#in the WORST POSSIBLE WAY for the situation at hand

[mochafairydust]

Not friends.

Since you accidentally discovered spider-man's identity, the universe made sure to keep putting you two together. Except you're not Parker's biggest fan.

⭑ disclaimer: this is my first fanfiction EVER. i was sooo tired of never finding what i wanted so i decided to give it a shot... constructive criticism very much welcome! enjoy <3

✩ warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, gn!reader, not proofread, i havent written anything long in english for a long time, CAN be for holland's peter but i had garfield's in mind, this is just a pilot to test out the waters <3 fic below

You've known Peter Parker since the start of senior year, a few classes together and nothing more. Peter is smart, aces all his tests without trying because as far as you know, he is late every single day and that pisses you off. It's not realistic how he doesn't get punished by his tardiness simply because he's an unspoken genius! While you try so hard, his worst is not even close to being your best.

During winter break, you unfortunately had to catch up to some work to earn that extra credit so graduating in june was possible, and it sucked. It was late, you were tired and your family wasn't even home. Your brother was getting ready for college and your parents are always out on some business trip, so most of the time the apartment was all yours. You didn't throw parties or anything like that but you could sit on top of the kitchen counter without your mom asking you not to.

Studying in the dark was superior, even though it probably hurt your eyes a lot more, turning the lights on completely was just way too bright. During one of your well deserved breaks, you hear a loud thud coming from the fire exit stairs just outside your window. "What the fuck...?" you jump from your chair, is someone trying to break in? You panic trying to find whatever possible to defend yourself with and slowly make your way to the window. Clearly whoever it was didn't notice you were awake in the darkness of your room, so much so they were mumbling under their breath.

"Jesus christ, it is so goddamn cold..!" you squint trying to make sense of the figure, their movements were so familiar somehow... The person continues to mumble to themselves and you move closer trying to understand what's being said, the closer you get more you make sense of it. Something in between the lines of 'every single time' and 'i need to fix this thing'. You hold onto your window, strategizing to open it at the right moment, you don't need a stranger at your bedroom window at 3:45 in the morning.

The figure mumbles non stop but it also seems to be having some trouble breathing, their chest struggling to get air. They reach to their head, pulling out something that was covering their face. Your eyes widen. Is that-

"Peter Parker!?" you say out loud opening your window fully. He's startled by your voice, standing defensively as he looks at you up and down. "What the hell you doing in my window!?"

"Woah, woah.. Stop yelling there... This isn't what it looks like." He tries to ease the situation with his hands up like he's been caught actually trying to break in, except he wasn't. Peter Parker has been spider-man since the end of his junior year, bitten by a genetically altered spider when he least needed to. Today was a hard day for the boy. Patrolling in the cold and if that wasn't good enough, his web-shooters keep failing on him and he just doesn't have the time to fix them. You take a good look at him, the moonlight helping you figure out this situation. He's holding something in his hand and the tiny blinking red light on his wrists shines on it, it's a mask. Spider-man's mask.

You stand there perplexed, looking at him like you just saw a ghost. He puts his mask back on and leans closer to you. "You cannot utter a single word to anybody about this, okay? Please." He was serious and with the mask on, almost terrifying. You open your mouth countless times to say something but nothing came out, you were completely shocked and just nodded. "Good." Was all you heard before he swung away leaving you speechless and dumbfounded. What just happened?

[meringuejellyfish]

its so easy to become consumed by what is lacking. by what you dont have/dont do. to be in the moment and not the yet to come. i need to remember that there are artworks ive made this year that im quite happy i was able to ...... so much all the time, aspiration and what not, cant do it all .... yet ..... but i can do it little by little.

[cno-inbminor]

zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married, but you worry it's only because mc (emcee) had left and was never sure on when she'd return. six years later, emcee moves back to linkon, and you feel your worst nightmares start to fester. self-indulgent angst (tw: miscommunication) wc: 3.2k | part 2

In a fantasy-like dreamscape, with petals painted in hues of ivory and rouge, you amble down the concrete trail that loops around the park.

You ignore the feeling of being out of place – after all, you’re still in your work blouse, skirt, and heels that are very impractical for a long walk. But in your numbing haze and cloudy mind, you’re welcome to any ache and sore that could keep you grounded to this forsaken planet. The music from your earbuds rings with melancholic songs from some movie soundtrack, though coincidental and fitting for the situation at hand. Eyes glassed over, steps slow and laborious, and shoulders slumped, you walk defeated.

A gust of wind releases the petals from their branches and blooms, a flurry scattering into the open air before flitting, twisting, turning, and gradually falling to the ground beneath your feet. They make you remember a happier time, one that seems to be a waste after all these years. When you look towards the sky, you recall a similar view when you were snug in a wedding dress while making your way down an aisle, your lips curved in a smile as onlookers threw white rose petals into the air. But when you tilt your head down to look in front of you, there is no man in a tailored, pressed suit waiting for you.

He settled by marrying you, a faint whisper reminds you in the back of your mind. You did this to yourself.

Perhaps you did.

There was always the chance that she would come back – you had always dreaded the day, but Zayne was adamant that there was nothing to worry about. He had moved on, and he loved you. There was nothing you needed to fix about yourself, he insisted. He loved you for who you were, and you were grateful – grateful that he still thought of you late at night when stuck in emergency surgeries, that he would buy you pastries anytime he visited the bakery, that he would welcome you into his office during lunch breaks when you had time to step away from your desk.

You were happy to be on his arm at awards and annual galas. You would bask in the moments when you would come out in a new dress and he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off you. “You look beautiful,” he would say with reverence and adoration, and it was those moments that led you astray from your worries and insecurities. He chose you, and you could tell he didn’t regret choosing you.

That didn’t change until after a few months she returned.

The reason she had been gone for so long was because she had been transferred indefinitely to a remote city that had a massive shortage of Hunters and way too many Wanderers to deal with. From the get go, she had been advised to officially move out of her apartment and was even given a stipend to help with relocation costs. It was for a good cause, and she had always wanted to travel and see the world. Zayne, in all his infinite charity and kindness, made sure to discuss every detail possible with her new physician that would be looking after her and her heart condition. He even went as far as having her sign a release of information to him specifically so that he could access her records remotely.

You understood. Really, you did. She had even made it out to the wedding and stayed afterward to help with cleanup efforts.

But after her return, the more you fell asleep in and woke up to an empty bed, the less sleep you were getting.

How do I bring this up without sounding like a clingy partner? You had wracked your brain for weeks. Zayne was stressed enough as it was, and you really didn’t want to add to it. You had vowed to be the solid ground beneath his feet – to support and keep him stabilized – and not the storm that could topple him over.

But it was so hard.

Fewer texts, fewer check-in’s, fewer notes left behind reminding you of the little things. Fewer reminders that he was ever a tenant in this house – much less, your husband.

Zayne ran on a routine and schedule, but so much spontaneity happens in his daily life that he probably wouldn’t mind a surprise visit for lunch from you. You had picked up his favorite lunch set from the cafe down the street, as well as one for you, and walked towards the hospital. Familiar nurses and doctors greeted you as you did them, quick hello’s and slight nods of the heads. Yvonne recognized you without missing a beat and flashed you a small, but tired smile.

“Long day already?” you softly asked when you stopped at her station.

“Unfortunately, but nothing uncommon,” she joked before taking a look at the brown paper bag in your hand. “Good timing actually, he’s in his office and is free for the next 30 minutes. Dr. Grayson is in there, but it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Thank you,” you said in a grateful tone and smiled before rounding the corner to your husband’s office.

You slowed and softened your steps to minimize the noise from your heels, wanting to maintain the element of surprise. From down the hall, you could see that his door was cracked open just the slightest, both his and Dr. Grayson’s voices muffled but much clearer once you were in front of it. Just as you were about to push it open, you heard her name and froze.

“--she comes by a lot.”

You heard Zayne reply, “It’s been good catching up with her and being able to check on her condition. Her doctor from her time away should’ve done a better job, but at least nothing major happened.”

“I haven’t seen your wife in a while. More often than not, I’d see her here on your lunch breaks, but it feels like forever.”

Keyboard clicks fill the brief silence. “She’s been busy.”

Have you now?

“You know,” Dr. Grayson starts before pausing. “Wasn’t Emcee your first love or something like that?”

The keyboard clicks stop. “Why do you ask?”

You could hear the shrug in Dr. Grayson’s voice. “I just wonder if anything has changed now that she’s back permanently.”

“...I don’t follow.”

“Do you think anything would’ve happened between you and her had she stayed six years ago?”

A beat passes. Two. Four.

“Perhaps, but there’s no point in dwelling on the what-if’s.”

Your heart sank.

In the very next second, the panic began to course through you, your heartbeat dangerously high. You had a moment of clarity – a miracle, honestly – to step out of your heels and let them hang from your fingers as you walked back to where Yvonne was at a brisk pace. Hospital floor, dust, and infections be damned. Otherwise, the clacking of your heels would’ve alerted them, and that was the last thing you needed. All you thought of in that moment was the need to get out, away from this hospital, away from your husband.

Yvonne had no time to question your sudden return – she hadn’t expected to see you again for at least another 30 minutes – before you set the bag in front of you.

“They seem to be having a really important conversation,” you started, clenching your fists to stop the tremble in your body and trying to maintain a calm voice. “C-can I just leave this here for you to give to him later?”

“Yes, of course,” Yvonne said, picking the bag up to put behind her. Her tone was agreeable, but you could practically feel her confusion between the syllables. “But are you sure you don’t want to wait? Dr. Grayson should be out in a few minutes, if that’s the case.”

“Oh, uhh, I actually just got a text from my boss,” you lied and held up your phone, though it was still a dark screen. “He needs a document at the last minute, so I have to head back anyways. Thank you though!”

With a quick wave goodbye, you left Yvonne no chance to respond and disappeared towards the elevator. Every second that passed was too long, and you almost tripped while trying to slip your heels back on. Your steps were shaky, your frame shuttering with each step, and you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed. You should be stronger than this. You should be strong enough to hold yourself together and make it home before you absolutely break and burst at the seams.

Your hands wrung together as the elevator descended towards the ground floor at a snail’s pace. Luckily you were the only one in the compartment, so as soon as the doors had opened, you bolted out of there like someone was chasing you. And in a way, something was chasing you – one of your worst nightmares: the realization that Zayne felt he had no choice but to settle for you.

You crossed the lobby as fast as you could, blinders on and narrowed to nothing but the main doors. They couldn’t slide open fast enough for you, but it granted you a second to call your boss.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“I know this is really sudden, and you know I never do this, but I really, really need to take the afternoon off,” you begged, words rolling off your tongue a mile a minute.

“Is everything okay?”

“Not really,” you said with all the bluntness in the universe before you could say anything better. “But it’ll be fine, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Very well. Call me if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

“See you tomorrow, and you, too.”

Your thumb jabbed the ‘end call’ button as you stared at the street. Where should you go? What should you do? Do you go home?

And that’s how you ended up here, at the park, the skin on the back of your heels chafed horribly, and your brain at a complete loss of what to do now. You haven’t even cried yet because you were still in a state of shock, disassociation.

Aimless, unaware, and lost, you continue your endless journey and are unable to find it in yourself to even sit on one of the many park benches stationed around the path. Because if you sat, you would cry. And if you cry, you would think. And if you think, you would spiral. You would spiral down the black hole of questioning every single thing Zayne has ever done with you, if Zayne ever truly loved you.

Something in the universe says you’re not ready for that yet.

Your phone vibrates from your purse. You take it out with limp hands, slowly and unsure in every way possible, your heart pounding against your chest, as you read the notification on your lock screen.

Husband 💙:

Thank you for lunch. I’m sorry we couldn’t eat together.

Husband 💙:

Yvonne said you had some type of work emergency. Is everything okay?

Your feet scream in agony as you increase your pace in the direction of the main road. They were probably bleeding at this point, but that was an issue for another time. You flag down a taxi as soon as one appears, and you ask the driver to take you to that 24 hour bookstore-slash-library with the comfy chairs and a cafe attached to it. After all, if you couldn’t stand to be in this world, at least you could escape to another for a little bit of time.

-

Several hours passed, in which you were able to acquire a couple of bandaids and alcohol wiping pads, nibble on a biscotti, and dive into a book that you had been putting off for months. Unwillingly, you hear your phone vibrate in your purse. Based on the pattern alone, you know it’s Zayne calling. During your years of dating, you had assigned custom vibrations and ringtones for him and him only. That way, no matter what, you would know it was him calling without having to look at the screen. If this were a normal situation and a normal day, you would’ve picked up without missing a beat. Unfortunately, today has been anything but normal.

You press one of the volume buttons to stop it from vibrating, though his contact information is still splashed across the screen. Your infinite wisdom advises you to let the call run, make him think that you were simply too busy to pick up. Again, an ultra rare occurrence, but not impossible. Your phone screen switches back to your lock screen with a notification of a missed call, and you watch it with wary eyes to see if there would be any follow-up.

There is one in the form of a text.

Husband 💙:

I called to see if you wanted to have dinner together. But as soon as it went to voicemail, we had an emergency surgery come up.

Bzz-bzz. Make that two.

Husband 💙:

Won’t be home til late. Don’t wait up.

Are you evil to think that the universe has kindly granted you more time to not talk to your husband? It would be appalling to be thankful that someone was hurt enough to warrant an emergency surgery that required your husband’s skills, therefore buying you more time to get your shit together. Diabolical and heartless, someone would probably describe you.

But you could only be in a blouse and skirt for so long, and as much as you want to spend the night here, it’s time for you to go home.

At 11PM, there is still no other text or call from Zayne. The house is empty and quiet, much to your relief. His shoes are nowhere to be seen on the shoe rack, so you must be safe. You should have enough time to change, brush your teeth, go to bed, and either actually fall asleep or pretend to be asleep when he eventually makes it home. His messages have been left unread, his call not returned. Once you’re ready for bed and tucked under the covers, the exhaustion of everything pulls you into a deep sleep in record time.

-

You’re practically dead to the world when Zayne comes home, slinking in like a thief in the night. He knows you’re usually asleep at this time, and he doesn’t want to wake you. Perhaps it’s his imagination, but in the few minutes that he can see you, you seem more tired, more haggard. It seems like you’ve lost a little weight, too, but he just doesn’t have the time to ask more about it. All the things that were changing seemed like it’d be best to have a sitdown conversation on a day off, but he’s been so bogged down by work and the return of Emcee that a day off seemed impossible.

As he slips his shoes off, he glances at your heels positioned astray from the shoe rack. The work emergency must have been bad for you to leave them that way. It takes nothing to bring them together and put them away himself, but then his eyes catch onto something that makes him freeze.

Why in the world is there that much blood on the back of your heels?

Were you hurt?

What happened that made you walk around so much to the point that you would let yourself bleed without any attempt to cover them up, or at least put a bandaid over them?

Why would you neglect yourself like that?

Had you already been bleeding when you dropped off his lunch? And if you had, why hadn’t anyone noticed, much less done anything about it?

The bedroom door creaks the slightest bit when he pushes it open, the force behind his fingertips so soft, so afraid to wake you. His eyes cannot help but travel to the foot of the bed where one of your feet sticks out. A small sense of relief fills his chest when he spots the bandaid stuck to the back of your left heel. The closer he gets to you, the more he sees that the bandaid wasn’t applied carefully enough based on the gap between the cotton pad and your wound. Gently, he lifts the blanket up to get a look at your other foot. A matching bandaid is present on your right heel. But at second glance, any relief he had felt disappears into thin air.

He sees the faint indentations of where the leather of your high heels had dug into your skin, a subtle arch decorating the space at the base of your toes. The beginnings of blisters have formed on the side of a few of them as well. It’s no secret to anyone how worn out they seem, that they’ve seen a harder day than usual today. He doesn’t know the cause, and he doesn’t understand why you didn’t even tell him. Zayne fishes his phone out of his pocket and stares at the empty lock screen, showing that you had never responded to his earlier messages. That, in and of itself, was already highly unusual.

He shifts the blanket back over your feet, making sure to cover them both before retreating into their bathroom. Brushing his teeth, rinsing his hair under the sink faucet, and washing his face all feel so mechanical as his mind refuses to turn off, the growing worry spreading like spilled cabernet on a white tablecloth. As he slides into bed, he suddenly feels like a stranger in his own home – like he’s not supposed to be here, to consider this bed as his safe space.

He’ll ask you in the morning, Zayne decides as he falls into a fitful sleep. No surgeries had been scheduled for the morning, which meant he could finally wake up with you for the first time in months. You two would get ready together – you’d tie his tie, he’d help dry the ends of your wet hair fresh out of the shower, you’d pack his lunch, he’d make sure that you leave with a fresh coffee in hand – a routine he has learned to love. The thought of that helps him settle into the sheets, and they feel soft and familiar again. Yes, everything would be fine.

But Zayyne gets a call an hour before your alarm goes off, and is, once again, robbed of one of his most cherished routines. He can’t help but look at your heels again as he slips into his dress shoes. They must be a sign of something to come, something that he may need to be afraid of. He’s not ready for what that may be, but inside, he knows that there’s a countdown.

Zayne doesn’t want to think about the stakes, or the fact that his first prediction – fresh horror and torture – is you leaving him. He cannot let it happen.

