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viviansturns · 2 days ago

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just for the summer ☾. - final part

cw: this series will contain kissing, p in v sex, a shit ton of fluff and angst.

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Chris’s door clicks shut behind you with a soft thunk, the late-morning sun streaking across the floor. You drop your bag with a groan and stretch, watching him kick off his shoes like he can’t get comfortable fast enough.

“Home sweet home,” he says, flopping on the couch.

You snort. “Your place is a disaster.”

He lifts his head just enough to glare playfully. “Um—There’s a system.”

You toe a balled-up hoodie across the floor. “Yeah. A system of not cleaning.”

He sticks out his tongue, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a grin. You try to keep your face stern, but it cracks, and he jumps up, seizing the chance to kiss you right there in the narrow hallway, fingers warm on your waist.

“Breakfast?” he mumbles against your lips.

“Only if you promise not to poison me this time.”

He gasps, scandalized, then immediately heads for the tiny kitchen, beckoning you dramatically like a maître d’.

Cooking with Chris is predictably awful. He tries to show off cracking eggs one-handed and drops half the shell into the pan. You fish it out while he’s cursing, then burn the toast so badly you set off the smoke alarm.

He fans it with a cutting board, hacking coughs through his laughter. “Gourmet, huh?”

You shove him. “Shut up, Gordon Ramsay.”

He gets revenge by smearing jam on your cheek, to which you respond by flicking batter at his shirt. He gasps and lunges, trapping you against the counter, the sticky mess between you.

Your laughter dies down into silence as he leans in close, breath tickling your lips.

“Seriously,” he says, voice low. “You’re the best part of my summer.”

You blink at him, heart stuttering. Then you roll your eyes and kiss him hard, just to stop yourself from saying something you can’t take back.

____________

You’re still laughing about the burnt pancakes as they tumble out onto his front steps, the late-morning sun already hot on the cracked concrete.

He squints at you, shielding his eyes with one hand. “We need a palate cleanser after that disaster.”

“Oh yeah?” You cross your arms, skeptical.

“A drive,” he declares. “Just the wind and my amazing playlist.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Fine. But I’m not listening to your goofy ass music.”

“Excuse you. Those are cultural touchstones.”

He grabs your wrist and tugs you after him before you can keep arguing.

____________

The car is a sauna when he unlocks it, both of you swearing as you scramble in and crank the AC.

“God,” you groan, fanning yourself with one of his old fast-food receipts.

“Sexy,” he says. You kick his shin gently. He retaliates by leaning over and kissing your cheek—quick, soft, like he can’t help himself.

You try not to smile too much.

____________

On the road, the windows are cracked just enough to let the wind whip your hair around. Chris’s playlist is a mess of indie, old hip hop, and pop songs which he knows every word to.

He raps along with absurd commitment.

You film him on your phone for evidence, cracking up so hard you almost drop it.

“Delete that,” he orders between verses.

“Never.”

He reaches over and tries to snatch your phone. You twist away, laughing, and he gives up, grabbing your knee instead and squeezing.

You go quiet at that. His thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly.

The road curves past the edge of town. Out where it’s green and sprawling, with nothing but fields and trees for miles.

You press your forehead to the window for a second.

“It’s gonna suck leaving,” you murmur.

Chris doesn’t answer right away. Just squeezes your knee a little tighter.

____________

He eventually pulls over at a quiet lookout point neither of you have bothered to visit all summer.

The view’s nothing special. Just trees, rooftops in the distance. But the breeze is nice. The obnoxious sound of a cicada— which felt like it was right near your ear—rang.

He drags himself out of the car, stretches, and then leans back against the hood.

You come stand beside him, arms brushing.

“Bet you’ll miss this shithole,” you say, nose scrunching.

He glances sideways. “Yeah. Bet you will too.”

You shrug. Try to make your voice casual. “Maybe.”

His fingers find yours and thread them together.

____________

You sit on the hood together for a while, saying nothing.

Just listening to birds and cicadas and the occasional passing car.

He lets go of your hand to dig in his pocket and comes up with an old ballpoint pen.

You give him a look. “What.”

He ignores you, catches your wrist, and starts drawing.

It tickles. You squirm. “Chris—”

“Hold still.”

You roll your eyes but obey, letting him concentrate.

He sticks his tongue out the side of his mouth in intense focus.

When he finally lets you look, there’s a wobbly little cartoon sun smiling on your forearm.

“Wow,” you deadpan. “A true artist.”

He shrugs, smug. “Now you can’t forget me. You’ll have to think about me every time you see it.”

You smack his shoulder lightly, but you don’t scrub it off.

____________

Eventually, you both slide off the car and wander down the little dirt path behind the overlook.

It leads nowhere in particular. Just a scrubby clearing with a half-broken picnic bench.

Chris sets his phone on a rock and props it up.

“What are you doing?”

“Memory insurance,” he says.

He drags you in for a selfie, your faces too close and sunburned, cheeks smushed together. He snaps three in a row before you can complain.

You try to look annoyed but you’re giggling by the end.

When you look at the last photo, you’re both actually smiling for real. No irony, no posing.

Your stomach twists a little.

____________

On the way back to the car, he links pinkies with you instead of holding your whole hand.

It’s dumber. It’s better.

When you look at him, his gaze is already on you, dark and warm and complicated.

He doesn’t say Don’t go.

You don’t say I’ll miss you.

You don’t have to.

You’re both quiet on the drive back. Not in an awkward way. Just…tired in that sun-soaked, content way.

His arm rests on the console between you, fingers drumming against it. Every now and then your pinky brushes his, and you feel his fingers curl slightly like he wants to hold your hand but is too distracted by the road.

“Stop staring,” he says, eyes on the windshield.

You snort. “I’m literally not.”

“Are too.”

You reach over and flick his ear. He flinches, then glares at you with exaggerated offense.

“Ow,” he says flatly.

“You’ll survive.”

He turns onto his street too fast, tires squealing just a little. You yelp and brace a hand on the dash.

“Jesus, Chris.”

“Whoops.” He grins. “I just like seeing you all flustered.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You're cute.”

Your breath hitches at that, but he’s already smirking like he knows exactly what he did.

____________

When you get back to his place, it’s quieter than before.

The air feels thicker somehow.

He kicks the door shut behind you with a thud that seems too loud in the silence.

You hover in the entryway for a second, backpack slung over your shoulder, trying to figure out what to do with your hands.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sets his keys down and turns to look at you.

You meet his gaze and try to smirk. “What. Gonna draw more on me?”

He hums, stepping closer. His fingers brush your arm where the little sun is already smudging from sweat.

“Could,” he murmurs.

You stare at each other for a beat too long.

And then he kisses you.

Not rushed. Not wild like last night.

Just soft.

He moves slowly, mouth gentle, fingers brushing your jaw like you’ll break if he holds too tight.

You make a tiny noise against him, your hands finding his waist and pulling him closer anyway.

When you pull back, he rests his forehead against yours, breath warm on your cheek.

He finally pulls away, clearing his throat too loud, making the moment feel less heavy.

“Okay. Couch. Now. Movie.”

“Bossy.”

“Shut up.”

You both flop onto the couch, limbs tangling immediately. His arm loops around your shoulders. Your knees find a home draped over his.

He flips through options with one hand. You rest your cheek on his chest and watch the screen blearily, not caring what he picks.

Halfway through, you’re giggling at some joke you’ve heard before. He just looks down at you and smiles so softly you want to scream.

“Stop being cute,” you grumble.

“Can’t help it,” he says, voice low. “Look who I’m with.”

You slap his stomach lightly. He grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles, smug as hell.

You snatch your hand back, but you’re smiling. “Stop.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you with that irritatingly fond look, his thumb brushing over your wrist.

“Make me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Chris.”

He tilts his head. Raises an eyebrow like he’s daring you.

“Say please.”

“Oh my god.” You shove at his chest, trying to wriggle away, but he catches your arm and pulls you right back into him.

“Chris—”

But you don’t get to finish, because he’s kissing you again.

This time there’s nothing soft about it.

He mouths at you hungrily, one arm tightening around your shoulders so you can’t squirm away even if you wanted to.

Your hand fists in his shirt, yanking him closer, kissing back just as fiercely. The dumb movie drones on in the background, utterly forgotten.

He breaks away for a second, breathing hard. His eyes flick down to your mouth and then back up, pupils blown.

“Up,” he says, voice rough.

You blink. “What?”

He tugs at your arm insistently. “Get up. Come here.”

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but then you’re climbing over him, straddling his lap. His hands settle on your hips instantly, thumbs pressing little bruises into your sides.

“There,” he murmurs, like he’s satisfied now. Like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

You roll your eyes, but your fingers curl into his hair. “You’re so annoying.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, before kissing you again.

And this time it’s slower and deeper all at once. He licks into your mouth like he wants to taste every single part of you. You gasp when his hands slide under your shirt, palms hot on your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space at all.

You rock forward on instinct, and he groans into your mouth, biting your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice strained. “You trying to kill me?”

You grin breathlessly. “You love it.”

He huffs out a laugh, but it dissolves into another groan when you grind down again.

His hands tighten, guiding your hips. “Yeah? Like that?”

You can’t even answer, too busy rolling against him until you both feel it—heat coiling low, your breathing ragged.

You bury your face in his neck, mouthing at the skin there, sucking a bruise you know he’ll complain about later.

He shudders. “Jesus. Don’t—don’t stop.”

Your hips stutter, his fingers digging in so hard it borders on painful, but you don’t care. You want it. You want him, all of him, every single messy, desperate piece.

He bucks up to meet you, cursing under his breath.

When you finally break for air, both of you are wrecked. Cheeks flushed. Breathing like you just ran miles.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“Shit,” he whispers. “You’re gonna make me…”

You swallow, your voice small and wrecked. “Then do it.”

He shifts under you, the subtle grind of denim against denim making you both groan. His voice is a low rasp.

“Move.“

You shiver. Because there’s something in his tone—hoarse, pleading, almost wrecked.

You start slow, rolling your hips deliberately, feeling the friction catch right where you need it. He sucks in a sharp breath, his hands guiding you even as he tries not to rush you.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Just like that.”

Your palms flatten against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. He’s so warm, so solid beneath you, and every time you rock forward he meets you halfway with a subtle, upward roll of his hips that makes you gasp.

“Chris—” you whimper.

He growls low in his throat, thumbs brushing under your shirt to trace circles on your skin. “Yeah? Say it again.”

You do. Over and over. His name becomes a mantra as you move faster, chasing that dizzy, sparking heat building low in your belly.

His head falls back against the couch, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded but locked on you. Watching every shift of your body. Every bounce.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, voice shredded. “You’re so fucking pretty. Come on baby.”

Your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance as you pick up the pace, grinding down and lifting just enough to let the friction burn hot between you.

He bucks up hard once, and you moan, the sound raw and shameless.

“Shit—like that?” he pants, voice ragged.

You nod frantically. Words are gone now. You’re too busy chasing the way your clit drags just right, the way he meets you with every grind.

One of his hands slips around to your ass, squeezing hard, forcing you down even rougher. You keen at the pressure.

“Don’t stop,” he hisses. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

Your legs are shaking, thighs burning, but you can’t. Won’t. He’s looking at you like he’d die if you did.

You feel it coiling tight. Too tight. Your nails rake down his chest as your hips stutter.

He feels it too. His other hand comes up, thumb brushing over your lower lip.

“That’s it,” he says, voice cracking. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

And you do.

You break with a sob of his name, body locking up, shaking apart in his lap. He holds you so tight you can’t fall, whispering broken praise into your hair as you ride it out.

He doesn’t stop moving, even as you tremble, riding your aftershocks.

When you sag against him, boneless, he breathes a laugh against your temple.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps.

You’re too far gone to answer, just nuzzling closer, trying to slow your breathing.

But you feel him. Hard under you. Throbbing.

He shifts under you again, voice tight.

“Um—might be your turn to help me out,” he says, trying to sound cocky but utterly wrecked.

