#so maybe i will leave just 'if you see this and want'

[tokkiwrites]

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: After breaking up with your boyfriend of four years, you’re left heartbroken and desperate to leave it all behind. But as fate would have it, just as you’re about to walk out the door of his house, you run into his fatherㅡ the man who’s always lingered at the edges of your mind. the next sensible thing to do is fuck him.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: pwp, bf's dad joel miller x f! reader, short description of toxic rs, fight scene, afab reader, i dont know if this is categorized as cheating :p , age gap, fingering f receiving, joel has a huge one but we alr know!, dirty talk, pet names, p in v unprotected, creampie, slight slapping and hairpulling.

✿ 🪽 𓈒 ﹫𝐭𝐨𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 ..＼ ♰ i have been neglecting you cute freaks, but i am here to feed you. behold! boyfriend's dad joel miller smut! around 2.6k words, so it's pretty short, but i hope you love it. not proofread!!!!! okay baiiii 😎🫶🏻

The fight tears through the house like a hurricane, each word leaving wounds too deep. "You never listen to me!" you yell, your voice raw and trembling. Your chest aches, your throat burns, but the word vomit won’t stop pouring out. "Four years, and it’s like I’m shouting into a void! Do you even care about us?"

"Do you even fucking hear yourself?" he fires back, pacing the room like he can’t bear to stand still. "God, all you do is pick fights! You always need something to be wrong. What the actual fuck?"

"Because something is wrong!" Your voice cracks, and the tears come faster now, hot and humiliating. You hate how small you feel, how desperately you want him to care. "I’ve been fighting for this, for you, and all you do is act like it’s a burden!" He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Maybe it is. Maybe you are." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your breath catches, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. You don’t want to cry anymore, but the tears fall anyway, blurring your vision as you step back. "Fine," you whisper, your voice trembling. "If that’s how you feel, then we’re done. I’m done." He freezes, his expression shifting to something almost regretful— but not enough to stop him. "Fuck this." He grabs his keys from the counter and storms out without another word. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing in the quiet house.

For a moment, you just stand there, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you try to hold in the sobs threatening to break free. The silence feels suffocating, pressing in on you from every angle. You can’t stay here. You need to leave.

You grab your bag and wipe your face as best you can, hands still shaking. You tell yourself you’re fine, that the fresh air will help. But as you turn the corner into the foyer, you collide with something solid— someone solid. "Whoa there," a low voice drawls, steadying you with hands firm and sure. Your heart stutters as you look up and see Joel, your now ex-boyfriend's father.

Your breath catches in your throat. His hand is on your arm, warm and grounding, as his dark eyes search your face. His presence is like a balm, so different from the storm you just walked out of. He’s all quiet strength and rugged edges, his salt-and-pepper beard only making him look more like someone carved out of the earth itself. "Hey, sweet girl," he says, his tone warm and laced with that familiar twang. "What’s got you all worked up? You alright?" The sound of his voice is enough to break you all over again. You shake your head, the tears spilling over despite your best efforts to hold them back. You try to answer, but your words falter. All you can do is nod, though you know you’re far from alright. Not when his thumb is brushing lightly over your flesh, not when his scent— warm, woodsy, familiar— makes your knees fall weak. You can’t look at him, can’t look at the steadiness in his eyes or the way his hands ground you when you feel like you’re falling apart.

"Hey now," he says softly, pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His arms wrap around you, strong and safe, and for the first time all night, you don’t feel like you’re about to shatter. "C’mere, sweet thing. You gotta talk to me, mkay? What happened?" You press your face into his chest, breathing in hus smell that makes you feel like you’re home, even though you know you shouldn’t.

It’s absurd, really. You’ve always known he was handsome, but standing this close, it hits you differently. You’ve always noticed him in ways you shouldn’t, caught yourself glancing too long, wondering too much. And now, with tears still wet on your cheeks and your heart in pieces, he feels like the only steady thing left in the world.

"It’s over," you mumble against his shirt, your voice muffled but thick with emotion. "I broke it off with him. For r-real this time..." Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders as his brow furrows. "You and him?" he asks gently, but you could tell he wasn't quite sure in your answer. "You sure ‘bout that?"

"Y-yeah..." You nod, your throat tight. "So you don’t have to... act nice anymore. You don’t have to pretend like you like m-me or care or whatever. It’s done now..." His expression shifts, confusion flickering across his face before something warmer takes its place. His lips part slightly as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

"Sweetheart," he says, his voice dipping lower, softer, like a secret meant just for you. "What the hell gave you the idea I don’t like you?" You blink up at him, stunned. "I just—"

"Little lady," he interrupts, leaning closer, his voice growing rougher, "it’s damn near impossible not to like you." Your breath catches as his thumb brushes over your cheek, his stare unflinching, as he examines your tear-stained face. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never noticed before—something unguarded, like he’s been holding it back for years. "Sweet thing like you," he murmurs, his lips quirking into the smallest of smiles. "Anyone with half a brain’d like you. But me? Hell, darlin’. I’ve liked you since the day I met you."

You step back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze fully, searching his face for any hint of pity, of kindness given out of obligation. "You don’t need to lie to me," you say, voice trembling. It feels like your heart is spilling out of you, breaking open right here in front of him. "Not just to make me feel better..."

Joel’s brow furrows, his dark eyes softening, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. A thread holds stretched taut between you. He doesn’t drop his hands from your shoulders, doesn’t let you pull away any further. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, studying you like you’re the most important thing in the world right now, like he’s trying to figure out how to put the pieces of you back together.

"What reason would I have to lie to ya now that you ain't with my sorry ass boy?" His voice is low, almost a whisper, but it carries a shiver down your whole body. You swallow hard, shaking your head. "I don’t know. I just—" You stumble over your own tongue.

Joel exhales slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes bore into yours. simmering, waiting to swallow you whole. "Darlin’," he murmurs, "Let me show you then." Before you can even think, he leans in.

The world falls away the moment his lips meet yours. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like he’s giving you a chance to stop him if this isn’t what you want. But when you don’t pull away and when you melt into him instead, your fingers clutching at his shirt, he deepens the kiss, large hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips are warm and sure, washing away any heartbreak you might've felt.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests gently against yours, his breaths mingling with your own. "Am I lyin'?" Your chest tightens, the tears welling up again, but this time they’re different. They’re not the tears of heartbreak—you’re not even sure what they are, only that they feel a little like hope.

"Mister Miller," you breathe, his name dancing on your puffy lips. He smiles, soft and a little sad, brushing a thumb along your cheek. "I got you, sweet girl. You just let me." and you crumble completely. with no hesitation, he picks you up, taking you to the nearest bedroom, where he closes the door behind.

it felt wrong. it was wrong. but the way he looked looming over, you got your head spinning in all the right ways. the bed pooled under you, sheets rustling as you watched joel discard part of his clothes. you nip at your lower lip, scooting your body upward to remove the pants you had on. in mere seconds, both of you are naked, gasping, and holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

You finally get to see joel fully naked and you can't quite understand how a man his age looks the way he does, and how he's still single, given the package he's been blessed with. "you can stop starin' now. you wanna get me shy?" joel teases, his shaft now on full view for you to gawk at. you're taken by surprise when he so easily pulls you down towards him.

he trailed kisses down your chest like flowers fall from cherry trees in the spring, your body reacting in ways you didn’t know were possible. "Please hurry..." and he chuckles, maybe proud maybe amused to see you this desperate. "'m sorry, darlin'" You purr under his touch, wrapping around him like he's a lifeline. his lips crash against yours again, rough palm slipping into your wet panties. you gasp, the feeling so strange yet so familiar. he lets go of your lips, thick fingers working their way inside of you. Joels eyes meet yours, and he curls his digits, speed picking up. the sounds youㅡ your pussy made, were pure music to him, constant encouragement to go harder, faster, loving the way you looked crumbling onto his fingers. "got such a pretty pussy. Sure you ok with an old man ruin it for anyone else?" he asked it as if it was the least absurd thing he could say right now. you nod your head profusely. "atta girl. knew you were the obedient kind first time I saw ya."

"You gonna come?" Almost mocking you, but you could bot form the proper words. You just looked deep into his glinting eyes as your hand made its way to his hardened crotch. "P-pleasee..." Joel almost loses himself, but he's steady with his movements. "Wanna come on my cock, hm? is that what you beggin' for?" your folds drip and clench around him deliciously, you don't want it to end. and when you're almost there... he stops. you whine in protest but you're quickly put back in your place with a firm tug at your hair. "You take what I give you, girl. Now ass up." you comply. in a second, your back is facing him, red cheeks now hidden into his pillow. you try to balance yourself up with one arm, but he grabs you by the wrist.

"Spread 'em." And you do just that, pulling at your flesh. like an auction. only it's you presenting your cunt for fucking. "Fuck, look at that..." he tuts, gathering some of your juices on his pulsing tip, dragging it up and down your puffy lips. "Pretty girl. She cryin' for me, baby?" a string of fain 'yesyesyes' reaches his ear. hes quiet for a bit but the moment he pushes the tip inside you feel your knees buckle, all the strength you had left into your arms fluttering away. you fall face first into the mattres under you as joel pushes down your lower back. it hurts, but the pain is delicious. your moans feel the room, the occasional slap to your ass interrupting them. Joel is strong, fast and brutal, leaving you no room to breathe, fucking so deep into you you're sure he's way past your bellybutton. "T-takin' it so well, pretty girl, so well.." your skin burns where joel touched it, whole head fuzzy and empty. "pleasepleaseplease" as the whole bed shakes and strums to his movements.

your back arches as waves of pleasure break over your body like water on a shore. your head was spinning, heart pounding, as his whole weight dominated over you. "That's it, baby, take it." his thrusts are rough, each hit making your body bounce, the urgency as he hit that very spot each timeㅡ your whole insides burning, too cock drunk to talk or respond, other than some pathetic whines that perfectly accompanied the wet sounds your pussy made. "been dreamin' about havin' you like this, baby. look at herㅡ" joel throws his head back, delivering a harsh thrust, the pain quickly melding into pleasure. "gonna come, hm?" he's stern and rough with his request. "hhhaㅡ y-yes, plea-se..." You don't know if you're crying because it feels too good or because of how long you've waited for this, no matter how unforgiving this could be.

eyes shot open when he roughly yanks your hair, your skin slapping on his being to only sound you can faintly make out in your dazed state. you let your whole body go, tongue lulled out as he takes out on you anything he might've been feeling. you were at his mercy, your moans irrefutable. your stomach flips and churns as that familiar feeling pools again in your lower tummy, and you were chasing it, crying. from what, you didn't quite know. maybe because you've never been fucked this good or maybe because it'll be over too soon.

the room was stuffy. "o-oh myㅡ god!" You yelp when joels speed picks up, shocked that he can go that fast, considering you've heard him multiple times complaining about his bad back. "shitㅡ i gotta come, baby. you gonna let me do it in ya? huh?" You nod your head so, squeezing around him like a ring, and he rewards you with a slap to your ass. "fuckin' slut." he laughs through breathy moans. you're holding on for dear life, reaching for anything your fingers can grasp at this moment. you're sure the neighbors are having a blast seeing the whole house shake. "that's it, girl. take itㅡ c'mon..." with a few more pumps his hips come to a halt, whole body trembling as he comes ropes inside of you. you let go, bliss washing over you, the ringing in your ears covering the soft curses escaping Joel's lips. steadying himself, he pulls out, voice cracking as he speaks again. "fuuck... baby, look at her." he smiles crooked, watching intently as his come drips out of you, cascading down to your thighs. you lick your lips, looking back and right up at him whilst spreading your legs wider.

"Don't do that. think I don't have it in me to fuck you again?"

you tease, "i don't know. do you?" and he laughs, pushing inside of you again, watching as your face contorts in pleasure. "Careful, girl."

you wonder when your boyfriendㅡ i mean exㅡ will come back home.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

i really really need pitfighter vi being mean to reader during sex🙏

Too real she needs to blow off some steam and reader has a thing for getting degraded. They match each other's freak soooo well.

