#ended up trying to kick this thing to live for half an hour

[justarkive]

Chemtrails Over The Country Club | JJK - ch2

Chapter 2 : Giddy up!

pairing : sunshine x grumpy, non idol city boy jungkook x country girl yn, renowned fuckboy x inexperienced reader, volunteer x volunteer

chapter warnings : chapter warnings: horses, horse girls, and horse trauma. jungkook is annoying, hungover, and inexplicably hot with a vape addiction and bubble pop habit. sunshine oc is wearing half laced boots and a braid, includes barn shoveling, shovel based arguments, passive aggressive raking, one traumatizing horseback ride, flirt fights, rural food superiority, emotional whiplash, accidental vulnerability, mentions of smoking and sad boy city sins, parental disappointment, a rhubarb candy that changes lives, and the kind of eye contact that ends friendships. ends just before the creek scene because were edging babes xoxo

taglist : @cristinamajadera @oumy221 @roseda @crisle19 @jjkkkk15 @hoonsbrow @jjkluver7 @angie-x3 @lovingkoalaface @elinaki92 @wettbaby @fiddlebiddls @koodollylvr @httpsmei @alextgef @shellyyy177 @mar-lo-pap @hernameislanablog @jenniebyrubies ( check pinned tba!)

masterlist <

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“—this is fucking ridiculous.”

He mutters it under his breath, but you still hear him. Youre literally right there, standing two feet away in your old barn boots, holding a shovel full of cow shit and trying not to let the smell ruin your life.

He kicks a bucket over towards your feet, not even hard. Just enough to make a statement or whatever hes been trying to do since the whole day youve been here. And then leans against the fence with his arms crossed like hes above all this.

You glance over, eyebrows raised. “You know, the cows can feel that attitude.”

He doesnt answer. He looks like hell.. Hoodie tied around his waist, black tank top clinging to his shoulders, jaw tight, eyes bloodshot. His hair’s messy like he didn’t even brush it, and he smells like sweat and shame and the last 2% of a peach White Claw.

You’re not sure what happened last night, but you do know that someone got drunk enough to play trap remixes at full volume, the volunteers bunkhouse looked like a tornado scene from twister

and your uncle was pissed.

Likee… really pissed.

Apparently the girl he hooked up with already got sent home for stealing the beers. Uncle doesn’t play. And Jungkook? He got scolded loud enough for the chickens to stop clucking.

Now it’s Day Two. And guess who got stuck on barn cleanup duty? Both of you.

Lucky you !

“Are you dead?” you ask, scraping a shovel across the pen.

He exhales through his nose. “Why am I the one cleaning cow shit?”

“Maybe because you threw a beer can at the ceiling fan.”

“That didn’t even happen.”

“I heard it did.”

“From who?”

You tilt your head. “… A little duck told me.”

He groans and drags a rake across the dirt like he’s doing it just to die slowly. “This place is a prison.”

“It’s a barn.”

“Same thing.”

You try not to laugh. He catches it anyway. His eyes flick over to you. You’re flushed from the sun, your hair in a messy braid, an old tank top tied up at the waist, and your boots half unlaced. There’s hay in your elbow crease. And you still look like you belong here.

Which is annoying.

He wipes sweat off his brow with the hem of his shirt, revealing just a peek of his toned stomach, and you immediately look away.

You’re not flirting with a boy who threw up next to a tractor last night. You’re not.

“You dont have to do it that hard,” you mutter, watching him angrily rake.

“Im expressing myself,” he mutters back.

“Well maybe try journaling. Or prayer.”

He snorts once, loud and surprised. And then it’s quiet for a while. Just the sound of flies buzzing and your shovel scraping the earth. And before you even know it, youve both been scooping for an hour.

Or… just you. One full hour in the heat, your braid stuck to your neck, arms aching, and shirt damp where the sun won’t quit, and he’s done exactly one thing the whole time.

Which is: scoop one half assed pile of cow shit into the wrong bucket, swear at his own boots, and then sit his ass down on the feed sack like he’s on break from a job he never even applied for.

He’s got one leg up, thumb tapping on his phone screen, other hand resting casually on the vape tucked under his sleeve. Every few minutes he glances around, not to check on the work, but to make sure no one watching when he takes another hit.

You glance at him. Hes playing some bubble pop game. Not even something cool. Just bubbles.

Your eye twitches. “Hey,” you call, resting your shovel against the fence. “You gonna actually help?”

He doesnt look up. “im supervising.”

You blink. “From there?”

“..Yes?”

You cross your arms. “Okay, well, Snowball’s supervising. Wanna be useful instead?”

He finally looks at you, the lip ring glinting and jaw flexed.“Why are you so pressed?” he asks, dryly. “It’s not like this barn’s gonna implode without me.”

“Because I’m doing everything, and you’re just sitting there vaping like a twelve year old who got grounded.”

He scoffs. “That’s generous. I don’t even live here.”

“Oh, I can tell.”

He leans back, thumb still swiping. “God, you’re annoying.”

“And youre lazy.”

“You love talking, don’t you?”

You take a breath. Then another. You’re not gonna scream at him in front of the cows. You cant.

“I know you’re from the city,” you bite, finally, “and I know you probably think you’re too good to be here—”

“I am too good to be here,” he cuts in.

You stare at him. “Then why are you here?”

He shrugs. Like it’s no big deal. “Didn’t choose it.”

“Okay. So leave.”

He looks at you then. Not bored. Not smug. Just blank. You hold his gaze, arms crossed, sweat dripping down your spine. “Seriously. If it’s so terrible here, and you’re too cool to touch a shovel, then what’s stopping you? go. No ones holding you hostage.”

Silence, the kind that buzzes. You can hear the flies. The chickens, the stupid cow chewing in the corner like it’s judging both of you.

Jungkook doesn’t move, Just taps his screen once. Game over, his vape clicks once in his hand. But he dosent hit it.

“…I’m not leaving,” he says finally, quiet but sharp.

You raise a brow. “Right. Cuz you love cows so much.”

“No,” he mutters. “cuz if I fuck this up, I dont go home at all,”

And then he stands very slowly, not even to help, not yet, but just to walk past you, knocking your shoulder as he goes. You don’t say anything. You just stare after him.

..so you chase after him before you can stop yourself.

“Jungkook,” you call, “come on.”

He keeps walking like he didnt hear you.

You jog a little to catch up, grab his sleeve. “Seriously?”

He turns, scowling. “What?”

“Don’t what me. You didn’t do anything. You raked for like five seconds and then pouted for an hour.”

He scoffs, pulling his arm free. “So?”

“So, I don’t know, maybe do your job?”

He exhales sharp through his nose. “Didn’t realize you were in charge of the barn.”

“I’m not,” you say, planting your hands on your hips. “But I also didn’t sign up to babysit a vape and a teenager with bad attitude.”

That gets a twitch in his jaw. He looks at you for a long beat, then rolls his eyes and grabs the rake from where he left it.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Jesus.”

You both rake in silence for a bit. Him angry and you annoyed. The cows chewing completely unfazed. Eventually, your uncle yells, “Lunch!” from the shed. You drop your shovel like it’s on fire.

Jungkook turns like he’s about to head back to the hostel. You stop him again. “Where are you going? The gate is closed,”

He shrugs. “My room.”

“Which is where?”

He pauses.

Behind the gate…

You raise your brows. “Exactly. Come on. My uncle’s shop has food.”

He hesitates. “I didnt bring money.”

You smirk. “I knew you didnt. Don’t worry, I have a tab, perks of being the favorite.”

He snorts. “Ur not the favorite.”

“You haven’t met me long enough to know that.”

The shop smells like mint and old wood and warm tomatoes when you walk in. Shelves lined with jars of jam and weird vegetables you can’t pronounce. A chalkboard says “ORGANIC PRODUCE AND EGGS (please don’t steal)” in your uncle’s handwriting.

You grab a lemonade and your usual sandwich. Jungkook lingers near the fridge. “You want something or are you just gonna stare at the pickle jars?”

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

“dont be shyy,” you sing. “pick something.”

He sighs and grabs a sad looking egg sandwich andyou make a face. “Seriously? Out of all the options?”

“Didnt realise it was a tasting menu.”

You roll your eyes and grab a jar of pink candies from the counter. “Okay but these are amazing. Rhubarb. Literally changed my life.”

He squints. “Isn’t rhubarb a vegetable?”

“Yeah. But, like… dessert veg?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to decide if you’re messing with him.

You just smile and hand the cashier a crumpled punch card. then outside, you sip lemonade as you both walk slow back toward the barn. “You know,” you say between bites, “you would have hated the shop job even more.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “There was a shop job?”

“Yes. But ur not friendly enough to run a till.”

“Didn’t apply for anything anyway,” he mutters. “My dad sent me.”

You glance at him. “Oh?”

He shrugs. “Woke up one morning and he’d already filled out the form. I just got in the car.”

“That’s wild.”

“That’s my life.”

You walk in silence for a moment. Then, gentle: “Whyd he evensend you?”

He licks some sauce off his thumb, shrugs again. “Threw a party. Mom and dad got sick of it.”

“That’s it?”

He gives you a look. “…It was a big party.”

You laugh. “Still. If I threw a party at my house, my mom would actually bury me in the yard.”

“Who would you even invite? The chickens?”

You elbow him. “Wow. Okay.”

He grins. It’s tiny and barely there, but it is a grin. “You should really like… I don’t know. Maybe try not to drive your parents insane.”

He goes quiet before he scoffs, “You don’t know them.”

“No,” you say softly. “But the fact they sent you here instead of locking you up? Kinda says something.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just looks out at the fields. Lets out a breath through his nose. “…Id argue this is worse.”

You snort. “It’s not.”

he shrugs again before he pulls out his phone again and opens that dumb little bubble game. you clock it instantly. “Seriously?” you ask, licking sauce off your thumb. “You’re addicted.”

“It’s called Bubble Bust 3,” he mutters. “And it’s therapeutic.”

You lean over to peek at his screen. “It’s literally popping colored dots.”

“Yeah. For points.”

You squint at the screen. “Let me try.”

He hesitates. Then hands it over. “Don’t ruin my streak.”

You scoff, sitting beside him on the porch steps. The sun’s baking the wood under your thighs and your shoulders are touching now, barely, but it’s enough to notice.

He watches as you drag your thumb across the screen, popping rows of digital bubbles in the wrong direction entirely,

“You suck,” he says.

“I’m disoriented,” you reply. “It’s ugly. Like. Why is it this ugly?”

“It’s not about looks, irs about strategy.”

“Okay, war general.”

You both fall quiet and then ur knees knock gently. He smells like sun and sweat. His head tilts slightly toward yours as he watches the screen. And suddenly you’re thinking too hard about how close he is. You lock the screen and hand it back. “Wanna see a real game?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What, horse trivia?”

You smirk. “Better.”

He narrows his eyes. “Wait…”

But you’re already standing, brushing crumbs off your thighs and grabbing your bag. “Cmon. Don’t be a chicken.”

“Ur being cryptic again. That’s never good.”

“Stop acting like this is the worst thing you’ve ever done,” you call over your shoulder. “Just trust me.”

You both then walk over past the barns, past the field and into a bigger one.

The stables stretch across the far edge of the property, past the orchard and the tool shed. You lead him through a side gate, humming to yourself as the field opens wide, all green and golden under the late sun.

He slows when he sees the horses. “Wait. Wait, wait, wait.”

You don’t stop. You’re already halfway to the far stall, where your favorite mare stands flicking her tail and blinking in the light.

“Shouldn’t we be, like,” he gestures vaguely, “supervised?”

You grin. “Ur literallt the worst rule follower I’ve ever met. And now you care?”

He scowls and you don’t care. You’re too busy pulling the tack off the hook and slinging the saddle up over your horses back like it’s second nature.

“She’s the fastest one,” you say, patting the mare’s neck. “But she’s sweet. My uncle lets me ride her even though my mom would literally have a heart attack if she knew.”

Jungkook just stands there, arms crossed. “Cool. So you’re trying to kill me.”

“Oh please. You’ll be fine.” You hand him a saddle. “This one’s yours. Put it on the part over there.”

He stares at the equipment like it’s a calculus problem. “Where’s the.. on switch.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god, give me that.”

“No.. wait—” he steps back, clutching the saddle like it’s fragile. “I got it. Just.. uh.. don’t laugh.”

You absolutely laugh. But you try to do it quietly as he fumbles his way through the straps. He squints, bites his lip, swears under his breath once, and somehow manages to get it almost right.

You climb up on your horse like it’s nothing. He struggles, a lot, but eventually he manages to mount, but like, barely, and you smile sweetly across the few feet between you.

“Race to the end of the field,” you say, clicking your reins. “Winner gets the last rhubarb candy.”

He frowns. “Wait, what? Race?”

“Three.”

“Hold on—“

“Two.”

“Wait—”

“GO!”

You kick off and shoot forward like a bullet, and behind you, he yells. loud and frantic.

His horse takes off ten seconds late and crooked, and he’s holding on like a man who deeply regrets every choice he’s ever made. You laugh so loud it echoes through the trees, he screams something unholy.

The wind rushes past your ears, the ground shakes beneath your boots, and the air is thick with heat and grass and the sound of him cursing your name.

The sun’s on your shoulders. And your heart is fucking flying. and you squeal, actually squeal, all into the open feld as you nudge your horse a lil faster, just enough to feel her muscles stretch beneath you, hooves pounding the dirt in long, beautiful strides. Her mane flutters like a banner. Your braid’s coming loose. You don’t even care.

You’re not thinking about jungkook, not thinking about the shovel. not thinking about the fact that you definitely didn’t tell anyone you were doing this.

You’re just grinning like a fool, teeth out, eyes crinkled, yelling, “Wooooh!!” into the heat thick air as your horse charges toward the fence post at the far edge of the pasture.

Meanwhile Jungkook is flailing. Behind you, there’s a truly unholy noise, like a boy dying and being fucking reborn ,and when you glance back, you see him bouncing in the saddle, arms all wrong, knees locked, holding on for dear life. hes not even… steering. His horse is just following yours out of…peer pressure.

and then by the time you hit the edge of the field, you tug the reins, slowing to a stop, chest heaving with laughter. You swing your leg over the side and hop down with practiced ease, landing in the dust with a little skip.

He? Does not land. He nearly flies off in fact.

His horse jerks to a stop and he almost goes over the front, barely catching himself with one arm hooked around the horn. His hoodie falls halfway off his shoulder. His beanie’s gone. His eyes are wide, wild, …even alive.

You’re still giggling as you pet your horse’s neck, brushing your hair back with both hands. Your cheeks are pink. Your lips are parted. You’re flushed and radiant and glowing from the inside out, like the sun isnt just above you , its inside your damn ribcage.

You turn slightly to reach for the riens and your shorts ride up just a little. You tug them down without thinking, still breathless.

You don’t see the way Jungkook looks away. You don’t see the expression on his face, because you’ve never seen it before.

He’s still up there, panting, knees trembling from the ride, staring at you with something caught between awe and horror. Like he’s just seen God. Or, worse. like he’s just realized you might be the thing that breaks him.

Your laugh is still in the air.

He swallows. and for the first time since arriving at this stupid barn, Jungkook doesn’t want to leave.

He gets off and watches you take a seat by the tree nearby, you pat the spot next to you and he nods.

The horses settle a few feet away, lazily chewing hay from the old bales by the fence. The air is quieter now ,the rush of hooves and yelling has faded into rustling leaves, flies, the distant clang of something metal back by the barn.

Your now both sitting against the trunk of a tall oak, shadows dappled over your legs. You’ve got a water bottle wedged between your thighs, cheeks still pink, the last of a smile tugging at your lips. Jungkook’s beside you, legs stretched out, forearms resting on his knees, still catching his breath like he just survived a small war.

There’s a long pause before either of you speaks.

He finally turns his head, staring at you like you just turned into a mythical creature in front of him.

“…What the hell was that.”

You blink. “What?”

“That. That.” He gestures vaguely toward the field, chest still rising and falling a little too fast. “You cheated.”

You laugh, leaning your head back against the bark. “How did I cheat?”

“You’ve done that before. That was, like, trained…horse control.”

You grin. “I told you she was the fastest.”

He groans, tipping his head back. “Oh my god. I almost died.”

You nudge his shin with your boot. “You did great.”

“I screamed.”

“You did.”

He gives you a look. You giggle harder.

“I used to ride more when I was younger,” you add, a little softer now, gaze drifting toward your horse as she noses the hay with a lazy flick of her tail. “Not super often. My mom hated it. Thought I was gonna die every time I got near a saddle.”

He raises a brow. “So naturally… you became a secret fuckin’ equestrian.”

You shrug. “My uncle snuck me in. Said I had the posture for it.” a grin. “Also said I had a spine like a wild possum. I took it as a compliment.”

Jungkook huffs a soft laugh, almost involuntary. You sip from your water. “I’ve been volunteering here every summer since I was twelve. Just kinda stuck, I guess.”

He glances sideways. “You like it?”

You nod. “I love it.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you for a moment , how your lashes catch the sun, how your fingers pick idly at the grass, how relaxed you look out here like the world doesn’t ever touch you too hard.

