#The Whistle Only Dogs Can Hear

[goldenispunk]

Ever since I started watching The Boys I now respond to the word “Butcher” like it’s a dog whistle

[xgutter-glitterx]

the entire point of calling it a dogwhistle is that only dogs are supposed to be able to hear it

i feel like the term “dogwhistle” is becoming increasingly misused and it’s going to become dangerous at some point

[devil-in-hiding]

On The Run Part 1

The Barn

mdni

cw: violent behavior, suggestive themes, i will get better at this i swear

It’s a downpour tonight. The roof overhead rattles with the force of the winds outside, keeping you awake. Your eyes drift towards the window periodically, watching the lightening illuminate the night sky, thunder rolling closer and closer as the wind hails. Your four loyal, massive Tibetan Mastiffs lay around your bed, dead to the storm raging outside. You’d normally have them out in the barn, but with how terrible it’s coming down you would have felt terrible.

But now you lie awake, worry in the pit of your stomach. Some of the goats had just given birth, and with this storm you knew the kids had to be distressed, and their bleats often agitated the horses.

You absentmindedly reach down to run a hand through Dixon’s fur, who lets out a pleased huff, nuzzling your palm. You try to let the beat of rain lure you to sleep, eyes finally feeling heavy as your breathing evens out.

But then you hear it, over the raging of the storm you can still hear your stallion, Sebastian, neighing, and then the pound of his hoofs against his stalls, and you're flying out of your bed.

Nothing spooks your stallion, absolutely nothing.

You race down the stairs in just your nightgown, rushing to pull on your boots, no socks, as Dixon, Grimes, Judy and Maggie come bounding after you. You throw open the door, the screen slamming against the house from the wind but you pay no mind, running towards the barn, barely catching yourself from slipping in the mud.

The closer you get, the louder you can hear all your herd. Your hearts pounding harder than the rain when you reach the barn doors, and you can hear the dogs barking behind you as you reach to yank open the double doors

Locked.

Your barn is never locked.

From the inside.

“Hello?!” You yell, slamming your palms against the wood, guilt wracking your body when you hear something scurry away on the other side.

“What are you doing in there?” You scream, shaking the handles with all your might, but they hold strong, and after a harsh yank, your hand slips, sending you flying into the mud.

You can hear what can only be described as chaos in the barn, and tears prick your eyes as you crawl forward, banging your fists against the doors.

“PLEASE! Please don’t hurt my animals! They’re already scared! Please- AH!” You scream as the door flies open, sending you face first into the barn floor.

You barely register the blood dripping from your hands as you scramble to stand up, taking in the scene.

The mares were going wild, bucking and kicking the doors of their stalls while Sebastian raged, having busted his door down, prancing infront of his ladies protectively.

Your goats were huddled in a group on the corner, the kids tucked between their bodies and the sheep standing in front of them, shaking so badly their wool was trembling. The rest of the stock is scattered, hiding in various corners of the barn.

You whistle, which immediately catches Sebastian’s attention, huffing and puffing.

“I’m here! It’s okay, ma is here!” You hush them, slowly walking towards the stallion with your hand out, palm up.

He neighs, tossing his head, leaning down to sniff your hand, when he stops, and suddenly a new sound reaches your ears.

Dixon and Grimes are growling out a warning.

Before you can even blink, there’s a hand over your mouth. Your gasp is muffled at the pressure of cold steel at your neck, an arm wrapping around your chest pulling you into a firm, solid figure.

“Not. A. Sound.” A gruff voice barks in your ear, and your blood runs cold.

“Lock the doors back.” The man orders, and a sinking feeling overcomes you when you hear a new set of footsteps. You stumble as you’re jerked back, Dixon barking as you start to thrash, kicking your feet, but the grip around you tightens.

“Fuckin- Knock it off!” He growls, pressing what you can only guess is your carving knife painfully against your throat and Grimes lets out a guttural sounding bark before lunging, only to yelp when a foot shoves him back, and you thrash harder, attempting to nip at this man’s hand.

“Stop you little fuckin-SHIT!” He bellows as your teeth sink into his palm, not releasing until you taste his blood splash over your teeth, and then you’re on the ground.

“Little bitch!”

“Don’t touch my fucking animals.” You spit, turning to stare up at the intruder, just to be met with a ski mask and cold eyes. You can’t help but freeze, the carving knife glinting in the low light of the barn.

He’s quick, and you try to stumble to your feet, but you're once more in his grasp. You go for a punch, but he catches your wrist easily, pinning your arm behind your back with one hand and yanking your forward with the other, pinning you against him, and the knife is at your throat again.

“Let’s try this again.” He says between clenched teeth, tightening his grip till you whimper.

“Ghost. Lighten up.” A voice pipes up, raspy and stern with a commanding tone. The masked man, Ghost, rolls his eyes, but loosens the hold he has on your wrist.

“Who else lives here?” He questions, and it feels as though a bucket of cold water has been dumped over you.

“No one…” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut when his grip tightens once more. “Don’t bullshit us. Who else lives on this land with you?!” He’s in your face, making you open your eyes, tears blurring your vision.

“It’s just me I swear!” You sob, feeling the tip of the knife digging into your skin. “I swear to god it’s just me, you can go check the house-“

The pressure of the knife is gone, and the shock of your bare knees hitting the barn floors barely phases you as Dixon and Grimes dart to your side, whining softly as they nudge your hands with their heads.

“Think she’s telling the truth?” A new voice speaks up, a thick Scottish accent ringing in your ears as you try to put distance between you and the four, you are finally able to count, men standing in the middle of your barn.

“Explains the massive mutts.” Ghost grunts, glancing at the four mastiffs, who you push behind you, shielding them, trying not to let your fear show more than it already has.

“They aren’t mutts.” You hiss, Judy nuzzling her giant head into your back as you shuffle them back, away from these men.

You hold your head high, but your lip can’t help but tremble when all their eyes turn to you.

“You sure there’s no one else in that great big house?” The older man with scruffy facial hair asks with a tilt of his head, and a spark of agitation flares in your chest. Why did they want to know so badly? if they were going to…

If they were going to kill you, surely they would have done it by now, right?

“I swear on my life.” You plead, voice cracking. You’re horrified when you realize your nightgown has been soaked through this whole time, noticing the way the one with the mohawk, the Scot, keeps eyeing your bosom. You look away, cheeks burning as fresh tears prick your eyes.

“Soap, Gaz. You two go check the house. Report back to me, I want a moment with her.” The unnamed man ordered.

Mohawk and a dark skinned man nodded, heading out of the barn. Ghost passes one of them the carving knife, and your fist curl in your lap.

“What do I do Price?” Ghost asks, and the man, Price, waves a hand, eyes trained on you. “Search the surrounding area, look for anyone hiding on the property.”

“Understood.”

And then you were alone. The barn has settled, most of your animals having made their way to the farthest wall behind you. He approaches you slowly, cautiously eyeing Dixon who raises up, baring his teeth, but you click your tongue, and he steps back immediately, sitting at your side like a statue as the others guard the flock.

You feel a puff of air breath against your head, and you can’t help the wet laugh that bubbles out when you realize Sebastian is standing guard over you.

“Seems you’ve got yourself quite the protection.”

He muses, eyes bouncing between the animals.

“They were abandoned when I found this place.” You confess, a slight tremble to your voice as you watch Price crouch in front of you. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flickering over your form and you wrap your arms around your middle.

“If my men are walking into a trap, whoever is there will be killed.” He says simply, tone almost bored and you feel your face pale.

“They’re not! This is my land! Mine!” You insist, frustrated tears falling freely as you flex your fingers, muscles tense.

“Tiny little bird like you, all by herself?” Ghost scoffs as he returns, and you feel your ears burn.

“What did you find?” Price asks him over his shoulders.

“Can hardly see shit in this rain but I found no one. There’s a truck around back but the engine seems shot.” He shrugs, eyes peering at you through that ski mask and you avert your gaze.

The doors open against, the other two rushing in, soaked to the bone.

“The house is clear sir. Only one room looks lived in, two guest rooms down the hall on the upper level and a small library on the ground level. Gaz found a shotgun by the front door.” The Scot, Soap, you gather, reports back to Price.

“I told you. It’s just me out here.” You mutter, and this time Ghost is crouching in front of you, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“You hiding from something little bird?” He asks, cocking his head to the side

“You’re the ones breaking into my barn and scaring my animals!” You snap, trying to get out of his grip, but he only holds tighter.

“You’re a little fighter aren’t you?” You see his eyes crinkle, and you're shocked this man even knows how to smile under that mask.

He releases you, standing up and stepping back to stand with the other three men, who still loom over you. You feel like a lamb being sent to the slaughter house, and you bury one of your hands in Dixon’s thick fur to ground yourself.

“Please-“ You start, voice shaking, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek.

“I don’t have much, there’s maybe three thousand dollars in the safe in my closet. I’ll give you the code just…” Your voice trails off, a sob slipping past your lips and Dixon whines, low and sad as he places his giant head in your lap.

“Please don’t hurt us. D-don’t hurt my animals- I won’t even call the cops, it would take the nearest deputy three hours to even reach my house.” You beg, exhaustion and nerves taking over as your shoulders slump, trembling with your quiet sobs.

You see Price’s boots approach you, and he tilts your chin up, and you flinch when he brushes a tear away with his thumb.

“Stop all these tears pretty. We don’t want to hurt you or your little farm.” He coos down at you. Confusion swirls in your head, making you dizzy as another sob can’t help but slip out, Price cupping your cheeks, shushing you softly as he wipes your cheeks.

“I don’t understand…” You whisper, searching this strange, terrifying man’s face for any sign of deceit, but he just grins at you.