[7s3ven]

FILE LOADING. TF 141 x hacker! Reader, pt 1

( full master list) (intro to this series)

IN WHICH… you needed a way to lessen your prison sentence and TF 141 needed an efficient hacker… as well as someone to spoil.

Notes: hacker! Reader, reader has a criminal background, reader has piercings, tattoos + tooth gems

A/N: first cod series finally lol… please like this post guys, I finished it right after I slipped while practising a taekwondo kick and body slammed into the tiled floor 😭.

—

The air inside your prison cell was muggy and overall unpleasant, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead as you fanned your face.

The pathetic excuse for a window was not helping, letting only a small amount of oxygen enter the tiny room.

In all honesty, you weren’t treated as badly as other prisoners. A coworker of yours had pulled some strings the moment you were arrested, which meant you got better food and some perks.

But as always, life in jail still sucked.

You were too busy staring at the blank wall in front of you to notice the metal door keeping you locked up was now creaking open.

“Get up.” The warden harshly nudged your shoulder, barely giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your hands were yanked behind your back, the cool metal handcuffs digging painfully into your soft skin.

Your jaw clenched as you were dragged down the dimly lit hallway. You knew better than to ask questions as they would not be answered. All you could do was walk in the direction the warden shoved you in.

The breeze from the well-ventilated interrogation room was the first thing to hit you as you entered. You arched an eyebrow at the woman sitting at the table, her hands gracefully clasped together.

“And you are?” You didn’t recognise her as you slumped into the seat across from her, purposely sending the warden a biting glare.

“I’m Kate Laswell, a CIA operative.” She didn’t waste time before she spoke, leaning forward to catch your attention.

Your lip peeled back into a sneer, “The worst kind of people.”

She ignored your jab. “I’ve come here to give you an offer. You see, SAS is in need of a hacker and I’m told you’re the best fit for the job.” You watch as she opens a slim folder, spreading out the images for your careful gaze to study. They’re printouts of your exploits, files nobody was supposed to obtain. You had deleted your digital footprint after hacking databases, you were sure of it.

“You’re good. Too good to waste in a cell." You hear her softly sigh.

“I did what I did. The justice system isn’t so flattered by my ability to retrieve their sensitive information. Plus, I did murder someone… a few people, actually. So in all honesty, this isn’t an unfair punishment.” You leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“We are well aware of your long record.” Laswell sends you a pointed look. You merely grin, your canine teeth glinting in the light.

“Did you see my arson report?” Your lips spread into a grin, “Because that’s the best one. Set an ex-boyfriend’s car on fire and it just lit up. It was great. You should read it sometime.”

Laswell cleared her throat, reminding you of the situation at hand. “As I was saying, I can lift your jail sentence with a click of my fingers but only if you agree to work for me.”

“Thought I was working for SAS.” You interrupted.

“You’ll work for an elite team called Task Force 141… but you’ll answer to me. I give you the orders.”

“And the catch of this job?”

Laswell’s lips curve into a faint smile. “This is not a job offer, Miss L/N, it is a uniquely presented opportunity. You will get no pay for your services. The reward it reaps, however, is greater.”

You paused for a second. What could possibly be better than money?

“Freedom.” As if reading your mind, Laswell spoke again. “If you do this, you’ll be free before next year. This is possibly your only shot at freedom, do not throw it away. If you stay locked up here, you’ll only rot while the world keeps spinning.”

Now she had your attention. “You must be desperate if you wanna hire me.” A chuckle slipped past your lips but it was mainly to ease the awkward tension that had settled. “What would the job include?” You tilted your head, subtly shifting forward to hint your interest.

“You’ll be working alongside Task Force 141, giving them intel on possible threats and making their jobs easier by gaining access to classified information. I hear you don’t work well with other people but really, what choice do you have?”

Her words prodded at you and the teasing smile on her face aggravated you but she was right. You had no other choice.

The room was silent as you weighed out your choices. The walls seemed to close in on you, a stark difference to the freedom you were promised mere moments ago.

“So I risk my life for this so-called elite team… and in return I get some vague promises of freedom? Smells like bullshit. You lot will probably stab me in the back.” You scoffed.

“You’ve already painted a bright red target on your back. It’s only a matter of time before people realise you’re worth more dead than alive. With us, you’ll have protection. And a purpose.”

Laswell stood up, pushing her chair back with deliberate calmness. The legs scraped against the concrete floor as she did so. “Make no mistake, L/N, people like you don’t simply disappear. Someone will come for you… someone who wants your head on a stick.” Her words hung heavily in the air.

There was a flicker of fear in your eyes and like a feral predator, she ate it up.

“Okay.” You slowly murmured. She had convinced her with her carefully concealed threats. “I’ll do it.”

Laswell smirks. "Good. Pack your things. Your new team will be picking you up in an hour.”

—

The loud roar of the helicopter blades filled the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, shielding your eyes against the bright sun. You rubbed your aching wrists, clicking your tongue at the bruises the tight handcuffs had left.

A few soldiers are waiting for you into the chopper, their silhouettes barely visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Couldn’t just send a car?” You grumbled as you climbed into the helicopter. Laswell followed close behind, unbothered and seemingly used to such a commotion.

“Always for the theatrics, John.” She jokes with the man sitting across from her, eyes crinkling as she grins.

You glance at the man’s name tag, reading Captain John Price. He’s handsome… for a man his age. In a ruggish and rough sort of way. A cloud of smoke slips past his lips as he calmly puffs on a cigar, not at all caring how the chopper unsteadily tilts to the side.

“This the hacker? That pretty ‘lil lass over there?” A voice, thick with a Scottish accent, cuts through the silence. Your eyes dart to stare at the burly man with a Mohawk as he looks you up and down. “Thought the hacker was a bloke. Ain’t complainin’ though.”

You stiffen at the comment, running your tongue over your top row of teeth. It unintentionally gives him a view of your shiny tooth gems. “Thought you lot were an elite crew. Y’all don’t fact check?” You lean back into the cushioned seat. It’s surprisingly comfortable, much better than the stone-hard mattress back in your cell.

The Scot laughs, unbothered. “She’s got bite. I like ‘er. Name’s John McTavish but most call me Jonny. You can call me Soap if ya want.”

You sarcastically laugh. “Soap? What kind of muppet name is that? You had a reputation for eating soap as a kid?”

Soap’s eyes light up, not what you were expecting with your insult. “Ay! The cap’n said the same thing! Called me a muppet too!”

“You still are.” Someone chimes in from the front. You didn’t even realize there were two more people squeezed in to the seats in front of the controls.

The one in the passenger seat turns around, smiling. With his soft brown eyes and gentle features, you can’t help but find him pretty.

“Y/N L/N, right? Nice to meet you. I’m Kyle Garrick.” His voice has a slight British accent to it. “This is Ghost next to me.” He jabs a thumb at the man wearing a skull mask who’s doing a poor job at steering the helicopter.

“Ghost?” You question, “What sort of name is that?”

“Simon Riley.” Ghost grunts out. His British accent is somewhat aggressive, evident in every syllable he barks out.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. For some reason, he annoys you. It’s more like the way he’s looking at you through the eye-level mirror.

The chopper shakes again. You watch as Kyle grasps his seat, his grip so tight it almost cracks the delicate leather. “Sorry.” Simon gruffly replies.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward. “What’s up with him?” You nod your head in Kyle’s direction.

“Fell out the bloody helicopter when Ghost was last flying.” Kyle replies. You almost laugh. It’s not something that should be amusing but your lips quirk into a small grin.

“So… does this whole arrangement cover my food and accommodation?” You question, suddenly aware of how hungry you are. Laswell slips out a small folder, handing it to you.

“Your accomodation will be one of our safe houses twenty minutes away from base. We considered having you live on the base itself but socialising isn’t part of your job. You’ll be living with the Task Force to ensure you don’t run. And all your costs will be covered. You will be given an allowance for your own expenses such as impulsive purchases.”

“Thought you said I got no money.”

“Once you have completed what is necessary, you will no longer have access to the allowance.” Laswell clarifies.

“And I walk free.”

Laswell nods, “Then you are free to go. If needed, CIA will pay to transfer you to another country so you can start anew. Most do not get second chances, L/N, so be careful.”

You lick your cracked lips, aimlessly playing with the hem of your oversized shirt. Maybe you could go to Europe; it had been a little dream of yours as a kid.

“Should go to Scotland, lass.” Jonny pipes up above the loud helicopter blades.

“London’s better.” Simon retorts, “Can actually understand what they’re saying.”

“What about Korea?” Kyle butts in.

“You aren’t even Korean.” Jonny argues back, lightly scoffing.

“Yeah, but I wanna go. Is that a crime, Soap?”

Their pointless bickering was comforting in a way. You had spent the last few years of your life locked away, isolated most of the time and alone. It was nice listening to people talk again.

Simon landed the helicopter with surprising grace, being the first to unbuckle his seatbelt and jump out. Kyle was next. Laswell unlocked the sliding door, stepping aside to allow you to slip past first.

You merely stared at her before muttering a tense thanks.

“Watch your step.” Kyle warned you as he held out a hand to steady you.

“It’s literally three feet. I can manage.” You snap back, effortlessly stepping out of the chopper. Jonny lightly chuckled while Kyle slowly withdrew.

“Feisty.” Kyle muttered.

You stared up at the safe house, tilting your head. “It’s… cute.” You hummed. It was a cottage, not the first thing you expected as a safe house.

“Were the pink roses your idea, Riley?” You joked, pointing at the pretty flowers.

He grunts, a sound you’ve suddenly become familiar with. “I prefer Ghost.” He corrects you.

You shrug. “Used to call inmates by their last name. Helped me ignore them when they tried hitting on me in the early years of prison.” You stepped forward onto the stone cobble path, admiring it.

“A small cottage… bet this is a military dream, huh?” You kicked a pebble.

“It is, actually.” Jonny pipes up, “It’s every man’s dream to retire in a cute little house with a pretty lass.”

You lightly scoffed, “I ain’t here to play work wife, McTavish. Can’t even cook.”

“Thank goodness we have Gaz then.” Jonny retorts, “Bloke should be a chef if this career doesn’t work out.”

You take a moment to study the house and its surroundings while the others file through the door. There’s a small white Pickett fence wrapped around the land, bright green blades of grass wrapping around the neatly painted wood.

The cottage is clearly old but well renovated. Rows of vines adorn the side, a surprisingly aesthetic sight. There’s a garden filled with sweetly smelling flowers and the same pink roses sitting at your feet are also perched on top of the porch.

The windows are the favourite aspect of yours. They decorate the stone walls, a sharp gothic detail to them.

It’s almost too pretty for a criminal like you.

“You comin’ in?” It’s Kyle who notices your absence, peeking his head past the doorway. For a moment, he thought you had made a run for it but he was relieved to find you standing among the garden.

You clear your throat, pulling at the bottom of your shirt. “Yeah.” You step onto the rickety porch, the wood creaking under your weight.

The interior of the house is so different from your tiny cell. Walking past the door almost feels like walking into an entirely new life.

Jonny is scavenging through the fridge, pulling out a tall bottle of beer. “Want some?” He offers it to you.

“I can’t drink, warden’s orders.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“It’s just a beer, can’t hurt ya. ‘Sides, you ain’t in jail no more.” Jonny insists, shaking the bottle. It’s tempting but on instinct, you glance at Laswell.

She’s sitting beside Price, talking to him in a hushed tone and going over a file, presumably one containing details about you.

“I ain’t stopping you from drinking, kid.” Laswell says, feeling your stare on her face.

Hesitantly, you snatch the bottle from Jonny, popping the lid open with practised precision. You haven’t tasted beer, or any other alcohol for that matter, in a long time. You’ve never liked beer… but the first burning sip feels heavenly.

“You got any vodka?” You ask, glancing into the top cupboards.

“Do we look Russian? Nah, can barely drink that shit straight.” Jonny’s face scrunches up at the thought.

“Bourbon then.” Your words catch Simon’s attention.

Jonny grins as he reaches up, grasping a fancy-looking bottle. “Only other person here who likes bourbon is the LT. Guess he isn’t alone anymore.” He pours you a glass, handing it to you in exchange for your bottle of beer.

“Don’t understand how you lot can stand beer. Too bitter for my liking.” You mutter, pacing around the room.

You hear Simon quietly hum in agreement. “Finally someone smart.”

COD TAGLIST (comment to be added/removed): @jenepleurepasbaby @rm25711 @talia-the-gemini @margaaaa30 @mixplara @alex—awesome—22

@lunamoonbby @little-b33 @ghostswife-8 @tea-drinking-nerd @certainlygay @lucienofthelakes @supaturtl3 @pr3ttypupp4 @royalz658 @whoreforfictionalmen18 @ashy-akuma @1bucky-barnes-wife1 @chloepluto1306 @voguiing @eyeless-kun @joshwashingtonmybeloved @fuzzyducky3 @childishname @angel-bugz @kee-0-kee @undercover-smutlover @10honeybee01 @kat247 @munson24 @sweetlittleblackrose @babybimbo777 @wfinniegenx @galactict3a @hyperfixatedcatlover @creepumiku @yoontoons @moraxnomora @1ckyfairy @lunerbitch @tizylish

[kermdoeswriting]

The worst jobs ever lead to 0 Student debt

Have you ever been so broke that you've resorted to gigs that normally would make you seem like a minor villains goon?

Danny has.

Being practically broke, drowning in constant student debt, college student has led to some of the weirdest side gigs Danny has ever done. He can at the very least confirm that as he continues his degree in Astrophysics at MIT.

But in all honesty, he's not very picky or upset about how weird they are. Danny would rather do something strange once, then continue drowning in debt the way he was currently.

Student debt was not a joke.

And even if it were, it wasn't a very funny one, considering he himself was just scraping by on his two front teeth due to them.

Either way, the point was Danny's done practically everything in Gotham possible just to make some small bits of cash here and there. Danny only ever goes to Gotham for the sake of an extra ectoplasm boost on top of the fact it has the most jobs out of any city possible due to the crime rate.

He's been a temporary goon and a guard to several different warehouses throughout Gotham & New York City (most times there isn't even anyone or anything in them but a jobs a job). He's been in charge of covering a front temporarily for what looks like fake companies (nothing to do with drug dealing or the mob for some reason, he usually tries to stay clear of those offers).

He also was a tester for some of Mr. Nygma's traps being hired for the sheer fact that he couldn't really die and therefore could test several of Mr.Nygma's traps at once.

He took a temp job to help feed Dr.Quinzel's pet hyenas when she was in Arkham for awhile as well as pet sit. That one was his favorite honestly, Lou and Bud were sweethearts despite the carnage thing.

He recently had even been a personal insta-cart driver for a certain Penguin mob-boss strangely enough (until the guy got sent back to Arkham that is).

Danny really isn't picky when it comes to jobs unless it was just something mostly immoral and just insane, like drug dealing and/or murder & world or several life ending situations or just involved with someone like the Joker.

It's gotten to a point that the average Gotham goon usually recognizes him when he passes by during a job visit. They tended to recommend him a new job when they saw him, knowing he was just as eager as they were in this economy.

Which is how he ended up here, sitting in an empty warehouse yet again for possibly another hour before he could leave and get paid. Danny was sat on the floor doing his advanced calc homework and trying not to scream about it as he sat there.

It was something he did when the nights were slower honestly. The night was ruined quickly after that though when the glass shattered above him and scattered all over his homework and the rest of the ground.

Danny only sighed and mourned the possible money he'd be losing to that mess before shaking the glass off of him and his papers. He didn't bother looking up at his possible attacker.

"You have got to be fuckin kidding me. Not again, Kid."

Only then does Danny look up to see who broke the window. Red Hood sounds exasperated despite the mask covering all of his real voice with a mechanical voice changer. Besides him was Nightwing who seemed just as disappointed as his partner was while putting his escrima sticks behind his back.

"Can I help you Red Pill, Blue Pill?"

That made Red Hood snort while Nightwing just sighed into his hands and dragged them down his face before responding.

"Kid, what are you doing in he- Is that homework???"

Nightwing walked closer almost sounding offended as he looked down at the mess of Danny's math that he was going to have to redo before turning in tomorrow. The thought of recopying everything made him feel angry all over again.

"The one you guys wrecked by getting glass all over it? Yes," Danny leaned back into his plastic chair provided by the Goonion. "Thanks for that by the way, I'm going to have to recopy everything before class tomorrow."

"That wouldn't be a problem if you just got a normal part-time job like a normal young adult." Red Hood snorted as Nightwings slight lecture and it made Danny roll his eyes at the both of them as he sat up.

As if he hadn't tried that route already. In between his space museum internship during the day and his thousands of classes every week, he didn't exactly fit a lot of younger adult jobs schedule.

"Do you know any nearby normal adult jobs that are hiring a current university student with millions in debt and a internship schedule that only allows them to work at night?" Danny snapped back which made Red Hood start to snort and laugh again at Nightwings expression.

"Well..." Nightwing at the very least had the decency to look sheepish as if he had thought about it genuinely and couldn't think of a thing.

"Thought so." Danny slumped against the chair again, before shutting his eyes. He waved them away as he sat back, already mentally preparing himself for another all nighter for the sake of recopying his papers.