Content: 877 words, strap-on sex (r! receiving), multiple + forced orgasms, overstimulation, choking, degradation kink, dacryphilia, use of degrading names, spanking, hair pulling

Vi is deep inside your guts, her cock slamming into you over and over again without even a second of mercy.

She has pulled three orgasms out of you already, and she has no intentions of stopping yet.

Your face is buried in the sheets, the only pillow being used underneath your stomach so you can feel the way Vi is pounding into you so hard you swear her silicone shaft is gonna be imprinted into your pussy.

You try begging for mercy. Vi slams harder into you and delivers a harsh blow to your ass cheek.

"You want me to stop now? Is that what you want?"

You're too cock-drunk to answer, only gurgling out a broken little whine.

"Listen here, baby," she gathers your hair into a ponytail and yanks it back, forcing you to look back at her, "you deserve to get fucked hard for what you pulled earlier."

You whine, knowing it was true. She thrusts into you even harder after being reminded of how you looked all smug with some random creep offering to pay for your drink. She releases her grip on your hair only to dig her black nails into your hips.

"You wanna go flirt with other people to get my attention, huh baby?" She pulls out, making you think she is finally through with you, before she slams her thick cock right back into your tender pussy. Then, one of her hands leaves your hip and strikes another harsh smack to your ass, her handprint branded into the fat. making you cry out and grasp the sheets. "Well, mission accomplished."

You know you look a mess, tears running down your face and your mascara staining up the sheets. Your hair is all tangled from Vi grabbing onto it so much so she can force your head up or to just treat you like a bitch. You let out breathy little cries every single time her harness meets your ass, only to feel the raw heat of overstimulation when she grinds up against your g-spot.

You can feel your fourth orgasm of the night bubble up within your pussy. You think one this may actually give you a heart attack, but it feels so fucking addictive.

You don't even know what's wrong with you; you always do this to Vi. Go slut around to the guys at the Zaun bars so she will get jealous and wreck your pussy. It's not like it is cheating, you two are only fucking and she likes the game just as much as you do, but she sure fucks you like she hates you. Even if you don't know it yet, she owns you completely. Even if you're not her girlfriend yet, your pussy? It belongs only to her. Nobody else gets you.

She eases the shaft out of your dripping pussy and flips you over onto your back before you can even protest. She pulls you by your legs further back so the pillow underneath you is perfectly situated for her advantage, and then you realize why she flipped you over when she hand grasps at your throat.

Her other hand guides the cock back into your pussy, earning a broken moan from you that sounds almost wounded, but the greed in your eyes tells her you're not tapped out yet. Her fingers wrap around your neck, squeezing tightly as she pumps her cock deep inside you once more. Her hand reaches between your bodies, harshly rubbing at your clit and flicking at it with her calloused fingers.

You start to cry when your orgasm finally crashes over you. It is somehow even more intense than the others. Maybe it's the view of Vi's pretty face, her pigmented black makeup trailing down her cheeks or the hunger in her eyes. It is most likely the hand around your neck knocking the air out of your lungs.

Wave after wave after wave. Vi isn't lenient, even as you sob. It feels so euphoric to get fucked so roughly, and she at least knows you well enough to see the look of raw pleasure making your eyes roll back into your head. She knows just how to treat your needy pussy, how to make it satisfied until your walls are tender and your clit is swollen and abused in the best way possible. You cum so hard it truly hurts. It hurts so good.

She talks you through it all, coaxes your juices out of you in the worst way possible.

"Bet the dickhead from the bar couldn't fuck you like this?"

"Yeah, baby...cum all over my dick. You like my fake one better than his real one, huh?"

"You don't fucking deserve to cum."

When you come down, she does stop. She can see that you're finally satisfied, and so she pulls out. She doesn't even pull the strap-on off of her hips, only falls limps back onto the bed.

After a few minutes, she hears you speak up. "Vi..?"

"Yeah?" Jeez, you sound as wrecked as I do, Vi is what you're thinking.

"Can you do it one last time? Please..?"

Vi snorts and sits up. "Your stamina is so fucked," but she is already back between your legs once more.

[himbosandhardwear]

"Look who's talking, Mr Ponytail and a Crop Top," Steve says with a smartass grin.

Eddie looks down. "Huh?"

"You," he waves toward Eddie's general vicinity, "looking like some kinda Metal Cheerleader." He noticably swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay. This is it, this is the perfect moment to tell Steve he's sending signals that he definitely doesn't understand he's sending.

"Steve," he has to clear his throat before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

He leans in, wide eyed and focused. "Yeah?"

That's not helpful. "Um. So, to guys like me... Gay," he chokes out, still hard to say aloud even though he knows Steve knows, "sometimes you say things or do things that come off as...flirty. And I know you didn't know," he rushes to explain, "but I wanted to make you aware. To not do that. You know, in case the wrong person overhears it. It's a safety concern," he finishes lamely. Safety concern! Ugh. More like 'You're breaking my heart, I can't take much more of it.'

He waits for Steve to say something but he's just blinking owlishly.

"Steve?" He prompts, concerned.

"......yeah?" He finally seems to come back to himself. His eyes drift away, over Eddie's shoulder. "So...you want me to stop flirting?"

"Yeah, just in case, you never know who-" Wait. What? "What?"

Steve still isn't looking him in the eye. "What?" He mumbles.

"Did you say..." He can't even repeat it, it sounds like putting words in his mouth, but he did say that, right?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll stop. I didn't realize it was bad, I guess. I thought... It's stupid. Nevermind. I'm gonna, um, take off actually. I'll see ya around, maybe."

He hops off the back of the van and actually starts walking away, like they're not 6 miles from his house. That snaps Eddie out of the paralysis spell he was under, adrenaline taking over like a bump of cocaine.

"No!" He shouts, like an insane person, and then takes it one step further by jumping up and tackling Steve into the grass.

"Uggff," Steve grunts when Eddie accidentally shoulders him in the gut, but he ignores the embarrassment in favor of crawling up his body so they're eye to eye.

He gets Steve's face between two hands and smooshes it. "Were you flirting with me on purpose?" He shouts.

"Are you serious?" He mumbles, half coherent, through pursed lips. "I'm gonna jump into the quarry."

"Answer the question!" He rattles Steve's head a little bit, for good measure.

"I work for Scoops Ahoy." Steve deadpans, unamused.

Eddie is going to throw one hell of a tantrum in a second. "Steve."

He smacks Eddie's hands away from his face. Doesn't bother to move out from under Eddie, he notes absently. "Yes, dude, obviously I was flirting with you on purpose! I thought that was, like, an understood thing that was happening. Why are you surprised?"

He feels like he's losing his mind. Why are you surprised the grass is made out of taffy? Would've made more sense as a question.

"Because you're straight." The duh is implied.

Sensibly, he asks, "Why would I flirt with you if I was straight?"

Eddie becomes very aware of every inch they are pressed together. Aware of the sound of the leaves rubbing together in the wind, aware of Judas Priest still playing through his speakers. Love Bites is a hell of a track to be having this revelation to.

"You're not straight?"

"No."

"And you were flirting?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

He rolls his eyes, not an ounce of bitchiness lost to his embarrassment. "No, Eddie, with the crusty blanket on your van floor. Yes, of course with you- Mmmphh!"

They probably shouldn't be making out on the ground at Settlers Quarry in broad daylight but, honestly, the shambling corpse of Jason Carver could show up right now and Eddie would not give two shits. Steve slides a hand down the back of Eddie's pants, grabbing what little bit of ass cheek he has, and Eddie thinks, Hope you're watching from hell, you bastard. Enjoy the show.

[dcxdpdabbles]

can you write the batfam going to amity due to *reasons* and alls well until Jason feels like he SHOULDNT go near since it’s Danny’s Haunt? Like how Crime Alley is ‘his’ Haunt? And batfam thinks he’s just being dramatic but uh, yeah he isn’t.

"I'm not going in there," Jason repeated, standing on the side of the highway, arms crossed over his chest and a stubborn scowl on his face.

"Jay, please get back in the van," Bruce sighed while the rest of the Waynes stared from their seats. They had originally all gotten off, but when the second eldest had started yelling, Bruce herded everyone back inside, including Dick.

No one knows why Jason was acting like this.

A few minutes earlier, he had napped comfortably in the far back of the large van Bruce had rented. The family had been on a cross-country road trip, where they all piled in together and let the GPA lead them to their final destination- Wayne Mountain Hotsprings. Alfred had the idea to practically kick everyone out of the manor to bond.

Members of their various teams would watch Gotham for the three weeks they would be gone. This week, Kon and Bart texted Tim updates. At first, the Waynes were not entirely up for the trip, but after a few hours of driving, they all enjoyed singing random songs and researching their vacation pick.

They each got to pick one random spot they wanted to stop at one the way- tourist trap or not- and Damian had been excited to go to "America's most haunted town." He had even been able to contact local ghost hunters who were excited to give them a tour. The Waynes would spend the night at the only hotel in the city and leave tomorrow morning.

That was the plan until Jason woke up screaming at the top of his lungs, "Pull over! Pull over! I can't go in there!"

It gave everyone a heart attack. Bruce had nearly driven into the other lane as Jason had been attempting to unbuckle himself and- were it not for Cass's quick reflection- fling himself from the moving vehicle. As soon as they found a safe spot to pull over, Jason leaped from the van and placed himself in front of the Welcome to Amity Park sign

A little up the road, they could see the city's outskirts. The Fentons, the acclaimed ghost hunters, were expecting them in twenty minutes. Damian was getting angsty.

"Can you explain why you can't go into Amity Park?" Bruce questions, stepping closer. "I won't make you go in there. I just need to know what's going on."

"Don't you feel that?" Jason asks, gesturing to the air around them. "It feels unsafe."

"What does?"

"The vibes," Jason said straightly, and Bruce's left eyebrow was spammed. "The vibes are choking."

Bruce takes another step closer, voice lowering into the familiar tone of comforting a scared civilian. "Jay what do you mean by that."

Jason opened his mouth only to snap his head upwards with a scream. "He's here!"

Everyone looked up—or at least those in the van by a window—only to see nothing. There was nothing there that could have freaked out Jason so much. The sun, maybe? Gotham wasn't known for its sunlight, and perhaps the fact that he grew up without it made it extra terrifying to the Gothamite.

Jason leaped behind Bruce, hiding like he did as a child. Now that Jay was taller than his father and buckler, it was a strange sight. "I'm sorry! I swear I wasn't going in!"

"Jaylad, what-"

"Ghost detected." The robotic voice of Damian's official ghost-hunting equipment made everyone freeze. The boy had opened the door of the van, escaping Duke's attempted grasp, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the little machine in his hand.

It came from the Fentons' online store, and although it didn't work, Damian enjoyed walking around with it, searching for the paranormal. The rest of the family saw it as an age-appropriate make-believe, sighing in relief when he waved his little box around before deeming the area safe.

As it were, Damian waved the box again, letting the machine hum and bling as it landed on a particular spot in the sky. "Ghost detected. Ghost detected. Ghost located. Ghost is ten feet before you."

"Oh wow," An unknown voice said over the sound of rushing cars on the highway. Damian's eyes widen. "Haven't seen that design of the Fenton Finder in years. First edition, isn't it?"

Damian eyes are practilly sparkling as he puffs out his chest "It is! Are you a ghost?"

"Yeah." Suddently a glowing flouting transparent boy pops into thin air. No sound, no portal, not rush of air. Just one second he's there. He offers Damian a wide warm smile, that somehow makes his glowing green eyes menecing. "I'm Danny Phantom."

He turns his eyes back to Jason as Damian gapes at him. The boy had thought Phantom was a local urban legend. He has been decorating his room with "captured" images of Phantom for years. He turns to Tim, hissing for a pen and his photo binder.

