#it got to the question where they asked where shadow liked to shop

[mrozzoosstuff]

𖥻 𝗢𝟭 ┆𝙂𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ★ ₊ ˚⟡

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐋 ➠ ᴄᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴜᴛʏ

/̵͇̿̿/'̿'̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ༄

HEREFORD, UK

Task Force 141 Base - "Fort Viper"

12:26

The common room wasn't busy - just lived-in.

Soap lounged on the worn-out couch with a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and setting down a mug full of coffee with the other. Gaz stood near the small counter, poking at the old kettle like it owed him something, trying to make some tea. Ghost leaned against the counter with a file in his hand, quiet as ever, reading through the information from some old mission.

One of the slow mornings where they didn't have to stress about missions, enemies, or training. Just a chill morning.

The door opened with a creak, and Price stepped in - coat damp from the heavy rain, folder in hand.

"You're all here. Good."

Soap glanced up. "We in trouble, or are you just feeling sentimental?"

Price ignored the jab and dropped the folder onto the table with a soft thud. "We've got a possible addition."

Gaz raised a brow, leaving the kitchenette and taking a step toward the table. "Another one? Thought we weren't taking rookies."

"She's no rookie." Price opened the folder, revealing a set of personal files- half of them were erased with black ink.

In the upper left corner of the file was a photo. A Woman. About mid-twenties to thirty years old. Pale with sharp features. Snow-white hair pulled back in a tight and low bun, and dark -dead- eyes stared into the camera.

"Nikova Darya Dragunova. Callsign: Lynx"

"That's a mouthful," Soap commented quietly, setting the protein bar down. Then, his head snapped up. "Wait-"

Silence.

Gaz moved first. He walked over slowly, looking down at the photo like it might bite. "No way. I thought she was a myth."

"Worse," Ghost said, putting away the file in his hand and taking a step closer to the table

Price looked at them all, calm and even."She's real. Former Spetsnaz. Left Russia under... not so diplomatic circumstances."

Soap leaned forward, his interest piqued."I heard a story that she knifed some warlord in the throat with his own spoon or something."

"That was a fork," Gaz mumbled. "And I think it was in Libya."

"Classy." Soap said with a nod, impressed.

Price sighed before continuing. "She ran a black ops unit deep in Russia operations. Never showed up in mission logs. No official rank. No clearance trail. No public record. Just... results."

"They say her name was scrubbed from every file but one," Gaz added. "Even GRU was afraid of her."

"Laswell's meeting her now. Budapest."

Ghost finally spoke, stepping closer to the photo. "What's she been doing?"

"Merc hits. Freelance contracts. High-level sabotage. Some humanitarian shadows, too, strangely enough. She's lethal. But not mindless." The captain crossed his arms, looking down at the open file.

Soap scratched the back of his neck. "So, she's got her own code."

Price didn't deny it. "She doesn't trust anyone. Doesn't want to belong to anyone either. But Laswell thinks she might listen. And if she does..."

"If she does," Ghost repeated, "we better hope she's on our side."

Soap snorted. "Or we're all fucked."

"She's a wildcard." Ghost declared, crossing his arms, boring his eyes into the side of Price's head.

"She's a professional." Price corrected. He lit a cigar. The flame briefly lit his face in the low light. "We need her."

"Fine." Soap shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "What's another emotionally repressed loner with a kill count and a dark past."

Ghost turned to him, giving his a long, blank stare. Scott only replied with a cheeky grin.

"And for the record, if she starts gutting people, I'm sleeping in an armory."

BUDAPEST, HOLLAND

'Nap és kávé'- Coffee shop

09:48

It always smelled like burnt sugar and diesel here.

Nikova sat at a café just off the Danube, the kind that blended into the rest of the city - dim, nameless, quiet. The kind where no one asked questions.

Her coat was too thin for the wind, but she liked the cold. It kept her awake.

She stirred her coffee, though she hadn't taken a sip. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, tracked the movement of strangers like a habit she couldn't kill.

Two men talking too loudly at the corner. A woman with a red scarf, the same one from earlier. Back again. Looping. Watching?

No. Just another local caught in routine. Still - she logged it.

She didn't look up until the chair across from her shifted. A woman in a blazer and wind-chapped face sat down like she owned the place.

"Laswell," Nikova said flatly, lips barely moving. "You're late."

"You're hard to find."

"Or you're just shitty at your job." The Russian mumbled, reaching into her pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

Laswell smiled faintly. "You left quite the trail anyway." She said, ignoring the comment.

Nikova lit a cigarette slowly and practiced. "If you came to arrest me, say so."

"No. I came to offer you a job."

That got a raised eyebrow.

Laswell slid a thin folder across the table. No names on the front, just the ghost of an embossed seal. Nikova didn't open it.

"Task Force 141," Laswell said. "They want to meet you."

Nikova leaned back, smoke curling from her lips. "And if I don't want to meet them?"

"Then finish your coffee. And go back to pretending you don't miss this kind of life."

Nikova didn't answer immediately. Her fingers tapped against the folder in an absent rhythm, her gaze flicking to the street again.

"You want something dangerous done. Quietly." She said it like it was fact, moving her eyes from the file to Laswell. "And you don't trust anyone loud enough to get blood on their boots."

Laswell didn't deny it.

"You know what I've done," Nikova continued, voice lower now, darker. "People like me don't get offers. They get put down."

"You're not just 'people like you,' Nikova. You're better. And you know it."

Nikova's jaw ticked. Compliments were always traps. Especially from intelligent officers.

Laswell leaned forward slightly, speaking quietly. "This isn't Russia. And it isn't Spetsnaz. This is a chance to do something different. Something that might matter."

"I stopped caring about what 'matters' years ago," Nikova mumbled, letting the smoke escape from her parted lips.

"But you still listen," Laswell pointed out. "You still watch. That tells me you haven't stopped wanting to care."

Nikova looked at her for a second and then down to the closed file on the small table, staring at it like it was going to explode any second.

"Do they know who I am?" She mumbled finally.

"They know enough," The CIA agent replied. "They'll know more if you let them."

"I don't play well with others."

"Neither do they."

Nikova exhaled slowly. Her cigarette burned close to the filter, and she stubbed it out against the ashtray like she was stamping out a thought.

She finally pulled the folder closer and cracked it open.

Inside: A few pictures of some old, abandoned training ground. Personnel files of the possible new teammates. A photo of Captain John Price with a red-marked objective site scrawled in pen beside it. And below that, another image - one she didn't expect.

Nikolai Belinski.

Nikova's eyes narrowed.

Laswell watched her carefully. "You'll need to work with contacts in the field. Some are... familiar."

"That wasn't in the sales pitch." Nikova closed the folder and leaned back in her seat, practically glaring at the blond agent.

"It's not a sales pitch. It's reality."

Nikova closed the folder slowly. Her voice came out low, clipped. "I want three things if I say yes."

Laswell nodded. "Name them."

"A clean exit if it goes to shit. My gear and my old weapons - untouched. And I don't share a room."

"Done. But you'll have to share air."

Nikova huffed - something between a breath and a laugh. She rose from the chair, slipping the folder under her coat.

"I'll think about it." The Russian mumbled, setting down a few bills for the untouched coffee on the table.

"You've already thought about it," Laswell called as she walked away.

Nikova didn't turn around.

But her answer echoed in the smoke she left behind.

When she made sure she was out of Laswell's eye and ear reach, she pulled out an old keyboard phone. It barely worked, yes, but it didn't have GPS.

No GPS = No unwanted stalkers.

Clicking at the only saved contact she pulled the phone to her ear.

After a few seconds, the person on the other side of the call picked up.

"Ты тупой? Я же говорил тебе н�� звонить, если ты не горишь. Ты пыта��шься меня убить?" The sharp woman voice cut thru the silence on the other end of the phone call, yet there was a hant of relief in her voice. (Are you stupid? I told you not to call unless you're on fire. You trying to get me killed?)

"Vera." Nikova mumbled to the phone. "Пришлите мне отчет о британской оперативной группе 141. Все, что у вас есть.." (Send me a report on British Task Force 141. Everything you got.)

[heathermason6060]

Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Matchmaker Merle

Warnings: slight drug use, mentions of Lori, Daryl is a virgin, Shane being Shane, No use of Y/N, unprotected sex

Summary: Merle tries to get Daryl laid with an old family friend. Apparently, Merle is a master matchmaker? Buildup to smut. 

Notes: Sorry for having the buildup so slow, I'm really bad at porn without at least a LITTLE plot lmao

You were allowed a little leeway your first day at camp. Glenn had found you, confused and lost, covered in dirt and blood after the bombs had gone off and separated you from your friends and family. You were on the highway, like everyone else, but as soon as they saw the city being lit up, all hell broke loose. They started acting like animals. Running and screaming, looting. The dead coming back to life didn't help much either. 

On your second day, you were expected to start pitching in. You didn't mind helping, it was the way Shane approached you that rubbed you the wrong way. You offered to help hunt, fish, and go out looking for supplies, but he just laughed at you. He laughed like you were a child asking for a gun. He handed you a brush and sat you down beside Carol, who was washing clothes at the bottom of the quarry. 

You found comfort in familiarity. Which came in the form of something extremely unexpected, Merle Dixon. Maybe it was because you'd seen each other a few times at the corner store back near where you lived, maybe it was the fact he had respect for your folks, but when you were taken back to camp he didn't treat you the way he treated the other women. 

He wasn't respectful or chivalrous by any means, but he didn't treat you like a piece of meat. He didn't constantly try to get in your pants or speak to you in that slimy demeaning way he had with Andrea or Amy. You were grateful for it, even if you did catch him staring at your ass more than once, because he was the one thing that made you feel a little more at home with the group.

You'd never met his brother before. You'd seen him once, at the small mechanic shop near the corner store you'd occasionally see Merle in. Rednecks were anything but rare where you grew up, but something about Daryl felt different. He was quieter, more of Merle's shadow than his own person. But you knew just by looking at him that he was anything but somebody's shadow.

He saw you on your second day, after you'd done your morning “chores” and went to sit next to the campfire. He was carving something, maybe a bolt for his crossbow, and he barely looked up when you sat down across from him. 

Daryl looked up again, a spark of recognition in his eyes. His voice, strong and firm, called your name as if it was a question. 

“Yes?” You could see the exact moment the realization clicked that he did in fact remember you.

He didn't know much about you at all. He knew Merle knew your folks, and you lived pretty close, but he'd never actually spoken to you before. 

He did like to watch you, though, you'd always go into the corner store next to the mechanic shop and buy a coke and a bag of chips at lunch. He thought you were the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. Merle had a different set of words he'd prefer to use for you, but Daryl thought they felt too nasty. You weren't white trash, you were pretty, out of place, and the words ‘hot piece of ass' just didn't fit you. 

“Shit. Didn't think it was you when they said your name yesterday.” His fingers absentmindedly rubbed the length of his stick, looking over you a few times as he tongued the inside of his cheek in thought. “Huh. You seen Merle yet?” 

“Yeah, I got here yesterday morning.” You answered, the day before Daryl had been gone most of the day hunting. By the time he got back you were already in your new tent, something that Glenn had made sure to pick up when he brought you back to his group. 

“What happened? Your folks alright?” He asked, knowing it was strange for you to be here without your family and friends. 

“I have no idea. Don't remember much. We were real close to the city when the bombs went off, all I remember is fire and screaming and I woke up in the back of a gas station.” 

He nodded again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listened. 

Daryl wanted to stay with you, talk for a while, having a familiar face made him feel like less of an outsider. But from the corner of his eye he saw Shane with his hands on his hips in that stupid pose he liked to do when he was about to give someone  attitude. Daryl looked back to you and gathered his crossbow and bolts, muttering a quick excuse about needing to go hunt and that he'd see you around. He couldn't stand Shane, he'd only known him for a few weeks, give or take, and he was doing everything he could to avoid the wife fucker. 

Shane gave you a talking to that evening, warning you about the “backwoods rednecks”, even though you knew it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It was just another way to control the people in his camp, something he got off on doing. He didn't trust either of the Dixon brothers, that was for certain, but going out of his way to ‘warn’ you? It took everything in you to just nod and say okay. 

“When you gonna tap that, baby brother?” Merle's voice and the way he said it made Daryl cringe. He needed to do a better job about not staring at you so blatantly. 

“Not my type.” Daryl lied through his teeth, picking another strip of stringy squirrel meat from the stick he'd used to roast it over the fire. 

The Dixon brothers usually had a smaller, separate fire away from the main groups. It was mostly Merle's idea, he'd tell Daryl ‘they're not like us, keep your distance, we're just redneck trash to them.’. Not that Daryl gave a shit. He mostly thought the same anyways. 

You were at the group fire, sitting beside Andrea and Amy, who were busy chattering about how they wished they could catch some fish instead of surviving off tree rats and canned peas. You didn't mind it, even though you preferred larger game, meat was meat. You ate your squirrel like it was a gourmet dinner, something Daryl took note of.

“Not your type? Hah! That's bullshit and we both know it. She's everybody's type, boy, you better get on that before someone else does.”

Daryl wasn't sure who Merle was referring to. Glenn could barely speak to women, T-Dog was far too respectful, Shane was so far up Lori’s ass he had shit in his ears. (That's so gross I'm so sorry) 

The sound of harsh sniffing had Daryl looking away from you and back to his brother. He wiped the white residue from his nose and offered Daryl his large knife, containing another line. 

“Nah. I'm good.” Daryl waved him off, not feeling like being on uppers around all these people. Made his temper even shorter than it already was. “Careful with that shit, if Shane sees-”

“He ain't gonna do shit about it. I'd like to see him say somethin’.” The fact Merle was always looking for an excuse to butt heads had Daryl on edge. “Take it, and go take her off in the woods before I do.” 

It never took too much demanding from Merle before Daryl would give in. It was a fatal flaw in his character. He looked up to him and whatever he said went, even when he didn't really want to. So he took the coke and worked up the nerves to talk to you. 

You'd just finished washing everyone's stupid dirty dishes and went into the woods to piss when you saw Daryl again. You gasped as you walked around the tree you'd used for cover and saw him walking through the treeline, worried he'd seen you. But he was too focused on his steps, and that put you at ease. 

You walked up the half-assed trail to meet him, not feeling like chatting next to your pee puddle. 

“Hey, you going hunting?” You asked, slipping your hands in your shorts pockets. 

He shook his head as he reached you, snatching a stray stick out of his hair. “Goin’ down to some of the old shops down the road. Tired of all these canned peas. You comin’?”

You eagerly nodded, happy to be away from the group. They were nice enough, but since you normally hung around Merle, they treated you as someone they didn't fully trust. Especially Lori, Shane and Dale. The amount of times you caught Lori staring daggers into you every time you were within ten feet of Carl was starting to drive you insane. 

“Been wanting to get out and do something for days. Can't fucking stand Shane's micromanaging.” You said as you walked, wishing you would've known you'd be going on an impromptu supply run. You only had your knife, you'd prefer to have your Ruger your father had given you. It was in the RV, where Shane had taken it to ‘clean’. You were more than suspicious that he just didn't want you carrying a gun around camp. 

Daryl snorted. “Yeah. Can't stand that asshole. What kinda man-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. 

“What?” You looked over at him, careful not to trip on the multiple storm blown  branches from the larger trees. 

“Nothin’. Just don't like ‘em.” 

You were silent for a few minutes as you thought of something to say. You know, in apocalypse type situations, you mainly think about securing your next meal, how to not get killed in your sleep, how to protect your friends and family. But here you were, trying to think of what to say to a man you were steadily growing attracted to. You always thought he was cute before this, but seeing how capable he was, how he was so sure of himself, it was a side to him you didn't expect. It was like he was one of those people always secretly hoping for an excuse to go live in the woods and live in anarchy. 

“How attached are you to this group?” He asked, catching you off guard. 

“Not at all. Can't stand most of them. Why?” 

“Just thinkin’ about leavin’. Don't belong here with these people. Lori screamed at a damn snake the other day and got the kids all riled up.” He had a visible look of distaste on his face. Of all things to scream your head off at in an apocalypse, wildlife wasn't on your list. 

“Are you asking me to come?” You asked, unsuccessfully attempting to hide your excitement. The idea of splitting off with the Dixon brothers seemed your best bet, even if Merle was, well, Merle. You knew you were probably one of the only women on earth that didn't have to worry about him constantly trying to get in your pants. What you didn't know though, was that he was trying his damnedest to get his little brother laid, even if you were the daughter of a family friend. 

“Yeah. You don't belong here either.” You didn't know if it was true or not, but it felt true to you. 

“Sure. As long as I'm not gonna be a burden, or anything.” You knew you'd need to rely on the two of them for protection and some food, at least until you got used to your new life. You adapted fairly quickly. 

“Wouldn't’ve asked if you were.” 

“Alright, well, if you make up your mind, let me know.”

You arrived at the first store, a small gas station much like the one the two of you used to frequent back then. It was fairly untouched, but you knew it wouldn't be that way for long. 

You broke into a bag of jerky, thankful it was Daryl with you and not anyone else. If someone gave you a speech on taking care of the group before yourself you might just take off on your own without Daryl. 

He scored a bunch of chips, some cup noodles, and a 6 pack of beer for Merle. 

Instead of going back like you'd originally planned, you talked each other into going further off down the road to an old Dollar General. You stored your stash in a hollowed out log next to the road so you wouldn't need to carry it the entire time and carried on. 

“This was a great idea.” Your tongue was stained red from sour patch kids, you went through five bags and gave Daryl the greens and yellows. 

Daryl licked the sour crystals from his fingertips and grunted in agreement, tossing the empty bag over his shoulder off the roof that the two of you had gone up to to indulge in your spoils. 

You laid on your back and sighed, surrounded by empty snack bags and wrappers. “Fuck. I needed this.” Neither of you cringed at your corny comment, because although a cliche, you really, really did need this. 

Daryl hadn't eaten much besides the gummies, thanks to being pressured into taking the coke by Merle. He cursed himself for it, wishing he had the nerve to just say no and stick with it. 

He glanced over at you, your body orange in the light of the setting sun. You still wore those cute short Bobbie Brooks shorts he'd always seen you wearing around town. His eyes drifted to your legs and he let out a soft exhale, wishing he was as silver tongued as he thought his brother was. Even if the ladies rarely appreciated Merle's filthy flirting, he had to admit his one liners were pretty impressive sometimes. 

You opened your eyes and used your hand as a shield from the sun to look at him. You'd barely caught him staring at your legs, and felt a smile tug at your lips. 

“You wanna fool around?” You half joked, prepared to laugh if he turned you down. But the look on his face told you he really, really didn't want to turn you down. 

He froze for a moment, his eyes looking anywhere but you, his heart hammering against his chest. His thoughts ran frantic, from Merle telling him to have sex with you, and to you, who he was terrified to have sex with. He was suddenly very grateful for the coke he'd taken, and it clicked in his mind why Merle had been so insistent on him taking it. He knew he wouldn't last three minutes without it. 

“You serious?” He asked, his brows knitted tightly together from the sun and in concentration as he read your face. 