It’s weird. The way you glow without trying.

“…Why?”

You blink. “Why what?”

“Why do you love it?”

You think for a second. Then smile to yourself. “I don’t know. Something about the way things are so… steady. Like, every summer, the same chickens. Same goats. Same ponies. Like the world could fall apart and they’d still be here screaming at the sunrise.”

He looks at the horses chewing hay like they might have wisdom in them.

“Also,” you add, “I get to boss teenagers around with a clipboard. That’s probably the best part.”

He snorts again. And for a second, it’s quiet again. The kind of quiet that feels like breathing, not silence. He leans his head back against the tree, lets his eyes flutter shut.

You’re watching your horse nibble hay like it’s the best thing shes eaten in the world. Jungkook’s rubbing his hands over his knees, head tilted back, eyes closed like he might fall asleep.

And then, “What’s your life like?” you ask quietly. “Back in the city.”

He opens one eye.

You glance at him. “Like. What do you do?”

He shifts a little, picks at a blade of grass. “Not much. I dropped out of college last year.”

You blink. “Why?”

He huffs a humorless breath. “Because I suck at school.”

You wait. He keeps talking.

“I don’t know. It was boring. And hard. I was always behind. I’d show up to class high or not at all. It just—didn’t work.”

You stay quiet. He keeps going, voice low now, like the words are slipping out before he can catch them. “Mostly I just went out. Parties. Clubs. Girls. I worked random jobs sometimes. Smoked a lot. Got in trouble. The usual.”

Your eyes widen a little. “You smoke?”

He grins at your face. “That’s the part you’re shocked about?”

“I just—cigarettes?”

“Cigs. Weed. Nic. All the things your mom would probably pray against.”

You giggle a little, curling your legs up beneath you. “What’s it like?”

“What?”

“Getting high.”

He raises a brow. “You’ve never?”

“Obviously not.”

He hums. “It’s great. You just..let go. Everything goes soft. Everything stops mattering for a little while.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “That doesn’t sound nice.”

“It is,” he says, quiet. “When your brain never shuts up, it is.”

You look over at him. “Do you really like that?”

He furrows his brow. “Like what?”

“Not just smoking. All of it. The parties. The…whatever. That life.”

He opens his mouth. Pauses and glances at the horses, the tree branches, the sun slipping lower behind the fence.

“Of course I do.”

You tilt your head. “Do you really?”

His jaw clenches.

“I don’t think you do,” you say, voice soft but steady.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just stares out across the field.

And for a second, you can see it, some crack in him. the part that doesn’t know who he is outside of red cups and smoke and strangers touching him in dark rooms.

And then it’s gone when he pulls his sleeve over his hand and shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Doesn’t really matter what I like.”

You smile, slow and secretive, and push yourself up off the ground.

Rub your palms together. Dust off the grass. Then hold your hand out toward him, palm up like you’re offering a deal.

“Come on.”

He looks up, blinking. “What?”

“I’ll show you where I go when my brain doesn’t shut up.”

You don’t wait for him to respond. You just turn, grab your horse’s reins, and start leading her back across the field.

He watches you for half a second too long before muttering, “Jesus,” under his breath and following after.

By the time you get back to the stables, the sun’s already starting to dip. You move fast, like you’ve done this a hundred times. tying the lead, brushing sweat off her coat, refilling the feed. Jungkook struggles with his horse again but eventually manages to get the saddle off without breaking anything.

You glance at the barn clock. “C’mon. We can still make it.”

He frowns. “Make what?”

You’re already jogging ahead. Inside the barn, your uncle is doing the register. Everyone’s clustered around in a loose half circle, allergic boy’s sneezing into his sleeve, hay girl’s chewing on a pen, and your uncle’s talking in his usual deep, no nonsense voice.

You and Jungkook slip in just in time. Uncle glances up. Eyes cut straight to Jungkook. Doesn’t say anything yet. jus keeps reading out the rules like they’re brand new.

“Quiet hours start at ten. No guests in the hostel. No fires, no drinking, no stupid. Got it?”

Jungkooks jaw ticks. Your uncles still staring at him.” Lights out by midnight,” your uncle finishes. “We start early tomorrow. Go get some sleep.”

Everyone starts to scatter.

You grab Jungkook’s sleeve before he can vanish with the rest of them. He stumbles a bit as you drag him toward the exit. “Wait—are we allowed—?”

“God,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Why are you so paranoid?”

He frowns. “Because every time you say ‘trust me,’ I end up sweating, bruised, or traumatised.”

“That’s called living. Don’t you wanna have a little fun?”

“Your idea of fun was launching me off a horse.”

You smirk. “You’re mad you couldn’t handle the speed.”

He mutters something under his breath. You don’t ask what it is. At the fence, you push open the old creaky gate and wave him through like a gentleman. He hesitates, brow furrowed.

“…Where are we going?”

You glance over your shoulder. “The creek.”

“The creek?” He stops. “What, like—with snakes?”

You shrug. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“What—”

“C’mon. Youll like it. I promise.”

He raises a brow. “Not more than weed.”

You grin. “I’m not promising more than weed. Just… something different.”

He’s still suspicious, but he follows.Because of course he does. As you hike down the hill past the tall grass and the old fencepost, he mutters, “You know I’ve been swimming before, right?”

“Yeah. But I bet it was in one of those sad little chlorinated hotel pools.”

…

“True.”

[le-chevalier-au-lion]

Franky shows up at Luca’s door with Brufen and God of War—the new one.

Luca blinks, then smiles. He can't make it look Luca marini shrewd, hollowed out, something no media man could twist into a story. Mostly, he just looks tired as hell, that smile stretched across a face gaunter than when he boarded the plane to Japan.

Franky doesn’t start with a joke—he lives, or whatever—because it isn’t funny, and because Luca would bristle. And because everyone’s already texted him to death to stave off the hospital boredom. Even Franky.

He doesn’t ask how Luca’s doing, either. It’s obvious.

“I wanted to play,” he says.

That’s not a lie.

“Eh,” Luca huffs. Then: “I have it downloaded, you know.”

He lets Franky in and hobbles back to the couch, his gait uneven, ugly—like someone who’s ground their knee to dust. Now he has a bad knee and a bad hip to go with his bad shoulder. Even that short walk makes his chest wheeze, tight, shallow contractions that fill out his apartment.

“You have no heart, Maro,” Franky says instead of anything else. There’s a ritual to God of War, besides.

Luca makes it very flat when he speaks. “Hippie.”

He laughs, though.

And doesn’t even kick up that much of a fuss when Franky gets him a glass of water to swallow the pills. Just burrows under his blanket— this fluffy green thing that he washed gray over the years, stained with bleach like leopard print—and watches Franky boot up the game, his eyes huge and blue and dull.

He does have the new God of War game downloaded. A neat sixty hours punched into it, since he’s a nerd, since that on his own he has the most atrocious sleep schedule out of anyone Franky knows, Valentino included.

But Franky likes CDs better.

Likes his music and movies and games stacked up in messy piles across the living room. Likes the way his thumb slides over the dust when he’s trying to pick something out, the way he can still trace his mom’s hands over the mess.

And because Franky still has taste, they play on discs when it’s God of War and just the two of them, like they used to—back in two-thousand-and-whatever, trying to act chill enough the game wouldn’t sniff their nerves out and decide to not work that time. Stutter something awful.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Luca informs him primly as Franky picks the give me no mercy mode.

He’s right, probably. Franky can’t stare at screens and moving, bright colors for that long anymore to be good at any game unless they’re easy. Scenic, no combat stuff. A hard mode is—he admits—rather ambitious, but it’s also part of the ritual.

“Wanna see you do better.”

Franky grins, knows he goes crinkly-eyed with it. Luca could, if he wanted. But he just stretches out on the couch, legs on the coffee table.

Franky gets predictably trounced for half an hour, then a full one—pummeled through the start of a story he might like, with Luca humming soft commentary beside him, there and did you see that and good one. It’s a bit more thoughtful and gentler than the older ones, games Franky wouldn’t enjoy now, not at thirty, all that gore and the rape and the weird, disarming flatness of old graphics.

Somewhere around blessedly, finally clearing the tutorial, Luca curls against him. Bony, pointy, cool to the touch. His lips brush Franky’s arm when he mutters, “Let’s have dinner,” drowsy with sleep, and with the slow, grinding pain of post-op—the kind that’s mostly boring.

“Alright,” Franky murmurs.

He was just starting to get the hang of it—making Kratos move like the actual deadly thing he’s supposed to be. He also has a headache now, a blood-hot pulse behind his eyes.

“We can cook,” Luca offers—but he isn’t moving convincingly. And cooking means standing on his bad knee, with his aching hip, pushing through that loose, shitty collarbone and the cracked cage of his ribs.

Franky lets out a noise, half a protest. Which is how they end up compromising on sushi.

After, Franky can just shove everything into the trash. He can count the pieces Luca eats, one by one. Someone’s probably been around and made him have lunch—his clothes are gone from the bedroom chair, all the water glasses are clean in the cabinet, three pairs of shoes lined up behind the door and no racing boots in sight.

But maybe not, so it matters that they have dinner.

Franky lets himself look while they eat—at Luca’s unshaking, bruised hand tapering into his skinny wrist, at his narrow, rounded shoulders, at his very pink mouth. Tears his eyes away when Luca makes a sound, holding up a piece of sashimi with perfect chopstick precision.

“Do you want?”

Franky opens his mouth wide, this clumsy thing, the way Bez sometimes does when they’re giving him a hard time about looking too much like Rubik. Mostly as a joke. Luca feeds him anyway, gentle.

As he chews, Franky thinks. People are contemptuous of the things they know best, but that must say more about them than the things. He can’t imagine growing tired of the noise his tortoise makes when it pads around his place, or the last sliver of sunlight in his living room, or Luca going heckles raised over people trying to take care of him.

He doesn’t need it often, Luca—more the reason to do it. And there are things that aren’t debts but throb like a bruise when Franky touches them.

They started playing together after the funeral, he remembers. Valentino was serious about an academy—mostly for him, a little for the other kids Uccio had tabs on. But Franky didn’t think about that. Or how he’d keep racing.

Rather he crunched in hours on the PS3, with Luca curled up on the far end of the couch, running commentary. It was his PS3, and he could’ve been a bastard about it, but Luca—sixteen, living a life Franky thought charmed until he didn’t—was the only person who made sense back then.

“Thanks for coming,” Luca says, quiet, words running together in a rush, clumped.

He startles when Franky knocks their shins together, smiles a second later, tension bleeding out of carefully arranged posture until he’s slouching again.

If Franky makes it a big deal—his gratitude—Luca will clam up. He likes to fit into neat spaces, never too troublesome, even after cracking against the asphalt ten thousand kilometers from home and not exactly getting up right.

So Franky pushes the last maki toward him. “Any time, Maro.”

Luca tips his head slightly, owlishly. The TV light casts his face in stark relief—gaunter, more acne-scarred. He’s a surreal thing.

Which Franky doesn’t have a lot of experience with—surreal things, silver-sharp, that shouldn’t be touched. Once he got in trouble for bumping into a statue in a museum. He tripped all over it, blurted out scusi and desculpa to the marble.

It won’t be so different, maybe, if Franky reaches out for the hair on Luca’s eyes, or the sharp cut of his cheekbones, or the prominent bump of his Adam’s apple on his throat. Feels like someone will chide him for touching. His hands twitch at his sides anyway.

And still he wants.

“But you play like you’re blind.” Luca knocks his feet into Franky’s lap. Franky’s hand wraps around his calf automatically, before he can even pretend to be offended. He’s bruised there too, skin scraped raw in patches under the fuzz of golden hair. “Terrible, Franco.”

“You do it next time, then.”

They both know, of course, that he won’t.

[steamclouds]

the upside to having a 40 year old vintage motorbike is, well, having one, but the downside is you'll spent indefinitely more time actually fixing said bike than using it

[atlabeth]

bend an ear

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.

a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it

wc: 3.6k

warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!

Peter just wants to go home. 

It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city. 

Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it. 

So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while? 

He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and— 

“Babe—” 

“Why are you following me?”

Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays. 

“Because I want to talk!”

“God, do you even hear yourself?” 

“You keep talking over me, so I really—” 

“You don’t get to babe me right now!” 

As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is. 

It’s you.

This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful. 

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice. 

Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend. 

“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back. 

He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!” 

“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!” 

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?” 

And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse? 

“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.” 

“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.” 

Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse. 

Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.” 

“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” 

Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional. 

“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?” 

“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”

Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.” 

He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?” 

“Yes,” you nod. 

“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—” 

“I hate beer.” 

“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.” 

“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!” 

This time he says your name, and you shake your head. 

“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”

For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head. 

“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.” 

You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct. 

Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock. 

“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.” 

Good one, Parker. 

“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide. 

“The one and only,” he nods. 

“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.” 

“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”

You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it. 

“I’m not stupid,” you say. 

“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.” 

You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?” 

“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.” 

You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?” 

“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.” 

You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.” 

“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.” 

You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.” 

Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.

“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.” 

You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?” 

“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”

“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.” 

Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”

“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”

You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”

Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you. 

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” 

“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say. 

“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.” 

You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.” 

“I think I can let it slide.” 

“Good.” 

A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company. 

“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.” 

He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds. 

“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!” 

Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”

Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”

“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”

You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero. 

“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?” 

So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to. 

“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?” 

“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.” 

He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”

You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.” 

“And unhappy, it sounds like.” 

“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…” 

“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.” 

You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.” 

He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is? 

Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?” 

“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”

Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?” 

“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.” 

“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?” 

You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.” 

He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover. 

You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?” 

“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.” 

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.” 

God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going. 

“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.” 

“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”

He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario. 

He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees. 

You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down. 

You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope. 

No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he? 

“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”

Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. 

You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know. 

You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground. 

“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”

Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is. 

How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role. 

You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it. 

But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.

You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret. 

Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it. 

So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly. 

“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.” 

You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.” 

“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.” 

You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.” 

“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.” 

A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses. 

“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—” 

“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.” 

“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says. 

“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.” 

Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.” 

He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you. 

The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky. 

Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you. 

hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol

wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3 

as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol 

Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life. 

Deal. Anything to get you an A 

lol

asshole 

Never 

Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain 

Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place: 

I’ll try just for you 

night boy genius

(How could he not love you?) 

Night, girl wonder

[vincinnamontoast]

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 CAITVI X READER SFW & NSFW HCS 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

word count: 3.4k

contains: my random unorganized caitvi x reader hcs. lowercase intended, lightly proofread, nsfw towards the end. sorry this took me forever (</3)

❥ caitlyn is so insistent on you and vi quitting your jobs and just being her cute little housewives

❥ caitlyn keeps track of all of your periods, always making sure you have enough snacks and pads/tampons.

❥ all of you get a bit snippy with each other during your periods—because, unfortunately, they’ve synced up. But no matter how catty things get, you’re always there to take care of each other.

❥ vi loves to cook and caitlyn likes to clean up after. they’ll ask you to do little things like cut the carrots while you all yap

❥ caitlyn sleeps pretty early while you and vi stay up running around together. you try to be quiet for her but you and vi have each other cackling every 5 seconds. eventually you both are kicked out of the bedroom and have to continue your giggly shenanigans in the living room

❥ vi is the most physically affectionate, always wrapping an arm around you or caitlyn, pulling you into her lap, or resting her chin on your shoulder. caitlyn shows her affection in subtle ways—brushing your hair out of your face, fixing vi’s collar absentmindedly, always making sure you’re both taken care of.

❥ they both gang up on you when you’re flustered. If you blush, you’re done for.

❥ if you get cold at night, caitlyn will tuck an extra blanket around you, and vi will just throw herself on top of you like a human furnace.

❥ vi insists on braiding caitlyn’s hair but gets distracted halfway through and just leaves it half-done. caitlyn tries to act like she doesn’t care, but she secretly waits for you to fix it.

❥ caitlyn makes vi fancy cocktails and tea, even though she always complains it’s too strong or not strong enough. but vi always drinks it anyway.

❥ vi hates to admit it but she can’t sleep without either of you and a little night light in the corner (my baby girl ugh)

❥ vi tends to leave her boots and gauntlets lying around. you and caitlyn have tripped over them too many times. And unfortunately for you and caitlyn, vi loves her punishments

❥ vi fidgets constantly. If she’s not cracking her knuckles, she’s bouncing her knee or clicking a pen until caitlyn snatches it away.

❥ vi is always teasing you when she realizes something makes you flustered. she will never let it go.

❥ caitlyn tends to overthink everything. vi and you have to stop her from spiraling into a “logical” breakdown over simple things.

❥ caitlyn gets very particular about how things are arranged—her tea set, books, weapons. vi purposely moves things just to annoy her, which leads to you getting onto vi and caitlyn whining/fussing.

❥ caitlyn is secretly a perfectionist. If she cooks for you, she’ll throw out an entire batch if it doesn’t look right, even if it tastes fine.

❥ vi loves to bake and will randomly come back after a couple hours with a bunch of cookies and pastries for you all to share with a big smile on her face

❥ vi and caitlyn tend to stare at you a lot. caitlyn doesn’t do it nearly as much as vi does, but they are both mutually obsessed.