"You." Phantom points at the cowering man. "Feel strange. You're overshadowed, but at the same time, there is no foreign soul in your body. What are you?"

"Um, I'm just here on vacation with my family-oh!" Jason words are cut off as Phantom flings himself at the pair. Before Bruce or Jason can react the ghost has his hands inside of Jason chest, ramaging around like it's a bag. Oddly enough, this makes Jason blush.

"Hmm. Yeah, there is no other ghost here. Are you haunting your own corpse?" Phantom floats upwards to stare into Jason's eyes. "Or are you a Halfa?"

"My own corpse," Jason gasps, but Bruce decides he's not about to let whoever this bothers his son, pushing Phantom back. Only somewhat surprised by the fact he made contact the hero's grunts

"Kindly keep your hands to yourself."

"Sorry," Phantom mutters, flouting back. He fidgets with his glowing white hair while shifting his feet. "I just wanted to be sure he was safe. You may enter."

And with another pop, he's gone.

Damian makes a sad whine in the back of his throat, holding a picture of a blurred image of Phantom and a pen. He flipped through the binder, attempting to find the clearest one while the ghost chatted with his father and brother. "I didn't get an autograph."

"There's always next time," Tim offered, patting the boy back as he led him towards his seat in the van again. You should keep that on your person so if you run into him again, we can get it signed for you quickly."

"Okay"

"Phew," Jason breathed, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "That was terrifying. Anyway, we should get going, I don't want to be late for the Fentons."

He ignored Bruce's look, walking back as if he hadn't held them up for nearly forty minutes because the vibes were bad.

Bruce stared as Jason skipped back to the van, feeling very old and single. Maybe he should try calling the blind date Alfred had attempted to set up for him. He needs some support in raising his children. He has too many white hairs as it were.

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[quesocheeso]

Trying my hand at the Emperor!Wukong AU I see going around

Lore:

MK gets hit with a time manipulating artifact back in his time when Red Son was experimenting with it, this results in him being flung back in time like a few centuries back? Before he was born at least,, he wakes up and knows something is up when no one recognizes him and then he realizes he’s way in the past,, I would say he wakes up in DBK’s fortress and Princess Iron Fan calls up Macaque (cause we love the drama) and she’s like yo bestie there’s like a monkey kid here??? Saying he’s Wukong’s son and needs to see yall or some?? Girl I think someone’s been cheating💅

and boom Macaque and Wukong are running and like MK is like boy I sure hope I don’t ruin my parent’s marriage lmao so MK uses all his brain cells and just tells them he time traveled by accident *jazzhands*

And like people are skeptical and are like naah some cheating happened here, and Wukong’s on his knees like pls I didn’t do shit, while Macaque is like grabbing MK and like are you telling the truth and MK like yes I’m your son and like to seal the deal he reveals his 4 ears and Macaque is like yoink time to take you home

I do want to mention, MK grew up in FFM with Macaque since he was declared king after Wukong ascended to Jade Emperor, they did get married after this but their marriage wasn’t the greatest because of everything going on in the celestial realm and all the backhanded treatment Macaque received from everyone, significantly the Brotherhood,, minus DBK,, so after MK was born and an attack almost went through, Macaque put down his foot and moved full time to FFM, essentially separating from Wukong, not officially since he is still considered the Emperor’s husband and attends special occasions and helps preparations, but they couldn’t agree with anything and that affected both of them

They are still true to each other because although being together hurt, they still love each other and have a child

So MK going back in the past is for the first time seeing his parents together and almost in a honeymoon phase which is why he asks him that question in the comic

Because MK is realizing neither monkeys are happy and maybe leaving the celestial realm would let them be a happy family and that’s all he has ever wanted

[ivy-elle]

"What are you even talking about?"

Or: How they react to you being overly intoxicated aka drunk af

Feat. Albedo, Scaramouche

Notes: No mentions of vomiting, do not worry

“You… are like totally the most beautiful being on this earth. How is that even legal?”

Your drunk-hazed gaze looks up at him, an admiring, nearly even mesmerised expression on your face.

Albedo stifles a surprised laugh behind a cough, his fist concealing his soft smile. “Thank you, y/n. Why don’t you sit down first?”

Obediently, you follow along as he gently guides you to the couch, the slight grin not wanting to leave your face. Even less, when he crouches down in front of you, studying you with intent focus. He can’t help the slight concern slipping into his expression as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face.

Meanwhile, you seem to have the time of your life with him being so close to you, with his gentle touch, like you’re something delicate.

How is it even real that you are able to call him your friend – let alone your partner. Like, your very own!

Just the way his crystal-like eyes follow yours, his shimmering hair catching the faint light of the room, down to how pretty his lips move when he speaks…

Wait. Right. He speaks. Listen.

Focus.

Right.

“If you’re able to eat right now, I suggest getting some carbohydrates into your system, my love,” he explains, gently tilting your face. “That way we can nudge your blood level back to normal again.”

You barely contain a silly giggle at his tender touch. “I’d eat straight-up eat wheat right now if you asked me to.”

Albedo nods, very slowly, his brows furrowing as he ponders about how to handle this situation best. “I see. Well, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” And yet, a part of him can’t help but be fascinated by your responses. “Would you be satisfied with some toast instead?”

You hum airily, but the moment he lifts himself up you feel your face fall into a pout, immediately missing his warmth.

“Wait,” you quickly try to prevent him from leaving. “On second thought – I am not even that hungry. You can keep staying here. Sitting.”

“I will remain here.” He slips his fingers from yours, a smile tugging his lips. “See? I am just across the room.” You should eat something to prevent some serious hungover.”

You watch him quietly, nearly enchanted by his smooth movements as he prepares some snacks, listening to his soothing voice. Has he always had this effect on you? You can’t tell. You can’t even care less right now.

“Personally, I’ve never experienced a hangover myself, but it starts right after the alcohol level in your blood starts to drop. And given your state…” He offers you a plate with some fresh toast and light fruits, “I presume it’s best to take precautions now.”

“Thank you,” you murmur fondly, accepting the plate. To your relief, Albedo joins you on the couch.

“Slowly. Take your time.”

“Maybe I was starving a bit. Archons, this is good.”

Albedo chuckles softly, gently taking your hand in his. You feel his thumb lightly tracing along your wrist before it settles on your pulse.

Your turn toward him, tilting your head in confusion. “I am still alive. I think.”

His eyes crinkle, soft musing laced in his voice. “Yes, I can see that, my love. I am merely checking your heart rate.”

Albedo looks you over and the moment your eyes meet his again, you feel your heart rate slightly quicken beneath his fingers.

His frown turns into a soft smile. “You’re feeling alright?”

“If you keep touching me this way, I’ll feel even better.” You hum, your eyes drifting to his lips.

But before you can follow your impulses, Albedo draws back, gently pushing you back by your shoulder. “Forgive me, love, but I’d rather you be sober first.”

Now you can’t help but pout, your face scrunching up. “That’s a bit excessive.”

Amused but persisting, he shakes his head, but not before leaning in and to place a soft kiss on your temple.

“Eat up. I’ll set up some tea and antidote for your headache.”

“I see you’ve lost your mind entirely,” Scaramouche remarks dryly as he halts at the doorway.

“Shhh. I need to focus,” you murmur, not even bothering to look up from where you’re lying on the ground. The room is cloaked in darkness - all windows are drawn shut to prevent any lights from falling inside, and disturbing work of art.

Scaramouche’s gaze darts to the perfectly good bed right beside you. Why, in Teyvat’s name, would you prefer the cold, hard floor? Hasn’t his day been eventful enough as it is already?

“Look at this,” you whisper again, and Scaramouche raises an eyebrow as your Electro Vision flickers to life again. His eyes follow your gaze to the ceiling, where charged threads of Electro dance in a chaotic disorder, illuminating the room in soft purple light. But your attention is glued on the lights, absolutely fascinated by this spectacle.

He steps closer, a pinched expression on his face. “Why don’t you-“

Before he can finish, you reach out, snatching his wrist and pulling him down next to you.

“Look!” you repeat once more.

Obviously, you’re only able to actually move him, because he lets you. But he does not lay down on the ground – who do you think he is? Instead, he crouches down next to you, fixing you with a look, like you’ve lost it entirely. His eyes narrow as he notices your abnormally flushed face, grasping that something is not quite right with you.

But you’re completely ignoring his unsettled expression, rather lifting your hand again to tilt his chin upward, directing his to the ceiling. “Listen to the sky, Scara,” you explain in a tone like it’s supposed to clear up everything.

Listen to the sky?

Scaramouche’s eyes dart down to you again, irritation building up inside him now. He dislikes this - having you physically here, but at the same time you not acting like yourself.

“What the hell is going on with you?”

Your eyebrows scrunch up as you turn your head toward him, like you’re pouting that he isn’t taking your lightning show as serious as he should. “You’re always complaining how fake the sky of Teyvat is. So, I recreated it. Now you have your own. Or, my own. Like – ours, I guess.”

For the sake of his pride, Scaramouche quickly schools his face. A strange combination of confusion, irritation and at the same time a strange warmth settles in his chest. His eyes flicker over your slightly dazed features.

“You’re drunk,” he states flatly, trying to sound unbothered.

For that he earns yet another. “Shhh!” This time a small, but sheepish grin tugs at your lips.

For a moment his eyes linger on you, before he tears them away, letting his gaze return to the ceiling. Now that he’s seeing the purple mist of electro from this angle, your perspective…

“How fake can it be, if I created it myself?”

At the sound of your gentle whisper, he feels his resolve weakening, eyes flickering between the charged branches, now finally taking form on the ceiling.

You created … a sky. For him alone.

Then, even softer, as if to not drive him away, you add, “Sometimes you need to be a bit intoxicated to see the world differently.”

Scaramouche stretches his legs out, leaning back on his elbows. “The ground was the best solution you had?” But there is no real bite in his voice, he is way too immersed in the little universe you’ve created in the room.

For him, his own Electro Delusion has always been nothing more than a tool – a means to gain power. To destroy. Yet, here you are again, showing him the other side of the coin, proving, that in destruction lies its own universe of creation.

“You smell nice,” he hears you mutter suddenly, breaking him through his trails of thoughts.

Of course, you’d say something like this right now. Without looking at you, He doesn’t look at you the corner of his mouth twitches. “I know. You, on the other hand, have had better days.”

You gasp, pushing him away lightly. “Rude! I do not smell bad!”

“You reek of alcohol. It’s onerous.”

He hears you grumble something incoherent under your breath, slurring the words into a mess.

Unimpressed, he clicks his tongue. “Consequences of your own actions.”

But as you shift to stand back up, the electro particles above start to dissolve as well. Almost immediately, his hand grabs your wrist, holding you close. “Stay down.”

You stare at him. Then you blink once. Twice. And then a shit-eating-grin spreads on your lips. “Oho! So, you do like my sky. Ha!”

A scoff escapes him as he tries to act nonchalant and averts his eyes back to the ceiling. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I simply prefer not having you stumbling around the room like a drunk sailor, just because you don’t know your limits. Which seem to be quite low.”

You sit back down, not without grouching a quiet “Jerk.”

“Idiot.”

The two of you glare at each other, daring the other to say something. Eventually, you relent, rising your hands and bringing the lighting to life once more.

Scaramouche remains quiet, savouring your presence for a second longer. Before he looks back at the stars again.

Who needs a fake sky, if a whole universe is right there beside him already?

