#give me my buttons back goddamnit

[daily-mao-isara]

Day 410 : Ichiban kuji merchandise !

[teapsoon]

they fucking suck so bad

[wh0re43van]

And they were roommates (Peter Maximoff X Reader)

Description: You and Peter are long time best friends and now roommates. Things take a weird turn when he admits that he found your sex toy drawer.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving)

A/n: this is based off this request! I’m sorry if this isn’t up to your expectations, I’ve been having writers block. I’ve also been a bit inactive bc college rawdogging me without lube rn :/ (also I left this open to possibly a pt 2 with pegging Peter?? 🙊)

Peter sits on the edge of the couch clad in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, playing that mindless video game that he loves so much. His skilled fingers move in a blur across the plastic controller, the sound of the rapid clicks on the joy stick and buttons are drowned out by the blaring music coming out of the stereo. The music is so loud in fact, that the boy doesn’t hear you stumble into your shared home, dropping groceries and cursing at him as you stagger towards the table.

“Goddamnit Peter!” You groan after dropping off the bags of food, stomping into the living room as you dodge empty bottles of soda and dirty clothes on the floor. “Peter!” You gripe, now completely out of patience. But Peter is so fixed on the game and the music is so loud that he isn’t even aware of your arrival.

You let out an irritated sigh before ripping the cord to the stereo out of the wall. “Peter Maximoff!” You shout, crossing your hands over chest. He jumps a bit, startled by your sudden appearance, but soon enough his signature smirk is plastered on his stupid face.

“Hey babe! Where’ve you been?” He asks nonchalantly-choosing to ignore your obviously pissed off stature- as he shifts his attention back to the video game.

“Are you- oh my god,” you groan, completely exasperated as you pinch the bridge your nose. “I’ve been out for three hours getting shit for my party tonight. The one thing I asked you to do was clean up this mess!” You pace infront of the tv like a disappointed mother- a feeling you’ve become all too familiar with since renting an apartment with your man-child of a best friend.

“I don’t think four girls in their 20s getting wine drunk and talking shit for hours on end counts as a party,” Peter snickers before he zooms around you, now between you and the television with his nose nearly pressed to the screen in attempt to finish his game. Your blood is boiling at at this point.

“Beats locking yourself in your room and playing with your dick to those old VHS tapes you still have from high school,” you roll your eyes. “Atleast get with the times and use the internet,” you add with your lips pulled taught in an unamused line, you reach down to unplug the console. Peter of course grabs your hand before you reach the plug, his eyes still glued to the screen.

“And abandon my girls? Come on babe, don’t be ridiculous. We have history!” Peter snickers, unfazed by your attempt to humble and embarrass him.

Peter finally beats the level, sounding off the victory music. With a proud smile, he sits down the controller, finally giving you his attention. “Plus, don’t act like I don’t know about your drawer of toys. Neither one of us are getting laid,” Peter laughs casually as he walks back over to the couch, leaving you with wide eyes and blushed cheeks.

“What the fuck! H-how-Peter! Dude! What-what the actual fuck!” You look at him dumbfounded, now twice as furious and extremely embarrassed.

“Oh, so you can go through my stuff, but I can’t go through yours?” He smirks as he takes a swig of soda out of a two liter bottle, looking at you with pure amusement on his face.

“I-I don’t go through your stuff, Peter!” You shriek, looking down at your feet in attempt to escape his gaze. When you do, you notice a bright orange plastic rectangle on the ground amidst various snack cake wrappers. “Th-there’s a tape literally laying right here!” You chuck the VHS at him, he catches it, sitting it on the couch beside him.

“Alright you’ve got me,” Peter holds his hands up in defense with playful grin. “But you can’t blame me for snooping. You don’t exactly make an effort to keep quiet. Our rooms are right across from each other ya know,” he chuckles as he settles into the couch, wiping his Cheeto covered fingers on his grey sweatpants. “So yeah, maybe I was curious to see the loud ass vibrator that you abuse most nights of the week, and maybe I found a lot more than I was looking for,” Peter laughs at how red your face is. He’s clearly enjoying your utter humiliation.

You feel mortified. You can’t believe he would just reveal that he knows you about your dirty habits so casually. Had he seen everything?

‘Why would I keep everything on the same place,’ you internally facepalm as you imagine Peter digging through your underwear draw to see your Hitachi, the vibrating dildo, the strap.

‘Jesus Christ does he know I have a strap on?’ Panic begins to set it. ‘How long has he known about this?’ Your mind is racing almost as fast as your heart.

You swear you’ve never felt so embarrassed in your life. Despite the snow on the ground outside, you feel like your skin is on fire. You��re a clammy, stuttering mess that wants nothing more than to vanish into thin air, but you can’t even will yourself to move.

“Y-you can hear it?” Is all you dare to ask sheepishly, your eyes still wide in horror at the conversation that’s unfolding between you and your best friend.

“Mhm,” Peter snickers as he stands up, nonchalantly stretching and flexing all the muscles in his bare torso. You think for a moment that he might be flexing on purpose as he walks over to inspect the groceries you’ve brought home. “And I Gotta say,” Peter hums as he pops open the new box of twinkies you got for your party. “I’m really not impressed with the settings on that thing,” he says through a mouth full of yellow sponge cake.

You don’t know what to think of the situation. You wrack your brain trying to figure out what he’s playing at, but to no avail. He seems to be amused more than anything; at the very least he doesn’t think any less of you.

You sigh, walking over to the boy, prying the blue hostess box out of his hands. “T-these are for tonight, Peter,” you make a meek attempt of scolding him, but you can’t even look him in the eyes right now as you trip over your words. This only fuels Peters teasing.

“I’m serious babe,” he grins as he slowly rests his hands on either side of you. His bare biceps and chest tense as he grips onto the table, trapping you right in front of him. “I can show ya real speed if you’d let me,” his voice is low and silky smooth as he lets out a small laugh. You blink at him, not sure if you’re understanding him right.

“I-uh…well… if-I uhm-” Your voice is shaky as you stare up at him with wide eyes. At this point you’re sure that your face is as red as those cherry slushies that Peter always gets from the corner store.

“Am I making you nervous?” Peter asks as he leans ever so slightly closer to you. His sultry tone sends heat straight to your core.

“N-no,” you whimper. As if your tone didn’t give you away, you instinctively pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he says lightly as puts a gentle hand on your face, his thumb pulls your lip out from under your teeth. “This always gives it away,” Peter hums.

You feel ridiculous at how worked up Peter has managed to get you. You chalk it up to being dick deprived and attempt to pull yourself together before you literally start drooling. But before you speak, Peters next words make your mind go blank.

“These pretty lips of yours are always getting you in trouble, huh?” Peters voice is husky as he drags you lip down with his thumb, focusing on your mouth with a lust laced gaze.

He’s right. Your entire time growing up together your nervous habit of chewing on your lip has always gotten you caught in your lies. It’s a little weird to think about all the adolescent trouble you and Peter got into as he’s standing only inches away from you; very obviously not that little boy anymore. No, Peter is definitely a man now- his mind may not have matured past 15, but his body absolutely has.

He brings his other hand to the back of your head as he steps closer to you. You can feel his warm breath fanning on your face, as your knees begin to go weak.

“Okay Peter that’s enough teasing. You got me. j-just clean up your mess so I can get ready for my party,” you say quietly as you examine his face, taking in how truly handsome your best friend is.

“Oh come on, we have time,” he smiles. That seductive tone is one you never thought you’d hear from Peter, and it’s definitely going to get you in trouble.

Peter dips his head down, his nose brushing against yours, making your breath hitch. Butterflies erupt in your stomach from the small contact. He teases his lips over yours, gently ghosting over the skin as if testing the waters.

The moment your lips touch, you’re a goner. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into an intense kiss. Peter laughs into the exchange as he grabs onto your hips.

You never thought of Peter in this way in all the years that you’ve known him. Sure, he’s an objectively attractive guy- anyone can see that- but he’s just never really been ‘your type’ and aside from casual flirting like he does with every woman he comes into contact with, he never showed any romantic interest in you- as far as you were aware at least. But right now, you’re completely desperate for your best friend.

The kiss quickly becomes anything from innocent as Peter grabs your ass, sitting you up on the table so he can stand between your legs. Your hands run through his hair, tugging on the silver stands as his grips onto your lower back, keeping you as close to him as possible.

Reality sets in as his lips trail down your neck where he stops to nip at sensitive skin. As you catch your breath you stutter, “W-what are we doing Peter? Are we really gonna risk our friendship just because neither of us have gotten laid in a while?”

While you are concerned for your platonic dynamic, you just can’t bring yourself to push him away. His warm lips on your skin and his strong grip on your body is too intoxicating.

“We aren’t risking anything, dude,” Peter smiles into the crook of your neck as his hands run up your thighs, his fingers disappearing under the hem of your short dress. “Just two friends helping eachother out. Nothing wrong with that,” he hums. You’re silent for a moment, considering his words.

Peter Steps aways from you, leaving you to whimper at the lack of contact.

“But if you don’t want this, I understand. I won’t press-“ he begins with a small grin as he continues to slowly back away. Without thinking, your hand shoots out, almost causing you to fall off the table. You grip his arm as you look up at him with desperate eyes.

“Please Peter,” is all you have to say before he’s back on you. Smashing his kiss bruised lips to yours.

Unbeknownst to you, Peter has been waiting for this moment for awhile. He wasn’t ‘totally in love with his best friend’ but you are the one person who knows him better than anything and his domestic partner and you’re smokin hot and he hears you masturbate in the room beside him a couple times a week- not to mention he hasn’t been with a woman in months. I mean, can you blame the guy?

You let out a small gasp as peters fingers brush against your clothed core. He gives you mischievous grin as he pulls you to the very edge of the table.

“Let’s get these out of the way,” he breaths as he slowly wraps his fingers around the waist band of your silk underwear. With in half a second, the thin fabric is gone- where to? You have no idea.- and Peter is on his knees below you, admiring your exposed core. “You must really be desperate. Damn,” the boy chuckles as he collects some of your wetness on his finger. You groan, kicking him in the arm gently. But you can’t argue with him.

“Ugh Peter if you’re going to-“ before you can finish whining, Peter has his arms wrapped around your thighs and mouth attached to your swollen clit, licking like his life depends on it. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden intense stimulation.

“At least now I know how to shut you up,” Peter chuckles against your core. Caught up in your own pleasure, you grab his hair and grind into his face. Peter let’s out a hum of satisfaction before he slips a finger in your entrance.

“Fuck,” you groan, throwing your head back. Peter is having the time of his life, struggling not to cum in his pants from how erotic you are. I mean yeah, he knew you were hot but he never would have guessed just how sexy your moans are or how good you taste. Call him a munch, but Peter could suffocate right here between your legs and die a happy man.

“Just like that Peter. Please don’t stop,” you pant out lowly, moving your hips faster against his face. You look down to see Peter who is already staring up at you. His silver strands of hair tickle the inside of your thighs as he laps at your clit desperately. The image of your best fiends head between your legs triggers a flash of embarrassment and guilt, but that’s soon forgotten as soon as you feel it.

Peter begins to vibrate his tongue as he sucks on your clit, his fingers curling directly into your g-spot with every thrust.

“Peter!” You shriek, pulling his hair. The sensation is nothing like you’ve felt before. You quickly melt into his touch as you revel in the pure pleasure shooting through every nerve in your body.

Peter replaces his tongue with his thumb before breathlessly pulling you into a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck, your legs beginning to shake from how much pleasure is flooding you system.

“I want you to cum for me,” Peter growls against your lips. You whine into the kiss as you clench around his fingers. The tightly wound rubber band in your stomach finally snaps, releasing intense euphoria through your body. “That’s it. Good girl, fuck, just like that,” Peter coos into your ear as the unholiest string of profanities he’s ever heard falls from your kiss bruised lips. You collapse into his chest, your legs shaking, head spinning, chest heaving.

“You okay?” Peter chuckles as he rests a hand on your back. You simply nod your head, trying to catch your breath. After a minute or so of recovery, you open your mouth to speak but are quickly interrupted by a loud knocking at the door. You jump up from the table, looking at Peter in horror as your release drips down your legs.

“My friends,” you gasp. Peter chuckles as he gently stands you to your feet.

“We’re not done here,” your best friend winks before he’s gone with a fwip.