“You told us the truth. Very good.” It sounds almost like praise the way he whispers it to you, and you whimper, shame filling your stomach. You look away from him, taking a shuddering breath as you struggle to compose yourself.

“Let’s get you back inside hm? Can’t have you catching a cold.” He tsks, and before you can argue, you’re being lifted into his arms, tucked against his chest. You try to struggle, but the adrenaline has worn off, confusion left in its wake as these strange men usher the herd into their correct pens, Soap barley escaping one of the Roosters pecking at him in defiance, before pausing.

“I don’t think I want to mess with this guy.” Gaz mutters, the three of them staring at Sebastian, who stares back, as though daring them to try and corral him.

“He.. He’ll go back in his stall once it’s quiet… You scared them…” You mutter, tired as you give in, resting your head against the strong chest you’re pressed against, and you feel Price’s grip tighten.

“You’re freezing sweetheart, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.” He murmers, and your heart skips.

“I can do that myself.” You hiss, staring up at him with narrowed eyes, despite the fact you can feel your cheeks burning.

He just laughs.

[clementimetodie]

are data centers like. dog whistles for old people...

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “��maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[hot-patootiee]

I like the idea of Steve already somehow knowing he’s bisexual. He just neglects to tell Robin because she’s a lesbian and probably doesn’t want to hear about all his boy problems, he goes to Nancy for that. Steve knows it’s weird, he just doesn’t really care. Nancy likes boys and therefore probably prefers to talk about them.

Robin is trying to probe and see if Steve likes men and Steve just constantly deflects. It’s like a funky little gossip relay, Robin runs back to Eddie and they’re both frustrated at Steve’s unclear answers.

“He just shrugged at me! THAT’S NOT AN ANSWER!”

Eddie just screeches in response, frustrated.

…

Steve runs back to Nancy and complains about how oblivious Eddie is to his flirting.

“I asked him to go on a date and he just goes ‘sure, I’ve been meaning to see that movie, mind if Dustin comes too?’ NANCY, WHY IS HE SO STUPID?”

“I don’t know, at this point, anything short of asking him to bend you over probably won’t get his attention.”

Steve groans and continues to paint Nancy’s nails.

…

Eventually this boils over when Nancy and Robin are at an Upside Down party get together. Nancy decides to talk about the only thing they have in common, Steve.

Nancy gestures to Eddie and Steve who are both pathetically red faced as they talk.

“Why don’t those idiots get together already, Steve’s crush is getting pathetic?”

“Steve has a crush on Eddie!?”

“Yea, you’re his best friend, don’t you know this?”

“No.”

“Oh shit.”

Nancy whistles, “STEVE, EDDIE, ASSES OVER HERE.”

They come running like shittlily trained dogs scared shitless of the scary lady with a gun.

“Steve, say what you want to say.”

Steve cringes, gesturing vaguely towards Eddie.

“Yes, to Eddie.” Nancy confirms, prompting Eddie and Steve to face each other.

“Wanna bend me over?” Steve says hesitantly, like he’s questioning his own question.

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Nancy scolds, smacking his arm.

Eddie stands there, absolutely shocked, jaw dropped and eyes bulging. After about 30 seconds, he wordlessly and vigorously nods.

Steve grabs his hand and leads Eddie into his house.

“WHAT THE FUCK STEVE, THERE ARE PEOPLE HERE?”

Steve flips Nancy off and enters the house. The people outside can still see them as Steve strips off his shirt and then they disappear around the corner of a room.

AN. I actually accidentally convinced all my friends I was a lesbian because of this. Half my friends were dudes and the other half were lesbians or bisexual, so I only talked about girls. I had people trying to convince me I was a lesbian, 10/10 would recommend, very entertaining, they got very heated and started yelling at me about how I was a lesbian.

[urfavdreamcatcher]

hey cutie pie !! ive literally been obsessed with ur writing and re-reading ur george clarke fic 🤭. i was wondering if u could make a george clarke fic about reader being highschool sweethearts with him ( i dont know where id want it to go its completely up to you, ive just seen soso many photos of younger george in school and hes so cutesy and yum ) anyway bye bye xx

Sweetheart || George Clarke.

Part 1

Ur honestly so cute, I need to start re-reading my drafts and publishing them.. currently have inside ep 1,2 in my drafts rn😩 BUT THANK YOU CUTIE!! Hope you like this 😊

Summary: She’s the school’s star cheerleader, and he’s the cocky rugby player who drives her up the wall. They’ve been at each other’s throats for as long as they can remember petty arguments, competitive banter, stolen glances that last too long.

But when Charlie, one of George’s teammates, starts flirting a little too shamelessly, the rivalry between them shifts into something sharper, more personal. Because George hates it—hates the way Charlie talks about her, the way he looks at her.

And one day, he snaps.

George x reader, fem!reader , explicit language

There most definitely will be a part 2 to this!!

ENJOY!!

———————————————————————-

If there was one person in the entire school who could ruin my day in under five seconds, it was George Clarkey.

And unfortunately, he seemed to be everywhere.

“You’re glaring again,” my best friend, Liv, pointed out, nudging me with her elbow.

I tore my eyes away from the rugby pitch, where George was currently jogging back to his position, annoyingly smug even while covered in mud. His school rugby shirt was practically clinging to him, damp from the drizzle, and his curls were messy from where he kept ruffling them.

Not that I noticed. Obviously.

“I’m not glaring,” I said, flipping my ponytail over my shoulder. “I’m just… observing.”

Liv snorted. “Right. Observing how fit he looks?”

I turned to her, horrified. “Absolutely not. He’s—ugh insufferable. Cocky, irritating, never stops talking. Did I mention cocky?”

“Only about a hundred times.”

And, as if on cue, George spotted me from across the field. A slow smirk spread across his face, like he knew he was annoying me just by existing.

He jogged a bit closer and called out, loud enough for everyone to hear, “You here to support me, sweetheart?”

I clenched my jaw, ignoring the way my stomach flipped at that ridiculous nickname.

“Please,” I shot back, hands on my hips. “If I wanted to watch someone roll around in the mud, I’d get a dog.”

His teammates howled with laughter, clapping him on the back. But George? He just grinned, jogging backwards like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“You’re obsessed with me, admit it!”

“In your dreams, Clarkey!”

The thing about George was that he thrived on winding me up. Which meant I couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, no matter how annoying he was..he also made my heart race in a way that I hated.

George and I had been at each other’s throats since Year 9. It started when he made a very loud, very wrong comment about how cheerleading wasn’t a real sport. I may have responded by stealing his boots before a big match. He retaliated by swapping my water bottle with vinegar during training.

From there, it spiralled. Pranks, insults, who can annoy the other the most. It was our thing.

So when we walked into history the next day and the teacher started reading out partner assignments for our coursework, I wasn’t worried. There was no way she’d put me with George. She knew we were a disaster waiting to happen.

But then—

“George Clarkey and [ ].”

The entire room went silent.

Someone actually gasped.

I blinked. “You’re joking.”

George, sitting two seats away, let out a low whistle. “Ooh. That’s unfortunate for you, sweetheart.”

The teacher ignored both of us. “You’ll be working together on this project for the next few weeks, so I suggest you figure out a way to get along.”

I turned to George, who was already watching me with that bloody smirk. “You better actually do work,” I muttered as I slid into the seat next to him.

He leaned in slightly, voice low enough that only I could hear. “What, scared to spend time with me?”

My breath hitched annoyingly but I masked it with an unimpressed look. “Scared you’ll get shown up by me, more like.”

His grin deepened, all challenge and amusement. “This is gonna be fun.”

I had a horrible feeling he was right.

———————————————————————

I hated being partnered with George. I really did.

But if there was one small silver lining to this absolute disaster of a situation, it was that his best mate, Charlie, was actually a decent person.

Charlie was in my maths class, and we’d always gotten along well enough. Unlike George, he wasn’t constantly winding me up or trying to make my life miserable. And, unlike George, he didn’t seem to think cheerleading was a joke.

“You’re well unlucky,” Charlie said with a sympathetic smile as we walked out of class together. “Being stuck with Clarkey, I mean. Absolute nightmare, that one.”

I snorted. “Tell me about it.”

He grinned. “If you need someone to rant to, I’m happy to volunteer.”

And then, before I could even respond, George appeared out of nowhere, stepping right between us like some sort of human barricade.

“Alright, mate?” George clapped Charlie on the back a bit too hard. “Didn’t know you were trying to steal my project partner.”

Charlie laughed, glancing at me. “She’s your problem now, not mine.”

George turned to me, eyebrows raised. “That true, sweetheart? You going round complaining about me already?”

I rolled my eyes. “Didn’t have to. Everyone already knows you’re unbearable.”

He smirked. “And yet, here you are, walking with my mate. What, trying to get closer to me through him?”

Charlie shot him a look. “Don’t be a nob, Clarkey.”

George laughed like he wasn’t being completely insufferable, but something flickered in his expression something I couldn’t quite place.

I ignored it. Instead, I turned to Charlie and smiled. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

His face lit up in a way that made something twist in my stomach.

I wasn’t oblivious I’d noticed the way Charlie looked at me lately. The way he found excuses to talk to me, to sit next to me in class. And, if I was honest, I liked the attention.

It wasn’t like that but it was nice. Unlike George, who lived to annoy me, Charlie was easy to talk to.

Apparently, George hated that.

Because as soon as Charlie walked off, he let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his damp curls. “Fucking hell. If I have to watch him flirt with you for the next few weeks, I might actually lose my mind.”

I crossed my arms, tilting my head. “What’s your problem?”

He scoffed. “Charlie never shuts up about you. It’s pathetic.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so you can flirt with half the school, but the second someone likes me, it’s a problem?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t flirt with everyone.”