❥ vi is always humming or singing some song softly when she does like literally anything around the house. she loves when you follow her around to hear it (bc yes this bitch can sing.)

❥ they’re both incredibly protective—sometimes to an intense degree. It’s never their intention to be overbearing, but after everything they’ve lost, losing each other would be unbearable. they’re not willing to take that risk.

❥ vi plays with your hair all the time, whether it’s running her fingers through it or twirling a strand absentmindedly.

❥ vi games a lot and begs you to play with her. If you don’t, she’ll insist you and caitlyn are close. caitlyn will be reading or scrolling through her pinterest, while playing with your hair. (she can be on that app forever.) listening to vi yell and rage quit is just a part of your everyday life.

❥ If you or caitlyn are standing next to vi, she’ll always have a hand on you—your waist, your hip, the back of your neck. It’s like a grounding thing for her. physical touch is a big need of hers.

❥ vi struggles with separation anxiety, though she does her best to hide it and refuses to admit it. still, when you or caitlyn are busy or absent, she catches herself fidgeting—twitching her fingers, bouncing her leg, and blinking back tears she doesn’t want to shed.

❥ vi deliberately calls you the most ridiculous pet names just to see your reaction. “hey, sugar lips.” “vi, please.” she’s shameless, fully aware of how cringe she is—and she loves every second of it.

❥ vi is always trying to sneak kisses when you’re distracted.

❥ caitlyn brings you and vi tea in the mornings, adjusting it exactly how you like it.

❥ vi is better at comforting through actions, hugging, cooking, kissing, cleaning, and caitlyn is better with her words. they will give you both but they are better in certain areas in their own ways.

❥ the advice caitlyn gives is always the best, she loves hearing you rant and complain. vi does too, but she spaces out sometimes.

❥ caitlyn writes little notes for you both, usually sweet but sometimes sarcastic. (“vi, if you leave your boots in the hallway one more time…”) she’ll pack you both lunches with cute little sticky notes.

❥ caitlyn gets really quiet when she’s worried, but she’ll hover around you and vi until you ask what’s wrong.

❥ you and vi secretly love getting scolded by caitlyn.

❥ caitlyn likes to have some space after an argument; vi does not. caitlyn needs time to breathe and collect herself—it never takes too long, but vi wants things fixed immediately. she always caves first, apologizing even when it’s not her fault. and every time, it breaks both of your hearts.

❥ caitlyn will brush her fingers over your knuckles or the inside of your wrist absentmindedly, like she’s memorizing the feeling.

❥ vi tends to lean against walls, arms crossed, looking effortlessly cool—but if you or caitlyn walk by, she immediately straightens up like a puppy looking for attention.

❥ caitlyn carries herself with elegance, but when she’s comfortable, she relaxes—crosses her legs lazily, rests her head on your shoulder, lets herself just be.

❥ vi cannot keep her mouth shut or hide her expressions. baby is naturally expressive, so even when she insists she’s not upset, it’s obvious—the way she pouts, puffs her cheeks, and huffs under her breath gives her away every time.

❥ vi will spam call and triple or more text, while caitlyn will call or text twice at most to get your attention. but you can bet your ass you’ll be getting a mini lecture about not picking up her calls. you know something is wrong if you have more than 3 missed calls from her.

❥ they’re both highly observant, picking up on even the smallest details of your mannerisms.

❥ caitlyn has a very subtle smirk when she’s amused, and you and vi live to make it appear.

❥ caitlyn always bites her lip when she’s thinking, while vi taps her fingers against whatever surface is nearby.

❥ vi would absolutely fight anyone who looks at you wrong. caitlyn, meanwhile, will just ruin them socially. a terrifying duo truly.

❥ vi carries you if you’re tired. no hesitation. “c’mon, baby, you’re walking too slow.” she is a bit of a fast walker.

❥ vi would take a punch for you without thinking. caitlyn would make sure you never get into that situation in the first place.

❥ vi lives to make you laugh. she gets so excited to hear you cackle and giggle. and she knows she’s funny asf too.

❥ late nights when caitlyn has work in the morning (vi does too, but she loves staying up), you and vi roll into each other—kissing, giggling, playing games. you beg caitlyn to stay up, but once it hits 11 PM, she struggles to keep her eyes open.

❥ caitlyn sleeps early and wakes up early. vi, on the other hand, stays up late but still manages to wake up early—a leftover habit from prison. but if caitlyn doesn’t get her full eight hours, you can expect her to be moody and pouty all day.

❥ If you have a bad day, caitlyn will make you tea and quietly listen while vi pulls you into her arms and presses little kisses to your hair until you feel better.

❥ vi loves making caitlyn laugh—really laugh. It’s rare, but when it happens, she looks at caitlyn like she just won the lottery.

❥ caitlyn lets vi be reckless only to a point—then she pulls rank. “vi, no.” vi groans but listens.

❥ vi hates dressing up, but if you or caitlyn ask nicely? yeah, she’ll do it. she’ll grumble the whole time, but she’ll do it.

❥ vi walks on the outside of the sidewalk, keeps an arm around your waist in crowds, subtly but firmly making sure you’re safe at all times.

❥ caitlyn is more of a silent protector. she notices things before they become threats, watches your surroundings like a hawk, and is always one step ahead.

❥ vi has a terrible habit of pulling you onto her lap, no matter where you are. she’ll just grab your waist and plop you down.

❥ caitlyn is more likely to respect your privacy, but if you’re heading to the bathroom, expect vi to be right on your tail—watching you pee. deadass.

❥ vi loves hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. even if she doesn’t understand half of it, she just grins and watches you like you hung the stars.

❥ vi always finds the stupidest excuses to get your attention. “baby, come here.” “what is it?” “…nothing, just missed you.”

❥ vi is obsessed with forehead kisses, especially when she’s feeling soft. It’s her way of saying, I love you without words. melts when you kiss and squish her cheeks.

❥ she lovesss being babied, which you and caitlyn love doing.

❥ If you’re wearing something cute or whatever? vi wolf-whistles and dramatically fans herself. caitlyn groans in the background. “vi, please.” caitlyn comes behind you to kiss below your ear “mmm so beautiful, sweetheart.”

❥ vi sulks when she’s sick and will only take medicine if you or caitlyn give it to her. “I’ll take it if you kiss me after.” caitlyn is the best caregiver when the both of you are sick, you will feel better in no time.

❥ If vi is feeling needy, she’ll flop down on top of you with zero warning. “what are you doing?” “dunno. just love you.” because you will give her attention. she is very puppy.

❥ caitlyn tucks your hair behind your ear so gently it makes your heart ache. she does it every time—even if it wasn’t in your face.

❥ If you fall asleep somewhere uncomfortable, caitlyn will immediately move to fix it. you wake up to a pillow under your head, a blanket over you, and buried in caitlyn’s arms.

❥ caitlyn is very particular about your tea (as well as vi’s. she knows how you both like it). If she makes it, it’s perfect. If vi makes it? caitlyn tastes it, sighs, and subtly replaces it with a better cup. vi will pout about this. It’s inevitable.

❥ caitlyn keeps an eye out for little things you might need. you offhandedly mentioned needing more hair ties? she has extras in her pocket the next day.

❥ caitlyn is secretly so touch-starved. If you initiate affection, she melts. put your arms around her waist? kiss her temple? she gets so soft.

❥ caitlyn fixes vi’s bandages with the most exasperated look, but you can see the tenderness in her hands. “honestly, violet, do you even try to be careful?”

❥ vi leans against caitlyn or you dramatically whenever she’s bored. you both just sigh and let it happen. she gets bored pretty easy.

❥ vi hyperfixates hard—if she wants something, she needs it now. caitlyn, on the other hand, is patient and willing to wait.

❥ they both compete to see who can make you blush more.

❥ the kisses you all share before parting for work, events, or anything else are downright sickening—it takes forever to break free from their hold.

"when will you be home?"

"do we need to pick you up?"

"you have your location on? I asked you not to turn it off."

"please be home before dinner."

•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•

NSFW:

❥ caitlyn and vi are lowkey kinky and into some wild shit—behind closed doors, it’s a whole different story.

❥ vi is a big moaner—whimpering, gasping, completely unashamed. caitlyn, on the other hand, has a softer moan but lets out more groans and grunts.

❥ both of them are very vocal and talkative during sex—whispering, teasing, praising, and never letting a moment go by in silence.

❥ this is so random but vi decides she wants to go zip-lining for her birthday, and the way they both effortlessly slip on, adjust, and tighten their waist harnesses has your legs squeezing together. they notice. grinning at each other before tightening your own harness, vi leans in, voice teasing—"you like that, pretty girl?"

❥ vi is best with her mouth and fingers, but she’s a god with the strap regardless—just a little more reckless, rough, completely lost in it. caitlyn, on the other hand, is all precision, focused on hitting every spot and angle with near-perfect accuracy.

❥ vi gets so into making you squirm. she’ll kiss you deep and then pull away just as you’re chasing after her lips.

❥ caitlyn loves whispering in your ear—low, sultry, making promises that send a shiver down your spine. “you’re being so good for me, love.”

❥ vi lives for praise during sex. tell her how good she’s making you feel, moan her name like it’s the only word you know, and she’ll melt—eyes hazy, lips parted, desperate to hear more. She craves it, thrives on it, and if you whimper out a “just like that, baby” or a breathless “you’re so good to me,” she’ll only go harder, more determined to pull every sound from your lips.

❥ vi has a thing for spit—messy, unrestrained, completely shameless. she loves the way it glistens on your lips after a kiss, the way it drips down your chin when she pulls away just to admire you. and when she presses two fingers against your tongue, eyes dark and teasing, voice thick with want—"c'mon, pretty girl, let me see,"—you don’t even hesitate.

❥ vi is a mess between you both—panting, whining, completely unraveling. caitlyn keeps her steady, fucking into her with slow, precise thrusts, while you cradle her face, kissing her deep, swallowing every gasp and moan. she tries to keep up, tries to kiss you back, but she’s losing herself fast—her body trembling, fingers digging into your waist as she chokes out a desperate, “fuck, baby—” before her words melt into nothing but needy whimpers.

❥ you never stand a chance against them. vi is relentless, all hands and teasing remarks, while caitlyn makes sure you’re completely overwhelmed.

❥ caitlyn and vi love ganging up on you. one whispering filth into your ear while the other makes sure you feel every word.

❥ vi is all passion and need, caitlyn is slow and deliberate.

❥ vi bites. hard. jawline, neck, thighs—she wants to leave marks, wants people to see them and know you’re hers.

❥ vi has a filthy mouth. whispering in your ear, voice low and husky, telling you exactly what she’s going to do to you.

❥ If you’re in public, vi will lean in, press her lips just below your ear, and murmur something filthy—acting completely normal while you try to keep your composure.

❥ caitlyn has a thing for control. she’ll make you wait, make you beg, smirking as she keeps her touch just out of reach. “patience, love. I’ll give you what you need—when I decide you deserve it.”

❥ vi loves whispering dirty things in caitlyn’s ear while she is teasing you—grinning as caitlyn’s composure finally cracks.

❥ If vi is feeling extra possessive, she’ll wrap an arm around your waist, nipping at your neck while caitlyn smirks and watches. “damn, cupcake, she looks so pretty like this, huh?”

❥ the moment vi realizes she actually loves you taking control, she’s gone—gripping your hips, looking up at you with blown pupils, breathing all heavy. scratching at your back and whimpering in your ear. to see her undone is heavenly.

❥ she loves when you grab her by the jaw, forcing her to look at you while you shove your fingers inside her, curling them into her. If you’re feeling mean, you can even whisper, “what’s wrong, vi? thought you were tough?” and watch her whimper.

❥ eye contact is their thing during sex—intense, unwavering, drowning you in it. Vi’s is raw, desperate, like she’s trying to etch the sight of you into her memory, needing to see every reaction. caitlyn’s is calculated, focused, like she’s studying every twitch, every shiver, just to use it against you. It’s so intimate it makes your chest ache, so intimidating it has you squirming, but they don’t let you look away. not for a second.

❥ vi is loud. she groans, pants, grits her teeth like she’s trying to hold back, but the second you really start working her up? she loses it.

❥ If you drag your nails down her abs, tracing every ridge of her muscles, she shudders—grabbing at your thighs, fingers twitching like she doesn’t know whether to fight back or let you have your way.

❥ pull vi’s hair. grab her by the roots, tug her head back, and she moans—not even trying to hide how much she likes it.

❥ she’s obsessed with your confidence. If you lean in, teasing against her lips, voice all sultry, “you’re so desperate, vi,” she growls—trying to flip the script, but her grip is weak, and you’re already pinning her back down.

❥ if you take your time, dragging things out, teasing her just enough to make her beg? she hates it—but she’s also so into it. “please, baby, don’t be mean—need you, fuck.”

❥ caitlyn is a quiet mess when she’s being topped—breath hitching, lips parting, biting her lip like she’s trying to hold back. It’s absolutely gorgeous.

❥ caitlyn has a weak spot for when you talk her through it. “you feel good, cait? you’re so beautiful like this.” her head tilts back, her breath shuddering, and she completely submits.

❥ vi gets so soft when you take your time. kissing her shoulders, whispering her name, telling her how beautiful she is. “fuck, baby, I—” her voice cracks, and you feel her clench around your fingers.

❥ when vi is strapping you, she’ll dip down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked—"I wish I could feel what it’s like to be inside of you." there’s something desperate in the way she says it, in the way her hips stutter for just a second, like the thought alone is enough to drive her crazy. and then she’s fucking into you harder, chasing the next sound you’ll make, needing to feel you in every way she can.

❥ when vi is topping caitlyn, you can’t help but just watch—completely mesmerized, warmth blooming in your chest at the sight of them tangled together, loving on each other so deeply. It’s something intimate, something raw, and you adore them for it. but then, as if they can feel your gaze, they both turn to look at you—eyes soft, full of something even deeper. caitlyn reaches for you, vi smirks, breathless, and then comes the invitation, low and tender—"come here, baby."

❥ they love you so much, and they love each other just as fiercely. being in a relationship with them is like having a force of nature on your side—wild, protective, and all-consuming in the best way.

a/n: they’re so cat and puppy omg, hope you like <3!

[gremlingottoosilly]

I met a guy in the Summer (dilf!Konig x fem!Reader)

Your boyfriend is an asshole. Luckily, his hot dad just returned from deployment. CW and Tags: Cheating, dub-con, size kink, daddy kink, age gap(reader in 20s, Konig is early 40s), Konig is a pervert, slightly obsessive Konig, love(and lust) at first sight, fingering, dom!Konig Word count: 3713 AO3

“Just one more game, babe, don’t be a buzzkill. I don’t want to end at a loss.” You didn’t want to be a buzzkill, of course. You simply wanted to be a good girlfriend, have some domestically cozy date, and for your boyfriend to at least try to put an effort into being with you. It wasn’t much to ask for, really. You hoped so, at least. You didn’t want to be an annoying, nagging girlfriend who only ever waits for another reason to yell at him, but your patience started to run thin. 

You spend the past three hours either listening to his apathetic rambling about the shows he watched – really, you wanted to invest in stuff he liked, but an abnormally large amount of animes he talked about had 1000-year-old girls who looked like they were 10, wearing inappropriate outfits, and you started to raise the alarm. 

You also watched him play – and also listened to his rage quitting and angry voice messages to his team that, honestly, made you slightly anxious. You never liked loud people, people who were so easy to rage about something as silly as some colorful video game with too many characters to look after. 

So, like a good girlfriend would – you wanted to be a good girlfriend, he was such a nice guy before you started dating, and you need something to think about besides the tremendous amount of study work you are doing for college – you decided to go and look for snacks. Maybe bring something for him as well. 

— I’ll find something to eat, alright? 

He didn’t respond at first, so you shook his shoulder. Your boyfriend took off his headphones with annoying look on his face, half-turning to look at you. You gulped, suddenly feeling like a child in front of the principal – not a feeling that you were supposed to feel around your partner, but with him, you somehow constantly felt like you were being judged. 

— Nah, stay here. I don’t want my father to see you. 

— Ah…your father is at home? 

You never heard anyone else being at the house – big house, you must admit, and it’s embarrassing almost how you never thought about his family. He lives with his dad, apparently, and the depth of your relationships can only be judged by the fact you literally didn’t know what his father’s name was. 

— Returned from his fucking deployment. He’d ask too many questions about you. 

— You didn’t tell him about me? 

Ah, now you’re hurt a little bit. You knew it wasn’t anything serious or too committed yet, but you intended to make this work. To try and fix all the problems you can without ending things abruptly. 

— He never asked. Not like he cares too much, but…

An apathetic dad, huh. 

You started to slowly piece together the puzzle that was your boyfriend’s horrible boyfriend skills. Now, you want to meet the man who conceived him and kick him in the nuts for creating such an unlovable human being who somehow captivated your chronically lonely heart. 

— If you don’t want me to come and meet him, I can go home. 

He doesn’t answer because his queue is finally coming to another match – you simply nod, knowing everything you need to. You can grab a little snack for yourself, fuck off to your dorm and rethink your life choices while your roommate is getting pounded by some gruss British bloke with an accent that makes your ears bleed. 

