders up to you. The sun bounces off his dark hat in a way that gives him a sort of halo, and you gape like a fish when he tips it down at you in a silent greeting, reaching out to shake your hand after. The silver spurs on his boots reflect sunlight directly onto your face, so you miss his open palm the first time.

His hand is rough, you can feel numerous old scrapes and cuts when you accept the gesture. But it’s so much bigger than yours, and there’s strange heat coming from his skin that you’re hesitant to pin on the southern summer sun. Too handsome, in a way that just can’t be possible, you quickly swipe a fingertip over his ring finger during the handshake and The Force must be looking out for you because there’s no ring. Not that you’re seeking anything out, but in the town you’re from, you’re lucky if anyone makes it past 18 without having a baby and getting hitched as a result.

Anakin tinkers away at your car for over an hour, finding more problems than just a lack of gas. Eventually he determines that you’ll die in this heat before you can back on the road, so he asks you to accompany him back to his ranch and he’ll send out one of his employees to bring your car around. You try to show him that you’re listening by ‘hm’-ing and nodding every so often, but it’s hard to rip your eyes away from a very attractive man bent over and sweaty while he’s fixing your car. You definitely do not want to cry when his flannel lifts up as he wipes the sweat on his forehead away with his greasy hand, revealing the slight softness over his muscles.

Since your car was no longer an option, Anakin grins as he gestures towards his horse, “R2’s a good horse, won’t give you any trouble. He likes to make a lot of noise and has an… acquired sense of humor, but I reckon we’ll get back just fine.”

He has you practice getting off and on the horse for a good while, the next step is letting you adjust to the feeling of being on one. You’d be embarrassed that Anakin’s having to teach you how to ride but his hands curl around your waist, keeping you steady and whispering in your ear to not be so stiff. Horses can smell fear after all, it’d suck to not only have your car be broken but your bones too. It’s a scene straight out of a cheesy romance novel, the kind that’s a tiny yellowed book sold almost exclusively in run down gas stations with a cover not far off from a porno.

Your cheeks are burning the entire way to the ranch, you relax as much as you can on an animal that’s a few hundred pounds of muscle with a searing hot body pressed right up against you from behind. It doesn't take long to get to your destination though, and before you know it sprawling fields bracket a mid size homey wooden building. There are some smaller pens for the cows to stay in and you follow their movement as an employee unlatches the gate and leads them out towards the left most field.

“They gotta switch pastures every so often.” He informs you, urging his horse into an energetic trot, “And it’s a good rule of thumb to have about an acre per cow.”

You tighten your hold on the reins and try not to focus on your fear of falling off. The pace of R2 isn’t one that you struggle to match but then again this is the first time you’ve ever ridden a horse in a long time. You’ve always been too skittish to do it regularly, and when you moved you got rid of the hobby entirely. You take a deep breath and let the horse’s movements travel through you, coming to enjoy the gentle jostling as you go. Anakin keeps his hands around yours on the reigns, making sure you don’t panic and seize up. R2’s not really beginner friendly unless he likes his rider, he has a tendency to just whinny and take off when the spirit moves him.

“The Force has done me good and given me a nice house on nice land, but it don’t mean nothin’ if i’m all by my lonesome. Ever since my dad passed and my ma’ died a few years after that, the workers and the cows are all I got, plus R2 of course.”

All right, he sinks into the jargon a little too much, but the way the sun accentuates the scar on his cheek makes it a charming quirk. You want to lick his teeth when he smiles, you think, before blaming it on an oncoming heatstroke. You’re no better than a man in this moment, and if you had seen him soaking up all of the attention in a crowded room in a bar you’d have no business being in, you like to think that you could pull him. You play with the slightly waxy feel of the leather reins, allowing the sensation of coarseness in the stitching to overpower any coherent thought.

“Why’d you name your horse R2?” You ask, ducking your head as you feel him guide the animal towards the stables.

“Oh uh, I was real wild over these sci fi movies from back when I was a kid. The hero had this robot called R2-D2, and I guess it just stuck with me.” He answers you with a shrug and a mild blush, curving his fingers around yours.

Your stomach warms at the feeling, but you refrain from returning the gesture, he probably isn’t even thinking that deeply about what he’s doing. He’s not obsessing over every square inch of skin that comes into contact with his own, not like you. You’re already missing the comforting weight of Anakin’s herculean body when he’s pulling the reins to stop R2 and hopping off, clamping his big hands around your waist and helping you down. You wobble for a bit and find your footing before you can pick up on how he momentarily froze in front of you, anticipating an easy opportunity to touch you again. Force, you really are stupid, bless your heart.

