#at least no one’s mocking me to my face anymore huh

[l35213]

think about this every night to be honest. why did i put up with that as if anyone ever deserves to be told they “don’t understand” certain things or have their accent and language openly mocked by students and teachers just because they’re from like five miles away in the ‘wrong’ direction

[cherienymphe]

White Lines & White Knights

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, pr*stitution, power imbalance, classism, mentions of death, jealousy, humiliation, revenge p*rn, drug dealer!Rafe, drug use, Pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: You and Rafe are using each other until you decide that's not what you want anymore, and the spoiled rich kid will do whatever it takes to have his expensive toy back in his bed.

⭑

Your door shut behind you with a resounding click, and once in the comfort of your home, you took the time to decompress. You took advantage of your much needed reprieve, the back of your head grazing the wood as you allowed your eyes to fall closed. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, and you wondered if a day would come where it ever wouldn’t. After all, this wasn’t exactly “new” anymore…

It had been five months since you buried your mom, five months since you discovered the mountain of debt she’d done an impressive job of hiding from you, and five months since you thought you’d be homeless on the street in less than one. In two weeks, you’d dealt with a loss you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another forty years or so and took on the kind of responsibility you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another three.

Your mom died 152 days ago…

…and you’d started fucking Rafe Cameron less than a month later.

You liked to pretend to not know why you slept with Kildare’s prime rich boy that fateful Saturday night, but you were far more self aware than you wanted to be. Even if you weren’t, it wasn’t exactly some mysterious string of decisions that lead to being tangled up in the sheets with Sarah’s asshole of an older brother. You didn’t need to pay someone to diagnose you.

You were grieving.

It was really just that simple, and the monetary stress on top of that drove you to find comfort in strange drinks and hard drugs. To this day you still didn’t know if Rafe just happened to be at the right place at the right time or if he heard whispers about John B.’s best friend snorting pills and getting shit faced when her usual crowd was looking the other way, but either way, the stuffy Kook clearly saw an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone.

“First two lines are free,” he’d told you that night, the bass of the music downstairs muffled by the expensive walls of some girl’s house.

You remembered how you’d chuckled, drunkenly shaking your head.

“Well, two lines is all I’m doing, I guess,” you’d murmured, throwing your hands up.

Rafe’s smirk had been cruel, a mocking glint in his blue eyes.

“What?” he’d dragged out, head tilted. “Spent all that life insurance money, already?”

Any other time and Rafe’s insensitivity might’ve upset you, but at the time you’d been drunk out of your mind and looking for more ways to forget the sudden absence in your life.

“I can’t imagine why Sarah hates you,” you’d sarcastically replied, approaching the impressive desk and leaning over to inhale a line.

You wiped your nose as you straightened, lashes fluttering as you ignored the feeling of Rafe’s gaze on you.

“I’ll be lucky if I even have a house to live in next week.”

The words had come out slurred, accompanied by a light chuckle, and deep down you’d felt the flutter of stress that you’d been desperately ignoring for weeks. You’d quickly snorted the other line, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Turns out my mom was skilled at hiding more than just illnesses…”

You remembered the silence—from both you and Rafe—and how in that moment you’d allowed yourself a solid four seconds of lingering on the reality of your predicament. In those four seconds, your eyes had watered and your lips had trembled and your throat had tightened, and after those four seconds, you were turning to Rafe with a haughty smile.

“Guess you won’t be finding a new client in me, huh?” you’d wondered with a shrug, finding a seat on the desk.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been unreadable as he eyed you, sitting in the chair at the desk, legs spread as he ran his eyes over you—slowly and in a way you didn’t hate at the time. You hadn’t been able to tell what he was thinking, although looking back, you wondered how it wasn’t so obvious to you then. Maybe because it was just too cruel of a thought, and while it was no secret Rafe was a spoiled asshole, you had never once thought of him as cruel.

Rafe had merely shrugged.

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” he’d slowly said, the corner of his pink lips curving upwards just a tad. “Besides…”

You’d watched him stand, rounding the desk to come and tower over you where you sat.

“I like to think of myself as a pretty ethical kind of guy…”

You’d started to snort at that before his gaze met yours again, and you found yourself swallowing whatever you were about to say. You hadn’t done a thing when Rafe reached up to touch your arm, the feel of his finger so light. You hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the way your heart skipped a beat at both his close proximity and the change in atmosphere. You hadn’t been able to ignore—however—the heat that settled in the pit of your stomach.

“...and I’ve been known to meet people halfway. Accept whatever they can offer…”

You remembered your internal conflict that night.

You’d been drunk and high and sad…not stupid. You knew exactly what Rafe was insinuating to you, and you’d struggled with the idea of really sleeping with Rafe Cameron for more drugs. The man was far from unattractive, sure that if drugs weren’t involved you’d still consider sleeping with him. If you’d believed in any of that, you’d imagine that your mom was turning over in her grave. At the time though, you hadn’t been quite sure as to what you believed in, so when he took your silence for consent, leaning in and touching your nose with his…

You hadn’t stopped him when he closed the distance.

You hadn’t even known whose house you were at, only internally apologizing to them for having sex on their expensive desk. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the alcohol or simply Rafe Cameron, but it was easily the best sex you’d ever had in your life, and at one point you’d really considered how much better it could possibly be to fuck him without the condom.

You had no idea that you’d eventually find out.

Once dressed, you’d walked home with a small bag of pills and a satisfied grin. You knew that your friends would host some kind of intervention if they ever found out, but all you’d been able to focus on was the simple fact that fucking Rafe Cameron for a little coke and pills wasn’t sounding like the worst idea. Of course, if you’d known that you’d eventually start fucking him for your livelihood, you might’ve made different choices that night.

You pressed your hand to your face and pushed away from the door, eager to start the shower and scrub the stench of him off of you. Per routine, you took the money out of your pocket before getting undressed, eyeing the wad of one hundreds that now sat on your nightstand. Two grand was nothing to someone like him, but to someone like you, it made all the difference in the world.

…and Rafe knew that.

He’d known that when he handed you a thousand dollars one night, the coke in your system just starting to hit. You’d looked up at him from where you sat in confusion, hesitantly wrapping your hand around the money as you alternated between eyeing it and eyeing him. You hadn’t known how to feel about it, especially since it had only been moments ago when he was inside of you…and there he was handing you a grand in hundreds.

“Don’t look like that,” Rafe had chuckled, walking to his dresser in search of a shirt. “You know you need the money.”

He wasn’t wrong…and that was the problem.

Unless you hit a lucky streak in life, you’d always need the money, and that was exactly why you were in the predicament you were in—four months later and putting up with the monster that was Rafe Cameron just to keep a roof over your head. The thought brought tears to your eyes, positive now that your mom could see you and was beyond disappointed in you. 

Her disappointment could only be outdone by your own.

You were in a situation that you couldn’t get out of, on the verge of ending this arrangement so many times before asking yourself what better way could you pay your mom’s debts and survive? It wasn’t easy money by far, but it was fast money, and it was the kind of money that would take months to make at whatever low paying job you’d find around Outer Banks. Someone like you rarely got hired at the country club or working for some rich snob who wiped their ass with the kind of money you needed.

Rafe knew this too.

Tears kissed your eyes as you scrubbed your skin raw, wishing that you could scrub away the nasty bruise right along with the sweat and grime. You winced every time you touched it, cursing the blond and feeling one of those moments where you considered blocking him and moving on from this pathetic era in your life for good.

Fucking Rafe Cameron for drugs didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time, fucking him for money seemed like an even better one…until that entitled attitude started to extend to the woman he was paying good money to have access to. You remembered the first time you opposed something he wanted to do, the way in which he ignored you, the way he merely pressed your face into the pillow to shut you up.

It was the first time you felt truly icky about this whole situation.

Not even just icky.

…but afraid.

“I don’t pay you to tell me what you will and won’t do in bed,” he’d chuckled at you like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

You’d still been trembling and wiping mascara from your cheeks.

“I pay you because I want to fuck you,” he’d slowly whispered to you, leaning in. “...and you let me because you don’t want to be sleeping on the beach.”

He’d held your gaze for what felt like too long, impressing upon you the true dynamic of this arrangement, and you remembered the unease that had festered in your gut that day. Maybe all the drugs and alcohol hadn’t allowed you to fully look at this arrangement for what it was and the power imbalance here, but you had for the first time that day, and you hadn’t liked it.

You liked it even less now, wrapping the towel around you and wondering how you were ever going to get out of this predicament you’d put yourself into.

“My family’s going out of town for the weekend,” the familiar blond mumbled to you as he inhaled a familiar powdery substance off the back of his hand. “Pack a bag when you get home, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at that, huffing instead.

“I can’t spend the whole weekend on Figure 8,” you told him. “I have plans.”

Rafe nodded, and you hated the smile that danced across his lips.

“Okay, uh, be ready at 8, I don’t want-.”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you cut him off, shrugging. “I can’t stay at your house all weekend.”

You watched him watch you, slowly swiping his tongue between his lips as a frown started to take over. His dirty blond hair kissed his brows, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous you grew. You watched as Rafe glanced away, seemingly deep in thought before those baby blues of his rested on you, much colder than they were a few seconds ago.

“What the hell am I paying you for?” he whispered.

The question was rhetorical, and you swallowed.

“Rafe…I’ve barely seen my friends in months. I finally made plans to meet up with them for more than five minutes and-.”

“...and whose fault is that?” he shrugged.

You frowned at him.

“Nobody told you to go off on a bender when your mom kicked the bucket…” you blinked at his callousness. “Maybe you should’ve been finding comfort in your friends instead of drugs and vodka…and me.”

He finished his sentence with a soft—and yet cruel—smile.

“I pay you good money—great money even!—to be available when I want you to be, and unless you’ve found some other rich asshole to open your legs for, which I doubt…be ready tomorrow at 8.”

He was standing, now, looking down at you where you sat on the bed. The harsh reminder of your roles here had you looking away, and Rafe turned away when he rightfully took your silence as confirmation. You stared at the wall for a few moments before turning to stare at his back, thinking to yourself that this couldn’t go on much longer. Whether it took 1 or 5 jobs, you couldn’t keep relying on Rafe Cameron forever.

What was once a weekly occurrence had turned into something entirely other, and it hadn’t bothered you so much when your mother’s death was still so fresh and you were seeking solace in the worst coping mechanisms known to man—including isolation. Now, however, you were waking up to the choices you’d made and you hated the feeling of being inebriated and being surrounded by people you barely knew.

You hated being away from your friends.

“I didn’t even know you’d gotten a job,” John B. said to you hours later, looking disappointed but understanding. “JJ’s gonna be real disappointed. He’s been talking all week about having you try some new weed he got.”

You gave a light laugh at that, a pang in your chest at how much you missed doing stupid shit with them.

“Yeah,” you sadly said. “The world—and bills—doesn’t stop just because my mom died.”

The brunette grew quiet at that, worriedly eyeing you now.

“You doing okay…?”

You sighed at that, looking out over the yard of The Chateau, fiddling with your fingers as you thought of a certain blond.

“I’ve been better, but…I’ve been worse too.”

Your answer was honest, and you briefly wondered what John B. would think if he knew just how bad ‘worse’ had been. You didn’t think any of them would hate you if they knew the full extent of just how far you’d fallen, but you knew they’d have a hard time wrapping their head around it. The drugs and alcohol were one thing, but Rafe Cameron was entirely another. The man was the worst example of a Kook if there was one, representing every bad trait attributed to them.

Your friends would not understand you essentially sacrificing your self respect for money and drugs.

Sometimes you didn’t understand it either. 

Most especially when Rafe had his hands around your neck.

He picked you up at 8 on the dot Friday night—a man of his word if nothing else—and less than a hour later you were bent over his father’s desk as he pounded into you. Your head was hanging off of it, fighting hard to not scrape your nails against the dark mahogany. It wasn’t the first time Rafe fucked you on Ward’s desk, and you doubted that it would be the last time. There’d even been a few rare occasions when he fucked you in the older man’s bed, and you didn’t know what complex the blond had that fueled these decisions, but you weren’t a psychologist so you figured it wasn’t anything to concern yourself with.

Despite the tight grip on your throat, a choked moan managed to escape every time Rafe pushed his cock into you. Sweat made his skin glisten, and you were sure you fared no better. His hair wasn’t so neat, now, and you had the stray thought that you preferred it that way. Rafe being so far from ugly definitely made this arrangement easier to swallow down at times, but other times it just made you angry.

How was it fair that someone seemingly had everything, including the big dick to match?

Rafe walked around like he was God’s gift to the world, possessing one of the most rotten personalities you’d ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of, and he seemed to be rewarded with it with everything the average person could only dream about. As if any of that wasn’t enough, you practically rewarded him with even more by essentially telling him he could do whatever he wanted so long as the price was right.

It made you disgusted with yourself at times.

When he pressed a hand to your stomach, hips slowing to a pace that made your breath hitch, you squeezed your eyes shut. In the quiet office, the sound of his cock disappearing between your folds was loud, the wet noise telling you that there’d no doubt be a mess left on Ward’s desk when this was all said and done. You heard Rafe curse, and you didn’t have the energy to lift your head from where it hung off the desk.

“...and to think,” he panted from above you. “You were going to pass this up to sit around with those dirty Pogues.”

At this, you did attempt to sit up, a hand against his chest and one on the desk as he thrusted into you.

“Those ‘dirty Pogues’ are my friends,” you forced out, lashes fluttering. “...and clearly you forget that I’m one too.”

Rafe merely chuckled at that, perfect teeth winking at you as he grinned.

“Yeah, but you’re my dirty Pogue so it’s a little different.”

His words had your frown deepening, disgust filling your chest at the way he talked about you while literally fucking you. Completely turned off, you turned your head away, attempting to separate yourself from him. That haughty laugh reached your ears, and to your dismay, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“What…?” he lazily drawled. “You don’t like the sound of that?”

“You’re being an asshole, get off of me…”

He jerked his hips against you, making you gasp, and you squirmed in his arms as you fought to get away. Rafe leaned in to harshly nip his teeth at your cheek, his movements growing rough, causing the desk to shake.

“I’ve spent too much money on you to not say whatever the hell I want,” he evenly said. “So, yeah, at this point, I’ll confidently say I practically own you.”

Tears kissed your eyes at the disgusting words, and fed up with your resistance, Rafe merely placed a hand between your breasts before harshly shoving you back down. You winced at the action, but you had no time to fully linger on it as Rafe started to roughly plunge his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours reaching your ears. He wouldn’t allow you to sit up, both of his hands wrapped around your wrists now as he leaned over you.

This felt too reminiscent of the time he’d pressed your face into the bed, telling you to relax as he pressed the head of his cock just above where your folds were. You recalled the uncomfortable feeling and the tears that stained the pillow as he slowly fucked you in a place no one ever had before. The deja vu of it all had your mind wandering, eyes defocusing as you just waited for it to be over. It seemed like Rafe’s grunts sounded from above you forever, and when he finally came onto your stomach with a low moan, you didn’t move for some time.

You were slow to sit up as he got dressed, trembling as you steaded yourself for what you were about to say.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

The words came out whispered, but in the quiet study, you might as well have yelled them. Rafe didn’t acknowledge you, and you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Frustrated with his refusal to take you seriously, you hopped off of Ward’s desk, angrily grabbing your clothes.

“I’m serious, Rafe. After this weekend…this is done,” you continued, voice firmer, now. “Don’t call me or text me or worry about any more money. I can’t rely on you forever anyway.”

By now, Rafe was actually listening to you, and you avoided his gaze as you got dressed. His silence was loud, and when you were finally decent again, only then did you lift your gaze to glance at him. His visage was unreadable, and after some time, he merely blinked at you.

“If I remember correctly, per your own words, your mom had enough debt ‘to file for bankruptcy’.”

His words made you sharply inhale, and you bit your tongue as he ran his hands through his hair in a poor attempt to tame the damp locks.

“Don’t ruin your life just because you’re pissed at me,” he coldly added.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Personal feelings aside, I can’t rely on you forever, Rafe. That’s just the truth. I have to figure something out eventually, and there’s no time like the present,” your voice shook as he fixed you with an unnerving stare. “I miss my friends, and I don’t want to be the sad, damaged girl running to Rafe Cameron just so I don’t feel anything anymore.”

The blond followed your lead, folding his arms over his own chest as he leaned against the wall, staring you down with that annoying crooked smile.

“...and where exactly do you plan to find a job that pays you what I do?”

“There are jobs, Rafe. I’ll find one.”

You didn’t appreciate his tone nor the look he was giving you as he studied you. He was looking down on you, and yes while that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, this time was different. He was looking down his nose like he didn’t believe in you, like he expected you to be crawling back to him in no time, begging him to fuck you again.

After a few moments, that crooked smile curved even more, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“Well, I wish you luck…”

His voice didn’t match the words that came out of his mouth, and his gaze most certainly didn’t.

“I literally called this morning and was told over the phone that you all were hiring...and now I get here, and I’m being told you’re not…?”

You tried to keep the skepticism out of your tone, but your frustration at your predicament was bubbling up and threatening to be unleashed on the lone man before you. The inside of the country club was practically empty—a slow Tuesday—and you briefly glanced around at the two staffers in the whole room. Sure, you could write it off to a slow day that didn’t need a full staff, but something in you told you that it was more than that.

You didn’t believe the man in front of you.

“Look, I don’t know what else to tell you, miss. Whoever you talked to got it wrong. I’m sorry for the miscommunication on our end,” was his only explanation.

You didn’t dare bother to point out that both he and whoever you’d spoken with on the phone sounded damn near identical.

When it became obvious that this conversation was over, you turned away with a small huff, breezing outside to a familiar dark car. Kie was standing by it, arms uncomfortably crossed over her chest, glaringly obvious that she’d rather be anywhere but here despite being from ‘here’.

“Well…?” she wondered as you got closer.

“They’re not hiring,” you mumbled as you slid into the passenger seat.

She joined you inside the vehicle a moment later, a frown on her face.

“...but you called.”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence before she scoffed, reaching for her door handle.

“If this is because you aren’t some rich snob looking for play money…”

She trailed off when you spoke up.

“No, I don’t…I don’t think it’s that,” you stopped her. “Let’s just go.”

She eyed you for a few moments, frown deepening.

“Are you sure? Y/N, this is like the fourth place you’ve been to today,” she pointed out. “...and I don’t want to add my stress to your stress, but it’s kind of fucked up.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t possible for you to be any more stressed than you already were, simply signaling for her to drive. You could feel her eyes periodically landing on you as she did, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering why the universe had it out for you.

It had been weeks since you’d last seen or talked to Rafe, weeks since you ended your little arrangement, and weeks since you’d had a consistent source of income. It wasn’t a pretty nor respectable way to make money, but you’d been making money nonetheless. However, you couldn’t find it in you to continue sacrificing your self respect to keep sleeping with Rafe Cameron. You’d also been telling the truth when you told him you didn’t want to be this messed up sad thing anymore.

You had long let go of the drugs and cut back on the drinking, and now you’d dropped Rafe too.

You’d had hope…but now it was dwindling.

No one would hire you. In fact, no one had even allowed you far enough to officially apply just to get a foot into an interview. It was always the same. You’d call ahead so you didn’t waste your time, they’d tell you they were looking for people, and then the moment you actually showed up and introduced yourself, it was an entirely different story. It didn’t make any sense to you, and the thought of ever proving Rafe right made you want to be sick.

“How bad is it?” JJ asked you a few days later, the both of you away and isolated in some corner of some guy’s party.

