#everyone of them busts down without a second thought

[thatrandomblogsays]

Bridgerton Slut Genes ™️ are so strong anytime they’re given a modicum of privacy they will immediately compromise themselves with their lover.

[metranart]

hi! it’s me

i wanted to ask you how would the jjk guys react to you getting their lips tatted on you..?(specifically gojo)

like you got them with lipstick and they kiss a paper then the tattoo artist makes it a stencil in red and you put it right under your boob..?

(don’t do this if your uncomfy with it! also take your time your probably busy)

xoxo,em! take care

Hi sweets, sorry for the long wait, I've been awfully busy but here it is, I made it specially smutty to compensate lol hope you like it :) btw... I love your requests ;)

How would the JJK guys react to you getting their lips tattooed on you 💋

Ft. Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Choso, Suguru Geto, Ryomen Sukuna.

SATORU GOJO

Five missed calls and four unseen texts. Gojo sighs, scratching the back of his neck, he hated it when you left him on read. What could you be doing that was so damn important to ignore him.

The sound he had been waiting for since the day started makes his ears ring with excitement and without wasting a second, he opens the text message with your name on it.

Gojo Satoru's eyes widen, and his black glasses slide down the bridge of his nose almost comically thanks to his jaw dropping a little, all at the sight of the picture attached to a cute and adorable message that says:

"Do you like it?"

Gojo growls under his breath, subtly pulling with a shaky finger at the collar of his shirt, suddenly it's too hot there, his cheeks turn an accusatory red and his breathing has grown labored. Even his palms are sweating, for fuck's sake! What's wrong with him?! It's just the shape of his lips on the delicious curve of your under-boob. Shit! He's about to bust a cap inside his pants.

"Satoru-" Nanami's stoic voice breaks his trance and looking around almost as if had forgotten he was in the middle of a briefing, gets up and without any further explanation than: "Emergency!" Leaves the school, leaving behind and unattended, all his duties and mental sanity.

"Did you see the message on his phone, Geto?" a puff of smoke lazily comes out of Shoko’s curious mouth and Geto shrugs. "I saw that it was from (Y/N)." The black-haired snickers and everyone let out a unison, heavy sigh.

Gojo arrives in less time than is humanly possible at your apartment and without warning, not even a ‘hey, babe’, or a: ‘I just teleported myself into your room, hope you don’t mind’. You are dragged by your tall and strong boyfriend, special grade sorcerer and stripped of your top.

"S-Satoru, baby?"

You try to figure out what has him so bristled and with the delicacy of a saint but the curiosity of a child, he yanks your bra up, your delicious breast spills from underneath and his tattooed lips greet him.

"Shit!" is the first word you hear him say and it's almost a painful pant. "Those are my lips, aren't they? This is why you asked me to kiss that paper using the lipstick-...." he sounds accusatory but also incredibly excited.

You nod and let out a sigh that you didn't know were holding. "Phew! When you didn’t answer my text, I thought you didn't like it-"

"Not like it..." he sounds almost offended, and your bra is discarded when he pushes you on your back in the bed. "Not like it?! I love it! I want to eat you whole, (Y/N), I'm only holding back because I need to ask something first."

Being pinned down by his weight and his gentle hands on either side of your jaw, Gojo steals the little space and whispers his question against your ear. "Are you still sensitive from the tattoo, or can I give you a new one with the original source?" 

He kisses your earlobe playfully, and you can’t help but giggle dumbly, as you can't help your voice from shaking with excitement. "I’m not made of sugar-"

You can't even finish the sentence when his lips begin the endless and shameless work of awakening every nerve ending in your skin, the desperation palpable in the white-haired sorcerer as every piece of clothing is torn from your body and his and discarded on the floor as impure.

Purple mockeries of your tattoo in the form of hickeys adorn every patch of your sensitive neck like a new necklace, small bites from the small curve of your shoulder to the sinful curve of your waist, nipples swollen and perked from the greedy skating of his tongue on them. Gojo is not being rough, but he is not being gentle either, he is brutal in his advance but methodical and careful that your moans do not change tone.

"I'm going to tattoo myself on you from the inside out," his warn is muffled against your breast as his mouth devours the plump peak of flesh. Paying special attention to pressing his lips against your tattoo over and over and over again, as if certifying its authenticity and quality. The silhouette was exact, the perfect shape of his greedy lips. It was an almost erotic sight for him.

"Huh?"

"Sure,” he chuckled low before keep going, “white ink specially made for you. You'll see, I’m an awesome artist," having you panting, sweating and squirming isn’t enough for him. Oh no! he needs more, Satoru Gojo claims for something more permanent than a mere tattoo. "...My tattoos last nine months inside, and eighteen years outside, they talk and call you mommy, I’m that talented, sweets" tangled between his muscular limbs, your new resting place, he does whatever the fuck he wants with you. 

You feel the massive shape of his warm cock against your thigh, he’s been pumping himself no end, not letting you touch him not letting you aid him for fear of wasting his first load, that tasty, thick load he's been preparing especially for you. The mere graze of your fingers on him will be his end, he knows it, so he won’t ask nor accept your help, even when he longs to wrap your fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut. Or better yet, wrap your perfect mouth around his cock and suck him off– NO! he now’s not the time for him to be negligent. 

Once loaded, abandons his quest for relief and rests his warm palm on your belly massaging it as if molding it to fit something of his, while the other keeps playing with your cunt, enjoying the way you suck his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. 

“I never thought someone would be able to awaken my paternal instinct-... did my clan hire you, sweets?” he scoffed, playfully. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy moans and whimpers but the way your muscles are tensing and spasming around his digits. The desperate rocking of your hips against his palm, as a firm beg for relief.

“It's just a tattoo....”

“Na ah!” His hand continues playing with your tummy, your navel, the curve of your waist almost obsessively while his tongue makes out with the curve of your neck. “This was your way of telling me that you want me forever..." long finger prod at your gummy walls, searching for that hidden blessed spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

"Let me show you how gifted I am, my sweet girl..." 

He finds it in matter of seconds, and you lose all kind of restriction and complaint and Gojo can’t help but smirk against your neck as you tighten and quiver around his digits. Pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, his thumb pressed over your clit, flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles a deep purple hickey on the skin. Long, thick fingers guiding you through madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, oversensitive body to handle.

"Y-Yes, Satoru, shown me, fill me, mark me-… do whatever the fuck you want-"

You convulse in the spare seconds of glorious pleasure before cumming with a strangled shriek, and Gojo’s groan muffles against your skin when can finally sink in one roll of his hips, feeding you that fat cock he’s been pumping to the edge just for this exact moment, buries deep inside you, kissing your cervix in that one thrust of raw meat. With an animalistic grunt, spills his soul inside your womb, pouring every last drop of cum he's been cooking in those heavy balls until he empties himself, flooding your inside with his gifted seed. A rush of juices gushes from your trembling cunt onto your connected lower halves, and you feel and hear him pant like a dog next to your ear, as both come down from the high. 

"Am I your favorite tattoo artist or what?"

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

NANAMI KENTO

He's stoic and serious, almost unmoving in his unflappable staring as you lift your shirt so he can see your new tattoo. His silent disposition is starting to make you more than a little nervous, since you know that Nanami Kento isn't exactly a crazy animal, but rather, a calm and quiet being who hides a wild side that he only shares with those closest to him. Making you wonder if you fall into that category or not, as his silence as he inspects the tattoo of his lips under your boob is virtually killing you with anxiety.

"Those are your lips, my love." You explain again, even though you've already done it three times, and you receive the same ‘mphm’ sound he made the first three times. 

"Remember? -… remember when I ask you to kiss a paper?"

"I do."

"Well, I gave that to the tattoo artist, and he made it a stencil in red and then I ask him to put it right under my boob...?"

"I see."

Those calm eyes, analyze from every possible angle the tattoo of his lips on your skin, it had never been so difficult for you to read your boyfriend. "Do you like it, do you hate it? Tell me anything, Kento."

Silence and more close observation.

You close your eyes, squeezing your eyelids shut as you take that deep breath of air, you need so much, and you are about to demand an answer when you feel it...

Your eyelids suddenly open looking down and there you find him: Your stoic, boyfriend, the sensible and calm man who is always in control, kneeling in front of you while pressing his lips against your tattoo, the round softness of your boob loses its shape momentarily as the blond pushes his face more firmly against the plump skin. The most unexpected kiss that you have ever shared and for some reason, the most erotic, too.

"K-Ken?"

"Did it hurt?" he asks suddenly from his kneeling position and the threat of you stuttering makes you just shake your head. Nanami steals another kiss against the softness of your breast like he can’t have enough of the sensation. "Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

You nod, mesmerized by the sudden attention this blond showers you with, his hands caressing your bare back from top to bottom, slow and gentle with the tips of his fingers, it's delicious and it melts away the anxiety you may have been feeling, now, malleable in his hands. You let his face sink further into the curve of the tattoo of his lips and you moan his name as if you want to taste it rolling down your tongue.

"Nanami."

"... Do you still have the lipstick?"

"Huh?" That request brings you out of your reverie a little, and you look at him with some confusion, to which he smiles, that smile that makes you weak in the knees. "Y-Yes, it's in my purse."

"Lend it to me, darling."

With his palm splayed wide open he waits for you to hand over the lipstick. Digging for the cosmetic, he waits patiently until it's resting in his open hand and before you can air your doubts, he stands up, lifting you into his arms to take you with him, those muscular limbs feel like the safest place in the world and you nuzzle your nose into his neck to breathe in his scent combined with his cologne, and it’s intoxicating, so much so that you almost miss his next question.

“I’d like to suggest a few other places where my lips would look just as amazing on your body.”

“Kento!” you startle, it’s adorable to him and closing the distance, he presses his lips to yours, tasting, nibbing and licking as he carries you to his room. “You take suggestions don’t you, sweetie?” 

He chuckles at the flush growing wild on your cheeks, and you feel the softness of the mattress on your back as he sets you down with the care of a saint, before beginning to loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt. Your body shivers in anticipation and his lips curve up into the cheekiest grin you’ve ever seen him make, his large hand reaching out one elegant finger towards you and beckoning you with it. 

You’re on your knees in front of him in seconds, his knuckles running down the length of your jaw in a silky caress that has you purring like a kitten, leaning into his touch. That smile only stretches further, as your eyes flutter shut and you feel the greedy grip on his lips, hunting for another kiss. 

Unfortunately, it ends too soon, and your mouth holds that pouty shape that demands another sweet kiss, but instead of his fleshy lips, you feel the creamy slick of lipstick painting your lips.

“Tell me, (Y/N),” Nanami is delighted with how docile you are to him as he finishes painting your lips red, and it’s the sound of his pants zipper coming down that catapults your eyes open, “what would you think of me tattooing your lips right here?”

His finger points along his defined obliques and your mouth waters, this man was sincerely praised by the gods themselves, every muscle in his abdomen defined, those deep lines going down to his crotch giving that ‘v’ shape to his torso, that sinful path of golden hair that disappears under his trousers. It's too much for you.

"I think I need to see what it looks like first and then I can give you an informed answer, Kento."

His broad chest rises and falls violently, sweat runs down his forehead and his cheeks are an explosion of color. This is your masterpiece. Nanami Kento’s fat cock fits with effort in your mouth, but you certainly do your best to get it to touch the back of your throat with every thrust, you can feel him getting close, his thighs tremble under your hands, his forearm covers his eyes, his cheeks are about to explode… he’s too close, and your tongue curling around the tip doesn’t help him resist, you suck him off for over ten minutes and you’re proud of that pleasurable ache in your jaw when he comes shamelessly hard at the back of your throat and your name rips through his esophagus as it echoes through the walls of his apartment. Eventually, his hand stops keeping your head pressed against his pelvis, and with a wet pop, his still semi-erect cock hangs in front of your face, lubed in your saliva.

“You’re right, I think it would look nice.”

You tell him, admiring the lipstick residue that adorns the shape of his cock and balls, a crimson kiss near the base, another at the shiny, cum-dripping tip, another resting on the roundness of his coarse balls, and you love the whole image. You want a fucking mural in your living room with this image.

“Hell no,” the blonde says breathlessly, barely trying to recover from your masterful blowjob, “…no needle is going to touch me down there,” he threatens playfully but serious enough, “if you like the way it looks, you’re going to have to paint it yourself every time.”

A giggle escapes your mouth, red lipstick smeared on your lips as you grin evilly at him. 

“You have yourself a deal, baby."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

CHOSO KAMO

Choso can't control where the blood goes since, he met you, his cursed technique is out of control. That damn tattoo of his lips on the curve of your under-boob is driving him crazy, he thinks of it and the blood goes down to his crotch. He thinks of you and the blood makes a tent in his pants.

It's a mess that he's had to control with shameful continuous masturbation sessions. Jerking himself off, over and over, with your name as a mantra and the image of his lips tattooed on your breast as his banner.

"Shit, just go away." 

He murmurs with a tight voice, while his fist milks his fat cock in fast and violent motions, his flesh swollen painfully for more than an hour, he doesn't want you to come home from work and find him touching himself, he doesn't want you to find out that he lost control of his cursed technique. He had to lower himself to watching porn, something he had never done before, but it was of no use. So, he put on cream and although it had relieved him on other occasions, this time wasn't working its charm. Fuck! Pleaaaase-... maybe he needs more cream to slide better? No, no matter how much cream he spreads on it never compares even a little to your tight, little pussy. 

And it is the desperation, that he is running out of time that drives him to this miserable act. He takes, that one photo he treasures so much, out of the frame and places it between his fingers, his excitement growing as he looks at it, it is working. He beats his piece of swollen flesh more eagerly, grunting and growling like a dying animal, Fuck! he's close...his eyes close in concentration and his hand increases speed and pressure as his mouth hangs open… almost there, he can feel his balls tensing and tightening, so close, just a few more pumps, a couple more strokes, a little more pressure, almost there… his guts tighten and his brain enraptures in the moment forgetting to mind his surroundings, to enjoy the divine sensation that grows and grows and grows and FUCK!-

Choso Kamo cums, hard and heavy, rope after rope of creamy cum shoots out of the head of his cock like a mockery of how blood usually does when he uses his cursed technique, the pressurized jet of creamy juice spills out and doesn't finish pouring for about a minute straight. Once his balls are an empty, trembling sack, Choso can breathe again, his sweaty and naked torso rises and falls with violence that calms down the more air he sucks, the sweat begins to dry on his skin and his cheeks feel less hot. This was what he needed, the photo helped him a lot, although he can feel how he bathed it in cum, he can fix it quickly, clean every single trail of his sin before you get home-

"C-Choso?"

His hand, which was riding out the last few strokes of pleasure on his ultra-sensitive cock freezes and his eyes snap open to find you staring at the mess he is, just what he wanted to avoid, damn it! -

"B-Baby, I-" he starts to stutter and stops abruptly when his eyes register what he did.

Your cheeks are painted a deep red but that's to be expected, what's not to be expected are the cum globes that slide down your pretty face, down your cheeks, varnishing your eyelashes and part of your eye, messing up your perfect hairdo, staining your work uniform. Choso enraptured himself so much in his own fantasy that he didn't notice when you walked through the door, or when you approached him.

