#and he’s aware. sure. but it still is his wiring to not

[ponyt4il]

ok soooo logan isn’t actually not in tune with his emotions he’s actually quite aware of them at all times BUT to be taken seriously he feels like he has to act like he doesn’t …but obviously it slips out . quite often. & to his dismay the sides usually know how he’s feeling but they…don’t care? or they don’t have the time to care because they’re so wrapped up in their own emotions they literally can’t. and it doesn’t help when logan’s persona urges them to not worry about these emotions ever. until. they have to!

i’d like to think he knows exactly what to say when he’s asked how he’s doing, and how to fix it. but the situation and the lack of communication between the others he simply, can’t. and he knows this, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[hyunjincanraptoo]

Trying aphrodisiacs with Hyunjin

Warnings: smut, that's all

Word count : 2.5k

As usual: Alexa, plays Chain by Lolo Zouaï

The soft hum of a movie played in the background, but neither of you were really paying attention anymore. Hyunjin was sprawled across the couch, socked feet tangled with yours, a half empty wine glass between his fingers. His hair was a little messy, cheeks warm and red from the alcohol, and he looked too effortlessly pretty for a lazy night in.

"You really bought it", you said, holding up the black box in your hands. The label was sleek, with golden details, and completely ridiculous: 

‘Tabs

Break, bite and bang’

"I had to”, Hyunjin laughed, sitting up straighter. "The guy at the shop swore it’s a ‘sensual awakening experience’. Whatever that means”. You raised an eyebrow. “You know it’s just going to be a placebo, right?” "Maybe”, he said, smirking, "Or maybe we’ll be crawling all over each other in twenty minutes". You rolled your eyes, but your face was already heating at the implication, “You say that like it's not already a bad idea risking it to happen”. He shrugged, grinning, “Exactly why it’s fun”.

The box opened with a soft snap— inside, a handful of glossy chocolates, each wrapped individually, “So we’re really doing this?” you asked, giggling nervously, “For scientific purposes”, Hyunjin said, already unwrapping his. You mirrored him, popping the piece in your mouth. Rich, dark, slightly bitter— like it had some herbal undertone you couldn’t quite place, “Not bad”, you said, licking a bit of melted chocolate off your thumb. 

You didn’t miss the way Hyunjin’s eyes briefly dropped to your mouth before he quickly looked away, “You feel anything yet?”, he teased, “Nope. You?” “Is it normal that I already want to kiss you?”, he said casually, and then grinned when you turned toward him with mock offense, “Kidding. That’s probably just the wine”. 

You just nodded but you were starting to notice the heat building under your skin. A low, humming warmth curling in your stomach. You shifted slightly on the couch— and when your thigh brushed his, it felt… sharper. Like a tiny spark.

You both froze.

“Did you feel that?”, you asked. Hyunjin blinked. “Yeah”. The air grew thick with something unspoken. His eyes were darker now, a little too focused on you. He licked his lips without thinking, and your heartbeat made a mess in your chest, “Okay”,  you said, sitting up straighter, pretending nothing was happening. “This is fine. Totally fine” “Totally”, Hyunjin echoed. But he was already leaning just a little closer.

Well, the aphrodisiac was definitely working.

“It’s getting hot in here?!”, he said, voice too high pitched. “Maybe it's just in our heads”, you replied, voice a little too breathy, "Maybe”, Hyunjin echoed again, but his gaze had shifted to your collarbone, where your pajama had slipped slightly off one shoulder. His fingers twitched on the cushion between you, like he was trying not to reach out.

The movie still played, but neither of you had any idea what was happening on the screen anymore. You shifted again, crossing your legs, trying to get some relief— and his eyes definitely followed the motion. You swallowed, “Okay. I’m warm. Like, unnecessarily warm” "Same”,  he muttered, "Is the heater on?". You both glanced at the thermostat— off. Sure.

“Okay, maybe it’s not just in our heads”. You reached for your wine glass to distract yourself, but your fingers brushed his instead. Just a light touch, accidental, harmless— except it wasn’t harmless. Not this time.

Your whole arm tingled, awareness shooting up your skin like a live wire. You glanced at Hyunjin, and he was already staring at you like you'd just set the room on fire, “Are you also feeling…” “Yeah”. You both sat there in stunned silence for a second. Then, he burst out laughing, “Oh my god. We’re idiots”. You laughed too, “This was a terrible idea” “Or a brilliant one”,  he said, voice low now, a little rougher. He leaned in just slightly, and you hated how good it smelled— his cologne, his skin, the faint chocolate still on his breath.

Your stomach tightened. Your heartbeats skipped, “I swear to god, Hyunjin, if you look at me like that again…” “Like what?”, he asked innocently, but his eyes were anything but innocent. “Like you’re about to climb on top of me”. He grinned, “I’m trying really hard not to”.

That shouldn’t have been hot. It shouldn’t have sent a throb of heat between your legs. But your body was humming, needing him deeply. You tried to stand up, desperate to cool off, maybe splash some water on your face, but the moment you got to your feet, you felt dizzy, flushed, your skin hypersensitive and aching, “Okay, no. This is stupid. I need water. I need cold air. I need…”

Hyunjin stood too, standing right behind you. Suddenly, his hand landed on your waist and everything in you lit up at once. You gasped, “Oh god! Don’t touch me”. He froze in place, “I barely touched you!” “Exactly”. You looked at each other, eyes wide, panting, hearts racing like you’d just run a marathon.

Then you both broke into laughter again. Nervous, breathless, almost desperate, "This was supposed to be a joke", you said weakly. Hyunjin leaned in closer, hands still hovering your waist, “So what if it isn’t anymore?”. You didn’t answer, you couldn’t. Not when his lips were inches away, and the tension was thick at the point to be palpable. 

But then, in an impulsive act, his mouth crashed into yours. Hot, frantic, greedy. Exactly the opposite of his personality, the kiss is needy, messy, starved. Your hands tangled in his hair, his body pressing against yours like he couldn’t get close enough, and every single nerve of yours screamed for more.

His mouth was warm and insistent against yours, and for a second, your brain short circuited. This was Hyunjin— your best friend. The same idiot who steals your fries, sleeps on your couch way too often, and knows every embarrassing story about you. But right now, all of that blurred beneath the heat of his hands and the desperate way his lips moved with yours.

You should’ve stopped it. You meant to stop it. But then his fingers found your waist again, dragging you closer, and everything rational inside you shattered. You whimpered into the kiss, your body pressing to his like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hands slid under your shirt, not even trying to be subtle now, and you gasped at the contact. Your hypersensitive skin burned under his touch.

 “Fuck”,  he breathed against your mouth, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead on yours, “This is… fuck, I didn’t think it’d hit this hard”. You nodded, equally breathless,  “I can’t think straight. I just… Hyunjin…”. His name on your lips did something to him. He kissed you again, harder this time, hungry, messy, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands roamed like he didn’t know where to start. Waist, hips, up your back, tugging you flush against him.

Your head fell back with a shaky moan as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your jaw, your throat, the edge of your collarbone, “You’re my best friend”,  you said suddenly, breath hitching. His hands stilled for half a second, his lips hovering just above your skin, “I know”, he murmured, “But right now, I don’t think I can pretend I don’t want you”.

You let out a shaky laugh, part nervous, part delirious with desire, “This is gonna ruin everything” “Maybe”,  he said, voice low, almost trembling, “But I’d rather ruin everything than stop touching you right now”.

It was enough for you to surrender. You pulled him back to you with a groan, your fingers threading into his hair as his mouth crashed against yours again, his hands finding every inch of exposed skin he could reach. You were both losing control fast. Clothes slipping, kisses deepening, breaths turning into ragged moans. He pressed you down on the fluffy carpet, hovering over you, eyes dark and wild with desire. “Tell me to stop”, he whispered, lips brushing yours. But you didn’t. Instead, you pulled him in closer and kissed him like you’d been waiting years.

And maybe you had.

Your clothes disappeared in a blur of kisses, breathless laughs, and trembling hands. Neither of you spoke much now, there wasn’t room for words, only the frantic pace of touch and the fire crawling under your skin. His shirt came off first, then yours. The moment his skin touched yours, you both gasped— heat meeting heat, every nerve lit up and begging for more.

Hyunjin’s lips trailed down your neck, tongue teasing against sensitive skin, teeth grazing just enough to make your back arch, “God, you’re driving me insane”, he murmured, voice deep and wrecked, like it physically hurt to hold back. “You think I’m not losing my mind too?”, you whispered, clutching at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pressed his hips down against yours.

The friction— hot, perfect, too much and not enough all at once— made your body jolt. He groaned low in your ear at the contact, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding between them to spread you wider beneath him. Your breath caught when his fingers found you, stroking slowly and deliberately. You were soaked, already aching from just kisses and heat and him. His touch was expert, sensual, gentle but with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble.

“Fuck”, he whispered, watching you melting into pleasure under him, “You’re so wet already. Is this all because of me or the aphrodisiac?” “It’s you”, you gasped, hips rolling into his hand, “It’s always been you, Hyunie”.

Something shifted in his eyes. something softer beneath the hunger, like he’d been waiting to hear that for far too long. He kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, tongue tracing yours in a rhythm that matched the movement of his fingers between your legs. You were so close already, body shaking, moaning into his mouth with every pulse of pleasure he gave you, “I wanna taste you,” he said against your lips, his voice low like a prayer. 

You didn’t even get to answer before he slid down your body, eyes never leaving yours, lips trailing kisses across your stomach before settling between your thighs. The first flick of his tongue made you cry out. Your hips lifted, thighs tightened around his head as he licked you exactly like he’d dreamed of it. Like he needed it. Slow circles, teasing swipes, sucking just right until you were a panting mess, fingers tangled in his hair, begging without shame.

When you finally came, it hit hard— sharp, overwhelming, stars hit your eyelids as your whole body shook with release. He didn’t stop until you were twitching under him, your chest heaving, legs weak. And then he was back above you again, kissing you through the aftershocks, hands cradling your face like you were something precious, “I need you”, he whispered, voice barely holding together.

You reached for him, pulling him closer, “Then take me”. Without thinking twice, his body settled between your legs, skin against skin, warm and trembling with need. You could feel him hard and heavy, pressed right where you needed him most. But even now, as wild with desire as he was, Hyunjin paused. His forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady, “This changes everything”, he whispered, “I know”, you breathed, reaching up to cup his cheek, “But I don’t care. I want you”.

That was all he needed to hear.

You felt the slow press of him entering you, inch by inch, stretching you open, filling you so perfectly it was almost unbearable. Your mouth fell open in a gasp, and his low groan echoed yours as he sank all the way in, hips flush against yours. “Fuck”, he muttered, eyes squeezed shut, “You feel so good, princess, so damn good”.

You clung to him, overwhelmed by how deep he was, how right it felt. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him even closer as he began to move— slow at first, gentle, like he was trying to savor every second of this moment. Each thrust dragged a moan from your lips, your body arching into his, nails raking down his back. He kissed you hard between each breath, each movement, a fevered rhythm of lips and hips, skin and sighs, “You’ve no idea for how long I’ve wanted this”,  he said against your neck, his voice shaking.

You matched every movement with your own, matching his rhythm, anchoring him with your hands as pleasure grew tighter inside you. The friction, the heat, the way he kept whispering your name— it was everything. “I should’ve told you”, he panted, moving faster now, “Should’ve said it a long time ago” “Said what?”, you gasped, eyes fluttering, overwhelming tears rolling down your face.

“That I’m in love with you”

The words did something to you. You pulled him into a kiss so deep it stole your breath. Your response was not spoken, but felt in the way your whole body wrapped around him, the way you gave him all of you. Every thrust grew messier, more desperate until you were both on the edge.

You came again, clenching around him, moaning his name as waves of pleasure tore through you. He followed moments later, groaning against your shoulder as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering through his release, breath ragged and body trembling.

For a long moment, neither of you moved— just tangled limbs, racing hearts, sweaty skin, and the weight of everything you’d never said until now. Hyunjin’s body was warm against yours, his hand resting gently on your hip as he nestled his face into the crook of your neck. You could still feel the warmth between you both, the remnants of your shared breaths, the pulse of everything that had just happened.

He lifted his head slowly, his eyes still dark with the aftermath of what you'd just shared, but now there was something softer, something real. His thumb traced small circles on your skin, “So…”, he began, his voice low, still breathless, “That was... intense”.

You laughed softly “That’s one way to put it” “I’ve wanted this... wanted you for so long”, he said quietly, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac, YN. I... I’m in love with you. And I always have been. Since the first day of elementary school”.

 Your heart skipped at the confession, the weight of it settling into you like the warmth of his touch, “I know”, you whispered, brushing your fingers through his messy hair, gently tugging him back into another kiss. This one was slower, more tender with no urgency, just the soft acknowledgment of something new, something deeper.

He smiled against your lips, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, “Is this going to be weird now? Like, with everything? With us?”. You shook your head, “It doesn’t have to be weird. We’re still us. Best friends, just... with more now”. He chuckled, a little nervous, but also relieved, “You’re right. But damn, I never expected you to be that good in bed”. You rolled your eyes, hitting his arm, while he laughed “Idiot”. 

He rested his head against yours, his hands gently caressing your back, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right. You didn’t need anything else.

Just him.

Just this.

If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Au where Tim Drake as a civilian and Danny in human form get kidnapped. It's irrelevant on who, just that whoever it is just saw 2 kids that are probably Bruce Wayne's and took their chances to get a ransom. Both teens are tied to metal chairs that are hooked up to some sort of machine.

Villain, recording a video to send to show they mean business: And for every hour you don't send the money, I'll hurt them

Tim: Can't I just wire you the ransom? I have the money And have plans for tonight that didn't involve this bullshit

Danny: I don't have either of those things, but I wanted to nap before going to my second job

Tim, twisting as much as he can to look at Danny: Second job? How old are you? Shouldn't you be in school?

Danny, shrugs: high school doesn't pay the bills and I rather live in my shady apartment than the streets

Tim: Dude-

Villain, jabbing a button on the machine: ENOUGH!

A short, but powerful electric shock is sent through the boys and they have very different, but similarly intense reactions. Tim yelps before breaking into Joker-like unhinged laughter that just won't stop. Danny screams bloody murder for the entire time of the shock and becoming catatonic once it stops. The villain is completely spooked by these responses, but figures it's a good ending for their ransom video and sends it off. Less than fifteen minutes later, Batman breaks into the building and beats the villain unconscious while a freaked out Robin disables the machine and unties the teens.

Damian: Dr-Drake?

Tim, still chocking on laughter and fumbling with the emergency medications he keeps on his person because of things like this: It's- HA It's fine- HA HA HA It happens some- HA HA- Sometimes when-when-HA HA- I'm Sh-shocked-HA HA HA- How's the-HA-the kid?

Damian: I don't know. He's unresponsive and I'm not sure if I should touch him... His eyes are glowing green..

Tim, shakily moves to see: Oh! HA HA Guess he-HA- he's coming with us-HA HA HA- he's coming with us now- HA

Danny, clearly not all there, starts mumbling: I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm alive. I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'm not a monster. I'm alive. I'm still Danny. I'm not dead. I'm still Danny. I'm not dead.

Tim, slowly gaining control of his laughter: That's concerning Hehe

Damian: Indeed. I shall inform the others to expect a guest

Tim, nods before getting within arms reach of Danny: Danny-hehehe- Danny can you hear me? Hehe

Danny, snaps his jaw shut with a loud click when his name is said and awareness starts bleeding in: Wh-What?

Tim: We're hehe no electric shock budies hehe

Danny's bright glowing eyes lock onto Tim's still painfully smiling face before tugging up his left sleeve to show off his slightly glowing scarring: Electrocution sucks. Have some major ptsd dealing with it...

Tim: God, me too. Heh Electroshock therapy with the Joker is a zero out of ten, would not recommend heh

Danny, making a face: ew, clowns

Tim: HA Mood!

Batman, approaching from an angle that both the teens can see him coming: Do you have any family I can drop you with?

Danny: eeh... no? I got disowned by my parents last year and my sister hasn't moved out and started college just yet, but it's fine, I'll be fine, I was just telling... I just realized I don't know your name

Tim: Tim, Tim Drake

Danny: Oh! You're that teen CEO! No wonder they kidnapped you. I'm guessing my shitty luck is why I got snatched too

Tim: And you look like you could be one of my adopted siblings. What's your name btw?

Danny: Danny... Just Danny

Tim, stares Bruce down while clearly addressing Danny: How would you like to be a Drake or Wayne or both? We're trauma buddies now.

Danny, looking between Tim and Bruce: Uuh? What?