You looked down at the weak drink in your hand, contemplating on whether or not to be honest.

“It’s…manageable.”

A whopper of a lie.

“...then why don’t I believe you? Come on, Y/N, it’s me. I know your mom wasn’t the best when it came to funds, and when she died…” he scoffed. “You weren’t exactly in any shape to march down to anyone’s job and fight for work just to keep things afloat.”

You looked away at that, throat tight.

“I’m honestly shocked you’ve kept it up for this long.”

If only he knew…

You felt his gaze on you as you wondered just how truthful you should be, but you reminded yourself that this was JJ. If he knew the full extent of everything, he’d be likely to rob a bank. Nevermind the fact that it would just make him ask more questions, like how you’d even managed to keep things afloat all this time. You didn’t think you could lie to him, and you didn’t think you could handle being on the receiving end of whatever look JJ would undoubtedly give you if you told him you’d been sleeping with Rafe to pay your bills.

You didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that the subject of your thoughts walked through the doors to prevent this conversation from continuing. His presence shouldn’t have shocked you—the party was pretty mixed with people from all sides of the island after all—but it still gave you pause, and JJ noticed.

“This asshole,” you heard the blond murmur, rolling his eyes.

You were inclined to agree, and you shrunk in on yourself with your drink, unable to ignore the knowledge that Rafe was at the same party you were at. In the weeks you’d been free of him, you’d had time to really ponder on your dalliance, and while you’d long accepted your hand in your own life choices, it was now hard to ignore Rafe’s own opportunistic choices in the situation. Sure, yes, you fucked him for money…

…but what did it say about him that he was perfectly happy to enter an arrangement in which he kept you off of the streets so long as you opened your legs for him?

If he was a good guy he’d just…keep you off the streets.

Like JJ would if you ever told him the truth.

You’d just decided to stop hiding in the bathroom when you came face to face with the man himself, heart skipping a beat at his presence. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, and you had the sneaking suspicion he hadn’t been waiting for his turn.

“How’s the job search going?” was how he greeted you, and you hadn’t been able to keep the ire off of your face.

He softly laughed to himself at that, nodding.

“I figured you’d look a little something like that.”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and Rafe frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“You were, remember? And then you stopped…and that’s how you found yourself back at square one,” he reminded you.

The music traveled from downstairs into the dimly lit hallway, and you looked away from him just as he heaved a tired sigh.

“Do I need to apologize for calling you and your friends dirty Pogues? Is that what this is about?” he lazily wondered.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, and when you lifted your gaze, Rafe was rolling his eyes. He fixed you with a look, reaching up to touch your hair with a tsk.

“Come on, Y/N. You need me…”

He leaned in.

“We both know it, and you’re never going to find a job in this town.”

“You don’t know that,” you fired back, slapping his hand away as you took a step away from him.

Almost instantaneously, Rafe’s entire expression morphed, and you swallowed at the shadow that passed over his features. His pink lips pressed together, and those blue eyes hardened in a way you’d never been on the receiving end of. You watched his nostrils flare.

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

The combination of his tone and his expression and his words gave you pause, and your brows pulled together as you stared at him. For a moment, the music in the house faded into the background as Kie’s words came to your mind. ‘It’s kind of messed up’, she’d said, and while you hadn’t given that much thought to the statement then…you certainly were now.

“What did you do?” you shakily asked the blond, skin growing cold.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was a lie anyway.

“I don’t know what you mean,” was all he said, one brow raised.

You felt tears kiss your eyes, and you felt silly for not putting the pieces together earlier. You didn’t know how, but somehow, Rafe had a hand in your lack of employment. It seemed exactly like something he’d do, but the only thing you couldn’t understand was why. Why do it? Just to see you fail? Just to feel like he’d won?

“Look, this little rebellious act…it’s cute and amusing and all…” he shrugged off with a small smile. “...but it’s silly. We both know you’re just going to end up right back under me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you hissed, moving past him.

“Yeah, and you knew that when you let me fuck you for drugs on some guy’s desk,” he threw at you, making you flinch and slow down. 

“I was going through things then, Rafe! I didn’t…” you huffed a sigh, turning to glower at him. “I didn’t care about things I most definitely should have. It’s different now.”

You threw your hands up.

“I’m different, now, and I don’t want to keep sacrificing my dignity and self respect just to keep a roof over my head. I don’t want to sleep with someone who views me and anyone like me as beneath him. It disgusts me, and unlike you, I have no interest in sleeping with people who I claim disgust me.”

You watched Rafe’s lip curl over his teeth.

“Yeah, that’s real respectable and noble and all, but I wonder how noble it’ll feel when you’re being evicted,” he spat at you, moving closer. “You’re not getting a job in this town, that I can promise you, so you keep this up for as long as you want to, but we both know how this ends.”

You leaned away from the finger in your face.

“I fucking own you,” he bit out, roughly grabbing your arm and yanking you close despite your resistance. “You named your price, and I paid it-.”

“For a service! Not a person,” you harshly whispered.

Rafe’s chuckle was cold as he stared you down, perfect teeth winking at you.

“You think you’re the only girl in Outer Banks willing to spread her legs for some money? You think I’d have to pay any of them half of what I paid you?” your stomach dropped at his words. “I’ve been a lot more generous than you realize.”

He roughly let you go, practically shoving you away from him, and you stumbled. He eyed you with an expression filled with promise, and when you turned away to finally find your friends and hopefully leave, you descended the stairs on unsteady legs.

You pushed against Rafe’s arm and chest as he held your chin in a tight grip. The vehicle you were next to hid you both from view, everyone on the beach none the wiser to what was happening in the parking lot. Your feet tripped over one another as he forced you back, trapping you between him and the metal contraption.

“Is that what you came up with? You think that pathetic Pogue is going to pay your bills? Give you a place to stay when that eviction notice is taped to your door?”

“Get…off…of me,” you snarled, finally shoving him away with difficulty.

Your breathing was heavy as you glared at the blond, lips trembling and heart racing at the downright evil glint in his blue eyes. You glanced over his shoulder for any way to get away from him, your frustration growing as he moved closer.

“Color me curious, but is it somehow more dignified to fuck someone like JJ instead of me?”

The jealousy dripping from his every word threw you for a loop, and you weren’t in the right headspace to even linger on how strange that was.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re not like that,” you drunkenly choked out. “I don’t know why you feel like I need to answer to you about my personal choices.”

It had only been thirty minutes ago that you were dancing with your friends. JJ—ever the flirt—had gotten a bit handsy, but it was nothing unusual. He could get handsy with a tree, and you’d merely smiled at the behavior, ignorant to the heated gaze that was hyper focused on you. You hadn’t even realized he’d been following you when you went to get a drink from Hayward’s truck.

“Butt out of my life already. You’ve already done enough,” you hissed at him, moving to get past him when he stopped you.

“We’re not done talking-.”

His words were interrupted by your hand, the sound of the slap echoing in your ears, and he’d just harshly pushed you against the car at your back when a familiar voice interrupted you both.

“Get off of her!”

Kie was suddenly there, helping you in shoving him away, and she looked at Rafe like he’d lost his mind—like she’d bore witness to an even sinister side to him. The blond didn’t seem all that fazed by her presence, barely sparing her a glance as his jaw clenched, his eyes on you. Clearly he felt that whatever he was contemplating wasn’t worth it, because without another word—but not without a final scoff—he made his way back to the party on the beach.

Kie wrapped her arms around you when you started to cry.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

What a loaded question, and you realized that the truth was just on the edge of your tongue. Unable to stop yourself, you threw your arms around her, collapsing under the weight of all your choices and what had led you to make them.

“Kie,” you started, voice trembling in her ear. “I have to tell you something.”

If she was horrified by the truth, she didn’t show it much. You could tell she was shocked as the words tumbled from your lips, her brown eyes stricken and face draining of color. You didn’t know what bothered her more—the drugs, the prostitution, or that both involved Rafe Cameron. As it turns out, it was none of those things.

“Why didn’t…why didn’t you let us help you?” she tearfully wondered, looking between your eyes. “We know how hard it’s been for you, and we wanted to be there for you, but you…you just disappeared. You barely came around, and John B. heard things, but he didn’t want to believe them.”

She whispered that last part, and your chest ached at the thought of your friends hearing about your out of character behavior but feeling powerless to stop it, accepting it as part of your grief.

“Rafe’s a demented asshole,” she finally spoke on the elephant in the room. “...and we won’t let him win, okay?”

There was conviction in Kie’s voice, the kind of conviction that made you want to believe her, and so you nodded at her words.

She helped you straighten, wiping your face and taking you back to the party, quietly promising you that she wouldn’t say anything about any of this to the guys. She stuck to you for the rest of the night, and a week later, she made good on her promise, her parents shaking your hand as they welcomed you to their staff.

“We could always use the extra hands,” Mrs. Carrera told you one Friday evening. “It gets crazy busy, especially on the weekends.”

All the noise in the restaurant only validated her statement.

You’d been working at The Wreck for a week, and while it was nothing like what Rafe had been paying you, it was a job. It was a means of earning your own money that didn’t involve lowering yourself to the likes of Rafe Cameron. It was grueling, sure, and you sometimes wondered if it was truly worth the money, but then you’d think of the alternative, and you’d decide that it was worth something and that’s what mattered.

You hadn’t been paying that much attention when you approached your last table for the night, looking up from the apron at your waist and stopping in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked here too,” Topper said, a fairly neutral greeting.

Topper may have been just as much of an asshole as his friends, but he at least played nice for the public. Your gaze traveled around the table, quickly looking away when it connected with a familiar blue.

“It’s…a fairly new gig,” you finally said, getting your notepad ready.

“Hey, if you’re going to use your friends for anything, might as well use them to become a productive member of society,” he told you, his tone now making you frown.

Opting to ignore the comment, you asked them what they wanted. You didn’t make eye contact with Rafe when he gave you his order, hand unsteady as you wrote it down. When you left them to go and get their drinks, you weren’t surprised to hear the scrape of a chair behind you. You were focused on rounding the counter, reaching for some clean glasses.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t forget your last encounter with the rich blond, tempted to ignore his presence altogether, but you were unfortunate enough to know how Rafe operated. Pausing in your movements, you turned to look at him, not surprised at all by the unhappy look on his face.

“I’m working, Rafe. What does it look like?”

You eyed the way his jaw ticked, finger gently tapping against the counter as he simply…stared you down. You glanced away, realizing that he didn’t have any power over you anymore. No, you weren’t completely out of the woods, but you had a secured source of income, and you’d happily struggle and scrape over sleeping with Rafe ever again.

“Go find some other struggling girl to take advantage of,” you finally said to him, grabbing their drinks and making your way to their table without a backwards glance.

Working at The Wreck was hard work, and no matter how many shifts you covered and how many tips you got, it was still long and hard work for half the money Rafe had ever paid you. You knew this when Kie came to you about the job, but on the other side of it, you were so beyond grateful for it. You were still stressed, of course, your monetary problems not going away anytime soon, but it was the normal stress of the average working twenty-something.

It wasn’t the kind of worry that came from a violent and abusive lover.

Rafe had been by the restaurant a few times since that day, and each time was more nerve-wracking than the last. Sometimes you served him, sometimes you didn’t, but it didn’t really matter because his gaze always found its way to you either way. On the days when Kie worked too, she’d ask you if you wanted her to do something about him, but you always declined.

After all, what reason would you have her give to her parents for kicking out the son of Ward Cameron who—to their knowledge—hadn’t done anything to warrant it?

Maybe you should’ve listened to Kie though. While you didn’t know if that would’ve changed things, you at least would have felt better about attempting to do something. Perhaps it was the mere sight of watching you work—watching you earn money independent of him—that made him snap, made him drop all pretenses completely. Barring him from the restaurant while you were there might’ve triggered some out of sight, out of mind response. It might’ve forced him to slowly get over whatever this thing was that he had about you.

It might have…

…and it also might not have done shit. Perhaps nothing would’ve changed, and you still would’ve found yourself tearfully staring at Kie’s mom as you took off your apron for the last time.

It was a normal Saturday when the texts and emails came through. The busiest day of the week, the most packed the restaurant ever would be for the next six days, and you’d been placing some fries down in front of some family’s kid when the noise in the restaurant…changed. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint how it changed, but if you did your best, it was like the chatters went from excitement about their food or whatever happened during the week to something else entirely.

One single thing that everyone was talking about.

You weren’t getting paid to mind your patrons’ business, but you started to think differently about that when the people at the table you were next to started to heavily eye you. The whole restaurant was loud with hushed chatter, so you couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the glances between the phones in their hands and you had you frowning.

You were slowly glancing around—realizing that that table wasn’t the only one—when you were yanked by your arm off the floor.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” you worriedly wondered the moment Kie had you hidden from view.

The look on her face was hard to read, but her parted lips and wide eyes told you that she was horrified. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, seemingly unable to get the words out before slamming it shut, swallowing. The combination of her expression, her silence, and the lack of silence out there had a ball of dread forming deep in your gut.

“Kie,” you softly said. “What…what’s wrong?”

It took her a moment to speak.

“It’s Rafe,” she softly said.

Your confusion only grew, still not quite understanding. 

“What happened? Is he bothering you? Did…he do something to you?” you hesitantly asked, fearful that your former tormentor had turned his sights onto your friend.

“Not to me.”

That simple sentence started to put the pieces together, and you turned your face towards the front of the restaurant, recalling the stares and whispers and listening to the excited chatter. Your skin grew cold, goosebumps erupting all over you, and that dread was long gone. It was instead replaced by nausea.

“He sent everyone something…”

“No,” you heard yourself whisper.

“...a video.”

You turned to her with wide eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. Glancing down, you caught sight of her phone in her hand, and before Kie could stop you, you’d snatched it out of her grip. You moved out of her reach as she extended her arm, desperately trying to protect you, but it was too late.

You felt like you were weighed down by bricks as you stared at the two familiar faces on the screen.

It had to have been taken months ago, during one of the first few times you’d slept with him. You both were in Ward’s bedroom, and you remembered the day all too well, recalling the feel of his palm striking your skin and his voice in your ear before pulling your head down to his lip. Of course, it was that one and not one of the ones where he’d held you down and forced you to take his thrusts.

Your hand was empty, not even realizing when Kie had taken it back, simply staring into space at the memory of what was on that screen.

“Y/N, when my parents find out—and they’re going to find out—they…”

Her words died in the air at the sound of footsteps behind you, and you flinched when you heard a familiar voice call your name. Mrs. Carerra didn’t sound happy, and her expression fared no better when you turned around. You couldn’t stop your tears from spilling over as she gestured for you to follow her further into the back of the restaurant. You knew what was coming, what Kie was trying to prepare you for.

It was what Rafe wanted, after all…and he’d gotten it.

It was hours later when you were sitting with your back against your door, your phone turned off, overwhelmed by the influx of missed calls and messages from your friends. You’d only gotten a glimpse at them before finding your head bent inside of your toilet. Every single one of them bar Kie were shocked, their horror and confusion clear as day through their words. Only Pope had eventually sent a text that asked if you were okay.

…and the truth was that you weren’t.

You were so far from okay.

Rafe had won, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and even though Mrs. Carerra had expressed sympathy for your plight—more angry at the situation than anything else—she’d still had no choice but to let you go. Every other business in town valued the Cameron family way too much, and the only place that had been willing to hire you had been swayed by Rafe too in the worst manner possible.

It was well after midnight when your door shook from harsh knocks. You hadn’t moved in hours, just blankly staring at the wall, and you closed your eyes at the sound, positive it was one of your friends. You didn’t have the strength to face them, to answer questions and either break down or pretend you felt far better than you actually did.

You did, however, have the strength to face Rafe, your gaze lifting when his voice met your ears, demanding that you open the door.

His fist was still in the air when you swung it open, looking at him like he was something you’d find on the bottom of your shoes. He looked as put together as ever, completely unfazed by what he’d done. And why wouldn’t he be? This wouldn’t hurt his reputation and success in this town a bit. If nothing else, the video would have even more girls falling at his feet, but for some reason he didn’t seem to want that.

He preferred to force your hand instead.

“What is wrong with you?” you tearfully asked him, throat tight.

He didn’t respond right away, touching his tongue to his lip as his gaze roamed behind you.

“You gonna let me in?”

Your eyes almost popped out of your sockets, and he gave a haughty laugh.

“It’s not like I’ve left you with much of a choice, now, have I?”

He sounded so…proud of himself, and all you could do was cry as he brushed past you. He closed the door for you, noticing that you were struggling to move, and he kept his hand on the wood, his chest grazing your back as he pressed his face into your hair. You heard him deeply inhale, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I told you how this would end,” he whispered. “I gave you a chance to be smart about this.”

You went to move away from him, but his other hand shot out to grip your arm.

“You’re the one who made things way more difficult than they needed to be.” he continued. “We had a good thing going…and then you had to go and get sensitive and sentimental.”

When he forced you to face him, you kept your eyes on the collar of his shirt. The silence stretched as you refused to look at him, and you eventually heard Rafe heave a sigh. He let your arm go, and you watched him reach into his pocket, disappointed but not surprised by the roll of one hundred dollar bills he pulled out. When he straightened, he took your hand and placed the money in your palm, clasping your hands together.

A few more tears escaped when his fingers threaded through yours.

“Do you still feel like fighting this?” he quietly asked. “Let me know, right now, because I have all the time—and money—in the world.”

He slowly pulled you closer.

“You don’t.”

You shakily exhaled, reluctantly lifting your gaze to meet his own. You stared at one another for what felt like too long, and when he leaned in, taking your silence as defeat, you let him kiss you. It was a salty kiss, your own tears mixing in, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, moving his lips against yours with a growing smile. His arm snaked its way around your waist, and the animalistic noise he let out told you just how excited he was to have you back under his thumb.

The couch seemed sufficient enough for him, bringing you both to it as he peeled your clothes off. You shuddered as the air hit your naked skin, thoughtlessly moving closer to his own body heat, and Rafe pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he laid you down. It felt like ages since you’d last slept with him, but you knew that wasn’t why you were trembling.

You were trembling because you finally realized you were sleeping with a monster. Before, Rafe had just been an opportunistic asshole to you. Rich, spoiled, selfish, the list went on, but now he was so much more than that. He was now someone who’d raped you on more than one occasion, and who had proved that he’d do anything to make you completely reliant on no one but him.

How else could he ensure that you’d never leave him? Never have any other choices but him? You’d eventually have to leave Outer Banks one day, you knew that to be true if you ever wanted a life independent of him, but that video could follow you around for the rest of your life, and very probably would.

When Rafe sheathed himself inside of you, stretching you out in a way that was regularly familiar to you, you gasped. The blond wasted no time in adopting a steady pace, fucking you hard against your couch, his fingers pressing into the arm of it. His grunts were soft in your ears, and despite your combined hatred and fear of him, you weren’t able to swallow down the whimpers that escaped your lips too.

You didn’t know what kind of hard on Rafe had for fucking someone he deemed so far beneath him, even more so to go through so much trouble of forcing you right back into his bed. You didn’t understand it one bit, and part of you never wanted to. You didn’t want to understand a thing that went on inside of his head, didn’t want to understand the thought process behind doing what he’d done to you.

His fingers scraped down your thigh before yanking you forward as he sat up some, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you. He was focused on the sight, lips parting as he panted from above you. He didn’t lean back down until your leg was over his shoulder, preventing you from moving much as he used you to chase his high, hips repeatedly curving against yours and forcing you to grip the couch.

“I missed this pussy so much,” he murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth as he spoke. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You hadn’t before, but you did, now.