Now, he has no idea how to begin to apologize, the words are stuck in his dry throat. Are you angry? Are you furious with him? Your beautiful eyes only watch him, better said, ogle him: pants pooling at his ankles, shirt bunched up to his neck, his cock limp but slowly filling with blood again between his trembling fingers, the cockhead shiny and pink and still, spewing cum to further mortify him. 

Choso is paralyzed, unable to move and his mouth barely managing to open to spit out any explanation, snaps shut again from the shame that crushes him.

But that shame turns to bewilderment when his eyes catch the subtle movement of your hand gathering a glob of his cum that slides down your cheek, with all the delicacy and grace that define you, and you play with it for a second between your fingers before opening your mouth and dipping the digits between your tongue. Choso's jaw drops to the floor and his breathing hastens again, his cursed technique going out of control once more, summoning blood to that still throbbing and extra-sensitive part.

Your pretty lips curve into a feline grin that makes him feel like your prey, and he swallows hard, clenching his fists to keep his body from shaking, when his eyes meet yours.

“Is this what you do when I go to work, sweetheart?” you ask, licking your lips to collect the cum resting there, “you jerk off while looking at my graduation picture?” a flirtatious giggle escapes you when you specify, “...same picture where your little brother is, too, how dirty.”

Choso is a bundle of nerves, blood just keeps pooling where it shouldn’t, he’s so hard and swollen that your eyes drop there almost automatically.

“I’ll take care of cleaning everything-” 

You interrupt his apology, raising a finger to get his attention so he can see you, as you lift your pencil skirt up to your thighs and slowly settle yourself comfortably on top of his lap, nestling his cock between your warm stockinged thighs. Choso shivers and carefully as if asking for permission, let his large hands slide down those wide, inviting thighs. 

“…How about you start by cleaning me up first?” Your warm hand tangles around his firm erection and he growls low, “Then you get me dirty again,” you slide those fingers up and down on his stiffness in shameless incitement and smile when notice his eyes roll back his skull, “and we repeat it all until dawn.”

“Yesyesyesyesyes, whatever my girl wants-…” the words rush from his mouth, “…just one request,” an eyebrow rises on your face, and he grins, warm and almost, shyly. “May I see the tattoo of my lips again?”

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SUGURU GETO

“Do you… Do you really like it, Suguru?” You ask, lolling your head forward and humming when his fingers slowly travel up and unclasp your bra, the last barrier you have left to cover yourself.  Every little breathy sound you make comes ragged and soiled with a mix of uncertainty and excitement.

“Way too much, baby,” his low voice carefully admits from above you.  “I don’t know why you hid it from me in the first place. Don’t—don’t do that. You don’t have to. EVER.”

Your breathing keeps picking up when he keeps trailing his hands around either side of your now naked torso, running the tips of his fingers down your ribs and slowly tracing the curve of your breast, letting the pads of his fingers memorize the shape of his tattooed lips on your skin.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” Suguru whisper, quite suddenly emboldened by his growing need. The gentle caresses pause at the very top of perked nipple, holding there for a second while he seems to think about it. “Please, don’t make me repeat myself.”

Soon his touch lifts away and he appreciates the sound your hands make, as those little limbs make haste in follow his request, the muffled shuffling of fabric being stripped of your skin somewhere close by and the soft noise it makes dropping to the floor, close to erotic to the first-grade sorcerer. And then suddenly—

“Oh, God—” you breathe, nearly melting into the seat of his school office when large, warm palms meet your skin and slowly start to ride the curve of your neck and collarbone downwards. Dammit, why does it feel so good?  Suguru Geto smirks, like the knowing devil that he is. “Do my hands feel amazing, baby? It’s just two palms, ten fingers-”

 “…. But they’re so strong and raspy and big….” Your mouth babbles unrestrainedly, “touch me more, Geto….”

One palm butterfly out across your breast and you moan, lewdly loud. “If Director Yaga hears, I’m going to be so fired, pretty.”

“S-Sorry…” 

Dipping and squeezing the soft, pillowy flesh of your boobs, Suguru Geto stares down at you, drinking every emotion and expression he can rip out of you. “Ho—fuck, like that.” Your approval is everything to him.

“I know,” Suguru murmurs, his voice ocean-deep and scraping across the shell of your eager ear when he leans closer from his privileged height to press one bended knee to the chair, right in between your thighs. He lets one hand drift down into the space he created and rub circles on the moist mound of flesh there, as his other hand comes up to cradle your chin, urging you to stretch your neck up and long for him. “You look so pretty like this— all naked and horny for me.”

“Someone might come in, lock the door…” you breathe in protest, remembering your shy nature, and he ignores you, slowly dragging his palm down your trembling slit.

“You don't get a tattoo as sensual as that, if you don't want everyone to drool after you,” he says, and you’re helpless to stop the embarrassing way your knees suddenly jerk farther apart when his hand moves to press a fat finger on your clit. “… Showing all the monkeys how sexy you are, and then showing them that you belong ONLY to me.”  

And then he squeeeezes your bundle of nerves, and your hips nearly come off the seat with it.

Nothing else exists besides your boyfriend’s pair of hands now gripping the bottom of the chair, to position your body closer to him. You hear yourself take exactly one shaky breath before his arms suddenly slithered under your knees, hauling you forward. Your lower back dips in at the angle, your pelvis now jutted out and propped up by the edge of the seat.  

Suguru Geto licks his lips as if he as if a banquet were being presented to him and the following is him lowering himself to the floor in front of you, running those deliciously strong palms up the length of your thighs. Your new position encourages you to spread your legs wider for him.

“I think my lips, tattooed here,” his long, cascading loose hair caresses the inner skin of your thighs as he leans down to the lower curve of your tummy and places a soft, warm kiss, “would look great, as well.”

“Y-You think?” 

Your quivering lips exhale at the feeling of his hot, plump lips meeting your feverish skin, and hearing the sound of his breath hitch at the visual you give him, goosebumps spread all you’re your body.  

“I know it,” He promises, opening you up wider, subtly moving himself closer into the gap and letting you cradle his torso with your knees.

“Mine to feast on, mine to pamper,” the special grade sorcerer rumbles quietly, his grip on your thighs tightening as he licks his lips, hungrier. “So, mine to… own.”

“….-Own?”

And then you’re abruptly cut off by your own gasp when a soft, dexterous tongue slowly envelopes your clit. His lips slick between your folds as his rogue tongue flicks out like hot velvet to flutter greedily over your clit, humming low in his throat as he eats you with unreserved gluttony.

“Fuck, this is heaven. This is fucking heaven,” he rumbles against your sloppy pussy, “my sweet girl laying with her legs open and letting me eat her after I’m done giving classes—….”  

“Su-Sugu… oh, fuck—” Your words are barely discernible through the pleasure, deformed by the sound of your breaths and gasps. “Do—Do you think someone can h-hear us?”

Suguru smirk is swallow by your folds and his snicker muffled by his need to keep eating you to even let you know that a six eyes user had been spying from the other side of the door since you started. 

“Noones at the school at these hours but us teachers, baby. Don’t worry your pretty head.” 

His fingers curl against your thighs, his tongue swirling gentle circles around your swollen clit as he sinks two of his thick fingers deep inside your cunt. Both of your hands thrust out without thinking and snatch at his loose raven mane, fingers burying themselves into thick waves of hair. “Oh—f-fuck—”

He makes a rough little growl into your warmth every time you tug on his hair, and you tug every time, he pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back in again, until it becomes a vicious circle where both do that steadily, over and over until you’re sweating, hips arching up and doing everything you can to entice him to hurry the fuck up.

Suguru snickers again at your impatience, instead, he’s unbelievably slow, continuing to lick his hot tongue through your folds as his eager finger fuck you, so utterly patient and steadfast, learning the right notes to drive you crazy.

“You are close, aren’t you, dove?” he flicks that wicked tongue applying more pressure to your abused clit, “something’s beginning to burn in your core, I can see the cursed energy spreading threateningly along the muscles in your pelvis.” Suguru narrated what he felt with his own cursed energy, without a doubt the out-looker seeing the same as he was, just in HD. “It rises through your abdomen like unstoppable wave, seeps down into your knees and wraps around them. Your breathing is getting shallower, the base of your lungs suddenly feels too cramped by the oncoming explosion. I know, baby, just let it happen, don’t hold back. You can squirt on my face. I’m eager for you to baptize me on your fountain of love—”  

“Stop it, Suguru… I’m-I’m not…. I will not….” 

Your resistance is nothing but amusing to him, this is your nemesis. You hate how sensitive you are, how easy your boyfriends read you and undoes you with his mere tongue, you hate that squirting jet that makes your toes curl and your eyes blank, but once it’s over, makes you very aware of the mess you made.

Suguru finally speeds up, and that rock steady display of ferocity makes you want to cry.

“—I-I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, everything inside pulling up fierce and tight, your chest heaving and your grip in his hair turning to iron. “—Oh, fuck, I’m g-gonna cum—I-I—”

A quiet mhmmm sound rumbles low in gentle encouragement, and then he takes a second to softly suck on your clit to push you over the edge. His fingers curl, press up hard against something absolutely fucking devastating inside you, Suguru Geto knows you so well is almost unfair, and bite your lip is all you can do to stifle a sob when your body suddenly erupts in searing burning ecstasy.

Your back arches and you cum in his mouth, wailing his name while he groans raggedly and drags you through it. It’s hot and wet, in equal parts chaos and bliss. You’re still trying to calm your breathing when a gentle softness presses against your lips, mindful of rewarding you with as much love as he can profess in one single, chaste kiss. It’s over way too soon though, and by the time you open your eyes again, you blearily blink them at him. He’s already standing, impeccable and not one strand of raven hair out of place. A swift smirk curving his lips while his stare never strays from your destroyed persona, heaving and sweating and naked in a public place. Fuck! He adores you so much.

“Are you hungry?” He eventually asks looking straight ahead instead of you, the low frequency of his natural voice not masked anymore by his arousal.

You blink up at him twice, still slouched over the seat butt-naked, trying to figure out who is he talking to, all your clothes spread around his desk and the floor when you hear some familiar voice answer from the other side of the door.

“Starving.”

CLICK HERE TO READ ALL MY JJK SMUT FANFICTION COMMISSIONS

RYOMEN SUKUNA

The euphoric sway of his hips meeting yours should be an affront to the natural order, your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna, had been maintaining the same rhythm, precision and firmness in each thrust for more than forty minutes. 

You are cockdrunk, you don’t remember your own name, only his. Which comes out of your trembling lips in pieces or unfinished syllables. Your mind is a mess, a rabid mess of hormones and pleasure, but your insides are the most affected, making you endure mini-orgasm after mini-orgasm that shake your frame violently, leaving all your muscles exhausted and sweaty. Breathing ragged, face pressed against the sheets of his bed and your wrists swallowed by his large hands against the firm mattress, while he introduced you again and again to your new deity, his thick cock, which seemed just as hard and ready to continue making a mess of you. 

“…I’m sure you’ll think twice about pulling a stunt like that again now, won’t you, princess?”

Although his voice was breathless, it was still firm and solid, not like your pathetic moans.

“I…I thought you’d-…that you’d like it, Kuna-...” That sentence trailed from your half-open lips, between a sigh and a moan as he changed the angle to hit that spot of nerves inside you that made you see stars.

“I know you meant well but it was still unacceptable,” your boyfriend scolds you again, and a delicious shiver runs down your spine as his hands abandons your wrists in order to better hook on either side of your hip. The mere sensation of his thick fingers digging into your soft skin makes you cum again. "Fuck- you squeeze me so good, baby..." he praises, plunging his massive cock deeper into your quivering hole just to draw out more sensations, "-.... shit! If I cum again, are you going to keep it warm for me inside your tummy, princess?"

"Kuna, yes, always..." you moan into the sheets miserably, "don't stay mad at me, please, my love-"

"I loved the tattoo of my lips on your under-boob, don't doubt that" he affirms, firm thrusts clapping his midsection with yours, like giving his stamina a cheer. "But I HATED the fact that some guy had to do it. Don't you know any female tattoo artists, Isn't this the era of women's empowerment?"

You crawl forward and he catches you before you can shift positions. "Kuna, baby... let me ride you, so I can control the speed... I can't cum again-"

"I. Don't. care." He replies, skewering you again on his veiny, thick piece of meat that still feels like stone. "I'll put it in you as fast as I want and as long as I want until you learn your lesson-"

"Which is?"

"You, cocky little thing." He chuckles and emphasizes each word with a thrust. "Nobody. Touches. You. But. ME! Just ME."

“Mine.” Thrust, “Mine~” thrust, thrust, thrust, “MINE.” Thrustthrustthrustthrustthrustthrust—

Sukuna doesn´t hold himself back, even after he comes for the sixth time, he keeps going.

Slipping in and out of you, still rock hard, twisting you uncaringly in all kinds of positions and surfaces that his room provides, just fucking his cum inside you with every unpunished thrust.

You are tired, you are actually exhausted, you are emotional-... and you are drained.

“—I'm yours, just yours... hands off, w-world.... just y-yours~”

His hips stop, finally halting all movement when you give him what he's looking for, he just wants to hear that over and over again from your quivering lips and raspy throat, he just wants you to say it again. Maybe you should tattoo that as well.

Making you come one last glorious and almost painful time. Your naked body is left, used, sweaty and worn but warmly and safely wrapped in his arms. A huge smirk on his lips before he kisses your eyelids, so you open them again and once again you do.

"Now that we got that out of the way, let me see it again..." Sukuna asks, gently squeezing your tattooed boob inside his large palm, letting his eyes scan each patch of skin and how well he marked you with little hints of hickeys and teeth. "...I think we can play twister with every mark I left on your body," he snickers amused, "...but let's start with those lips on your breast."

“Jerk.”

He grins, satisfied. Hugging you harder to plaster your form closer to him, squeezing that sassy grin out of your pretty face.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NSFW ART FOR THIS DRABBLE 🥵

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Close Enough

They became roommates sophomore year…not entirely by accident, but not exactly planned either.

It started with an email about water damage in Nika’s dorm. A busted pipe, a soaked mattress, and a two week relocation notice during the first week of the fall semester. You had an off campus two bedroom with a month to month lease and a roommate who had just backed out last minute.

The solution had been so obvious, so easy.

“Just stay with me,” you said. “There’s room, and the rent gets cheaper. It’s not a big deal.”

Nika remembered blinking at you across the locker room, your hair still damp from practice, your smile open and so effortlessly kind. She hadn’t even thought about it. She just said yes.

That was eleven months ago.

Now, there are two toothbrushes by the sink. Your shampoo is her shampoo. Your laundry mingles with hers. Your class schedules are taped to the fridge, side by side, under a magnet that says “Hot Girls Don’t Do 8 A.M.s.”

You’re roommates.

Close ones. Best friends, even. You finish each other’s sentences, bring back snacks without asking, share clothes like it’s second nature. No one questions it…why would they? It’s college. Girls are close. It’s normal.