“Yeah, why not?” You shrugged, sitting upright so you didn't have to keep squinting up at him. You looked cool on the outside, but on the inside you were barely holding it together. You'd never thought of Daryl this way before, given you'd only seen him once before all this, but now that you were, it felt like you were about to potentially have sex with the hottest man on earth. 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” 

Awkward was an understatement. Daryl didn't know what to do with his hands. His dick had been hard off and on the whole trip with you, despite the coke. He didn't know what would feel good to you, something he found himself oddly concerned with. His only experience with women was watching them getting fucked in porn, so he tried it that way. 

Your eyes widened in surprise when he quickly turned and leaned over you, his hands slipping up your shirt. He choked out a gasp, looking down at the outline of his hands as he squeezed your tits. You were caught off guard by his sudden boldness, and the way he was roughly groping your chest wasn't helping. You grimaced, about to tell him to ease up, but he caught your mouth in an unexpected kiss before you could speak. 

You were way too horny to care about how messy his kissing was. Truthfully, it was pretty hot, filled with so much desire and lust that it didn't matter he was inexperienced. The fact he was this eager just because of you had you moaning into his mouth. 

He took that as a sign he was doing something right and rolled your nipples between his fingers, doing what felt right. He pinched them, making you gasp against his lips, and he couldn't hide the crooked grin from his face. He pulled back just long enough to start unbuttoning your shirt. 

You took over for him, not wanting him to get impatient and rip off one of your only good shirts. When his eyes landed on your chest he whimpered, he fucking whimpered! You groaned at the sound and pulled him back against you by his shoulders, sinking your head into the crook of his neck to kiss the skin there. 

He hadn't expected you to do anything to him. In the videos he watched, most of the time the dude just rips her clothes off and fucks her in different positions for half an hour while she screams and moans like she's hurt. He hated that sound, the over exaggerated noises, he much preferred the noises you made. 

You laid down on your back, grateful the sun had sunk below the tips of the trees so it wasn't so bright anymore. He was on you in a second, now kissing your neck, eager to give you the same pleasure you were making him feel. The moan that rumbled in your chest made his heart jump, knowing he was doing something right. 

“God, s’so good.” You exhaled lazily, your eyes closing as he used his knee to kick your thighs apart for his waist. He quickly ground against you, a stifled groan stuck in his throat at the feeling of friction. 

“Take ‘em off.” He demanded, tugging impatiently at your shorts before he went to unbuckle his belt. You happily obliged, unbuttoning your shorts and dragging them down your thighs. 

When Daryl saw your lacy red panties he shivered. At camp, most of the underwear he saw hanging up were more… practical? The women had quickly changed their lace panties and thongs for boy shorts, but here you were, the skin around your hips indented obscenely from the way they hugged you like magic. 

“Fuck.” He exhaled deeply, his forehead resting against yours as he looked down at your body under his. He was really, really glad Merle gave him coke. Just the sight of you mostly naked under him had his cock throbbing painfully.

He finished with his pants, only pulling them down enough to drag his leaking dick out, his jaw dropping when he saw you shimmying out of your panties. His head spun, his mouth watered, and before he could even think he was scooting down to plant his face between your legs. 

You gasped, your head falling back against the rough flooring of the roof. He was so eager., so heartbreakingly eager to please you, it had your pussy so wet it was almost unbearable. His hot tongue was sloppy, inaccurate, it couldn't decide where it wanted to be. He'd be licking broad stripes one second, and the next he was swirling it around your clit. You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't as inexperienced as you believed. 

Daryl learned all he knew about sex from porn. If there was one thing he was fascinated about, it was giving head. One of the first things he always wanted to do was eat out a woman. He never thought it would be someone as hot as you. 

He tried everything he knew that made the women in videos moan, and to his surprise, you moaned the most when he kept it simple and just sucked your clit. So he did that, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking it into his mouth to roll his tongue around. 

You were in shambles. You tried desperately to pull at his hair, but it was too short to grab so you settled on sinking your nails into his scalp as you rolled your hips against his face and tried not to be so loud. 

Your jaw dropped and your eyes squeezed shut when he dug his tongue into the side of your clit, dragging your orgasm out so unexpectedly that you gasped. 

“Fuck, oh, oh god!” You sputtered, your thighs squeezing his head to hold him there as you came, your back arching and your toes curling so hard your foot almost cramped up. 

Daryl slipped his hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking it as he felt your body tremble and jerk under him. He was sure this was a dream, he'd wake up any second in his tent with Merle snoring beside him and you all the way across camp. He squeezed his dick, milking the precum from his tip as your thighs finally relaxed. 

“My god. You're really good at that.” You panted, your eyes blurry as you watched him slide up your body and take its place on top of you. 

He grinned, knowing you were unintentionally starting to give him an ego. “Yeah?” He racked his brain for dirty talk, but since it was fried from making you cum, all he could come up with was “I got somethin’ I'm even better at.” Complete lie. 

You, on the other hand, had no idea he was a virgin, and grinned widely at the implications, shifting your body up till you felt his heavy cock graze against your inner thigh. The feeling alone sent a bolt through your body, and your chest heaved with deep excited breaths. 

He leaned up and grabbed your shoulder, signaling for you to turn over. You didn't question it and rolled over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. 

The sight of you from behind had him falling apart. He let out a quiet whimper and bit his bottom lip before grabbing his cock and scooting forward to push it against you. 

“Jesus, so fuckin wet.” He breathed, his heart beating so loud he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his dick between your folds, going through all the steps in his head that he'd seen countless times. He even slapped it against your pussy a few times, missing the amused expression on your face, and pushed himself into you. 

What Daryl  didn't learn from porn was that usually, you go in slow when someone hasn't had sex recently. So when he just pushed his dick inside you with no hesitation you cried out, the burn from the unprepared stretching making you jolt forward. He grabbed your hips to bring you back against him, his jaw going slack as he felt your hot wet walls squeezing the life out of him. 

“Fuck!” You spat, the burning and stabbing pain almost enough to turn you off completely. “You gotta be slower than that, Daryl.” 

He was too deep to process what you said. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding with a deep, guttural groan, still frozen inside you. “Sah-Sorry.” He sputtered, his hands squeezing your hips so hard you knew for a fact there'd be ten little light purple bruises there tomorrow. 

Before you could say or do anything else he started moving, setting the pace quickly, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly your hands almost slipped out from under you. The uncomfortable stretch quickly faded into a deep, primal pleasure, and soon you were letting out short moans with every thrust of his hips. 

You barely got used to the feeling before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it back, drawing a cry from your throat. You weren't expecting this from Daryl, he was so confident, so rough, it confused you but drove you absolutely wild at the same time. 

His other hand kept its tight grip on your hip, pulling you back to meet each of his demanding thrusts, making sure his dick went as deep as possible each time. The way you were moaning and gasping fueled him to fuck you rougher, wanting to hear every sound that you were possible of making. 

“Dirty little whore.” He grunted, his jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching his teeth. 

His words earned a strangled whimper from you, making his lips curl up in a cocky grin. 

He fucked you for a while like that, hips pounding against your ass so hard that the noises of your skin slapping was making your cheeks burn in embarrassed arousal. So much for keeping it quiet. 

“Hey-” The words were hard to get out from his aggressive thrusts, especially now that he was hunched over your body so he could squeeze your breasts. “I- wanna turn over.” 

He raised his chest from your back and took the opportunity to catch his breath while you shifted under him to roll over on your back. The look on your face made him shudder with a quiet gasp. Your face was tinted a light red, blissed out, your pupils blown and hair all messed up around your face. He was back on you immediately, kissing you hungrily as he slipped his cock back inside you, much easier this time. 

“Y’feel so fuckin’ good.” He breathed against your lips, wet from his sloppy kisses, and he kissed down your jaw to your neck. His accent was much thicker when he was inside you, barely pronouncing any words fully anymore. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, angling your hips up so he could drive his cock deeper into you. The new feeling made him moan pathetically into your neck, and he had to stifle the noises he didn't like with a bite to the skin where your neck met shoulder. 

The pressure of his teeth had your eyes rolling back in your head. There was so much stimulation, his dick driving relentlessly into your throbbing pussy, his fingers pinching your nipple and the other hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. A particularly deep thrust made you cry out, and you felt yourself nearing your second orgasm.

“Fuck!” You whined, your eyes squeezing tightly shut as you felt the tension building in your core as he fucked his dick into you. 

“That's it, y’gonna come for me?” His teeth drew away from your red neck, a string of spit connecting the two of you. 

All you could muster was an obscene “Mhmm!”, your thighs squeezing him tight around the waist. 

“C'mon girl.” His words were choppy from the force of his thrusts. He slowed for a second, readjusting himself before building back up to his former quick pace, each thrust sending your body scooting a little upwards along the floor of the roof. You were incredibly thankful it wasn't concrete. 

“Lemme hear it, c'mon.” His words alone were enough to send you falling over your edge. Your jaw dropped, your head tilting back as your back arched under his heavy body, and his arm slipped under you to hold your chest tight against his. 

The look on your face and the feeling of you cumming around his dick was all he needed. His face went slack and he let out a shameful whine, something he'd never heard himself make before, and came inside you. Neither of you noticed, too fucked out of your minds to even process it. 

You cried under him, twisting and squirming, impaled on his dick as your orgasm shook you to your core. Only when the final waves rolled off you did you relax, your eyes struggling to open as your breathing slowed.

Daryl raised his face from your chest and looked down at you, enjoying the look on your face as he regained his bearings. He ran his hands up and down your torso a few times, his eyes appreciating every little red mark on your neck and chest from his teeth.

 Only when the last jolts of pleasure left his body did he realize he came inside you. 

“Shit.” He grunted as he slowly drug his dick out of you, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the way his cum oozed out between your slick, puffy folds. 

“Hmm, ‘s fine.” You mumbled lazily, reaching up to push your hair from your face. “We're on top of a Dollar General. We'll get the morning after pill.” 

He nodded at your words, still hypnotized by the sight of his cum leaking out of you. A deep part of him wanted to stuff his dick back in you and keep it in, he didn't know why, but the idea was so hot he could've gone for a round two if you wanted. 

“We better get back.” You struggled to prop yourself up on your elbows, your weakened muscles protesting. The sun was well below the trees now, and if you got back when it was dark you knew Shane would throw a goddamn hissy fit. 

“We ain't gotta.” He half joked, a lazy grin on his face. “Can just stay here. Go back in the mornin’.”

You smiled, shaking your head, even though the idea was incredibly tempting. “Shane will kill us.”

“Fuck him.”

“I don't wanna piss him off when he's the one in possession of my gun right now.” Your words had him raising his brows and nodding in agreement. 

The two of you put your clothes back on and went through the back entrance, grabbing all your bags and making sure to pick up some morning after pills from the locked shelf behind the front desk. You caught him trying to discreetly grab some condoms, not knowing you saw, and you felt excitement bubble in your chest at the prospect of him expecting this to happen again. 

Thankfully Shane wasn't in camp when you snuck back in. He was down by the quarry, catching frogs or some shit, and you were able to share your spoils with the group before he came to ask questions. 

“Well, shit. Look at you.” Merle was smiling ear to ear, clapping Daryl on the back after he went to his brother's tent with a bag of goodies. 

It was extremely obvious what the two of you had done. Your hair was still messy despite you brushing it with your fingers on the way back, your face pink, your neck red. You were climbing into your own tent as Merle watched you from across camp. 

Daryl's neck and face were also red, and he had a few scratch marks on the back of his neck. 

And his fly was still down. 

“Shut up.” Daryl shrugged his brother's hand off him, opening a bag of Funyuns.

“My baby brothers no longer a fuckin’ loser!” He laughed, giving a wolf whistle before playfully ruffling his hair. “Atta boy. I told you.” 

“Ya’ ain't tell me shit.” Daryl grumbled, stuffing Funyuns in his mouth to hide the smile that was creeping onto his face. 

“Hey.”

“What?” Daryl groaned, exasperated already. 

“Think she’ll give me a ride?”

“Shut the hell up, man.” 

[fanged-fanfics]

Hii!

Can I have a small fic or hcs of black sapphire cookie and a fem reader on Valentine’s Day, and how he basically skips out on work to spoil his darling gem? And when he gets home all covered in smooches, he gets teased by shadow milk and candy apple? :3

(You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just think it’d be cute! >v<)

☆ Sapphire Sweetness — Black Sapphire Cookie x Fem Reader Valentine's HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || she/her pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Black Sapphire Cookie is a rather showy guy, so of course to him a day about spoiling his precious gem is one where he's absolutely gonna go all out. You wake up to a huge bouquet and like five gifts being poured into your arms all at once

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He got a bunch of second-rate acts to cover his shift for broadcasting while taking the day to spend time with you! He gripes a little about how those novices better not tank his ratings, but he puts it aside the second you come out with your outfit for the day and he's immediately cooing at you while gushing compliments

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Speaking of which, clothes shopping is something he's rather fond of. Sure it can be tedious and boring, but you look stunning in everything! You have a right to show off to the world! He assures you anything you want will be gotten, no questions asked

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After that is of course a bit of sightseeing. Not on the ground, no no, what do you take him for? He sets his staff sideways and has you cling onto his waist from behind while he hovers you both around. It's faster, more efficient, and he gets to feel you pressed close to his back, so he much prefers it to walking

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dinner is absolutely a must, and he has just the spot for you both. A picnic with just the two of you might seem a little out of pattern, but he admits that he does like when it's only you and him. The eyes of the world are nice, absolutely, but he feels warm just knowing he has your gaze alone

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One of the (many) gifts he gives you is a purple lipstick, a deep and rich amethyst shade that somewhat matches his own hues. He comments that he thinks it's a charmingly subtle way of carrying around his presence, but he admits he also thinks you just look stunning in purple. He does note that he didn't test the product, to which you have the perfect solution

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After the day concludes and he makes sure you get back home safe, Black Sapphire reports back to Shadow Milk and Candy Apple. He's confused and even a little offended when they look to him in shock before exploding into cackling fits

ᯓᡣ𐭩 After insisting to know what's so funny, they show Black Sapphire that he has kiss marks from you all over his face. Forehead, cheeks, lips, the works. Black Sapphire feels the dough on his face burn with blush as he tries to tell them to cut it out in a very flustered manner, only leading to more prodding and teasing. The next time they see you, the two are definitely gonna find a way to mention it

[unhinged-bratty-boy]

Dabi - sad headcanons

This is my first time writing anything, be gentle with me 🙏🏻

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a bored glance while killing time in the a convenience store as he waited for his contact to show. But then you walked in.

At first, he didn’t think much of it - just another face in the endless sea of strangers. But something about you made him pause. The way you casually brushed hair from your face while scanning shelves, the soft hum of a song under your breath, completely unaware of the world around you. You were normal. Unshattered. Alive.

His sharp, turquoise eyes narrowed, lingering longer than they should’ve. He blamed it on curiosity. Something about you felt warm in a way he hadn’t experienced in years - like standing too close to a hearth after a lifetime of cold. It made him uncomfortable. Made him angry.

He should’ve walked away. He didn’t.

Dabi followed you out of the store without even realizing it. At first, it was instinct - silent footsteps slipping through the dark alleys like a shadow as he followed. He told himself he just wanted to see where you lived. Just a quick glance, nothing more.

This one time turned into a shady routine for him. He had to know more.

Within days, he knew your routine - when you left for work, when you returned, where you shopped. He mapped out the weakest points of your flat with practiced efficiency - windows that didn’t lock quite right, a back door that stuck if you didn’t shove it hard enough. Old habits. Necessary. Just in case.

At night, he watched the soft glow of your apartment lights from across the street, imagining what your life must be like on the inside. Warm, ordinary, safe. He hated how much he wanted it.

One day, when he saw you struggling with heavy grocery bags, the opportunity was too perfect to pass up. He shoved his hands deep into his material pants pockets, masking the nervous twitch of his fingers.

"Need a hand?" His voice was rough, casual - but there was something too sharp in his gaze, too focused.

You hesitated for just a moment before offering a grateful smile that hit him like a punch to the chest.

"Thank you! These bags are killing me."

He took them without another word, pretending the weight didn’t bother him. He could feel your eyes on him, curious, a little suspicious but not wary - not yet.

As you walked together, you talked - about nothing, really. The weather, the annoying store line, small, inconsequential things. But every word out of your mouth felt like oxygen to a man used to suffocating.

When you unlocked your door and turned back to him, smiling that same soft, trusting smile, he swore he felt his ruined heart stutter.

"Thanks again... um...?" you prompted, clearly expecting a name.

For a split second, he considered giving his real name - Touya - but killed the thought immediately. Too dangerous. Too personal.

"Dabi," he said instead, voice low, almost daring you to question it.

"Weird name," you said playfully, completely unfazed. How sweet you didn't recognise his villain name. "But thanks, Dabi. I really appreciate it."

Dabi always got what he wanted. He was ruthless, cunning, relentless. He should’ve burned this weakness out of himself the moment he realized what was happening. But he couldn't. He wanted you. All of you. And he was about to make you his.

This was how you two started seeing each other.

Dabi never calls your flat a home. The word sticks in his throat like ash. Home was burned away years ago, leaving only the cold, empty shell of survival. The apartment he crushes in from time to time is just a place where he exists, not where he belongs.

He lives in your home like a visitor overstaying his welcome. His clothes stay packed in a small, battered duffel bag shoved under the bed. “It’s just easier this way,” he mutters when you ask why he never uses the closet.

No matter how much he scrubs his skin, the faint scent of burning flesh never fades. He can see you notice but pretends he doesn’t. It makes him feel disgusted with his own self. It makes him feel guilty because you deserve much better. When you light scented candles or spray room freshener, he flinches inwardly, convinced you’re trying to mask the stench of him.

Every time he touches you, it feels like a silent goodbye. His hands are scarred and trembling, his grip tight like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. When he holds you, it’s never soft - it’s desperate, bruising, clinging. He needs the reminder that you’re real, that he’s still here, that he hasn’t burned you away yet.

He doesn’t say “I love you” because he thinks it’s a lie. People like him can’t love - not properly. Not in ways that don’t hurt. But sometimes, late at night when he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll trace your features with the lightest touch, memorizing every line like he’s carving you into his memory - for when you’re gone.

He expects you to leave. He knows you will, eventually. Everyone does. He can’t stop his sharp tongue or bitter jabs when he feels too close - it’s his defense mechanism. If you get too close, you might see him for what he really is - broken, twisted, beyond saving. Better that you leave on your terms than pity him.

Dabi barely sleeps. On good nights, he dozes fitfully beside you, waking at every small noise like he’s still being hunted. On bad nights, he sits by the window until dawn, smoking one cigarette after another, eyes fixed on your soft, relaxed features as you're deep in your slumber.

Late at night, when the world is still, you often find him standing at the window, his eyes tired, staring into the endless dark. His cigarette burns low between scarred fingers, ash scattering unnoticed, staining your floor. "Touya, come back to bed," you ask, improving your silky nightgown around yourself. He doesn’t turn around. His voice is rough, distant, "Tsk. Don't call me Touya. He is long dead."

On his worst days, he believes he deserves the pain. He’ll disappear without a word, returning with fresh burns hidden beneath his sleeves, the acrid smell of charred skin lingering around him. You know better than to ask where he’s been - his hollow eyes tell you everything you need to know.

Dabi doesn’t believe in a future - not for himself. The idea of living a long, peaceful life feels like a cruel joke. He talks about “when” he has to leave, never “if.” He’s already made peace with the fact that whatever this is - you and him - won’t last. Nothing ever does.