"If thats all, I'll see you next time I get a fake listing or bad job that you guys have a tendency to break into. Go away."

Nightwing only sighed again before Danny heard his grappling hook sound off back through the broken window into the night. Red Hood only chuckled one last time before ruffling his hair.

"See you, Kid. Make sure you try to sleep before class"

Danny just huffed at him and waved him off again as Red Hood shot his grappling hook off into the night and joined Nightwing. With a sigh, Danny sat up again and grabbed his nearby backpack filled with scrap paper.

Time to restart the equation all over again.

______________________________________________________________

Basically Danny needs money to keep going to MIT so he continuously decides to take up jobs for hire in Gotham (and other places but mostly Gotham), which lead to him breaking a lot of laws for another cash grab.

Meanwhile, the Batfam is very concerned that they keep meeting this meta young adult (who doesn't even live in Gotham!!) who seems to continuously be running through villain placed ad offers like water to get cash.

How desperate for cash is this guy????

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one ┆ chapter three ┆ chapter four

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amount of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige @rafebb @rafesbbyy @whytheylosttheirminds

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[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | being caught together

୨ৎ : featuring : lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis : being caught together after telling everyone you guys weren't even dating...

୨ৎ : genre : comedic romance ୨ৎ : tws : cursing ୨ৎ : word count : 1853

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : part one will always include: verstappen, hamilton, russell, sainz, and leclerc. part two will always include: lando norris, oscar piastri, kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, and yuki tsunoda! <3 (every f1 grid story is released on saturdays @ 8pm and @ 10pm est)

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando had spent months insisting that you were just friends.

no one believed it, of course. but you had managed to dodge the questions, ignore the teasing, and brush off the lingering stares.

until you ruined it.

it happened during a casual lunch with some of the grid. the conversation had been normal enough—until oscar, of all people, asked a completely harmless question.

"if you had to order for someone without asking them, do you think you'd get it right?"

carlos shrugged. "depends on the person."

charles nodded. "i’d get arthur’s order right, but no one else’s."

lando scoffed. "none of you would get mine."

and before you could think, before you could stop yourself, the words just came out.

"that’s not true," you said. "oat milk flat white, extra hot, one sugar if it’s before noon, but no sugar if it’s after."

silence.

the entire table went dead quiet.

lando blinked at you, stunned.

carlos raised an eyebrow. "…what."

you felt every molecule in your body freeze as realization hit.

you had just exposed yourself in the worst way possible.

lando, still looking at you like you had just unlocked a deeply personal secret, tilted his head. "how do you… know that?"

you scrambled for an answer. "lucky guess?"

charles let out a low whistle. "ohhh, no. that was too specific."

oscar smirked, clearly enjoying the situation. "and she didn’t even hesitate."

lando, still way too amused, leaned in slightly. "what else do you know?"

you needed to get out of this. "nothing!"

lando narrowed his eyes. "favorite post-race meal?"

you swallowed. "chicken pesto pasta."

"pet peeve?"

"when people scrape their utensils against the plate."

"favorite childhood movie?"

"shrek."

the moment the word left your mouth, you knew it was over.

carlos choked on his drink. "no way—"

charles leaned back, laughing. "you are so in love with him."

your face burned. "i am not!"

lando, looking way too smug now, crossed his arms. "well, you definitely pay attention to me."

you grabbed your drink, taking the longest sip of your life to avoid looking at him.

lando leaned closer, his voice low, teasing, just for you. "kind of cute that you know me so well, though."

and that was when you realized—you were never living this down.

ʚ・oscar piastri

you had been so careful.

for months, you and oscar had kept things lowkey. no public outings that looked too couple-y, no obvious flirting around people who would catch on, and definitely no social media slip-ups.

until, of course, you accidentally exposed yourself.

it started with something so innocent—a simple café photo for your instagram story. a well-framed shot of your latte, a book, and the warm, aesthetically pleasing lighting of a cozy melbourne café.

it was perfect.

until someone noticed the hand in the background.

at first, you didn’t think anything of it.

until your phone blew up.

@/f1updates: so uh… who’s hand is that, bestie? 👀 @/mclarenfan99: guys that’s so oscar’s watch wtf @/piastristan: wait i zoomed in that’s his hand @/lando_norris: oh. oh this is good. @/oscartheferrari: you fumbled your own soft launch 😭😭 your stomach dropped.

you clicked on your own story, staring at the very obvious, very identifiable hand resting on the table—wearing oscar’s exact watch, with oscar’s exact freckles, positioned in a way that very clearly suggested you weren’t just hanging out as friends.

and then, just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, oscar texted you.

oscar: so i guess we’re soft launching now?

you: i didn’t mean to

oscar: try telling that to the entire internet.

panicking, you deleted the story—but it was far too late.

because minutes later, lando reposted it on his own story with one simple caption:

"nice watch, mate. 😉"

you wanted to die.

by the time you saw oscar again, he was way too amused, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. "so," he said, biting back a smirk, "want me to post a hard launch?"

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "i am never living this down."

oscar just chuckled, reaching over to steal a sip of your drink. "well, at least now we don’t have to hide it anymore."

and that was how you learned—there is no such thing as an accidental soft launch.

ʚ・kimi antonelli

you hadn’t even noticed.

really, you hadn’t.

the group hangout had been easy, casual—everyone sprawled across couches, floor cushions, and bean bags while watching a random movie none of you were actually paying attention to.

and somehow, at some point during the night, you had ended up practically wrapped around kimi.

it wasn’t intentional. you had just been sitting next to him, and then someone shifted, and you moved a little closer, and then it was just comfortable.

your legs were tangled, his arm was resting behind you on the couch, and every so often, you felt the slightest pressure when he leaned into you.

it wasn’t a big deal. until someone pointed it out.

george, ever the observant one, was the first to notice.

"not to ruin the moment," he said, smirking, "but are you guys going to explain what’s happening over there?"

you frowned, pulling your attention away from the screen. "what?"

george raised an eyebrow. "you two are practically—" he motioned vaguely between you and kimi. "intertwined."

you glanced down—and oh.

yeah. your entire lower body was tangled with kimi’s.

one of his legs was slotted between yours, your calf was resting against his, and his hand was literally on your thigh like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you froze.

kimi, meanwhile, just blinked. "what about it?"

lando, now noticing, wheeled around to face him. "what do you mean, ‘what about it’?!"

kimi shrugged. "she’s comfortable. i’m comfortable."

george exchanged a look with oscar, who looked one second away from laughing. "but you’re literally cuddling," george pointed out.

you felt your entire body heat up. "we are not—"

kimi, completely unfazed, adjusted his position slightly, hand still resting on your leg like it belonged there. "i don’t see the problem."

you turned to look at him, betrayed. "kimi!"

"what?" he asked, eyes flickering to yours, lips twitching just slightly. "you don’t seem to mind."

lando lost it. "oh my god, they’re actually worse than charles and his denial phase."

george smirked. "i give it two weeks before they admit it."

your entire body was on fire.

kimi, still completely unbothered, leaned in slightly, voice low enough for only you to hear. "you don’t actually want me to move, do you?"

you swallowed hard. no.

but there was no way you were admitting that out loud.

so, instead, you groaned, covering your face. "i hate all of you."

kimi just chuckled, leaning back like nothing had happened. but his hand?

yeah. he never moved it.

ʚ・ollie bearman

you had been so careful.

for months, you and ollie had managed to keep whatever this was completely under wraps. no suspicious glances, no unnecessary touches in public, and definitely no getting caught leaving each other’s places at odd hours.

until, of course, you did.

it was way too early—the kind of early where the streets were still quiet, the sky barely waking up, and the world felt like it belonged to you and ollie alone.

you had slipped out of his apartment, hoodie pulled over your head, moving casually like you weren’t trying to look suspicious. it was fine, really. no one was awake to see you, and you had made it almost all the way down the hallway.

then, the worst thing imaginable happened.

the elevator doors dinged open—and standing there, fully awake and looking way too amused, was none other than george russell.

your soul left your body.

george took one look at you, at the way you were still in last night’s clothes, at the very familiar hoodie you were wearing—ollie’s hoodie—and his entire face lit up with realization.

"ah," he said, stepping out of the elevator, his smirk growing by the second. "good morning."

you froze. "uh—hi."

george raised an eyebrow, glancing over your shoulder at ollie’s door. "interesting place to be leaving so early."

you wanted to die.

"don’t say anything," you blurted out, already panicking.

george crossed his arms, absolutely thriving in this situation. "and why wouldn’t i say anything?"

before you could think of a good excuse, ollie’s door swung open behind you.

and there he was—sleepy, shirtless, hair a mess, looking far too comfortable as he leaned against the doorframe.

and then he saw george.

ollie blinked. "oh."

george’s grin tripled in size.

ollie, still half asleep, looked at you, then at george, then back at you. "well."

you buried your face in your hands. "we are so screwed."

george clapped ollie on the shoulder, barely holding in his laughter. "i’ll let the others know you’re both alive," he said, walking away. "have fun explaining this one."

ollie sighed as the elevator doors closed behind him. "well, that could’ve gone worse."

you looked at him dead in the eye. "really? how?"

ollie just smirked, reaching out to tug on the sleeve of his hoodie—the one you were still wearing. "at least now you don’t have to sneak out next time."

and, honestly?

you hated how much you liked that idea.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

you and yuki had been so sure that no one suspected a thing.

sure, you spent a lot of time together. sure, you had an obvious soft spot for each other. sure, yuki always found some excuse to touch you—whether it was an arm around your shoulder, a hand on your waist, or an absentminded head leaning against yours when he got tired.

but that didn’t mean you were dating.

or at least, that’s what you had convinced yourselves.

until you absolutely blew it.

it started when pierre—who had been grilling you both for months—finally asked, "so, when are you two just going to admit it?"

you immediately scoffed. "admit what?"

pierre leaned back, crossing his arms. "that you’re together."

yuki, sitting beside you, snorted. "we are definitely not dating, okay?"

pierre and charles exchanged knowing looks. "right."

"we just spend a lot of time together," yuki continued, waving a hand casually. "because we’re friends."

pierre nodded, clearly holding back a grin. "friends."

"yes!" yuki huffed. "and, okay, maybe we cuddle sometimes, but that’s just, like, a comfort thing. it’s not a big deal."

you blinked, glancing at yuki. "yuki—"

he kept going. "and, sure, maybe we kiss—"

silence.

your soul left your body.

pierre choked. charles’s eyes widened.

yuki froze, realizing way too late what he had just said.

pierre grinned like the devil himself. "you… kiss?"

yuki’s face turned bright red. "i—that’s not—what i meant was—"

pierre turned to you, smug as hell. "is there anything you’d like to add?"

you groaned, covering your face. "i hate it here."

pierre leaned forward, thriving in your misery. "so when’s the wedding?"

yuki, now fully spiraling, just muttered, "i am never speaking again."

but it didn’t matter.

because the damage was done, and neither of you could deny it anymore.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when satoru gojo gets hit by some weird curse technique and shows up to your first date as a girl?

a/n: satoru gojo is the cutest, most dramatic little meow meow and i will stand by him even when he’s gender-swapped, in shoko’s blouse, and spiraling. my babie forever 🙁🩷

you were supposed to be the one freaking out. you were the one visiting tokyo, meeting your online textmate for the first time, risking the possibility that he could be a balding 45-year-old catfish who misused emoticons. but no. no. somehow, satoru gojo was the one on the verge of collapse.

in a bathroom stall. wearing shoko’s blouse.

“i can't do this,” he muttered, gripping the cold edge of the sink, staring at his reflection—his very female reflection. “this is psychological warfare. i'm gonna throw up.”

he tugged at the hem like it could erase the fact that he was, due to one very stupid cursed technique, stuck in the body of what could only be described as a suspiciously hot girl. legs for days, nails neatly manicured by accident, shiny white hair pinned in a hurried messy bun. sunglasses perched too confidently on his nose. the blouse was cream and satiny, a little loose on the shoulders, collar wide and slouching like it belonged to someone cooler than him.

he looked like a girl who ghosted men after two dates and never replied to texts past 10 p.m.

“i can't ghost her,” he told his reflection, dramatically. “she's so sweet. she sends good morning texts. she laughed at my jokes. my stupid jokes!” he punched the air, then immediately winced when his knuckles knocked against the stall door. “i have never felt this emotionally naked. what am i supposed to do, show up like—surprise! your online boyfriend is a woman for now!”

but he had to.

he owed you that much.

and maybe he liked you a little. like, a lot. embarrassingly so. enough to save your texts in a locked folder on his ancient flip phone. enough to call suguru in a panic the night before because you said you were nervous about meeting. he even wrote down conversation starters on the back of an old receipt. one said: if she looks nervous, compliment her earrings.

“she’s gonna think i’m unhinged,” he muttered as he walked toward the cafe, the satin blouse tucked into a pair of black trousers he'd swiped from nanami’s locker. they hung loose on his hips and cinched awkwardly with a belt that wasn’t his. the cuffs were rolled twice over the ankle, revealing socks with tiny pink cats (he’d borrowed those from shoko too, he was desperate, okay?). his stride was stiff, too aware of the clack of his borrowed heeled boots, too aware of every glance tossed his way.

his hair bounced slightly with each step, a few silvery strands slipping from the bun and catching the sun. his heart was thudding so violently it made him feel faint. the sunglasses hid the worst of it—the panic.

then he saw you.

you were already there. sitting at the little outdoor table, your hands wrapped around a cup, your eyes flitting up every time someone entered. your leg bounced under the table—nervous, hopeful. real.

satoru stopped short, breath caught. you were exactly like your photos. no, better. more real. there was a crease in your brow, like you were trying not to look too hopeful, and your fingers kept fiddling with the straw wrapper.

he adjusted his blouse, took a shaky breath, and walked up.

“hey,” he said, voice pitched a little too high, trying to channel that airy, cool-girl confidence. your gaze lifted, blinking. your eyes searched his face, expression pinched with confusion.

“...hi?” you offered, hesitant.

his heart sank. he waved his hand quickly, stepping closer.

“wait! wait—it’s me. satoru. i know, this looks insane, and i swear i'm not here to rob you or ask about your skincare routine, though i could, because your skin is phenomenal—but it’s me. i just had a... situation. with my body. medically. temporarily.”

your brows furrowed. you looked ready to bolt.

“okay, okay! remember the selfie with the strawberry milk? that was me. this is me. same soul. different shell. still terminally embarrassing. look, i even brought melonpan—your favorite! and i printed out your texts. like a maniac. that’s love, right?”

you were still staring. he could feel the blush prickling beneath his cheeks, a little warmth seeping from under the collar of the borrowed blouse. his fingers gripped the tote bag strap like a lifeline.

then your voice came, small, uncertain. “you really saved my texts?”

satoru nodded fervently. “yes! and organized them by emoji usage. there’s a spreadsheet. color-coded.”

a beat. and then—you laughed.

and satoru, in shoko’s blouse and a body that wasn’t quite his, swore he could’ve kissed the sidewalk in gratitude.

his shoulders dropped, face breaking into a sheepish grin. the sun caught in his lashes, and he tried not to look too lovesick while you took the melonpan from his hands.

“i swear, i’ll explain everything one day,” he said, lowering his voice, a rare hint of sincerity slipping in. “like... everything. i just didn’t want to stand you up. i really wanted to see you. even if i look like this. even if you walk away. i had to try.”

and somehow, impossibly—you stayed.

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 1of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guys bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author Note: This guy…this fucking guy.. Truly, I could write about him for hours, if not days on end. I love him your honour.

Next Chapter

In the practice of medicine, change is inevitable. New surgical techniques are created, and procedures are updated. Levels of expertise increase. Innovation is everything. Nothing remains the same for long, and we either decide to adapt to the change…

Or we get left behind. 

“Sir,” You sighed as you tried your best to have the man in the hospital bed cooperate. “I’m just trying to–” Before you had a chance to finish your sentence, to let the man who’d been brought in during the worst mass casualty event you’d ever worked, that you were just cleaning him up a little in a low period, he was on you like a bad rash. 

“Hel–!” You tried to scream, but two large, bloodied hands wrapped themselves around your throat as the unidentified male, mid-fifties possibly, tackled you to the ground. “H–!” 

*Crack* The sound was jarring. *Crack* The back of your head was repeatedly being slammed into the laminate floor. *Crack* You couldn’t breathe. Your lungs felt like they had been set alight, burning with a deep desire to take in oxygen. 

“Get away from me!” The man yelled as he released one of the hands he had tightly gripped around your neck, only to draw it behind his head and lay a full fist of force against your nose. 

“SECURITY!” You heard Dana shout as she caught sight of the assault happening across the way. She couldn’t tell who it was under the man who’d gone rogue. But it felt too late now…

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t breathe as blood trickled down your throat. The swelling had already begun to take effect. You coughed and rolled onto your side as the man was removed from you in a flurry of blurs. You couldn’t hear the commotion going on around on, but you could see the shadows behind swollen eyes and broken skin. 

“Y/n!?” Robby was the first voice that managed to break through the perpetual ringing. He was just a shadow, mixing with the fluorescent light beaming down on you. “You’re not okay, but you’re gonna be.” You could barely make out what he was saying. If you could, you would’ve panicked at the sheer heaviness in his tone of voice. The worry, the panic that his best friend’s wife had just been attacked. 