You shift, and he swears, hips twitching up.

“Shit—don’t tease,” he rasps.

You laugh softly against his skin. “Not teasing.”

You press one last kiss to his neck, then push yourself up off his lap. He makes a wounded sound at the loss of your weight, reaching for you automatically.

But you’re already sinking to your knees in front of him.

His eyes go wide, pupils blown.

“Wait—”

You just smirk, settling between his spread legs. “Shut up.”

Your fingers hook in his waistband, dragging his sweats and boxers down just enough. He lifts his hips without even thinking, helping you.

He’s flushed, leaking, so hard it twitches when the cooler air hits.

You lick your lips deliberately.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, head thunking back against the couch.

You run your fingers up his length first, slow and teasing, feeling the way he pulses. He chokes on a moan, hips bucking just a little.

“Relax,” you murmur, voice low and smug. “Let me.”

You lean in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. He shudders, a curse tumbling from his lips.

Your tongue flicks out, tasting him, slow and languid, letting his salty slickness spread over your tongue.

He’s panting already, fingers digging into the cushions.

“Fuck—”

You look up at him through your lashes, lips parted around the head, and his jaw clenches so tight you can see the muscle jump.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growls, voice breaking.

You hum around him in response, and he loses it.

“Shit. Shit.”

You sink down further, taking him deeper inch by inch, your tongue pressing against the underside. Your spit slicks everything, messy and wet and perfect.

He’s breathing so hard you think he might pass out, one hand fumbling before settling hesitantly on your hair.

You bob your head, slow and steady, letting him feel every wet slide, every swallow. You hollow your cheeks, sucking just right, and his hips twitch.

“Baby—fuck. Gonna—”

You pull back just enough to speak, breath warm on him.

“Yeah?” you whisper, stroking him with your hand, spreading spit. “Do it.”

He groans like you’ve killed him, fingers tightening in your hair.

You go back down without mercy, sucking hard, moaning around him on purpose so the vibrations make his thighs tremble.

“Fuck—oh my god—”

His voice cracks, deep and desperate.

You feel him swell on your tongue, twitching hard.

And then he’s coming, hips jerking helplessly, one hand clamped in your hair and the other white-knuckled on the couch.

You swallow around him, letting him ride it out, sucking him through it until he gasps and tries to pull you off with trembling fingers.

You finally let him go, licking your lips slowly.

He’s wrecked.

Head thrown back. Eyes glazed. Breath ragged.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and grin.

“Told you I’d help.”

He looks down at you, chest still heaving.

“Holy shit,” he whispers.

____________

Later that evening, you’re both washed and dressed—though Chris spent half of it pressed up against you in the shower, kissing your neck like he didn’t want to stop.

Now you’re in his truck, windows rolled down, summer air rushing in. You can still taste him on your lips, which makes you smile like an idiot.

He notices. Obviously.

“What?” he asks, glancing over with a knowing smirk.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He hums, eyes flicking back to the road. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

When you pull up to the house, it’s already buzzing. String lights crisscross the yard, music thumping softly from someone’s Bluetooth speaker. A cooler is propped open on the porch, half-filled with beer and melting ice.

You can hear laughter before you’re even out of the car.

Chris kills the engine and just sits there for a second. Fingers tapping the steering wheel.

“Hey,” you say, bumping your shoulder against his. “Don’t be weird.”

He scoffs. “Me? Never.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Liar.”

He blushes, ears turning red. You want to bite them.

Inside, it’s all easy smiles and shouted greetings. A few of Chris’s friends you recognize from other nights—some you don’t.

But they know you.

Or at least, they know you’re her. The girl Chris has been hopelessly, obviously into all summer.

You feel the way eyes follow you when he rests a hand on your back, steering you toward the porch.

“Look who it is,” Justin says, voice all mock drama, arms wide like he’s going to hug you.

You roll your eyes but hug him anyway. He smells like beer and cologne.

“You here to babysit my brother?” he asks loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Chris flips him off over your shoulder.

“She’s here to rescue me from your annoying ass,” Chris says.

Justin just grins. “Sure. For now. Until she abandons you to go back to Toronto.”

The word hangs in the air a second too long.

You clear your throat. “Yeah, okay. Dickhead.”

He laughs, unbothered, handing you a beer from the cooler.

Someone turns the music up. People filter in and out of the house, spilling onto the porch and the patchy grass beyond.

You end up wedged onto a rickety patio couch with Chris and two of his friends. Your legs drape over his lap automatically, and he rests a hand on your ankle like he owns it.

Every time someone makes a joke, you feel him looking at you first.

Checking if you’re laughing.

Checking if you’re okay.

Justin flops down next to you at one point, cracking another beer.

“You know he’s gonna cry when you leave, right?”

You snort. “Please.”

Chris glares. “Justin.”

“No, seriously.” Justin leans forward, conspiratorial. “You got tissues in your bag or what?”

You smack his arm. He yelps dramatically.

“I’ll cry first,” you mumble, but only Chris hears. His fingers tighten on your hand.

There’s a firepit out back, the smoke wafting in lazy spirals.

Someone breaks out a guitar, playing horrible music (co-worker music…)

Someone else produces a half-melted bag of marshmallows.

You and Chris move closer to the heat, finding space on an overturned log. He sits behind you this time, arms around your waist, chin hooked over your shoulder.

You lean back into him without thinking.

His breath is warm against your ear. “You warm enough?”

You hum. “Yeah.”

He presses a kiss to your hairline.

“You smell like smoke,” you tease.

“Good,” he mumbles. “Means you’ll remember it.”

You don’t say anything to that.

You don’t have to.

Justin stumbles over at one point, drunk as hell, forcing everyone into a blurry group selfie.

“Smile!”

Chris flips him off.

You’re laughing so hard you can’t keep your eyes open in the photo.

Later, people thin out. The fire dies down to glowing coals. Justin is passed out half on a lawn chair, snoring loud enough to scare off raccoons.

You and Chris wander off down the side of the house, beers in hand, needing air.

The grass is wet with dew. Crickets chirp in the dark.

He stops walking and just…stares at you.

“What,” you whisper.

“Come here,” he says, voice too rough.

You step in, close enough to see the way his eyes shine in the moonlight.

He sets his beer down, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you.

Hard.

Desperate.

You kiss him back like you’re drowning.

He breaks it only to pant against your lips.

“Don’t,” he breathes.

You swallow. “Don’t what.”

“Don’t think about leaving yet.”

Your heart lurches.

You watch him sadly. “Chris—you know I have t��.”

He interrupts you by kissing you again, softer this time. Like he’s sorry. Like he’s trying to say everything he can’t.

When you finally pull apart, his thumb is rubbing circles on your cheek, eyes locked on yours.

“Let’s go back,” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

He links your fingers together.

And you both head back toward the dying firelight.

____________

You don’t say much on the drive back from the bonfire.

The radio is low, some old rock ballad crackling through the static, and neither of you reaches to turn it off.

The car smells like smoke and marshmallows. Your hair is still warm from the fire. Your face hurts from smiling at friends.

He parks in front of his place and kills the engine.

Neither of you moves at first.

Then he sighs. “Come on.”

You follow him inside.

The door closes behind you with a click that sounds too final.

He drops his keys on the counter. You let your bag slip to the floor.

You stand there for a second, facing each other.

He’s got that look again—like he’s memorizing you.

It pisses you off.

Because you’re doing it too.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mumble.

“Like what.”

“Like it’s over.”

His jaw tightens. He looks away. “It’s not.”

Your voice cracks. “Feels like it.”

He doesn’t argue. Just crosses the room in two steps and wraps his arms around you.

You bury your face in his chest, breathing him in.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

When you finally pull back, you take his hand without asking and tug him toward the bedroom.

He doesn’t fight it.

You both strip down to underwear, wordlessly, as if you’ve done it a hundred times.

You crawl under the covers together and immediately find each other.

Your legs tangle. His arm slides under your neck so you can use him as a pillow. Your hand rests over his heart, feeling it race like yours.

He exhales shakily. “You warm enough?”

You nod. Your voice is quiet. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence.

You look up at him in the dim light. He’s already watching you.

“Chris…”

He doesn’t let you finish. Just leans in and kisses you.

It’s not hungry. It’s not playful.

It’s slow.

He kisses you like he’s trying to say everything he’s too stubborn to say out loud.

You kiss back just as carefully, your thumb brushing his cheek, memorizing the scratch of stubble.

When you break apart, you rest your forehead against his.

You’re both breathing hard for no good reason.

“I don’t want to go,” you whisper.

He closes his eyes. Swallows.

“Then don’t.”

It’s not a command. It’s a plea.

Your chest aches. You want to say yes. You want to say okay.

But you don’t.

Instead you press your lips to his temple. His cheek. The corner of his mouth.

You feel his breath hitch. His arm tightens around your waist like he can keep you here if he just holds hard enough.

“Promise me you’ll miss me,” you mumble against his skin.

He huffs out a sad laugh. “That’s a threat.”

You smile, even though tears are threatening. “Good.”

He rolls onto his back, pulling you half on top of him. His fingers draw nonsense patterns on your spine.

You press your ear to his chest, listening to his heart.

He’s quiet for a long time. Then:

“Stay up with me?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

So you do.

You talk in low voices about nothing. Favorite movies. Dumb inside jokes. You tease him until he threatens to kick you out of bed, but his arm never loosens.

At one point you both go quiet, and he just holds you so tight you can feel his pulse everywhere.

____________

It’s too early.

The sky is only just paling at the edges when you load your bag into the trunk. The air has that thin, breathless chill of dawn, but your palms are sweating.

Chris stands a few feet away on the gravel, arms crossed, hoodie pulled tight.

Neither of you says much.

You close the trunk and lean against it, staring at your shoes. Your aunt waits for you in the car, purposefully trying to give you privacy.

He clears his throat. “You got everything?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

Birds are starting to sing in the trees. It feels rude. Like the world is already moving on while you’re stuck here, trying to figure out how to make this stop.

You glance at him. His jaw is tight, mouth a hard line.

He’s angry. But not at you.

You push off the car and close the distance, fists bunching in his hoodie.

“Chris.”

He doesn’t look at you right away.

You tilt your head. “Hey.”

Finally, his eyes find yours. Red-rimmed.

Your heart cracks.

“Don’t,” he says hoarsely.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make this worse.”

You let out a tiny, pathetic laugh. “It’s already bad.”

He squeezes his eyes shut like he hates that you’re right.

You bury your face in his chest. His arms come up instantly, crushing you against him.

It’s not a gentle hug.

It’s all of it.

The last week. The nights tangled together. The laughing. The fighting. The way you couldn’t get enough. The way you still want more.

He presses his face into your hair and breathes you in.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, voice cracking.

You can’t help it—you start crying, silent and hot against his hoodie.

He feels you shake and just holds you tighter.

You try to speak but your voice breaks.

He shushes you. “Hey. Hey. Don’t.”

But he’s crying too.

It’s messy. Ugly. Both of you sniffling, refusing to let go.

When you finally pull back enough to see his face, your hands cradle his jaw, thumbs brushing his wet cheeks.

He looks at you like he wants to memorize everything.

His mouth opens like he’s going to say it.

The word.

But he doesn’t.

Neither do you.

Instead, you kiss him.

Hard.

Desperate.

Your teeth clash. Your noses bump. It’s not pretty, but it’s real.

You both gasp against each other’s mouths like you’re drowning.

When you finally part, you rest your foreheads together.

His voice is wrecked.

“Text me.”

You nod, swallowing the sob that wants out. “Yeah.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

He drags in a shaky breath. “Come back.”

Your fingers tighten on his hoodie.

“I will.”

He swallows hard. “Don’t forget me.”

That one breaks you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tears leaking out anyway.

“Never.”

He kisses you one last time, so soft it’s almost nothing.

You step away.

It feels wrong. Like leaving your heart behind.

He doesn’t move. Just stands there, hands balled into fists, watching you like if he blinks you’ll disappear.

You open the car door and look back at him one more time.