But for Nika, it’s anything but normal. And definitely not casual.

Because somewhere between shared grocery runs and 2 a.m. ramen on the kitchen floor, she fell in love with you.

She tells herself it’s fine. That it’s manageable. A harmless little crush. The kind everyone gets…fleeting, easy, something you grow out of by graduation.

But it doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. Grows roots.

It’s in the way her heart stutters when you laugh at something she says. The way your arm brushes against hers when you reach past her for a cereal bowl. The way you hum to yourself in the shower, off key and soft and completely unaware that she’s standing in the hallway, back pressed to the doorframe, trying to breathe through it.

Tuesday morning starts like most of them do: with the smell of coffee and your voice drifting down the hallway.

Nika wakes slowly, eyes heavy, sheets tangled around her legs. She blinks into the soft morning light filtering through the blinds and listens to the small, familiar sounds of you moving through the apartment.

Cabinet doors. The clink of a spoon in your mug. Bare feet on the cold kitchen tile.

And humming. Some melody she can’t place, low and breathy, the kind that lodges itself in her chest like a secret.

She doesn’t move right away. Doesn’t want to break the moment. There’s a strange peace in this…the comfort of proximity. Of knowing you’re right there. Alive. Moving. Hers, in this weird, unspoken way that isn’t real but feels like it could be.

Eventually, she drags herself out of bed, pulling on the hoodie you always borrow…the worn gray UConn one with the fraying cuffs and her number still half visible on the back.

She shuffles into the kitchen, eyes squinting against the light, hair sticking out in five different directions. You’re standing by the counter in pajama shorts and a sleep shirt that hangs off one shoulder, pouring coffee like you don’t even notice the way her stomach flips at the sight of you.

“Morning, sunshine” you say, not turning around. “You want a cup?”

She rubs her face with one hand, trying to keep her voice casual. “Only if you love me.”

“Tough luck,” you grin, finally glancing back at her. “But here.”

You hand her a mug without asking how she takes it. You already know. You always know. It’s a stupid little thing, but it hits her all the same…this soft, intimate shorthand the two of you have created without even realizing it.

She sips the coffee and leans against the counter beside you, eyes half lidded, heart racing in that frustrating familiar way.

“You snored last night” you say, nudging her with your elbow.

She raises an eyebrow. “Did not.”

“I have audio.”

“You’re a menace.”

You just laugh, bright and easy. She wants to bottle the sound, keep it with her always.

Later that week, she hears the door rattle as you come in juggling groceries, a smoothie cup clamped between your teeth, your keys barely hanging on your pinky. Nika bolts up from the couch before she can stop herself.

She opens the door wide and reaches for the bags, her hand brushing the small of your back as she steadies you. You gasp a little, winded.

“I swear” you say breathlessly “this is the third time I’ve almost died trying to surprise you with food.”

“I’d die for a smoothie,” she replies, and it’s too easy…too reflexive. It lands with more weight than she meant it to.

You just laugh and hand her the cup. “Strawberry banana.”

She stares at it for a beat too long, and then at you.

“You remembered.”

“Duh. I live with you.”

Right. You do. You live with her.

You live with her and call it friendship. You steal her hoodies, leave your socks everywhere, sleep with your body curled into her during movie nights and never once ask what it does to her. You smile at her like she’s safe, like she’s never once given herself away with the way she looks at you.

That night, it’s late when you both crawl into your respective beds after a long study session. The apartment is quiet, lit only by the soft, gold glow of the kitchen light left on by habit. Rain taps gently against the windows. The kind of night made for sleep.

Nika’s just settled under the covers when she hears your door creak open.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice soft and scratchy. “My room’s freezing. Do you mind if I crash in here?”

Her heart stutters violently in her chest.

You don’t wait for her to answer…you never do…you just slip under her comforter like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like it’s always been yours, too.

You smell like lavender conditioner and dryer sheets. You’re warm. Tired. Barely even conscious by the time your head hits her pillow.

Nika lies perfectly still.

Your arm brushes hers. Your leg shifts and presses lightly against her calf under the blanket. You’re practically curled into her side, breathing deep and slow, completely unaware of the storm you’ve just started inside her.

She stares at the ceiling. Her hands tremble under the covers. Every nerve ending is screaming.

She should move. She should say something. But her body won’t listen.

You’re so close.

You’re always so close.

She turns her head just slightly, eyes catching the soft curve of your cheek in the dark. Your eyelashes flutter in sleep. You’re mumbling something…half a word, maybe her name. Maybe not.

She presses her knuckles against her mouth, trying to keep the ache quiet.

This shouldn’t feel this good.

This shouldn’t hurt this much.

She lies there all night, wide awake, next to the one person who makes her feel the safest and the most afraid.

By morning, you’ll be gone. Back to your own room. Back to normal.

And Nika will go right on pretending that it didn’t mean anything.

That it didn’t mean everything.

[charliedawn]

Can you write about the slashers finding out the nurse has a stalker? (That isn't them lol)

(Hi ! Sorry for the absence everyone. It has been a really busy year for me. But here you go ! Thank you for the request !)

Jack is usually pretty chill. He wouldn’t do anything at first if he saw the stalker didn’t bother anyone. But, if he saw that the stalker was starting to get a little too annoying ? He would make him get the message.

Jack would drape an arm over your shoulders and give the stalker the ‘Get out of my face’ look.

And if he still didn’t get the message ?

Then the stalker would unfortunately find his way down a flight of stairs—the express way.

You were sleeping when you heard someone open your window. You immediately turned on your lamp, but was surprised to find Patrick Bateman standing in the middle of your room.

He was covered in blood and lit up a cigar.

He took a deep puff and exhaled loudly.

You waited a few minutes before asking what he was doing here and why he was covered in blood. To which, he took his time to answer.

Patrick: "I apologise. I found a cockroach at your window."

You *look him up and down suspiciously*: "…Must have been one hell of a cockroach, huh ?"

Him *smirks* : "One BIG cockroach."

Bo: "Ssh…You the one who likes followin’ Nurse Y/N around, huh ? Ssh…Come on. We wouldn’t want to wake them up with your pussy screams, right ?" *proceeds to bust the stalker’s kneecaps*

Bo is the type of man to take action. He wouldn’t wait or warn you about the problem—but he would take care of it. Because he likes to be the man of the situation, the one who takes care of business and makes sure no one would be stupid enough to bother you.

So, let us just say that the stalker unfortunately didn’t make it.

"Oh oh oh. Naughty naughty stalker. You are one fffffunny human, ain’t ya ?!"

You woke up the next day with a pool of blood next to your bed. When you asked Penny about it, he replied with a large smile that he had a midnight snack.

You told Norman and asked for his opinion on what to do. He asked you to explain exactly what was happening and remained with a polite smile on his face as you proceeded to explain everything.

Once you were done, he still had a smile on his face. He wordlessly stood up, rolled up his sleeves and left for a couple of minutes before returning with an axe.

Your eyes widened and you tried to stop him, but too late. He stepped outside, knowing your stalker was probably waiting for you to get out of the house. The stranger was surprised when he saw Norman leave. It didn’t take Norman long to spot the stalker and without his smile leaving his face, he walked towards the stalker and swung his axe—barely missing the top of the stalker’s head.

"…If my baby girl/boy ever tells me you have been following her/him again…I won’t miss."

And with that, Norman went back into the house—humming a happy tune…while the stalker was left on the ground with his pants soiled upon having the scare of his life.

Pennywise was being his usual annoying and sarcastic self when he noticed someone following you from a distance. He didn’t care at first…not until he read the guy’s thoughts. And what he found in there ? It was enough to make his usual smile falter.

After that day, he decided to teach the guy a lesson. He hence took your appearance for a day and lured your stalker away from anywhere where they could be seen. And when he was sure there was no one around ? He took back his appearance and in one second, gulped down the stalker.

Literally.

No more stalker. Pennywise didn’t even leave the bones behind.

Brahms noticed from the start. Of course he did. Brahms used to be a stalker himself. But, your stalker was not a professional stalker and Brahms didn’t take him all that seriously at first. Besides, who was he to judge ?

But then…He hurt you. He took pictures of you. He kept them to himself, and Brahms felt as if it was getting exhausting for you.

And Brahms could not take it anymore.

One night as you were sleeping, the stalker crept into your room as per usual, but Brahms was waiting for him this time. And before he could approach your bed, Brahms took the stranger by the neck and held him above the ground. The stranger’s feet kicked the air…until they didn’t move at all.

Brahms let his body fall to the floor. He then proceeded to drag him out of your room—unaware that you had been awake the whole time. You closed your eyes and let go of the knife you had been clenching in your hand.

…

Jason noticed that one of the nurses was following you around. At first, he didn’t do anything as it seemed that you weren’t all that bothered by it. But then, he realised that you weren’t smiling as often anymore and that you would occasionally take pills to help with the tiredness (having a stalker meant really little sleep since you knew they were watching you.)

And finally, the stalker hurt you. He saw a bruise around your wrist and that…That he couldn’t handle.

At his arrival in St Louis, his machete was confiscated, but he was hired by a domestic furniture company to do mandatory work. And guess what is in high supply in his place of work ? That’s right. Wood and nails. Jason built himself a wooden mace with nails. Poor stalker ended up in a ditch around the hospital…his whole body smashed and mushed.

The moment Michael Myers would get a whiff of that stalker near you, he would become a permanent wall between you and the stalker. Your own watcher and bodyguard. The stalker would become the observed. Michael wouldn’t sleep or eat while the stalker is still there. And the moment they would meet ? Myers would make him regret ever being birthed into the same world as him…

[pittsick]

MEET… COWGIRL!READER.

sun-warped dashboard. porch lights buzzing. dust in her lungs. bruised knuckles, but soft hands. smells like smoke, leather, and honeysuckle. summer girl. listens to dolly parton and zach bryan. heartbreaker. loyal to a fault. runs from her feelings. fights for what's hers. cries alone in trucks. flirts with danger. shotgun rider. barefoot on dirt roads. leaves before sunrise. prays sometimes, cusses more. never begs and never stays.

rides like she’s chasing ghosts. hat low, eyes sharp. kisses hard, drives fast. dances in dive bars, boots loud on wood floors. freckles kissed by sun and sin. knows every country song by heart. won’t say “i miss you,” but thinks it. keeps a pocketknife in her boot. gold cross on her rearview. silver ring she never takes off. loves like lightning—brief, blinding, unforgettable.

cowgirl!reader was born and raised at her papa's ranch and that's where she works now; during rodeo season, during summer. that's probably her favorite place on earth.

cowgirl!reader doesn’t trust forecasts but she trusts the wind. she’ll step outside, squint at the sky, smell the air, and say, “storm’s comin’,” while everyone else is still checking their phones; and she’s never wrong.

cowgirl!reader knows how to be alone without being lonely. long drives down empty backroads with just the radio and her thoughts don’t scare her. in fact, they settle her. the silence, the space, the sun-drenched nothingness; it’s where she remembers who she is.

cowgirl!reader can gut a fish, patch a tire, and drive stick better than most men who’ve tried to impress her.

cowgirl!reader sings along to every damn song on the radio, windows down, voice raw. especially if it's dolly parton or ethel cain.

cowgirl!reader got scars she doesn’t explain. a cut on her cheek from a bar fight no one brings up anymore. a faded rope burn around her wrist. bruises on her knuckles, dirt under her nails. she shrugs when asked: “got into it with a gate,” or “horse didn’t like the saddle.”

cowgirl!reader never begs. not for love, not for apologies, not even for a second chance. she’ll give people her time, her attention, her warmth; but the second they treat it like it’s replaceable, she’s gone.

cowgirl!reader doesn’t do slow with her feelings, she just hides them well. she’ll fall for someone in a heartbeat and spend the next six months pretending she hasn’t. acts like nothing’s serious, like every kiss is casual, but her heart is riding shotgun every time. she’ll bring you coffee before your shift, remember your dog’s name, fix your busted taillight; and never once call it love.

cowgirl!reader keeps her promises, even if it breaks her. she was raised that way.

cowgirl!reader prays sometimes; quietly, when she’s alone. not in a church, not out loud, and never for herself. she prays for her mama, for the animals, for safe travels and softened hearts.

requests open.

©️ pittsick.

[debussy42]

radiohead

(a/n) life has been like radio static lately. I've been trying to tune into anything and everything, but all I get back is that crackling. It's been getting a lot more prominent lately, but here's to anyone feeling the same as me. It sucks.

The barracks are quiet tonight. A rare thing. The usual rustle of shifting blankets, the occasional murmur of half-spoken dreams, all swallowed by the steady hum of rain tapping against the windows. You should be asleep, but your mind won’t let you. The static’s too loud. A constant, grating buzz in the back of your skull, restless thoughts tangling together like frayed wires.

You exhale, staring up at the wooden beams above you. Sleep isn’t coming. It won’t. Not tonight.

You slip out of bed, careful not to wake the others, and step into the dimly lit hallway. It’s cold—enough to bite at your skin, but at least it’s real. Something tangible against the numbness pressing in.

Your feet lead you without thought. Past doors lined with soldiers sleeping soundly, past the faint glow of lanterns left burning low. And then, before you even register why, you’re standing outside Levi’s office.

The door isn’t locked. It never is. You hesitate, hand hovering over the handle, but before you can make a decision, his voice cuts through the silence.

“Took you long enough.”

He doesn’t sound surprised. Just tired. Maybe even expecting you.

You push the door open. He’s at his desk, pen resting between his fingers, an untouched cup of tea at his side. His eyes flick up, scanning you briefly before he exhales through his nose. “You look like hell.”

You huff a quiet laugh, stepping inside. “I feel like it.”

He gestures—wordless, a slight tilt of his head toward the chair across from him. You take it, letting the silence stretch between you.

For a while, neither of you speak. The only sound is the rain, steady against the glass, and the occasional scratch of Levi’s pen against paper. But somehow, the static in your head starts to dull. Not gone, not entirely, but quieter. Manageable.

Levi sets his pen down. “You want tea or not?”

You blink at him. He’s already reaching for a second cup, like he knew you’d be here before you even did. Like it was never really a question.

You swallow past the tightness in your throat and nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just pours, sliding the cup across the desk to you, before settling back into his chair.

The tea is warm against your palms. Not scalding—Levi never lets it get that hot—but warm enough to cut through the chill that’s settled in your bones. You curl your fingers around the cup, holding it like it might anchor you, like the heat alone can remind you that you’re still here, still breathing.

Levi watches you for a moment before taking a sip of his own. The room smells of black tea, faintly earthy and grounding. He doesn’t ask why you’re here. He never does.

The silence stretches, but it isn’t empty. It isn’t the gnawing, restless kind that fills your head with static. It’s solid. Weighted. Levi’s presence does that—he turns silence into something tangible, something real, rather than something that swallows you whole.

You wrap your hands tighter around the cup, staring down at the dark surface. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you say, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is quieter than you expect.

Levi doesn’t look up from his tea. “Nothing’s wrong with you.”