You glance up at him and start to say something but then you hear rustling in the bushes, Anakin must hear it too because before you can tug on his sleeve and tell him, he’s pulling his revolver out from its holster and striding off towards the sound. You’re quick to learn that he has a bit of a one track mind, especially when it comes to indulging the serpent twisting in between his ribs like a switchblade.

“I’ll be damned…”

You’re supposed to head inside and awkwardly linger around until your car is in good enough condition to get you back to Coruscant. The only thing is, you’ve now found yourself without your new security blanket, and your curiosity agrees with how much you don’t fucking want to speak to any of the people here without Anakin to hide behind. R2 loudly chuffs at you from his stall in the stables, either saying “That’s just how he is, leave him be!” or "What are you doing? You should obviously go after him!” You choose to believe it’s the latter, so you wander off into the distance, following Anakin’s lead.

You catch up to him quicker than you thought you would, and you have half a mind to scold him like a child if you weren’t catching your breath. All you can see is his wide shoulders because he’s hunched over something, your heartbeat quickens when you spot his gun being pointed at something. You circle around him to find a man squirming on the ground like a toddler, twitching every so often. Anakin seems almost enthralled by the desperate display, so he doesn’t notice you until you gingerly place a hand on his shoulder, soft and looking to soothe. Later you won’t remember the blood on the man’s temple or the matching stain on the muzzle of Anakin’s gun, because you didn’t witness that part.

He snaps out of it, turning his head to nuzzle his nose against your knuckles, “ ‘s alright, sweetheart, just a meth head too out of his mind to watch where he’s goin’. Had a knife with him, probably lookin’ to rob somebody blind.”

Your eyes flicker between him and the man, fully aware of how common stuff like drug addicts trespassing is and the old fashioned black and red ‘Trespassers Will Be Shot On Sight’ sign. You’ve grown up around guns, you’re more used to hearing them in a hunting or taking shots at beer bottles kind of way, but it’s not like Anakin’s the only one to have that kind of self enforced rule when it comes to his property. Still… killing a human man is different than making use out of a successful deer hunt, right?

“Maybe we should call the cops, he can’t hurt nobody like that…” You try to reason, casting a pitiful glance towards the cowering man.

There’s a scratch on Anakin’s face that’s still bleeding from the knife the guy had used before Anakin took it, it just barely missed his right eye, he could’ve lost it. You’ll ask to help him with it when you get back to the ranch, but you know that there’s no seeing to it right now. You don’t want to risk an infection just so you could brush your thumb across the wound, you’re not even sure why you want to, it’s like the urge just materialized in your head out of thin fog. Anakin gently shrugs your hand off and uses his free one to pull you against his chest, and it’s like you’re back on his horse, that same fear entwined with exhilaration like barbed wire. Your hearts are beating at the same pace, some folks say that’s how you know it’s love, that’s how you know it’s fate.

“You don’t got the stuff in ya to be a killer, that’s just fine, darlin’. ‘Cause I sure do.” His words dissolve into a previously unknown to you cold sneer.

Anakin clamps a burly, sweaty hand over your eyes as he empties the entire magnum into the tresspasser’s skull. The bright sun bounces off the brim of his hat, casting a shadow over his stormy eyes. He may not have let you witness the massacre, but you will never forget the sickening yelps the poor bastard gave to Anakin like prayer. And then he got put down in a more inhumane fashion than if he were a rabid dog. To your gracious host, there’s probably not a whole lick of difference. Between a wanderin’ sap and a deranged mutt, that is.

But there’s a far off expression on his face, maybe he was once at risk of having two bullets in his temple at the hands of someone unforgiving.

“Welp.” Anakin exclaims, making a point of slapping his thigh as he holsters his pistol. “Better head on home now, I reckon. Come on, honey, don’t want to lose you to the coyotes.”

It’s said like “kai-yohtes.” You balk at his teasing and obediently trail after him, a vulnerable duckling staying in line. The storm is hitting hard by the time you’re out of the woods, and you briefly wonder if the Angels up in heaven are gonna start bowling soon. A saying that got passed around in your family, when you and the ones before you would stare up in wonder and shiver in fear at the thundering purple skies as kids. You remember being surprised that one of the Angels’ bowling balls never fell down to earth, maybe it’d be somethin’ like a meteorite.