When his hand landed on your throat, it didn’t hurt, but his thumb applied just enough pressure to keep you alert.

“I’ll stop calling your friends dirty Pogues if that makes you feel better,” he whispered, a gentle kiss from his lips to yours. “...but you still belong to me.”

[wileys-russo]

I had a cute idea I wanted to share because I love the way you write!! Leah has back to back interviews from home and reader is sat on the sofa just watching her, falling more and more in love with how passionate her girl is. Leah gets all blushy and a bit flustered by the gaze. Just a cute fluffy one x

lock down II l.williamson

"-and then i've got another over zoom with sky sports at three and i should be done for the day." your girlfriend sighed, already tired by her day before it had even begun.

"no rest for the wicked huh?" you hummed, still laid down in bed as the blonde restlessly paced back and forth across the room. "god then i've gotta fit in our gym program too! do you mind if we do it tonight? i know we're not supposed to but that at least gives me a few hours in between." leah groaned in realization.

"leah breath! of course i don't mind babe, its more enjoyable when we do the program together anyway. i'm more than sure we can push it back a few hours and it shouldn't affect the stats too much." you assured her gently as the blonde nodded.

"so much for lock down! everyone's watching bloody netflix and making tiktoks but noo im memorizing scripts and listening to the same witty one liner over and over about how hard it must be to 'work from home' as a footballer." leah mocked, falling backwards onto the bed with a huff.

"but is it?" you questioned as she sat up slightly and turned her head to be able to see you. "is it what?" leah asked with a confused frown. "is it hard to work from home as a footballer?" you questioned with a frown of your own.

one which quickly turned into a grin as your girlfriend lunged at you, ducking your head under the covers as her bony fingers poked and prodded at you, your safety blanket ripped away as the blonde hovered over you.

"you think you're so fucking funny." leah rolled her eyes as your grin grew. "well one of us has to have a sense of humor in this relationship baby, you're not called captain grumpy for nothing." you teased, tapping your lips expectantly.

"cheeky girl." leah tutted but none the less gave into your request, pressing her lips to yours as your hands moved to tangle in her hair, deepening the kiss as she settled on top of you.

but no sooner did the taller girl slip her tongue into your mouth, hands gliding slowly up your bare stomach, did her alarm go off.

"why!" leah pulled away and groaned moodily, flopping down and burying her face in your neck making you chuckle and gently scratch your nails against her scalp as you tapped snooze.

"babe this isn't making me anymore inclined to get up." your girlfriend mumbled against your skin making you smile. "what if i promise to make breakfast and have it ready for when your first interviews done?" you whispered into her hair, squirming as the girl sighed.

"might be working a little." leah admitted making you laugh and press a kiss to her cheek. "mm and what if i make your favorite breakfast?" you hummed, still rhythmically scratching at her scalp.

"the williamson special?" she questioned, the words muffled into your neck but you laughed again. "the williamson special. an omelette with ham, cheese and not a single spec of colour, flavour or vegetables." you teased, squealing as she pinched your hip but pulled her head up.

"you promised not to mock my eating habits." the older girl frowned with a pout that you quickly kissed away. "no i promised not to mock them last week, todays monday. brand new day of opportunity!" you grinned, pushing her hands away where they tickled at the sliver of skin where your shirt had rode up.

"first my speech impediment and now my diet. you really are a wicked awful woman!" leah sighed with a shake of her head as you scoffed.

"my love we've been over this. you don't have a speech impediment, you're just from milton keynes." you whispered against her lips, pulling away right before they could press against hers, pushing her off of you and moving to stand with a stretch.

"now my beloved MK, you're going the right way for the silent treatment missy." leah pointed at you with a glare as you oohed sarcastically. "tempting. is that a promise?" you winked, laughing as she lurched forward and grabbed the back of your top tugging you back down into bed.

"you are very lucky you're cute." your girlfriend tutted from above you, shaking her head. "and you're very lucky i'm so patient." you poked at her nose with an amused smile as leah gasped in mock offence, your girlfriend nothing if not the expert at annoying you.

"you wait for the third one and you won't have time to shower lee." you warned, pushing her fringe out of her face with a soft smile as she leaned over you to tap stop on the second alarm on her phone and looked down at you with a cheeky grin.

"in that case, wanna save some water?"

~

you were trying to concentrate on your own laptop, you really were.

in the spirit of having nothing better to do locked away in your home you'd signed up for an online accounting course, with leah already studying a much higher qualification in the same field she'd been a massive help.

but why would you waste your time looking at tax brackets and finance breakdowns when you could stare at your incredibly fit gorgeous girlfriend who was sat only a few metres away in your direct eyeline.

you smiled at how she threw and flailed her hands about as she spoke, always one to speak expressively and passionately as she was recounting a story from her childhood when she'd played on a boys team and was relentlessly pushed about for being 'just too good'.

it was one of the first things that had you falling deeply for the older girl, how passionate she was. not just about football but with anything she put her mind and heart to, including how fiercely she loved.

not just how she loved you, but how she loved her family, loved football, loved her friends, the girl could be a handful and a stubborn headache at times but nobody could deny that she was also one of the most sincere and loving human beings you'd ever met.

so with that in mind you sighed quietly, a dopey smile on your face as you pined over her like a lovesick puppy, something the pair of you were often teased about by your team mates but it just washed over you like water off a ducks back, both of you far too loved up in your little bubble to pay it any mind.

in fact without leah you were certain you'd have long lost your mind amid this pandemic, the blonde finding little ways every day to make you still feel so special or to have you smile or laugh, two things which rapidly became her favorite reward.

just yesterday she'd woken you up with breakfast in bed and a bunch of flowers just because.

granted she did order the breakfast from a local cafe which was still operating for delivery and you couldn't prove it but you were near certain that she'd stolen the flowers from some of your neighbors front yards on her morning walk.

regardless you were touched by the thoughtful gesture and showered her with sweet kisses as a thank you, even if leah did eat nearly all of your breakfast much to your amusement given it was hardly up to her usual bland unseasoned standards.

you leaned back a little more into the sofa and crossed your legs underneath you, balancing your laptop on a cushion on your lap, a soft smile plastered permanently into your features.

once or twice leah caught your eyes staring over the top of her own laptop, sending you a small grin or a subtle wink before her attention returned back to the interviewer.

you heard him say that the next game would be a drawing one, sliding your laptop away and hurrying to grab a notebook and pen, placing them beside leah who mouthed her thanks as you took a seat across from her at the dining table.

leah gave you a questioning look as you did so but you merely shrugged, gesturing for her to pay attention as she tuned back into the interview. you watched as she was told to draw her wembley stadium, competing against the interviewer.

you smiled as you took her in, the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, nostrils flaring in annoyance every now and then as she was unhappy with a stroke of her pen, a small puff of air exhaled from the corner of her mouth as the tip of her tongue pushed out the other side.

you took a photo of her and smiled, placing your phone back down and resting your chin on your hand. leah could feel your stare on her and as she revealed her drawing and you grinned as the tips of her ears and cheeks flushed red.

"stop!" she mouthed at you as you shook your head, still staring at her in admiration as her attention switched back to the interview. finally after what felt like hours of your gaze pinned to her leah was able to wrap it up, saying her goodbyes and clicking end call on the zoom, pushing her laptop closed.

"what?" you smiled innocently as the blonde sat back in her chair and shook her head at you. "you have a staring problem!" she accused with a point as you gasped and held a hand to your chest.

"i do not. i wasn't staring, i was admiring!" you clarified as leah hummed, her chair pushing back with a scrape. "cheeky." leah clicked her tongue as you followed after her to the kitchen, kissing her still slightly pink cheek with a smile as she grabbed a juice out from the fridge.

"leah!" you scoffed as you held your hand out for it to take a mouthful and she slapped her palm against yours with a wink.

last one, sorry babe." the blonde smirked as your mouth formed a small o. "those are mine!" you protested, rushing around the counter and trying to snatch it off her as she pushed you away effortlessly with one hand and downed the juice with the other.

"you are so unbel-" you started to tell her off as she exhaled happily and tossed the empty bottle into the recyling bin with a happy whoop as it landed. "no no wait, let me guess." her finger smushed against your lips silencing you as she stroked her chin as if deep in thought.

"unbelievably sexy?" silence. "no? okay. unbelievably charming?" silence again. "wrong again? mmm unbelievably intelligent?" more silence. "wow thought i had it there. unbelievably-" you wrenched her hand away at that and shook your head.

"unbelievably infuriating!" you rolled your eyes as leah smacked her forehead with a scoff. "that was my next guess!" she tutted with a shake of her head as you sighed, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"hey hey don't get all stroppy. there's still three more in there i was only teasing." leah grabbed your waist and pulled your shorter form into her, a noise of surprise leaving your mouth as her hands hooked under your thighs and she hoisted you up to sit on the counter as she settled between your legs.

"how about the williamson special right now?" leah smiled, thumb tracing your bottom lip as you gave her a look of slight confusion. "you want another omelette?" you questioned as your girlfriend shook her head.

"no no baby girl, the real williamson special." leah rasped, hands toying with the waistband of your sweats as you caught onto what she was suggesting.

"mmm and whats that? my memory needs a jog." you hummed, a smile settling onto your own face as the girl leaned in, minty breath fanning your face as her lips were millimeters from yours.

"mind blowingly passionate sex with a guaranteed happy ending, and then-" your eyes fluttered closed as she moved to kiss at your neck, lips trailing from your jaw down to the column of your throat, biting softly before she moved to tug at the lobe of your ear.

"-then we eat potato smileys in bed naked and watch the golf." leah exhaled as you moaned playfully.

"god i love it when you talk dirty to me."

[your-nanas-house]

I have an idea for a smutty dark/Dom Tommy fic if you're open to writing it! I'm not sure on a plot but involing him wearing and keeping on his leather gloves, thank you in advance!!!

Yessssss, love it. Thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Not a virgin anymore

(credits to the owner of the gif)

◇ Pairing: Dark!Tommy Shelby X Finn's girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, age gap (both off age), fingering, dry humping, mean Tommy

◇ Summary: Tommy checks if Finn's girl is as pure as he claims.

◇ Note: Sorry if it took me so long. A huge thank you to @mrkdvidal1989 that helped me so much, you helped me so much with my mood and the writing of this. Thank you 😭 Also It's pretty much a collab.

“I think I wanna marry her” Finn informed his brothers without being able to hold back a bright grin, his eyes scanning them as he waited for a reply, any advice or.. a comment of any kind at least.

He knew that he was quite young to think about marriage, since he hit adulthood just two years before, but the emotions he felt for this young woman were true.

As no one opened their mouths to say something, just continuing to glance at each other, Finn spoke up again ”I fookin’ love her” his mood still so eager and happy.. like a puppy in love.

Still nothing, everyone was mostly waiting for Thomas to say something, but the older man kept staring blankly at his younger brother, seated on his armchair.. legs open and arms resting there, supporting his head and cigarette as if he was lost in thoughts.

“Nothing to say?” Finn asked, getting impatient, his eyes glancing between the older ones, Tommy and Arthur.

As the youngest brother got clearly frustrated, Arthur cleared his throat.

“Hmm… you fookin’ know her for how long, eh? Nearly six months?” he reminded his brother, mocking him before being interrupted quickly

 “SO? When John married he didn’t even know Esme’s damn name!” Finn quickly pointed out, already getting riled up by the situation. 

Fin always did that. Hating how his brothers treated him because of the age difference, completely oblivious to the fact that he… was acting very childish too often for Tommy to see him as an equal to John or Arthur. 

His poorly thought-out decisions and lack of discipline when it came to listening to orders of his older brothers were playing a huge part in how Thomas viewed him. 

”Have you thought about the responsibilities that come with becoming a Shelby, Fin? Have you already introduced them to your chosen one? Risk Our ways and how we deal with things?.. Have you thought about that? Huh?” He pressed, leaning forward as his patience ran short with how snappy Fin was. Lack of respect was just another thing he despised in his younger brother.

”I-I…” The young man stammered out, looking for any line to defend himself.. unsuccessfully, making Thomas scoff while putting out his cigarette into an ashtray. 

”What’s her name again?...” He rasped out, his now free hand tapping impatiently against the fabric of the armchair, his cold gaze piercing his brother's face without a hint of any positive emotions.

“Y/n..Y/n Y/l/n” Finn replied in a murmur, his older brother’s comments affecting him more than he wished they would. 

The name kept repeating in Thomas’ head, before a cocky amused smirk cracked his serious expression.

“Now I get why yer want to marry her” he chuckled bitterly leaning forward, face to face with Finn. 

“She’s as good as her mother, eh?” he asked mockingly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey “You don’t marry whores, you just tame them, Finn. Am I right?” he asked his other two brothers with amusement in his voice, not really expecting an answer.

His mischievous mood changed quickly as Finn suddenly got up from his seat.

“She’s not!.. She’s not like her mother.. She's a good girl, goes to church, helps around and works in the local bakery." The youngest Peaky Blinder informed them, narrowing his eyes at Tommy’s reaction. Watching with a clenched jaw as the older man hummed mockingly, gulping fast down the strong drink before he spoke again, not changing his attitude.

 “A good girl, huh… I bet”, making the other laugh at Finn as well.

“It’s true! You… I’ll make you fookin’ meet her”

.

It took him just a couple of days to organise a meeting between them, inviting them all to her house. It was a pretty cosy, little, modest house settled in Small Heath. Nothing fancy but it was visible that the people living there were doing their very best to keep it nice. 

The male part of the family of Shelby's stood on the porch on the agreed day and time. 

Their expensive suits looking odd contrasting with the domestic and homey look of the building and little wooden decorations standing in the garden. 

Finn was smiling, standing at the forefront of the group while Arthur and John kept joking back and forth, in front of Tommy, whose face remained serious and uninterested as he waited. 

After knocking on the door, they didn't have to wait long before an old woman, probably in her 60s, appeared in the doorway. A friendly smile lingering on her wrinkled face that looked great accompanied by the dark pink dress she wore.

”Good morning, Mister” She spoke up seeing Finn, earning a polite smile from him. They clearly had met each other previously, so she wasn't very alarmed by the sight of four men in suits standing at the door. “Good morning, nana” Finn greeted, removing his hat for respect, cleaning his shoes before entering the familiar house, heading directly towards the living room. 

John was the next to enter the house, along with Arthur, a smirk still on his face due to the jokes they were sharing previously 

“Good morning, na— Mrs. Y/l/n” he corrected himself quickly as Arthur slapped the back of his head “Be fookin’ polite” he murmured under his breath, smiling at the older woman before kissing her hand as he bowed his head slightly “Good morning, ma��am, thank you for inviting us into your house” he stated, winking before following the direction Finn took, not noticing the weird side eye Tommy gave him as he cleaned his soles before walking in as well with the same unbothered expression. 

”Mornin’” Thomas nodded, keeping his cap on. After all he didn't come here for a tea, he had his own purpose. 

Purpose of proving Finn how wrong he was when it comes to little Y/n. 

The older woman’s eyes widened as she felt the weird, intimidating aura surrounding the middle brother. Mumbling her greeting, she quickly disappeared into the kitchen, chatting with Arthur and John as she put the kettle on the stove. 

As Finn tried to head towards the same direction, Tommy's calloused hand grabbed his shoulder roughly. Turning him to face him, he leaned to his level. The serious and business expression on his face. 

”I’m going to have a chat with your little fiancé, eh? You stay there and entertain the old woman and your brothers while I check if she is who you say she is.” he stated harshly in a fierce voice, his eyes glancing at the older woman and back at him before messing up his hair as if he was still a child. 

Ignoring completely the worried expression on his face, because Thomas was aware that Finn knew better than to ask questions. 

The younger brother stood still for a moment before nodding with a resigned expression, turning around and slowly walking away towards the kitchen. Practically leaving his girlfriend in the lion's mouth. 

It was Tommy’s first time in that house so he didn’t really know where to go, luckily for him Y/n’s soft voice led him to what it looked like a small studio. A pretty dark room, with only one window which was close, it was decorated with lots of books and a wooden desk where the young woman was standing behind, holding an old phone, busy talking with someone.

”Yes, aunty. I'll let her know” she replied with a smile, despite the fact that the person on the other side of the phone couldn't see it, her hand busy playing with the tiny golden chain with a cross. Her eyes moving from the spot she was staring at to move closer to the desk “I have to leave you now, we were supposed to have guests today.. I think they are here already” she informed her, glancing towards the door, getting startled by Tommy’s figure standing there as if he owned the place.

He didn’t say anything to interrupt her call, his gloved hands just woven together in front of him, his head tilted to the side as he watched the girl. 

“I love you too, auntie. Bye” she murmured, hanging up the call to give Tommy’s her complete attention

 “Mr Shelby— Welcome, I didn’t hear you come in…” she started, eyeing him suspiciously, her innocent girl facade. staring back at him.

“Nana doesn’t like when people wear caps inside of her house… it’s a way to show respect” she pointed out, already a bit annoyed by his attitude. Thomas chuckled hearing her words, as he adjusted the peaky cap on his head.

”Nana didn't offer me a cup of tea, which isn't really polite either, eh?” He spoke up with a hint of mockery before entering her room and closing the door behind, making sure to lock it.

“She’s probably still preparing it, we have fresh baked cookies, though.” Y/n pointed out as her expression softened. Her demeanour changed as she tried to keep her temper down. It should have been a calm day but a lot of things that set her off happened, so she wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with Tommy fucking Shelby.

Be proper, Y/n thought just like she was always told. Plastering a small smile on her face, her eyes moving from Thomas’ face to the door and back. “They are in the living room, sir,” 

Tommy chuckled at her words, walking slowly further into her room, looking around with a grin as he hummed. 

“That's one way to decorate a girl's room, eh?” He scoffed, eyeing her suggestively, touching the colourful figurines standing on shelves. ”Definitely furnished to be a whore's own.” he casually pointed out, checking the books casually. “Guess they paid your mom good enough, huh? Family business it is, sweetheart?” the older man moved his gaze towards her standing form, smirking amused at her blank stare.

“Pardon?” she stuttered out through her utter shock, her head tilting  to the side.“You here to disrespect a dead woman, Mr Shelby? If so.. You can fucking leave!” she spat out angrily, staring blankly at him for a couple of minutes before sighing and looking away, playing nervously with her cross while she headed to the door.

“My condolences… I’m here because of the sick idea you put in my little brother’s head” Tommy spoke in an emotionless tone, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.. Lighting one without even asking for approval.

“Finn talked about you quite a lot lately, speaking about how pure, innocent, religious… and a good girl you are. You got him quite smitten, eh?” Thomas pointed out after inhaling deeply, his hand rubbing his chin “Well… what I was wondering about was how much of this is actually true.” He murmured, meeting her gaze with a smirk as he moved closer, hand reaching for her chin. “How much of a little saint you actually are, eh? Sweetheart.” he added, blowing out the smoke in her face, his fingers digging painfully into her skin as she looked into his empty, blue eyes. 

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his harsh tone, her eyes narrowing as her mouth remained shut. Struggling in his grip, she tried to free herself, unsuccessfully. 

She was losing her patience quite quickly and it wasn't something that happened frequently… but there she was, angrily standing in front of what was the most feared man of Birmingham.

“I am.. I'm.. intact, if that's your concern, Mr. Shelby” She informed him in a sarcastically pleasant tone, a hint of harsh arrogance clear as day, caused by how annoyed she was by the conversation they were having. 

Her small hands curling into fists, squeezing tightly when Tommy just nodded almost mockingly, his icy stare moving across her body slowly, carefully measuring each part of her body. Not worried about gentlemanly manners, Thomas stared, as if he was checking her out.