I let out a humourless laugh. “Right. You just call everyone ‘sweetheart’ and wink at anything that moves.”

George’s smirk twitched slightly, but there was something else behind it now, something a little more serious.

“You jealous, love?” His voice was lower now, teasing, but not in his usual careless way.

I stared at him. “Of what?”

He stepped closer. Not enough to be obvious, not enough to draw attention, but enough. Enough that I caught the scent of his aftershave, enough that my pulse betrayed me completely.

“Of them,” he murmured. “The girls I flirt with.”

I refused to let him get to me. Refused to let him know that my brain was currently short circuiting from the way he was looking at me.

So I forced a smirk, tilting my head up defiantly. “Not even a little bit.”

Lie. Massive, massive lie.

But George just hummed, stepping back with a knowing glint in his eyes. “If you say so, sweetheart.”

And then he was walking off, leaving me standing there, heart hammering, absolutely furious that he could still get under my skin like that.

But come to think of it, I wasn’t encouraging Charlie. Not really.

But I also wasn’t stopping him.

Because, if nothing else, watching George Clarkey’s jaw clench every time Charlie spoke to me was quickly becoming one of my new favourite things.

“Here, let me carry that for you,” Charlie offered, reaching for my books as we walked out of the library.

I raised an eyebrow. “I can carry my own books, you know.”

He grinned. “Yeah, but I’m trying to be chivalrous.”

I rolled my eyes but let him take them anyway. “What a gentleman.”

Charlie was easy to be around. He was funny, charming, and unlike George he didn’t actively make it his mission to wind me up constantly.

Which is exactly why I shouldn’t have been even remotely surprised when George appeared out of nowhere, stepping directly between us like a human roadblock.

“Oi, Charlie,” he said, completely ignoring me. “Didn’t know you’d started a new career as a personal assistant.”

Charlie let out a short laugh. “It’s called being nice, Clarkey. You should try it sometime.”

George’s gaze snapped to me, sharp and unreadable. “Think she can manage carrying her own books, though.”

Charlie shrugged. “Yeah, but I offered.”

George let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck like he was physically restraining himself from saying something stupid. Which was rare for him, considering he never shut up.

“Whatever,” he muttered, finally turning to me. “You ready for this project thing or what?”

I gave him a look. “You mean the thing you were ten minutes late for?”

He smirked. “Took my time. Knew you’d still be here flirting with Charlie, anyway.”

I scoffed, ignoring the way my face betrayed me completely by heating up. “I was not—”

“Anyway,” Charlie cut in, clearing his throat. He handed my books back, giving me a quick smile. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

I nodded. “Yeah, see you.”

The second he was gone, George let out a short, irritated breath.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath. “You really like entertaining him, don’t you?”

I turned to him, crossing my arms. “And what exactly is your problem with that?”

He scoffed. “No problem.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Right. That’s why you keep glaring at him like he’s personally offended you.”

George rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s just—” He paused, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

But now I was curious. I stepped forward, tilting my head. “He’s just what?”

George exhaled sharply, muttering something under his breath before meeting my gaze again. “He’s a mate, alright? And I know for a fact that if he actually asked you out, it wouldn’t just be some little flirt for him.”

I frowned. “And what if he did ask me out?”

George went completely still.

I almost laughed at the look on his face like the thought had genuinely never occurred to him before. Like he hadn’t actually considered the possibility that I might actually say yes.

Then his jaw tensed.

“You wouldn’t,” he said simply.

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

George met my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his usual cocky, irritating expression.

Then he smirked, leaning in slightly just enough to make my breath hitch.

“Because,” he murmured, “you’d get bored of him in about a week.”

My stomach flipped. Stupid. So stupid.

I straightened my shoulders, forcing a scoff. “And you think I wouldn’t get bored of you?”

George’s smirk deepened, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down my spine.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “You’d never get bored of me.”

My heart was pounding now, and I hated him for it. Hated the way he could do this push my buttons, wind me up, and still make my stomach do stupid, ridiculous flips all at once.

So I forced a smile. A sweet, fake, infuriatingly polite smile.

“Watch me.”

Then I turned and walked off, knowing full well that George Clarkey was still watching me the entire way.

And, if I wasn’t completely losing my mind, I think I just made things even worse.

——————————————————————

At first, it was just light teasing compliments here, cheeky comments there. And I didn’t mind it. In fact, I enjoyed it. Not because I fancied him, but because of the way George absolutely lost his mind every time Charlie so much as looked at me.

But lately, it had shifted.

Charlie had started getting… bolder. The lingering touches, the low murmurs when no one else was listening. And while I’d brushed it off at first, something about it felt off.

I just hadn’t realised how off until I overheard exactly what he was saying about me.

The changing room was loud with the usual post-training banter—laughter, the sound of boots being tossed aside, the occasional thud of someone slamming a locker shut. Charlie was in the middle of a story, half-dressed, stretching out his sore muscles.

Then her name came up.

A few heads turned, but no one stopped him. Charlie had been talking about her a lot lately—more than usual. Flirting with her in the corridors, finding excuses to be around her. But today, there was a different edge to his words.

A low chuckle. “Mate, I swear, the things I’d do to her…”

George stilled.

“Bet she’s a little tease in private, all attitude in public but proper desperate behind closed doors.”

Someone snorted. Someone else muttered, “Behave, mate.” But no one stopped him.

“I’d have her screaming my name by the end of the night.”

The sound of boots hitting the floor, a sharp inhale—then a sudden, violent slam.

Charlie’s back hit the lockers with a heavy thud.

The room went silent.

George stood in front of him, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes burning with something dangerous.

“Shut your f**king mouth, Charlie.”

A stunned pause. Then, Charlie let out a short, breathless laugh. “The f**k, Clarkey?”

George didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Say that again. I f**king dare you.”

Charlie’s smirk flickered, like he couldn’t decide whether to be pissed off or amused. “Oh, come on. It’s just banter.”

“Banter?” The word came out slow, sharp.

Charlie scoffed. “Don’t tell me you care. It’s not like she’s yours.”

The tension in the room snapped, thick enough to choke on.

Every muscle in George’s body was drawn tight, like he was barely holding himself back. A challenge hung in the air, unspoken but blistering.

Then, movement in the doorway.

Her voice.

“George?”

Everything stopped.

Heads turned. A few of the boys suddenly found something very interesting about their boots.

She stood in the entrance, eyes locked on George, gaze flicking between him and Charlie. Something shifted in her expression—realisation, understanding.

And then, without a word, she walked past Charlie like he wasn’t even there.

Straight to George.

Fingers wrapped around his wrist. A small but deliberate touch.

No one spoke.

Charlie let out a breath, muttering something under his breath, but no one laughed this time.

A moment passed.

Then she tugged George towards the door, and he let her.

The second they were gone, the silence broke.

“Mate, what the f**k was that?” someone muttered.

No one had an answer. But everyone knew. Something had just changed.

The walk from the changing room was silent.

She hadn’t let go of his wrist. Not until they were outside, away from the laughter, the echo of boots against the floor, the lingering weight of what just happened.

When she finally did, George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp curls. His whole body was still wired with anger, every muscle tense.

She watched him carefully, arms crossed. “What the hell was that?”

George let out a sharp, humourless laugh, looking away. “You heard what that dickhead was saying.”

“Yeah, I did,” she shot back. “But why do you care so much?”

That question hit him like a punch to the gut.

His jaw clenched. “Are you fucking serious?”

She stepped closer, voice low. “Yes, George. I’m serious. You’ve been acting like a complete lunatic every time Charlie so much as looks at me. And now you’re starting fights in the changing room? What is your problem?”

George scoffed, shaking his head. “My problem? My problem is that he talks about you like you’re some fucking thing to win.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away.

George huffed out another breath, stepping back. “Forget it. You clearly don’t care.”

A beat of silence. Then..

“You think I don’t care?”

Her voice was quiet, but something in it made him pause.

He turned back, and—fuck

She wasn’t just angry. She was hurt.

Something twisted in his chest, hard and sudden.

She shook her head, looking at him like she was finally seeing it. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you’re the only one who’s pissed off, George. You think I liked hearing him say that? You think I liked knowing you were about to..” She stopped herself, inhaling sharply. “I don’t need you fighting my battles for me.”

George let out a slow breath, dragging a hand over his face. “I wasn’t—” He stopped. Swallowed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“No shit,” she muttered.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

A gust of wind blew past, the only sound between them. The usual noise of the school a distant shout from the pitch, the sound of doors slamming felt muffled, like they were in their own space, locked in this moment neither of them knew how to get out of.

George exhaled. “Look.” His voice came out quieter than before, rough around the edges. “I just” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

She hated when he did that started a sentence, then shut it down like it didn’t matter.

So she stepped forward, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Say it.”

His jaw ticked. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Say it, George.”

And that was it. That was the breaking point.

Because before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, raw and reckless

“Of course it fucking matters!”

Her breath caught.

George shoved a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I hate it. I hate watching him flirt with you. I hate the way he talks about you. I hate” He stopped, shaking his head. “I hate that you don’t fucking see it.”

Silence.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “See what?”

George let out a harsh laugh, bitter and frustrated, because seriously?

He stepped closer. Not like before not teasing, not playful. This was something different. Something that made the air between them feel thick, heavy, electric.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice was lower now, rough. “You, sweetheart. You think I’ve been acting like this for fun? You think I don’t care?” His breath was uneven, and he hated it. Hated that she could do this to him. “I care too fucking much, and it’s ruining me.”

The words hung there, unshakable.

She didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

Then slowly, carefully she reached for his wrist.

Soft, hesitant.