As is the case with many things, it’s easy to lose sight of the fresh corpse in the dry grass. Once you turn around and thread your finger through Anakin’s, dirtying them, it’s almost like that man never existed. There must be something wrong with you, sure the situation is so unimaginable that it would be hard to cope with, but shouldn’t you be feeling more guilt than you do? You feel bad, of course, but ‘easy come and easy go’ has always been the way of things in these parts. God giveth and God taketh away.

You’re back where you should be, a narrow dirt path going under a wooden fence to the ranch. Grand trees line the road forming a moss green canopy. A few workers are goofing off and playing a very amateur game of football, blissfully ignorant to the fact that Anakin can obviously see them from his place next to you.

It would be a peaceful place to die, a bright and clear afternoon-evening in the way that the world can only be when you’re about to leave it. That’s how you’d want it to feel, like you’re rowing a boat across the lake you used to go fishing at to see people you’d never thought you’d see again waiting for you. Fall leaves, blinding pale sun, a serene and calming quiet. You’d be the happiest you’ve ever been, skipping even though you never could as a kid. There’d be no sadness, only relief and a memento of everything that’ll only make sense when it’s someone’s turn to see you again. No buzzing from mosquitoes or chirping from crickets, only little lightnin’ bugs. Maybe you only get that kinda ending if you’re good, in the godly sense, if you come from something worth remembering.

Anakin raises an eyebrow and gently jostles you, and just like that your train of thought is derailed. He chalks it up to shock, and nods his head towards a clearing behind the building. A change of plans. You follow, as you are wont to do.

“That rat bastard had it comin’ to ‘im, hun.” He tries to reassure and squeezes your hand, imploring you to see reason. “The Force decided it was his time, sweet thing.”

You shake your head, not disagreeing, just in utter disbelief. “I just… most everyone in my life I've known that’s died did it when I wasn't there. I’ve never had to actually be there when they… you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” And that’s all he says, regardless of the truth.

It’s what you need, somehow he just understands exactly what that is. You’re starting to think that you certainly don’t have a damn clue. You look up at him again, really drinking in every facet of his entire being that you can latch onto and obsess over. You’re remembering why you were so anxious to get out of this sinkhole, it’s a miracle you ever got out of it in the first place. His hair’s all messy, dark curls strewn about like a windswept bale of hay. A storm is brewing in his eyes, like he could Earth to rotate in the opposite direction if he wanted it to. He works his jaw around in a weird way to get rid of the soreness after grinding his teeth.

It’s tantalizing, being the hand holding a man on the edge back from wreaking his God given havoc.

You dot a quick peck on his cheek, scrunching your nose up at the barest hint of prickly stubble.

His eyes widen, and the sun itself shines brighter. The cutest light dusting of pink spreads across his face, so he one ups you by pressing your lips together. It’s exactly how a first kiss should feel, a simple gesture that leaves you breathless and with more butterflies than a flower garden swarming in your tummy. There’s no fireworks, but you can hear wind chimes and birds singing as your lips glide together, the meeting of your tongues is so natural that you won’t be able to remember when his slipped through the seam of your mouth. You want to keen as he maps out your teeth, his spit has to have some kind of aphrodisiac in it.

Anakin works your jeans open and off your legs completely, his pupils expand when he sees your thick thighs in all their glory but he keeps himself from slapping them and acting like they’re the only part of your body. There’s an ever growing to do list in both of your heads, your combined inexperience brings a flurry of perverted ideas and porn scenarios to recreate with it, and you’re sad that you’ll very likely leave with none of them being fulfilled.

He yanks the collar of your tank below your chest, immediately leaving over to bite your cute breasts with all the grace of a rattlesnake. He doesn’t try to make any marks, he just wants to bite wildly and with reckless abandon, like he’s using your tits to self soothe. You’d do the same if he let you at his pecs to be fair, his chest is practically as big as yours if not bigger.

“This means somethin’ to me, hear that? ‘m always gonna remember my first.” He spits, clutching onto your bruised tit like he’s a split second away from sinking his hand into your viscera and dumpster diving for your heart.

He pauses pawing at your tits to reach in his back pocket and pull out a condom. It’s crumpled and the packaging is worn by rubbing against the denim of Anakin’s jeans, you can tell that he’s excited to finally put it to use. You’re glad that there’s some safety measures being taken, but your heart swoops in disappointment at the dose of reality. It’s the kind of thing that calls for the most diabolical, unhinged, strings of goopy fluid hanging from his balls as they slap against your rippling ass, raw sex. You don’t let yourself pout, Anakin’s making good use of the only working brain cell between the two of you. You scoot back on his lap to give him room to pop to button on his pants and whip his dick out. It makes a heavy ‘thwop!’ as it slaps against Anakin’s abs.