In a Silver Blur, Peter zooms around the apartment. Within five seconds, the living room is spotless, the groceries are put away, and there are four glasses of wine are poured and set at the table with an organized array of the snacks you’d bought.

“Come on in ladies, y/n is in the kitchen,” Peter answers the door, allowing your friends into your home.

“Ew, why is your face wet?” One of the girls ask Peter as they turn the corner into the kitchen.

“And where’s your shirt?” Another girl asks as they exchange confused glances with each other.

“Oh-“ Well I guess Peter forget a couple crucial pieces of evidence. He wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. “What’s with the interrogation girls?” Peter chuckles as he holds his hands up.

Your face goes red in embarrassment as you walk over to great your group of friends on shaky legs- and with a bare core since you couldn’t seem to find your panties anywhere.

“Sorry, ignore him. Peters just leaving,” You smile at your friends then give peter a death glare.

“Oh, y/n, let me know once your little party is over. We need to finish that conversation,” he winks as he picks up a snack cake off the bar. As he ascends up the steps, you see your purple panties hanging out the pocket of his grey sweatpants. You send a silent prayer to every all-powerful incorporeal being you can think of that your friends did not see Peter with your underwear.

“Y/n, are you okay? What’s with-“ one of your friends begin to question.

“Wine!?” You cut her off as you offer-more or less force her to take- a glass of Pinot Grigio which thankfully is enough to shift the conversation.

You’re left in anticipation the rest of the night, half temped kick the girls out just so you and Peter can finish what you’ve started, but you decide against it. As you go commando for the next four hours, you think about how you’re going to get peter back.

[mungdou]

DANDELIONS PT. 2

PR. ushijima x reader; semi x reader

W. swears

GR. angst, comfort, resolution

WC. 3.2k

AN. revenge is so sweet; tysm for all the love on the first part!! it was such a warm welcome back haha :)) requests are still open so please ask away my brain is highkey empty.

(pt. 1)

It's been a while since you've felt lonely. After that day, Semi started sitting with you during lunch to chat about his day, hum some new riffs he was testing out on his guitar, or just as good company. He'd get something from the cafeteria whilst you ate the pre-packed lunch you made the night before. Needless to say, there were more than a few bites missing from your lunch after the hour was over. It was peaceful and more than anything you could ask for.

"Y/n, listen to this-" He played a short video clip of a new song he was practicing. The sound was smooth, almost as if he had run the audio through a creamy filter. Were his fingers always this nimble? Or did you just start noticing? Mesmerized by the short clip, you couldn't help pressing the reset button 3 or 4 times before Semi began pulling away.

Your eyes looked up, snapped out of the trance his fingering put you into. "Oh! Sorry, I couldn't help myself-" You smiled as your face burned with embarrassment. "That was amazing, Semi-Semi, definitely remind me next time you practice- I'd love to come listen to you live." Your fingers twiddled under the table, hoping the sudden advance didn't come out too eager. His playing was beautiful- his fingers danced on the fretboard meticulously and the notes were so smooth, almost like magic.

His lips curled in a proud smile and he seemed to perk up like a dog. "You... wanna come over? Like, to hear me practice? Me? Really?" He mustered out, his words stumbled over another. His ears turned pink and waved his hands around, gesturing between the two of you without direction.

You giggled at his flustered reaction and grasped his flailing hands. They were flushed at the knuckles, and you could feel the hard-earned callouses that had formed from years of guitar and volleyball practice. His palms were warm, but his fingertips were cold, and as you squeezed his hands, they seemed to relax into a gentle position.

"Yes! I'd really like it if I could... does this Sunday work? You'll be going home for the weekend, right?" You eagerly spoke, your hands squeezing his just a bit harder.

Semi nodded shyly, his eyes darting between his enveloped hands and your eyes. "Ahem-" He coughed softly. "Here, give me your phone, I'll put my address in for you." He took your phone off the table and typed in his address before turning it to you to confirm that you had it.

"Hmm? Oh! You live so close by to me!" You exclaimed, smiling brightly. "Yeah this is like, a 15 minute walk from my place! Wow, Why haven't we seen this before, that's so convenient, Semi-semi!"

"Oh really? That's crazy, we could have been catching the bus together or something-"

"SEMI-SEMIIIIII??" The disembodied voice of a familiar lanky middle blocker interrupted your newfound discovery. "DID SHE JUST CALL YOU SEMI-SEMI????"

"Goddamnit" Semi groans, turning away from Tendou, banging his head against the table.

"Hi Tendou, what's going on?" A shit-eating grin creeped on your face with full intent to milk this 'Semi-semi' privilege you held over his head. One of the only things you could hold above his head to be honest.

Tendou's teeth grit, greeting you with a playful glare before turning to Semi, "Why can she call you Semi-semi without getting verbally attacked? This isn't fair, I'll have you know." He tsked, "And what's this about meeting up?? Hmm?? Unsupervised, might I add?"

"Shut up, Tendou." Semi growled, picking up his tray and walking away.

You smiled nervously at Tendou, "So..." You began.

"So..." Tendou copied.

"How's Ushijima been? I mean- well- yeah." It was hard asking. It had been a few weeks since he insulted your character and needless to say, everything about it was hard. His words and your acceptance of those words. As much as you wish it didn't, time still moved on even though you were left in pain and embarrassment. The only thing that helped you get through with it was Semi and Tendou.

"He's doing okay, I guess?" Tendou mused before sauntering to pester Goshiki abut his bowl cut or something.

You guess? Okay, weird.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

Even though Tendou stayed close to Ushijima, he still came over to ask about how you were doing every so often, or to tease you about something or another. It was refreshing, that despite all this, he still treated you the same.

At least he didn't pity you.

It was a shame how fast rumors spread after Ushijima rejected you so coldly.

Most said that it was your fault for interfering with his feelings.

Some thought that it was his fault for being so blunt without apologies.

Even less thought it had to do with Aoi.

Most people in the inner volleyball ring knew the truth. That Aoi had changed their cornerstone ace for better and worse. On one hand, he worked twice as hard to impress her and to better himself. On the other hand, he became ever so slightly distracted, and it didn't help that Aoi rarely did her manager duties.

At some point, it had become too much for you to handle basic manager duties on top of appealing to Aoi and Ushijima. Aoi's whole point of being here was to help out, but instead of pushing carts, hanging laundry, or taking notes, she could be seen trailing her boyfriend up and down the court with a water bottle and towel only for him.

Imagine pulling a hundred pound anchor of dead weight on a chain with your teeth while using your hands to organize papers and running 5 miles an hour.

It was obvious that people noticed. They pitied you more than they cared to admit, but they were too afraid to speak out. Plus, you reassured them that everything was fine as to not stress them out further.

Besides, it wasn't like you could fire her at this point. She was supposed to be taking over after you graduated and it was already too soon to the end of the year to start over.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

That Saturday, you woke up earlier than usual to make some cute thumbprint jam cookies to bring over as a snack for your hangout the next day. You biked out to the local grocery store to grab some missing ingredients and some nice fruit for his parents before visiting for the first time. After grabbing all the ingredients, all that was left was to peruse the aisles for fun.

"Ooh, they have truffle fry chips? That's new- ahh I shouldn't... but then again... hmmm." You murmured to yourself, crouching down to look at the options of savory treats when you heard a voice call out your name.

"Y/n-senpai?" A familiar cute, yet unfeeling voice rang in your ears, making your stomach flip in anxiety. You turned around and saw Aoi standing at the end of the aisle. Whipping your eyes back down to the bottom of the shelf, you took a few deep breaths as you heard the pitter-patter of her heel-adorned feet run down the aisle towards you.

"Aoi." You curtly nipped, with an unfamiliar lack of emotion lacing your words. "What are you doing here?" Standing back up to face her, you noticed that she had showy makeup on and was dressed nicer than usual.

"I'm here to get something with Toshi~ But I should be asking you that." She smirked boastfully, her cute demeanor barely shielding her bitter intentions. "You are so... weird. No offense. Why are you here? Probably stalking Toshi like always. Ugh, you're so suffocating, like, leave us alone. He. Doesn't. Like. You. What don't you get about that? Honestly, I might need to call the police or something to report you-"

"I. Don't. Give. A. Flying. Fuck. You. Dense. Ass. Child." You clapped back, clapping between every word, emphasizing your hate towards her. "You wanna talk about being clingy and obsessed? Really? Because last time I checked, who's the one who constantly follows Ushijima around the court, ignoring everyone else around them? The one who's always rushing over to hover over him to gush about how amazing he is after practice while others pick up your slack?"

Her face turned pink with anger, the flush blocked by the sheer amount of concealer she had on. "Well- you were rejected, yet you still show up around him, to practice and to show the notes to him all cutesy and whatever. You're practically begging for attention." She ticked her head to the side, as if she was saying checkmate.

You doubled over laughing. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes as you wheezed, trying to catch your breath. "Hah... Hah.. Oh my god you are such a little comedian." Wiping away the tears, you stood straight up and finished off your thought. "Showing up to practice and taking notes, putting aside my differences to make sure that the team functions?? Aoi, I'm gonna metaphorically hold your hands while I say this."

I stepped forwards and leaned down, moving my lips close to her studded ears. I lowered my voice, babying my voice to make sure she understood.

"That's what you call being a mature manager. Woahh~~ Whahh~~ Isn't that amazing? Though, if I'm being honest, you probably don't even know what being mature means, so I don't blame you if this completely flies over your head."

You walked past her frozen figure, waving nonchalantly as you passed. "And by the way, to answer your question, I live in the area- in fact, I live right next door to Ushijima. The same place for the past 5 years, so forgive me for intruding on his space or whatever."

On your way out, as you scanned your ingredients by the self-checkout, you caught a glimpse of a softly weeping Aoi and a silent, but furious, Ushijima in the background.

Well, at this point, what do I have to lose? If he's mad at me, I've already accepted that. If he's mad at her, I win.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

When you returned home, you hastened your pace, prepping all the ingredients and efficiently moving around your kitchen to make your cookies as quickly as possible.

Flour, butter, eggs, sugar, jam.

Finally, after an hour, you popped the cookies into the oven, wiping the sweat off your brow in triumph. After setting a timer on your phone, you ran up the stairs and collapsed on your bed.

As you lay there looking out the window, you began to think about what happened just a few hours ago. Oh the rant you were about to go on when you see Semi later tomorrow.

The thought of seeing Semi relaxed you, a heavy weight leaving your shoulder, and now all you were stressing about was to not fall asleep before your cookies were done.

Don't sleep. Don't do it, you're going to burn your whole house down. You'd better not pass the fuck ou-

"Get out."

A voice bellowed from outside your window. You sat up quickly and peered out your curtains. Across the way you could see Aoi and Ushijima arguing in his room. It was hard to hear, and only snippets were caught.

"but-"

"did i stutter? please, get out. i am saying this as nice as I possibly can."

"Toshi- please, she was the one harassing me, I swear!"

"do you think i am that dense? i was in the next aisle, i am not deaf."

Your cookie alarm loudly rang from your pocket while you peeked out the window, scaring you, but also getting the attention from the perfect couple next door. Their heads sharply looked over, but you slammed the window and shades to avoid their gaze before rushing down to take your cookies out of the oven.

phew. at least they came out nice.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It's a weird feeling, waking up before your alarm.

After dressing up in a nice white top, a jean skirt, and a gray overshirt, you went downstairs to pack your cookies and fruits into a canvas tote before leaving your house to walk over to Semi's place.

"Y/n." Ushijima's deep voice startled you.

"Oh! Good morning, Ushiji-" You started before being cut off.

Ushijima cleared his throat, "You should call me by my first name again. We aren't unfamiliar, after all."

You smiled, a sigh of relief escaping your lips. "Wakatoshi. What's up?"

"You heard, did you not?" His intense gaze wavered for a split second, tilting down towards the curb.

"Well, it was hard not to- though I didn't mean to eavesdrop like I did... Sorry about that, by the way." You sheepishly looked away, struggling to meet him in the eyes.

"It's alright. I should be sorry for the way I've treated you for the past few weeks. I never should have let her blind me into treating you like that. I never thought that her intentions were impure." He looked into your eyes, a light gentleness glazed over his own. "Do you think you could ever forgive me?"

"I can," You began, "and I will, eventually. But I don't think I can just forgive and forget right now, but lets just establish good terms from here on out? I'll let you know when I've healed- emotionally- that is."

"Thank you." He paused before speaking up, "Where are you off to?" looking at your treat stuffed bag.