You huff, shaking your head. “I feel like I should be… functioning. Like everyone else is managing just fine, and I’m just—” You gesture vaguely, searching for the words, but all you come up with is, “—static.”

Levi doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, gaze steady, unreadable in that way of his. And then, slowly, he sets his cup down.

“You ever seen a broken radio?” he asks.

You blink at him. “What?”

“A radio,” he repeats. “When it’s busted, all you get is static. Doesn’t mean it’s useless. Just means something’s rattled loose inside.”

You stare at him. You don’t know what you expected him to say, but it wasn’t that.

Levi shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Shit happens. You get rattled. Doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

Something tight lodges itself in your chest. You swallow against it. “So what? I just wait for it to stop?”

Levi exhales through his nose. “No. You fix it.” His eyes flick to you. “Bit by bit.”

You don’t have a response to that. Not right away.

You take a slow sip of tea instead, letting the warmth seep into you, letting the words settle into the cracks you hadn’t realized were there. Bit by bit.

Levi shifts, reaching for his pen again. “Go to bed when you’re done,” he mutters, already turning his attention back to his paperwork. “And don’t make a habit of showing up here at night. I’ll start charging you for the tea.”

The corner of your mouth twitches.

“Yeah, yeah,” you murmur. But for the first time in days, the static isn’t so loud.

The morning comes slow, hesitant, the sky outside still dusted in a gray haze. You’re not sure if you actually slept after leaving Levi’s office, but something feels different. Not fixed, not entirely, but steadier.

You step outside the barracks and nearly run straight into Sasha.

“There you are,” she huffs, shoving a piece of bread into her mouth as she speaks. “We were wondering if you got lost or something.”

“We?” you ask, but before she can answer, a voice calls from across the training grounds.

“Finally!” Connie waves, jogging over, Jean trailing behind him with an exasperated look. “Took you long enough.”

“You look like shit,” Jean observes, but there’s no real bite to it. Just the kind of dry concern that comes from familiarity. “You sleep at all?”

You don’t know how to answer that.

Before you can figure it out, Sasha nudges you with her elbow, a grin already forming. “Well, if you’re tired, that’s too bad, because we’re going into town.”

You blink. “What?”

Armin walks up then, Mikasa just behind him, her expression unreadable as ever. “We have the day off,” he explains. “And we figured you could use a break.”

You hesitate. That same weight lingers, that same hum of noise just beneath your skin. You don’t know if you’re ready to face the world outside these walls today.

But then Sasha grabs your wrist, tugging you forward. “C’mon,” she says, grin widening. “If we let Jean pick the food, we’re all doomed.”

“Hey,” Jean protests, but Connie’s already laughing.

You glance at Armin. He gives you a small, knowing smile. “It’ll be good for you,” he says quietly.

You exhale. The static is still there. Still humming. But then Sasha’s grip tightens, and Jean starts arguing with Connie over something ridiculous, and Mikasa gives you a small nod, like she understands in a way she won’t say aloud.

The town is already alive by the time you step past the gates. Merchants call out from wooden stalls, voices weaving into the hum of morning chatter. The scent of fresh bread lingers in the air, mixing with something sharper—wood smoke, damp stone, the faint brine of the river cutting through the district. The streets are slick from last night’s rain, puddles pooling in the uneven cobblestone.

It’s almost too much at first. The static in your head presses harder, like a radio dial cranked just beyond the right station, the noise overlapping, unfiltered. But then Sasha pulls you forward, her grip firm and real, and the sound starts to separate, to break apart into voices and laughter and the occasional huff of an impatient cart driver trying to squeeze through the crowd.

“Alright, mission plan,” Connie announces, stretching his arms above his head as you make your way deeper into the market. “Step one: find food. Step two: eat said food. Step three: do absolutely nothing productive for the rest of the day.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “You realize none of us are obligated to follow your plan, right?”

“You say that,” Sasha chimes in, already scanning the market stalls, “but I’ve never seen you turn down a meal.”

Jean opens his mouth—probably to argue—but then Sasha spots something and takes off at a speed that suggests imminent disaster.

“Sasha, wait—”

Armin sighs as she vanishes into the crowd. “And there she goes.”

Mikasa, ever steady, watches Sasha’s retreating figure before glancing at you. “Come on,” she says, voice quiet enough that only you hear. “Before she eats everything in sight.”

Something about the way she says it makes your chest feel less tight. Not teasing, not pitying. Just… grounding.

You nod, following as the rest of them fall in step beside you.

The day passes in pieces.

Sasha somehow convinces a vendor to give her three meat skewers for the price of one, grinning as she takes a victorious bite. Jean gets dragged into a debate with Connie over which bakery has the best pastries, a debate that ends with both of them buying an absurd amount of bread just to prove a point.

Mikasa barely reacts when Armin—smiling, mischievous—tries to convince her to split a honeyed apple tart with him. She simply holds out her hand, unimpressed but accepting, and takes a small, careful bite.

And you—

You don’t know when it happens, but at some point, the static fades into the background.

You don’t feel light, not entirely. The weight is still there, the hum of exhaustion still curled at the edges of your thoughts. But for the first time in a long time, you feel present. Here.

A breeze rolls in, carrying the scent of baking bread and something faintly floral. The sky has cleared, clouds peeling away to reveal a stretch of blue so wide it almost aches to look at. You take a slow breath.

Jean nudges you with his elbow. “You good?”

You glance at him. The words are casual, almost careless, but there’s something steady in the way he looks at you. Something unspoken.

You exhale. Nod. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t push. Just nods back and turns to scold Connie for stuffing an entire roll into his mouth at once.

You watch them—watch Armin laughing, watch Mikasa shake her head at Sasha, watch the way the sun catches on the curve of the rooftops, on the cobblestone streets, on the faces of the people moving past, alive, breathing, here— and you think, maybe...

The sun hangs lower in the sky by the time you all make your way back toward the garrison. The air has shifted, cooler now, tinged with the scent of the approaching evening. The laughter from earlier still lingers, woven into the rhythm of your steps, into the warmth resting in your chest.

But just as you near the main gates, you hear a familiar voice—sharp, unmistakable.

“Ah-ha! Just the group of troublemakers I was looking for!”

Hange.

You barely have time to register the exclamation before they bound toward you, half out of breath, their coat billowing behind them. Erwin follows at a slower, measured pace, arms crossed, an amused but expectant expression already settling on his face. And behind them—

You catch a glimpse of Levi, standing just a bit apart, watching.

Hange skids to a stop in front of you all, hands on their hips, eyes alight with something you already know is going to lead to trouble. “I need volunteers.”

Jean groans. “Oh, hell no—”

“You haven’t even heard what it is yet!” Hange cuts him off, clapping a hand on his shoulder before turning to the rest of you. “C’mon, just a little experiment. Nothing dangerous. Probably.”

Armin raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

Hange waves him off. “Details, details.” Then their eyes land on you, and their grin widens. “Y/N! You’ll help me, right?”

You open your mouth, but before you can answer, Levi speaks.

“She’s not getting roped into your bullshit today, four-eyes.”

Hange pouts dramatically. “Oh, so you get to decide now?”

Levi gives them a look, unimpressed. “I’m stopping you from dragging someone who’s already dead on their feet into one of your disasters. You’re welcome.”

Something in your stomach twists at that. He noticed.

Erwin steps forward then, shaking his head, the picture of patience. “Hange,” he says, voice calm, even. “Perhaps another time.”

Hange sighs. “Fine, fine. But don’t think I’m giving up!”

Levi rolls his eyes. “Tragic.”

Hange finally relents, and as the conversation shifts, you feel a presence beside you. Levi. Close enough that you catch the faint scent of tea and something clean, sharp.

“You’re still standing,” he mutters. “That’s an improvement.”

It’s not a question. Just an observation.

You glance at him, at the way his arms are crossed, at the way his eyes flick over you, taking in everything without making it obvious.

You swallow. “Yeah. I think I am.”

He doesn’t say anything. But after a beat, he exhales quietly. It's enough. You don’t need to say more.

The conversation moves around you, voices rising and falling like the ebb and flow of the tide. But Levi stays where he is—close, steady, his presence grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

You shift slightly, just enough that your arm brushes his. It’s a small thing, barely noticeable, but Levi’s sharp eyes flick to you, catching the movement. He doesn’t pull away.

For a while, the group lingers outside the garrison, unwilling to let the evening end just yet. The orange glow of the setting sun streaks the sky, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Jean and Connie continue their back-and-forth, with Sasha inserting the occasional remark, always on the verge of laughter. Armin is deep in discussion with Erwin, his eyes bright with curiosity.

And Hange—Hange is still trying to recruit someone for their so-called harmless experiment.

“Come on, Levi,” they wheedle, nudging his shoulder. “You’re my last hope.”

Levi gives them an unimpressed look. “Not a fucking chance.”

Hange groans dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

“Good.”

You catch the flicker of a smirk at the corner of Levi’s mouth before he turns his gaze forward again.

At some point, Erwin claps his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention. “It’s getting late,” he says, the weight of command slipping back into his voice. “We should all head in.”

A collective groan of protest ripples through the group, but Erwin’s word is final.

Sasha stretches, her arms reaching toward the sky. “Fine, fine. But next time, I’m picking the plan.”

“God help us all,” Jean mutters.

One by one, the others start making their way inside. But before you can follow, Levi speaks beside you, low enough that only you hear.

“Walk with me.”

It’s not quite a request, not quite an order.

You hesitate, but only for a moment. Then you nod.

Levi doesn’t say anything more—just starts walking, and you fall into step beside him.

The quiet between you is different from the static that’s plagued you for weeks. This silence isn’t heavy, isn’t suffocating. It just… is.

Eventually, he stops near the edge of the barracks, leaning against the cool stone wall. The last of the sunlight casts a golden glow over his sharp features, softening them in a way that feels almost unreal.

He watches you for a moment, then exhales. “You look better than you did this morning.”

You let out a soft breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “That’s a low bar.”

Levi doesn’t argue. He just studies you, gaze steady, as if he’s trying to gauge how much of your weight has lifted, how much still lingers.

After a beat, he speaks again, voice quieter this time. “I know what it’s like. When everything feels too fucking loud.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty.

He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t turn it into a lesson or a speech. He just says it, like a fact. Like a truth meant only for you to hear.

Your throat tightens. You shift your gaze to the horizon, where the last traces of light are fading into dusk. “It’s been bad lately.”

Levi doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for details. He just nods. “Yeah.”

Silence stretches between you again, but it’s not empty. It’s something else. Something solid.

Then, after a moment, Levi moves. Reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, familiar bundle.

Tea.

Your chest tightens.

“You should drink something before you turn in,” he mutters, almost gruffly, as he presses it into your hand. “Might help.”

You stare at it for a long moment before curling your fingers around it.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t wait for a thank you. He just straightens, gives you one last, searching look, then turns on his heel and walks off toward his own quarters.

You stand there, fingers still curled around the bundle of tea, and for the first time in weeks—

The static is quiet.

[angelxarii]

₊˚⊹ ᰔ OBSESSED - Rin itoshi

smut mdni, suggestive, stalker

Obsessed!Rin who has no idea how to act around you. He's so awkward and introverted that he can’t even speak to you without turning a deep shade of red.

Obsessed!Rin who always has his eyes on you, whether you know it or not—even before you two started dating.

Obsessed!Rin who threatens every guy that talks to you because, obviously, no other man should be touching or speaking to what's his. Most importantly, your eyes should only be on him.

Obsessed!Rin who would skip practice just to watch you and see what you do throughout the day. It’s a little creepy, but that’s okay, right? He only wants to keep you safe. So don’t get mad at him.

Obsessed!Rin who isn’t afraid to throw hands with anyone who hurts you. “You ever speak to her with that disgusting attitude again, and next time your ass will be six feet deep.”

Obsessed!Rin who shows up at your house in the middle of the night with busted hands and bleeding lips, just so you can drag him inside and mend his wounds in silence. His eyes stay locked on you as you carefully place cute little bandages over his injuries.

Obsessed!Rin who brushes the hair out of your face while you apply medication to the cuts on his knuckles. “Y'know, you look so pretty like this. You look pretty all the time, but you’re even prettier when your attention is solely on me.” You roll your eyes, but it’s impossible not to blush. How could you not when he’s so sweet to you?

Obsessed!rin who wouldn't be able to help himself but look down your shirt while you're leaning over, to see you're not wearing a bra under your old night shirt

Obsessed!rin who wouldn't even hide the fact he's looking at your hardened nipples through your shirt. He may be a pervert but that's okay, right? As long as you don't mind..

Obsessed!rin who would get hard while you scold him for being so reckless

Obsessed!Rin who would get lost in your eyes while you're getting mad at him and telling him to be better.

Obsessed!Rin who would tell you he hasn't eaten all day just so you can cook something and feed it to him. Oh, the poor baby is hurt, and he can't feed himself. He's just so tired.

Obsessed!Rin who, after finishing his food, would grab you by the wrist and pull you in just to lick any remains off your finger—even though your hands are clearly clean.

Obsessed!Rin who wouldn’t let go of your hand, taking your middle and ring fingers into his mouth and sliding his tongue between them, keeping his eyes on you.

Obsessed!Rin who would notice how tightly your thighs are pressed together as he feasts on your hand.

Obsessed!Rin who would smirk at the thought of you getting turned on and push you so you fall back onto the couch.

Obsessed!rin who would adjust his boner at the sight of you lying back onto the couch, both your arms between your thighs as you kept them close only for his smirk to drop. He'd feel hurt, how could you be so mean, he waited so long for you and you couldn't even be a good girl and keep your legs open for him so he can see your wet panties.

Obsessed!rin who would place his hands on your exposed thighs and gently coo you into opening your legs for him just so you could make room for him in between them. "C'mon, open up for me. I won't hurt you, I promise. I'll be gentle, okay?" Which was clearly all a lie

Obsessed!rin who wouldn't wait a second before attacking your neck. Pinning your arms to the sofa so you couldn't escape. He'd bite and suck and break the smooth skin on your neck and shoulders. He'd leave hickies so everyone can see. He can hear you crying, telling him it hurts but your cries only turn him on even more and it's not his fault you walk around with such perfect skin. untouched and unmarked.

Obsessed!rin who would kiss your cheeks and tell you everything is fine and there's nothing to cry about

Obsessed!rin who would would pinch and bite your nipples over your shirt that it'd be impossible to keep yourself from moaning. "You like that, doll. Feels good, huh? You thought I'd stay calm after how your tits looked so tempting poking through your shirt, just begging for my attention"

Obsessed!rin who would freeze after hearing your angelic moans, only to continue with a devilish grin plastered across his face. Continuing to abuse your poor virgin nipples. He sucked one of them, not so gently and the other one was at the mercy of his larger hands

You'd feel yourself getting more and more aroused but you didn't dare voice it

Obsessed!rin who would slam his lips down onto yours if you got too loud for his liking. Of course he didn't mind your cries and moans but he couldn't have you waking up the neighbours with his name on your tongue. "Shh quiet now, I know it feels good but you're being too loud" he'd softly say, his mouth not even a centimeter away from yours.