He keeps insignificant things - crumbled notes you left on the fridge, your old scarf that still smells faintly of your perfume, a broken hairclip. He stashes them in a small, dented box under his bed in the LOV hideout. Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he pulls the box out and runs his fingers over the keepsakes, pretending, for a few minutes, that he’s someone worth remembering.

When you fight, Dabi lashes out like a wounded animal, sharp and cruel. His words are designed to hurt because he expects you to leave anyway - better to make you hate him than to watch you drift away. But afterward, he’s consumed by guilt, curling into himself like a burned-out ember.

He can’t say sorry - not with words at least. But after a fight, you’ll find your favorite snacks mysteriously restocked, the blanket you love folded neatly on the couch, a worn apology scrawled on a crumpled scrap of paper left where you can find it. He’s trying - in the only ways he knows how.

Dabi isn’t someone meant for love - but God, how he wants it. He knows he’ll never deserve you, that this life he’s stumbled into is a borrowed dream destined to shatter. But for now - for however long this fragile, imperfect thing lasts - he’ll hold on with both hands, knowing that in the end, he’ll be the one left burning.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: As you and Bradley start to blur the line between professional and personal correspondence, you feel yourself falling for him even more. He has charmed your students as well as you, and you decide to continue taking a chance on him.

Warnings: Fluff, language, Bradley sounding hot

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Bradley spent an hour bundling up all of his letters to your students, getting them ready to be sent back to California. Sure, he wanted to impress you, but he also couldn't deny that he was attached to hearing from Oliver, Violet, Jayden and everyone else. And according to you, they were just as happy to hear from him.

Without giving it a second thought, Bradley went all in with your personal email address. An account where he assumed you could say and send anything you wanted to. One that nobody else was monitoring. His thoughts strayed constantly over the past few hours to what that might mean. What did you deem too personal for your school account?

You told him you were single, and you made it seem like you were into him. You said he gave you butterflies, and now he desperately wanted to see this thing through. When he closed his eyes, he could picture the photos of your smiling face, and he felt a little dizzy. He wanted you to tell him everything. He wanted you to wait for him so he could take you on a date. Or several. He wanted to know what your lips tasted like.

It sounded like your ex was a real tool if he didn't appreciate what you did and how hard you worked. You taught eighteen kids enough about aviation that they asked Bradley some pertinent questions and brought up information that was relevant to his job. He was impressed as hell, and he thought he could be better than what you had before. He already knew without a shadow of a doubt that you were better than Vanessa. It was obvious.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw."

He turned toward the voice calling his name as soon as he dropped the package with your name on it off at the mail center. "Hey," he called out to the mechanic who let him take those photos for your class a few weeks ago. He read his jumpsuit again just to be sure. "What's up, Marty?"

He jerked his thumb toward the main deck and said, "I just got around to unpacking some new engine components. You still writing to those kids?"

"Yeah."

"I'm about to do some repairs if you want to take some more pictures or a video for them."

Bradley had been planning on stalking his inbox for the rest of the day in the hopes that you'd write back and comment on his brief missive telling you he wanted the conversation to go further, but this seemed better than driving himself crazy. He could practically picture you and your kids flipping through some photos and watching a cool video he managed to snag for you. "Yeah, Marty. Let me grab my phone, and I'll meet you out in the shop."

---------------------------

After you read the email from Bradley where he called you Gorgeous, you were up most of the night. First, you screeched and almost spilled hot tea all over yourself as you rushed to set your mug down on the coffee table so you could giggle and kick your feet in the air. Then you read and reread the short email for about five minutes, curled up in a little ball with your phone right in front of your face. Then you sprawled along your couch and let yourself imagine what he might be like in person.

It was too early to get your hopes up about ever getting that far, but you couldn't seem to stop yourself from thinking about it. You hummed softly, because in your daydream, he lived in San Diego and asked you out on a date, and he was a perfect gentleman until you didn't want him to be any longer. You didn't even consider what reality might hold, because you were sure you wouldn't like it as much.

But for now, he was on board with going further. Your expectations of things included chatting about your likes and dislikes as well as learning more about him. "I'd like to take it further," you read softly, trying to imagine it in a masculine voice. But what did that sentence mean for him? You sat up on the couch. Surely he wasn't going to turn into a pig and start sending you anything too raunchy. Right?

You swiped out of your email inbox and looked at the photo of him standing in front of his jet and moaned. It was actually your mind heading for the gutter as you wondered what it would feel like to be wrapped up in his big arms. What it would be like to tug the zipper of his flight suit down slowly, enjoying the feel of the pull between your thumb and index finger.

It was like the fictional��leading man in a romance novel came to life and told you that he thought you were pretty and that he liked your students. You flopped back down on the couch and screeched into the pillow so as not to alarm your neighbors. You needed to respond, but you didn't know what to say since you were probably past the point of playing it cool. You chewed on your lip while you typed and then deleted several versions before sending him something that you thought was okay.

Bradley,

I'd like to take it further, too. I don't usually do this kind of thing (oh, who am I kidding... I never do this kind of thing), but there's just something about you that made me feel like it was worth the risk. I hope I'm not being too bold if I say that I found the photos you sent me quite distracting. However, it's not just your looks that made me share my personal email address with you. I like the way you give me butterflies. There's something sweet that comes through in your writing, and I want to get to know you better. On that note, if you feel so inclined, please tell me three things I should know about you.

Yours Truly,

Your favorite pen pal

Once again, you had written back to him so quickly, it should have been embarrassing, but you had nothing to lose here. You tossed out the bait, and he took it in the most spectacular fashion. You didn't want to miss an opportunity like this, even if he did seem too good to be true.

But he still hadn't written back when you got to work the next morning. The ping of the email alert on your phone made you reach for it immediately, but it was just a reminder to pay your bills on time. As you unlocked your classroom door and flipped the lights on, you considered that maybe your message was a little bit boring. After all, you were the one to bring your personal account into play. Perhaps he was expecting you to reply with some sort of dirty picture. Your cheeks burned with mixed embarrassment. You wanted to take it further, but you didn't know how. You just knew that you wanted to keep him engaged without compromising yourself.

You tucked your bag and your phone away in your desk drawer and pulled out your lesson plans for the day. You'd start things off with language arts and then work your way through math and science before your kids had art class. There was no reason you had to think about Bradley at all right now; he could just wait until later with his big hands and his thick thighs and his mustache and cute smile.

Just before your students were due to arrive, you opened your laptop and logged in to see which parents had emailed you with questions or concerns about their child. You froze when you saw an email that was sent a few minutes ago from Bradley with the subject line A visit to the mechanic's shop. When you opened it up, you found that he had attached a video and a handful of photos. 

You were a little bit annoyed that he didn't respond to the message you sent from your other account where you asked him to tell you about himself, but that melted away as soon as you clicked on the video. His face flashed up on your computer screen, and all of the features you'd shamelessly memorized were right there in front of you. Cute smile, tidy mustache, brown eyes, wavy hair. But then you heard his voice.

"Hey. I just thought I'd take all nineteen of my favorite pen pals on a little tour around the mechanic shop aboard the Theodore Roosevelt. Sound good?"

You slammed your computer shut and moaned, thighs pressed tight together as your heart hammered. He was too much. It was just a video. He wasn't even really here, but he was an absolute assault on your senses. He called you gorgeous, but meanwhile it was hard to look directly at him for fear that you'd burst out into a fit of giggles. You shook your tingling hands out and slowly opened your computer again.

"Bradley Bradshaw. How are you this hot?" you whispered at the video paused on your screen. His face was frozen mostly in profile as he looked to the side, and for the first time, you saw some long scars on his cheek and neck. "Oh." They weren't new, rather giving the appearance that they had faded over time. You wondered how pronounced they would feel beneath your fingers. Would he let you touch them? Let you drag your lips across them while your hands found their way to his tousled hair?

After taking a few deep breaths, you let the video play again. Another man joined Bradley on the screen, and he was holding up a long, metal rod.

"This is my friend Marty. He's been a mechanic in the Navy for twenty-six years, and he specializes in aircraft repairs. He knows more about my Super Hornet than I do, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. So I'm just going to stand here and hold my phone still while we watch Marty do his thing."

The rest of the video was fascinating. It was still interesting the second time when you watched it with your class instead of doing your language arts lesson. The kids sat at rapt attention, eating up that little introduction that Bradley gave just as you had. He didn't talk to them like a bunch of little kids who didn't understand anything, which you loved. He and Marty explained what they were doing without making it too juvenile. Then when the video ended, your kids started raising their hands with question after question.

"You know what to do," you told them, holding out a dry erase marker for Jackie to take. She wrote down the list of questions that everyone had for Bradley while you tapped through the photos, once again imagining how warm and rough his hands would feel wrapped around your own instead of an intake manifold.

The impromptu aviation lesson lasted for two hours until your kids left for art class, and now you were a little concerned about all of the additional, more personal questions you had for Bradley besides the ones your class came up with. You wanted to know how old he was and where his scars came from. You wanted to know where he lived now, but you were too afraid of the answer. According to one of the notes he wrote back to Violet, he went to the University of Virginia. He even sounded like he was from the east coast.

You sat at your desk alone, digging your snack out of your drawer along with your phone. There was a new email. You smiled as you realized he must have sent it to you just after he emailed the video he took for your whole class to watch. The opening greeting once again had you kicking your feet beneath your desk, snack forgotten. 

Hey, Gorgeous,

I'm still having a hard time believing that you want to get to know me better. Full disclosure, I'm a little nervous you'll get bored talking to me. I don't have much family, and I know it's cliche, but flying really is my passion. I spend a lot of my time on aircraft carriers which makes it hard to maintain relationships and friendships with people on dry land. 

Talking to my nineteen new pen pals has been the most exciting part of my deployment. But you're right... you're my favorite one. I could tell from the first letter that wasn't even specifically meant for me that you were funny and sweet. And then I saw what you look like, and I kept going back to the photo for another look. You're just as gorgeous as you are funny and sweet.

Three things you should know about me? One, I'm afraid of spiders. Like so afraid of them that I might have a crisis on my hands if you tell me you have a beloved pet tarantula or something. Two, I loved taking piano lessons so much when I was a kid, I actually still take them. (Now I'm sitting here wondering why I'm telling you embarrassing shit.) My next door neighbor is a retired music teacher, and when I'm home, I trade yard work for piano lessons. Everyone wins. Third, I like giving Gorgeous teachers butterflies. That's a new one, but I thought you should know about it.

I'm giving you some homework, hope you don't mind. I want you to send me a picture of one of those San Diego sunsets where the sky somehow looks both blue and orange at the same time. If you happen to be in the photo, I'm not going to complain. I would also love to hear three things I should know about you. 

Please tell your kids they have mail on the way. I hope to hear back from them. And you.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

Oh. This crush was even worse than you thought.

-----------------------------

After days of running drills, Bradley was finally grounded because of a bad storm that was closing in, and he was given a few hours off. He stood out on deck, letting the first drops of hard rain hit his face. He was hoping to get a nice sunset photo to send to you, but the past few days had been terribly cloudy. And now he felt like he was being torn in three directions as his flight suit got wet: he was sweaty, hungry and curious. As a result, he couldn't decide if he should hit the shower, the mess hall or the lounge first.

He reasoned that he'd best appreciate an email from you if he was cleaned up and well fed. If you'd had time to write back to him, it would top off his night in the sweetest way possible. So he took a shower and unfortunately had to eat cabbage rolls for dinner. He chuckled to himself as he walked toward the lounge, picturing a bunch of fourth graders eating dinner in the mess hall and ranking the foods. They would probably love that, actually.

As Bradley logged in and watched his email inbox appear on one of the lounge computers, he muttered, "Hell yes." There was a new message from you, and he couldn't click on it fast enough. Before he started reading, the attached photo caught his attention, and he grunted softly. Fuck. 

There you were, on a stretch of beach in Coronado, not even a mile from his house with the sun setting behind you. Your features were in shadow, but your smile was a little shy and very pretty. You looked so soft, standing there on the windswept sand in denim shorts and an oversized sweatshirt with Mira Mesa Elementary printed on the front, and all he wanted to do was touch you. He could already imagine a picnic dinner on that beach, snuggling up with you as cooler temperatures moved in. Enjoying the blues and oranges until the sky got so dark, he'd lead you back to his house with your fingers laced with his.

Bradley,

I'm turning in my homework. I hope I get a passing grade. I'm not usually the student, so I'm a little out of practice. A Naval officer from Top Gun took this photo for me. Apparently aviators just like you are all over the beaches in Coronado.

I have some good news for you. While I'm not actually afraid of spiders, I promise I don't have a beloved pet tarantula. And I'm sorry, but the idea of you still taking piano lessons made me giggle for a solid minute. The mental image is just that adorable. 

You always seem to know what to say to make my butterflies go crazy, and that's just through the written word. As an educator, I always stress the importance of honesty to my students. So let me just say that honestly, I'm not going to get bored talking to you. I also can't lie about the fact that I watched the video you sent several times just to hear your voice. (Now I'm the one embarrassing herself.) And I really can't see how you would have a hard time maintaining a relationship while you're away. Maybe your previous partners didn't appreciate how rare it is to find someone who is willing to put in some effort. Or maybe they didn't find your arachnophobia oddly endearing. But I kind of do.

Three things you should know about me: 1. I graduated from college with a 4.0 GPA. 2. Sometimes I fall asleep during movies, especially if I'm snuggled up on my own couch. 3. I have a crush on you.

Hitting send before I can change my mind.

Bradley couldn't help the smile teasing at his lips as he tucked his hands behind his head and read your last few sentences again. He always wanted to continue talking to you, so maybe it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that you wouldn't grow bored with this. Maybe you'd care more about him than going out on dates, unlike Vanessa. He wasn't going to wait before responding to your email. What was the point? You were into him, and he was definitely into you.

-----------------------------

"We got mail!" you announced, holding up the package that was waiting for you in the school office when you refilled your travel coffee mug on your way to your classroom. Your students erupted into delighted conversation.

"Is it from Lieutenant Bradshaw?" asked Jayden.

"Of course it is," Violet told him. "It must be. He's our pen pal after all."

"Did he send us more notes?" Oliver asked, practically bouncing out of his seat in anticipation.

"He did!" you confirmed as you tore into the package and enlisted Harrison to help you hand the individual notes to their recipients. The room went silent as soon as they all started reading, and then one after the next, the kids started to get out their notebooks to start their responses.

You felt warm all over. Bradley was on your mind a lot, and you didn't really want him going anywhere. You watched the video he sent again last night before you went to sleep, and you dreamed about a strong man with a sexy voice curled up behind you in bed. You knew you had a new email from him, but you were waiting until you could sit quietly during your lunch break to read it.

At some point, you were going to have to taper off the aviation curriculum and focus on other things, but you just didn't want to have to do that yet. Not when your class was so engaged. Not when it made you feel connected to a man thousands of miles away who you had feelings for in spite of the fact that you never met him in person. In spite of the fact that you were too afraid to ask him where he lived.

After you eventually walked your kids down to the lunchroom, you were free to read your email from Bradley in peace. But the more you thought about opening it, you started to get nervous. You already admitted you were interested in him, so there was really no going back. If he hadn't sent you something similar, you were going to have to crawl under a rock, but you got your phone out as you took a deep breath and started reading.

Hey, Gorgeous,

Now wait right there. I have some concerns. I'm going to address them in order, so please bear with me. First of all, you didn't just pass your homework assignment, you got an A+. I've never seen such a beautiful sunset in my life, and yet it was barely noticeable next to you. But here's my main issue. I can't have another aviator taking sunset photos of you and sweeping you off your feet. How about you just stay off that beach in Coronado for the time being? Give a guy a chance here?

I couldn't agree more about the importance of being honest. Honestly, I'm letting out the breath I've been holding, worried that you were going to send me a photo of you with your pet tarantula. And honestly, smart women really do it for me, so any time you want to bring up that 4.0 GPA, I'm going to need a minute. And honestly, nothing sounds better than watching a movie with you on your couch right now. Can't stop thinking about it, actually. 

Please, tell me in an overabundance of detail, what you would do if I promised I would take you out to dinner but then changed my mind and told you that I was tired from work and wanted to spend a quiet evening on my couch with some takeout instead.

You have a crush on me? Gorgeous girl, all I can think about is the couple days of leave I'm going to have once this aircraft carrier finally docks back in San Diego. Where you are. You and my eighteen other pen pals. I think I have a thing for fourth grade teachers. Or maybe it's just you. I can't wait to hear from you again.

Yours Truly,

Bradley

---------------------------

Okay. Some admissions have been made. Little bits of feelings have been established. She has seen him and heard his voice, and I think we're ready to keep taking things further. Maybe a phone call? Maybe another photo or two? We also can't leave the fourth graders hanging. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 5

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[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

Stalker!billie x innocent!reader || ch.1 ||

warnings - stalking(don't do this plz)

(Billie's pov )

Beautiful.

that's all i could think as i watched her from a distance. she had no idea that i knew every little thing about her, that i studied her every move, her every smile, her every tear. she was so oblivious to the world around her, so lost in her own little bubble, that she never noticed how i was everywhere. to be completely transparent, i don't know what compels me to do this, following her around, taking pictures, obsessing over her, i don't know why i do it, i just do it. it's like some sort of magnetic pull, something inside of me that screams for more of her, something that keeps me coming back for more.

it had been our first week of university, orientation week, where we hung out, met new people, got situated, and whatever else normal people did. i decided to take a... different approach, not by choice, but by necessity. i had noticed her from the moment she stepped into the auditorium for the welcome assembly. she had the kind of aura that drew everyone in, made them question who she was, made them insecure, made them ask her out without knowing her properly. i just sat back and took notes on every little gimmick or bit or habit she had.

her name was y/n. i had followed her from class to class, lurked in the shadows as she went to the library, sat outside her dorm at night as she studied with the light on, and watched her as she slept. i know, it's creepy, but i couldn't help it, i needed her to be safe, needed to make sure she was okay. she was just so... innocent like bambi or something. i had to protect her from all the shit that was out there in the world.

every night i'd go home and write down everything she did, everything she said, every person she talked to, and i'd analyze it all, trying to piece together the puzzle of y/n. i have a whole notebook in my room dedicated to her, filled with pictures and notes and writing. she's 5'0, doesn't drink much out of personal choice, she loves to paint and sing, she likes painting her nails different colors, she loves coffee and shopping and music and has 3 siblings, 2 brothers and a sister. whenever she's nervous she touches her neck or when she's excited she swings on her feet. i know most things about her and she still knows nothing about me.

-

first day of classes, i decided to take a seat next to her in our english lit class. she had no idea who i was, of course, but she gave me a polite smile as she sat down. i took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. this was it, the closest i had ever been to her. the scent of her perfume filled my nose and i couldn't help but lean in slightly to get a better whiff. she smelled like vanilla and coconut, a heavenly combination that i had never smelled before.

"hi," she said softly, her eyes scanning my face for recognition. "i think i've seen you around. i'm y/n."

"oh," i said, playing it cool, trying not to let my excitement show. "i'm billie. it's nice to meet you."

y/n nodded, her eyes flicking back down to the book in her lap. i studied her from the corner of my eye, noting the way she played with the hem of her shirt as she listened to the professor drone on about the syllabus. she was so focused, so intense, that it was hard not to be captivated by her.

the class eventually ended and she began to pack up her things.