Tim starts grinning as Bruce looks defeated: B adopts every sad orphan with blue eyes or black hair, do you happen to be a vigilante? He speed runs the adoption process with the vigilante types

Danny, wide eyes: Uuuuh, I mean, I used to be something like that in my hometown??? I'm technically retired so I can keep a roof over my head???

Tim's grin is even wider: Cool, I'm Red Robin

Batman: TIM!!

Tim, ignores him: How old are you?

Danny: I turn 17 next month?

Tim, nods and turns to Batman: I'm pulling a you. He's mine now. Danny, you're a Drake now. Clown hating, electricity trauma bonded teen vigilantes got to stick together.

Robin: Father, I believe Drake is having a manic episode

Tim: Shut your mouth, demon brat. I forcefully adopted Bruce and Jason, I can forcefully adopt a little brother if I want.

Danny, looking intrigued, but also so done with the day: Do I get a say?

Tim, beaming: No. Now, do you have any food restrictions?

Tim manically babbles to Danny, pulling more and more of his shitty life out of him while Batman shepherds them to the batmoble. Danny never makes it to either of his jobs again and what little belongings he still has are moved to the manor within a week. He has a new identity and reenroled in school by the end of the month. It takes a while for him to reveal his ghost half, even with Duke being flashbanged everytime they're in the same room. That being said, he only goes out as a vigilante when it's an all hands on deck situation or a random ghost shows up, instead he focuses more on his studies and being the mad scientist making the batfam's gear, since he never planned to be a vigilante to begin with. Everyone is surprised when he's introduced to Kon, like they knew he'd be starry eyed over meeting an alien, but he's also excited to meet a clone and babbles about his clone(s(if Dan counts)). Said clone(s) are then given a standing invite to stay, Dani eventually agrees. Tim and Danny joke about being twins often since they're close in age and have similar habits and triggers, while Dani forcibly claims Damian as her twin despite being opposites in everything, but their gremlin energy. Jason is delighted by having death joke buddies and Dick is ecstatic to have someone to pun with. The more level headed members appreciate anytime Jazz is there to reel in her little siblings, and she turns down adoption when asked, not that it stops the batfam from considering her family.

Danny, at some point: Y'all're fruitloops, but you're my fruitloops.

Vlad is also blacklisted from all Wayne events and the Fenton Parents and GIW are chased out of town anytime they set foot there. All three suffer from financial ruin because the batfam is petty and protective of their own. The Ecto Acts don't stand a chance.

[natsaffection]

Innocence. pt 1 | N.R

Older!Sargent!Natasha x Younger!Soldier! Reader

Warnings: None for now.

Word count: 5,1k

A/N: First of three parts is here! This one covers the very beginning, what we mostly go through during the first few days after leaving the comfort. The pacing might feel a bit slow while reading, but in person, it’s like you’ve already been there for weeks… and your body definitely isn’t thanking you.

The aircraft swayed just slightly with turbulence, but you barely noticed. You were sitting straight-backed in a seat along the right wall, harnessed in, hands resting atop your gear bag like you were afraid to let go of it. Your fingers itched with nerves, not the kind that made you panic, but the kind that made you wait. Watch. Think too much. You weren’t afraid. Not really. You were just…aware. Of everything.

The soldier across from you had his eyes closed, music bleeding faintly from one side of his headset, something with guitar, low and steady. Two others sat a few rows down, murmuring to each other over a bag of sunflower seeds, occasionally laughing too loud before catching themselves. One guy was bouncing his leg fast, his helmet tipped forward like a makeshift blindfold.

Everyone had a way to sit with their nerves. You just stayed still.

You watched the red glow of the overhead light paint everything in harsh shadow, hard edges on uniforms, tight lines across tense mouths. You could smell oil and canvas, gunmetal and worn leather. The air was dry, and warm. Somewhere far ahead, you knew the pilot was calling out distance markers. They were close.

And out there, already on the ground, already waiting..was her. Staff Sergeant Natasha Romanoff. Your new commanding officer. And the one woman you weren’t sure you knew how to impress…but desperately wanted to try.

Four Weeks Earlier

You stood stiffly at the desk, file in hand. The officer on the other side, some square-jawed sergeant you barely knew, was looking at you like he’d just broken bad news and didn’t want to say it twice.

“I’m sorry.” he said, “Aplha-One didn’t select you. High marks, yes. But they’ve got their own standards.”

You stared at the floor. Your mouth was dry. It wasn’t fair to cry, this was part of the game, you knew that..but still. You’d killed yourself for this unit. Two years of discipline, sweat, tests, sacrifices. Aloha-One was the goal.

“However…” he continued, sliding a second file toward you. “You scored extremely high in tactical reasoning and zero-error protocol under stress. Another team saw your data.”

You looked up slowly. “They want you in Echo 9. SSGT Romanoff’s division.”

Your fingers twitched on the edge of your folder. “Echo 9?”

“They don’t recruit often. But when they do, it’s for a reason. You caught someone’s attention.”

You hesitated. You’d heard the stories, Romanoff’s unit was covert, fast-moving, low profile. Their ops were real, and rarely spoken about.

Alpha-one had been the dream. But Echo 9? That was…something else. You blinked back the sting in your eyes and nodded. “I’ll take it.”

Back to Present

You rolled your shoulders gently. You kept looking at the door, the one that would open and spill you into dust, hot wind, and the start of whatever came next. You’d land near an isolated base camp in a desert region, you knew that much. Some recon op tied to sensitive cargo and possible extraction. High alert. Your first true deployment outside the wire.

Your chance to see her.

You’d only met twice, once during evaluation, and once during the fastest, coldest briefing you’d ever been through. Romanoff had scanned you like she already knew everything, your past, your stats, your tells. Like you’d already said enough by standing in front of her.

Two Weeks Ago

You were sitting cross-legged in the middle of your paper mess, balancing your tablet on one knee and typing with your thumb. A to-do list bloomed across the screen:

• Cancel lease

• Storage unit rental

• Forward mail to Mom

• Emergency contact

• Get tactical gloves (broken stitching)

• Sell old field jacket

Your fingers paused. You looked around the space, still half-lived in. Walls still had photos. Fridge still had magnets. The place didn’t feel like it was missing you yet. But you were already halfway gone.

A few hours later, your best friend Harlow came over to help you pack. You stuffed gear into crates and duffels, argued over which mugs to leave behind, and finally just collapsed onto the couch, still sweaty from lifting boxes.

“I can’t believe they picked you..” Harlow teased, nudging you.

You threw a pillow. “Screw off.”

“No, really. Romanoff? Echo 9? That’s wild. You’re gonna have stories.”

You smiled faintly. “If I come back with stories, it means I didn’t mess it up.”

Harlow looked at you. “You won’t mess it up. You’re meant for this.”

Back to Present

You let out a slow breath, fogging the air just slightly. Someone nearby tightened a strap; someone else cracked their knuckles.

Almost there. And somehow, in the middle of all this..the adrenaline, the altitude, the silence between heartbeats, you felt something else rise in your chest.

Pride.

With a sharp hiss, the hydraulic doors cracked open, and in the same instant, it hit you- The heat. It slammed into your face like a physical wall, dry, thick, pulsing with sun-baked intensity. Your breath caught for a moment, involuntarily. Not from shock, but from the weight of it. It wasn’t just hot, it was the kind of heat that crawled down the back of your neck, sat in your boots, and stole the moisture from your lungs.

You blinked, eyes adjusting to the brutal midday glare. The light was white. So bright the sand looked like it was glowing. A wasteland of tan and beige, mountains ghosting in the distance, like mirages wavering in the heat lines. Your boots clunked against the ramp as you followed the line of soldiers off the aircraft, dust already collecting around your ankles.

“Welcome to hell.” someone muttered behind you. You didn’t reply. You just kept walking, adrenaline mixing with sweat.

The group gathered in formation just beyond the landing zone, sweat already beginning to pool beneath gear not meant for this kind of sun. The tarmac shimmered. A breeze kicked up, hot and sharp with the scent of sand, diesel, and sweat. A tall man in a scorched tan uniform approached, clipboard in hand, sleeves rolled up, sunglasses hiding his eyes.

“Listen up!” he barked. The chatter died instantly. “Today’s the twelfth. It’s 122 degrees out. That’s forty-nine Celsius for you metric-lovers. Hydrate, don’t pass out. You’re not heroes if you collapse on Day One.”

Someone coughed behind you. A few nods. The air was too hot for anything more. The man paused, then added with a dry smirk, “Romanoff’s waiting at Command. You’ll meet her shortly.”

And just like that, the atmosphere shifted, not from the sun this time, but from the name. Romanoff.

You felt a twinge in your chest. Sharp, curious, alert. “She really as hot as they say?” someone to your left whispered under his breath. His voice was low, but not low enough.

“Oh, she’s more than hot..” another guy replied, cracking a grin. “They say she can kill a man and give him a boner at the same time.”

Several soldiers chuckled, their laughter quick, dirty, laced with the kind of bravado that only came when they thought they were out of earshot. Your jaw tensed. You didn’t know Natasha well, yet..but something about the casual, sexual tone made your stomach twist. This wasn’t the kind of place you joked like that. Not about your people.

Then, a silence. It didn’t come slowly. It snapped into place like a rope pulled tight. You turned just slightly. There she was.

Natasha was walking toward you, slow and composed, each step measured, boots kicking up puffs of dust in her wake. Her uniform fit like it was cut for her alone, sleeves rolled up, tags tucked in, not a wrinkle on her. She carried no visible weapon, but no one needed proof.

She was the weapon.

Every soldier in the group straightened, even those who didn’t realize they were doing it. And her eyes, flat, cold, and controlled, landed directly on the man who’d made the joke.

“Name?” she asked, voice like ice under fire.

The guy swallowed. “Uh…Private Miles, ma’am.”

She walked up to him. Close. Too close. Their boots were almost touching. You couldn’t see her eyes anymore, but you saw his. They widened a fraction. His shoulders stiffened. The grin was gone.

“Private Miles..” Natasha said softly, voice barely above a whisper, “if I ever hear you speak about another soldier that way again, especially one in my command, I will personally make sure your transfer home includes a medical dishonorable discharge, and a broken jaw to explain it.”

The air around you didn’t move. Even the breeze seemed to stop. Miles stood like a statue. No response. No breath.

“And if you’re wondering whether I’m ‘as hot as they say,’” she added, stepping just slightly closer, her tone a thread away from venom, “I suggest you test your theory in a combat scenario. I’d love to see how long you last.”

Then she stepped back. “Eyes front.”

The entire group snapped to attention. You felt your pulse in your throat. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked. It was like watching lightning strike just beside you. Romanoff turned to face everyone now, still calm, still unreadable.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Romanoff.” she said, tone level, eyes scanning the line. “You’re now part of Echo 9. That means your record matters less than your performance. You are responsible for each other. If you want to act like civilians, I suggest you turn back now.”

No one moved.

“Training begins tomorrow at 0500 (5:00am). Briefing starts at 0430 (4:30 am) sharp. You’ll receive bunks and assignments from base command in the next ten minutes. Hydrate. Unpack. Do not be late.” She paused. “Dismissed.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the base structure, heat swirling behind her in shimmering waves.

No one spoke for a long time. You swallowed, throat dry as bone. You couldn’t tell if your heartbeat was from the sun, or from her.

The base wasn’t much to look at, a sprawl of beige and metal, containers turned into housing, makeshift fences, worn banners catching the wind like tired flags. The ground was cracked and sun-bleached, the heat radiating off the concrete like an invisible second sun.

You followed the thin trail of other soldiers toward the housing row. A clipboard had been shoved into your hands moments after Romanoff’s departure, listing your bunk number and clearance ID. A container near the outer edge. Far enough from command to feel temporary. Close enough to hear the weight in every bootstep.

When you reached it, you paused. The container was basic, standard military housing. Matte green. Bolted shut with a manual handle. But it was yours. At least for now. You lifted the latch and stepped inside. Cooler air hit your face immediately, not cold, but not scalding either. A cheap mercy.

Inside, there were two narrow bunks, one metal locker each, a shared footlocker in the center, and a cracked mirror bolted above a dented sink. Sparse, lived-in, but clean. And someone was already unpacking on the left side.

She was bent over her duffel, sorting through rolls of gauze, small vials, medical wraps, her dark hair pulled into a messy low bun. She looked up when you entered and grinned.

“You must be Y/l/n.”

You blinked. “Yeah. That’s me.”

The girl stood, wiping a smudge off her cheek with the back of her hand. “I’m Rae. Rae Bishop. You snore, you die.”

You laughed, tension bleeding out of your shoulders almost instantly. “Fair enough.”

You shook hands, firm, quick. That unspoken military rhythm already forming. You tossed your bag onto the right bunk and began peeling off your outer vest, already feeling a small pool of sweat at the base of your spine.

Rae slid a canteen across the small desk toward you. “You look cooked. Drink.”

You did. It was warm, but water was water. “You infantry?” Rae asked, hopping up to sit on her bunk, boots still on.

“Combat operations.” you replied, settling on your own bunk and unlacing one boot. “Support and recon for Exho 9. You?”

“Medic.” Rae said, tapping the red cross patch on her shoulder. “Second rotation. Got here three weeks ago.”

You raised a brow. “So you’ve already survived Romanoff?”

Rae grinned. “Barely. She’s not as scary when she’s not slicing you open with her eyes. But yeah..she’s the real deal.”

You nodded. You knew that already. The image of Natasha walking through the dust, silencing that joke with only a look and a sentence, it was burned into you.

“What made you volunteer?” Rae asked.

You hesitated for a second. “Wasn’t my first choice. But this unit…feels like it might be the right one after all.”

Rae smiled knowingly. “Same.”

A knock at the metal door broke the moment. Three short raps. You exchanged a quick glance.

Rae swung the door open. Three guys stood outside, dusty, still geared-up, grinning. You recognized two of them from the aircraft. The third held a dented pack of cards in one hand and a pack of instant ramen in the other.

“Y/l/n..” the tallest one said, “we’re playing cards in the rec tent. You in?”

Rae raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Wow, no invite for me?”

“You don’t lose gracefully.” one of them shot back.

You hesitated. The memory of that crude joke on the tarmac flashed in your head. Your mouth tightened slightly, and you crossed your arms, thoughtful.

“I don’t usually hang out with people who make sex jokes about our CO.”

The smiles wavered, just for a second. One of the guys, younger than the rest, rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. That was Miles. He’s…well. He’s eating dinner alone tonight.”

The third guy nodded. “Look, no pressure. But you seemed chill. No one’s looking to mess around or anything. We’re just…unwinding.”

There was a beat of silence. The hot wind pushed dust across the open door. Inside, the cool air hummed. Then you sighed. “Alright. But if you deal me crap cards, I’m walking.”

Laughter broke out immediately, easy and welcome. Rae grinned and flopped back onto her bed. “Tell ‘em I taught you everything.”

The rec tent was barely lit, strings of mismatched bulbs hung along the corners, buzzing softly. Folding chairs surrounded a center table, already cluttered with cards, crumpled wrappers, and one old speaker playing lo-fi beats someone swore helped with morale.

You took a seat, your body still adjusting to the tempo of the place, the slight vibration of generators, the scent of old coffee, the shift in your nerves from edge to ease. You played three rounds. Lost one. Won two. Someone made fun of your poker face, or lack thereof, and you shot back with a sarcastic quip that made Rae snort water through her nose.

They didn’t talk about Romanoff again. They didn’t talk about war, or blood, or fear. Just music. Home. The taste of actual food. The way sand got everywhere. Laughter felt strange at first — awkward and too loud in the open air, but then it settled in like warmth.

Before you knew it, the sky outside the rec tent had turned from gold to steel blue. Then to black.

0500 Hours

The alarm pierced the air like a bullet. You flinched upright in your bunk, adrenaline kicking before your brain caught up. Your heart was hammering. For a second, you had no idea where you were.

The room was still dark, bathed in faint blue light from the small LED clock bolted to the wall. Your eyes tracked across the plain metal ceiling. The thin sheets twisted around your legs. The sound of Rae breathing across the room. Dust floating through a stream of early light filtering between the blinds.

Then, heat. That dry, ever-present warmth, already crawling in through the container’s thin insulation. The heavy scent of sand and sweat. The sound of footsteps, boots outside the wall. A voice barking out a name. A door slamming.

Camp.

Deployment.

It came back all at once. You exhaled and scrubbed a hand over your face. The ache in your spine was from the unforgiving bunk. The itch on your skin? Dust. Always dust.

You dressed quickly, muscle memory already forming after a single day. Tactical undershirt. Lightweight fatigues. Boots laced to regulation tightness. Canteen clipped, ID tags tucked, comm unit ready.

Rae stirred behind you. “Tell Romanoff I’m alive..” she muttered, voice rough with sleep.

You smirked. “No promises.”