“Sure” he simply said, the tone of his voice intact, but the look in his blue eyes wasn't trying to hide how little he believed her. Putting out his cigarette, he threw it on the floor while keeping eye contact, showing disrespect to her words and the place she lived. Simply because he could. 

Y/n gasped at his behaviour, quickly moving towards his silhouette as she pushed her finger against his chest, threatening.

“I fucking am, fucking check if you don’t believe me.” she whispered yelled, staring in his eyes boldly as he looked down at her, not a single emotion visible on his face. Almost like he was a statue carved from stone.

Tommy’s eyebrows raised slightly, his cold stare piercing her own, before lowering down to her chest which kept heaving with her deep breaths, caused purely by the anger she felt. 

His hand moved to the edge of her dress, grabbing onto the fabric as he tried to raise it up, making Y/n realise his intention quickly and act impulsively… her hand made an impact with his cheek suddenly, throwing his face to the side slightly. Only after a second she realised what she's done, eyes widening in fear at the sight of his skin turning red.

The loud noise echoing in the room, as Tommy’s, now, dark gaze met her fearful eyes. Not a word was exchanged as his hands grabbed her roughly when she tried to escape from him, manhandling her smaller body harshly against the wooden surface of the desk. One hand kept her body flat against it, pressing painfully on the centre of her back, while his other gloved hand pulled up her dress.. revealing her white panties to him.

A hum of approval escaped his lips as he kneaded her flesh, ignoring her whimpers and pleads to stop. The view in front of him, so strangely innocent and pure, made his cock hardening in his pants, in a quite painful way. 

Lowering his icy eyes with his hand he moved her thighs apart, rubbing slowly two thick fingers against her clothed folds.

”Look at that, already wet” he cooed mockingly as he moved his fingers, spreading her wetness by using the fabric of her panties. 

His left hand digging in the flesh of her covered back, to hold her down and to keep his urges under control. It took much more self-control than he thought it would, not expecting that a girl that pretty would take interest in his inexperienced little brother.

Her eyes were tightly shut, forcing her mouth to stay closed, to make sure she wasn't making any noises. Her mind was a mess as his hands travelled down her heat, touching the places that nobody else ever saw. 

As soon as his thumb pressed on her clit, her hips involuntarily jerked forward as she bit her bottom lip, trying to muffle the sigh that so desperately tried to escape her lips.

”So needy, eh? What would your grandma think?” Thomas chuckled, feeling how her body tensed, her hands trying to reach him, and push him off, unsuccessfully.

The young woman was so focused on trying to make him stop that she didn’t notice the moment when he pulled her panties to the side, allowing the cold breeze of the room to hit her wet bare pussy. 

“No, please– sir!” she yelled in a moment of panic, Tommy’s free hand quickly covering her mouth as he toyed with her folds, opening her so that he could take a look that sent shivers down his spine. That sure was a pretty pussy, he thought while daring to move his index finger to her entrance. 

Her sweet nectar wetting his gloved hand, making it even more noticeable “Look at you, sweetheart” he cooed mockingly again, as his finger pushed slightly deeper, in need to find out the truth.

Angling it slightly to the side, with a tip of his digit he could feel the thin barrier that was in the way of her tight tunnel.

Shaking his head, he leaned towards her, his wet lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

”So innocent, aren't you? Such a small, untouched cunt.” He breathed out, the urge to fuck her becoming increasingly stronger.

Letting out a breath, he pressed his index finger inside without even warning her… just grunting quietly into her ear, as she bit down his hand because of the pain.

So tight and warm, he thought. Tommy could feel how wet she was as he moved his gloved finger against her walls, biting on his bottom lip as he kept going further.

By the way she was moving it looked like it hurt her, as if she was feeling the burning sensation. One felt by a pure woman when her cherry was about to be popped.

“I guess you were right, honey” Tommy hummed, now circling her clit with her gloved hand, his middle finger helping his index one to feel her hymen before pressing against it harshly. Leather covering his hands caused his fingers to appear even thicker, stretching her pussy out so much that they both had to fight the urge to groan at the feeling. 

Tommy's cock was fully hard at this point, leaking with precum into his underwear as his fingers explored the depths of her virgin pussy.

His eyes daring to close, so that his mind could wander in places it shouldn’t. The mere thought of his thick cock wrapped and squeezed for dear life by her pussy was driving him wild, making his finger start to thrust faster as he moved his hips against nothing, just unable to fight the fantasy that he was inside of her precious cunt.

“Fuck, that’s it, honey” he praised, moving his wrist in a quick motion, leaning closer again. His hot breath hitting her neck with each exhale. ”I knew you were a little slut.” He rasped out in a shaky voice, struggling to keep his composure while feeling her pussy clench down on his fingers like a vice. 

“Can feel your filthy cunt squeezing my fingers. Yer fookin’ close, aren’t ye?” he growled in a low tone, parroting back mockingly her noises of pleasure. 

Y/n cried out at the humiliation and the overwhelming feeling in her lower belly. Despite her desperate attempts to not give into it, she couldn't fight it as he kept fucking her with his thick, gloved fingers.

”Give it to me. Stop fighting it.” He commanded through his teeth, as he felt his cock throbbing impatiently in his pants, demanding attention. 

”N-no!” She pleaded quietly, trying her best to suppress the tension that pushed her on the edge of her first orgasm. Breathing deeply, she caught his wrist, trying to stop him, but Tommy just laughed quietly. 

”There you go” He whispered, leaving a small kiss on her temple before shoving his fingers knuckle deep, fucking her with hard and quick strokes, curling his fingers up to hit her g spot with each thrust. 

His other hand was clamped over her mouth, which she ended up biting as he made her cum so hard, that just a couple seconds into the orgasm, her body shook and vision went blurry as her juices shot out on his hand, wetting his glove when she squirted for the very first time in her life. 

Y/n’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she trembled, muscles relaxing as the feeling got… way too much. She was too long gone in her pleasure to notice at first the sound of his belt clicking open, the zip of his pants being pulled down with the fabric, so that his cock was finally free. 

After licking his gloves from her wetness, he grabbed a hold of her hips, pressing his rock hard cock against her flesh, hsi eyes fluttering shut when he started to move his hips. Grinding at an animalistic pace, his main goal his own pleasure.

He needed to rub his cock, keeping it squeezed tightly between their bodies, for a couple of minutes to finally shoot his load on her lower back.

As they both breathed heavily, he moved carefully away from her, gathering his cum with his hand to shove it in her mouth before fixing his suit and walking out of the room without a word.

He walked followed with the same powerful aura, at a fast pace towards the front door 

“Let’s go” Thomas ordered his brothers while walking to the front door, patting Finn’s shoulder with a serious expression 

“She’s not a virgin… anymore” he informed him as he stole a cookie and walked out, nodding at the old lady with a crooked grin. 

Taglist:

@gabile18 , @mrsfullbuster500 , @rex-ray , @elizamalfoyy, @eovjjj @wife-of-magic-monkeys , @jeremiah-va1eska , @gothamchic16, @rabbiteggz , @dieg0brandos-wife , @rottenecstasy , @lazyexcuse , @teh-vampire-bunny , @lobotomy-lover , @slasher-smasher, @sleepycreativewriter, @mrkdvidal1989

[sagesolsticewrites]

Hi! I’d like to request a John “Bucky” Egan fic where he tries several times to flirt with the reader, but the reader is super oblivious about it and just thinks he’s being nice. It becomes something everyone on base talks about and gets invested in. Maybe other people set up a scheme to get them together or make the reader realize how he feels. Idk, just something funny and cute like that ig 😁

Thank you so much for requesting, Nonnie, I’ve been having so much fun with these Masters of the Air requests! I loved getting to write for our best boy Bucky 🥰 Shoutout to @blurredcolour’s Trust fic (an absolute masterpiece, check it out y’all!) for helping with the writers block on this one 😅 (Reminder that requests are open! Feel free to check out some of my favorite prompt lists in my pinned post 😊)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Oblivious

“There’s my favorite nurse!”

You rolled your eyes at the phrase that announced John “Bucky” Egan’s every visit to sickbay.

“Hello, Major,” you said, turning to greet him with a mock-exasperated smile.

Bucky clutched a hand to his heart as if wounded, a hurt expression on his face. “How many times do I gotta tell you to call me Bucky, sweetheart?”

“At least a few more times, Major,” you reply, unable to hide a smile at the usual volley of friendly banter.

Major John Egan had been unusually friendly to you since the first moment he’d sauntered in to introduce himself to the medical staff as Air Exec. Your colleagues had blushed afterward and playfully insisted that he had paid you more attention than the others, but you just laughed and shook your head, insisting that he was just being nice.

This visit was simply another instance of Bucky being friendly to you; well, that and Harry Crosby’s airsickness had gotten the better of him again and he was checking up on the navigator.

You stepped aside as Bucky approached Harry’s cot, ready to update him on the goings-on since the last mission had returned.

He threw you a kind smile before perching on the stool next to Harry.

“How’s my girl treatin’ you, Crosby?”

Harry happily told him how the base had gotten a new shipment of airsickness pills and you had slipped him a spare box for his own personal use, and Bucky’s smile grew wider and wider.

You were glad to see how happy he was at the news that his friend was feeling better, and you quietly excused yourself to tend to the other patients.

Bucky sighed as you walked away.

“She still hasn’t picked up on it, huh?”

“No, Croz, she hasn’t.” sighed Bucky, “She thinks I’m just bein’… nice or friendly or something. Which I am!” He added hurriedly, “But I just…I like her so much. I wish she’d notice.”

“She will, buddy,” Harry replied, with a comforting pat on his friend’s hand, “She will.”

Bucky headed out after a few more minutes of conversation, giving you a wink and a smile as he walked past your station.

“Bucky visited again, huh?” Rebecca, one of your fellow nurses, sidled up next to you with a teasing grin.

“Yes, Major Egan came by to visit Lieutenant Crosby,” you replied, putting emphasis on their ranks.

“You’re sure that’s all he was here for? Somehow he never shows up here without an excuse to see you…”

“He’s just being nice, Becca,” you insisted, “You know how these soldier boys are.”

“But he’s always—”

“Becca,” you cut her off as gently as you can, “I really don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

“Alright, alright,” she held her hands up in surrender, “Bucky is an off-limits topic, gotcha.”

The conversation turned to the current hot gossip, and you idly chimed in when it seemed appropriate, losing yourself in your routine tasks.

Rebecca broke off to check on Harry again, narrowing her eyes as she noticed Harry watching you.

“Something Nurse L/N can help you with, Crosby?”

He jumped, gaze darting to Rebecca as she approached.

“No ma’am, I just…”

He scrambled to think of some excuse, but all he could come up with was: “I’m trying to think of some way to get Y/N to notice Bucky!”

Rebecca blinked in surprise, then plopped down onto the stool next to his bed, leaning in conspiratorially.

“Oh thank goodness it’s not just me! He’s been at it for months but the poor girl’s just so oblivious…”

“I keep telling him to just talk to her like a normal person, but he insists on dancing around it!” Harry instantly agreed, glad to have someone besides Jean to talk to about this. “He’s been so distracted lately. If he doesn’t do something soon, I’m worried it might start to affect his flying.”

Rebecca pressed her lips into a thin line, twisting a strand of hair worriedly.

After a few moments of quiet, she spoke up again, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I’ve got an idea.”

———

“Hey Bucky,” Harry said at breakfast the next morning, “I’m gonna pop down to the infirmary to visit Winks, wanna come with?”

Bucky quickly agreed— he’d been meaning to check on Winks yesterday as well as Croz, but got caught up in… well, you.

As they entered, Bucky made a beeline for Winks while Harry caught Rebecca’s eye and gave a subtle nod, which she returned, signaling her part of the plan was complete.

She had removed the step stool you always used from one of the supply closets, now hidden under one of the cots nearby. When you weren’t able to reach something on one of the higher shelves, well…

Good thing Bucky was so tall.

“Y/N, would you mind grabbing some more bandages for me? My station’s running low.”

“Sure thing, Becca!” You called, stepping away from your current station to check the supply closet.

“Becca…” your confused voice called from the closet, “Do you know where the stepstool went?”

“It’s not there?” She called back, sounding equally confused. “Let’s see, um…”

She scanned the room, putting on a good show of looking for someone who could help.

“Oh, Bucky! Would you mind helping Nurse L/N grab something from the supply closet for me?”

“No problem, Becca,” came his reply, accompanied with his trademark winning smile as he nodded to Winks and made his way over to the supply closet.

It was much smaller than he’d anticipated, and barely half a foot was all that separated you as he asked, “Alright, what do ya need, sweethea—”

The pet name was cut off by the sound of the supply closet door closing.

And locking.

You lunged for the handle as Bucky reached up to turn on the single lightbulb, both of you calling out in confusion.

“Becca! What?”

“C’mon, guys, this isn’t funny!”

Harry’s voice came through the door, clear and determined.

“Just tell her how you feel, Bucky! Your tactic clearly isn’t working!”

“I— what?” You turned to Bucky, hoping he knew what in the world they were talking about.

Bucky hesitated, but seeing as it seemed he had no choice…

“Well this isn’t… exactly how I wanted to do it, but…” He took a deep breath, twisting his fingers together in an uncharacteristic display of anxiety, “I really like you, doll. I’ve liked you since I first laid eyes on you. And I’ve tried every way I know how to tell you, but nothin’ worked, so…” He gestured around at the supply closet, “I guess it came to this? Which wasn’t my idea, by the way. Just for the record. I would never…”

His voice faltered, and you realized just how close you were to him. You didn’t remember moving forward. You were just suddenly there, so close the two of you were almost breathing each other’s air.

“You… you like me?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Doll, you think I call every pretty girl workin’ here my favorite nurse?”

You flushed at the compliment.

“I thought you were just being nice, I didn’t…”

“I mean, I was bein’ nice,” He said with a shrug, grinning, “Just not quite in the way you were thinking.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your mouth, and being this close to you, he couldn’t hide the bob of his throat as he swallowed nervously.

“I’d, uh. I’d really like to kiss you right now, if that’s alright with you, sweetheart.”

You nodded slowly, “I think I’d really like that, Major Egan.”

“It’s Bucky, sweetheart,” he murmured softly as he leaned in, capturing your lips.

You may or may not have spent more than a few lonely nights in your bunk imagining what it would be like to kiss Major John Egan.

Your imaginings were nothing compared to reality.

This was magic unlike anything you could have dreamed.

Your arms wound around his neck as his wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You toyed with the dark curls at the nape of his neck as he slanted his mouth against yours, deepening the kiss. Needing to be closer, you tried to step towards him, but merely succeeded in pressing him back against the shelves.

Ordinarily you would apologize, but something like a thrill ran up your spine when you felt him grin into the kiss as his back hit the shelves, knocking rolls of bandages and boxes of gauze onto the floor.

His right hand moved to cup your cheek, keeping your lips connected as his other hand splayed across your back, pulling you impossibly closer as you arched into him.

You could still feel him grinning as he murmured against your lips, “Knew you were feisty under that good girl act.”

“Bucky,” you whined softly as he pulled away from you, chest heaving.

“Oh, now she uses my name,” he teased breathlessly, bumping his nose playfully against yours.

The two of you flinched as sunlight spilled into the dim closet, a harsh change from the dingy yellow lightbulb you had become accustomed to.

Harry and Rebecca stood in the doorway, wearing twin smug grins.

“Looks like our work here is done,” Becca said, shooting you a wink as she bid farewell to Harry with a two-fingered salute, “Pleasure working with you, Lieutenant Crosby.”

“Same to you, Nurse Carter,” Harry replied, and he turned back to the two of you, a genuine smile on his face.

“About time, Bucky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky waved off his friend’s I told you so, “You gonna congratulate me or what?”

“Congratulations,” came Harry’s mock-put-out reply, accompanied by a genuinely congratulatory clap on his arm. “You got a good one. And it only took months of unsuccessful flirting—”

“Hey, I got her in the end, didn’t I?” He squeezed you closer, grinning down at you.

Your lipstick was all over his mouth, and you’re sure the Victory Red on your own lips was in no better shape.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care, however, as he pulled you in for a tender kiss.

Which you broke for a moment to point out, “He isn’t wrong, you know, it was months of unsuccessful—”

Your teasing was promptly cut off with a “shush” mumbled against your lips as Bucky silenced you with a kiss.

[misserabella]

loosen up

abby anderson x fem! reader

summary; abby was pent up, and angry, and she was taking it out on your team. and you were not gonna have it. you’ll have to loosen her up.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, fighting, cursing, blood, abby being a bitch, teasing, tension, chocking (kinda??), hair pulling, punching, making out, begging, cheating (abby on owen), fingering (a! receiving), tit and nipple play, oral sex (a! receiving), dirty talking…

your blood was boiling. you were winning the game, it was no big deal. but fuck. did she really have to act like that? she was just like a fucking child.

you saw as abby barely defended the other team player as she shot to the hoop, listless, annoyed. you felt your skin crawl in goosebumps when she took the bounce and with a scowl tossed it to one of your teammates hard enough for it to end up getting out of the court.

“what the fuck anderson?!” you yelled at her, scowling. why was she acting like such a bitch. sure. you can be mad. but this is a match. get over it and play.

she ignored you, letting the player she was supposed to defend score.

you couldn’t handle it anymore getting closer to her and pushing at her chest, making her stumble backwards.

she had come today already with a scowl on her face, and after she had gotten mad about something your team had done wrong at the start of the match, she had started taking it out all on your team and sabotaging you. you didn’t care that she was the captain, if there was something everyone knew is that you wouldn’t stay quiet if something was bothering you. and she was infuriating you. “if you’re gonna play like this don’t fucking play!! you’re fucking it up for us!” she pushed you back.

“at least they need me to play. i’m not some bench warmer like you!” she said, and you gritted your teeth, your ego being hurt. “aw, what’s wrong? did i hit a weak spot?” she falsely cooed, and before you knew it you were punching her, making her lip burst and blood tint her skin.

you could hear the stairs filled with people roar, screaming when abby jumped on you, a hand tugging on your hair as her other hand closed into a fist, coming down onto your cheek and making you hiss.

before things could escalate, your coach was running into the court along with the referee to stop the two of you.

“anderson!” he screamed, trapping her arms to push her off of you. she fought against him and the referee who went to help him since abby was quite strong.

you spat blood, your teammates coming up to check on you.

“you two. out.” your coach ordered, forcing the two of you out of the court and into the changing rooms. “anderson. i don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but you better be changing your attitude or i swear to got you won’t be making it to the next game. and you.” he pointed at you. “starting a fight in the middle of a fucking match?” he inquired. “are we in kindergarten?” you huffed, crossing your arms. “i don’t want you coming out of here until you fix whatever you two have going on. i don’t want bullshit on my court.” he said, closing the door to the changing rooms behind him to go back to his game.

the air inside of the room was so dense in tension it could be cut with a knife.

“this is all your fucking fault.” you spat, adrenaline cursing through your veins. sweat was pearling your skin.

“my fault?” she scoffed and you turned to face her. “you’re the one who fucking punched me.”

“yeah well you needed it.” you muttered. “just as much as you need a good fuck. bad thing your little boyfriend doesn’t know how to use his dick, huh?” next thing you knew you were against the wall, a hand tightly around your neck.

“you need to keep your mouth shut.” she growled, and you smirked. you were inches apart, your lips brushing, her breath hitting your face.