"need help with anything?" i offered, hoping she'd say yes.

"no, i'm good," she replied with a smile. "but thanks for asking."

as we walked out of the classroom together, she turned to me.

"do you know where the art building is?" she asked.

i nodded, "yeah, i can show you."

y/n's eyes lit up with relief and she fell into step beside me. we talked about our majors and hometowns, and i found myself getting lost in the sound of her voice, the way she talked with her hands, the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about painting. it was like nothing else in the world mattered except for her.

when we got to the art building, she thanked me and went inside. i watched her go, feeling a strange mix of happiness and sadness. happiness because i had just had a real conversation with her, and sadness because i knew i had to let her go, for now.

but i couldn't stay away for long.

that night, i found myself outside her dorm again, watching her through the window. she was singing to herself, her voice a soft melody that floated out into the night air. i leaned closer, trying to make out the words, feeling a warmth spread through me as i did so. it was a strange feeling, one i had never felt before.

the next day, i was sitting outside her dorm when she walked out. she looked surprised to see me.

"hi again," i said, smiling.

"hi billie," she said, looking around nervously. "what are you doing here?"

"reading," i lied, trying to seem casual. "what about you?"

"oh, i'm just going to grab some lunch," she said, looking down at her watch, "i've got class in like 10 minutes so i've gotta rush" she added, looking a bit flustered. "see you around."

"see ya," i said, watching her go.

but i couldn't stay away. i followed her to the cafeteria, watching her from a safe distance as she ate with her friends. she laughed at something one of them said, and i felt a pang in my chest. i wanted to be the one making her laugh like that, the one she confided in, the one she leaned on.

as the days turned into weeks, our interactions became more frequent. we'd run into each other in the halls, at the library, and even at the coffee shop on campus. each time, she'd greet me with a smile, and each time i'd fall a little bit more in love with her.

but i knew i had to keep my distance. if she ever found out what i was doing, she'd be terrified of me. so, i contented myself with watching her from afar, taking in every little detail, every little gesture, and storing it away in the back of my mind.

—————

AU Masterlist

[bambiesfics]

Opposites Attract Theory - Ellie x Bimbo!reader

Ellie was everything you weren’t. She was a girl in brown plaid button ups, who could only find comfort in wearing her father’s oversized chocolate suede jacket.  She could hardly be described as sweet or adorable, not like you were. Ellie was reserved, masculine, angry, and traumatized. Ellie smoked cigarettes to keep her nerves at bay, cut chunks off of the ends of her hair when they got too long and feminine, spent all her money on tattoos if she wasn’t spending it on you, wore old men’s weathered leather shoes, painted her nails with the cheapest black polish just so they could chip on purpose, and tucked her strap into her pants because it just felt right. No more, no less.

All of those descriptions she’d agreed with, but just one word was missing. The word ‘provider.’ The aspect of her character that she prided herself on the most, was being your provider.

  You were her opposite, the light to her shadow. You were naive, sweet, bubbly. Your eyes were big and curious, and you asked every question earnestly. You bounced around in your cute little outfits. Low cut tops with your tits spilling out, dresses where the wind exposed the chub of your ass, and skirts so short they showed your plump little pussy, eating up your g-strings; outfits that made you easy prey for leering. You got your nails done, and showed them off by grabbing Ellie’s thick cock with both hands while sucking hard on her tip. You bent over to pick up dropped items because your acrylics made you clumsy, and squealed when your girlfriend smacked you square on your ass. You got little Brazilian waxes, and sent pictures with a smiley face saying “still a bit sensitive but do you think it looks pretty Els?” And you were shocked that she pounded you into the headboard later that day, until your vagina was puffy. You sat on Ellie’s lap when she beckoned you too, but never quite figured out that it was because she wanted you to feel her erection sandwiched between your ass. You pranced outside in thin little pink shirts that showed the outline of your plump nipples and areola, and started pouting when Ellie draped her jacket on you before she let you step out of her car. 

You pouted about how your girlfriend was “too overprotective” but you were a ditzy, trusting airhead, who had the IQ of a care bear. Ellie didn’t have a choice, you were too stupid for your own good. Too sugary and sweet, sissy and girly. 

  You needed a guy like Ellie to pick up extra shifts for you, so you could go on your little shopping sprees, to buy lip gloss and candy. You needed a guy like Ellie to come everywhere with you, so creepy fucks would know that the pretty little bimbo had a gaurd dog next to her who would snap, snarl and bite them. You needed a guy like Ellie to run her tongue around your little pink hole, twitching and hungry, just to prepare that tiny hole as a warm place for her cock to sink into right after. Her balls often found themselves smacking against the bottom of your puffy neglected clit. You needed a guy like Ellie to indulge your little airhead babble, your piss poor attempt at conversation or even saying a coherent sentence. God knows you could yap for hours and say nothing of note, nothing anyone would perceive as highbrow or thought-provoking, but Ellie loved it. Loved watching those plump pink lips smack together to talk about dumb little girl topics like  “love island” or how “your pinks don’t match” or “beauty guru drama.”

And Ellie loved to indulge that clingy, pouty, needy little attitude you had around her. She’d bounce you up and down her cock, to shush your sniffles after she snapped at you. She’d rubbed your back, and promise to get your nails done just so you’d get overwhelmed with joy and cry “Ellieeee” in her arms, she’d wipe your pouty tears off your cheeks when you couldn’t take her cock all the way down, and tell you that you’ll get so much better after lots n’ lots of practice, she’d let you baby her when she was sick, and pretend that your poorly made chicken soup was the cure for her illness, and not the fever medication she’d been knocking back for the past week, she’d indulge your repetitive airheaded questions like “Ellieee, why can’t we print more money?” and “Ellieee how do you know you can see me? What if you’re you’re just imagining me?,” and she’d let you curl up with her brown jacket at night, cause it smelled exactly like her and brought you comfort in those days she had too many back-to-back shifts and couldn’t stay with you. That jacket was her fathers, so for her to leave it with you, meant that she wanted to take care of you in a way he’d be proud of.

  You were Ellie’s dumb little bimbo doll. Her pink hole to use as a fleshlight, her set of plump lips to watch suction around her dick, her sugary little ditz.

But you were also Ellie’s future wife, the future mother of her kids. The woman who provided the the most gentle balance to Ellie’s rough edges and hard lines, the woman who was her emotion support, her pillar, the grounded rock that she’d cling to during her rapid river emotions. In turn Ellie would be your guard dog, your emotional support, your girlfriend, your boyfriend, your husband, your wife, your butch, your provider. She’d be whatever you needed. 

[vagabond-umlaut]

tryst, too tempest

Icarus fell for loving the Sun.

You will, for loving your lover.

▸ trueform!sukuna x wife!reader; 1.1k wc; comprises of elements inspired by the tale of 'hades and persephone' & 'fall of icarus'; warning: sukuna is sukuna, so expect the expected [mentions of violence, murder, cannibalism]; warning 2.0: the reader is not very keen to leave or not love her husband; uraume is the BEST WINGPERSON none of you two ever deserved but still got; FLUFF & ANGST & A MADLY DEVOTED LOVE YOU AND SUKUNA FEEL FOR EACH OTHER

▸ belongs to the series 'mine? yes, mine.' – same universe as the work 'six seeds, like rubies...' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

▸ i don't own the characters, the image or the divider used. please don't plagiarize or translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

Foul winds howl through the land, the first year of your life as one Ryomen Sukuna's wife.

Servants cower before you the moment your shadow falls within their field of vision, yet their gaze stays steeped in pity and envy the entire time it remains trained on your feet. Grocers mumble to one another, eyes looking away when you move to look at the things in their shops. Even the very flora and fauna, you loved so much growing up, writing poems on them from the day you knew how to pen a poem– even the same flora and fauna feels so foreign to you—

"You do realize your importance to Master, don't you?"

Uraume's quiet question floats in through your thoughts, much akin a gentle breeze creating small ripples over the water surface. You smile. "Given how I haven't been eaten by him or sent to be murdered by his subordinate curses, I think I do."

Emotion, too similar to humor, flits across the mien of your husband's loyal follower — you decide not to think much of it. Too many days of having only them as someone to speak to, outside of requesting for a second serving of the soup or asking for the cost of yukata, has led to you imagining a smile on a person who is famous for their poker face. Shaking your head, you return to your poems, the quill fluttering over the roll of parchment you found lying at the breakfast today morning, and let out a content sigh — only for your peace of mind to be broken by the bursting of a guard into the garden, appearing too terrorstruck to utter a single coherent word.

It takes you nothing save one glance, moving from him to Uraume to your ink-stained fingers, before you find yourself keeping the papers on the ground beside and rising, feet breaking into a hasty giddy run down the corridors of the palace to the throne room where, certainly enough–

"I was under the impression you've run away in the extra while I spent sleeping, wife."

The world around you comes to a dead stop as the visage of Sukuna comes into your line of sight; you feel your heart skip two beats then begin a thundering rhythm against your ribcage.

Four years ago, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have given them a second of your time before walking away with a polite excuse.

One year before, if someone were to tell you there is someone who is going to free you from the gilded cage you were forced to call 'home', is going to share with you his name and is going to be the reason you will ponder the meaning of love, you would have huffed a quiet laugh. The first two have already come to pass (with too many lives lost and too many lives threatened) — yet the very last prediction? You would have considered it to be highly improbable, if not outright impossible.

Yet, now, if someone were to tell you the same three things, you think you wouldn't have shown much of a reaction. You would have simply turned to that 'someone' mentioned in the prediction, and gazed and gazed and gazed–

"I left the roll of parchment you bought for Mistress at the breakfast table, just as you asked, Master," Uraume's voice cuts your thoughts into half and you twist to catch them offer you both a very deep bow before hurrying out, to the left towards the kitchen, four baskets full of radishes in their arms.

You look back at your husband, only to find him seated stiffly on his throne, eyes landing anywhere but you. Stifling a giggle, you tilt your head to the side.

"Why do you act so embarrassed, my king?" you ask, stepping a timid step towards him, then another. Gleaming ruby eyes dart to your face then to your approaching feet. Something tingles through your veins. Climbing the stairs leading to him, you hum, smiling, "I don't think it's embarrassing – quite the opposite, in fact. To me, giving one's wife a thoughtful gift as that... it seems quite adorable to me."

"Be careful of your words, woman," the King of Curses growls, rising and taking a large menacing step in your direction; your smile grows intentionally too innocent, which does apparently nothing to quell his increasing fury: the precise outcome you've been wishing so fervently for.

He pulls you by the waist, flush to himself and lowers his lips close to yours, tantalizingly so. He smells very strongly of those bath salts you bought from a travelling merchant three moons back; faintly of blood and death, of the priest he diced last night after dinner — you wonder if you're worthy to be called a human, after finding the curse you have sworn yourself to forever, so terribly dear despite these.

Certainly not — but you reckon you're too far gone to care anyways, so you stop wondering such things – and lift yourself on your tiptoes to brush your lips with your husband's, then pull away a touch, words leaving your lips in a breathy whisper.

"What if I'm not careful with my words? What will you do then, hm? Will you devour me like the monster everyone says you are? Or, will you throw me away like everyone warns me you will one day– when you find someone prettier, smarter, better than me, huh?"

Two moments pass in pin-drop silence between the two of you.

Barking a noisy guffaw, Sukuna weaves his fingers through your hair, still damp from the bath you took a short time ago, and plants a deep kiss to your lips. Then parts his lips from yours, although a mere hair's breadth away, and grins, features teeming with that exotic species of malevolence you never saw yourself regarding to be charming.

Until your gaze met with his, one fated evening, that is.

Your nails dig crescents into the broad muscles of his shoulders.

Your lover's grin sharpens. "Let time tell the tale— yes, my queen?"

The next morning, you find a dozen or so heads waiting for you at the breakfast table, severed by a neat slice at the root of their neck– eyes and mouths which once looked down on your wedding with the King, frozen forever now in a scream of terror.

Forsaking the wonted theme of nature, you decide to pen a poem on scathing, soothing love, instead.

or... everyone: your husband is a despicable monster!!! you: uh-huh everyone: he might leave you for someone better!!! you: uh-huh everyone: you better not stay in this union anymore. you: nuh-nuh. i'm so gonna stay and love and fuck my hubby <3

▸ masterlist

[ision]

MIDNIGHT PROTECTOR (~_~;)

ft jackson

☆¸¸ .•*★.

"Come on Jacks," you pleaded, whispering. The phone dial rang out a few more beats, and you hastily walked into the drugstore and out of the shadowed streets. The shop floor was busier than you had expected, what with the time being too late to be comfortable—some people may have well needed a last minute, urgent skincare fix.

You nodded at the single cashier manning the counter, meeting his eye for a second before he continued scanning for the customer in front of him. With another look through the shop's glass windows out to the street outside, you weaved yourself through the aisles of shower gels and blister plasters.

"Hey, what's up? It’s late, is everything ok" Your friend's voice cuts through the ringing, and you quietly breathe out in relief. You hear rustling in the background, the receiver assumably rummaging around his bedroom.

"Jackson, I just, just stepped out to grab some food from the CVS and—are you free? Were you slee—" You pick up one of the items on display, a scented candle, hand shaking slightly as you tried to read the packaging. "No no, it’s ok, what happened? Tell me," your friend presses, you feel your strained breaths unravel at his comforting tone.

You take a sigh, trying to collect your thoughts, looking around. "Umm, I think I'm being followed," you wrap your other, unoccupied arm around yourself. You don’t hear anything in reply. "There was, is, this man. He was standing outside the CVS when I got there, and then when I was done and left, he started walking behind me." You slowly turn your head towards the glass windows of the store, trying to catch a figure in the periphery of your sight. "Now l'm at this 24/7 beauty shop and I can see him outside, he's just looking at me." “I’m sorry to ask you so late but, could you come meet me? I don’t think I’m too far from where you’re staying,” you ask, starting to feel your chest tighten and stomach turn as the shadowed man faces your direction.

“You’re location’s on, right?” Jackson speaks up, “sorry, stupid question, of course it is - I’m on my way, give me like 4 minutes. Ok?”

You bite your lip, “ok, thank you,” you breathe out. Truthfully, you had forgotten your location share was even on. Jackson’s reminder takes you back to when he insisted you two always have location share on for each other, one of you had asked the other to do so because you were both away in different countries on holiday. It was a nice way to keep tabs on each other, whilst vacationing and just generally during busy day-to-day life. It’s the first time it’s ever come in handy for a situation like this, though.

“Keep me on the line, I’ll talk as I run,” Jackson’s voice cuts through. “Is the shop empty, is there anyone else there with you?”

“Yeah, a couple people browsing and some at the till.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Jacks, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t pick—“

“I’ll always pick up, anyways, it’s no big deal, literally, bare minimum,” his speech comes out choppily, in staccato. You can hear his feet hitting the ground as he runs, but his breathing never hitches. “Can you hold on the line for just a minute, please? I’ll be back after,” Jackson asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you nod, staring at the paint starting to chip on your nails, and the line goes quiet.

You hadn’t met a long time ago, it had only been a few months since this housewarming party a mutual friend hosted in their fancy new apartment. There, you struck up a conversation after being introduced to each other, and you and Jackson clicked so well. Whilst being from two different worlds, you had a very corporate job whilst he lived a creative’s dream as a famous musician, you loved the same things. To an extent. And the things you didn’t share in common, had somewhat of a commonality too. He wasn’t a fan of a specific genre of film you liked, but he’d happily sit down to watch your favourite movie, without complaint.

After the first meeting went so well, you two quickly set up regular hang outs. You heard he loved a dish and wanted to try out a new recipe, so he came over for dinner. He had an event coming up, therefore he needed your expert eye on what outfit suited him and the event's dress code best. Also, it wasn't too long before your flatmate's cat fell in love with him, and you'd go on cat walks to the park together—in disguise of course.

A few minutes pass of you inspecting the bottles on display, your pretence keeping you occupied as you kept tabs on the man outside. “I’m back,” Jackson’s voice cuts through the call, his tone serious and stern. “I’m walking in now.” The call drops.

The doors to the shop slide open, and you turn to see your friend striding in. He’s adorned in all-black, some loose joggers with a black zip-up, the oversized hood hung over his head. He meets your eye, and rushes over to you.

His hair hangs low, the ends slightly wet from a shower, and he pulls his mask down a little to speak to you. “Are you ok?” Jackson’s eyes search you, his hand comes up to your shoulder. You smile at the way his frown twists in concern, “I am now you’re here, thank you.”

He rolls his eyes, “don’t thank me, I said it’s the bare minimum. Besides, how could I even say no… sorry, I’m busy, ask him to stop following you? As if—” Jackson huffs. “Speaking of, that’s the guy? Following you?” He, subtly, nods pointedly at the figure outside the window. You’re both standing somewhere deeper into the shop, no one can see you from the outside in. And, Jackson made sure to slow his walking down before turning the street corner, he wasn’t about to lose the perpetrator before he could even get him caught.

You nod, “yeah, I, I noticed he had his hand in his pocket, he kept reaching into it a couple times—I don’t know, I’m probably just being paranoid—but I think he had something in there,” your fingers fidget, clasping around your phone. You watch as Jackson’s brows furrow, his hand drops from your shoulder. “We’re staying until the police come,” he says, finally.

“Police? You called them? When?”

“I put you on hold, remember. Anyways,” Jackson takes the bag in your hand from you, filled with snacks from the CVS, “do you want anything from here, it’s on me.” You walk further into the store, looking up and down the aisles together aimlessly as you waited on the police to arrive. If you ignored the shadowed creep outside, this moment felt domestic. Your bag was even slung over his shoulder. Despite your friendship only being relatively new, you felt you had known Jackson for ages. And, there were always twinklings of other things below the surface every time you met each other. Sometimes they were moments of lasting eye contact, other times, goosebumps after lingering touches or brushes of hands. You were still feeling each other out a little, though, taking it slow to build up feelings until they’d become too strong to ignore.

Jackson looks up, noticing something from the corner of his eye, “stay here for a second,” he tells you. “Don’t move.”

You nod, intrigued as you watch him walk away. He strolls out the store, and you see him walk up to some figures in uniform. Two men. Jackson talks to them, points in another direction, and the officers walk up to the shadowed figure, Jackson looking on. The stalker attempts to make a run for it, but unfortunately for him, doesn’t get too far before the officers hold him down and detain him. The scene moves so quickly, too quick for you to process and before you blink, the officers take him away and Jackson walks back into the shop and stops in front of you.

He smiles down at you, “let’s go, I’m walking you home.”

As you walk down the street, you chat away about your day at work, updating him on some recent office gossip about a work-couple. You don’t pay much attention to the way Jackson scans your surroundings: the way he moves closer to you ever so slightly, the way his hands ready to pull you back in case a cyclist nearly runs you over as you cross the road, the way he checks to see how you’re doing, only to get distracted by the way the warm street lights make your face glow.

It’s only when he hears a bunch of rowdy teenagers run past the two of you, that you register the way his arm wraps around your shoulder, bringing you in closer, shielding you. You look up at him, much closer now than before, your brows raised a touch, “oh, thank you.” His arm around you feels heavy, but warm, and you thank him silently for not dropping it afterwards.