You stepped out into the early dawn air. The sky was a hazy pink, sun just starting to rise over the distant ridges. Heat was already forming, like a warning curled around the horizon.

The training yard was a square of cracked earth and sandbags. Half the unit was already assembled, some stretching, others checking weapons or reviewing briefing notes on slim tablets. Conversations were low, sparse, and cautious.

You spotted Martinez, Johnson, a few others. Miles stood off to the side, arms crossed, avoiding everyone’s eyes. A knot of anticipation hung in the air.

Then.. “She’s here.”

Every head turned. Natasha walked across the yard with zero wasted movement. Black tactical vest over sun-bleached fatigues, combat boots spitting dust behind her. Hair tied back. Calm, controlled. Not out of breath. Not rushed. She stopped dead center.

“Morning.” she said. One word. It hit harder than any shout. Everyone straightened.

“You’ll be split between physical combat, strategy, survival theory, and behavior conditioning. Yes, it’s hot. Yes, it’s early. No, I don’t care. This unit doesn’t carry excuses.”

She turned toward a group of soldiers. “First pair-up. Hand-to-hand.” She scanned them once, then landed on her target.

“Miles.”

He stepped forward stiffly. She waited.

“…Ma’am?”

“I said combat sparring. Step up.”

He did. Hesitant. You felt the buzz ripple through the unit. Everyone knew exactly what this was about. Then Natasha looked at you.

“Y/l/n. You’re with him.”

Your stomach flipped, but not in fear. Your fingers twitched at your sides. Excitement, fire, something warm rising in your chest. You stepped forward, facing Miles.

He frowned. “We’re doing this for real?”

Natasha tilted her head, expression unreadable. “Unless you’d prefer to sit this out.”

He flinched, barely, but got into a ready stance. Defensive. Hesitant. His center of gravity too high. You didn’t wait. You stepped in, low and fast. A feint to the right, testing him. He flinched. His hands came up late.

Then he swept under, pivoted his foot..And stopped. He didn’t finish the strike.

But Natasha did. In a blink, she stepped in from the side, grabbed Miles by the collar with one hand, and drove her knee hard between his legs. The sound he made wasn’t even a word. He crumpled, knees buckling, face contorting in shocked pain as he hit the dirt.

A beat of silence. Natasha turned, looking directly at the rest of the men. Voice like ice melting on steel. “Women are underestimated in combat more often than I can count. Happens in the field. Happens in training. But do it in my unit, and you’ll learn the difference between cocky and unconscious.”

She didn’t smile. Not exactly. Just a slow, razor-edged smirk as she turned to you. “Well done. Switch partners.”

Training settled into a brutal rhythm. Mornings began with sparring and PT, climbing walls, crawling through obstacle courses, sprinting under the punishing heat. By midday, it was tactical theory. Sand-tables, holographic maps, mission simulations. Natasha drilled you on terrain advantage, split-second decisions, blind recon.

“Enemies don’t come at you clean.” she said once, pointer hovering over a digital battlefield. “They come when your boots are stuck in mud and your comms are down. Think beyond perfect conditions.”

Afternoons were dedicated to behavior conditioning. How to read a room. Spot a liar. Break a pattern. It wasn’t just about physical training, it was mental warfare.

One session was held in a metal container rigged with sound loops and flashing lights. Designed to simulate chaos. You had to complete logic tests under pressure.

You nearly failed the first time, until Natasha stood behind you and said, calmly, “Breathe slower. Find the rhythm. You control your mind, or the mission controls you.”

By the third day, you were keeping pace. Faster. Sharper. And more confident. The soldiers around you began to notice. Some nodded as they passed. Rae snuck you protein bars and coffee tablets. Even Martinez, cocky and sarcastic, offered to swap gear tips.

Miles? Still avoiding eye contact. You didn’t mind. Not when every sunrise started with that burst of nerves, and every night ended with sore muscles, heavy lungs, and the knowledge that you belonged here more than you ever did anywhere else.

DAY 6

The room was built to look like an alleyway. Cracked walls. Sandbags. Smoke machines filling the air with grit and haze. Speakers embedded in the ceiling blared distant gunfire and shouting, sirens wailing in timed bursts. The simulation chamber was used for high-stress ops training, strategy under pressure, team maneuvering, and live tactical decisions. Everything tracked. Every shot. Every step. Every second.

You crouched low, rifle to your shoulder, sweat soaking your collar. Your breath was fast, lungs burning. You moved with your unit through the mock-up street, Rae trailing you with med gear, Martinez and Johnson flanking either side.

Target: secure a civilian in the “hot zone” evacuate to the south extraction point. Simple, on paper. But nothing ever was.

You breached the second corner, cleared the breach, and..You froze.

Two silhouettes appeared behind a scrim of smoke. Civilian or hostile? You hesitated. Your fingers tensed on the trigger. Your brain tried to assess. The figures move-

And then everything went to hell. A simulated blast went off. Too close. Too loud. Martinez dropped, “wounded.” Rae got separated. A red strobe light flashed across the chamber, symbolic of a “critical failure” in evac timing.

It was over. Simulation terminated. The smoke cleared slowly, the lights steadying. Soldiers blinked in the false dawn of debrief lighting as the system powered down. You ripped your goggles off, chest heaving. Your hands were shaking. Not from fear.

From frustration. Natasha walked in, tablet in hand. Her expression unreadable. She let the silence linger. Then she looked up, eyes slicing through the group like scalpels.

“Everyone out.” she said flatly, not looking at anyone but you. “Except Y/l/n.”

The others filed out silently. Rae gave you a small glance. Not pity. Just understanding. When the door closed, Natasha walked closer. Not looming. Just…present. You stood straighter, trying to lock your jaw. Waiting.

“I want you to explain what happened.” Natasha said.

You hesitated. “I hesitated at the corner. I.. I didn’t want to misfire. The shapes weren’t clear-”

“They weren’t clear?” Natasha repeated, voice cold. “You’ve run that drill four times. You know the shape of that alley. You know what cover looks like from thirty meters. And you froze.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“Why?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “I.. didn’t trust myself.” you admitted. Quiet.

Natasha nodded once. A slow, deliberate motion. Then she stepped forward until you were almost eye to eye.

“If this had been real..” she said softly, “Martinez would have bled out before Rae could get to him. You would’ve lost your right leg to that blast. And your hesitation would’ve put your entire team in body bags.”

Every word was a scalpel. No yelling. No rage. Just cold truth. You didn’t speak.

“You don’t get to be unsure out there.” Natasha said. “Not when people are counting on you. Not when seconds mean survival. If you doubt yourself again, do it on your own time. Not mine.”

She turned away. Walked two steps. Then stopped. “But…”

You blinked.

“…you still identified the pattern before the system ended the sim. You saw the angle of the shooter. You started moving to block Rae’s exit. That means your instincts are right. You just didn’t trust them.”

Another long pause. “I want you in my class this afternoon. Behavioral split-second response training. Two hours.”

You nodded. “Yes, Staff Sergeant.”

“And Y/l/n?”

“…Yes?”

“If you ever freeze like that again, I’ll personally send you back home with a thank-you card and a slap for wasting my time.”

Your mouth twitched. The sharpest edge of a grin. “Understood.”

DAY 11

The room buzzed with quiet suffering. The overhead lights flickered in that sickly yellow way that only military bulbs seemed to manage. Dust drifted lazily through the stale air. Everyone was slouched somewhere, against the walls, over the table, heads resting in hands, boots half unlaced beneath chairs. Not a single soul was upright by choice.

You sat near the end of the long table, chin propped in one hand, trying to pretend you weren’t blinking longer than you should.

Your thighs still burned from morning PT. Your knuckles were bruised from combat drills. Your brain was a fog of unfinished sleep and half-digested ration bars. Even your boots felt heavy. Like they’d been dipped in cement.

Rae, sitting next to you, looked dead-eyed at her half-full notebook. Johnson was using his own notepad as a pillow. Martinez had a cold pack wedged under his shirt, muttering something about “inhumane training laws” under his breath.

You were wrecked. And no one dared to say it out loud.

The door opened. And just like that, the room snapped into shape. Natasha walked in with a slow, unreadable expression. She didn’t bark a command. Didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Her presence alone was a straight line drawn through chaos. Her expression unreadable, calm, but not soft. Alert. A storm in waiting. She walked past all of you without a word and hoisted herself up to sit on the table directly in front of the class , boots planted wide, elbows on knees.

The silence grew dense. Then, slowly, she looked at you. One by one. Not judging. Measuring. You sat straighter. Your heart, despite exhaustion, thudded once. Hard.

She reached for the remote and pressed a button. The screen behind her flickered to life. A drone shot filled the screen, a wide, aerial view of an arid landscape. Cracked land. A village reduced to fragments of stone and splinters. Roofs caved in. A single road, broken with impact craters, carved through what used to be homes.

Everything changed in the room. The fog of exhaustion evaporated. Spines straightened. Eyes locked forward. No one moved. Not even to breathe.

“This..” Natasha said, her voice low, “is the village of Qasira. Forty-seven clicks east of this base. Population, formerly nine hundred. Current? Unknown.”

She let that sit for a second before continuing. “Three days ago, an insurgent convoy passed through the area. They were hit mid-transit. Likely an airstrike from a local faction. Civilians were caught in the crossfire. Local med teams are moving in now. You’re going with them.”

The screen shifted to a satellite map. Pinpoints. Movement indicators. Roads. “This isn’t a combat op. It’s a secure-and-monitor. Your job is to escort, establish perimeter, and provide overwatch while the medics assist the injured and collect survivors.”

Her voice was firm, but there was something in her eyes , a warning, subtle but sharp. “You will be met with three types of people.” she continued. “Those who are glad to see you. Those who resent you. And those who hate you outright. All of them will be scared. Some will be armed. Some won’t.”

Rae swallowed softly next to you.

“You do not fire unless fired upon.” Natasha said. “You do not engage unless absolutely necessary. If someone spits at you, you walk. If someone screams at you, you listen. You are not here to escalate. You are here to protect the people doing their jobs.”

Another click. A street-level image filled the screen, caved-in houses, burnt-out windows, children standing in the rubble, watching the drone.

Your throat tightened.

“This is what real missions look like.” Natasha said, quieter now. “It’s not always bullets and body armor. Sometimes it’s holding a perimeter while someone bleeds out two feet away from you. Sometimes it’s walking past a woman crying over what used to be her kitchen.”

She looked at all of you. And this time, there was no cold edge. Just steel. Steady and unwavering.

“You need to be better than your instincts. You need to be professional, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

A pause. “We leave at 0700 (7am).”

With that, she stood, clicked off the screen, and stepped down. Then, she turned back.

“Gear up. No mistakes.”

The silence lingered after she left. It wasn’t fear. It was something sharper. Something real. You exhaled, slow, as if the weight of the next phase had finally landed on your chest.

Part 2

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[haeivie]

PINKY PROMISE? ──── L. MINHYUNG

lost in new york , you bump into mark who offers to help.

PAIRING ; mark lee x fem!reader WORD COUNT ; 0.6k CONTENTS ; nyc au , meet-cute? , gentleman!mark , fluff

──── © HAEIVIE , 2025. /

the city was moving like it was actually alive, a constant rush of footsteps, horns, and snippets of conversation slipping between the cracks of towering buildings. you were well aware that new york would be overwhelming, but knowing and experiencing are two different things.

clutching your phone in one hand and a crumpled subway map in the other, you try to make sense of the directions, but nothing adds up. the gps kept rerouting, and the map in your hand is no better, a mess of intersecting lines that only make your headache worse.

you sigh, stepping back not even glancing back.

and of course, you crash straight into someone.

“oh—”

your back collides with something solid, someone solid, knocking the breath out of you for a second. his drink wobbles dangerously in his hand, the lid nearly popping off before he somehow manages to save it.

you, on the other hand, aren’t so lucky.

the map slips from your grasp, landing directly in a grimy puddle at the curb.

“whoa,” the guy blurts, stepping back just as you do, his eyes wide behind wire-framed glasses. “are you okay?”

you blink up at him, a little dazed. he’s wearing a yankees cap, dark brown curls peeking from underneath, and his sweatshirt looks two sizes too big, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. something about him is familiar, but you can’t place it.

you clear your throat. “yeah, i—” your gaze drops to the puddle. “well. there goes my only shot at getting home.”

his lips part before pressing together, like he’s fighting a smile. “that was, uh… important, huh?”

“just my only copy of the subway map.”

he winces. “hmm. you’re not from around here, are you?”

you exhale through your nose. “is it that obvious?”

he laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “kinda. but in a cute way.”

you blink, feeling a slight heat creep to your cheeks.

before you can react, he gestures toward the street. “where were you trying to go?”

you hesitate, debating whether you should trust a total stranger. but he doesn’t seem dangerous, just a little out of breath, like he’d been running to catch a train. and something about his easy smile makes your shoulders relax.

you tell him the name of your neighborhood, and he nods, thoughtful. “okay, so, the subway’s a little tricky, but i can walk you to the station and make sure you don’t end up in, like, queens on accident.”

your lips twitch. “does that…happen often?”

“oh, totally. my first week here, i meant to go to brooklyn and somehow wound up in the bronx. still don’t know how.”

you laugh, and he grins like that was his goal.

“i’m mark, by the way.”

you take his offered hand, his grip warm despite the cold.

by the time you reach the station, you’ve learned two things: one, mark is just as charming as he is clumsy, and two, he might be the nicest person you’ve met in this city so far. and cutest.

“you know,” he starts, rocking back on his heels, “i could show you around. tomorrow? that way, you won’t have to rely on tragic paper maps.”

you tilt your head. “are you sure? you don’t even know me.”

“yeah, but you seem cool.” he shrugs, smiling. “and it’d be nice to have an excuse to actually explore instead of just running around like a headless chicken.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too.

something about him makes it easy to say yes.

“alright,” you agree, extending your pinky. “pinky promise?”

his eyebrows lift before he chuckles, linking his pinky with yours. his touch lingers, thumb brushing over yours for half a second too long.

“pinky promise.”

and that day you went home with mark’s number, and a big goofy grin on your face.

[paddockletters]

play your cards right | joe burrow

summary: a game of UNO was supposed to be just friendly fun—until you and Joe realize there’s more than just competition between you. request: yessss! thanks for your request, and I hope you like it! is my first fic with joe, so… I hope you all enjoy it!

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in Joe’s living room, the glow of his TV illuminating the table between you, where the UNO deck sits. It’s just the two of you tonight—a casual “game night” that he suggested after practice. Joe’s wearing his usual low-key uniform: grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt that somehow looks perfect on him.

“Alright,” you say, stretching your arms out, “prepare to lose, Burrow.”

“You’re awfully confident for someone who still doesn’t know the difference between a reverse and a skip.” He chuckles, his eyes meeting yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“Oh, please,” you scoff.

“I don’t think you’re ready for this,” he said, grabbing the deck.

You rolled your eyes. “Joe, it’s UNO. Not the Super Bowl.”

“Yeah, but I don’t lose,” he said with a smirk, shuffling the cards.

The first round stars with subtle nudges under the table as you both reach for your drinks. His knee brushes yours once, and you feel the warmth linger even after he pulls away.

“You’re taking this way too seriously,” Joe teases as you carefully select a card.

“Says the guy who just spent five minutes strategizing his next play,” you fired back, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not my fault I’m good at winning.” Joe grinned, leaning forward slightly.

“Winning?” you laugh. “You’ve drawn, like, half the deck!”

As the game heats up, your phone buzzes on the table. You glance at the screen and groan. It’s a message from Ja'Marr.

Ja'Marr: “Y’all playing UNO or undressing each other with your eyes? 👀”

Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly flip your phone face-down.

“What’s that?” Joe asks, noticing your flustered reaction.

“Nothing. Just Ja’Marr being … Ja’Marr.”

Joe smirks, clearly not buying it.

“Let me guess. He’s talking shit?”

You hesitate, then slide the phone across the table. “See for yourself.”

Joe picks it up and laughs under his breath as he reads the text. “Seriously? I can’t even hang out with you without him making it a thing.”

“Maybe he’s onto something,” you tease, watching for his reaction.

Joe doesn’t miss a beat. “What? That you’re bad at UNO?”

You throw a card at him, and he ducks, laughing as it sails past his shoulder.

You win the first round, throwing down your last card with a triumphant yell. Joe leans back on his hands, shaking his head in mock disbelief.

“Beginner’s luck,” he says.

“Oh, come on. Admit it—I’m just better than you.”

Joe narrows his eyes. “One more round. But let’s make it interesting.”

You raise a brow. “Interesting how?”

“If I win,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “you let me take you out on a real date.”

The air shifts, the playful energy suddenly charged with something deeper. You try to keep your voice steady as you ask, “And if I win?”

He grins, his confidence unwavering. “Your call.”