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated <3

[jjunieworld]

BODY ELECTRIC ˒˒ 투바투

❝ 𝗶 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰, 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𓈓 𝗍𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌!

p ‎⸝⸝⸝ 투바투 𝑥 fem!reader ꔛ g ‎⸝⸝⸝ headcannons, video links, smut, established relationship ── dom!txt, sub!reader, mostly unprotected sex, oil / lube, various kinks (breeding & daddy kink hehe), creampies, housewife!reader / traditional gender roles, food play?, some mean & hard dom elements because i truly can’t help myself, some roleplay, probably others than i’m missing ╱ ❨ 𝓶.list ❩

✉️ ⦂ never posted twt links before but this was kinda fun lmao ^^ i might post more sometime soon. like maybe an enha (hyung line) one?? hmm… not completely sure. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏  ͏ ͏  ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

𓍼 ˋ✮ YEONJUN

ʬʬʬ — him fucking you so good that your cum just spills out of you. would angle you in a way that didn’t let any escape until he’s done with you and filled you up completely. he would start fucking you again just at the sight of how messy he made you, shushing you and telling you how your spent pussy could take another round. 100% has a breeding kink.

ʬʬʬ — hates your bad attitude and how he constantly has to fuck the brattiness out of you so you remember your place and who’s in charge. slaps your ass to make sure you’re listening to him and to punish you for talking back in the first place.

ʬʬʬ — like soobin i feel like he would like to use oil too! loves watching how easily his cock slides in your needy pussy and swallows it whole. also loves taking you missionary so he can see your pretty face all twisted up in pleasure!!

ʬʬʬ — idk what it is about this but it’s just so yeonjun to me?? would eat you out after to taste the slight bubblegum flavor and then would continue eating the cum-covered lollipop like he wasn’t just fucking you with it.

𓍼 ˋ✮ SOOBIN

ʬʬʬ — would beg you to dress up as his favorite anime and video game characters!! the two of you would roleplay a little before he’s fucking you and filling you up with his hot and sticky cum (>人<)

ʬʬʬ — loves seeing you in lingerie but hates the fact that it gets in his way!! it makes him too hard and he just wants to fuck the shit out of you without having to pull back straps and lace. definitely would keep on the thigh high stockings tho, it’s his favorite!

ʬʬʬ — honestly you should know to not wear short skirts around him… immediate hard-on and he’s fucking you against whatever surface is the closest to him. doesn’t even care that you were only quickly dropping by to give him something, you’re not leaving for the rest of the day.

ʬʬʬ — the type to drench you in oil so he can watch the way you glisten all prettily while getting dumb on his cock!! loves seeing your shiny tits bounce, bonus if you have nipple piercings. i feel like he would be the type to record it all so he can get off to it again later. cowgirl is for sure his favorite position for you!!

𓍼 ˋ✮ BEOMGYU

ʬʬʬ — interrupting him playing his game was a bad idea… of course he’s gonna bend you over his gaming chair and fuck you. leaves his mic on and let’s all his discord friends hear how much of a slut you are. (/ω＼)

ʬʬʬ — love love loves sitting back and having you fuck yourself on him. gets off to your pretty little moans and the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

ʬʬʬ — cuddling with him always turns into you feeling his bulge against your ass, to him sliding his cock inside of you “i just need to feel you,” to him pulling your hips towards his so that he can fuck you. you’re constantly sticky with his cum!!

ʬʬʬ — this. definitely how most of your nights would go when you’re super horny for him. would laugh in your ear at your whines for his cock and would tell you to get yourself off on his thigh or bulge instead.

𓍼 ˋ✮ TAEHYUN

ʬʬʬ — you begging him to fuck you without the condom on,,, he’s always so careful and you just need to feel him inside you completely, feel the way his thick load fills you up and drips out of you!! you don’t want him to pull out ♡

ʬʬʬ — him teasing your needy and wet clothed pussy. just loves how wet he can get you without even sticking his cock inside of you.

ʬʬʬ — quick morning fuck before the two of you go to the gym!! you told him “just the tip…” but you both can’t control yourselves! ended up going later that morning hehe

ʬʬʬ — his little housewife (⋟﹏⋞) you let him do whatever he wants to you whenever he wants. taehyun wants you to suck up off while you’re making dinner? you’re on your knees with his cock shoved down your throat in an instant.

𓍼 ˋ✮ HUENINGKAI

ʬʬʬ — kai needing you so bad that there isn’t even enough time to put his cock in you. would completely miss the mark and end up fucking your thighs instead!! you’d go crazy from only having stimulation at your clit and not where you need him the most. would leave your thighs covered with his cum while he bends you over for more. this video as well hehe

ʬʬʬ — so needy while he’s trying to practice. his long fingers aren’t enough so now he his to fuck you with his cock too… definitely didn’t finish practicing after this >///<

ʬʬʬ — would always have you sitting on his face. watching a movie? he can eat you out like a starved man and watch the movie at the same time. always wants to be pleasing you in some type of way.

ʬʬʬ — you’d be a good girl for daddy and let him fuck your wet pussy right? so wet that kai’s big cock keeps slipping right out!! loves hearing your moans and repeatedly asks you how much you like daddy’s cock. loves how you beg him to put it back in and fuck you deeper.

∿ [ continue on to . . . masterlist , taglist , request ] ︵͡   𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

🏷️﹙ want to be added to my permanent taglist? click here ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @riaawr @nxzz-skz @jakeswifez @ghstzzn @jenn-ieverse @rapmonie2047 @aaa-sia @won4me @skaterhoon @usnve @jeonghaniehaee @todorokiskitten @xylatox @lovzwoni @minaateez @onlyhyunjin @lilyuwon @aduh0308 @chaconadine @who-tf-soddhi @americanojake @missychief1404 @in-somnias-world @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @riribelle @hyukascampfire

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[pucksandpower]

Malfunction

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: Franco’s concussion has come and gone, but his desire to see the angel of a physician who likely saved his life has only gotten stronger … it’s just a shame that he tends to lose any semblance of composure when you’re around

Note: this is the much requested second part to Malpractice … but even better than the first part if I do say so myself 🫣

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is a distant blur in Franco’s memory. The crash. The pain. The disorientation.

But there’s something else that lingers, too. Something soft that refuses to leave him alone.

It’s the image of you, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady even as his world spun. Your voice cutting through the haze, your gaze sharp and intense, demanding his attention. The way you pushed him to stay alert, to pay attention, to focus on something other than the chaos in his head.

Franco knows he owes his sanity, maybe even his life, to you.

It’s been a week since the crash, and he’s been cleared by the medical team to race again in Qatar, despite a lingering headache that’s been stubbornly hanging on. But it’s not the headache that’s bothering him. It’s the fact that you’re not here. You’re not at the track. Not in the garage. Not hovering over him like some kind of guardian angel.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He’s sitting in the Williams debrief room, surrounded by engineers who are talking a mile a minute about tire wear and lap times. But Franco is barely listening. He keeps checking his phone, hoping for some sort of miracle: a text, a call, anything that might tell him you’re here. That you’ve returned to the paddock.

But the screen stays empty.

“Franco, are you with us?” James Vowles’ voice cuts through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry,” Franco mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What were you saying about tire strategy?”

James raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Focus on your recovery. We’re just going over the data from today’s practice. You’ve got time. But-” He looks around, making sure no one else is listening, “-don’t be distracted during qualifying tomorrow. We need every bit of performance we can get from you this weekend.”

“Right.” Franco nods, but his mind drifts again, his gaze slipping back to his phone. It’s like the rhythm of the weekend has been broken without you here, without the sharpness of your voice telling him he’s being an idiot, without your soft, steady presence making everything feel a little more manageable.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Alex steps in, his casual smile immediately making the room feel a little lighter. His eyes flicker over to Franco. “How’s it going, mate?”

Franco immediately perks up. “Alex! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He straightens up in his chair, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that because you’ve missed me, or because I bring good news?”

“Both,” Franco grins. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking about something, and I need your help.”

Alex folds his arms, giving Franco a knowing look. “Uh oh. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Franco says, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He sighs, already knowing where this is headed. “Ah, I should’ve known.”

“No, listen,” Franco presses, his voice a little more serious. “I need her to come to Abu Dhabi. She has to be there. I-” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I’ve been thinking about her all week. I just … I need to see her again.”

Alex raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You want me to convince her to come to a race just so you can see her again?”

Franco shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alex shakes his head, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “You really have it bad, don’t you?”

Franco hesitates, his smile faltering just slightly, then nods. “I do.” His expression softens. “She helped me when I didn’t even know what was happening. I’ve never had someone take care of me like that.”

Alex takes a moment, studying Franco’s face, then lets out a long breath. “Look, I can’t make any promises. Y/N’s a resident physician. Her schedule is insane. She barely has time to breathe, let alone fly out to the Middle East for a race. But-” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “But I’ll ask her. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises, okay?”

“Just ask,” Franco says urgently. “I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I need her there.”

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask. But you owe me a beer if this works.”

“You got it,” Franco grins, already feeling the relief of having put his request into motion. “Thanks.”

***

It’s late by the time you’re wrapping up your shift at the hospital. The weight of your scrubs feels heavier than usual tonight, your body aching after hours of rounds and consultations. You’ve barely slept all week, the demands of your residency taking up every last ounce of energy. All you want to do now is crash into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

But then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the familiar name on the screen makes you stop in your tracks.

Alex.

You sigh, glancing around the empty hallway before answering. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Alex greets you, his tone casual but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. “How’s it going?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You know, same old. Patients, paperwork, more patients. I swear, I’m starting to see people’s illnesses in my dreams at this point. What’s up?”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Alex says with a chuckle, “because I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.”

You brace yourself. “What now?”

“I need you to come to Abu Dhabi.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What? No. I can’t just drop everything and fly to Abu Dhabi. You know how insane my schedule is right now.”

“I know, I know,” Alex says quickly. “But listen, it’s not for me. It’s for Franco.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Franco? What does he have to do with this?”

“He, uh, well, he’s been asking about you. He really wants you to come. He … he kind of needs you there, Y/N.”

You frown. “Needs me? What, like for a medical emergency?”

“No, no,” Alex quickly reassures you. “It’s not like that. He’s just — he’s been a bit, you know, off since the crash. He keeps talking about how much you helped him, how much he needs to see you again. He’s … kinda, well, taken with you.”

You pause, processing the unexpected request. “Wait. You want me to go to Abu Dhabi just to … see Franco?”

Alex sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally get it if you can’t make it. I just thought I’d put it out there, because he’s really … well, he’s really worried about seeing you again.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. There’s a tug at your chest. Franco’s crash. The way he looked when he stumbled into the garage, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick with concussion. And how you couldn’t help but care, couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest as you took care of him.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I don’t know if I can get time off. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Please,” Alex pleads, his tone sincere. “Just think about it. I’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just — just come for the weekend. For him.”

You hesitate for a long moment. Your exhaustion is overwhelming, but so is the pull to be there for Franco, to check in on him after everything that happened.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to him.”

“I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow and see if I can get a couple of days off. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks again, really.”

As the call ends, you press the phone to your ear, staring at the blank hospital hallway. Something in your chest stirs, a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with any of these drivers. But Franco … there’s something about him. Something you can’t shake.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Abu Dhabi. But you know one thing for sure: you’re going to see him again.

***

Franco is buzzing with energy as he walks away from the Williams garage after FP2. The track is alive with its usual Friday hum: team radios squawking, mechanics wheeling equipment, fans pressing against barricades for a glimpse of the action. Normally, this is his favorite part of the weekend — the calm between sessions when he can breathe and think through what’s next.

But today, his thoughts are miles away.

You.

Alex told him you’d agreed to come. He’s spent all week mentally preparing for this moment, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again. He’d told himself he’d play it cool. That he wouldn’t come off as desperate or weird. That he’d be charming and effortless.

And now, as he walks toward the Williams motorhome, he’s running through those lines in his head like a script. But then, through the glass doors of the motorhome, he spots you.

You’re sitting at a table with Lily, wine glasses between you. You’re mid-laugh, one hand lightly gesturing, the other wrapped around the stem of your glass. The sound of your laugh doesn’t reach him, but your expression — warm and animated — is enough to stop him in his tracks.