Jackson keeps his arm there for the remainder of the walk home, carving its presence. He keeps it there until he walks you to your door, and keeps it there until you ask him if he’d like to come in.

[valentinebugzee]

Sonic Boom! Agent Stone AU (pt.1)

(This is kind of an outline thing for the fic I plan on writing in the future btw!!)

Chapter 1 posted!

•On one random Tuesday, a coffee shop named "The Mean Bean" appeared in the middle of town, with no construction and no posters for the place, as if it fell from the sky.

•It probably did since it's sonic boom and all.

•Sonic and friends had different opinions on the place, but all of them went in anyway.

•Sonic thought he wasn't really a coffee guy but it wouldn't hurt to try something new.

•Amy admired how beautiful and modern the place looked, unlike the rest of the establishments in their formerly unnamed village.

•Tails questioned how they had managed to construct a cafe that quickly without anyone noticing.

•Knuckles wondered why this bean shop smelled like coffee.

•Sticks, however...had her theories.

•Upon laying her eyes on the establishment, she started coming up with 50 theories per second; her friends dismissed her to get the plot going.

•Sticks's suspicions didn't subside one bit once entered the shop and made eye contact with a grinning barista with the name tag "Stone"

•What really got Sticks paranoid is how nice and friendly the barista was, and how he was the only person working there.

•Stone served them and said their orders were "on the house"

•Sticks refused to order anything, claiming it was a trap and the food had microchips in it to read the villager's thoughts and know the village's most crucial secrets.

•Right in the middle of Stick's yap session, Eggman initiated a very well-timed attack.

•Cut to Shoujo vision-eyed Stone laying his eyes for the very first time on the village's one and only villain (or the only one that matters)

•He quickly snapped out of it, adjusted his clothes, and cleared his throat, then walked out of his coffee shop to greet the villain.

•He had politely asked Eggman to take the fight somewhere further away from his coffee shop and Eggman surprisingly obliged (not without blowing up in Stone's face ofc) (Stone didn't look like he minded) (He actually looked even more love-struck) (weirdo)

•The fight ended, and the gang went back to the coffee shop, where Stone inquired about the evil doctor who almost blew up his shop.

•That was Stick's last straw; she started screaming about how Stone was a government agent who would doom the entire village if they didn't stop him.

•She ran out screaming when her friends still didn't believe her.

•Girl, get better friends.

•She figured that if she was going to foil the evil government agent's plans she needed someone else helping her, another pair of eyes to look out for the village if the government agent decided that she was an obstacle in his way and kidnaps her to a work in a secret underground trees-that-are- actually-spy-cameras-factory.

•And that's when she found Shadow in a cave that he definitely doesn't live in.

•He reluctantly agreed to help her because he was also suspicious about that guy, not that he cared about the village but he didn't like being oblivious about evil happening on his turf.

•He didn't believe stick's microchipped food theory, but Stone being a government agent didn't seem too far off for him...

•They both had their separate attempts at getting answers out of Stone.

•First was Sticks, she set up a trap.

•ofc Stone fell for it because how else would the story progress.

•She interrogated him as he was upside down hanging from a tree outside her home.

•He denied all claims and feigned innocence, claiming he was just a barista that came from far far away to simply serve people happiness in the form of coffee.

•She opted for more efficient interrogation techniques, she turned around and entered her home to..grab a feather and tickle him idfk

•Once she returned outside she saw the net was burnt to crisp and the human was nowhere to be found.

•Now she's sure she's not paranoid.

•She reported her findings to Shadow.

•Now it was Shadow's turn, seeing how Stone definitely had some special equipment/weapons on him the idea of there being microchips in the food didn't seem too uncanny.

•Shadow showed up to The Mean Bean, Sticks intently staring at him from behind the glass doors (creeping everyone in the shop out)

•Shadow thought he shouldn't interrogate him as that would end up as fruitful as Stick's efforts.

•Instead he chose to just behave as a normal customer, he was the ultimate life form after all, if there was something odd about the food then he'd know (I'm pulling this shit outta my ass okay)

•Just like the badger had described him "Very sweet with an evil aura", and something about trees.

•Stone felt somewhat nervous/awkward towards the hedgehog, so far all his customers were either stupid or friendly excluding the badger that kidnapped him because she wasn't a customer at all)

•The Hedgehog chose a cat muffin, glaring at stone the entire time.

•That was the best goddamn muffin he has ever had in his life.

•He slammed the money on the counter and returned back to a very distraught badger.

•"ARE YOU OKAY?! ARE THE RADIATIONS GETTING TO YOUR BRAIN?! ARE YOU BRAINWASHED?! DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR TRAGIC BACKSTORY?! DID THE MUFFIN DO SOMETHING TO YOU?!"

"Raspberry jam..."

"huh?"

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

pairing eddie munson x female reader [long-term relationship]  summary on a slow evening in an even slower town, eddie asks if you'd like to get away—if only for a little while [fluff, 1.5k] a/n aka you watch the sunset with eddie

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Somewhere along the line, the days began to blend. They roll in one after another like frames on a long strip of film, each depicting unique moments while bound to a singular, unbroken essence. 

Once upon a time, you went out of your way to ensure spontaneity made its perfect work out of each day so they could all be different from the last.

It was an adolescent act of defiance against mundanity. Against the life sentence of boredom and unimportance, under whose shadow Hawkins resided. “Tomorrow” was always destined to be the best day ever.

You were so busy chasing the best day ever that you never considered the possibility of there being more than just one. 

The best days are the simpler ones, as you've realized over the years. The ones that initially slip under the radar, only to claim their glory in hindsight. 

As you sit at the kitchen table completing a crossword puzzle, the light of the evening sun pours onto the page. You’d found yourself in this position countless times before and would likely find yourself here again. 

Eddie soon pads back into the house trailed by a breeze. His silvering halo of fluffy curls has yet to stop complimenting his ever-boyish smile. The sage button-down he’s wearing pairs endearingly well with his jean shorts. The top few buttons are undone, revealing the silver chain around his neck and a dusting of dark chest hair. A familiar warmth settles low in your gut as he saunters your way. 

Rather than sitting, he stands behind you to look down at the crossword puzzle from above. You lean back into the warmth of his proximity, the small pudge of his stomach. He settles one gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“Was Ms. Agnes alright?” you ask. 

“Yeah, she just wanted me to change a lightbulb.” There’s nothing unkind about his fond chuckle. A smile pulls at your lips as a comfortable stillness settles between you. 

“Fairy,” he says after a few quiet beats. “Number twenty-two.” 

You hum in realization, writing the letters into the correct squares. 

He goes quiet again, absentmindedly massaging your shoulder. “Hey. Wanna get outta here?” 

“Out of where?” Tell-tale embers of anticipation curl around the edges of your question. Something about that warms him like the beginning of July. “The house or Hawkins?” 

“Both,” he says. 

You look up at him, and his shoulders shake with a laugh. You wouldn't have believed the offer if it weren’t for his sincerity. 

“Got someplace special I wanna show you,” he says. “S’only a little ways outside town.” 

You’re almost sure you’ve seen it all, but you’d go almost anywhere with him.  

••• 

There aren’t many people out this evening. There hardly are in general these days. Following the mysterious events of 1986, those who fled never found it in themselves to return. Quite a few mom-and-pop shops suffered because of it, though the newer malls and department stores springing up in the surrounding cities could also shoulder the blame. With so many job opportunities gone, it only made sense for residents to seek them elsewhere. However, there were a few older individuals who were beginning to return. 

For all its misfortunes, Hawkins was hard to shake. There was something about it like Sodom and Gomorrah, like Orpheus and Eurydice—so much that screamed don’t look back, but you couldn’t help but want to. 

A wistful feeling creeps throughout your ribcage as you pass Earl’s vacated diner. The place where you and Eddie had your first date, and a couple of months later, your first kiss. The place that had seen many birthday dinners and post-Hideout meals back when Eddie played with the boys. It now stands as a shell of what it once was—boarded windows, graffiti-tagged, an unofficial dumping ground for unwanted furniture. 

Eddie notes it as well, eyes drifting over to you. 

“Remember?” he asks. No specifics, just one word that encompasses so much. 

“Yeah,” you murmur with a ghost of a smile. 

Before long, you find yourselves on the outskirts of town. 

𝘓𝘌𝘈𝘝𝘐𝘕𝘎 𝘏𝘈𝘞𝘒𝘐𝘕𝘚 

𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘌 𝘈𝘎𝘈𝘐𝘕 𝘚𝘖𝘖𝘕

A straight, wooded road stretches ahead as the wind flows through the windows. Eddie’s arm rests on the sill. 

“Is it a place?” you ask. “Where you’re taking me.”

Eddie purses his lips. “Not a building, if that’s what you mean.” 

He expects you to press further, but you only hum and close your eyes. The weight of his palm on your thigh and the wind on your face make everything else disappear. 

•••

The truck slows as you approach a turn-off onto a gravel road. It’s nearly overgrown, but the small pebbles are particularly clear in two parallel tracks where multiple tires have traveled. You wouldn’t have noticed it if Eddie hadn’t slowed. There’s no signage, no sign of a residence nestled somewhere in the distance. Gravel crunches beneath the wheels as you start down the narrow path. Tall trees continue to line the road, gradually thinning as you go. 

Half a mile down the road, you reach an expansive clearing outlined with sycamore trees, lying ahead like something from a dream. Eddie soon slows to a stop and gears the truck into park. 

He unbuckles. “Here we are.” You can hear the smile in his voice as you gape out the windshield.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you breathe. “How’d you find it after all these years?” 

“I’m finally starting to pay attention to things,” he jokes. “Pretty sure my brain didn’t turn on till about seven years ago. Eight if I’m being generous.” He chuckles when you give his shoulder an affectionate, chastising squeeze. 

“Don’t say that,” you smile. “I missed it too, so what does that say about me?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “You’re a-okay.” You can hear the sincerity in his tone. “When I was coming back from Bloomington the other evening, a deer high-tailed it across the street,” he starts. “That’s when I noticed the gravel.” 

“Mr. Curiosity,” you lilt, fondness palpable. “You drove out here, huh?” 

He hums in confirmation. “Thought it’d be a nice place to catch the sunset.”

Outside, the two of you track leisurely through the grass as the sky turns ombre overhead, Mother Nature’s canvas. Eddie walks a few paces behind you to hide his smile as he soaks in your wonder. When you peek back at him over your shoulder, he puts his long legs to good use and closes the distance, taking your hand in his. Locusts chirp, tree leaves rustle, birds sing in the distance. 

Eventually, you make your way back to the truck. Eddie unlatches the tailgate and eases it down, biceps flexing. When you hop to sit on it, Eddie shuffles to stand between your legs, hands finding your thighs. He briefly smooths his calloused palms over them before they still into a light, steady weight, grounding you to the moment. He blinks slowly as he studies your eyes, your nose, your lips—like he has all the time in the world. 

The corners of your lips upturn with the slightest hint of shyness, and you raise your hands to cup his stubbled cheeks. 

“I’m not the sunset,” you say lightly. 

“No?” he murmurs with a playful furrow of his brows. 

His soft lips find yours with a tenderness that rivals the golden glow cast all around. 

Eddie kisses in the same way he admires: slow, easy, and unabashed. Somehow pouring out all of himself without ever overwhelming you. Warmth courses throughout you like a river finding its way, free-flowing as it dips and winds. Even as Eddie begins to pull away, it doesn’t wane. 

His eyes are more lidded than before, but he’s never seen so clearly. The brush of your thumbs over his cheeks makes him lean into your touch. You can feel the fan of his breath over your lips. 

Then he chuckles, a light, surprised sound that gently cuts into the air. Because he’s happy. Because he had no idea where he’d be at this point in his life, but he’s glad it’s here with you. Your confusion passes in a brief spell that eventually makes way for your own smile to bloom. With impossible gentleness, you run your hands through his hair, then tuck them beneath the curls to rest at the nape of his neck. 

You can feel each other’s smiles as you kiss this time. The gentle scratch of your nails makes Eddie feel like he’s floating all the more. 

Your breaths steady as he touches his forehead to yours. “Got so lucky finding you,” he murmurs. 

Your lips quirk. “Hawkins is a pretty small town.” 

Eddie huffs an amused sigh, gently squeezing your waist as he straightens. “Never gonna cut me a break, are you?” Butterflies flutter in your stomach as you shake your head no. “I mean it, though. Everything I am is ‘cause of you.” 

Those words wash over you with an earnestness that renders you quiet. 

Eddie keeps talking, “Sometimes I worry I don’t make it clear enough,” he admits. “Love you so much. Love this life we’ve built—know it’s not the grandest thing in the world.” 

“But it’s ours,” you say. 

And that’s enough. More than enough. Always has been, and always will be.

-

Thank you so much for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

EDDIE MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[alltheirdamn]

DECLINED | Mechanic!Joel x f!reader

*The Oil Change*

Summary: Joel decides to give you a lesson in changing oil... Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 4k Warnings: Pre-Outbreak AU, mechanic!Joel, f! masturbation, fingering, squirting, power dynamic shift, submission, overstimulation, unprotected piv sex, size kink, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (babydoll, darlin', cowboy), ROUGH sex, creampie, lots of banter, questionable information on how to change oil, joel being the MAN that he is A/N: Just a fun lil drabble about our two favorite people ever... also, I am definitely NOT a qualified mechanic with this story, so pls don't follow these instructions when changing your oil lol unless you want to include a mind-blowing orgasm to the mix

Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Okay, so what now?” You asked, staring at the engine of your car.

It was a quiet Saturday at the shop, and Joel had insisted on teaching you how to change the oil. You were ready to get greased up with the car on a jack and the hood open. Joel leaned over the car, pointing to the oil cap beside the engine. 

“See that? That’s where the oil is. We gotta check the levels first before changin’ it,” he explained.

“So… just unscrew it and look into it?” You sounded like a typical dumb girl in a mechanic shop.

Joel was patient with you, though, and far too eager to teach you the ropes. Untwisting the oil cap, he pulled out a long stick beside it, covered in dark liquid. Holding it on the base of a dirty towel, he presented it to you, pointing at the lines on the bottom of it. 

“S’called a dipstick,” he said. “Those lines on the bottom show your fuel levels. If it’s below that line, means you needa change it. What’s it sayin’, babydoll?”

You inspected the dipstick and saw the oil coating it under the line. So far, so easy. 

“Says I need new oil,” you nodded. 

Joel hummed his approval, putting the dipstick back into its spot and leaving the oil cap open. Rounding the car, he pulled up some sort of flat-rolling device. He nodded his head over to it, wordlessly instructing you to follow him. He put it at the side of your car, moving it back and forth to show you how it worked.

“This’ll help you get under the car. S’called a creeper. You just lay down on it and slide under. Think you can do it or want to watch me work?”

You contemplated it, knowing you had seen him on it plenty of other times. You spent countless afternoons watching him lying on the underside of a vehicle, with his thighs flexing under his jeans and his shirt riding up to expose his lower stomach. He always had a particular look when he came back out from under the cars, his hair disheveled and a stupid grin plastered on his face. For such a simple job, Joel sure did love it. 

“I can do it,” you decided. “You can’t be the only one getting all greased up and dirty.”

Joel smirked at you, his hand coming to palm your ass. Leaning into his touch, you pecked him on the cheek and lowered yourself onto the creeper. Staring up at him, you gave him a questioning look as if to ask what now? Pressing his word boot against your shoe, he slid you under the car slowly, your view of him being replaced by the underside of your car. Everything looked just as confusing as it did under the hood. Joel pushed an empty metal pan under with you, along with a wrench and a towel. 

“Alright, babydoll,” he said, his voice closer as he crouched down. “This is where it’ll get messy. Just listen to my instructions, and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m trusting you with my life,” you grumbled. “Don’t let me get covered in oil down here, cowboy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, babydoll. Now, take a look up and find the drain plug. Should look like a lil’ metal screw. You got it?”

Your eyes scanned upwards, straining until you settled on the screw. You grabbed the wrench and lined it up with the screw. 

“I just unscrew it?” you hollered. 

“Wait! Hold on, babydoll!” Joel called out. 

You heard shuffling beside the car and suddenly felt his shadow beside you. He squeezed his way under the car with you; his body angled sideways to get a view of the drain plug. You glanced over at his face, giving him a soft smile. He had that look of focus cresting over his features, his lips pursed, and forehead scrunched together. It was cute seeing him take this so seriously.  

“Alright, alright,” he exhaled. “The oil s’gonna come out fast, so be ready for it. Try movin’ your body my way so you don’t get it all over ya’.”

“You make this sound so dirty,” you laughed. 

“It is dirty,” he said pointedly. “Get that pretty lil’ mind outta the gutter.”

“Or what?” you questioned, shuffling your body against the creep. You leaned into his broad frame, feeling his chest press against your back.

“Focus,” he growled. Despite his irritation, you could feel him harden against you. 

“Okay, okay,” you relented. 

Reaching up, you used the wrench to loosen the screw, utterly oblivious to the chaos that was about to transpire. The screw shot out onto the metal pan with a thud, followed by a heavy stream of oil splashing against the empty pan. Thick, black oil splattered onto your cheek and neck, the warmth of it staining your skin. You yelped at the contact, rolling off the creeper and falling into Joel’s open arms. His chest shook with laughter as he hauled you further from the oil, still steadily draining out. 

“I warned ya’,” he said. “It’s messy.”

“You didn’t tell me I’d get hit with the oil!” you yelled, jabbing him with your elbow, which only sent him into another fit of laughter. “It’s not funny!”

“S’kinda funny,” he chuckled. “I’ll get you all cleaned up after, don’t worry.”

“You fucking better,” you grumbled.

You watched the oil finally finish draining, a slow drip falling into the filled pan. Joel shimmied out from under the car, whispering in your ear to stay put. He came back a moment later, reaching down to hand you some sort of metal canister. Turning it in your hand, you read the label and saw OIL FILTER plastered on the side. 

“Now we gotta change the oil filter,” Joel explained. “First, y’gotta get the old one out, then we can replace it.”

“Why don’t you do the rest? I’m already messy enough.”

“Oh, so you can talk dirty, but I can’t, huh?” He teased, squeezing your calf as it stuck out under the car.

“Oh, shut up!”

Joel bent down to lay under the car with you again, tilting his head to look at the oil filter. His hand twisted the old canister until another glob of oil fell into the pan, smearing over your t-shirt. The oil leaked down his hand, covering the straps and face of his watch and coloring his tan skin. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel!” 

“Why don’t ya’ save that hootin’ and hollerin’ for after the oil change,” he quipped. “I’ll make sure ya’ say that again, just in a different way.”

You glanced at him, welcomed by an overdramatic wink on his handsome face. He nudged you with your elbow, turning your focus back to the oil change. Guiding your hand up to the empty space, he helped you install the new filter, both of your hands working in tandem as you twisted it back into place.

“There ya’ go, babydoll. Good job.”

“Joel,” you warned. “If you keep talking in my ear like that, I’m going to smack the shit outta you.”

“I reckon you’d rather fuck me,” he whispered in your ear.

Joel shuffled out from under the car, leaving the space vacant around you. You managed to get your body back onto the surface of the creeper, propping your knees up to help propel you forward and out, but as you did, an oil-slicked hand grabbed your ankle. You yelped at the contact, your body lurching from under the car and back into the sun-drenched garage. Joel stood over you with a coy grin and a stiffness in his jeans you were all too familiar with. 