He tries to smile. Fails.

You get in. Start the engine.

As you pull away, you watch him in the rearview mirror.

Standing in the gravel drive, hoodie too big, eyes bright even in the dawn light.

He raises a hand.

You don’t think you’ll ever forget the way it looks, small and far away and so fucking final.

Your throat burns.

You wipe your eyes, focusing on the road. Your aunt puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

And you keep driving.

____________

Epilogue

You hear the cicadas first.

A year later and they still sound exactly the same.

Loud. Relentless. Like the heat itself has a voice that refuses to be ignored.

You lean back against the porch rail, closing your eyes for a second. The sun is already too hot on your skin even though it’s barely morning.

In your lap rests a crisp letter—this year’s internship acceptance. The one you didn’t get last summer, the one that changed everything.

You remember your aunt’s voice floating through her kitchen, a week ago.

“You’re coming back to the cottage this weekend, right? Thought you could use a break before the internship starts.”

You imagine the quiet lake, the soft rustle of trees, the smell of pine and water. The place that became a refuge when things felt like they were slipping away.

For a moment, it’s last summer all over again.

The headlights on empty roads. His laughter in the passenger seat. Music you argued about for hours.

Stolen kisses behind the bonfire, the way his hair smelled like smoke for days.

His voice in the dark. Whispered jokes. That one terrible goodbye.

Text me.

Come back.

Don’t forget me.

You didn’t.

God, the two of you had tried.

You breathe in so deep it almost hurts. The air is thick with summer and memory.

Your phone is heavy in your pocket.

You haven’t talked in weeks. Not really. Just scattered check-ins that felt too careful. You used to call, right after the summer. But things got busy for the two of you. You, with your university major, and him with his recent influencer fame.

Your fingers itch for it anyway.

You open your eyes. The world is bright. Green and buzzing and alive.

Just like it was last year.

You fish out your phone. Turn it over in your hands.

You think about his grin. That stupid crooked smile. The way he hugged you like he thought it might be the last time.

You swallow.

You scroll to his name.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Somewhere in the trees, the cicadas scream.

You start to type.

a/n - YUHHHH that's the end of my summer series. kinda sad that this one didn't do that well but thank you to everyone that did read it!!!!

this was a pretty short series, but it's my favourite one for sureee!! anyways thank you, love you guyss!

go here if you want to be added to my taglist <3

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syscest · 2 months ago

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How do you find plural people irl to have hot gay/t4t sex with? I'm too shy irl and it's making me sad lol

i think only someone in a decently queer-safe jurisdiction with relative access to an urban center would say this, so-

same way you do any kind of community outreach for an under-recognised queer label - talk to your local queer groups, online and offline, start your own meetup if there isn't one. "how do I find-" check the autonomous event noticeboards for big nearby libraries, universities - hell, check the marching order of local demonstrations and marches, under nonprofits. if you can hack it, being visibly an odd queer person (even if not *plural*) in your general community spaces is a long con but extremely rarely pays off - we got hit up by a coworker when we quit our previous job this way, turned out to be a system lol.

same way you find any kind of weird queer people for sex locally - loudly announcing the city you live in online (lol), The Apps, going to trans etc meetups if you've got em, going to you-compatible queer events (inc public sex events if you've got em and can hack it), and so forth.

We live in an exceedingly queer city so we're pretty lucky on all of these, but if you're thinking "how the hell do I break into any of this, idk if anything exists where I am" genuinely, use queer hookup/meet apps. Like yeah don't get catfished obviously, but the queer world lives on "a friend of a friend told me" rules - meet people that can tell you about events where you can meet other people.

Of the main options, grindr lets you canvas the local scene MUCH faster than any other option, has an actual browsing mode that isn't smash/pass, and has less of a requirement that you appear "respectable" generally bc of the block-first culture and lack of a dating focus - people will ignore your profile settings/bio and send you their dicks, you learn to block bad-looking profiles before bothering to open their messages.

Say you're a system in your bio, hide your face in photos if there's an outing risk (you can always send them first-message once you've checked you don't know someone irl), say "tell me about local [kind of queer you are] events/meets!" there too, filter your browse by age, and by gender - select non-binary and manually add the gendered trans tags (systems and people who know them are just. far more likely to outwardly be trans/genderfluid - I bet you are too), and then start blocking every boring looking profile you see until only the weird and interesting ones remain. (you get more free results this way in a way that narrowing your filter doesn't allow).

Again, we live in an EXCEEDINGLY queer city but uh. we've encountered *fifteen* other systems this year (most of them NOT labelled on profiles) this way. even if you're not that lucky, you might find some overly accepting trans furries :P close enough

#asks #plural nsft #mod aaa

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radiance1 · 2 years ago

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You know what?

*Kicks Danny across the universe.*

Get that motherfucker outta here, we talking about Tucker now.

Yes, Tucker, not Danny.

So, Tucker gets dropped into this new universe, entirely by mistake really, he probably shouldn't have fucked around with that experimental portal to... wherever he ended up that the GIW had. But really, what's life without a little risk huh?

He found out because he was left resourceless and friendless in an entirely new dimension with waaaaay more than just one hero, ghosts aren't the norm (But really in his dimension they both were and weren't) and a bunch of supervillains and what do you mean earth's been invaded more than once-

He's shocked, obviously, but being suddenly cut off from his friends and family hasn't properly set in yet, so he'll make the most of his time before then.

Ends up managing to get himself a nice little abandoned warehouse (there's a lot of those around here, really) that'll take a bit of fixing up but hey, safety from the elements first, safety from others next, and then food. So, with the materials he's found, he makes a security system, not the greatest because poor materials and he doesn't have the Fenton gene but it works itself out.

He had data, so he hacks into nearby places to get a proper feel for the city he's in.

Lots of crime, like, a whole lot that has Tucker slightly worried not going to lie.

But hey, he meets this person called Oracle, and they're a fun one to hang with. Digitally of course, obviously he's also hidden his signal so they can't track him in the off chance.

Then he somehow finds himself helping the Batclan here and in return he asks for money, Oracle obliges and by the Ancients are they loaded. Upgrades, upgrades, here he comes!

Most of it is surveillance, and a wee bit of tracking and hacking and also defending.

He thinks Oracle and him make a pretty good team! One full offense, the other defense, hell. They could both go offensive or defensive and it's pretty fun.

Oracle: Yea, I know a guy.

Also Oracle: Refuses to elaborate on who said guy is, how they met and so on so forth.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover

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nahoney22 · 2 months ago

Text

Liar Liar (Part 10/?)

Part 10 - Seeing Double // <<< Part 9

🫧 Pairings: Commander Fox X Female Reader

🫧Chapter Summary: When work is getting too much, you go to 79's to try blow off some steam. But, you find yourself living bitter memories and jealousy.

🫧Warnings: Angst, alcohol mention, light flirting, jealousy, arguing, awkward moments. Dancing, miscommunication, Drama drama dramaaaa (I’m convinced nobody reads these warnings)

The following week was exhausting.

Somehow—Force knows how—Thire and Hound had convinced you to stay.

It had taken hours of back-and-forth, of them wearing you down with reassurances and well-meaning arguments, but in the end, you let them win. Stone, however, remained blissfully unaware of the whole ordeal. Not for lack of trying, though. You’d bet a million credits that he had been pestering Thire and Hound at least a dozen times, demanding to know what was going on.

But, just as Fox had promised, he was too preoccupied with Coruscant’s safety to linger in the office. Not only was Rik Walder still at large, but riots and fires had been breaking out in the lower sectors of Coruscant so his work pile had doubled.

You saw very little of him, only ever catching traces of his presence in the form of an empty caf cup pile steadily accumulating on his desk. Yet somehow, even without seeing him, the weight of everything still lingered.

At least Pia had been keeping you distracted. She messaged every night, checking in, filling the empty space with something lighter. It helped. And with Fox nowhere in sight, the ache in your chest had started to dull.

Unfortunately, the ache in your head was another story.

The systems were a disaster. What you had initially assumed was a one-time mishap with reports and patrol logs had spiraled into an ongoing nightmare.

Errors crept in like clockwork, reports misfiled, schedules jumbled. No one could even work out how it was happening. Technicians were brought in, sifting through the logs for signs of hacking and slicing but nothing. Nada.

Everything was now even triple-checked before uploads, and yet, somehow, the mistakes kept slipping through. And Thorn -bless his soul- was barely holding it together.

He loomed over everyone’s desks like a vulture, giving reminders, breathing down necks. You liked Thorn as a Commander well enough, but if you heard “make sure it’s secure again” one more time, you might throw yourself out the window.

But at least now it was your lunch break. And you could get some peace and quiet. Almost.

“Plans for tonight?” You looked up from your tray in the cafeteria, spoon hovering mid-air, to see Hound and Stone standing in front of you.

“Sleep,” you muttered, eyeing the unrecognisable grey slop on your spoon. “Why?”

“We’re going to 79’s.” Stone rolled his eyes. “I need a break from all these kriffing error checks.”

Your stomach twisted. 79’s. “I don’t know…” You trailed off, letting the spoonful of slop fall back onto your tray with an unceremonious splat.

Hound shot you a knowing look, knowing full well why you didn’t want to go. But Stone, still in the dark, pressed on. “Come on,” he coaxed, grinning. “It’ll be fun. Thire’s going too, though let’s be honest, he’s only going to see your friend.” He waggled his brows.

Your ears perked up. “Pia’s working tonight?” Now that had your interest.

It had been over a week since you last saw her, and the last time you had, you were ugly crying into her arms while devouring an obscene amount of sweet treats. You needed a new memory that was less embarrassing.

You also wanted to know if the two of them ended up on a date, too.

Hound gave you a small nudge of encouragement. “What do ya say? You need a break. Just a few drinks, some bad music, and—” he smirked, “—watching Thire completely lose his cool over Pia.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed. “I’ll think about it.”

“You don’t have to drink,” he added quickly. “Or stay long. But you do need to get out of this place before Thorn gives himself an aneurysm.”

Stone grinned. “You’re coming. I can see it in your face.”

You rolled your eyes, but the thought of a change of scenery and even of normalcy, even for a night was becoming harder to resist. You didn’t want to keep avoiding places just because he had been there. You weren’t about to let Fox ruin 79’s for you.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll go.”

Stone clapped his hands together. “Good. Now you’re making smart choices.”

Hound shot you another look, quieter this time almost as if he was checking in, making sure you were really okay with this. You gave him a small nod. You’d be fine. One night wouldn’t hurt.

Right?

“Oh, and since you’re here—" You barely had time to react before Stone pulled a handful of data pucks from his belt, holding them out like an afterthought. "Can you drop these off with Officer Sinja? The new one?"

Before you could protest, he unceremoniously dumped them onto your tray—right on top of the unappetising slop—then bolted, Hound trailing behind him with a barely concealed grin.

Unbelievable.

Then again, running an errand was still preferable to forcing down whatever questionable meal the kitchen had concocted today. With a resigned sigh, you picked up the data pucks, abandoning your tray altogether.

At least it gave you something to do. Something that didn’t involve system errors, Thorn breathing down your neck, or—

No. You weren’t going to think about him .

Tucking the pucks securely into your belt pouch, you made your way through the corridors, weaving past troopers and officers alike. The station was as busy as ever, filled with the usual hum of voices, boots against durasteel, and the occasional curse from a frustrated officer and new prisoners being escorted to the cells in the lower levels.

It was all fine. Normal.

Until you passed that same vent.

It was shut . But you could have sworn that just for a second, you had seen it shift. Like it had just barely snapped back into place after being moved.

You swallowed, glancing around. The corridor was empty now. Too empty.

You're imagining things. You had to be. Between the stress, the lack of sleep, and the mess of emotions still tangled inside you, it was no surprise your mind was playing tricks. If anything was in the vents after all, it would have been set off in the security alerts.

With a tense inhale, you forced yourself to keep walking, quickening your pace. Maybe getting out tonight really was a good idea.