"O-oh. I'm on my way to visit Semi... I'm running a bit late, so I'll catch you later! Bye Wakatoshi!" You jogged off, quickly making your way over to your destination.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

You arrived on Semi's doorstep, but before you rang the doorbell, you tried to catch your breath. However, the door swung open to reveal Semi, draped in a loose gray hoodie and cargo pants. Both of you flushed with embarrassment.

“You… hah… I didn’t even ring the doorbell, Semi-Semi.” You laughed, out of breath, looking at him as he put his hands over his face, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. “Were you waiting for me~”

“N-no-“ Semi turned around, holding the door open to let you in before turning back to dace you, “Well, you were running late, y’see- and, uh, I was worried…” he trailed off after seeing the pouch in your hands. “What’s that?”

You looked down at your hands, “I made cookies for us to eat! Oh!! I also got some fruit for your parents- are they home?” You rummaged through your bag and took a nicely wrapped melon.

“Nah, my parents aren’t home right now… We can just leave it in the basket over there.” He led you to the kitchen and took the melon to store away.

"So... you were waiting for me, weren't you?" You smiled, leaning in close, "I didn't even ring the doorbell- You were definitely looking for me through the window..."

"I- No, It heard your huffing and puffing a mile away-" he stammered, his ears now flaring red. "A-anyways... let's go upstairs- you can bring the cookies with you..."

Following him up the stairs to his room, you noticed all the baby photos adorning the walls, before stopping in front of a familiar one.

Semi heard your steps come to a stop, turning around to join you. "Wow this is so embarrassing- that's from my daycare graduation-" He started, before turning to see your face.

You looked almost startled, "I have this same photo in my house, look-" Your finger pointed at the little girl behind the platinum haired toddler. "In the pigtails behind you-"

"Seriously?" Semi huffed, looking closer at the photo, "Damn, you're right- it really is you."

"Wow Semi-Semi, your hair is naturally this color? I could've sworn you dyed it or something-" You giggled, examining the photo in detail before quietly whispering, "You were a really cute baby."

Semi looked at you with wide eyes. "I heard that-" He coughed out before grabbing your arm and pulling at you to his room. You yelped in surprise, but after walking through the hallway of pictures, you finally made it into his room. It was covered in band posters and at the very corner stood a guitar propped up on a stand.

"Wow- your room is so decorated, it's putting my room to shame," You laughed before plopping onto the floor. Semi picked up his guitar and started to tune it.

"It's nothing special, just some stuff that I've printed throughout the years." He smiled, plucking at the strings before playing some chord progression.

It was almost angelic, the way he played. His fingers danced around the strings so naturally, like he was born to play.

"You play so beautifully," You smiled, looking intensely as he played, "If you put a halo on and wore all white, I could swear you were an angel or something."

"Probably not as beautiful as you are, though." He blurted before catching himself, his fingers frozen in place. "Wait-"

"Really?" Now it was your turn to blush. "Wow Semi, you are such a flirt~" You felt the blood rush to your face while the words fully sunk in.

He cleared his throat. "Uh... Yeah... You are really pretty, did you know that?" His fingers hovered over the strings, almost as if his brain didn't know how to control them anymore.

"You too." You squeaked out, trying to find your voice and composure. "You too, Semi-"

He put the guitar down, and it's hollow body clattering when it hit the floor. "I like you." He smiled shyly, not sure what to say next. "I really really like you."

You shuffled, closing the distance between the two of you. "Me too." You mumbled, looking down at the ground. "I really really like you too."

Both you and Semi sat in silence for a while, though the room kept getting warmer and warmer.

"O-oh!" You exclaimed, stopping the stagnant silence. "The cookies! Uh- Really good! Eat-"

Good job, Y/n, really, really good job.

Semi, in a state of panicked eagerness, grabbed one and practically swallowed it whole before choking a bit. He pounded his chest, tears watering in his eyes.

"Ah!! Water- Water!" You scrambled, pulling out the thermos in your bag.

Semi quickly took the bottle and gulped down the water, sighing in relief after the cookie passed through.

"Are you okay?" You exclaimed, the panic leaving your body. Semi nodded in embarrassment.

"Yeah... it was really tasty- the choking was my fault."

"No, I should have warned you that it was the crumbly kind of cookie." You paused, before buckling down laughing. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gasped for air.

Semi started to laugh, and soon the silence and panic was replaced with cackles.

"Hah... this is gonna be a good story to tell everyone." You sighed, calming down and leaning on his shoulder.

"Yeah...." Semi smiled, resting his head on yours, grasping your hand and interlacing your fingers.

"Wait-" he froze. You looked at him, puzzled by his reaction. "No we can't tell anyone- Especially not Tendou- I can't take the embarrassment any further."

You giggled, looking up at Semi through your eyelashes.

"No promises."

AN: omg this took so long haha my bad yall, hope u liked it :)

masterlist || request

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀assigning the wickverse characters links ! !

characters ;;

— ted logan , john wick , constantine , kevin , neo

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ted logan 🎸

— before ted met you , he was a virgin. he had never experimented with women because…well he just never cared for it. his main goal was to become a rock star.

— when the two of you got together , sex wasn’t even on the table. you two were to happy together without it to even bring it up.

— until he heard some boys in one of his classes talking about their sex life. “she was screaming bad. she enjoyed every inch.” “she won’t leave me after that.”

— ‘were you happy with him?’ ‘did you want sex?’ ‘was he enough for you?’ his mind was flooded with self deprecating thoughts , making him more insecure about himself. he didn’t want you to leave him.

— so he did what he could. he went to the back of blockbusters , looking for any popular porno for him to learn how to pleasure a woman. “sick.”

“teddy.” you gasp as he softly pushes you on his bed. “shh. i’ve got you, baby. just let me take the lead.” he kisses down your neck. he rolls your shirt over your head, rubbing his hand over your soft skin. ‘what’s gotten into him’ you thought. your bra and panties were next to go, leaving you naked in front of him. “shit…” he didn’t think this all through. he imagined everything but he didn’t actually expect all of this to happened. but he he pulled himself together, taking a deep breath and leveling his mind. “you’re beautiful.” he kisses down your leg, stopping at your inner thighs. you didn’t know how to react. you and ted both were virgins from what you knew. how was he so confident about this? but you weren’t really complaining. the way his tongue flick across your clit was intoxicating. “oh my god , ted.” your fingers card through his brown locks. “don’t—don’t stop.” you whine , squeezing your thighs around his head. his wet tongue licks through your folds , making your shiver in pleasure. “you can’t be finished already , babe. we haven’t even gotten to the good stuff.” he chuckles like nothing has happened. like he wasn’t the one making your legs shaken two seconds ago.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀john constantine 🛁

— christ. why was being with a woman so hard? to him , they were sensitive being loaded with unnecessary emotions and uneven hormones. you and him had gotten into another argument and haven’t talked in weeks.

— he kept telling himself that he didn’t need you and that he waited for you to cave in first. but a man has his needs. and he needed to let out his saved sexual tension.

— his fist would only work for so long. he needed the real thing. or at least look at the real thing. he remembers the stacked of recorded sex tapes the both of you needed.

“fuck it.” he tosses his cigarette across the room after budding it out. he walks over the the pile of tapes. special tapes. if you wouldn’t give it up , he had a way to still get off with you. he pulls out his cock out its confinement , groaning as he sees how angry his tip is , oozing pre-cum. “sonfabitch.” he presses the play button , stroking his length. “john.” your moans came from the speakers of the tv. his grip on your hips were like iron. his tip kisses the hilt of your cunt , making your brain feel like mush. “please.” you grab his hand , attempting to pull it off you. “move.” he swats your head away. “stay still.” he groan , his head lolling backwards. “goddamnit!” he groans, tucking himself back in. he reaches for his phone, looking for your contact. the line goes to voicemail but that doesn’t stop him. “baby, i’m sorry. just come over.”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ mr. wick ✏️

— he’d been really mean lately. really mean. he would lash out at on you with simple things , depriving you of attention , making you feel like shit. and you had enough of it.

— one night , as he was winding down , you straddled his hips , giving him no room to move. and frankly , he wasn’t disappointed. you looked so sexy on top of him , taking initiative. it was until your rode him at he regretted how he treated you.

“baby. i’m sorry. please.” this was the first time you’ve seen him whine, beg none the less. you restricted him the privilege to touching you. he was twitching under you as you rode him to oblivion. “i’m sorry, honey. please just let me touch you.” he tries to touch your thigh, just wanting to touch one piece of you. “fucking touch me one more time and i’m tying you up.” you pull his wrists over his hand. “sweetheart, this is unfair. i just—” he groans as you sink yourself on his cock again. “shit!” he seethe through his teeth. “i swear after you’re done, i’m fucking you through the damn mattress.”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ kevin lomax 💸

— now listen. just listen.

— after a gala (or whatever you call it) , he just wanted to fuck you in that dress you dawned tonight. he was tempted to fuck you in public , giving everyone a show to see but that would be unruly of him.

— he decided to take you home and have his way with you but you looked too fucking hot for him not to have you right then and there.

“come on, baby. cum on my fingers , please.” in addition to his fingers , his faint country accent was sending over the damn edge. his digits were coated with your slick , making velvety sounds every time they pushed in and out out you. he curls his fingers , pulsing them inside of you. “we’re not making it home until you cum.” he chuckles. “kev…” you moan, leaning your head on the window behind you. the feeling was euphoric , overwhelming. you wanted to let go then and there but he was teasing you bad , making you chase your own orgasm. “i guess you don’t want to feel good. huh , sugar?”

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ neo 📀

— mutual masturb*tion! i headcanon the neo loves this shit. you stroking his cock lazily as his fingers pump inside of you.

— his whimpers and moans make you wetter and wetter by the second. how cute was it to have the one submit under your touch? fucking beautiful.

“you’re doing so good , baby.” the time count has been lost. all you knew was that it was time to kill the lights. both you and neo were restless and needed a quick release. you were too lazy to remove your clothes and so was he. you snuck your hand under his loose sweats , softly grabbing his cock. his hips jerked at the sudden touch. “calm down, baby. i haven’t even started.” you teased. “baby…” your lips ghost over his adam’s apple , nipping carefully at his throat. you spread his pre-cum over his tip , eliciting a loud whimper from his lips. “hush, neo. do you want to wake up the ship?” you softly chuckle. he felt bad that you were doing all the work in his. he wanted to hear you moan also. he missed you after all these runs he’s been on. the only time he could catch you was when he went to sleep. his thumbs draws tight circles around your clothed clit. “n—neo.” you almost fold. almost. “i can’t be the only one having fun, right?” he pulls you in for a kiss. this is gonna be a loooong night.

i—don’t say anything…i had an idea

taglist ;; @iovesia

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

[cissyenthusiast010155]

I loved your last request! Thank you :) is “prompt 20” okay for lesso please? The more angst the better, I’m a fiend for it. Happy ending though, I don’t need to be hurt to badly 😅

Hello there @grumblebee-93 ! Thank you, and thanks for another request!! I’d love to write this 💕💕💕

Goddamnit, I like You ~Lady Leonora Lesso xFem Reader

Mommy…Master List

Prompt-List

#20. “Then why are you such a constant asshole?!”

Warnings: angst, kissing, Mutual pining, implied smut…?, happy ending

Blurb

Enjoy (:

Ever since you had started at the school for good and evil, the dean of evil had been an absolute pain in your ass.

I mean, she was for everyone, but you were different. She knew exactly what buttons to push for you to rile you up.

She was a fucking asshole…

You were sitting at the staff dining table, discussing the upcoming ball with Anemone.

“I can’t decide what to wear…” you huffed.

“You’ll find something.” Anemone reassured you.

Lesso rolled her eyes rather loudly at your conversation.

“Care to add?” You spat, sarcasm lacing your tone.

Lesso smirked, “You and your dresses and clothing and beauty. Your a Never professor. Your not supposed to give a shit about that.”

You could practically feel the heat radiated from your body.

Why did she have to be such a bitch constantly?!

You quickly finished your meal and huffed off to your next class.

But even by the end of the day, you couldn’t get Lesso out of your mind.

You decided it was time to confront her immaturity.

You stormed through the corridors, until you reached her office doors. You didn’t even bother knocking, you just barged right in.

“What is your Problem?” You accusingly sneered.

“My problem?” Lesso chuckled, meeting your sneer.