“Someone get me Dr. Abbott!” Robbys voice echoed across the entire expanse of the Emergency Room department. Everyone heard the urgent desperation in his voice. Everyone besides Jack…who was someone across the department, elbow deep in saving some guys bowel from needing to be removed. “Tell him it’s his wife!”

Whittaker was the one who dropped what he was doing, albeit not as important as finding Dr. Abbott, but nevertheless, he knew whatever it was that it was bad. Jack hadn’t anticipated one of the new kids to come charging in like it was life or death the way he did. 

“Dr. Abbot! Something happened, you need to come and–” 

“Someone better be dying for you to be taking any of my time away from this man, Whittaker, what is it!?” Jack didn’t shout, nor was it laced with anger. It was a response of pure and total control over the situation. Jack was as calm as they come under crisis. It was just who he was. He saw the solutions in chaos like a puzzle he could put back together. 

“Your wife–” Dennis choked on his own words like he was afraid to deliver bad news. Ironic that delivering bad news to loved ones of patients was a part of the job. “She uh–” 

“She what, Whitaker? My wife, what?” Jack never faltered. He never looked up from where he was working magic. Blood-stained gloves halted to a standstill, however, when the words that left Whittaker’s mouth next knocked the wind right out of Jack’s lungs. 

“She was just attacked, Robby has her in trauma two now, it’s bad, like real bad, sir.”

The air grew thin, the walls began to cave in. Jack Abbot was, on a regular day, as calm as they come under pressure. 

He saved his breakdowns for the roof in the early hours of the morning. He’d spend a few minutes watching as the sun kissed the horizon with a warmth that could only be rivalled by your own. 

He’d hedge his bets, cut his losses and accept what reality had dealt and delivered. All the while continuing all the reasons why he couldn’t take that leap. Always circling back to the most important of all. 

You. 

But when that guiding light is challenged, Jack's body language alters. His normally rigid, ex-military stance softened for a brief moment. 

Jack's heart was breaking. He could feel it being ripped apart inside his chest cavity. The thud of his heart was nearly loud enough to echo off the walls.

“What?” No one had seen Jack Abbot so flustered before. His eyes softened in a moment of what must have looked like weakness. But to Jack, it was love. Pure, that’s my best friend, love. The kind of love that’s deep in your bones, love. The kind of love that haunts you, love. “My, my wife?” 

It was a softness only reserved for you, a side to Jack Abbot that was hidden away behind the safety and security of his own perfectly designed Volt system. His expert ability to compartmentalise only ever falters around you. 

He can’t control it. Jack Abbot had a weakness, an affinity of affection. An addiction to the release of Oxytocin he received whenever you paid him any mind. It had always been like that, a little catch and release. Cat and mouse. Jack loved to watch you walk away because he knew you were always coming back. 

But now…you were hurt. You were hurt, and he was stuck in his own head thinking about the first time he saw you. How you lit up the entire night sky and hung every star just for him to feel comfort in the darkness. 

Your laugh, how it’s the only therapy he’d ever need. The deep cackle that’s not cute, but infectious. You’re like a shot of espresso, keeping Jack on his toes and never allowing him to fall completely off the deep end into permanent geriatric grumpiness. No matter how far he teetered over the edge.

Jack Abbot was just lucky enough to be living in general, but to be living in your world was just the luck of the Anglo-Irish. He wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you in it. 

The thought consumed his entire being. A world without you. A life without you. What if he never got to hear your voice again? Or tell you how much he fucking loved you. The contrast between the heat of Jack's skin and the coolness of his wedding band resting upon his heart couldn’t have been more stark. 

“Is she—“ Before Jack could ask if you were okay, he was cut off. 

“Go,” Dr. Ellis damn near ordered. “I got this, go.” She reaffirmed as Jack felt her shove him over, there was no extra time that could be wasted. It was all Jack needed to find his centre of gravity again and get a hold of himself. 

His composure.

“Who attacked her?” But as the surge of panic softened, a wave of uncontrollable rage began to boil deep within Jack. His eyes scanned the utter chaos that was the emergency department, searching for whoever it was that had hurt you. “Where are they now?” 

No one gets to hurt Jack Abbots wife and gets to continue breathing. 

“Uhhh—“ Whitaker stammered, unsure of whether he should disclose that information or not. “He’s with security now, behavioural health two.”

It was a deep-rooted, all-consuming need to hook it left and make a B line directly for behavioural health two. Who did this guy think he was? Huh? Attacking people, no…attacking his wife like this? It wouldn’t be without consequence. 

“Dr. Abbot.” 

“This the guy?” Jack asked one of the security guards with a look of rage behind his exhausted eyes. “I need to speak with him?” 

“The cops and McKay are in there with him now.” 

“It wasn’t a request.” Jack snarled as he tried to make his way into the room that held the man who attacked you.

“JACK!” It was Robby who had yelled. “NOW!” You were in a rough way, Jack would tell by the tone in his friend’s voice. 

“Y/n,” Jack whispered to himself as he looked over at trauma two. “Oh, oh no no no no no.” It was a mumble only to himself, but everyone could feel the heaviness that followed Jack Abbot across and through the emergency department chaos. 

Change. We don’t like it, we fear it. But we can’t stop it from coming. We either adapt to change…

Or we get left behind. 

“She needs to be intubated, get her up for a head CT, we’re looking at some major blunt force trauma here, needs–needs burr holls to relieve the intracranial pressure.” 

“Y/n!” Jack barreled in like a hurricane-force wind. “What the actual fuck happened here, man?” 

“She was with a patient, Y/n? Can you hear me? It’s Robinovich here, don’t you make this difficult for me,” Robby spoke through panicked words as he worked on you as fast as he could. “Guy freaked, psychotic episode, probably a bleed on the brain–”

“Ja–” You barely mumbled as blood spilled from your mouth. Jack heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear as he made his way to your side. His hand was immediately in yours as he made sure to be aware of his spatial awareness as his colleagues worked on you. 

“I’m right here,” Jack cooed as he took in the sight of your face. Beaten, bloodied and bruised. “You’re okay, I’m right here, just hang on for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

“I, love–” You were in and out of consciousness, fighting against the pull of whatever it was threatening to pull you away from the surface. 

“Pulse is thready, she’s crashing,” someone announced as all the bells and whistles sounded off at once. You were indeed crashing, right in front of Jack. 

“Sweetheat? You stay with us, you hear me?” Jack was feeling the panic creep up his spine again. “Are you shitting me? What the hell do you think you’re doing being alone with a patient like that?” Jack knew if you were listening, you would have jabbed him back. Of all people to be giving you a lecture on hospital protocol, it shouldn’t have been him. 

You called him a Cowboy for a reason.

“If you die on me, i’m gonna be so fucking screwed here Y/n, get your shit together,” It was Jacks love language. “Robby, get her back!” 

He kept searching for some sort of eye contact, that deep-rooted ability of his that you at times often regarded as his superpower. That intense gaze, the one able to break through anything and reach your very soul. 

But Jack couldn’t see you through you, he couldn’t see anything but the blood that covered your beautiful face. The face he dreamed of at night, when all was said and done, and there was nothing left to do. 

“Working on it, someone get me neuro, NOW!” 

“O.R. is prepped and ready upstairs.” 

“Okay, let’s get her stable and on the move.” 

“I’m coming.” 

“Like fuck you are, brother,” Robby sighed, never missing a beat as he continued to stabilise his best friends wife. The love of his life.”You can watch from observation, but you can’t be in the O.R., hospital policy we—“

“Don’t work on family, I’m not, I’m telling you I’m—“

“If we can’t get her back, you’ll be in there, let me get her back, I’ve got her.” It was a promise Robby shouldn’t have made. But he knew you and he knew you well enough to know that this was not your exit music moment. 

Jack simply held his lips into a tight line of silent panic. He never let go of your hand, opting to walk you all the way to surgery. 

“Wait,” He begged right before the double doors automatically opened on your arrival. Everyone stopped moving as Jack leaned in to whisper something in your ear. “If you die on me so help me god, I’m walking right up to that roof for the last time and you damn well know it, don’t do this to us,” Jack begged. “I love you with all that I am and have.” He said one final time before letting go of your hand. Grazing across your wedding band as he let you go. 

“Let’s move people!” Someone beside your side yelled as all Jack could do was stand still, as you were wheeled away from him. 

“Oh god,” It was immediate, the sudden feeling of sickness. The wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. The nearest fake plant was the best course of action. With one hand on the wall in front of him, Jack emptied the contents of his stomach. It wasn’t much, mainly stomach bile, but the sentiment remained the same. “Fuckk-.” 

The thought of losing you made Jack Abbot's stomach churn. 

It hurts to adapt to change; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. It’s utter bullshit. But change is inevitable, good or bad. It haunts us like ghosts of our former past. It can taunt us like a small child who thinks you’re having the time of your life. 

But when change is brought about, it’s better to adapt than deny that it's happening in the first place. 

—----------------------

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They liked to pretend that their hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend that they’re fearless. But the truth is, people become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that of which haunts them. 

Weakness, frailty…death. 

Jack woke with a stark jolt. He was sweating, running a fever. The darkness was all-consuming as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in bed. The bed he shared with you.

“Christ,” Jack sighed to himself as he laid on his back in the middle of the night. A hand ran down his face as he collected his thoughts. That had been one of the most intense nightmares, one of the most realistic ones, he’d ever had. 

“Something tells me he had you on do not disturb.” Jack heard you mumble from beside him, wrapped up in a mess of covers and sheets. “Probably, don’t think that guys ever paid much mind to me, has he, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t respond, Jack frowned. You were just talking. Were you talking in your sleep? But you were talking directly to him.

“Y/n, you awake?” It was a question laced with hope. Jack hoped you were. He couldn’t stop thinking about your bloodied face in his nightmare. The way you lay there, lifeless, not breathing. “Hey, c’mere for a minute.” Jack nearly begged as he slowly but surely moved closer to where you were in the bed you shared together. 

With a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder, Jack maneuvered you from where you were lying on your side to your back. It was then he realised he was still in a living hell. 

“Remember?” Was all you said as blood spilled out of your mouth and down your chin. A bloodied smile was permanently seared into Jack's memory as pure horror washed over him. “You couldn’t protect me, you couldn’t save me. What’s the point of being married to a doctor if you can’t save my life?” 

“No, no this isn’t real,” Jack tried to reason with his mind as he hovered over your now lifeless body in the bed you shared. “Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me!!” 

But you didn’t move, you were lifeless and cold. So fucking cold. 

“Jack?” He heard through a whisper, a mumbled distance away, “Jack?” There it was again. This time, though, a hand on his shoulder accompanied the male voice, coaxing him back to reality. “Jack, wake up, bother.” 

With a jolt, Jack was waking from where he’d fallen asleep. Right beside you with his head on the spot beside your hand. His in yours. His back ached like no tomorrow, but his hips hurt the worst. 

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Jack sighed as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of you dead beside him in bed had rocked him to his very core. But it was always the same dream ever since you were attacked. 

I could hear you screaming from the second I stepped out of the elevator,” Robby sighed as he checked your vitals. All the signs pointed to good news. “Have you spoken to your therapist about all this yet?” he asked with a frown of concern from above his glasses. 

“Nope,” Jack explained as he let out a sigh and stretched out in the chair he was sitting on. “Can’t bear to bring it up, might jinx her.” 

“Well, the swelling is mostly stable, she’s regaining strength, and her pulse ox is great, the only thing keeping her under right now is, well, her,” Robby shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s gonna wake up, man.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He let the silence linger in the air. He watched your steady heartbeat on the monitor. He eyed off your vitals, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath you took unassisted. He was still on edge, but was able to talk himself through it. 

He’d watched you recover over the last week since the attack. Jack hadnt left the hospital once. He’d become what he hated most. A border. But he couldn't bring himself to leave even just for a few minutes. Not when you were here. 

It took a village. Dana had organised someone to collect all the essentials Jack and yourself might need during your stay. The house was probably a mess and the content of the fridge was well past used by, but that wasn't important right now. 

He’d stay here beside you watching you heal. Watching you get stronger. Watching you slowly come back to him like Robby had promised. But no one had any idea how you would react when you finally woke up. There was worry of mental deficits from the head trauma. But Jack knew you well enough to know you were a real fighter. 

He finally knew what it was like for you when he’d lost his leg. A part of him he’d never get back. Jack wondered if you'd feel the same way after, if a part of you died that day. He was anticipating it really. The onset of depression post traumatic events. The PTSD that would haunt you like a ghost. The sleepless nights. The recklessness. The suicidal tendencies. All of it, he knew about it and was prepared for it. 

Only difference is you weren’t. But boy were you a fast learner. And oh boy did Jack understand the other side of it now. How it felt to watch the person you love suffer so much. 

“Here,” Again Robby's voice broke Jack out of his trance-like thinking state. “Drink this, eat this, don’t argue,” A juice box lands in Jack's lap, so did a half eaten sandwich. He looks up at his friend, perplexed…but already knows the answer. “I ate the other half in the elevator.” Robby still explains. 

“Thanks.” Is all Jack has left in him to say. He’s exhausted, but won't say that out loud. Won't admit it to anyone but himself. Robby can see it written in the lines on Jack's face. He can see it in the growth of his facial hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Have a shower before she starts to stir,” It's one of the last thing Robby says before he leaves. “You look and smell like shit, she’s probably not waking up just to be polite you know.” He doesn't wait for an answer, but as he leaves and heads down the corridor back to the elevator, he knows Jack is smiling behind him. Shaking his head. 

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” Jack sighed, popping the straw into the small juice box. The sugar is a much needed relief for the man running on empty. 

It isn't just surgeons, the truth is, Jack didn't know anyone who wasn't haunted by something…or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet…

Our efforts usually fail. 

—-------------------------------------

Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. He went into medicine for the rush…for the high…for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. What he lies awake at night, replaying is the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

“One slight gust and you’d be done for, you know?” Jack knew it was you the second he heard the approaching footsteps. 

“What are you doing up here?” Jack replied, all the while he still had his hands tucked away in his pockets. 

“Oh, I dunno,” You sighed as you ducked under the railing. Coming to stand close to but not close enough to where your husband stood. “Heard some lunatic was up on the roof, didn’t take much for me to realise that the lunatic in question was probably my repeat offender.” You rubbed your hands over your face like you’d had enough of today. Coaxing your husband off the ledge of the roof was not something you had on your bingo card for today. “What are you doing up here, Abbot?” 

It was a loaded question, but a question that deserved a genuine response nevertheless. Jack shrugged, unable to look his wife in the eye for once. Something he was really fucking good at doing. 

“Guy lost his leg in a car accident.” You didn’t need much more than that, but Jack continued. You didn’t interrupt. “My call to amputate, we weren’t gonna be able to save it.” You could feel the heaviness weighing on your husband’s heart as he explained what led him to the roof. “Pains been unbearable ever since.” 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t respond, but you sure knew what you had to do. There was a deeper meaning behind the reason Jack made you carry a pocket knife with you. One that wasn’t permitted by the hospital. You casually reached into your back pocket to reveal the small pocket knife. 

“You know, a wise man once told me that you find comfort in darkness,” You said as you knelt down carefully and knew back your arm with just enough force that the blade of your knife would pierce the titanium foot of your husband’s prosthetic leg. “There, should start to feel some slight relief soon.” 

Jack sighed. It never worked when he did it himself. Nor did it work if he knew it was coming. It had to be spontaneous, quick and off guard. You did just that.

“I needed that more than you know.” It was another way of saying ‘I love you’ But you already knew that. 

“Oh trust me, I knew, otherwise we wouldn't be up here standing on the edge of a building.” Jack knew you were right. You knew him better than he knew himself most days. 

That’s why you were his wife. His life partner. His better half. 

Jack let a moment of silence pass the two of you by as you moved to stand beside him once again, both watching the sun gently kiss the horizon. He raised an arm up and over your shoulders. Drawing you close to his side as he left a gentle, but meaningful, kiss to your temple. 

He adored you, far more than you would ever know. Jack was thankful for the way you left the knife in his foot. The more he looked down at it sticking out of his prosthetic, the more the pain alleviated. The more the tendencies subsided.

“You’re pretty good at this comfort thing, you know.” He prayed the roles were never reversed, was there a version of Jack that could offer the same kind of comfort, strength and grace that you could? 

“Comes with the territory,” Was all you said as you let your head against Jack's shoulder. “But seriously, we should totally get down before you spiral again.”  You bumped Jack's hip with your own. He smirked.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack teased as he kissed your temple once more. Choosing to leave with you via the stairs rather than over the edge. 

As the warmth of the water cascaded down Jack's exposed body, he stood leaning against the wall. Prosthetic leaning against the doorframe. He needed a moment. 

The scent of your body wash adorned him, using the toiletries you hadn’t had a chance to use yourself yet. Sure, Jack had kept you as clean as you could be during your stay, but wet wipes weren’t the same as your black plum and vanilla scented everything. 

Your wedding ring hung around his dog tags, right next to his. Robby had taken it off before surgery. It had become Jack's comfort blanket. To thumb at the circular silver ring. 