It isn’t long until you realised you had another problem on your hands that wasn’t the data pucks. The problem was that you had no idea who Officer Sinja actually was.

With a frown, you realised you’d left your datapad in the office, and the idea of trekking all the way back for it just to turn around again made you groan internally. But if your memory served you correctly, Sinja might’ve been that young officer you’d spoken to in the hangar once—back when you were looking for Whisky.

That was as good a place as any to start.

You reached the lift, hitting the button and waiting as the numbers flickered down. The doors slid open, and you stepped inside, selecting your floor. The red lights above blinked with each passing level, and you exhaled.

Then you noticed one light turn green. Someone else was about to join you.

You shuffled toward the side, hoping— praying —it wasn’t a horde of astromechs again. The last time that happened, you’d been wedged into the corner while seven droids piled in, then spent four hours trapped when the lift broke down.

With a small wince at the memory, you kept your gaze down as the doors opened, waiting for whoever was about to step in.

As the door opened, your gaze inadvertently travelled along the floor when you spoke a pair of white boots. And then as your gaze moved up, a deep red stripe along the knee plates.

Instantly, your head snapped up and your eyes lock onto the visor that was probably the last one you wanted to.

Your body stiffened, fingers curling at your sides. He froze, too, hovering at the threshold like he’d just walked into a battlefield unarmed. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then he shifted back a step. “I’ll get the next one.”

His voice was gruff, controlled. But he wasn’t looking at you. His helmet was tilted just slightly toward the floor, like if he didn’t see you, this wouldn’t be happening.

You weren’t sure why you did it. Your body moved before your mind could catch up, and suddenly, your hand shot out, stopping the door from sealing. “N-no, it’s okay,” you said, voice quieter than intended. “There’s enough room.”

Fox hesitated. You swore you felt the weight of his stare even though you couldn’t see his eyes. He glanced between your hand and your face, as if trying to decode something—why you’d stopped him, why you would let him in.

Stiffly, he nodded and stepped inside.

The air in the lift grew heavy the second the doors slid shut.

He reached forward to press his floor button, and you clasped your hands behind your back, hoping he couldn’t see the way your fingers trembled.

The silence that settled between you was thick, stretched taut like a wire about to snap.

The lift hummed. A steady, low vibration beneath your feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke. “How’s your hand?”

The question startled you. You blinked, glancing at your palm—the one you’d burned on scalding caf last week.

“Fine,” you managed, though it came out too high-pitched, too breathy. You cleared your throat. “Uh, the medic put some kind of gel—or spray—on it. I don’t know. But yeah, it’s fine.”

Fox shifted on his feet, rocking slightly on his heels. “Good,” he murmured. “That’s good.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

The tension wasn’t budging. It was thick, suffocating, like the walls were about to close in like a trash compactor.

You sucked in a slow breath, then blurted out, “How’s, uh… life?”

Really? That was the best you could come up with?

Fox exhaled, the sound somewhere between amusement and exhaustion. “Same old, same old.”

Except it wasn’t. You heard it in his voice—the weight of something unspoken.

Maybe small talk wasn’t the worst idea. Maybe if you could just talk to him, things would feel less… tangled. You risked a glance at him, but it only made your stomach tighten and heart sink.

“Any luck on that prisoner?”

This time, he did sigh, lifting a gloved hand to his helmet as if pinching the bridge of his nose beneath it. “No. Nothing yet.”

“Oh.” You shifted uncomfortably.

“Are you… worried?” He didn’t turn his head, but you caught the slight tilt of his helmet as he regarded you from the corner of his visor.

“Sure,” you admitted. “From his record, I don’t remember anything particularly pleasant. I just… hope you catch him.”

“Yeah,” Fox murmured. “Me too.”

Are we not there yet?

The silence stretched again.

“Haircut?”

This time you looked at him, raising a brow. “S-Sorry?”

“Your hair… looks different.”

Your hand moves to your hair as if it wasn’t you who had washed, brushed it and styled it this morning. “Uh, no.” You say almost sheepishly. “I’m just wearing it up today.”

“Oh, yeah. Obviously.” Fox swallows, looking away from you.

You inhaled slowly—then regretted it immediately.

He still smelled the same. That warm, familiar scent that clung to your memory, pulling you back to that night in the cab. To the way he’d drawn you close, arm slung over your shoulders, voice murmuring into your ear…

You swallowed hard.

“Any plans this evening?”

His voice snapped you back to the present, and you jolted. “Oh—uh. Yeah. Hound asked me to go to 79’s with him.”

Silence. A few seconds too long.

“He did?”

There was something odd in his tone. Strained.

You suddely realised how that might have sounded. “And Stone,” you clarified quickly. “They both invited me. Y-You could come too.”

Fox didn’t speak at first. Then, briskly, he nodded. “You deserve a break.” He settled.

Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess. Though instead of actually taking a break, I’m running errands for Stone.”

Fox tilted his head—a familiar motion, one you now hated to admit looked adorable on him. “Why?”

You explained the data pucks, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you felt the eye-roll behind his visor. “Could he not do it himself?”

“Obviously not,” you muttered, sighing.

The lift still wasn’t there yet.

“Do you even know who Officer Sinja is?”

“Kind of.” You hesitated. “I think I met him in the hangar once.”

Fox let out a breath and nodded. “You did. That’s him.”

You resisted the urge to shift again. You remembered that conversation now. Sinja had been smooth-talking, arrogant in a way that could be charming or insufferable depending on the day. And you remembered something else, too:

Fox had been watching.

The lift finally dinged.

The doors hissed open, revealing your destination and Fox stepped aside giving you room to pass.

But for a moment, you didn’t move.

And you weren’t sure why.

The air felt different now. The weight of his presence behind you pressed against your skin, a silent question hovering in the air between you both.

Then, just as the door started to close, Fox stopped it with his foot.

His voice was quiet when he asked, “Is this where you want to be?”

The question wasn’t just about the floor. It wasn’t just about the lift.

It was about him .

Was this where you wanted to be? Standing on the edge of something unresolved, pretending it didn’t hurt?

Your breath hitched. Then, softly, you nodded.

“Yes.”

And you stepped out.

You walked ahead, not looking back but you felt his stare on you and you will yourself not to look back.

Although, you find yourself really wanting to.

⋅⋅───⊱༺  🦊 ༻⊰───⋅⋅

Getting ready for 79’s took longer than it should have.

You stood in front of your closet, arms crossed, debating over what to wear like it actually mattered. It didn’t, really. It was just a night out; a distraction. But something in your gut told you to put in the effort.

Your fingers skimmed over the fabric hanging before you, pausing when they brushed against something familiar. Soft material, deep red.

The dress.

You pulled it from the rack, letting it drape over your hands, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been. It was the one you’d worn that night. The night with him . The one that never really got to happen.

A sigh escaped you as you ran a hand through your hair. You should have let Pia keep it when you left it at hers. Stars, maybe you should’ve burned it. But… you hadn’t.

And you weren’t sure what that said about you.

“Whatever,” you muttered, shoving it back and reaching for something else.

A top you hadn’t worn in a while. A skirt that felt a little daring (in your eyes, at least). Heels that deserved a night out, even if they’d make you regret it in the morning.

It wasn’t for anyone in particular. Just for you . That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

79’s was alive with its usual chaotic energy by the time you arrived.

Music thumped through the walls, a steady bassline that vibrated under your feet. The scent of cheap alcohol and something fried lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of sweat and polished plastoid. Conversations overlapped, voices rising and falling, troopers crowded around tables, shouting over drinks, some even dancing, playing hologames. or just simply blowing off steam after another long shift.

You moved through the bodies, sidestepping a trooper who nearly sloshed his drink on you, and made your way to the bar. Settling onto a stool, you scanned for a familiar face. It didn’t take long as Pia was in the thick of it, handling a rush of orders.

When your eyes met, she practically lit up, waving so energetically you thought she might knock over the bottle she was reaching for. Instead, she managed to steady it at the last second, shooting you a quick ‘one sec’ before turning back to pour a round of shots.

“A beauty, isn’t she?” You turned to see Thire settling into the stool beside you, his eyes fixed on Pia with such open admiration it was almost laughable.

You grinned. “Always has been.”

Thire exhaled, like he was trying to play it cool but failing spectacularly. “We went out last night.”

“Oh?” You leaned in, thoroughly enjoying his smug expression. “And?”

He smirked, slow and self-satisfied. “It went great .”

Before you could pry for details, Pia finally made her way over, all confidence as she purred, “Hey, hot stuff.”

Thire barely suppressed a grin, straightening. “Hey, you—”

“I was talking to her,” Pia cut in smoothly, glancing your way with a mischievous smirk.

You snorted into your drink, and Thire’s face immediately fell, mouth snapping shut.

Pia, delighted with herself, laughed before leaning over the bar and pressing a kiss to Thire’s cheek. Just like that, his mood rebounded, his smirk returning in full force.

“Hey, you,” he murmured, clearly savouring the moment.

You rolled your eyes. “You two are cute. I hate it.”

Pia winked as she reached for a glass. “You love it.

She slid a drink across the bar toward you with a flourish. “On the house.”

You frowned. “Pia—”

“Nope.” She folded her arms. “As long as I’m working here, you don’t owe me a single credit.”

You sighed, eyeing the drink, then her. “Fine. But I’m buying you food later.”

She considered this, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll allow it.”

Shaking your head, you turned your attention back to Thire. “Stone and Hound here yet?”

Thire rolled his eyes. “They’re outside. One of the new shinies from the 212th had one too many shots and thought he could go round-for-round with a Corrie.”

You snorted. “Let me guess, thought he could hold his liquor?”

Thire smirked. “Poor bastard didn’t even make it past the third shot.”

The three of you fell into easy conversation, drinks flowing. Pia and Thire were perfect for each other, bounced off each other and you had to try and suppress a jealous feeling in your stomach.

Eventually, Thire finished off his drink and stood with a stretch. “Gonna go check in on the lads.”

Before he could step away, Pia grabbed his hand, tugging him back just enough to steal a quick kiss. “Don’t start any fights.”

Thire grins down at her. “No promises.” She swatted his arm, laughing as he disappeared into the crowd.

Alone now, Pia wiped down the bar as the onslaught of clones dwindled before leaning forward against the counter. There was a look on her face, hesitant but knowing, and you could already guess where this was going.

“You can ask if you want,” you muttered, swirling the ice in your glass.

Pia sighed. “How’s the thing with you and Fox?”

You exhaled slowly, staring into your drink. “There is no ‘ thing’ to begin with. I just… feel weird whenever I’m near him.”

Pia arched a brow. “Weird how?”

You hesitated, then told her about the lift; the tension, the awkward small talk, the way Fox had hesitated before stepping inside and how you let him in in the first place. How, for a brief moment, you’d both just stood there when the doors opened, neither of you moving.

Pia, for once, was quiet. You narrowed your eyes. “What?”

She bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. “Don’t hate me because I know how much this upset you… but do you think it’s worth possibly exploring something with him? As Fox?”

You stared at Pia, almost disgusted at the thought. “He lied to me, Pia”

She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I know, I know. And I’m not saying what he did was right, because it wasn’t. But—”

“Oh, there’s a but now?” You huffed, crossing your arms.

Pia gave you a look, the kind that said don’t be difficult , but she pressed on anyway. “We know he didn’t do it to mess with you. He didn’t do it to get you fired. Or humiliate you. Or as some kind of stupid prank.” She shook her head, watching you closely. “He did it all on his own. No one put him up to it.”

You scoffed, looking away and back down at your drink. “Right. And that makes it better ?”

“I just think…” Pia hesitated, then continued carefully, “Maybe he really liked you.”

The words twisted something in your chest, but you forced a bitter laugh. “Doubt it.”

Your mind went back to that night in the refresher—the way you had cornered him, raw and desperate for the truth, asking if any of it had meant something, if anything he said was true. But he had just stood there. Silent. No answer. No confirmation. Not even a single damn word to give you peace of mind.

Pia studied you, but she must have seen the storm in your expression because she softened. “You should talk to him.”