“Yes! What is your problem with me?!” You nearly yelled.

“Lower your tone.” Lesso warned.

“Don’t. Tell. Me. What. To. Do.” You gritted out, a snarl following your words.

Lesso growled in response, “Well then do what your told.”

You said nothing in response.

“Is that all you came in here to say? Throw accusations against a wall and see if they stick…?” Lesso spat.

“No. They’re valid.” You sneered back.

Lesso darkly chuckled.

“Why do you think I treat you this way? Huh??” She mockingly jeered back.

“I don’t fucking know! You tell me!” Your voice raising in volume again.

“It’s because I like you goddamnit!!” Lesso screamed.

You didn’t register what Lesso had just said.

“Then why are you such a constant asshole?!” You screamed back.

Lesso groaned and grabbed you, her lips clashing into yours forcefully.

You froze at first, but quickly melted at Lesso’s ravenous, luscious touch.

You whimpered as she hit your lower lip for entrance into your mouth.

Lesso skillfully slid her tongue inside your mouth, eliciting a moan from deep down in your throat.

Lesso smirked at this.

You both pulled away breathlessly.

“Understand now?”

You sheepishly nodded.

Fuck, you understood fully…

[sweaterkittensahoy]

I WILL CAPTAIN THIS SHIP GODDAMNIT

(By which I mean, I will write a proper story for Jack and Harding to convince everyone to hop on the ship)

Jack doesn't know how long he's been sitting at his desk. He still wears his watch face on the inside of his wrist like he's done since flight training, and he refuses to keep a clock in his office. He doesn't need easy access to proof of how many hours a day he spends behind his desk. 

There's a knock on the door, and he's almost relieved. He can't leave until he's done with the paperwork (and writing the condolence notes to the families), but he can at least look up, rub his eyes, and say, "Enter."

A runner walks in, saluting crisply as he holds out a folded piece of paper. Jack takes it and opens it, hoping it's not another note from the pub about whatever fuckery his boys have gotten into this time. 

19:00 my quarters for dinner - paperwork or no. Send confirmation. - Col. H.

Jack turns his wrist to check the time. It's 17:30. He snorts at Chick's clearly intended timing: delivered early enough he can still get some work done; requiring Jack's attendance late enough he won't be willing to go back to work the moment dinner is over. If Chick weren't such a stellar leader of their men, he'd call it cheating. 

He signs his name under Chick's own, folds the note, and gives it back to the runner. "Dismissed," he says. 

The runner snaps off another salute and leaves. Jack stretches and winces when his back pops. He sits back down and looks at his paperwork, figuring out what he can really put a dent in before he leaves for dinner. 

*

85 minutes later, Jack's reviewed three reports and signed off. He's also laid out the stationary for the condolence notes along with the list of names of the men they've lost on the last two runs. They'll be easier in the morning when he's fresh, though they're never actually easy.

He stands and walks to his looking glass. He unrolls his shirt sleeves and buttons the cuffs, then pulls on his uniform jacket and buttons it as well. He smooths his hair, which has gotten a bit frizzy in the day's humidity, and then he puts on his hat. He shakes his legs to make sure his trousers fall properly, and then he leaves his office. The sun is just starting to set, and Jack is certain Chick planned this dinner on that fact. He has a west-facing window with a view of the horizon, and watching the sun dip down sounds relaxing and nice.

Chick's hut is next to headquarters, the same size as a full officer's barracks, but his rank makes it his alone. Jack has his own hut as well, but it's smaller and tucked in a cluster with other senior officers. Jack likes his space, but Chick's is much more comfortable for entertaining. 

He knocks on the door, and a few seconds later, Chick opens the door. He looks similar to what Jack had looked like a few minutes ago: Jacketless with his shirt sleeves rolled up, though Chick fills out his uniform shirt more fully than Jack. Where's Jack's rolled cuffs are always a bit loose on his forearms, Chick's cuffs are snug, showing off the width of his arms that reflects in the rest of his body. 

"Right on time, Major," Chick says, stepping aside and waving an arm to welcome Jack in. "Join me."

Jack steps inside, and Chick closes the door, and Jack takes off his hat, and Chick pulls him close, and they share a warm, easy kiss.

"You look like shit," Chick says when they break apart. 

Jack smacks him on the shoulder. "Fuck you, too," he replies. 

Chick grins and opens Jack's jacket, then walks behind him to take it off his shoulders. "Get comfortable," he says. "I've got a surprise after dinner."

"What's for dinner?" Jack asks as he rolls his sleeves back up to his elbows. 

"I roasted a chicken with some carrots and potatoes," he says. "Help yourself to a drink while I check on it." 

Jack walks over to the small table that acts as Chick's bar. It's tucked between the fireplace and the corner. There's an overstuffed armchair next to it, and Jack pours himself a measure of whiskey and takes a seat in the chair. He sighs in relief as he sinks into it. It's old and worn in and utterly comfortable. Chick's dragged it base-to-base for years, he knows. 

"Want the stool?" Chick asks. He's in the kitchen area to Jack's left, a meat thermometer stuck in the chicken. 

"I'm okay," Jack says. 

"Chicken needs a few more minutes," Chick says and shoves the pan back in the oven. He walks over to Jack and squats down. He unties Jack's shoes and slips them off his feet, setting them aside. 

"You don't need–"

"Hush," Chick says. He pulls the stool out from under the bar table, then twists to grab a pillow from the loveseat in front of the fireplace. He places it on the stool, then lifts Jack's legs by the ankles so his feet are propped on the pillow. 

Jack hums his thanks as Chick rubs his thumbs over his ankle bones. "How was your day?" he asks. 

Chick shrugs. "Phone calls. Paperwork."

"Where'd you find a chicken?" Jack asks because he knows Chick wouldn't take it from the mess. It wouldn't be right to take a chicken from the boys, even if there is more than enough. They're waiting for replacements, again. 

"I traded with Mrs. Brighton," Chick says, standing from his crouch. He walks over to the bar and pours his own whiskey. "That freeze last week ruined her potatoes, so I offered her a couple dozen for a chicken."

"That is an outrageous exchange rate," Jack says. "How did you even know she needed potatoes?"

"I asked Lemmons if anyone might be up for a trade," Chick replies. 

*

Lemmons had come to Jack months ago asking if they could organize some sort of help for the farm ladies. "They're all real smart about their machines, Sir, but they're trying to do double or triple or quadruple the work to keep their farms going with the men gone."

So are you boys, Jack had thought, but Lemmons had been earnest and worried, and Jack knew if the other boys weren't also wanting to help, Lemmons wouldn't be in his office. "No using our own spares, but you can use our tools."

"We could make parts from the scrap," Lemmons had said. "We'd make our own first, of course, but if there's extra, we could make replacement parts for the farms."

The word 'if' had hung in the air like an angry hornet. As if they were ever low on scrap. It was the only thing Jack didn't give a shit about in inventory reports. Screws and axles and rivets and switches he counted like his last ten cents. But there was so much scrap metal from the forts they'd had to strip for parts he could have built a whole goddamn flying group from scratch.

"Approved," is all Jack had said in the moment.

*

"Ah," Jack says now. "Of course." 

Chick smiles at him and sips his drink. He walks over to the chair and tucks two fingers under Jack's chin to raise his head. He rubs his thumb on Jack's chin. He doesn't say anything and neither does Jack. When Chick strokes his jaw, Jack leans into it lightly, closing his eyes. He feels his shoulders drop, and he hears Chick chuckle with pleasure. 

"There it is," Chick murmurs. 

Jack takes a drink of his whiskey and hum when Chick lets go of his chin to press his thumb lightly to Jack's Adam's Apple to feel him swallow. 

"A little better than when you got here?" Chick asks. 

"As usual," Jack says because it's true. He opens his eyes, and Chick's smiling at him. 

"Good," Chick says, then steps away. He checks the chicken again, then hauls the roasting pan onto the stovetop. 

Jack takes another drink of his whiskey and watches as Chick sets the table with the china and flatware from the mess. That they don't mind taking. Two sets of dinnerware won't be missed from the pile they have. 

Chick offers Jack his hand when the table's set. He lifts Jack to his feet and walks him to his seat, pulling his chair out but letting Jack pull it in for himself. 

The chicken is perfectly golden brown with a crispy bite to the skin. The potatoes and carrots are soft, seasoned with rosemary that Jack knows is fresh because his mother grows her own herbs on a crowded windowsill at home in Cleveland. 

"This is excellent," Jack says after two bites, and Chick beams at him. "I didn't know you knew how to roast a chicken." Chick usually sticks to quicker meals. Pan-fried meat and roasted vegetables. Things that taste good and fill you up and take only a couple of steps to put together.

"I wrote my mother a few weeks ago for the recipe," Chick says. He looks down at his plate and pushes his carrots together. "She…she asked if I was trying to impress someone."

Jack cocks his head at Chick. "Why did she ask that?"

Chick clears his throat and looks at the wall. There's a photo hanging there of the two of them. A journalist had come through several months before and requested a photo of the commanding officer and Air Exec who kept the already-famed Hundredth in the air. Chick had thrown an arm around Jack's shoulders and given him a shake, making Jack laugh. Chick had beamed wide, and the journalist had gotten a shot that Jack's own mother had sent him after it had been published in Life magazine. The caption had made Jack go breathless when he'd read it the first time:

Colonel Neil Harding and Major Jack Kidd, the steady presence behind the wild achievements of the famed 100th.

He rarely feels steady. 

And now here's Chick looking a bit unsteady himself. 

"What is it?" Jack asks, worry creeping up his spine.

Chick's gaze snaps to Jack, reading him through and through like he always does. "Oh. Shit. Jack. It's not bad. Nothing bad. I swear." He shakes his head, then meets Jack's eyes again, steady and sure. "It's a family recipe. It's nicknamed Engagement Chicken."

Jack blinks. He looks down at his plate. He glances at Chick, then cuts another piece from the thigh he's eating. He takes his time chewing and swallowing. "If your surprise after dinner is a ring, I'll say yes, but the chicken is pretty good, too."

Chick stares, then he barks a laugh. "You son of a bitch," he says. 

Jack grins at him, and for a moment, he feels safe and loved and light. And he thinks there's nothing he could do but marry the man who makes that possible in this fucking war. 

*

The surprise after dinner isn't a ring. It's a bathtub. It's set up near the far wall of the hut behind the heavy curtain Chick had hung early on to tastefully conceal his bed. An open window and the closed curtain have kept the heat and humidity of the tub out of the rest of the hut. When Chick pushes the curtain aside, Jack stares in amazement. 

"You did not leave a wood-fire tub burning this whole time," Jack says, staring at the box and pipe that lead to the tub.

"It's how they work," Chick replies. "You build up a fire, then close it off."

Jack knows Chick is right, but it feels like a hell of a risk given what they go through every day. Or maybe it's no risk at all, Jack thinks suddenly, given what they go through every day. 

"Come on, strip down. Water's good and hot," Chick says. 

"Have you used it?" Jack asks, untucking his blouse before going to work on his belt. 

"No," Chick says. "I wanted you to have first go." 

Jack turns and looks at him. Chick looks soft and comfortable in the humid air. His eyes are crinkled at the edges from his smile, and Jack takes the two steps to him to kiss him. It's a bit more aggressive than their hello kiss, but his hands on Chick's waist are loose, and Chick cups his cheek like he's priceless glass. "Why?" Jack asks when he pulls away, not because he thinks that he doesn't deserve to be cared for but because he's just curious what Chick's seen that he's made it happen. 

"You take care of yourself," Chick says. "You get your three squares. You sleep. You exercise. I see you shut off outside worries when you're with me like we are now–well, as much as you can. The only time you drink enough to be worth worrying about it's for good fucking reason, and you still drink less than the other boys. I just wanted to show you that I see you doing that. I wanted to give you something you couldn't give yourself. I wanted to…" Chick shrugs. "I wanted you to know that I see you," he says. "That I want to be the one to take care of you that extra bit."

Jack stares, then he grabs Chick by his blouse and twists his hands so Chick can't get away. He kisses him like it's the last chance he'll have. He feels tears prick his eyes but, for once, doesn't try to blink them away. He lets them fall. He lets Chick cup his face and touch them with his thumbs, and when he's so breathless that breathing through his nose doesn't help, he pulls away and gasps and simply drops his head to Chick's shoulder.

It's a few minutes before Chick speaks. "I want to help you wash up," he says. "If you don't mind."