You have dignity, and right now, it has asked you to get some snacks from the kitchen. 

*** Now, the only thing König wanted after returning from deployment was to take as many hot showers as he could, shut his bastard of a son up, and get some delicious food waiting for him in the freezer. He was already home for a few days, but adjusting is always hard when you basically fucking hate living at your own house. Of-fucking-course, his son was watching the house while he was away – and now he can’t even think of a good excuse to set him off to his mother. Too old to do this, and split custody never really worked when not even one part of the relationship wanted to take care of the kid. 

König closes the door of the refrigerator – of course, his son took every good thing that he stashed for himself. With a groan, the colonel fights the urge to finally throw him out of the house – a thing he needed to do a few years ago, just when he celebrated his 18th, but some sentimental part of his heart instead promised to help with finding a place close to the college. No good deed goes unpunished. 

With a groan, he takes a few steps from the fridge – and then he almost stumbles across an angel. 

Scheisse

Now, König never thought of himself as a predator who prefers running after college girls who might as well be his daughters. He never thought of himself as a gut who liked them young – his wife, god forsake her name, was his age when they started dating, and he hardly had any sexual encounters with a person under 25 in the past few years. Well, not like he had any sexual encounters in the past years, but…

The thing is – he never thought he liked girls with wide eyes, pouty faces, and trembling hands who were holding a bag of his cookies that he carefully stashed away from his son. 

You are wearing something cute, a nice skirt and an adorable pink cardigan that looks so cozy and warm and soft, and he fights the urge to grab your skirt and simply lift it, You’re dressed up for a cute coffee date, and König has to double check if he isn’t dreaming and no one has decided to play a prank on him and send him a cute callgirl. 

— Oh! Sorry. It’s yours, isn’t it? 

You give him his cookies back – but not before your fingers fished another salty caramel goodness out of the bag, and you bit it. He looks at your teeth, at your lips, and glimpses of your tongue – god, he is an old, dirty bastard because even his baggy pants aren’t enough to hide his boner. You have no right to look this pretty for a man who hasn’t seen a woman in three months and hasn’t had sex in the past few years. 

You lick the crumbs from your fingers – it’s such a deliberate action that he can’t believe he actually sees it, and it’s not even something from porn he used to like. 

— Ja. You can have it. 

He would give you the code to his bank account if you asked for it. 

— Thank you, sir. I’m…well, I assume if Paul didn’t introduce me to you…I’m his girlfriend. Nice to meet you. 

You lick your lips and take a step back, pressed against the counter. He looks at the sway of your hips, a bit of crumbs on your shirt, and almost brushes it away with his hands. It would be a good excuse to touch your chest – but he can’t be like this, he has to keep his urges under control, or else his son will never forgive him. 

Yeah, like he needs a better reason to throw his useless son from his home. 

— Girlfriend? He never spoke about you. 

You look sad, and he immediately curses under his breath. For a moment, you look too fragile – too real. He can’t handle this look on a woman, especially as pretty and young as you are. You bat your eyelashes, even involuntarily, and he already prepares to give you the keys to his home just so you’d stop with such miserable expressions. He has a spare bedroom. 

He has his bedroom with a bed that would be enough for both of you. 

— Ah. Um. We’re…I guess we’re not at this stage yet. 

— Knowing him, you’ll never be, Schatz. 

You look at him immediately – you’re offended, angry, and sad at the same time. There is a certain stubbornness in your eyes that immediately makes him want to simply scoop you in his arms, lift you, and drag you straight to the altar – and here he thought that his impulses over getting married would be over after his first divorce. 

— What do you mean by this, sir? 

You look uncertain now, he can see this in your eyes – and really, knowing his asshole of a child, he is almost sure that Paul never once got you off, either physically or emotionally. 

Now, König never once considered himself to be a good man. He has killed countless people, overthrown many governments, and made shitty jobs for shitty people way more than saving hostages to help the good guys – and in the romantic field, it’s even worse. Wife, unsatisfied with his controlling tendencies and inability to feel normal love for a human being – and a son who hates him because, in fact, he never once wanted to have a kid. 

He looks at you and sees a pretty young thing, still in college or freshly out of, probably without a stable job and normal social standing – a good girl won’t be with his son if she isn’t stupid or extremely desperate for a relationship. 

The thing is, König is also extremely desperate for another warm body next to his, to feel a woman beside him, to love and obsess over someone – he looks at your pouty lips and shaky hands, at the way you bite the corner of your glossy mouth, and he almost wants to drop you on this very table and fuck you until you’re crying under him. He can’t do just that, of course. It would probably make you extremely uncomfortable and scared, but…well, quite frankly, his son doesn’t deserve you. 

König is. 

— I won’t sugarcoat it, Schatz. My son is a Scheiß Arschloch…fucking asshole, that is. I’m surprised he brought home someone as cute as you. 

You feel embarrassment collecting in your body. Paul’s dad is a…interesting man. 

Tall, broad, very muscular – even his baggy house clothes aren’t really concealing his extremely interesting physique from your eyes. He looks yummy and tasty, and you fight the urge to eye the bulge in his pants because you’re a good girl, you don’t look at your boyfriend’s dad like this. 

König has greying ginger hair, locks already curling slightly at the lack of cutting, and you fight the urge to sit on the counter and get your palm in his scalp, massage his head gently, and pull him closer for a kiss. You feel like a dirty, horrible woman – your boyfriend is in his room, probably enjoying his time on your “date” while you’re lusting over his father. 

Then again, this date already felt like a disaster. This relationship, too. 

— Paul isn’t all that bad, sir. 

“He at least has a nice dick,” you wanted to add but stopped yourself. Paul is tall and somewhat strong – if he weren’t sitting at his computer all day, you would call him even muscular. And he has a nice dick, yes, even though he had no idea how to use it. You liked the idea of laying with him, of spraying your jaw trying to fit all of this in your mouth, but his kinks and his sex skills being directly taken from porn…not really your thing. 

You look at König and wonder if they are similar in all of the places. He is his father, after all. 

König catches your gaze locked on his bulge and smirks. 

God, if he knew his son had such a cute girl, he would ask her to come earlier. He is two weeks off deployment and probably won’t take another long contract for a few months because they just upped his retirement payings, and he can afford to slack off a little bit, only visiting the home base for some training and instructions for rookies. 

He can afford to retire and never worry about money again – but he needs someone to make his days less boring, right? 

You look like a good candidate. 

— I’m sure my son was convincing, but I know him better than anyone. He doesn’t deserve you, Schatz. 

He is shitty at flirting, it’s not his forte – he can flaunt his money, maybe, show you in his wallet and bank account face first. He can just straight up ask you to be his sugar baby and suck his cock instead of doing your studies, but he can’t flirt and manipulate to save his life. Lying isn’t something he is good for, this is why his wife has left. 

— I…not sure we should be having this conversation here. 

You’re a good girl, and it’s infuriating. He knows that having someone in his bed shouldn’t be the end goal for his leave, but he wants you, and by the look on your face, you aren’t opposed to the idea. König doesn’t understand if he likes that you’re so reserved about it or if he wants you to be a bit more slutty – but he captures you in the space between the kitchen counter and presses you with his body. 

— You want to see the bedroom then?

Pushes you so close his knee gets between your legs – it might look involuntary like he didn’t exactly want for it to be placed here, but you aren’t dumb, you know what he wants from you. Like a good fucking girl, you’re too shy to give it to him right about now. God, sometimes he hates being so nice to people around him. 

— Sir, this is very…

He got you caged in his hands, body trapped in his embrace – you jerk your head upwards a little bit, staring at him like a small bird in the hands of a predator. He isn’t a strong man in regard of morals, he doesn’t see anything wrong with fucking his son’s girlfriend – if the girl is up to it. And if she isn’t…well, he better make sure she is. 

— What is it, Schatz? Paul won’t hear us in his headphones.

You know just how wrong it is, and you almost want to escape – his dick grinds on your pelvis through his pants, and you’re horrified to see how big it is. Excited too, of course, he is bigger than your boyfriend ever could be, and you don’t want to be a slut, but, oh well, not like you were in a committed and serious relationship anyway. 

Paul was seeing your friends more than you ever saw them – it’s probably a sign that you should settle for someone older. You did enjoy Lana Del Rey's songs, after all. 

— I don’t want to break his heart. 

— He doesn’t have one. 

You’re lost when he pushes his lips to kiss you over and over again – a surprisingly good kisser, and you give in because it was the first time in forever a kiss made you feel this good. His lips are sending electricity down your spine, you want to moan just from his knee, pushing on the softness of your cunt through that adorable skirt you liked so much – you feel so small like this, so tiny in his hands, you…

God, you feel like a slut, and you like it. 

Soon enough, you answered the kiss, your lips meeting his in a dance that made you feel hot, that made you feel like your boyfriend never could. Never thinking of yourself as someone who can fall so easily into the hands of an older man, now you know that he got you right where he wanted. 

You push your hand on his pants, trying to get the control back – but he stops you, a giant hand enveloping your wrist and pushing you back. With a surprise on your face, König just wants to kiss you all over. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that you deserve way more than being fucked on the rough kitchen counter while your so-called boyfriend is too busy dickriding his friends in some useless online game. 

— Not now, princess. You deserve better than being fucked on the kitchen counter, ja? It can come later. 

“Later” sounds like a promise, and you bite back your moan when he keeps pushing his knee against your cunt, making you throb and clench on nothing. He is such a gentleman, you can’t help but compare him to his son – and his fabulous ability to make you feel dirty after fucking you in the backseat of his car and tossing you to your dorm with your pussy still wet and messy after you didn’t cum. 

You sob, not from sadness, but from pleasure mixed with some weird, unnatural for you emotions – you feel weird, strained here like this, but you hug his neck and whisper something in his ear. Something, dangerously sounding just like “daddy, please” 

König is blushing, and he looks fucking adorable. 

— Daddy, ja? God, you’re dangerous, liebling. Going to get me in trouble with my son later. 

He laughs when he kisses you again, his hand slipping in your panties only to find them completely soaked – he knows you deserve a nice pillow and soft sheets under your body, and he pushes you up so you can hug his waist with your legs. You rely on him like a cute pet, and you’re so perfect in his hands he curses himself for not seeing you before. 

He is going to ruin you for anyone but him. Put so much cum in you, it will make your tummy bulge – make you his precious sugar baby, pay for your dumb college and make you move to his bedroom instead of some shitty dorm you probably share with four other people. 

He can be good for you – but he will ruin you for anyone else, anyone appropriate, every guy your age who clearly doesn’t know how to treat a lady right. 

— So wet for me…such a filthy thing, I didn’t know my son dated a whore. 

— N…not a whore, please…

He kisses you on your forehead, silently apologizing. You feel his crooked, scarred smile, and you push your face up to kiss him – you want to touch him so badly it makes you feel stupid. 

— Sorry, Schatzen. Not a whore, a good girl for her daddy, ja? So nice for me, too fucking young…

— W…we really shouldn’t… — Tshhh, don’t think about it. Thinking will only hurt your pretty dumb head. — I’m not…

— Quiet, little one. Let daddy handle everything.

He kisses you over and over, his fingers playing with your pussy – meaty digits digging in your hole, making you whimper from sudden intrusion. He is big, bigger than anyone else, just two of his fingers are enough to spread you as much as normal cock would, and even though you’re used to taking Paul’s size, you just know that his dad would be much, much bigger. He is going to split you open, and you will love every fucking second. 

It feels so wrong, you still aren’t sure if you want him to touch you like this. 

It feels so right, he is experienced and eager, pushing every button to make you squirm in his grasp. Your orgasm comes embarrassingly quick – maybe because you haven’t gotten off in ages, only miserable masturbation sessions and poor attempts at faking your orgasm made it feel real. Paul never cared enough to actually get you off – but now…

You aren’t ready for him. You squirm in his grasp when the pressure becomes too much, and he soothes you, two fingers still buried in your soaked cunt. You feel so dirty, so wrong right now – you are cumming on the fingers of your boyfriend’s absent father, and you love every second of it. 

Post-orgasm clarity makes you whiny and sobby, and you whimper in his shoulder when he gently lifts you in his hands. God, you’re adorable, and he knows that he just scrambled your brain with that orgasm – it’s good, really, he might just want to keep your pretty head nice and empty for him. Not like you would ever need to think in his presence, the colonel can handle everything in- and out- of bed. 

König holds you close, not allowing you to scramble away no matter how embarrassed you are. You are his precious thing, with a pouty face, and he will do everything in his power to make you squirm on his fingers again and again before he makes you his wife for good. 

So impulsive, maybe this is why his son is such an asshole – taking the worst traits of his father. 

— Don’t cry, Schatzen. You’re okay, it felt good, didn’t it? 

— W…we shouldn’t have. Shit. I’m sorry, it was a m…god, I need to tell Paul. 

— I’ll tell him. 

— No! — I will tell my asshole of a son that you’re my girl now, ja? And then I will take you to the bedroom, so we can fuck. 

— I need to return to my dorm. 

— And then I will dine you properly, okay? Sorry, Liebling, I know I should court you before all of this…but we can afford to go a bit off board, ja? 

He is smiling, so smitten and obsessed over just having you cum on his fingers once – you don’t have the heart to say no. Never did. You’re a good, proper girl, and Paul was never treating you right anyway. You feel dirty, yes, but somehow, it is almost right. 

He peppers your face with kisses, like a dog lapping its tongue all over your skin – you’re so concentrated on the warmth of his strong, seasoned body that you don’t even look in the direction of the doorway to the kitchen. 

Paul, however, looks straight at you, disheartened and shocked. 

— W…what the fuck, dad?! König laughs, kissing you once again – deep, hot, with tongue and loud, sloppy sounds of your mouth pressing into one another. You’re stuck in place, still caged in his arms like a precious little pet you are. 

— She’ll make a good step mom, ja? 

You don’t even register his hands slowly caressing your fingers as if he already tries to check the ring sizes. 

[nanaslutt]

PLEASE write more of geto being a perv🙏🙏

“pt.1” here

Geto x reader, in showing you how sorry he is for being a creep<3

perv!geto is my obsession atm

contains: fem reader, non consensual photography (reader is kinda ok w it), pervy roomate!geto, crack, gojo makes an appearance, talk of gojo wanting reader, sexual tension, cunnilingus, masturbation(geto), degradation, soooooooo much dirty talk, sweet!geto at the end<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

About a week ago you were watching a scary movie with geto on your laptop, drinks placed on the table next to it; dumbly.

So of course when the scariest jump scare you’ve ever seen in your life occurred, your legs jerked into the glass of liquid, spilling it all over your laptop and absolutely ruining it.

“God- Fuck! Noooo! nonono!” you shot up to grab a blanket, pillow, anything, to soak up the liquid, “TAKE YOUR SHIRT OF NOW,” you yelled in a panic to your dark haired roommate, who; you noticed throughout this entire excursion had barely moved a muscle to help, besides the muscles used to laugh at you.

“Babe I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that shit is beyond saving,” he laughed, placing his hand over his chest while he did.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I use my laptop every single, and day I absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one right now.” you placed your head in your hands in defeat.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” geto said, at the end of his fit of giggles at your expense.

“Yeah right, ur broke as shit too, that’s why we’re living together.” you said, muffled into your legs as your body had now fully collapsed in on itself.

“Yeah ur right, but that kinda hurts my feelings,” he said, smirk showing through his faux pout, “thought you liked livin’ with me,”

The two of you bickered back and forth for a while. You ended up putting the laptop in a bag of rice; to no avail, it was completely ruined.

Geto had been nice enough to let you use his laptop in the meantime; only when he was with you though, which you found slightly weird but at least you had access to it to some degree.

Right now you had the house to yourself though. Satoru had picked him up half and hour ago, saying something about wanting to try some new coffee shop with word famous sweets; that meant you had free range of his laptop.

You knew how to clear search history, so you would be fine. You just wanted to watch a movie anyways, nothing criminal.

Sneaking into his room, you unplugged the silver electronic, sliding it under your arm as you took it back to your room. Placing the laptop on your bed and getting comfortable against your pillows, you cracked it open, You had accidentally seen him type in his password before, so getting in was no problem.

What was a problem is what was on the screen when the laptop came to life. An entire folder of up skirt panty shots; and not just anyone’s panty shots; they were yours.

Scrolling through the decently filled folder, you noticed ones that dated back months ago. You saw a picture of you laying on your bed, head in your hands while you kicked your feet behind you; the short skirt you were wearing gave geto the perfect view of your unobstructed ass, slight pink peaking between your cheeks.

Other too, you doing more mundane things like sitting on your knees on the barstool you had in the house, poking out your ass, once again giving that dark haired pervert the perfect shot of your clothed mound.

You were almost impressed at how many there were, and how make different angles he was able to get without your knowledge.

Trying to wrap your head around the idea that yes, your sweet roommate who has never attempted to come onto you once, had a secret folder filled with lewd photos of you.

Saving the file, you sent it to yourself. Once you heard the chime on your phone you quickly copied the link, and sent it to the culprit himself, no other message attached to it but the folder alone.