“aw… have i hit a weak spot?” you mocked her, throwing back her words at her. “i’m sure owen can’t hit your g spot though. how many times has he make you cum, huh? i’m sure not even once, since you’re acting like such a bitc-” she punched you again, making you shut up and your mouth fill up with blood all over again. you smirked.

you looked into her blue eyes, at her reddening cheeks. “well aren’t you cute, hm? blushing ‘cause i’m on the right?”

“fucking shut up.” she spat, and you leaned closer, pushing against the tightening grip on your neck.

“why don’t you make me, huh?” you whispered against her lips, and your smirk only grew when your saw her angry eyes drift down at your lips.

“you wish.” she muttered and your tongue wetted your lips, watching as she stared.

“by the way you’re looking at me i’m not sure i’m the one wishing for it, anderson.”

“you’re so annoying.” she growled, and you hummed when she quickly and harshly pushed them against your, so hard your head met the wall behind you in a thud. it was a mess. all tongue and teeth. your hands pulled at her blonde braid as her strong body caged you against the cold tile wall. she moaned when you bit down on her broken lip, tasting her blood as she could taste yours on your tongue.

“that’s it abby, take it all out on me, hm?” you muttered, and she cursed when your lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, sucking and biting. “this is what you needed, isn’t it?” you inquired as your hands dived in her shirt, hands cupping her tits over her sports bra and tweaking her nipples. “needed to get the attitude fucked out of you?” she moaned, and you smiled. “but we’re gonna get you all fixed for coach, isn’t that right?” she nodded, biting down on her lip as she felt one of your hands trail down her stomach, your fingertips caressing her abs. “speak up for me cap, why so quiet all of a sudden?” you teased her and she gritted her teeth.

“shut -“ she tried and say, but before she could finish her sentence she was letting out a loud moan as your hand pushed inside her pants and panties, fingers diving in between her slick folds.

“jesus christ. you’re soaked.” you breathed out, your fingertips easily sliding against her clit, making her thighs shake. “is it always like this, hm? can owen make your pussy drool like this?” she shook her head.

“no.” she shook her head in a whimper, one that made your own pussy throb. “fuck. he never… he doesn’t know how to touch me.”

you hummed. “you poor thing. so eager to be fucked and yet can’t get what you need, huh?” you mocked her, and you saw her breath hitch. “do you want it? do you want me to make you cum, abby?” she nodded. “nuh-huh. use your words. such a loud fucking mouth and now you’re getting shy on me? speak.”

“yes. please, make me cum.” she muttered, and you smirked.

“atta girl.” she moaned when you pushed your middle finger inside. “jesus christ. he doesn’t fucking deserve you. pussy so tight…” you groaned, starting to thrust in and out. “she’s so eager. she’s sucking me right in.” she moaned, hiding her flushing face on your neck, although you didn’t let her, tugging on her braid to make her face you. “don’t fucking hide from me. wanna see you fall apart.” her breath hitched, her thighs opening for you to reach deeper into her. you pulled from her so she could be the one now caged against the wall, giving you strength to dive two of your fingers inside her harder. “that’s it. open up for me.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” she cried out as you curled them against her g spot, eyes squeezed shut, cunt molding around your fingers.

“who would’ve thought… abby anderson, such a tough girl falling apart so easily on my fingers…” you smirked. “you like it baby? like how i’m fucking you behind your little boyfriends back? what would he say, hm? what would he think if he saw you like this, huh?” your thumb met her throbbing clit. “gonna be good for me once i make you cum? gonna stop being such a fucking bitch?” she nodded. “i bet you are. gonna make you cum so good you’d do anything for me.” you smirked. “look at you. you sweet girl, you just needed your pussy stretched out, hm? get loose, yeah? i bet you taste so fucking sweet, you’re dripping on my fingers.” she moaned, your words were so fucking lewd they were making her head spin. but she loved it. she couldn’t be more turned on. she’d never been this needy, this weak. “tell me, does he eat your pussy, hm?” she didn’t answer, yet her cheeks turned pink and you chuckled. “of course he doesn’t. want me to show you what you deserve? want me to fuck you with my tongue, abby?” she nodded, whining.

“yes please, fuck. please need your tongue.” your smirk grew.

“whatever you say, cap.” you teased her, pulling down her pants and panties with your hands, hearing her moan when your fingers left her hole, feeling empty. “so needy… don’t worry baby.” you said as you kneeled in front of her, pushing one of her strong thighs on top of your shoulder. “i’m gonna fill you up real nice.”

abby could swear she lost all breath when she felt your tongue lick a long strip up her clit from her hole, lapping at her slick with a hum that made her moan so loud you had to pull back to hush her. “you need to stay quiet, baby. don’t want your little boyfriend to hear us, hm?” you inquired, suckling at her clit. the thought of owen just bursting into the changing rooms to find the two of you like this only turned her on more. she shook her head. “then be a good girl and stay quiet for me.”

you dived back in, your tongue sliding in between her folds as you closed your eyes, relishing on how fucking good she tasted. “you taste so good… that dick doesn’t know what he’s missing. could eat this pussy up for hours.” abby whimpered, one of her hands finding your hair to tug you closer. and as much as you wanted to tease her about it, you gave her what she wanted, burying your tongue inside her hole, your nose bumping against her clit.

“oh, fuck.” she cried out, head rolling backwards and bumping against the wall as you curled it, fucking it in and out of her, moaning at the taste of the white creamy pre cum that stained your lips, chin and tongue. you hummed, devouring her like a starved woman before moving on to her clit and plunging two of your fingers back inside of her. you harshly sucked on that little bundle on nerves, feeling her shake as you hit your g spot with every curve of your fingers. “i’m gonna cum.”

“so pent up…” you chuckled by how easily it had been to make her fall apart. “poor baby. go ahead, be a good girl and cum on my face.” you said before going back to her clit, curling your fingers faster and sucking harder. it didn’t take long before her moans got louder —to which she had to muffle herself with her free hand— and creamed all over your mouth. you moaned, lapping at everything she was giving you as you fucked her through it. “atta girl…” you praised, smirking at the shaking of her thighs. she was panting by the time she was done, slightly whimpering at your licks as you cleaned her up. she watched as you pulled your fingers out of her and pushed them inside your mouth, your eyes never leaving hers as you sucked them clean. she bit down on her lip, the hand on your hair slightly tightening. “it’s best we go out there.” you said as you got up from your aching knees. “we’ve got a match to win.” she nodded, getting dressed with flushing cheeks.

after that, abby was back to her normal self, playing to win. in fact, it was the best she had ever played in a long time, and your coach noticed. it was before you went to enter the court on a change that he stopped you.

“i don’t know what the hell you did… but well done.” he said, and you smiled, taking a look at abby, who looked away with a flushed expression.

you shrugged.

“she just needed to loosen up.”

-

a/n; i need her

[deadsetobsessions]

Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

F

E

L

L.

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

[noira-l]

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

⋆ ★ '𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞' - 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

chapter summary: Satoru had a dream about how he grew old with you. It was the wildest dream he had.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!sorcerer reader

warnings: fluff, nice, soothing fluff.

author's note: "Even if it's just in your wildest dreams" huh?

"Here again?"

Satoru walked out onto the patio. It was indeed early morning, the sun was just emerging from over the horizon, drenching everything in its orange rays. Green fields and meadows stretched out into the infinite.

"You know very well that I can't sleep that much anymore." You were sitting with a book, in a small armchair, covered by a woollen blanket.

"Go back to bed, at least to cuddle." he put his hand on your shoulder, you were quite chilly.

"I'll finish this chapter, okay?" you put your hand on his palm in a reassuring gesture. Your wedding ring was shining silver.

"You can finish in bed, you're pretty cold." his hands stroked your shoulders. His touch actually infused you with warmth. You glanced up at him.

You had grown older. Your face showed a few scars, wrinkles and signs of a long life. Your mouth was slightly dry, your hair with grey streaks, but your eyes remained the same, still looking at him with kindness and warmth.

My friend, my partner, my lover.

"But the view is so pretty…" your eyes wandered to the rising sun.

"It's prettier than me?" he joked. You laughed sincerely.

"No." A wide, loving smile.

"Well then…" With an efficient movement he slid his hands under you, taking you from your chair and lifted you in his arms bridal style. Blanket flew down. You didn't even protest. It shook you as you crossed the threshold.

"Not the age, sorcerer?" you giggled as he carried you upstairs. He stumbled over the threshold, of course you have to use that.

"No, you're just heavy." he smiled, you scoffed.

"You're the one who just doesn't have the strength."

"Please, I'm the strongest."

He put you on the bed, covered you with a duvet. You opened the book, took your glasses from the bedside table and put them on your nose.

"Not the age, hmm?" he mocked your poor eyesight.

"Shut up." you mended your duvet, his retch was loud.

You made room for him beside you, opening one arm so he could comfortably lay his head on your chest. You were in a semi-sitting position, his arm wrapped around your body. You stroked his back with one hand, the other holding the book. Satoru felt that he was slowly falling asleep, your stroking was really calming. Pleasant heartbeat put him into an unimaginable peace. The whole amosphere was so soothing. So calming..

.

.

.

Satoru woke up to the sight of you, cuddled up to him. You were lying sideways, your face against his chest, legs entwined together. He opened his eyes fully. Your breathing was steady and calm, your face was young and sleepy.

"Good morning…" you muttered, voice a little dry.

"Morning" he stroked your hair. It was like an instinct for him.

"How did you sleep?" that question was murmured, you still had your cheek pressed against his torso.

"I had the weirdest dream of my life."

"Did you again dream about Megumi summoning a teddy bear and you chasing him around the school?"

He muttered, silencing his laughter.

"No, this one was really weird." A moment of silence "Are you using me again?" he continued to stroke your hair, his hand slowly going lower and lower with each stroke.

"Mhm." you nodded "You're exceptionally comfortable today." his smile only grow.

"I should start charging a fee for that" you laughed in amazement.

"You wouldn't pay out." you hugged more of him "The number of mornings I've woken up with your ass on me is definitely outnumbered."

A knock on the door sounded, it swung open.

"'Mom, did you happen to see my new shoes? I can't find them in the wardrobe." Tsumiki stood on the threshold of your bedroom, ready to leave. You looked at the white-haired.

"Did you oversleep again?" face expressed displeasure.

"You overslept too, and I'm not late yet." you sighed and looked at the girl.

"Sure, sunshine, we'll look for them now." you smiled, getting up briskly from the bed and grabbing Tsumiki's hand.

Satoru sat on the edge of the bed, unable to get his strange dream out of his head. He slowly adjusted his sensitive eyes to the daylight.

He never dreamed of dying of old age. It seemed totally boring to him. He wanted to die in battle, on the battlefield. As the strongest should. He wanted to have a challenge in the process, to have fun while he devised a plan to defeat his opponent. He didn't care what happened after he died. His body is worth nothing after death anyway. What would matter to him would be the moment when he could finally say, that he had died without regrets. Oh, but he had so many of them..

So why did he dream of such a prospect?

He never thought of you in such terms. He hadn't considered your reaction to his death. Would you have been angry or sad? Would you have burned everything to the ground? Would you have immediately come to terms with his loss. Would you cry after him? As strange as it seemed to him, he probably knew the answer to that question. But he wasn't completely sure of that answer.

Could he say that what he saw was satisfying to him?

He did not fully know the answer to this. It was so strange for him.

So strange and enjoyable in a way. That was so abstract.

"You overslept again." Megumi entered the room, also ready to leave. The boy wasn't happy about having to cook breakfast today, not to mention the fact that Gojo was also supposed to pick him up after classes, which would probably end up being late again. Gojo snapped out of his thoughts.

"Ay~~ someone grumpy today. Don't be afraid Megumi, I will manage to comfort you after you come back from school." his cheerful voice was driving black-haired boy to annoyance.

"Please don't do that."

"We'll go for an ice cream in the park the wetaher is perfect for that, what do ya think?" his smile so bright, so joyful, the boy thought he was going puke.

"It's too early for that." Megumi crossed his arms. It was only the beginning of spring.

"Don't be like that, you're definitely going to be won over by all those sweet flavours~"

The boy wrinkled his nose and sighed.

"I told you it was too early for that. I don't want to catch a cold." Gojo was pounting.

"Why so out of humour in the morning, hmm?" He quickly lay down on his stomach on the bed, supporting his chin with one hand and glancing at the boy.

"I had to make breakfast because of you and you overslept again."

"She overslept too, and I'm not late yet" Gojo continued, he rose from the bed and started walking towards the wardrobe.

"What a terrible excuse." scowled Megumi following the white-haired with his eyes.

"Now now Megumi, respect my privacy and don't peep at me~" he opened the wardrobe door, smiling, and taking one clean shirt from it.

Megumi growled heavily slamming the door behind him.

Satoru will rethink this dream at another time.

© noira-l 2024 | all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, modify, or redistirbute my work without permission

tl: @kalopsia-flaneur

[seuonji]

彡 just wanted to see you. — choi seungcheol

๑ goody two shoes yn au!

notes ๑ student council president yn x delinquent svt bf !!! — somehow the perfect, rule abiding president started to become close to the token bad boy of the school. wonder how that’s going.

genre ๑ fluff!

warnings ๑ non

word count ๑ 0.6k

from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! i plan to make more of these! let me know which members you want to see next<3

seungcheol was one of the common people you’d see walking into the student council room. as president, this was your least favourite case to handle.

you heard the door open and just as you were about you look up to see who it was, they spoke and as his voice lingered in your ear, you didn’t have to check anymore. “vice president mina sent me here, said that ‘yn will take care of you.’” choi seungcheol mocked the voice of the vice cheekily.

“let me guess, jumped over the fence again and got caught, again?” you monotonously stated, not even batting an eye at him. your eyes were too busy on paperwork to give mind to the boy who was playfully frolicking towards you.

“just like how we first met!”

it wasn’t how you first met, but it was your first interaction. cheol obviously knew you cause you were the president. you knew him by word running around the school about a cheeky brat that skipped classes and often jumped the fence to avoid detention or school activities he didn’t want to participate in.

“are you doing these things just to get sent here?” you tiredly sighed.

“anything to see my cute significant other,” he smirked as he leaned onto the side of your chair, patiently waiting for you to look at him.

and you finally did.

but he was met with tired eyes.

“shit, you okay yn?”

suddenly it all spilled out.

“cheol you can’t keep getting into trouble!”

you rarely used nicknames with him. you always used his government name despite the way he disliked it. he always had to remind you to try and use nicknames when you started dating but you never did. and now you were.

“i can’t keep defending you, literally. and what if one day they don’t send you to me but the actual disciplinary head? i don’t want you going through that!”

there was a vivid guilt in his eyes as you spoke and he slowly kneeled down to be below your level, “i’m sorry i didn’t know it was that serious. i’ll hold back.”

you turned from your seat to face him and held his arm to pull him upwards, “it’s okay just. yeah i i would appreciate it if you’d stop your antics. you’re great at football i don’t understand why you don’t enjoy going to practice.”

“you think i’m great?” he smirked once again making your hands form a fist which he got a peek off so he patted your head and pulled out the stool from under your desk that he installed himself in your room.

“so, how are you going to take care of me? braid my hair? sing a lullaby?” he slowly leaned towards you.

“just go to your practice dummy.”

“huh? no consequences of my actions?”

“want me to send you to the disciplinary head?”

“what do they do there?” he asked with a clear tone of curiosity as he placed his arms over your shoulders.

“i don’t know, community service? clean the toilets?”

“going to practice right now,” he stood up from his seat and dusted off his clothes which made you laugh a bit.

just as you adjusted yourself to return back to work, he gently held your face in his hand and his face coming closer to yours, he gave a peck on the lips leaving you quiet.

“see you,” he poked your cheek as he walked out.

you sighed once again and sat properly in your desk but found a piece of candy with a crumpled note by it saying, “i didn’t get into trouble, i just wanted to see you dear. take it easy, i love you.”

you’ve heard from almost everyone just how much of a cheeky and troublesome boy he was but they would only be able to hear from you how sweet he actually was.

[pajarinwrites]

you could ask

➳ fem!reader x Dino

➳ wc: 2.7k

➳ TAGS: pwp; fluffy smut, smutty fluff MDNI, my dudes; it's so sweet tho kjsdiasejnasd

➳ WARNINGS: fucking(?) it's super fluffy though; fingering (f receiving), kissing, marking, petnames (babe, baby for her)

➳ AN: i continue to surprise in that dino is my least biased member except now that i wrote this, he might not be anymore; he's such a cutie ugh; also this RAN! AWAY! FROM! ME! it started as a drabble but 2.7k can under no circumstances be classified as a drabble. also there initially was supposed to be piv sex but then it got too long. i'll definitely write a continuation one-shot for this ugh. anyway, ENJOY!

also that's my fave photo of channie

You look up from your phone as your friend enters the lobby. He has his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, wearing the usual cap, mask, sunglasses combo in public, in an effort to remain unrecognised.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft wave. He pulls off his sunglasses to reveal eyes crinkling with smiles. “Hey!” He replies back, pulling you into a short hug before calling the elevator.

“How was practice?”

“The usual. Except Hoshi-hyung was hungover.”

“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him. Chan laughs in reply.

“Yeah, he filmed that program with Youngji yesterday that you like watching.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” You ask in mock affront, one hand resting on your chest dramatically. Chan shrugs. “I guess he assumed I’d tell you. But I forgot.” He sticks his tongue out to you as you follow him to his apartment.

You pass Vernon and Dokyeom in the kitchen; they wave to you in greeting before you follow Chan into his room.

“Leave the door open, children!” Dokyeom screams after you, prompting your friend to scream a dry hahaha back and slam his door all the harder. “They’re not even funny,” he pouts, dropping onto his bed where you’ve already gotten comfortable.

“Ugh,” he groans as the climbs up to the headboard next to you. “What’s wrong?” You ask, looking at his tense expression.

“It’s fine, practice just kicked a little harder than I thought.”

“Are you still up for movie night? We can just move it if you’re too exhausted.”

“Of course not! I always have energy for you.” He smiles softly, scooting closer, resting one arm on his headboard behind you as if it did nothing to him. You cleared your throat, trying your hardest not to shuffle so he wouldn’t feel obligated to move his arm away again.

“What’ve you got saved on your laptop?” He asks as you pull it up and open Netflix.

“I mean, I’ve been dying to watch the Scream remake for a while…” You know his stance on horror movies. As expected, “ugh! Can’t we watch something cute and cozy that won’t make me pull a muscle from jump scares!”

“Unfair argument! First you say you’re up for movie night and when it comes to picking a movie you bring up the issue of your sore muscles!”

“Well I can’t just make ‘em magically disappear.”

“But you got to pick the movie the last, like, three times!”

“I’m not saying you can’t pick. I’m just saying pick a different one!”

“Nuh uh, I want this one.” He groans again, rolling his head.

“Okay, then what will you do about my sore muscles?”

“Me? Do you want me to massage your sore muscles for you? Since when are your sore muscles my fault or problem?”

He grins, and with how close his face is to yours, it’s doing all kinds of things to your heart. “If you want to watch Scream so bad, it is your problem…”

Oh, so that’s how it is, you think, realising he never expected you to make good on any muscle relief. Lee Chan knows damn well you hate massages unless you’re on the receiving end. The amount of times he’s given you one eclipses the times you have returned the favour, a grand total of zero times.

“Sure,” you smile sweetly, setting your laptop back down on the floor next to Chan’s bed. He stares at you, eyes wide as saucers. “Huh?”

You remove his arm from your shoulders and get up, motioning for him to lie down. If your best friend wanted to play a game of chicken with you, he absolutely could.