Obsessed!rin who would grab your visibly smaller hands than his and place them overtop his erection and quietly whisper in your ear. "You see, doll. This is what you do to me"

Obsessed!rin who would end up finishing in the tight confines of his pants and moan your name under his breath, right against the shell of your ear; just so he can have you turning red and squirming beneath him.

Obsessed!rin who would act like he passed out from fatigue on top of you just so you both can end up sleeping together even though you were probably having trouble breathing all night because of how heavy he is but maybe it wasn't so bad.. having his intoxicating scent invade your nose and his large arms wrapped around you to keep you from leaving. You wouldn't even be able to push him off, you'll just have to let his large body be on top of you, his torso in between your legs and his face cuddled up in the crook of your neck.

ʚɞ 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐱𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐢 | ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴏɴ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[divinepoints]

hii could i please request john walker + "can you just be nice to them, for once?" / "can't. i only save that for you." (#67)

your wish is my command!

wc: 949

prompt: john walker + "can you just be nice to them, for once?" / "can't. i only save that for you."

You didn’t think you were asking John for much. Thirty seconds of neutrality, if he couldn’t manage fake niceties. At this point, you would even settle for absolute ignorance. You’d long ago tired of his deeply unnecessary and entirely unexplained but plainly obvious dislike of your friends. Your very plain, very civilian friends. Frankly, you just didn’t get it. They weren’t threats and they didn’t even flinch away from him like some of the public did. At least, not until he started behaving as though they were the bane of his existence.

You would freely admit that you snapped. Spat at him a little more vitriolic than you’d truly intended, “Can you just be nice to them, for once?”

It was moments after your friends had left for the day. A supremely awkward goodbye spearheaded by John’s entrance and subsequent open and obvious glaring.

He’d responded sarcastically. Smugly. “Can’t. I only save that for you.”

Even if he didn’t know it, he was moments away from being throttled. You wanted to be clear: you were not being inconsiderate. Long before you’d begun inviting friends over to the tower, you’d asked everyone if they would mind. No one had, and no one did. Except for John, suddenly. The very same John who’d told you he couldn’t care less who you brought over as long as it wasn’t while his kid was there. It appeared things had changed.

If he’d had a reason, you’d have been a considerate housemate and stopped bringing them around. But he hadn’t, even when you’d asked the first time, supplied any reason for his out-of-nowhere hatred towards your only normal friends. (You’d also asked if it was because they were normal, and he’d outright laughed.) Now, you were close to truly losing it. You were tired of the childish behavior. If he had a true problem, he needed to come out with it.

“Seriously. What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked.

John shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth, crunched down on it, and you began to consider individually removing every single one of his teeth without anesthesia. He just looked at you for a moment, analyzing. Eyes narrowed, but still teeth still crunching on popcorn. Then, all at once, frowned deeply at you.

“You let them walk all over you,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

Fairly dumbstruck, you could only manage to ask, “What?”

“Been trying to figure it out,” he continued. “Thought maybe you were trying to get at something. Information. I don’t know. But you’re not.” You just stared at him so he continued. “You walk around here busting balls, but you turn into some kind of… mouse when they’re around.” You resented the accusation that you were a mouse in any context. Though you opened your mouth to argue just that point, John seemed to be on a roll. “You do all this shit you’d never choose to do yourself, go to these places that they could never get into without you, even though you hate being there. You’re letting them use you.”

Arguments died on your tongue. Caught in your throat. You had them in the front of your mind, dozens of them in fact, but they were all trapped somewhere. Mostly, you were foggy over one thing: you hadn’t realized he was paying that much attention. Puzzle pieces slotted together jarringly. It all made some odd kind of sense now. The glares at them, all of which tended to turn into some kind of weirdly sickly looking expression at you. Snippy comments about where you were going, what you were doing.

“I don’t—” you began, but a refusal was wrong. You did know they were using you, and that was just fine for your purposes. Because John was right about another thing, you did have some kind of ulterior motive. He just hadn’t quite nailed what it was. “I know that.”

It seemed his speech was the next to die. You weren’t surprised. He was probably trying to figure out what awful thing had happened in your piss-poor life that made you willingly offer yourself up to the sharks. 

“They’re normal,” you supplied. “Actually normal. They’ve lived supremely boring lives. I’m trying to see what that’s like.” A serene calm expression seemed to fold over John’s face. Almost like you’d dissipated every worry he’d once had. “I’m using them too.”

Just as easily as the calm expression came, it vanished. His brow furrowed, his bag of popcorn crumpled slightly in his closed fist. He tried for casual with his follow-up. Attempted to appear unconcerned. But just like he noticed how you seemed to be faking interest for your friends, you noticed he seemed to be feigning disinterest when he asked, “You thinking about leaving or something?”

It might have been fair to toy with him, after everything he’d put you through. At the same time, it seemed like he’d been coming mostly from a place of concern for you. 

“No,” you said. As much as you liked to play around on the other side, you knew you weren’t built for that kind of life. Sometimes it was a welcome distraction to play at civilian life, but mostly you missed the chaos. You didn’t love the hurt and the bloodshed, but it would have taken death itself to pull you from your team. “Just seeing how the other half lives.”

John gave a nod that was both single and singular. It somehow carried more meaning than you’d have expected. “Good. Need to keep you around.”

You smiled slightly to yourself only after he’d turned his back.

The next time your friends visited the tower, he said nothing.

want a drabble? hit my inbox with a thunderbolts guy & a prompt from this list.

[angelisnthere]

“Armed, and Dangerous!”

Bucky Barnes(Thunderbolts Timeline) x Male Reader

⋆˚꩜｡⌗: Synopsis: A late night encounter with your boyfriend Bucky Barnes mid-gaming session leads to a awkward interaction involving a character that looks, very similar to him

↳Warnings: Male reader, Bucky jealous of…himself, kissing, reader wants to crack Winter Soldier, I’ve never played marvel rivals ngl, probably poorly written, 1.3k words

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

The bed felt cold without you. The white hue that glowed from underneath the door reminded Bucky that you'd rather spend your time playing “modern-day video games” than accompany him in bed.

“HOLY SHI— oh I'm cracking that when I log off.—”

“Dude, [Name], what???”

“Are we deadass…”

“Do us a favor and log off now!!!”

“Y’know what hell yeah! I would too—”

“Ugh, gross. Keep it in your pants. I don't need a reminder of what I heard last week.”

Various voices echo throughout the empty halls of the watchtower, believe it or not you had convinced everyone but Alexei(something about the game being too complex) and Bucky to join you in late night “team bonding” which from what he could hear from through the bedroom door, was an audible action based game—

Along with you randomly groaning about how “Oh my god he’s so hot” and Bob going “Do you #needthat ?” followed by you going “#needthat”

Sighing, Bucky lifts his right arm brushing the hair out of his face. “What on earth—” Pushing himself up, with his right arm, he makes his way to the door. Reaching for the doorknob, just before his fingertips touch the metal—

“OH MY GOD I'M ABOUT TO BUST—” Loud annoyed groans and laughs dance from behind the door. Just for a second Bucky wonders if he's that curious about what has you so vocally turned. It’s only when John screams about losing health that he's turning around tucking himself back into bed.

“I’m not that curious, I’ll ask another time,” He thinks before closing his eyes allowing the darkness of the room to lull him to sleep.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

Hand tucked under your shirt, scratching a spot close to your waistband, you walk into the main section of the watchtower. “Good morning” you yawn slipping into the high chair next to Bucky you take a sip from his coffee. “Good morning, кукла (Doll)” Bucky smiles, resting his hand on the small of your back.

“Yuck, save it for the bedroom.” Yelena groans, bringing her mug up to her lips. “Jealousy kills, Yelena.” You quip, holding Bucky’s mug captive.

“Hey, Barnes—” Ava turns from the stove, holding a spatula. “—can you say, ‘You thought I was gone for good?’” She turns to look at you, a smug smirk spread across her face.

“What?” He questions, confused Bucky follows Ava’s eyes to your hunched over figure, cheeks warmed, slowly tapping the mug in your hands, doing your best to hold it together. Snapping his head back up to the stove he arches his brow. “What's going on—”

Before he can finish Bob peaks from around the corner. “How about, ’Playtime’s over.’ ” Bob mocks a tone similar to Bucky’s causing you to stifle.

“No say, ’Armed, and dangerous!'”John starts looking over to Yelena expectantly. “Again! Again!! Again!!!” Yelena booms, mocking a pose similar to something you've seen Alexei do before, causing Ava and Bob to double over in laughter.

“I have no idea what's going on—” Bucky mumbles, biting his lip in confusion, looking over to a smiling Alexei, he has no idea what's happening but he's happy they're happy.

“Okay, that's enough!” You yell slamming your hands on the table, shaking a few glasses, your face feels hot from embarrassment, the room falls silent from shock—

“Stand down,” John says, eyes flickering to Yelena. “STAND DOWN!!” She roars, causing them to all burst into laughter. You loudly groan shielding your face from the room, storming out while yelling. “You guys are the fucking worst!”

“What the fuck was that?” Bucky looks around the room at his teammates all doubled over laughing at 7 in the morning over quotes he didn’t even understand. “Okay, we’re done here,” he says putting his mug in the sink walking towards the elevator.

“HE SAID THE THING, HE SAID THE—” Was the last thing Bucky heard from Bob before the elevator doors closed.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

“[Name], stop drooling and help us, we're getting cooked.”

“Okay, god forbid a man has hobbies that include staring at this mans luscious ass and man bun—”

It was currently 12:30 am, Bucky sat on the edge of the bed staring at the door that led to the home office that was connected to your shared room. He’d never admit it but he was actually nervous to see who you were talking about behind that door.

A part of him hoped it was just his ears playing tricks on him, but he didn't want you to find anyone else attractive. What if they looked better than him? Were they even real? Who is it that has you barking at the glowing monitor? Why were you barking at the monitor There have to be other ways for you to express being turned on by pixels that move across your screen.

All of these very valid questions filled Bucky’s mind as he made his way across the room turning the doorknob, swinging open the door.

“Armed, and Dangerous!! Again!—” You scream throwing your arms up leaning back against the plush chair. Time seemed to move in slow motion as Bucky took in the scene in front of him. Your computer screen displays a move that seems oddly familiar to the one he pulled in the desert, the one where he flips the almost 500-pound truck with ease—

—Wait why is your screen displaying just that? Squinting he looks in the corners of the screen.

“Winter Soldier, Thunderbolts.” in the top left

“MVP, buckysboyfriend” In the bottom right.

The metal arm spreads across the screen shining as he finally realizes—

“That’s, me.” Slips from his lips before he can even process it came out. Your head snaps to the now-opened door. Eyes widening you attempt to cover your screen to save at least a bit of face.

“милый! (Darling!) I thought you were going to bed, Did I wake you? Sorry, we were just…um…” Your eyes dart rapidly between the monitor and Bucky’s frame which slowly makes its way forward.

“That's me,” He repeats, his metal finger tenderly moves your finger covering his face flashed on the computer.

“What? Oh my god how did you get there What a coincidence, hahahahaomgpleaseleavebeforeidie-fromembarrassment.” You awkwardly laugh, voices from the computer’s speakers mocking your staggered tone.

“Uh-oh, lover boy got caught. Let's go guys, Night [Name], Barnes” Yelena whistles, Bucky stifles a laugh with a cough from Yelena's quick reaction. “You wanna explain yourself?” He crosses his arms, like he wasn't just spiraling thinking you were going to leave him for a digital character, Well, you still might, but he feels better knowing it's just him as an attractive video game character.

“Um…” You pretend to be interested in the floor scratching the back of your neck. Smiling, Bucky steps forward grabbing the back of your neck, lightly tugging your hair back to make you meet his gaze.

He places a soft kiss on your lips, “Ты заставил меня волноваться, что ты влюбилась в кого-то другого, но я рада, что это касается только меня.” (You had me worried you were falling for someone else, if anything I'm glad it's just me.)

Your lips curl upwards, “Really, who did you think I was talking about, Winter Soldier?” he pulls back shaking his head laughing. “Maybe that Leon Kennedy guy again.” he chirps, turning to leave the room.

“Oh my god, that was one time!”

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

BONUS: You shuffle in your makeshift seat that was currently Bucky’s thighs. You look up at him, his face was serious, focused, and god was it attractive.

“I don't understand—” You snap back to reality looking down at the screen displaying the “Winter Soldier” and all his available skins, “—Why did you buy every skin of me, and why am I so conveniently hot?”

“God forbid I have a hobby.” You respond defensively, leaning against his chest. “Hobby…and it's just spending all your money on different outfits I already own?” He questions, tapping your thigh, and raising an eyebrow looking down at you.

“Well I can’t let anyone else go around thinking they like you more than me, now can I?” You nudge the center of his chest with your head affectionately.

“Touché, my love” He mumbles, kissing the side of your head.

————⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

Ty for reading (๑⃙⃘´༥`๑⃙⃘)!

[scekrex]

Im not sure if counts as an ask but. But hear me out.

Adam X Male Reader.

But...

Adam is at meeting but forgot to take the ribs his newly wedded husband (AKA, The Reader) made for him. So being the good husband he is, Reader goes to the place where the meeting is being held at. To give Adam the Ribs.

He arrives and busts down the door. Because he got no fucks to give besides giving Adam the ribs.

When he does, he saw Adam looking back at him with a shocked expression along side Lute who's face mirrored Adam's. A usual site besides the shock.

But what surprises him is that on the side of the room is Lucifer and Lilith (perhaps Eve too if you want) But Reader quickly gets over it, he came here on mission after all.

So he walks to Adam gives the ribs then he proceeds to remove Adam's mask to french kiss him. Then proceeds to walk out the busted door.

But not before looking at Lucifer and Lilith and saying "Our daughter is better than yours." Pointing at Lute as he said this. Then he leaves.

Leaving everyone process what happened.

Also leaving Adam having to explain who that was to his most hated enemies while trying to figure out how to tell Lute, He and his Husband see her as a Daughter.

Omg it definitely counts as an ask and fuck it's a good one on top of it!! It's cracky and I love myself a crack fic

Part 2

I bring the ribs, I bring the drama

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

When you got a text from Adam that informed you he had just reached hell and was attending the meeting scheduled with Lucifer and then spotted the robs you had made for him as a snack still standing on the counter, you did the only logical thing as the husband of the first man. You grabbed the plate filled with ribs and went after him and his forgetful ass.

Reaching hell sure wasn’t as hard as Adam always made it out to be, it was simply a long elevator ride that came with it and knowing the brunette the way you did that alone was reason enough to usually pull his little holograph stunt. But once Sera had caught onto that, she had had a serious talk with Adam, explaining why he wasn’t allowed to continue attending the meetings that way, so he had been forced to physically appear at this exact meeting. Which meant you had als a long ass elevator ride ahead of you. Nothing that would stop you from bringing your husband his much desired food though, you knew from experience how grumpy Adam could get if Sera sent him down to hell without a snack. And you desperately wanted to avoid grumpy Adam coming home only to realize that he had forgotten the snack you had prepared for him beforehand.