——

“Ummm ooh, I’ll also get the triple chocolate cream filled crepe cake please! What do you want suguru?” gojo chirped.

Geto started at him with disbelief, he had just ordered 5 full size deserts with the longest name he’d ever heard; all sounding like a stomach ache and a half; and they were all for himself.

“Right..uh, i’ll just get the vanilla scone and a black coffee please.” Geto politely spoke to the man taking his order.

Gojo continued conversing with the cashier, finishing up ordering any last minute items and paying.

Geto felt his phone buzz in his pants, checking it quickly while gojo finished up the interaction; both of them starting to walk to booth in the corner of the cafe.

Suguru’s heart sank to his balls when he opened your message. He knew you were mad too, because you didn’t say anything else other than a link to his private folder of your panty shots. “Fuuuuuuuuuck haha,” geto laughed, hand coming up to cover his smirk as they slid into the booth.

“Huh? let me see, what happened?” Gojo nosed, trying to peek over the table at geto’s phone when he noticed it was the source of his distress.

“I might have to sleep at your house tonight, maybe for the rest of my life I don’t know.” he said, hand dropping back into his lap as he shut his phone off.

“Did you forget to do your dishes or somethin’?” he asked, knowing how angry you got at Geto when he didn’t pick up after himself.

“Yeah maybe, or maybe my roommate just found the upskirt pics i’ve been taking of them for the past couple months.” he giggled, slight remorse in the back of his head. Not from doing it, but from being caught.

Gojo’s jaw dropped, covering his own mouth as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha oh man, you really are fucked.” the blonde slapped his own knee, “I’ll let you co-sign my lease tonight,” he said, scared that if suguru went home, he might actually get murdered.

Geto kicked satoru’s shin underneath the table, making him wince. Their giggles died down at geto’s misfortune after awhile. “So..” gojo started, “Yer’ gunna let me see the pics right?” he asked, “Already hurt you didn’t tell me about this,” he pouted,

“In your fucking dreams satoru,” geto snorted. He already saw the way gojo looked at you when he was over, always making passes at you and touching you any chance he got.

He would be damned if his bestfriend got his hands on you before he did. “WHAT???” gojo yelled a little too loud for the tiny space they were in, resulting in him getting shushed by geto, “pleaseeeee, I know how good you are at taking pictures I bet they’re soooo gooood.” gojo wined, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head against them.

“Keep dreaming satoru.” he laughed. The whine haired man kept his pouting up for awhile, calling Geto selfish and unfair, his sorrow immediately being forgot about when the massive tray of his deserts finally came out.

——

When you heard the front door to your shared apartment finally crack open open a couple hours later, you were in your bedroom.

His laptop had been tucked away in your bedside table in confiscation, while you awaited with a racing heart, for him to knock on your bedroom door.

You heard him place his keys on the table through the thin walls, then you hear his heavy footsteps as he starts to make his way to your room.

The air was still when the footsteps came to a stop in front of your door. You were feeling a lot less confident than you were before he got here, now the thought of confronting him made your mouth feel dry; heart beating out of your chest.

Finally, the knocks were being rapped on your door, you swear you died for a second when you heard his familiar voice call your name, followed by him asking politely if he could come in.

"Its open," you yelled back. When the wooden door creaked open and his frame came into view, you had to fight off all the neurons in your brain telling you to look away from his hooded eyes.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut through with a knife. You had no idea why, but the current situation was admittedly arousing.

You stayed silent for a while, just staring at each other, neither one of you daring to break eye contact first, "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" you asked, voice coming out a lot less confident than you wanted.

"Im sorry." he replied, swallowing thickly, quickly sucking his lip into his mouth to wet it.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked clarifying, This wasn't going how you expected.

"I'm sorry for being a pervert and taking panty pics of my roommate." He said, taking a couple steps towards where you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Are you really sorry?" You asked, voice full of need, as you did your best to supress it, trying to ignore the growing heat in your stomach.

"So sorry" he answered, having made his way inches away from you, eye contact still not being broken. You both noticed how heavily you were breathing, his eyes flitting down to your lips for a second before he sucked his lip into his mouth again, and letting it slide out, dark eyes meeting yours again.

The only thing you heard was your heart beat loudly in your ears as you spoke your next words, "Show me how sorry you are."

----

"Mm so fucking sorry," geto's voice vibrated against your clit.

"F-fuck ohmygod," You moaned at the feeling of him wrapping his lips around the bud, tongue peeking through to flick at it.

"A-again-" you whined,

"'M sorry," he groaned, staring up at you with a smirk as he released your clit, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You were laid back, ass placed at the end of the bed, Geto was sitting back on his heels as he perched himself on the floor between your thighs, hand rapidly stoking over his throbbing cock.

"W-wipe that sm-ile off your face" you wined, trying to keep the little hold you had over geto.

He didnt stop smiling, but you could'nt tell when he burried his tongue inside your pussy, pressing his face hard into your wetness and shaking his head. His pointed nose rubbed your clit in the most delicious way when he did that.

"S-so fucking dirty" you chastised at how sloppily he was eating your cunt. He was trying to fuck his apology into your pussy with his tongue, really trying to prove how sorry he was.

Loud slurping noises bouncing off the walls and going straight to your head; and to his cock; making you both dizzy at the situation.

"Sorry I'm so nasty," he groaned, muffled by your folds as he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it.

Quickening the pace of his hand against his cock, he was squeezing it the same way your walls squeezed his tongue, trying to mimic the feeling. Pre was dripping steadily from his cock and onto the floor, leaving a little puddle there.

Geto was getting off on this so hard.

Every time you squeezed your thighs around his head and degraded him, his abs clenched, balls tightening with the need to blow his load.

"O-only thing youre good for is eating my pussy, f-fuck" you said meanly with a whimper, eyes dropping down to his handsome face and seeing how fucked out he looked from your words, as he nodded his head and moaned into you, agreeing with you.

He needed to you keep talking to him like that, to keep humping his face, suffocating him, treating him like a bitch, he needed it.

"Use me-" he cut himself off as he moved his mouth back up to your clit, making out with the little bud messily, "wanna show you how sorry I am." he drunkenly smiled at you.

You gripped his hair in a makeshift bun, rolling your hips against his face as he stuck his tongue out for you to get yoruself off on.

Groans of "mhm mhmm" could be heard from Geto between your legs, pumping his cock impossibly faster feeling your wetness gush out of you from his minstrations.

"Ohmygod feels so good- shit-" You wined, tipping your head back, feeling your orgasm build quicky as you rubbed against his tongue just right.

His chin was absolutely covered in your slick, pretty eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself get pushed towards the edge as well, abandoning his hand keeping your thigh spread to join his other between his legs. He massaged his balls between his fingers, increasing the pleasure he felt while you worked towards your end together.

"Fuck t-tell me your sorry again," you whimpered out, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, "Sorry" his deep voice immediately groaned out, cock throbbing when you yanked on his hair.

"Ag-ain" your moans broke up your speech,

"Sorry, m' sorry, sorry-" He kept babbling against your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through you.

You were feeling hotter at the strange power dynamic going on, using that to your advantage as he kept mumbling the word into you, sending you straight into the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

"Coming f-uck fuck f-" your voice getting cut off as your stomach started contracting and jerking, you rode your high out on his tongue while he groaned a lengthy moan into you.

Behind where your vision was blocked by the bed, Geto was cumming all over his hand and the bottom of your comforter.

Geto's eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head, hand massaging his cum out of his balls as he stroked himself roughly through his orgasm.

Finally being able to breathe when you loosened your legs from their hold on his neck, dropping your hands from his hair as you laid back on the sheets. Geto's hands wet with his seed came up to massage your thighs, his head rasing from between them.

You both took a second to breathe heavily into the open air, your cunt as his cock alike twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You felt his hold on you cease for a moment, a couple seconds later something was bouncing heavily next to your head. When you turned your head you were faced with a brand new, rose gold laptop, still in its packaging.

You looked back up at geto, who was now standing, running one of his damp hands through his hair, "If me eating your pussy didnt prove how sorry I am, I hope this will." He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, Geto are you serious?" you beamed, picking your limp body up from the sheets and holding the package in your hands, he smiled at you fondly, watching you tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

Peeling the plastic from the cardboard you spoke, "Still making you delete all those photos by the way," resulting in him tipping his head back in a loud groan of defeat.

[dollveis]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

Then your eyes land on her.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

Ellie.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then she smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle. You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence, then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't. She steps closer, “no?”

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

But you don't.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You kiss her.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement. Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move. You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost makes you roll your eyes, isn't the whole situation obvious enough?

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm. She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory. You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else. When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you. Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

And for now, that's enough.

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

[izzih22]

I loveeeee the clingy Azzi concept sooo, can you do one where Paige and Azzi get into an argument and Azzi tells Paige to sleep on the couch then a few hours later like really late, Azzi misses her so she tries to get Paige to come back ( while trying to act mad, but she misses her girlfriend) to bed but Paige is all sleepy and stubborn so Azzi just ends up sleeping on the couch with her? (Paige is teasing Azzi about how much she misses her)

I’m Not Mad… I Just Miss You

Note: sorry it’s short

It started with something small like most arguments do. Azzi had asked Paige to make sure she set the alarm for practice in the morning, but Paige had been distracted, caught up in a text message. Azzi, tired and a little grumpy, had snapped. Paige had, in turn, gotten defensive.

The next thing they knew, they were at each other’s throats over something that, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter. Paige’s voice had risen, then Azzi’s, until finally, the words were out: “Fine! If you’re so mad, just sleep on the couch!”

Paige didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her pillow and blanket, threw one last look at Azzi, and made her way to the living room. Azzi stood frozen, feeling a twinge of regret almost immediately. She hadn’t meant it. It was just a fight. She didn’t want space. She wanted to feel close to Paige again.

But Paige was already settled on the couch, curled up with her back to Azzi, and the silence in the room felt suffocating.

Azzi tossed and turned in bed, trying to convince herself she was fine, but the emptiness beside her was too much. She rolled over, staring at the dark ceiling, feeling the weight of the tension pressing down on her chest. It wasn’t even about the alarm anymore. She just missed Paige.

After what felt like an eternity, Azzi finally gave up. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t do this. She needed Paige.

Quietly, Azzi got out of bed and padded toward the living room. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the space, and she saw Paige, still lying there, eyes closed. The sight of her made Azzi’s chest ache.

“Paige,” Azzi said softly, standing in the doorway.

Paige didn’t stir. Azzi hesitated, then took a step closer. “Paige,” she tried again, her voice a little firmer.

Finally, Paige opened one eye, squinting up at her. “What?”

Azzi stood there, arms crossed, trying to act like she wasn’t about to break. “I—” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I miss you. Come back to bed.”

Paige yawned, clearly half asleep, and gave her a sleepy smile. “Uh, no. You told me to sleep on the couch, remember? You can’t just change your mind now.”

Azzi crossed her arms, putting on her best ‘I’m still mad’ face. “I’m not changing my mind. I just—” She let out a frustrated sigh. “I just don’t like sleeping without you.”

Paige turned over, pulling the blanket tighter around her, pretending to ignore Azzi. “Yeah, well, I’m comfortable here. You should’ve thought about that before you kicked me out.”

Azzi moved closer, sitting down at the edge of the couch. She tried to keep the distance between them, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Paige’s face. “Come on, Paige. It’s cold without you in bed.”

Paige snorted, eyes still closed. “I’m sure it is. You’re probably cold because you miss me, huh?”

Azzi rolled her eyes. “I don’t miss you,” she said, but the words came out too soft, too unsure.

Paige smiled, her voice teasing but tired. “Uh-huh. Sure, you don’t. That’s why you’re standing here, looking like you’re about to cry.”

Azzi crossed her arms again, trying to act like she wasn’t completely melting inside. “Shut up. I’m not crying.”

Paige laughed softly, then shifted a little, clearly giving in despite herself. “Fine. I’ll come back to bed… but only because I’m so comfortable out here.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh, sure, because you’re just so comfortable on the couch.”

Paige opened her eyes, a wicked glint in her tired gaze. “Exactly. I’m practically king-sized on this thing.”

Azzi huffed, throwing herself onto the couch beside Paige. “You’re impossible.”

Paige stretched out, making more room for Azzi to snuggle up. “I know. Now come here, before you get any weirder about it.”

Azzi couldn’t help but smile. She scooted closer, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder. Paige lazily draped an arm over her, and Azzi felt that familiar warmth she’d been missing all night. The tension from their earlier argument seemed to slip away with every little touch, every breath they shared.

“You’re so stubborn,” Azzi mumbled into her shirt, feeling the soft fabric against her cheek.

Paige chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s hair. “Yeah, well, I learned it from you. Besides, you miss me, admit it.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “I’m not admitting anything.”

Paige tightened her hold around Azzi, pulling her closer. “You don’t have to admit anything. I already know.”

Azzi sighed contentedly, pressing closer. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn earlier.”

Paige’s fingers traced small circles on Azzi’s back. “It’s okay. I get it. I don’t like fighting with you, either.”

Azzi settled in, letting herself relax against Paige’s warmth. The couch was too small, but it didn’t matter. Paige was there. She wasn’t going anywhere. And even though they’d fought, they were okay now.

“I love you,” Azzi whispered, her voice soft as she felt her eyelids growing heavy.

Paige’s response was a lazy smile, her hand brushing through Azzi’s hair as she pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I love you, too, dork.”

And just like that, the argument was forgotten. Azzi was back in Paige’s arms, and nothing else seemed to matter anymore.

[lemonpeppermintstickshift]

living together - f. langdon x fem!reader

summary: after his divorce, frank becomes your new roommate, and it becomes increasingly more difficult for you to not give into temptation.

warnings: SMUT (minors dni, 18+ only), porn with plot, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), frank has NO kids, p in v, creampie (seriously, use some rubber), fingering, use of 'frankie', frank eats pussy! slight dirty talk, botched medical terminology (i'm not a doctor </3), no use of y/n but the use of 'baby', my first fic :)

wc: 4k

After his divorce, Frank was in desperate need of a place to stay. 

Lucky for him, your asshole ex-boyfriend had vacated his position, not only in your heart but in your 2 bed 1 bath apartment as well. At the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. Frank needed a room, you needed half of your rent—it was perfect. If Whitaker and Santos could do it, so could you two.

What you forgot to think about, what slipped your mind as Frank moved in his few boxes of miscellaneous things, his coffee mugs and books from college, was that you would be living together. Living together as in sharing meals, as in getting used to him using half of the refrigerator for his red bulls, as in watching him come out of your shared bathroom, towel slung low around his hips, his chest hair leading down his abdomen to an even lower area you did not allow yourself to think about. 

Recently, it’s become harder and harder to ignore how handsome Langdon is. You always knew he was attractive, Garcia doesn’t call him ER Ken for nothing. But it wasn’t until you two began living with each other that it posed such a problem. You’re not sure when it started, but somehow the two of you began playing some sick game. How far can we go before we go too far?

It started off as an accident, truly. While transporting your load of laundry, you dropped a pair of rather nice panties in the living room, not even realizing your mistake. Later on, when you returned from dinner with a friend, it was all Frank could do to not torment you about it.

“Forget something?” Frank says as you lock the door behind you, kicking off your shoes and setting down your keys.

“What? I just came back fro–”

Frank holds up the rather scandalous pair of panties with a finger, dangling it towards you. 

“Forgot to put these on before you left?” He says, his blue eyes shining. “Must’ve been a lucky guy.”

Since then, the two of you have been playing this game of cat and mouse. Frank comes back from his occasional runs shirtless and sweaty, gulping down a glass of water as condensation runs down his hand. You wear short shorts around the house, feeling them bunch up around your ass as you read your newest book on the couch, not missing the way Langdon’s eyes linger on your thighs. 

Your relationship consists of emergency intubations, low cut shirts that show off your cleavage, bedside cricothyrotomies, and Frank’s grey sweatpants he wears after a shift that leave your palms sweaty and your cheeks flushed.

Today is no different. 

You look around the Pitt as your shift nears the end. You have no more than an hour to go before you're slipping off your scrubs, driving home, and taking the hottest shower of your life. You talk to Samira aimlessly as your eyes scan the ER’s TV screen, looking for something not too heavy before you begin to pack up.

Your eyes land on one Mr. Mitchell Providence, and it isn’t long before he’s sitting on a bed in a room, smiling painfully as you pull up a stool.

“So, let me get this right, your toddler accidentally stabbed you in the back of your thigh?” You ask, motioning him to flip over to his side so you have better access to his makeshift bandage. 

“Was trying to impress the wife,” he wheezes as you begin to remove the towel from his wound. “Turned around for one minute to stir the pot, next thing I know I’m getting poked with a knife! I’m just glad no one else got hurt.”

You nod, trying not to laugh in front of the patient. You distract yourself by making polite small chatter and inquiring about his pain levels, making sure to correctly assess the wound and his history before you begin stitching. Just as you begin to pick up your needle, a familiar face slides back the curtain, inviting himself in. 

“Heard you were back here. Wanted to help finish this up and send Mister…” Frank checks the sheet, “Providence out here as fast as possible.”