You tensed. “No.”

“Just hear him out.”

“No.”

She groaned, throwing her hands up. “Oh, for kriff’s sake, will you just —”

“What ? ” You snapped, voice sharp enough to cut through the noise of the bar. “Let you and Thire push me into talking to him? Try and set us up again like you’re some kind of miracle workers? Just because your love life is suddenly peachy doesn’t mean I should forgive someone who deceived me and embarrassed me!”

Pia’s expression flickered with hurt and frustration. Then, with a shake of her head, she muttered, “I need to serve someone on the other side of the bar,” and walked away.

The moment she was gone, guilt sank its teeth into you.

You knew she only meant well. She always did. But she didn’t know what it felt like to build a connection with someone, to feel that pull toward them, only to find out it had all been a lie .

Nobody did.

You huffed, rubbing your temples and slouching forward on the bar. Everything inside you felt messy and tangled.

You felt sorry for yourself, sure, but you felt even worse for Pia. Her usual spark, that infectious joy that lit up every corner of a room, was gone. She moved mechanically behind the bar now, polite but muted, handing drinks over with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Your gaze drifted across the room, zeroing in on the empty stool near the far end of the bar. That stool. The one Fox had sat at the first night you met ‘Whisky’. You stared at it like it might conjure him if you focused hard enough—but it didn’t. It just sat there. Vacant. And the longer you stared at it, the more your gut twisted with confusion.

Would you ignore him if he were there now? Would you walk up and demand answers? Or would you crumble under the weight of everything you still felt, despite how badly you wanted to be over it? Over him?

Frustrated, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan.

“Can I refill your drink?”

The voice came from behind, a little too smooth to be accidental. You blinked, lifting your head and glancing over your shoulder.

A clone stood there—handsome, of course. They always were. But this one was clearly a shiny. Stark white armour, no markings, no scuffs. Practically fresh out the vat. He gave you a charming smile, the kind that probably worked on half the people in here already tonight.

You lifted your glass, giving it a tiny shake before setting it back down. “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

He moved to your side, still keeping a respectful distance, like he’d been trained well in the art of not being pushy. “No worries. Just saw you sitting here. Looked like you needed a bit of a pick-me-up.”

You snorted softly. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well,” he said with a playful shrug, “you’ve got that look.”

You arched a brow. “What look?”

He grinned. “The ‘I need someone to come over and distract me from whatever is eating me alive’ look.”

You let out a laugh “You might be onto something.”

He leaned a little closer, his tone lighter. “So… how about a dance? Just one. You look like you could use a little movement therapy.”

You hesitated, glancing down at your half-finished drink, then back toward the empty stool across the bar. The music was loud, the bass thrumming through your chest, and the lingering buzz from your drink made everything just a little warmer, a little fuzzier around the edges.

Screw it. What’s one dance?

“Okay,” you said, pointing a mock-stern finger at him. “But no funny business.”

“Cross my heart,” he said, miming the gesture with a grin.

You let him lead you to the center of the dance floor, bodies pulsing and swaying around you in time with the beat. The music was thunderous, the lights casting bright flashes across the room, and for once, you let yourself lean into it.

The liquid courage you had been served by Pia made your moves smooth, fluid even. As for the Clone, he danced like he knew exactly where the line was and kept it friendly, playful, respectful.

It was exactly what you needed. A distraction. A little freedom.

The clone spun you smoothly with a boyish grin, and as the beat picked up again, he leaned closer and asked with a playful lift of his brow, “Another?”

You hesitated for a breath, eyeing his outstretched hand. He looked so eager, so harmless in his own cheeky little way—and truthfully, the night had already gone off the rails emotionally. What was a little more harmless chaos?

“Screw it,” you muttered and took his hand.

He beamed and pulled you right back into the rhythm, both of you swaying to the beat. This time, though, he dared a little more—his hand found your waist, featherlight at first, just testing. Waiting for the pushback.

You didn’t give it.

His confidence kicked in. The grip on your hip firmed just a little, and his other hand stayed loosely linked with yours as he guided you through the crowd. His voice was warm and easygoing as he leaned in. “You dance pretty well for someone who looked like she was about to cry into her drink.”

You shot him a glare. “Wow. You always this smooth?”

“Only when it’s working.” His grin widened.

“You trying to pick me up, shiny?”

“That depends. Is it working?”

You snorted, tilting your head with faux-seriousness. “A little. But I’m still undecided.”

“Good. I like a challenge.” He winked.

The conversation was easy and natural. His flirting was cheeky enough to be fun without being suffocating. You were actually enjoying yourself—laughing even—as you both leaned in close to hear each other over the pounding bass, your bodies swaying in tandem.

And then you saw him.

Over the clone’s shoulder, you caught a glimpse of red armor moving past the crowd. Fox.

Just off to the side of the bar, leaning against it with his usual practiced stillness, arm braced as he reached for a drink offered by one of the droids. Pia was nowhere near him—and of course she wasn’t. You knew she wouldn’t serve him.

But your body froze.

The clone you were with was still talking but his words came through like static.

Because then she appeared.

A woman. Striking. Stunning.

She stepped up beside Fox with all the familiarity of someone who knew him well. You watch as her hand lands lightly on his forearm, leaning in to speak.

Your stomach twisted.

That sick, lurching ache started in your chest and crawled down your spine. It was a feeling you knew all too well—the same hollow punch you’d felt when you caught your ex sneaking around behind your back.

Except this wasn’t your ex. And he wasn’t yours.

“I’m Whisky, by the way.”

The voice snapped you back like a slap. You blinked, suddenly aware of the clone’s hand still on your waist, his face inches from yours, smiling.

“What?”

He tilted his head, confused by your expression. “My name,” he said, still smiling. “Whisky, ma’am.”

Your world spun.

You simply stare at the clone. Your voice had vanished, like your brain refused to make sense of what he’d just said.

“Is that a joke?” you manage, the words flat and shaky.

He shifts, confused. “Ma’am?”

Completely unaware of the war now erupting inside your head, he blinks at your sudden switch in emotion as you pull away from his touch.

“Did I say something wrong—?”

“I have to go,” you rasp, voice barely holding together. “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t wait for his response. Couldn’t. You turned and pushed through the crowd, shoulder brushing shoulders, limbs catching on others mid-dance. The music was suddenly thunderous, pounding through your chest like your heartbeat was syncing with the bass. Lights flashed, voices shouted, laughter echoed—but it all blurred into a wash of noise that had now swallowed you whole.

You felt like the walls were closing in. Your breath came short. Too many bodies. Too many faces. Too much everything.

You finally broke through the crush at the exit and staggered into the cold night. A gust of chilled air slammed into your lungs, and you gasped like someone who had been drowning.

Your hands trembled as you leaned against the nearest post near the cab bay, chest heaving like you’d just run a marathon. But it wasn’t exertion and it wasn’t the alcohol.

It was the cruel, gut-punch realisation of how fate had twisted the knife.

What were the odds?

Falling for a man who lied and called himself Whisky —only to later dance with the real one . A clone who was bright, kind, flirtatious… and had done absolutely nothing wrong except exist.

You let out a bitter laugh that barely made it past your lips. What’s joke.

But then your mind cruelly drifted to him again. Fox.

The flash of red armour, the drink in hand. The woman beside him. Her fingers brushing his forearm.

Pia’s voice echoed in your head, maddening and far too well-timed. "Maybe he really liked you."

You let out a breathless, humourless huff. “Yeah. Joke’s on me.”

“You alright?”

You flinched, spinning so fast on your heel you nearly toppled over. Luckily you were caught by a hand on your shoulder that belonged to Hound.

He steadied you with ease, his brow furrowed in concern as he took in your sickly expression, watery eyes, and unsteady stance.

“Too much to drink, eh?”

You tried to speak. Tried to wave it off, make a joke, anything . But nothing came.

Then he saw it, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“Wait, hey,” he said, voice dropping in concern. “Are you alright?”

You broke.

The emotion hit you like a crashing wave as you stumbled forward and sobbed into your hands, chest heaving under the weight of it all. “I feel so stupid , Hound,” you choked, the tears falling now, unrelenting, hot against your cheeks. “I—I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I feel so… so…”

But the words failed you. Because how could you even begin to explain it? The betrayal, the confusion, the jealousy, the aching longing for something that might never have been real in the first place?

Hound didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to offer clumsy comfort or tell you that everything would be okay. Instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you

One strong arm crossed your back, the other settling gently at your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest without hesitation. You collapsed into him, clinging to the warmth and stability he offered like it might keep you from falling apart entirely. His hand moved slowly in comforting circles across your back

You didn’t know how long you stood there like that, locked in a silent embrace under the hazy streetlight glow outside 79’s. But eventually, the storm inside you dulled just enough for you to pull away, still sniffling as you swiped your cheeks with trembling fingers.

You exhaled, shaky and uneven, and looked up into the night sky in a vain attempt to keep any more tears from spilling. “Sorry, Hound.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t like seeing you like this. None of us do.”

You tried to smile, but it didn’t quite make it past your lips. “I don’t think Fox would care.”

But Hound just shook his head slowly, lips pursing in quiet disagreement. “He definitely would.”

You let out a bitter, disbelieving scoff—but nausea coiled in your stomach at the memory of Fox at the bar. The look on his face. The way the woman touched his arm. That stupid, stupid beautiful woman.

“I’d like to believe that,” you said hollowly, “but if he told me? I wouldn’t believe him.”

Hound didn’t push. He only nodded solemnly and raised a hand to signal a cab. “Get some rest, this thing you’re going through will pass.”

When one pulled up, you stepped toward it, but not before snapping a little too sharply: “I’m not going through anything.”

The silence that followed stung.

You closed your eyes, hating how your voice had cracked, how petty it sounded—even to you. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, quieter this time. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Hound said gently.

The cab hissed open, and just as you stepped forward, he pulled out a handful of credits and handed them to the driver before you could protest. You gave him a small, wordless nod and climbed in.

As the cab pulled away, taking you from a rather terrible evening.

As Hound turned, ready to rejoin Thire and Stone, he stills as he came face to face with Fox.

The commander was standing rigid, eyes locked on the departing cab, his jaw tense and unreadable. A heavy silence settled between them before Fox stepped forward, his tone sharp and bitter.

“That looked cosy.”

Ah. There it was.

Jealousy.

Hound’s face remained calm, but his mouth tightened ever so slightly. “Probably looked the same way you and that civvie looked. You know, the woman at the bar. Same one you were with in the same spot you first talked to her.”

Fox’s face twisted in frustration, already shaking his head. “It wasn’t like that. She was just thanking me. I pulled her out of that apartment fire in Sector Eight the other night.”

Hound raised a brow. “I believe you. She didn’t.”

Fox’s fists clenched tighter as he gave the ground a frustrated kick, scuffing his boot against the duracrete with a low growl that sounded far more dramatic than he intended. “How the kriff am I making things worse when I’m not even with her?”

Hound leaned lazily against the railing beside him, arms folded, watching traffic streak past on the levels below. “I thought you said you talked to her today?”

Fox groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “I tried. I think I said something about her hair.”

There was a pause. “…Her hair ?” Hound’s lips twitched, and Fox didn’t have to look to know he was holding back laughter.

“I panicked, alright?” Fox muttered. “It looked nice and I forgot how to be a person. My brain turned into soup.”

Hound finally let out a low chuckle, patting him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

Fox glared at him but didn’t deny it.

“I just—” he exhaled hard. “Is there even a point anymore? She was dancing with some shiny tonight, probably moved on. And then there was you ,” he added with a bitter edge, side-eyeing Hound. “She had her arms all over you.”

Hound didn’t even flinch. He just slapped Fox on the back of the head.

“ Ow. ”

“She was crying,” Hound said flatly. “She is not into me, she was just upset. And like I told you, she saw you with that civvie at the bar and her whole face changed. She looked like someone punched her in the gut.”

Fox instantly panicked when he heard you was crying, worried that you had been hurt Fox blinked. “Wait… you think she was jealous ?”