But as the steam threatened to allow Jack's muscles to relax, he heard it…the warning alerts. 

“No,” He gasped. Panic rose inside his chest as he fumbled to switch the water off and wrap the towel around his midsection. Fuck a shirt, this was a hospital and everyone knew basic anatomy. “No, this cannot be happening—not now.“ 

The sight that Jack saw when he stepped out of the bathroom was nothing short of horrific. There you were, surrounded by doctors and nurses alike. Some Jack knew, some he didn't. But they all shared a common goal… 

Avoiding the experience that is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Part Two: Coming Soon. Please leave me something to encourage that to come sooner :)

[supportgaza]

A Merry Christmas in Ireland while my Family in Gaza is Escaping Death Daily: Help me Evacuate and Reunite with my Family

Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List]

2. @riding-with-the-wild-hunt Here .

One's family is the soul of his/her soul. Is there a life without a soul?

I would never wish for my worst enemies to be in my situation (being far away in safety while every member of my family is dodging the bullets, missiles, and shrapnel daily. They live in fear and are deprived of all the necessities for a humane normal life.

I do NOT buy the manipulative misleading news about a ceasefire to be signed soon because we had heard such news countless times in the past year. Unfortunately, the genocide, chaos, loss, and killing will continue in the besieged Gaza Strip.

The atmosphere where I am in Ireland is filled with joy, gratefulness, Christmas songs and decorations, and the streets, cafes, and shops are filled with happy families. However, I look down into my heart and all I see is a broken heart filled with fear and agony. No words in the English language properly and aptly describes the fear that strikes my heart and spreads with blood through my body when my mother said: "The bombing never stops in our area and the quad copters fire their bullets at people walking in the street." Even the most gory and bloody horror movies can not reflect a portion of the terror and fear the has overtaken and consumed people.

When I hear the work Nusairat, the area in central Gaza where my family is, I get a panic attack and suddenly lose sense of my surrounding. I hear news everyday about entire families including women and children being targeted by Israeli missiles made in American and Europe, and I fear for my family. Would not you, too? Me and you are not so different after all. We are made of flesh, bones and blood. We have dreams, ambitions and aspirations. We care and fear for our families and loved ones. So, what made our blood in Gaza so cheap? When did we turn into less of human beings?

I can tell you without equivocation that we are damaged and broken beyond what you could possibly think. Entire cities in the Gaza Strip were flattened. My family's house in the north of Gaza was severely damaged and our city has turned into an unlivable ghost city.

From our family to all the families out there that care for Gaza and Gazans, please boost our campaign in whatever way you can and help us reach our final goal. Help my family evacuate and reunite in Ireland. While enjoying this Christmas break with your family and loved ones, please do not forget your brothers and sisters in Gaza who go through horrors you cannot begin to imagine.

My family is in a place where a missile can fall and tear them to pieces. We deserve to be together in a safe place away from the chaos, death, terror, and bullets. Please put your hand in mine as I strive to get them out of there. Please contribute to this noble cause in whatever way you can. Take whatever action; do something, please!

Please donate, reblog, and share.

We are at 64% of our final goal and getting closer to acheiving our final goal.

Tagging for reach <3 Please boost my family's campaign

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[rebelssvy]

roommates ✧.*

ushijima x reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: ushi is your roommate and saw your phone with porn on it. creating an interesting relationship with you two. sex, smut, porn

i added twt links bc why not just to make it juicer lol

the worst thing to ever possibly happen, happened. while getting some cereal at one a.m, you had been scrolling on your own personally private twitter account. do you have porn on there? yes. do you actually watch it? yes. did you mean to leave it open on the counter top? no. not at all.

so to your horror as you ran to the pantry for some more cereal, you came back to the kitchen to find your your roomate, ushijima, standing right above your phone.

the action of him ease dropping isn’t what got you, he often snoops around your shared apartment. it was the audio you heard coming from it that made you jump out of your skin.

in the dead quiet of your dimly litted apartment, the audio of a girl getting absolutely railed by a man echoed.

“oh my god!” you scrambled, running over to your phone you shut it off. then threw it across the room it landing on the couch.

your hands instantly found your face, everything was burning up. ushi was normally a kind of awkward guy. not ever really saying much and when he did, it was always just kind of awkward.

did this stop you from having a crush on him? of course not. how could it? he was fucking huge. his muscles could make you pop from a hug. and he was also caring. even if he stuggled showing it. so you had no idea how he was about to handle this.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed y/n.” his voice prodded through the silence. it was deep, hushed. it wasn’t until a hand found your back that you looked up to him.

“i’m so so so sorry ushi!” you said turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest and burrying your head into his pecks. being touchy with him wasn’t abnormal. he just never really reciprocated it. that didn’t bother you.

“i’m… i’m just gonna go to bed.” you said before leaving your cereal on the counter, grabbing your phone and walking away.

that night you slept in horror. praying that he wouldn’t move out because of the action.

that night ushijima was more sexually frustrated then he had ever been.

✧.*

the next day when you two were at dinner, he brought up the situation from last night.

“god.. you don’t have to try to make me feel better. just forget about it.” you stood shaking your head. you two were out at a random restaurant about to leave when he asked you about it. you really wished he could just forget.

“you know y/n.. everyone watches porn.” he said it casually. tone unwavering. your eyes darted to his, attempting to read his emotions. to which you were met with a straight face.

the rest of the night you kept thinking about what that meant. does the ushijima wakatoshi watch porn? no way. i mean… there is no way right? in your head he could never be tempted. he’s too idk. perfect.

those words haunted you until you got home. every moment of silence between you lead back to the mental image you created.

finally walking through the door you decided to bring it up with him. you just didn’t know how.

he waked to his bedroom as you made you way to the kitchen for a drink. “hey ushi..?” you called out. he only responded when he walked back in with a changed, more casual outfit.

“yes y/n?” he replied finding a spot on your shared couch. instantly stretching he made himself comfortable as he flexed his biceps ever so subtlety. your eyes wandered to wear his shirt poked up. a flips of his happy trail peaked out. “do you have a question?” he said. your eyes snapped back to his face. you only nodded in reply.

going and sitting down next to him, sitting cris cross legged. as he faced forward his head turned to you. you were close, but not as close as you wished you were. so you opted to scoot closer to him. one of your knees now touching his thigh.

“earlier, i just can’t get it out of my mind… you said yk ‘everyone watches porn.’… and i was just wondering if like.. excuse me if im over stepping here but, if you watched.. porn?” your skin felt hot. like you were burning up. after you said it you wished you could take it back.

there was a long pause, and you swore you died and came back to life. just as you were about to excuse yourself to suffer an eternity of embarrassment, he responded.

“yes i watch porn.”

it was the answer you had longed for. craved and yearned. but now what? you asked him.. now what do you do?

“okay…” you said, hesitant. “i’m sorry. i don’t know what to say i’m so embarrassed oh my g-“ he stopped you mid sentence. cutting you off to say,

“want to see what i watch?” his tone was so casual that he never seemed more comfortable to talk to you. you couldn’t give him a verbal yes, so you shook your head yes instead.

you gasped as he moved his arm closer to you, only to grab his phone your thigh had been covering up. you watched intently, all nerves stood on end as he traveled to his notes app. you watched as he unlocked a hidden folder that revealed several links and notes under them. this was so ushijima. you thought to yourself.

“can i?” you asked while scooting closer to him. he flushed and shook his head yes. you scrolled through tens of links and notes beneath them like, ‘threesome two boys one girl.’ or ‘good creampie.’ it wasn’t out of the ordinary until one really caught your eye. it was a link, then labeled. ‘y/n.’ you gasped reading your name. then he caught on right away. obviously embarrassed he shut his phone off and didn’t say anything.

curiosity struck at your bones. what was that video? what did it have my name on it?

“can i.. can we maybe watch some of them..?” you leaned into him now bringing the phone back up to seversace level and unlocking it. he never said no. he shook his head yes before saying.

“let me explain-“ you cut him off, pressing a finger to his mouth before saying. “we will save that one for last how bout that…” you were now flirting with him. and he could tell. he shook his head yes once again as you scrolled through all the different links.

finally clicking on one you watched it with him side by side. you watched as a boyfriend penetrated his smaller girlfriend with his huge cock. you felt ushijima squirm next to you, obviously uncomfortable.

“fuck…” you said without realizing. your head whipped to his but he was already looking at you. and god.. he was so handsome. his lips parted slightly, glossed from his own saliva

“can i please kiss you?” he asked while dropping his hand and now holding your face. before giving him an answer you brought your face to his with passion. kissing him so intently. your lips molded around each others. it was hot. it was almost too much to handle. a line of saliva connected the two of you as you parted.

you picked up his phone and went back to scrolling. this time his hands were all over you, touching every part of your body. brushing over it of pinching at it, he needed to feel you.

you moaned as he brought his head to your neck and slurped at all your open skin. you watched videos that he had saved, making mental notes about how the women in them are. or what he was into like, two lovers forced to be quiet or how the girl in the video spread herself open to get finger fucked.

finally you made your way to the video with your name on it. ushijima had now brought his eyes back to you, nervous of what was about to happen. in silence you clicked on it. just to find a video of a girl with your body type and look getting absolutely pounded.

“i’ve never been fucked like that before…” you admitted, breaking the silence. you looked over to him. dropping the phone now.

“fuck y/n… i’m trying really hard right now to be a gentleman but your making it hard.” he dropped his head back before bringing a hand to his hair and messing with it.

“fuck that! just fuck me please oh my god!” you squealed out, shocked that you even said it. you smacked a hand over your mouth. but it was too late. ushijima had already taken you into his arms. carrying you into his room.

“i haven’t..” he started while throwing his clothes off, and undoing yours next, “been able to get you out of my mind. i need you so bad” he admitted now laying you down on the bed.

it was all happening too quickly. and yet his pace was awfully slow for you. fully naked you stared at him. he stared back at you.

finally his fingers trailed your asshole before finding your cunt. it was soaked already, ushijima was seeing stars. “fuck your so wet..” he groaned. “can i?” he asked for your consent.

“yes! ushi~just fuck me!” you moaned as his hand cupped your soft little cunt. he stood above you, spread your legs open and pressed his middle finger into your tight little hole. taking it out to draw circles on your clit. your back arched at all of his motions. you squirmed under his touch.

“god your so fucking tight. so fucking pretty.” he groaned before putting another finger into you. pumping it in and out of you at reckless pace.

“need more… i need your cock ushi..!” you moaned out grabbing at his length. you jerked him off a couple strokes before he pulled his fingers out of you and pushed them in your mouth.

you sucked your own juices off his digits. and oh my god, ushijima had never felt hotter. he felt like he was on fire.

now on the bed with you he threw your body around into a doggy position. your ass in the air. he waited seconds just looking at you before he positioned his cock near your hole.

as his fat tip sank its way further into your sobbing cunt, the more your pussy sucked him in. half way in and he thought he was going to cum. he pushed the feeling deep down into his soul. he needed to fuck you first.

“ushijimaaa~ fuck! ah-! your so fucking bi-i-g!” and with that moan of his name, he swore he heard wedding bells.

a new fuel fired his engine, as he pounded your wet cunt from behind. your arched your back further. the sensation was too much for you. the feeling of you stretching out around his fat cock. you could feel him everywhere.

your cream gathered at the base of his cock, it made his mind go hazy. pushing your farther into the bed, he rested more of his weight on you. slamming his cock in and out of you. your noises filled the room. the way you clenched around home you knew you were close.

“fuck you like that? cmon y/n.. cum around my fucking cock.” his words sent you over the edge. shaking and spasming beneath him you cursed out moans. saying ‘fuck ushi-! god i fucking love your dick ohmygod’ it wasn’t until his pace slowed slightly that you realized that he wasn’t stopping.

“i’ve been waiting to fuck uou for months baby. cmon gimmie a nother one cmon…” you watched all his composer slip away as he pounded your overstimulated body. flipping you on your front you got pounded face to face with him. his eyebrows furrowed. he was such a sight.

you felt your second orgasm approaching. he reached down to circle your creamy clit. as soon as he touched it pleasure ripped through you. your body lurching forward. you shook with the feeling.

“imcummingfu-c! god ushi~ your cock oh my god. fuck your so fucking good ah-!” you moaned, almost screaming him praise. he came on the spot. his cock filling you up with his seed. you felt him everywhere.

“god your so perfect. oh my god fuck y/n.” he said through grunts and groans. finally he fell next to you. kissing your sweaty body.

getting cereal at one am was the best thing you’ve ever done.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i missed writing about him so u know i had to do it

[juicykvnture]

GOT YOUR NUMBER!

Dick Grayson x fem!reader

tags: AFAB reader, college AU, pathetic!DickGrayson, he’s a literal gooner I’m sorry.

a/n: say hello to DICK (literally.)

wc: 1.7k | masterlist

Dick Grayson always had a chronic case of golden boy-ism for which there was no cure. Everyone ever literally loved him, his floor a graveyard of bras left behind by various hookups - until he met you that is. And to his complete and utter dismay, his condition has evolved into something far worse - far more embarrassing.

Let’s face it, he’s always been a self proclaimed babe magnet - and the worst part? There isn’t a soul on campus who could possibly deny such compelling evidence.

He’s always had it easy when it comes to people - maybe it’s his natural charisma, maybe it’s the fact he’s got an ass you could bounce a quarter off of - who knows?

That’s exactly why he felt absolutely mortified when you didn’t immediately drop to your knees at the sight of him.

In all seriousness, the poor guy was genuinely concerned! Had he lost his touch or had he stumbled across someone totally immune?

You didn’t open your legs, never mind your damn heart!

He felt stupid for a while - following you around like a literal lapdog. It got so severe to the point that everyone in the frat took the literal piss out of him.

But he was committed.

Well, maybe that’s just an overly polite, politically correct way of saying he was down bad - absolutely completely and utterly whipped.

He was convinced, utterly convinced without a shadow of a doubt that he’d get with you by the end of the year.

And when you finally decided to give him the time of day? Summer break hit.

He had one singular proper opportunity to ask you out, but due to a severely inebriated Wally West and a keg stand gone wrong.. he missed his chance.

His one saving grace? The fact that he managed to get your number.

He felt awkward texting you at first. He’s always been great at reading people in real life - face to face. But through a screen? Not his forte.

Over time, the two of you got closer.

He was so unbelievably relieved when he realised you’re more comfortable over text. It dawned on him that maybe.. you never even hated him! Maybe you just rather keep to yourself in social situations - yeah, that checks out.

It’s not like you two are exclusive, nothing of the sort. Hell, he hasn’t even been able to pull himself together and ask you out.

It’s fine. He’ll just settle on texts from you and scrolling through your social media a little bit more often than is considered normal.

He’ll ask you out.. eventually.

One glance at the clock has him shifting uncomfortably on his bed, hands clasped over his chest to resist the urge to text you - again.

It’s like the fifth night of this in a row. It’s pathetic he needs to leave you alone. He’ll come off too strong, he’ll scare you away. He can’t have that.

He just wants to text you a photo of the bulge in his sweatpants so bad - it’s not even funny.

Maybe you’ll laugh at him for that, maybe you’ll call him pathetic.

Maybe he’ll like it.

Dick huffs and moves on the bed, trying to get comfortable. But the friction sends a spark of heat straight to his gut, making his cock twitch and throb in his pants.

“F-fuck, get outta my brain..” He curses under his breath, shifting again, except he doesn’t move away. He presses his palm against his length, letting out a strangled whimper.

His eyes fall shut and he thinks about your hands in his hair, your thighs caging his head, your body pinning him down.

He grunts, squeezing himself through his pants.

Calling you is out of the question. No way in hell he’d be able to hold a coherent conversation with you - he’s never been subtle, one word from you especially in that sleepy voice and he’d probably start stroking his cock on the spot.

Dick likes you, genuinely.

He wants to take you out on dates, he’d do anything for you to just drag him around the mall or something - anything to make you happy.

But the other part of him just wants to fuck you so bad, it’s genuinely embarrassing. It’s rotting his brain - he can’t think of anything else.

Porn doesn’t even do it for him anymore.

It’s late. He knows it is, he knows you’re either asleep or up watching something late - hopefully one of the movies he recommended, maybe you’re thinking about him? He hopes so.

Come to think of it, you two did end up watching a movie together at one point a couple of weeks ago - a chance encounter. It was a whole big thing planned and all of your other friends seemed to have bailed.

He remembers it like yesterday. It was some cheap horror flick - not like he was too invested in the plot anyway, his eyes taking in the sight of your tits in that crop top rather than the psycho killer on screen.

He couldn’t tell you what the plot was, genuinely. He wasn’t paying attention. But it must’ve been scary, to you anyway.

Considering how you squealed and hid in his neck at a jump-scare.

The thought of it has him staring at the ceiling, fingers curling into the waistband of his sweats as he struggles with himself to not let it slide down any further.

You were just so scared, hands flying to catch his arm so hard your nails left little dents in his skin.

It made him so embarrassingly hard.

He was quick to drape the blanket over his lap just in time, though. But he couldn’t act normal after that. Not when you smelled so nice as you all but curled up beside him, not when you literally marked him up, albeit by accident.