"No," Jack says. "I don't mind."

He strips naked and steps into the tub. It's almost too hot, and he sinks down until he can feel the water up to his chin. His knees stick out, but before he can decide if it's worth moving to get them underwater, Chick's there with a teacup, scooping water and pouring it over his joints. Jack tips his head against the edge of the tub and breathes out hard. 

"Soak for a minute," Chick says, clasping Jack's left knee. "Just enjoy it."

"Okay," Jack replies. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling of the hut. It's got the same curved roof and exposed beams as every other hut. Even his own. He stretches his arms as far as they'll go, loving the feel of the hot-hot water moving when he wiggles his fingers. 

Chick comes back, the little stool in one hand. He sets it down behind the tub at Jack's head, then sits on it. He dips his arms into the water and brings up handfuls of water to sluice down Jack's neck. He presses his hot, wet hands to Jack's face, and he works his fingers into Jack's hair, breaking up the Brylcreem with gentle care so Jack's hair can curl in the humidity. 

"I love your curls," Chick says. "Have I ever said that?"

"I don't think so," Jack replies. 

"Well, I do," Chick says. He dips his hands in the water, then massages Jack's scalp. "They shouldn't fit you so well, but they do. The way you can tame them but the way they always try to escape." He leans in and kisses the top of Jack's head. "Is this flowery language working for you?"

Jack huffs a laugh and pushes himself out of the water just enough he can tip his head fully back on the lip of the tub. "From you, I like it," he says. "But I don't need it all the time." 

"I know," Chick says. He kisses Jack's forehead. "I'm glad for that. I like that we can just be together, Jack. I truly do."

Jack nods to agree, and then Chick rubs his thumbs up and down the back of Jack's neck, and he lets out a long, low groan. 

"That's good," Chick says, repeating the motion. "Let it out." 

He works Jack's neck for a few minutes, then digs into his shoulders, then rubs hard just under his collarbones. Jack feels like he's liquid from his pecs up when Chick slips around the side of the tub and reaches into the hot water to massage his feet without bringing them up into the air. He dampens the rolled up sleeves of his shirt to press his knuckles into Jack's calves, and then he stretches Jack's hands, one finger at a time, dragging his thumb on the underside of each finger and kissing each fingertip. 

"Chick," Jack murmurs as he lays in the hot water and simply drifts on how loose and easy he feels. "I might fall asleep."

"I'm here," Chick says, leaning forward so he can cup the back of Jack's head. "I'll keep an eye on you. If you start to drift off, I won't let you go under." 

Jack closes his eyes, trusting Chick to the marrow of his bones. The water is just starting to show signs of cooling. For the first time, Jack is aware of the air coming in the open window. He turns his head so he can rest his cheek against Chick's palm, and then he forces his eyes open. 

"May I stay?" he asks. 

Chick leans in so their foreheads touch. "Never ask me that again, Jack," he says. "I made you the Engagement Chicken."

Jack wants to chuckle, but his heart thumps hard and stops him. He tips his chin so their noses brush, and Chick ghosts a kiss against his mouth. "When this shit is over, you're going to marry me," he says. 

"Fucking right," Chick agrees without hesitation. 

Jack nods, his neck loose. "Take me to bed," he says. 

Chick rubs his cheeks roughly, enough to wake Jack up, then he helps Jack stand and step out of the tub. He dries Jack, then pulls the covers back to lay him in bed. He covers Jack with the blanket and moves away, scooping cups of water from the tub and throwing them on the dying fire in the box until the embers are out. He puts a cover on the tub, then strips himself down. 

Jack hums in contentment when Chick slips into bed on the other side and immediately turns so he and Jack are nose-to-nose, Jack's left calf tucked behind Chick's right.

"Thank you," Jack says, kissing Chick's collarbone as he slides an arm around Chick's waist so he can pull himself closer. 

"I love you," Chick says, lips moving against Jack's forehead. "We're going to make it through this and have a long, happy life, Jack."

Jack's whole body shakes. He makes a quiet, sharp noise that he presses against Chick's skin. Until Chick has said it just now, he hasn't realized he needed to hear it. "You sound sure."

"I am," Chick says. "What's the fucking point of losing our boys like this if we can't live the lives they deserved to have?"

Jack presses his closed mouth to Chick's shoulder. He thinks of the condolence list on his desk. He thinks of how Chick knows as well as he does how many they've lost. He thinks of Chick's invite arriving just when he would have started those letters tonight. 

He thinks of the Engagement Chicken. Of what such a dish means. 

"Forever?" he asks. 

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Chick says. 

Jack presses his lips against Chick's shoulder and tries to picture them after the war. It's a hazy image he can't turn sharp, but in this room right now, he knows it will happen. He breathes out hard and relaxes his shoulders and lets the steady thump of Chick's heart lull him to sleep.

[introspectivememories]

They’ve surrounded the Joker when it happens.

“Give up Joker.” Bruce growls out, “You’re outnumbered.”

“Oh, Batsy!” The Joker says with a face-splitting grin, “All these heroes for little old me? You shouldn’t have!”

And yeah, Tim supposes having the entire family here was a bit overkill but with Joker one couldn’t take any chances. He does wish that this fight could be over though — there's a cold case with his name on it back at the cave.

“Got the family back together!” The Joker laughs, “How wonderful Batsy! But… where’s my Robin?”

The family collectively inhales. From the corner of his eye, Tim sees Dick take a step forward only to be held back by Cass.

“Oh? Did I hit a soft spot there? I miss my Robin. You should’ve heard the way he screamed. We had so much fun Batsy!”

God, Tim didn’t even know it was possible for Bruce to get tenser.

The Joker’s face screws up into something more contemplative, “Maybe I should take someone new? How about you, baby bat? Whad’ya think? Wanna have some fun with Uncle Joker?”

“I will decapitate you with my sword, Joker,” Damian sneers.

The Joker laughs, “That’s the spirit!”

He’s about to take a step forward when all of a sudden two loud gunshots sound out.

The Joker drops to the ground, both kneecaps shot through.

His family shares a collective glance — Jason? No way, he sticks to the Bowery and Crime Alley when the Joker’s out. So, then who?

“That’s no fair!” The Joker wails, “You told me you don’t use guns!”

“What’s going on?” Babs says into the comms.

“Were those gunshots I just heard?” Jason asks, “I’m coming over right now.”

Shit, Tim thinks, Jason coming over will do no good for anyone. We need to wrap this up.

A voice rings out over them, “Goddamnit Mori, I think my aim’s getting worse. Whad’ya think?”

“You said two shots and you made two shots. It’s not like that clip isn’t still practically full.” Another voice — presumably Mori — says, “If it gets the job done…”

“Then it gets the job done.” The first voice says back.

Two people walk into the clearing both wearing black masks. The one with blond hair is wearing an oversized white button-up with a tie, a black knee-length coat, wide-leg pants, and combat boots. The blond-haired one was shorter than the other but still taller than Tim. He was quite broad too.

You think he’s cute, don’t you? His mind teases

What? No! He just shot the Joker. He retorts.

Yeah, but look at those arms. He could probably pick us up with one hand.

And now that his brain had brought it up, he couldn’t get the idea out of his head.

Look, now is not the time. We’ll jerk off about it later.

So you will jerk off to him?

Tim blushes furiously under the mask, Oh my god, shut up!

Focusing back on the scene in front of him, he catalogs the other man. The other man is quite tall, like Jason-level tall. He’s wearing all black — a turtleneck with two gun holsters strapped across his chest, and black cargo(?)/combat(?) pants tucked into combat boots. He also has a sword strapped to his waist.

Oh, and they both have black gloves on. Huh, hot.

By the time, Tim is done cataloging both of them, they’ve arrived in front of them. 

The Joker turns from the ground, where is trying to stem the blood coming out of his leg, “Are you two the ones that shot me? That wasn’t very nice of you! If you wanted to-”

The blond one tilts his head and in one quick motion, the black-haired one backhands the Joker. 

“God, do you ever shut up?” The blond one says, “Always fuckin yammering.”

The black-haired one sighs, “The sword causes too much drag.”

(Now that he's heard Mori speak a little, he notices a bit of an accent. Not enough to be identifiable but enough to know that English probably wasn't his first language.)

“I fucking told ya, Mori!” The blond says, “Why’d’ya bring it anyway?”

“It adds to the mystique! The aura!”

“We literally did not need that.”

“Whatever. You wouldn’t know flair if it smacked you across the face.” Mori says, “Now help me strap it across my back.”

Tim watches flabbergasted as the two men squabble over the sword. Finally, the blond one gets it strapped on.

(“So many fucking straps and for what?”

“It’s fashion,” Mori hisses.

“It’s impractical, is what it is.”)

Dick seems to get tired of this act and steps forward, “Can we help you two?”

Tim watches as the blond’s eyes curve into smiles, “No, no, it’s okay! Just sit back and watch the show!”

“What do you want?” Bruce says, as curt as ever.

The two men look at each other and then back at Bruce before bursting into laughter. 

“Why what any Gothamite wants of course. To kill the Joker!” The blond says.

The Joker laughs, “Oh now this is going to be fun!”

Bruce steps forward, “We can’t let you do that.”

“Don’t worry, you just have to watch,” Mori says.

Bruce takes another step forward and quick as a whip the blond has a gun trained on him. Bruce raises his hands.

“Don’t move,” he says, “Take a few steps back.”

Bruce walks backward a few steps till he’s back in line with them.

“Now here’s what’s gonna happen.” He says, “I am going to kill the Joker and you guys are going to watch. And then, we are going to leave. Okay?”

“There are other ways than killing someone. Do not do this.”

The men look at each other and shake their heads. 

“Oh Batman,” Blond says like he’s talking to a particularly disobedient child, “How many people have to die before it’s too many? How many children? How many graveyards does this thing have to fill before it’s too many?”

Jason inhales sharply over the comms.

“How many children do you have to lose, Batman, to this thing before it becomes unacceptable? One in a wheelchair and the other died and was brought back.”

Babs’ voice comes over shaky through the comms, “How does he know that?”

“If you had any sense,” Blond continues, “You would’ve ended this twisted game of tag years ago. But you couldn’t. So now I have to clean up the mess for you.”

“Let’s get started then.” Mori nods and steps back, falling into parade rest.

“First things first,” Blond whips the gun over to Damian. The family startles. “Get him off the field. Now.”

“How dare y-” Damian starts.

“You are, like, 10. I am not going to beat the shit out of Joker in front of a 10-year-old. Go home, kid.”

“I will not.”

Blond shoots at the ground in front of Damian, “I won’t miss next time. I’m not playing around. Go home, kid.”

“Robin,” Bruce says.

Damian stands up straighter, “Yes Father?”

“Go home.”

“Father!”

“That is an order. Go now.”

Damian deflates, “Yes Father.” And he grapples away.

Blond watches Damian until they can’t see him anymore. Then he turns back to the Joker.

“Mori, crowbar.”

The family stiffens.

Mori hands Blond a crowbar. He runs his fingers up and down it in a mockery of a caress.

Blond looks down at the Joker, “No, don’t be scared.” He coos, “It’s just payback. You understand, right?”

He traces the hook part over the Joker’s cheek, “What goes around, comes around. You killed someone and now I have to kill you. It’s nothing personal.”

Blond stops, “Well, actually it is. I’m a Gothamite, it’s definitely personal.”

Blond raises the crowbar and brings it down, again and again, and again.

THWACK — a bone snaps.

THWACK — blood squelches.

THWACK — the crowbar rips through Joker’s face.

Over and over again, the sound rips through the square. Mori never takes his eyes off the gruesome scene.

Finally, Blond seems to get tired of whacking the Joker and drops the crowbar on the ground.

Looking down, Blond groans, “Man, he got blood all over my white shirt!”

I’m pretty sure you did that yourself, Tim thinks hysterically.

“God Mori,” Blond whines, “What should I do?”

“Finish it,” Mori says.

“You’re right.” Blond reaches into his overcoat and pulls out a gun. It’s clearly special, considering the reverence Blond holds it with.

Blond presses a kiss to the hilt and aims it at Joker’s forehead.

“Don’t do this,” Bruce says.

Blond turns his head towards Bruce and oh, his eyes are so sad, “It’s too late Batman. It’s going to happen anyway.”

Below him, Joker gurgles out smiling maniacally through his mangled face, “You won’t kill me.”

Blond takes a deep breath, “For my darling.” He whispers.