You cocked an eyebrow at him, an unspoken warning to him about what he was thinking. You were covered in oil and felt absolutely disgusting… he was not touching you.

“Don’t you even think about it,” you warned, sitting up on the creeper. It rolled back against the car, hitting the side door with a soft thud. 

Joel stalked forward, crouching to meet you at eye level. He had those stupid fucking puppy dog eyes, and his bottom lip was pushed out and extra pouty. He was undeniably cute, but you wouldn’t cave. 

“We got ten minutes to kill ‘til we can recheck the levels,” he insisted.

“Ten minutes? You won’t even last two, cowboy.”

That did him in.

Pulling the edge of the creeper forward, Joel came down to eye level, a flash of intensity cresting over his brown eyes. His hand brushed over your neck, tugging at your ponytail.

“Says you, babydoll. I’ll have you coverin’ the floor in your juices in less than a minute,” he argued.

Your mouth fell open, both shocked and a bit turned on. He wasn’t wrong, but you were determined to prove him wrong. Arching your body forward, your hands gripped the collar of his flannel, hauling him into a long kiss. His tongue brushed over your bottom lip, making you moan helplessly. Damn this man and his ability to make you submissive and pliable.

“Do you think you’re that good?” you taunted, working your mouth down to nip at the patchy beard covering his jaw.

Joel’s hand untangled from your hair and moved to your neck, squeezing your throat gently—a warning. He held you steady as he met your eyes with a fierce look, his eyes nearly black.

“Do you need a reminder, darlin’? ‘Cause I ain’t afraid to teach you a lesson.”

“You’re already teaching me a lesson,” you reminded him, with a touch of sassiness in your voice. “A lesson in changing oil.”

“Keep it up, babydoll. Y’know I love it when you’re a brat. Means I get to fuck it right out of ya’.”

“And I give you full permission to fuck me later. Right now, oil change,” you emphasized.

He huffed a loud groan, rolling his eyes and straightening to his full height. Offering a hand, Joel helped you stand back up, pecking you on the cheek before leading you back to the open hood of the car. 

“When the oil’s settled, we’ll check the dipstick again to make sure the filters workin’,” he explained.

“Sounds easy enough. And that’s it?” You asked.

“Yup. All good after that, babydoll. We just gotta kill them ten minutes.” He gave you a side eye, insinuating what you both could be doing.

“I’m sure you can make yourself busy,” you smiled, blissfully aware of how much you were killing him.

“Rather be busy makin’ you scream my name,” he grumbled, inspecting your car's engine.

“Aw, is my man pouting?” You teased, rounding the edge of the hood to hug him from behind. You pressed your cheek against his shoulder blade, working your grease-covered hands over the buttons of his flannel. Your fingers danced over each one, toying with them just to elicit his response. 

“You’re killing me, babydoll,” Joel groaned. 

“Am I?” You asked innocently. Your hands trailed down his stomach, inching closer to his belt. 

Joel’s hand shot forward, his thick fingers wrapping around your wrist. You gasped as they tightened around your skin, his arm twisting until he maneuvered you around to stand in front of him. Your ass hit the edge of the bumper at the exact moment his hands came up to pull your face to his. His lips crashed onto yours, his tongue seeking yours as he forced your mouth open wider. A desperate whimper escaped your mouth, only making his movements more intense and all-consuming. Your teeth dug into the plush skin of his bottom lip, tugging gently as he broke away. 

“I’m beggin’ you, babydoll. Please let me fill that pretty pussy, I’m about to lose my damn mind.”

You smirked, folding your arms over your chest. His eyes were saucers; his pupils lost amidst the brown in his irises. Despite the afternoon sun still flecking across the corners of the garage, shadows danced over his features, emphasizing the hungry look he was giving you. You knew it would be easy to cave into his needs—you wanted to—but maybe, just maybe, you’d enjoy seeing him work for it. 

“You wanna beg for it, cowboy?” You asked. “Let me see it.”

Joel’s mouth parted, words failing him as he studied your posture and dominant voice. You lifted your chin, trying to level him with a heavy stare even with the inches of height he had over you. 

“Well?” You questioned. 

“Whatcha want, darlin’? Y’wanna see me on my knees?” He suggested, shifting slightly. 

Your eyes flicked down to the bulge in his jeans, watching it strain against the zipper the longer you stared. Your tongue darted out, rolling over your bottom lip before you bit into it. Joel let out an impatient groan before sinking to his knees before you. Now, the eye contact shifted, your height imposing over his. Seeing his eyes strain upwards to look at you gave you a new sense of control. You liked it.

“Is this what ya’ wanted?” His voice dropped an octave. 

“I don’t hear any begging,” you shrugged. 

Joel clasped his hands together, holding them in front of his chest, as he met your eyes with a pleading stare. His kiss-swollen lips pushed out into a pout, and his voice was agonizingly desperate as he spoke.

“Please, babydoll,” he begged. “I’m dyin’ to see you ruin the floors of this damn garage. Fuckin’ desperate to make you cum all over my cock, please.”

“I like you begging,” you mused. “You’re so handsome on your knees.”

Joel groaned, letting his head fall against your thighs. Running his hands up your jeans, his fingers worked towards your zipper, which you quickly swatted away. Carding your hand through the sweaty curls atop his head, you yanked them back to force his eyes on you again.

“Do you want to see me cum?” You questioned. 

Joel nodded pathetically, his thick neck straining the longer he looked up at you. You noted the outline of his veins under his sun-kissed skin and how his throat bobbed with each word you spoke. 

“Fuck, babydoll. Yes. Please, I want it s’bad,” he pleaded.

“Then be a good boy and watch,” you commanded.

Arousal flooded through your veins as you unzipped your jeans, shimming them down your hips and thighs before discarding them somewhere amidst the mess of the workspace. Standing before him in only a tiny lace thong, you watched as Joel wordlessly tracked your movements, his eyes zeroed in on the apparent slickness between your thighs. You had done such a good job of restraining yourself earlier to saying no, but how could you deny a man on his knees? 

“No touching,” you ordered. “You’re only allowed to watch.”

Hooking your thumbs under the band of your underwear, you let them slowly fall to the ground, your legs stepping out of them as you adjusted yourself against the bumper of the car. Pressing your ass against the cold metal frame, you lifted one leg to rest on top of the bumper; your foot pressed down as you shifted your weight to support your body. Joel obediently watched, his hands resting on his thighs as ordered. 

You moved your hand down your abdomen, your fingers drifting lower as you teased your wet folds. Joel watched with rapt attention, his eyes never leaving the sight of your hand. You made small circles over your clit, the brush of your fingers against it electrifying your nerves. Unrefined pleasure coursed through you as your movements intensified, your hips rolling against your hand as you chased your orgasm. Joel let out a strangled groan, and your eyes snapped to him, only to catch his hand palming over his cock beneath his jeans.

“No,” you said firmly. “You can’t touch yourself yet.”

“Babydoll,” he whined. “S’fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You leveled him with a heavy stare, pushing two fingers inside your aching cunt with a cry of pleasure falling off your lips. You wanted to see him work for it and see how long he’d last without snapping. With two fingers curling deep inside you, you brought your other hand into the mix, drawing those same lazy circles over your clit until you felt that white-hot pressure building inside your core. Joel still hadn’t moved an inch; every muscle in his body tensed as he watched helplessly. You curled your fingers harder, pulling more soft sounds from your mouth as you teetered on the edge of release.

“Joel,” you panted. “I—I need your fucking mouth.”

There was no hesitation.

He crawled to you, replacing the fingers on your clit with his mouth, his tongue stroking the aching bud with fervor. Each flick and drag of his tongue was another shockwave through your nerves, pushing you closer and closer until you were crying out into the space around you. With one large hand gripping the back of your thigh, Joel pressed his tongue harder against your clit until you were crashing over the edge. You came with his name falling off of your tongue, your wet arousal dripping down the bridge of his nose as he pushed his face further into you. Joel wrapped his fingers around your wrist, pulling your fingers from your wet entrance, and sucked them into his mouth. Your eyes connected as he stared up at you, his tongue gliding up each finger as if he were a starved man. 

Fuck control, and fuck the oil change; you needed him. Now. 

“Take me, cowboy,” you pleaded. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Y’gonna regret sayin’ that,” he warned, hauling himself to his feet. 

Joel’s arms wrapped around the back of your knees, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped at the sudden movement, your hands bracing against his lower back. The garage became a blur as he moved past the cars and mess of tools on the ground. Maneuvering you onto the workbench, Joel guided you back until you were flush with the wooden bench, his body hovering over you. His hands moved swiftly on his belt buckle, letting his cock spring free as he hauled your legs over his shoulders. 

“Don’t get grease all over me,” you said. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself, cowboy.”

“Oh, don’t worry, m’gonna make a fuckin’ mess of you,” Joel smirked and lined his cock up with your entrance. 

He drove into you with such force your body shifted upwards on the bench, your skin digging into the wood as you tried to adjust to his size. No matter how many times Joel fucked you, you were always breathless when he filled you with every inch of his cock. He had you bent in half in this position, his hands braced behind you on the bench, and your legs folded over his shoulders. The strength behind each thrust was brutal, and you cried out with each snap of his hips against yours. 

“Did ya’ enjoy teasin’ me, babydoll?” He grunted. “You like seein’ me on my knees beggin’ for this pussy?”

“Yes!” You wailed, tears forming in your eyes. 

“Gonna make you fuckin’ beg for my cum, darlin’. Let’s fuckin’ hear it. Scream for me.”

Joel fucked you with abandon until you were a crying mess. Your hands wound around his neck, nails digging into his skin just for stability. The flutter of your cunt around him sucked him in further, plunging his cock at a deeper angle that catapulted you right to the precipice of release. He knows it, too. If you thought his pace was brutal before—this was violent. He was claiming you in every single buck of his hips, and you steal a glance upwards to see his face twisted up in determination. 

Your voice was becoming hoarse from screaming his name; the void of the garage filled with the sounds of your cries and the disgusting slap of his hips against your slick cunt. Every muscle in your legs tensed and shook as you tried to quell the desperate need for release. You couldn’t hold it much longer; his cock was rubbing against that perfect spot inside you. 

“I can feel that pussy clenchin’ my cock, babydoll,” Joel whispered, lowering his mouth to your ear. “Don’t fuckin’ cum yet. Not ‘til I tell you.”

“Joel, I—I can’t wait,” you sobbed. “Please, I need it.”

“Be a good girl for me,” he growled. “You can do it.”

Your chest heaved with another sob, the tears overflowing as your cunt clenched harder. You were using every ounce of your energy to hold your orgasm at bay, to force your body to wait until he gave you that release. His greased fingers found your overly sensitive clit, pressing right against the bud and alighting the nerves inside you. Your back arched off the bench as you stifled another scream of pleasure. 

“Look at you,” he taunted. “So fuckin’ desperate now, huh? Teased me all day, and now y’wanna cum so bad? Alright, babydoll, cum for me.”

The world fizzled out as your orgasm wracked through your body, lurching you upwards into his arms as you clung to him with shaking limbs. A stream of liquid poured from your pulsating cunt, a ripple of pleasure folding over your nerves and tumbling you into oblivion. Joel’s body tensed under you as he filled you with his release, hot ropes painting the inside of your cunt. Another wave of arousal tore through you, drenching the bench beneath you and dripping onto the floor. Even amidst the haze of your orgasm, you could hear Joel chuckling softly.

“Told you I’d have ya’ drenchin’ the ground.”

“Shut. Up.” You panted. 

“Mhmm,” he hummed, kissing your tear-soaked cheek. 

Joel removed himself from you, easing your sore legs off his shoulders and placing your feet on the floor. Your vision was still blurred as you stared at his face, his lips twitching with a smug grin and a trail of sweat rolling down his temples. 

“I reckon that oil’s ready to check now, darlin’,” he said, offering you a hand.

You took it, winding your fingers through his. With a squeeze of his fingers, you walked over to the car, trying—and failing—to hide the limp in your steps. You couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and down your thighs, but you watched silently as he pulled out the dipstick and presented it to you.

“Good job, darlin’,” he smiled. “Now ya’ know how to change the oil. Whatcha wanna learn next?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your underwear from the floor and slipping them over your hips. 

“Maybe I can teach you how to slow down your damn sex drive, cowboy. You’re gonna fucking break me in half one day,” you grumbled. 

“Don’t think you’d mind it much, babydoll.”

Joel tugged you close, tipping your chin up to meet his lips with a tender kiss. You were pliant in his hands, molding yourself to each hard muscle of his body. Running your hands up his biceps, you gripped his shoulders and slipped your tongue over his. He palmed your ass, pressing your body tighter against his chest. 

“You’re a terrible teacher, you know that?” You mumbled against his mouth.

“But ya’ love me,” he tossed back, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. 

“Yeah, I do,” you sighed happily. 

“And I love you, babydoll.”

[matchpointfaist]

anobrain x art donaldson au

a/n:: tw for drugs/alcohol abuse mention, descrption of preexisting injury, art is just really sad to be honest, age gap but nothing crazy! gonna make this 2 parts :)

once upon a time, art donaldson had it all. a great tennis career, a best friend he'd known for a decade, a girlfriend with an even more promising career than his own. he'd been on the straight path to success, with a 4.0 gpa at stanford and a sure spot in the US Open.

that was all before. before the injury that rendered his shoulder useless, before his girlfriend left him for his best friend in the world, before he dropped out halfway through his senior year of college and went from a household name to a bad example.

he'd moved back to his hometown after everything to clear his head. one year, to get his life back on track, turned into two. then five, and then next thing he knew he was 30 and living off of the remains of his sponsorship savings paired with mediocre income from selling party drugs to rich kids with daddy's credit card.

that was where he met you. you were different from everyone else he'd sold to. he never got the impression that you had daddy's money, or that you even had parents, to be honest. you had the sort of face that could be in a magazine, but an air about you suggested that you'd never cared, or maybe even noticed.

monthly meet ups in his car turned into weekly, and you seemed to linger a little longer each time, like you'd rather be sitting in the passenger seat of his car than anywhere else. you seemed perpetually stressed, lips bitten raw and shadows under your eyes each time he saw you. he found himself, stupidly, wanting to fix it. you seemed worse than usual when he finally let himself ask.

"are you alright?" you seemed to bristle at the question, avoiding his eyes and straightening your shoulders, "yeah, i'm fine. why?" "you just look tired," he shrugged, lighting a cigarette and cracking the window, "you always look tired, i guess," "how sweet," you mumbled, but your posture relaxed slightly, "just have some shit going on, i'll be fine,"

"like what?" he couldn't help himself now, you had him. "working a lot, trying to make rent and my roommate just told me she's moving so i have to find a way to cover her half, too," he was surprised you were even telling him any of this, "it's not a big deal," he wasn't sure where it came from, what fucked up part of his mind, or if it was his compulsive need to fix things, but the words spilled out of his mouth quicker than he could think, "do you need some help? i could pay it this month, help you get on your feet,"

you went tense all over at that, shaking your head before you could even consider it, and opened his car door, "i don't need a hand out, jesus. you barely even know me," and then you were gone, the crumpled $50 in the cupholder the only evidence that you'd ever been there.

he knew what it was like, to feel like some charity case, really. but he did know you. he knew you were 22, and that you'd moved out as soon as you turned 18, and that you had a roommate you borderline hated and an ex you definitely did. he knew your favorite color was purple (you had a streak of it in your hair and you almost constantly wore a dark purple sweater), that your favorite band was the 1975 (you put them on every time the two of you smoked in his car), that you worked at a coffee shop in the mornings and bartended in the evenings.

he knew you wouldn't let him get close, despite your odd sort of friendship you'd formed over shared, messily rolled joints and cheap cigarettes. he knew you were scared, for whatever reason, and that you never seemed to be completely comfortable. he just needed to learn how to fix it, that was all.

the next week, he pulled up to your usual meeting spot, despite never receiving a text from you asking him to. and there you were, purple sweater and cutoff shorts and threaded converse, climbing into his passenger seat with an apologetic smile. "hey," you said quietly, and he knew immediately something had to be wrong. your voice was hoarse and raw, and your eyes were rimmed red with smeared mascara, but that small smile stayed on your lips, just for him. "hi," he held out the joint he'd rolled just for you, smiling slightly as you took it, "what's wrong?"

it all came out in a mess after that. all the walls you'd seemed so hellbent on keeping up crumbled, your shoulders shaking with silent cries as you pulled your knees into the seat, teary gaze focused on the view outside the window. he wasn't sure what to do, he just knew he needed you to stop, to feel better. his hand went to your knee, rubbing circles into the skin, shushing you gently. "just talk to me," he murmured, "what's going on?"

you finally caved, telling him all about how you’d fallen behind on bills and your roommate moved out and you’d have to move back home if you didn’t figure shit out real quick, how you were terrified that you were failing at life when you’d just barely gotten started. he’d listened to every word, his chest aching for you, wishing he could take it all away, or at least some of it.

“you’re not failing,” he said softly, reaching out to hold as much of you as he could across the console, “you’re gonna be okay, alright? everybody gets a little behind sometimes,” “it’s not just a little behind, art, i’ve got no savings and no plan and my job is shit-“ you started up rambling again, your voice shaky. “hey, hey, look at me,” he tilted your chin up, brows knit in concern, “i’ll help you sort it out, okay? we’ll figure it out,”

“i can’t ask you for help, it’s hard enough i’m sitting here crying to you,” you sniffled, “i didn’t mean to drag you into all this, you’re just so sweet,” “you might be the only person in the world who thinks i’m sweet,” he smiled slightly, brushing a piece of hair from your face, “why don’t you just stay with me tonight and we’ll sort this out in the morning, yeah? if you need to move back home i’ll help you,”

“are you sure i wouldn’t be overstepping?” you asked, more timid than he had ever heard you. “of course you wouldn’t be overstepping,” it was ridiculous, the thought of you inconveniencing him in any way, “buckle up, kay? you can sleep in my room and i’ll take the couch,”

the ride to his apartment was quiet, but not awkward. it never seemed to be uncomfortable between the two of you, just static silence filled with occasional glances and shy smiles. “it might be a little messy,” he laughed apologetically as he unlocked his front door, despite knowing he preferred to keep his space clean. you glanced around as he walked you inside, and he was struck by the intimacy of seeing you in his space, surrounded by his things, like you were truly a part of his life.

"it's nice," you finally said, gazing out the balcony window, "how long have you lived here?" his mind fleeted back to memories of a younger version of himself, full of ambition, hopes and dreams that never came to fruition. "uhm, about five years," he cleared his throat, suddenly all too aware of the space in the room that you occupied, of the way he'd chased the feeling of being known only to struggle with the idea of you knowing him, "do you wanna smoke before i head to bed?"

he was grateful you agreed, glad to have something to do other than watch you trace the lines of his life throughout the apartment, but he wasn't sure this was much better. you sat across from him in the windowsill, your eyes hazy and soft as you exhaled smoke, and he thought in this light you looked more and more like someone he could fall in love with. but that was insane, and he'd only known you for a few months, and you were probably unavailable, he reasoned with himself. that didn't stop him from watching your every movement, entranced by the way the smoke cast a veil over your features, by the simple motion as you passed him the joint.