And George who was always so loud, so sure, so quick with a comeback went completely, utterly still.

Something in his chest tightened.

Her fingers curled slightly, just enough to keep him there. Not pulling, not pushing. Just holding on.

And George?

George let her.

Because he was done fighting it.

The weight of George’s words still hung in the air, thick and impossible to ignore.

“I care too fucking much, and it’s ruining me.”

She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t spoken. Just stood there, fingers still wrapped around his wrist soft, hesitant, deliberate.

George didn’t breathe. Didn’t dare.

Because if he did, if he let himself feel this properly, he didn’t know if he’d be able to stop.

She looked at him then, really looked at him, and it was too much the way her gaze softened, the way she was holding onto him like she finally understood.

“George,” she said, voice quieter now, like the fight had drained out of her.

And it wrecked him.

Because he’d spent so long pretending acting like none of this mattered, like she wasn’t under his skin in ways that no one else had ever been.

But now?

Now she was so close.

And he couldn’t pretend anymore.

His free hand lifted without thinking, fingers brushing against her jaw, tentative, testing giving her a chance to pull away.

She didn’t.

If anything, she leaned into it.

Something inside him snapped.

Before either of them could talk themselves out of it, he tilted his head and closed the space between them, pressing his lips against hers.

Soft at first hesitant, searching but then she made a small, breathless sound against his mouth, and it sent something crashing through him.

His hands moved, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like he was making up for every second he’d wasted pushing her away.

She kissed him back like she’d been waiting for this just as long, fingers twisting in his hoodie, holding him there, like she needed this too.

And God, he was gone for her. Completely, helplessly gone.

When they finally pulled apart, their breathing was uneven, faces still close.

Her fingers were still curled into his hoodie. His hands were still on her waist.

And George who had always been so cocky, so sure of himself could barely get his voice to work.

“Sweetheart…” His forehead rested against hers, voice rough, breathless. “Tell me I haven’t just completely fucked this up.”

A small, mischievous smile tugged at her lips.

“You think I’d kiss you like that if you had?”

George huffed out a laugh, shaking his head, thumb tracing absent circles on her hip.

“You’re a tease,” he murmured.

She grinned. “And you love it.”

He did.

And for once, he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag V

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You meet the Arsenal girls for the first time

"Did you hear that Fleming from Chelsea just adopted a kid?" Leah says as she sits down at breakfast one day after the international break.

"Huh?"

"Yeah, Millie told me," She continues," Apparently, she'd been fostering this little girl for a while and none of the team knew."

"It's crazy," Beth agrees," It'd be like if me and Viv adopted a baby and none of you knew about. Just like came into training one day like, here they are."

"Adopting is really rewarding," Frida says absentmindedly, reaching for some of the jam across the table," Maybe Fleming just wanted to get used to it. It's a whole new situation to get used to, trust me."

"Alright Frida," Leah laughs, clapping her on the back," But I think adopting a dog is different to adopting a baby."

Frida frowns. "Yeah, I know. What did you think I was talking about?"

"You and your girlfriend's dog? Is that not what we're talking about?"

"I meant our daughter. Why would you think I meant our Jordan?"

"Your...Your daughter?"

"My daughter, yes," Frida says," Y/n."

"You...You have a daughter."

"Yes...Leah, are you okay? You look a little pale..."

"You..She...Frida, did you Fleming us?! How is this the first time I'm hearing of this baby of yours?"

Frida frowns. "I mean, she's not really much of a baby anymore. She's in that phase of trying to climb everything. Emma has to keep such a close eye on her."

"Can we see pictures?" Lia, who up until this point has remained silent, asks.

"Blimey," Leah whistles," And you're sure she's adopted? Frida, she looks just like you!"

"Really?" Frida studies the picture she selected of you, one of you cuddled up against Emma's body in your soft, linen dress and a flower crown on your head. "I think she looks more like Emma."

"You have to bring her to a game," Beth insists," She's able to travel right? Like she's got a passport and stuff?"

"I guess I can ask Emma to bring her," Frida says," But I don't see what the big deal is? I'm sure I've spoken about her before."

But apparently not because word spreads quickly through the whole team who all insist that they've got no recollection of Frida ever even mentioning you before.

Which, of course, means everyone insists on meeting you so here Frida is, waiting at arrivals for Emma to walk out of baggage claim.

She catches sight of the pram first where you're fast asleep, gripping tightly to whatever toy you've selected from your collection to join you on the journey.

Emma comes into view next, expertly wheeling the suitcase in one hand and the pram in the other.

"Hi," Frida says, a little breathless that you're finally both here," I missed you. Both of you."

Emma draws her into a soft kiss. "We missed you too. Isn't that right, squish?"

"Missed Mama," You slur, only now waking up.

"She slept the entire way," Emma explain as Frida straps you into the car seat," She didn't sleep much last night. She was too excited."

Frida laughs. "I hope she sleeps tonight as well."

"She will," Emma assures her," But I think we're going to have to deal with that little visitor in bed."

Emma's right, of course, because in the middle of the night, Frida feels you slot between them as you wiggle under the covers. But she gets her wish as well as you sleep through the rest of the night in their bed and rise the next day with all the excitement you can fit into your little body.

"Are you sure you're okay with taking her today?" Emma asks," I can keep her while I do my shopping."

"I've got her," Frida insists, adjusting you on her hip," The girls are excited to meet her. You get your shopping done."

"Alright," Emma finally agrees," I love you guys."

"Love you too. Squish, tell Mummy you love her."

"Love you!" You parrot back as Emma drives off.

"Alright," Frida says," Let's get you ready to meet everyone."

It's not the first time Frida's seen you in her Arsenal shirt before but it's the first time everyone else will.

Your life is in Sweden most of the time and then in Norway too when you visit Frida's parents. This is your first time in England and Emma made sure you were suitably dressed for the occasion.

"Oh my god," Leah says," Look at the cheeks on her!"

You giggle as a finger reaches out to poke them like your mummies do when you're being particularly cute.

"A good eater then?" Kim asks as everyone fawns over you.

You soak up all the attention, especially when wrapped gifts are presented to you teasingly.

"We had issues at first," Frida admits," She was underweight when we found her but she's a good weight now."

"She looks so content," Kim says," Motherhood suits you, Frida."

"Really?"

"Definitely. I can tell she just adores you."

"Mama!" You say suddenly, shaking a wrapped box in curiosity," Help, please?"

"How about we find a table and then we can open all your new presents?"

The team have really spoiled you - clearly trying to make up for missed birthdays and Christmases - and you seem just so excited for every gift you unwrap.

"Got to give her the full kit," Leah says with a wink as yet another presents contains an Arsenal kit.

"She has the kit at home."

"Yeah but this one has her name on it. If Fleming's daughter has a Chelsea kit with her name then the Arsenal children must have Arsenal kits with their names on it too!"

"Children?"

Leah jerks her chin over to where Beth and Viv sit with you on the floor as you show off one of your new toys.

"You should have seen Beth's face light up when you spoke about adopting. She looked interested. I guarantee those two will be thinking about it at some point soon. Might as well set the precedent now."

"I will make sure she wears it to the match," Frida promises just as you get up and toddle over.

"Mama!" You say," You see my new puppy? Looks like our Jordan!"

Frida smiles as she lifts you up onto her lap. "You know what? It does!"

"I call him little Jordan!"

"That's a perfect name, squish."

[homunculus-argument]

Character concept: A charlatan who dresses up like a merchant of exquisite animals, whose only real possessions are the fancy merchant's outfit, one single extremely well-trained, highly intelligent, and spectacularly fine thoroughbred dog, and a silver dog whistle with an unique tune.

Every time they make a sale, the dog goes with the new owner, waiting for a signal. The sound of the dog whistle. And when it hears the silver whistle, it escapes - no cage, leash or collar can hold this creature - and returns to the charlatan, to be sold again somewhere else.

[lymtw]

Unfolded Laundry

"Hey," Toji calls when he sees you walking in front of him, carrying a basket of clothes that just came out of the dryer. You don't hear him so you keep walking, only stopping when you hear a whistle that sounds like it's meant for a dog. You turn to him, a question mark decorating your face. He beckons to you, a mouthed 'come here' that you shake your head to and move on. "Come on, princess. Need to tell you something."

"You can't tell me from there? I have a lot to do, still."

"Don't wanna shout at you. I have manners."

You think back to the way he whistled to grab your attention and roll your eyes. You set the basket down on your bed and step back out to see what Toji needs.

"What?" Your hands are on your hips, waiting for him to answer.

"Come here, baby." He pulls on the knee area of your sweatpants, making your stumble forward.

"Toji," you giggle, as he pulls you until you fall into his lap. "What?" You repeat.

"Nothing, just missing you a bit, ma. You avoiding me?" He rests his hands on your waist, looking up at you with that gleam in his eyes. You know he normally looks at you this way when he wants something, and you feel so foolish for always giving in to him.

"I told you i'm busy. I have to finish folding the laundry, and I haven't even started dinner."

"Don't worry about that, right now. Looks like you could use a break. Don't you wanna stay a bit?"

"I do, but..."

"But, you love me and you'll spare me some company." His hands go under your shirt and squeeze your waist as he leans in to kiss your neck.

"T-Toji, this won't get done on time." Your arms wrap around his neck, your hands coming up to play with his hair as his lips continue to attack your neck.

"Mm," he hums, dismissively, continuing to drown himself in your scent. That little hum is his nonverbal way of saying 'and?'

"We'll have to order in for the third time this week." You gasp, his lips reaching a sensitive point. "I-It's not good for us."

"Mama..." he almost whines into your skin. "We've got it... under... control," he murmurs through kisses. "We have an excellent cardio routine, don't we?" He says, beneath your ear.