Your back stiffens at the sound of his voice. Your mind flashes to the stunt Frank pulled this morning. 

Langdon drags the silver spoon from his mouth slowly. He stands in the kitchen, eating berries and yogurt before the two of you head out for your shift. He licks the last bit of cream off the utensil, coating his lips in saliva before setting it in the sink. Your eyes follow his pink tongue as it darts out, dabbing at the sides of his mouth.

“It’s really good. Sure you don’t want any?”

You shake your head, trying to physically remove the memory from your consciousness. 

“Mr. Providence, this is Dr. Langdon. He’s my senior resident, so he’ll be watching over this procedure.” You smile.

“Sounds good. But, are you… do you know how to do this?” The man questions. Of course he’s nervous, anyone would be. But before you can answer, Langdon’s hand finds a way to your shoulder.

“Oh absolutely, she’s one of our best residents here.” He says with a proud nod, his fingers curling around your scrubs. The touch catches you off guard, your breath hitching in your throat. 

He gives your shoulder one final squeeze before letting go, giving his million dollar 100% patient satisfaction smile. Finally, he takes a slight step back, just enough so he can watch you perform the procedure. 

You feel him analyzing your every move. The way your hands stay steady as they wield the needle, your lack of reaction to the slightly gory sight before you, your breath as it never falters. 

You’re almost finished when Frank takes your hand in his, guiding you through his own action. 

“For subcuticular stitches, you’ll need to cut the suture flush with the skin, just like that…” He speaks softly, allowing you both to move in sync. From here, you can smell his shampoo, hear his breath in between directions. You try and focus on the task at hand, but it becomes increasingly more difficult as your eyes trail down his toned forearms. 

As soon as the final stitch is secure, you practically leap away from him. You stand quiet in the corner, shaken up as Frank explains the correct care for the next few days, telling the patient to stay put for a while and that a nurse will come in and assess him before discharging.

You spin on your heels as soon as Frank finishes his directions. You need to get away from him. 

Motherfucker, you think. He’s trying to throw you off your game. You’re used to him playing tricks at home, but at the Pitt? This was territory you’ve never breached before. 

You pack up in a frustrated haze, forgetting that you and Frank carpooled together, because once again, that's what living together means.

You wait outside for him, enjoying the refreshing air the night presents. You hear the doors automatically slide open behind you, and without looking, you know it's him. 

“Ready?” He asks, a certain look on his face. 

“Always.”

//

The drive home is silent. Some pop song plays in the background as you drive, falling on deaf ears as you occasionally catch a glimpse of Frank out of the corner of your eye. He stares out the passenger window the entire time. You wonder what he’s thinking of.

When you get home, the two of you claw off your bags, badges, and rub your hands down your face, trying to shake off the long day. You head to the kitchen, grabbing some leftovers to quickly shove down your throat before you take a shower. 

“Ladies first,” you say, mouth stuffed with fried rice, motioning towards the bathroom.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he replies, winking. You roll your eyes. Goddamn flirt.

You stand in the kitchen as Langdon enters the bathroom, and seconds later you hear the faint sound of running water. Once you're sure he’s in the shower, you finally let yourself melt, thinking about the contents of the day. 

Your mind turns over your breakfast encounter, your stitching lessons, all the times Frank has bent over your shoulder and whispered something in your ear, repeating it all like a broken record.

A shiver goes down your back and you groan. He’s getting to you. 

You’re not sure how long it is you stand in the kitchen, contemplating your life's decisions. You don’t look up when the bathroom door opens. You’re not sure what will happen if you do. You feel yourself grow closer and closer to snapping, to doing something that can’t be undone. 

You suppress these feelings as you shuffle to your room, grabbing an old shirt, some socks, and a pair of panties before heading to the shower. You’re on autopilot, going through the motions of washing the day off of you. You stay in your head, suds sliding down your body as you think of Langdon. 

He’s still on your mind 15 minutes later when he corners you in front of the bathroom. 

“What’s up with you?” He inquires. You gulp. He’s shirtless, wearing pajama pants as he leans against the wall, and it takes everything in you not to notice the way his biceps slightly flex.

“It’s nothing, Langdon, I’m just exhausted. Long ass day.”

“Langdon? Since when do you call me Langdon at home?” 

You ignore him. You brush past his body, heading for the living room, attempting to busy yourself by tidying up the blankets and pillows. Suddenly, you’re very aware you’re wearing no pants. 

“Okay, seriously. You’re freaking me out. Did I do something?”

You turn around in frustration, biting the insides of your cheek out of instinct. Frank looks at you with genuine confusion in his eyes, and it annoys you that he doesn’t understand the gravity of his actions—especially the way they make you feel. 

“Hm, I don’t know, Langdon. What didn't you do today?” You snap back. His eyebrows skyrocket to his forehead, you’re clearly not reacting in a way he’s expecting.

“Are you seriously mad about the breakfast thing?” He says, inching closer, a regretful look plastered on his face. “You know I was just teasing.”

“The breakfast thing, the random stitching guidance, your goddamn sweatpants,” you growl, “You’re always teasing me. What are you playing at?”

“Me? What about you?” He tosses back, taking another step. “Your tight shirts, your new perfume, your shorts, Jesus—” 

He runs his fingers through his damp hair, messing it up slightly. 

“What you pulled today, at work? Not cool. You can’t do that Frank.” You mumble. You feel yourself growing embarrassed about admitting to the way his words affect you.

“I wanted to make sure you were doing it right.”

“Bullshit,” you retort. “I know how to stitch a fucking wound.”

“Fine. I wanted… I just wanted to see you.” He confesses, tossing his hands up in defeat. This is becoming dangerous. You feel a sensation begin to bubble in the depths of your gut. “I wanted to know what you were doing.”

You match his energy, taking another step forward. At this point, the two of you are precariously close. You can see the darker blue of his irises, the crease in the middle of his forehead as his brows scrunch together. 

“You were throwing me off my game,” you admit, looking away. “I felt like fucking Javadi.”

Frank doesn't respond to this. Instead, he takes one final step towards you, craning his face down to yours. You look up at him, eyes wide.

“Was I distracting you?” He whispers, his voice low and sultry.

“You know you were.”

He brings his hands to the sides of your face, cupping your flushed cheeks with his palms. His hands feel cool to the touch. 

“What have we been doing?” He questions. “Do you want this? Because if not, I’ll stop with the teasing and we can pretend the past few weeks were a fluke. I swear I’ll let it go. But if not, fuck—I can’t do this much longer before you break me.”

His confession is raw, it hangs low in the air that heats up around you. The desperation in his voice causes your thighs to rub together, begging for some sort of friction.

“I…” You breathe out, scanning his face. He waits patiently, a hungry look in his eyes. His pupils are blown, his pink lips parted slightly as he breathes heavily. “Fuck it, just kiss me.”

Frank exhibits no hesitation as he grabs your face, smashing your lips together. His breath is fresh, tasting of spearmint toothpaste. You moan slightly as he slides his tongue into your mouth, pulling you impossibly closer. Your neck cranes up to him as his hands slide down your face to your sides, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your hands fly to his hair, grabbing fistfulls as his palms reach your waist, inching you closer to his core. When he pulls away, his face is slightly red, and you can feel his erection growing. The pressure makes your mouth water.

“Your room or mine?” He breathes.

“I don’t care,” you mumble through your kisses, unable to bear a second without his mouth on yours. His lips are soft, his skin is smooth, his body warm. You want to bottle him up and drink him. 

Suddenly, Frank’s hands travel to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up on his hips as he begins walking towards his bedroom. From this angle, you can feel him hard through his pants. The friction makes you moan, and you feel your panties become damp. 

Before you know it, your back lands on the soft surface of his mattress. Your white shirt clashes with the dark of his sheets, fingers sliding over the smooth fabric of his comforter. Frank lowers himself over you, one hand propping himself up as the other breaches the hem of your band-tee. 

“Are you sure?” He asks. He looks at you with vulnerability in his eyes, and it makes your nipples harden. 

“Yes. Please Frank,” you whisper back. 

With your confirmation, he begins moving again. His fingers barely dance on the soft skin of your tummy, skirting towards your clavicle. He brings the shirt up, sliding it over your shoulders and aimlessly tossing it on the floor. 

The cold air of his room causes goosebumps to litter your skin, making the hair on your arms stand up. You look away from the intensity of Frank’s gaze, embarrassed at your indecency. He dips his head to your neck, pressing soft kisses to your carotid artery. He laughs as he feels your heart rate spike. 

He moves back to your face, kissing you softly as his hands cup your chest, making you whine.

He plays around with your nipples, pinching and twisting them softly. This, plus the heat of his cock through his pants pressed against your very thin underwear makes your legs spread wide. 

Frank slips off his pajama pants, remaining only in his boxers as he begins sucking on your collar bones. Slowly but surely he moves his mouth down your body, taking your breasts in his warm mouth, swirling his tongue around your areolas. He slides his tongue down your torso, dragging you to the end of the bed as his face finally reaches in between your thighs.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties, and you’re positive you're wet enough that you’ve soaked through them. 

He peels the piece of clothing off you, watching as the wet patch of your panties stick to your folds. Like the shirt, he tosses the garment off to the side, rendering it useless. He brings his fingers up to your core, slowly beginning to coat his digits in your slick. You gasp at the sensation. 

He drags his long fingers up and down your folds, spreading your arousal all over your pussy. You preen to his touch, your chest rising and falling heavily. You feel your core tighten in anticipation. 

Finally, he slowly starts to inch a finger inside you. When his palm comes flush with your entrance, he breathes out a ‘fuck.’

You barely catch your breath before you feel him begin to purposely drag his finger in and out. Your hand clutches his sheets, crumpling up the silk. When Frank inserts a second finger, you’re positive you’ve left the atmosphere. When he presses his tongue against your core, fingers working in tandem with his mouth, you see stars. 

“Fuck, Frankie,” you whine, and he moans in response. 

You feel his mouth move against you, his fingers curling and hitting a spot that makes your head fall back. He continues this until you can't take it, his tongue swirling and sucking against your clit until you cry out his name as your back arches, a wave of pleasure crashing through you. Your hands fly to his hair, trying to find some part of the earth to hold on to before you float away. 

As you come back down from your high, your stomach and thighs that were once tense become slack, allowing Frank to pull away from you. He wipes his mouth off, his lips puffy and his forehead sweaty. 

He pants slightly, just by looking at you. You become impatient, still not satisfied with the amount of his skin you’ve kissed, the muscles you haven’t touched. You pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and tasting yourself on his tongue. 

He slots in between your thighs, pressing his brief-clad, brick hard cock against you. He begins to take off his underwear, then freezes. “Shit.”

“What?” You panic. Did you do something wrong? Does he not want this anymore?

“I don’t have a condom,” he groans. “I’m divorced and I never date.” His face flushes, and he scrunches his nose.

“Are you clean?” You ask. 

“Did you hear what I just said?” He laughs, rubbing his hands up and down the insides of your thigh.

“Point taken…” You toss an idea back and forth in your mind. The way Frank is looking at you makes you want to melt. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill.”

“Thank fuck.”

He makes quick work to take off his boxers, letting his hard cock free from its restraints. He hisses as the cool air meets his weeping tip. 

He drags you closer to him, guiding your legs to slightly wrap around his hips. He lowers himself over you, using one hand to prop himself up and the other to tease your entrance with his member. 

He drags his cock up and down your pussy, coating his tip in the mix of both your arousal. He taps your clit and laughs as you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Look at me,” he says. Your eyes flutter open, struggling to keep contact as he slowly pushes into you. He goes slow, calculated. He watches every reaction you have. 

Your hands grip his shoulders tightly when he becomes flush with your pelvis. You throw your head back in pleasure. The stretch makes you delirious. You feel every inch of his blood filled cock, mewling as he begins to move his hips. 

He leans back, allowing you to see his torso. Your eyes follow down his abs to where the two of your body's meet. The sight is racy, watching Frank slowly begin to push in and out of you. 

Once Frank finds his rhythm, you’re sure he’s going to fuck you so hard into the mattress that you’ll be sore tomorrow. He grabs your ass with his free hand, pushing you towards him with every thrust. With this movement, his thick tip brushes up against the sweet spot in your walls, causing you to cry out. 

“Yeah baby, just like that. Wanted to fuck you for so long.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues to pummel into you, removing his hand from your ass to push down on your stomach. He fucks you like this for a while, deep and hard, occasionally moving his free hand to tease your clit.

He kisses your mouth, then begins to whisper his vulgar thoughts into your ear as you cream around his cock. He tells you how pretty you are, how tight your pussy is, how good you're doing. His words, in combination with his teasing and rhythm, brings you to the brink. Just when you think you’re about to finish again, he pulls out of you. 

Before you can even form the thought to complain, he flips you around, wasting no time before he slides back into your tight walls. He grabs your hips and places a pillow underneath them. You know there’s no use in trying to brace yourself for the way he’s about to fuck you. 

He takes one of his palms and presses on your back, pushing your body into the mattress, snapping his hips to your ass over and over. You cry out into the air, back arching. Your neighbors are going to hate you.

With each forceful thrust, your clit brushes up against the fabric of the pillow beneath you. It isn’t long before your core begins to tighten, and Frank can feel the way your pussy flutters around his cock. 

“That’s right baby,” he coos, guiding you as your moans become more high pitched and frequent. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. Your eyelids flutter as your second orgasm blooms inside of you. 

He takes you from behind until you can’t take it anymore, words falling helplessly from your mouth as you beg him to slow down, speed up, please keep going, don’t stop.

When Frank feels himself coming close, his abdomen tightening and his pace quickening, he stops himself to flip you over again, this time basically laying on top of you. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer, s’too good,” he slurs, looking into your eyes. “Where do you want me to finish?”

“Inside,” you gasp, “I don’t care, Frankie.”

“Oh fuck, you can’t just say shit like that baby.” You can tell he’s approaching the finish line fast, his thrusts becoming sloppy and his words becoming jumbled. He babbles praises into your ear and grunts louder than before. Finally, you hear him stutter and watch as he tosses his head back, pumping thick, hot ropes of his cum into your tight walls.

The two of you stay like that for a minute, breathing in the sex-scented air that wafts around his bedroom. You feel the weight of his body on yours, enjoying the warmth his flushed chest brings you.

“Holy fuck, you’re good.”

Frank chuckles as he pulls his softening dick from you. He crouches down to watch his cum drip down your legs, licking his lips as it pools beneath you. 

He comes back up to press a chaste kiss to your lips, mumbling let’s get you cleaned up. For the rest of the night, Frank attends to your every need, making sure you’re properly taken care of before the two of you eventually fall back into his sheets, clinging together for warmth. You fall asleep in his arms, your hands playing with his wild hair.

//

“What happened to you?” Samira asks, two hours into your shift the following day. You know she’s referring to the odd way you’ve been walking since you entered the ER. You feel heat creep up your neck at the interrogation, looking around the hallway to see if there are any eavesdropping nurses or a certain senior resident. 

“Nothing. Just pulled a muscle… in the shower. Washing my foot. So.”

She laughs as Frank rounds the corner. He catches the end of your conversation, looking at the embarrassed expression that coats your face. He chuckles, winking as he passes by you. You give him a small smile in return. 

“And what was that?” She gasps.

“Nothing, nothing, just shut up and pick a case before Robby yells at you for being slow again.”

//

likes, comments, reblogs, and follows are always appreciated :)

[snail-day]

Can I hold it?

Crack fic. Felt a little silly.

tw: Fluff, tinkle time, geto's is a bit suggestive, unedited. mdni

characters: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Sukuna...special guest...mahito.

Gojo - You sure can!

"Can I hold it?" you ask, nonchalantly, like you're asking for the TV remote and not, y’know, his dick.

Satoru pauses mid-wiggle as he tugs his pants down. Normally, he’s a sit-down-to-tinkle kind of guy, he likes to doomscroll in peace. But tonight he’s upright. Vulnerable. And brushing your teeth beside him, a perfectly normal bonding activity, you tilt your head and ask again.

He blinks once. Then shrugs. “Sure, baby. Go for it.”

And that’s how you end up behind him, gently - okay, tentatively-gripping his junk. His hips twitch.

“Gentle,” he hisses when your hand grips a little too tightly. “We're not playing bowling with the Wii controller here. That’s too much pressure. Less - Fuck - less pressure, babe. Yeah, there we go. Nice. Precision.”

You frown in concentration. “It’s angled too high. It’s gonna hit the rim.”

He nods solemnly. “We must honor the aerodynamics. Think parabola. There’s arc. There’s lift. There’s - ”

“It’s not physics, Satoru.”

“Speak for yourself.”

You pause, watching the stream curve...breaking the silence, “…Can I try writing my name?”

“Sure, baby,” he grins. “Just....please....aim"

You didn't and you made him clean it up <3

Geto - Ask nicer!

Now, Geto is... well. He’s usually the type to perform the aftercare. The type to cradle you after sex, murmuring praise into your hair, stroking your back with those broad fingers of his until your breath evens out again. He waits patiently, like he’s not still hard or still aching, until your walls stop fluttering around the memory of him. Only then does he nudge you gently, murmuring, “Go tinkle, love. I’ll run the bath.”