"you can borrow some clothes if you need to change before bed," he offered, voice thick, "i'm sure i have something," "i'd appreciate that, thanks," you gave him a small smile, following him to his room hesitantly, eyeing everything like you needed to commit it to memory. he'd never regretted anything more when you emerged from his bathroom a few minutes later, his old stanford shirt hanging loose on your frame, brushing your thighs as you walked. he nearly choked, his eyes going anywhere but to you, terrified of what he might say if he lingered. he was grief stricken for a life that didn't exist, seeing you in that tattered red shirt. he could've been the sort of man you deserved, could've been someone you'd be proud of, good enough to get you out of any problems and into the safety of a nice life. his eyes were stinging, and he blinked tears away, clearing his throat.

"well i'll- i'm gonna go to the couch," he gestured awkwardly to the living room, "there's a white noise machine on the nightstand, if you need it," "i think i'll manage without it, but thank you," you laughed, and he wished desperately to eternalize this moment, "thank you again, art. for everything," "it's really no problem," he ran a hand through his hair, anything to distract himself, "i'll be in there if you need me, okay? goodnight,"

he almost couldn't tear himself away, but he forced himself out to the couch, eyes lingering on the doorframe despite you being long out of sight. the mental image of you curled up in his sheets was enough to keep him awake for what felt like hours, his jaw tight, head clouded with bad judgement. he'd finally started to doze around 2am when the floor creaked slightly, and he looked up to see you only feet away, tip toeing through his hallway. you were so beautiful that way, totally oblivious to his gaze, all alone in your head as you snuck back to the windowsill, a cigarette between your fingers.

"leavin me already?" he asked, smiling to himself as you jumped, startled by his voice cutting through the silence. "sorry, i didn't mean to wake you," you frowned slightly, "not leavin, just couldn't sleep 'nd needed to smoke," "it's okay," he waved a dismissive hand, stretching before coming to join you, "can't sleep either. d'you want me to make some coffee? "i can do it, feel bad enough stealing your bedroom. might as well make myself useful," you looked hopeful, eager to help, and his chest warmed at the thought of you wanting to do something for him.

so there you were, in his kitchen, humming to yourself as you steeped coffee in his french press, looking like you belonged there. he'd never realized how lonely he'd been until you came into his life, taking up empty space he'd once been content to leave hollow. he could get used to it, he thought, and that terrified him. the idea of doing anything to run you away, to disrupt this relationship, friendship, whatever the two of you had, he couldn't take it.

you settled onto the couch next to him, sipping your coffee, watching as the sun slowly rose through the curtains. "did you think any more about what you're going to do?" he asked after a bit, disturbing the peaceful silence, "about your apartment, i mean," "i think i'm gonna move home," you sounded so disappointed, it made him sick, "maybe that'll give me a chance to save up, get my bearings and just restart," "ah," he busied himself circling the rim of his mug with his fingertip, his mind racing with thoughts on how to fix this, how to take all your anxieties and pass them on to himself, "and you're sure that's what you want?"

the story was all too familiar to him, a mirror of what he'd been through years prior, bringing all the memories to the surface once again. maybe your fall from grace wasn't as high as his, but he was sure it would scar just the same. "i don't think anyone wants to move back home, but i don't know that i have much of a choice," you shrugged, "i'll get used to it," "you could stay here until you're back on your feet," the offer hung in the air again, just as it had last night, "i mean it, i don't mind at all. you shouldn't have to move away just because you're having a hard time,"

"art, i can't ask you to let me move in here," you frowned slightly, "it's so nice of you to even offer, but i need to figure this out on my own," "you're not asking," he said it like it was simple, and he supposed in his mind, it was, "i'm offering. i wanna help you, and i'm telling you is not an imposition, okay? or i can just pay your rent, whatever you owe. we'll call it an early birthday present,"

"i can't let myself be in debt to you," you said quietly, looking anywhere but his face, "don't you see that? this isn't just some casual amount of money, this is a lot for me, and i appreciate you but it's just too much," "you wouldn't be in debt to me, okay? what can i say to make you see that? i want to help you, i'm not expecting anything in return, just let me be there for you," "i'm not gonna let my dealer pay my rent, art. let's be serious about this,"

that stung, just as much as if you'd slapped him. "right, yeah. i'm just your dealer," the words felt bitter on his tongue, like his body was rejecting the very thought. "that's not what i meant, art, i'm sorry," you reached for him as he stood from the couch, your hand cool against the flushed skin of his wrist, "i'm not good at this, i don't know how to just take help from people, okay? i'm sorry, please come sit back down,"

"i'm not good at this either," he sighed softly as he sat back beside you, eyes trained on your fingers still lingering on his arm, "i just- i hate the thought of you struggling, okay? and i could have this all wrong, so please tell me if i'm overstepping, but there's something more here," he gestured between the two of you, "don't you feel it? if you don't, just tell me and i swear to you i'll never overstep again,"

you hesitated, the tension between you palpable enough that art could feel his heart racing, could feel his face flushed in anticipation, preparing himself for rejection. "yeah, i feel it too," you finally said, "that's part of the reason i can't just accept handouts from you, i don't want anything we might have to be built on me owing you something," "i would never make you feel like you owe me anything," the very idea of it was ridiculous to him, "you know me better than that,"

"i can't afford to chance it, art," your voice sounded so small, then, and the idea that you'd been through this before finally occurred to him. this wasn't the kind of hurt that just materialized itself. "okay," he finally sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender, "will you at least stay here while you work things out with your parents to move back home?"

"i'm starting to think you just want me in your bed," you smiled over at him, and the relief he felt was a rush, like he could breathe again now that you'd relaxed. "maybe," he laughed softly, "just wanna know you're safe, that's all," "how come you didn't tell me you went to stanford?" you asked curiously, tracing your fingers over the hem of the t shirt he'd given you. "oh, uhm- didn't seem important," he shrugged, any relief he'd allowed himself to feel immediately replaced by shame, "it wasn't a big deal,"

"i couldn't sleep, so i looked you up," you said, tone casual and light, the opposite of what he was feeling, "you were famous, art," "i wasn't famous, i just played tennis," he said quickly, "and it doesn't matter anymore, anyway, so that's why i didn't tell you-" "i'm just asking," you laid a hand on his shoulder, looking over his flushed face, "most guys would've bragged about that," "i don't have a fuckin' thing to brag about," he shook his head, "i'm sure above all the articles about my success you saw the articles about my failure,"

"who cares about failure?" you rolled your eyes, "i read that you had an injury, and then i stopped reading to give you privacy," he glanced over at you then, the sincerity in your voice striking him, "yeah, i had surgery on my shoulder," he admitted hesitantly, "had a really bad breakup, kinda lost my shit. dropped out and moved home," "oh, art," you said softly, "i'm so sorry,"

"don't-" it came out sharper than he intended, "please don't feel sorry for me," "i don't think it's fair for you to try to fix me but i can't even feel sorry for you," he knew you didn't mean anything by it, but it unsettled him nonetheless, his jaw clenched as he bit at the inside of his cheek. "my entire career, my life, going out the window is not the same as you having to move back in with your parents," he knew as soon as he said it he'd gone too far, could tell from the way you jerked your hand away from him, your eyes steely.

"i didn't say it was," your voice was level, like you'd closed yourself off, "i need to go, i have a shift later and i should call my parents," "you don't have to go," he hated how he was immediately pleading, "let me drive you, at least," "i'd rather walk, thanks," you disappeared into his bedroom, returning in your own clothes, the stanford shirt folded neatly on his bed. "thank you for letting me stay here," the words sounded difficult for you to form, "i'll just call you later or something," "i'll pick you up from work," he offered, looking up at you from the couch as you lingered by the door, "i'm really sorry-" "don't apologize," you shook your head, "you were right, it's not the same thing at all,"

he watched you go, as he watched most of the good things go from his life, complacent and sidelined. he ran the conversation back in his mind, combing through all the chances he had to fix it, to explain what happened and why he was so touchy on the subject. he'd just have to work harder next time, have to figure out some way to keep you.

[ofmermaidstories]

SUMMARY: The call to be a Pro Hero has never been a question—not for Katsuki Bakugou, explosive and guarded, nor for Izuku Midoriya, protective and determined, and certainly not for Shouto Todoroki, who’s family legacy hangs over him like a shadow. Years after the War that upended Hero Society, these three men have helped rebuild a path to Pro Heroism for the next generation, tentatively heralding a new era of hope. But there’s danger lurking in this rebuilt world, danger that has the power to rekindle old fears and usher in new resentments, and as the trio branch out to find and end these threats, they each encounter a new challenge along the way—colliding with someone unexpected, and falling in love.

(A Pro Hero x Reader Trilogy; in which falling in love is a random chance all at once chaotic and exhilarating and incredible, for each of the Big Three)

The premise is simple: three heroes, three fics, and three different lives to live. Named for the Katy Perry song, The One That Got Away, the In Another Life trilogy was originally intended to be a series of five stand-alone fics that evolved, fairly quickly, into what we have today: three interconnected stories that let our Reader-inserts move throughout the My Hero Academia world, and eventually find where—and who with—they belong.

Started in 2020 when the manga was still on-going, the fics have diverged from the canon Horikoshi’s given us both in small and large ways. Despite where they separate (and where the fics have to stay faithful to their own canon, now), it’s always been my hope that they read like the love letters they are—to My Hero, to the boys, and to x reader fic at large.

i’m running to your side—flying my white flag

1. surrender (whenever you’re ready) [Explicit] — ao3

93k+

Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

COMPLETED ✔️

SUMMARY: You first meet Ground Zero when he's thrown, unceremoniously, through the glass window of your florist shop.

(In which Bakugou cannot stand flowers but finds himself coming back, anyway)

i’ve been reading books of old—the legends and the myths

2. something (just like this) [Explicit] — ao3

203k+

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

COMPLETED ✔️

SUMMARY: It probably says a lot about you that your first thought on meeting Deku, international Symbol of Peace, isn't something like "Oh, wow," or, "Oh he's so nice," but is instead the un-Plus Ultra thought of, "I definitely would've bullied him, in high school."

At least until those muscles came in.

(In which Midoriya is an absolute nerd for the release of his own hero-inspired comic book series—and the artist responsible for it)

all your flaws and scars are mine

3. still (falling for you) [Explicit] — ao3

TDB

Shouto Todoroki x Reader

WIP 🕙

SUMMARY: The first time you and Shouto cross paths, he nearly drowns you.

(In which Todoroki meets a jeweller by the sea, and learns the difference between the value of the lessons he's been given—and the precious things he chooses to keep)

🚧 UNDER CONSTRUCTION 🚧

i am actively adding to and editing this section, still. if you think something is missing, or you have something you’d like included, please let me know!!! i am going through all the posts and links i do have, manually, so i may still miss something and would love a gentle reminder. 🌷

🚧 🏗️ 🧱🔨🔧🪛 🚧

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] do u think bakugou ever gets so angry his mouth misses [Readers] when they’re making out?

Katsuki’s home for once, sleeping off the last few days in the darkness of his room, cocooned.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] what type of jewellery would Bakugou gift [Reader], if any at all?

The first gift Katsuki gives you after Christmas is a pocket knife.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] merms, what are bakugou and weeds up to this christmas? :)

Katsuki wakes up before his alarm, before the sun rises—the city spread out beyond his bedroom windows like a carpet of stars.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] i miss weeds and katsuki so much 😭😭

It will be proper twilight, when they leave together; Weed's hand in the crook of his arm.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] how are weeds and katsuki?

It’s a Wednesday, a normal day, and they are figuring it out.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] petition for you to write [Reader sending] bakugou horny tweets

light it up like an ELECTRIC STRIKE ⚡️: please please PLEASE Kacchan has blocked me and muted the groupchat PLEASE, I need him to see this, please just send him this ONE THING, PLEASE!!!!!

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] would [it] be important to bakugou for [his parents and weeds] to meet?

Masaru will just scratch the side of his nose under his glasses and think about a younger Mitsuki, who literally would not take no for an answer from him—and a younger Katsuki, who had the same laser-focus when it came to the things he wanted in his life.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] i am asking for royal au + florist au for [weeds/bakugou]

In his armour still, his forest-green cape, Ser Bakugou is dressed for war—solid and imposing as he stands on your threshold.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [SJLT] what does [Reader] post [to instagram]? + [SWYR] things weeds would post

The one consistent has been art, good, bad and middling.

[ASK/DRABBLE 📖] [IAL] it’s so cute that SWYR’s reader is a fan of SJLT’s comic

Kacchan has never asked for anything from Izuku—beyond that he doesn’t look down on him (beyond that Izuku live).

[DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] katsuki keeps a pot of strawberries for you in his kitchen;

When they finally fruit he’s disgruntled.

[DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] katsuki’s quieter than usual

So you wait. You let him have his silence, and you fill the space around it with your own presence.

[DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] he tells me he’s gentle when he wants to be—

The bed dipping under Katsuki’s weight wakes you.

[DRABBLE 📖] [SWYR] you and bakugou walk home in the rain

“Y’re meant to go home, dipshit,” he says, disapproving

[DRABBLE 📖] [SJLT] bad touch (you and me)

Minoru’s skeleton nearly fists itself out of his asshole when a voice behind him says, “That was a kindness you just did, for Midoriya.”

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] if you were to write surrender today, do you think anything would change?

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] what would have been the moment bakugou knew he had it bad for surrender's reader?

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] what do weeds and bakugou fight about? and how do they apologise?

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] do you think bakugou ever feels like weeds would be better off without him? :(

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] have you ever written/imagined Kirishima’s POV [throughout the fic]?

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] how does bakugou and haru’s relationship progress?

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] idk if you meant her to come off in this way, but [Reader] strikes me as [lonely]

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] i’m literally going to throw up from excitement if you actually make a bakuweeds oneshot collection

[ASK ❔] [SWYR] i am vibrating in my boots with excitement about the [SWYR] one-shot series!

[ASK ❔] [SJLT] did you have any inspiration for the kimono Reader is wearing in SJLT?

[ASK ❔] [SJLT] looking forward to our [gala] wear

[ASK ❔] [SJLT] could we have visuals of Reader’s outfits during the gala?

[ASK ❔] [IAL] double dates

[ASK ❔] [IAL] what city/prefecture does [the series] take place in?

[ASK ❔] [IAL] how [would] the Y/Ns react to fanfic about their heroes?

[PODFIC 🎙️] [SWYR] surrender (whenever you’re ready) — narrated by Chthonianqueen

[PLAYLIST 🎧] [SWYR] surrender (whenever you’re ready) [plays on spotify]

[PLAYLIST 🎧] [SWYR] and i’d give up forever to touch you: a suggested-songs playlist [plays on spotify]

[PLAYLIST 🎧] [SJLT] something (just like this) [plays on spotify]

[PLAYLIST 🎧] [SJLT] like lightning: a suggested-songs playlist [plays on spotify]

[ART ✏️] [IAL] bakugou & weeds, deku and & scribbles & bakugou/weeds, deku/scribbles, monoma/reader — by @groshia

[ART ✏️] [SJLT] you get to witness, in real time, as [Deku] leaps from the now open door — by @getstarried

[ART ✏️] [SJLT] izuku, just izuku. just as he is — by @handlethegbread

[ART ✏️] [SWYR] when you’re bakugou katsuki, — by @okeydokiescribbles

[ART ✏️] [SWYR] haru + the flower shop signs

[MOODBOARD 🖼️] [SJLT] the moodboard trend inspired me to make this little thing

[MOODBOARD 🖼️] [SJLT] SJLT is my all-time favourite fanfic,

[MOODBOARD 🖼️] [SJLT] this is just […] a collection of things that reminded me of this story

[BINDING 📚] surrender & the widening sky — @ladybirdk

[BINDING 📚] surrender (whenever you’re ready) — @/captain-liar

[PODCAST 🎙️] Canonically Incorrect, episode 75, season 2: Surrender (Whenever You’re Ready) — 10 December, 2022

[ spotify | apple ]

[PERMISSION STATEMENT:] You are more than welcome to print out any of the fics and bind yourself a copy for personal use, or otherwise record a [non-AI] reading of them, or translate into another language—as long as my ao3 username, OfMermaids, is credited somewhere as having written it. 🥹📚 I also love, love seeing and hearing about the work that goes into the pieces you create for yourselves, so if you’re comfortable with it, I’d love to see a picture of (or get a link to!) your efforts!!

final note:

This series is the result of several years worth of love and work, and most importantly, encouragement from the people who have come along and read the stories in it. Whether this is your first time discovering the trilogy, or you’re otherwise revisiting the boys, this is a note to say thank-you for being here. Thank-you for reading, and for being apart of something that has been so much fun to create. Fandom and fanfiction has always been about sharing the excitement with other people—so thank-you for letting me share mine with you. 🌷📖

[tmntxthings]

一∑Moth to a Flame・゜・。

author’s notes: this is my entry for @dancingdonatello ‘s competition :D this has been sm fun and I can’t wait to read everyone else’s stories!!!

prompt: "You like them...more? Is that it? Am I the second choice?" "That's not true..." "Then choose me. Choose us."

warnings: angst, situation-ship, aged-up characters, college au, alcohol consumption, jealousy, yandere tendencies? cliffhanger

—————————————————————————

Donnie didn’t know how much more he could take. His mind was simultaneously all over the place and singularly focused on one thing. You.

~

Mutants and yokai kind alike have been out for years. So in the ‘town’ he and his brothers grew up in, they finally came to be free from the shadows. As free as heroes can be at least. They still needed to be a bit secretive on where they lived, in case of revenge-seeking villains.

But with mutants out on the surface, New York had grown accustom to them. Well, as accustom as they can be…

Donnie has met many people. He’s been able to attend college. Mostly online. But he finds the time to attend some evening classes in person. He met you. A floundering classmate in need of assistance.

Usually Donnie can find an excuse to get out of helping every poor soul that crosses his path. That’s what the professors are for. The librarians. Hell the student mentors! But with you… he just couldn’t resist.

The study sessions were long. But in the end you were able to pass, “All thanks to you Dee!!” You had cheered shoving your research paper into his face for him to appraise your passing grade. Barely passing, but it showed your improvement nonetheless.

He had been about to tease you of this. Three months of his help and you hardly grazed by?! But the thought was cut short as you pulled the papers away from his face and up you jumped.

Arms going around his neck and squealing your joy. He was frozen for a millisecond before his arms twitched into motion. His hands going around your back, holding you. That was the first time you had initiated such skin-ship.

Sure there had been the occasional touching of hands, passing laptops, books and the like back and forth. There had even been moments of playful touch, nudging his arm with your elbow for his odd choice in coffee. A tap above his glasses when he got too focused on his own work to answer your sporadic questions.

The hug didn’t last very long in terms of time. Seconds merely. But it made a lasting impression on Donnie. With the class over, you had no other reason to see him again. The prospect had Donnie fumbling to invite you out, to do anything to prolong such an ending to this blooming relationship.

“What classes are you taking next semester?” He had asked. You promised to text him the list, already having to dash off for one last exam.

He worried that would be the end.

Thankfully it wasn’t. You texted him later that evening, telling him all about the rest of your day as well as the list per his request. Unfortunately the two of you didn’t share any other classes. And it seemed unlikely for the future as well, the two of you were on diverging paths. Donnie despaired.