He offered you some pathetic excuse that night, acting like he ate too much candy and had to get sick when in reality he was hiding in your bathroom rubbing one out, cock slapping up against his abs as he bit down on his t-shirt to not whine like a bitch.

And if you squeal like that when you’re scared, he’s literally aching to know what other sounds you can make.

“Shit,” he can’t take it anymore, free hand clumsily reaching for his phone and heading straight for your instagram.

You don’t even post anything remotely sexual. It’s silly shit. It’s so you - random photos from your weekends, cute desserts you ate, pretty skies, dumb little pictures of you and your friends.

But what you posted yesterday has his eyes wide open, cock twitching painfully in his hand.

You went to the beach. Of course you fucking did.

He’d normally like the post and leave you some cheesy little comment. But he can’t.

There isn’t a single word to say, not a single thought in his brain other than you in a fucking swimsuit, water dripping down your shoulders.

Dick’s brain is a mess. His thoughts are fucked, running rampant.

His fingers fumble with his pants, shoving his waistband lower and — fuck, the relief almost makes him dizzy. He wraps a hand around himself and his hips lift off the mattress with a gasp, his lips falling open around a silent moan.

”Shitt—” he slurs, cock throbbing in his grasp. He keeps his hand around the base, squeezing hard.

But it’s nothing like what he imagines your hands and your mouth or your pussy to be like— it’s not warm, not enough. So he spits into his hand and starts pumping, head falling back against the pillows with a thump.

He grips himself tighter, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he swipes back to your messages, staring at those photos just isn’t good for his heart - he’ll cum so embarrassingly fast if he looks at them a second longer.

His eyes are half lidded, thumb clumsily dragging over his screen - texting one-handed isn’t exactly easy.

His brain is blank, chest heaving. He doesn’t even know what to say to you.

“Cmonnnn,” another muffled whine, his finger hits the call button - hips stuttering up into his hand as he tries to control himself.

The second the call goes through, he panics - scrambling to hang up and tossing his phone back somewhere on the bed.

He can’t take it. He’s not sure where that sudden burst of confidence came from. He can’t have you knowing he’s a total fucking loser, yet alone a literal gooner.

God, he’s pathetic.

His hips buck into his hand, breath coming out in uneven bursts as he tries to muffle the pathetic little gasps and moans.

“Shit, shit, - f-fuck,” his skin is hot, flushed and sweaty, and his mind is a mess of half-formed thoughts about you but he can’t do anything other than ache for you.

He could have anyone he wants. He doesn’t care - they’re not you.

“Fuck — Ah!”

His breath hitches in his chest when he lets his other hand wrap around his cock too, pumping slowly, precum beading up at the tip.

“God, fuck, I need you so bad,” his hands pick up speed, one squeezing the base of his length and the other grazing over the head. His thumb rubs over his slit and he inhales sharply, his hips bucking.

“N-need to fuck you, please,” he thinks he’s lost the plot, brain melting out his ears with his eyes all glassy as he thinks about you - his cheeks flushed, his hair a mess, probably drooling at this point.

He can’t stop. Not even if he wanted to.

“Shitttt- you’re gonna make me cum n’you’re not even here-”

It feels like it’s been forever, he’s had to switch hands a few times, back arching up off of the mattress.

The rational part of him is guilty. He genuinely does like you. He should be texting you planning little dates and shit - not panting like a bitch in heat as he pumps his cock till he’s shooting blanks.

He can imagine you so fucking clearly it’s insane. God, it’s like he can almost hear you moaning right now like you’re there with him.

Okay, he needs to text you.

He lifts his head again, adams apple bobbing in his throat as he fumbles to reach for his phone.

His screen is lit up. Has been for the last while.

His lips part, his heart stops.

“Dick?” you croak from the other end of the line, your own words muffled.

“You still there?”

a/n: …oops!

as always thank u for reading!!

Dick Grayson m.list

[dearmisshoney]

caught red-handed (and rock hard)

synopsis. when theo sneaks into your room looking for a charger, he finds something way more interesting — your provocative polaroids. caught in the act, he might as well make the best of it. one thing leads to another, and suddenly, you're both tangled in a mess of teasing, dirty words, and desperate grinding. if you thought he was only good at pissing you off, well… think again.

pairing. brother’s bsf! theodore nott x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, brother’s best friend!theo nott, dry-humping, enemies-to-lovers tension, degradation & teasing, slight praise (but mostly just theo being a cocky bastard), tit worship (theo is OBSESSED), rough sex, unprotected (wrap it before you tap it tho!!), dirty talk, name-calling (bella, slut, amore), overstimulation & slight dumbification (?), theo begging because he’s down BAD, messy, desperate, absolutely filthy

word count. 3.2k

a/n. first time writing! english is not my first language, so sorry for that! special thanks to my lovely ari (@nottsangel) for encouraging me to write and for making my (horny) gears turn in my head with her sexy blog! <3

aftermath | more brother's bsf! theo

“stop moving, jackass!” theo hissed, tightening the grasp on mattheo’s limp arm around his shoulders to steady his body. “where the fuck are your keys, mate?” he mumbled again, digging his other hand deeper in mattheo’s front pockets. it was just his luck that mattheo drank himself dumb and, as the ever-caring friend he was, theo had to drag him back to his house.

“hic­– dig a little lower, sweetheart, and you will find the treasure itsel—” mattheo started seductively, and it was clear he was completely gone out of this world. whatever fantasy he was living right now, theo was having none of it. a nice and hard step on his shoe made mattheo frown and moan in pain, his dreams shattered. it also made the key to the front door magically slip into theo’s hand.

finally, he could leave this fool and go to his own place in peace.

luckily for theo, it seemed that you were nowhere to be found. probably out at a party, just like the two of them were minutes ago, perhaps drunk out of your mind, or possibly already snoozing on one of your friend’s couch, already blacked-out. not that he cared what your situation was, really.

dropping mattheo’s heavy body on his bed, theodore contemplated helping him out of his clothes, but when mattheo started calling him sweetheart again and threatening him with a good time, he swiftly stepped away from the bed.

“where’s your charger, mate?” he asked, more or less to himself, aware that his bloke of a friend was too drunk to answer him. looking around his cluttered desk and messy carpet, theo searched for any sign of a cable, but nothing of the sorts was to be found.

that stuck-up brat might have one, he thought, and that’s how theo found his way to your room. he knew the path like the back of his hand, and even after the few drinks he had, his stride was confident and unwavering. he has been there on multiple occasions, mostly running little errands for your lazy brother, yet he also beelined for your room on those days when he wanted to pour his frustration out on a seemingly innocent victim. seemingly, as you also do your best — or worst, in that case — to annoy the shit out of nott every time he stopped by your house.

“she’s definitely out.” he sighed as he sneaked into your room, door immediately bumping into a pile of clothes you’ve left on the floor while picking the perfect outfit for your outing.

the familiar aroma of your perfume entered his nostrils at a similarly fast rate, and he inhaled in deeply without even a second thought. he always loved the way you smell, and it pissed him the fuck off. it was sweet, but not too sweet; it was mature, erotic — yet not too vulgar; it was a mystery to him why he found himself attracted to your fragrance every time he registered it.

“looks like someone will have the surprise of their life.”

theo chuckled as he zeroed into the garments on the bed, three sets of bras all scattered aimlessly all over the sheets. no bra, something you usually do, and something theo can’t help but appreciate. be it your own comfort or simply your disregard for external opinions, he was glad you ditched bras on a daily basis. indeed, you make his blood boil with your bitchy remarks and spoiled attitude, but the sight of your freed tits under whatever excuse of a shirt you choose that day instantly rewires and redirects that blood lower and lower to his cock.

too bad he won’t see you tonight.

“charger.” he promptly reminds himself as he redirected his attention to your desk, full with opened make-ups and all sorts of products. messy just like her brother. and, by the looks of it, charge-less just like him. such a big desk, yet no charger for poor theodore’s phone. he was already on enemy territory, so he might as well check your drawers for it, just in case.

holy fucking shit.

no charger in your top drawer, but something even better. something he would have never imagine stumbling upon while searching for a mere cable.

very suggestive polaroid pictures. of you. in lingerie.

they were nicely stacked in the very far corner of the drawer, almost like your basic game cards. but nothing about them was basic­– fuck, you looked so pretty, and so hot in them. even under the shitty light of the lamppost outside your window.

theo didn’t think twice and immediately turned on the colorful lamp on your desk, the glossy finish of the polaroids now displayed under a soft pink light.

you were so radiant, so confident, and with each and every picture he uncovered, he was sure it was all a dream he’s having while passed out at enzo’s house. he can’t get this lucky on a random wednesday like this.

oh, but he was about to get even luckier, as he finally arrived at the section where you started taking some of your garments off. the view of your bare tits, barely cupped by your palms, pushed forward into the camera lens, made theo let out a needy groan. and, as if the universe was listening to his thoughts, the next one was an even closer shot of the same position, red lips and soft boobs filling the whole picture frame.

if he thought about stealing a couple of the other ones before, he was for sure taking this one and putting it in his wallet.

his fingers gripped the edge of the polaroid tightly, and all he could think about was seeing such a view live. to have your perfect tits in his hands, to cup and squeeze and push them together. to leave wet kisses all over your skin, to place a big bite right on your sternum, to bury his face between them. shit, to put his cock between them as you let him tit fuck you like the slut that you are. maybe you’d actually be nice to him for once. and even if you’re not, he’d just have to push your red lips down hi–

“what the fuck?”

your voice hit him like a truck. the entire lewd image of you completely vanished from his mind, now seeing anger wash all over your figure as you stepped into your room. he registered your voice first, then your perfume, slightly mixed with cigarette smoke, and lastly, your skimpy little outfit.

no bra, just as he deduced.

“the fuck are you doing, nott?” you asked, and in that moment he realized – you caught him.

not only did he break into your room — initially for a very reasonable motive, a charger, but he also rummaged through your stuff, stopping at your personal pictures and acting like a pervert. “have you lost your mind?” it was obvious you were mad; you stomped in your heels all the way to your desk, crushing all your pile of clothes under furious steps. just as you reached your hand to yank the polaroid picture out of his hand, theo beat you to it and raised it so high up, even your shoes did nothing to help you.

“you always posing like a little slut, bella?” he might have been caught red-handed, but he wasn’t the only one: theo caught you too. yeah, you were in no shape or form a prude, yet these polaroids were something even for you. such scandalous pictures, and, unfortunately for you, he now knew about them.

“you always dry-humping desks, nott?” there it was, that smart mouth of yours; always ready with a retort.

you hit the nail on the head with this one, pointing out something he has been doing unconsciously ever since he found your cute pictures. heck, his tent was still pressing against the edge of the desk, offering him some sort of pressure on his aching hardness.

“matty has a desk like this too. go live your depraved wood fantasy in his room.” you scrunched up your nose, disgusted by his behavior, and pointed at the door with your manicured nails. the nice coat of red on your fingernails were the same shade as the ones in the polaroid, and he was now yet again thinking of the way the meaty flesh of your tits spilled between your fingers.

“but i keep the pic–”

“no way.”

“then i am not leaving.”

you visibly scoffed at his refusal, arms crossing over your chest, hips bumping into the edge of your desk. “give me the picture, you, asshole!” you shouted, banging one of your hands against the desk, shaking the polaroids theo has been placing on it for the past few minutes. “give it back and get the fuck out of here!”

oh, if only you could see yourself right now. you were indeed full of rage, throwing daggers at him with your venomous gaze, but you looked so attractive. there was something about the way your hips were resting against the desk, the roundness of your body nicely elevated by the short skirt you were wearing. and your chest, oh lord, your tits were so tightly enclosed in that stretchy tube top, he could see why you decided against wearing a bra. your make-up was a little smudged, but he was glad to see the familiar red shade on your lips.

“get it yourself, slut.” and with that, theo pinched the collar of his shirt and dropped the polaroid down his clothes. did it stop around his torso? did it dip down into his pants? the only way to found out was for you to start exploring.

“you crazy bastard.” now you were fuming.

without wasting any time, you removed yourself from the desk and, putting all your strength into your arms, you pushed nott alll the way to your bed. “don’t move.” you ordered in a serious tone the moment he was seated at the edge of the bed; rebellious theodore nott would never listen to your whiny little commands though, so, of course, he tried to stand from his seat.

“are you stupid, nott?” and with that you pushed him all the way down onto his back, nicely seating your own body straight onto his lap. “don’t do that shit again or i am sitting on you face next.”

“don’t threaten me with a good time, amore.” he had to bite back with that cocky smile of his, but he did not in fact move an inch again.

why would he, when he had you where he wanted you: straddling him, your ass on top of his hard cock, your wandering hands all over his torso, searching for that polaroid, your chest so conveniently close to his face. you were so caught up in your little detective play, you didn’t even feel nott’s warm hands leaving the sheets, sneaking underneath your skirt, and cupping the fat of your ass.

a moan escaped his lips when his nimble hands found your clothed cunt, one of his fingers slowly sliding underneath your thong, lifting it, then letting it slap back against your skin. the sudden action made you jolt on top of him, and the added friction of your body moving on him made his own hips jump upwards. gripping your ass tighter, theo manhandled your hips to his wants, slowly rutting into you at a steady pace.

“no, no– ah–” catching onto what he was doing, you stilled your wandering hands. one of them moved right on top of theo’s, a silent protest for him to stop his teasing and let you be. “d­–don’t do that.” but you couldn’t lie to him, not after you whined so loudly at the contact of his bulge with your needy pussy.

“can’t work with a little distraction, hm?” god, he was so mean, mocking you with his usual arrogant tone like he wasn’t affected as well by the whole thing. “you seem to like it though, your hips are moving against me.” and it was true; your hips were subconsciously matching his rhythm, riding his tent at a similar pace, meeting his thrusts with enthusiasm. your poor clit was already so hard from him dry-humping you, and the rough material of his pants felt amazing with every tiny bumping.

“shut it, desk-pervert.”

“will you stop with the bloody desk? it was your pictures that made me rock hard.”

“you shouldn’t have seen them in the first place.” you were so so mean. you mean to say that he wasn’t meant to see your beautiful breasts in their naked glory? he must have heard it wrong, there was no way you’d say that. you were cruel, but not a monster.

“don’t say that, bella.” theo accentuated his favorite pet name for you with a sharp thrust, making you lose your balance and have your chest leaning more towards his face. “how could i live my life without your gorgeous tits, hm?”

“like you did until now.”

“in agony? no more.”

his words made your cunt sloppier, more and more wetness spilling through your sheer thong onto theo’s crotch. your skirt too gave up, already riding upwards on your hips and covering almost nothing. theo could see the way the shape of his cock disappeared between your clothed folds, the top part of his pants peaking at him from time to time with each thrust of yours against his lap.

“let me see those tits, beautiful.” he raised his hands and grabbed the swell of your breast, thumbling over you nipple to convince you to give in fully. “i will make it up to you, trust me.”

there was no denying it. you both needed relief. fast.

with a slight nod and eager eyes, the two of you removed your top — and more — in an instant. his clothes joined yours on the bedroom floor, and now you had no idea which ones were clean and which ones were due a washing.

“oh my fucking god, mi fai impazzire (you drive me crazy)!” straddling him yet again, this time theo had the honor of burying his face between your bare breasts, inhaling that lovely perfume of yours and mouthing at your feverish skin. moving slowly on top of him, now grinding your drenched thong against his bare cock, you allowed theo to worship your breasts like he promised. twisting and pinching each nipple with dexterous fingers, he got them up and perky for his greedy mouth to suck on. “they’re so soft and warm, fuck.”

“don’t ever keep them away from me, understood?” sucking a purple hickey on the side of your breast, theo looked up at you with his blown-out pupils. was it an actual order or was it a plea? either way, theodore nott was whipped for your boobs and you had no chance of escaping his hands and mouth any time soon. “talk to me, pretty.”

“yes, theo.”

“good fucking girl.” he groaned from between your tits, his lips never leaving your tender skin as he started roaming his hands all over your naked body, desperate to leave marks all over you.

his cock twitches against your aching core, your wetness already mixing with his precum and making a mess all over his crotch and abs. the stickiness had your bodies stay glued together, aiding your movements atop of him; feeling every ridge, every vein, every little throb of need.

“you’re fucking soaked, shit.”  theo couldn’t handle it any longer, stopping his assault on your breasts and pressing his forehead against your chest in order to ground himself. he needed to feel you fully or he might cum only from humping you.

“let me fuck you, amore! i–” he gripped your hips to stop you from moving, otherwise he might have cum then and there. hoping to finish inside you, he eagerly asks for consent. you wouldn’t say no, right?

“apologize for breaking into my room.”

even horny beyond compare, you were still holding that over his head. such a needy girl you are, yet you seem to be the one controlling the strings right now. theo, ready to protest, could only groan when he felt you moving against him again, letting the mushroomy tip of his cock hit your clit. and, the cherry on top, it even slightly caught onto your entrance on its way back, teasing him with endless possibilities.

so he begged.

“i am so sorry, amore. i am a bastard. please– ah! please let me feel that pretty pussy.”

raising your hips just a bit, you dragged your thong to the side and positioned the tip of his cock right at your entrance. slowly, oh so slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, your cunt warm and welcoming to the intrusion. with each inch swallowed by your pussy, theo’s eyes rolled more and more to the back of his head.