“Also, you obviously gotta take your shirt off.”

Instead of moving, Chan is sitting still as a statue, still staring at you as if your hair had spontaneously changed colour. You wondered if this was really all it was going to take but eventually he shuffles down on the bed. He shrugs off his tee and you pretend like you aren’t surreptitiously looking him up and down.

“Okay, but you gotta do it properly, “ he states as he rests his head on his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire as you get into position, positioning your left knee beside Chan’s body and swinging the other over so that you are straddling his butt.

“Just that you can’t quit after five minutes, and you can’t do it all softly.”

“Hmm,” you hum in agreement, “elbow grease.” Chan giggles in response, but it turns into a groan as soon as you dig your thumbs into the tops of his shoulders.

“You really aren’t holding back, huh?”

“I’ve been ordered to give it my all,” you reply, bearing down on one especially tight trapezius. Chan’s breath stutters under your ministrations and you’re glad he can’t see your face heat up. As your hands wander lower you feel like he’s tensing up more instead of less.

“Hey, relax,” you instruct, “this was your idea.”

Chan grumbles something into his pillow in reply but it only takes him a few more minutes and a few sounds that veer suspiciously into moan territory before he shrugs you off forcefully.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you flop down on the mattress next to him. “What was that for?”

“You did enough, we can watch your silly movie now.” He avoids your eyes and you can see that his face has turned red, but you try to blame it on the heat of the room and the fact that you just treated him like bread dough for fifteen minutes. As he sits back up against the headboard, he pulls the blanket over himself, his hands in his lap awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Preparing to be scared to death,” he replies with a chuckle you believe was supposed to be light-hearted.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you. You can hide behind me if you get scared,” you offer graciously. Chan rolls his eyes. “Just start the movie.”

You pull up your laptop and snuggle into your friend’s side. Chan fluffs up his pillows, one behind your back, one in his lap, and welcomes you into his arms again. You’ve watched movies in this position before, but today you’re restless. Chan seems to exude extra body heat today, and maybe it’s your wild imagination but his workouts have really started to pay off, and the feeling of his biceps pressing into your side distracts you more than you’d like to admit.

You stopped watching whatever is going on on screen several dozen minutes ago when you finally clear your throat. You’d been sneaking glances over at Chan for a while, his uncomfortable shifting, the suspiciously placed pillow. You had a hunch when he shrugged you off him earlier but the longer you sat next to him, having to endure his endless shuffling, the more convinced you were. Of course, you weren’t entirely unbothered by his presence either. The glimpse of his naked chest and back hadn’t left your mind, although you were hard-pressed to admit, that that sight had been the reason for your inability to focus. 

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning his frightful eyes from the screen. You hit pause.

“The movie, Chan.”

“Boring isn’t the adjective I’d use, but sure. We can definitely watch something else.”

“We could do something else.” You smirk, shifting so you can face him fully. Bless him, his expression betrays nothing but confusion. He opens his mouth to ask what you’re on about but you beat him to it.

“Chan,” you sigh, “is this going to be a repeat of Seungkwan’s birthday party?”

“Huh?” He asked. But the fact that he had turned a shade redder let you know that he was very aware of what you were talking about.

“You know, when we were in the kitchen alone and you leaned in and I was waiting for you to finally kiss me? But then you chickened out the last second and pretended you had just wanted to grab the vodka from behind me?”

Chan blinks at your, your words evidently not quite processed yet. “You wanted me to kiss you?” You rolled your eyes.

“For someone with such a big head, you can be pretty stupid, you know that?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? I can’t read your mind.” You lean in closer - resting your hand on his thigh - and take delight in the way his breath hitches.

“You can always ask.” You whisper. He moves in even closer, the pillow sliding off his lap and letting you see that you were right about your prior assumption. You bite your lip at the sight of the obvious tent in his sweatpants.

“Can I kiss you?” Chan asks, bringing your attention back to his face. He’s gorgeous, you think, in the half-light of his bedroom, his hair unstyled, his eyes shining. But he really isn’t going to budge if you don’t answer, it seems. “Yes, please,” you breathe.

His lips are on yours, softly, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. His right hand is cradling your cheek. It makes you smile, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him down with you. Chan let’s out another groan, catching himself with his left hand next to your head instead of letting his full weight crash into you, which coincidentally happens to be exactly what you wanted. You nudge his hand away, hoping for him to get the hint. Much to your chagrin, he pulls back, panting against your lips.

“What—“ you mean to ask but don’t get around to it when you see the dark, almost desperate shadow in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re real.” His gaze drops to your lips, he’s nipping at your lower lip, making his way down your jawline. You manage to hold out on him until he reaches your pulse point, attaching his lips to the sensitive skin and nibbling at it in a way that’ll definitely leave a mark makes you whimper. Right now you couldn’t care less.

“Chan,” you moan, “please…” You can feel him smirk but he complies with your unspoken wish, continuing his way downward.

“Can I take this off you?” He asks, tugging at you shirt. You look down at his eyes, blown out and looking at you like you created the universe.

“Only if yours comes off too,” you say, meaning to tease him. His shirt’s over his head and at the other end of his room before you can blink. “Better?” He smirks, usually you’d be careful not to stroke his ego too much, but right now all you can think about it tracing every ridge on the expanse of his body with your tongue. It’s so much more fun when you can look freely. It must show on your face because Chan leans forward, whispering, “You can eat me up later, baby. Right now it’s my turn.” You have half a mind to hold back your whimpers at the tone of his voice but at the end you’re just a human, not some saint, so you stand no chance against the carnal vices of the flesh.

Chan takes off your shirt so skilfully that a very unwelcome thought of possessiveness flashes through your mind but with how he looks at you (very much not like you threw on your oldest, most comfy sport bra) the evil little voice in your head stands no chance. There can’t be any lingering doubt over his feelings with the way he undresses you slowly, deliberately, with all the care in the world, makes you think he mistook you for a fragile piece of art. His eyes say the same, casting glances at your face again and again, questioning; like he’s ready to drop everything if you so much as breathe a word. You have to commend him, especially with how evident the tent in his sweats has been for the better part of this evening.

“Chan,” you whine, ripping him out of the worship of the skin on your tummy. He looks dazed already. “Please stop teasing.”

He smiles, “Am I teasing you? Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just so beautiful.”

You want to tell him off for being a sap but he starts kissing a straight line downwards from your navel and your words are caught in your throat.

His hands skitter up your thighs, making you shiver as he finally presses a digit to your core. He groans, “So wet for me already, love, you’ve soaked through your panties.”

“Looks like you have to take them off, then.” You smile and he obliges easily. It seems he’s really had enough of the teasing because he presses his thumb to you clit immediately, circling it. You moan his name as he slides one finger through your slick, “wanna touch you too.”

“Later, baby. Let me focus on you for now. Can I keep going?”

You mumble a pathetic Ohmygod yes please, that earns you a soft chuckle from him. He wastes no time in sliding a finger into you. Chan moans at the feeling of you wrapped around his fingers.

“Shit, babe,” is all you get out of him before his mouth is back on your skin, kissing up the insides of your thighs as he stretches you out on another finger. “Wanna come on my fingers, love?” You don’t trust your voice right now, so instead you nod vigorously. He stops testing the waters as his fingers and thumb speed up, spreading a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach. He shifts his weight upwards and is hovering over you, never ceasing the motion of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

“If you don’t, I’m leaving right now,” you barely manage to breathe out between pants. From the way Chan smiles at you, you can tell you must look at least as fucked-out as you feel. He chooses not to tease you and you silently thank him for it. Instead he just leans in, meeting your lips in a manner that is nothing like the soft, innocent kisses from before. He pushes his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as if he wanted to taste all of you. Just at that moment his fingers find that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You moan into the kiss, prompting him to mirror your sounds. Chan doesn’t let up on that spot, speeding up and hitting it again and again and again until the pressure becomes to much and the knot in your stomach snaps. He fucks you through your orgasm, leaving soft pecks all over your face until you’ve calmed down.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You’re forced to watch as he retrieves his fingers from your pussy, putting them in his mouth instead and licking them clean. He hums comfortably, “you taste so good, babe.”

You’re still staring at him, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of why the sight of your best friend licking his fingers clean of your essence is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He notices your state and his brows furrow.

“Hey, are you okay?” There’s real worry in his voice, so you nod in reassurance.

“I was just thinking that if this what I get for massaging your sore muscles a little, I’m definitely gonna start doing it more often.”

His eyes widen. “You wanna do this more often?” The disbelief in his voice makes you laugh in earnest. “Of course, in case you couldn’t tell, I had a lot of fun.” You’re unsure of your next sentence, but if you don’t say it now, you fear you’ll say it never, “and I like you. A lot.”

He has the dopiest grin on his face as he leans back down, giving you another sweet kiss. “In that case, let me take you out on a proper date before we do this the next time.” You cock an eyebrow.

“Chan, do you wanna be my boyfriend?” The man in question blushes, avoiding your eyes. “If that’s something you also want…”

You look at his expression, hopeful gaze lifting to catch yours. There’s a blush lingering on his cheeks, his hair all mussed up. You’ve never felt more comfortable with another person.

“Of course,” you reply, snaking one arm around his middle and pulling him close, “I’d love that, actually.”

[dollfxcx]

penny p... pussy eating 🙌🏻 (love your blog btw!!)

Context: after spending the night with a man named Robert Gray, reader wakes up from a nap with someone between her legs. but he's not who she expected to be.

TW: nsfw, mentioned tentacles??

Word count: (1.2k+)

***

You don't see him until late at night. When you woke up, after crawling, the night before, into your undone bed, the blankets fern green, you didn't find him by your side, neither in the kitchen, nor in the living room, as if he had dematerialized. But it's just as you're waking up from a nap, which surprised you in the middle of a movie you've put on to pass the time, that you feel his presence between your legs.

You try to move, idly, eyelids half closed and numb with sleep, but your wrists are locked firmly, as if bound by an invisible rope, above your head, resting gently against the back of the sofa. When you finally manage to open your eyes, a head of red hair happily emerges between your legs, a sight that makes you crane your neck to take stock of the situation. The slight expectant smile that had made its way across your face abruptly disappears when, to your horror, it's not him. Not anymore, at least, better way to say it. Pennywise smiles, bunny teeth peeking out of his cherry red lips, head tilted slightly to the right in a mocking way.

"Aw, is my Y/n disappointed? She doesn't like the way I look anymore?" he questions, his hands slide on your knees to spread your legs and make more space between them. You frown, slightly concerned as the grip on your wrists is getting tighter with every passing second, reducing your chances of escape.

"Oh, but yesterday she looked so happy, sucking on ol' Robert Gray's cock like it was candy, huh?" One of his gloved hands reaches for your cheek, gently grasping it, while the other, fingers light and teasing, caresses your inner thigh. He must notice your confused look as you feel him huffing against your crotch in exasperation, shaking his head slightly with an expression of disgust on his powder white face.

"Silly, silly humans. Always stop at what they see, never go beyond that." One of his fingers flies dangerously close to the zipper of your pants, a gloved touch so faint it almost tickles you. You lean your head back on the couch, lips slightly parted, as you wait for him to speak again.

"The man you so desperately crave is gone. I am him and he is me." Deep down, you knew it very well already and when he takes off your pants with hatefully studied slowness, you stop thinking about it completely .The man from last night must be in there somewhere, anyway, right?

"I gave him one of my favorite forms, the most human of all, for you." You open your eyes again, jerking your head up to meet his golden gaze. He grins at you, but it's not a sweet smile, it's hungry. Craving.

"Mh!! You get it, yes?" he asks, the pad of his index finger traces an invisible line from the elastic of your underpants to your throbbing cunt, slowly poking it with unexpected curiosity. You inhale sharply through your nose and try to wriggle out, lazily, you hear him chuckling in amusement.

"Get what?" you hiss as he pushes your panties to one side, fully exposing you to his critical gaze.

"That you've always been mine, doll." he murmurs, too engrossed in what he has in front of his eyes to pay any attention to you. You moan as he runs the tip of his nose over the skin of your thigh, gingerly sniffing your scent, you notice how his eyes have turned blue again and the sight seems almost enough to make you dizzy.

"Yet, as I am to adapt to the form I take, he gave me a part of his humanity." he explains as his now ungloved middle finger presses against your opening, spreading and stretching your walls with little to no respect, eliciting a whimper from your throat, your hips jerking in a vain attempt to meet and follow his movements, which are excruciatingly slow.

"And his physical needs. And his innermost desires. Oh, you'd never guess what he wanted to do to you, what I want to do to you." His finger curves into you, bumping into a spot you didn't even know you had and making your eyes burn with evil tears you try, in vain, to hold back. He grabs your thighs and yanks you violently off the couch, then pushes his finger back inside you now that the position allows it better, your back arches when his index finger is carelessly inserted too. He starts pumping them slowly, then faster and faster, thumb tracing light, devious circles against and around your clit, until you can't mutter anything but his name, over and over and over. Pennywise leans towards your chest, his free hand, previously gripped around the flesh of your thigh, thick claws now exposed, rips through your shirt, allowing him to dip his cherry-colored nose into the skin between your breasts. Since your wrists are now free, your fingers fly into his hair, tugging at it to pull him closer to you. Pennywise, however, doesn't allow it and stops thrusting his fingers inside you, he blinks quickly as if he has just discovered something new. Something very interesting. He brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks on them and if you weren't totally about to pass out, just the sight of it would make you cum.

"Oh yes, now I understand why he liked you so much." he licks his lips, golden gleam back in his eyes, and, without giving you time to say anything, he grabs you by your legs again, this time making the backs of your knees rest on each of his shoulders, cunt dripping right in front of his mouth. And it's a very uncomfortable position, you're already shivering, but you don't care anymore when his tongue, rough as a cat's and disturbingly long, begins to push inside. Your fingers try in vain to find something to grip, but there's nothing, there's just you and him and your whimpers, and they get louder and more shameless with every inch his tongue manages to reach, which is a lot, it seems to be endless, it wiggles and flicks and savors. His claws dig lightly into the flesh of your thighs, which he's still squeezing as if he's afraid you might escape, fine streaks of blood drip from the lacerated skin. When you cum on his tongue, however, after making sure he's sucked, tasted and swallowed every drop, he moves it to your new wounds, lapping away the blood, the color of which blends in with that of his lips, which, for some strange reason, leave a few lazy kisses on your skin, as if to comfort you.

"You taste good." he notes to himself, clicking his tongue. It's horribly enrapturing to see him like this, completely fascinated by the sensations he's felt just now, his gaze darts between your legs, hoping to find some… leftovers. You start to get up, your knees shaking, but you don't even have time to try that he jumps on you, his hands, miraculously and magically gloved again, wrapping tightly around your exposed throat, a treacherous little smile on his lips.

"You know I want more, don't you?"

***

REQUESTS ARE OPEN YIPPIEEE

[yawnderu]

Cowgirl - Simon ''Ghost'' Riley/TF141 x Reader | Act I

Bang.

The deafening sound rings in her ears, numbing everything else around her until another body hits the floor with a loud thud, the lifeless eyes of her former teammate staring right into her soul. That's three of them.

The warm muzzle of the gun pressing against the back of her head does nothing other than make an amused huff of air escape her nose, gaze drifting around the shallow grave where her team laid rest. She looks over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow to the executioner.

''So?'' The muzzle presses harder against her head, yet the feeling is not uncomfortable.

''Huh?'' The man taunts, lips tugging up into an amused smirk as he stares down at her, trigger finger still itchy as he focuses on the last survivor.

''Saved the best for last?'' Her cocky tone makes him scoff, face now lighting up into something more honest, a real smile decorating his features in what feels like forever.

''We're getting a pretty penny for you, Sunshine.'' Now it's her turn to scoff at the callsign, fully turning her body to look up at him now that the gun is back in its holster.

''You're not killing me?'' She gives him an exasperated expression, pointer finger jabbing his chest multiple times as he backs out, hands raised in mock defense as the younger girl goes on and on.

''You killed all my friends, you... weirdo.'' She spits out the first insult she can think of, still jabbing away at his chest despite the amused expression decorating his attractive features.

''It's only fair you kill me too.'' His hand grabs her wrist gently, keeping her reddening finger away from his chest until she begins to jab away with her free hand... now he has two puny wrists in his hand, and a very energetic firebrand with itchy fingers staring up at him.

''Sunny, Sunshine, light of my life... fire of my loins—'' He dodges the kick thrown to his groin, smile growing wider as he looks down at her.

''I'm not killing you. We're... relocating you.'' He sees the lack of amusement in her face and his expression softens.

''Right. Who... bought me?'' The word feels almost filthy to say, yet she's calling it for what it is— he's giving her away for money, to another team that isn't even her own, right after killing her teammates in front of her. He knows how bad it is, but at the end of the day, it's business.

''Kate Laswell, for some Task Force in the SAS.'' She sighs in exasperation, yet she's not struggling in his hold anymore. His free hand drops to her waist, squeezing softly to get her attention.

''For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You know how things work around here.'' The hand holding her wrists now goes up to her cheek, cupping it just to see the ugly scowl adorning her expression.

''Fuck you. Fuck you and everyone around this shitty place.'' She pushes him away, stomping the other way and making sure to step on any cracks she can find on the ground in childish hopes his back will break. She'll definitely be missed by her captors.

''Behave.'' He gave her ass a soft pat, barely managing to dodge the punch thrown his way before he's pushing her to the group of men, all of them wearing SAS patches, along with the British flag decorating their gear. It was awkward, to say the least, but he left as soon as he came. Her eyes drift towards him, almost pleading. Almost, because she'd never beg him for anything.

''Right.'' A deep voice interrupts the silence, one of his hands planted firmly on her shoulder as he offers her a warm smile, bucket hat adding more friendliness his face. She seems unsure at first before nodding her head, offering his arm a very awkward pat that drags a laugh out of him, simply opting for a handshake.

''Captain John Price.'' He introduces himself, hand still firmly on her shoulder as he moves out of the way, the other three members of his team now visible.

''Sergeant John MacTavish, goes by Soap.'' He pointed towards the burly man with the mohawk, his hand extended to her and a small smile on his scarred face.

''Sunshine. Please give me a new callsign.'' She shakes his hand, a small grimace on her face at the embarrassment of having to use her callsign. The men laugh— all but one, the brooding man with the skull mask.

''Sergeant Kyle Garrick, goes by Gaz.'' She shakes his hand as well, admiring the man for a few seconds before letting go, managing to offer him a small smile that is quickly returned.

''And there he is— Simon Riley, goes by Ghost.'' He stares at her extended hand for a second before shaking it, his hold firm but managing to still be gentle. Her head tilts slightly as she looks up at him after they both let go, eyes narrowing for a second as she focuses on the dead brown eyes staring back.

''You remind me of someone. You're so serious, though.'' To her surprise, his eyes flicker with amusement as he lets out a soft chuckle, unsure on what to add to her comment. Price takes her away before he can even think, giving her a basic introduction to the team and what everyone's role is in the team— and what her role will be.

His brown eyes stay focused on her figure as she walks away with Price, curious as to why a soldier from another task force was added out of nowhere with no warnings.

[reduxulousoctopus]

Logan: “Whatever Chuck did in there, it worked. I don’t know how he faced that thing. He never loses his cool.” Rogue: “Forget it, hon. In our business, we all get shook up every now and again.” Logan: “I don’t.” — X-Men: The Animated Series, season four, "Proteus"

~4500 words, immediately Post-Episode, Morpherine established relationship, The Most Traumatized Man in the World dealing with the fact that he is now Slightly More Traumatized

If you missed my last fic, Morph has in-universe (he/him) and out-of-universe (they/them) pronouns because I think that's funny.