Franco stares, frozen. For a second, he’s not a professional driver or a smooth-talking twenty-one-year-old. He’s just a guy, floored by the sight of someone he’s been thinking about far too much.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he walks straight into the glass door.

The sound is embarrassingly loud — a deep, resonant thud that draws the attention of a couple of mechanics nearby. Franco stumbles back, clutching his forehead as the door wobbles slightly on its hinges.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters under his breath, blinking rapidly to clear the stars dancing in his vision.

Inside, Lily gasps, already half out of her chair. But you — you just press a hand to your mouth, visibly trying to suppress a laugh.

Franco pushes the door open this time (successfully, thank God) and steps into the motorhome, trying to salvage whatever remains of his dignity.

“Didn’t know the motorhome was defending itself today,” he says, flashing a crooked grin as he rubs his forehead.

You’re still smiling, but there’s a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “I see you’re still finding creative ways to injure yourself.”

Lily, standing now, gives him a once-over. “Are you okay? That sounded bad.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Franco says quickly, though he’s still holding his head. “Just testing the structural integrity of the door. Very solid. Great engineering.”

Lily rolls her eyes, muttering something about grabbing an ice pack before disappearing into the kitchen.

You lean back in your chair, tilting your head as you look at him. “You know, you really don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to get my attention. There are easier ways.”

Franco blinks, momentarily thrown off by the teasing edge in your voice. But then he recovers, his grin widening. “Oh, so you noticed me, huh? Mission accomplished.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hard not to notice when someone face-plants into a door.”

“Ouch,” Franco says, clutching his chest dramatically. “First my head, now my ego. You’re ruthless.”

You laugh, setting your glass down. “I’m a doctor. I call it like I see it.”

“And what do you see?” He asks, leaning casually against the doorframe (or at least trying to — he slightly misjudges the angle and has to correct himself, which makes him look anything but casual).

“I see someone who might need another concussion test if they keep this up,” you say dryly, though there’s a hint of amusement in your tone.

Franco seizes the opening. “Oh, you’ll give me a test? What, right here? Should I sit down? Or maybe lie down? Whatever you need, angel, I’m ready.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “I’m off-duty, thank you very much. And stop calling me angel.”

“Why? It suits you,” Franco says without missing a beat. He steps closer, his grin turning just a bit sheepish. “You did save me, after all.”

“From driving with a concussion,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“Still counts,” he says, shrugging. “So … you’re really here. Thought maybe Alex was messing with me.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, for fun? He likes to mess with me,” Franco says, his grin turning rueful. “But I’m glad he wasn’t. It’s … it’s good to see you.”

Your expression softens, and you glance down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s good to see you too.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you. Not awkward, but charged. Franco shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He’s been preparing for this moment all week, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he’s at a loss.

Lily reappears then, an ice pack in hand. She tosses it to Franco, who catches it against his chest. “Here,” she says. “For the door-shaped bruise you’re probably going to have.”

“Thanks,” Franco says, pressing the pack to his forehead. He winces slightly but keeps his gaze on you.

Lily looks between the two of you, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever this is,” she says, grabbing her glass and retreating toward the other end of the motorhome.

Franco watches her go, then looks back at you, his smile softening. “So … you’re here for the whole weekend?”

You nod. “Lily convinced me to stay. Said I needed a break.”

“You do,” Franco says quickly. “Definitely. Big time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because …” Franco hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “Franco-”

“I’m serious,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know I’m probably coming off like a total idiot right now, but I don’t care. You-” He gestures vaguely, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else here.”

“That’s because I’m not supposed to be here,” you say, your tone light but your eyes searching his. “I’m a doctor, Franco. Not meant for … whatever this world is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “You could be anything, and I’d still want to know you. You’re …” He trails off, then laughs at himself. “God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh too, finally relaxing. “A little, yeah.”

“But I’m trying,” he says, his expression earnest now. “And I’ll keep trying, even if it means walking into more doors. Or walls. Or whatever else gets in my way.”

You shake your head, exasperated but undeniably charmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Franco counters, grinning.

You groan, but your smile betrays you. “Stop. That was awful.”

“Was it?” Hr teases, leaning just slightly closer.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. “And I’m not letting you use your injuries as an excuse to flirt with me.”

“Then what excuse should I use?” He asks, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “How about none? Just be normal.”

“Normal,” Franco repeats, as if testing the word. “Okay. I can do that. Probably.”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” you say, but your tone is lighter now, your guard lowering just a fraction.

Franco grins, sensing the shift. He might not be smooth, but he’s persistent. And right now, that feels like enough.

***

The hospital hums with its usual rhythm: the sharp beeps of monitors, the steady shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional murmur of voices echoing down sterile hallways. You’re halfway through your shift, mentally cataloging a growing to-do list, when one of the nurses finds you near the break room.

She looks far too amused for your liking, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, Doc,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “You’ve got a patient in Room 43. Interesting case. File’s by the door.”

You glance up from your notes, immediately suspicious. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s just say … not your usual trauma,” she replies, her grin widening. “Go see for yourself.”

With a sigh, you grab your tablet and head down the hallway. You’re too tired to entertain the nurse’s cryptic humor, but curiosity tugs at you anyway. When you reach Room 43, you spot the chart hanging by the door. You pick it up and start skimming, your brain automatically processing the medical shorthand.

And then your eyes land on the complaint: penile fracture.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds.

Penile fracture. Seriously? You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh or groan. It’s not unheard of, but it’s rare enough to make your day a little more … colorful.

Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself for what’s undoubtedly going to be an awkward encounter. Professionalism, you remind yourself. You’ve handled weirder cases.

But all of that resolve shatters the second you open the door and step into the room.

Because the patient isn’t some anonymous stranger.

It’s Franco.

Franco, lounging on the exam table like he doesn’t have a care in the world, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. Franco, the same man you’ve been dating for months, who absolutely should not be in this hospital room right now.

Your mouth opens, ready to deliver your standard introduction, but no words come out.

Franco looks up at the sound of the door, his face breaking into that familiar, devilish grin. “Hey, angel.”

“What the-” You stop yourself, gripping the edge of the clipboard like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. “Franco, what are you doing here?”

He sets his phone down, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a patient. Clearly.”

You take a deep breath, setting the clipboard aside. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” He leans back slightly, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “Broken dick. You saw the file.”

Your jaw tightens as you step closer, lowering your voice. “Franco, this is a hospital. You can’t just-”

“I didn’t just anything,” he cuts in, feigning indignation. “I’m here because you abandoned me this morning. And now I’m suffering.”

You blink at him, completely thrown. “Suffering?”

“Yes!” He says, sitting up straighter, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any attempt at seriousness. “You left me. Alone. In bed. With …” He lowers his voice dramatically. “An issue.”

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “An issue?”

Franco sighs, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Blue balls. A raging, unresolved situation. You’re a doctor — you know how dangerous that can be.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself. “Franco, I left because I had to come to work. Like a normal person.”

“Right, but normal people don’t leave their boyfriends high and dry,” he argues, his tone edging into the realm of petulant. “Do you know how much it hurts? It’s practically a medical emergency.”

You close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re here because you have blue balls. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — handling it with your hand and some lotion like a grown adult, you decided to come to my workplace and waste everyone’s time?”

“I don’t see it as wasting time,” Franco says, crossing his arms. “I see it as seeking expert care. From a very qualified, very beautiful doctor.”

“Franco,” you say warningly, but he’s already grinning.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “don’t you think it’s romantic? I’m literally willing to suffer for you.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your forehead, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You are not suffering. And this is not romantic — it’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sweet,” Franco counters, clearly enjoying himself.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to strangle him and laugh. “You know I could get in trouble for this, right? What if someone finds out I’m treating my boyfriend? Or worse, that you’re faking a medical emergency?”

“I’m not faking,” he says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The pain in my cock is very real.”

“Franco.” Your voice is flat, and you fix him with your best no-nonsense look.

He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to confess something scandalous. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a fracture. But it is painful!”

You throw your hands up, resisting the urge to laugh despite yourself. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Franco pouts, his lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated fashion. “Come on, angel. Don’t be mad. I just wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until my shift was over?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m impatient. And in my defense, you looked very cute leaving this morning.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he says, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warn, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Franco leans back on the exam table, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just disrupted your workday. “So … are you gonna examine me or what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you want me to call security? Because that’s where this is headed.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his confidence unwavering.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Franco holds your gaze for a moment, then sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. No exam. But only because I value our relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

He grins again, the kind of grin that’s always been your undoing. “You can’t stay mad at me, angel. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts. “Franco, you’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be on your way out of here in handcuffs.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Kinky.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, turning toward the door instead.

“Wait, wait!” Franco calls after you, sliding off the exam table. “I’m kidding! Don’t go!”

You pause, looking back at him. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his expression softer now. “Seriously,” he says. “I just … I missed you. And I thought maybe this would make you laugh. Or at least roll your eyes. Which it did, so … mission accomplished?”

You sigh, feeling your resolve waver. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like that — like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Franco,” you say, your voice quieter now. “You can’t just show up like this. I have a job to do.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “And I promise I won’t make a habit of it. But … can I take you to dinner after your shift? As an apology?”

You study him for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, you let out a small sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise to behave.”

“I promise,” he says quickly, holding a hand over his heart.

“And no more faking injuries,” you add, pointing a finger at him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

You shake your head, exasperated but smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says, grinning.

“For now,” you say, opening the door. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco says, saluting playfully as he follows you into the hallway.

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Ridiculous as he is, there’s no denying that life with Franco is never boring.

[amastarxoxo]

ㅤ          ㅤ          ㅤ   ˇ ✿ ՚՚ love is my curse ՚՚  ഒ

part 2 of worthless talking

thank you sm! i honestly didn’t think that worthless talking would be THAT good to most people and angsty(?) cause i was never good at writing angst. but thank you so much everyone !! and im almost at 200 followers! thank you very much and thank you arcane for being the glow up of my account ( now i just have to worry about what to write after arcane officially dies ) so if i end up doing the mini series considering it a 200 followers special ( ? maybe )

making up with arcane characters after arguing

S1! jinx , S2! vi , S2! caitlyn , and ekko x fem! reader

reconciliation , hurt/comfort , mentions of abandonment issues ( jinx ) , friends → lovers ( vi ) , mentions of marriage ( caitlyn ) , lover boy! ekko , cursing , mild suggestive ( vi )

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

not proofread or requested

JINX

the past few days have been quiet. too fucking quiet. especially for jinx. by now, she would have a talking to her hallucinations or blowing something—anything up but she being held down by something, this agonizing feeling in her chest by she hasn’t had a clue of what is it. she going on her daily routine to see what’s so off. when she wakes up, she wakes up next to you; she always talks to you; when she’s collecting parts, it’s always with you; when she’s making another invention it’s with—you. that’s the issue. jinx cursed at herself for her realization that she pushed you when she promised herself that she wouldn’t. no wonder she’s been so “unstable” according to sevika and silco.

she immediately dropped everything, forgetting about the fishbones project and left the lair. and immediately went to your place. she took out her spare key and immediately searched up and down, every corner for you but your house is empty. she was starting to panic, why aren’t you home? did you just get up and leave? she didn’t think her actions would hurt you that bad, she just wants to apologize for what she done, she didn’t mean it. “Jinx?” a soft voice creeps up behind her, “what are you doing?” jinx snaps her head around, tears resting on the edge of her eyes. “baby…” jinx breathes out.

You placed your bags next to the front door and closes the door behind you. suddenly jinx tackles you into a tight hug, sobbing into your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your waist. you pull her in close, letting her have her moment. “what’s wrong J?” you asked her softly, as she starts to cool off, small sniffles and tears drying up on her face. “i…i thought you left me after that argument we had.” her grip tighten around you. “please don’t leave me…i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to call you annoying o-or you were nagging me i promise and i—” you smash your lips into hers, causing her to softly melt into the kiss and share the warmth of the tight embrace. you slip out of the grasp of her lips and stare at her flushed face with a smile. “im not going to abandon you my love, im always going to be here.” jinx held your hand tightly, “i’m sorry.” you reciprocate her action, “i love you.” “i love you too.”