“you feel so good, fuckfuckfuck” theo was about to lose his mind over how great your walls felt against his cock. so hot, so wet; your cunt was sucking him in more and more.

and when you started bouncing on him, he was a goner.

“thank you, amore! fuck, this is heaven!” it could have been all the edging he has suffered while dry-humping, or the couple of drinks he had before, but he was extremely sensitive. his deep groans from before were sometimes substituted by high-pitched whines of pleasure and pain, a great addition to your own sultry moans.

“don’t stop, bella! shitshit” gripping your hips with desperation, he pushed you down onto his cock with more fervor than before, his own hips raising from the mattress and plunging into you at a faster pace. theo was using you like his personal fucktoy, slamming you with force against him, reaching deeper and deeper and bullying that sweet spot of yours with every thrust.

your bed was creaking with the intensity of your movements. your ragged breaths, your chanting moans, your wet squelches around his cock. all of it were increasing second by second, signaling that the end was near.

“look at you, amore! you were made to bounce on my cock.” dipping his head lower to your chest one last time, theo sucked one of your hardened nipples into his mouth. one of his hands sneaked its way down to your clit, rubbing tight little circles against it to make you orgasm.

“cream my cock, pretty! make a biiiig mess for me.”

his words pushed you over the edge and, with one last sharp cry, your orgasm hit you like a truck. your gummy walls clenched like a vice around theo, milking his cock for every last drop. his hips shuttered one last time against your cunt, his load shooting straight inside you shortly after. thick ropes of cum spilled into your pussy, some even dripping around his cock and down onto your sheets.

neither of you moved for a couple of seconds, just staring at one another and at the sticky connection between your bodies, heavy breaths and gasps of air filling the silence.

“i guess you got more than tits, huh, nott?”

“lucky me.”

©dearmisshoney 2025. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

[soldiersgirl]

— 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .ᐟ

summary — life had always been cruel to ben; littered with betrayals, heartbreak, guts & glory. somehow, despite it all, the one thing he thought he had lost and could never experience, turned out to be his saving grace. (inspired by this post)

cw — fem!reader x girl dad!soldier boy, 18+ (hints of sex, wrap it before u tap it) established relationship (married). soft ben, fluff, angst, kissing, daddy kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of daddy and mommy, mentions of ben's trauma and war, mentions of drug use.

word count — 2,138 words

ben couldn't count on one hand the amount of trials and tribulations he had been subjected to over his long, arduous existence, but he needed the other one to hold and keep himself anchored to you.

it had all started out innocently. much like the other members of the boys, you were indifferent to ben. but soon enough, you discovered that you two couldn't stand each other, let alone be in the same room without going at it and screaming about "the importance of having a moral backbone" while he told you to go "shove your fuckin' modern values!" in return. but as time does with most things, it eats away at anger and suddenly, after a long day at the office and going over missions, you would retreat to the roof together and share a cigarette between the two of you. words were rarely spoken, but you grew to understand each other just a little bit more with each inhale and exhale of your shared vice.

his complexity perplexed you and you found yourself wishing to understand the man under the armour. how ben had become soldier boy and lost himself along the way.

during one particular cold night, up on the flatiron building roof, he laid it all out to you. he had told hughie and butcher a few bits, here and there, but you got the full picture. all you did was nod in return, not offering any comments like others did. ben couldn't read you and it freaked him the fuck out. he had quite the knack for getting under people's skin and staying there, gnawing on their insecurities and break them down. but when you comfortingly laid your hand on his and he didn't flinch, he knew there was something about you that he possibly wouldn't find again.

within a few tough and challenging months, for both of you and the boys as a team, you and ben had turned to finding comfort in one another. each night, either at his place or yours, you would intertwine your limbs and entangle your tongues with no care for the world around you. he would get lost in your gentle mewls, your soft pleading as he would pound into you and fulfil all your dirtiest fantasies, without a second thought.

you managed to keep your... situation quiet for a while from the others, knowing that no one would approve of it; why complicate things when everything is a already a nightmare with vought and homelander? but when the boys abruptly came back from a mission and walked in on ben taking you from behind on your own desk; you knew you couldn't keep it under wraps anymore. hell broke loose. insults were hurled. computers were thrown, mainly by ben, and you were both told that it wouldn't last long. but you managed to prove them wrong; much to your own surprise.

loving ben wasn't a walk in the park. nothing about ben was ever easy. but when your fingers interlocked and he bared his soul to you, all his worst nights were worth it. the nights filled with long discussions, ingrained toxic reflexes, harsh empty words.

"you need to cut off the fucking pills, ben! i swear to god, i'm gonna flush them down the fuckin' toilet!" you yelled as you held the baggie over the toilet, shaking them, daring him to come closer.

"you're batshit! actually, insane! i should've listened to butcher when he said i shouldn't get involved with someone like you!" he pointed his finger accusingly, a deep scowl on his face.

always turned into...

"i'll never find someone like you." ben sighed as he cradled you close, your heartbeats in sync and your breaths shallow after you furiously apologise to each other. you peer up at him and caress his exhausted face, loving how he leans in and seeks your touch.

"i love you." you stated. his eyes flew open, revealing his moss-green irises as they softened at the sight of you. he exhaled as if the weight of the world fell off his shoulders and his usual scowl turned into a wide, toothy smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

"i love you too, sweetheart." he kissed the tip of your nose and nestled himself deeper into you. he loved you like he did everything else; fiercely and loudly and he was sure he could never love someone like he did you. until he met her.

for weeks and weeks, this was the moment it had all been leading up to this. the final showdown between ben and homelander. you had felt incredibly nauseous for weeks, watching ben the boys strategise and devise their attack plans. it must the anxiety, the fear of the great unknown beyond their fight. until you couldn't deny it anymore. three pregnancy tests stared back at you, the severity of the situation seeped into your bones and overtaking your senses.

you stepped out and admired ben's broad back as he pulled on his suit, buckled his knee pads and gave his shield the once over before sliding it onto his back.

"are you gonna stand there all day or am i a lucky enough of a bastard to get a kiss from my girlfriend?" he hummed before turning around and giving you that infamous smirk. his smile faltered immediately as he noticed your frail composure and the look of absolute fear etched on your face. "baby. don't be nervous about the fight, come on. don't you trust your old man?" he chuckles before dragging you in and kissing the top of your head as a gesture of reassurance. "i got the boys with me, don't i darling? they've got my back."

they definitely didn't have his back.

"when's your daddy coming, sweetheart?" the kindergarten teacher perched next to the pigtailed girl with those captivating green eyes that everyone couldn't help but compliment.

"sweetheart?" the girl giggled as she eyed the playground, waiting for her dad to appear at any moment, like mum had promised he would today. "that's mommy's name, daddy says so all the time. i'm athena!!" she flashed her toothless grin and giggled even louder.

"ah, yes. sorry, athena. i got confused!" the teacher shook her head and feigned confusion, returning the young girl's smile. as if on cue, the intimidating father figure entered the classroom and the young girl wasted no time sprinting and latching onto his leg as he lets out a low chuckle. he picks her up effortlessly and rests her on his hip as he looks apologetically at the teacher.

"i'm sorry, ma'am." his gruff voice filled the classroom which is usually filled with high-pitched laughs and soft tones. "i got.. held up at work." athena pats her father's stubbled cheeks and let out a shriek of laughter as his free hand pokes at her stomach, his eyes fully on her with a smile to match.

"mr. anderson, it was really no issue. i love spending time with athena, don't worry about it."

"ben. ben is fine." he corrects. "alright. well, say goodbye to miss smith, athena. time to go home to mommy." athena waves wildly as ben offers miss smith a curt nod before leaving the colourful classroom. miss smith couldn't help but laugh to herself; somehow the toughest man became the softest father.

the fight had taken a turn for the worst. everyone had turned on each other. chaos ensued and ben was left with no option to erupt and unleash himself on everyone. luckily, with shaking hands and a trembling voice, you had called grace mallory and begged for her help. for her to make you and ben disappear so you could start again, give him what he always yearned for a loving family. that's how you ended up in south philadelphia, ben's home state. despite his denial to face and confront his past, he knew it was something he needed to be able to become the father he wanted. the father he knew he could be. it wasn't hard to do a better job than his own father, but once he regained consciousness after the fight and you shared the news you were too scared to share before, suddenly... all of ben's betrayals, heartaches and suffering became obsolete. all that mattered was you... and her.

ben wasn't made to work under normal conditions, being in an office and stuck at a desk felt like a punishment. like a wild animal trapped in a cage. he wanted the normal life he knew he could've had if he never had become soldier boy, but no matter what, ben was a weapon before he was a man. while you and athena settled into a comfortable daily life, ben was sent on solitary missions by mallory and the CIA. it was the least he could do after the fuckfest that went down in nicaragua all those years ago, mallory had explained. it was the only way the CIA would agree to help him and his family, so he begrudgingly accepted.

you pulled a pink pyjama top over athena's wriggling form before pulling her in and giving her rushed kisses all over her soft face.

"mammaaaa!" she yelled in defiance as her giggles grew louder and pushed away at your quick, planted kisses. you pulled back, gave her a large smile and brushed her wet hair carefully after her nightly shower.

"mummy couldn't help herself. you're too cute, 'thena." you laughed in return before braiding her hair and tucking her into bed, surrounded by her army of stuffed teddy bears. the soft glow of her sunset lamp cast a warm, orange hue over her cherub face as you gazed into those eyes that you could get lost in.

"can you tell me about where i got my name again, mamma?" athena whispers into her hands, knowing it was already past her bedtime. you open your mouth to tell her no, but a gruff voice from behind interrupts you.

"daddy can do it." ben had been leaning against his daughter's door frame with folded arms and admiring the sight of the two of you, not fully believing how lucky he had gotten. he saunters in, gives you a big kiss on your lips (followed with an "eeew..." by athena) before he sits down carefully on her heart-filled bed covers and holds her tiny hand in his.

"when daddy used to be a soldier, many many years ago before he met you, daddy was in many wars. he worked hard to protect his country and he was always protected by athena. athena helped daddy when he needed to be brave and clever to get the bad people to go back home. like those fuc-." you let out a small cough. he pauses and his eyes flicker to you, as you offer him a warm smile; encouraging him to continue. you let your hand run up and down his back, relaxing him. "fudging commies." he continues. "athena was zeus' favourite daughter, like you are mine." he continues and kisses her small knuckles. "she was the wisest, bravest olympian god and she cared for people, like daddy, when daddy needed it most."

all soldiers need a war, but not the way that ben needed his little athena.

ben's smooth voice had lulled athena into a slumber, her eyes lidded and her lips in a natural pout as her head hung. ben tucked her in tightly and placed a brief kiss on her forehead as you turned off the lights.

"daddy loves both of his girls." he whispers into her hair before quietly leaving her room and joining you in the hallway.

"oh, daddy loves his girls, huh?" you wink and stretch your arms up around his neck. his hands fall naturally into place, on your hips, as you sway slightly together with identical smirks on your faces.

"if you're not careful, sweetheart, daddy will have to teach you a lesson." he gives your ass a light slap.

"how could i say no to you, daddy?" you hum as you bite your bottom lip.

"you're so fuckin' dirty. bet you've been thinking about me all day, haven't you?" he chuckles as you lead him into your joint bedroom, swiftly closing the door behind you and connecting your lips in a frenzied kiss. "daddy will take care of you, sweetheart. lay back and show daddy how much you missed him." ben mutters against your slick lips before throwing you onto your bed and climbing on top of you, his hands gliding across your form and grabbing you with a sense of urgency that you never got tired of.

after all this time, you were still into him, who you watched finally find himself amongst the chaos of his life.

a/n: in my mind, months pass between the boys finding ben and the showdown between him and homelander, rather than only a few days, so that's where this takes place. also couldn't resist writing a girldad! ben as jensen is just the best father ever <3 and still into you is my favourite lovesong ever. hope u enjoyed!

-`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei (comment or inbox me to be added)

[b3ach-bunn7]

C U GIRL

Bakugo loves his girlfriend

based off this texpost and @laffythefaffy request!

slight nsfw, fluff, prohero!bakugo

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Bakugo didn’t believe in relationships.

Romantic ones, at least. Platonic ones he’d been convinced of, after the relentless nature of his classmates, but Bakugo could safely say that, at the age of twenty five, he had never been in love.

It didn’t depress him. He’d had experiences. He’d kissed and he’d fucked, and it felt good, and still he’d never had a girlfriend. His childhood was a mess of war and pain and death, and so there was no time for it then. And now, his days are filled with patrolling and missions and he doesn’t really have time for it either. Where is he supposed to meet one, anyway? The only time he goes out is when he gets dragged to the annoying 1-A meet-ups at the bar in Nagoya that are always far too loud for his liking. And Bakugo would rather keel over and die before he tried to flirt with someone in front of Denki.

But Bakugo was happy with his life. Content. Enough as a busy hero could be.

And then he met you.

He’d been patrolling that day. Quite possibly the worst part of his job. It’s more for publicity than safety, he thinks. Civilians like seeing a hero walking around and cruising the streets. It makes them feel protected and it makes his agency look good for looking out for the public. All it means for him though, is way too many people asking for interviews and pictures and the waste of a day at work.

And then he’d heard it. A loud crash and screams that echoed down the street and the sudden rush of civilians from the bookshop a small ways away. They scattered like ants and Bakugo pushed through them, breaking into a run.

Something, or someone, had crashed through the front door, glass scattered in sharp jagged pieces on the floor. That seemed to have been the extent of the damage. He ignores the clammer of a crowd behind him and steps inside, eyes scanning the shop for the source of the destruction. And he assumed the poorly dressed man standing in the middle of the place was the cause. It looked like a home-made costume that reminded him of Deku’s first ever costume, and the man wearing it looked just as weak as he had.

Bakugo sighed internally. They get a couple of guys like this every so often. People with too big dreams of fame or villainy or both, and a flashy enough quirk that they think some damage will get their name plastered on the six o’clock news. More often than not, it ends with Bakugo nearly blowing up their face and the next few years in prison.

Balugo kicked a fallen book. The man caught sight of him and stood straighter. It might have been a show of strength but Bakugo saw his hands quiver as he pointed them at the crying civilian next to him.

“Not a step closer, Dynamight! Or I’ll blow her brains out!” He yelled.

Considering the damage to the door and the way he’s wielding his hands like the weapon, Bakugo assumed this was a quirk attack. His eyes darted around to assess the situation. Other than fallen bookcases and the dust of a broken wall, there wasn’t too much damage. The place was pretty small anyway. There were four people in the room, including the villain, and judging by the fact they’re all on their feet he didn’t think they were injured. Even the one being held hostage looks fine, other than the flurry of tears falling down her face. She looks young, and Bakugo scowls.

“Let her go and I won’t have to blow your fucking hands off.” Bakugo demanded.

“No! I-I make the rules here!” It was sad, really. The kid was practically shivering. Definitely not villain material. 

Before Bakugo could do anything, like explode the sad fucker into the nearest juvenile detention centre, there’s a loud thud, and the man crumpled to the floor. Confusion flitted across his face and then he looked up and saw you. 

You, hobbling forward on one ankle, a hard-back dictionary in your hand, breathing heavily. Your clothes were wrinkled and your face flushed, chest heaving as you looked down at the man in front of you. The dictionary dropped to the floor and you cursed.

“Fuck. Did I kill him?” You mumbled, nudging his shoulder with your good foot.

You hadn’t killed him. Just knocked him out, he found after pressing his fingers against the man’s neck. He clicked on a pair of quirk cancelling cuffs and handed him off to the police, who had just arrived. He watched as they started talking to the other victims and he turned his attention to you.

“That was real fucking stupid. Don’t ever get involved in a fight like that.” He snapped.

You pouted. “I got him, though.”

Red eyes flicked down. You were looking worriedly at your ankle, hands holding you up on the counter beside you. He studied your face, the small crease of worry between your eyebrows. You suddenly glanced up at him. You gave him a small smile and he shook his head.

He crouched down, beckoning you with his hand. “Idiot. Show me your ankle.” 

You held your foot up gingerly, and Bakugo pressed his fingers against your bone, touching lighter when you wince slightly. Behind him, he could hear the commotion of paramedics checking on the other civilians, the blare of sirens from outside. Your fingers drum against the counter you're leaning on.

“Don’t think it’s broken. Just fractured.” He said, standing up again.

He saw you squeezing your wrist, stretching it out and wiggling your fingers. He nodded, gesturing at his own wrist.

“You fuck that up too?”

You laughed slightly. “No, I- I think I just hurt it when I smacked him with that book.” You shook it once. “I’ll be fine, though.”

“You got him good though. Nice swing.” 

The little comment surprised even him, and you laughed, out of shock more than anything else, and he allowed a small smile to ghost his own face. 

“Thanks. Your agency need any extra hands?” You teased and he rolled his eyes.

“Not one as dumb as you.” He drawled and you just grinned back.

He watched you glance behind you at the paramedics and back down at your ankle. You winced, pushing yourself up so that you could start the walk towards them, but he waved you off.

“Hold on.”

In one swift motion, his hands came up under your thighs, the other sweeping behind your back, and he lifted you up with ease. You made a sound of surprise in the back of your throat. Your hands wrapped around his neck and your body was warm against his.