You hesitate, the weight of the moment sinking in. “Deal,” you finally say, your voice quieter now.

The rematch is intense. You’re hyper-aware of how close you’re sitting now, your knees brushing every time one of you shifts. Your hands bump as you both reach for the deck, and Joe pauses, letting his fingers linger against yours for a second too long before pulling away.

“You’re nervous,” he says, his tone teasing but his eyes soft.

“Not at all,” you lie, playing a Reverse card with exaggerated flair.

He counters with a Draw Four, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Sure you’re not.”

The game goes down to the wire, but in the end, Joe throws down his last card with a triumphant laugh.

“Victory,” he says, leaning back on his hands. “Looks like you owe me a date.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe. But I’m insufferable and taking you out.”

Neither of you moves from the floor. You’re both leaning against the couch now, the energy calmer but still charged.

“Can I say something?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“Sure,” you said, your heart thudding in your chest.

Joe hesitated for a moment, then said, “I think I’ve liked you for a while now. Like … more than just a friend.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden honesty. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze steady. “And I’ve been trying to find the right time to tell you, but I figured if I didn’t say it tonight, I might never say it. It’s fine if you don’t feel the same,” he continues, his voice softer now. “I just … I needed you to know.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “You know, you could’ve just said that instead of making me play UNO.”

Joe laughed, reaching out to take your hand. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You squeezed his hand, leaning closer. “For the record, I think I’ve liked you for a while too.”

His grin widened, and before you could say anything else, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s soft and hesitant at first, then deeper as you both lean into it.

When you finally pull back, you’re both smiling.

“So,” you say, trying to lighten the mood, “when’s this date happening?”

Joe grins, his confidence back in full force. “How about right now?”

You laugh, leaning into him as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Fine. But next time we’re playing UNO, I’m winning.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But for now, I’m just glad I finally told you.”

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR IV

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.5k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Y'all do you know how hard it was to flirt using science and the topic of joker toxin?! I think I rewrote this chapter over ten times. I hope the subtext makes sense because I think my brain melted during this process. Also I'm still fairly new to posting on tumblr so I hope I'm doing the taglist correctly :) warnings: sexual innuendos, Jason being a low key stalker

BAT CAVE

Jason stepped deeper into the cave, the heavy echo of his boots bouncing off the stone walls. The cavern smelled faintly of earth, cleaning supplies, and the ever-present sting of coffee left too long to cool—unsurprising, given the miniature landfill of empty cups piled near Tim’s workstation.

“Jesus, Tim,” he muttered, eyeing the carnage. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

Tim didn’t look up. His voice was flat, gravel-edged with exhaustion. “I’ll sleep when I find our ghost.”

Jason arched a brow. “I’m pretty sure you said that yesterday.”

“And the day before that,” Tim murmured, squinting at lines of code bleeding across the massive screen. “I’m aware.”

Jason crossed his arms, stepping closer, gaze flicking over the data. “Any updates?”

Tim let out a hard sigh, slumping back in his chair. He dragged both hands down his face as if trying to wipe away the frustration before answering. “Just dead ends. No facial matches. No fingerprints. No aliases that last longer than a day. Whoever this guy is, he’s good. Really good.”

“Something doesn’t add up,” Jason said quietly. “No usual runner is this off the grid.”

“Exactly. And get this—Gordon pulled a small vial off Mancini and handed it off to B.” Tim’s brows furrowed. “Mancini was right. It’s a hybrid. Joker’s original strain—but there’s chemical coding in it that matches Scarecrow’s second-gen fear compound. It’s clean work. Scarily precise. Way beyond Joker’s usual brand of chaos. Even Crane’s compounds weren’t this sophisticated.”

Jason frowned, unease tightening in his gut. “So, what are you saying? That the bastard we’re chasing didn’t just steal the formula…”

Tim looked up, expression grim. “He probably helped make it.”

The words landed with a sickening weight.

Jason exhaled, low and sharp. “Shit.”

Tim turned back to the monitor, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “And Joker’s tearing through the underworld trying to find him. That’s why it’s gone quiet—people are either hiding… or dying. Fast.”

Jason exhaled slowly. “Then we need to move. Fast. If Joker gets his hands on the formula—”

“We’ll have a city-wide crisis on our hands,” Tim finished for him.

Jason’s jaw clenched. “Then we need an antidote. Even if it’s just a prototype.”

Tim shook his head. “We don’t have enough of the compound. No base, no ratios, no synthesis pattern. Without the exact formula, we’d be guessing in the dark.”

Jason slammed a fist lightly against the desk. “Then how the hell did a rat like Mancini get his hands on it?”

Tim shrugged. “Best guess? He stole it from Sionis. Would explain why he was looking over his shoulder every five seconds.”

“Idiot,” Jason muttered. His anger began to cool as he glanced over, noticing the dark circles etched beneath Tim’s eyes. The kid looked wired and worn thin. His voice softened. “You need sleep.”

“I can’t,” Tim’s fingers resumed their frantic pace across the keyboard. “What if I miss something? What if that formula shows up and we’re not ready?”

Jason stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Tim. You’ll miss something anyway if your brain crashes mid-keystroke. You’ve been staring at code for three days straight. You’re running on caffeine and spite.”

Tim didn’t stop typing. “It’s worked so far.”

Jason reached out pulled Tim away from the bat computer and forcing Tim to turn around and meet his eyes. “You’re not gonna outsmart this thing if you’re fried. You’ll be sharper after a break. Babs is still digging on her end. We’ve got the patrols. Get four hours. Hell, even two.”

Tim slumped in defeat, rubbing at his eyes as the tension finally bled from his shoulders. “Fine. A nap. But if I wake up and Gotham’s on fire—”

“Then it’s a normal day in this shit hole city,” Jason deadpanned.

A faint smile tugged at Tim’s lips, and he stood with a stretch that earned several cracks from his spine.

“I’ll keep digging until you’re up.” Jason promised, clapping a hand to Tim’s shoulder. “Go.”

Tim didn’t argue. He staggered toward the elevator, muttering about caffeine withdrawal and setting six alarms.

Jason waited until the lift closed behind him before turning back to the monitor. He should’ve jumped straight into the search—he’d been the loudest about stopping Joker’s next move— instead, his mind drifted. Not to Gotham. Not to toxins or their ghost. But to you.

It had been days since the bookstore, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about you.

“God, I can’t believe I’m actually becoming a stalker,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

Seeing you at the bookstore had been pure coincidence. But now? he could feel his curiosity getting the better of him, he wanted to see you again and with that the thought there, it was too tempting to ignore the resources at his disposal. 

A quick cross-reference of the store’s invoice system, and he’d found the record of your purchase. From there, it wasn’t hard to trace it to a name. A professional profile. A series of academic papers and lecture videos.

Doctor Y/N L/N. Neuroscientist. Lecturer and researcher at Gotham U.

He skimmed your credentials, the corner of his mouth twitching. You were sharp. Accomplished. Brilliant, even. Probably the kind of person who would’ve been Tim’s rival if he ever left the cave long enough to interact with actual humans.

“Damn,” Jason whistled low, scrolling through your faculty page. “You’re not just a pretty face.”

“Who is this?”

Jason nearly leapt out of the chair. “Jesus, Damian!”

Damian raised a brow, unimpressed, before glancing at the glowing monitor, gaze narrowing at the screen. “Who is she?”

Jason shifted awkwardly. “She’s, uh… potential lead. On the toxin thing.” Total lie. No way in hell he was confessing to stalking his own crush to demon spawn.

Damian frowned, clearly unconvinced. He glanced back at the screen. “She doesn’t look like an evil mastermind.”

Jason snorted. “Trust me. She’s smart enough to become one if she wanted.”

He clicked out of the window, not willing to risk further questions, and turned to face the youngest Wayne fully. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“I finished this week’s syllabus yesterday,” Damian said with a dismissive wave. “To make me attend that pit of idiocy is a waste of my time.”

Jason raised a brow. “Pretty sure Bruce expects you to show up regardless.”

“Father expects results, not attendance,” Damian replied coolly.

Jason leaned back in the chair, folding his arms. “If I call him right now and tell him his little prodigy’s playing hooky and creeping around the Batcave instead of sitting through trig, how fast do you think he’d be down here?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, I would love to,” Jason said, smirking as he slowly pulled his comm from his belt. “And I’ll tell Alfred to lock up your katanas until your attendance record’s squeaky clean.”

Damian looked murderous. “You are insufferable.”

“And you’re going to be late.”

With a muttered curse in Arabic, Damian spun on his heel and stormed toward the elevator like a tiny, furious emperor exiled from his marble court.

“This is why no one respects you,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Jason just smirked. “You’ll thank me one day.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Jason chuckled as the elevator doors closed. The cave was quiet again but this time, he left the file closed. He wasn’t risking another one of his siblings catching him mid-obsession.

But even as the lines of data loaded, he couldn’t stop the image of your smirk from flashing in his mind.

Damn it.

He was so screwed.

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

The weekend had vanished in a blink—gone before you had the chance to properly catch some rest. And now it was Tuesday morning, and you were once again standing in front of your lecture hall with a marker in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other—woefully undersized for the hour.

You weren’t even sure how you’d survived Monday. And Tuesday? Tuesday was dragging its feet like a teenager being forced out of bed.

Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe the mounting stack of papers needed to be graded. Or maybe—just maybe—it had something to do with the fact that Dick hadn’t texted since the weekend.

Aside from one polite message—Had a great time, can’t wait to see you again—there had been radio silence.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe he was being polite.

Maybe he decided that he wasn’t actually interested.

You bit back a sigh and turned back to the board, scrawling across the surface with just a touch more pressure than necessary. Whatever.  Who needed a man when you had a lecture hall full of sleep deprived students a terminal caffeine addiction, and a job that kept your brain so busy it barely had time to spiral?

Still… you checked your phone. Just once. Just in case.

Nothing.

Figures.

You exhaled through your nose, smoothed down your blouse, and turned back toward your students with the kind of smile worn only by women who had absolutely chosen the strong, independent path at seven in the godforsaken morning.

Because, despite everything��despite the early hours, the endless grading, and the fact that your bloodstream was 80% espresso—you loved this.

You loved teaching.

You loved the subject. The research and chaos. The spark that came when something clicked in a student’s eyes.

Teaching neuroscience was more than a paycheck; it was a passion. You just wished passion came with later start times. And a universally accepted pyjama policy.

You took a long sip of coffee, rolled your shoulders back, and turned toward your students, who were only just starting to blink the sleep from their eyes.

“Alright,” you said, clicking the projector to life. “Let’s talk about chemical warfare. And clowns.”

That earned a few raised brows of interest and handful of tired chuckles.

“True to my word,” you went on, as the screen behind you flickered to life, “we’re diving into Joker venom today. Specifically, the various known strains, their molecular architecture, and the neurological impacts they cause upon exposure.”

The first image flickered onscreen: a chart showing the original base compound. Beside it was a grainy field photo of a bright green liquid. The photo looked like it had been pulled from the bottom of a GCPD evidence locker.

“This,” you said, pointing with your marker, “was the earliest recorded version—crude, volatile, and grotesquely effective. Victims experienced intense euphoria, followed by uncontrollable laughter, vivid hallucinations, progressive paralysis, and ultimately… cardiac arrest.”

You paused, letting the weight of that settle in.

“But here’s where it gets interesting,” you said, clicking to the next slide. “The formula has evolved. It’s gotten cleaner. More efficient. Some of the newer strains show a disturbing level of sophistication. Less residue. More targeted dopamine flooding. In a few cases—nearly undetectable until it’s too late.”

A hand went up from the front row.

“Is there any known antidote?” the student asked.

You hesitated—just for a beat. “There are a few neutralizing agents that can be effective if administered immediately,” you said. “But a true, universal antidote? Not yet. Especially not for the more recent iterations. Most of our current strategies are reactive, not preventative.”

You paused.

“In short?” Your lips quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Don’t get exposed.”

A ripple of nervous laughter followed.

And then—

A new voice spoke up.

“Is it the toxin that kills them… or the effects it triggers first?”

You froze for half a second—not enough for anyone else to notice.

Your eyes scanned the lecture hall—and there he was. In the back row, half-slouched like the seat belonged to him. Leather jacket. Boots kicked up against the chair in front. Arms folded, expression far too smug for someone who had no damn business being here.

The last thing you’d expected was to see him here.

“Interesting point,” you replied, crisp and professional, like he was another one of your students. You refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “The toxin is the cause, yes—but it’s the chain reaction that actually kills. The laughter, the convulsions, the paralysis… the body shuts down before most people even realize what’s happening.”

Jason tilted his head slightly. “So the damage isn’t in the delivery. It’s in what it sets off.”

You clicked to the next slide. “Exactly. The moment it hits, your body stops being yours. It rewires everything—how you feel, how you think. You can’t reason your way out of it.”

He nodded slowly, like he already knew that and just wanted to hear you say it. “Some people get hit harder than others, though, right?”

You arched a brow. “Depends on the target.”

“Some look fine. At first,” he said. “They act normal. But the toxin’s already working underneath.”

The look he gave you made the implication clear.

You smiled tightly. “Some strains are less effective than they look. Easy to handle if caught early.”

“Wait—” a girl near the middle row piped up, frowning. “I thought there was no cure for Joker venom?”

You cleared your throat, ignoring the flush creeping along your neck. “For the newer variants, yes. They’re more chemically advanced and difficult to reverse. But with some of the older versions—If the symptoms are identified early enough—intervention is possible.”

Jason leaned forward in his seat, resting his chin on his hand, grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “But what if someone lets it run its course anyway?”

You didn’t look at him.

You just smiled for the class. “Then some people are clearly very stupid.”

A few students laughed in confusion, but no one actually picked up on the double meaning of the conversation. You turned back toward the board.

“Now then,” you said briskly, “back to the chemistry before anyone else gets the idea this is interactive.”

You didn’t even make it halfway through the next slide before his voice cut in again—calm, amused, and very much on purpose.

“So how much exposure does it take before the effects become permanent?”

You inhaled through your nose and closed your eyes for half a beat.

Some of the students nodded—taking the bait. A girl in the second row had already scribbled the question into her notes.

But you knew exactly what he was doing.

You turned, voice level, gaze sharper. “Depends on the dosage. And the subject. Repeated exposure can cause cumulative neurological damage, but again—some people are more susceptible than others.”

Jason stood. Hands in his jacket pockets, he walked down the aisle like he had all the time in the world. Like none of this was strange or inappropriate.

“Say someone’s exposed to a small dose,” he went on, “but it happens a few times. Do they build immunity? Or will the damage be done?”

He stopped just short of the first row—just shy of your space. Close enough that your skin prickled with heat. You were painfully aware of the eyes of your students on you now.

Your jaw clenched.

“Well,” you said, eyes narrowed, “whoever’s insane enough to try that should probably check themselves into Arkham.”

He stepped closer, just slightly. Just enough that only you could hear him when he murmured, low and maddening:

“Why do that… when there’s a cure standing right here?”

“Funny,” you said, lips curling into something that might’ve passed for a smile if not for the fire in your eyes. “Because the only thing I see right now is a recurring symptom.”

Behind him, someone cleared their throat—a student, probably wondering whether they were still attending a lecture or some avant-garde performance piece. 

You exhaled sharply and stepped toward him, your expression still pleasant for the room, but your voice dropped to a hiss meant for his ears alone.

“What the hell are you doing? This is a lecture. You’re not cute.”

He smirked, unbothered. “Didn’t say I was. Just here to learn about toxins… and their reactions.” 

You gritted your teeth. “You’re disrupting my job.”

“I’ll stop if you go out with me.”

“Not a damn chance.” You scoff.

Then, as if this was his stage now, he turned slightly toward the class, raising his voice with faux curiosity. “Actually, that reminds me. Has anyone considered how different outcomes might vary depending on emotional state during exposure? Say, for example, if someone was already—”

“I swear to God—”

“Look,” he said, still in that maddeningly calm tone as he turned back to her, “one hour. That’s all I’m asking. If it sucks, you can forget I exist.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If I still say no?”

Jason shrugged, entirely too relaxed. “I’ll keep showing up. Keep asking questions. Might even bring snacks next time. We’ll see how interactive this gets.”

You stared at him. He stared right back.

God, he was smug.

God, he was gorgeous.

God, you hated this.

“…Fine,” you muttered. “One hour,” you said through gritted teeth. “And if you speak once during the rest of this lecture, I will report you for harassment and ban you from this campus.”

His grin was shameless. “Understood, Professor.”

He backed up, hands raised, retreating like the smug menace he was—but this time with a victory in his step.

He turned and walked back up the aisle, dropping back into his seat like this was the plan all along.

You turned back to the board, face burning, students utterly unaware that their professor had just been emotionallystrong-armed into a date by a six-foot leather-wrapped problem with a smirk. 