Usually though. You kick him out when it’s time to go. All flustered and squirmy, grumbling something about dignity and privacy as you push his bare chest out of the room. He only laughs, lets you win.

This time you pull the sheets up around yourself, all sleep-drunk and grinning, and tilt your head sweetly. “You go first.”

He hums, stretching a bit before padding toward the toilet. You wait. And then you call as you make your way over, “Can I hold it?”

His back stiffens for half a second. You see the way his shoulders lift with a silent chuckle before he turns slightly, looking at you over his shoulder with that look. The one that makes your stomach flip and thighs squeeze instinctively.

“No, love,” he croons, voice smooth as silk.

Then he sighs softly as he releases a steady stream, utterly unbothered, and you whine from the doorway like he’s just denied you a treat.

“Why notttt,” you pout. “You let me hold other things.”

He just raises a brow, the smirk curling his lips downright sinful. “Is that how you talk to me? After someone made you feel that good?”

You squirm. “...Maybe.”

He tsks. “Tsk tsk. Brat.”

And then, because he’s Geto Suguru and his cruelty is measured, he flushes, washes his hands, and pads back over just to cup your cheeks and kiss your forehead sweetly.

“Maybe next time,” he whispers. “If you ask nicely.”

Nanami - Let the man live

Nanami just wants to pee. That’s all. Nothing fancy. Nothing complicated. Just a calm, quiet end-of-day tinkle after ten hours of sorcerer nonsense, two cursed spirits, and one very overpriced coffee that did nothing for his mood.

But peace? Apparently a foreign concept in this household. Because the moment he reaches for the bathroom door, you appear like a gremlin summoned by the sound of a zipper.

“Can I hold it?”

He freezes mid-step. Blinks. Slowly turning towards you. Concern in his eyes, because usually you are some little chaotic demon when he comes home, but normally not this bad.

“No.”

“Why not?” you whine, trailing behind him like a duckling. “It’s not like I’m gonna break it.”

“I’d rather not test that theory.”

“I’ll be gentle!”

“You say that like it’s reassuring.”

“I just wanna help,” you pout, clinging to his arm.

“You’re not qualified to assist in this particular task.”

“You let me hold your heart,” you say dramatically, hand to chest. “But not your - ”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

“I’m just saying - ”

“No.”

You try to follow him in. He calmly places a large hand on your face and pushes you back before shutting the door.

“Kentoooo - "

“I am going to urinate. Alone.”

He steps inside. You scramble to the doorway, making one last plea like he’s leaving you behind forever.

“I won’t even move it!”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I’ll just... cradle it!”

You can hear the sigh through the door. Then the lock clicks. For his reassurance.

“I am cradling my dignity. Let me pee in peace.”

Silence.

You rest your forehead against the wood, a quiet whimper escaping.

“…You don’t love me.”

All you hear is a very long, very tired sigh. (He does very much love you, just wants to tinkle in peace)

Sukuna - How does it work?

You want to ask. God, you really, really do.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, legs swinging, lips pressed together in fierce concentration. Sukuna's across the room, shirtless, casual, sipping something crimson from a ridiculously ornate goblet. He's glowing faintly. Menacingly.

And you, well, you're staring. Hard. Not at his abs. Not at his tattoos. No, you're staring at his pants. Specifically, the waistband. Because he has two mouths. Two sets of eyes. Four arms.

And, presumably…

Two.

You're thinking about it. So hard it might be echoing off the walls. Which one does he tinkle with? Which one. Is there a dominant one? Do they take turns? Is it both?

He lifts a brow. “You’re staring.”

You freeze. “No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His voice is dry, amused. “Thinking very loudly, too.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “…Do you have - like - do they both… work?”

A beat. Then a wide, sharp-toothed grin spreads across his face. He sets the goblet down.

“You want to hold it, don’t you.”

“No!” (Yes.) “I mean, wait, them?”

He steps closer.

You panic. “I was just curious!!”

“And now you’ve made it weird.”

“You’re the one who grew an extra one!!”

He shrugs. “A king needs options.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate it here.”

He laughs, dark and delighted, head tipping back slightly as it echoes through the room like a warning. One of his lower hands ruffles your hair, fingers curling just a little too tight at the ends.

And then he leans down. Looms, really. Four arms bracketing you. The warm weight of his body trapping you in. His breath brushes your ear, a smirk pressed into his voice.

“Wanna find out which one pisses?” he purrs. “We can experiment.”

“That’s not science!”

“Oh, darling,” he grins, “with me, everything is.”

Mahito - Does...does he even...?

“Can I hold it?” you ask, casually. Like it’s a normal question. Like you’re not speaking to your probably-murderous roommate who showed up out of nowhere six months ago and just... stayed.

Mahito blinks at you from across the hallway, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth (you're pretty sure, it's yours). His blue hair’s all rumpled. He’s in a shirt you definitely never saw him buy. Probably stolen. Probably off a corpse.

“Hold what?” he asks, head tilted like a confused golden retriever.

You point - vaguely. “Y’know. Your - uh. Your dick. While you pee.”

Silence.

Dead silence.

He blinks again. Slowly this time.

“What’s peeing?”

And that’s when you remember: your roommate is a cursed spirit. A walking human experiment with a giggle like a knife being sharpened. He makes sock puppets out of leftover limbs. And now, apparently, he’s never pissed in his life.

You stare. “You don’t pee?”

He shrugs. “Never needed to.”

“So like… how do you…?”

“Mostly I just rearrange my organs and wait for it to pass.”

You open your mouth.

You close it.

He walks past you into the bathroom, humming, probably about murder.

You sit on the couch, dazed. You cannot hold it. Now you kinda wish you never asked. But he does pay rent on time. In this economy. So you stay.

[takumiraine]

Once upon a time Chapter 6

In which Danny has a bad night and Jason is conflicted.

<first> <prev> <next>

“So you know how your friend walks home from GU?” Oracle asked, apropos nothing one night while Jason was mid patrol. The pit had been angry, and Jason was just looking for a fight.

“Now is not the best time to talk about him O,” Jason growled, swinging between buildings just to feel the brief rush of adrenaline from stepping off the roof of a building and falling. Watching the ground rush up to meet him. The pit had been angry over the last half hour, and it was only seeming to get worse.

“Alright. Just thought you’d want to know he is in a 6v1 in the Bowery and B is on his way.” Her tone was nonchalant, with an air of ‘have it your way’ even though he knew she knew he wouldn’t be able to leave it at that.

Jason, to his credit, did not splat on the ground or crash into a wall. But it was a near thing. “What?”

“I thought now wasn’t the best time?” She teased, before sending the location to his visor. “From the looks of things, he’s been trained by someone. Just did a sick Judo throw that would make A proud.”

“Is B going to get there first?”

“Oh yeah.” Jason groaned. It wasn’t going to go well.

“Can’t reroute him?”

“You want to tell him why?” Nope. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

“No”

“There’s your answer.”

Jason groaned again, trying his best to swing faster. The closer he got, the more the pit writhed.

—-

Danny met the eyes of Batman, his grin dropping into a scowl. “Why are you here?” He asked, hands clenching back into fists.

“I came to help.” Batman said, beginning to zip tie the criminals hands.

“Help? Help?” Danny scoffed, kicking a rock towards Batman’s feet. “Now you want to help? I don’t need it anymore.” Danny took a step towards him, finger pointing in his direction menacingly. Batman paused and looked down at him again.

“I am very sorry I did not get here sooner, young man. But-“ Danny stormed towards him, getting into the masked superhero’s face.

“But you’re years late guano-man. I asked. And I asked. And I begged. All you” Danny jabbed him in his armored chest with two fingers, core screaming a litany of -rage-hurt-fear-“sent were those government assholes. You call yourselves heroes up there in that fancy ass tower, with your billionaire’s funding, but the reality is, if someone doesn’t live in one of your protected towns then they’re on their fucking own!” Danny shoved him back, and Batman took a couple steps then looked at something above and behind Danny’s head. He didn’t even have the time to look before Batman spoke.

“Hood, now is not the best time.”

Danny spun then, eyes widening then narrowing. “And you!” He stomped over to Red Hood, jabbing him in the chest for good measure. “Are you following me?! First with the stabbing, and I’m not even in your territory and you’re here! you claim you’re not with this asshole, but you’re here? You-“

Danny stopped himself mouth dropping open and core twisting into -recognition-shock-betrayal-angry- eyes glowing green before he could stop them. “oh this is fucking rich. You are stalking me. Knowing where I live isn’t enough? You have to insert yourself into my fucking life?” He backed away from the two masked vigilantes getting both of them into his eyeline. “None of you, or anyone else in your little justice mafia, ever talk to me or try to help me again.”

Danny backed up, circling until he was clear of both of them. Then once he was far enough away, he broke into a run, turning the corner at the end of the block.

—-

“Fuck.” Jason muttered as he realized he had been found out. Seeing the Lazarus green in Danny’s eyes, feeling the fear, shock, betrayal and anger just rolling off of him, his own pit responding in kind.

“Hey B? It was heavily staticked, so I might be wrong, but did the kid say you sent the government after him?” Oracle asked after a long moment of silence.

“He did.”

“I hate that I even have to ask but…. Did you?”

“No. Is there anything we need people on at present?”

Oracle’s typing was heard in their ears for a moment “No, it doesn’t look like it.”

“Recall everyone from patrol to meet at the cave. We need to go over every inch of this and find out what we’re dealing with.”

Jason was slowly moving his hand toward his grapnel. He needed to process this before anything else. Before he could, an engine revved and the Batmobile was pulling up.

“Hood. In.”

“But-“ Jason began to argue, only for Bruce to shake his head. Batman pointed and Jason felt like he was a kid getting caught stealing tires again. The pit in him demanded he fight back, but after a standoff that he knew felt longer than it was he slid into the passenger seat, door shutting behind him.

“He acted like he recognized you.” Bruce said after getting in himself.

“Yeah.” Jason wasn’t going to be forthcoming just yet he was still trying to process what the fuck just happened.

“Hm.” He could feel every ounce of focus not on the road on him and it rankled.

“Just come out and say it B,” Jason snapped.

“You know what.”

“Maybe I don’t. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Hm.” God he was so much like Damien. The apple fell from that tree and became nestled safely on the next branch down.

Thankfully the conversation was interrupted by the clicks of several people joining the main comm line.

“Hey, I heard the recall.” Dick. Great. Just what he needed. Big brother swooping in. “Everyone have their limbs?”

“Possible compromise situation.” Was the only reply Bruce gave. Jason resisted the urge to slump in his seat like a child being picked up from school for fighting.

“I’ll be in asap.” Dick had to be the responsible first born. Asshole.

“I’m also on about the same time frame. Orphan and I are just handing off a minor robbery.” Spoiler’s voice chimed in.

“Robin and I are en route from the south. Riddler was trying to be clever and we were having fun breaking his riddles before he could even finish his spiel.” Red Robin seemed smug. Really those two were the only ones that found Eddy boy the slightest bit amusing.

“I believe he was considering checking himself back into Arkham he was so frustrated with our prowess.” Damian’s smugness was rolling off him through the comm chat.

There was a little bit of extra chatter as they wrapped up the eta conversation, but Jason was trying to decide if he could dive out of the Batmobile and escape before Bruce could turn around.

As if reading his thoughts, Bruce looked over at him and gave him a look. He knew Oracle was keeping an eye on their route too so driving wasn’t needed to be a focus. Jason frowned and even though the mask hid it, he was sure Bruce knew.

When they got to the cave and parked, Bruce got out and removed the cowl. He stood there, watching as Jason got out, pulling his own helmet off. He could still feel the pit scraping his insides, and looking for an escape. How much was his and how much was Danny’s Jason didn’t know.

“Explain before the others get here.”

Jason turned and walked deeper into the cave, taking his usual spot against the wall. “About a month ago, I interrupted a mugging turned stabbing. Kid ran off with the knife still in him. O gave me basic info and I joined GU to start my threat assessment. He hates Batman and the assorted heroes, hadn’t said why, isn’t fond of Bruce Wayne because he supports the JL financially. Had some potential for becoming a rogue in the future but mostly just wanted to be left alone.”

Bruce gave a hum, settling at the Bat Computer and typing. Not making notes, but looking through the information Oracle had already collected. When Jason didn’t continue, Bruce turned to look at him again.

“Kid was broke. Looked like hell, so I fed him and paid him to catch me up in math. Even though he’s in remedial classes he’s practically at the replacement’s level. He said he had spent most of high school ghosting his classes because they were murder. Seeing his eyes today…. I believe he was being very literal. We…. Became friendly. He did not know who I was until tonight.”

“How did that happen?”

“The pit reacted to him. It… usually does, but not as intensely as tonight. It seems to be tied to his emotional state. He was pissed at you so… What did you do to the kid?”

Bruce sighed. “I’ve never met him before. I think that might be the problem.”

Jason scoffed, standing in silence and staring at Bruce’s tortured expression. Bruce, six foot two slab of muscle, who had just been yelled at by a scrawny young man easily six inches shorter and weighing a hundred pounds less.

Danny had fire, Jason would give him that. Blood pouring from his nose, the start of two black eyes from the break and still facing two masked vigilantes who were known for beating people up, or killing them in Jason’s case, like they were part of the problem.

It was…. It was kind of hot if Jason was being honest. The kind of hot he would openly deny and take to his grave (again).

One by one the different groups joined them in the cave. All in their patrol outfits. All of them staring at Jason and Bruce like they were expecting an announcement of Armageddon beginning.

Once they were all assembled, Oracle popped up on one of the screens.

“So here is what we know.” Bruce began a rundown of the night, starting with Danny getting jumped by some of Scarecrow’s guys and putting them all in their place before yelling at him and recognizing Jason.

Oracle put the cleaned up video of Danny fighting the guys on screen, and if Jason hadn’t thought Danny was hot before…. He would most certainly have now. The way he used his opponents’ weapons and momentum against them? It was beautiful. Danny at one point jabbed a goon in the stomach with one of the batons he stole, then kicked a second goon into him, sending them both sprawling. And the judo throw was nothing short of artistry.

“This is the concerning part.” Oracle zoomed in on Danny’s eyes during the confrontation with Jason. One second they were normal, the next they were very clearly glowing. Jason knew that shade of green too well.

“Have you managed to get any background on him?” Dick asked, eyeing both him and Bruce carefully.

“Only the basics and even then I’m pretty sure it’s doctored. I’ve tried doing reverse image searches on him, both with and without the enhancements I’ve done,” she popped up a side by side of various before and after pictures showing Danny in various states of glitching and the reassembled image from her work. “Every time I try to get anything more I run into this.” She put up what looked to be a standard ‘access required’ page complete with ‘To gain access please call’ and then a number.

“I’ve looked for any sneaky back entrances but they all seem pretty well guarded. I can get in but I would definitely be noticed.” For Oracle to admit that? That was some pretty high tech protection.

“Let’s call the number. Anyone got a burner they don’t want anymore?” Spoiler looked around, holding out her hand. Jason pulled one out of his belt and tossed it to her.

“O, pull my shit off of it?” He asked, planning on transferring all of his more illicit activities to a new number next week anyways.

“Done and done.”

Stephanie dialed and put it on speakerphone. It rang twice then there was the click of the line picking up. “Government Information Warehouse. Please state your name and identification number.”

“Oh my goooood, that asshole!” Stephanie had her high school voice on with just the faintest bit of squeal and complete with twirling her hair around her finger, even though those in the cave were the only ones who could see. “sorry, sorry, not you. I met a really hot guy. Like, hot hot, you know? And I thought we were really vibing. And he gave me his number and I was like, score! But then I call it and I get you! So like, I’m really sorry I won’t call again!” She hung up.

“Well that was disturbing.” From Tim who got an elbow in the ribs from Stephanie. “Steph’s acting aside, what’s our next play B?”

Bruce looked thoughtfully at the screen.

“Let me talk to him.” Jason was speaking before he was even aware of it. “Maybe…. He can explain.”

“He looked like he was a second away from punching you too little wing. You think he’ll talk?”

Jason had no idea. “Fifty fifty. Maybe better if we give him some time to calm down.”

“So long as nothing else happens, you have one week to let him calm down.” Bruce agreed. “The rest of you, stay extra vigilant. Frequent check ins when on patrol, and when away from the manor. Anything abnormal, no matter how small gets reported immediately.” The various bats and birds gave their agreements and started filing up to the manor for whatever food Alfred had laying around no doubt.

Jason stayed, debating going up. He had one week to figure out how he was going to do this.

One week was not a lot of time.

[4linos]

rediscovery.

lee felix x fem!reader

synopsis/request: with exhaustion settling in, you and felix barely have the energy to speak, but the moment your lips meet, everything changes. the passion you thought had faded returns, stronger than ever.

[warnings: nsfw 18+, suggestive, minors pls don’t interact 🙃]

wc: 749

You trudge into the living room, collapsing onto the couch beside Felix, who's already sunk into the cushions, eyes half-closed. The day has been a never-ending marathon of work, kids, and chores, leaving you both drained. You can't even muster the energy to look at each other, let alone have a conversation.