But you found reasons to message him. By the time the next semester rolled around the two of you were study partners, no matter the subject. Donnie would help if he could, and usually he was able. But there was a shift in the relationship. Outings to the library and other study areas changed to coffee shops. Then to your place. It only felt natural to invite you over to his.

Preparations were put in place. As were warnings “Yes, I do live in a sewer with my brothers and dad.” And “No it doesn’t reek of waste or garbage.” And “Yes there is one rat actually, my dear Papa.”

You took it all in stride. The introductions to his family went as well as they ever did. Friends. The two of you were officially friends. Donnie couldn’t be happier. With such a title he took more initiative with online contact. His messages would ramble on, sprinkled with pictures and videos.

Semesters continued to pass by and the bond between the two of you only grew. In turn, with more trips to his home, you became friends with his brothers. With April. It was just natural.

And then there was graduation. A celebration was in order. Four years, you had been in his life for four years and he couldn’t imagine it without you. The plan was to dress to the nines, and go out on the ‘town’! Drinking and dancing.

Of course, his brothers were invited as well as a few of your other friends. Donnie was no stranger to clubbing. The bar scene had become somewhat of a regular occurrence once his friendship with you was solidified.

You liked to go out. You liked music. He obliged on a few occasions to be your dancing partner and thus every time after it was his official label. Donnie was adverse to the huge crowds. It didn’t offer much room for dancing, but he’d endure it for you. With you in his arms it all seemed bearable. The music that was so loud it thumped in his plastron. The heat in the room percolating from the sheer number of bodies. Even the taste of alcohol, on the very, very rare occasion you got him to drink.

It always tasted horrible. No matter the different shots or mixed cocktails. God forbid a beer. You had pushed all sorts of these beverages on him, eyes crinkling up at him with amusement as his beak wrinkled from disgust.

Those nights with alcohol involved always ended strangely. Your touch would light him up from the inside. He’d want to hold you closer, lean in as far as you’d let him. Pull at your waist, dig his fingers into your hips during the last dance before the two of you had to part for the night. Those nights ended with kisses.

And by the next day you would never talk about them. So he didn’t either. Even as his murky memory of all other events seemed to part with clarity for how you had panted heat into his mouth. He’d flush dark green at just the thought and have to swallow the spit that pooled in his mouth.

This had happened a handful of times. The kissing. And with no communication whatsoever afterwards it put Donnie on edge. He wondered why it happened at all if you didn’t want to acknowledge the deed once it was done. He wondered about what it said on account of his own self worth for him to continue to let it happen.

To look forward to nights out. To nights you pushed a shot glass his way. To want your lips on his by the end of it all.

So with this big celebration, Donnie was expecting the same routine if only highlighted by the fact that both of you were now graduates. He’d be your dance partner. The two of you would spin for an hour or two, or however long you wanted. And he’d order himself a drink this time. One that he found slightly bearable than the rest.

Only, that wasn’t what was happening. Drink in hand? Sure. Your hand in his other? No. He was grumbling over at the bar shooting hateful daggers where you resided on the dance floor. You were dancing with Leo.

Donnie grimaced as he took a long hard sip. It was like acid in his mouth. Donnie didn’t know how much more he could take. His mind was simultaneously all over the place and singularly focused on one thing. You.

You laughing as Leo twirled you around. How wrong it felt to watch your arms go up and around his brother’s neck. Donnie was a better dancer. He knew in his soul that he could beat Leo in any category. Waltz, disco, salsa, you name it, Donnie could dance it. But his prowess didn’t seem to matter. Which only further incensed him. Why were you doing this? How could you possibly allow Nardo to take his place? His rightful role. Donnie was supposed to be your dance partner. And the only time you were allowed to dance with another was whenever he deigned to skip such an outing.

He was here. Dressed in an aubergine suit. Jacket button undone. And his black dress shirt was unbuttoned as well. Three buttons plucked, showing off too much skin in his opinion for such a crowd. But he had been feeling flirty. Flirty for someone who wasn’t even glancing his way.

Donnie fumed once more. Cursing in his mind as he lifted his drink and threw his head back. Maybe the taste would kill him. His eyes squeezed shut as the liquid poured down his throat and he tried not to gag. Bad decision.

When his eyes reopened it couldn’t have been at a worse moment. Leo was dipping you, his face leaning dangerously close to yours, his hand snug on your waist. Leo said something in your ear.

Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the heat. But when Donnie saw your darkened cheeks, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He stormed to the dance floor. Yanking Leo’s hand away from your body once you were upright.

“What’s up hermano?” Leo’s smile was grating. Donnie had to force himself not to snarl. He took your hand and pulled you after him. Leaving Leo. Leaving this place. He had to get out of here now.

“Donnie?!” You called out over the music. But you didn’t pull away. You let him lead you out of the club. Out on the sidewalk, then off to the alleyway.

“Is everything okay?” You asked once he finally stopped. When he turned to look down at you, your eyebrows were creased with worry. Lips pulled into a line. Donnie was cracking. He couldn’t do this any longer. Did you like Leo? Did you want a ‘face man’? Was he not enough anymore? Was he being replaced? The thoughts were suffocating him and he pulled you to his plastron, backing you into the building wall simultaneously.

“I’m here, but Dee you’ve gotta say something, I’m getting worried..” You mumbled into his clothes. Your arms going around Donnie’s shell, petting over his jacket. Offering him comfort. It wasn’t enough. He huffed his frustration.

“Should I go get your brother?”

It was the wrong thing to say. And this time he did snarl.

“No.”

Your hands froze. Falling back down to your sides. You’d never heard him so angry before. He couldn’t find it within himself to care at the moment. His displeasure written all over his face as you looked up at him.

“What’s going on?”

And Donnie remembered himself thinking that so many times with you. As you had took his breath away. And then again when you pretended like you couldn’t recall ever doing so.

“Don-“

He leaned down. Capturing your lips. Kissing you like you did to him. Only where you had made him breathless, this seemed to have the opposite effect. You puffed up. Bristling in his arms as you tried shoving him away.

It hurt.

He was much stronger than you. He could overpower you easily. But your push was like a blow to the plastron. He staggered back, all anger leaving him. A husk as he squeezed his fists shut, head hanging down as you berated him.

“What the hell was that?! Are you drunk?? Donnie what is going on? If you don’t fucking say something right now, I swear to god,”

“I don’t know!” He shouted back and it was enough to quiet you.

From there it was as if his mouth couldn’t be stopped. “I don’t know! I thought this was what we did. I didn’t hallucinate those three times you kissed me. Don’t deny it any longer!” He was heaving, face coming up to stare accusingly at you.

Your lips pressed together in a thin line once more.

“You kissed me! Drunkenly, but it was still there. And I can’t forget. I can’t pretend they never happened. I don’t know how you can.” His hands were in motion as he ranted. Throwing them out with the building of emotion.

“So I thought tonight would be no different. We’d get drunk. We’d dance. And we’d kiss! I want all of that. Even though I’d do it without the alcohol.” His voice cracked towards the end. But he continued to push on.

“But you danced with him. So I went and got drunk enough for the both of us.” He felt pathetic admitting this out loud. He staggered forward, unable to remain so far apart. Despite you having pushed him away. He was just a moth to your flame. He’d let himself be burnt.

“You like him more?” He asked in a voice so low it practically went unheard. His hand came up, a finger tracing down the side of your cheek.

“Is that it? Am I the second choice?” His lids lowered in time as he ran out of skin to skim. His hand fell away from your face but he had crowded you close to the wall again. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“That’s not true.” You exasperated. But that hardly cleared up anything for him. If that was the case then what were you doing dancing with his brother and not him? Why couldn’t he kiss you? Why were the both of you still pretending to be friends?

“Then pick me. Choose me.” Donnie pleaded. He didn’t care how needy it sounded. He’d do whatever it took. Get down on his knees if he had to. Because you had become a part of his life four years ago. Four years of a presence he didn’t know he needed. Up until it was far too late. And now there was no turning back. He’d be damned if he let you get away.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Hello, how are you? Can I ask, in which Jason finds a fissure and enters it without thinking and comes out straight into a sculpture shop, where Reader is the one who creates them (Reader creates a crush and sees Jason as a muse), but in Reader's universe it is an ancient time, even though it is in the same year as Jason's universe, (reader flirts awkwardly)? Anguished ending? And sorry for being long, I got very happy.

You Are My Muse

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 2.3 K summary: Jason finds his way to you (through accident) warnings: sassy jason, no y/n used, lore, fluff, reader's universe is the same as ours but without brainrot, angst a/n: (divider: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more) kind of fucked up the flirting part, but I still hope you enjoy....... (i'm so sorry this took so long)

»Why‘s my nose so big?«

»It‘s not!«

»Okay, so why do I feel insecure now?« It‘s the first thing Jason notices once he sees a head sculpture of himself, staring right back at it. His nose doesn‘t look that big, he just doesn‘t want to admit that this looks exactly like him.

And now that he got here, he can‘t escape. Maybe, walking through a mysterious fissure, in the middle of his walk, wasn‘t his best decision, but he believes he had worse. Now, he is stuck in some sort of art studio with countless of sculptures, sketches and your so-called 'drafts‘ sitting around.

You were surprised at first, scared even. Of course you would be, if your own creation — suddenly a breathing human-being — comes out of the shadow. Everyone else would be scared too. But now, after double checking that you aren‘t dreaming, you are talking to him and start to grow frustrated. You didn‘t think you created such confident, even cocky, person. Even if it doesn‘t come off as insulting, it starts to make you annoyed.

»Okay, how about you try to make one yourself? It takes a lot of time to master such art, let alone get the material for it.« He cocks his head, taking in the other creations around the big room; ignoring your challenge.

»Is that my brother— is that Dick?«

Jason gestures at one head sculpture not too far away from the both of you, making you turn your attention to it as well.

»Oh, yes. I also have your whole family here, but… as you see, I like creating you the most.« You become lightly flustered at the end. He doesn‘t notice, instead, he keeps staring at the creations.

»How‘d you manage to do that? How do you even know us?« This question makes you pause, but you quickly compose yourself.

»I… created you? I‘m your creator?« You answer back, being unsure yourself. But it makes sense that he is confused. So are you.

»What do you mean ‚created‘? What the hell is this?«

»My sculpture shop.«

»Yeah, but… okay, let me calm down for a minute.« Jason sits down at one of the stools and takes a deep breath, staring around your creations a little longer. It‘s definitely well-made and detailled, and his brain is finally starting to catch up.

»I can make you… a hot chocolate, if you‘re stressed.«

He glances back at you, snapping out of his thoughts and processes your offer. Jason shrugs, eventually leaving the decision up to you. You take his silent shrug as a yes and exit the room to make him something warm to drink.

Turns out, Jason loves hot chocolate. Although you‘re not sure if he was just thirsty or genuinely likes it, or was simply stress drinking. Either way, he complimented it before being seemingly more calm about the situation.

You settled him inside your apartment, living with him together from now on. It wasn‘t long until Jason finally notices the subtle differences in your universe. In here, there are no phones, no social media and most importantly, no electricity. Somehow, you still speak his language and even use those stupid slangs his younger brother Tim uses to annoy him.

»What do you mean you ‘don‘t know what gossip girls are‘? It‘s like...« my favourite show, he wants to say, but holds back, »The best piece of media!« Jason manages out, still bewildered that someone like you has no clue about such a show.

You simply shrug with your shoulders, keeping your confused gaze on him. He eventually gives up, waving it off with a huff.

»We have some catch up to do once we get back to my universe.«

Since you made him settle in the next room to yours, and have thin walls, you can hear about almost everything. The sheets rustles to the soft cries that are heard from his room after a nightmare. It doesn‘t seem like he wants to talk about it as well, after attempting to approach him about it one day. You respect his boundaries, that he doesn‘t want to share his vulnerable side, especially since you don‘t each other that well yet. Ironic, considering he is pratically your own creation among many others.

Sighing out, you exit your bedroom and make a sweet tea for the both of you.

Soft knocks are heard from the other side of his door, making him still in his bed. Jason wipes the silent tears off his cheeks, already irritated about the interruption. Nevertheless, he opens his door and blinks a few times at you.

There you stand, two mugs of tea that are steaming hot. The sweet scent reaches his nose, making him less annoyed.

»I told you not to bother.« He mumbles out, running a hand though his sweaty locks, but feels reluctant to close the door again.

»Still… at least let me make you less stressed,« you shrug, carefully saying your next words, »I can hear everything in my room anyway...«

Jason pauses before he nods and takes one of the hot mugs from you. You can make out the faintest smile on his face, deciding to ignore it and take a sip of your tea.

Nights like these evolved into laying next to each other in comfortable silence or sharing the story of his previous nightmare. It was one the things Jason cherished, while being stuck in this universe. He didn‘t go out as much in this universe, not daring to see any more of the differences between your universe and his.

He often enjoys his time at your art studio or even cooks something up in your kitchen out of boredom. Without any entertainment, he has to do something without his beloved phone and books. That‘s why he usually hangs out with your sculptures and sometimes even makes some small ones himself. You thought him an easy technique to sculpt small stuff and he has been trying to master it since then. There‘s already a wobbly symbol of his second persona – Red Hood. He even painted it the according colour and makes sure it stays next to his head sculpture.

You notice the big effort he puts into his small creations, smiling lightly to yourself whenever you spot another one of his silly works. While he mostly gets to bore himself all day, you work in your studio and go about your day, collecting more material and ideas. Often times than not, Jason simply watches you work, admiring the way you casually sculpt one of his brothers as if it‘s the most normal thing on earth. He still needs to get a grasp on the technique of it all, so far it‘s all magic to him.

»How do you do all that without any reference?« Jason wonders from his stool on the other side of the studio, head tilted to one side.

»I do have some… look.«

You shrug and step up to your work desk, fishing out a larger sketchbook and hand it to him. »It‘s all there.«

He grabs the sketchbook and sits back down on his spot, starting to flip through the pages. His eyes study the flawlessly drawn faces and poses of each person, recognising them right away.

There‘s Damian taking care of animals and training with his Katana, or Dick doing crazy acrobatics.

Each page reveals new poses and facial expressions, but what he notices is the sheer amount of his sketched faces. He doesn‘t speak up about it yet, continuing to look through them. The next page shows him, in a full body pose, revealing his scarred skin and muscles on full display. Jason clears his throat and shifts in his seat, taking in further details of it. The autopsy scar, clear as day, making him suddenly very self-conscious about it. After flipping to the next page, he is greeted with yet another naked portait of himself, this time striking a pose that emphasizes his muscles. Finally, he decides to get up and spook you.

»What‘s this? Just references?« He comes up behind you, his deep voice ringing just behind your ear. You glance behind your shoulder, spotting the sketches in his hands. Your face drops briefly before composing yourself, letting out a light chuckle.

»Oh, this? Yeah, just references. Nothing else, just… admiring your pretty body.« Now it‘s Jason‘s turn to be caught off guard for a second. His cheeks flush, but he stays composed.

»Yeah? Well, then… if it‘s just references of me and my pretty body...« He teases back, smirk playing on his lips as he steps off.

You try to think of how to flirt more with him, even if it means getting to say stupid stuff and teasing each other like idiots. So, you step off your current creation and disappear behind a curtain, where the bigger scluptures sit around. You carefully put one out into the studio, making sure not to accidentally trip and shatter it into pieces as you do.

The sculpture is Jason, body naked and striking the same pose as the last sketch. His muscles look tense and well defined, his scars looking more prominent in the light. Jason pauses and takes in the copy of himself, naked on full display and looking gorgeous. Even better than the real thing, he thinks.

You cross your arms proudly and take in his reaction, a smirk on your face as you present it to him.

Finally, he reacts and clears his throat, nodding in acknowledgement.

»No need to show off, nerd...« He mumbles out, clearly flustered over the statue.

A week went by and Jason grows frustrated over the fact that he can‘t seem to find a way back to his own home. He desperately tried to search for some fissure in your studio which he came through in the first place, but he couldn‘t find it. You can feel the frustrated energy in your whole apartment, being able to grasp onto it. Jason stands off the couch, walking into the kitchen to cook his mood away. You follow him shortly after, settling against the counter as you watch him prepare the ingredients.

You don‘t speak up yet, waiting for him to start cooking and figure out what he is making. Jason starts to cut up various vegetables, deciding to help him. You grab another cutting board for yourself and get the other paprike from him, starting to slice it up like he does. Jason stays silent as he works, focused on not being too rough on the vegetables and accidentally stab himself in the process.

Eventually, he lays his knife down and gets a pan from one of the shelves, knowing your kitchen like the back of his hand by now. He starts to throw the diced stuff into the pan, putting on the heat on the stove. You add the rest into it, silently following what he‘s doing.

Jason leans his hands on the edge of the counter, waiting for the pan to start heating up. A heavy sigh leaves him, watching how his lids close slowly.

»You know, I don‘t need your help.«

»But I want to.« You answer back with a light smile, hoping to ease the mood. Jason, however, doesn‘t seem to be affeceted much by it. Instead, he finally looks at you, eyes locking with yours. Your expression softens and you give him space, understanding that he is under stress.

Jason bites his inner cheek before he takes a step closer, wrapping you up in a hug; sighing out shakily against your shoulder. You didn‘t expect it but reciprocate the hug, gently caressing his back with your palm. He stays close, lightly swaying you both from side to side and tightens his hold around you.

Jason doesn‘t want to leave. At least not without you. But he won‘t say those words out loud, preffering to keep it to himself.

The vegetables in the pan start sizzling, making him let go of you and return back to cooking. You sigh out softly and stick by his side, continuing to watch him cook a meal for the both of you.

The evening stays cozy between the two of you, eating the warm meal before you settle into your respected rooms.

You shriek up at night, cold sweat running over your back. You jerk up again as you hear something shatter in the next room. Quickly, you scatter to your feet and exit your room, trying to find the cause for the loud sound. Outside, there‘s two white slits staring back at you, making you pause and stay still. Your first instinct is to call for Jason, find safety in his presence, but no words are coming out of your throat.

Luckily, you don‘t have to call him, as he walks out of his bedroom already. Jason also stops once he notices the dark figure in front of you and tenses briefly. Seems like he knows them, considering the way he takes a few steps forward and shields you from the darker figure.

»We have to go home, the portal only lasts for two more minutes.« The unfamiliar figure finally starts, urging Jason back to his ownuniverse. Jason relents, but knows he should follow him back.

»Give me a minute—«

»There‘s no time,« The other person presses, not understanding the reluctance of Jason. But Jason doesn‘t listen and turn to face you, trying to find his words. However, you understand and only stare back at him, already accepting the fate. Finally, Jason takes a deep breath and speaks up, quietly.

»I‘ll see you again, yeah?« With an uneven sigh, he takes a step back and follows his brother, watching how they both disappear into a bright slight out of air.

Panicking, you rush to Jason‘s previous room and hope what you just saw was a werid hallucination. Inside, you are greeted with nothing but his lit lamp light at the nightstand, and the silence of your empty apartment. Scoffing, you sit down at the bed, trying to get along the situation. On his nighstand stands a smaller, ceramic figure. A moon-shaped plate, coloured in a deep red.

a/n: this was so fun to write!! i really liked the idea, i hope i was able to execute it well, thanks for the request

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