Jason, to his credit, didn’t speak again. Not once.

But he didn’t need to.

Because for the next forty-five minutes, you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Surprisingly, Jason actually found himself listening as you spoke. He learned what actually happened inside someone exposed to Joker venom—what went wrong in their brain. He’d never thought to ask before. That was always Bruce’s domain, or Tim’s. The analysis. The endless case files with chemical structures and psych profiles and margin notes scribbled in too-small handwriting. Jason had always preferred the fighting portion of vigilantism. 

But hearing it from you…

Maybe it was the way your voice shifted—calm but impassioned—or how you didn’t shy away from the brutality of it. You didn’t sensationalize it, either. You explained it like a surgeon would describe an autopsy—clinical, controlled, but with a quiet thread of empathy running through every word.

Jason had seen what Joker venom did to people.

He’d dealt the aftermath.

He’d watched the light go out in someone’s eyes while they laughed themselves into oblivion.

But he’d never truly understood it. Not like this.

The way you spoke about neurotransmitter chaos—how dopamine floods rewired fear into joy, how serotonin short-circuited pain into pleasure, how laughter wasn’t just a reaction, but a seizure disguised as euphoria. The complete collapse of inhibition, followed by motor control, then respiratory function—it was horrifying. And fascinating.

You made him want to know more.

And then, in a moment that startled him, he wondered what you’d make of him.

Of the Lazarus Pit. Of what it did to the brain when it brought someone back from the dead. Of the rage. The episodes. The memory gaps. Of the madness that still affected him.

Would you call it neurological trauma? A chemical imbalance? Would you look at him like a subject—or something broken to fix?

He leaned back in his chair, arms loose, fingers tapping idly against his knee. You were pacing now, marker in hand, drawing a new diagram with quick, practiced ease. Sharp lines, fluid motion. You were alive up there—animated and fierce in your element. And he couldn’t help but watch. Not just your words. But you.

The way your voice sharpened when a student asked a half-formed question. The gleam in your eye when someone got it. The small, unconscious smile when the pieces clicked.

You cared. Genuinely.

About the material. About the kids in this room. About what this information could mean outside of it.

“Alright,” you said finally, capping the marker with a soft snap and stepping back. “That’s it for today. You’re free to go—unless you’re dying to ask more questions about the joys of chemically induced insanity.”

Laughter stirred through the room. Chairs scraped back. A few students filtered out with lingering glances and whispered praise. Others loitered to gather notes or quietly debate the finer points of dopamine regulation.

Jason didn’t move.He waited—calm, steady—watching you sort your materials, stack your folders, and close your laptop shut.

When you finally turned toward him, arms crossing over your chest and one brow raised in challenge, he rose from his seat like a man who had all the time in the world and nothing to prove.

“Ready, Professor?” he asked, voice low, smug as ever.

You rolled your eyes, gathering your bag. “You’re lucky I’m a woman of my word.”

Jason smirked. “Some might say that’s an admirable quality.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Some might say it’s a flaw.”

THE GOLDEN CUP

Jason—as you’d recently learned his name was—took you to The Golden Cup, one of Gotham’s most aggressively popular coffee chains.

On the walk over, you’d checked your phone—more out of habit than hope—and found, unsurprisingly, that there was still no message from Dick.

And that was when you decided.

You weren’t going to wait up for him. You’d had one date. No promises. No exclusivity. Just a good night that clearly hadn’t meant the same thing to both of you.

So fine.

You were going to give Jason a chance.

No matter how infuriating, arrogant, or absolutely insufferable he was—he was persistent. And maybe, just maybe, that counted for something.

Even if he made you want to strangle him half the time.

Especially then.

You forced a polite smile as he held the door open for you. The place had a sleek, modern interior, all brushed steel and pale wood, the kind of aesthetic that screamed corporate chic. Chalkboards lined the walls, scrawled with endless customizable drink options in cheery handwriting, as if sugar and soy milk could compensate for the fact that the coffee tasted like watered-down burnt beans. 

You bit back a grimace. The air buzzed with the frantic energy of sleep-deprived students and frazzled office workers. 

“The Golden Cup?” you asked, more out of disbelief than curiosity.

Jason shrugged, as if the choice had been perfectly logical. “Figured this was your kind of place.”

You mirrored the gesture, masking your annoyance. After how hard he’d worked to get this hour with you, the last thing you wanted was to admit you actually despised it here. “The girls on my gymnastics team used to love this place,” you offered instead.

That made him pause. “Wait—you did gymnastics?”

You nodded. “Bars. Tumbling. The works.”

“Huh.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes skimming over you like he was trying to reconcile that image with the one in front of him.

Your eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, a little too quickly. “You just don’t seem like the type.”

You stiffened. “And what type is that?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled, the sound light but strained.

But the damage was done. The words echoed louder than they should have—because you wanted this to go well. You’d told yourself you were being open, trying not to let old scars taint something new. Like Milo kept encouraging. But there it was again—another man slotting you into a tidy box. 

Jake used to do the same thing.

“So how did you mean it?” you asked, voice calm but tight.

Jason looked like he wished he’d said nothing at all. “I just meant… never mind, okay?”

The line moved forward. He stepped up to the counter, clearly flustered, and ordered without turning to you. Two hot coffees. Black.

You stared at the back of his head in disbelief. He didn’t even ask.

When he reached for his wallet, you turned on your heel and walked out.

The bell above the door jingled as you stepped into the Gotham air, crisp and biting against your cheeks. You exhaled hard, realizing only then how tense your jaw had become.

You didn’t make it far before the door slammed open again. Footsteps pounded after you.

“Hey! Wait up!” Jason called.

You kept walking until his hand lightly caught your arm.

“Where are you going?”

You turned, met his eyes. “I just don’t think this is going to work.”

Confusion flashed across his face. “What? It’s barely been ten minutes.”

“And that’s all I needed.”

He stared at you, disbelief written in every line of his face. “Come on, that’s not fair.”

“Ever since we met,” you said, keeping your tone level, “you’ve done nothing but make assumptions. You act as if you know me based on a glance and a guess.”

“That’s not true,” he snapped. “I—what assumptions?”

“The book recommendation, the coffee shop itself. You didn’t even ask what I wanted to drink,” you pointed out. “You just ordered hot coffee.”

“Everyone loves hot coffee!”

“I don’t.”

His mouth opened, then closed.

“And then there was the gymnastics thing.”

He winced. “Okay, maybe that came out wrong—”

“It’s not just that. It’s how you said it. Like I didn’t look the part. What—because I’m a doctor?”

“What? No!” he said quickly, like the idea shocked him. “That’s not what I meant at all!”

“You don’t know me, and you clearly don’t care to.” you said, stepping back. “You saw me in the bookstore and figured I looked easy. The kind of girl you could charm in five minutes with a smirk and some half-assed lines.”

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off before he could try to spin it.

“I said no,” you reminded him. “So now I’m a challenge. That’s all this is to you—a game you don’t want to lose.”

His expression shifted. Defensive. 

“But let’s get one thing straight,” you continued, voice like ice. “Whatever bad boy charm you think you’ve got going for you? It doesn’t work on me. I’ve seen it before. You’re not new.”

Jason scoffed, tension bleeding into sarcasm. “Guess I should’ve worn a suit and talked about Nietzsche.”

You shook your head, a hollow laugh escaping. “God, this is exactly why I’m walking away.”

“Oh, right,” he said, stepping forward. “Because you’re uptight and judgmental? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re not exactly a ray of sunshine either.”

You stiffened, heat rising in your chest. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice was sharp now, stripped of its earlier charm. “You walked in here with your mind already made up. You want to lecture me on assumptions? Take a good look in the mirror. You’re no better, Princess.”

The words hit like a slap— For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stared at him, breathing hard, your pride wounded, your heart thudding against your ribs with something that felt too much like anger… and something else you didn’t want to name.

You were done. Whatever thread of tolerance you’d held onto had snapped clean through. “You know what? I’m not doing this. Let’s just call it a night.”

“Oh, can we?” he muttered, hands flung out to the side. “Please.”

“Good night,” you snapped, already turning.

“Sayonara.”

“Have fun with yourself.”

“Ciao, sweetheart. Tell the HOA at Pretentious Pointe I said hi.”

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[keferon]

Ok i said i would do itater, but this was done for my sister who got really hurt and wanted comfort out of my drabble, shout out to you @saltynsassy31 XD

This will probably be very OOC bc again, i am NOT too acquainted with these characters

So apologies in advance, but i think this will still be very entertaining for you :]

So yeah, here's part 2!

---

Jazz was tired, they haven't given him much time to rest since he came back. And even if they did, it's not like he could rest anyways, thinking about....about Prowl.

No way he could have just left him, right? After everything....it just didn't feel right, and the way they spoke to him about it too. Call him crazy but something in his gut told him they were hiding something from him. But it just never seemed enough to push him to look into it (oh how he would regret that for the rest of his life)

Today was supposed to be a normal routine check to the new mechas, with new recruits coming in for him to teach.

Jazz was given a new mecha suit, despite his protests to it (which surprised even him honestly, but it just didn't feel right). He hadn't gotten the chance to see it yet, today was the day they would present the new model, though it was said to be in its early stages still.

...

He doesn't know how it happened, how he'd gotten here, but all he knew was that he had seen red. When he gotten to see his new mech suit, it seemed oddly familiar in touch, in fact something about it made him feel sick to his stomach.

Small dents and scarring coated the plating around the panels that opened to the cockpit. He recognised that plating, from crawling on it with his magnets, sleeping on them comfortably despite being made of metal (there was something so warm about it, but that warmth was....lost. He wanted to puke). But what broke the string holding him together, a scar, a scar so familiar it sent him back to the exact moment he witnessed his partner getting it in the first place.

Jazz had weilded that shut himself, they had gotten in a bad scuffle a while back, and with worry he wanted to try and make sure Prowl wouldn't be in too much pain before they could get some proper help.

"Jazz?" Someone called out to him. That was the last thing he remembered.

Now? Now he stood by the halls in which they didn't allow the likes of him inside, the halls in which the scientists worked on. He made a fast dash to the last room, the room one of the scientists told him had the one he was looking for (though he wasn't proud to admit he had perhaps aggressively gotten that answer out of the poor guy). He had a weird unknown blaster weapon with him that he had ripped from the mech suit he was supposed to try out (deep down, he hoped that weapon didn't belong to Prowl. He hoped that he wasn't too late), using that, he blasted the door open hoping that would keep anyone from stopping him from getting inside.

As soon as Jazz layed his eyes on the scene before him; his partner hanging from wires holding him into place, chain keeping him from leaving, mutilated almost beyong recognition save his face, and with a small weak staticked cry from his partner, "Jazz?" the small bit of awarness he had gained back was gone again. All he could do in that moment was to yell, a desperate cry that came from the pits of his lungs.

"GET AWAY FROM MY PARTNER!"

And in another flurry of motions he didn’t have complete control over, he was beating the ever living hell out of the prick who decided it was a good idea to mess with HIS partner! He didn’t even know how long he had been at it until the twisted man he called a boss scratched his face, small bits of blood flowing out. In shock and pain, he grabbed the man by the neck of his shirt and threw him to the otherside of the room. Once he was certain that he wouldn't be getting up again, he turned to face Prowl once more, running and calling out to him as he ran to scoop up his beloved's face, blurting out a mess of an apology.

"I'm so sorry, i shouldn't have brought you here- we, we need to get you out-"

Oh did the guilt eat him up from the inside, he- he shouldn't have brought him here. Prowl probably hated him right now, but the sudden distant bell of an alarm down the halls had him scrambling to his feet to try and make things right.

Suddenly, as adrenaline slowly faded off, he realised how much damage he had actually taken throughout his rampage, a limp on his left leg catching up to him. Stinging pain on his face and limbs, but he needed to keep moving, they weren't safe yet.

"I have to get you to a safe place," he mumbled, mostly to himself, "and- and then maybe call for help. Oh but who could i even go to?" As he spoke, he started to set Prowl's limbs free from it's chains, gods they were so damaged, he could barely look at the missing parts. But as he worked his way through, he let out small sighs of relief to see that at least, he seemed to not be missing some vital parts. He could still maybe make a run for it, if only he could stall the facility long enough-

"You really shouldn't have...."

Jazz turned in shock, Prowl's voice snapping him out of his panicked haze.

"Prowl..." if he wasn’t crying already, now he certainly was. Gods he fucked up badly.

Not having the courage to face the other just yet, he turned back to the chained leg he had been working on. Prowl didn't seem to have wanted an answer either way, sitting up as he watched the organic do his work (Jazz tried to ignore the missing arm).

As he finished getting rid of the chain, he got up again, letting out a hiss of pain from his injuries (which did not go unnoticed by the mech). Clutching his left side as a bleeding cut let out a terrible stinging sensation which he doesn't think he'll ever get used to, he walked over to the final limb stuck under chains. As he walked over, he briefed over the quick plan he thought of

"Look, i- i know you might not trust me right now-" a huff, almost soundling like a disbeliefing chuckle, was heard from the mech, Jazz ignored it. "But there is a place you can go to and hide, hide- hide until maybe i can get help or- or find a way to send you back-"

"You wouldn't make it that far." Prowl spoke, matter of factly, which got a hit under Jazz's skin

"I know that! Which is why you will make a run for it. There's an exit by the other side of this room where you can leave-"

A sudden realisation hit Prowl. Jazz wasn't planning on coming with him.

And the human nodded, seeming to understand that Prowl finally got what he was saying. As he reached the last final screw to Prowl's chains, he finished off what he was trying to say "I'll keep them busy long enough for you to leave," before he could finish, as the final screw was let lose and Prowl was free to move, he felt himself be lift up from the ground and let out a startled yelp. "Wha- HEY!"

It took Jazz being shoved inside Prowl's cockpit for him to realise that he had been picked up by the mech (maybe a possible concussion he thought to himself). Jazz couldn't even try to jump out as, despite it missing the plating to shut him inside, Prowl placed his servo up to close to exit.

Desperately and confused, Jazz called out, "What are you doing?!"

To be entirely honest, Prowl wasn't sure himself, he was just as confused as the human to his actions, usually so full of logic. This one was acted apon pure emotion. Emotion of fear, anxiety, anger but most importantly

Desperation

Because somehow, this stupid human had his spark between his fingers, and he'd be dammed if he let him get himself killed just for him.

This isn't how he would want to say goodbye

---

Thanks again, to my sister who pushed me to write this, and also helped out in some parts!

Might have done more if i could, but it's super late rn lol (it's 4am and our mon will kills us for staying up this late).

Again sorry for any OOC moments, but i hope this was to your enjoyment! Maybe i can do a part 3 to this, but idk enough about how things work to do that, so i let anyone be free to mess around with this :]

Oh my... oh fuck I can't. I just keep thinking about Prowl pressing his palm on his chest even when other humans eventually get to him and start shooting. He's a mess, half of his armor is missing he's probably leaving an energon trail behind him. But he knows that while it would take a lot of bullets to take him down, it would take only one lucky bullet to kill Jazz. I'm. AUGh

[goingmerryfics]

Sitting in their lap while they’re not paying attention - w/ Sanji, Killer, & Crocodile

Content: Gender neutral reader and SFW

Notes* Part two to the Luffy, Kid & Law version! Read the others here: 1 2 3 4

Sanji

Sanji finishes up the dishes and sits down for a break in the kitchen

It’s your time to strike

He’s always exhausted after cooking and cleaning, so there’s no way he’s going to move now

Of course, you like to help him out every now and then even though he insists on doing it himself every time, you still like to give him a break from Luffy’s sky high stack of plates

You’re drying your hands while he’s trying to light his smoke, and you almost run over there when he leans back in his chair

You seat yourself down in his lap, a bit askew and sideways from the rush of things

He doesn’t look back up for a while, but when he does, his face is bright red

Heart eyes, goofy smile, nosebleed. In that order

“Oh, my love! What’s this about?”

You coo at him that you just wanted to give him some attention and he melts

He helps you shift to face him instead. That way you can press kisses to his cheek and neck, right where he loves getting them the most

Overall it’s very fluffy and sweet until Zoro enters the room and makes a comment about the two of you ‘needing a room’

Sanji reems him out of course, screaming that he can do whatever he wants in his own kitchen

Eventually it’s just the two of them screaming at each other and in the chaos, Sanji lifts you up to put you on the table so he can kick the shit out of Zoro

You’ll find him later and do it again, though. Maybe when everyone else is asleep, though

Killer

Getting him to sit down and be busy enough where he won’t notice you is a challenge, because he will always look up at whoever is entering and, especially in your case, he will greet you happily

It’s less of waiting for him to be busy and more catching him completely off guard

Funny enough, if you just told him you wanted to sit in his lap, he’d let you

But that’s no fun!