When the elevator doors opened with a quiet ‘ding’, you stepped through them and headed to the two winged doors right across the small elevator. You carelessly kicked the doors open, the handles on the inside both hit the walls with a loud ‘thud’ that echoed through the room that had gone quiet the second the doors had opened to reveal you. The glowing yellow eyes on Adam’s mask widened in shock as he spotted you, right in front of you sat Lucifer, his back had been facing the doors but the king of hell had turned around to look at you, confusion was written visible in his eyes as he tried to remember if he knew you. By his side was his wife Lilith. Great. The fuck-up and the cheating whore, both in the same room with your sweet darling. Seems like your little mission of food delivery was more needed than you had first thought it might be. But you knew Lilith was a pain in the ass and so was her husband. Lute fluffed out her wings as she narrowed your eyes before her expression turned into shock just like Adam’s.

In silence you walked around the ridiculously large table that was taking up most of the space in this room, given that its purpose was meetings it seemed to make sense though. You placed the plate in front of Adam, eyeing Lucifer and Lilith, hatred lingered in your eyes and you let the king and queen feel and see how much you despised them. They had caused nothing but trouble, they had been responsible for hell to even open its gates in the first place. Fuck-up, cheating bitches. Then your attention shifted from the married couple across the room to your husband. Hands reached for Adam’s mask and due to the element of surprise you had on your side, he was still trying to process that you had just walked in on this meeting like it was the most casual thing you had ever done in your entire existence, which is why he didn’t stop you from removing his mask. You placed it in his lap, careful not to drop it, you knew how much it meant to Adam and you weren’t intending on leaving scratches on it.

The golden eyes of your beloved were filled with shock and confusion, yet in the far back you saw a glimpse of thankfulness spark in them as you gently reached for his chin and pulled him into a kiss, it was meant to be a quick peck on the lips, but when Adam’s hand shot forwards to grab your waist and keep you close, you kept moving your lips against his. The presence of the others that kept you company inside this meeting room were forgotten in an instant, all that you could focus on were Adam’s soft lips that met your gentle movements so well. You slightly tilted your head to deepen the kiss, by squeezing his jaw you forced the first man to part his lips for you, providing the entrance your tongue needed to explore his mouth from the inside. When the tip of your tongue brushed against his, inviting him to dance with yours, Adam found himself unable to hold back the quiet moan that bled into the soft kiss you had started. And his tongue caught up quicker than his brain did, dancing with yours in Adam’s mouth as you claimed it as yours yet again.

When you pulled back in order to breathe in some stinky hell air - yet it was air so you didn’t mind all that much - you looked into Adam’s wide eyes, this time it wasn’t shock that reflected in them, it was love paired with desire and a shimmer of lust lurked in the back, you knew what he would give for you to stay, to keep kissing him like that, to maybe even sit down on his lap like the pretty little lap prince both of you knew you could be if only you wanted, but that wasn’t part of your mission. Your mission had included the task of bringing your husband food and that you had done successfully so you wiggled out of Adam’s lazy grip and pulled away from the first man entirely.

As if nothing had happened you rounded the table yet again to make your way over to the large doors you had just kicked in, yet you couldn’t help but stop on Lucifer’s side of the table. You slammed your hand down on the blue-ish looking wood, leaned in close to the blonde one and loudly stated, “Our daughter is better than yours, suck dick old fucker,” while you pointed at Lute to clarify which daughter you were speaking about. Lute’s expression shifted from shocked to confused and you watched as Adam’s lieutenant eyed the first man with a mix of confusion and pride. Then you straightened your back and walked out óf the room, once outside in the hall, you raised your hand to snap your fingers which resulted in the doors falling shut behind you with an equally loud sound as they had been opened with. And with that, you left hell again.

Once the door had fallen shut behind you, Adam had been quick to put his mask back on in order to hide the blush that started to bloom on his cheeks, Lucifer must not know about the effects you had on the first man, not when the blonde little devil sitting across from him was his sworn enemy. “Who was that?” the blonde man asked and pointed with his thumb to the closed doors behind him, an eyebrow was raised at Adam and even Lilith seemed to be curious about Adam’s answer to the question her husband had just asked the first man. Adam just and casually answered, “My fucking husband, bitch.” Because while your visit had been surprising, he would not deny you in front of Lucifer. He loved you and he was quite proud to be calling you his husband, fuck Lucifer’s opinion on it. “Daughter?” Lute asked as soon as Adam had answered Lucifer’s question and stepped up to her boss and best friend. The first man avoided meeting her eyes, even if it was just through masks. “Yeah, daughter. His idea not mine, fucking deal with it bitch. It brings my man joy so fucking take it.”

[fanfics-writer]

For @sterekshipper-writer as part of @officialtwlibrary ‘s June Gift Giving Event

No matter how many towns they visit or how many people they help, like Alec, whom the pack took in about a month ago. Melissa, who decided to take a more active role in fighting Monroe, feels absolutely heartbroken when she sees abandoned buildings and broken homes. The supernatural has been exposed worldwide, and people are running away in fear. It’s the middle of the night on a full moon as the pouring rain comes down on her, Theo, and Liam. Bursts of lightning brighten up the sky as they step out of her car in the wet parking lot of the town’s hospital, right across the street from their small police department. The three of them don’t say anything until they rush into the hospital waiting room a few feet from where they parked. "Why do we always get caught in the rain?" The nurse complains, brushing her fingers through her hair to shake the rain out.

Both the werewolf and Chimera roll their eyes at her in amusement but otherwise ignore her question. They split up and carefully walk around the empty reception area and waiting room to get a look at the extent of the damage. Broken windows, busted-in doors with massive holes in them, various bullet holes in the walls and ceiling, leaving some electrical wires exposed, and a lot of lights broken, with the glass scattered across the floor. "Do you guys think everyone got out in time?" Liam questions nervously when he doesn’t smell any blood while making his way around the reception desk.

Theo’s quick to respond from across the hall, checking out one of the several care rooms. "If they didn’t, we’d definitely know." His voice echoing through the empty space while watching Melissa walk past him to go farther into the hospital, and Liam’s quick to follow her, with Theo coming out behind him. The three of them continue to check the entire building, making it up to the second floor, and when they set off the elevator, they hear the sound of painful wailing. "What’s that sound?" The Chimera asks in confusion.

Melissa recognizes it immediately; her eyes widen, filling with tears, and her chest starts to hurt at the thought of what the sound means. "A baby." She mutters under her breath and takes off down the pitch-black, dark hallway, not caring about the glass on the floor from the shot-out lights. To Melissa, the hall is miles long while she’s forced to hear such horrible wailing, but once she gets to the doorway of the last room, she’s able to take a breath. Stepping into the practically empty care room, she finds the baby lying in one of the hospital’s cribs, poorly wrapped in a light pink blanket. Without hesitation, she moves over to the bedside while tossing off her jacket and cautiously rewraps the blanket. Using it as an opportunity to check for any signs of injury before ever so carefully lifting the small bundle from the crib. "Shhhh… you’re okay, Little One. You’re okay…" She whispers softly, holding her close and gently rocking her while slowly pacing the room. "I know how scary things are, but you’re safe now…"

In the middle of one of her laps around the room, she finally notices Liam and Theo standing in the doorway, watching her. "You’re fantastic at that." Liam comments quietly as the baby girl’s cries quiet down.

Still pacing and rocking the baby, not wanting to risk upsetting her again now that she’s calm and almost asleep, Melissa scoffs at the guys with a light chuckle. "I better be good at it; I am a mother, so…” Her voice drifting off with a shrug, allowing her focus to go back to the baby against her chest.

"Does that mean you guys could do it a second time?" Theo asks nervously, leaning against the door frame next to him with his arms crossed.

Melissa stares at him in disbelief with a raised eyebrow, blinking a few times before reminding them, “I’m way too busy at the hospital to be able to give this baby the attention she deserves.” And tells them, "I can’t take this little one in."

Looking between her and Theo, Liam nervously mumbles, "Could we take her in?" Which causes both of them to stare at him in shock; neither one of them saw that coming.

Theo’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops open in shock; he doesn’t outright hate the idea; he’s just so confused and a bit startled by it. His hands start shaking, and his heart starts racing at the thought, while different future scenarios flash through his mind alongside the flashbacks of his childhood with the Dread Doctors. “Us?” He questions, wanting to make sure he heard his boyfriend correctly. “I don’t know the first thing about taking care of a—a baby.”

With a small smile, Liam quietly walks up to Melissa and gently takes the baby from her as she guides his arms to hold her correctly before he’s able to turn and face his boyfriend. “You just need to be the type of parent that you needed as a child.” He explains as if it’s the easiest thing in the world, and his words were the answer to the universe.

That night was over four years ago, and now both the fathers find themselves standing in the doorway of their daughter’s bedroom while they watch her fall asleep after putting her to bed. “Bringing her home with us was the best decision we ever made.” Theo softly whispers with a wide smile on his face as he closes the door so both of them could go to bed.

[likelyamused]

The last song of the set ends. Everyone looks like they’re coming out of water for air: glistening, out of breath, suddenly thrown back into reality. “Let’s give it up for Busted Moose!" The crowd cheers for the band one last time.

“While the next band gets ready, I’d like to remind you to vote for your favorite of the night. We’re planning one hell of a party with the winners on the first Friday of the New Year!”

The endorphins released in the pit mix with the longing of being apart for the last week, again. The space between Max and Celia fills in a matter of seconds. In their urgency to find each other, they push through the crowd and find some kind of privacy on the side of the stage, under the blanket of darkness. 

Max knows he’s in trouble. He’s had way too much time alone to think over his situation in the past few weeks. He's threading in unknown territory. It's scary, but it's a change he recognizes he has to make if he hopes to live a 'normal' life. He just never thought this would happen so soon. The walls of protection he put in place when he arrived give him today much anxiety.

In his life, Max has allowed himself to be vulnerable with only three people. One of them died, the other two betrayed him. No wonder he keeps people at arm's length. Relationships are easier when they're conditional: at least you know what will end them. That's what Max believed.

Until now, that is.

The voices in his head still tend to become quite loud on occasion, but they’ve been much quieter recently. And they’ve been the quietest with Celia around. He's not sure how or when it happened, but Max has slowly uncovered his heart and he can't help himself from getting closer, pulling the barriers down even more each step he takes.

And for once, it feels safe, it feels easy, it feels real and true. It’s a completely different feeling than what he’s used to, one that he craves with his whole being.

And he needs to come clean so there can be a chance for this to last.

As his hand grazes the skin of Celia’s back, his head spins and, without thinking, he explores her bare midriff. She wiggles out of his reach. For an instant, Max fears he pushed an unknown limit. He shouldn't have done that. Celia grabs his hand and leads him through the crowd, up the stairs and along corridors, until they emerge in the bathroom. Confused, Max lets Celia’s hand go and stops in his tracks. She grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls him into the stall.

To shut off Max’s confusion, Celia pins him against the wall and kisses him. With a tilt of the head, Max pulls Celia’s lips away from his. “What are we doing here?”

“I wanted a little more privacy,” she teases as her hand finds its way to his hip. “Here? In a public bathroom?” It’s not something Max would have questioned before, but something doesn’t feel right. He hears the sting of annoyance in Celia’s tone. “Where else? On your aunt's living room couch? Or on my bed hiding from my parents in the other room? We have nowhere to be alone. I don't want to- I just want to explore a little.”

She stretches her neck to kiss him and her hand drops towards the front of his pants. Max’s eyebrows lift up in surprise and he stops her hand from going any further.

“Wai-wai-wai-wait! God! I can’t believe I- Ugh! Tomorrow. Meet me by the boathouse, at 8AM. There’s something important I need to tell you and… I might have a better option than this.”

“8?”

“I work at 10.”

“Why not tell me now?”

“I’d rather it be somewhere where we can talk properly.”

With a reluctant sigh, Celia pulls away from Max. “Okay, maybe this isn’t such a great idea anyway. We should go back to the others.” She gets out of the stall. “Are you coming?” 

“In a minute. I’ll join you.”

Beginning / Previous / Next

Author's note: I wanted to mention the creators of a few resources that I used for both concert posts that really brought the vibe I wanted to life: @madebycoffee and @starrysimsie for all the decosims (and there's a lot on this set!) @keloshe-sims for all the posters on the walls (they made a memory come alive ❤️) See more of this lot here and here.

[tuliptired]

Ello! Hope Im not a bother, but i was hoping to make a one-shot request? I looked around and it looks like you are still taking requests as of the moment, very sorry if I missed something.

Anyways, if its not too much trouble, could you write Egon Spengler x Baker Y/N? I think that would be a fun dynamic!

If thats not to your liking, what about Egon x Shy Y/N?

Love your works, I check the ghostbusters tag daily to see if youve written anything new. Thank you so much, love ya have a great day and night!!!

How Sweet It Is (To be Loved by You)

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Baker!GN!Reader

It's never too much trouble...no idea if I've used this gif before

did yall hear about the SNL biopic btw oh my gahh...

Better formatting on Ao3! (italics)

Your relationship started with a cupcake. As the story goes, told lovingly by your now mutual friends, there was a bust at a retirement home, and one of the caregivers insisted on sending the boys home with a treat in addition to the hefty bill. Demanded, actually, practically shoving a metal tin full of pastry into Egon’s hands as he attempted to discreetly sneak away.

“Jackpot,” Peter leaned over, happily surprised as nimble fingers opened the lid. The smell of sugary sweets wafted through the car, prompting Winston to extend his hand to the backseat, palm soon full of muffin. Egon was patient, letting everyone take something for themselves, before finally deciding on a blue-iced chocolate cupcake, sweet tooth waiting to be satisfied.

“Where’d this come from?” Ray, Peter, and Winston stood in the kitchen, confused at the spread of different colored boxes and containers. Upon further inspection, they were full of even more cupcakes, each the same blue iced chocolate flavor. Egon sat with his hands folded on the countertop, unfazed at their reactions to his display like any true man of science would be.

He made a tick mark on a long list of names, clipboard somewhere in the organized, delicious chaos. “If you must know, I’m testing every bakery in the area to find the one I ate that evening. I’ve yet to find it.”

Ray shrugged, taking note of just how many locations he had procured food from. “Not the weirdest thing you’ve done for a result,” he admitted.

“Good food’ll do that to you,” Winston laughed, Peter reaching over to gauge how mad Egon would get if he tried to take a sample from one of his possible matches.

Egon didn’t look up, flipping to the next page. “Go ahead, those are the rejects. They'd end up in the trash, anyway.”

Peter peeled away the paper, going through the motions of ripping the bottom of the cake and placing it over the top of the frosting. “Rejects.” he parroted plainly. “What’re you gonna do when you find the right store? Stand in the window?”

He glared up at him above his glasses. “No, I’ll buy a half dozen and go on with my day,” he unfolded a wax lined box, “so if you could leave me to my research?” Research being, going down a line of cupcakes. They each exchanged glances, before filing out. Egon could be just as tenacious as everyone else, when he felt like it.