--

After watching waves crash against the island’s rocky shore for a moment, Logan stuffs his hands into his pockets and starts walking in the direction of the tarmac where they left the Blackbird. He’s ready to go the fuck back to Westchester, find his favorite seat at the bar, and drink until he forgets he even exists. Plenty of ye olde pubs to be found on the mainland, of course, but he’s had more than enough of bonnie Scotland for one day.

Too bad some force out there—be it God, the Devil, or the whims of an uncaring universe—seems dead set against ever letting Logan have what he wants.

“I think the professor’s gonna want to stay a while longer,” Rogue pipes up behind him. “Y’know, to make sure Kevin’s really okay, and to make sure Dr. MacTaggert’s doin’ alright, too. We probably got at least an hour to kill before it’s time to head home.”

Holding back an enraged scream, Logan instead grunts out through gritted teeth, “Uh-huh.”

“Why don’t you pay Morph a visit?” Rogue suggests with a smile. “That might make you feel better. Even if you don’t wanna talk to him about what happened, he always puts you in a good mood.”

Despite her words, Logan’s mood somehow turns even more sour at the thought of seeing Morph again. He crosses his arms and grumbles under his breath, “Morph’s already got more than enough to deal with—he doesn’t need me dumpin’ a load of my garbage on top of everything else.”

Rogue rolls her eyes. “For some reason, Morph actually seems to like your garbage. I already told him you’d come see him before we left. You gonna make a liar outta me, or do I have to throw your sorry butt in through his window?”

How in the hell did Logan end up surrounded by so many females who think they can boss him around? Jean, Storm—even Jubilee’s gotten real bold about demanding rides to the mall.

They’re completely right, of course, but they don’t always have to rub his nose in it.

“I can walk.” Logan gives her a mocking bow. “By your leave, ma’am.”

“Go on, now, get,” Rogue says, nodding her head towards the research center’s entrance. “Surly ol’ polecat. Don’t know how Morph puts up with you.”

Thing is, Logan thinks as he grudgingly makes his way back inside the building, he isn’t so sure Morph wants to put up with him anymore. Three times now, he’s had to watch Morph walk away and not look back, even as Logan called his name.

Kinda hard for a fella not to start taking that personally.

Upon entering the laboratory where the others have gathered, Logan immediately locates the cause of his bad day—across the room, playing some kind of hologram puzzle game with Cassidy, too busy to notice him—before very deliberately looking away and approaching Dr. MacTaggert instead. “Hey, Doc. I’m gonna head upstairs. Unless now’s a bad time…?”

She’s understandably reluctant to tear her eyes away from her son. Even when she manages to meet Logan’s gaze, it takes her a second to actually register what he said.

“Oh! Of course you’ll be wanting to see Morph.” She checks her watch. “He should be nearly done with his morning round of mnemotransience therapy. I’ll call the supervising nurse to let her know you’re on your way.”

Logan frowns, wondering what the fuck ‘nemo-transients’ are, but nods politely when she tells him which room Morph’s in. Not that he needs directions—as usual, Logan opts to trust his nose, letting Morph’s familiar scent lead him through the building, instead. But when he arrives outside the closed door at the end of the trail, something makes him hesitate.

He reaches for the knob. Pauses.

Reaches again, before pivoting on his heel and walking back the way he came.

Stops. Runs his hand through his hair. Returns to the door.

Hesitates again. Growls in frustration.

“Just leave him alone, old man,” Logan mutters to himself. “He’s here to heal.”

Not listen to a whining, yellow-bellied coward like me.

With that bitter self-recrimination, Logan turns away from the door again—only to nearly jump out of his skin when he hears it suddenly open behind him.

“Are you that ‘X-Man’ come to visit Morph?” asks the middle-aged woman with frizzy grey hair and coke-bottle glasses. “Sorry love, Moira called ahead but I only just remembered the door was locked. Must not have heard your knockin’ over my headphones, either. Come on in, love, he’s almost done with his treatment, shouldn't be more than a minute or so.”

Now there’s no chance he can sneak away without word getting back to Morph. Reluctantly, Logan follows the nurse into the room. As soon as he’s through the threshold and he hears the door automatically lock itself behind him, his breath catches and a bolt of sick terror shoots through him, followed quickly by rage.

He hates hospitals, and he really hates laboratories; this room is some hellish combination of both. Sterile metal walls, acrid chemical smells, computers and machinery blinking and blooping with obscure purpose in stalagmite-like clusters rising from the floor. Seeing Morph unconscious on a slab, hooked up to those machines—it makes him want to break things. His pulse is a war-drum in his ears.

This can’t actually be helping Morph get better. They’re hurting him, experimenting on him maybe. Ripping him apart to learn how his shapeshifting powers work. Maybe that’s how MacTaggert figured out how to make her son look normal, because that’s all humans ever want from mutants: to use them, or make them normal.

His claws itch at the underside of his skin. He’s gotta get Morph out of here, run away as far and fast as they can because if they can’t trust MacTaggert then they can’t trust Xavier then they can’t trust the X-Men—

Logan closes his eyes. His thoughts are spiraling in on themselves like a dog chasing its tail; he grabs that dog by the chain and forces it to heel. Maybe he can’t trust MacTaggert—the fact she managed to hide her mutant son from Xavier all these years proves she’s good at keeping secrets, who knows what other skeletons may be hanging in that woman’s closet?—but he damn well knows by now that he can trust Xavier and the X-Men. There’s no point in speculating to the contrary. May as well start doubting that the sun will rise or the tides will turn; may as well send himself to the funny-farm, too, while he’s at it.

“You can sit in that chair while you wait, love,” the nurse says suddenly. Logan’s body jerks in surprise as his eyes snap open. She doesn’t seem to notice, though, already taking her own seat behind a desk not far from the door and picking up a well-worn paperback romance novel. “That one there, by the window.”

“Thanks,” Logan grunts.

The nurse puts on her headphones and presses the play button on her portable tape-player. Logan blinks as his acute hearing picks up shredding guitars, crashing drums, and guttural, growling vocals.

He would not have guessed from looking that she was a metal fan.

Although he moves towards the window the nurse mentioned, Logan doesn’t sit down in the squashy-looking armchair. Instead, he slides the window open and just stands there a while, breathing deeply. No ocean-view this side, but he can smell the brine and feel the cold wind against his face. He can hear crashing waves.

He can still smell Morph, too, which is always a balm—even if he can’t bear to look at him while he’s hooked up to those machines. He can hear his heartbeat and his calm, soft breaths.

Eventually, the room stops feeling quite so much like a trap snapping shut around him.

Morph trusts Dr. MacTaggert. Trusts this place, even if it makes Logan’s skin crawl. He clearly feels safe enough to recover here. Safer than he felt at the mansion, apparently.

Safer than he felt under Logan’s protection.

Some ‘protection.’ Not even one whole day back and I let him go up against Sentinels again.

Yet even when confronted by his worst fear, Morph ran in literally guns-blazing and faced an entire squad of Sentinels almost single-handed to save the team. A true X-Man, through and through.

And what does that make me? Just the guy that turns tail and runs while his friends are in danger, all because he let himself get spooked by a snot-nosed teenager with daddy-issues.

Logan hasn’t forgiven Morph for leaving again—hell, he might even hate him a little—but he’s still so proud of him. That pride only deepens his own shame.

Bamboo and steel, like Master Oku used to say. Guys like Morph, like Xavier and Beast and Nightcrawler, too: they’re bamboo. Strong enough to bend, able to grow back when cut down. For all that Logan’s bones are plated in adamantium, as often as he’s tried to change his nature, he knows he’s made of steel. Tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. And if even one crack appears—he breaks.

Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Something beeps on the console by Morph’s bed. Eerily, he seems to instantly snap from asleep to fully alert, like he isn’t so much waking up as activating. His eyes open and he takes a single, sharp breath, which he holds for a moment before releasing it in a sigh.

Logan crosses his arms and leans back against the window-sill, content to watch that long, lean body stretch and those pretty brown eyes flutter.

When Morph eventually sees him standing there, to Logan’s relief, he smiles. That’s gotta count for something. “Hiya, Logan…”

“Hey, kid,” he says softly.

I miss you.

I hate you.

Something terrible happened.

Come home.

I don’t know how to be afraid. I don’t know how to bend.

I don’t deserve you.

“Nice helmet,” Logan says. “You look ridiculous.”

Morph laughs as he sits up and starts to remove the strange device strapped to his head. “You think this helmet looks ridiculous, you should have seen my first and only attempt to design my own costume. There’s a reason why I opted to go with the generic uniform, instead.”

“Well, now I’ve gotta see it. You can’t say that and not show me.”

“And lose what little respect for me you have left? No thanks.” After setting the odd helmet down on the side-table, Morph taps it with his finger. “This is a new thing we’re trying out. Moira says it might help make my nightmares and flashbacks less intense.”

Logan nods like he knows anything about anything. “Nemo-transients therapy, right.”

Morph laughs again. “Right.”

“What’s it do?”

“No idea. Moira tried to explain the science but there were a few too many five-dollar words,” Morph admits. “Basically, it’s meant to make some of my bad memories fade away a little over time, the way the memories of other people do.”

“That perfect recall of yours givin’ you trouble?” Logan guesses with a regretful sigh. It’s a necessary side-effect of Morph’s powers. He can just glance at someone and remember every single detail of their appearance; listen to a brief recording of a voice and replicate it flawlessly; watch anyone perform a physical skill, from a martial arts maneuver to a complicated dance-step, and immediately add it to his own repertoire.

He could probably tell you how many rivets were used to construct the Sentinels that killed him. Or remember the exact moment—month, day, hour, minute, and second—when he realized that no one was coming to rescue him from Mister Sinister; that the X-Men, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, really had left him for dead.

“On the bright side, I never had to study back when I was in school. You win some, you lose some.”

“Morph…” Logan uncrosses his arms and takes a step towards the bed, but stops himself from getting any closer. Although the nurse is thoroughly distracted by her kissing book and her metal music, she could glance up at any moment. Besides, there’s a security camera looming in the corner of the ceiling, pointed directly at them.

As much as Logan might want Morph to come home, he won’t do it by making this place unsafe for him, should someone at the research center react poorly to seeing two men be a little too affectionate with each other. His hands fall uselessly to his sides.

“I can’t say I like the idea of you lettin’ people tamper with your memories,” Logan admits after a moment.

“It doesn’t erase anything. Just sorta gives me a little breathing room, so the other therapies actually have a chance to stick. That’s all,” Morph assures him. When Logan still looks unconvinced, he adds, “The professor helped design it, if that makes you feel any better.”

It does, actually. Logan can’t understand any of this modern, high-tech psychology mumbo-jumbo. Back in his day, when a fella got a case of shell-shock, the brass would just put a gun in his hands and shove him back in the fight. If Xavier and Morph both agree that this is the best way to help Morph get better, who is Logan to question it?

“I don’t know how much longer we’ve got before it’s time to catch my ride back to Westchester,” Logan says.

“Oh.” Morph shoots him a knowing smile and a wink. “I get you.”

Well. That wasn’t what Logan was getting at, but he definitely isn’t going to say no…

Morph yawns and stretches again. This time, there’s nothing innocent in the arch of that spine or the flex of those lean muscles. “Goodness, these sessions sure take it out of me.”

“How ‘bout I walk you to your room,” Logan offers.

“Thanks, Logan,” Morph says with a shameless grin. “You’re a good pal, y’know that?”

As they walk towards the exit, Morph pauses to drum his fingertips across the nurse’s desk. She jumps and removes her headphones with a slightly guilty-looking smile. “All done, then, love? How was the session?”

“Good. How are Fae and Tavish?” Morph asks. After a moment of confusion, Logan realizes those must be the names of the woman with the heaving bosom and the oiled-up, tartan-clad highlander and on the cover of the nurse’s romance novel. “Have they sorted out that little misunderstanding at the clanmeet yet?”

“Aye, things are finally heating up again,” the nurse replies with a grin. “So if you wouldn’t mind maybe holding off telling Moira you’re done with your session, that’d be grand.”

Morph literally zips his lips shut. After Logan and the nurse have a good laugh, he unzips to say, “Don’t work too hard, Doreen.”

“You know I’m in no danger of that, love!” she calls after him as they leave the room.

Although the two of them don’t speak as Morph leads Logan through the halls of the research center, their eyes keep meeting as anticipation builds. It’s been too long—even longer, if you don’t count that cramped, awkward quickie in the mini-jet en route between Morph’s welcome home party and the trashed polymer factory.

When they arrive at Morph’s guest room, Logan doesn’t have long to re-familiarize himself with the scenery. The door is barely shut and locked behind him before Morph slams him up against it with enough force to rattle the hinges. Logan growls appreciatively around the tongue in his mouth and slides his hands down Morph’s back to grab his ass.

There’s surely no better cure for what ails him.

–

Glaring up at the ceiling several minutes later, Logan thinks he’s going to kill someone. Possibly himself.

“It… it’s fine, Logan. Really.”

“Shut up,” Logan snaps. He flops back against the scratchy hospital sheets covering Morph’s bed and hides his eyes in the crook of his arm.

“Everybody has trouble, uh, performing sometimes,” Morph insists. “Especially older—er, I mean—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Morph sighs and turns away, looking frustrated, worried, and worst of all, guilty. That last one breaks Logan’s heart a little. This sure as hell isn’t Morph’s fault. He doesn’t deserve Logan’s anger.

Too bad anger is just about all he ever has to offer.

“I should go,” Logan says, wishing he’d stuck to his guns and stayed away instead of letting Rogue bully him. He’s no good for Morph like this.

Not enough of a man to stand and fight. Not enough of a man to fuck. What good am I for anyone?

Logan stops in the middle of looking for his clothes to shut his eyes, clench his trembling fists, and wait for the wave of rage to pass over him before resuming his search.

“Oh… okay,” Morph says. Logan can’t bear to look at him. He has his jeans buttoned and is in the middle of shrugging on his flannel shirt when Morph asks, “How’d the mission go, by the way?”

A pure, wimpering-animal dread creeps into his chest. Morph keeps talking—Logan hears Rogue’s name, and the phrase ‘made of glass’—but nothing else sinks in. His stomach turns. Sweat beads on his brow. Although he can feel air rushing in and out of his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Why do you care?” Logan snaps. He can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears. “Thought you turned your back on that life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Morph demands. “Of course I care—you’re still my friends, I’m still an X-Man! Do you think I wanted to leave?”

“I… I don’t know why I said that,” Logan lies. His vision blurs, but he can still see his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes as hard as he can. They have to be playing tricks on him. He’d be able to smell that monster coming.

Right?

“Besides, I didn’t turn my back on you! You turned your back on me, left me to—” There’s a soft thud behind him as Morph punches the mattress. “No… no, that’s not true. Especially not about you. You did more than anybody to… But don’t you see? That’s why I had to leave! I’m no good for the team like this. I thought you understood that.”

Logan nods, although gun-to-his-head, he couldn’t say what he’s agreeing to. He stands up and staggers a few steps away from the bed on legs that feel like jelly. He needs… he needs… to button his shirt. Find his boots.

Grab your gun and head back out there, soldier. The war ain’t over just because you’re scared.

“Logan…?”

“What?!” Why can’t he find his fucking boots? Why can’t he see anything besides his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag.

“Why are your claws out?”

Logan blinks. Looks down at his hands.

His claws hiss back at him like angry snakes.

He retracts them, feels them squirm all the way back up into his arms, alien and repulsive in a way they haven’t felt since they were brand-new.

He blinks again, and suddenly Morph is standing in front of him, between Logan and the door. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Logan should be the one closest to the door. When that monster comes in here—

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Morph says. He offers a smile completely devoid of amusement or joy. “And I’m heading that way, too, so lets see if all these boring counseling sessions I’ve had to sit through are worth the time I could have spent watching TV.”

Closely observing Logan to gauge his reaction, Morph takes his hand and guides it to his bare chest. His heartbeat is a little too fast, his breaths shaky and hitched. Holding Logan’s hand in place, Morph takes as slow and steady an inhale as he can manage, holds it for a few seconds, then releases a sighing exhale. Again and again. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. Although Logan doesn’t mean to join in the breathing exercises, he finds himself subconsciously matching Morph’s pace.

Over the course of what somehow feels both like several hours and no time at all, Morph’s heartbeat gradually slows to something approaching normal. As it does, the worst of Logan’s terror fades, leaving him exhausted, angry, and embarrassed in its absence.

The monster—the kid is still downstairs with his mother, Cassidy, Beast, and Xavier. The only thing tormenting him is a few bad memories.

“Sit down,” Morph says, pushing him a few steps backwards until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed. Logan doesn’t sit so much as collapse. His muscles twitch uselessly with unspent adrenaline. “Easy, big guy. A panic attack can really take it out of you. Believe me, I know.”

“You take it easy,” Logan snaps without any heat. “I don’t get panic attacks.”

“Uh-huh,” Morph says dryly, not buying what Logan’s selling even at a discount. Standing between Logan’s spread knees, Morph reaches out and runs a hand through his hair. Logan nearly growls at him—until he feels blunt fingernails scratch over his scalp just right. All the fight bleeds out of him until he can only slump forward and rest his sweaty forehead against Morph’s belly.

While he continues to play with Logan’s hair, Morph speaks again: “You and I aren’t great at this mushy stuff. And I know you too well to bother asking if you want to talk about what’s wrong.”

Logan shakes his head.

“Just… know that if you did want to talk, I’d listen. Okay? I know what it’s like to go through this stuff, and I know it feels like you have to tough it out alone, but—”

“You don’t.”

Morph’s hands go still. “…What’s that?”

“You said you know what it’s like. But you don’t,” Logan repeats, gritting his teeth, “because nothing happened to me.”

“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” Morph asks, taking a step back so he can look Logan in the eye. “Wait, so this isn’t about Weapon X, or Sabretooth and Fox, or—”

Of course Morph would assume that, because that might actually make some goddamn sense, but no. Some of the worst things that ever happened to him, yet they only ever made him tougher and stronger and angrier. Instead, it’s a kid throwing a temper tantrum that finally managed to break the Wolverine.

—he’s falling apart, weeping at the feet of a stranger he nearly killed, begging her for answers she can’t give him. Why did they do this?—

—pretty brown eyes stare up at him, brutalized and afraid. What’s the matter, punk? Can’t take care of your woman?—

—he sees his own body being ripped apart, melted down into slag. Where are you, Logan? Wolverine!—

“I ran away during the mission,” Logan snarls. There it is, the ugly truth.

A long, terrible silence hangs between them, until—

“Oh.”

Logan cringes and looks away like a scolded hound. Shame burns acidic in the back of his throat.

After a moment, Morph moves to sit next to him on the bed. Logan watches out of the corner of his eye as he leans forward, braces his elbows on his knees, picks at his hands.

Then, to his dismay… Morph quietly chuckles.

—high, mocking laughter echoes through the dark jungle. Who could ever love a freak like you?—

“Funny,” Morph remarks. Unlike the corrupted thing he became under Sinister’s control, there’s no sign of cruelty in his voice, his face, his pretty brown eyes. “I used to think you weren’t afraid of anything.”

“I’m not,” Logan insists, before amending: “I shouldn’t be.”

“Why? Is it so terrible to find out that you’re just as human—er, so to speak—as the rest of us?”

Logan frowns down at the floor between his bare feet.