Your mouth waters at the sight, so thick with the just right amount of curve, it would scratch your throat perfectly. His hands shake harder as he rips the condom’s packaging open with his teeth and rolls it on his twitching length. You take a deep breath, finding comfort in the tense muscles on Anakin’s shoulders through his warm flannel. He curls a hand around the base of his cock and grasps it tightly, positioning it right under your empty hole. You’re lucky he didn’t have to tell you what to do, because working yourself down every inch would’ve been much more painful if you already needed to be taught a lesson. It’s weirdly sweet, the chaste pecks he presses along your nose and jawline as you adjust to what feels like a tree log forcing your tender folds to stretch around it. Your slutty body tries to twist itself in a pretzel with the way you’re swiveling your hips, trying to get more of Anakin’s dick inside of you when you’ve miraculously already swallowed him to the hilt.

“I want this pretty pussy weepin’ for me, I’m awfully sorry honey but i’m not stopping till it’s gushin’ all over me.” He speaks in between wet kisses up and down the column of your throat.

“Mmm- It’s okay, I want it like that, Ani. Promise- oh my god, so big.”

You make him feel like a man trying to outrun a forest fire only to get swept up in a tornado. Like there’s a fever in his brain that’s gotten into his blood, black tar dripping into his liver. Drives a man to drink so he can have a sliver of that feeling, that scalding need not even God could give you. There’s no finesse or coordination to anything, his lips frantically scurry along random spots on your upper body. His upward thrusts are heavy hitting and wrangle your breath out in stuttered gasps, he moves as if he were riding a horse, following only the imagined scent of old blood. Anakin’s cock is so big your walls could rip if he wasn’t always keeping a sharp eye on how much he’s bullying you. He doesn’t try anything crazy like fucking your cervix, it might shock you so much that you remeber exactly how long it’s been since he’s had your car “taken to the shop”.

His spurs dig into the dirt as he slaps your ass, the material of his gloves adding an extra bit of ‘umph!’ to the resulting sting. Anakin’s jeans are so warm against your ass that it takes a few more spanks before you really get the urge to bend over his lap and tell him to just have at it until you sob. You’re on an ecstatic high, living in the present with a near stranger’s dick balls deep inside of you. His eyes gleam gold when you make eye contact, and you find it so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, letting this man burn away all your responsibilities until he’s the last one left standing in a sea of ashes.

You don’t mind that he stops talking eventually, switching to gruff grunts and harsh yells. ‘Don’t be so stiff, let the movement roll through you.’ Anakin digs his fingers into the meat of your jiggling ass and delivers a final smack to both cheeks. You sigh in relief, but then you snap out of your cockdrunk haze to yelp at the cruel hit to your swollen clit.

“Need ya to keep squeakin’ sweets.” He orders. “Don’t want the townsfolk to think I fucked your brain out your ears.”

It’d be polite to make conversation with the people you meet when Anakin parades you around with his hat on your head later, something of a pre engagement tour. If the Force is good, you’ll be willing, because rope burn isn’t something you want to become your new normal.

“Chin up, buttercup,” He says almost bashfully despite how hard he’s pounding your puffy cunt, “We can get some ice cream at the fair after if ya like, make it a cute little second date.”

You whimper and harshly pull his hair, earning you a throaty moan and another slap to your clit, saying yes to him like you’ve already done a million times. You thought that the pure social anxiety of being around so many of Anakin’s employees would be nerve wracking, it’s nothing compared to having to speak to them AND keep their boss’s cum from oozing down your leg. Anakin’s discarded belt catches your eye when a sharp thrust sends your head falling back, and you picture the scuffed up belt buckle as the O shaped ring of a more traditional collar. The black stains from working on your car only add to the appeal, it scares you exactly how much you’d let the man fucking you with a cheap gas station condom get away with. You’ve already heard him kill a man, finding yourself in a relationship is pretty much the natural next step.

When he cums deep inside with a hoarse growl, there’s the sound of a bear trap slamming shut on an unsuspecting bunny rabbit. Your simultaneous orgasm is the tiny squeal it makes before it dies.

“I forgot to ask, hun, what stuffed animal do ya want me to win for ya?”

- faetreides 2024. do not repost, translate, or put my works into ai