"Y-Yeah, I think so. But-"

Toji chuckles, "You think so?" He pulls back to see the honest look on your face. He looks like a wolf, ready to pounce on the little pleading bunny before him. His pupils almost completely devoured the green around them just from inhaling your irresistible scent and feeling your warm skin on his lips.

You look a little more shaken up than Toji, and he loves it. You're flustered, unable to respond to his question. You feel like there's cotton in your mouth, absorbing all the saliva in it, leaving you unable to cohere anything.

"You nervous, princess?" He grins like the big bad wolf he is, feasting on the way you swallow. Your fingers tremble as they rest on his shoulders.

"No. We've been together for years. I'm not." It took everything in you to declare that, but it was far from the truth.

"Oh yeah?" He says, a chuckle bubbling in his chest. He can see through this little facade of yours. It's in the way you avoid eye contact, the way your grip is loose on him, and as a result of the dryness in your mouth, you keep licking your lips.

Nonetheless, you nod in response to his question.

"Well... what if we switched positions," he says, flipping you so that you're laying on the couch, his body now wedged between your legs. You giggled at the swift movement, the smile dropping once you looked up. "I can watch you closely, and... you're stuck."

His hands maintain his balance by gripping the end of the couch, above your head. He towers over you, making you look so incredibly small beneath him.

"You're so pretty, ma. Could eat you up right now." He leans further down towards your face, gravity pulling his hair down so perfectly. "Could make you feel so good, if you let me."

You felt like you were sinking into the couch with how flustered you were, but Toji could see the needy twinkle in your eyes. Beneath this nervous, timid front, is a pretty girl who takes everything she's given.

[yuwuta]

I HAD TO HAVE THIS TALK WITH YOU, CAUSE I’D HATE TO HAVE TO ACT A FOOL — MEGUMI FUHSIGURO

cw this exists in the same rich kids/boarding school au as this piece, which are slowly forming their own universe, implied (past) drug use/underage drinking, more of megumi being your guard dog everybody cheer

Megumi scowls as yet another phone call goes to voicemail. He’s been standing outside the racetrack for fifteen minutes, watching Yuuji absolutely pummel Aoi in polo, and waiting for you. He huffs, just as Yuuji loudly celebrates another point, thumbing a text to Yuuta, asking if he’s seen you all morning. Yuuji claimed you’d left him all by himself after your shared morning class, Nobara was still in Switzerland, and Tsumiki also seemed to be ignoring his messages. 

He needed answers, and quickly, because this is the free period that Muta and his goons also have free, and he would hate to go back on his promise to stop egging him so soon after you’d asked him so sweetly to knock it off. 

Yuuta (received 12:57pm) — She’s fine, Tsumiki and I are with her. Picnic tables outside of the building 703. — Warning, your least favorite upperclassmen are here too, but don’t make a scene. They’re annoying, but not trouble yet. 

Megumi squints, turning on his heels towards the large building opposite the racetracks. As he rounds the side that opens into a field, formally known as one the many lawns dedicated in the Gojo family’s name, and informally revered as your favorite lunchtime spot, he hears the familiar sound of Tsumiki’s laughter, and the unpleasant squawking of his least favorite upperclassmen. 

Seeing you, Yuuta, and Tsumiki sitting at the picnic bench under the blooming wisteria was business as usual; seeing Hakari and another senior infiltrating the seating arrangement was not. Megumi frowns, strolling up to the table to halt the conversation when he’s noticed by you, and sized up by the upperclassman. 

“Oh, uh—hey, I—good afternoon, Fushiguro!” the other senior has the decency to greet him, stumbling with their overly-chipper tone. Megumi eyes them and blinks. Their face is a familiar shadow to Hakari’s, but he never could recall their name, no matter how many times he had the displeasure of running into the duo.  

“It was,” Megumi drawls. He turns his head to face you again, “You’re late.” 

From this angle, you have to tilt your head up to make eye contact with him. There’s an innocence behind your eyes, genuine warning, weary concern; and still, so beautiful it makes Megumi’s thoughts venture elsewhere—only for a moment; he supposes he should be grateful for Hakari’s presence, just this once, because the interjection of his grating voice pulls Megumi back to reality. 

“Relax, Fushiguro, we were all just talking, having a good time,” Hakari whistles, a dirty grin on his lips, “Ain’t that right, Kirara?” 

Ah, Kirara. That’s their name. Megumi doesn’t have time to mull it over, or pretend to commit it to memory; the majority of his energy is focused on preventing himself from throwing a punch. Briefly, he makes eye-contact with Tsumiki, a silent warning in her eyes to not be violent; so Megumi looks to the other side of the table at Yuuta, whose hollow eyes are apologetic, but cautious. Megumi can tell they’ve both been doing their best to neutralize the conversation before he arrived, without setting off your own alarm bells. 

They’ve been patient, but he won’t be: “Get lost, Hakari.” 

“Whoah, no need to rush things. Come on, I didn’t even get a chance to invite you to our party yet,” Hakari’s grin widens, “I just figured I’d get your owner on board before I pet the puppy, yeah?” 

Tsumiki and Yuuta share a look. Megumi bares teeth to growl, rests his palms on the picnic table and leans over to deliver his message again, “Get lost.” 

“Kin, don’t be so rude!” Megumi can hear Kirara’s teeth chattering beside him, a chittering voice attempting to cut through the tension, “What—what he means is that you’re all invited, really!” 

Megumi turns his head, not to acknowledge Kirara or to back down to Hakari, but to look at you. He knows that you know that there are three options to how this ends, and given that he’s already got a strike in your book for bullying Kokichi, and that Yuuta’s route would cause significantly more drama than his, he’s hoping you’ll settle this yourself. 

He tilts his head just enough, raised eyebrows in warning and wait; and then, you give a conceding blink, a small sigh, part your lips to speak, still looking at Megumi when you say: “Hakari, Kirara, you two should grab lunch. They’re going to stop serving the hot food soon.” 

A command hidden as a suggestion. It makes the upperclassmen scowl, but still Hakari motions across the table to Kirara, and they both gather their belongings. “Whatever,” he scoffs, “You know where to find us when you want to have some real fun.” 

Hakari flashes you a wink over his shoulder before he and Kirara make their way around the building and towards the main dining hall. When they’re out of earshot, you smile, look away from Megumi, and back down to your lunch, grabbing the single, wrapped daifuku and tearing open the packaging, before looking back up to him with a smile, “Well, have a seat, Megumi. Join us.” 

Megumi scoffs, standing up straight again, “You’re supposed to be in a meeting with Gojo right now.” 

“I already had Yuuta do my bidding this morning, because he was so sweet to wake up before noon,” you reply, taking the desert out of the plastic, flashing Yuuta a brief smile before looking up to him again, “So I told him lunch was on me, and we ran into Tsumiki on our way. It’s so nice out, isn’t it? Come on, sit with us, enjoy the weather. Yuuta was telling us about the new coup he bought.”

Tsumiki chimes in about her lunch, looking over at Yuuta’s half-eaten tray and wishing she’d got beef instead of chicken. He offers her what’s left of his plate, and she politely declines, before Yuuta insists, pushing his food across the table to her, and you pitch in, putting the remainder of your sauce next to her. The three of you seem to easily pick up where your conversation was presumably before Hakari and Kirara crashed your lunch. 

Megumi’s scowl deepens. He knows that you know that he wants to know why Hakari and Kirara were here in the first place, he knows that you know that their party invitation was just a scheme to get you into trouble and get a rise out of him, he knows that you know he’s going to kick their asses six ways to Sunday unless you tell him not you. 

“Megumi,” you cut through his thoughts, words noticeably heavier, “Sit.” 

He rolls his tongue in his cheek, and you squint a bit, tilting your head to motion to the empty space beside you on the bench. You only spare him a sharp glance, before giving your attention back to Tsumiki, clapping happily as she shows you something she bought on her phone. 

With a huff, Megumi rounds the table, sets his bag down on the soft grass and swings his legs over the bench and next to you. Tsumiki turns her phone to Yuuta, and your attention is back to Megumi, breaking your daifuku in half and offering a piece to him. He puts an elbow on the table, leans his cheek into his palm, a defiant expression on his face you pay no mind to—you scrunch your nose with a deceptive smile, bringing the mochi to his lips, and opening your mouth mockingly for him to follow. He blinks at you, slowly; once, twice, a third time before his head dips every so slightly, mouth a jar, letting you place the dessert between his teeth. Only after he has it in his mouth do you begin to eat your half, sparing a hand to raise your arm and pat the top of his head, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Megumi tilts his head further into his palm. “You didn’t answer my calls.” 

“When you called, I was eating lunch. It’s rude to take calls when you have company,” you defend yourself. 

“Yuuta answered my texts.”

“Yuuta is scared of you,” you chirp, “And unlike you, he cares to not have write-ups on his transcript. He keeps his physical encounters off-campus.” 

“I am not scared of Megumi,” Yuuta scoffs, leaning over to poke at your forehead, “I’m scared of Tsumiki. And I did not want to be scolded for getting blood on her new Chanel skirt.” 

Between the two of them, Yuuta was certainly the more reformed one; it only took one incident of Tsumiki pulling at his ear and scolding him about using his words instead of his fists for him to actually listen to her. Megumi couldn’t blame him, Tsumiki was hellish when she was truly angry, and he feared Tsumiki as much as the next person, but he also knew how she had a soft spot for her younger brother; a mercy that Yuuta, Yuuji, and Nobara were not privy to when their violent streaks got the best of them. 

Besides, when Tsumiki couldn’t get to him, you were there to tug on his leash and reign him in. 