But as you sit there, you start to think about all the things that still need to be done. "Hey, did you remember to pay the electricity bill?" you ask, not even turning your head to look at Felix.

To your surprise, Felix responds, "Yeah, I took care of it this morning. And I also managed to get the laundry folded and put away."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? I could've sworn I was the one who was supposed to do that."

Felix opens one eye, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I think we both did our fair share today. The kids are even in bed early, for once."

You glance at the clock, amazed. It's only 9 PM, and the house is quiet. You start to feel a spark of energy, a sense of possibility.

Felix seems to sense it too, because he reaches out and gently pulls you towards him. "You know, I think we deserve a little break," he whispers, his breath tickling your ear.

As you turn to face him, you see the exhaustion in his eyes, but also a glint of desire. You feel a flutter in your chest, a sense of excitement that you haven't felt in a long time.

Without another word, Felix pulls you into a deep kiss, his lips warm and inviting. You melt into his arms, feeling the tension of the day melt away.

As you break apart for air, Felix whispers, "I think we've earned a little time to ourselves, don't you?"

You nod, your heart racing, and Felix pulls you back in, his hands roaming over your body, reigniting a flame that you thought had been extinguished by the demands of parenthood.

For a few blissful hours, you forget about the bills, the laundry, and the kids' schedules. All that matters is the two of you, lost in the moment, rediscovering the spark that brought you together in the first place.

As Felix's hands continue to explore your body, you feel a sense of surrender wash over you. You've been so focused on being a good parent, on keeping the household running smoothly, that you'd almost forgotten what it's like to be intimate with your partner.

Felix's fingers dance across your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He knows exactly where to touch you, exactly how to make you feel alive. You moan softly as he finds a particularly sensitive spot, his eyes locking onto yours with a spark of desire.

You reach out and start to undo the buttons on his shirt, your fingers fumbling slightly as you try to rush the process. Felix chuckles and takes over, quickly shedding his shirt and pulling you back into a kiss.

As you deepen the kiss, you feel Felix's hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer to him. You can feel the heat of his body, the hardness of his arousal, and it sends a surge of excitement through you.

Without breaking the kiss, Felix stands up and pulls you to your feet, his hands guiding you towards the bedroom. You stumble slightly, your legs feeling weak with desire, but Felix catches you and holds you close.

As you reach the bedroom, Felix kicks the door shut behind you and spins you around, pinning you against the door. His eyes blaze with desire as he looks at you, his chest heaving with anticipation.

"I've missed this," he whispers, his voice husky with emotion. "I've missed us."

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I've missed us too," you whisper back.

Felix's face inches closer, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, gentle kiss. But as the kiss deepens, it becomes more passionate, more intense. You feel like you're melting into him, like you're becoming one person again.

As the kiss breaks apart, Felix steps back and looks at you, his eyes burning with desire. "I want you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You nod, feeling a sense of surrender. "I want you too," you whisper back.

And with that, Felix pulls you into a passionate, all-consuming kiss, one that leaves you breathless and wanting more.

//

(a/n: i don’t write full on smut & i don’t know if i ever will but i’m okay with slightly suggestive. was this okay? 😅)

masterlist.

[feralforfrank]

simon riley x fem!reader

i was bored in class and desperately wanted to nap. so, this happened. just huge man sleeping anywhere and anytime.

simon riley loves napping. the when and where doesn't matter. if there's a chance to sleep (and he feels safe to do so), he takes it.

the most common times are after a meal, while reading a book (he will literally put it down and just casually nap for an hour), or watching a documentary with you.

the best time to nap is on a sunday morning. you drag him out of bed early, convincing him to tidy up the apartment with you. but when you give him the cleaning duties of the living room (while you're two rooms away, cleaning the bathroom or something), you best believe you'll find him dosed off, with the (thing that cleans dust) forgotten on the coffee table.

his favourite places are on your side of the bed (because it smells like you, and your pillow is fluffier, apparently), even better when you're laying on it. the couch is also a good spot, for your cat always ends up on top of him, all purring and happy (simon will never admit it, but he likes it when joe - the cat - chooses him to nap on).

but, his all-time favourite place has got to be your lower half. he starts by laying his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat while you twirl and tug on his blond strands. as the night progresses, he goes lower and lower until you feel the weight of his head on your stomach. his breathing matches yours, and you hear him occasionally hum if you tug on his hair a bit hard.

you find his habit of falling asleep so easily cute, but his napping hours weird.

you could both be watching a show, you talking his ear off about it, when you suddenly hear a snore as loud as a tractor. you can't help but lift your head from his chest with a look of bewilderment. how the fuck can he be asleep? he was talking with you two minutes ago.

or when you return home, heart in your mouth, because he wasn't answering your calls and you thought something had happened, but nooooo, simon's just snoring on the couch with a blanket draped over him and joe on top of him.

simon riley can never resist a nap.

—

bonus. the one time simon dosed off when he wasn't on leave happened to be during a debrief in price's office.

he had his arms crossed over his chest, legs spread, and leaning back against the squeaky, uncomfortable chair. it was rare for ghost to be laid-back and relaxed, always on alert for danger even in his own base. but the preparations for this mission were kicking his ass, he missed you a lot, and being surrounded by familiar faces - his work family - relaxed his muscles and his brain a bit more than it should've.

gaz noticed first and nudged soap, who snorted. that caught price's attention, who lifted his eyes from the papers he had been reading to look where his insubordinate sergeants were looking. he couldn't help but shake his head and cough to cover up his chuckle.

soap snapped a quick picture (to send to you later) before gaz cleared his throat loudly, causing the lieutenant's eyes to open. it took him a second to get back to his senses, and when he did, his glare turned towards his two sergeants, who looked like they were trying to hold their laughs in.

he never slipped in front of them again.

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ HOW THEY WOULD REACT TO YOU FALLING ASLEEP FIRST DURING A MOVIE — Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio, Jing Yuan + GN reader.

Word count: 1.6K

Aventurine:

Booking out a cinema for a date was something you had gotten used to. Whenever there’s a new movie out that piques your interest, he makes a reservation in the snap of two fingers. Now in the secluded cinema room, you sit in the recliner seats and beam at the big screen while the ads play.

“My drink is here if you want it.” Aventurine pats the cup holder and you nod, shoving your tub of candy his way.

“Take some.”

“I’m okay. Slow down though, you’ll end up with a stomach ache.” 

“Won’t.” You murmur, snatching your tub back and cradling it to your chest.

“Will.” He responds quietly, grinning from ear to ear. Both of you know he’s right. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done it. 

The lights illuminating the walkways dim, the room silent. A flash of colour pops back onto the screen, followed by the opening of the soundtrack. You slide your hand over the armrest and link your fingers with his, giving his hand a firm squeeze before devoting your attention span to the beginning scene. 

Nearing an hour into the movie, the sound of your breath picks up in volume, casting Aventurine’s attention to your sleeping body. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and pinches your skin, waking you from your slumber. 

“Come. Sit here.” He speaks in a soft tone, patting the space between his legs when your eyes eventually peel open.

Blade:

“Well?” Blade glances at you, pointing the TV remote towards you as if it was a sword.

“You want me to pick something?”

“I don’t typically indulge in things like this.” Blade passes ownership of the remote and rests back on the sofa, his feet resting on the coffee table. 

Since Blade had been going through a tough time, you insisted that you’d be the one to take care of him. As long as he had some company, that’s all that was necessary. Selecting a random movie from the top 100, you slump beside him, your eyes keenly flicking from the screen to his figure. 

Twiddling with his bandages, his attention was directed elsewhere. He had no idea what the demand was with these videos of people pretending to be someone they’re not. It’s more likely to entertain a toddler with a low attention span than it is an unamused adult. 

Rolling his head to face you, he recognises the way your body is slumped—you always wind up sleeping in strange positions like this. He doesn’t care to wake you, he’d much rather sit in silence with you by his side. Switching the TV off, he places the remote on the arm of the sofa and lies you down, your head resting on his lap.

It was refreshing to be vulnerable for a change when he knew no prying eyes were lurking on him. Everything hurts, from his physical body to the thoughts he yearns to rid of—he just learned how to live with it, yet numbing the pain doesn’t remove it. You try your best, and that effort doesn’t go unappreciated.

“How can you be so peaceful?” Blade mumbles, the sensation of his body beginning to relax kicking in. “I almost envy you.”

Boothill:

Throwing on one of his old favourites, Boothill cosies up with you on the sofa. He rests his head against yours, completely entranced by the scenes playing before him despite already watching the movie countless times. He finds that sharing his favourites of the past with you would give them new meaning, allowing him to continue enjoying what he used to without feeling the guilt he’s used to. 

Even though you want to entertain him by speaking about it after the credits roll, you couldn’t make it to the end, your eyelids are too heavy to remain open. You had fallen asleep during the last half an hour, not even the obnoxious noise of the guns could startle you. 

“That’s right! Get that motherfudger!” Boothill exclaims, pointing to the TV screen. “He’s the real bad guy. ‘Shame how he had so much potential.”

Eventually, the cowboy manages to de-arm his rival, pressing him against the floor with a gun pressed to his temple. They remained in that position, continuing their squabble until the sheriff arrived. Boothill was sure to inform you of all the small details you may not have picked up on, completely unaware you were no longer conscious.

As the end credits finally hit, he rotates his head side to side and lets out a yawn, brushing up your arm with his icy, metallic hand. 

“You’ve been quiet. What do you think, hey?” He taps your cheek, receiving a whine in response. 

Squinting his eyes, he turns to face you and sees your peaceful state. Your eyes are closed tightly and your hand is still wrapped around his index finger, entirely knocked out. Now realising he had been talking to himself for the entire time, he snickers and takes you in his arms, redirecting himself from the sofa to the staircase.

“Let’s get you to bed now. We can talk about it tomorrow instead.” 

Dan Heng:

The archive room was always a serene environment. Dimly lit, warm, and strangely comforting. Resting on the makeshift bed, you hug your knees to your chest and observe as the projector plays. Dan Heng often shied away from taking breaks, but after some extensive begging, you managed to reach middle ground. 

“This won’t be as exciting as you’d hoped it would be,” Dan warns, cracking his knuckles before resting back against the pillows. He had been extremely busy all day, the exhaustion now catching up on him. 

“I don’t mind. As long as we get to spend some time together, I’m happy.”

While it’s not the type of movie you would personally choose to watch, he claims that it would greatly assist him with his research if you’re going to persist in pestering him about spending time with you. 

Seeing him in loungewear was almost an eerie sight; you’re so used to seeing him in his daily attire. Growing uncomfortable from your original position, you lie down on your side, accidentally slipping away into a dream before you knew it. 

Not long after you, Dan’s body grew weak, his head sliding down your shoulder with an arm loosely wrapped around you. Both of you were fast asleep, the rest of the movie playing on mute.

Dr. Ratio:

The documentary intro music sounds out from the speakers, the therapeutic sound of rain thudding against the windows in the background. Veritas was fond of educational pieces of media, though he has a strict selection that he engages in. Before he watches anything with you, he skims through it first himself to fact-check if the information it contains is valid. Those who post outdated research get under his skin; it’s often a reason for common misconceptions in society because of how many people watch things like this without a second doubt. 

In the armchair, you curled up between his legs, your head snuggled against his chest. The two of you were in nothing but your nightwear, the crackle of the fireplace burning to keep the living room warm. Veritas himself was like a heater, providing a perfect temperature for you to close your eyes and…

Fall asleep—which is exactly what you wound up doing. Less than ten minutes in and you were out like a light. His strong arms held you tightly, his lips curving up as your breathing pattern became slower. 

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” He muttered, rubbing your shoulders gently before placing his lips on your forehead. “It’s nonsense anyway. You’re not missing out.”

“What type of fool makes a documentary on something so useless?” He grunts, turning off the TV and rising to his feet, your body clung to him. “Perhaps we should’ve watched your choice.”

Jing Yuan:

“You? Want to watch a movie with me?” Jing Yuan muses, placing his hand over his heart. “I’m flattered. It must be something extremely special considering how desperate you are to get me—”

“Shush! It’s going to start now! Hurry up and get in.” You pat his side of the mattress and he dramatically sighs, slinging his shirt to the other side of the room. 

It’s safe to say that you and Jing Yuan have an extremely different taste in movies. While you adore movies which contain thrill, he prefers to sleep through them and then claim he was awake when the ending scene finally arrives. He’s notorious for it. Judging by the way he wrapped the blanket around himself and the way he’s rubbing his face against your hair, you can practically predict the outcome. 

That’s until you realise how awful the movie you picked out was. The plot was absurd, and the CGI itself was a tragedy—never mind the script. After watching the family cat transform into an alien, you briefly closed your eyes and drifted off into a nap. 

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, was horrified at the acting on the screen. Having to ensure himself this was not the result of some twisted dream, he clears his throat and pinches your cheek. When he receives no response, he lets out a scoff. A smirk dances onto his face as he kisses your exposed neck, just enough attention to stir you from your slumber. 

“Congratulations. Were you truly that eager to beat me at something that you put on this piece of rubbish?” Jing Yuan points towards the TV, the mutant alien cat currently doubling in size and seizing the city. “I suppose this makes us even. You slept first.”

“… It had 5% on rotten tomatoes. It was meant to be good.”

“My love, having a percentage that low is not a “good” thing. The higher the percentage, the better the reviews.” Jing Yuan’s low rumble of laughter emerges due to your misunderstanding, now draping a section of the blanket over you to keep you close. 

[asoftsighh]

Heyy! Can I request summery fluff with tasm!peter? Maybe like a hot summer evening on their fire escape

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ tasm!peter parker x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you and peter enjoy a hot night on the fire escape

755 words

a/n: thank you for requesting gorgeous!!♡♡

The door remains unopened by your second knock, despite the bead of sweat trailing down the back of your neck. Swallowing an annoyed groan, you drop the plastic grocery bag on the front mat, digging through your own bag for the spare key Peter gave you weeks ago. 

A rush of cold air from the window A.C. unit greets you when you enter. Slumping against the wall, you kick off your shoes in the general direction of the shoe rack.

You spot Peter’s black converse. “Pete?” 

No answer. Just the low hum of the A.C. and the whirring of the ceiling fan. You pick up the plastic bag where you dropped it, letting your other bag take its place on the floor. Moving through the living room, you linger in front of the window unit, letting it dry the thin layer of sweat on your face. It is abnormally humid tonight, the air thick and dewey, which made your last minute grocery stop more annoying than fun. 

You turn then, wanting to put away the few groceries before they get too warm, when you see the back of Peter’s head through the window. He is a mop of brown curls haloed by the glow of the setting sun. He is perched on the fire escape, the one outside of your kitchen window, shirt sticking to his back with a small strip of sweat. 

You grin.

The bag crinkles noisily as you set it on the counter and start putting things away in a lazy, half-hazard manner. Sodas in the fridge, carton of milk next to takeout leftovers, ice cream in the freezer. The fridge is barely shut by the time you’re sliding the window up and climbing over the windowsill. The air is thick but breezy, the metal warm beneath your feet. 

Peter startles but recovers quickly, sitting up straighter. He looks up at you and smiles, little baby hairs stuck to his forehead. 

“Hello,” you greet, settling beside him and stretching out your bare legs. “I knocked.” 

His arm is around your shoulders before you can blink, pulling you against his side. You’re about to tell him something along the lines of it is way too hot for that but he speaks before you can. 

“I know it’s hot,” he mumbles into your hair, reading your mind. “And I gave you a key for a reason, babe.” He busies himself with pressing a dozen kisses across your hairline. “I missed you today. Where have you been?”

Your protest dies somewhere in your throat. You become pliable against him, melting into his side. “I saw you this morning.”

“I know,” he says, settling his cheek atop your head, easily nullified. “Did you eat dinner? There’s takeout in the fridge.”  

You nod, your cheek against his chest. Peter isn’t the most muscular man you know, but in no way is he weak. He is all sharp jawline and lean muscle from the hours of swinging and fighting muggers and big lizards. His chest is hard beneath your cheek.

“I stopped at Al’s on the way here. Got us sodas and ice cream for later,” you explain, shifting in his grip. It’s breezier up here than it was on the street, the light wind musing the ends of Peter’s hair, but still slightly too warm for a cuddle.

Nevertheless, his arm squeezes you tighter in thanks. You shift again, trying to get comfortable on the hot metal and Peter’s bodyheat pressing in. 

“It’s too hot for cuddling,” you murmur, a fake complaint, if anything. You make no move to lean away from him and his soft hands.  

His voice is low, amused, when he answers. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.” 

You don’t answer, just sigh and let your eyes shut. Peter chuckles softly, the noise vibrating against your temple. 

It’s quiet for a few moments-- well, as quiet as New York can get. Sure, there are cars honking, people talking, and the overall hum of noise that seems to exist in every city. But here, with Peter, it all feels like a backdrop, irrelevant. 

Peter breaks the quiet with a small, desperate sigh. Your eyes open in suspicion as he gently runs his knuckles down the slope of your nose, the curve of your lip.

“You’re so pretty, baby.” His voice is barely above a whisper, tinged with awe, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. 

You see right through him and his games. “Get your own damn ice cream, Parker.”

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