Except, that tenacity wavered in the face of unfamiliarity. The only reason Egon was willing to go in your bakery to begin with is because the others had forced him. “Don’t be a baby,” as Venkman had put it. He finally found the match, in fact he had found it a few days ago. But he took a glance at the bustling establishment on the day in which he set out on his own, and got cold feet. Especially when he accidentally locked eyes with the smiling artisan while he just stood in the window.

His friends had managed to shove him towards the counter without a second thought. The same person he’d seen through the tall window was behind the counter now, greeting them all kindly. The bandana you had used to keep your hair in check must’ve been failing to do its job, evident by the flour near your temple, caught in a few strands. Egon’s fingers twitched.

Peter flicked him on the lower back when he failed to respond like a typical customer, making Egon come-to and clear his throat. “May I get a half dozen chocolate?” he asked robotically.

“You may,” you grinned at his grammar, “but, chocolate what?”

Egon’s ability to speak stopped short at his misstep, unable to let out anything but unintelligible stammers, and Egon never stammers. “Cupcakes, please,” Ray spoke up for him, catching wind.  

You nodded, moving to the display rack to place his order in a smaller, blue box. Peter wasn’t content with how smoothly this interaction was going as he watched on with a bored expression. “Funny story, actually,” he caught your attention through the framework.

You laughed at how it made him look like he was in a horizontal jail cell. “Yeah?”

Peter raised Egon’s stiff arm for him at the elbow. “We walk in one night and catch Egon with at least 20 different cupcakes, trying to find yours ‘cause he missed it so much.” he regaled.

He may have caught you blushing. Were you blushing? He shouldn’t stare at business owners when they were just trying to work. “Well,” you started folding the corners of the parcel, “assuming you liked them- and you guys are pretty important to the city…” You held them out to him with two hands. “Just take them. No charge.”

Egon felt like there was smoke rising from the top of his head, or the espresso machine, as he shuffled out, and you leaned over the counter to call after him: “Come back anytime, for whatever! On the house!” 

The rest happened slowly, but surely, and you enjoyed it thoroughly. On an earlier morning, you and your pubescent employee were handling the typical rush you got around breakfast. Between prepping, a small burn from the oven, packing orders, ringing people up, and a quick trip to the corner-grocery for more milk, you finally had a spare minute to breathe, both hands pressing into the counter.

A blur of beige and a trail of smog put an end to your mini-relaxation, and you hurried over to the door. “Stantz! Spengler!” you beckoned before they could turn the corner.

Like children, they found their way to your storefront, though Egon looked rather apprehensive with a used trap dangling from his gloved fist. “Good morning, guys,” you urged them inside, “did you eat yet?”

“We really should get going.” Egon said after Ray greeted you. Most of the sickly smell from the trap was left outside, and it was too covered up by the scent of sugar and warmth that everyone but you swore clung to the bakery for you to worry about it driving away customers.

You ignored his protests, crossing behind the counter. “Eat in the morning or you’ll crash in the afternoon,” you started pouring two cups of hot coffee.

“There’s no need-” you interrupted with a hand. “We’re fine,” he continued anyway.

Ray’s stomach betrayed his friend’s wishes. “Something small wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Listen to your friend, Egon.” you warned, adding a bit of whipped cream to both cups to literally sweeten the deal. “You need to eat.”

He frowned, but you didn’t care much. “We have a Class lll in our hands, now is hardly the time for-” you cut him off again, stuffing his mouth with a blueberry danish. As he annoyedly chewed, you procured a paper bag from the back, wrapping his hand around the handle.

“Too bad I already packed for everyone,” you patted his knuckles when he acquiesced, catching sight of what was inside with a small smile. “You’re crabby when you’re hungry.”

Egon opened his mouth to respond, but the contraption in his left hand started beeping. Are they supposed to beep? You’d never seen them do so before. It seemed as if the two experts themselves hadn’t either. 

You stood on your toes to give him a parting kiss, Ray grabbing both paper cups in the meantime before you could start shooing them out. “Go, go- don’t let that thing loose in here. And swing by later, okay?”

He followed your lips when you pulled away, but the ominous beeping drove him to the door and down the street. You sighed to yourself, already missing him. None of the regulars in your store seemed to pay any mind to the local celebrities- or the weapons they had strapped to themselves, as Egon floated in and out during different parts of his day at least once a week.

Egon knocked on the glass door, soft light and music slipping through as he got your attention. When you let him in, the distinct whiff of cookies enveloped him like the warm temperature of your little shop. It was his favorite part of visiting you, apart from actually getting to see you. “How was today?” he spoke over the soft jazz that you apologetically turned down.

“Better,” you were about to run a Crisco covered hand through the front of your hair before you stopped yourself, “better.” Egon only then noticed how many cookies you had managed to make for having only closed an hour ago. “I have more in the oven,” you said from the back wall with the smaller front oven while you hurriedly took out a hot tray with a mitt and put a cool one in.

It wasn’t just cookies, but brownies, sweetbreads, and cinnamon rolls. “Are you…restocking?”

You laughed, a quarter manically and another quarter incredulously, and started to peel cooked pastry off of baking sheets. “If anything, we have too much stock.” you paused your fervor, frowning at your display case’s abundance. “I’ll send you home with some- give them to your clients or eat them or something.” 

You were barely done shutting the sliding glass when you popped up, clapping your hands once and frankly startling him. “Pies! I know what I need to make now! I’ll make some pies and maybe a cake and we can head home.” Before you could disappear into the kitchen, he stepped in your way, two soothing hands on your shoulders.

“You’re stress baking.” 

Egon couldn’t hide his amusement at your familiar despondent expression, as if you were coming down from a high. “Was it that obvious?”

“Somewhat,” he stroked up and down your arm, steering you to the stool you kept tucked away behind the register and pulling up a chair for himself on the other side. “What’s wrong?”

He enjoyed the chairs you had because of their structural variety, and the fact they didn’t make him feel like a giant. 

You slumped your head into your since-dried hands, groaning out of frustration. “It’s just the season, I guess. A ton of people come by, bringing their dumb boyfriends-” you paused, realizing what you said, “no offense.”

“None taken.”

“-And they come looking at our stuff to see if we’re good enough for, like, baby showers and weddings and all that.”

A car passed by on the street, definitely above the city’s speed limit for a business area. “I assume that’s a good thing?”

“It’s great,” you sat up, “we want people to pick us. But it means everything has to look great, and we have to get ready for half a million custom orders.”

That would be a partial reason for the sudden uptick in inventory, combined with the pressure to make a good first impression. But you were working so aimlessly hard that you looked crazed, all by yourself. “Your employees aren’t willing to help?” Egon questioned.

You stood, addressing the heaps of different cookies, the only creation of yours without a home. “They are. But they’re kids- I can’t work them that hard. It’s probably illegal, too. They won’t be around for the next couple of days anyway.”

He could sympathize with your plight- backed into a seasonal corner that business owners just had to get used to. “I’m sorry,” Egon offered, “I’m not as skilled in your trade, but is there anything I can do to make it easier?”

You smiled your first genuine smile since he arrived. “There is, actually,” your tone was excited as you moved to the freezer, “just let me finish these and I’ll fill you in.”

Egon would’ve stopped you from continuing to try to work, but he relaxed when you brought out pre-prepared bags of icing and miscellaneous confectionaries, knowing that decoration was the more relaxing aspect of the art. 

He both sat in comfortable quiet as you put all your focus into icing, piping, and arranging.  It was pleasant, knowing that you had something so ardent that you cared so deeply about, even if it was dismissed as a mere hobby while you were close to collapsing to exhaustion in the bakery you financed on your own. It was a mix of career and craft- one of the many reasons he had grown to give you his utmost respect.

You were eventually done, making the task of embellishing countless treats look effortless. You handed him a cookie, which he gladly took. “I need you to be honest,” you counted on his affinity for sweets. He took a bite, surveying the dessert after the initial pleasure your baking always brought him.

“Raspberry compote,” Egon took a second, “and coffee icing.”

“Good job!” you scribbled something down on a spare slip of paper after springing the register drawer open. “Rating?”

“10/10”

“Honest.”

“That is my honesty. But if you wanted the unweighted scale, 7/10. The two flavors balance each other very well.”

You passed him another, which he promptly ate without being asked to. “On the crumbly side. Is that intentional?”

A nod. “A little less butter than usual. Old ladies tend to like those.”

He put a hand on his chin contemplatively. “6/10- marmalade. A softer version would get a higher placement, it would be a shame to lose interest from those who don’t fit the demographic.”

You copied down what he said, seemingly happy with any sort of feedback. “And here I thought I’d have to help you cross the street.”

The night went on like that for a while, and Egon grinned to himself at the parallels he had only just noticed- another mix of career and craft, now inquiry and indulgence. You looked like a proper scientist- or, a food scientist, scrawling down notes and numbers that he’s sure only you would be able to decode. He felt the corners of his face dimple in a familiar smile while he watched you- something he’d found himself doing much, much more.

“What?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of his joy.

“Nothing,” Egon excused himself, “you just look incredibly nice.”

 You squeezed the hand that he rested on the counter, silently appreciative. “Thanks- for that, and for helping me out. Let me get you home before you barf.”

He’d learned to live with the indecencies, helping you tidy up the best he could without breaching the system of organization you had. When you returned from the back with your personal things, he let you loop your arm around his for the semi-short journey home.

Egon only let you go so you could lock the door, and he stared at your back for the entire time that you did. “If I were having a baby shower, I’d come here.”

There were practically stars in your eyes. “Really?” 

“Really.” You planted a gratuitous kiss to the side of his face, before setting off towards his apartment.

Over the course of a few days, your boyfriend showed up earlier in order to take you into work, and keep you company as you tried to quell the impending anxiety. When regulars faded out and new faces came in- possible clients, you assured him with a non convincing tone that he had a job, too. If your ego was bigger, you’d be bragging about the compliments and inquiries your store got, not to mention the referrals to friends regarding special upcoming events. But, entrepreneurship had taught you to be humble, so you were resigned to spilling it all over a phone call to the firehouse.

One morning, you forced Egon out before anyone could arrive, asserting that he had a day off and he should find a way to relax. He asserted that this was how he relaxed, but you had a key to the front door and he didn’t, so that solved that. 

Not long after he was gone, you were hastily punching his number in, bouncing on your heels and out of breath.

“Hello?"

“Rich girl- eloping- needs a wedding cake- lots of money,” you forced out like you were out of air, already seeing dollar signs in tandem with the minutes you were losing. “But I have a crazy favor to ask.”

Very soon, “OPEN” was flipped to “CLOSED (sorry)” and you put on your serious business apron. Egon stood behind you, unsure of what to do as you jumped from here to there, double checking that you had absolutely everything you needed.

You only stopped when you realized that he wasn’t in the proper attire. “C’mon, Spengler,” you chastised him while cinching the strings of a smock around his waist.

“Game plan,” you led him to the back where all the industrial sized equipment was, “three tiers, green and pink, white cake. She gave me creative freedom, so I’m kinda flying blind.”

Egon’s eyes were on you as you laid out a few large bowls. “Have you ever…made a wedding cake on such short notice? I assumed they take days.”

“They do! And they’re the one thing I swore to never sell!” He looked disappointed in you, but you weren’t fazed, grabbing both of his hands. “$1,500,” Egon’s eyes widen as you continued, “think of what that could buy.”

He pushed up the bridge of his glasses like a flustered schoolboy. “That’s…a lot of copper wiring.”

“So many new mixers! And without the down payment! That’s why we need to start while we already have the time.”

Realistically, it was more of you starting everything while Egon was subjected to measuring or throwing away eggshells. But, you eventually gave him bigger responsibilities, as there was no way you’d be done in time for the impromptu-wedding if you worked one-by-one. 

You turned from what you were doing after instructing him to mix the batter for the top layer, being met with his bare forearms, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

“What?” Egon noticed your commotion halting. “Am I overmixing?” 

You didn’t answer, still staring at his toned arms. He should help out more often- your stand mixer cutting out on you must’ve been a blessing in disguise. Your blatant ogling was cut short when he stopped his ministrations, resting the whisk against the lip of the bowl.

“Don’t get distracted.” He tried to sound condemnatory, but it was hard to feel scolded when the scholar had on one of your teenaged employee’s spare pink bibs around his front and he was almost bent over the edge of the counter space in the midst of his focus.

You could breathe a little easier when the timer went off for the tiniest layer’s completion in the biggest oven. You took the searing pan out carefully, and your worry spiked again when you saw how dark the unfrosted dessert was along the top. You went through a list of things that might’ve gone wrong-  was the oven at the right temperature? Setting? You definitely let it bake for the right time. It wasn’t until you saw a pair of little cylinders, tucked away in the havoc, that you put two and two together.

“Which one of these did you use?”

Egon looked like a mix of confused and concerned. “This one, baking soda.”

That’s how he got put out your kitchen for a considerable amount of time, until he knocked at the round window separating you both.

“Are you sorry?”

A pause. “Not anymore than I was 20 minutes ago.”

“I’m locking the door.”

He was allowed back in after a long and rehearsed apology. Soon, all tiers were baked, except for the base, and you were aching all over. The whole cake process never got any less demanding on you.

Egon must’ve seen how you stretched your arm across your chest before you tried to continue on anything. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’ll be fine- just sore.” you answered truthfully, before slightly jumping at the feeling of hands wrapping around your middle.

“Take a break,” he herded you to a folding chair you kept in there- the only chair. You were slotted in between his knees, thoroughly confused. He only got like this every blue moon.

It did feel great to be off your feet for a second, despite your cushy sneakers. “What’re you getting at?” 

His strong hands made work of your tense biceps. “Nothing lascivious. I just think you should save your energy for the important part,” you stifled a noise at his doctoral tone and the way his thumbs kneaded at the space in between your shoulder blades, “and you’ve been working very hard.”

“Baking makes you a freak,” you scoffed, but hedonistically let him continue to dote on you.

Soon it was time to keep moving, attractive masseuse or otherwise. You put Egon in charge of coloring the buttercream while you ran out to the store for the second time in only a few days, making a mental note to use some of the bride-to-be’s payment to keep a consistent supply of the little things.

When you returned, though, it wasn’t as you had expected. You picked up the metal bowl full of neon icing incredulously. “I said green, not snot!”

“I made green,” he didn’t budge, not seeing how gaudy this would look in the middle of a reception hall.

You pushed a finger in between his brows. “You’re such a guy,” you remarked, regardless of your own gender, as you hassled him out of the way. “Watch.” 

With a bit of red, the bright green dulled into a paler color, fit for a wedding. “Can I trust you with pink?” you asked as if he was a child.

Egon’s expression was unreadable. “No promises.”

Half of the green was shoveled into piping bags when he was finished, presenting the baby pink mixture to you like a project would be presented to a teacher. “That’s better,” you started, taking the bowl while he kept the spatula. You’d assumed that Egon was going to wash it or scrape off the excess or something, but your eyes squeezed shut as something cold and tacky hit your nose.