“Wimp,” Tsumiki coughs, “And simp,” she taunts her brother, “We ought to pick new bodyguards in our next life.”

You laugh softly at her teasing, but still, you rest your elbow on the table to mirror Megumi’s position, “You’re right. I call dibs on Yuuji.” 

Your joke makes the others laugh, and Megumi rolls his eyes as you all chuckle. Still, he shifts to lean his head against your shoulder, sly as he knocks his head against your neck and reminds you of a simple fact: “That’s too bad. You’re stuck with me, in this life and the next.”

[moyazaika]

omg doe brought up this AMAZINGGG idea abt the crime lord yan and his lawyer darling hello hey hi!!!!!!

this kinda got away from me because it is 3am but i nEEEEEDED to get this out bjsjsjjs i blame @carnivorousyandeere

i know i wrote the initial dynamic for his darling to be his lawyer, in that they’re on his side in court to keep him from getting sent to prison BUT BUT BUT hear me out T_T

lawyer darling who put yan kingpin away.

as in ,, you are the reason he was found guilty. you are the one, when the judge announced the final verdict, that his gaze turned to and that he smiled for, then. sentenced to death, before it was appealed to multiple life sentences; the beginning of the end of his empire.

you, you, you — the cause of his downfall.

after the infamous internationally documented case, your career soars to unprecedented heights. you’re the lawyer on every newspaper in every country, all the tv channels and glossy magazines. every law school wants you to speak at their graduation ceremonies. every firm’s reaching out to you. the whole world knows your name; you have everything!

—so why do you keep going back to the man who now has nothing?

the kingpin looks the same as he did that fateful day in court. only now, there’s bags under his eyes, and a five o clock shadow on his jaw; lips still curled in an easygoing smile. he laughs when he sees you, as if the two of you were merely old friends who hadn’t caught up in a while.

as if you’re not visiting him years later in the city’s most high security prison.

he grins. “come to gloat, have ‘ya?”

“you’ve committed countless crimes.” you state. “stolen lives and livelihoods. broken up families. killed good men. and still, all these years later, no remorse?”

“don’t get ‘yer panties in a twist,” he huffs, lazily leans back in the rickety prison chair so that he’s swinging it back and forth on its back legs, like a child. how absurd that even the garish orange uniform of a prison should suit him, “comes with the job description, don’t it?”

“i think about you,” you admit, eyeing the chains that bind his handcuffed hands to the desk in front of him. you look up, meet his gaze through the thick, dirty pane that separates you from him. keeps you safe. out of his reach, if only just.

a low whistle. “you sure know how to make a man feel special, y’know. been followin’ your cases. never put another one like me away, did ‘ya?” he grins. “i like that i’m special. makes me feel all warm ‘nd fuzzy inside.”

“wow,” you let out. “you really have gone insane.”

“always been a ‘lil crazy! like i said, part of the job description. though i’ve been thinkin’ recently,” he starts.

your fascination prompts you to lean closer. a sort of morbid curiosity that yearns to solve the puzzle of his twisted mind, slot the pieces you’ve already got in a way that makes them fit. you’ve got this weird feeling that you’re missing something. a big piece, maybe. one of the central ones.

“thinking about what?” your voice is barely above a whisper, almost conspiratorial. he leans in, too, all wide eyes—

—and then he jerks forward with the chains around the cuffs on his wrists pulled taut as he suddenly yanks them all the way, like a feral dog pulling on its leash. he looks like one, too, with that glint in his eyes.

“fuck!”

you barely even register that you’re on the floor until he laughs, low in his throat. he makes a vague gesture to your chair, toppled over on its side.

“oops.” he says, coyly. “didn’t mean to scare ‘ya.”

“liar,” you hiss, standing up to dust yourself off. this was stupid. why would you even entertain the idea of a civil conversation with a madman?

he gasps dramatically. “this is slander, your honour!”

“i’m leaving,” you scoff. “i don’t even know why i even came down here. you’re clearly fucking crazy.”

“and you’re no fun!” he pouts. “how ‘bout you stay just a little longer and i’ll make it worth ‘yer time, pretty please?”

“no can do,” you turn on your heels and reach for the door, fingers curled around the handle as you spare him one final glance over your shoulder— “have fun rotting in here for the rest of your life, psycho.”

—except the door won’t open. you try again, and again once more. the handle won’t budge. an awful sense of urgency overcomes you as you desperately shake the handle in a futile attempt to get it to just—

“funny ‘yer calling me crazy, ‘cus einstein once said real insanity is doin’ the same thing,” he beams. “over and over and over and over again, and expecting different results. door’s locked, lovely. ‘yer not getting out from there, ‘m afraid.”

you turn back then, still holding onto that door like a lifeline. he’s standing up, rubbing sore wrists that are, you realise with a sinking feeling, no longer bound by the handcuffs that kept him chained; on a short leash, like a good dog.

“what are you doing…?” your voice shakes, and it’s a far cry to the headstrong, unwavering lawyer who put the world’s most notorious criminal behind bars. “what the fuck—”

“i told you i’d make it worth your while t’stay,” he rolls up his sleeves, before pushing all of his hair (longer and greasier than the last you saw him) out of his face, features set in a determination you’ve never glimpsed before. familiar eyes twinkle with mischief. “and i meant it, y’know. the world’s very best lawyer came so far to see me! least i can do is greet ‘em properly.”

“‘cus see, the other prisoners wouldn’t be so nice. but i’ve been thinkin’ about you too.” he pulls his arm back and his fist comes flying at the pane. “don’t wanna have a conversation or nothin’ like that, nah, we talked enough.”

“you’ve been thinking about me, i’ve been waiting around for you…” bloody knuckles against cracks in the one barrier that is keeping you safe from him. you watch, helpless, as it threatens to break beneath the brute force of his trained fists.

“now let me just come over there,” he pulls his arm back again, ready to strike; knuckles raw and red, like the maniacal grin carved onto his pretty, flushed face. a deep blush and a shaky smile as those fists bring it all crashing down. “and show you how much i missed my faaavourite lawyer in the whole wide world.”

“—that be a good enough reason to stick around?” he asks slyly, before catching himself. “oh, silly me.” he shakes his head, apologetically, as he steps over broken shards on the floor, tainted with his blood. “doesn’t matter what ‘ya say.” a low hum when scarred hands reach out for you. “i waited so long for you…”

“… so, let’s make up reaaalllll good for all that lost time, okay?”

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[traveler-at-heart]

Stuck Together - Part 6

Summary: After Westview, Wanda and her children go into hiding. She's not happy with the person in charge of protecting them.

Wanda Maximoff x F! Super Soldier R

A/N: This is a short chapter! There will be another one and that will be it for this series :) Ty all for reading!

A cold hand squeezes your neck, and you know that a normal person would be dead by now.

It isn’t human, that’s very much obvious. Looks like Vision, but you remember him differently. Definitely not all white, with those unsettling blue, void eyes.

“I have to kill you”

“Hey, man, we can work it out. Is it because I kissed Wanda?” you try to joke, holding on to his metal arm, hoping there’s a way he can let you go. The lack of oxygen is blurring your vision, but you have to do something.

You have to protect the kids.

“Wanda. Where is she?” he says in that monotone voice that you always hated.

“Not gonna tell you, you freak” you say. “Kids, run back…”

But he’s squeezing your throat, probably trying to make you speak.

Good luck with that, fucking toaster.

A second later, you drop to the floor, gasping for air. As you look up, there are red threads of magic around the synthezoid.

Wanda.

“You ok, detka?” she says, looking at you.

“Yeah, I guess he got a little too jealous, huh?”

“That’s not Vision” she says, looking away. “Take the kids, get out of here”

“No, you get out of here” you say, standing up. You notice the robot is struggling to break free, Wanda’s hand trembling with the effort of keeping him still.

“I’m the only one that can stop him. And I created this mess”

You recognise the guilt in her voice, the burden of thinking every wrong thing that happens must be some kind of punishment.

But that’s bullshit.

Wanda’s not alone, and you won’t leave her.

“Please leave” she repeats, and you know she read your mind. You shake your head no.

“I’ll buy you some time. Take the car and the kids. Drive as fast as you can. I’ll stop him”

“Ok” she finally nods. She twists her hands, throwing the robot as far as she can. Before she runs, though, she turns to kiss you, holding on to you like it’s the only thing keeping her sane.

“I…”

“I know” you smile, pecking her lips. “See you soon, love”

The kids reach for their mother, and you whistle at Riley.

“Go, fetch!”

Your dog runs back to the shed where you keep all your weapons, and you hope training actually paid off.

As for you, you brace yourself for the return of the robot, who seems to be flying back at full speed. You try to remember the few times that you trained with Vision, kicking yourself over being so dismissive of him.

Truth be told, he never really engaged in hand to hand combat.

So, maybe that’s it. Keeping him close will make it harder for him to fight.

Or easier to get yourself killed.

Well, you’re about to find out.

This time, you are prepared for the hand that reaches for your throat, and you punch it away. He’s faster than you remember, and even if you keep him busy, there are a couple of blows that land, and you feel the air leave your lungs, ribs cracking.

“Riley, hurry up, please” you mutter, grabbing the robot by the cape to hold him back.

In that precise moment, you hear a bark, and turn to find your dog excitedly dragging your old shield. All those frisbee jokes paid off in the end.

“Good girl, I owe you a treat. Now out of here”

Sliding down the pier, you grab the shield, turning around just in time to block one of Vision’s attack. It comes back to you like second nature, throwing and catching the shield while you defend and attack.

He begins to anticipate your movements, and at one point blocks one of your punches, sending the shield flying back.

“Fuck, that hurts”

It’s also been a while since you’ve felt your nose breaking. Last time was probably during training with Steve. That was an accident, but it’s very clear that Vision wants you out of sight.