He breathes out and presses the trigger.

BANG.

The Joker lies dead on the ground, a smile still on his face. 

Blond crouches down and taps his gun to the Joker’s chest, “I hope you suffer for the rest of eternity. May you never find peace.”

Then he stands up and stumbles over into Mori’s open arms. 

“Mori,” he sobs out, “What, what have I-”

Mori smooths Blond’s hair back, “Shh. It’s okay. You did the right thing. He would’ve killed more people if you didn’t end him. It’s okay.”

“I never wanted to become this. What would she think of me? She’d be so disgusted.” Blond gasps out.

“I didn’t know the young mistress as well as you did but from what you’ve told me of her, I think she’d be proud of you,” Mori says, rubbing his hand up and down Blond’s back.

Lovers? He thinks, Or are they brothers?

(Why does his heart hurt at the thought of Blond and Mori being in a relationship? Tim quickly files the thought away into his “Do Not Touch” folder.)

“The blood on your hands isn’t something you can lose, otouto. All you can do is choose is whose.”

“You have to calm down. You came here for one more thing. Finish it and we can have a breakdown later.”

Blond takes a few deep breaths as he tries to regulate his breathing. Pushing away from Mori, he spins around to them.

“Right! Sorry about that.” He says voice infused with fake cheer.

Blond’s eyes roam over their family before landing on Tim.

“You,” He says, “Come here.”

“What do you want with him?” Dick asks.

“I’m not going to hurt him I swear! I just need to ask him a few questions.”

And well, Tim’s always been too courageous for his own good, so he steps forward.

Blond looks him up and down before saying, “Take the mask off.”

The entire family protests.

“We can’t do that.” Dick says, “It would compromise us.”

Blond waves his hand, “I already know who you are. Don’t worry about it.”

This sends the family into a silent frenzy.

“People will see,” Tim says quietly. Blond’s eyes snapped toward him.

“My men have had this area blocked off for a while. Nobody will see.”

Tim takes a deep breath and peels his domino mask off. Blond inhales sharply.

“Oh,” He says quietly like he’s wounded.

“There are those pretty blue eyes of yours. Such a shame you hide them behind your mask.”

Tim’s cheeks traitorously start blushing. Blond raises his hand as if to cup his cheek and Tim can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the blood dripping off the glove. Blond follows his eyes and snorts in amusement.

“Don’t worry, pretty bird.” He says “I’ll take them off.”

True to his word, Blond does take them off and reaches back out to cup his cheek.

His hand is warm, Tim thinks, Does he have a fever?

“Are you eating well?” Blond asks.

“What?”

“Are you eating well?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sleeping well?”

Tim grimaces, “Yes? Sorta?”

Blond frowns and Tim has the irrational urge to smooth out the wrinkle between his eyes.

“Okay, not really the answer I wanted to hear but I guess for you ‘sorta’ is better than an outright no.”

He smiles and drags his thumb across Tim’s cheek, “And lastly, Red Robin, and this is the hard one, are you happy?”

(“What the fuck is going on?” Jason asks flatly through the comms.

“I have no fucking idea.” Duke responds, “I feel like we shouldn’t even be watching this.”

Steph chimes in, “Cass wants to know if Tim already knew this man. I don’t think so but like isn’t this soooo Wattpad?”

“What the fuck is Wattpad?” Dick asks.

“Is Tim having his Y/N moment? Is that what this is?” Jason asks incredulously.

“Guys, shut up.” Babs hisses, “I’m kinda invested in this.”)

Tim swallows and shit, isn’t that a question for the ages. Is he happy? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything outside of being Robin. If he’s not solving cases, he’s out on patrol. If he’s not out on patrol, he’s working with his team. When was the last time he ever did anything for himself? When was the last time he went skateboarding? Or played video games? When was the last time he hung out with people who weren’t heroes?

When was the last time he was just Tim and not Robin?

(Probably not since high school. Not since Darla and Ber-

We are not thinking about that.)

Tim swallows around the lump in his throat, “I don’t know.”

Blond’s eyes go sad, “That’s okay. You can figure it out.”

Tim can’t help but lean into the hand. Blond caresses Tim’s face one last time before pulling his hand away. 

Blond puts the gun back into his coat. 

“Well,” He says, “It’s time for us to leave. I don’t know if we’ll meet again but if we do, I hope your answers are more concrete next time.”

Blond leans in to touch their foreheads together, “Be well.” he whispers.

Tim’s breath catches in his throat, everything laser-focused on Blond’s face so close to his. If he leaned in he could ki-

Blond turns around and walks back to Mori. Mori lifts up his arm to wrap it around the other’s shoulders.

Just as they’re almost out of earshot, Tim finally finds his voice.

“Hey!” He shouts. They turn their heads toward him, “Do I know you?”

Blond laughs a little, it’s sad and it’s broken, “Once. A long, long, time ago.”

And the men walk away.

[tf2-oneshots]

(2/3) and then Snap to a few weeks later, where Everyone is gathered into what would be the Mercs equivalent to a Living room. Engie makes a comment like "thanks, Darlin' you're the best" after Spy got him something he needed, which then instinctively both Demo and Scout rise to argue for their partners, and all three are just having this compliment war in complete view of their partners and their teammates, which they all swore to never do for fear of their partners never letting it go(which they were correct, they don't)

Part two! Part one is here!

Warnings: none!

Rating: Teen and up for Medic boobs lol

“We all set for movie night?” Bowl of popcorn in hand, Scout takes his seat in the common room. He steals a few pieces, washing them down with a sip of his Bonk. He gets comfy on the good side of the couch as Engineer and Demo take their seats.

“Got the beer, the candy, and the film. Ain’t nothing left, right?” The three look around, mentally checking off each item. There were enough snacks to make it through half the movie between the three of them. Drinks to combat the salty seasoning Demo mixed into the popcorn.

“You know what? Forgot the blanket. Goddamnit, I just got comfy.” The Engineer huffs, picturing the massive blanket folded on the kitchen table where he left it. The Texan grunts, begrudgingly working himself to standing when soft fabric grazes his cheek. Turning to the source, Spy is placing their blanket in Engineer’s lap.

“I believe this is yours, mon inventeur.” Spy leans in, stealing a chaste kiss. Her gloved hand rests on the American’s cheek before they part ways. Spy gives him a smile before he stands upright once more.

“Well, ain’t you a peach? Thank you kindly, Spy.” Scout gags, unusually loud this time. The couple roll their eyes and Spy huffs. Leave it to the brat to find real romance unappealing. He steps away from the couch to join everyone else in the adjacent dining room.

“I’ll take my leave. If I stay, Scout may shrivel and die.” She comments before crossing through the doorframe. Once out of earshot, Engineer spreads the blanket between the three of them. He gives the men a smug look, hitting the play button for their movie.

“Y’all’s boys ever do that for you?” Both Scout and Demo roll their eyes. Despite the film beginning, Scout makes a point to turn and face Engineer. He’s careful not to spill the popcorn sitting in his lap while doing so.

“Sniper got me a whole case of Irish whiskey. The top shelf brand too. That’s love right there.” Said case sits in his room with the rest of his special occasion drinks. As tempted as he is to snatch a bottle or two, Demo has to reserve them for when it matters.

“Dude, that’s nothing. Medic called me his dove last night. Yeah, you heard me! Dove. Do you even, like, know how much that means? I’m basically a married man now.” The older men groan, denying the fact that Scout is married over a pet name. If it were that easy, Engineer would be married to every woman he’s called ‘hon’ in his life.

“Spy’s got eyes as blue as the summer sky. Ain’t nothing like them.” A pretty blue that Engineer can’t help stare into when they spend time together. He never noticed at first due to his tinted goggles, but when he saw the pair unfiltered, his heart skipped a beat.

“Medic’s the best to cuddle though. That dude is soft as hell cause he’s got huge—“ A metal hand slaps itself over Scout’s mouth. If Engineer had done it any harder, the impact might have finally fixed Scout’s overbite.

Adjacent to the trio, the three men in question had been playing a game of poker. A game that was discarded the moment they heard their lovers debating who was best. All three sit in shock, listening to their partners bicker.

“Congrats on the jugs, mate.” Sniper chuckles as Medic crosses his arms to cover the pair. The doctor rolls his eyes, listening in as Engineer goes on a tirade of compliments towards Spy. Said Frenchman leans back to sip his wine.

“Well, isn’t Engineer a romantic? Your brutes could learn from him.” The ramble is cut off by Demo who begins listing off many of Sniper’s best qualities. His rugged voice, he’s upper body strength, that cute birthmark on his lower back. The last of which causing the Aussie to blush.

“Don’t need romance when my mate’s obsessed with me. Love’s got a big heart in him.” This of course, is only the beginning. With compliments and praises pouring from the three men, their lover’s egos inflated rapidly. Spy’s smugness doubled, Sniper’s pride grew massive, and Medic felt the sudden urge to pull more praises from Scout by any means possible.

Part two is done! Stay tuned for part three! -H

[captainimprobable]

@red-elric, loml, was kind enough to be my first customer and commissioned me to write their favorite ship, Atsukenhina! I haven't read or watched it in awhile so idk if the characterization is okay, but here's what I got! It ends abruptly bc I realized it was getting way too long lmao Want a drabble? Commission me here! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’m fine.”

Kenma grimaces at Shoyo, defiant in spite of the snot dripping steadily out of his nose.  “Besides,” he continues, “Video games aren’t detrimental to my health.”

“Really?” Shoyo asks, “It’s not making your headache worse?”

Kenma ignores the sharp pain in the back of his head.  “No,” he answers.  He doesn’t usually make it a habit to lie to his boyfriend, but he’s on level thirty eight and really can’t afford to stop now.

Shoyo narrows his eyes.  “Just wait until Atsumu comes home, then you’re in for it.”

“Right, because Atsumu is so terrifying.”

“He isn’t,” Shoyo admits, “But he doesn’t have to be, because he’s huge compared to you, and you’re weak from being sick.  All he has to do is pick you up.”

Kenma rolls his eyes, which are still on the game.

“It’s fine, he’s not supposed to be home for another two hours, and you can’t pick me up.”

Before Shoyo can retort, they hear a key turn in the door.  Kenma freezes, and Shoyo’s eyes practically light up.  

Kenma begins hitting buttons in earnest, trying to finish the level before his boyfriend gets inside.  Shoyo, meanwhile, skips to the door.  

“Hi,” he says, as Atsumu puts his keys up on the hook, “I have a problem I need you to solve, but I need you to kiss me first.  It’s very important.”

Atsumu smirks.  “Your problem is very important, or the kiss is very important?”

Shoyo considers this.  “Both?”

“Lucky for you, I was planning on kissing you anyway.”

Atsumu leans down (a considerable amount) and gives Shoyo a quick kiss.  Even after all this time, Shoyo needs a second to start breathing again.

“Your problem?”  Atsumu asks, and Shoyo snaps himself out of it.  “Right! Right.  Your boyfriend is being a problem child, and I need your brute force.”

“You…want me to hit him?”

“What?? No! I need you to get him away from his computer.”

“Oh! I can do that.”

Without another word, Atsumu saunters down the hallway, heading for the living room.  Shoyo follows closely behind, ready to back him up however he needs.

They find Kenma alternating between coughing and frantically hitting buttons.  Without a word, Atsumu steps in front of the television.

Kenma doesn’t say a word.  He simply puts down his controller, crosses his arms, and stares at Atsumu, a look of challenge on his face.

“Kenma,” Atsumu begins, while Shoyo practically vibrates with anticipation.

“Atsumu,” Kenma answers.

“You need to go to bed.”

“I do not.”

“Don’t make me do this, Kenma.”

Instead of answering, Kenma attempts to sneakily look around Atsumu’s body to see the television.

“Okay, that’s it.”  Without another word, Atsumu scoops Kenma up in his arms, bridal style.  

“Put me down!!!” Kenma complains loudly.

“No.  You’re going to cuddle with your boyfriends in bed, and you’re gonna like it.”

Kenma turns up his nose.  “I will not like it.”

Shoyo laughs as the three of them make their way to the bedroom.

“You’re totally gonna like it,” he says, “You love us!”

“No I don’t,” Kenma insists, “Not after today!”

Atsumu unceremoniously plops Kenma down in the middle of their bed and then falls in next to him. Shoyo crawls in on Kenma’s other side and immediately latches on to Kenma’s arm like a remora.