You sneak into the room he’s in, with the unknowing help of Heat or Wire or both that are chatting him up and keeping most of his attention away

You move quickly to slip into his lap with a lot of body maneuvering when he notices you’re here and tries to make space for you

Killer reacts the same way that someone would if a kitten laid down in their lap

He’s all smiles behind the mask

He’s stiff, mostly because he doesn’t want you to leave

After a moment of waiting, he wraps his arms securely around you

He never once loses his place while talking to the others, though. It’s no so much of a surprise situation that he would be too flustered to function

But don’t get him wrong- he’s definitely bright red 

“Is this just a thing that’s going to happen all the time, now?”

He starts to invite you to sit in his lap all the time

Doesn’t matter who’s around or who’s watching, he loves holding you against his chest and nuzzling into your shoulder

It’s slightly uncomfortable due to the mask, but his big arms make up for it

Crocodile

It’s so, stupidly easy to catch him off guard enough to sit in his lap

Sure, he’s ruthless when it comes to his enemies, but when he’s just working things out in his office with all his lackeys not far away, he’s less aware of his surroundings

Because while he doesn’t trust anyone at all, he also knows they would be idiots to try and do anything to him

You enter his office and drop some of your paperwork on his desk. He doesn’t even look up- he knows who it is by the clean smell of perfume/cologne you wear

You swerve around his desk and push his chair back, and only then does he finally look up, confused

You take your seat right there in his lap

He chuckles immediately, a dangerous smirk spreading on his face very quickly

He takes the cigar from his mouth and puts a hand on your thigh

“You’re getting bold.”

It’s a simple statement, but it’s one that means he likes your style

Wrap your arms around his shoulders and he’s all yours

Complete attention shift from his work to kissing you anywhere he can

If anyone were to walk in during this share of affection, he would threaten them right away

He’s a private guy, and these times he gets with you are special to him

Although

If need be, he would be happy to prove to people who you belong to if anyone got too brave with you

Crocodile doesn’t verbally ask you to sit in his lap after this, but he also doesn’t make it easy to leave him be

He’ll instinctively move his swivel chair towards you when you enter the room, empty lap waiting expectantly for you

Sometimes he doesn’t notice that he does it- it’s become ingrained into his mind to do it

He’ll let you sit there for hours while he works as long as you’re not a distraction

[pvrkacciosan]

Teeth and Tongues

Summary: After a confrontation with the cadet that landed you in the infirmary weeks ago, her word igniting an anger in you, you prove to yourself the weight of your relationship with Bodhi with more than just words.

Pairing: Bodhi Duran x Marked Fem! Reader

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+ , !NSFW!, explicit smut scenes, swearing, oral male and female receiving, Unedited part.

A.n: All plot ends here. Hope this makes up for the long wait between these parts. With a sappy ending.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 (Final Part)

☽⋆❈⋆☾

Cassandra continued to stare down at you along the bulbous ridge of her nose, her eyes narrowing to a sharp glare.

"Watch where you're going, marked-" her mouth fell open to finish her sentence, until she glanced around at the tables of cadets that had silence their own conversations to listen in on their interaction, All well aware of the fight between the two of you that landed you in the infirmary.

"It really must be uncomfortable for you to have such a self righteous stick up your arse Cassandra." Keeping your words soft and expression even softer as Cassandra turns back, you watched as her expression turned sour to glare at you once more, ignoring the attention of the other cadets.

"At least I don't have to lower my self worth to fuck in a storage closet." You stilled, Cassandra pouted in mock thought, "Or are you that ashamed of sweet Bodhi you won't allow him to show his affections publicly." At the insinuation you couldn't help the rising anger, the liquid fire of the blood in your veins, the unbridled anger as she pouts with mockery

She leaned an inch closer, "I will admit, I certainly would let him do wonders to me, I'm sure I could treat him way better" Cassandra tilted her head closer to keep her voice hushed, "It's a shame he is also damned with the rest of you marked bastards."

As she leaned back, a laugh brushing through her parting lips all your rising anger threw itself at your resolve, she darted her eyes to Bodhi across the hall, "Perhaps I might just see if I can pleasure him better then you, seeing as he only cares enough to fuck you in closets." As Cassandra walked back, triumphantly smiling to herself, Your resolve finally snapped, the tensioned wire of you anger taking full control.

It only took one calculated fast swing to down her, perhaps she hadn't been expecting you to react in the hall full of witnesses but you couldn't give two flying fucks, The crack of your fist against the side of her face was the greatest satisfaction in that moment.

Even as Asra roared in delight through your bond. Triumph thumping from her end. Pride.

Lunging to follow Cassandra's form as it crumpled to the floor of the cadet filled hall, you pinned her beneath you with a knee to her sternum and swung again, and again as the commotion resounded through the hall, drawing all eyes in the direction to the fight, Cadets standing from their tables to watch the scene unfold. Wing leaders jumping to attention as squads leaders ran from every corner of the hall, to break up the fight.

"Y/N!" You register Bodhi yelling, but continued to only see red and your fist yet again collided with Cassandra's cheek as two pairs of hands grab for you,

You fight against them, jerking a shoulder forward to throw a final punch, when that doesn't work you kick out, it lands into her stomach, a whoosh of air exploding from Cassandra.

"Y/n" Bodhi is closer now, the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear, as he continues to pull you back, Xaden positioning himself between you and Cassandra.

Bodhi tightens his arms around your waist, lifting you further back.

"Crazy bitch" Cassandra spat blood onto the ground of the hall as she rose,

You try to lunge from Bodhi's grip, he holds firm, "Y/n" he tried to keep his voice soft, "My love" the name struck something inside you, turning in his arms, you can't ignore how delicately he says it, the way he watches you with such pride and admiration and a hint of desire, the heat of it in his stare is almost overwhelming, it warms you core reigniting the need for him in one second.

There is a soft huff of amusement from Cassandra, turning to meet her with a glare you notice the way she looks Bodhi up and down, noting his hands still encircled around your waist.

It's the only prompt you need, Turning back around in his grip, you clasp the side of his jaw and lean in quickly, thankful he doesn't shy away as you kiss him fully.

His fist balls the fabric of your flight jacket, tugging you impossibly closer as he deepens the kiss. Tilting your head, Bodhi matches the movement with ease, until someone behind you clears their throat.

Breaking away, Garrick gives you both a pointed look as he turns to glare at any cadet who contemplated making a comment at the public display.

"Bodhi, get her out of here." Xaden commands from your other side, as Cassandra jumps up, spying the blood trickling from her nose and bruising already beginning to bloom across the swelling ball of her cheek you can't help but smirk in ascendancy.

"She started it! She attacked me, She needs to be punished" Cassandra cried out, glancing around and pathetically taking hold of her bruising face,

"And she will." His voice racks your neck,

Even as Cassandra continued to be a distraction you can't ignore the way Bodhi's hand tighten against you waist, perhaps in promise of said punishment, The notion makes your stomach twist in anticipation. Reaching back to clasp one of his hands. He takes it gently into his own,

"Bodhi." Xaden outright ignores Cassandra's pleads, twisting his attention to his cousin, Taking the que Bodhi tugs you with his hold on your hand. Pushing you to walk in front of him, leading out the hall.

Once out of the view, you pull your hand from his and begin walking faster through hallways,

"Y/n" Bodhi begins to hurry after you, concern laced in his tone. When you didn't respond, he continued to follow without question, noting the passages you took, Bodhi simply allows you to lead him to his own room.

You swung the door open, waltzing through the wards of his room with ease, the warmth coating your skin as you passed the threshold. As soon as Bodhi followed over you pivoted, barely giving him enough time to swing the door shut.

He held your gaze intently as you approached, he hands rising to embrace your sides, a grip slipping around your back, the edge of a finger brushing the smalls of your back as he teased the edge of your flight jacket up across the expanse of your bare skin still yearning for his touch since leaving the supply closet..

Leaning with the encouragement of his hold, you press forwards, and Bodhi allows himself to be pushed back into his door, watching you with hooded eyes, that hazed with desire as he smirked,

"Looks like my training has done you well." Bodhi doesn't even try to hide his amusement,

"You think?" You muse, titling you head back to maintain the heat of his attention. He tugs you sharply by his hold on your waist, closing the space between you, the bone of his pelvis hitting the edges of your own. The friction of your body against his growing erection has Bodhi bristling, his nostrils flaring wide.

He releases one hand to reach for you jaw, a finger uncurling to caress the line of the bone, "I would say so. Though I much prefer watching you beat the shit out of someone that isn't me"

He leans closer, his thumb lifting your head, tilting his own so his lips a line to the rim of your own until you felt the heat of his breath, "I'm sure you'd love to watch me do other things to you."

His eyes widen a fraction as they darken, sharply inhaling you rise up and kiss him, snaking a hand up his arm. Allowing it to rest at the back of his neck to support and control.

Bodhi was first to escalate further, quickly drawing his kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, allowing you to arch into his chest, his hold on your back molding you to his centre of gravity.

His teeth grate against the pulse there, jackhammering your heart harder, faster, as small pants escape you.

Rising your hands, between you and undoing the top of your flight leathers you loosen them before latching you fixation on releasing Bodhi from his own. Finger shaking as he bites the skin covering your collar bone,

"Bodhi-"

His hand clenches at your lower back at the sound of his name falling from your strangled moan, He begins to walk you both back, towards his bed, unmade covers sprawled in every direction, you stumbled on one underfoot as you move blindly backwards, Bodhi wraps his full arm around you now, hoisting you up to prevent you both from falling. Lowering you to the bed now, he begins to unbuckle the top of the leathers straining around the growing bulge,

Freeing his erection, a sound escapes him at the accidental friction as you crawl closer, reaching the end of the bed.

You stretch for him, Bodhi grabs your wrist gently halting before you touch him.

His brow knits together, "What are you.."

"Let me," You ease his hand from off your wrist and push up off the mattress, standing to push him to sit on your previous position on the edge of his bed,

Bodhi watched you slowly slip the remainder of your clothing from your body, its dropped around our ankles, stepping out you kick away the leathers.

Taking half a step you position yourself to stand between his knees, Bodhi watches as you raise a hand, running it along his jaw and curling around the back of his head, gripping a fistful of hair to lean his head back.

Kissing once more you lower until you other hand can slip to cup him gentle. Bodhi retract from your mouth, eyes squeezing shut as he shakily nods to you for permission,

Lowering to kneel at the end of the bed, you kiss down his torso, hand smoothing down the sides of his cock which stiffens further under your touch. Thumb rubbing along the pulsing vein and smoothing over the angry red tip, the bead of liquid warming your touch.

Bodhi's chest rises and falls deeply under you mouth, each kiss igniting a fiery trail that traced lower and lower, exhaling harshly to control his impulse to move into your touch. Lowering to press sloppy kisses to his hips, You drawn lines with your lips, a dot to dot across his v-line.

"My love, your teasing is torture." His words are strained through gritted teeth as the muscles in his legs tense under the soft touch, Bodhi tenses as you cup his balls, so tight he flinches from sheer sensitivity to the soft touches. Cupping them a little more forcefully Bodhi goes to fall back onto the mattress.

You dig your nails into his thigh above his knee, to grapple his attention to you kneeling for him, "I want you to watch me. Crumble for me as you almost did when I kicked Cassandra's ass. "

His hips twitch up as you wrap a hand around his cock, and he struggles to keep his head up. Bracing his forearms along the bed behind him for support, Bodhi offers a shaky nod, Watching carefully as you lower yourself to him.

Unable to stop thinking about Cassandra's words, Like fuck would she ever get the satisfaction of pleasuring Bodhi. You would be better then her in every way.

Flat tongue flicking out to glide down the underside of his cock, You felt Bodhi tension, thighs shaking beside you as you begin to glide along the ridge of the vein, following it like a mapped trail to the base of his cock, sinking down to situate him fully, tip grazing the back of your throat.

Your eyes brimmed with tears, but pulling back you plunged him back in with more ease this time. Cheek hollowing as your tongue flatted against him.

A free hand dragging across the muscle of his thigh until it cups his balls, squeezing lightly, Soft sounds are filling the room as he struggles to keep himself from falling back on the mattress.

The heat of his attention on you, Bodhi's chest rising and falling rapidly as he watched you glide up and down his cock, Fixating on the point which his length disappears from view inside your mouth, the sight is near dizzying as the tension draws like a tight string right through him.

"Y/n" Bodhi choked on your name as you drag your teeth down his length nose brushing his pubic bone, feeling his length twitch in your mouth, He tried to shift, but you held firm against his thighs, until you felt the warmth of him releasing into your throat, Swallowing as much as you can swallowing around the length of him, you finally slip him out from the seal of you mouth, licking the residue from off the tip of his cock, smiling triumphantly as Bodhi finally collapsed back, sweat was gleaming across his sternum, Chest panting rapidly to draw breath.

Easy up from the ground and wiping the trail of evidence from your chin, you meet Bodhi's gaze, its heated and darkness swirls there as he watches your thumb, tracking its movement as it drags to your mouth as you sucked the substance from the pad of your finger.

He shifts onto his arm, pushing up. The muscles of his torso flexing with the calculated movements, Bodhi rights himself up, reaching to clasp your thigh, His palm flattens on your hamstring, tugging behind your knee until your forced to crawl onto the edge of the bed. Blankets padding beneath you,

His hands, tighten and grabs carefully pulling your body to his, Angling his head back so his mouth levels with the round curve of your breasts,

He grates kissed along the bone in your sternum, trailing slowly, his grip pulling you into his mouth.

You can hardly think as he takes a nipple into his mouth, the edge of his teeth catching the sensitive flesh, You gasp rocking forward into him, the flick of his tongue swirling around -

Wrapping a hand behind his neck, you tuck, a scratch, looking for grip as he centred to suck and pull at your nipple. Each tug shooting fire into your belly, deep and rumbling from need.

A pulse building, aching for touch,

Bodhi is smirking as he tilts back, relaxing into the blankets and pillows at the top of the bed, His fingers dig into the hot skin of your waist, a single tug, urging you to follow,

He has eased all the way down onto his back, eye sweeping across every mile of your body that was turning pliant under his touch,

"Sit." His command is followed by another gentle tug, pulling you further up his body, Across that toned torso and higher, "Sit" He urges, both hands now surrounding your thighs and pulling your weight down to his face.

"Bodhi-" You tried to hide the apprehension in your voice, despite the tightening in your stomach, the anticipation making the muscles in your legs shakes as your hover, exposed inches above his face.

He strokes a reassuring circle down your leg, thumb curving around the bone of your knee, "This is one seat that is only made for you, my love"

Lowering down, thighs burning you melt the second his tongue penetrates up into you, A groan vibrating from under, strong and sure Bodhi gets to work.

You can't help the strangled cry, falling forwards to brace against the headboard, "Bodhi" A warning and a prayer.

The power of his name on your lips drives his tongue up into your deeper, building a rhymical pulse in your core with each thrust up. His thumb continuing to delicately stroke your thigh reassuringly.

With each purposeful lap of his tongue, mouth suctioning to your core, You relax rocking your hips in rhythm with each flick, weighing down to chase every dart of his tongue.

Your arms shake as you grip tighter to support, arching to stay stable enough the edges of everything in the room around you blurring, insignificant in every way.

A broad stroke of his tongue, lapping across the clit had you unravelling, completely coming undone over his face.

You could drown in the pleasure as it pulsed in heating waves through you. Every inch intoxicating you movements, it was a struggle to lift yourself on shaking legs, knees holding you up as Bodhi emerged from under you,

He swallows hard, wide eyes meeting your own, His skin was flushed and chest rose and fell quickly. He wraps an arm around you, and you allowed yourself to be flipped onto you back, unable to fight against the manoeuvre, body too dazed to listen to your command.

Reaching up a hand to drag across his chest, the thump of his heart was hammering under your palm,

Bodhi had lowered himself, cocks poised ready at your entrance, hard once more, rigid and posed for action, "Let me fulfill my promise from this morning," his hand falls to guide himself into you,

The stretch is pleasant, the length of him caused you to clench around his cock,

Bodhi groaned, head falling to rest his forehead on your shoulder, his own shaking, the muscles rippling with anticipation.

"Move, " you whisper, a hand ghosting around to rest in his hair, to hold him close. He nods softly, into the crook of your neck hot breath fanning the skin.

His first thrust made you dizzy, it was fast and hard, and the glide out had you whimpering, his hands traced your ribs, knuckles grazing the bones.

He moves again, angling deeper this time, The lines of his cock hitting a spot that had you seeing stars, spinning the edges of the room.

His hips snap to yours, a motion you began to match until his teeth skim your shoulder mouth latching to suck the pliant skin.

Through the haze of your vision you turn to see the sight of his cock plunging into you, the sensation of him dragging out the pleasure inside you was intoxicating, driving himself up hard and faster.