VI

another day, another lost at the pit fight. no amount of training until she sore, drinking her sorrows away, destroying her life is making the pain go away. no matter what she does, she always recalls the scared look you gave her, it sends a shiver down her spine each time. the horror of herself that you had to experience firsthand. the side that she didn't want you to see; caitlyn, whatever; but you. she deeply regrets that she lost her cool with you, off all people it just had to be you. she didn't bother drinking or training today, she can't. she can't even sleep without your face flashes in her thoughts. strolling around the undercity doesn't help much besides giving her some fresh air of the city she was raised in. she doesn't know how but she ended up at the brothel.

walking down the hallway, rooms filled with variety of sexual activities, workers and customers; she didn't care, she just ended one person right now. she walked past the other offices, she knows you mostly handle the money and service of the other workers for the customers. looking through the office window, she sees you looking over some paper works and envelopes filled with money. she twisted the door knob and closes the door behind her as she enters your office. you glance up at now black haired girl, her pink hair seeping through the tips and ends of it. "how can i help you, violet?" she tenses up and her breath hitches as you use her full name. "it's vi for you."

"who?" vi walks around your desk, you watch her cautiously, she hooks her arm around yours, pulling you up and off your desk chair. making you sit on the desk and pinning you down with both of her arms you trapping in between, "viol-" "vi. say my name correctly." she hovers above you, she slips herself in between your legs. your heart pounding in your chest, "fine fine, vi, what do you need?" vi chuckled dryly, " i want you, sweet." you scoff, "me? or that piltover girl?" vi grabbed your waist, "listen, i realized i was wrong; i care for you, and i love you, not caitlyn." her hands move to hips, pulling you in closer to her, "you were always there for me, even when you had nothing to do with me and caitlyn's mission you were there as always. and i'm sorry for taking that for granted and im sorry for calling you a prostitute." her thumbs absentmindly rubbing circles into your skin, she leans in closer and presses her lips against yours, pulling you into a soft passionate kiss; filled with love and affection. you pull away slowly, "I forgive you."

CAITLYN

you lay restless in your bed at home, away form caitlyn, you don't want to believe she's actually cheating, but the way she act together, maddie is always close to caitlyn, always touching, acting shy around your fiancee. you would always try to find time to bring it up but with the things going on with jinx and ambessa, your time with her lessen to almost nothing, even at night, she's always exhausted and out of breath. you're so lost in your thoughts you didn't even notice you were crying until a maid rushed to you side.

caitlyn could barely focused on the work in front of her, when she's training with ambessa, she seemed so distracted and distant from everything, according to the ambessa, "you do not come back until you're back on your feet, commander." the silence hung in the air. "we need not distractions for justice." that the last thing caitlyn heard before she left and went home to her office. maddie returned, he usual soft and comforting aura, it didn't feel like anything in the first place, but that's how maddie tries to come off. "commander, are you alright? you've been staring at the paperwork for 15 minutes now." maddie nervously chuckled. "I'm fine...just.."she rubs her temple in a pain and annoyance. "excuse me, i have to go see someone." she gets up and grabs her coat and leaves without hearing anything from maddie.

she knocked on the front door of your home, waiting patiently for you, she hears small shuffles and movements behind the door, she hears a faint metal sound; you're looking through the peephole. "what do you want caitlyn?" you open the door in a slight crack, enough for her to see and hear you. "hello...dear, you don't look well." caitlyn's face filled with worry and regret, voice low. "I'm fine." swiftly caitlyn, pushes the door open and pulls you into a tight hug. the cold air from outside slips into your home, causing you to shiver. "I'm sorry..." caitlyn started, "i never noticed how maddie was acting until recently, i assure...no...i promise you that I'm not cheating on you; maddie doesn't compare to you. never has and never will." you broke out into small sobs and sniffles, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.." caitlyn caresses your head gently, soothing you as you cried in her chest.

EKKO

since you recovered from that night, you kept your distance from your boyfriend, even on patrols with you, you stayed nearby but kept a small distance between you two, and of course he noticed, i mean he had to with the whole firelight community scolded him for lashing his anger out onto you.

another night again with patrolling with him, and you sat down at the top of the tunnel, where you got stabbed at but this same time, you're with your boyfriend; who seems extra tensed knowing this is where you go hurt. where he failed to protect you, when you didn't listen to him. you notice that he is shaking, violently. you hesitated but reached out and touched his knee, he stares at you in shock.

"calm down, ekko, if you're aren't fit for patrol then we could call-" "no!" he blurted out, "no...that won't be necessary, i'm fine." he continued on. the night sky and cool breeze surround the both of you. "I'm sorry-" you both said at the same time, you stared at each other. "it's okay-" it happened again. you chuckled, the blush rising on your face and also his. "i love you, fire." he kisses your forehead and cheek. "i love you too.." you pulled him into a soft kiss, officially calling this a good night.

tags : @sseleniaa @woldangnight

©︎ A M A T E R A S U. all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

guys say thank you to my mother who allowed me to finish this on her laptop or else you wouldn’t have seen this at all this week nonetheless this early .

[dreamscapeee222]

Could you write Arcane characters and reader fight. Who is the one to apologize first.

A/n: This took a while. I think I liked writing this one. I hope you like it too !!

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

You’re pacing the apartment, arms crossed as Vi throws her jacket onto the couch, fresh bruises blooming across her knuckles.

"You promised, Vi," you say, voice trembling, though it’s unclear if it’s from anger or worry. "You said you’d stop throwing yourself into danger."

Vi exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her hair. "What do you want me to do? Sit back and let everyone fend for themselves?" Her tone is defensive, her walls already going up. "No, I want you to consider how I feel when you walk out that door like you’re invincible!" you shout, tears brimming. She flinches at your words but doesn’t respond, instead turning toward the door. "I need some air," she mutters, leaving before you can say another word.

Hours pass, and the apartment feels impossibly quiet without her. You’re curled on the couch when the door creaks open, Vi stepping in hesitantly. Her face softens when she sees you, guilt written all over her. "I shouldn’t have walked out," she starts, voice low. "And I shouldn’t have made you feel like you don’t matter. You do. More than anything." She sits beside you, her hand brushing yours. "I’ll try to be better—safer—for you. Just… don’t give up on me."

Jinx

The argument starts with something small—a misunderstanding spiraling into chaos, as things with Jinx often do. You’re frustrated, arms crossed as you say, "You can’t just act like nothing matters. You keep running off, leaving me to pick up the pieces." Jinx’s eyes narrow, her voice defensive. "Oh, so now I’m the problem? Maybe if you stopped trying to control me, I wouldn’t have to." Her words cut deeper than you’d like to admit. You shake your head, hurt threading through your voice. "That’s not what I’m doing, Jinx. I just want you to let me in." She scoffs, brushing past you with a muttered, "Whatever." The slam of the door leaves the room eerily silent.

Later, you find her sitting on the floor of her workshop, surrounded by half-finished projects. She’s fidgeting with a small gadget, but her movements are jittery, unfocused. When she looks up, there’s a flicker of guilt in her wide eyes. "I’m not good at this, okay?" she says suddenly, her voice soft but frantic. "I mess things up. I don’t mean to, but I do." You step closer, kneeling in front of her. "You didn’t mess up, Jinx. I just—" She cuts you off, shoving a tiny, lopsided trinket into your hands. It’s a crude carving of you two, rough but undeniably heartfelt. "I made this. I was mad, but I kept thinking about how much I hate when we fight." Her gaze drops. "I’m sorry. I don’t want to push you away. You mean too much to me." You wrap your arms around her, and she clings to you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Her whispered, "Don’t hate me, okay?" is a quiet plea that you’ll never stop reassuring her about.

Caitlyn

The fight begins when Caitlyn forgets to show up for dinner, something you planned weeks ago. You’re sitting at the table, the candles burned low, food cold on the plates when the door finally opens. She looks exhausted, her uniform slightly disheveled.

"Caitlyn," you start, your tone sharper than you intended. "You didn’t even send a message." Her brow furrows. "It was work—there was an emergency. You know I can’t just drop everything." You stand, crossing your arms tightly. "I get that your work is important, but do you ever think about us? About me?" Her expression falters, but instead of conceding, she doubles down. "This isn’t fair. I’m doing everything I can to keep things safe—for all of us." The tension snaps, and you turn away, muttering, "Maybe you’re better off with someone who doesn’t need you to show up."

The silence that follows is deafening. Caitlyn doesn’t respond but leaves quietly, and for the rest of the evening, the apartment feels colder without her presence.

Hours later, the door creaks open again. You’re curled up on the couch, pretending not to notice her until she speaks softly. "I thought about what you said," she begins, sitting on the edge of the couch beside you. "And you’re right. I haven’t been showing you how much you mean to me." You glance at her, catching the guilt in her tired eyes. She reaches for your hand. "I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll do better. For us." Her sincerity melts away your hurt, and as you lean into her touch, she adds with a small smile, "And next time, I’ll at least bring dessert as an apology."

Ekko

The argument begins when Ekko overworks himself again, pushing past limits you’ve warned him about. He’s been up for hours, fixing up a broken clockwork mechanism, his hands trembling with exhaustion.

"You promised you’d take breaks," you say, stepping into the workshop, frustration clear in your voice. "You’re going to burn out, Ekko." He doesn’t look up, his jaw tightening. "I don’t have time to stop. The Undercity needs this, needs me." You cross your arms. "And what about me? Do I even matter in your world of never-ending responsibility?" His head snaps up at that, brows furrowed. "That’s not fair. You know I’m doing this for a reason." The hurt spills out before you can stop it. "Sometimes it feels like I’m just waiting on the sidelines for scraps of your time." You leave before he can respond, your heart heavy.

Hours later, you’re in bed, staring at the ceiling, when there’s a soft knock on your door. Ekko steps in hesitantly, holding a small gadget you’ve seen him working on before—a music box. "I made this for you," he says quietly, setting it down beside you. The melody that plays is soft and familiar, something that always calms you. His voice cracks as he speaks. "I messed up. You’re not on the sidelines—you’re the reason I keep going. I just… don’t know how to balance it all sometimes." You look at him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through your lingering anger. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing yours. "I’ll do better. For you. I swear." The fight doesn’t disappear instantly, but as you lean into him, you know you’ll figure it out together.

Jayce

The fight begins when Jayce cancels plans at the last minute—again. This time, it was supposed to be a rare, quiet evening together, but his work at the Council dragged him away.

You stand in the kitchen, arms crossed, as he walks in late that night. He looks tired, but you’re too frustrated to care. "Did you even think to tell me you weren’t coming?" Jayce sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was swamped. Things ran over—what do you want me to say?" "I want you to say you actually care," you snap, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His expression shifts, hurt flickering across his face.

"That’s not fair," he counters, his tone defensive. "You know I care about you. But this work—it’s not something I can just walk away from." You shake your head, stepping back. "Sometimes it feels like your work is the only thing that matters to you." You leave him standing in the kitchen, retreating to your room and shutting the door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, there’s a soft knock on the door. Jayce steps in, holding a small tray with coffee and your favorite breakfast. His sheepish smile doesn’t quite mask the regret in his eyes. "You’re right," he says, setting the tray down. "I’ve been letting work take over, and that’s not fair to you. To us." He hesitates before sitting beside you. "I hate fighting with you. Please let me make it up to you." You sigh, leaning into his warmth. "You have to actually try, Jayce." His arms wrap around you, his voice soft. "I will. You’re more important to me than anything else. I’ll show you that."

Viktor

The argument starts after you notice Viktor pushing himself too hard again. His lab is dimly lit, a cluttered mess of papers and prototypes, and he’s leaning heavily on his cane while adjusting a mechanism.