“You love us,” he repeats, and Kenma sighs.  

“But level thirty eight-”

“-Will still be there when you feel better,” Atsumu says, “Now cuddle with us, goddamnit.”

Kenma closes his eyes, finally accepting his fate.  “I hate you two,” he says, but surreptitiously snuggles in deeper.  He puts his head on Atsumu’s shoulder, trying not to get any mucus on him.

Within minutes, the three of them are fast asleep, tangled together like string. 

[mandareeboo]

Unfinished Work #56 "Prior Warnings"

I have nothing to add to this, unfortunately! It was originally gonna be a deep delve into Mariner's issues with stuff. The basic plot line feels pretty obvious- Petra helped Mariner get back on her old medication (for bipolar disorder) and via flashbacks we learn she got diagnosed not long after the war and Buenamigo discouraged her from taking it to keep her unbalanced. It just never had a good ending point.

Title: Prior Warnings

Summary: N/A

"I just wanted to let you know," Beckett says, "y'know, so you don't see it on my file later and have a conniption fit?"

Captain Freeman very pointedly ignores that, studying the updated medical info. Most of it is things she knows. A long life under various healing instruments, multiple surgeries, quite a few charges of disorderly conduct to medical staff. The Abilify is new, but not exactly surprising.

She raised an immaculate eyebrow. "The hell is Tegretol?"

Mariner shifts quite awkwardly, and Carol knows she's hit a nerve. But what else was she supposed to say? It's the only new thing on the damn list.

"It's an old prescription," she decides finally. "Got back on it when I was hanging with Petra."

Captain Freeman hides her frown behind the hologram. Well, as close to hiding it as she can. It's still a bit of a sore spot between the two of them. "Why did you stop before?"

Mariner shrugs. "Didn't want you to see it."

Ah, yes. Because that's comforting. "This medication is necessary, then?"

"Necessary to keep me on track, yeah."

"Alright then." Carol hits the acceptance button. Technically, it's not her jurisdiction to have to do that, but it makes more sense than having Mariner haul the thing down to T'ana. "Should I be concerned about what I just signed?"

"It's medicine, mom," Mariner sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "For my manic episodes."

She blinks. Blinks again. "I wasn't aware you were diagnosed."

"Yeah, yeah, it happened awhile ago. I just..." Mariner shrugged, crossing her arms defensively. "I like who I am when I'm stable."

Captain Freeman raises her hands in surrender. "You don't have to explain it to me, sweetie."

"Yes," Mariner says, staring at the floor, "I do."

———————————————————————————————————-

"You're going to have to explain it to her, you know."

Mariner's knee bounced, heel tapping obnoxiously against the hospital floor. "What does she even know? What does it matter?"

Uncle Les smiles at her in a way that she finds comforting then but will find sinister much later. "Beckett, you know how Carol is. A great woman. A great Captain. But... not the most understanding. I just worry she'll try to give you medical discharge."

"No, no, no," she mumbles, leg bouncing higher and higher. "She can't. I can't. Doesn't she understand that?" Mariner's breathing went as high as her leg as she tried to calm herself, fingers digging into those weird chairs no one actually feels comfortable in. "Who am I kidding? She doesn't care. And dad doesn't either. He kicked my ass from his ship for a reason."

He pats her shoulder. "S'okay, Mariner. No one says you have to take the meds."

(Buenamigo never said anything bad back then. Mariner can only assume his reasons now. He wanted her unstable. He wanted her to destroy the Freeman family inside and out. And, goddamnit, she kinda did.)

———————————————————————————————————-

"Blurgh," she decides one morning, rolling over in her cot. "Leave me to die."

But Boimler is not as forgiving of her truancy as Mariner lets herself be. He's already in uniform, shaking her shoulder. It's like being on a ship. And not a cool ship. One of those dinky ones on water from the bygone era. "C'mon, get up. I will not be held responsible for you missing your shift."

"You don't have to babysit me," she pouts.

"Someone has to," he rebuffs, with that casual fondness that told Mariner she had the boy hook, line, and sinker. Most days Mariner loves how much her friends care, how they go out of their way to try and help. Today is not one of those days. "Up. I'll replicate a hose, don't test me."

Mariner flipped him off.

"You're not, like, actually sick, are you?" Rutherford asks, coming up to press a hand to her hip. He's a touchy guy. Mariner likes that about him. "Because I will not be okie-dokie if you keel over the entire shift."

"I can be persuaded with blood samples," Tendi chirps, scrolling through her daily routine.

"'M not sick. 'M nauseous," each word comes out like pulled teeth. "Side effect."

"Of?"

"Nunya."

"Mariner," Boimler whines. "We both know the Captain'll haul me into her chambers for a report if you don't come. I cannot handle that pressure today."

Tendi pulls something out of her personal shelf with a triumphant cry, and then there's a needle in Beckett's neck. The world slowly begins to right itself again as the Orion casually pulls her into a sitting position, showing off her now-empty injector with a jazzy wiggle. "I've been keeping them on hand to help with your symptoms," she explains casually, as if Mariner's info isn't private, as if Tendi hadn't hacked the system to help her deal with this.

"D'Vana," Becket says, in all seriousness, "you're a goddess."

"I still want those blood samples," she tells her, grinning ear to ear. "Your physiology is so interesting! Being under the beams but refusing to be healed all the way for your badass scars has left some seriously neat outliers."

———————————————————————————————————-

"They may... want to do some tests."

"Oh, bullshit." Mariner rolls her eyes. "Bipolar isn't new."

"No, but it is uncured."

"So is every goddamn mental illness."

"Exactly!" Uncle Les held up his hands. "You know how medical can be."

(Tendi makes it okay, she reminds herself firmly. Tendi would never harm her. Or, well, if she did, she'd at least warn her beforehand. Tendi's heard plenty of stories of her clocking assholes in the jaw for less.)

———————————————————————————————————-

"It's like you're a whole different person," Ransom marvels over their weekly beer night, and Beckett bristles.

"Am not," she snaps back. "I'm still the same psycho badass who'd fight you over the last martini."

Ransom shakes his head, looking disappointed in himself. "Bad choice of words. But you're a lot... calmer? You talk slower. You're thinking things out more. People can actually have a conversation with you."

"It's like pulling teeth," she admits cheerfully. "You know how hard it is to argue when I talk like a grandma? What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Listen to the other side and find compromise?"

"Hmm, no, gross."

He snorts and takes a long swig. Weekly beer night is also, arguably, a strange aspect of the newly medicated Beckett Mariner. Ransom had done everything short of begging Freeman to let her have a different mentor. And as obnoxious as Ransom was, she kind of got it? They'd always mingled like oil and water. Alcohol hadn't exactly fixed the situation, but it had made it more bearable on both of them.

Ransom swishes his beer in his mouth and swallows. Beckett opened her mouth to mock him for it, but he beat her to the punch. "So, uh, freshly diagnosed orrrr..."

"The fuck, Jack? Did you go snooping on my files?"

He levelled her a very flat look. "Mariner, your twisted ass mental state has been a long-time bet on the Cerritos. I just happen to know what mania looks like."

"Huh," she said, not having known that. "No, long time ago. Blipped on the radar after my first PTSD scan, so... six years ago? Seven?"

Ransom, damn him, can do basic math. "You were, what, nineteen? Twenty?"

"Yeah, man. I had a lot of messed up shit happen to me in my late teen years."

"Huh," he echoed, not exactly sounding surprised by that. "That damn war ruined all of us."

Mariner, deciding not to answer that, slugs her beer. "So, Jack. You win that bet?"

"Heh, nah. I found the whole thing invasive and rude. I put down for brain worms."

"Rude."

———————————————————————————————————-

"What if... what if they like me better... stable?" Mariner asks quietly.

Uncle Les pats her shoulder, nodding sympathetically. "They might."

"But I'll still be me. I'll just be less hyper."

"So they'll like diet you more. It's normal. You're.. a handful, Beckett."

(Better a handful than complacent. Ransom gets that. They hate each other, but they at least understand each other.)

[lgbtqforeverything]

staff has gotten too prideful from every other site crashing face first into the floor. someone needs to publicly shame tumblr so that they remember that while the other sites are on the floor we’re blacked out in a bathroom and put the tags and post buttons back.

[mikes-stories]

My Programmable Roommate - Part 2

My Programmable Roommate - https://mjcwrites.net/books/my-programmable-roommate

Part 2

Over the next couple of days Alex was extremely cautious with Jake and his implant, restricting his command and control over Jake to simple "Simon says" orders. Nothing too drastic though. Basically, making him take his clothes off as soon as he gets home, or making Jake sleep naked with him.

But there were two additional applications installed onto Jake's implant when it was jailbroken. Memory Manipulator Pro, and God Mode.

It didn't take much searching for him to find out some more information about both the Memory Manipulator Pro app as well as God Mode:

::: warn Memory Manipulator Pro is a user-friendly and intuitive app to add, edit, and delete a target's long-term memory engrams. It has no effect on a target's short-term, or working memory.

:::

::: info God Mode provides a near total control over a target's biological, emotional, psychological, and cognitive processes; as well as a target's physiological and behavioral states, and more.

:::

«Nobody should have that power,» he thought to himself.

Indeed. With Memory Manipulator Pro Alex could very easily implant false memories into Jake's mind or erase entire events from his past.

The dangers for misuse were truly astounding. People could be framed into committing crimes or believing that they did, or perhaps if they saw a crime to have the entire event wiped from their mind.

On the positive side, someone who experiences a truly horrific and traumatic event could have the event erased from their consciousness aiding in their recovery or enhancing their enjoyment of life.

It is mind control in its most fundamental form. After all everything that we — that makes us what we are — is a sum of our experiences and memories.

But if that weren't bad enough, God Mode promised to be fucking insane.

With the push of a button an attacker could make their target instantly unconscious or even induce a coma.

Think of how devastating this would be if one were to say ... target someone doing something inherently dangerous that needed their full attention and concentration?

You could stop someone from breathing... override their apnea reflex and suffocate them. Or use Simon Says to force someone to dive into a pool and use God Mode to force them to breathe-in the water and drown.

Murder? Suicide? Does it matter?

⁂

Alex was alone on the couch watching a movie when the door to the apartment suddenly flew open.

"Alex!" Jake screamed as he stormed into the apartment. "What the fuck did you do to me?" he demanded.

He stammered to his feet. "Jake? What's wrong?" Partly knowing probably what Jake was referring to.

"Don't give me that bullshit!" Jake screamed at him. "You've done something to me!"

He stepped back and retreated a few steps from Jake's towering figure quickly approaching him. "Honestly I don't know what you're talking about!" he pleaded. "What's going on?"

"How about the fact that whenever somebody tells me 'Simon says...' that I have to do whatever the fuck they say!"

"Oh that," he said with a sigh.

"Goddamnit Alex, I want you to fix—"

"Simon says freeze, Jake. You're now a mannequin." Just like that Jake immediately froze in-place and completely stopped moving. His mouth still agape, and his arms still outstretched in anger.

Alex carefully approached him, still not 100% trusting Jake's implant to wield so much control over him and his body, but as he approached, he could see Jake truly was not moving.

He was still breathing. So at least he hadn't killed his friend and his roommate, but as he poked, pinched, prodded, and even copped a feel inside his pants but got no reaction from him whatsoever.

Finally, he activated the flashlight on his phone and shone it in his eyes. Jake's pupils were clearly fixed and dilated. He wasn't even blinking.

"What the fuck am I going to do now?" he said out loud to himself.

⁂

With Jake immobilized for the time being, Alex pulled out his laptop and connected it up to his roommate's implant.

"Fuck," he said apprehensively, launching the Memory Manipulator application. This will be the first time using the utility on Jake.

When the program launched a warning message was displayed cautioning him not to delete or alter too many memories, and to be careful of which memories were removed or changed. He also discovered that the newer memories were the easiest ones to purge.

"Excellent," he thought to himself. Jake had only been gone several hours, so he figured the easiest thing would be to delete all of Jake's memories since he left the house. "Hopefully that'll be enough."

When he clicked Apply, a progress bar crept across the screen, purging any new memory engrams Jake's mind had created within the last five hours. He figured this was the absolute safest measure since it basically rolled-back the clock in Jake's mind and reset it to right before he left.

Now, with Jake's recent memories wiped from his mind, Alex took on the next task, configuring the Simon Says application to only respond to him which was something he should have done as soon as he gained access to Jake's implant.