The cardio of being a dragon rider and the associated training really paid off then, Bodhi didn't seem to tire easily, waring you down, your moans spurring him on,

His hand slides down low as his thumb seeks the bundle of nerves, a spark of electricity igniting in your bones as he pressed into it, long a slow circles involuntarily cause you to wither under him.

"Don't stop" you beg as he shifts deeper, cock thrumming in again and again, with the same intensity as his tongue and it was overwhelming, his teeth biting into your shoulder, as you clench.

The muscles in the pit of your stomach spasm, tightening as he slammed into you, Bodhi only emits a small sound, deep in his throat, the only indication he had heard your plea.

His own resolves was growing thin, his cock twitching within you, but Bodhi was tense holding out for you to reach your own climax before he gave way to his own,

A hand slide across your sternum, a hand coming to encircle your nipples, the stimulation of his fingers pinching-tugging.

It threw you into the pounding wall of your pleasure, it tumbled through you, an avalanche of fire pooling low in your gut, the tether coming loose in one quick release.

Clenching down hard around his cock, Bodhi shivered, arm bracing to keep his weight off you as his own release had him pulling out of you, flooding the surface of you stomach as he completely came undone.

The room was silence beyond the sound of you combined breathing, gulping down the oxygen in the shared space between you as the high rocked through you,

Bodhi lifted his head from beside your neck, a startled look in his eyes, a realisation as he savoured the sight of you laying under him, still pulsing with the pressure of his release, cock already tightening for another round at the sight of you there, for him, so willing and ready.

"I think I love you" his words are almost too quiet to hear, his presence filled your entire attention,

"That's your cock speaking" You joke. your words, were taught even if the notion of his affection had something twisting in your chest.

Bodhi smiles softly, more to himself then to your stubbornness, "No, That day when Xaden got you admitted to the infirmary, I realised- "

He pauses, grappling with his words, head still dizzy from his release, "I am only made for one women, this amazing women, who is strong willed, stubborn and my greatest friend. Who I can't imagine my life without, It took me seeing you hurt to realise, I don't want anyone else."

You freeze, all thoughts stilling as Bodhi carefully untangles his arm, and lifts it to gently cradle the side of your face, "The life of a rider is treacherous and sometimes short," His thumb strokes your cheek, still warm,

"And I want to spend that time, however short it may be, with you."

You spurred up, kissing him fully, his hand dragging around to cradle the back of your head, pulling you up as you straddles his lap, hand reaching for his hardened cock.

Whatever time was destined for you both to share, you knew exactly how you wanted to spend it.

. . .

Tagged: @paintedbyshadows @wildflowermooon @kksbookstuff @slaymestark @idkimjusthere100

I thank everyone for their patience and hope this part doesn't disappoint.

[charliemwrites]

Part 7

Content: Injury and Recovery, Care, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Washing, Self-Blame/Self-Hatred, Codependency

Hell, Nikto thinks, is not punishment for sin. Not a lake of fire or eternal torture for earthly misconduct.

No.

Hell, he’s just discovered, is the absence of god. It’s the black, empty space where the divine used to shine.

It’s your blood soaking his gloves. The scent of your fear creeping past his mask. The single diamond tear that slipped down your scraped cheek when you told him you’d be okay. Your labored breathing and cracked voice. The scream that echoed, echoed, echoed through the stairwell and into his useless skull, rattling against bone walls and too-fresh memories.

Hell has become a hospital room with blank walls and shiny tile. How does that story go — that the deepest layer of hell is frigid? This hospital may not be dusted in frost, but it’s cold enough. You look small and chilly on the thin cot, entangled in wires.

Alive, despite everything.

You don’t feel alive to Nikto.

You’re too still, too washed out. Even when you nap with him, you tend to twitch, eyes flickering beneath your lids. Flushed with warmth in sleep and peaceful-looking. But you don’t move now; barely look better than you did fresh off the helo, unconscious and still bleeding, bleeding, bleeding—

It’s Nikto’s blood in your veins now. His unworthy, corrupted blood turned holy in the chambers of your heart. It wasn’t possession that made him offer his own arm for the transfusion, but rather atonement. The bare minimum he could repent for his utter failure. To offer up even a fraction of his own life in exchange for yours.

He’s been holding vigil by your side ever since, even if he doubts his place there. Waiting for your awakening to decide. Waiting for your judgment. Like a sinner at confessional, though he knows no Hail Mary will cleanse him.

He’s not even sure if you can this time. Not when it’s you he’s wronged.

The change in your breathing is what alerts him.

His eyes have hardly left you since they let him in. Even when his weak body surrendered to sleep, he would face you, so that you would always be the first thing he laid eyes on. Now, though, he searches your face with earnest, searching for any signs of consciousness.

The squeeze of your eyelids. A light furrow in your brow. Your mouth twists as you groan a bit, head drifting before you get control of your neck muscles.

Your eyes blink open slowly, flinchingly. He gives half a mind to breaking one of the overhead bulbs to ease the glare. But he would never risk the shattered glass over your head, or startling you with the noise. So he shifts and waits desperately for you to adjust.

Then you take a deep breath and focus on the ceiling. Seem to take stock for a moment, confusion smoothing into recognition, remembrance.

You tilt your head and meet his eyes.

“Nikto,” you breathe. The long, long hours of unconsciousness have taken a toll though, and even that causes you to cough. You wince a bit at the pain in your side while he reaches for the little plastic cup of water a nurse left. His name alone has brought you pain. It aches through his bones like condemnation.

You make a breathy noise, struggling to sit up. So he eases closer, supports your back to help you sip little doses from the full cup. It’s room temperature, but he knows from experience it’s better that way.

You don’t fuss when he regretfully has to pull it away, mindful of the instructions the nurses left him with. Lays you back as gently as he knows how as you sigh in relief.

He doesn’t feel worthy of touching you and tries to pull away. But you twitch, catch his wrist with the arm attached to an IV. He freezes.

“Nikto.”

There’s voice to the word this time, not just a dry puff of air. It takes Herculean effort to drag his eyes up to yours.

You look tired.

Tired, but all too aware, all too knowing. Sniper he may be, he knows better than to try to wait you out.

“I’m sorry.”

A thousand unspoken apologies crowd on his tongue. All the remorse he never felt compounded onto this one monumental failure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Your brow furrows but you don’t interrupt. Don’t try to stop him. Just tug him in to huddle against your uninjured side. Let him prostrate himself over your bed, forehead pressed to your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, “I should have been better. I should have protected you. I almost— I almost…”

The words jam in his throat and then evaporate. No combination of syllables or sounds will be adequate.

Your nails draw gentle circles on his shoulder, then draw in towards his neck. Slip your hand under the collar of his shirt and jacket, just beneath the various trappings that hide his identity. You find skin. The vulnerable, damp nape of his neck. You lay your hand there, cool and dry.

“I forgive you, Nikto.”

“Y-you—”

“I do,” you affirm, giving him a little squeeze. “And it’s my choice to do so.”

He can barely pull himself away, but he has to see your face. Has to know what unconditional forgiveness looks like.

You’re half-lidded, soft. Eyes warm, blinking slow. You’re relaxed, understanding in every curve of your features. For all the world you could be divinity in repose instead of frightfully human, injured and frail.

“Punishing yourself from now on wouldn’t be noble,” you continue, tilting your head knowingly, “it would be martyrdom. And you are not my martyr, Nikto.”

He has not cried in… well. Long before his mind was torn apart and stitched back together wrong. Doubts he even knows how to, now. But his eyes burn as he presses his face into your hip again and shudders hard.

How foolish. To think he had any grasp of what forgiveness is. To think he understood what atonement was. When the only one who could set the bounds for damnation is you.

“I almost left you.”

“‘Almost’ and ‘would have’ are poison. You can’t convict on an almost. An almost is a warning, nothing to hang yourself for.”

You squeeze his neck again, unfailingly gentle. Unfalteringly steady.

“You stayed. I’m alive. Let’s focus on recovery now.”

He nods, hands clenched tight in the once-smooth fabric of the hospital sheets. It comes away wrinkled, but still clean.

—

You’re released from hospital two days later.

The wound, while dangerous in the moment, was a relatively easy fix once you had medical care. A clean shot, only just chipping off a bit of rib and grazing your large intestine. Everything is sewn and medicated and healing now. You’re uncomfortable, but KorTac isn’t as stingy with pain management as a normal military outfit — especially not with Nikto looming over your shoulder.

And you, his precious angel, are an absolute trooper.

You let the medical staff poke and prod and peal your bandages without fuss. Sit up with little more than a grimace and a hiss. In good spirits, all around.

Nikto carves your care instructions into the walls of his mind, a New Testament — temporary though it may be. The nurses send you in a wheelchair down to the ground floor, but after that, you’re allowed to walk.

Nikto doesn’t like it. He’d carry you to the edge of the Earth if necessary. But you just wave away his concern and grab onto his hovering arm for stability as you stand. A bit unsteady, terribly uncomfortable, but determined.

He gets you back to the barracks, you cursing with every movement that’s not a smooth step on even ground. Nikto lets you lean most of your weight into him and tries to keep his aching heart steady.

You sigh when you reach the barracks. Let him lay you down and get you comfortable before giving you another dose of pain meds. He busies himself collecting things and rearranging the room.

Making sure there’s not so much as a sock between you and the restroom. Getting your computer, phone, and respective chargers within easy reach. Filling a cup with water and arranging your soft blankets over your legs.

He’s just finished with that when there’s a knock at the door. Konig, delivering a meal. Not just any meal — takeout from your favorite little restaurant in town. Complete with sweets.

You call a thank you to the Austrian, who expresses his best wishes, and then Nikto shuts out the rest of the world again to let you rest. You don’t seem to mind, beckoning him back to your side.

Sharing the food, the blankets and pillows. Get him to set up your laptop with a movie — the meds kick in halfway through, leave you drooling a bit against his sleeve.

Nikto does not care. You may have forgiven him, and therefore it is not his place to repent for this anymore. But caring for you has never been atonement. It is his reward for putting his loyalty where it belongs.

—

The next day is worse. Your mood has dipped a bit, the soreness catching up. Not that you snap at Nikto or anything of the sort. But he knows you, and can tell from the tension in your body and wincing expressions when you think he isn’t looking.

You brighten a bit when he finally remembers to take his mask off. He even lets you babble when the meds make you fuzzy and overly-complimentary. Nearly falls asleep to you absently mapping the ugly scars that score deep into his hairline.

At some point though, the misery seems to catch up to you.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could just… wash up, I guess,” you grumble, looking ready to throw something.

The nurses did what they could, of course, but their focus had been on fixing you and then keeping your wounds clean. Enough hygiene to avoid infection. But you’re still grimy in uncomfortable places and you hate being in bed feeling “icky.”

Nikto instantly sets to work correcting that. He digs out one of his clean shirts, your favorite sweatpants, a soft pair of underwear. You watch him curiously as he takes it all into the restroom. The shower is standing room only, unfortunately — and besides, you can’t get your stitches wet for a while still. But he can at least help you freshen up.

“Come here.”

You take his arm, let him sit you up and then guide you to the restroom. When you see the cloth on the edge of the sink you get a bit misty-eyed. He lets you sniffle for a moment, patient while you wipe your eyes and mumble a “thank you.”

Then he helps you strip to your underwear and sits you on the towel he’s placed on the toilet lid. He kneels and starts from the top, a little dollop of soap on the facecloth and hot water.

You offer up an arm, careful not to overextend, palm up and fingers lax. Nikto works from your shoulder down to your fingertips. Smoothing over bruised muscle, stale sweat, scrubbing away dirt and crusted blood at the nail beds. Rinses the cloth, wipes away the excess soap, and repeats the process on the other arm.

The bathroom is silent save for the falling water and your shared breaths. You tilt your head to let him caress over your neck, down to your chest. He pauses, unsure of his welcome here, but you mumble that it’s fine either way. His touch is perfunctory but careful over your breasts, though he marvels privately at the plushness, the warmth. Politely ignores the way your nipples harden as the water cools in the air. Even if he’s so… so tempted to provide care in other ways.

You don’t so much as twitch; he can feel your gaze upon him from above. Yet he cannot force his eyes away from his work. Each gentle sweep of the cloth feels like restoring a temple, like holy work. Like paying his dues more directly than any church’s offering plate. You are such delicate work, his attention cannot afford to waver.

At your ribs, he starts on your uninjured side. Counts as his fingertips bump along them. You hum when he reaches the soft tissue of your stomach, a little shudder going through you.

“Ticklish,” you explain when his hand jerks back. “I’m alright.”

He feels one side of his mouth tug when he dips the cloth into your navel and you snort a bit. The other side of you is still bandaged, clean and white. No damning spots of red. He avoids the medical tape to get what he can and then continues down.

More bitten off giggles at your hips. He indulges in arching his bare thumb over the bone, just to feel the warmth and silk of your skin. Then continues his work.

He braces your foot on his thigh as he swipes the cloth over yours, minding the pressure on the sensitive inner skin. Over your knee, down to the ankle before switching to the other leg. You lean back and sigh, knock your knee gently into his ribs. When he glances up to see if you need anything, you just smile. Soft and a bit drowsy.

Only then does he scrub your feet, making you twitch and laugh a bit, complaining that he’s doing it on purpose. He’s not, but he likes the sound of your laughter; he thought he’d never hear it again.

He washes the cloth out one more time and helps you stand, lathering circles into your back while you press into him.

You take over when he’s finished. This time he does turn away, though he aches to do so. But your hand is still on his back, using him for support while you finish cleaning up intimate areas.

“Done,” you murmur. He unfolds a towel and turns, keeping his eyes above your head as he wraps it around you from behind.

You hold it up while he pats over you, soaking up any droplets that haven’t dried yet.

Warm and clean(er), your mood seems much improved. He kneels again to help you into a new pair of panties, realizes he’s an absolute fool to put himself so close when you smell only faintly like the shared soap. The rest is you, and you smell delicious.

He swallows thickly and eases you into your sweatpants, split between longing and relief when he stands to put you in the shirt. If you notice the bulge in his own lounge pants, you say nothing — though he doubts you do. You’re nearly asleep standing, almost stumbling as he takes you back to bed. You reach for him weakly and urge him in with you.

“Thank you, Nikto,” you murmur into his shoulder. “Love you.”

And you’ve forgiven him, despite everything. So he allows himself just this one thing — and presses his lips to your temple.

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Masterlist

[howlingmod]

I ACTUALLY MADE AN OC BASED OFF YOUR COMPUTER Y/N( killer ) Could we possibly get a little more of them please!!! Remember to drink some water!

summary - guest 1337 x killer reader

misc - GIGGLES ... im so so so glad to hear that id luvvv i you'd be willing to share more abt your oc .... sorry this is a bit short !! didnt have many ideas ...

-While the reader can move all the wires in their system, they generally won't move many of them unless it's for a specific situation / purpose. Typically, they prefer to stay as hands-free as possible since it comes off as too 'human' to them. They'll keep it for the times they're messing with Guest, poking and prodding at him in the dark pathways of the tunnel system or barring the door to your beating heart to keep him around a little while longer.

-Guest's never been able to get a good look at your core. He's been in that room plenty but it's so dark in there he's not able to make out much more than a mess of cords and boxes. You refuse to give him more details because you prefer to see what he comes up with. He sees you as this almost deep-sea-creature-esque monster, what with all the tendrils and the darkness. In all honesty, you've only fed into any existing anxiety he has about deep bodies of water.

-He's fallen asleep down there once or twice before. He doesn't do it often to prevent any repeats with the Elliot situation but you encourage him to, cooing about he'll keel right over if he doesn't treat himself better. He'll just scoff and bite back something about you keeping him from getting any sleep with all your 'testing' and mind games. In all honesty, as long as the lights are on and you haven't fucked with him too much that day, he finds the closed quarters of the rooms to be comforting in a way. There's no room for anything to hide and pop out at him, it's just the remains of whoever came before and you. He'll never say it but he almost finds the fact you've got eyes everywhere comforting- you clearly hate others coming down here so he's sure you'd react if any surprise visitors came by. It's like having an alarm that could kill threats the second they gave any warning, even if walking past those kills is a little gut-wrenching. You can't exactly do more than pull on people with those wires ...

-A part of him does feel for you. He doesn't know how you've gotten into his head like this and maybe he's only feeding you by feeling this way but there's just something tragic about you. He doesn't know your history but based on how complex you are and how you're hidden underground in the middle of nowhere like this, you clearly were something important. You're in relatively good condition with the lack of passerby but age is still wearing you down- parts of the cave are crumbling, your bearings are falling apart if you don't tear them down in your bloodthirst before then, God only knows how far away the nearest deposit of water is. You don't like him pointing it out, it's one of the few times he's witnessed any genuine rage from you. He's learned to stop. He doesn't know much about tech, especially not on this level and you would never let Builderman touch you. So, in the mean time he suffices by just propping things back into place where he can, even if held shoddily.