“Yeah,” Hound said, nodding. “I do. And you know what that means.”

“That she wants to feed me to a rancor?” Fox guessed.

“That she still cares , idiot.”

Fox went quiet, staring down at the passing speeders below. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thoughts tripping over each other. She cares. She was jealous. She danced with someone else but still cried about me. Okay. That’s good. Terrible. Confusing. But good. Kinda.

“…She’s still pissed at me, though.”

“Oh, that’s a given,” Hound said, clapping him on the back again. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Means she still gives a care. And before you ask, no, I am not speaking to her on your behalf.”

Fox sighed, leaning on the railing beside him. “So what do I do?”

Hound raised a brow. “Figure out what you want to say. Then actually say it before you combust.”

Fox nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in determination. “Okay,” he muttered, “but just to be clear… I’m never mentioning her hair again.”

🦊 Liar Liar Masterlist

🦊 Stay up to date on AO3

Tags: @forcesavetheclones @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417

@eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully

@ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97

@staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @tentakelspektakel @stellarbit @tech-aficionado @therealnekomari @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @thesith @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @the-bad-batch-baroness @dreamie411

@griffedeloup @501st104th212th99s @clonecyare88 @namechange-mykidfoundmyblog @mitth-eli-vanto @cloneflo99

#liar liar series #commander fox #commander fox x reader #Commander fox x you #commander fox x y/n

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storm-angel989 · 1 year ago

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Papi, I didn't mean it (Valentino x Daughter)

TW: Drugs. Overdose. Valentino.

It was the tracker that cued him into her location.

If he was giving credit where credit was due, he had to hand it to her. Very few beings in this world could successfully hack a Voxtech device and get away with it for as long as she had. But as he lifted her unconscious body out of his club's bathroom, the notion that she was too smart for her own good came to mind.

“One of you fuckwits, check the cameras and find out what she took,” Valentino snarled to one of the demons. “And shut down the entire club. Leave only the ones responsible for this. I want them chained to the bar.”

As the demons scurried off to follow his orders, he carried his daughter to the backroom, typically reserved for dancers and dealers. He bit back the fear that wrapped around his heart. No, he needed to keep himself in check. Treat her like he would any other overdose.

“Stay with me, pequeño amor,” he muttered as he laid her on the couch. “Come on, I need you to wake up.”

He did a quick assessment of her vitals. Shallow breathing, fast heart rate. Pale skin, cold to the touch. Could be anything he sold. Or anything that he sold mixed with something else. He ripped off what little clothing she did have on as he frantically examined her body for any sign of what might be coursing through her veins, but came up with nothing. He had enough power in his own club to get the answers he needed. He just hoped they came in time.

“Dragonsvein, sir. Given to her by these three.” A demon yelled, waving a photo as he entered the room. “They laced it with LSD and Cocaine.”

He recognized their faces instantly. Friends, she had told him. Friends from school she was studying with tonight. Or what she was supposed to be doing anyway.

“Did she smoke it, swallow it, inject it, snort it, what?” He snarled. Forget that all three of those drugs were meant only to be one of those options. He had enough at his disposal to ensure she survived this.

“Swallowed it, sir.”

“Fuck.” He pulled open a drawer and dug through until he found the correct drugs to counteract what was in her system. She wasn’t going to die on his watch, but she wasn’t going to like what was going to happen when she came to.

“Come on bebita, I really need you to wake up now,” he muttered as he slid a needle into her vein. He slowly pushed the plunger down.

He heard her gasp and watched her eyes fluttered open. Relief flooded through his chest.

“That’s right, come to Papi,” he muttered as he smoothed back her hair. He looked at the demon as he took off his jacket and carefully placed his daughter inside, closing it tightly to be sure she was covered. “Call the on duty nurse and tell her she has a patient coming in twenty minutes. Have the doctor on standby.” He bent over and checked her pulse again. Good. Stronger now. He carefully sat her up and held her against him.

“Bebita, I need you to drink this,” he said gently. “Come on, get it all in your tummy.” He pushed the straw to her lips. “If you can’t, Daddy is going to have to get it down your throat another way. And you won’t like it, bebita.”

To his immense relief, she gulped it down. Her eyes closed and he carefully laid her on her side.

That was the most he could do for at least ten minutes. He didn’t want to move her if he could avoid it, and ten minutes was more than enough time to deal with the situation outside.

“Watch her and call me if anything changes,” he ordered as he stood up. “Don’t let her roll on her back and if anything happens to her, consider yourself dead.”

The demon bowed. He strode out the door, his overlord self taking hold, transforming him from an intimidating club owner to downright terrifying demon. His crimson wings sprang forth from his back, his teeth sharpened and he could feel his body become something stronger, something less controllable. Anger pulsed through him. Someone would pay for the state his daughter was currently in.

He stood in front of the three three demons and glowered. To their credit, terror played on all their features.

“She called you her friends,” he said in a low growl. “She called you her friends and you betrayed her. Tell me, what exactly did you think would happen after she slipped into unconsciousness? That you would have a good fuck with an almost corpse?”

He took a step forward. Of course they wouldn’t respond. Cowards. The lot of them. He pulled his pistol from its holster.

One. Two. Three.

The echoes of the bullets rang through the empty club. Silence. And then a small voice.

“Daddy?”

He turned around. Shit, not in all her life had she seen her Daddy in this state. His wings retracted and he transformed back into his usual self. Her Papito.

That’s when he noticed the expression on her face. A look he knew all too well.

“Daddy? My tummy hurts.”

His hands barely wrapped around her hair before she unloaded the contents of her stomach on the club floor.

“Come on, let’s get you home, niñita,” he muttered. With any luck, she was still too out of it to remember any of this. He lifted her into his arms and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He would get a new one anyway, he never wanted to think of this night again.

She fell asleep in his arms on the ride home and he carried her up into his studio. Vox and Velvette met him at the door.

“Did you call my wife?” He asked as he carried her through the studio, down to the nurses office. “Did you tell her what the fuck our daughter has gotten into?”

“I left a message on her phone. But she’s probably with Lucifer, dealing with some shit.” Velvette said. “But we’re here.”

“Her vitals are more stable now, what did you give her?” Vox asked, checking his phone as the nurse rushed over.

Valentino laid her on the hospital bed on her side as he filled the nurse in on what was in her system. She left to go pull supplies and Valentino set to work on getting a catheter in her arm.

He felt her shake under his touch. “Daddy? Daddy, I don’t feel good.”

“I know, baby girl. Daddy’s trying,” he replied soothingly. “Daddy’s here.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Vox gently pulled him back.

“Val? Let the doctor step in and do his job.”

“It’s my daughter.”

“Yeah, and unless you’re about to put a tube down her throat, you need to step back and let him work on her. You’ve done everything you can at this point. She’ll be okay because of you.”

“That’s my baby,” he growled.

“Val,” Vox said with a warning in his voice. His eye began to swirl. “Val, look at me.”

Valentino knew better, but he looked to Vox. A false sense of calm washed over him. “Vox, that’s my daughter.”

“Yeah, and that’s our niece about to have her stomach pumped. We’re upset too, Val. But you’ve done all you can right now. Who did this?”

“I killed the friends that slipped it to her.”

Vox sighed. “Of course you did. Then all you can do is wait. Doc thinks she’ll be fine.”

Waiting wasn’t Valentinos strong point. He paced back and forth, anxiety washing over him. This was bad, almost as bad as when he had to wait for his wife to bring her into the world. No, worse, because at the heart of this he caused it- he caused something that he would derive no joy from.

After what felt like too long, the doctor walked out of the back room.

“She’s alright. She’s awake. She’s asking for you, Valentino. And you two,” he nodded to Vox and Velvette.

“Here, fill me in while Val and Vel go back.” Vox said as he pulled the doctor off to the side.

Valentino followed Velvette as he tried to keep himself in check. Now that he knew she was okay, anger washed over him.

“Val? Not the time,” Velvette said quietly outside her door. “Be angry later. Love her and Let her talk now.”

Valentino took a deep breath and exhaled as he pushed the door open.

“Daddy, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” her raspy voice choked out and she burst into tears. “Daddy, don’t be mad I’m so sorry.”

“Beibita. Babygirl. Shush, it’s okay. Daddy is here. Daddy isn’t mad at you. Shush,” he sat on the bed next to her. “Babygirl, calm down. You’re going to be okay and that’s all that matters.”

“Daddy, I didn’t know,” she sobbed.

Valentino felt his heart begin to break. He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her to his chest. “Tell us what happen, beibita.”

“I went to Lucia’s house to study and then, Emila showed up and she suggested we go to Jax’s house and I know I’m not allowed at Jax‘s house so I went but instead Jax’s brother took us here and I wanted to go home but all the sudden I didn’t feel good and, and,” she burst into harder tears. “Daddy I’m sorry.”

“Baby I’m not mad. It isn’t your fault,” he said soothingly as he cradled her. “I’m just not sure how it got into you. Did you get a drink at the bar? Tell me true, I’m going to review the footage with Uncle Vox later.”

She shook her head vehemently. “No, Daddy I know better.”

Velvette looked up from her phone. “Her water bottle,” she said, showing them both the video clip. Together they watched as one of them turned her to talk to them. Behind her, the other lifted the lid of her water bottle. Valentino watched as they poured something into it, gave it a good shake and slid it back. Velvette closed the phone. He could imagine the rest.

“I’m just glad I got to you before it was too late,” Valentino said quietly. “But why did you go in in the bathroom and call me to come get you right away? You knew where you were. You knew you didn’t belong there.”

“Val…” Velvette said in a warning voice.

“I didn’t want to get into trouble, Daddy. I just wanted them to take me home.” She replied quietly.

“Bebita, you will never get into trouble for calling one of us to come get you. I promise, okay?” He pressed her head to his chest. “I would rather come get you and you be safe than ever see you in this situation again. You could have died, Princessa.”

“But she didn’t,” Vox said as he walked into the room. “Doc said the bloodwork they pulled looks good and she can go home tonight as long as we keep a close eye on her.”

“Please, Daddy, can I go home?” She pleaded. “I promise I’ll never, ever…”

“Baby. Stop, you’re not in trouble. Deep breath, inhale. Exhale,” Valentino said gently. “Come on, let’s get you home in your own bed. Come to Daddy.”

Valentino lifted her up effortlessly and carried her up the elevator. As she laid against him, a new fear knotted inside of him.

How was he going to protect his teenage daughter from the world he worked in?

#the vees #valentino x reader #hazbin fluff #hazbin hotel #valentino x you #the vees x reader #vox x reader #valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin hotel valentino #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette

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time-can-fly · 2 months ago

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Ripple the Platypus

Here he is, Shimmer's adopted son in the future that I mentioned on the adult refs. He's about 6 when she finds him, but in this picture is 8. I used Starline's design as a ref for the bill and tail because I love the parallel that the only two monotreme species have opposite tails. (echidna's are 'down, up, down', and platypus seem to be 'up, down, up.') He was found alone in Mystic Ruins shortly after a tourist group visit while Shimmer was doing cleanup, but even after weeks of trying to find out who his parents were, they mysteriously couldn't find them, even with Tidal's help of trying to hack into the train's systems to see who was on the last route to Mystic Ruins. Plus, Ripple seemingly would rather stay there than go back. And with how things work in the Sonic Universe- that's just what happened. He stayed, under Shimmer's care. He's explorative and exciteable, but also cautious because of living on Angel Island. Thanks to his mom and grandpa, he knows where all the traps are, and if he doesn't, he knows how to tell if one IS there by sight alone. He loves his family, including the 'friend found family' (Tidal, Jade, Chive, ect. The Silvaze family is technically crossed over because of Rowdy and Ashes) His favorite uncle is Rowdy because he sees him more but because he also brings back cool rocks. When he meets someone he starts out shy, but eventually if he's comfortable he won't stop yapping. He loves to talk and learn new things even if those new things are unimportant or he doesn't fully understand it. (Love uncle Tidal for that one. They can yap back and forth for hours) He does have his spurs! I just couldn't showcase them with this pose. So while he isn't very strong (yet, certainly Shimmer can't allow that) he can definitely defend himself with that. His favorite place is the chao gardens, which he likes to spend time with Chive there. Rosy is still growing up by this point (She'd be roughly 14 when Shimmer's 25) so she's his "lets do some crazy stuff" aunt. (nothing too crazy for mobians, but probably like hanging from trees and stuff (At least she's a bat, he is- in fact not I imagine it's a bit harder with webbed hands) He loves to weave, taught how to by Knuckles. Anyways yeah. You can ask questions about him if you'd like ^^

#sonic the hedgehog #time can fly au #sonic au #fankid #sonic #ripple the platypus

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katrinafromschool · 1 month ago

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Today in late night pretty exhausted Kat thoughts of fics she's liable never to write but will keep vibrating her brain forever:

Reverse Batgirls AU where all the boys are the same because who cares!