⁂

Unlike the Memory Manipulator application, the Simon Says application was much more basic and utilitarian. Just a simple config file to edit, followed by a reboot of Jake's implant:

{ "application": { "name": "Simon Says", "version": "1.0.0" }, "parameters": { "strength_of_suggestibility": { "level": 1.0 }, "blacklist": [ "self-harm" ], "active_settings": { "date": { "start": NULL, "end": NULL }, "time": { "start": NULL, "end": NULL }, "geographic_location": { "enabled": false, "allowed_areas": [ { "type": "any", "name": "any" } ], "restricted_areas": [ { "type": NULL, "name": NULL } ] } }, "user_settings": { "allowed_users": [ { "name": "Alex Danvers", "relationship": [ "roommate", "friend" ], "authorization_level": 10 } ], "max_users": 5, "user_recognition": { "facial_recognition": true, "voice_recognition": true } } } }

With that out of the way Jake will no longer be susceptible to anyone else accidentally (or intentionally) giving him a Simon Says order and making Alex the only one who can.

"Alright Jake, let's see if this isn't a little better," he said. "Jake, Simon says you are human again."

And just like that Jake came back to life. Albeit slightly worse for wear.

"W-what happened?" he asked, moving his jaw around and blinking rapidly to lubricate his very dry eyes.

"I dunno," Alex said. "Why?"

"Something very weird just happened to me."

"You're imagining things," he said. "Why don't you have a seat and relax for a bit."

Jake paused and looked at him for a moment, sending his heart racing. Does he know? Does he suspect?

"Yeah, thanks," was all that he could muster. Jake didn't say much for a few minutes. He just sat on the chair and looked outside the window.

"Can I get you anything?" Alex asked him, as he got up from his seat to go to the kitchen.

"Mind getting me a glass of water?" Jake replied.

"Not at all."

⁂

Later that evening, Alex wanted to check out the new bar on 11th. He knocked on Jake's door, expecting to hear the familiar sounds of his friend immersed in a game. When he opened the door, he found Jake sprawled on his bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

"Hey," he said, immediately noticing Jake's quiet demeanor.

"Hey."

"You ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess," Jake replied. His eyes were distant and unfocused.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

Jake sat up slowly. "I don't feel right," he said. "Hard to explain, but I feel weird."

"Like how?" Alex asked, leaning against the doorway for support.

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "Honestly? It feels like I’m losing my grip on everything. Like my mind is playing tricks on me."

Alex's expression softened. "That sounds rough. Maybe you need a diversion. A distraction?"

Jake hesitated, then nodded slightly. "Yeah, maybe. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, how about we check out that new bar on 11th?"

"Pass," replied Jake. "I really don't feel like going out tonight."

But Alex was not willing to take no for an answer. "Jake, Simon says get dressed, because we're going out tonight and you're going to have some fun."

On-command and on-cue, Jake got up from his bed and started to shed the clothes he was wearing to put on something more appropriate for going out with Alex that evening.

"Simon says wear your black leather short-shorts, your black leather vest, and black leather boots that you sometimes wear." Alex continued. "And don't forget your cock ring, too."

⁂

It was a warm summer's evening as Alex and Jake made their way up Piedmont. The smell of food and people wafted about. Across the street there were two stray dogs fucking in front of someone's house.

Jake, now wearing a black leather vest over his bare chest and his black leather shorts, didn't say much as they walked together to the bar. 

As they passed 10th Alex had a final bit of instruction for Jake. "Jake, Simon says I want you to have a good time. Dance... flirt... drink... even fuck if you want, but for the rest of the evening all your troubles and all your cares will be gone."

And as they approached Glitch & Glam's Circuit Breakers, the new gay bar that just recently opened on 11th, Jake had a smile on his face. "Let's do this," he said.

⁂

The bar was in what used to be a parking garage. Parking garages were a long-lost relic of a bygone era. Since the advent of flying cars and robo-taxis, most of the old garages were demolished to make room for new buildings, but a few remained.

This one, located between 10th and 11th street, just east of Piedmont, was completely enclosed and turned into the space that it is today.

Glitch & Glam's Circuit Breakers is a gay bar owned and run by the synthetic-human power couple Glitch McGee and Glam Fabulous. There are five levels for dancing, mingling, drinking, and more. There are also plenty of nooks and crannies for patrons to explore their sexuality and themselves.

Inside the music and bass from the club's sound system drowned out people's thoughts and conversations as they made their way inside. It was pretty crowded. There were a wide assortment of humans, synths, and augments all milling about. Some were dancing. Some were drinking. Some were fucking.

Several of the bar patrons gravitated towards Jake as they entered and for the first time that day Jake seemed to start to genuinely relax and enjoy the attention he was receiving.

Alex left Jake, who looked like he was finally enjoying himself, and headed upstairs. There he ran into a close friend from high school, Eric Waters, whom he hadn't seen in years.

"Eric!" Alex exclaimed as he ran up to his friend from school.

"Danvers!" Eric said. "How the hell have you been?"

⁂

The two spent the next hour or so catching up on old times and dishing dirt and spilling tea on their mutual friends, acquaintances, and even a few of their enemies.

Alex learned that only a week after graduation Eric was in a serious jet bike accident which destroyed over 80% of his body and resulted in his skull and spinal cord being ripped out of his body.

"I'm a walking augment," he told Alex.

"You look amazing," Alex told him sincerely.

"Thanks! The marvels of medical science and a dad that works for Siemins Cybernetics."

The extent of Eric's accident finally hit Alex. "Wait, so if your skull and spinal cord were ripped out of your body does that mean your body is 100% cybernetic? Is there anything organic left?"

"Not really," he said. "I'm pretty much an android now, I just tell people I'm a walking augment because some people get weirded out when they find I'm no longer human."

"Fuck."

"Yeah," he said. "But on the bright side I've got some amazing upgrades if you want to try them out sometime."

"Oh?"

Eric shot him a wry smile.

"Oh!"

He and Eric exchanged numbers with promises of hooking up, and potentially hooking up, but it was getting late and Alex wanted to check on Jake.

⁂

Downstairs, on the ground level of Circuit Breakers, Alex found Jake sitting on a couch with his shorts down to his ankles, and his cock getting sucked off by a cute femboy twink.

Alex sat down next to him.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked Jake.

"Yes," he said. "This was a good suggestion."

"I'm glad," Alex said as he watched the twink quietly work on Jake's massive cock. "Jake? How many blow jobs have you had tonight?"

"This is my fourth," he replied matter-of-factly. "Which is interesting considering I'm not gay."

Alex shot him a look of disbelief. "What do you mean you're not gay?"

"You assumed I was gay because I take care of my body and because I have a large penis, but I am not gay."

Alex leaned in and whispered in Jake's ear. "Simon says you are now."

Story Index

[imtherainbownow]

If you come out with More prompts that actually give me inspiration i might as well Turn into a short Story blog which is not my goal. Anyways, let’s go!

——————

“Oh for fu-“

I Slam My Hand against the chair, keeping mind not to hit the buttons. It felt like i was interrogating a toddler, not a High Class intelligent Computer.

“Please How do you Operate the ship? Everyone else’s gone missing, Captian’s Gone, crew’s gone, I’m the last one here you Little-“

“I cannot Sense Any life force in the hull.”

My rant gets cut off by the robotic AI again. The same response i had been getting since I started this impossible task of trying to find somewhere to go. I barely knew my way around the ship, hell, memories are a blur, i knew nothing except what was in my muscle memory. And here I was, pleading to a computer for assistance.

“I’m aware Computer, or whatever Your Name is. Tell me How the hell you Pilot this thing, or at least give me a map.”

In what Memories i had remaining, i remembered steering a transportation class ship. Not sure what making, Design, or anything else, But This - This ship was nothing like my memories.

“I cannot Sense any li-“

“I KNOW ALREADY GODDAMNIT. THEIR ALL DEAD OKAY? GONE. I NEED TO CONTACT ASSISTANCE OR GET TO THE NEAREST STATION. I HAVE NO TIME FOR THIS!”

I stood up sharply, slamming my hands against the surface in front of me. The computer quieted. I groaned, pulling On my hair as i sunk to my knees. Exhausted, unsure of what to feel. The loneliness sunk in, it was just me. Dressed in all white clothes, hell, where did they come from? I never wore anything like This in what Little memories I have. The world was slipping and fading away. I didnt notice at first, frustrated and tired. I looked up the Computer, but It’s Screen was no longer there. My head tilted in confusion. The panel in front of me glitched, a toothy, angry red grin appeared. I backed up, bumping into the chair. Or, what I thought was the chair.

I turned around and saw him. He towered over me, bloody and grim. His face was blurred and blacked out. He laughed, sinister, dark.

He grabbed me by my collar and pushed me against the panel. The ship was no longer there, i soon realized. Instead it was replaced by a blackened, almost charcoal coloured room, smelling like ash and fire.

Tears started threatening to spill out of my eyes, I could feel My Heart in my chest. Looking up at the man Holding me down, the same blood red grin from the panel Now On his face. He let go, and I dropped to the floor, gasping for precious air.

He Just Looked down at My pathetic Body. Whimpering and shaking, i tried to crawl away but my back hit the cold metal wall. I was trapped, with him.. This was it, this was how I met my end.

His hands looked more like claws the Closer he got to me. I Tensed up, waiting for the inevitable. He raised a hand, and stopped. I watched in anticipation, wanting it all to be over, to end.

He crumpled to the floor, hissing, screeching. My Vision Started to blacken, as i grew weaker and the exhaustion finally hitting again. It claimed my body as it’s own, and I passed out.

———

Beeping. All i could Hear was beeping. It grew louder, and louder. Slowly, i opened My Eyes. The bright lights And pure white Walls Blinded me. Squinting, i looked around.

It was a medical room. Nothing fancy like a hospital, but clearly made to be treating injured patients. I looked at myself. One arm was covered in bandages, whereas the other just had a few band aids on it. I Lifted My uninjured Hand to feel my throat. There Too, was scratchy, rough bandages. I could feel Some on My Face too, covering almost the entire lower half, save for my mouth and nose.

The door opened, i watched as a woman, probably a nurse, wearing scrubs walked in followed by another. Maybe a doctor? I wasnt aware enough to Tell. Their faces lit up a tiny bit when they noticed I was awake.

“Marie, get the medic, they’re awake. I’ll run vitals.”

The First hurriedly told the other. The other woman nodded and ran out. I sighed and leaned My head back against the pillow, staring at the ceiling, Waiting.

Minutes later the nurse, who i assumed was Marie since thats what the other called her, walked in with a tall feminine figure. She Must have been the doctor. The woman sat down next to me and smiled.

“Welcome back to the Land of the living. If we didn’t pick up your ship’s distress beacon you would have died. Those were some serious injuries. I’ll give you the run down when you’re more.. awake. For now, I’m Doctor Wright, You’re currently on a Military Class Transport Shuttle on the way to planet 39-B, Volcanic classification, also known as, planet Zephron. You’re in Safe Hands From now on. Rest Easy, you’ve got a lot of recovery ahead of you..”

She turned to speak with the other nurses. Mentally, i sighed And went back to sleep again, exhausted still.

———

“That thing we found over them.. that was a you-know-what wasnt it?”

“Indeed it was Dr. Wright. Beasts capable of creating illusions, to manipulate their prey into well, you know the details i guess. They were lucky we got there before that Monster got. bored and decided to eat.. the damage I’ve seen them do..”

“I know. Let’s Hope That they forget it all, and can go back to a normal life. Marie, Silvia, What Are their vitals?”

———

(i apologize for any and all Random capitalizations. My autocorrect likes to be funky. I would turn it off but I can’t for personal reasons.)

You’re the only person on board an empty Galaxy-Class starship, and you have zero knowledge of how to operate one. Describe your conversation with the ship’s computer.

[pochaunnuswalker]

I can't tell yaw that theres a reason it's also what I told Donnie Martin Sr lil cousin he has a little cousin named diamond too yaw are helping me defeated the w Hite guilty devil named Pete Lamont Anthony Kruger the next Ms lady who wears the white button down shirt baby imma lie down and get some sleep my memory's comming back baby can you show them off the clock where to get what you have baby I don't give a fuck she's also my child muthafuckas try me goddamnit so what I said bitch caught your stupid ass too fucking rapest try me your paw paw around the corner on Kingsley he rode past me looking sexy and healthy