Cold hands reach for you, throwing you against a tree that snaps in half. Before you can stand up to jump and dodge his next hit, an arrow flies past your head, exploding right in his face.

“Bet you’re happy to see me”

Barton.

“You know what? Hell, yeah” you say, catching the shield when he throws it back to you.

“I got someone on the line for you” he says, throwing you a com as well. You place it in your ear, testing it.

“Y/N?” Maria says, and you adjust the shield in your arm while Clint keeps shooting arrows at Vision.

“Hill”

“Hayward sent Vision. Or not Vision. Whatever he is”

“See? I told you to let me kill him”

“We’re trying to hack into its system, but it might take a while. Can you distract him?” Maria says, and you hear her typing at full speed.

“Fine. Hurry. He’s here to kill us, and he ain’t messing around”

Your point is proven a second later, when he throws a boat your way. Clint manages to shoot an arrow straight to his shoulder, an electrical current going through its system.

Vision falls to the floor, weakened, and you take advantage to throw yourself at him. You fight, Clint unable to shoot an arrow as you’re too close to the robot to have a clean view.

Vision takes advantage of this, using you as a shield when Barton decides to shoot, the arrow going straight through your abdomen.

“Shit, Y/N!” Barton says, hurrying to your side. Vision blocks his path, but you can’t be too concerned with that, not when there’s a freakin arrow coming out of your stomach.

With a grunt, you pull it out, feeling the wound heal as you stand up. Your face is full of bruises, a testament of the synthezoid’s strenght. You bounce your shield against his head, attracting attention back to you so Clint can take some distance and shoot from another spot. Unlike you, he won’t survive hand combat against Vision.

“Clint, I’m running out of ideas” you shout, still fighting.

“And I’m running out of arrows”

Great.

You have so many wounds, cuts and broken bones that it takes longer to heal, and Vision looks fine. He doesn’t have a body, so he is not tired, not even out of breath.

“Maria, status”

But you don’t get to hear her answer, Vision covering his ears and grunting. It seems like she’s finally breaking into his systems.

Or making him more lethal, as he grabs you by the collar of your shirt, flying you to the middle of a mountain. You land in a cloud of dust, face inches away from a cliff.

“Did it work?” Maria asks.

“Nope”

She curses, but you’re starting to realise his system is too advanced to hack into. As you look at the rocks above your head, an idea forms.

“Barton, can you shoot at a spot above me? Anything that causes an explosion”

“Not from here”

“Then find a spot and wait for my signal”

“Are you sure?” he says, folding his bow. He already knows what the plan is.

“No, but we don’t have many choices, do we?”

He sighs, knowing that the plan might work, but you won’t survive it. Though you have been through worse sometimes.

“You don’t have to kill them, you know? They’re kinda your family” you try to distract the robot.

“I don’t have a family. Only a mission”

“Your loss, they are pretty damn cool kids”

Finally, you trap one of his arms with your shield, getting suck in a pile of rocks. You try to make time, waiting for Clint’s confirmation.

“I’m in position”

“Shoot above my head”

“You’ll get trapped too”

“I’ll manage” you grunt, trying to keep Vision from flying. He can escape, but only if you let him. “Barton, I don’t have time! You owe me, for Natasha. So just do as I say”

You don’t wait to hear his answer, panicking when you notice Vision is freeing himself. You jump on his back, locking his head in a tight position. He pushes you both to the edge, and you bring him back to the other side, waiting for the explosion.

That’s when you realise how strong he is. He crushes your arm, but you hold on through the pain, even when tries to twist one of your knees.

Finally, you hear an arrow flying close to your head, and the explosion shakes the mountain a second later. Boulders begin to roll, but you don’t move. One hand is above your head, holding your shield and hoping it’s enough to protect you.

Rocks bury the lower half of Vision’s body, but you can’t let go just yet. It isn’t until you see a giant rock rolling your way that you free him, stumbling backwards.

Something hits your head, blood spiling down your forehead as you jump into the river, hoping the fall won’t kill you.

But you pass out before reaching the water.

—

There are bright lights. A constant, beeping sound. Something in your arm.

Not again.

Your mind begins to race, haunted by the memory of years of torture and betrayal, done by your own government.

But then, there’s quiet. You feel a warm touch in your forehead, the softness making your body relax.

“It’s ok, detka. You’re safe”

Wanda.

You open your eyes, looking around the hospital room.

“Hey, witchy”

“I hate it when you call me that”

“I know” you say with a smile. “But could I possibly get a pass? Seeing as I’m in recovery”

“Sure you can, sweetheart” she says, hand in your forehead.

The way she gives in so easily has you worried. There’s something wrong.

“How are the kids? What happened after?”

“They’re fine. Staying with Clint. I just wanted to make sure you recovered before…”

“Before?”

“Before leaving. It’s for the best”

“Wanda” you try to straighten in the bed, grimacing. “Come on, don’t do this”

“You got hurt because of me. It just… this follows me everywhere I go. Death and chaos. I can’t put your life on the line, I’d never forgive myself”

“Wanda, please” you ignore the pain in your side, stretching your hand, searching for hers.

But she moves further away.

“I’ll be ok. And you’ll be better off without me”

“Wanda” you ask once again, but your eyelids feel heavy. You try to stay awake, even as your body is shutting down, and pretty soon you’re fast asleep again.

You know it’s her doing. She’s keeping you from asking her to stay.

Because she knows she’s not strong enough to say no to you.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

good kitty

Dave York x f!reader | wc: ~2k | explicit, mdni | ao3

summary: Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

warnings: smut, no y/n, established relationship, d/s dynamics, pet play-ish, soft dom!Dave, dick pronouns, handjob, a sprinkle of cock and balls worship, a dash of spit play, petnames (kitty, duh, baby x1), cum play, cum eating, daddy kink

a/n: i'm back on my Dave bullshit, let me hear you say wayo. btw i am the kitty in question, in case anyone wondered. forever grateful for @guiltyasdave's help and beta, she, too, is the kitty in question <3

His apartment felt awfully empty with no wife and kids around. It did not only feel empty but also lifeless, loveless. So Dave thought about a pet. He needed something more self-sufficient than a dog.

Maybe a cat then? He half heartedly started walking down the path of getting a pet and at a crossroad he stopped. It was either adopt a cat from the shelter or take home that cute girl that works at the shelter.

He chose you. You're so much better than a cat but unfortunately not as self-sufficient. You demand a lot of attention. And care. And reassurance. Yet he loves coming home now. Loves finding you in his apartment, giddy from whatever mischief you got yourself into that day, happy to see him again, hungry for every ounce of attention he is offering you.

He always thought he'd be more of a dog person, concerning every aspect of pet keeping. Snapping his fingers, whistling, a scoffed command and a dog obeys. They love to serve their master. A cat? Not so much. 

Snapping his fingers at you only makes you roll on your back and yawn. Whistling to get your attention only gives you zoomies and giggly fits. Trying to discipline you lets you hiss and shove glasses off the table. Pushing you off his chest to get up lets you sulk and brood.  

You are a handful. Two handfuls really and Dave is amazed by the patience he can muster for you. He is convinced that you need a spanking every single day but that would just make you leave. And it would turn his apartment into a life- and loveless space again. He has to become a cat person for you.

That's how Dave slowly learns to appreciate the big and small joys you bring him. The scratches on his back. Your pretty mews. The grace with which you arch and bend and stretch for him. Around him. 

He loves when you busy yourself with your favorite toys. Like his zipper. Up, down, up, down it goes the moment he sits down on the couch. Dave doesn't know who trained who because the moment one of your fingers disappears in the gaping fly he feels himself twitch. Every single time. And when you paw at him, curious as ever about what wondrous thing might be hiding inside of his pants this time, he feels himself swell and grow hard. Every. Single. Time.

And every time you look up at him then - with your eyes wide and your mouth agape - he feels special and truly wanted.

“You've been good today? Been a good little kitty?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You nod your head eagerly and muffle an of course into his palm when he cradles your face in his hand.

“That so?” He gently pinches your earlobe, just to draw one of those adorable hisses out of you.

You hiss - like always - and he smiles.

“Behave yourself. Only good kitties get a reward.”

With a smooth movement you slide off the couch and end up kneeling, nudging his legs apart just a little more. Perhaps he was successful with training his precious pet, he thinks while he is shifting to the edge of the couch. You're already pawing at him again, slightly grazing over the button of his pants.

Dave tuts, “Ah ah ah, what did I tell you about being respectful?”

“Please,” you grumble, clearly not caring about being respectful at all. Until he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gives you a little shake.

“Try again. Or you're going to bed tonight without the treat.” He shakes your chin again before he leans closer, looking down to you. “And you want your treat, right?”

“Yes, please,” you answer, sounding more convincing now. You really do want that treat. You fucking love that treat. You lick your lips, your eyes flicker down to Dave’s inviting looking bulge right in front of you. “Please, can I take him out and touch him? I'll be good, I promise.”

“That's better,” he hums and leans back, his arms crossed behind his head. “Go get Daddy's dick. You can have him.” He thrusts his hips upwards, just enough to make you lick your lips again. Such a hungry little thing. “Make Daddy proud. Show him how good you are at playing with him.”

You don't need more permission than that. With practiced moves you peel layer after layer of fabric away to uncover your favorite toy. He is already hard enough for you, slightly curved, the dim light of the room catching on the tiny spot of wetness right on top. 