Stephanie Brown! Basic stuff is the same, dad is still Cluemaster and he still sucks, so she adopts the persona of Batgirl! To get everyone's attention on him, only to quite enjoy the attention on her. Of course she still butts heads with Batman as her own solo act, but generally friendly with Dick. Really friendly with Supergirl.

Whenever Dick is fired, she playfully dresses up as Robin to tease Batman, only to be seriously offered the job. And to even her own shock, she accepts! It lasts three months still, sucks shit. But she still has her connections made as Batgirl, so she elects to leave behind the trappings of Batman and become her own hero! THE SPOILER!!! Eventually becoming a Titans staple!

Batman gets a new Robin soon after, who lasts a little longer before exploding.

Probably still gets pregnant but has way more of a support system this time around (not to mention she wouldn't be the only Titan with a kid), so she semi-retires for a bit but not really. The call to adventure is constant and Steph is never going to fully abandon Gotham. Even after the United States doesn't! Which leads into....

Cassandra Cain! Pretty much the same, appears during NML, works as a messenger for Spoiler's makeshift information network, yadda yadda. Steph is partially fueled by petty revenge on Helena stealing her bit whenever she offers Cass her old costume. She's a sweet kid! She'll grow into it.

Steph definitely tries to give Cool Mom energy to Cass as she makes it her full-time job mentoring the kid as Spoiler while balancing her own actual daughter. She tries her best to help the girl develop something of a life, to little avail.

But Cass likes Steph! She's cool and helpful and sometimes makes her feel more comfortable than she should be allowed to feel. She often finds herself babysitting for Steph and slowly learning language and reading along with her kid. But sometimes she's way too much or way too slow, so she gravitates back and forth between Steph and Bruce, to both of their frustration.

Cass sticks close to Tim. Steph taught her to become more of a team player, so the two become thick as thieves, practically siblings and co-workers both in Gotham and in Young Justice. They're both adopted by Bruce like a package deal. With no other teenage vigilantes in Gotham, they grow a weird, not very helpful codependency. They'll both always have each other's backs whether the other likes it or not.

Well, okay, so there's at least one other teenage vigilantes in Gotham.

Enter Barbara Gordon! Daughter of the police commissioner and computer virtuoso. With a condition that's rendered her paraplegic most of her life, she found solice in Cyberspace. And the GCPD records. And everywhere she could hack into, which was practically everywhere. Once her dad got framed for a crime he didn't do, she managed to use her online avatar Oracle to recruit Black Canary and Huntress to prove his innocence. And then she just got into the habit~

She gives Bruce constant flashbacks to younger Stephanie, much to his headache. She's arrogant and thinks she has the entire world in her hands, and she unfortunately might be right. He's still constantly rejecting her help and tells her to keep out of their business, unless she wants to get hurt.

But Babs is gonna help no matter what. In fact, she signs up for an experimental surgery to let her finally use her legs, so much as she doesn't strain them too much. So, she starts reveling in this newfound freedom and gets to training.

Batman dies. In the following madness, Barbara puts on an Oracle mask to help, risks be damned. Cassandra watches her in the midst of her own identity crisis post-Bruce Skeleton. So, she makes a decision and an offer.

Cassandra will become Black Bat! Something new that's all hers. Barbara can be Batgirl, her protégé, at least until her legs give out. And they will. Barbara will not last long as Batgirl with the strain she's putting on herself. But Cassandra recognizes this strain. Babs will only quit once she reaches her limit. Cass will help her get there and be there to catch her whenever they get there.

What then? Oracle will be waiting with renewed purpose, more powerful than ever. And what will become of Batgirl then? Oh, who's to say....

I probably have more specific ideas for changes and dynamics, but it's really late and these thoughts needed releasing before they became more of a problem, lol.

#dc comics #batman #batgirl #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #barbara gordon #reverse robins au #except it isn't #reverse batgirls au #THAT'S where the money's at

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fryingpan1234567 · 2 years ago

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DC high school au… mayhaps…..

I’m not sure if anyone’s done this before

But I’m doing it now

So the JL, right. These are famous alumni who made school history and now obvi they’re billionaires and reporters and museum owners but they’re not superheroes— just regular people

Liiike Clark Kent was the best quarterback the school has ever seen

Oliver Queen essentially revolutionized the archery team

Diana Prince convinced the school to start a fencing league

Barry Allen slayed both track and any and all chemistry competitions thrown his way

Arthur Curry… I shouldn’t have to say anything about his swim team career. That’s where he met his wife

Bruce Wayne was one of the smartest people probably ever, especially to grace that building

And so on and so forth

Anyways so these people are famous, and they’re up on the walls and display cases and shit

The staff!! Was so thrilled!! To be getting their children!!!!

(The principal counted down the days on his calendar after the news hit that Brucie adopted his first kid)

So.

Dick and Barbara are seniors. Dick is the cheer captain and Babs WAS on the team until a fun little accident that has her wheelchair-bound. (It’s fine, she discovered she actually likes computers better. She’d hacked the entire security system one day at lunch because she got bored)

Dick is kind of the queen bee of the school, which is hilarious, because he KNOWS but refuses to let it get to his head. This man will start water gun fights in the hallways for fun

Jason and Cass are juniors

Jason is one of the drama club’s absolute best (singing and acting). He played Billy Flynn in Chicago, Prince Charming in Cinderella, Aladdin in… yeah. He slays pretty hard

Cass is on the dance team and regularly misses class for some competition or another. Sometimes, when cheerleaders and the dance team collab on stuff (like assemblies), she actually likes the pompoms. She does not like the skirts.

Tim, Steph, and Duke are sophomores— people are s c a r e d of these three

Tim is known for constantly having a stockpile of energy drinks in his locker; sometimes a few of his friends get access to it. He’s also terrifyingly smart. And he’s got a bike. SOPHOMORE YEAR. TIM WHAT

Steph’s whole entire TikTok presence is lifting/ workout challenges against any poor scrub who tries to go up against her. She can lift the same amount as Jason Todd. That gives her a very confident “don’t fuck with me aura” around school, which is good, because she’s got zero interest in any guy there anyways (bi f pref queen)

And Duke… Duke is the golden boy, so the first time you see him in a sparring match with any of his siblings (they do that for fun at lunch), you’re very shocked to see him holding his own against Cassandra Cain and Stephanie Brown. He also slays

Damian is the only freshman in his family. Jason and Tim make fun of him endlessly

It is pretty impressive that a freshie organized the biggest fundraiser the school has ever seen— and it was for local animal shelters. Nobody knows how he did it. Probably intimidation. You never know with that kid

Now the superfam. Ohoho, yes, these legends go to that school too

Kara is a junior, Kon is a sophomore, Jon is a freshman. They’re all on the football team (their dad comes to every game🥰)

Did anybody expect a woman or freshman to land on the varsity team the first year either of them tried out? No. But they made it anyways. Good for them

And football is just so different from their day-to-day personalities, sometimes it gives people whiplash

Kara pretty much runs the broadcast and yearbook teams, and she does it along with dominating the football field and gym

Conner looks like he’d deck you for looking at him wrong (I mean he might but like he won’t… probably), and he’s like. He makes good fashion choices. He’s the Bad Boy, which is funny considering his nerdy bf is the one with the motorcycle

Jon is fluffy?? So nice?? Sir who let an actual decent person on the varsity football team?? When someone spots Dami wearing his letterman at some point, they become the most popular couple at school. As freshmen. Slay for them tbh

Donna Troy is a senior. Fencing and beauty pageants is a weird combination. But she knows she’s pretty and she’s gonna make damn sure everybody else knows too

Cassie is a freshie, but she’s already on the fencing team as well and several people have seen her sparring with Damian (wHERE did he get KATANAS), and it looks like a couple of war gods who happen to be fifteen are fighting to the death for a few yards of shitty grass behind the school

Conner Hawke, Artemis Crock, Emiko Queen, Roy Harper, and Mia Dearden are the archery team captains. Yeah, there’s five of them, yeah, the coaches couldn’t pick because the kIDS ARE BETTER THAN THEM

(Ollie laughed so hard he fell out of his chair when they came home and told him that)

Roy is a junior and definitely brings his bow everywhere he shouldn’t. He also “accidentally” shot Jason once. Whenever someone asks about their meetcute they just laugh until the person gets scared and runs away

Conner is a sophomore but a bitter old man in his soul. What a king

Artemis is also a sophomore and everyone thinks she’s Ollie’s favorite because she’s like a mini-him, but Ollie doesn’t actually HAVE a favorite and she finds this claim hilarious

Mia, third sophomore, has a very strange attraction to the color yellow. She LOVES it. And she actually pulls it off, how awesome is she

Emi is a freshman but gets along with Dami pretty well, which isn’t surprising considering their matching deadpan humor and lowkey murderous rage constantly

Jackson Hyde broke Arthur’s record for fastest lap on his fourth try. He spends more time at the ocean than literally anywhere else

Wally West and Bart Allen are technically not related?? They’re like. Cousins. But Barry ended up officially adopting Wally (long story)

Anyways they’re actually cousins with Jesse Quick

The three of them DOMINATE track and field/ cross country/ physics club (yeah you read that last one right don’t even with me)

Wally is a senior and working towards becoming a forensic scientist for the cops. When someone asks why the fuck he wanted to do that to himself, he always jokes, “I’m not fast enough to be a serial killer so I guess I’ll help catch ‘em” and everyone is scared

Bart is a sophomore but should be a freshie, because he’s almost a full year younger, except that he skipped fifth grade and went straight to sixth. Tim and Kon pretend to be his adoptive parents and it’s like a soap opera watching these three act out a dramatic divorce arc

Jesse is a junior (alliteration go brr) but a younger one (summer birthday WOO) she definitely takes after Barry, especially in speed

SO people call their friend groups chaotic. What are you gonna do, go up and fuck with any of them? Bad idea

For fun, these assholes run a fight club after school with betting and rosters and everything, with anyone who signs up. FOR FUN. Once the batkids learned their dad has a black belt in like six different martial arts, it was all over

They say it’s a good workout

They’re probably not wrong, but still

Who the fuck wakes up and chooses violence on all their friends and family all in good fun to make MONEY OFF OF BEATING THEM UP

The most viral videos taken from their school is a push-up contest with all eight batkids, seven competing, Babs filming

Cass won.

LET me know if you want more for this. Because I’m gonna write more. But if you had specific suggestions or characters or scenarios or questions, I would love to write them

Good morning/ night/ 4am!! (PS BACK TO SCHOOL WOO)

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velvet-paradox · 2 years ago

Text

Observant

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader Summary: You're out on the town with your friends but it's your guys' job to make sure you're safe. Length: Medium Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, strong language, explicit content, jealous!König, big guy is a little creep, drinking, established relationship, unprotected p in v, voyeurism, sex in a bathroom, dirty talking, creampie, detailed smut.