Frosting, pink frosting. His audacity. You took the green spatula, getting him back on the cheek. That led to him getting you back on the forehead, ear, chin, and eventually some strays ended up in the corner of your mouth, which he was more than happy to take care of. Baking really made him a freak, you thought. You probably shouldn’t be kissing over someone’s wedding memorabilia, but you shortly noticed that was the icing for each tier and its decoration. You lost an hour cleaning and starting from scratch on the buttercream, steering clear of each other in a respective corner each.

You had another hour to eat a late dinner while each tier chilled in the freezer, setting the white icing you painstakingly leveled to their surface area. When you returned, it was time for the assembly, the second most dreaded process. “I’m scared,” you confessed, just about to push down the first dowel.

Egon got eye level with the top, squinting. “You’re just about perfect.”

Your nerves got the better of you. “How can you tell?” 

“I calculated.”

He was to keep calculating until all three cakes were secure on each other, bringing on the actually grueling part: decoration. You could design anything easily, after years of practice on your skills and ability to freehand- but a wedding cake was just so intimidating. That was part of the reason you vowed to never try again, how easy failure was staring you down in the form of little white fondant flowers. Egon let you take the reins on this, disappearing from your narrow field of vision. You honed in your knowledge of swirls, mini roses, and the drape style that was still in fashion among traditional couples. You were bent in all sorts of ways to make sure every bit of sugar that left the tip of the plastic bag came out perfect, for a perfect pair of newlyweds. Or newlyweds with perfect pocketbooks.

Time got away from you when the final detail was placed, and you stepped away like it was a bomb. “Is it done? Are we done?” you looked for confirmation. “How does it look?”

Egon’s torso stopped you from running off somewhere. “It looks perfect.”

The giant thing was stowed away to wait until you were scheduled to drop it off the next morning, and a weight was taken off your chest. You let the faucet run over materials, mind somewhere else with the rush of running water.

“It’s so sweet when it’s all done,” you spoke up, scrubbing crusted batter off of a tin, “weddings feel so magical.” 

You thought back to the agreement you made with your boyfriend of a handful of years: nix a big ceremony, celebrate with friends when the time felt right. The time always felt right to you; you’d drag him to the courthouse at the drop of a hat. Perhaps there was an even right-er time out there, written somewhere in your future.

Egon wiped down all the surfaces. “I agree.” he voiced from across the counter, taking a pause. “You’re not…angry with me? For taking as long as I am?”

You laughed at that, drying your hands. You crossed over to him, a hand on his chest. “Not at all. I trust you.” He had ditched the tie at some point after you had to make a new batch of icing. “If you’re offering…”

“Give me some more time to make it special.”

You brushed away some of his hair that had come loose in the heat of your scullery. “How much more time?” your voice was soft.

Egon thought about it for a moment. “What’s 5 more years?” He laughed heartily at the groan you let out, resting his head on yours.

“Really?” your voice broke over the phone. “I’m sorry…I’ve never- I don’t know,” you forced yourself to take a shallow breath, “I’ll work on getting your deposit back.”

You didn’t know what to think or feel when you ended the call, but thoughts of wasted hours, materials, lost profit, all flooded your mind as you attempted to calm yourself. You rested your head underneath where the phone was mounted on the wall, rubbing at your temples to sedate an oncoming headache.

“What happened?” Egon asked at your back, with you again in the early morning as he scored another day off. You didn’t turn to face him, trying your best to blink back embarrassing tears.

“She canceled. We made the cake for nothing- there’s no wedding, I-” 

Egon was on a knee, in the middle of your homely bakery. Your frustration evolved into pure confusion. “What’re you-”

There was a blue, velvet box in his hands with a glinting band inside of it. Before he could get a word out, you were on the floor too, tears free flowing. “You can’t do this now,” you clutched the fabric of his pants when he moved to hold you. “I look horrible.”

His free hand dried your tears, though more would keep on appearing in their wake. “I’m sorry this is so overdue.”

Your hands gently held onto his jaw to know this was real. “When was the right time?” 

“A long, long time ago. I just needed to find a way to make it special.” He looked hesitant before continuing, “I hope you don’t mind having made your own wedding cake.”

You blinked. “You’re the worst!” you joked exasperatedly, falling with him into a hug on the floors you were happy you mopped. “That was all you?”

“Why do you suppose her down payment was a multiple of 18?”

“They didn’t.” 

“Consider it a group gift, I suppose.” Egon smiled underneath you. You sat in the giddy silence of two people, soon to be wed, when he gingerly asked the question

“Will you?”

Your boyfriend- fiancé, went through so much trouble to make the moment one you could look back on happily. Who could refuse?

“I will.”

[satanlikesmyfics]

Lavender

pt 1

read pt 2 here

an: sorry if this lacks build up or logic:( not proofread

words: 1415

contains: dealer!ellie x f!y/n, weed/alc mentions, intoxication, fingering, tit sucking, police busted party

dealer!ellie

while you wander around the dimly purple lit room, your mind is starting to blur. you went to this party with some of your friends, although you can't seem to find them anymore. you left to explore the place your at since it's at an abandoned place, and who wouldn't find that interesting? you sit down on a red, ripped sofa with the smell of weed and alcohol surrounding you.

ellie's been walking around bored for the past 30 mins. she's seen everyone leave home with someone or hook up in some creepy room. wondering why it was even a good idea to show up, she just thinks of the wads of cash she earned selling her overpriced weed. no one around really knows how much that shit costs, so it's easy to rip people off. she remembers that she still has a bunch of weed and rolls herself a joint, sitting down on some junky looking old sofa. in the corner of her eye she spots some stunning girl she's never seen around before. your black, tight dress catches her attention and she turns slightly to get a better look.

you notice ellie staring and blush slightly. you've heard a lot and seen her pictures, sometimes romantizising about her even... you've never even met, you're so fucking weird for thinking of her that way. she probably is straight or has atleast has a girlfriend, you think to yourself, making fun of the fact you think of her. ellie leans slightly towards your ear and asks your name. "me??" you give her your rather surprised answer. what the fuck would she want from me?? "yes you, bunny. you manage to stutter your name and look away, surprised by the name she called you so casually. "y/n? I thought I heard your name before." "shouldn't you be looking for your girlfriend or something?" you ask looking back up at her, attempting to figure out her exact status. maybe you'd even have a chance?

"girlfriend?" ellie responds in confusion. your eyes widen in hope. the sudden sirens catch you off guard though, almost everyone looking out the nearest window in unison. "oh fuck" ellie mutters and grabs your wrist. "someone called the damn police" she shouts over the panic and pulls you away from the crowd. you don't fully comprehend what's happening but don't want to do anything else but follow her. stumbling through doorways and rooms a wave of fresh air hits you suddenly and you gain control of your thoughts again. ellie, still having a firm hold of your wrist looks back at you in confirmation that you're still with her. obviously you still are, you'd never leave her, especially when these moments you've been thinking about are coming true.

"where are we ellie?" you utter. you're in some field full lavender. everything looks so blue and the pale moonlight slightly lights everything up. you look up the hill and see the police cars surround the place you just managed to leave. "did we escape them that fast?" you ask without expecting any answer. "come here sweetheart, you can use my jacket" ellie answers and lays her jacket down on the wet grass. you feel a tingle in the gesture and obey. her jacket feels rough on your bare thighs. your eyes wander to ellie, who's just settling down on the grass. while your eyes are on her lips hoping she can't see in the dim light, her eyes glance at your whole body, most of all your thighs. her pussy slightly clenches at the sight of your dress up so high, revealing so much. shit, she thinks, you can't just think of her the second you meet her in person. that's weird and creepy, and she doesn't want to be like that towards you, even though she can barely help it.

she holds the joint up again delicately, which she lights once again since it had died down after the escape. "can I have a hit?" you ask. you don't really care about the drug, more the indirect touching of your mouths and the way her fingers move. she holds it towards you and you inhale deeply, coughing it out again a bit. you feel so dizzy and hazy you practically fall onto her lips. "what the fuck?" ellie asks after pushing you away. "I- I'm sorry.. I didn't mean to do that-" you reply embarrassed. "no no, please y/n, I liked it, I promise" she reassures "I'd gladly like to continue you know.." she pats her lap, signaling you to take a seat.

her lips suddenly crash onto your again, and you melt into the hungry kiss. she kisses you again, and another time, you can't keep count because it just turns into a makeout session. her hand pushes up the back of your neck into your hair and the other rests on your torso. you push your body further against hers and she moans into your mouth. she spreads out her jacket on the field and lays you down, her getting on top. her hand squeezes your thigh firmly. "what are we even doing.." she mutters and kisses your neck passionately. "we don't have to.. it's okay..." you manage to answer. she looks at you and asks if you want to because she thinks your fucking hot. you giggle and kiss her again, continuing the session.

her hand starts to wander up your thigh and you shiver at the touch. she marks your neck giving you harsh kisses and slides up your dress. you'd probably be embarrassed of you weren't intoxicated, but rn, you just want to enjoy what's happening with ellie. it's literally a dream come true and you don't want to fuck that up in the slightest. her hand starts rubbing your pussy through your panties and you let out soft moans, wanting more. your hand moves beneath her loose sweatshirt and gropes her tit. she starts moaning at the feeling of your cold hand. you pull the sweatshirt over your head and teasingly kiss around her nipple. you love teasing her, hearing her frustrated moans through yours. after her hand moves your panties to the side, you lick and suck and bite her titties. it gets increasingly harder the harder and faster the goes, through the mess of moans and pleasure and shaking you feel. your head slips completely out of her shirt and she laughs and kisses you more, slipping her thick and strong fingers inside of you. you let out a loud moan, feeling her massage your walls. the pleasure she's making you feel is getting overwhelming.

you've never had a real partner before, definitely not one as good as she's been. you've had a girlfriend who was pretty decent with her strap, and a guy who could fulfill your kinks. but someone who knew each moment to touch you? ellie could tell which spots exactly made you moan and shake and shiver, without touching you before this encounter.

snapping out of your thoughts, you let out a loud moan, arching your back further. "you feeling good baby?" ellie asks leaning down to your ear. "mhm" you answer and she thrusts her fingers deeper inside of you, making your eyes roll back in fulfillment. you've never been so close, so far on the edge before. you arch your back further feeling her going faster and faster.. mmhhmm..

"y/n?? y/nnnn.." you hear one of your friends shout maybe 100? meter away. both you and ellie freeze. she quickly pulls her out of you and wipes them on her pants without thinking. you sit up and pull your dress back down, noticing how cold it still is outside. "yeah I'm over here, I'm coming" you shout back. ellie gives you a quick kiss before you give her the jacket you've been laying on throughout the whole session. "keep it baby it's cold." she says, urging you to put it on and helps you get through the sleeves. "you go ask your friend simon for my number, she has it. text me. I want to see you again." "yeah, I will." you answer, still flustered. "good girl.. now get back to your friends and get home safely." you smile back and run over to your friend who's shouting at you to get it the van. you sit down and relax, thinking about the.. interesting.. evening you spent with ellie. "god fucking damn.." you mutter under your breath, driving away.

[dr5amatic]

THE ABILITY TO HOLD PAIN ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from the novel the sword of kaigen: the theonite war story by m. l. wang. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

you don’t need to play dumb with me. i like you better when you’re smart.

be careful how hard you love what you know you can’t have.

i’ve never seen you smile. what’s wrong with you? are the corners of your mouth busted or something?

you’re not a disappointment. you couldn’t be if you tried.

you… are you saying our government would lie to us?

any warrior will tell you that even the strong can’t afford complacency.

you’re a good fighter and your small-town pride is cute, but it’s all based on a lie.

you’re talented, but talent is meaningless without self-discipline. you will never be fully realized if you continuously let your pride run away with your principles.

you’re patriotic and loyal. you’re exactly what everyone’s told you to be.

if i kill you, you’ll be facing me with a sword in your hand.

i don’t just make up ridiculous, self-serving lies whenever i feel like it.

i’m too young to die!

are you hurt anywhere else? is there any bleeding?

the moon and ocean fear no change.

we can’t claim to be crime-fighters if we disrespect life just as much as the criminals we fight.

i don’t think killing a horrible, hostile person is really disrespecting life.

if you didn’t want your enemies dead, why even bring me onboard? why did you choose me?

street fighting is always messy and full of cheating.

so, you care that everyone lives, but you don’t care whether you fight clean?

how easy do you think it is to build a life out of nothing?

it’s not your powers that make you special.

i know you can take care of yourself. i’m just not sure you will.

do you not understand? you’re going to die!

if i think your life is in danger, i will kill for you.

only you could turn an offer for help into a threat.

for someone so proficient at fighting, you certainly seem to loathe it.

careful what you wish for.

you should lie down and rest for at least a little while.

can i tell you why i hit him?

you learn over time that the world isn’t broken. it’s just…got more pieces to it than you thought. they all fit together, just maybe not the way you pictured when you were young.

listening never made any man dumber, but it’s made a lot of people smarter.

the world is whole. you are on the right path. everything is going to be alright.

ours is borrowed power, a gift and a blessing. the true power belongs to the gods.

respectfully, i just want to know how you feel about your government lying to you.

do you fight to be remembered?

if it came to it, i would have killed without a second thought. if it was to save [name], i would have killed as many people as i needed to.

that is the dumbest thing you’ve said all day. square up.

you can try to stop me.

i’m not sure i’m worthy of your pride, but i will be. just wait.

you’re going to find something worth fighting for and you’re going to get your chance to fight for it.

you think i’m a good person. that saved my life.

you saved me. i’m going to return the favor, but i need you to trust me and hide.

are you serious? you’re sure you don’t want to run?

power. that’s really the thing people use to decide who they marry?

i don’t want to leave without you.

a life of dangerous adventures might seem worth it now, when you are young and seemingly invincible, but one day, you will have children, and you will not want that life for them.

you’re trying to hurt me so i can leave you here without any guilt.

i know your tactics. they won’t work on me.

this doesn’t seem like something you would have chosen of your own free will.

i made a decision you don’t like, so i’m a coward?

divinity lives here. i think this is a place of miracles.

i never loved you the way i should have.

the least i can do is warn you about what is going to happen next.

are you always going to be this mean to me?

this power… i might not understand it completely, but i know that it comes from my will to protect the people i love.

i’m impressed. patience has never been your strong suit.

you’re good at talking to people – lifting them up, breaking them down. you’ve always been good at that.

i’ve stood by too long while you disgraced yourself, but this–this is the last time you will be weak in front of me.

do you ever feel love?

the anger is not going to go away, but you are going to face it and tame it.

you’re guilty of the same thing i am.

if you don’t want to hurt me, you will face me like a real fighter, with respect

there are worse things than fighting. i like a bit of fighting. it’s silence i can’t stand.

when you’ve been around the world and seen all different kinds of lies, it gets easier to see through them. i don’t fault you for being misinformed.

what happened to the fearless optimist i knew?

a person’s tragedy doesn’t define them or cancel all the good in their life.

how many of them did you kill?

i’ll never understand how you forgive people you disagree with so fundamentally.

i thought i could become strong enough to protect the people i cared about from anything. i understand now that that’s not true. and it’s too late.