"Viktor, you need to rest," you say firmly, stepping into the room. "This isn’t sustainable." He glances at you briefly but doesn’t stop. "There’s too much at stake to rest," he replies, his tone clipped. "You know that." You cross your arms. "I also know what happens when you push yourself past your limits. You can’t keep doing this to yourself." Viktor stiffens, his frustration bubbling over. "And what would you have me do? Sit idle while everything crumbles around me?" The sharpness in his voice stings, and you take a step back. "I just want you to take care of yourself for once," you say quietly before turning and leaving the lab.

Later that evening, you hear a knock on your door. When you open it, Viktor is standing there, looking apologetic, a faint tremor in his hands. "You’re right," he says, his voice softer now. "I’ve been careless with myself, and that’s not fair to you. Or to us." He hesitates, as though searching for the right words. "I never want you to feel like I don’t hear you. I just… get lost sometimes." You step aside to let him in, and he takes your hand gently. "I’ll try to be better—for you. For both of us." His sincerity melts the tension, and as you sit together in the quiet, you know he means it.

Mel

The argument begins with Mel’s tendency to keep her emotions guarded, leaving you feeling shut out again. It happens during dinner, her silence heavy as she focuses on her work instead of you.

"Do you even care about this relationship?" you ask, the words escaping before you can stop them. Mel’s head lifts sharply, her calm demeanor cracking slightly. "What kind of question is that?" she replies, her tone cool but defensive. You press on, frustrated. "You never let me in, Mel. It’s like you’ve already decided you don’t need me." She sets her utensils down with precision, her voice clipped. "And you’ve decided to make this about you. I have responsibilities that extend beyond personal feelings." The words sting, and you shake your head. "Maybe I should stop trying if you’re not willing to meet me halfway." You leave the room before your voice can break.

The next morning, Mel finds you sitting by the window, your face turned toward the city. She approaches quietly, holding a small, beautifully wrapped box. Without a word, she sets it down beside you. Inside is a delicate bracelet, the design intricate and unmistakably hers. "You’re not wrong," she admits softly, sitting beside you. "I’ve built walls to protect myself, but they’ve shut you out. That wasn’t my intention." Her hand reaches for yours, her touch tentative. "I care for you more than I’m able to show sometimes. Please, don’t doubt that." You turn to her, the vulnerability in her expression easing the ache in your chest. "I don’t need grand gestures, Mel. I just need you." She nods, her voice firm but warm. "And you’ll have me—every piece, no matter how long it takes."

See pinned.

[fluffylino]

loner ! minho - drabble

you've observed him in your classes. he's hot. he's always by himself. little did you know he was fascinated with you too...

-contains mature themes (risky sex oops)

minho's in your class. he's there almost for every single lecture. never skipping unless he didn't show up to uni.

theres something about him that makes your heart race. maybe because you were just like him. the silent ones in the class who mostly sat right at the back where you could be at peace and avoid most interactions.

somehow the two of y'all never sat together, sometimes sitting on opposite ends of the small class or maybe on the bench infront. you watch him at times whenever the lesson content gets boring. taking in the sight of him paying attention.

was he really paying attention or was he just lost in his thoughts?

were you ever in his thoughts?

did you ever make an appearance in his mind?

.

.

its a long day. back to back lectures since 8 in the morning and you're tired. this time your class was being held in a small private classroom that nearly no one knew about except the people in this specific class.

neatly taking off your shoes outside the carpetted stairway.

noticing the larger pair of combat boots that are tucked away from all the other shoes.

mindlessly you keep your shoes near his. because he had mindlessly been doing that for the past few weeks. placing his shoes next to yours.

silently entering the class, only to realise you had losf track of time in the canteen. 10 mins since your class had begun and here you were.

heart thumping nervously at all the eyes on you, as you quietly scutter to an empty chair. the teacher has made all of y'all sit in a semi circle. for more integration and freedom.

and you find yourself seated directly across minho. taking in the sight of him entirely as your professor absentmindedly continues talking about something.

your eyes can't help but trail down to his hands. watching him crack his knuckles and adjust the rings he wore on his digits.

the black shirt complimenting his physique and his leisure way of sitting making your stomach churn with arousal.

why were you finding him so ravishing today? seeing him so upfront worked wonders on your imaginative brain.

blinking slowly as you thought of how his fingers would feel against your body. maybe even between your legs...

blushing heavily when he glances at you briefly. and from the corner of your eye, you swear you see him hide a smirk.

.

.

class is over and you're about to leave when you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. and you're quick to turn around.

masking on a kind smile which immediately falters.

"wait back with me..." its him.

bag slinging across his shoulder as he stands beside you. quietly waiting for everyone to leave. with a long stride, he closely the door of the classroom. latching it smoothly and for a second you think he's uncomfortable with you.

what if he noticed how obvious you were.

"u-uh is everything o-okay?" you mumble, taking a few steps back when he stands in front of you. minimizing the gap as much as possible.

"i don't know, you tell me..." he lets out, tilting his head with intent. your mouth opens and closes. going speechless and every single coherent thought escaping your mind.

"...i d-don't know" you stutter unconciously. struggling to maintain eye contact with him. looking anywhere but at his eyes.

"do you...." he starts off. clearing his throat before looking at the latched door for a second, turning to purse his lips at you in a somewhat shy manner.

your bag sliding off one of your shoulder's and falling on the ground with a soft thud when he holds your chin.

making you look up at him the whole time.

"do you want to eat ramyeon...with me?"

minho whispers. purposefully leaning closer to breath heavy on your parted lips. your own breath shaking as you unconciously refuse to create a gap between y'all.

"or am i just eye candy for you?" he adds with a playful tone.

"no! i mean...n-no. you're more than just...that"

you mumble, cheeks heating up furiously. eye candy? that meant he knew you were watching him.

"well this eye candy's wondering if you just wanna keep staring at him or instead do something about it..."

.

.

.

"is this what you were dreaming of"

minho whispers huskily, hand stuffed down your pants. pulling you higher up on his lap. fingers tracing over your cunt. your nervousness dying down when he touches you like he's meant to be the only one touching you so intimately.

"m-sorry" you whimper. feeling concerned with yourself for imagining such vile things. filthy dirty thoughts during innocent moments.

"no baby, this is what i dreamt of too"

rubbing his middle and ring finger up against your folds. teasingly feeling up your clit. knowing that this was the first time you'd let anyone touch you like this.

"dreamt of dirtier things...so fucking filthy"

slipping his digit past your entrance and you keen. stomach burning with the unfamiliar intrusion.

"thought of you riding me on one of these stupid chairs" minho breathes out. curling his digits upwards to rub your walls. grunting when you grind down on his fingers.

"m-me too...wanted to ride you...want to ride you"

you gasp out, covering your mouth at the risks y'all were taking. an empty locked classroom.

"your s-shoes" and he smiles.

"you noticed. couldn't get over the size difference"

he teases, pulling his fingers out to lick them seductively. deciding to draw fast rough circles on your clit. stimulating the bundle of nerves so fast that you shake in his hold.

"don't you have class?" he asks, knowing damn well that right now class was the last thing on your mind.

"i have you." you moan, praying that luck ws on your side and that you'd get the time to taste him...

.

.

.

.

.

inspired by the dream i had last night AAAAAAA im screaming without the s-

[apocalypticvalraven]

Ok, so here's the thing for everyone in the comments/reblogs saying they can just not provoke the gorilla and be fine-

Snakes have, compared to people, relatively simple minds. They look for food if hungry, and if not, they just want to find a place to chill and be left alone (I mean, mood). If a black mamba is hungry, sure, it's a big snake (up to 9 ft, possibly bigger) but it's a big snake. It's prey is small animals. It'll go looking for rats and shit, not try to take on a human. We are amply outside of the size range of their typical prey, they will only attack if they perceive you as a threat and cannot escape. So, like, just leave them alone. Also, I'm pretty sure they will not immediately bite if you happen to surprise them, most snakes don't. They will hiss, and that lets you know to just back away.

A gorilla, however, is basically a person. Now, yes, people can be chill. You can avoid provoking a gorilla. But as a person, a gorilla can just be pissed off, or in a mood, or provoked by the basic situation they are in and set their mind to wrecking the shit out of anything that is part of that situation until the situation is no longer extent. It is very possible the gorilla will see you and just fucking attack the "smaller primate that is too close (ie, in the same general area)."

Snakes will likely not seek you out, and you can just leave them be.

The gorilla can maybe just be left alone, but could also very well decide "hey, I'm gonna kill this potential threat before they become a problem."

Snakes will, if surprised, or you mis-judge how much space they want, 1- Hiss. 2- Bite, but not inject venom. 3- now venom! Because snakes are small, even if very long, and engaging a threat always carries a chance of receiving enough injury that they will die. You have a very good alert that tells you to go away, and a decent alert that tells you "no seriously, go away." Most snakes will not use their venom unless hunting or pressed, because then they need to produce more.

A gorilla, if surprised, or just fucking in a mood, give a threat display, but if you misjudge how to respond to that, or accidentally make eye contact, may well decide "fuck this small primate in particular!" and even a warning smack could be bad news.

Go with the snakes, they will just chill and want to be left alone. The gorilla is amply ready to make its problems your problem.

[dollishsz]

HOW DIFFERENT BATBOYS APOLOGIZE AFTER A ARGUMENT ── .✦

a/n: Lowkey I feel like I’m like slightest but problematic in arguments (not me exposing myself) but srs I got this request by a anon! (Here) So yeah tysmm, I won’t be writing the argument because lowkey, I can’t do angst at this time 💔😞

(Tags: how different batboys apologize after a argument)

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The "I'm Sorry, But…" Apology: Bruce’s apology might be a little stiff at first. He’s not great with words when it comes to his emotions, but he does know how to make up for things. His apology might start with something like, "I know I’m… difficult, but I didn’t mean to hurt you." The real comedy comes in when he tries to "fix" the situation by throwing money at it—like suggesting an extravagant dinner or buying you a new wardrobe because, "I know it will make you feel better."

Trying Too Hard to Be ‘Normal’: He might try to act like he’s “not Bruce Wayne” for a second, attempting to be goofy to show you he’s truly sorry. Picture Bruce awkwardly trying to make a joke: "I’m sorry I made you feel like I was ignoring you. How about we go out… without my bodyguards this time? You know, like a normal date?"

The Silent Apology: More often than not, Bruce will show you he’s sorry with actions, like preparing your favorite meal or doing something thoughtful (such as leaving you a handwritten note or taking care of something you've been stressing about). But if you press him for words, he might simply mutter, “I’m not good at this… but I am sorry,” and leave it at that.

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

The Full-On “I’m Sorry, Please Forgive Me” Routine: Dick is extremely sorry whenever he’s messed up, and he knows how to make it entertaining. He’ll show up with flowers, chocolates, or maybe even your favorite ice cream. And then, with a totally sincere but dramatic flair, he’ll say something like, “Listen, I know I was an idiot, and I have no excuse except that I’m clearly emotionally stupid when I’m upset. So please, for the love of all things holy, let me make it up to you.”

Humorous Apologies: Dick might also make you laugh with his over-the-top apologies. Maybe he tries to outdo himself by setting up an elaborate “romantic” date, only for it to completely go awry (think spaghetti noodles flying everywhere or a very unromantic “romantic” location). He’ll laugh it off, saying, “Okay, so maybe that’s not exactly how I imagined it… but you have to admit, it’s unforgettable.”

The Super Dramatic ‘I’m Sorry’ Speech: After an argument, Dick is not shy about admitting when he’s wrong. He’ll deliver a heartfelt, exaggerated apology, something like, "I was a fool, and I see now that I was wrong. You are perfect, and I am definitely not. How do you put up with me?" Then, he might give you puppy-dog eyes, as if expecting you to immediately forgive him.