Tagging: @synnersaintaint @shyjellyfish26 @kosmokenny @butterscotch-babie @cesneo @deaddainish @allkot @jacket-slut99 @hers-area @1-fuzzy-squirrels @hailmesuckers @ella-bella-ella @spookylilbay @t6ylors @salamanderstuff @hh-spnxx @akii1833 @malyshka-3 @etoilebleue @gremlingottoosilly @talktothemoon2 (I couldn't tag everyone for whatever reason)

p.s. this isn't inspired by The Virus of Life by Slipknot but it fits the mood I'm going for so if you wanna' read this while listening to or listen to it in general bc it's a perfect song, go right ahead!

ENJOY!!!

He can't help it. Not really. He told you to go (even helped you zip up that pretty black dress, bending down on his knees as he clasped your heels too), told you to have fun, call if you needed him, text him to pick you up, go through the drive-thru and get your favorite go-to hangover meal. He knew you would be drinking and dancing with your friends. The thought of what other people, men in particular would be looking at once you left the house made him hot. Made him possessive. But, as smooth as glass on silk König looped his hood over your head at the door, kissing you hard before waving you off, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

König saw fucking crimson as soon as the car full of giddy women pulled away from the curb.

He caught the kiss you blew him before he slammed the door shut and stomped through the house, taking the stairs two at a time, he threw off the hood and sat down at his computer. He turned on his work tablet that he just so conveniently take home with him. He knew what he was doing.

He wiped a hand down his face, green eyes glowing from his computer screens. He used them for gaming, for work emails and new weapons he'd long for. You had your own laptop so using his wasn't really on your radar. So as König typed in coordinates and accessed street cameras and the like, he thought how silly of you.

You had no reason to questions his methods, he was yours, his main priority is to keep you safe and happy and healthy. By any means necessary. And much like his job in the military; he took his job very, very seriously.

While his tablet tracked your location that he'd check every so often, he found your girlfriends' car on the highway, a grin on his face.

Gotcha' sweetheart.

His eyes flitted back and forth as he monitored the cameras.

While König was jealous of the looks you'd be getting, breaking necks and hearts with the way you swayed your hips, helping one of your friends out the of the car at the curb. It was a swanky sort of club at least, he thought. Everyone that he saw and silently judged as a potential threat, it made him warm and it also made him rock fucking hard.

Without knowing or giving it much thought at all, you looked up at a random camera at the stoplight.

Fucks sake… if you only knew what he'd do to keep you safe.

….

It was quite concerning to him how easily he was able to hack into the clubs' security system. They certainly needed better IT in this joint, he chuckled darkly as he maneuvered through the camera's, squinting in the dark and flashing lights. It was packed. He had trouble finding you at first, too many dresses, too many pretty women.

He bit his thumb when he found you.

For the most part you danced with your friends at back booth, he watched you down a few shots already, grooving to the beat of unheard music as you sipped on another drink. Even though it was dark and murky in the club, he mused it was most likely a Bee's Knee's. You love those.

König soon took notice of a man in a very expensive looking suit pass by your table, that's three times in the last fifteen minutes and it wasn't for the bathroom as he'd already scoped that out. König leaned forward, creaking his chair to get a better view.

You had your back toward him, laughing with two of your friends who could still stand, the other two were already sitting down nursing a few cold glasses of water.

If you pass by one more fucking time you dummkopf…

That's it. König grabbed his mask, fought with his boots downstairs and almost forgot the keys to the truck. Grumbling to himself that he should've just gone with you, stayed in the background, blended in to the noise.

He parked the truck violently, coming to a screech in the alley. As luck would have it, an employee of the club was busy taking out some trash and clinking empty bottles of booze, propping up the door just enough for the larger man to slip through unannounced. The music was loud in his ears, heart pumping with the steady rhythm of the bass. The lighting in here was on purposely poor, made for better make out corners and hook-ups he'd concludes as he shifted along the back wall.

Eyes scanning, heart pounding, the threat of you not being here made him move quicker. That little creep better stay away from you, if he know what's good for him, König thought as he made his way around the club. He saw your seated friends then, eyes frantic to find you.

Where are you? Where are you?

Just then he caught something shining in the dim lighting, something bright.

König relaxed a bit more when he saw it was you, holding up your left hand, showing off the wedding ring on your finger to fuck-face. With a huff he shifted his weight, towering over everyone around him, as usual, and made a beeline for your frame.

"Where is he then?"

"Trust me; he's just a phone call away."

"Shame… a real pity he let you out of his sight tonight."

"Is that so?"

"She is never out of my sight."

The poor man must've gave you some pretty wide eyes while you instead smiled, popping your hip and looking up at him. The guy turned and by the look on his face, was not at all prepared to see just who put that little ring on your finger. König grinned and tilted his head, crossing his arms he bent over.

"Boo."

The man let out shriek and took his nosy ass and what was left of his drink and melted back into the dancing crowd.

"I had it handled you know?" You said, sipping down the rest of your own drink.

"I saw that," König countered, sauntering forward to close the not so wide gap. From his height of course, he could see your cleavage perfectly and he just couldn't help himself but sigh quietly. "I'll admit it has been awhile since I've intimated someone. Felt good."

"I bet. Do you want to intimidate me?" You asked, batting your lashes ever so cutely.

Now that was certainly an idea he just might have to entertain.

….

Waving 'hi, hello, good to see you, goodbye' all at once to your friends was a blur, hefting you over his broad shoulder, carrying you away towards the restrooms. Lucky for you both, other than the gendered bathrooms there was a Family Room option, which meant private. Just what he wanted.

He set you down on your heels, clicking loudly on the tile floor as you tugged down the hem of your dress. Until he stopped you. He took your purse and strung it up on the hook, whirling on you he grabbed at the silky material, shifting it up your legs, bunching it at your waist. He clicked his tongue at you.

"And just where or where did your little panties go, hmm?"

"I didn't wear any." You coyishly toyed with the bottom of his mask.

"Is that so?"

"Mhmm."

"Now that's just bad girl behavior." König pressed, leaning on his arm above your head, smiling to himself that he could see your breath hitch in your throat, your chest rising and falling much quicker now. "I should do something about that."

"Yes you should."

You moaned when his free hand found a welcome home between your thighs.

"My my, what have we here? A needy little slit, already wet for me." König sighed, gathering more and more of your slick along his fingers before breaching your tight hole. Your lashes fluttered so sweetly. "I shouldn't even be doing this. You're drunk."

You huffed when he began to retract out of your wetness. "No no no I'm not drunk, honey. I swear. I'm just buzzed, I can still--"

"Ah ah. Don't lie to me, pretty girl. I know you had two Bee's Knee's and a few shots so far."

Your face screwed up when you looked at him. "How do you know that?"

König just chuckled and pulled his finger out, leaving you whining and stunned with his answer.

Low and slow König tapped your nose. "Like I told that dummkopf; you are always in my sight."

He didn't give you even a millisecond before he hunched over, dragging his mask down his face, locking eyes as you bit your lip at the bare sight of him.

….

König made you face the bathroom mirror, told you to hold onto the cool porcelain, bend over, stick that cute ass or yours out. The groan that filled the room vibrated off the walls.

He hunched over your back, "I'm gonna' love you now. Hold on fucking tight."

The crown of his cock split you open, little by little your pussy bloomed open and wet for him as you arched, your back cracked as your shoulder blades threatened to touch.

"Fuck!" You hung your head and rocked on your heels as you adjusted, further and further he pushed himself into you.

He licked his lips at the noises coming from your mouth as he started fucking you, humping you as he wound an arm around your middle, gripping your soft dress. His fingers digging into your skin.

After a particularly hard thrust, you snapped your head up, locking eyes with him in the mirror. You keened and gripped the sink like it had the potential to save you from your husbands' onslaught.

"Fuck you pretty pretty thing, you feel even better than you did this morning," König grunted, slamming into you hard, practically jostling you like a rag doll on his cock. He stilled and panted into the back of your head. "You look so fucking good, so fucking filthy like this, my dear. Look at yourself," with that he grabbed a handful of your hair, jerking you up, blinking at your fucked out expression, mouth agape and glistening. "Awww look at that pretty little face."

He felt you clench around him, pleased he wrenched free his cock, spitting on it as you whined and pushed back against him. "Needy are we, dear?"

"Yes. Oh God yes, I'm so desperate. So so desperate for you." Your ring clinked against the sink when you moved, looking at him over your shoulder, mouth open and waiting for a kiss.

You nipped his tongue after he fucked it into your mouth, giving your ear an experimental bite as he moaned and breathed in your ear.

"Fuck you are so fucking pretty, my pretty little wife," König slapped his wet cock against one of your ass cheeks, it sounded so loud and so filthy. So damn good. "Oh you poor thing. You need it so badly don't you? Need your husbands' cock right back in that wet little cunt of yours. Fucking you out, stretching you out, fuck yes."

"Always." You whined and met him thrust for thrust, settling into a steady pace as he placed kiss after kiss to your neck, your shoulder, biting the strap of your dress as he cupped one of your breasts.

"Yeah you do. Look at you, just ready to be used like the little toy that you are, right? Leaving the house without panties... slut behavior, easier access for me in the end though."

König seemed to be talking to himself as you had become just a puddle, his personal fleshlight as he eased his way back into you.

Your cunt greedily sucked him back in, thrust after thrust as he groaned and grunted, half English tangled with his native tongue. He growled the second you pushed back against him, taking him harder, bowing and whining as if you two were in the sanctuary of your bedroom and not in a public bathroom.

A shower was going to be an absolute must.

Suddenly he lifted one of your legs, gathering you close to his chest, changing the angle to a decadent surprise. Both of your eyes locked on the sight of his cock stretching you out in the mirror.

"Oh my God." You whimpered, eyes watery and focused on how huge he looked. Your gummy walls fluttered around him making him sweat.

"I'm afraid there is no God here, mein engel," he clicked his teeth, shaking his head with a sinister grin, licking the shell of your ear he half whispered. "There is only me. Just you and me. Just your king."

You moaned behind your clenched teeth as you came, legs on the verge of giving out, trembling in his hold. König enjoyed the flood of your arousal encapsulating him, throbbing hot.

"Awww my dear, you couldn't hold it any longer. You poor dear thing, just empty and ready for me to fill you back up, hmmm?" König mused, chuckling darkly before pulling out once more, shoving you up against the wall, your hands slapping against the painted brick, turning your head against it.

You bit your lip at the sight of yourselves in the mirror, arching and wiggling your ass towards him. The jangling of his belt when you fucked you again had left you dizzy, you voiced it, screwing your eyes shut. König got a thrill out of that. Telling you what a good little wife you were, how deep you were taking him, how badly he wanted to fuck you all over again once you made it home.

"That's it baby, good fucking girl. Look at that pretty little girl in the mirror getting whatever she wants." He even went a little far as to little slap your face, holding your chin as his thighs slapped against your ass. "Good job. Take it baby, you're gonna' take it. Oh fuck. You want to feel me cum inside you? Yeah you do, yeah you fucking do."

You sobbed as he came, shooting a few healthy ropes of cum into you. He ground himself against you, pushing his semen even deeper into your pliant body. Your breathing was erratic at best, licking the drool from your lips.

König slowly pulled out, a thick glob dribbled out of your hole, dripping down your inner thigh. He had half a mind to scoop it back up and push it back inside your sensitive cunt, those intrusive thoughts to have you completely full of him, drove him wild. He'd beat off to that image later. Instead he told you leave it, pulling your dress back down and turned you around to face him.

You giggled when he kissed you. "I fucking love when you cum inside me. Makes me feel so good, so warm." You rubbed your thighs together and he laughed with you, fixing himself up while you grabbed your purse and checked your make up. Only a little smeared.

"You're a naughty little thing, you know? Walking out of here with cum leaking out of you. What would your friends think, hmmm?"

Your laugh was louder than expected as you touched his shoulder once his hood was on and you'd opened the bathroom door to the steady pulse of the music.

"Trust me my love, you don't want to hear their stories!"

#könig x reader #könig #konig x reader #konig cod #konig x you #konig x female reader #konig imagine #konig fic #konig fanfic #konig fan fiction #cod imagine

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