“I’ll get you to the paramedics. They’ll fix you up.” He said.

And you were close enough that when you replied, a soft okay, he felt it rumble against his chest, could feel your fingers curl against the small of his neck. He felt an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach at your proximity. Not one he’s used to when he’s saving civilians.

He held you tighter as he bent over the door frame, making the disappointingly short journey to the bank of the closest open ambulance. A smiling woman came over and listened as Bakugo relayed your injuries, and you watched in keen interest as she used some healing quirk over your ankle.

Bakugo could’ve left. He should’ve left. He isn’t the type to sit and check up on the victims, he’d usually be back carrying on patrol, but. Bakugo lingered. He watched as the paramedic told you to take it easy for the next few days, and you beamed that smile at her he itched for you to aim at him. She wrapped a bandage around your ankle and you thanked her. And once the paramedic left, and your attention was back on him, he could appreciate you a little more. Outside, in the bright summer sun, your eyes shone, your skin glistening in the light as you rolled your ankle around.

“God. It must be nice to have a quirk that can just fix someone up like that.” You hummed. 

“You don’t got a quirk?” He asked and you shook your head.

“Nah. Don’t really need one when you’re running a book store, though.” 

Bakugo crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped you saw the bulge of his biceps that he definitely wasn’t trying to show off. “Right. You be more fucking careful next time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Me? You’re the one who needed rescuing, if my dictionary wielding is anything to go by.”

He barked a laugh. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But don’t worry. I’ll forgive you once you help me fix the store.” 

It was Bakugo’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “And who said I’m fucking doing that?” 

You didn’t bristle at his tone. Just flash those pearly whites up at him. “I’m going to have to send my workers home after that fiasco, so. I’d like an extra pair of hands. And I’d hope one of Japan's top Pro heroes would help a book owner in need.”

He rolled his eyes. “Suck up.”

But he did come back. After his shift was over, he stalked his way over the streets he’d just been patrolling and he helped you organise your shelves once more. It was unprofessional. There was probably some code or some rule in the Hero conduct that stated you definitely were not allowed to meet up with civilians you just saved and flirt with them as you alphabetised stacks of books and lifted heavy shelves.

But he did it anyway.

And then he started appearing at the shop more. It was on his patrol route, after all. And he was looking to start reading more as well. And the door to your office is rickety, and he knew how to fix that, so he had to come by again. 

And then he asked you to dinner one day and everything sort of went up from there.

So now he has a girlfriend. And a fiance soon, if things go well next week. And now that Bakugo has it, a person he can call his, he doesn’t know how he lived without it for so long. 

Bakugo doesn’t know how he spent so many years sleeping alone, when now he wakes up and his legs are tangled between yours and your head rests on his chest. You trace the scars that litter his body so gently, gentler than anyone has ever handled him. You know how to match Bakugo’s temper, but better how to calm him down when his flares too much. But it’s more than that. It’s the little things. You always make him lunch for work because you know how busy he gets, and you always leave his towel at the top of the pile because you know he gets up before you. Such small noncommittal things that make all the difference in the world because it shows that you care.

It makes him regret. He wishes he’d given these things a chance when he was younger. But he doesn’t need to think about that because he has you now. It also makes him appreciate patrolling a little more but nobody could beat that information out of him if they tried.

Bakugo sighs. The TV blares a movie he’s not paying attention to. He’d clicked the first thing that had come up in Netflix, some horror movie with an awfully predictable plot. He’s more focused on his phone, more precisely the clock, which tells him you’ll be home in about five minutes. 

Bakugo loves his days off. Any hero does. They are so far and few between that he has no choice but to enjoy them, the few days a month where he can do nothing and not worry about the fate of Japan for one day. What he likes most, though, is that he gets to see you. Before, days off consisted of sitting in his apartment alone or being dragged out to whatever activity Mina had organised for the day. Even then, the odds of them all being off was slim, and so he usually ended up doing the former. He didn’t mind it. Bakugo caught up on his hobbies, tried new recipes. The only perk is now, he gets to do it with you.

And like a miracle, he hears the jingle of your keys in the lock, and he can feel the tension in his shoulders drop. 

The door swings open and you walk in, calling out to let him know you’re home. He leans his head back on the couch until he can see you, and you grin up at him. You’re wearing an old pair of jeans and one of his hoodies, and you hang up your jacket, sighing heavily.

“Why was the store so busy? It’s Sunday.” You grumble, walking to the kitchen to drop off bags of groceries.

“Idiots like you who left their chores until the last minute.” He says, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Shut it. I nearly beat up this old lady in the fruit section. Trying to take my watermelon.” You mumble under your breath.

You slip off the hoodie, grabbing the t-shirt you’d left on the couch. You weren’t wearing anything underneath, and Bakugo got a beautiful eyeful right before you slip it on.

“Uh huh. You sure you need that shirt?” 

He tilts his head and you smile, pulling out the claw clip holding up your hair and scratching your scalp. You slip off your jeans, throwing them on the floor, and shuffle your way over to him.

“Yes. I’m cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.” 

You snort. You clamber onto his lap and Bakugo sits back, hands smoothing over your thighs as you lean your head on his shoulder. You smell like your sweet perfume and outside, and Bakugo lets a hand run up your back and into your hair.

“That’s cheesy. I could wear more layers.” You ponder and he tuts, hands moving down to slip beneath your shirt. 

It’s baggy and oversized, and covers far too much if you ask him. His hands are warm against your cool skin, and his fingers dance against your hips and up, past your waist and to your chest. You sit up, smile curving your lips and your own hands settle on his shoulders.

“So handsy. I was trying to tell you about my day, Suki.” You pout and he reaches up and kisses you.

“Go ahead. M’listening.” He nods, kissing your cheek and your jaw and down your neck.

Bakugo is selfish. He’s self-aware enough to admit that. He’s selfish with his work, the way he fought his way to the top, and still does. He’d improved on it in his growing age but he finds that when you’re involved he doesn’t give a shit. He wants every part of your, every breath, every noise that comes out of that pretty little mouth of yours.

“So, of course I tried to be nice. I’m no animal.” 

He’s not paying as much attention as he should be. In his defence, it’s been far too long since he’s gotten a chance to be with you. He’s been far to busy, and the small hours you meet in bed before you both drift off into sleep is not enough. 

“Stop being nice. It’s your biggest weakness.” He raises an eyebrow.

You flick him squarely in the forehead and he scowls. “Ow.” 

“You need to start being nice, Mr Pro hero. But anyway, she started like, trying to tug it out my hands! And you know what old people are like. So entitled.”

Bakugo nods. You feel great under his hands but. He wants something more. 

“And so now I’m in this fruit aisle sort of shouting a little because I had the watermelon first, and- Katsuki, get out of my shirt!” You laugh as Bakugo slips his head beneath, kissing his way up your stomach.

“That’s- Your hair, it tickles.” You try to push him out but he groans.

“Piss off. Keep talking. Did you kick her ass?”

You sigh. “I- Okay, wait.” 

You quickly pull your shirt off. “Is this better?”

Bakugo grins, lazy and sharp. “Much.” 

Your hand reaches up and cards through his hair. He mumbles into your skin for you to continue, and kisses his way up to your chest.

“And this employee comes over. And he started trying to diffuse the tension, but then he started defending her! And saying I should ‘respect my elders’.” You huff.

Bakugo nods. He kisses across the valley of your breast, the soft skin that presses against the stubble of his jaw. 

“You want me to beat him up?” 

“Hm. I don’t think it will look good on your agency if you beat up Whole food workers.” You sigh.

Bakugo sucks a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing against it. You make a noise in the back of your throat. 

“And. And then I got kind of fed up. The employee had a really annoying voice.” 

Your eyes flutter shut a little when he moves to the other one. His hand comes up to grab the breast his mouth isn’t working on and you sigh.

“He. So I just gave her the watermelon. Cause it wasn’t really that serious.”

Bakugo nods. He lets go, breath cooling the air around your nipple and he glances up at you.

“You should’ve called me. I’d have blown that old hag to the nearest nursery home.” 

You giggle and he grins. His hand presses into the small of your back and pushes you closer. He diverts his attention from your tits and kisses you softly instead. At least it’s soft at first. But then you whine ever so slightly into his mouth and it’s all over after that. His lips almost devour yours, and he can feel your face heat as he nips at your bottom lip, tongue darting out to tangle against your own. Bakugo drags you closer but you huff. Your hand running through his hair pulls his head back and Bakugo frowns.

“The fuck?”

“How is it fair that I’m sitting in my underwear and you’re fully dressed?” 

“I was waiting for you to finish your story first.”

You smile warmly. Bakugo doesn’t know of anyone else who looks at him with so much love. You grab his face and squish his cheeks together.

“You’re so cute.” You coo.

“Shut up.”

“Okay, you made me too horny to finish my story. It was a stupid one, anyway. Can we go fuck now?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

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bakugo kiss challenge go kiss me NOEOWWWW

ive been sooo lazy to write recently.. this took me ages to write and it's nnot even that long.. but i hope u all enjoy!

[lowkeyren]

BUT YOU BELONG TO ME!

in which — some jealousy headcanons / scenarios for our favourite luofu men!

featuring — dan heng, blade, jing yuan (separately) x gn!reader

wc: total 1.8k, from req: here!, they're so silly goodbye, march + fu xuan cameo ;) reblogs w comments are appreciated, please enjoy!!!

#DAN HENG

look me in the eyes and tell me dan heng wouldn’t be the “i'm jealous, but i don’t wanna show it” (but it’s so PAINFULLY obvious that he’s jealous) type, you can’t.

definitely amusing to watch him play it cool, cus he has nothing else going on in his brain when you’re within 10 metre radius from him. 

honestly it would have to be quite specific situations if he ever gets jealous because he likes to keep you close by his side as often as possible. dating or not, he would have some sort of protective instinct —always making sure you’re secure and cared for. (and yes of course march teases him for it, he never admits it though.)

dan heng tries to focus on the book in his hands, but his mind refuses to make any sense of the words on the page —at least not when you’re standing so close to boothill. (too close for his liking anyway)

the cyborg sits at the opposite end of the couch where dan heng was, while you deftly adjust a compartment of his, engaging in small talk as he makes lighthearted jokes with you. dan heng hears your laughter ring out; the laughter that he adores so dearly, the laughter that never fails to warm his chest, and the laughter he wishes he was the reason for instead.

his eyes flicker up from the page to sneak a glance at you, the way your hands glide over boothill's body churns an ugly feeling, twisting in his chest. he shifts in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, but the unease remains.

his focus on you is suddenly shattered by a loud voice that belongs to no other than march, "dan heng, if you grip that book any harder, you might tear off a page." she stands in front of him, hands on her waist. 

“the way i am holding my book is perfectly fine, now if you will, i must get back to re—”

“oh c’mon! we all know your ass is not actually reading that book!” he raises an eyebrow, and march only rolls her eyes in response. “it’s literally upside-down.” she teases, unable to hold back a chuckle. 

dan heng glances down at the book in his hands, finally noticing the upside-down text, to which he quickly closes the book and puts it down. "maybe i was just testing your observational skills.”

march shakes her head, "yeah right… just admit you’re too busy staring at them!”

“no i’m n—” he begins to protest but is interrupted when you suddenly appear in front of him. “staring at who?” you tilt your head curiously, and he can only hope that you don’t hear the loud thumping of his heart. 

march giggles as she runs off to who-knows-where, he silently curses her for leaving him in this predicament. he manages to regain his composure, though his cheeks retain a faint pink hue. “ahem, anyway…” he trails off when you sit down next to him, your thighs brushing against each other.

alright you can’t keep doing this to him. he’s not a cyborg but it certainly seems like he’s malfunctioning at that moment. (though he doesn't mind if you have to “repair” him next; he considers it far preferable to having your hands on boothill anyway.)

#BLADE

this guy REEKS of jealousy. 

he gets jealous over anything —saying “good night!” to an acquaintance? well unfortunately, i don’t think they’re going to be having a very good night; a friendly smile from a passerby? the sudden chill in the air accompanied by his sharp glare is enough to make them rethink their life decisions. 

and the worst part? he knows it. he's aware of how irrational his jealousy can be, but that doesn't stop the surge of possessiveness that washes over him.

(deep down, he just wants to feel secure in your attention and affection, but it’s true that his jealousy sometimes gets the better of him.) 

blade’s “things to get rid of” list exponentially grows with each passing day, ranging from general items he sees no use of, to addresses of people who have wronged you in the past. 

but there’s one item on the list that stands out from the rest, the one item he can’t seem to bring himself to get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

37. “blade plushie”

okay but what kind of website is “stellaron hunters fan merch for sell.com” anyway? since when do they have a fanbase, and why did you have to buy a plushie of him, of all things? 

he shoots daggers at the plushie sitting on your bed, on his side of your bed. while he can't always be by your side, surely there's no need for an inferior replacement?

blade sits down beside you, discreetly moving the plushie out of the way. just as you turn to reach for it, he wraps his arm around you and snuggles up to your side; you immediately pause at his affectionate gesture; his hair brushes against your neck as he buries his face into it.

“blade.. what are you doing?” you turn your attention to him, much to his delight. 

“why not spend more time with the real deal instead of… that.” he tightens his grip around you, at this point he isn’t even trying to hide his jealousy (over a plushie lmao) anymore. 

"you mean mr. edgelord...?" you barely manage to stifle your laughter as blade shoots up beside you. doesn’t hurt to tease him for a bit, right?

“what did you say… “edgelord”?” he scoffs, his face twisting into a scowl. he can’t believe you gave that thing a nickname, how ridiculous. he makes a mental note to get rid of it asap. 

“yeah, what about it? jealous that he’s better than you?” you smirk, leaning in close to his face. perhaps you’re enjoying his expression of pure bitterness a little too much, who knew such a handsome face could look so hilariously indignant? 

his eyes twinkle in amusement, before closing in the distance. “hah, never.” his tone tinged with a touch of possessiveness that he can't quite hide.

“really? you seem like you’re about to kill it.” you wrap your arms around his neck, his expression softens for just a split second, but you’re able to catch it anyway. “would you please spare mr. edgelord if i give you a kiss?”

he doesn’t respond with words; he presses his lips against yours, gently cradling the back of your head. (you quickly turn mr. edgelord to face the wall before blade pulls you away)

maybe he’ll spare “it�� for another day or so, just don’t let him catch you hugging “it” in your sleep again, alas you want “it” to suffer the same fate as the others on his list.

#JING YUAN

hmm our beloved general… well he trusts you, and believes that you won’t do anything rash; but on the other hand there are just some things that neither of you can control, whether it’s letters sent in to ask for his hand in marriage or admires trying to sweep you off your feet (before he can). 

though not many people would approach you once your relationship goes public, given that he’s the general and all. but imagine him before the two of you became official, clinging to you to fend off your admirers, and the expression on their faces when you shake your head, denying that you’re dating at all. 

“as for the situation at cloudford— general, are you even listening?” fu xuan furrows her brows, and crosses her arms, clearly annoyed. “ah my apologies lady fu, please keep going.” jing yuan only flashes a half-hearted smile at her before glancing over to your direction again.

you feel a pair of eyes boring into your back, undoubtedly jing yuan’s; but you pay it no mind, choosing to focus on the discussion at hand. his grip on his teacup tightens when he sees the foxian talking to you leans closer to catch your words. fu xuan raises an eyebrow in concern, unaware but still sensing the rising tension; his eyes visibly twitch the moment their hand brushes against yours.

“lady fu, let’s reschedule our meeting for another time. i believe i have some… important matters to attend to.” jing yuan rises up from his seat before fu xuan can reply, swiftly making his way towards you.

you’re startled by the sudden feeling of jing yuan’s arms around you, his chest pressing against your back, as he places his chin against your head. “sorry to interrupt, what’re you two discussing about?” the foxian is taken aback by the general's sudden appearance, and especially by your current position with him. 

“n-nothing general!” the foxian seems to hesitate before continuing, “if it isn’t rude to ask, are the two of you…in a relationship?” jing yuan’s face lights up with his usual lazy smile, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

your eyes widen in surprise as he presses his lips against your nape, you shiver at his touch, a rush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. you should deny it, to say that you're not in a relationship at all, but you can't bring yourself to. instead, you divert your gaze from the foxian, hoping to spare yourself any further embarrassment.

“go on, tell them.” he whispers lowly so that only you can hear him. this bastard, you’re going to give him a stern talking to after this..! “sorry to cut this short, please excuse us.” you give a polite nod before pulling the general away.

two days later, as you’re walking along the streets of central starskiff haven, you come across a group of people gathered around a stall. curious, you head over to check out what’s happening. —you’re absolutely mortified to discover stacks of articles detailing recent events of you and jing yuan.

“breaking news! the general is secretly married?!” / “the truth behind general jing yuan’s relationship status” / “rumours confirmed: a detailed guide to the general of luofu’s relationship saga”

well at least the pictures of you and jing yuan got your good side… and your bad side, and your “i definitely did not sign up for this” side. and oh look, there’s one of you dragging jing yuan by his ponytail too, how wonderful, you’re definitely purchasing that one. 

but yeah no, you’re not beating the allegations after this. 

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