JASON TODD ── .✦

The “I Know I Messed Up, But… Here’s a Gift” Approach: Jason is quick to apologize, but it’s not usually with a heartfelt speech. Instead, he’ll show up with a gift—maybe something small but thoughtful, like your favorite snack or a new book he knows you’ve been eyeing. He’ll casually hand it to you and say, “Alright, alright, I messed up. But you know I’m not great at this, so here’s my attempt at being a decent human being.”

Comedic Self-Deprecation: Jason, knowing he’s not always the best communicator, might start with a little self-deprecating humor. "Look, I’m sorry, okay? You’re right, I am a jerk sometimes. But hey, at least I didn’t set anything on fire this time, right?" He’ll try to make you laugh with his inability to fully express himself, but you know he means it.

The “I’m Sorry, Now Let’s Get Back to Normal” Routine: Jason might awkwardly try to move past the argument, brushing it off with a gruff, "Look, I’m sorry for being a pain. Can we just… go back to how things were?" It's not the most eloquent apology, but it’s Jason, and it’s his way of saying he wants to make things right without diving too deep into feelings.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

The "I Overthought This" Apology: Tim is a perfectionist, so when he messes up, he’ll overthink how to apologize. He’ll probably try to do something really thoughtful, like writing you a letter or planning a whole day dedicated to making it up to you. But the real comedy comes when he gets so wrapped up in planning that he’s awkward about it. "I, uh, made you a list of everything I could do to make it up to you, starting with… well, taking you out for dinner. You like sushi, right? But if you prefer something else, I can also—"

The "What Do You Need?" Routine: Tim might also take a very logical approach. He’ll ask, "What would you like me to do to fix this?" but in a way that makes it seem like he’s creating a spreadsheet of ways to apologize. "I’ve compiled some options for you to choose from. Option one: Dinner. Option two: A walk in the park. Option three: Let me do your laundry for the next week…”

The 'Nervous, Over-Apologetic' Tim: Tim is likely to be the one who apologizes over and over again. He’ll say “I’m sorry” about a dozen times in a single conversation, with increasing levels of anxiety. "I really didn’t mean it that way. I’m so sorry. Are we okay? You don’t seem mad, but if you are, I understand, and I’m really, really sorry."

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

The Reluctant Apology: Damian isn’t one to apologize easily, and when he does, it’s more formal. He might say something like, “I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for.” And then he’ll awkwardly pause, before adding, "I... didn’t mean to upset you." The comedic part comes when he clearly doesn’t understand how he’s hurt you. He might ask, “Is there anything I can do to make it right? Or… was this just another one of your moods?”

The Unintentional "Nice Guy" Apology: Damian will give you something as an apology—perhaps a bouquet of flowers or something that he “found interesting,” but he’ll likely be very stiff about it, saying something like, “This is for you. I thought you would appreciate it. It’s… an apology gift.” He’ll be surprised when you react positively, since he’s convinced that you’ll just think it’s lame

A Small Gesture of Remorse: As an apology, Damian might ask you to join him for a quiet walk or for tea, giving you a rare moment of sincerity. He might even throw in a joke (but it’ll be one of those very dry ones), saying, “The tea will be of the highest quality, so I suppose that should count for something."

[ghcstao3]

AU where ghost is a relatively famous voice actor—by name, anyway. he’s never shown his face in those ‘behind-the-scenes’ videos, doesn’t do red carpets for the bigger productions, always leaves the press junkets to his colleagues. he loves his job, don’t get him wrong, it’s fun and creative and he’s met some really great people, he just… has never wanted to be in the limelight. that’s not for him.

and it’s easy to get away with, because all of the voices he uses are not really his. there’s elements of him, sure, but nothing someone in person could necessarily place, unless they really listened close and were some kind of super fan. in real life, ghost is soft spoken, and maybe his voice is a little rough from the years before he learned how to properly take care of his vocal cords, but it’s still completely separate from all his characters. that was a rule he stuck with throughout his career—no using his real voice.

soap likes to consider himself a fan of simon riley.

(of his work, obviously. just his work. he definitely isn’t intrigued or anything by the mystery that is the voice actor. nuh uh. not at all.)

he’s seen just about every film and show that features one of the actor’s many voices, knows what little trivia is known of him, and, ultimately, he really respects the guy. his younger sister had finally landed herself a sizeable role in voice acting pretty recently after years of odds and ends, and soap knows how difficult it is to make it in the industry. so what if he may also have a little bit of a crush on the unknown man’s talent?

and so what if that little crush has presently brought him to a bookstore, because soap had heard simon would be voicing a character in some adaptation and soap wanted to get himself caught up? it’s fine. it’s normal. totally normal.

it’s in search of the book when soap accidentally stumbles into an absolute brick-wall of a man as he rounds the corner. soap mutters out apologies, goes to move past him, but then looks up and melts, just a little. because it’s then that soap discovers the prettiest set of brown eyes he thinks he’s ever seen. and when his gaze briefly flicks down—he sees that the man is holding the book he’d been looking for.

soap grins, does his best to look charming in spite of the fact that he’d just run into this poor, beautiful bastard. “was lookin’ for that one, too.”

the man’s brow furrows in confusion before he realizes what soap had been referring to. his eyes fall almost self-consciously to the book.

“oh, yeah. it’s a good book. gave my nephew my other copy, so i’m just…” the man lifts the book in some helpless gesture.

“hm.” soap nods. he can’t help but notice how soothing the man’s voice is, low and rough around the edges, but completely soft in the middle. “y’hear they’re making a movie?”

the man perks up, and for a moment soap wonders if that’s panic he sees flash in his eyes. he clears his throat. “yes, that’s actually why i’m, well. i owned it before, but because i’m doing the—because of the movie, i had to…” the man sighs, shoulders slumping. it’s endearing, the way he’s gotten so easily flustered, like he isn’t used to small talk. “never mind. i’ll let you… i hope you enjoy it. the book. and movie too, i guess.”

soap laughs, not unkindly. “the book, we’ll see. favourite actor’s in the movie, so i’ll probably like it either way.”

“yeah?” the man cocks his head, curious. “who’s that?”

unashamedly, soap replies, “simon riley.”

it’s not unnoticeable, the way the man’s face blossoms a faint pink before he coughs and ducks his head. “he’s, uh. heard he’s good,” he says. “so others say.”

for a moment, it looks like the man is preparing to bolt, so soap sticks out his hand as a last-minute resort to keep him around just a little longer. “i’m john. friends call me soap. long story, but if you maybe let me take you out for some coffee, i could tell you?”

apprehension lines the man’s posture, but he eventually tucks the book under one arm and shakes soap’s hand. “friends call me ghost. and i’d like that.”

ghost’s hand is warm, his grip firm. soap tries not to let himself linger in the touch.

“sounds like a date.” soap smiles up at ghost. “did you want to do that today, or…?”

ghost shakes his head. “can’t today. but i can give you my number?”

soap agrees, but as he reaches for his phone he’s met with an empty pocket and the realization that he’d left it on the counter at home. he sighs, feeling disheartened, readying an excuse when he gets an idea. “d’you have a pen?”

ghost does, in fact, have a pen, though soap supposes he could’ve just gone and bought one from the bookstore just as well. soap tells him to stay put a minute, goes to retrieve his own copy of the book, and comes back with it opened to the first page.

“i’m buying it, anyway,” soap says. and it’s commemorative, he doesn’t add, of the day and reason we met. because he’s hopeful this may actually go somewhere.

ghost writes his phone number inside, deliberately hands the book back to soap with the cover pressed closed by his thumb, and they head to the register together.

it’s only when soap gets home and finally goes to type ghost’s number into his phone that he sees, above the digits, a small simon :) inscribed on the paper.

[alotofpockets]

Finding comfort | Katie McCabe x Teen!Reader

Where you're always very timid, but open up to Katie

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

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You had never been great at new environments. It always takes a long time before you are able to warm up to people you don’t know. So, being called up to Arsenal’s senior team and being surrounded by a whole new team definitely wasn’t an easy task.

The first few weeks had flown by, but you hadn’t really spoken to any of your teammates, besides giving short answers to their questions.No one seemed to mind that you were so timid, never pushing you. 

Behind your back they had spoken about it, not in a bad way, more so that they were worried that you weren’t comfortable here. They tried in different ways to make you feel more included, hoping you would start opening up more, but despite their best efforts not much changed. However, your teammates were patient with you, and you were grateful that they weren’t pushing.

“Good morning, are you ready for training?” Kim said as she sat down besides you in the locker room. You smiled timidly and nodded. Your team captain smiled and quietly got ready besides you. Around you the room was buzzing with the chatter of the rest of your teammates.

Training today was a gym session. You enjoyed gym days because for the biggest part of it, you were working individually. While yes football was a team sport, so that part was very important, the individual work made you feel more comfortable with the new environment.

You started with biking, as that was usually the equipment that everyone liked the least, so you would have the space to yourself. After a few minutes of cycling, Katie walked up. “Hey Kid, mind if I join you?” In response you nod. She sits down on the bike beside you and starts cycling with you.

After a few minutes of silence, Katie turns her head your way with a serious expression. “I’ve got an important question for you.” You turn to her, worried about what she might ask. Katie McCabe wasn’t known for being serious, so this must be something big or important.

“Do you think cereal is a soup?” You look at her in disbelief, definitely not having expected that question at all. “That’s your important question?” Your lips curl up slightly. “Yes, I need to know where you stand on the matter.” She says just as seriously as she started.

This time your smile breaks out and you start laughing. Katie smiles proudly before she joins in on your laughter. “So,” She says when the laughter dies down. “Is it soup?” You shake your head. “Definitely not and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

Katie gasped, her face filled with shock. “Not soup? Unbelievable. I thought you had better judgement, Kid.” You felt the walls you had up crumble bit by bit every time she joked around. 

The sound of your laughter caught the attention of a few of your teammates in the gym. They looked at the intersection between you and Katie with smiles on their faces. Who would have thought that Katie would’ve been the one to get you to open up more?

“I will let you off the hook this time. Everyone is allowed one wrong opinion, and you have just used yours.” You shake your head with a chuckle. “Good to know.”

The two of you continued chatting throughout your bike session. The team occasionally looks over, happy to see that you are feeling more at home. Wondering what kind of magic Katie used to get through to you. 

“Do you maybe want to join me and toss the ball around?” Katie is quick to say yes, happy that you want to continue opening up to her. “Right behind you.” She says as she gets stopped by Leah on the way.

“I’ve never seen her like this. How did you get her to open up?” The blonde asks full of wonder. Katie shrugs, “I told you that I am funnier than the rest of you.” She walks off proudly, leaving Leah standing there dumbfounded.  

You had picked out the weight that you wanted to use right as Katie walked up. “Alright, show me what you got, Kid.” She stood a few steps in front of you and got ready to catch the ball. You held it at chest height as you squatted down and in your movement up, you threw the ball her way. She did the same movement before tossing the ball your way again.

Just like on bikes, the two of you were chatting. It seemed like you were getting really comfortable with Katie, and there was just one thought on the older players' mind. “Why me?” She asked out loud before thinking.

“I eh, I mean you’re opening up to me and I was wondering what made you do so with me?” She threw the ball back your way. You catch it with ease and as you squat down you answer her question. 

“You just made me feel safe.” You toss the ball back but Katie is so caught by surprise with your answer that it just falls to the ground in front of her. “I win.” You say with a proud smirk.

“Yeah yeah, well done, Kid.” Katie tries to shrug off the loss, but ultimately she’s feeling very good, because she had created a safe space for you without even realising it. Growing up with younger siblings had unintentionally prepared her for youngsters joining the team.

“I want a revance on this next training.” You shake her reached out hand. “Deal, but don’t be upset if I beat you again.” Laughter erupts in the room. Your cheeks turn a bright red when you realise everyone was looking at you. 

Katie notices and puts her arm around your shoulder. “Get used to it Kid, that humour will get you far with these girls.”

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