You tap Dave’s cock with a finger, smiling when he swings a little. Your hand wraps around the shaft and squeezes until he throbs and Dave grunts. It's your favorite game, to make Daddy's cock bounce and bob and throb and leak. You shuffle closer, the carpet biting at your knees but you don't mind it. Slightly bent forward you open your mouth and let your saliva drivel onto him. But it's not nearly enough to start jerking him off. You whine, the frustration carved between your brows as you look up at Dave.

“I need your help, please,” you say, smearing your drool over the blunt head of his dick. "Please?"

He groans at the sight of you kneeling between his legs, your mouth wide open for him. One of these days you might kill him with how perfect you are. He leans to the front with one hand reaching out to hold your head still.

“There you go,” he husks and spits into your mouth. “What a considerate little kitty I own.”

His warm spit tastes so tempting that you are considering swallowing it. But he wouldn't like that and probably not let you have your treat. So you roll it around on your tongue instead before carefully drooling everything all over his cock. 

You're not allowed to take him into your mouth, that's only for when you've been extra good. But his balls, daddy likes those being licked. And while you slowly start spreading your mixed saliva with a few lazy strokes you also nuzzle his balls. Another one of your favorite games, to feel Dave squirm every time you make his balls tighten and move and shrivel. You give them a kiss - each one gets its own - and a few kitten licks.

“You smell so good, Daddy,” you murmur and look up at him from beneath your lashes, licking his balls again, this time with your tongue flattened.

Dave knows he probably doesn't smell too good after 12 hours in the same briefs. But he found himself a special little kitty, one that seems to really like him. Or is perverted enough to enjoy a pair of sweaty balls. Perhaps it's both.

“You think so?” He exhales through his nose and bites back a groan when you try to suck him into your mouth.

“Mhmm,” you hum with Dave’s one ball now in your mouth and your hand moving up and down his cock. You know how he likes it: first firm, slow strokes, then faster pumps of just the upper half, twisting and flicking your hand over his pretty tip until Dave’s hips twitch and he starts hissing.

You are doing him in today. Usually he is good with holding back and letting you have your little fun with him. But not today. You are getting too good at this, your hands working him good, both hands now. He can barely hear the obscene slurps coming from you over the squelching pumps and his own groans. You suck harder on his balls, now that they start to tighten and announce the inevitable. 

Dave can see that line grow between your brows as they knit together. You know it too, playtime will be over soon. You don't like that, and just when you're thinking about complaining Dave snarls.

“Don’t. You promised to be… fuck… promised to be good,” he says through gritted teeth. Your hands slow down - just a little bit - and Dave bucks into your tight fists. “You’re going to make Daddy cum. Is that-...” One of his big hands pushes you back into his crotch when you were just pulling back. “... understood?” 

He feels your head bob up and down, your mouth already latched onto his balls again. You whine against his spit-wet balls - mouthy as ever, Dave thinks and pulls you a little deeper between his legs. 

“That's a good kitty. Nice and…” He cuts himself off with a grunt when you find the perfect pace and pressure with your hands. Christ, he's going to cum so hard.

You jerk him off meticulously now. Your eyes are fixed on his face, each one of the little twitches and snarls he can’t hold back have you rutting against nothing. Each one of his moans and hissed fucks lets you answer with a needy mew, your hips rocking back and forth in the same rhythm as your hands pump him.

Dave loves it, to have you reduced to this wanton, needy grown woman. He'd let you have a pillow to hump, but you gave him too much attitude. You will have to learn the hard way: no respect, no release. For you at least. Because he is right there.

“Ready for a treat from Daddy?” A sheen layer of sweat shimmers on his forehead when he husks the words out. You nod your head again, letting go of his balls and open your mouth, ready to jerk Dave’s cum right into it.

“Not like that,” he chuckles and it sounds a little mean. “Off,” Dave commands, the urgency clear in his voice and the speed with which he takes over and fucks his fist.

You love it, to be able to make him moan. To watch him jerk himself off right in front of your open mouth is a close second though. You clamp your thighs together, squirming on your knees, ready to feel Dave cum all over your face. One of your hands cradles his balls and gently tugs and squeezes them.

“Fuck, that's perfect,” Dave growls and with a few hard jerks he tips over the edge. Your eyes are shut tightly, expecting to feel spurts of hot cum landing on your face. But there's nothing, just Dave panting and grunting and the unmistakable squelches of him milking himself. Hell, you can smell him. You blink your eyes open only to feel your pussy ache even more at the sight before you.

Dave jerks his load into his free hand, it’s a bit messy, running between his fingers, but most of it sits in the palm of his hand, warm, opaque, thick. He loves coming in your mouth, loves to feel you sucking him dry. But every once in a while he likes to handfeed you.

“C'mere,” he rasps and holds his cupped hand out for you. “Daddy’s got your treat.”

A choked whimper comes from you, your tongue slowly sticking back out until you feel the warm cum on the tip of it. You pull it back into your mouth, mewing when the first note of saltiness spreads in your mouth.

“I know, baby,” Dave croons, still stroking himself. “Be good and drink up. Daddy really made an effort for this, hm?”

“Yes, thank you,” you whisper and look at him as if he just gave you your favorite thing in the world. Then you lower your head even more, your pink tongue dips back into his cum before it disappears in your mouth again. The quick, rhythmic lapping and slurping sounds fill the space between you and Dave, accompanied by your quiet purr.

“Such a good kitty for me,” he sighs softly while he watches you drink from his hand.

Clear droplets gather at the edge of your chin, glistening before falling back into his palm. After more sips, you start licking his hand clean, then his fingers, making sure to get every single drop. Finally you lift your head, blinking lazily, satisfied, hiccuping.

“No need to be so greedy.” He chuckles, his cleaned palm now cradling your wet chin. He leans in and kisses your forehead. “Daddy’s giving you some more cream tomorrow!”

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[auroraksr]

PUPPY LOVE [ LANDO NORRIS ]

synopsis: you and lando as pet parents

warnings: fluff, just lando x y/n being the cutest, a lot of dog, not proofread

wc: 900+

since lando was a little kid he always wanted a dog.

since you were a little kid, you also wanted a dog.

and then you started dating. and got a dog.

"lando, for god's sake, how many times have i told you to not leave the leash by the door? i almost tripped!" you yell as you walk into the house back from work.

you and lando started dating 3 years ago and had your not-so-little dog for 2. his name was max - cause lando thought it was the funniest thing to name his dog after his best friend - and he was a huge golden retriever, the cutest you have ever met.

"sorry, love." you hear his muffled voice. when you walk into your room, the scenes strikes you like a bunch of hearts flying at your face.

lando was laying in bed, hugging max and with his head buried in the yellow fur. the dog was looking curiously at the door, waiting for your voice to actually become you.

when max sees you, his tail slaps in lando's leg and he stand up, moving in bed happily.

"hey, big boy." you greet him, caressing his fur and sitting down.

"where's my hi?" lando asks, his arms still plopped in the bed as he look at you.

"hey, big boy." you say again, now running his fingers through lando's hair. he shakes his ass like a tail wagging, for the joke, you laugh loudly. "stop it."

"so, sorry about the leash." he says sitting up. the dog going around you and laying with his head on your lap.

"always, huh?" you tease, almost mad.

"max was eager to drink some water, i can't say no to our only child!" he says in a high-pitched voice.

you push his head, he falls right back in bed and you stand up, resting max's head carefully on the matress.

"you should go take a shower, i'll order something for us, to enjoy or last weekend together." you groan as you remember the triple header coming and the amount of time you'd spent away from each other. "you want something special?"

"sushi?" you try, as always, convincing lando.

"hell no." he frowns, as he always do.

"i'll take some pizza, then." you shrug, walking in the shower.

when you get off, wrapping a towel around yourself, lando is not in the room. as you get dressed he appears, whistling and putting the pizza box down at the side table.

"don't let max get it before we can!" i barely yell, remembering the time lando placed the box on the bed and walked over to me. when we turned back, there was only two or three bites left of the pizza and a very hungry dog looking at us with his doe little eyes.

"sure, ma'am." lando sits down on bed, what gets a grunt from the dog.

you sit on bed, already in your pajamas, getting comfortable while lando puts something on the tv.

you take a piece of the pizza, biting it as max looks at you hopefully. you chuckle at his eyes.

"when did you learn to be like that, man?" you talk to the dog as lando puts one arm around your waist and uses the other one to grab his own piece of pizza.

"he was a good example." you look at your boyfriend as he looks at you with such doe eyes. "you sure you can't go to any race in the next weeks?"

"i can try, but my boss is already eating me alive for absolutely nothing." you roll your eyes and rest against his arm.

"you know you don't have to stay in this job, right?" he starts again as you huff. "i know, i know, you want to be independent! you can be independent working in a job that doens't stress you out that much."

"i like my job, lan." you argue.

"i know you do, but i'm saying that you're always complaining about something when you could just quit and be with me during the weekends." he pouts.

"i'm gonna try and make it out for at least one of the races, 'k?" you rest your head in his shoulder and looks up at him.

"better, yeah." he sighs.

you hear a huff from the end of the bed and turn to see your dog looking at you like a maniac, begging for a bite of your pizza.

"look at his face!" lando exclaims, pointing out.

"max, please." you cry and the door licks his mouth.

"no way your winning, better his give him a bite before he decides to get one by himself."

you have dinner and watch a few episodes of a show you had started weeks ago with lando - and max. as the night finally starts tire you, you let out a few yawns before lando realises it's already pretty late.

"let's have some sleep, babe." he whispers, turning off his side table lamp and getting comfortable with you in his arms.

not a minute goes by before the sound of ruffling sheets is heard and you feel a furred and soft by your feet. when you realise, max is already in the middle of you two, also seeking the comfort lando so desperately wanted.

"max!" he complains as his arms are torned away from your skin.

"let him be." it's the last thing you remember saying before drifting into sleep.