“Or was all that stuff you told me after the Sentinels came back just bullshit to make me feel better?”

His gaze snaps up to meet Morph’s cold, flat stare. “It’s not the same.”

“How do you figure?”

“Because…” Logan starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish.

Morph, the absolute bastard, smirks like he’s already won the argument. “So you ran away. So what? Did you come right here, afterwards?”

“No,” Logan growls.

“In the time it took you to turn around and get back to the mission, was anyone killed or maimed?”

“The professor fell in a pit of fire.” Morph’s eyes go wide, which is a little gratifying at least. All the more unfortunate that Logan has to tack on a reluctant, “Dr. MacTaggert and I caught him.”

“Jesus… Don’t scare me like that, you asshole. Okay, you almost let Xavier fall in a pit of fire; I almost let Xavier’s brain get stolen by Sentinels,” Morph says with a shrug. “We’re as bad as each other. Anything negative you have to say about yourself, you may as well say about me, too.”

It’s a tidy little trap Morph’s caught him in, without a doubt. Hell of a catch, that catch-22.

“Alright, put it away,” Logan grumbles, and covers Morph’s entire smug, cackling face with one hand.

“What, my dick?” Morph asks, muffled against Logan’s palm. “Talking about some guy’s emotions while my whole hog is out. I feel like I’m in a student film.”

Logan laughs. “You coulda changed that at any point, shapeshifter.”

“Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” Despite his words, Morph shifts back into his uniform as he rises from the bed. “Alright, no bars on the island, but there’s probably a boat somewhere we could steal. Or I can turn into a whale and swim you across to the mainland.”

“Can’t,” Logan says regretfully, shaking his head. “My ride home is leavin’ soon.”

“I’ll buy you a plane ticket. Even better, I’ll pull a guilt-trip on Scott that'd put a Jewish grandmother to shame, get him to come visit me tomorrow, and you can fly back with him after. In the meantime, we’ll rent a hotel room for the night and see if Little Logan has recovered from his stage-fright.”

Logan chuckles. Seeing Morph play Summers like a fiddle would be worth the price of admission alone; that he’d be doing it so Logan can play hooky and drink beer and have sex is just gravy. Still, he can’t help but ask: “You sure it’s a good idea for you to leave?”

“I don’t imagine we’ll see Mister Sinister or any Sentinels having a pint down the pub in a random seaside village in Scotland,” Morph says with a laugh. “What about you? Any chance we’ll run into whatever freaked you out?”

Logan thinks of young Kevin MacTaggert, happy and safe with his mother and Xavier—the man who’s been a better father to him in the past two days than Joe MacTaggert has for the boy’s entire life. In a strange way, maybe that makes the kid a bit of an X-Man, too. “I’ll take my chances.”

Morph grins as he pulls Logan to his feet. He doesn’t let go of Logan’s hand right away, almost absentmindedly stroking the thick, rough callouses, the knots of scar tissue, the bulky pugilist’s knuckles.

Steel is tough. Unyielding. Inflexible. Beaten into the proper shape, ground down to a razor’s edge. Even reforged, a broken blade will always be weaker than it once was.

Luckily, for all that Logan’s bones are plated in metal, he isn’t made of steel. Flesh bleeds, flesh breaks; then it heals and grows back stronger.

Logan is pretty damn good at healing.

[shiftingparadise]

I want you to (part 2)

Here's a part 2, hopefully you'll enjoy it just as much. I'm going to work on your requests again. Enjoy reading ����✨

PS: I really want to continue Soft Spot, anyone any ideas? 🥰

WARNINGS: smut - angst

Word count: 1979

“I got something for you”, a soft smile on his face. “An envelope?”, I frowned. “Open it”, a spark in his eyes. “No, you didn’t. How did you get tickets to the opening of his art show? W-we weren’t invited”. “Well, now you are”, he chuckled. “How did you-“. “Doesn’t matter”, he gestured for me to come over, “Everything for my princess”. “Thank you”, I hastily sat down on his lap before plastering kisses all over his face. “I can’t believe I get to be one of the first persons to see his work”. 

I sighed as I relived the memory. How could he fake something like that? He seemed so content, so proud of himself for making me happy… Now, he wanted nothing more than to see me cry. It all felt so cruel to me; so unfair.

“I don’t want to today”, my eyes glued to the floor as I sat down on the bed. “I don’t care”, his hand softly wrapped around my throat, “I’m going to make you mine”. “I’m already yours”, I whispered as my hands were tied behind my back. “Because I force you to”, he took a step back. 

I rubbed my wrists together, to loosen the rope around them. I didn’t understand why he tied my wrists together, there was nowhere for me to go; nowhere I could go. 

“Blue suits you well”, his eyes studied the lingerie he chose for me, “Goes well with those bruises I gave you yesterday”. 

A sudden hate started to rise to my throat. I didn’t want him to find me pretty. At least not like this.

“Those aren't bruises”, I narrowed my eyes, “You bit me”. “Only because you were acting like a brat”, he roughly grabbed my jaw. “Let go”, I tried to pull away. “Again? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”, a disgusted look on his face. 

Feitan never hurt me. At least not like he hurt others. Sure, he bit me, he sometimes even scratched my back a little too hard, but he never cut me. He never even tried to break my fingers or my leg. He never did any real damage. 

“What are you going to do? Bite me? Like a dog?”, a defiant look in my eyes. “Watch it”, his eyes grew dark. “Or what? I’m not scared of you”, I sat up straight. 

 H-huh?, my eyes widened as I felt the back of his hand against my cheek. This was the second time he hit me. It was a sudden reminder of his strength. 

“On your hands and knees”, his voice colder than usual as he freed my hands. “N-no”, I loudly swallowed. “I won’t hold back this time”. 

He didn’t need to raise his hand. The way he looked at me was more than enough to make me obey. 

“Good”, he got behind me as his fingers gently traced over my spine. I flinched once I felt his cold fingertips. “Oh? What’s wrong?”, he mocked as his hand wrapped around my hair. Without saying anything else, he pulled my head back as his lips hovered next to my ear. 

“Scared?”. 

“Yes”, I tried to hold back tears. 

It was best to just go along, to give him what he wanted.

“I thought you weren’t scared of me”, he pushed my head into a pillow as his other hand gently pulled my panties down. “N-no”, my knees pulled together like magnets. “Don’t”, he softly pulled them back open with his knee. A chuckle as he looked down, his digits already where my body needed them the most. 

I closed my eyes in shame. I didn’t want him to notice how much my body needed him.  

“I’m going to breed you until you can’t walk anymore”, his tip already pressed against my entrance. “Even when I hit you, when I hurt you, you’re body still wants me to fuck you. Isn’t that funny?”. 

“Please Feitan”, I closed my eyes, not sure what I was pleading for. I didn’t want him to stop, but I didn’t want him to continue either. It was a constant battle. 

“I can’t wait to see your belly”, he grunted as he pushed in, “You’re going to look fucking perfect with my baby inside you”. 

“F-fei-“, I lifted myself as he pushed even deeper. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight”, he chuckled as he picked up the pace, “I want to see you cry, you know that? I want to see that cute nose turn pink, your eyes all swollen… But you’re already used to this, aren’t you? You’re used to being my pretty doll that I get to fuck whenever I want”. 

Used? I didn’t need to get used to it. I enjoyed it every time. Even if I cried, even if I begged him to stop... I never really wanted him to.  

“W-wait”, I tried to protest as he flipped me onto my back. “What if I carve my name in your skin, would you cry then?”, a sudden edge in his tone.

I closed my eyes in response. I didn’t want to see the look in his eye; the joy he felt.

“Tsk”, he clicked his tongue as he got more rough. It seemed that he got agitated for an unknown reason. 

He didn’t want you to know how soft he was for you. He really wanted you to be scared for him, but he didn’t enjoy seeing you like this. He couldn't keep this up. His heart ached at your hurt.

“Don’t worry”, he softly guided my chin so I could look at him, “Won’t do stuff like that. Not to you”. 

An unwilling flutter in my stomach. 

“J-just keep going”, I arched my back. “Don’t worry”, he let his head rest against mine. A sign he wanted to feel my touch. “You’re such a good boy”, my hands gently wrapped around him, “You’re always making me feel so good”. 

He didn’t know what happened inside him; why there was this sudden warmth running through his veins. 

“More”, a whisper I could barely hear. “You’re going to make me come”, I gently grabbed his hand, guiding it to where I needed him the most. “Fuck Feitan”, I smiled as my breaths got heavier, “You’re making me feel so good”. 

He pulled away. His eyes were now glued to my face. There was this unsure look on his face; as if he didn’t understand what was happening. 

“I want you to come with me”, my eyes rolled to the back of my head, “Want you to fill me up. W-want to have your baby”. “Y/N-“, his eyes widened as I pulled him closer each time he pushed into me. He didn’t answer. For the first time, he stayed quiet. ‘F-fei”, I softly sighed as I came undone. He followed shortly, but there was no warning when he came. No sigh, no moan, nothing. 

“Feitan?”, I sat up straight as he got dressed. “I’m going to tape your mouth shut next time”, he sat down next to me again, “You’re getting too confident”. 

My eyes went round in disbelief as I noticed a smile on his face. 

“I want to have twins”, his smile disappeared again, “A boy and a girl and I’m going to give them everything I didn’t have. A loving mother, a warm house, toys, books, … I want to go on holidays together, I want to celebrate Christmas, I-“, he suddenly paused. “I know you don’t want to be mine, but I know you’re going to give our children everything they need”, he looked to the ceiling, “Just as I know you’d protect them with your life if necessary”. 

He was beautiful when he showed his soft side. I could look at him forever when he was like this. 

“I need to go out at night, for work. I’ll see you in the morning”, he placed an awkward kiss on my temple, a gesture he probably never meant before. "And don’t try to leave. I’ll have someone here to watch you”. 

—-

“Get up”, his cold voice rang from behind the door, “Breakfast is ready”. I wanted to rebel, to tell him I wasn’t hungry, but it would be futile. “Y/N?”, he raised his voice from a lack of response. “Just a minute”, I forced myself to answer before putting on the clothes he laid out for me. 

Every day, around 6 AM, he’d come into my room and neatly lay out clothes for me. Yesterday it was a short skirt with a Ralph Lauren sweater, the day before there was a beautiful, pink dress… 

“I want to wear sweatpants”, I sighed while I adjusted my skirt. For some reason, he gave me an extra short, black dress today, paired with some Lousboutins. Needless to say, I didn’t feel very comfortable. “Hm?”, he raised an eyebrow as he took a bite from his toast. “N-nothing”, I hastily forced a smile on my face. “Eat”, his eyes low. 

God, I hated this silence. There was nothing left for me to do other than wait. 

“I need you to do something for me”. “What?”, I softly replied. “Went out last night”, his brows pulled together, “I need you to take care of me”. “Take care of you?”. “I’m hurt”, he slowly stood up, “I need stitches”. “I-I can’t… I’ve never-“. “Bathroom”, he interrupted my nervous pleas. “B-but-“. “Won’t ask you twice”, his cold eyes stared into mine. 

I nervously shuffled behind him, scared to admit that I couldn’t stand the sight of blood. 

“I’d normally ask Machi”, he grunted as he leaned against the sink, “But she’s on a mission”. “Okay”, I wrapped my arms around my waist as he took off his shirt. “See?”, he looked down at the wound. 

My stomach started to turn. Feitan had wrapped a bandage around his waist in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but the once-white fabric had already turned red. 

“Here”, he grabbed a couple of things out of the cabinet. “D-don’t you need something for the pain?”, I slowly walked closer. “It’s fine”, he grunted as he got rid of the bandage. 

Right. I should’ve known better than to look at the wound. 

“What?”, his cold eyes grew more tired by the second. “N-nothing”, I tried to get some feeling in my fingers by shaking my hands. “Hurry, it hurts”, he let his head fall back. I nodded before I cleaned his wound. 

So far, so good.

“Shit”, Feitan grunted at the stinging sensation of the disinfectant. “Sorry”, I softly responded before looking at the needle. “It’s fine, just hurry”, he looked to the side. “S-so”, I cleared my throat as I held out the needle. 

I couldn’t do this. I knew I couldn’t. Why did I even try? 

“Think 8 stitches are enough”, he pulled his brows together as he examined the wound. 

I just nodded as my head started to spin. The wound looked even more awful as blood kept dripping down onto the cold tiles. 

“Y/N?”, Feitan’s voice sounded strange. As if he was yelling from far away. “Y/N?”, he repeated as dark spots took over my sight. “Fuck”, he gritted his teeth before catching me. 

—-

“Hm?”, I grunted as I tried to figure out where I was. “Finally”, Feitan sighed, “You were out for a couple of hours”. “A couple of hours?!”. “You were probably tired. It’s not like you sleep much at night”. “H-how do you know?”. “Doesn’t matter”, he placed a bag on my lap. “What’s this?”, my brows pulled together. “Sweatpants and a sweater”, a discontent look on his face, “You wanted some, right?”. “Y-yeah”, I softly replied. “I got some more clothes. They’re already in your closet. Wear whatever you like”. "Y-your wound-", I didn't care about the clothes. "Already took care of it", he lifted his shirt, "Now get some rest. You're tired".

[salamandergoo]

STWG Prompt: banana dog

"Jane.  Jane, look at the camera."  Dustin grinned as he held up his phone, pointing it at Jane as she giggled from the couch.

"No!"

"Tell them what you bought, Jane."  When she started giggling harder, hard enough that she couldn't squeak out words anymore, Dustin turned the camera to himself with a grin.  "Amazon was a mistake."

Will snorted, his video lagging as he spun from his desk.  "You're telling me."

"Didn't you buy four new dice sets from Etsy yesterday?"  Mike yelled from the next room.  "You don't need more dice, you have like, three tote bags worth of them!"

"These ones glow in the dark!  And one of them is a gift for you, stop going through emails!"

"We have a joint paypal account!  I can see when you buy stuff!"

Will frowned, immediately clicking on something.  "...huh."

Max snorted.  "You're all so dumb," she groaned, leaned against Lucas in their corner of the FaceTime.  "Show us what Jane bought."

"Be nice," Lucas scolded before a grin broke across his face.  "She's totally right though."

"Totally," Max mocked, smirking.

"You're almost 50, Max, stop acting like a teenager."  Mike ducked into view of the camera, hair wet and a towel around his shoulders.  He flipped her off and grinned.

"You first, asshole."

Jane was still giggling as the camera was turned back to her, eyes scrunched up as she held up a little figure of a banana dachshund.  "Banana dog," she squeaked out, her voice hardly audible over her laughter.

"Banana dog!"  Dustin gestured with a fond but exasperated expression.  "we have a banana dog."

"Holy shit."  Lucas grinned.  "Babe.  Max.  We need a banana dog."

"No!"  Jane grinned.  "I have already ordered one for you.  It will arrive tomorrow."

"Jane, you're my favorite member of the party, it's official."  Lucas was beaming as Max dissolved into laughter.  "Max, we're going to have a banana dog, this is the best day of my life."

"We have a child!"

"But we don't have a banana dog yet."  Lucas shook her by the shoulders gently, making his laptop shake on his lap.

"Okay, okay!"  Max snorted and pushed his arms away.  "You're telling Sadie she's been replaced as the favorite child when she gets home."

"No, no, she'll understand, she'll get it.  She's cool like that."

"I'm pretty sure she thinks you're the lamest person ever."  Will smirked.  "She's not... wrong, exactly."

"Everyone is so mean to me, you know that?  Except you, Jane.  You're sending us a banana dog."

"You are my favorite too, Lucas!"

Dustin looked at her, fully offended.  "...hey."

She kissed his cheek and gently set the banana dog on the brim of his hat.  "You can be banana dog's favorite."

"...I guess that works for me."  He raised an eyebrow at the camera.  "At least I'm not being replaced like Sadie," he joked.

"I'm not replacing Sadie!"  Lucas huffed.  "Lies and slander, you assholes."

Mike leaned down against the desk, taking up most of his and Will's frame.  "I don't know, kind of fucked up that you got Max and Lucas a banana dog, but not your own brother, Jane."

"I like Max and Lucas more," she said innocently, grinning when that sent the FaceTime call into chaos.

"You're devious."  Dustin grinned.

"I am."  She nodded, gently taking the banana dog off his hat with a grin.

[gothic-thoughts]

Oddly Intriguing

Bucky Barnes x Black Gender Neutral Reader Fluff

MeetUgly, Drabble

CW: rude Bucky (plz he'd never🥰❤)

A peaceful walk down the street was interrupted by a tall man bumping into me so hard that I turn, box braids swinging over my shoulder. He huffs,

"Watch it."

“You watch it.”

My words make him turn to me with raised eyebrows while I stare back at him waiting for an apology or some half-assed one at least but upon further inspection of his face and body, my eyes widen slightly realizing that he was the fucking Winter Soldier, the scary muscular and attractive he was. Ugh, you're so lucky you're literally.... I quickly shake away my thoughts and continue down the street. I still feel his eyes on me, an intense stare into the back of my head as I made my way into the corner store.

I quickly find the breakfast aisle and saw the cereal that I ran out of this morning sitting on the top shelf, of course between two boxes to make it hard to grab as if height wasn't a problem already. just out of reach of my fingertips. As I lift myself onto my tiptoes and consider asking a worker for help, a strong forearm arm reached up from behind me and effortlessly grabs the box as I planted myself back onto my feet. I turn around to see the metal-armed man looking down at me with a neutral expression as he handed me the box.

"Here."

I take it, “You again?”

"You're welcome."

"Did you...follow me?"

"I didn't have to help you with the box."

"It's just that you crashed into me on the street a minute ago.”

"You didn't die, did you?"

So he's got jokes? I turn on my heel and walk away without another word. After a moment of silence from behind me I hear his boots stepping heavily from behind me as he caught up before he was in my peripheral, essentially walking with me.

"Sorry." I mock, grabbing a case of Oreos as I walk past, "I didn't like your apology; and you're a, overall, shit person.”

He sighs, “I'm not, okay?"

"Tell that to the girl you almost killed with your brute strength, Winter Soldier."

"Alright, I'm sorry."

I walk away again, stepping onto the line for the register with his footsteps following close behind as if he was getting something. I roll my eyes. God, he doesn’t quit, does he? He lucky he’s cute.

"This is a very off day for me." He shoves his hands into his pockets, "I was out of it while walking; I actually didn't see you and I'm sorry."

I look him up and down, feigning disinterest, "Hm."

"Come on; I'll treat you to a cup of coffee so we can discuss this."

I snicker, “Discuss what? I already decided that you're a dickhead,” I hand the cereal and cookies to the cashier, “That’s still following me for some reason.”

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” He chuckles, “But if we discuss this a little more, I think can convince you that I am not a dickhead.”

“Doubtful.”

“Let's start here; I'm Bucky."

"Bucky, huh?"

"Yeah, that's what everyone calls me since, well....you know..."

"1940?" I laugh.

"I was gonna say since the dawn of time but that's more specific."

 He actually managed to get a chuckle out of me before I grab my stuff and start to walk out the store and back the way I came. I adjust my box braids in a way so they’d hide the heat in my neck and face, just in case he somehow caught a hint of red under my dark skin.  Considering his offer, I hum while biting the inside of lip then shrug. He’s been pretty nice to me this far. And despite his potential temper problem, he seems pretty chill. Not like he’s not fine as hell too, not like I can go home anyway if he keeps following me like this.

"So, how about it?"

“Well, I can’t exactly go home anymore since this weirdo I met is following me.”

"That means your available. So coffee?"