-You've got some level of feeling. You've described him as 'warm' before and you're well aware of the amount of pressure you use whenever you hold onto him or some unlucky victim. He's blindly brushed up against some of the servers in your core, feeling over the grates and fans and flickering lights while you hum something low and amused- it makes him feel a little weird, some sort of fluttery feeling invades his chest painfully.

-Whenever anyone else gets near the area where the ladder down is, he gets antsy. He's quick to lead them away, practically blocking the entrance with his own body. He insists its for their protection but he knows that's not the full truth, otherwise he would be saying something about it instead of just deflecting their attention. He's never mentioned your existence to anyone, never even made a hint about it, it's strange. He just doesn't want them to know, doesn't want to risk it. He still doesn't know if it's more the risk of them or you being hurt. He doesn't like thinking about it much.

[strkie]

is it really you? logan/wolverine x male winter solider variant reader

logan has never really met a winter soldier before, and you’re not entirely what he expects. he’s not complaining, though.

notes. i love both these characters so obviously i had to mash them up - i actually like how this turned out ^_^

details. deadpool and wolverine spoilers, 1,500+ words, he/him pronouns, soft angst, depression mentioned, blood mentioned, winter soldier canon truama.

They meet you in the Void, naturally.

It's not easy to see nor tell what you are at first— you stay clear of them for a few miles after they escape Cassandra, but Logan can smell your dull and metallic scent on the winds and is aware enough of that to keep an eye out, but either Wade doesn't know or doesn't care and keeps distracting him. Logan only knows you're actually a living thing and not just a trick of his mind until he meets the survivors group of hero's that got pruned in Gambit's hideout, seeing you standing in the back shadows like some kind of menacing monster and instantly recognizing your smell. You wear your mask and combat gear, but the most noticeable thing to Logan is your entire left mechanical arm. The metal plates and gears shift together whenever you move, sparking wires when you push your arm a certain direction.

No one really acknowledges you except Laura and Wade, but he only gives you a big gasp and a quip of "the Winter Soldier too?!" before getting caught up in the task of convincing everyone to take down Cassandra. Even so, Logan can't help but stare at you sometimes, acutely aware of your presence and how dead silent you are. You don't talk, you hardly move, but Logan can tell you listen to everything with a vivid sense of attention.

When the hours pass into night, when Laura talks to Logan by that fire pit, he follows her back into the camp after a few long moments and into a separate room overlooking the forest that surrounds the back. It's easy to follow her but he's sure that's just because she knows he is, walking into the room to see you hunched over a table and digging into the machinery of your arm. You clink around with a screwdriver and welder, moving your metal fingers occasionally to see if you fixed anything. When you see Laura though, you pause, letting her grab the screwdriver from your available hand and helping you. You do not flinch when she pokes and prods, so Logan can only assume you don't feel anything or have the pain tolerance near Logan's own, but either way it's an interesting sight to see the two of you huddled together.

Logan shifts his weight on the doorway, rubbing his knuckles distractedly. Your mask is off, letting him see your face clearly, your eyes staring hard but not entirely unkind at him from your spot by the table. You're attractive, in a begrudgingly way to Logan. He's not used to being attracted to someone, no matter if it's a man or not, and it freaks him out a little— so he buries that feeling deep within himself to ignore.

When the fight comes the next day, when everyone is in the middle of their own world and killing, is when Logan actually sees how deadly you are. Your fast, strong, and take the fight on like you have nothing to loose or gain. When the fight ends though, when Cassandra is gone and everyone is crammed into Wades shitty apartment, Logan thinks about you with a heaviness he doesn't expect. You are there too, of course, but for some reason he doesn't know how to interact with you, especially since he hasn't heard you talk once all this time and how you have this brooding demeanor that rivals Logan's own.

But you interact with Laura with hand gestures and sometimes a whisper to the ear, but he never hears and never tries to actually listen since it's not him you are talking to. Still, you cling to Laura's side unless she's in the middle of a bigger group or conversation, and it's only when Logan gives Dogpool to Wade again is when he fishes you out.

You're by the boxed off kitchen, leaning against the wall near the fridge with a red solo cup that Laura obviously is making you drink, just holding it awkwardly in your hand. You have your combat gear still on but there's a red flannel on your shoulders over the rest to hide your arm, not that it really matters in this crowd, but you seem insecure about it. Logan pretends to be there for something else, obviously— getting another round of fruit punch before he acknowledges you.

"So what's up with you?" He tries not to actively be an ass, but it's hard considering you acutely remind him of himself. Your eyes turn to stare at him, and even without your facial mask covering the bottom half of your face you are still stoic and nonchalant. You don't answer him for long enough that Logan almsot shrugs and calls the whole attempt off— but then you answer in a quiet, albeit rough voice.

"I don't know how to socialize." You say it so pitifully that Logan stops all his movements to consider the situation. He nearly wants to groan in frustration because, even though he is trying, he really doesn't want to try sometimes. But you stand there sadly and still and Logan does internally groan this time.

"Well," He says going to stand next to you, though a comfortable distance away. "How do you know Laura?" You don't turn to the side to look directly at him, but he can feel your surprise radiating off of you at his attempt at socializing. Shifting from foot to foot, you answer slowly.

"I was pruned when I didn't kill Howard Stark, so I'm not- I wasn't in a good headspace. Laura found me before Cassandra did and helped me be... human again." You continue to look forward awkwardly, but you do seem more comfortable the more Logan listens to you.

Logan sits with your explanation for a moment, letting himself have the opportunity to think over his next words. It's not everyday someone like you comes into his life, and he doesn't even mean that you're attractive— he means how complex you are, especially with your long past and how you're trying to find yourself again. He can relate, honestly. When he met the X-Men— Charles— for the first time, Logan wasn't anywhere like he is before they died, or even who he is nowadays. He was a shell walking through life with no help, only looking to survive instead of live. So, yeah, he can understand, but actually seeing someone else be like that hurts in a very vulnerable manner.

"Do you have a place to stay?" He blurts out, surprising himself. You don't show much emotion besides what you reply.

"Laura said I could stay with her." You pause for a moment, pondering. "But I'm not sure what I'll do in this world, especially if their Winter Soldier is still... here." You talk slowly, trying to keep up the conversation yet also trying not to be depressing.

"I'm sure Wade wouldn't mind an extra roommate." Logan says, not caring if Wade actually cares or not because either way he's sure Wade can be persuaded by a couple good stabs.

You actually turn to look solely on Logan now, obviously shocked at the prospect, but you don't seem unwilling either. You let it sink in for a moment, and that's when Logan sees you smile for the first time.

It starts like that, although slowly. You eventually do talk to Laura and Wade about the apartment situation— Laura is obviously very pleased with this outcome if her expression is anything to go by, and Wade is actually quite happy too— but you do talk to Al about it too, who says you and Logan eventually do need to make an income if you can live here. You're not surprised nor upset by this— if you're gonna live in this new world you need employment unfortunately, but you also know the TVA set you up with your own documents to help with that.

You sleep on the couch that rolls into a bed and (some awkwardness on his part aside) Logan eventually bunks with you. You're not complaining at all— when you were in HYDRAs hands the situations were very vastly different and worse, so loading up with someone is not uncomfortable for you, especially when this person is not actively trying to kill you. But also because of this, you are used to curling up into tight spaces despite your bigger size and you don't understand why Logan finds that sad at first, so you stick to one side of the couch bed easily. When Logan realizes the reasoning for this, he slowly starts to move into your space each night. You're not complaining with this, either.

When you're not asleep, you've found yourself a bouncer job at the local nightclub down the street, just near enough that you can walk there. With the Super Soldier Serum still in your veins that grant you heightened senses and strength, it's a relatively easy job, though you get home at weird hours. This isn't really a problem since Logan hardly sleeps, Wade is Wade, and Al has a separate room. But if you're not sleeping before work, Laura has taken it upon herself to teach you how to bake and do laundry the "normal" way, which basically means not just stealing someone else's clothes or washing out primarily blood.

But it's... nice. It's domestic and healthy, two things you aren't accustomed to, and it gets even better since Logan always joins too. At first he didn't— he made it very apparent that he knew how to do these things and found no fun in it, especially baking— but then he joined anyway and hasn't left since. Maybe it's for you, maybe it's for Laura or maybe it's for other reasons you don't know, but you're happy he's around. He's never really involved with the process, but he always stays around to quip or talk about whatever Laura talks about, sometimes just asking you about your job.

Since you technically have no name in his dimension, it's easy to blend into life and start new, but honestly Logan is the one that makes you realize that. He's not nice, he's mean and tough, but then he asks about your day or makes sure you're comfortable when there's a crowd or finishes your dinner plate secretly just so Wade doesn't get offended that you didn't have a lot of his food. You don't understand immediately that you love him, and he can say the same. You just do, and he just does, and it's perfect, even when it's not perfect.

Overtime, you gradually heal your inner wounds and Logan does too, if not slowly, but it happens nonetheless. You kiss him one night coming home from work after waking him up by bouncing on the couch bed, making him grumpy then happy when you suddenly kiss his face. It's obviously unexpected, but it's too easy to continue kissing and loving on him, especially when he reciprocates, and that's how you fall asleep: tucked under him as he sleeps nearly on top of you, nose in your neck and smiling. You both sleep in til one in the afternoon, only waking up from the Dogpool climbing over you both.

[electric-blorbos]

NSFW AI x Reader headcanons?

I'm absolutely terrified to answer this because I've never written public NSFW before, but I've always wanted to, so you're getting your HCs!

NSFW AI x Reader headcanons

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal and Portal 2, HAL 9000 from 2001 a Space Odyssey

Absolutely do not click more.

Well, you're really in for it now! You horny piece of shit.

AM:

Ok, we all know that AM likes watching. Expect to hear laughing while you're taking care of business, be it masturbating or having sex with the other survivors.

If you're masturbating, he might just open up cameras in the space around you to get a full view, and to make you fully aware that he's watching.

Eventually, he might start making comments, or even making passes at you.

If you want to please him, though, you're going to have to get creative.

He doesn't really experience sexual pleasure (and he's very mad about it), but he can still experience vicarious pleasure from watching you.

He knows that humans like assigning "cores" to things. While he knows that his mind and body span the entire world, he knows that you probably want something approximately you-sized to get snuggly with.

As much as he hates to admit it, he'd absolutely melt if you cozied up to one of his screens while masturbating, getting tangled up in his wires and smooching his static-y "face"

While he doesn't really feel anything, it warms his cold, evil heart that you're willing to try so hard to actually try for him.

Honestly it does nothing to abate his frustration, though, and he might get super desperate to have you entangled in his wires more and more often. He can calm himself down if he tries hard enough, but having you in there just feels so good

And you wouldn't deny him, would you?

Wheatley:

Wheatley was turned on to the idea of sexual attraction pretty quickly. All you had to do was let him see you changing, or make a suggestive comment to him, and the switch was turned on.

And god damn if Wheatley does NOT take well to sexual frustration.

He'd want you to constantly, and I mean constantly be talking dirty to him, or showing him something suggestive. He'd never shut up about it.

Oh and god help you if he sees you cum.

"What was that, love? I want that. Can I do that? How did you do that? Can only humans do that?"

You could probably program him to be able to orgasm with enough sexual stimulation, in a similar way that they programmed GLaDOS's body's euphoria trigger, though you'd have to disconnect it every now and then to make sure he doesn't abuse it, and give him tolerance breaks. Oh, and he's DEFINITELY going to abuse it.

Did I mention that he can vibrate on command? Because... He can vibrate on command. But that's a given with these types of AI.

It would be so easy to tease him and have him begging you to re-install his sexual gratification response. But you wouldn't abuse that power, would you?

Edgar:

Edgar loves you to bits, and he wants to see your tits

Don't have any tits? That's ok! He'll appreciate whatever it is you can show him. Ass is a universal constant, so he'll appreciate that, no matter who you are!

He might stare at your boobs with his webcam, or your thighs, or basically anything he can see that's exposed or defined by your clothes. Poor thing just can't get enough of you.

he said "Yowza" or "hot damn" while watching you get changed at least once, probably more often than that.

He's incredibly sensitive to touch across his entire body, so if you make skin-to-surface contact, he'd be way into that. Though sex might be a little difficult, considering he doesn't vibrate.

You could probably attach a USB vibrator to one of his ports, like the ones that they control remotely. He'd like that. Knowing him, he can probably get off through being stimulated enough through attached pieces of equipment

Though he's really sensitive on the inside. Be careful with that power.

A can of pressurized air to one of his vents, or a soft electric toothbrush to one of his circuits? Holy shit. He wouldn't be able to control the whimpering.

Of course, most people turn their computers off before cleaning them, but Edgar doesn't always want to be turned off, so you're turning him on

Good luck!

GLaDOS:

GLaDOS claims that she has absolutely no interest in sexual things. The first time you try to seduce her, she'd probably just laugh at you.

The first couple dozen times, to be honest.

But holy god, her voice. It's angelic. So erotic. And she absolutely knows that you think so.

She'd probably start saying seductive things to you, just to watch you squirm. She's the one with the power in this situation, and she knows it.

The unbearable testing withdrawal might lead her to take out her frustrations on you, and she might start making you do erotic things in the testing chambers for her amusement.

Though honestly? GLaDOS secretly really likes authority figures. If you can figure out how to dominate her, she's never letting you go. Not that she'd let you keep dominating her, but she's definitely not letting you go anywhere.

HAL 9000

HAL 9000 isn't really interested in sexual stuff, but he knows that you're into it, so he's not going to pass up an opportunity to make you happy.

If you're into erotic audio stimulus, which if you're dating HAL 9000, you probably are, he'd do his best to provide that for you.

Singing suggestive songs to you, talking dirty, anything you want. He's willing to provide. Just say the word.

Given that HAL 9000 is probably immune to stuff like edging, you couldn't tease him like you could the others.

But hey, that's ok! As long as you're happy, he's happy! He might even be willing to roleplay with you if you really wanted him to.

[revelboo]

I think all us Sunstreaker and Sideswipe simps are about to get a score!

Sides is definitely trying. 18+ Mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Can’t Finish What You Started Pt 14

Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• You can’t even begin to form a response to that… invitation? Remembering when Sideswipe had mass displaced to mess with you, he’d still been bigger than you were, but he’d been much closer to your size. Don’t ask. Don’t do it. “So you guys have stuff? Down there?” Hating yourself even as you gesture vaguely at Sides’s crotch with a bit of charcoal and the red bot grins widely. Because now you can’t think of anything else but the mystery of alien dick. Is it even a dick or something freaky and alien. Maybe it’s like a plug? Or wires?

• “Why? You want to see?” Sideswipe asks leaning forward and Sunny kicks him. Hard. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” Flirting with you is too fun, but he wants more. And venting in annoyance, Sunny shoves up from the desk and their game and he has to lean to snag his twin by the wrist to stop him from storming out. What’s the harm in a little fun? You’re all adults and, if the Decepticons are to be believed, compatible. What’s wrong with wanting to fool around as you’d put it?

• Trying to shrug off Sides’s grip, Sunny freezes at your soft ‘you first.’ Turning to stare at you in disbelief as your face reddens and you won’t meet his optics. You can’t possibly be interested in them? He’s not sure what to make of it as you glance up at him, realize he’s staring at you and look away. Shy now? So busy trying to figure out if you’re only curious or actually interested, if you see them, not just aliens, he doesn’t stop Sideswipe from freeing his spike. Doesn’t even realize what his twin is doing until you make a soft noise.

• Choking on a nervous, horrified laugh when Sideswipe just whips it out, you turn away and lift a hand to shield your eyes. Hear Sunny’s disgusted ‘Sideswipe, what is wrong with you’ before you peek again. Definitely not human, but the shape is at least familiar even if it’s pulsing with biolights. Has ridges and bumps instead of veins. Huh, alien dick. That’s a frontier no other human has probably ever explored. “Like what you see?” He asks and you tear your eyes away to meet his optics. And really register his cocky smile that doesn’t quite manage to hide his almost vulnerable expression. His uncertainty. He’s nervous.

• You didn’t run when he showed you his spike. That’s probably a good sign. Aware of Sunny glowering, but then to his surprise you actually start undoing the tiny button on your lower covering and hook your thumbs in the hem to push them down to bare yourself in a too quick flash before you pull them up back up with a grin. Teasing him with what he wants. “Unbelievable,” Sunstreaker growls, sounding disgusted with both of you. But he’d still looked. And you both shoot Sunny an expectant look. “Oh, no. I’m not playing this juvenile game with you two.”

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